S's Story Ch. 01

You sit in the straight-backed, sturdy, hardwood chair wearing, as directed, a white blouse, knee length skirt, pretty, but not sexy underwear and heels, and, somewhat out of the ordinary, a garter belt and stockings. Your back is as straight as that of the chair, your hands are folded in your lap, your ankles crossed demurely, and you look absolutely straight ahead. The room is plain, stark white walls undecorated but for one small abstract painting and a long narrow mirror, but obviously carefully kept with a thick carpet without one speck of lint visible. To your left is an empty table of the same quality and construction as the chair. There is no clock so you have no idea how long you have been sitting. There is no visible means of observation but you are certain that you are being watched.

Just as the wait begins to make you truly nervous ("This is the correct office, right? He did say Wednesday the 14th at 2:00pm precisely, I'm sure of it."), you hear the door behind you open and footsteps on the plush carpet. In your peripheral vision, you see me walk to the table wearing a dark gray, obviously expensive and exquisitely tailored suit. I place a leather bag on the table and begin to remove items, setting the carefully down in a specific arrangement. I set the bag on the ground and walk behind you to close the door. Without moving your eyes you cannot see what is on the table and the temptation to look is great, but your desire to show your obedience is slightly greater.

"Hello, little one," your hear my soft tenor voice in your ear, slightly startled by my proximity. I begin to walk around you as I speak, purposefully, with confident strides and a definite direction.

"Having seen your pictures, I had hoped your appearance wouldn't affect me as strongly as it has. However, the camera cannot begin to do justice to your absolutely natural beauty." You fight back a smile.

"You have followed my directions precisely which was, of course expected. I am pleased, nonetheless." Your eyes want desperately to follow my movements as I circle you but you continue to look straight ahead at the blank wall before you.

"We have spoken online many times about our views on the roles of the Master and the slave. However, we haven't spoken specifically of my expectations of my slave." My voice fills the room without booming or echoing.

"I expect immediate and unfaltering obedience to every command and instruction. Direct and instant confirmation of each command and an outward display of your acquiescence to my will." You begin to notice your breathing quicken and your heart begin to beat with more force.

"That is, of course, if you find me worthy of your service." I have stopped directly in front of you, facing you. The instinct to look up into my face defeated only by your years of training and effort. After what seems like a full minute, but must have been less than a second, you realize I am waiting for a response.

"I do, Sir." Three short words have never taken so much effort to speak without your voice quaking.

"Thank you, little one." The smile is obvious in my voice.

You see me begin to remove my jacket as I move to the table. I fold it neatly and lay it to one side. I walk around behind you and stand, once again, directly in front of you, much closer this time. You see that I have rolled up one sleeve and am now rolling up the other, an attractive but not flashy gold watch on my left wrist. You can now see my clothing more closely: the pleated wool slacks with leather belt and simple gold buckle, a deep blue shirt, and a gold patterned tie.

Your reverie is broken when you feel my fingers under your chin. I left your face to look into mine. As your eyes meet mine, they open widely. The corners of my mouth turn up just enough to slightly soften my stern face. My thumb traces the line of your jaw and the curve of your lips as I hold your gaze, searching your eyes for the deep emotions and thought I know lie within them.

After a few moments, I speak.

"Are you ready to begin, little one?"

"Yes, Sir," you answer immediately.

I walk to the corner of the room and stand there, facing you not quite casually. You can see the top of my short boot on one leg as it crosses the other and rests, toe down, on the carpet. You know I am waiting for you to decide on your "outward display of your acquiescence to my will." I takes not a moment for you to know precisely what that means for you.

Still seated, you look down and remove your shoes, setting them next to the chair, absolutely in line. You then remove unbutton your blouse and remove it as you stand. You fold it neatly as you carry it to the corner. You unzip your skirt and place it just as carefully under the blouse. As you remove your bra and panties, you remember how much I love the garter and stockings and consider for a moment leaving them on but decide that complete nudity would be a better display of your submission. You walk the few steps back to the chair and, never having looked up once, kneel before it, facing it, knees apart, clasping your hands behind your head, rather than behind your back, because you feel it is a more flattering pose for your breasts.

You can almost feel my intense gaze upon every inch of your exposed body as I walk once around you then seat myself in the chair.

"Thank you, little one, for the gift of your service. I am very aware of its rarity and value and will treat it with the respect and significance which it deserves."

"I am going to spank you now, little one. Not as a punishment, for you certainly have done nothing wrong. And not as a show of my control over your. But because it is my desire. and. I know, little one, that it is your desire as well. Come, lay across my lap."

You move quickly to obey, feeling the soft wool of my slacks on your bare skin and grabbing onto the sturdy legs of the chair with your hands.

"You will count each stroke and, should I stop for more than five seconds, you will thank me for your spanking. Do you understand, little one?"

"Yes, Sir," you say, thankful, once you say it, that something has forced you to breathe again. You feel my soft, warm fingertips, ever so gently caressing your flesh, circling each cheek and tracing a line between them. Then suddenly, SMACK, the first blow lands squarely in the middle of your right side, stinging slightly but obviously a warm up.

"One," you say, immediately, anxious to please and also because the blow forced you to make a noise of some kind. A pause. One one thousand one, two one thousand, three one thousand. SMACK. The left cheek, stinging slightly more. "Two." Another pause. One one thousand, two. SMACK "Three." SMACK "Four." SMACK "Five." SMACK "Six." SMACK "Seven." The alternating slaps landing so quickly that your counting falls slightly behind, the force increasing with speed. Thankfully, another pause. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir," you gasp out and fight to steady your breathing as the excitement builds in you with the force of a train. You are sure I must be able to feel your heart pounding, pounding, pounding against my leg. You close your eyes and focus, slowing your breathing and willing your heart to slow and calm, as you feel my hand gently rub your back, helping you to quiet your mind and your body.

"Very good, little one," I breathe into your ear. My hand leaves your back and you tense for the blow. which doesn't come. Did I sigh in disappointment or was it just a quick breath? You begin to panic and fight to control yourself again and relax. A few more seconds pass. The room, though comfortable warm when clothed, begins to chill your skin slightly. SMACK Where were you. yes. "Eight." Slight pause, not even a second. SMACK "Nine." This one directly on top of the last. SMACK "Ten." SMACK "Eleven." SMACK "Twelve." SMACK "Thirteen." Each one precisely in the same place on your left cheek, the stinging pain rising quickly, the sound nearly deafening in the small room. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one. SMACK "Fourteen." SMACK "Fifteen." SMACK "Sixteen." SMACK "Seventeen." SMACK "Eighteen." These all on one specific spot on your right cheek. One one thousand, as you count, two one thousand, you quickly compare, three one thousand, the number of strokes per side, four one thousand, would there be one more, five.

SMACK "Nineteen." Back to the left and slightly lower.

SMACK "Twenty ." Lower again.

SMACK "Twenty One." Lower still.

SMACK "Twenty Two." Slightly to the outside.

SMACK "Twenty Three." Higher now.

SMACK "Twenty Four." Again higher.

SMACK "Twenty Five." Higher.

SMACK "Twenty Six." Almost to the hip.

SMACK "Twenty Seven." A different angle, more to the inside.

SMACK "Twenty Eight." And lower.

SMACK "Twenty Nine." And lower

SMACK "Thirty ." And lower, touching the thigh.

SMACK "Thirty One." Back to the left side now.

SMACK "Thirty Two." Moving.

SMACK "Thirty Three." In.

SMACK "Thirty Four." A.

SMACK "Thirty Five." Seemingly.

SMACK "Thirty Six." Random.

SMACK "Thirty Seven." Pattern.

SMACK "Thirty Eight." But.

SMACK "Thirty Nine." Covering.

SMACK "Forty ." All.

SMACK "Forty One." Areas.

SMACK "Forty Two." Completely.

A pause. One one thousand, the stinging quite painful now, two one thousand, tears welling in your eyes, three one thousand, despite your desperate efforts, four one thousand, to hold them back, five one thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." And you wait, the silence in the room screaming in contrast the slaps and your near shouted counting. Suddenly your begin to breathe again, panting but struggling to quiet. You tense as the backs of my fingernails gently stroke your throbbing flesh, the pain refreshed and intensified along the path but quickly force yourself to relax, listening for the sigh that might not have been a sigh, waiting. waiting.

SMACK "FORTY Three." Impossibly hard. You cannot begin to imagine how my hand must feel without the cushioned flesh of your buttocks. Tears now falling from your eyes. One one thousand, two one thousand, three.

SMACK "FORTY Four." Harder yet. Your face twisted and wincing. You know, somehow, that my face is stoic and fixed though my hand must sting more than your skin. You watch as the teardrops fall to the carpet below. One one thousand, two one thou.

SMACK "FORTY Five." Forceful enough to push your forward against my knees, which were somehow braced for the blow without you sensing it. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." Tears now streaming from your eyes steadily, you swallow to force back the sobs, cursing yourself for your weakness in this your first test.

SMACK "FORTY Six." Nearly lifting you from my lap. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir." You clench your eyes and jaw shut, determined not to cry, no matter what.

SMACK "FORTY Seven." One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand. "THANK YOU FOR MY SPANKING, SIR." The words screamed to avoid the choking sobs you've stuffed deep into your chest but your breathing is ragged and jittery. You blink over and over to clear your eyes of the tears. You wait, struggling frantically to calm yourself, furious at your lack of control.

"Shhhhhhhh." you hear as my hand softly strokes your hair. At its touch you sigh and begin to breath more deeply and regularly. The stroking continues until your heart's racing becomes merely intense rather than frenetic.

"Rise, little one," my voice calls. It takes your hands half a second to release their talon-like grip on the legs of the chair and you slide back onto your knees before hesitantly placing your right foot on the floor. You think you might stumble but before you begin to tip, my hand is there on your forearm, firm but gentle to help you to your feet. You follow the guiding pressure from my hand to stand before the mirror, facing it.

Your tear-drenched face and swollen, red eyes mock your proud, steady posture. You dare not glance at my face, fearing even a hint of disappointment in my eyes. My hand on your arm pulls you gently around to face away from the mirror and drops away, moving to your chin to turn your head to face the mirror. You twist around, holding your feet and hips resolutely in place and gaze in amazement at the red, no maroon color of your skin. You feel your pulse there and are sure that, if you held your hand even six inches away, you could feel the heat pouring off of it. I lean forward, so close you that you feel my breath against your cheek, my lips as close to your ear as possible without touching it. You close your eyes, determined to avoid seeing the displeasure that you are sure must darken my expression.

"Perfect, little one. Perfect."

Your eyes spring open and meet mine in the mirror. My face shows no hint of smile, only a firm confidence in your and his faith in you.

"You could not be more beautiful to me, little one."

You cannot help yourself, your head whips around and your hands fly to your face as you being to sob, your hands quickly soaked with your tears. In a movement as sure and deliberate as the step of a Russian guard, I move before you and enclose you in my strong and protective arms, calming your spasms of joy and clutching you steadfastly to my chest while holding my hips slightly away. It takes you a moment to realize that I am preventing your body from pressing into my groin so as to prevent the evidence of my desire from distracting from the comforting embrace. For a long while, many minutes it seems, I hold you, allowing you to release your suppressed anxiety and fear.

As your breathing slows, I speak, "Only when you're ready, little one."