His Return Home Ch. 02

"Nose to the wall," He ordered, holding the belt buckle in place.

Reluctantly, she leaned forwards until her nose met plaster, the metal buckle already irritating her skin. She wouldn't complain, though. Any and all complaints were met with swift and painful consequences.

In this house, she had no rights but the ones that He allowed her. From time to time, He felt the need to prove that to her by denying her the most basic of human needs, up to and including oxygen. Even breathing was a privilege he was more than happy to deny her when she forgot her place. Never for long enough to do any real damage, of course, but the point was made and made effectively nonetheless. "You breathe because I allow it. You eat because I allow it. You do what I say, when I say, or any and all privileges can and will be revoked."

After fifty with the belt for forgetting her place and speaking her mind instead of His, He'd forced her to sit on a horrible spiky doormat that irritated her already sore behind, while writing that mantra out two hundred times. Then He'd read through each one, looking for mistakes that her aching hand was bound to have made, and for every error, an extra twenty minutes on the wooden pony was added to her punishment. By the time she'd crawled into her cage that night, she'd been well and truly reminded of her place in the world and He'd been confident that she wouldn't dare to open her mouth without permission again.

With her hands secured firmly behind her back, where they'd been since He'd left the house that morning, she had no chance of escaping retribution if the belt were to fall to the floor. No chance of putting it back in place before He noticed. It would be a pointless exercise anyway. He noticed everything.

It felt like hours before He returned. Time spent in the corner always seemed to drag like nothing else she'd ever experienced. A minute felt like an hour, an hour like a week. She knew. She'd once spent an entire day there, holding a penny to the wall, her stinging, red arse on display to all of her Master's friends while they watched a football match she'd had the audacity to ask permission to watch with them.

She felt Him before she heard Him. He was always so light on His feet when He wanted to be, sneaking up on her like a ninja in order to catch her doing things she ought not to have been doing. But whenever He entered a room, it was almost as though her body readied itself for Him, her heart rate ramping up, her chest fluttering as her knees tried to turn to jelly, almost undoing all her hard work holding the belt firmly in place.

His breath caressed the back of her neck as His fingers grazed over the bare skin of her back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Every touch set her skin on fire, leaving her gasping and desperate for more. Her legs began to shake as His hand trailed lower until His fingers curved around the rope still holding her hands in the small of her back. The other plucked the belt from the end of her nose, ending one form of torment, which would have been a relief had she not been certain another was about to begin.

"On your knees. Kitchen," He ordered without preamble, watching with cool detachment as she instantly obeyed, though the drop to her knees wasn't nearly as graceful as she would have liked, hindered somewhat by the lack of use of her hands.

Crawling with her nose to the carpet and her hands restrained behind her was a slow and painful process, but she didn't dare question His orders. By the time she made it to the kitchen, her nose was burning and her breaths were laboured, but He gave her no time to recover before curling His fist into her hair and yanking her to her feet.

Ignoring her pained help, He hustled her to the round kitchen table, curled His hand around the back of her neck and pressed until she was bent over with her cheek pressed against the cool wood and every part of her was open to His scrutiny and discipline.

"We're going to go over your list for today," He began, His voice deep, almost a growl, and she could hear the leather of His belt as He ran it through His tough, calloused hands. "And you're going to tell me whether you think you did each of your tasks satisfactorily. If I disagree, I'll take it out of your hide. How do you think this is going to go?" His voice was almost amused as He smoothed His hand over her rump, ignoring her wince when He touched a spot still tender from her last punishment.

"I hope I've pleased you, Master," she said when He prompted her to talk with a light slap to her behind.

"Hedging your bets, I see. Oh dear." He slapped the list He did for her everyday down on the table beside her head before moving behind her and kicking her legs apart casually, opening her up further, leaving her utterly exposed and vulnerable to whatever He chose to do to her. "Start from the top."

She began to read, starting with the chores He expected to be done every day—making His bed, cleaning the house, doing His laundry, ordering any groceries they required. Learning to do cleaning tasks while trussed up in varying levels of bondage had been something of a learning curve, but when the man you loved enjoyed watching you suffer for His enjoyment—and He really did watch. There were cameras in every room that He could access through a live feed to his work computer anytime He chose—you learned to be creative.

She worked her way down the list, swallowing down moans as His fingers trailed over her upper thighs, dancing lightly over sensitive skin that virtually screamed at Him to just move a little higher, to give her the friction He constantly denied her. He liked her desperate, dripping, and constantly on the edge, so that was how she spent most of her days. And then her eyes alighted on the next item on the list and her heart sank into the very soles of her feet, her voice stammering to a standstill as fear engulfed her in its icy grip. His hands stilled on her thighs, His gentle touch turning to a painful grip, almost pinching her skin, waiting for her to admit to the failure He'd already spotted. She'd been so sure she'd done everything He'd asked of her. After their morning session, reciting the list over and over as He edged her over the ottoman in the lounge, she'd convinced herself she didn't need a scrap of paper filled with words in order to know her duties.

"Did I tell you to stop?" He questioned, shifting His hand to land a stinging slap on her inner thigh.

Yelping at the unexpected pain, she closed her eyes and whispered, "Weed the back porch."

"And..." He started, and she felt the supple leather belt as He rested it against her poor arse cheeks in readiness, "do you think you completed the task to my satisfaction?"

"No, Master," she said in a quiet, shaky voice as her entire body began to tremble in anticipation of what she knew came next.

"And why is that?" He wasn't a complete tyrant. He always gave her the chance to explain her mistakes, even understanding on occasion when a mess up really hadn't been her fault. This time, though, she had no excuse.

"I forgot, Master." She didn't apologise, though every part of her was screaming at her to fall to her knees and beg for His forgiveness. He'd made it clear from the start, though, he wasn't interested in apologies. He simply wanted perfection and if He didn't receive it, no amount of apologising would stop Him from following through on her prescribed punishments. She'd gone into this with her eyes wide open, knowing exactly what she was getting herself in for. She craved what He doled out just as much as He needed to give it, but that didn't change the fact that forcing Him to punish her hurt, both because of the pain of letting Him down, and the literal agony of the belt as it met her soft flesh over and over. He never spared her. They would be done when He decided they were done and not before, unless she said the word they'd long ago agreed on but never actually used. If she had her way, they never would, either. Using the word would be failure in her eyes, and she couldn't take that feeling.

"You forgot," He repeated, His hand moving the belt over the trembling flesh of her rear. "Tell me, little slave, am I wasting my time writing lists out for you each day? Is it too much to ask for you to read it and check it off as you go? Am I being unfair to you?"

"No, Master." She whimpered and the leather withdrew from her skin, knowing the next time it touched her, it would rain fire across her flesh and wouldn't stop until she was screaming, with tears pouring down her face as she pleaded with Him to stop, knowing full well He wouldn't.

Dragging in a deep breath, she braced herself. He wouldn't be rushed. He knew what the anticipation did to her, and relished in the additional torment. She didn't dare lift her eyes from the paper they were still trained on. All she could do was hold her position and wait. Three soft footsteps broke the painful silence before a low whooshing sound preceded the first blow that lanced pain right across her backside. Unable to stuff her fist into her month to muffle her cries, she tried her hardest to bite her tongue and bear it, but as blow after blow rained down, the agony increasing with each well-placed impact, it grew harder and harder to keep quiet.

There was no stopping her tears now. They flowed freely down her cheeks, the salt water washing away her shame at having failed her master. She needed this, needed the peace that only His most sadistic discipline could bring her. Without Him, she had been nothing, and she wouldn't ever go back to that again.

He kept going, the strokes never lessening in intensity until her tense little body sagged in defeat against the table, the rigidity of her muscles turning to mush as she surrendered herself completely into His hands.

At His signal—the snapping of his fingers—she collapsed to the floor, her knees hitting the tiles with a loud slap. Tears were mingled with snot down her face, her hair matted to her cheeks as she bent in humility, dropping grateful kisses to the tips of His shoes.

"Thank you for punishing your slave, Master," she whispered through the hiccuping sobs that still wracked her small body.

Kneeling before Him, her eyes averted to the floor where they belonged, a sense of peace washed over her, bathing her in its comfort as His fingers gently brushed through her tangled hair and He shushed her tenderly before speaking the magic words that made everything alright again. "There now, pet. You're forgiven."