Waiting

Friday in the Office

The sun streams through the wooden blinds in the office and it is a perfect Spring day. There is just enough breeze to disturb the blinds which flutter almost hypnotically in the sunshine. Being on the first floor the sound of the traffic below is a distant buzz but is a reminder that there is a world going on a street level.

The big oak desk has seen many different managers but now it is mine, its shiny surface has been polished and buffed over the years to produce a bright sheen, the knots in the wood are clear to see and add to its stature as a key part of the décor. It gives anyone sitting at it a strong sense of power and control.

You walk into the room with a clutch of papers that need signing and, bearing in mind that this is mid afternoon on a Friday, I am concerned as Thursday is the recognised day for signing invoices, contracts and letters going out to clients.

Disappointing. I am a busy man and time is, as they say, money.

The pile of papers is considerable and will require a good few hours of my time – your view of this, from just your body language, is that it is not a problem

“Can you just sign these Mr S – it won’t take you long” is your opening line.

When I point out that this should have been done yesterday, as normal, you just shrug your shoulders, almost dismissively.

You can see that I am less that happy about the situation as I bristle and shuffle in my chair.

“Clearly you have ignored the Office protocols for signing documents –this is very inconvenient for me” I state, clearly and with some annoyance. I then take a look at the pile of papers and look at you.

“Why has this happened? It’s not as if you have not been here to know what goes on during Thursday, is it?”

The silence hangs heavy in the air, only punctuated by the blinds swaying in the breeze and the shafts of sunlight dancing on the floor of the Office.

The silence is deafening.

No answer comes back.

I move to get up and because you are almost leaning over me, pen in hand, we bump into each other. My attention is drawn to your blouse which is open far more than usual showing off your breasts and a nice red bra.

“They need to be signed; some are urgent” you defensively say with no hint of an apology.

You sit down at the side of my desk and lean forward, probably thinking that Mr S will be swayed by the way you are dressed and the way that you are sitting.

“This won’t do, it’s not acceptable” I say in a harsh tone. To my surprise you look almost indignant about the situation, almost challenging.

I am fuming.

I get up from my chair and you do so immediately and again we bump into each other, although this time It is clear this was no accident on your part.

“Oh, sorry Mr S, that’s clumsy of me”. Our eyes meet and its time that the dynamic here needs to change, otherwise I know more things will slip.

“You need to apologise P, for your poor attitude and behaviour, this is not good enough”.

More resistance and attitude received through clear body language.

Without thinking I grab you by the shoulders and turn you around and bend you over my desk. I am on automatic pilot now, determined that this shoddy work attitude will never be repeated. You struggle a little, but this is only a token gesture as I pull up your skirt to see that you have matching red lingerie and tan holdups.

I quickly remove your knickers and start to spank your perfect bottom with my hand, leaving a faint pink patch where my palm has been. After some token wriggling you remain still, taking your punishment and knowing that you have fully deserved it.

A nice round 10 spanks delivered and a promise to be more focused and diligent in future made.

Not content with that I decide to take your punishment further.

“Turn over onto your back!” I order and you dutifully follow my instruction. Once there I can sense the warmth of your arousal as I gently explore your wetness with my fingers. Your pulse races and your breathing is becoming increasingly erratic, the more I explore you.

Time to make my point, and to focus your attention on me totally, I tease your clit with the tip of my tongue, gently probing and exploring it, while my fingers gently move rhythmically and carefully in and out of you.

“Don’t think I’m going to let you come, your poor behaviour means that won’t be allowed, no matter how much you want it to happen” I state. “Unless you promise not to let this happen again” I add.

Breathless you tell me that you will mend your ways and I quickly allow you to come, arching your back as you do.

“Leave the paperwork and get back to your office quickly, and we will say no more about this.”

Humbly you return to your office, closing the door quietly behind you.

It is 4.30pm and it has been a challenging day for a number of reasons.

There has been a nagging voice in the back of your head since first thing, only now the volume has crept up many notches and it is virtually dancing along at the same pitch and intensity as your heartbeat.

You know the feeling, you left the house this morning and you are sure that you closed the downstairs windows. You know you did.

The little voice in your head still keeps banging on though. It won’t be quietened, it gets louder.

You must have closed it, you would just know, wouldn’t you?

It’s the same thing with Sir: you did complete the Journal Task he had spent considerable time thinking about and then carefully scripting, didn’t you?

Perhaps you did do as requested, but the Sent Folder in your email tells a different story.

Sir did say it was an important reflective Task that needed your clear focus and detailed response AND it is due today at 5pm.

The blood coursing around your veins seems very loud now, heartbeat is up, your adrenalin is starting to flow, that tingle in the fingers and slight shaking feeling is becoming more noticeable.

Still no sign of the Task! Try the Draft Folder, it will be in there surely?

No!

Deleted Folder? That is empty because you purged it this morning!

What to do? Do you frantically try to bash up a response and send it to Sir, hoping that what will be a rushed and poor effort, lacking detail and substance, will be acceptable? You know the bar for Tasks is set very high so that will not work.

You could sit tight and hope that Sir has forgotten the Task and will not chase you for it? You know that Sir never forgets, so that option will not work either.

Apologise and say you forgot about the Task, work has been very busy, the cat got sick, your best friend had a meltdown, the sun didn’t set, etc? That is as plausible as the seas drying up and man actually did land on the Moon.

It is now 4.55pm. The world is imploding.

It is time to face the wrath of Sir, time to be very, very humble and sincerely apologetic, hoping for some mercy and understanding, but knowing that is highly unlikely. Totally unlikely, that’s not going to happen.

Quick, think of something to appease Sir with, some gift or action that will get you off the hook! Your mind races and whirls, unable to latch onto anything to offer.

The phone rings, it’s 5pm. It could be a customer or one of your friends, but you know it isn’t.

“Hello Sir, err, how are you this afternoon?” …………………………….

You know that you have made a mistake, a big mistake, an action that came out of what you fully know to be behaviour that is totally unacceptable.

It is not that you, even vaguely, didn’t know that this would get a reaction.  The situation has been clearly set out, explained and documented as such within The Rules that had been written carefully for you. And to which you readily agreed to honour.

A boundary has been breached. A behavioural fence has been broken. A limit has been transgressed.

A border has been penetrated and now you are paying the price.

Bending over the table you are beginning to regret that Brat outburst of “Make me” when Sir told you to not make a scene in the restaurant when he chose your meal for you. It’s not as if Sir’s choice was outside your taste preferences.

It just came out of the blue. Behaviour to test the patience of your Owner.

A little short of breath and anxious, the tension is also delicious and intoxicating.

The room is cool and your bare legs and bottom can feel the breeze from the open window, a calming sensation, but only probably for the moment. Just for the moment.

You are aware that Sir has entered the room but has said nothing and is watching you from a distance. This inertia seems to last forever, knowing that the reaction that you have caused will be delivered to correct such shoddy behaviour and thinking.

A cold sensation comes to your bottom and you quickly recognise that to be the tip of the leather riding crop which is now just resting upon your smooth flesh. Gently Sir taps out a rhythm on your buttocks, each tap getting a little firmer and heightening your anticipation that little bit more.

Then nothing. Silence. All is calm. The curtains move in the breeze and you are left waiting. Perhaps you have been forgiven and the act of penance has been completed.

Suddenly you hear the sound of the crop hitting the table next to your right hip, so close that you feel the air moving from the power used to deliver the stroke. This is an alarming sound, brittle as snapping ice.

The warmth of your arousal is hampering a clear head that you so want and need in this situation, but any resistance or fight that you ever had is over, gone and totally evaporated. You have to give in and submit to the punishment that you fully deserve.

Sir thinks in numbers that end in a 5 or a 10: will there be 5 strikes or 10 strikes that will correct your behaviour? Possibly 15? Only time will tell.

The strikes are firm, memorable and come with regular timing: an opportunity to reflect on your poor, unacceptable and challenging behaviour between them, each one bringing a surge of excitement, anticipation and longing for the next one.

The electricity generated by each stroke is mesmerising, raising your sensations and heightening your arousal.

Deep down you issue a silent plea for more and more attention from Sir, knowing that in doing that you sink deeper into your Submission and Ownership.

A Lesson delivered but behaviour yet to be corrected.

Waiting.

Time goes by slowly when you have limited appreciation of your surroundings – you are cut off from what you know and what is familiar. You start to question the stimuli that you accept as just being normal for your surroundings, hoping to find reassurance in them and actively seek them out.

But they are not there.

You start to yearn for that normality, that security of what you are familiar with, but which has been denied.

Will Sir suddenly bring you back into the familiar world, will this be right now, soon or a long time off?

It is very quiet in the dark, your heartbeat becomes a booming noise as your ears search for any reassurance that they can get, accompanied by your breathing, in and out, a hypnotic rhythm, but there is no other sound. Yet.

The silence heightens your other senses: the sweet and hypnotic smell of Sir’s aftershave reassures you that he is there, but you are unsure both where exactly he is and what will come next. Your skin is alert and expecting a reassuring touch: the fine hair on your arms bristle in delightful anticipation of an event that you know will be coming, but you cannot be sure what it will be.

Your mouth is beginning to become dry both in anticipation and expectation.

Standing in the dark, your legs are starting to twitch and you anxiously shuffle a little on your feet, reminding yourself that Sir told you to remain absolutely still and focused. The carpet tread gives no comfort.

Will you find reassurance in Sir’s touch when it is delivered? 

You long for it now, to rejoice in the affirmation it will deliver, on any part of your body. Will he gently kiss the back of your neck, touch your naked hips and will he tell you that your behaviour has been forgiven, or will he remind you that not wearing the Outfit he had approved for you is a serious breach of The Rules and that punishment will follow.

You hope for the former, and have a plan to show him that you are sorry for your actions, but are equally aware that the latter may be coming.

You become aware of Sir, who is standing behind you, but who has yet to touch you. The tips of his fingers brush gently across your naked bottom, which heightens your senses, wanting more contact to draw yourself in, to dive into warm and delicious submission.

The feel of Sir’s hands on your shoulders initially reassures you: a light touch but enough to raise your pulse rate that little bit higher. Sir’s hands then cover your throat and the pressure applied, firm but focused, makes your head tilt backwards, showing your submission and dedication to both the moment and the man.

Sir gently whispers into your ear and asks you the question:

“Girl – how exactly do you think I should punish you?”

"Denial of some sort, Sir" is all you can muster, having spent all of your collective energy holding fast from asking for direct punishment for what was an elementary and stupid breach of The Rules.

Denial? Interesting Girl – not a million miles away from what I was thinking about, but denial comes in many forms and in many different degrees. Denial focuses your attention and when it is relaxed you will fall deeper into your Submission to me.

The darkness of the room and your nakedness heightens your senses, along with knowing that denial is a feature of your punishment, but not immediately knowing what that might be makes your skin tingle and sets your pulse racing that little bit more.

Denial of touching you further, telling you to get dressed and that punishment is coming later, to heighten the anticipation, is an appealing idea.

But unlikely.

I stand behind you and pull your hair back towards me: now is NOT the time you to to lose your focus on Sir. I tell you to remain very still until I give you permission to do make any form of movement.

Stepping away, you stand alone again in the darkness. Your tension rises further, not knowing what is to come, but your determination to apologise and find comfort from Sir for what is a very basic Rule break is running at pace through your mind.

You feel a cold, hard edge running slowly up the back of your left leg: a gentle and carefully guided contact as it runs up to your bottom: instinctively you tense and breathe in, uncertain what it is and what will happen next.

The feeling stops.

You again feel the edge of the item, now running smoothly up the back of your right , pausing and tracing back down its previous path, then moving up to your bottom again.

You are soothed and reassured by me putting my arms around your waist and drawing you into  into me, that hazy and comforting touch that you now want more then anything. I move away from you and you know that the time is approaching for your punishment.

You feel a sharp and flat smack on your bottom and you now know that that it was the edge of my Paddle that had trailed up your legs and you now know that your punishment has begun. There will be no getting dressed now and waiting for punishment later, this is very much here and now. You instinctively move forward a little but I tell you, frimly, to remain still.

"You will apologise to Sir for your poor approach to your Task at every stroke" I whisper in your ear.

A further four spanks are delivered and at each stroke you are sincere in your response, hoping that at the fifth stroke Sir will be satisfied, and that punishment will be over. You make a clear mental note to never break this Rule again.

You suspect, however, that additional punishment is coming: and how correct you are.

"We will continue this when I next review your performance" I state, coldly. "Now get dressed, this matter is not closed".

You resolve to never make the same mistake for Sir and await the rest of your punishment.

Denial is sweet and an enticing appertiser for what is to come.