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.