I close my eyes because I sense him behind me. I am right. He is here – almost on cue – reaching around from behind and claiming my… no, his… breasts. It isn’t a forceful grasp. No, not forceful. It is more firm. Owning. I gasp when he thrusts his pelvis into my backside while maintaining his owning grip on my front. While pinning me from behind with his groin he leans into my ear and whispers, “You belong to me. You always have. You always will.” And as quickly as he entered the room I open my eyes and he is gone.
I close my eyes and lower my head in submission when I feel his eyes locked in my direction. I have no idea what he is thinking but I have seen that look many times. He comes to me and cups my chin in his hand. He demands I look at him, but I can’t. Not yet. Again, with more force he demands, “Look at me. Now.” I open my eyes and let him stare into my soul. “Say it,” he demands. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. I lower my head again and close my eyes. It takes me a moment, only a moment to catch my breath and say, “I am yours. I always have been and I always will be.” I sense his hand reaching for my breast. I wait. But then… then I open my eyes and he is gone.
I close my eyes in shame. I have disobeyed the one I belong to and he knows. Without my saying a word he speaks, “You didn’t do what I told you to do today, did you?” I shudder in the silence wondering if I will ever not be an open book to him. I hear him rise from the chair he sits on. He is walking away from me. He stops in the doorway, turns, and says, “I will be back. When I return I want you out of your clothes and on your knees.” He is gone. I don’t need to open my eyes to know this.
I close my eyes as he undresses me. His mouth explores my vulnerable, naked body. His touch is firm as always. His mouth is…. Sweet. Everything about him takes my mind to a place only I can allow. And I only allow myself to go there with him. I am his. I always have been. I always will be. This place I go to when I am with him was created in my mind. It’s a place I hate. Loathe. Detest. Unless….. Unless I am with him. When I am with him and he takes me to my secret hiding place nothing stops me. Nothing stops me from feeling forbidden to all others. Nothing stops me from feeling shame. Remorse. Subdued. Submissive. I hear a noise and open my eyes. He is gone.
I close my eyes the instant I feel his touch. He has found me alone and naked once again. He gently kisses my forehead. I feel his hand slip between my legs as he tells me to spread them, just a little. He searches for my sweet spot and applies my favorite toy to it. “Now, close your legs and hold it there. Do not cum,” he says. Jesus. I whimper. As I lay there trying to do as he has asks, the waves of orgasms rush over me again and again. I open my eyes. He is there watching. He shakes his head and wonders out loud, “What am I to do with such a bad girl?” I close my eyes as the waves roll over me once again. When I open them he is gone.
I close my eyes when he says, “Go pick three and bring them to me.” I stand before him, trembling. Panting. Weak. I open my eyes and turn from him. If I am to be punished by him for this wrong I’ve done I know that it must hurt. I know that I must cry. I know that I must beg forgiveness but only after I beg for punishment. I know that I must make careful selections. I return and present a wooden spoon, a wooden paddle, and a riding crop. He asks me to tell him about my wrong. My error. My lapse in judgment. I do. I tell him everything. I need not worry about tears. They are falling before my confession is complete. He then sits back and waits. We both know what must happen next. I must ask. I must beg for my punishment. I finally convince him that punishment is for certain needed when he lifts my skirt and pulls my underpants upward so hard that it wedges into my rear with my cheeks exposed to him for punishment. And he punishes. My tears flow freely. My remorse is great, but he does not forgive. Not yet. More punishment must come. More and more and more. I beg him to stop but in my secret place we both know that only he knows when the time will come to stop. And when it comes he will have forgiven all. In the meantime I am taken over his knee for the spoon and the paddle. When he is ready to use the crop as a punishing agent he stands me up and demands I hold onto the bedpost. He rubs the crop between my legs until I whimper. He then removes it and punishes. I don’t know how long he punishes but when he stops I realize I have closed my eyes. And when I open them he is gone. And that’s when I realize that he never was. He never has been. He never will be. Even still, I am his. I always have been. I always will be.
Eva, thanks. I loved this story and I hope you'll be in the mood to do more. I hope there are several of you willing to write. I do have two new stories for the next two week. I hope more of you are writing. You can send your stories to firstname.lastname@example.org