March 1 2022

  From SaraSissyGirl Blog

(pictures added -ed)

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Waiting

She had been imprudent, she knew, it was a position she had gotten herself into.

 

The nature of her transgression mattered little, it was enough that it occurred at all, for he had little tolerance for her unconsidered actions.

 

Sometimes she could beg for forgiveness, seek mercy, but those instances were limited to true mistakes, twists of fate, but carelessness, her failure to think, were things that would not stand.

 

"I expect you to be waiting when I get home," he told her over the phone in an even voice. She heard papers rustling, he was working, though he took her call; he knew she called this number, not the other, only in times like these.

 

"I'm sorry," she said, a genuine emotion.

 

"I know and I forgive you."

 

It went unsaid that regardless, the evening would not change.

 

When she finished with work, she drove to his home, anxious, wanting it over, now, before it started.

 

Stepping into the foyer, she immediately reached behind her, unzipped her skirt, let it fall to the floor, pulled her top over her head, unclasped her bra, all before even closing the door behind her, as he would have expected.

 

She turned, wearing only dark stockings, heels, panties, locked the door, gathered her things, fet them neatly on a chair, went directly to his study.

 

The chair, dark wood, solid, old, dependable, was there in the corner where it sat, waiting for one purpose, the task it would perform this evening.

 

She took the chair, moved it to the center of the room, facing away from the doorway to the study. She straddled it, sat, gasped ever so quietly as the cool wood touched her bare thighs above her stockings.

 

She straddle it, leaned forward, her breasts lined perfectly with top of the back, her nipples touching the wood, just a cold as the seat, a reminder, things to come. She clasped her hands behind her back, lowered her head, poised, positioned, submissive.

 

And waited.

 

That was a part, as important as any, the waiting, alone, quiet, nothing, her thoughts, running to him, her, them, everything.

 

Waiting as the shadows cast by the sun though the blinds moved across the floor.

 

Waiting as the evening traffic passed by the home.

 

Waiting, enough time to think that her submission was of her own choosing.

 

Surrender.

 

She knew it was him before she heard the garage door. She did not know how she could tell, his car on the road rather than others, that of mothers bringing children to and fore, men home from the office, women too.

 

The minutes passed as she waited for him to appear in the room with her. He afoot was worse still than waiting for him to arrive, so close, any moment, he could appear.

 

Through all the waiting, the time, the minutes, she did not move. She was not allowed, whether he was watching or not, it was simply forbidden, now.

 

Finally, sense of time only able to know it was still early evening by the shadows across the floor, she heard his shoes, the leather bottoms on the hardwood floors, coming down the hall.

 

He was behind her yet she knew not to look, to speak, to signify. That was for him.

 

She heard the clink of the crystal glass, the ice hitting the sides, his drink coming to rest on the desk.

 

She heard him unbuckle his belt, wanted to turn, to beg, but did not, could not.

 

She heard it unbuckled, removed.

 

"Hold the front of the chair," he ordered, his only words of greeting.

 

She moved her hands quickly. He was just as fast, as soon as the skin of her fingers touched wood, the belt moved through the air, contacted, landed, squarely on her ass.

 

"Ohhh," she grunted, making sure her breasts, her thighs, now her hands, kept constant pressure with the back of the chair.

 

The blows were hard enough to sting, to hurt, to make her ache, her ass, her pussy.

 

Two, three, five, finally ten.

 

And then the worst part of her punishment, the leaving, the unfulfilled need, desire.

 

After an hour waiting, after ten strong blows, she wanted one, only one thing in the entire living world.

 

He knew, of course, knew what she wanted, from him, needed, inside her.

 

"You may shower, love, I'll have dinner waiting," he said, threading, buckling his belt.

 

She stood, turned, saw him for the first time in several days. She saw, his pants, that he needed her, too, knew that later, that evening, her ass still red, still sore, she would have what she wanted, that she would feel him, inside her.

 

She knew.

 

As she surrendered to him, he was as much a prisoner to her.