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I served them tea in the kitchen, then scurried to organize the shoe racks, feeling the gaze of Mistress’ bemused girlfriend resting lightly on the nape of my neck the entire way. Not being explicitly “out” about our relationship, I could tell the woman couldn’t quite put her finger on our dynamic, although she was perceptive enough to hover around the periphery.
“Your boyfriend sure does a lot of work around the house,” she remarked to my Mistress.
“Yes he does,” Mistress giggled. “If I’m happy, he gets to be happy.” The two ladies shared a toast of earl grey, giggling a little.
“What’s this?” I heard Mistress’ friend say, then an icy chill hit my belly as I heard the rustle of paper. I had forgotten what was still magneted to the fridge, a piece of our secret lifestyle left in plain view.
“I will watch my attitude and tone of voice around Mistress,” I heard her friend read aloud off the first sheet of paper. “This is written, like a couple hundred times.” She said, rifling through. My ears went hot.
“Yes,” mistress said casually. “My boy forgot his tone with me, so he got to spend Sunday writing this instead of watching football.”
“You mean, you actually punish your boyfriend? and he’s ok şişli escort with that?”
“I really prefer the term ‘boy’ over boyfriend,” mistress chuckled.” We have an arrangement that works for both of us. I set the rules and get the service I need. He gets fulfillment from serving, and clearly defined discipline and structure.”
“Oh my god, that is so… I dunno, it’s kinda hot actually,” her friend said, groping for the words.
“It’s a symbiotic relationship. Most of the time we’re like any other couple, but I have the authority in this relationship and I can be as strict as I feel is appropriate at the time. Those lines were only half his punsishment.”
“Only Half?”
“Boy! Get in here!”
I couldn’t recall ever being so mortified. My feet were cold lead as I turned around and started toward the kitchen as commanded. The corridor seemed to elongate and stretch on for yards. It took me an eternity to make it into the kitchen and stand before Mistress, who was smiling coyly at me and toying with her teaspoon. I knew all pretense of being a normal guy was, for the moment, stripped away.
She looked at me with a piercing gaze. “I want you to tuzla escort take down your pants, and your underpants, turn around, bend over and show my friend what the rest of your punishment was.”
“The other lady stared at me, transfixed. It was like she was working through her own fight-or-flight battle, she was motionless, wide-eyed, barely breathing.
“Yes Ma’am.”
There was no way around it, no way out but obedience. My belt buckle jingled as I unfastened everything and slowly slid my jeans and boxers down to my knees. Mistress’ friend drew her breath in almost inaudibly, but sharply, as my privacy was stripped away and my manhood revealed. I stood up, turned around, and grabbed my ankles as commanded, while Mistress looked on coolly
“Oh my god!” Mistress’ friend said. “Did you do that to his ass?”
“I did indeed. Boy, I want you to turn around kneel down, look my friend squarely in the eye and tell her why you were punished.”
Her friend was warming to it now, playing with it in her mind as I knelt. “Yes boy, why where you whipped?”
It was all I could do to meet her gaze; I wanted to shrink up to nothing and die right there on pendik escort the spot. My skin was on fire and a tremble began in my lower lip.
“I got impatient with Mistress and used an impertinent, sarcastic tone Miss.”
“And how did Mistress punish you?”
“Fifty with the strap, and the punishment lines Miss.”
Mistress’ friend smiled, enjoying her position above me. She reached out and grabbed my chin. “Lines on the paper, and lines on your ass,” she mused.
“And, do you think you learned your lesson?” She asked quietly, relishing every word.
A tear formed in my left eye. The struggle to keep eye contact was as difficult as anything I’ve done in my life.
“Yes Miss,” I croaked, my voice barely a whisper.
“Tell my friend why I get to punish you,” Mistress interjected.
“Because…”
“Tell her!”
“Because I am here little bitch Miss.” Tears flowed now.
“Say it again,” Mistress said, her hand caressing the back of my head. I knelt there, utterly defeated.
“I’m Her little bitch Miss.”
Mistress’ friend smiled with delight, big and broad, like she’d just been given a plate of brownies. “Honey, this is awesome! I love it!” She said to Mistress. “I think he should do one more thing for you though.”
“What’s that dear?”
“I think he should spend the afternoon writing “I am Mistress’ little bitch” two hundred times, just to make sure it sinks in.”
“Capital idea! Boy, pul your pants up, go into the office and get to work.”
My afternoon was thus decided for me.
