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But that’s it. Right now my obedience is required, and I’ve not been told to do anything but to maintain this position. So I will.
My pussy is wet. I can feel how slick my thighs have become, even through my clothes, before he removed those clothes. I’m pleased that he’s pleased.
“You’re so obedient thus far. I don’t want that to change. But you’re nervous, and I think you need punishment anyway. You need to feel the weight of what disobeying would mean. Maybe it can empower you to behave. I wouldn’t want to spoil you with too much reward. I want you to earn that.” I can almost feel his strong voice vibrating through my body. I’m trembling more than ever and trying hard not to move my hands to cover myself, or touch myself. I need some kind of relief and now I’m going to find out what punishment means, even though I’ve listened. It seems unfair and my first urge is to pout. I want to push the feeling down but something is rising within me, almost irrationally, and I want to act out, even though I’m already getting punishment. Perhaps because of it. Maybe the weight of everything that is happening is getting to me, in this moment, as I have no relief. He walks toward me, and I can see his shiny black shoes coming toward me as my eyes are still cast downward. “This will please me,” he says, and those words are like a salve to my confused soul. I want that. I want to please Sir more than anything.
In my mind, something about how he walks toward me, brings me this promise, makes him Sir to me. Damien is Sir, and yet…Sir is not Damien. I know that beneath this power, there’s a person. But right now, I want to be the putty in Sir’s hands, and please him, because I believe that will please not only Sir, but Damien. I can’t explain my thoughts any better than this but it seems right to me.
I try to breathe like he said. Sir gets down on the ground and brings his hands to between my thighs, rubbing his knuckles through my slit and making a wet sound that makes me so shy I want to hide. Oh god, how will I ever endure this? Why did I think that I could? Panic is setting in and my heart is racing a million miles an hour. I want to be curled up in a ball in a snowsuit, not naked in front of a dangerous man who has my pussy so wet it makes a wet sound when he touches it. I’m trying to breathe but all I manage are shallow inhales and exhales. I suck in my lips and try to focus on just waiting for what he’s going to do or tell me to do next. His hand has returned to him and left me, and I can feel a chill in the air where he’s not touching me anymore. I’m burning for him. Aching for his touch, his command, his…punishment.
On cue, when I’m almost ready to explode, his hand is lying my body back, stroking up the curve of my stomach. Then, he picks me up and brings me to the master bedroom, placing me on the bed with my back facing him. I’m already so frightened. He’s not going to tell me what’s happening or let me see him? How will I ever endure this? If I could look at him, would I be able to still take it? I can’t determine if I’ll be better when he starts to punish me because I know what’s coming, or worse because I will have to endure it.
He walks toward an armoire and pulls out a strange set of cuffs, a blindfold, and a strap contraption that I think is a gag. I want to scream. What does Sir have planned for me?
Can I take it?
Will he be pleased if and when I do?
I take deeper breaths, attempting to control my quaking body as he straps the gag onto my face. I can breathe, still, the gag is just preventing me from talking, which I’m not supposed to do anyway. This is a kindness. By the feel of him strapping my wrists and ankles together with the cuffs, it is the last kindness that will be present in my punishment. I let my tongue cup around the odd ball of the gag, try to focus on my breathing. Every touch of his fingers makes me want to scream. I don’t know what comes next but Sir has already made me come undone. I’m desperate, and I realize I’m moaning when I hear him laugh. He runs a finger along the center of one of the backs of my feet and it is a shocking sensation. I didn’t know that touching my foot could feel erotic. But Sir is so enticing, I think he could make eating a can of beans erotic. Now, I want to laugh, because that’s one thing I can imagine him doing. It helps to lighten the mood, for just a second.
