It was the end of a long day that was the end of a long week. Irritation seemed to fill my body. Even the most trivial incidents set my nerves on edge. I had spent the day doing the little things that are required to keep a home running, but not feeling any sense of accomplishment or pride in my chores. It all seemed so meaningless. As the clock struck the hour, I looked around and realized that I had half a dozen tasks still uncompleted. My hair was unbrushed, my face bare of make-up and I was wearing the rattiest clothes I owned. Baggy ripped jeans cut off at the crease of my ass, a slouchy half T-shirt barely covering my full breasts and the warm musk of my body, all indicated my basic uncaring attitude. Briefly it crossed my mind that Master would be home any moment and would not be pleased with the lack of accomplishments in my day as well as my general neglect for my appearance. But it was an indication of how far my mood had sunk in that it only crossed my mind briefly. With a petulant toss of my head, I told myself that it served him right, that he probably would not even notice since he seemed so busy with his work lately.

The click of the lock in the front door and a breath of outside air entered with my Master. Glancing up, I saw the look of initial pleasure in his eyes quickly turn to confusion as he looked at me and the state of the house. Shrugging mentally, I tossed a barely civil “hey there” over my shoulder as I sauntered off  toward the back of the house. I knew he wouldn’t like it, but really didn’t care what he liked right at that moment.

The Accounting:

A low growl stops me in my tracks. I freeze, then jump as I hear the heavy thud of his leather backpack being tossed onto the hall table. Fearing to move, I wait for any sound to tell me that he has gone to get a beer or up the stairs or is anywhere else but right behind me. Turning slowly, I see an almost feral smile turning to one of extreme patience as it glides across his face. Knowing that I have made a major mistake, I try to put on an act of innocence. I smile winsomely up at him, hoping that he will fall for the act.

“Did I do something?”, I ask, sweetly.
His eyes never leave my face, never lighten as he responds, “No, my kajira.  You did not.  Which is why I smiled patiently.”

Shivering mentally, I feign confusion at his tone, yet I know I have finally crossed the line with this last action. All week I have been moody and sullen, quick tempered and sharp tongued. Now I am finally going to have to do an accounting of my actions. When he goes on to explain exactly what I did not do, patiently and with great emphasis, I realize that this evening is not going to be a good one for me.

“Your ...tone... is very unacceptable, my slave, almost...disrespectful.”, he frowns.

Hearing the whiplash of command in my Master’s voice, I respond in the only manner possible.
I fall to my knees before him, my long tangled hair falling artlessly across my face, I struggle to show him that I am mindful of my place. Knowing that I have no choice now but to beg his forgiveness, I prepare to do so with my whole heart and body.

I whisper low, never daring to raise my eyes to his face, “you know it was not meant so. you know I am not disrespectful to you.” But I know in my own heart that I had meant it, and that I had been disrespectful to him and intentionally so. I suffer pangs of guilt and remorse because I know that he knows this as well and is disappointed.

Reaching down, he wraps his fist in my hair, sharply yanking my head up and back so that I have no choice but to see his face, the anger in his eyes. With a short, sharp laugh he replies; “I know what I see, kajira. I know that you chose to wear this collar...and that I have already explained my...feelings...about what this collar is...and what behavior is...acceptable.”

In dangerously low tones, he goes on, almost grinding out each word; “I know how your Master should be greeted by his slave.”

“I know what is expected! Do you?”

Cringing, I whimper softly at the displeasure in his voice. Then I go completely silent, waiting for the punishment I know will come, the punishment I know in my heart that I deserve. With a cruel wrench, he forces my head downward, pressing the side of my face against the floor. I crumple in a small pile against the floor, my cheek digging into the hardness, as hot tears begin to pool in my eyes. Wincing at the almost physical blows that his words deliver to my soul, I begin to sob silently as he growls; “If you don't want to act appropriately, girl, then don't wear the trappings that mark you as my slave!”
Catching my breath at this last sentence, I whisper pitifully...”you want me to leave, Sir? you do not want me anymore?”

Ignoring me completely he stands over me and places the sole of his soft leather boots against my neck. His voice softening slightly, he continues in almost musing tones; “Perhaps it is my fault for allowing you too much familiarity. Hmmm?”

Frantically I search for the right answer. Obviously this is a question but I don’t know if it is being asked of me or not. If it is, I don’t know if I am to answer or not. I don’t know what to do to make everything alright again, but I know that I want nothing more at this moment than to do so. And even more importantly, I am terrified that he is telling me to go away. I began to plead with him, begging him to tell me what to do to make this all better.

My Master laughs wickedly as he says in a low threatening voice; “Oh, don't worry about that. I'll find some way to make it...better...girl. After all, that is my job.

Really getting into his lecture now, he continues; “You decide, my kajira, how I should treat you. With your choices are certain...expectations. So you decide if you want to be supported and nurtured, or whether you even want to continue to serve me at all.”
I move my head slightly to show I hear, but remain silent. A moment passes; then another. Finally, I feel his foot lift from my neck. Not daring to look up or even to move, I wait.  Trembling all over, the floor a wet puddle of tears beneath my cheek, I know that he has forgiven me and that my punishment is now over. He is not going to make me leave. He is not going to cast me out for being a bad slave. Mentally I remind myself how lucky I am to have such a patient Master and roughly instruct myself to never disappoint him again.

With a soft smile that I can hear in his voice, Master tells me that he is going to retire to his “room” and will wait for me to come to him so that he can administer my discipline. Sighing softly, I shiver at the tone of pleasure I can hear underlying his instructions. His Room is a place of both pleasure and pain and when I enter it, I never know which feeling is going to outrank the other. Rising to my feet, I go to prepare for my Master.

The Restitution:

Creeping into the room, clothes removed, body squeaky clean, hair freshly brushed to a long silken veil; the sweet sound of tiny chimes sound with each of my steps. I have taken great care to present myself in a manner that will be pleasing. Tiny golden bells wrap themselves about each ankle and each wrist. A fine golden chain is strung between each nipple, secured to the golden loops that pierce them, by matching golden bells. Each breath causes my chest to rise and fall and the bells to chime musically. The Room is darkened. Candles flicker on various shelves and tables, creating softness around the hard edges of the furnishings in the room. I hesitate at the doorway, trembling with fear and excitement. My Master’s voice beckons me forward, urging me onward into his sanctum.

The glow of the candlelight shimmers against the highly polished chains and rings that hang from the walls and various beams. A deeper darkness outlines the heavy pieces of furniture, their shapes indistinct and sinister in the shadows. As I pause to let my eyes adjust to the lighting, a flare of light blossoms and I see, standing in the middle of the room in that narrowly focused spotlight of harsh white light, “the horse”. A groan escapes my throat as I realize what my discipline will be. The horse is a harmless looking contraption of wood, metal and leather, but it has the capacity to be the sweetest instrument of torture I have ever experienced. And it is one of my Master’s favorite toys. I hear him clear his throat expectantly and realize I have been motionless for far too long. Hesitantly I move forward toward the light. My eyes scan the darkness trying to find my Master, but the deep shadows conceal him from me. I can feel his presence though and the inability to know exactly where he is feels me with a fearful excitement that centers itself between my trembling thighs. His low voice caresses me like silk as he instructs me to take my place astride the horse.

The horse is wide enough to cause me to spread my legs fully in order to straddle it. The bench portion upon which I sit is padded with soft glove leather of the blackest night. At the back of it, there are ‘stirrups’ into which I am expected to place my feet. At the front is a padded headrest  that has a ‘bite strap’ built into it. Below that are soft rubberized grips shaped like an erect penis which I am to grasp with my hands. At various places on the body of the horse, sturdy rings are screwed into the wood and from these rings hang either chains or soft leather cuffs, allowing my Master to use the restraint of his choice. Finally, the most innovative part of all, there is a ‘saddle horn’ placed right in the center of the bench. Smooth and rounded, it sits in just the right position to tease without fulfilling. This is a very versatile piece of furniture and offers a creative Master many hours of delightful discipline with a disobedient sub.

I mount the horse, spreading my thighs wide. Sliding forward along the padding, I can feel how wide open this position leaves the lips of my vagina and how it exposes the tender button of my ass as my cheeks are also spread. Shivering, my teeth chattering a counterpoint to the tiny sounds of the bells about my body, I place my head in the headrest and feel the bite strap press against my mouth. Opening my mouth to take the strap between my lips, I lick the leather attempting to wet it before I clamp my teeth down on it. Leaning my head back a moment, I run my tongue around my lips, suddenly aware of how dry they also have become from my fear. Then once again I take the bite strap between my teeth and settle my chin into the softly padded headrest.  Bending my knees jockey style, I place my feet behind me in the stirrups, and reach out to grab the cock shaped hand grips.

Suddenly I feel firm hands reaching for my ankles. Wide leather cuffs are banded about them and the clink of chain lets me know that my feet are firmly locked into the stirrups and there is no escape. The chill of smooth large linked chain cuts coldly around my waist as my Master passes it from one side of the horse across my body to the other side, assuring that I do not fall off during my upcoming ‘ride’. A shadow passes before my face, but since I am secured by the bite strap I can not raise my head to look at my Master. I feel his hands wrap around my wrists and tug firmly. With a jerk, my body is yanked forward. Gasping with shocked pleasure as the 'saddle horn' grates across my clit, I writhe involuntarily. The slap of leather across my wrists brings me back to myself and I clench my fists around the artificial cocks as my Master secures my upper arms against a wooden bar and my wrists and hands to the firm cocks. I pull against the grips trying to leverage my body onto the saddle horn, but because my Master knows how I am, he has made certain that I can not move far enough to actually engulf the pleasure knob. My body restrained securely with virtually no movement available to me, I lay spread and vulnerable to his desires. I wait, my breathing slow and even. Time passes. How much, I don’t know but it seems like hours. The darkness becomes heavy and almost oppressive. I hear my Master breathing but can not locate him and the sound of his breath, the small creakings of the leather and wood, seem to come from all directions at once. I become aware of the sweat breaking out in a slick sheen across my body as my fear grows with each tick of the clock. With the bite strap in my mouth, I can’t question him. Restrained as I am, I can’t shift to look for him. The fear coupled with the feel of metal and leather caressing my body, the vulnerability of my position, all combine to drive me almost over the edge of excitement. A sweet, hot wetness begins to seep from between my legs and I whimper as I struggle to rub myself against the hard leather that slides across my clit and tantalizes the opening of my vagina. My breathing becomes ragged and fast as I struggle harder and harder to reach that goal. Arching my butt into the air some, I think to drive myself down on the horn. Just as my ass rises high and proud at the apex, a whistling sound cuts the air and I feel the impact of something hard against the cheeks of my butt. The blow drives me down onto the horn that I was so frantically seeking just moments before and a deep animal grunt escapes me.  At first there is nothing, just the knowledge that I have been struck, then the fire begins and prickles of excruciating pain lash my body. Before I can react to the pain, I hear the sound of the lash cutting the air again. Bracing for the blow, I am none the less astounded at the force of it. Unwillingly a hoarse cry breaks from around the bite strap and I clench down on it as the pain washes over me. The blows continue and I am determined to not cry, to show my Master that I can take the discipline that he delivers. I writhe to escape the lash, yet at the same time writhe to reach for more. Each blow drives me downward, each blow slides the lovely hardness of the saddle horn teasingly into my cunt. Again he swings, again my body plunges downward, and this time I begin to sob, hot tears pouring down my cheeks, wetting the leather of the chin rest. Whimpering and whining like a bitch in heat, I pump my hips up and down frantically against the saddle horn, raising them for each blow, slamming them downward onto that hardness between my legs as it is delivered. Panting and groaning, I beg with my body and my soul for release, showing my Master that I know I was wrong. I plead with him the only way available to me to allow me to reach the climax that his love is driving me towards. Lashes of white hot pain sear my ass and I delight in it because it means my Master loves me enough to make me behave. Again and again, his lash connects and I feel the heat across my ass cheeks spread and center in my cunt. Each blow brings me closer to orgasm and I began the high keening that heralds my release. There. There. I am almost there. Then suddenly....nothing. I whimper, I wriggle, I writhe, snaking my body back and forth, sobbing in frustration. When there is no release forthcoming and no more of the delicious heat washing across my buttocks, I begin to cry in earnest. Hard broken sobs, heart wrenching as I realize that my transgressions have just been paid for and that this denial, not the spanking is to be my discipline.

The Ending:

A soft, gentle hand smoothes my hair back from my tear-stained face and I feel his hands release me from my bonds. Each restraint is swiftly loosed and then his arms are dragging me upward, cradling me in his arms. His rough clothing scratchs the burning flesh of my butt and I break into fresh sobs. As I cry in his arms, he holds me tenderly, whispering soothing noises in my ear, stroking me and loving me. Brokenly I sob my thanks to him, over and over.

Soft and lovingly I hear him say to me,  “kajira.  you were punished.  and now you are forgiven....forever." and I begin to glow in the joy that being his and only his brings to me.
 
 

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