Tuesday

I have a very small set of firm rules when it comes to spanking.

• Don’t squirm or wiggle or slip out of place.
• Don’t reach a hand back in an attempt at defense.
• Don’t say anything that could be construed as trying to take control: no “Stop!” or “No!” or even “Please!?!” — I will decide when the spanking is over, without assistance or advice.

Of course she knew the rules, since we had talked about spanking so often. That was actually her main concern: not that she would be unable to stand the pain, but that she would impulsively move a hand to save herself, or cry out inadvertently for mercy. I had faith that her behavior would continue to be flawless for me, but she was uncertain.

Panties at half-mast. That is such a powerful symbol to me that when I see a simple glamour photo with the model’s panties pulled down, I can’t help but think she is destined for a long session over the knee, even absent any other cues to suggest that. The erotic appeal of lowered panties is only heightened when a lady so adorned walks in them, her movements slightly hampered by her lacy bonds.

I watched her wait for me, feasting on the sight of her. I could never get my fill, but there came a time when further delay would have been unkind. I rose from my chair, and took a seat on the foot of the bed. I took a moment, then, to evaluate one last time my reasons, intent, and responsibility.

“Come to me,” I said, breaking the extended silence. She turned, and took her hands off her head. I watched her cross the room, sexy and beautiful in heels and lowered panties. Her expression was full of tension and apprehension, but it was also accepting, resolute, and serene.

I did not have to tell her to lie across my lap. I simply sat in the confidence that she would obey me, her submission overpowering with inexorable force all the doubt and fear that she felt.

Then, after a lifetime of it, there was no more waiting.

— Frenulum