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Waiting
Waiting
Opening night tickets purchased months in advance.
Car service scheduled to pick us up.
My shirt and suit picked up from the cleaners today.
Shoes polished to a bright shine.
Showered and shaved with your favorite cologne.
My favorite watch and cuff links adorned.
A gift for you in my pocket.I wait.
At last you emerge, stunning in your beauty. The dress lusciously clinging to your hips. “I don’t like the fit of this one. Just a few more minutes I promise.”, you say ducking away for the third time. My watch is telling me we are going to miss the opening curtain.
The phone rings. The driver waiting out front is worried we are going to be late. After a few moments pause I tell him he’s free for the evening and I will pay the full amount plus a 20% tip for his trouble. Rising I go to the bar and mix my favorite cocktail, Scotch with a single ice cube. This is the drink I drink alone.
Returning to our room I settle back into my leather chair, drink in hand. Before my first sip I have become a bit angry. You know that I planned this evening out in advance. You know this is important to me. The more I think the more frustrated I become.
I take a sip. The warmth and bite of the scotch take me away. I can’t help but think of the times you’ve brought me back when I’ve withdrawn, kissing my neck despite my protests. Drawing me out with your hands and lips. I smile… yes that smile. My ire is dispelled and now it’s time for fun.
When you re-enter our room, finally ready to go, I see you examine yourself in the full length mirror, inspecting your figure in my favorite black dress, the dress I asked you to wear this evening. The dress you had on as requested but changed, the zipper down in the back awaiting my attention.
Turning you put on a black satin scarf and pick up your clutch. Your calves have drawn my attention, their length displayed wonderfully by your high heels. Your thighs and hips slide in this dress sweetly making my heart skip. I can see you’ve worn no bra, nipples pushing against the sheer black dress. The necklace gracing your neck one of my favorite gifts.
You’ve been talking but I realize you’ve stopped. In fact you’ve stopped moving entirely as I gaze upon you. It’s my drink. You know I would not have THIS drink in my hand before we go out. This is not my pre-function drink. When our eyes meet your concern is palpable. I see the beauty in your eyes and love how you’ve done your hair and makeup. You see my smoldering darkness, mostly because you feel sorry to have upset me, not realizing I’m well beyond upset. The evening plans have changed.
“I’m sorry…” You begin to say but stop immediately when I raise my hand. Another sip. Not enough to dull my senses, just enough. My fingers tell you to turn around so I can see all of you. Your hips do that slide again, the cheeks of your ass the same. The open zipper of your dress revealing your sumptuous skin. When you have completed your turn your face is turned down as it should be. This simple act has been repeated enough times that you are well aware now of my mood.
Standing, I approach you, drink set aside. “Turn” is my only word. Without touching you more than necessary your necklace is removed. Placing it on the table I remove a collar from my drawer. This collar is special to me, a gift you made me. The collar is leather with a chain attached to the back. As I put your collar on I let the chain touch you. It’s just long enough to touch the top of your ass. I use it’s cold steel, pulling the chain over your shoulder and slowly sliding it between your breasts. You smell intoxicating.
Slowly I slide your dress off your shoulders. “We are going to be..” The smack of my hand on your ass catches your breath, stopping you mid sentence. “Shhhh”. It’s like a whisper. Your dress falls to the floor. Drawing on your chain I return to my chair, me in suit and tie, you in collar and high heels. Sinking into the leather, I catch the warm leather smell. “Kneel”
Before me I have a goddess, on blended knees. You are a sight to behold. My ice rattling in my glass the only sound in the room. Minutes pass. I’m waiting. A sip. More time. You’re starting to shuffle, you are not used to kneeling for so long. It’s time.
“Don’t make me wait again. Bend over my knees.” As you move I see a tear fall from your cheek. It’s not fear that I’ll hurt you. I know what it is and it makes my throat catch. It’s your love saying you’re sorry for disappointing me. For a moment my thoughts hesitate. “She’s sorry!”, my old voice says. “She needs this!”, my Dom says. The Dom wins.
Before you are settled, still bending down, the first blow falls. This is not Funishment. This is a true punishment. There will be no mercy tonight. I push your head and shoulders down as my right hand descends again. Your gasp reaches my ear, your muscles straining against my strength. Again. Again. You are struggling which displeases me greatly. Again. Again. Your resistance ebbs. Again. Again.
When I stop, well past the usual six, for your struggling deserved punishment in and of itself, you are crying in ernest, your ass bright red. I lift you up and set you gingerly in my lap. I hold you crying, my hands brushing the hair from your face, my other caressing your back. As you settle, your hands find my chest and my lips kiss your head. I lift your chin until you raise your eyes to meet mine.
“Please don’t make me do that again. I love you my darling girl and I hate having to punish you.”
“I won’t My Liege. Please forgive me.”
“My love, of course you are forgiven.”
We kiss. A light loving kiss interspersed with our eyes locking. “More!”, my lips demand. Our kissing escalates, my hand grabbing your hair as my tongue searches for its mate. At last our lips part, our breathing coming in gasps.
“my darling girl please get my gloves.” I love that you’ve forgotten about our plans, the tickets, the show, the champagne in the car. The only remnant of our plans, my suit and your high heeled black shoes. You promptly return with my gloves and kneel waiting at my feet.
The softness of the gloves I know excites you. Watching my fingers as the gloves stretch to fit them. The leather changing when my hands open and close. I brush your cheek with the back of my fingers.
Reaching into my coat pocket I withdraw your gift, a small robins egg blue box. “Tiffany’s!” You squeal your eyes lit up. I set the box aside for now.
“Pleasure me”
I’m done waiting and this is my reward.
Loving Liege
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8 Replies
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Beautiful writing Sir.
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Thank you Schatzi.
Loving Liege
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Wow Sir. i read this earlier and didn’t have a chance to respond. This sent chills down my spine, very well written.
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E’s baby girl,
I’m so pleased this story touched you.
Loving Liege
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The part that touches me most about this is how you didn’t lose your cool. How you didn’t I will never know. I am sure that takes a special kind of Dom. Thank you for the story. I really enjoyed it.
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nhm,
Thank you for reading my story, I’m pleased you liked it. Although this is a fictional story, as I learn more about the Dom mindset it is becoming clear to me that being the Dom in the relationship is as liberating as being the sub. The knowledge that you are the one in control, that your decisions and consequences will be accepted without question results in a state of calm. The Dom has no need to get angry, yell or lose his temper. He is the boss and his decisions are final.
Personally I find great comfort in my darling girl submitting to me, even though we are separated by a thousand miles for another week. I know when I command her to go kneel and read her affirmations she will. Her trust in me is complete and that empowers me to an extent that I no longer have to fight, be frustrated or return to the vanilla ways that were so unsuccessful.
You might think that I would be angry at having my well laid plans ruined or at a minimum disrupted. Certainly there is a monetary cost to the evening. However, I love my darling girl beyond what money is worth and seeing her failing herself or failing to please me is far more important than money.
I have written this story from the subs point of view as well but am waiting to post it until I have a chance to talk to Mr. Fox.
Loving Liege
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Nicely done LL.
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i know this post is from a while ago now, but LL if you ever start writing novels in earnest, I hope that you’ll let us all know. you have a gift
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