Sir has me kneeling on a kitchen chair. I am painfully aware of the open curtains throwing light on my slightly reddened, bare ass. I am tied to the chair, utterly dependent on Sir’s care and concern for me.

“Count down from 30, Honey. By twos. In Italian. With a ‘Thank you, Sir.'”

My mind goes blank. Thirty, thirty. What is thirty in Italian? What is 20? Shit. I’m screwed. 


Trenta! Thank you, Sir.”


Ventotto! Thank you, Sir.”

The strikes are getting a little harder. I’m breathing through it. I’m counting backwards, by twos. I’m trying to remember my Italian. I’m trying to pay attention and remember to thank Sir for every strike. And it hurts.

So many things to track. I enjoy the challenge. I enjoy knowing that Sir will be pleased if I accomplish it. Sir will also be pleased if I fail. It really is win/win.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s