I had settled in after fixing a huge country breakfast of eggs, sausage, biscuits and hash browns to write. I have had a tale on my mind for some time, but it does lay on the fringes of propriety, so I have been very discreet in the telling of it, so the tale just dried up. I do write for an audience, and many of my audience frankly do not appreciate frankness on some topics. Especially sex and submission.
So I hit the [Delete] key and sat back in my $49 Office Depot “Executive Chair” and watched the blinking curser for a bit. I almost missed her sitting up against the desk lap, knees drawn up to her chest and hands clasped around them. She seemed so … submissive, sitting in that huddled pose as she looked up at me like I might strike her if she said the wrong thing.
“Yeesh! Hard night at the rest home? The guilt caught up to you I see!”
“Yes sir.” She replied, not raising her eyes.
“I have been trying to write this vignette on submissive women for some time now, and it just isn’t working. You are just going to have to do better, and I know you can.” I said, sternly. I hate being a taskmaster, but I can and will be if necessary.
“I will sir!” she plead earnestly.
I continued. “I just can’t let this lapse go, however. Rules are rules, and you broke one. That calls for a severe punishment.”
“Oh sir! Please! Not the whip!” she begged.
“I am sorry, but you will just have to accept the punishment.” I could not waver on this.
“Yes sir!” she replied meekly.
“I want you to dress in tight lime green stretch pants and that pink Rayon™ blouse, and go lingerie shopping at Walmart. Pick out a thong, the flimsier the better, and pay for it with a check. Then return home and put it on. That is all you are allowed to wear in the house while I am gone.”
“Please sir! The whip! I much prefer the whip!” she cried.
“Enough!” I roared.