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Slap
He’d spent forty-five miserable minutes sitting on the couch while she paced and slammed cabinet doors harder than she needed to, and got herself under control, and now it was time for the reckoning. The anger was gone, and it its place a certain sort of stern-hurt. In some ways he preferred the anger, but she never, ever punished in those rare moments when her temper surfaced, making him wait.
“I know you’ve though about what you said, and contrite as you are, you don’t really mean to take it back. Not yet. So I’m going to punish you.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“I want you to stand for this. And think about what you said to me and why it was wrong.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Now relax your jaw a bit.”
She waited, watched to see he did as bid and her palm swung out and caught his cheek. “What you said was unacceptable.”
“I’m sorr…”
“Not another fucking word, you little cunt.”
For her there was a sort of dreamlike drift, her hands batting into his face, alternating cheeks: right, pause to see his jaw and neck were alright, left, pause, right, pause, left pause.
She could see he was contrite, but still stubborn, saw the hurt in his eyes and felt the slight sting in her palm. He thought she was being kind and didn’t understand why she was insulted and hurt, “Do you even know why you are being punished?”
“Because… I said a bad thing, Mistress? I won’t do it again if it bother you.”
“If it bothers you?” She echoed. “Bothers? What was it you said? You can never be what I want? You’re a loser, that I’m so together and I know what I’m doing while you will just fuck everything up? What sort of fucking bullshit is that?” She spat the words out like they were bullets.
She saw his head was still disagreeing, that he would lie to please her and reached out. ”You are special.” Slap. “And beautiful.” Slap. “And mine.” Slap. A handful of hair on the back of his head made the handle she used to drag him into the bathroom, in front of the mirror. “What do you see?”
“It’s me, Mistress?” His reflection showed back a face strained with pain, his cheeks blushing from the slaps.
“Who does that… person in the mirror belong to?”
“You, Mistress?”
“Good. And do you say shit about anything else I own in my life?”
“No, Mistress, but…”
“Who accepted your submissive self?”
“You did, mistress. I’m really grateful that you…”
Her grip on his hair tightened again and her voice got loud in the small confines of the bathroom. “I’m not running a fucking charity. I don’t own you to martyr myself. I own you because you are special and precious to me. I don’t mind humiliating you. I like it. But don’t you ever think for one minute you’re some burden I shouldn’t have.”
He was shocked out of further speech.
“Now you listen to me. No matter how bad it gets, I’m here for you. and if you’re really grateful to be my slave, the least you can do is respect my authority on what I do and do not want. And we’re going to train you until you can honestly say you feel as worthy as I judge you to be.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Originally posted at www.omisspearl.com along with other free femdom stories.
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