It burns.
He is still on the phone. I don’t understand how he can work from home so much. I don’t want him to be talking to someone else now.
It burns.
My skirt is tickling my neck. I knew it would hold its shape well. I wish the wool were not so stiff now it is against my neck. I can feel the breeze from the window on my bum. Oh God, what if the neighbours can see me? My bum is almost cold, except where his hand is. That is … oh lord … it is something. I am shy. I want to hide. Why won’t he let me put my legs together? I’m shy. This feels so good but I know he is playing with me; well obviously he is but …
It burns.
If I lift my head I can see my knickers on that leather chair. I remember picking that out for him, for this room, this sanctuary. Pink, silk knickers don’t belong here. They look wrong. When he made me stand in front of his desk and take them off I felt like some perverted schoolgirl. The way he looked at me; he did not even waver, his eyes were just all over every bit of me. I did not even think to argue.
It burns.
I wish his fingers would stop. I wish he would cover me up. I am sure he is going to spank me. Why doesn’t he just do it now? Why do I have to wait? How does he know how to do that with his fingers? I think I just gyrated. I must stay still.
It burns.
What will he use? He has used his hand a lot recently. But I know he is wearing his belt, his suit. I am sure his cane is in here; he used that here once before. He made me count out loud. I hated that. He is controlling when he is like this. I think he can see me. I think he is watching me. I will squeeze my eyes shut. What if he uses the tawse? Or the ruler? I hate that ruler.
It burns.
Why does he make me wait? I love his voice. I will never get over that deep American voice, but what if he is laughing at me? I don’t want him to do this to me. I am so wet, and he knows just what I feel. Why does he do this to me? Why does he make me do this sort of thing? Why won’t he just let me up or tell me off? Why won’t he just get off the phone? I could tell him just to stop. I will.
It burns.
His fingers should not be there. That is so rude. I wish I hadn’t just whimpered. I am sure he is looking at me. How can his fingers still be doing that? Oh God, I think he’s going to make me come. Please, please let me shut my legs – why are they moving farther apart?
It burns.
I can’t believe he made me tell him everything. I can’t believe I forgot how to lie. I can’t lie to those eyes. I have to learn how to. I can’t.
It burns. I need it to stop. I need it to stop now.
He just hung up the phone. Will he talk to me now? I want to run away but I can’t even stand up. He is still. Will he stop the burning now? Where is he going? He never takes those shoes off; even his footsteps are neat. He has got something. He needs to stop this burning. He needs to make it stop.
He has put something on the desk. I know that sound. He must be going to take this out, please let him take this out.
It burns, it burns so much.
His hand is on my back, so why won’t he speak to me? He is going to cane me. I can’t take that. I can’t, not with this thing in me.
He is going to. He is going to cane me. He won’t take it out. He has told me to be still. I’m scared. He has lifted the cane. It is coming….
(This picture is of a lady who has written about this sort of thing – if you would like to read about her click here.)
