There she was. Long hair flowing over her shoulders. Medium sized breasts lifted up by the wire in her corset. Beneath that, a black leather skirt. Above it, a proud and delicate face – strong but thoughtful. She was sitting deeply in a tall-backed chair, her legs crossed, unafraid and watching my every move. An empty glass of wine sat on the table beside her and next to it, a full bottle.
I felt sexy, and silly, and scared.
Sexy because, as I looked at my reflection in the full length mirror, I could see how nice my bare legs looked between the short plaid skirt and the white knee socks. But at the same time, it seemed silly, in my mid thirties, to be dressed in a parochial schoolgirl's uniform. And, of course, it was natural to feel scared. I was awaiting my first spanking.
For just over two weeks now, Master had withheld from beating his slave, Tarina, in any way, which would mark her flesh. Tarina had been climbing the walls in need of a good pain session, but nothing she did persuaded Him to satisfy her hunger. Master had spent hours bathing her, massaging lotions into every centimetre of her body, until her normally soft, pale skin was even softer, glowing and pale, smooth and silky.
I looked over at him seated directly across from me, my chair turned to face his. “May I be excused, sir?”
“For what reason?” he asked with a tone of indifference.
He continued eating and didn’t once look in my direction. The silence lengthened while I nibbled on my bottom lip, contemplating actually telling him the reason.
“Well?” He did look at me then.
“I ummm…I need to use the restroom.