… I say as I stand in front of you, “you need to tell me that you want this too. I am not a monster and you are not a slave.”

You shuffle back and forth a bit. I grab your shirt and march you to the hall, open the front door and shove you towards it. “Well, go if you want to go, you’re not far from home, it’s just a short walk, don’t feel any obligation to stay.”

You look down at your shoes and blush, hard, a broad flush of red lighting up your cheeks. “I ...” the rest is muffled and inaudible.

“Yes?” I say in a demanding and definite tone staring down at you, “and look me in the eye when you talk to me young lady.”

Trying to raise your eyes to me is hopeless, you manage a little motion of your neck before your head droops back again, your breathing is quite shallow now, “I … I ...”

“I am going home? Is that what you mean to say? Of course, don’t let me keep you, here is a brolly, doubt you’ll need it, the weather is fine, good night and good luck to you.”

“I want it.” You manage to gasp out, it takes a major effort, I can see the layers of shame and dismay that you have to push through for those words to struggle to the surface. It’s so clear how much you just want me to take you, to make it easy, to use you and break you but to make you admit it, to shine that bright spotlight of attention right on your own desires, your own needs, makes you melt like ice cream left out in the sun, into a sweet and sticky little puddle.

I grab a nice handful of your hair and push your face into the wall, “hmm you want it do you, well first of all let’s leave a nice little imprint of this floral wallpaper on the side of your face, you want that right?”

You nod, hoping that is enough. It’s not and I lean in and quietly, cruelly, right in your ear say “you will say Yes when I ask you, do it, now.”

Your “yes” is more of a whimper than a word, more of a squeak than a sentiment.

“Gooood,” I say in a long and slow way, right from my guts, enjoying myself now. I reach down your back and lift up your skirt and start running my fingers all over your panties. “And are you going to be a polite, obedient, little fucktoy for me?”

“yes”

“And these holes,” I say quietly, closely, as my hand gently caresses your creases, “who do they belong to?”

“You sir.”

“Oh me? Oh that’s convenient, as I am right here and would enjoy to play around with a little slut like you, just a little.” I pull your panties to the side and lightly tease you, just gently and carefully, relishing each twitch and turn of your body, your petite, flimsy, moans tasting sweet on my tongue as they hang in the air. “That’s right, do you like your surrender, can you feel that warm weakness spreading through you where it’s hard to think, hard to handle, hard to do anything other than be the dirty little slut who you truly are deep down?”

“Yes sir.” You moan, softly, drooping a little, resting more of the weight of your head on my hand in an intimate gesture of closeness.

“Good girl.” I say quietly, with a little smug smirk on my face. It’s the look that arises when I know I have you, when I know that you’re slipping into my power and you cannot fight back. I know how you cherish those words and how they drive you and how each time I use them it’s because I have some new cruelty I’m dreaming up, waiting to be unleashed on you.

I slam the door and drag you back into the living room and put you on all fours in the middle of the room. Then I pull down your cute little panties and leave them dangling around your knees, I lift your skirt and give your beautiful hair a few little strokes.

I get up and leave the room, you just wait there, motionless, not daring to move even an inch, loving every second of it, hating every second of it, a helpless little sub, slave to her desires, hating that you need this, knowing deeply that you can’t live without it and wishing that weren’t true.

I come back in and kneel down beside you and just gently slide the cane onto the floor into your full view.

“Please sir not that, please sir, anything else, please, the paddle, your hand, a shoe, please anything. I’ll trot round the room on my leash and eat from a bowl on the floor, I’ll whimper and beg and perform on one leg, please anything but that, not that, please.”

“Yes, this.” I can see how aroused it makes you, you blush and burn under the weight of it. I can see your ferocious heart rate rock you back and forth. I know you love it, and you hate it, this cane that cane make you break fast and deep and become a weepy little mess and you hate that with a deep and abiding passion and you love that I’m the only one who knows how to take you there and you hate that and you hate me and want to escape, but there is no escape from what’s in your head and your heart and your guts.

“Please sir.” You fall on your side on the floor hoping to escape, hoping there is some way out, something else.

I stand up straight and point to the door with the cane. “Of course you can leave if you wish, that door is always open.” You long to get up, get dressed, get out, go home, run home, curl up in bed with a bear and a book and take your mind to a fantasy land far away. You wish you didn’t need this, you hate me for knowing, you burn up with shame as you lie there whimpering, close to tears before even a stroke.

“Either get up and walk out this door, or get back on your knees and present yourself so we can begin.”

Slowly, gingerly, you get up on your knees, shaking and trembling with fear.

“Good girl,” I say quietly, with a little smug smirk on my face.