“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I have a punishment in mind, but I’m interested to hear your views on what would be appropriate. You have half an hour in which to formulate a suitable corrective for your actions this evening, then you will report to me in the office. If your ideas do not match the severity of mine, I will administer the punishment I originally intended. If, however, they exceed my own, then I will accept your suggestion. Think about it, Beth, and present yourself at my office door in half an hour.”
He kisses me briefly, stands and disappears into his office. I am left gawping in his wake. Oh brother. This is a quandary and a half. Do I bid low, in the hope that he is in a lenient frame of mind? Or do I go for something realistic, only to be told that he had decided only a mild chastisement was in order? I wonder idly if Sinclair was born a sadistic mind-gamer, or whether it developed over time. Was it precipitated by some traumatic event? Then I wonder if I will ever really know him. Will he ever open up to me about his formative experiences, his childhood, his family? Will I ever be important enough to him?
I am so busy succumbing to these ponderings that half an hour has passed before I can contemplate the matter at hand. Damn. I will have to extemporise.
Three nervous knocks at his door. The ever-ominous ‘Enter’. It suddenly reoccurs to me that I am naked, whereas he is fully dressed. I note that he has changed his tear-stained shirt. I shuffle into the office, a study in vulnerability with my hands clasped modestly over my privates in a way that flattens my arms to my breasts, my head b
owed and cheeks crimson.
“Ah, Beth,” he says. He is cross-legged, leaning back expansively in his chair, one hand behind his head. “We have some outstanding matters to address, don’t we? Move your arms to your sides.”
I am reluctant, but I do as he tells me, exposing my hidden feminine assets to his steady gaze.
“It hasn’t been long since your last little trip here, has it, Beth?”
“No, sir.”
“And do you remember what happened on that occasion?”
“I…I was caned, sir.”
“Indeed you were; eight hard strokes, I believe.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what did you learn from that, Beth?”
Ha ha, I learned that caning me turns you on, sir, you big mean perve! Do I say that? Er, no. I consider my answer carefully.
“I learned that I should not disobey your rules, sir.”
“Did you, Beth? Did you learn it? Did you commit that lesson to your heart and resolve to strive towards absolute obedience?”
“Well….” Oh God. I know where this is heading.
“It seems the lesson was not taken to heart, Beth. You disobeyed one rule – not to enter my office without permission – and one instruction – to await me, on your knees, naked, with the riding crop between your teeth. How did this state of affairs come about? I require an explanation.”
“Well,” I repeat tremulously. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I went into your office now…now I know what’s in there. I didn’t realise that was still the rule…”
“Did I ever state otherwise?” His tone is sharp and I flinch.
“No, sir,” I admit. “I don’t think so.”
“I did not. Until I do, this office is out of bounds to you except when summoned, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well. Continue. Why did you not follow my instruction?”
“As you know, sir, I, uh, found that videotape, so… I found it upsetting. I forgot to…do what you said. I’m sorry.” Big, big eyes.
“I see. In short, you flagrantly disregarded my wishes and my trust. I am extremely disappointed in you, Beth.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So you say. How then do you propose to display your penitence, Beth? Punishment is certainly well-deserved in this instance, but how severe should it be?”