Apology

Life has been filled with things not suitable for this particular blog so instead, here's a quick little sketch that I've unearthed in my files.


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The door opens with a soft whine and she tenses, pulling on the bonds without thinking. She cannot see the person walking in, chained as she is facing the wall, but she knows it's him. His voice is soft and comes from so far away that she decides he must be standing right in the doorway.

"Are you ready to apologize?"

There's silence as she bites her lip, barely suppressing a sob and yet unwilling to speak. She doesn't dare admit that she no longer remembers the verbal transgression for which she's being punished. The details fled her mind almost the moment he left her alone; the moment her mind began to drift. This must be what being high on drugs is like, she remembers thinking absently.

His return now has pulled her back to reality but the resurfacing is abrupt and jars her into tensing and feeling stupidly self-conscious. How ridiculous since he's seen it all. Still, being on display and yet unable to see in return is excruciating. One of those things she doesn't think she'll ever get used to.

"Very well..."

She gasps softly, tightening her muscles in a wordless plea for him to stay, to not leave her alone again. Like an air bubble, the safeword floats to her lips and she grits her teeth, savagely clenching her jaws, swallowing it before it can escape. The door clicks shut again and she slumps against the wall, resting her burning cheek against its rough, cool expanse.

Her arms are chained to bolts above her, spread at the same wide angle as her legs which are chained to the floorboards. On a bed, she'd be spread-eagled, beguilingly inviting. But instead, she's on her feet, stretching up, naked except for her ever present fuck-me heels and black, thigh high stockings.

A sigh that ends in a plaintive, barely audible moan brings tears to her eyes, but before the treacherous tokens of weakness can roll down her cheeks, she hears an unmistakable swishing sound. She has less than a millisecond to react before the rush of air is followed by the feel and sound of a heavy, multi-stranded flogger striking bare flesh. Her gasp seems unnaturally loud but on its heels comes another strike and now the tears flow freely.

Tears of relief and submission; tears of apology.