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Thursday, May 22, 2008

Pink Panties - part 5, Pissy Mood

The next time Pink came over I was in a foul mood. Normally, I'm a kind, understanding, compassionate, sometimes a bit of a push over Mistress. I've even been called a sensual Mistress. But on rare occasions, I am a cruel Mistress. At first, I tried to be nice and understanding, but I just wasn't in the mood. Okay, I didn't really try all that hard. It had been a bad day and I decided to take it out on Pink. After all, that's what he was here for, right?

"Strip then kneel." It was the first thing I said to him as he stepped through the door. He took his clothes off as quickly as he could, but it wasn't fast enough to please me. "That's one," I snarled.

"One what?"

"One set of ten paddlings for being so slow." I stormed up the stairs, then flipped around to glare at him as he was climbing after me. "Did I say you could rise? That's two." I slammed the door on him, leaving him in the small entry way. I opened the door to see him kneeling there. "Lace your fingers behind your head." He did so. I slammed the door again.

I went into the living room and clicked on the TV wondering when my roommate would be home and how she would react to a man kneeling naked just inside the door. That made me grin. Yes, being a bitch was fun... sometimes.

About ten minutes later, I went and opened the door. He was still kneeling, his fingers laced behind his head, but his posture was drooping. "That's three," I said.

"Yes mistress," he sighed.

"Stand up, straight, or that'll be four." I felt like I should have a ruler or some stick to slap against my palm. He groaned a little as he got to his feet. I thought about giving him the four, but I knew thirty would be tough for him to bear... and that irritated me. "Come on. I haven't got all day." I stormed through the kitchen back to the living room. He followed, without closing the door. "Damnit!" I shouted, whirling on him. "Close the door or the cats might get out!"

He spun around, intending to run back and correct his error. But because he was in the kitchen on the linoleum and because he was still wearing socks, he slid and crashed into the wall, big toe first. The wail of that stubbed toe was louder than any noised I'd heard him make.

I rushed over to where he was crumpled on the floor, cradling his foot and leaned over him. "Are you okay? Do you need some ice? Are you bleeding?"

He shook his head, biting his lower lip, tears brimming but not falling. "N-no mistress."

I stood up straight, walked over to the door, closed it then walked back to him. "Good. I'm glad you're okay. Follow me into the living room when you can." Without turning I added, "and that's four."

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