PART TWO a – The Townhouse

  When we hit the front door, I asked how many felons had been over while I was gone. The starting left wing raised her hand, and said he had only been on probation before, but he was off now. I looked at him, and said see what I was talking about. The pce was destroyed. Dirty dishes left wherever they had been st used. Empty take out food containers dropped. Thank god I have my own room. I showed him all three rooms, they never lock them and don't care. I saved the best for st, the one that looked like it had been bombed. There was, in fact, a used prophyctic visible when I studied around and pointed it out. He just shook his head.

  My room mates took turns asking me if I had fun, and exchanged sly smiles. They decided I was in a better mood, because I hadn't gone off about the condition the townhouse was in. I saved my room for st, and let him marvel at it. Not a thing anywhere. Bed neatly made. Any school book I ever bought, I simply kept so I would have my own little reference library building up. I'm not majoring in basket weaving, you know. A bed. A closet with shelves. A big study carol style desk to work at, and the wooden book case. I told him we'd get him an identical matching desk, there were more in the basement for which I had the keys.

  We all watched a movie together before bed, and one of them said it was official, so what did he like on his pizza. When I smiled and said "ha ha ha", two of them shared a high five, happy. Apparently I was already slightly less of an insufferable cunt, I suppose. I saved the bathroom for st, and took him in for a nice, long hot shower. Together. I ran a hot bath, all hottest water only, before we got in the shower. That way, after the long shower, we could have a bath finally cooled down to just get in for a soak together. I enjoyed my shower, and I mean immensely. I got pampered. I got my hair washed, then moisturized, then eventually rinsed out and worked. He brushed it back for me, before following any suggestions I made. I got soaped up, a loofah used on me from head to toe, then the soap rubbed all over. Rinsed with the hand sprayer. Then moisturized and rubbed in and rinsed off again. I didn't have to do a thing but stand there and occasionally lift a foot to hand him.

  If any dies out there don't get this treatment, every night? I just don't know what to tell you. Keep doing whatever the hell it is you're doing, then wonder why you aren't getting these results I'm enjoying. By the time I got into the tub, I couldn't at first talk him in. I got my hair brushed back again. Then a neck and shoulder rub, and a little leg and foot rub, too. He even put a couple fingers of brandy in my hand, so I could enjoy it all. I id there with eyes half closed to slits of pure pleasure. I finally got him in with me, and enjoyed seeing the look on his face when I turned the jets on. I know, I'm spoiled. Originally intended for high priced rich kids, oversize tubs with whirlpool jets were the thing. As were walk in showers with room for two to move around in, without wiping the walls with your butt every time you bent over and turned around.

  By the time the university acquired a portion of the Vilge for starting athletes, whirlpool tubs were considered good for athletes. Before we hit the shower I threw every stitch of his clothing into the washer, so by the time we were headed for bed I just tossed them in the dryer. I smiled to myself. I now had him naked in my room, and naked in my bed. He wasn't going anywhere until I brought him his clothes, and I intended to tease him he had to put out to get them. He id me down on the bed face down, and I got a back rub before we finally drifted off to sleep. I had already locked my door, there was no way I was getting interrupted.

  The next morning, the coast was clear. Off season with no duties? Those three will stay up too te and sleep in the next morning. I sneaked out in my robe and slippers, and got the switches in with a bnket around them. I reminded him he had no clothes, so he was essentially trapped in my room. And he had to use the bathroom naked, so best to hurry there and back, if he didn't want caught.

  This gave me the opportunity to make him breakfast quick. Good lord, I was lucky to find clean ptes and gsses. I brought him a tray for our breakfast in bed. The washer and dryer have weird electronic controls, and if you don't know what you're doing, you can't open the doors. It prevents little kids from getting in or something. Apparently, little kids getting into washers and dryers, and somehow turning them on and washing and drying themselves to death? Must be a thing. He had my short, silky, girly robe if he had to use the bathroom and hurry back to my room. I smiled as I kept refusing to get his clothes out of the dryer, and told him he had to spend time with me in bed, until I allowed him to get away. How that was the nature of being my property, to do with as I pleased.

  When I finally "gave in" I got him his clothes finally, so we could join the others downstairs. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and pointed and smiled. Some time begging and thanking me was as fun as ever and never seemed like it would get old. I could in no way pass up "threatening" him with the long thin switch, and giving it the occasional swish for fun. I even got into it, and marched around a little, giving him a little story time show. Like I said, I know I hit this one out of the park.

  My one month allotment to lure him into staying with me, turned out to be more like a week, and that was with him there every night anyways. Guy had two of those big, dark green military rucksack things, that all his clothes and stuff fit into. One was clothes and bnket and towels and stuff, the other was small belongings. His books and notebooks and papers, along with the ptop and its reted accessories. His only big furniture was a military footlocker. We moved a desk up and wiped it off out of storage in the basement. His books and ptop and stuff like that all fit on it, and we lined it up touching mine. His two military "mail bags" as I call those things, fit under his desk. I relented and smiled and allowed his footlocker to be a sort of corner coffee table thing.

  Imagine a luxury townhouse bedroom. Now imagine a dark green military footlocker, as the coffee table. Yeah, as if it goes with the decor. But I want him here. This footlocker, is one of his favorite things. So, now I have a military footlocker in my nice bedroom. I successfully convinced him, that a "retro corner coffee table" was actually a thing. Retro, is a thing with decor. I've never heard of a corner coffee table. But in the far corner, is where it's least noticeable. I can see this from a reverse point of view though. If a woman suddenly camped into a man's apartment? The man is expected to certainly smile, and allow the "ceramic duck collection" in a dispy cabinet, so… whatever.

  In addition to understanding it all from the guy's point of view, for obvious reasons. There is also the idea in my head, that who in the hell is ever in my room anyways? I keep my door locked. I'm in here, if I can live with it? Fine. He's in here now too. He's more than fine with his beat up footlocker. The interior design police are not coming in to do a centerfold on my college apartment. The damned thing is growing on me, however. I squatted and straddled it one night and he sat behind me doing the same thing, then took me from behind on it. Rough, like over the hood of my car. Then it happened twice more. Strangely, I've now stopped having fantasies of how it meets its demise and what cover story would be most believable. I honestly think one more hard ride from behind on it, and I'm giving it a somewhat affectionate name. The Green Weenie is popping into my head as a possible nickname for it, and I can't shake it.

  According to the girls, I'm by reputation supposed to be an insufferable cunt. Tolerating this thing and now growing mildly fond of it, in some strange way, is perhaps proof that the girls were right. Having a steady boyfriend I am into and getting railed on the regur, is going to make me more live-with-able.

  I'm not sure that telling him we would have our first "girl's shower room" encounter hurried his decision to move in, but I'm not sure it hurt either. I was really only waiting for his little tookus to heal up, but he didn't know that. I made good on my promise.

  I'm well known for being as I said previously, the adult on the team. Especially in the off season, when I often practice by myself. I let him sit and watch, while I worked up a good two hour sweat practicing my ball handling, and running, and power kicking for accuracy off of a wall and catching the ball accurately on the rebound. I made sure I was pouring with sweat when I took him into the locker room, and tied him face up to the bench running down the row of lockers. Smiling at him, I never said a word other than threatening him he wasn't allowed to utter a word, move, or make a sound.

  Dripping with sweat, I rode on top and took my time. I stopped before he finished, for that sweet torture. I turned around, and put my holes over his face for getting them both serviced, while I teased a long blowjob that went nowhere except to heighten anticipation. When I was done and he had tasted sweat off of nearly every part of my body, I retied his hands in front of him, and led him into the girls shower room. Tugging him along was a fun chore. How many guys get to see the inside of the girls locker room and showers, let alone get used in them, I tell you.

  I made good on my helpless promise. I tossed the rope his hands were tied to up and over the heavy pipe, and over to my shower, where I hitched it to a pipe. I could release it with a tug, but it wouldn't come loose until I did. Farm girl trick. I made sure my shower show was epic. I pranced and strutted around, and teased in any way I could before I even turned the water on. I trained two adjacent shower heads onto me, and made it st. Soaping up show, rubbing the soap around show, the works. Rinsing off, and more of a show afterwards. More prancing and strutting after.

  By the time I approached him, he could barely stand it. I let him watch me roll my favorite snapping towel up, and get it just so. Rolling the estic hair bands onto it to make it permanent. I enjoyed testing it, to show him the noise and crack I could develop. I trained two shower heads on him of warm water, and took to stalking around him, stopping to take practice shots near him to frighten him as long as I wanted. In no hurry, I finally began taking towel snaps on whatever part of his body I felt like. I did concentrate on his butt though. By the time I was "done" I had a beautiful collection of raised red welts on his butt, hips, and thighs as well.

  That was when I started ughing, and got serious. I concentrated on one cheek at a time, until I got the squealing I wanted. Then the tears. The sobbing followed. Then I really went to work. Fast shots, non stop, alternating from one cheek to the other. With his wrists tied above him, and his ankles tied down below, he was helpless. The ending was relentless, and I moved him into the screaming and begging that turned me on so badly. When I was finally done, I had him washed and rinsed and moisturized like me, before the sobbing had even subsided.

  The towel snaps, and his sobs and cries all echoed in the shower room as long as it pleased me to hear it, and it wasn't a quick procedure, believe me. I drew this out to enjoy it to the fullest extent I could. Which was of course as long as I felt like.

  When I had him clean afterwards and still sobbing, I threw extra towels down under the double streams of water and loosened his hitching rope. I id him down on his back, and first once again presented both my holes for servicing, while he again got a long teasing blowjob that went nowhere. By the time I turned around to ride him properly, he was begging me to come, and I just smiled and shoved my wet washrag into his mouth after rolling it up. I teased and stopped and started back up, demonstrating my horse riding ability growing up on a farm, and what it provided for his pleasure.

  By the time I was finally done, he was screaming into the washrag for release, and after stopping several times, I suddenly sped up and gave it to him. I took the rag out and turned back around again, and had him "clean up his mess", and I mean thoroughly. I wiped it on his face shamelessly, before, during, and after. By the time we rinsed off, gathered our stuff up and I led him back out to my locker, he had the biggest smile I think any guy ever sported.

  I dried him, then finally untied him and had him dry me. Head to toe, under my directions. By the time we were back at my locker, I dressed him, then had him dress me… slowly. His fear of getting caught, in such an embarrassing and humiliating condition no doubt added to his excitement level. I waited through far too many of these trysts, before admitting it was actually a secure bit of fun.

  He didn't know I was locking doors behind us. A person sees the person with keys unlocking doors. Normally, if you don't see the person doing something, and the door is just closing behind them? The door is now (and still) unlocked. He had no way of knowing, that a slight twist while retracting the key, was in fact re locking it. Nor did he know until I told him that all the campus security knows me and knows my car, that they know it to be often enough parked there at odd hours. My car has a staff parking sticker, a gift from the coach so I can park anywhere. The campus security is also all male, and not one woman among them. Not only do they know me, my car and don't question its presence? They wouldn't dare enter the girl's locker room let alone the showers. One security guy even said when they drive rounds? My car te at the practice field means they know there's no one fooling around and they can drive off without checking the doors are locked.

  God, the naughty fun I've had with him there though.

  A little over four weeks into his staying, we had developed a few things by then for us and our sexual hobby. We're always on the lookout for a new "scenario", that provides the excuse for him to get "punished". I mean, we both know it's a made up excuse. But still, it has to be at least slightly believable. Or else we both end up ughing and it gets ridiculous and it somehow ruins it. Example. The garbage going out, worked. The spots on the dishes? Didn't work. How this all works or doesn't work is beyond us, but somehow we both know when or when not.

  Another thing was that after his first weekend camping, I had to find an appropriate level of "abuse". Remember, the model for it is that it's based on a sort of 1910 era child abuse scenario kind of affair, just pyed out with two adults pying those acting roles. I need to be able to make marks, I need to be able to make him at different times squirm, squeal, or even tear up or on occasion cry. This isn't as easy as it would sound until you have some experience under your belt. Pun not intended, but there it is anyways.

  The first weekend? His bum actually got damaged. Which was okay, but we can't have that constantly. We're adults and that won't work when csses are back in. Neither of us want to wait 15 weeks between happenings. There are only 52 weeks in a year, and every 15 weeks you soon hit 45 weeks and you have only gotten three of them in. Toss in a fourth, and we're going to only have four a year? Not acceptable. He only got his original "birthday taps" twice a year. I can't very well be expected to repce it with four times a year and call it a day. Quarterly sessions, to repce bi-annual sessions? Uh, sure.

  Criteria. I need to make marks, I need to get the required effect in. Remember, this is a substitute for real "abuse". The long, thin switch was a great find here in this respect. It makes a great "swish", and it makes a real burn and sting. It makes real marks too, when used effectively. Wicked looking surface marks, but without the tissue damage underneath. The thick, hard things under a "you won't sit down for a week" session, don't happen with the thin switch. Doling out some long medium thickness switch use, and even the occasional long thick switch abuse, works.

  Also, I have to be able to get tears and real pain. Then there's the matter, of my hand. Finding out that my hand, after a marked up butt, is being all it can be? Was a highly desirable scenario to both of us. The over the knee position really is the most intimate of them all. Then, my bare hand swats actually having temporary super powers, is far too perfect a thing. The fact that a hand session after a marked up butt, changes nothing damage wise, while still providing real tears and sobbing? Priceless.

  Knowing how and with what to accomplish all this, while avoiding the actual structural tissue damage, is key. Now, just toss in that I have to be on the lookout for new and believable scenarios. This sexual hobby, if you want to call it that, requires creativity and imagination. You can't simply do the garbage taken out properly thing every week on Tuesday night, and call it a day. That's structurally no different than a vanil couple's boring "Thursday is boink night" schedule. Five or ten years into "it's Thursday, we have to boink" is a recipe for disaster.

  When I walk into just the right scenario though, it's great. Remember, my three room mates? Are actual turbo-whores, like many college girls. Sorry to be blunt, but who's kidding who. The fact I can refer to them as zy whore number X, in front of them? Should tell you something. Lazy whore number three? Actually did sleep with my pre-med boyfriend, an actual sport-fucking. It was an actual huge issue. My instructions to him, about all this? Is real. Hello, perfect scenario.

  Maybe four, maybe six weeks into him being there, I didn't keep track on the calendar. I'm coming home, and I pause at the living room window. What do I see. He's on the couch, nose buried in some computer tome thicker than the complete bible. He's oblivious. I'm fucking standing there at the window, and I see zy whore number three, wearing panties and a T shirt that barely covers them. She's bending over, picking up things like empty pizza boxes in the living room. The T shirt barely hides the panties when she stands up straight and keeps her ankles together. She's got her ankles separated and is bending over, "cleaning".

  I'm about to go in and strangle her. I stand there rooted to the spot, like a person watching a train wreck almost happen. She has her big Bluetooth headphones on, dancing around the living room. Giving her best panties show she possibly could, not to mention the leg show. He's actually in space cadet mode, into his huge computer manual. In reality, she might as well be wearing a snowsuit, for all the good it's doing her. This is the same girl, that sport-fucked my pre-med boyfriend before. I already gave her the one on one girl talk about just this sort of shit.

  This is bad enough, but… this zy whore chooses right now and today, after a year of never once, to start picking up empty pizza boxes and empty cans? Uh huh. In panties and too short of a T shirt to boot? Uh uh. Either one would be pusible, but together? Hell no. Girl talk number two, is going from a stern warning and a finger in the face, to getting bounced off of a few walls and bodily rag dolled around the apartment. I'll be nice and do it when the other two zy whores are there. Both so I don't kill her? And, those two can benefit greatly from the example. They will surely gossip and joke about it. That? Is my property sitting on the couch. For an insufferable cunt, I'm amazingly tolerant. Well, I think anyways. Also, there's the team, the coach, the championship, etc.

  I watched this shit show for about a minute, to ascertain if he's sneaking little peeks over his manual. Wow. My panties got wet. He wasn't. His face is buried in the goddamn computer bible, looking down and into it. I just shook my head and snapped a few cell pictures with the fsh off, then a nice video. Then? I busted in as if nothing was going on. She can't hear and won't know until she sees me, with the damned Bluetooth headphones on. I plopped down next to him on the couch. He notices me and starts kissing me hello and talking to me, and doing what he always does. Staring at my body and grinning like an idiot. Which I like, by the way.

  She finally notices me, and simply oozes and melts away into the ether. Hoping she got away with this. I'll let her think she got away with it for now, then hammer her ter. Like I said, in front of and for the benefit also of, the other two. I know that those three are all going out, and will be gone for long hours. Leaving me and him alone. Hello, scenario from hell, like a gift from heaven. I am just dying for the chance to have a great scenario that would call for a day after, over the knee, repeat of the campsite over the knee experience. Oh god, I'm so wet just thinking about it. Everything like the campsite, save for the hard butt-pads tissue damage.

  I already have my 1910 switching down pat. The lecture. The speeches. The I'm gonna really give it to you… everything. I've been dying to come up with a real reason to take him down to the basement. It will be my version, of down to the barn for a serious talking to. Summer. Athletes all going out for the weekend. Deserted. Bare room in the basement. Privacy and soundproof. We already tested it. We both tried screaming to see if we can hear the other, then switched pces. We both agreed, it's perfect.

  I can do loud music and gagged in the bedroom. I don't need the gag in the basement. I have the only key to our basement to the big townhouse, too. When the loud music, gagged, in the locked bedroom isn't "enough"… he gets threatened with the basement. Then taken there. Fucking perfect. Pun not intended, but there it is again.

  "Hun?"

  "Yes?"

  "We're not going out, right?"

  He smiled.

  "We usually stay in."

  "Great. Do me a favor, I need to talk to you about something important. Will you please report to me, when these three get scarce?"

  "Sure."

  "Thanks… I'm gonna go to the room. Go on, keep your nose buried in your manual. I don't wanna interrupt you. We have all night when they're gone."

  "Okay!"

  He doesn't suspect, and he's cheerful. Too perfect, when I jump him about it. More than perfect, even. My pictures and long video? Will actually give him pause. We've talked about it. We decided there's a haunted house aspect to it all. You know it's not real, but you get scared anyways. If the scenario is just right. Like when he admitted that he knew my one threatening speech was fake, because I winked at him a couple times first. But he readily admitted ter, that his tummy did butterflies, when I made it good and talked about "taking my wink" back.

  I might even get some real fear out of him, with the pics and video. I'm definitely going to get real marks, and definitely going to get real tears, as well. My bonus, is that I'm not entirely going to be acting. I'm actually mad, and my anger though it is in reality entirely directed at her? It will be easy to conjure some up for his fun show.

  Like any decent to actually great performance, though? Its based on a tried and true, very basic formu. The person in charge, tells the child to not do X. They know not to do X. So when caught doing X? They are not only doing X, they are defying you. The only other formu I can see, is the "because I can" scenario. Which is really thin. At least to me, and to him as well. We ughed at it.

  We both thought eborate role pying would be too much giggling on both our parts. People do the homeowner catches the female thief in the act? Well, she has the choice of getting the cops called, or… submitting to summary punishment meted out by the rightfully angry homeowner, who creepily presses his advantage. Sexually. We both ughed our asses off at that one. Neither one of us could py it straight, we were sure. The secret agent caught, and needs tortured to give up information X? Urp. We might as well dress up in superhero and super vilin costumes, as try that one.

  No, there's a reason the tried and true, misbehavior meets 1910 child abuse discipline, simply works. Even though you wouldn't ever actually do it? You can still understand it. Abusing someone physically, when they defy you and you know you actually can? That's a real urge. My side benefit to this one, I am sure? Is that afterwards, when we giggle about it in the bathtub a week ter? I can follow up the conversation and leave a tiny question mark in his head. If this is what I'm capable of actually doing to you physically, for catching you in fun? Imagine if you ever did it, what I'm capable of.

  I wanna see if I can get that real shiver going, even if repced by a nervous ughter immediately after. I bet I can. And, I'll go you one better. My retionship, our retionship? Is the better for it. There should actually be real consequences for cheating. There used to be. We removed them, primarily for women in today's so called modern world. Women that were caught cheating? Used to get punished. Now? Not only do they not get punished, they can get cash and prizes for divorcing after getting caught. They can even funt it, and still get the cash and prizes. Are we idiots? We truly are, I think.

  No, the Domestic Discipline fans that practice it, naturally have the highest percentage performing the somewhat traditional wife over the husband's knee scenario. The couples cim it makes actual cheating, less of a possibility. When you stop and think about it, why should a woman be allowed to brow beat her man, belittle him and ruin the retionship with a smirk on her face, and risk nothing except rewards. And we wonder why our modern retionships are going more to shit every year, quicker to shit every year. Gee. I wonder what we changed.

  Look at actual 1910 child abuse discipline. Wow. Children didn't grow up telling any adult authority figure, taunting them. Nyah nyah, you're not allowed to touch me, so blow it out your ass. Wow, and we sit back and wonder why so many children are dealing drugs and shooting people over anything they feel like. These crimes were once reserved for only adults, and way fewer of them as well.

  You know, deep in your heart of hearts, that I'm right. The fact that me and him py the less traditional, mommy and misbehaving boy scenario? The role reversal of the wife over the husbands knee, is immaterial. Our retionship is the better for it. No matter who goes over who's knee, you're cutting the risk of cheating somewhat in half. Doesn't matter which half, its better statistics by definition. Also, no matter which way it goes, there's more time and effort and enjoyment and hobby put into the sexual retionship, which again can't be a bad thing. Should my boyfriend be out at the bars all weekend with the other boys, a somewhat normal thing? Or, is it a bad thing that we can't wait for the others to go out, and we get alone time for this.

  Modern so called experts are such hypocrites, really. You always have this self righteous single female grade school teacher with their ever so snotty "but violence is always wrong" attitude. We need to talk things out, not hit people. Gee, really teach? Been observing you assholes implementing this more and more now for two decades. Country's going to shit more and more every passing year. Ha. Let many of those same self righteous and smug female grade school teachers… suddenly come home early from work, and catch hubby in fgrante dilectieu, red handed… with the other grade school female teacher, her friend that works in the css right across the hall. In her own towel and bathrobe, in her own house.

  Bitch will be the first one throwing vases at heads, usually. Yeah. We're gonna sit down and talk that one out. Tell me another one.

  So, I was up in our bedroom, waiting on my boyfriend to come up and join me, when those three had finally gone out for the night. He would lock the door, check the windows, and come up for some fun time. I went and slid my favorite switch, the long thin one, under the covers. And added two pieces of rope as well. I could grab them in a fsh. I put a couple bandannas in my little hidden cache as well. It will make absolutely no sense whatsoever to you right now, that I also hid a pair of clean socks matching the ones I was presently wearing under there as well. It will become apparent ter, just learn to trust me, would you? Wow, I actually "need" a couple pairs of handcuffs, I realized. So much handier and quicker than rope. Rope is more intimate somehow, maybe. It takes more time, more ritual. More deliberation, more willing of a victim to sit for it. Handcuffs would be a delight to click on sometimes, though. Gotcha. This? Was one such time.

  I'm practically humming to myself with glee, waiting to spring my scenario.

  I was all smiles and innocence when he came up and into the bedroom. He asked cheerfully if he could lock it? I smiled and shook my head yes.

  "Definitely, lover. I have pns for you."

  "Ooh. I like the sound of that."

  "Do you, huh? Let's just see how much you like the sounds you're hearing yourself making in a little bit then, hmm?"

  "Yum…"

  He came to me. I rolled around with him on the bed for a little while. He would see without asking, going by my body nguage. Did she want a bent over hard quickie? Or, maybe she was more in the mood for getting on top and shaking her finger at me and lecturing me. It wouldn't kill the mood for him to ask me like a stock quote, but I'm "officially" dominant sexually, and I demand to be in charge in the bedroom. He knows it, and he admits he likes it. As a nod to this known situation? Whatever I want, I'll just tell him, or even start to do it.

  I smiled and held up a chunk of rope. Dangling it, and beckoning him with it. He smiled, I was asserting my rights over his body. The one that explicitly belonged to me, and we both knew it. I said it sweetly enough, but still an order, smiling.

  "Strip."

  He did.

  I beckoned him with my finger and my word.

  "Come."

  He came over smiling. I kissed him, and gently pushed him down, and firmly if gently rolled him over face down on the bed. I don't need to do anything but suggest, and he does what I want. My light touch, will make him move how and where I want. I ran my hand down his arm, and rested it on his wrist. My hand closed around the wrist. I heard him make a little "mmm" sound, and I didn't have to fight him. He pushed both of his wrists behind his back for me the instant he felt a tug on one.

  I was still all smiles and sweetness.

  "Oh yeah, give me those hands, little boy…"

  I wound rope around his wrists tightly. Maybe a little tighter than usual. I usually wind it around the wrists several times, not particurly tight. Its the st couple winds around between the wrists that cinches it in, and turns it into rope handcuffs. Its all in those st few winds. Do I desire snug, or… uncomfortably tight. I have a bowl full of clean, washed wristbands. I grab two any time I tie him up. I grabbed two more, and tied his ankles together tight. I'm a starting athlete for a big university, I'm sure we all have a container of these in our rooms. Camping? Rope marks and bruises are cute. Its my mark on him. These things are a necessary evil to keep him from getting looked at and stared at and teased. Hell, it protects me that way too.

  Its another reason I need handcuffs. Handcuff bruises are a lot more subtle, if you don't over tighten them. Even at that point, the sweatbands will prevent so much as even that. Vanil couples won't point and giggle. Little double lines at the edge of the wrist, and the person noticing? Likely already knows what they are. Pity we have to hide. I smiled camping, when I marked his wrists up, and his ass. He liked looking at it all the next morning, marveling at it. He's embarrassed to go out in public like that, but not in front of me for the weekend. I kissed his forehead and smiled. I asked if the other girl didn't mark him up at all, and she hadn't. I smiled and told him she didn't like him enough to put her mark on him then.

  Now ying helpless in front of me, alone in a tightly locked room within a tightly locked townhouse, I had my willing victim. He's trembling with anticipation for me to have some fun with him. Not yet.

  "So. Have you been behaving yourself, and being good for me."

  He said he had.

  "Do you follow my rules, because you have to? Or because you want to, because you love me."

  He said he wanted to be good, that he loved me. I'm gd he's face down. I blush when I hear it, every single time. I don't need him tied up to hear it, either. Hugging when we're in the middle of making breakfast in front of the others, I hear it just as easily. They roll their eyes and make gagging sounds and motions. We both smile, and he doesn't seem embarrassed. What's gone so terribly wrong with our society, that it's become something to be ashamed of, to admit you have real feelings for the person everyone knows you're fucking. Why do other girls compin its become hard to get a guy to admit he loves you or has feelings for you. Why do we need Retards Monthly articles on this issue. How to get your man to admit he loves you, and say it. 12 reasons why you should wait to admit you love him, and here they are.

  Who writes this shit? Who reads this shit? Who would want to write this shit, who in the hell would want to read this shit? Well, I don't call all women's magazines… Retards Monthly as just a joke. Only retards would write such drivel, and only retards would buy it and read it. Only big retards would like it, and keep buying it. Only bigger retards would think they were providing some kind of service to the readers. We are all ruining society, one article at a time. Making the Retards Monthly magazines rich, and affording the writers and publishers and editors good livings.

  Reading this, you can't tell me there's something wrong with us, that we're crazy for having fun with each other how we see fit as willing, consenting adults in private. Read those retard articles, that's what crazy looks like. I don't expect you to do what we do. I'm sexually dominant, and I need a willing victim to ask me for it. What's your excuse for not freely admitting you love each other, and that's why you're fucking. Why would you even want to fuck without feelings for each other. Oh, its boring, to be sweet and to care. Does our retionship sound boring to you? It's the opposite of boring, and we can't wait to spend hours together alone. Given any chance we take it greedily.

  I slid the long thin willow switch out from under the covers. It had been ying right next to him the whole time. I tapped him with it gently.

  "So. You want to be behave, because you love me."

  He admitted it.

  "Are you sure?"

  He was sure.

  "Promise me. Swear it. I like hearing it, and you want to please me, right? Go on…"

  I blushed hearing the gush of promises that followed.

  "Enough."

  He quit.

  "So. You admit you want corrected, when you misbehave?"

  He did.

  "You understand, that its for your own good, to behave. That if I didn't love you, I wouldn't care enough to make sure that you behave. And correct you, when you deserve it. Expin it to me, go on."

  I blushed so bad, hearing it.

  "That's enough. Zip your little twat lick-er."

  He instantly got silent.

  "Now. If you misbehave, you get corrected. I'm going to give you a chance, to tell me about anything you might have done recently. Have you?"

  He swore he hadn't.

  "Really. I'm going to ask you a second time. Tell me if you misbehaved, no matter what it is. I promise you, I'll forgive you. After I punish you."

  He promised again, and went on a bit.

  "It should be obvious to you, by the tone of my voice. It should be easy to see that there's something. And that I know about it. Just admit it. If you refuse to tell me, that's lying. That's defying me. That's sneaking. Tell me, and you get punished and then forgiven and we kiss and make up. You keep going like this? You're getting punished. Then? You're getting that punishment all over again, from the start. For lying to my face. For sneaking and trying to hide it? That's going to get you punished again. Defying me? Well, that gets you punished one more time. In fact? I'm losing count. How many times I have to repeat the punishment. So? No counting how many times we repeat it. We'll repeat it as many times as I feel its necessary. Don't speak yet."

  I tapped him gently with my favorite switch.

  "Last chance. Tell me about it. Or I promise you… I'm going to make what happened to you in the woods? A happy memory. I'm politely suggesting, that you tell me now. You know not to dare me. Why? You don't dare me, I dare you. Speak!"

  He cimed he didn't do anything wrong.

  "This is your st chance. You better admit it, and get it over with. Don't make it any worse, it's bad enough the way it is."

  He stuck with his story.

  "Fine. Deal's over. I gave you how many chances. No more talking."

  I put my phone under his face.