"Do you understand?" Henry asked.
"Yes, Sir," Gwen replied, softly, to the carpet.
His hands pressed down. The best part was that Gwen knew that the pressure really wasn't necessary: she had assumed the position when Henry had told her to. But to have him bend over her like this, pushing down on her waist, firmly enough to create the kind of discomfort that seemed like heaven to Gwen, and on her neck, so as to give Gwen the delicious feeling that he could hurt her--take away her breath, her life--if he chose: that made this place, on the carpet in front of her Master's chair, the best place of all.
"Why did I spank you?"
Gwen had been spanked standing in front of Henry's sumptuous chair, bending over and resting her elbows upon the seat, arching her back at Henry's command to present her bare bottom for punishment. He had spanked her with his stiff leather paddle, until Gwen had cried out that she was sorry, that she would be a good girl. Then he had told her to kneel, and to bend, and assume the shape that showed her submission best: a folded girl, an origami girl whom only her master had the right to unfold and enjoy. His hands upon her were the origami-maker's making the careful creases that would display the shape's beauty.
Gwen's reverie wrapped her so tightly that Henry had to say again, with a note of menace, "Why did I spank you, Gwen?"
"Because my bottom wasn't red," Gwen said, trying to suppress her smile even though she knew Henry couldn't see it, buried as it was in the carpet.
"Yet. Exactly. And I think I fixed that problem rather effectively, don't you?"
"Yes, Sir."
(Photo via Dilma Marilia of the wonderful Sensual BDSM community on Google Plus.)
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