Put me over your knee.
I want to be made to look at the ground, your leg, your shoe. I want to feel precarious, you steadying me, holding my wrists behind my back. Make me feel small and vulnerable.
Be silent. Let it become uncomfortable. You know how I don’t know what to do with pauses; let me listen to the sound of my own heart pounding in my chest, and my breathing, which sounds much louder to me like this.
You need to start slowly. Stroke my bottom with your bare hand, with your fingertips. Make me beg for it. I will tell you the truth – that I’ve been very, very bad. I need this. I need you to teach me and make me better. Oh please, Daddy. Punish me. How I ache for discipline; how I ache for your hand.
Spank me. Softly at first. Build me up. Redden my skin slowly. Make me say thank you. Tell me I’m a good girl.
Please. Make it harder. Make it rougher. My moans will turn to cries; make me yelp and hold me still. Don’t worry, it’s for my own good. Pause. Run your fingernails over hot, wanton flesh and let your hand wander between my legs – you’ll see how much I need this. Tease me. Don’t let me have it. Strike me again. And again. And again.
I am all yours. Play me like a piano. To those who don’t understand it our music is chaotic, atonal, discordant – but to us, it is a masterpiece. I will curl my toes, and beg, and plead, and relish every stroke of your hand.
When you are satisfied that I have learned my lesson, I will drop to my knees and say thank you. I will say thank you in the best way I know how – gazing up at you with my mouth full.