The Dominant's Workshop

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Baby Steps

I measure the actual experience next to my fantasy. It didn’t really hurt. Maybe the shock numbed my nerves. But in the aftermath, the warmth he imparted to my ass is spreading, and quickly soaking the crotch of my panties.

“I think that today we will focus on a simple task: acclimating you to proper responses. You will learn to overcome your inhibitions and surrender completely to my designs for you. And,” he lifts my chin with a finger and I meet his eyes, “It won’t do any good to pretend. I can tell when someone’s holding out on me.” He pauses, then releases me once more. “Shirt and bra off, please.”

Fumbling with my buttons, my tongue works the unfamiliar, “Yes, sir,” and he smiles and nods, accepting my response with gracious appreciation. I slip the shirt off my arms and then I’m just in a bra. I hesitate for a second. Sam was the only man I’d ever been with. The only man who’d seen me naked. It’s hard to push past my innate modesty.

He’s watching me evenly as I reach back and undo my bra clamp, letting it fall off and tossing it to the side as casually as I can manage.

“You’re blushing.”

I stop myself just in time before I blurt out an apology.

“It’s adorable that you’re shy. Come here. Up on your knees.” He splays his knees and points to the floor directly in front of him. I skootch forward until I’m between his legs. He takes my hands and rests them on either of his steel-hard thighs. His hands are on my shoulders, stroking slowly down my upper arm and back up. He slides over my collarbone then down the narrowness between my breasts. He’s teasing me. Touching everywhere along my torso except my boobs. I don’t think I’ve ever been more aware of my tits until this moment. Finally, he slides a finger down the curve of my breast and then skates them over the peak of each hard nipple. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, like he’s having a private conversation with my boobs. “You must know it. How could you not know it? So beautiful.” He pulls my head into his chest and reaches behind me, unzipping my skirt. My heart thuds in my chest as the fabric falls to a puddle around my knees. “Stand up.”

“Yes, sir.”

And there I am, in nothing but panties, standing in front of him.

“Walk to the other side of the room. Over to the bed.”

I obey.

“Now come back.”

He’s watching me carefully as I cross the length of the room back to him. When I return, he gets up and retrieves a shoe box from the top of a dresser. “Size eight, right?” He pulls a pair of platform pumps out of the tissue paper. Perfect black suede with ankle straps.

“Yes, sir.”

He crouches down in front of me and I put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself while he slides my foot into the shoe. Touching him feels forbidden. Other than shaking hands at the coffee shop we haven’t touched until today. Something as simple as feeling the warmth of his back under his shirt feels more erotic than some of the times that Sam and I were completely naked together. He buckles the ankle straps and looks up at me, a hand still on my ankle. “Steady?”

I’m not a high-heel girl. Maybe I’ve worn them three times in my entire adult life. But I square my shoulders and nod.

He sighs and gets to his feet. “Bend over. Lace your fingers behind your knees.”

Once I’m in position, he stands to the side of me and reaches across to my hip, holding me firmly against him and tugging the waistband of my panties so that the meager fabric is pulled into my crack “Your instructions were simple. Your response to my questions are ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’.

Shit. It’s only now that I’m bent over that I realize what his intentions are and I tense as his hand connects loudly against my backside. Again and again and again.

When it’s over, he keeps me firmly in place. “That was ten. In case you’re not keeping count, it was five last time. The next time you forget, I’ll double it again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” I’m suddenly aware that my interlaced fingers are digging their nails into my knuckles. That hurt! Of course it hurt, a spanking is supposed to hurt, isn’t it?

When he helps me straighten, I move my hands to my ass, surprised at the heat on my skin.

“Uh, uh.” He gently takes my wrists and pins my hands at my sides. “No touching after punishment. Not unless you’re given permission. Now, let me see you walk to the bed again.”

I start off, hyper-aware of my pink cheeks on full display as I walk away from him, my panties still stuck in that awkward wedgie. When I swivel to return to him, I see him looking at me critically. “Is this your first time in heels?”

“No, sir. Probably my third or fourth.”

“Mmhmm.” He puts his hands on his hips, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Has anyone ever told you that you walk like a cowboy?”

I drop my jaw in mock outrage. “No, sir!”

“Well, you do. And whoever taught you how to walk in heels has done the world a great injustice.” He resumes his place in his armchair and waggles a finger at me. “Try it again. Heel-toe this time. And pretend that your feet are walking on a tightrope. Don’t stray from the line.”

He makes me do laps while he sits, critiquing every circuit, prompting smaller steps, wider hip swings, looser arms. Finally, he gets to his feet as I’m returning to my place in front of him and he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Well done. You’ve made progress. I’m pleased.”

I feel like I’m glowing under his praise. Big deal, walked back and forth across the room a couple of times. But his affirmation makes me feel like I’ve summited Everest.

“Come with me.” He leads me to the back door and opens it.

I draw in my breath. There’s a lattice wall, densely overgrown with jasmine, but other than the few string lights crisscrossing over my head, there’s nothing but star-sprinkled sky above me. There’s a wide shower head on one side of the space, a claw foot tub on the other. .He starts the water flowing into a claw foot-tub and checks the temperature.

My heart is racing. He’s going to ask me…

“Panties off, please.”

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