You are the Song

 The heart has its beaches, its homeland and thoughts of its own. 

Wake now discover you are the song the morning brings...

It's not all sunshine and lollipops. While most days the struggles are held at bay there are moments, since Master's retirement from His workaday life, that have been a struggle for His slave. Sure, He smiles far easier than He used to, cracks jokes, even dumb dad jokes that annoy the kids. He isn't stressed, His focus is now trained on other things. He reads more, takes walks, plays the piano for fun and gets plenty of use of His favorite possession, His slave. Being home affords Him more opportunity to make use of His slave, corner time is better supervised without distractions of business. There's something about being made to stand in the corner of the room, skirt hiked up with her flaming red, freshly spanked bottom exposed. The humiliation felt seemed to be doubled now, although the slave isn't sure why. Perplexed by this, she sat quietly with the thoughts, 'why does this bothers her more now?'

His hand brought her thoughts quickly back around to Him, He had asked a question but lost in her deep chasm of thoughts she had missed it. This time the wooden dowel swished on her backside, making her yelp with surprise and pain. That will leave a mark surely at least for a few hours. Tears welled in her eyes, as she croaked out an apology. The question was repeated (something unrelated to punishment), and was answered. Master then released her from the wall, sending her to the kitchen to clean. Before leaving mouse stands in front of Him with her head lowered, thanking Him for the correction, assuring Him it will not happen again (and it won't). 

He waved her away, picked up His book and began to read. Washing the breakfast pots and pans and rather carelessly, mouse continued to ponder the punishment and remained completely unaware that Master had entered the kitchen. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed asking her curtly what the fuck was wrong with her?! The action made her again yelp in pain and she began to cry. For the second time that day, she was bent unceremoniously over His knee and paddled this time with a silicone spatula. Falling to the floor at His feet she groveled, pleading that she will be more careful. 

Getting lost in her own head was no longer allowed. There were outlets more appropriate, a journal she can write down those feelings, she could blog about it, she could as always, discuss it with Master. He will not abide with her silence and lack of detail to whatever task performing. Now to be clear His tone rang with frustration and no anger was detected. The tears that fell were very real, her remorse truthful, but the explanation was not forthcoming. How can she express what she doesn't understand? Perhaps it's not to be understood and rather accepted? 

Instead of making an obvious empty promise the slave remained at His feet sputtering apologies and said she didn't know why her focus was so off. Master wasn't sure if He was getting to the meat of the problem, but He felt, at last there was real honesty coming from His slave. He said nothing more but sent slave to resume her task, and making her rewash everything. 

Feeling only slightly resentful of this order, mouse began to rewash each pot and pan and only then noticed how negligent she had been in her previous wash. Fresh remorse kept into her heart as she scrubbed nearly violently each pot until they gleamed like new. Much later, mouse sat quietly in front of the blank journal pages and began to write. Perhaps it was the distance from the events of the morning but some clarity came to her at last. The corner time punishment does feel more humiliating than from before and the reason was simple. Master's focus was on her alone. There was no familiar click-clack of His fingers on the keyboard. at that time, she was an ornament to be glanced at, not to be stared at and mentally examined. 

At times it does feel like He's boring into her soul. Does she even have a soul? If she did, He claimed it long ago or it was simply given up to Him. He's her higher power. No matter how He says He doesn't like it when she says that -- to her -- it is simply truth.  In the Master bedroom, nude, writing at the table she hears Him come in and closes the door behind Him. He goes into the adjacent bathroom and readies Himself for bed, brushing His teeth, gargling, then emerges with His bathrobe and slippers on. He scoots the slave onto the floor and begins to read what she wrote. He swivels on the bench seat and opens His robe, His cock is flaccid but easily awakened as she employs her mouth. 

"Rub yourself" Master says, making mouse pause for a moment. 

"If it's all the same, Master, would prefer to not and just offer you pleasures." Eyes briefly raise to meet His and quickly fall to that beautiful cock before her.  

He seems to ponder that for a moment or three and repeats the command to rub her clit whilst sucking Him...

To be continued?