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He ordered me to get dressed like a slut, because He adores to see me like that. Of course, there are also black boots, a mask on my face, leather cuffs on my wrists, collar around my neck as a proof of belonging - his dog.He tied me to the door of the bathroom, hands over my head. He took a single tail whip and ordered me to look at it. Even the sight of the whip made me feel how my pussy very leaks and the sight of his eyes behind the mask, even more.He put his androgynous mask on his face so I could see his eyes only. The mask itself wasn't scary, but its inexpressiveness was. And his eyes... For a moment I was afraid.The first few lashes were for heating, and then He ordered me to count. Of course, I had to thank him for every strike I received.He started.One. Thank you, Master...Two. Thank you, Master...Three. Thank you, Master...The strikes were falling on me like a summer rain, a downpour. It burned. It hurt. I writhed. My back and buttocks were like glowing. I closed my eyes. Jill habitually hated paying cash to tradespeople — she didn't agree with them trying to dodge the tax. Maybe this was different.Odd though. It could be something else. If he'd forgotten something vital, he'd better make up for it in other ways. He vacuumed the house, cleaned the kitchen, made the beds, and did all the laundry he could find. That got him to two-thirty with no demand for cash appearing.What else could he do? Supper; there was time to make something she would recognise as especially for Jill. He settled for her favourite beef chili with a flatbread, followed by Pavlova.The main course was easy, there was meat in the freezer, they had fresh tomatoes and plenty of beans. Making the meringue took patience and care, but he always enjoyed the process — beating the egg white until it was so stiff he could turn the bowl upside down and it didn't fall out. There was a perverse delight in doing that. The memory of scaring his mother when he first learned the trick made it even.
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