HOW WE SERVE MASTER

I was looking in the closet for the dress I would wear when he came in.

“Good morning, Master,“ I said.

“Good morning, Annika,“ he said.

He silently looked me over head to toe. He said …

“Switch.“

Uh oh.

“Yes, Master,“ I said, bowing my head.

I left the bedroom and went to the discipline room. I retrieved his switch from where it hung on the wall.

It was a short, thin bamboo cane with a leather handle.

Then I went to the living room and fetched Gretchen. She was on the sofa, reading a magazine.

When one of us is disciplined, the other must be there to watch and learn.

Back in the bedroom, Gretchen knelt over to the side and I handed Randy his switch.

I turned and he placed his left hand on the small of my back. I bent over and grasped my ankles.

He wasted no time. The switch struck my ass. I gasped.

It struck again a bit harder, and I bit off a whimper. I prepared for more.

But no more came. That was it.

“Stand,” he said.

I turned to face him, but cast my eyes down. I said, “Thank you, Master.”

I went to my knees. Gretchen crawled over. We each kissed one of his bare feet.

This is another ritual that we always perform after one of us has been disciplined.

He told us to stand.

I asked, “May I inquire of my transgression, Master?“

“You were glistening,” he said.

“I am so sorry, Master. May I correct my error now?”

He said yes. I walked to the bathroom and tore off some tissue.

I had been sloppy. Thinking about what lay ahead had that day, I had allowed myself to get a little moist down there.

I wiped my pussy dry.

Randy is in total control of when and if Gretchen or I get wet.

Permission must be asked for a wet pussy. And permission must be given for a wet pussy.

So I began the day with an error. But the punishment wasn’t so bad.

That evening, Gretchen would get much worse.