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Finding Sanity Part 3

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Disclaimer: My own original work, my own fantasies.

We had a tornado warning today, so I was a little out of the loop. I hope everyone is safe and well.

Master likes the "mind fuck" of play. In the scene or game of it all, he pushes my and challenges my being. Whether with (seemingly) cruel words or harsh actions, all of it is part of the scene/play. After all of it, we debrief (our version of after care in an online/long-distance COVID-19 world). We talk and laugh. His words are often a balm to my heart and help with the subdrop that tends to follow some of our more intense scenes.

This part of the story is very mild. But as I wrote it and thought back to our previous play sessions, I felt it was important (especially if I keep up with the writing and sharing) to add this little blurb.

In a long-distance COVID-19 world, appropriate punishments are challenging, especially if it's usually a corporal punishment (spanking, flogging, whipping, etc). But we can get creative. For me, the mind fuck can be punishment enough. Master is very good about getting into my head. I have cried and fought tears, pleading for forgiveness, all over the words he speaks/writes. One of these days, I'll write a more intense scene from memory



She sank to her knees, stopping every caress of her body. Back straight, head down, eyes lowered. Hands resting on her knees, palms up. A silent offering to her Master.

"Hello Master," it came out a breathy whisper. Not the bold, strong, statement she had wanted.  

"I see you've been busy pet." He sounded tired, maybe a little disappointed, but his hand still came upon her head even as he moved to stand in front of her.

She could see his shoes, feel his hand on her head, fingers rubbing her scalp. It felt good. So good, that she closed her eyes for one brief moment.

Master smiled down at his chiquita. So soft...so pure. She looked so innocent. As if she hadn't just been holding breasts that belonged to him. As if she hadn't been just about to stroke a pussy that he claimed as his. He narrowed his eyes.

"Ahhh!" Chiquita cried out, eyes wide open and tearing up. Master's fingers dug into her scalp, wrapping a fist full of hair around his hand, twisting and sharply pulling her head back.

"Where are your manners slut?" It came out softly, almost a whisper.

"M-m-master, I'm s-s-sorry," she whimpered, her neck straining back. She knew better than to grab onto his hand.

"What are you sorry for?" The question came out low, calm. A stark contrast to the thumping of  her heart.

"F-for touching m-myself, Master," she whimpered, her eyes glued to her Master's shoes, not daring to look up.

He growled, letting her hair go. The sudden release caused for chiquita's body to fall forward against Master's shoes.

"Kiss them, slut." 

"M-master?" She didn't dare look up. Master's shoes were close enough for her lips to brush against if she sighed. But she had never done that before.  

"Kiss. Them." Each word fell, measured and even. He knew she was worried about them being clean. He knew she was uncomfortable. And he would never ask her to suck his shoes. But the mind fuck...oh he lived for the mind fuck. He saw her tongue peeking out, licking at her lips, hovering so close. "Well, pet?" 


He sounded impatient. She shook her head. She could use her safe word. It would be okay if she did.


She could give in. See how far Master would take this. He hadn't let her down so far... 

Her chest was rising and falling, faster and faster. On shaky hands, she lowered her lips to the top of Master's shoe, giving one and then the other a small peck.

"Look at you. What would your family say if they could see you like this, huh? Such a dirty little slut." She could hear an audible click from Master's phone. And then Master loosening his belt. The swishing sound of Master's leather belt sliding through the loops filling her ears, making her heart skip. "Come."  

On hands and knees, chiquita followed Master into the den of the suite, stopping to kneel at his feet only after he seated himself on his chair, his belt in one hand. She hated the belt. He knew that. She had told him that. Absolutely no belts. He promised. 


She moved, tentatively, to sit on Master's lap, but before she could he had both wrists in one hand and pulled her over his knee. 


Her whole body trembled.




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