The Quiet Place - Fictional Short Story

[ma****]

It had been a silly little thing. Sir’s latest task had been clear enough. Clean up after last night’s party before he got back from work. She’d seriously considered doing it. Honestly.

Her arms were beginning to burn. Ignore them.

She’d got up this morning, seen Sir off before work with her morning oral worship while he ate his breakfast, prepared to his exact liking. She always enjoyed doing that, it put Sir in such a good mood for the day. As he finished, and she finished him, the smile on his face as he walked out the door made her heart skip a beat every time. She always had to wait until his car disappeared around the corner before she was allowed to swallow.

The wall in front of her had a tiny crack in the ***t that forked like a little lightning bolt. She’d been staring at it for what felt like hours.

Don’t move. Don’t fidget. Sir would add time if she moved even an inch.

After that, the day was hers. She dressed, showered, brushed teeth, checked email, worked on her course, all the usual things. Bit by bit, the day became mundane. Busy. Loud. She’d put on a cute sundress and bought groceries, but the cashier who always got flustered when he saw her wasn’t in today. Pout.

Her knees were hurting a lot as well. Had she kneeled on a pebble? Ignore them.

Then, as she pulled into the driveway, the creepy old man next door was staring, and suddenly her sundress didn’t seem quite so fun to wear. She wished Sir were there with her. He didn’t leer like that when Sir was around.

She got in, unpacked groceries, and looked around at the mess from the party. Dirty cups all over the place, pots and pans in the sink from dinner, and the garbage was literally overflowing. On top of that, someone had spilled a drink in the hallway, and she could see the spare bedroom Sir left “available” for his parties would need to be scrubbed from ceiling to floor, and the sheets and pillowcases changed.

Oh great, now I have an itch. I wish I was allowed to move to scratch it. It has to be about time now, surely? Don’t move, don’t think about it.

She had started on clean up… kind of. She took out the trash, put the pots on to soak, and looked around again.

It wasn’t that bad. She had hours before Sir came home.

It had been a tough morning. She would take a short break first.

Her lower back was growing increasingly stiff from this perfect posture. Thinking back, the break was probably a mistake…

About ten minutes into her break, her best friend texted a photo of her new puppy playing with the cutest little stuffed bunny. Obviously she had to reply to that. Then she checked social media, and, well, somehow the afternoon just started to slip away. By that point she was hungry, so she pulled out leftover snacks from last night, and obviously you needed to sit on the sofa and watch reruns of Supernatural while eating snacks. Ideally with your feet up on the armrest and wearing your PJs.

She hadn’t even heard the car pull up, until the front door opened. Sir was home.

It turns out Sir coming home from a long day at work to an uncleaned house and her snacking on the sofa was not quite what he had in mind by “clean up after the party.”

And that’s how she found herself kneeling in the corner facing the wall, in nothing but her collar, hands behind her head, on her knees, not allowed to move, speak, or know how long was left before she could stop, her bare skin prickling in the cool evening air.

But that was okay. Sir was back, sitting somewhere behind her. She could feel his eyes caressing her bare flesh. A slow breath, and she finally felt herself go Quiet. A warm feeling filled her chest, and all was right with the world as the crack in the wall slowly slid out of focus.

She wondered how long Sir would keep her there.

And realized she didn’t actually mind.

—

Curious what people think, do you enjoy quiet psychological dynamics like this?

Thanks for reading, this was my first sub perspective short story in a long time, and I thought it was time to do one on subspace.

Until next time.

[Notyouraveragebears]

Very nicely put together of exact feelings.