Lesson

Yesterday I was waiting for him. And while I waited I was doing some other stuff, online, on my computer. I forget what I was doing, maybe work emails or maybe reading blogs, not sure. But for some reason I was kneeling on the hardwood floor reading my computer screen. Which was fine apparently, but I wound up waiting a little while for him, and when he finally arrived, I was kind of stiff already.

So when he arrived, he didn't say kneel, cause I already was. And I didn't move, because I know he likes me that way.

And I was dressed for him, in a corset and my collar, black lace thong too, but he couldn't see that in the view he had of me on the webcam, looking at me from about the waist up at that point. He admired me, and told me I was pretty . I think pretty was the word he used, which he doesn't throw around too often.

Anyway, I was pleased with the comment, pleased with his approval and then he started talking, telling me something, ummm, I think it might have been about Watson and Jeopardy. Something vanilla.

And I was on my knees forever. And they started to hurt. So at some point, I was uncomfortable, and was starting to shift and fidget.

Without thinking I reached for a pillow and slid it under my legs and continued kneeling.

He interrupted what he was saying to remark, "How are your legs? Would you like a pillow?" and I'm sure I blushed. Busted. "Ooops. I guess you saw that?" I said. Innocent. I shouldn't have done it.

He turned stern on me. "When  you are with me, you ask for something like that. You ask for everything. Everything comes from me. Understand."

And when I said yes Sir, meekly, submissively, he said "Now take the pillow away. If you'd asked for it, you'd have had it. But now you won't."

I kind of gulped. Took the pillow away. And settled in for him to torture me. I wondered then if the whole focus of the day would shift to my legs, to enduring the pain of kneeling too long.

And for the next however long it was, he kept me there, talking, touching myself, on my knees. A couple of times he asked me how my knees were. I answered honestly that they hurt and he nodded and went on, leaving me like that. I guess no one ever died from sore knees right?

I could have asked him at that point for a pillow, I could have asked him at that point to get off my knees. But I didn't. I just toughed it out. Knowing that he wanted to teach a lesson. Knowing that he knew I hurt, and that he was teaching me and that he'd move me when he was ready. And that I would ask when I couldn't bear it anymore.

I shifted, trying to be unobtrusive, trying not to be out of the position he hadn't put me in but that now he wanted me in. I tried to think about whether I should ask him, whether that would make things better or worse. Clearly he thought I should have asked. But did that mean I should ask now. He was doing other stuff with me too, but my focus was really my knees and legs. Sore. Stiff. Pins and needles. I shifted again, trying to get some blood flow going without drawing so much attention that it would make things worse.

"How are your legs?" he asked me again.

"Sore."

Finally he moved me.

Next time I will ask.

It wasn't a huge punishment. On a bad day it might have derailed our whole day. Or mine anyway, cause he wouldn't do it if he didn't want to, right? And he'd get something out of disciplining me. He'd get power, and control and obedience and submission along with a refreshment of expectations for next time.

And I would submit. And know I should have asked for the pillow. And make a mental note to damn sure do better next time.

It wasn't a huge punishment. He might say it wasn't really a punishment at all. But it was a lesson. I know what he likes. Expects. I know not to just do as I please. I know that I am there to obey him.

So I'm sorry that I snuck that pillow in there. And I won't do it next time. Because there was a lesson. A refresher. I knew better. I know better.