"Don't force Mistress' hand."

I don't usually have too difficult of a time deciding on the title of my blog post. This one is the first time I was told what the title would be.

This all started Friday evening. As some of you who have read my blog know, when Mistress comes home from work I need to be on my knees ready to greet her when she enters. I was warned about this not so long ago when my early warning detection system, our dogs, didn't go crazy as usual when the garage door opened and I wasn't in position on time. Well Friday evening I got home from work and was really hungry, I knew we were going out to dinner but still wanted a quick snack to tie me over. I knew Mistress would have told me to hold off on the snack and wait for dinner but she wouldn't be home for about a half hour or 45 minutes at the earliest. The dogs always are intrigued when anyone decides to eat, so intrigued that they don't care about the faint sound of the garage door opening.

She came home early.

I hear the squeak of the screen door opening, knowing what is coming next. Knowing exactly what is happening I sprint around the corner and run to the spot I am supposed to be, as she opens the door she sees a sight of me sliding on my knees into position. Now if any of you have ever watched soccer and seen the guy (or girl) score a big goal and decide to run to the corner flag and slide on his (or her) knees with his( or her) arms up in the air in a joyous celebration then you have seen the sight my Mistress saw as she opened the door, me sliding on my knees to stop at the proper spot. The only thing missing was my arms up in the air in joyous celebration, oh and never have I seen a soccer player slide with salsa on their lips.

She looked at me, I looked up at her and at the same time we both busted out in laughter. It was actually quite funny. After the laughter ended she said, "You are so busted." Which I knew but it didn't take away from the fun of the moment.

She simply said, "Hungry?" I was confused, I had no idea how she knew I was eating as she wasn't in the kitchen yet to see the evidence. I looked at her in a puzzled look and she motioned to her lips to indicate that I had some evidence showing. Another bout of laughter came over us and it really set the stage for a nice evening. We went out to dinner and had a very enjoyable Friday night.

Fast forward to Saturday morning. we took a shower after a busy morning. She was doing the books for my business, I was doing some laundry and cleaning. We had a tee time for golf at the indoor simulator and she says, "Where is my sports bra? I don't see it in my drawer." I explained to her that it was in the dryer because I was confused if the basket it was in this morning was clean or dirty so as not to take a chance I washed it again. She counted back days to the last time she wore it and decided that it was longer than her 3 day laundry rule. I tried to reason that it was done in time but I had washed it a second time due to being unsure. She said, "If it isn't in the drawer by the time 3 days has passed then it isn't done in time. Whatever the reason doesn't matter." I did try to defend myself further saying, I knew you were going to need it so I got it done this morning, it's in the dryer now and I am sure its probably ready by now.

She simply said, "Go get it."

The dryer was still running so I was a bit concerned the that contents weren't completely dry yet. I opened the door and was alarmed that everything was still damp. I knew I couldn't bring it to her like that so, still naked from my shower had to make the long walk upstairs to explain to her that her bra wasn't ready. She took a heavy sigh and said, "Ok, you have forced my hand, lay over the bed." I really didn't want to but was powerless to do anything except lay down and accept her decision.

She took her riding crop and used it for a good long time. When she was done I was in severe pain. She looked at the results and remarked, "Wow, look how purple your ass is." I checked the results in the mirror, I was actually surprised, it was worse than usual to be sure. I didn't even want to get dressed right away so I could avoid putting pressure of pants and panties on the sore ass. Of course she took the opportunity to smack my ass every time I walked by, which for the record stung extremely bad, this must have not hurt her so much because she laughed every time I winced.

Later that day when she asked me if my ass still hurt and I acknowledged that it did. She said, "Good, now I know you are going to blog about this, the title of you blog will be "Don't force the Mistress' Hand."

She said she didn't really feel like punishing me like that but felt I left her with no choice.

She did say that the slate is now wiped clean and I have been pretty well behaved since, getting the riding crop on the already sore ass isn't a fun proposition.