I hear you come in and shut the door. 

You take off your shoes, empty your pockets, and assume your usual place at the table. As we eat, you tell me about work. We briefly discuss the finances for the week. Nothing out of the ordinary, for a Wednesday. Except, that I can almost feel your deep, brown eyes staring at me every second.

I look up to meet your gaze and stop to really take in your features. Those deep, all-knowing, yet oddly soft eyes, framed by lashes thicker than any man should have a right to. Your dark, thick, yet well-kept brows; your soft, supple lips -- the ones I love to nibble. Feeling you taking in my features, too, I go back to my dinner, turning a slight pink color as I anticipate what is to come.

You kindly help me clear the table and do the dishes. Doing one final wipe of the table, I feel you move behind me. I smirk. I feel you press closer to me, your hands on my hips, and your hot, steady breath at my neck. I push my soft, round ass against you and arch my back slightly as your soft hands glide their way down the front of my pants, stopping only to caress my curves along the way. Your long, nimble fingers find their way to my clit, and you let out a soft chuckle as you realize I am already slick with my own juices.

"I see someone is ready for me," you whisper, giving my clit a sharp flick. I can just picture the mischievous look in your eyes.

Suddenly, you remove your hands and turn me around to face you. You look at me for a brief moment before pressing your lips against mine. You stop to look at me again, this time with a glint in your eye, telling me you were plotting something horribly, pleasurably evil. Before I could ask what it was, you raise your hand and strike me across the face -- hard. It stings, and I can feel it immediately get hot. I could feel myself getting hot.

"Honey, I—"

"Master. You will call me Master. Understood?"