Fiction: Deck the Disobedient Submissive’s Bottom with Stripes

Crinkling and rustling came from the dining room. Gift bags, waiting to be filled with my step-grandchildren’s presents, shifted, knocking over the tin gift card tower.
Silver, green, blue, gold, and red wrapping papers, bows, and ribbon covered the dining room table. Bags with winter scenes, Santas, snowmen, circled half the table. It was a riot of color, presents, strings of outdoor lights, wreaths, and tinsel trees rivaling any ordered decoration.
I nabbed a chocolate Santa from a glass jar, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth vowing to eat only one cookie after supper, but no sausage balls to maintain the weight I’d already lost. Master would be happy that I’d not only stuck to my diet but planned to go to the gym later this afternoon. “Just as soon as I finish decorating the tree.”
Tapping my toes to an upbeat jazz rendition of Have a Holly Jolly Christmas, I went back to decorating the Christmas tree. I slid the gold loop over a tree branch, fiddled with the placement, and checked that the glass, hand-painted ball hung so the winter wonderland scene faced the room.
“A hundred or so more to go.” The lights faded from multi-color to white in slow motion as I hung a blue and silver ball, a gold and purple ball next to a wooden nutcracker. A bronze bell went below a snowflake. On and on.
I reached deep into the box. My fingers closed around a tiny object. Pulling it out, I stared at the ceramic wise man. “How did this get in the ornament box?”
Taking it to the console table that sat in front of the stair rail, the empty lower shelf mocked me. I set the wise man on the end, leaned down, and rummaged through a plastic tote. I placed a tall, skinny Santa, Santa holding a lamb, short fat Santa, and a metal knickknack of Santa’s coat hanging on a hall tree on the shelf. Bells jingled. I nabbed the hoops made of twined gold and silver metal. “I’ll put this on the door when I go out.” I hung the bells on the newel post.
“Can’t find a home, can you?” The wise man sat where I’d place him. I rummaged through another tote for the nativity sets. Dickens Christmas village. I set the ceramic pieces on the mantel. Candleholders, cinnamon, and holly berry scented candles went on the entertainment center. Finally finding two nativity sets, I arranged one on the entertainment center, the other on the apothecary.
Two hours later, I rushed upstairs to my bedroom to change into gym clothes and get my purse. My gaze fell on the purple glass butt plug and ben wa balls. Fuck me. I was supposed to put them in the moment I got out of the shower.
Grabbing the hem of my dress, I pulled it over my shoulders and tossed it to the floor. I padded to the closet, put on a bra top, tank top, and leggings. I moved back into my bedroom to grab socks.
The doorbell rang. It rang again, then a double ring.
Rushing downstairs to the foyer, I opened the door. “What’s so…” A tower of bags tumbled into the foyer. I grimaced. More packages. I looked for the delivery person, but he or she was nowhere in sight. I pursed my lips and almost growled. I’d become Grinch.
Way too much stuff, the soft saxophone melody of Silent Night was too loud. I gathered parcels in my arms and carried them to the dining room. I trekked back down the steps and nabbed the rest. The table overflowing, I set them on the floor and opened them.

****

“Sub.”
I jumped. The stocking slipped through my loose fingers. I skirted boxes, bins, vases, and faux greenery scurrying toward the stairs. “Master?” I stood on the top tread.
“What is all of this?”
“Um…” He didn’t sound pleased. Surely the mountain of packages had grown and spread. Since I tossed down the boxes and paper grocery bags.
Boxes tumbled down the inside stairs to the ground floor, and small air-filled plastic bags took flight, lifting and whirling in the breeze before settling at my feet.
“I asked you a question, sub.”
I stood there unable to come up with a good answer. “You’re two days early.”
“What does my timing have to do with this mess?” He kicked a large cardboard box out of his way. The smaller boxes nestled inside tumbled out. Moments ago I couldn’t tear my gaze from him. Now my feet fascinated me.
“I haven’t gotten around to taking them to the garage.”
“You’re wearing pants and a bra.”
My eyes widened. I braced my hands on the stair rails on each side of me.
Master’s unforgiving tone sent a shiver down my spine.
“Are the balls and plug in?”
I clenched my pussy, remembering the plug and balls were still on the bed. I shook my head from side to side.
He pressed his lips together. “Did you stay on your diet today?”
The roast beef and cheddar sandwich and the two cookies suddenly felt like concrete in my stomach. I hung my head, shaking it again.
“Since you’re still in your gym clothes, I assume you exercised.”
“No, Sir.”
Silence met my answer. “Take off your clothes.”
I moved toward the steps leading upstairs.
“No. Right where you are.”
I undressed in record time, folded each item, and laid them by my feet.
“Now, clean up this mess.” He pointed at his feet, moved into the house, kicking aside debris making a path to the steps. “Make sure every box is broken down, bags smoothed flat.” He took the second stair, climbing toward me giving orders. “Let the air out of these.” He leaned down, picked up the one on the tread in front of him.” I’ll be waiting for you in the living room.”
“Yes, Sir.” I cringed knowing what Master’s thoughts would be seeing the dining and living rooms. A half-hour later the work was completed to his requirements, and I stood before Master.
“Now the living room.”
“Ah…I’m not finished decorating. I have the stockings the tree skirt, the…”
“For the next few days, you are. Put what you need into one box and set it by the wall. If you can find room.” One corner of his mouth lifted, he chuckled.
I smiled with him, but his humor vanished, leaving me bereft. I deserved punishment for not meeting my protocols, but it wasn’t my fault he stumbled into this mess.
“Store the rest for the season.”
“I didn’t bring them up.” I motioned to the three and a half feet wide plastic bins. One was still half full. I was in good shape, but at fifty-five toting heavy boxes up and down multiple flights of stairs weren’t something I was about to try.
“Who did?”
“My son.” He and Master were near the same age with Master being five years older. “He’ll be here tomorrow…”
“Call him and tell him I arrived early. I’ll get the larger containers to the ground floor. You bring the smaller ones.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I’d gone up and down the stairs a half a dozen times. My stomach growled as I followed Master into the kitchen. At least it was clean.
“Come with me. What’s all this?”
I wasn’t going to inventory the flour, sugar, and other baking items on the counter. He knew. “I’m making sugar cookies.”
“Are they on your diet plan?”
“Sir, we agreed that I wasn’t on a strict plan. Eat healthy. You know I’ve lost thirty pounds this year.”
“Still isn’t this a temptation?”
“I’m making them for my entire family. I’ll eat one or two.”
“Like the one or two, you ate from the tin sitting on the bar? Looks like it’s half-empty.”
Busted.
“How many today?”
“Two.”
“Yesterday? And how about the candy?” He continued before I could answer. “When was the last time you exercised?”
“Besides running up and down the stairs today?”
“Do you think that’s exercise?” His voice became deeper and harsher, matching the glare in his eyes.
“Yes, Sir. I checked my watch. You know how many steps are in the house. I’ve gone up and down the stairs from the main floor to the upstairs almost two dozen times.”
“All at once?”
“Throughout the day.”
“That’s good. But did you ride your bike since you didn’t get to the gym and swim?
“No, Sir.
“Hm. Have you had supper?”
“No, Sir.”
“It’s late. Make a salad. Then head upstairs and clean up. Don’t to take all night but don’t rush. Put in your butt plug, lean over the bed, hands resting on the small of your back, and wait for me.”
“Yes, Sir.” I trudged upstairs and completed the tasks he gave me.
Master walked into the bedroom. He came over to the bed, leaned over me, and wound his tie around my eyes, cutting off my sight, and tied it. Moments later, leather cuffs were buckled onto my wrists. He grabbed my arms, pulled them over my head, locked them together, and laid them on the bed above my head.
He ran his hand over my backside.
I lifted onto my toes. His touch felt so good.
He moved around the room, his silent censure suffocating.
“What other tasks haven’t you completed for me?”
There was so many this past week. Finishing editing for the year and planning Christmas Eve dinner with my son and my late husband’s girls and their families took up all my time. By the time, I crawled into bed, I fell asleep immediately. I opened my mouth to answer, then yelped at the sting on my bottom.
“Answer me, sub.”
“I haven’t called men. I need to paint my finger and toenails.” The cane came down on my bottom again, twice. I yelped, standing on my toes for a very different reason.
“I don’t ask every day, but I want to know how many times you’ve worn a bra, panties, and pants?”
“I don’t wear panties anymore. I put on pants and a bra Thursday when I went to the store.”
The cane landed on both cheeks of my ass three more times.
I bit back a yelp.
“Breathe.”
He didn’t rub his hand over my heated skin to soothe the pain. This wasn’t playtime. My breath broke on sobs with every inhale and exhale.
“How long has it been since you had polish on?”
“Two days.”
“Why so long?”
Master delivered four fast blows.
“For…oh…please…” My mouth dropped open. “Took…polish off…Friday. Over the weekend, I washed all my Christmas glass servers and plates.”
“You will polish them first thing in the morning.” The cane landed on my left cheek. “No, first you will get all those presents wrapped and then polish your finger and toenails. You will follow all your protocols not only while I’m here, but once I leave.” He hit my right butt cheek a bit lower. One more blow on each cheek. He smoothed his hand over my bottom.
He tugged off the tie and unclipped the cuffs.
“Put on your inch collar, put the butt plug in. Use the second bedroom. Lay face down on the carpet, rub your clit back and forth while you get fifty men off. Tell them you’re a black man’s whore. That your Master whores you out. Give them your numbers. When you’re done sleep on the floor. I’ll see you in the morning. Now, get to work.”

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