Submitted by megan on Sun, 05/02/2010 - 16:22
I’ve been shut in this room for hours with the paint fumes and the brushes and the rags. Up the ladder, down the ladder; I am being too careful, that’s possibly true.
When you arrive, I’m not ready.
You look angry, but I know you’re glad to have a reason to punish me. You reach behind my head, use my hair to turn me around. You shove me, stumbling, towards the ladder, tell me to put my hand out and hold the top step. You pull my pants down to my ankles, pull my white panties up between my ass cheeks.
Usually, your technique is meticulous, your pace measured. Right now, you're all over the place, your hand landing random smacks; some heavy, some light. You give me no time to prepare between and I am caught off guard, unprepared.