The Switching

She stood in the corner, waiting patiently though slightly anxious as well. The things he'd asked for were placed carefully on the bed. Including the switch he told her to bring, which she'd cut a mere ten minutes prior.

She'd never had a proper switching before. Not the kind of switching he had in store for her. She could sense that.

When she heard him enter the room, she resisted the urge to turn around and look at him - for only a moment. Quickly her desire to see him overcame her self-discipline and... she peeked.
And he saw her look, of course.

"Face forward!" He barked.

She quickly twisted her neck straight and listened for his steps as he approached from behind.

The first thing she felt was his breath on her neck. Shivers shot down her spine as he reached his hands out to touch her. (She melts in his hands.) He told her to drop to her knees by grasping a fistful of hair and tugging downward. Once she was there, he kept pulling; harder and harder, until her back was arched and her chin sticking out, leaving her neck exposed and vulnerable.

He wanted to kiss her. Though as he went to satisfy the desire, he caught a glimpse of her red lipstick, and he stopped. He had told her to wear that lipstick.

He thought to himself, "What a good girl I have."

Wanting to save the mussing of her lipstick for another type of kiss, he opened his mouth and bit into her neck only to abandon it and dive down to her nipple.

"Ouch!" she yelped.

(He bites those things so dang hard, always has.)

He loves it. And so does she.

The switching came next.
She quickly became aware of such as he positioned her precisely where he wanted. She tried to settle herself, but she was holding her breath and unable to focus. She was nervous.
She hadn't been nervous like that... waiting for the first stroke..... in a long time.
Maybe it was her not knowing what to expect from that thin little stick. Whatever it was, it threw her concentration off and as a result she found it increasingly difficult to maintain position. This is not a good thing.

He does not like it when she breaks position.

She doesn't like it when she breaks position.

It's disrespectful.


That little stick hurt her something awful. Each stroke was like a little razor blade slicing across her skin. Not deep like the cane. Similar, but more superficial. Nasty.

Nasty little switch in the hands of a mean Master. Every time she moved, every time she broke position - even slightly, he struck her thighs: swinging that nasty little switch faster. God it hurt. She was shocked by the pain. She struggled to breathe and take it and she just couldn't stop herself from moving. She could feel his frustration. He's under a lot of stress right now and his slave has been acting up ad nauseam.

This switching was for him: much more than it was for her.
It's usually for her.

She desperately needed the last beating, the one with which he broke his cane.

He desperately needed this beating. Which makes her breaking position that much more troublesome.

He welted her backside superbly. Angry little stripes crossing every which way. He hits her so hard. And even with her incessant moving, she takes his hits so well. It's truly remarkable. It's impossible to know how many times he swung that skinny little branch against her flesh.

Many many many.