Another Sunday in Lent

As discussed in Lenten Repentance , Sundays are a day for Repentance. This morning, as  I have every Sunday during lent, I set my alarm for two hours before Services. As soon as it chimed, I got up, showered, prepared breakfast then set it in the oven to stay warm. After that, I went to my HoH’s office and stood in front of his desk. I remained naked durin358495g all of this as he has decreed. To my surprise, he was waiting for me when I opened the door. He stood when I entered and attached the clips to my nipples. He said nothing, as was his custom. Then, he stood back and waited for me to confess. “I have not, Sir, broken any rules since Friday. However, I have masturbated.” Masturbation was not, perse, against His rules, but since this is Lent, a time of sacrifice, he has added this as something I must confess. “And why,” he asked, “did you feel the need to pleasure yourself rather than having me give pleasure?” I was startled by this question. “Um, you were at work, Sir.” “And you could not wait for me?” I hung my head, understanding that by pleasuring myself I had taken something away from him. He truly loves watching me orgasm. “I should have,” I admitted. “Is this a behavior you feel needs to be corrected?” He was giving me a choice. If I said No, then this would be a regular maintenance Session. If I said Yes, then it would be maintenance plus correction. He would abide by my decision, and so I gave the matter serious thought. Then, I nodded my head and said, “Yes, Sir. I know how much you enjoy giving me pleasure and I also know that by waiting my pleasure would have been increased. I could have shared these moments with you. I need to learn patience.” He smiled then sat. The nipple clips swung and pulled as I positioned myself over his lap. “Twenty,” he stated. He picked up his leather strap which he had conveniently placed on the floor next to his chair. As he strapped my bottom, he told me how proud he was of me for choosing to be correct for my impatience. I glowed with pleasure at his words even as my bottom slowly bloomed with pain. By the time he had administered all 20 strappings, my bottom felt swollen and tender. I’d managed not to
cry out, but my face was wet with tears. He turned me over, comforted me, and when he felt the time was right, he told me to bend over his desk. Using my own wetness, which was gushing, he lubricated my anus. I heard his zipper and the sound of his pants on the floor. He gather more of my cream and, I assumed, rubbed it on his own cock. He pressed against my anus. No matter how often he takes my ass, I’m always shocked by how full I am. Normally, he eases into me, allowing my body time to adjust. This morning, however, he thrusts inside of me, balls deep, all in one swift motion. I cry out, and he leans over me, whispering to me that since I took my own pleasure, he would give me none. Today, I was forbidden from orgasm. I moaned in despair. He fucked me, hard and fast. I bit my lip when I felt my pleasure bubbling to the surface. If I came now, he would deny me orgasm until Wednesday at least, perhaps longer. My nipples, already aching from the clips, hardened even more as they were pressed against the cold glass top of his desk. Within moments, he groapearl-panties-whitened and released his seed inside of me. He stepped back, allowing me to sink to the floor, sobbing. He lifted my chin with his hand and smiled down at me. “Finish, my love, then you may dress. I have a special gift for you. It will help you remember that you want to give me all of your pleasure.” I opened my mouth and cleaned his cock. My wetness tricked down my legs again and I moaned. Again, he stepped back then put on his trousers. He helped me stand and handed me a box. I opened it and saw to my delight and horror a pair of panties. The crotch had been replaced with a strand of pearls which would press against my most sensitive and needy parts. I put them on and moaned again. Each step would be torture. Sitting on the hard pew at Service would be unbearable, not only because of my tImage result for woman church dressender bottom, but because if I leaned forward, the wooden pew would be unforgiving, pressing the pearls against my clit. Sir kissed me, removed the clips from my swollen nipples, and swallowed my scream. I set up the table for breakfast, served him, then dressed, all the time fighting to walk normally. by the time we arrived at Church, I was quivering with need, but determined to please my husband. After all, I had asked for correction. I focused my mind on the pride in my husband’s eyes once I had endured this day with grace and humility. I found myself in an almost trance like state, filled with peace despite the discomfort of my body. In truth, I relished the discomfort because it helped me focus. By the time the service ended and we were back home, my thighs were sticky with my own wetness, but my mind was clear and focused. Blessed be the wife whose husband is strong enough to lead her along a path filled with love, respect, obedience, and pleasure.

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