“I didn’t mean to forget…you know I’m a flake..” her voice trailed off at his stern look.

“I’ve gone over this a dozen times. Perhaps more. You’re not a child, Emmy. You’re a woman, a grown-up, a slut, my wife.”

She bit her lip. She truly hated disappointing him, breaking his rules. It wasn’t intentionally done. It was forgetfulness.

“I could brand them on your inner thigh, or tattoo them on your tits.”

She shook her head wildly. She was terrified by the very idea of branding, and while tattooing held a certain nervous titillation, she didn’t want her rules tattooed on her breasts!

“I could make you write lines, but we’ve done that a time or two or twenty and that hasn’t changed anything either. Has it?”

Solemnly she shook her head from side to side. He turned away, frowning. She was too damned cute. Yet, working towards a domestic obedience was important to them both. It bound them closer together, weaved them deeply into each others minds. And it pleased him to be in charge, just as it pleased her to follow directions. At least…when she remembered them. He almost sighed.

What to do to help remind her, that was the question. He looked out the window. The winds had dropped off at last. It was not so cold now, though the skies were gloomy with incipient snow. She sat just at the periphery of his vision, naked, palms on her thighs. He wanted nothing so much as to ram his cock into her penitent mouth, bend her backwards until her head was on the floor and he over her, driving his shaft deep down her willing throat.

That wouldn’t serve as discipline though. She would enjoy being used that way. As he gazed outside, pondering his options, the first fat snowflakes dropped from the sky. He watched as a large one fell, landing with a soggy splat on the back patio.

“Slut. Go fetch  your leash.” The sudden idea filled him with mirth. She feared the idea of branding, yet wasn’t overfond of cold. This would be the perfect solution.

In moments, she was back, her ass swaying side to side, leash in her mouth. She was obviously trying to seduce her way out of trouble, the little slut.

“Heel,” he said as he snapped the lead onto her collar, giving it a shake. He opened the kitchen door, led her down the steps.

“Master!” her voice rose in pitch as she encountered the wet flakes on her knees and palms. “It’s snowing out here!”

“I know.”

Leading her to the slumbering rose-bush at the side of the yard, he tied her leash to it, careful to not snag his skin on thorns. This time of year, they were hard as rock and seemed twice as sharp as a diamond blade.

“Stay. You’ll want to be verrrrry careful about moving around, slut. These thorns are prickly as hell.” He smiled down at her. She frowned, eyes furrowed. Good! He’d totally confused her.


“Stay. Perhaps this will help you be less of a ‘flake’ as you called yourself a bit ago,” he remonstrated her. Running his finger down her nose, giving her cheek a small slap, he turned and went back into the house. Standing just out of sight, he watched out the window as the snowflakes fell gently upon her.