...

Now come along.” And he tugged on the leash and drew me along behind. “Come along” indeed: with my sweet, sexy master holding the chain, how could I do anything else? And why would I, even if I could? But he must have noticed some hesitation in me, given that he was heading out the door and I was wearing only a thin shirt that exposed most of me. He turned to face me again. “Trust me, pet.”

I smiled up at him.

“And obey me.” He swatted me hard on the ass, and turned again to go. I swallowed and followed, determined to live up to this dare.

...

“Well, come on then, let’s get comfy.” He walked us to a bench beside the trail. I went to sit down beside him. “Bad girl!” he snapped, yanking my leash. I brought my hands to my collar. “Put your hands down,” he said. “Don’t tug at that collar or I’ll have to tie your wrists.” I wanted my hands free, so I obeyed. He sat down on the bench as I stood, leaving a little slack in my leash. I was grateful, and waited for him to speak or act. He rubbed the soft leather loop at the end of the leash with his thumb. Stroking back and forth, I watched his small gesture, patiently, until he spoke again.

“Turn around,” he said, plainly. I did so. “Bend forward.” I looked both ways for walkers, then bent over and arched my ass up for his pleasure. He snapped the leash end across my ass, hard. I yelped and winced. It stung. He struck again. Then a third time. “That,” he said, “is for looking around before you obeyed me. Now, let us get to the punishment for presuming to sit beside me rather than at my feet,

...

Read the rest of Walkin' the Sub in Consent Magazine Issue #22 2005