Friday Night Part 7 by Anonymous

Friday Night
part seven



He looked over at his mistress, not obviously, He shot her a sidelong glance. He didn't want to make eye contact. She was tapping one finger on her desk.  Tap tap.  Over and over, she tapped her finger nail against the hard wood.

She rarely wore nail polish so he didn't have to worry that she'd damage her manicure.
He made a  note to check his manicure kit for cuticle oil.  The skin on her hands seemed dry.  He added extra-strength healing hand lotion to his mental shopping list.

She sighed.

Aside from the clock ticking and the nail tapping, the room had been silent for hours.
 He bent his head back down to stare at the screen of his laptop.  He was sprawled on the couch. She was upright at her desk.

The short winter afternoon passed slowly, in silence.

Finally he could stand it no longer. He stood up.  Closed the laptop.  Set it aside. Tucked his long-sleeved crisp white dress shirt into his tight black trousers and moved to her side.
He knelt down very close to her knee.

"Would you like some tea, Mistress?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Not now, pet," she replied.

He continued to kneel by her side.

Another thirty minutes passed. He thought he had counted every tick of the clock. His knees ached.  His back strained in the stiff upright posture he had assumed.
Did she not realize he was waiting for her instruction?

Was she unaware that it was getting late?  The sun was setting.  He didn't want to make any preparation for their Friday night play party, unless she told him they would be going.  He knew she didn't like to be rushed, refused to make any last minute dashes to the car.  But it was getting late. Too late.  Did she mean to stay home?

Why did she say nothing?  Why was she ignoring him?  What had he done to deserve this?

"It's not about you" she would say sometimes, when he fussed.

"Is this about me" he thought.

 "No.  It's not about me.  It's about getting her ready and making sure she's got everything she needs, fluffing her up and getting her into the car, driving her over smoothly." Sometimes, he said to her as they rode in the car, "I like to think of you as a precious egg, that I must walk all the way carrying in my hand, so that you arrive in perfect condition."

Whenever he said that, she would  sigh, look at him with disdain and wave her hand in his face. "Whatever" she'd murmur.  

He knew that .. she knew.... he  loved the wave of dismissal, his efforts seemingly unappreciated.

At last, he could not hold back his question.

 "Mistress, should I prepare your toy bag? Everything is clean and fresh inside, but I would like to buff up the leather a bit, if we're going this evening."

She looked down at him.  She smiled.  She glanced at the clock.
"6:00 o'clock" she said very quietly.

"Not bad" she said. "With the exception of the tea offer, you lasted four hours and 35 minutes under the silent treatment."

"Oh it's sad."  "You were so close until you blew it with the tea offer."  she added.

He blinked.  "The silent treatment?"
He never heard her use the phrase.
"What game is she playing?" he wondered

"I told you at 1:25 this afternoon, 'Don't bother me. I am busy thinking.'  You offered me tea at 5:30 and now of course the question about the toy bag at 6 o'clock.  Well, not bad, but not good either.  You will pay for this tonight.  How many lashes of the single tail do you think this merits?"

He looked at her in astonishment.  He had no idea what to say.
Finally, he answered, "As many as you wish, Mistress."

He hated even one lash.  He wanted to say, "No lashes,Mistress, because you didn't explain this was a game or a task".

 But he realized she'd given him a command, a straight forward one. "Don't bother me." she'd said.

He bowed his head.

"Go buff up the bag now, we're going to be late."

She ran her hand through her long red hair and smiled to herself.