A Slip of the Tongue
You say that word popped out of your mouth by accident, but you know better. Such language is not allowed from you, my pet. With a tug on your collar, I lead you to stand at the bathroom sink.
“What’s the proper punishment for an unruly tongue?” I ask.
You hang your head because you know. And you hate it. Truly hate it. “The soap.”
You watch with apprehension as I pick up the small white bar, then run the water and lather my hands. With bubbles dripping from my fingers, I turn your face toward me. You shudder as I trace over your lips, leaving foam behind.
“Stick out your tongue.”
You open, and offer up the moist, pink surface. Most of the time that tongue is used for better purposes, but for now it hangs over your bottom lip, limp. I swipe my soapy fingers across your tongue, then slide them deep into your mouth. You tremble, close your eyes and scrunch up your nose at a taste that can only be described as YUK. The corners of your lips pull down, and you gag.
“Spit,” I order, and you lean over and drool into the sink, but the bitterness lingers.
“Tell me the rule.”
“Good boys do not curse,” you whisper.
“That’s right. I know you want to be a good boy, don’t you?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
I smile, and begin to lather my hands again...