The Art of Shaming your girl.

undefinedundefined'Come here.'

Immediately my fingers hooked themselves into the straps of my bra and I began to take it off.

'I said come here, not undress,' he said gritting his teeth, 'What are you, stupid?'

I hate it when he does that; when he just changes the rules anytime he likes and forgets to inform me. Come here has meant come here naked for ages now. And then it didn't.

And so I walked over to him as I quietly explained to myself that my agitation was meaningless and would eventually be counterproductive. I can't help but be annoyed when I was never given the chance to do things right but I also knew complaining about it would only get me beaten. Internally, it's always a little bit of a struggle but it's usually settled by focusing on the arousal. Sure it makes me angry to be undermined but that's not all it makes me feel.

'Let me look at you,' he as I stood in front of him.

I never know what to do with my arms. I put usually put them behind my back. Not just in situations like this but also when I'm anywhere and just standing. I'm not sure about arm and hand social protocol but I feel safe with my hands behind my back.

'Nails first,' he said pulling my arm out from behind me.

At any given time there are twelve things he'll check to find an excuse to be mean. Nails, just one of them. The excuse is important to him. He calls it rule, I call it excuse. Doesn't matter what it's called, though. I suppose he can't do it if he doesn't believe I deserve it. It's not that strange. Most of us contain more of the look what you made me do sentiment than we know. Besides I find it hot to be held responsible for the bad things that are going to happen to me.

And I knew bad things were going to happen because when he is looking for mistakes he will find them, and count them.

'One.'

'Two.'

'Three.'

'Four.'

And then he laughed because there's one thing he likes more than a reason to be mean: Lots of reasons to be mean.

'So much for perfect nails,' he said.

With his fingers he pinched my waist and pulled me closer.

'Take that disgusting bra off,' he said, 'Let's look at the rest of you.'

His hand caught my arm on the way back from flinging my bra onto the bed. His fingers ran over the hair on my arms; all the way up to my shoulders.

'Put your arms up over your head,' he said.

His fingers lingered too close to the stubble in my armpit. Too close but not quite there.

'Tell me something,' he started to ask, 'Are you a cavewoman?'

It was strange that in the moment it didn't occur to me to defend the cavewoman. I just felt ashamed. He gestured for me to turn around and i was grateful not to have to look at him anymore. Even his feet seemed contemptuous and usually they love me. His hand rested against my ass as he fiddled around with my panties.

'White hearts on faded cloth? Really?' He said turning me round and round, 'And are they..ripped?'

He pulled at the rip until it was much larger.

'Since when did it become okay for you to be so horribly unkempt? Are you an animal now?' He asked.

I love him for not expecting me to really answer. Instead he ripped and pulled at my panties until they lay at my ankles. I spread my legs as far as I could while his hands ran up and down my legs, thighs and cunt.

'Can you not afford a razor?' He asked pinching my clit, 'Shall I just give you the money or do I have to shave you too? Do I have to be your personal assistant?'

The truth is that I had maybe a few days worth of hair but I felt like surely I looked like a bear.

'Give me your panties,' he said.

I love the human brain's ability to check out and just, do. It comes in handy. I suppose that's why these things are much harder to process retrospectively. While I was doing it, all I wanted was to do it. And so I reached to my ankles and handed him the wad of wet white hearts.

'They smell a little of p,' he said wrapping them around my face, 'Did I scare you little girl?'

I really do love him for not expecting me to answer. I could see out of one half of each eye and smell out of both nostrils. I heard him turn off the lights. Sometimes he doesn't have to explain things. He never turns off the lights. I turned towards him when I heard him pull back the curtains. I couldn't see the moon but I could see all the little lights on all the houses on the block.

'Get up on the window sill,' he said pulling me to it, 'Everyone should see you be disgusting.'

The marble hurt my knees immediately but he held me upright against the glass by pushing up against me. His fingers reached between my legs to find me already grinding against the nothingness.

'Do you think all those people walking in the street can see you?' He asked, 'Those guys walking the dog? The neighbors? You think people are looking out of their windows wondering why a slut is on display?'

God, I hoped so. I also hope to never have to figure out why I hoped so. And I hoped that his fingers would never stop doing that thing to my clit that makes it come to him. It just grows bigger than I've ever known it capable of being. At least I don't have to figure out why I want that.

'Look at that man, he's going back inside his house,' he said, 'Do you think you disgusted him? I can't stand to look at you, can't see why anyone else would.'

I have buttons and he knows how to push them. I don't even think I taught him.

I didn't care anymore though. It felt so good. All I cared about was pushing myself into the glass and his fingers between my legs. I could feel myself tense and tremble and wonder who was watching as I begged.

'Please please may I come?'

His fingers pulled back from me as soon as I opened my mouth to speak.

'No, you don't come,' he said running his fingers into the wetness trickling down my thighs.

I really thought he'd say yes, my body was so ready to go there. Usually I am fairly good at guessing where he's going with it. The frustration of being wrong made me attempt to bite the pane. He didn't care though. He wiped his fingers on the parts of my hair that were visible.

'Come,' he said pulling me off the sill, 'You're not done. You're going to spend some time thinking about being an unkempt whore.'

He walked me across the room to the little storage corner where we keep all the things we don't need. He pushed me down onto my knees into the corner.

'Face the wall,' he said, 'All you're going to think about is how you're too disgusting for me to even fuck in the dark tonight.'

And then he left me there still moaning.

There.

With all the other things in the house that we have to keep simply because they were once worth something.'Come here.'

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