Wild Irish Rose

Rose stood before Him, waiting. Not only was today Inspection Day, but it is also St. Patrick's Day - His favorite holiday. He called her his Wild Irish Rose for good reason. She was indeed both Irish and Wild. Only a strong man could tame her, hence the need for a weekly inspection. Her muff must be trimmed neatly, but enough hair must be left to show her true genetics. Her body must be free of bruising unless previously reported - Rose was both clumsy and a bit on the wanton side. She must be wet. Always wet for Him. Her nipples perky and hard. Her anus empty and clean. Inspection day came only once a month and never on the same date. It was always a surprise to her. If she failed in any of her requirements, she would pay a penalty. Then again, she often enjoyed the penalty, so she would sometimes leave her pubic hair a bit frazzled, "forget" to do a cleanse. There wasn't much chance of her pussy not juicing since the very thought of Him made her puddle, nor was it likely that her nipples would not be perky for the very same reason. Just the thought of His mouth on them turned the pretty pink points into hardened pebbles. 

Today, it was the muff. She'd not trimmed it in several days and the edges were definitely frayed. 

"You've not been caring for my puss, Rose," He said.

"I've been busy, Sir, and with it being so cold, I didn't think you'd mind," she answered smartly.

"Think again. You know the rules," 

Rose hung her head and nodded. He sat on the edge of His chair and patted his lap. Silently, Rose assumed her position.

"I've got a surprise for you, Rose. In honor of the Feast Day, I've purchased a new paddle. Let's see how well you like it. Seventeen is the magic number for today."

He showed Rose the pretty new paddle - embossed leather - and she knew she would regret her rash decision of not shaving. He was not light with leather and since this was a punishment, she would be given no warm up. Time and again the paddle descended on her raised bottom. Only once did she put her hands over herself to block the blows. He graciously allowed her a moment to recover, then held her hands locked at the small of her back to ensure no repeat of her indiscretion. By the time He finished, Rose was sobbing, her bottom as red as her untrimmed hair. She begged forgiveness. He held her, kissed her head and granted her wish. Wanting to please Him, Rose slid to the floor and looked up at him, her eyes begging.

"Yes, Rose, you may," He said.

Quickly, she unzipped his trousers and got to work. She heard him moan with pleasure and smiled around his cock. She sucked his shaft while massaging his jewels, eager to please Him. Even after he feed her the Milk of Forgiveness, she remained at his feet, her cheek resting on his knee, His hand on her head.

"I do so love you, my Wild Irish Rose."