Vive la revolution!

Patrice had been well contained for as long as she could remember - however long that was, she could not say.

Earlier in the week, she had been bedeviled by an uneasy feeling. Quite abruptly, she felt underprivileged; that what she had was not enough.

As well contained submissive girls do, she tried to quash her rebellious thoughts and settle down to the business of doing what she had been told to do - to obey, to comply; to be pleasing.

On the outside, she seemed settled enough. There was nothing in her appearance or manner to suggest the revolution that was going on in her mind.

Every nerve ending of her body and every impulse and instinct was screaming out to her that she wanted more and she wanted more now.

She closed her eyes in an effort to settle herself. Surely this feeling must go soon, before she cause damage or do something she would surely regret. She tried to breathe deeply and relax into her thoughts...

She had dressed beautifully for the dinner with him and the restaurant was perfect in every way. She ate sparingly although the food was sumptuous. She drank more than enough wine. He too wore a devilishly handsome suit and seemed to enjoy the raconteur with her as they exchanged witty comments and he issued her vague threats. If the truth be known she was a little bit frightened of what he might wish to do to her after dinner but she never let on, merely giggling at the provocative things he said. Such bluff!

It was her usual custom to drink one glass of wine or champagne; perhaps two. The mistake she made was to drink two glasses of the shiraz as well as the martini cocktail. That put her in a place where she could not hold back the words that came from her lips.

"Oh right!" she blurted out. What a great idea that is. That will do my career a lot of good to take that dumb advice!!"

And, then she had the audacity to giggle again, as if it was merely a tad cheeky to respond to him in that way.

But, she had pressed the wrong button and he wasn't impressed or titillated; merely very angry that she could be so offensive about a suggestion he had made in good faith.

Tipsy she was, but not enough to not register his displeasure.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend. It is just that..."

He was out of his chair and had paid for the bill before she had a chance to determine her next best move.

He returned to her and taking her hand, assisted her out of the chair from which she did not wish to come.

"I'm sorry," she repeated as he whisked her through the restaurant and into the parked car.

He opened his front door and gave her a little push through the door. She felt a trickle of fear at the back of her throat.

"Repeat what you said," he demanded.

"No."

Her refusal earned her a good, hard swat to her satin covered backside.

"Repeat what you said."

She repeated the rude comment as best she could remember it and was met with silence; with nothing but his all consuming blue eyes beating into her heart and her conscience.

"Is that what you are? A rude girl? Is that what I have trained you to be?"

"I was very rude. I am sorry."

"And what are you willing to do to repay me?"

"Anything."

"Anything?"

"Whatever you wish. Whatever will reconnect us."

"Strip," he ordered.

She didn't want this. She knew she needed this. In a few short minutes the revolution would be complete.

Thank God.