Shame does not rinse away so easily, does it? The shower fails to cleanse; the scalding assault only drew out a blush upon which the residue droplets now give you chill. And so you hide. The towel may shield your eyes from mine, but you can still feel my stare bearing down on you. That towel will become drenched in your tears, become heavy, and only add to your burden.
You are ashamed of yourself. You told me you didn't do that. You told me you're not that kind of girl. And yet there you were, in the shower, hand trapped and face blushed. Even through the torrent I could see your tears commence as your private world was breached. You want to bury yourself in that towel now that your wantonness is uncovered.
You should be ashamed of yourself: not for the act, but for the secret. You are to reveal yourself completely to me, to bare all of your desires. It is for the lie that you will be punished. Once you take your position on the bed, the remnant droplets on your bottom will accentuate the sting as my leather paddle imparts on you the importance of honesty. Afterward, you will flip onto your back and make your premiere, a recital taken to completion. Not in secret, but in the open. All of you will be under my gaze, including your eyes. You will watch me as I watch you. You will see that you are no longer hidden. You will be embarrassed, but without shame. Come now, let's begin the cleansing.
Photo "Маша" by Pavlov Oleg, via Tush.