Day Two – Morning (continued from Day One)

She wakes suddenly. Oh, his kiss, his body, his hands…

She stretches out on the cold vinyl, feeling weak and brittle, despite the hot, wet desire between her thighs. As she blinks in the very pale early morning light, she ponders the sweetness of her dream. A vivid and lovely dream.

It never ceases to amaze her that her subconscious always seems to long for the other side of the coin. Yesterday was brutal, there was none of the tenderness that she knows from him. And so she dreamt of it. When he has been sweet and loving, spending hours caressing and adoring her body, she dreams of his ropes, cuffs, paddles, floggers, crops and canes.

He always loves hearing about her dreams. She smiles, wishing she could tell him about this one.

The pain in her limbs has improved with sleep, but her body still feels weak and worn. She rubs her bruised wrists, almost missing the wicked shackles that imprisoned her for hours. His shackles. Her complete submission is more than worth it.

This is mine. She melts, imagining the pleasure he will derive from owning her… Body, mind, heart and spirit.

It’s too early to start cooking. The house is completely silent, and there is a definite chill in the air. She longs to be in his warm bed, in his strong arms. But she thinks she understand why she isn’t. He needs her to feel the depth of giving herself to him. The pleasure and tenderness of his love makes it an exchange. But to be owned, she must give of herself freely. Every action must be about pleasing him.

Standing to stretch some more, she decides to busy herself despite her exhaustion. As she cautiously fills a cleaning bucket, she longs to soak in the hot water, but dismisses the thought. It is his body to bathe.

An hour passes, and the small kitchen shines from her work. She ignores her hunger and thirst as she begins cooking his favorite breakfast. She smiles remembering the first pancakes she’d made him, at her apartment. He ate every, single one. Then told her he’d never liked pancakes before. The memory pinks her cheeks as she pulls her hair back and braids it quickly to get it out of her way. She sees one of her hairbands on the windowsill that she doesn’t remember leaving there. She wonders if he had put it there for her last night…

As she cooks, she hums a little. When she feels him watching her, she glances toward the doorway, smiling, but immediately turns away, feeling contrite. She is so unsure of herself all of a sudden.

He walks to her, still in just his boxers, steps behind her and grabs her bruised wrists. She drops the pan she was carrying into the sink, and winces at the pressure of his fingertips, but almost sighs in relief at his touch.

“Are you afraid to smile at me now?”

His growl and breath is at her ear as he glides her palms along the countertop to grip the edge before backing up and pulling her hips with him. She can feel his erection against her cheeks and longs for it to soothe the ache in her belly from her morning dream, but she knows this is sure to be quick and hard. For his pleasure only.

As he presses into her, she moans involuntarily.

“Thinking of me, were you? I’m sure you’re not expecting me to be gentle.”

Without pause, he begins pounding into her causing her to cry out. She bites her lip to stifle any more yelps as his fingers dig into her already burning hips. Lifting his right hand to the front of her neck, he pulls so that her back is arched as far as it can, and her breath is caught in her throat.

She loves it rough and can’t help it when her body responds. But she knows she cannot release. If she has an orgasm without permission, she is sure he will be furious. He’d told her from the very first time they had sex that her pleasure belonged to him. It wasn’t hers to squander.

She is starting to see stars when she recognizes the signs that he is about to climax. She squeezes her inner muscles, trying to make it as pleasurable as possible for him. His satisfying groans are more than enough reward. He curses as he pours himself deep inside her, and then leans into her, letting go of her throat.

Gasping and panting, she holds the counter firmly. Glancing at the stove, relieved she had turned everything off.

After pulling out of her, he spins her around and grips her arms firmly. His lips are inches from hers and she can’t help but look him in the eyes. Should she look away? What now?

“Serve my breakfast. Make two plates. You can tell me what you’ve been up to, little slut, then I’ll feed you.

Commands. Good. She exhales, knowing she’s pleased him and delighting in the chance to actually talk to him.

After making two plates, and filling two glasses with orange juice, she places them on the table. But feeling the sticky remains of their connection dripping down the inside of her thigh and pressure in her belly, she pauses before she kneels, and stares down at her fingers blushing. God, she needs to get over this.

“Sir? I need… Could you please take me to the bathroom?”

His lips twitch in a half-smile, and she blushes again. He wraps his hand around the back of her neck and walks her down the hall. She scurries to the toilet and sits, and her full bladder releases quickly. Sighing in relief, she looks up at him, and watches him pull paper again from the roll.

He kneels in front of her, though it feels different from last night. He wipes her gently then holds a finger up for her to wait. He wets a cloth under the faucet and returns to his knees in front of her. Wiping under her eyes and over her face, then down her neck and chest. She can’t help it when her pulse quickens and her lips part. He lifts her arms, bathing under them, then under her breasts. Down her stomach, he runs the cloth over the insides of her thighs then back, along her slit, cleaning her in the most intimate way.

He slips his fingers inside, the pleasure of feeling her obvious in his expression, before gripping her pussy firmly.

“This is mine. You are mine. Just tell me what you need. No more modesty. Do you understand?”

Her breath is ragged, his fingers inside her make her feel like she might burst into flames.

“Yes, Sir.”

She feels like she needs an orgasm, but wants vs. needs had been a big topic before they both decided on this step. She wants to please him, above all else. And these three days are to prove that.

He pulls her to stand, flushing the toilet behind her then shifting her toward the sink. He washes their hands together, pressed against her naked back and staring at her in the mirror. After drying their hands, he unties her hair so that the braid falls away and grabs her hairbrush from the counter. Gliding it from front the back, through her satin locks several times, she closed her eyes to revel in his touch. He’d told her she wouldn’t see this side of him unless she did things to warrant reward.

She has no idea what he could be rewarding her for in this moment.

When he stops, he wraps his arms around her and whispers in her ear.

“After breakfast, the rest of the morning is going to be rough. I need things from you and need to see that you can handle them. But I want you to remember why you’re here. To remember that I am this man too. To remember how grateful I am to have your submission. …And that I love you, sweetness.”

She stares into his reflection, feeling the precise combination of emotions he undoubtedly means her to feel. But he doesn’t give her the opportunity to respond, as he guides her back into the kitchen quickly.

As they eat, he explains to her that mealtime will always be her time to talk. A regular interval to communicate openly and to allow both of them to relax and enjoy each other. He will continue to feed her, for now, because it gives him the control he desires. And it will remind her of her submission.

She chooses to use the time this morning to tell him about her dream. When she finishes, he has a somewhat bewildered expression.

“What’s the matter?”
“I’m surprised that’s the topic you chose today..”
“I thought you liked to hear my dreams, Sir?”
“I do… indeed. I just thought you might have concerns… about today.”

Perhaps she should ask questions about his plans, though she doubts he’s going to provide details. She was very nervous yesterday, expecting a beating to rival anything he’d ever given her before, but yesterday taught her a lot about herself.

She is a masochist, and having offered her complete submission, she’d told him she didn’t want a safeword, any longer. He’d told her then that he was indeed a sadist, and wanted her to be sure before she gave up such an important protocol. Others in the community had talked to her about this too. But in all their scenes together, she’d never had to use her safeword. He’d always known when to stop, he’d never hurt her beyond her ability to absorb and process.

After that admission, she worried about being wrong. She feared what would happen if he did take it too far. However, the memory of his eyes lit up from her willingness to forego it… She wanted him to feel that kind of power and control, because it was obviously his dream come true.

But the concern that it was a mistake remained… Until last night. She realized that he knew her in a way that she hadn’t even known herself.

“I think what you are going to do to me today is teach me more about myself, Sir. I have a feeling you are going to break through more of my fears and defenses so that I can truly and successfully surrender myself to you. …Completely.”

She smiles, wondering how he would react to her touching him. She shyly decides to whisper her request.

“Sir, am I allowed to touch you during mealtime?”

His lips curl at the edges and he nods. She takes his hand and places it on her chest. Just holding it there, over her heart, so that he can feel the most important possession she’s already given him.

He finishes feeding her in silence, and after draining the last of her juice, she whispers that she is still thirsty. He rises to fill another glass with water and returns. After she drains the glass, he chuckles.

“I never noticed how much you drink. Are you always this thirsty?”

She blushes and looks down at the tile between her thighs, and remembering that she is naked, her cheeks redden further.

“Yes, Sir. But perhaps more so this morning.”
“After scrubbing down my kitchen… I watched you for a while earlier…”

She glances up at him, surprised. She hadn’t noticed him…

“I’m sure that was a sight.”
“Indeed, sweetness. Indeed.”

He sits and stares at her for several more minutes. She always wonders what he’s thinking about, he’s so taciturn. After another glass of water, he tells her to clean up, and disappears down the hall.

She does so quickly, even wiping down the kitchen chairs, then kneels in the same spot. Next to the head of the table.

When he returns, he’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but no shoes.

He orders her to crawl into the garage, once more. And as she makes her way down the hall and over the threshold, she imagines him watching her ass the whole time.

In the garage, he pulls her to stand then cuffs her wrists to a spreader bar hanging from the ceiling which raises on a pulley. Then he attaches another to her ankles. His fingers skim over the bruises from his shackles, but his face gives nothing away.

Once her legs are spread, he raises the pulley more until she is stretched and on her toes. Stepping behind her, he twists her hair into a knot and secures it with one of her hairbands. He then steps over to the large table and holds up the gag, watching her. Her jaw aches from yesterday, and she prays he doesn’t make her wear it this morning.

He carries it over to her and stands directly in front her. The heat radiating off his body in the chilly garage feels wonderful… or perhaps it’s simply his proximity.

His face is inches from hers, and her heart races. He hasn’t kissed her in days. He told her the next time he did, it would be because he needed it. Oh, please need it now.

“I want to put this on you, badly, just to prove I own you. But I also know what kind of torture it must’ve been yesterday on your jaw… Instead, you are going to hold it, by the strap, in your teeth, until I take it away. If you drop it, you will wear it for the remainder of our session. You understand?”

Breathing in his scent, she literally drips onto the concrete floor below. I’ll do anything for you.

“Yes, Sir.”

He bends his knees so that his lips are fractions of an inch from hers. She closes her eyes, willing herself to expect nothing. Trust him. His breath mingled with hers is almost too much.

She feels him change positions and opens her eyes as he lifts the strap for the gag to her open mouth, positioning it between her teeth, and pressing her jaw closed with one finger. His expression is untelling, but not at all the sadistic smirk she expects.

She exhales deeply as he steps back and stares at her. No modesty. Standing before him, nude and spread open, completely vulnerable, she wonders how she might NOT feel modest.

He steps towards her again, but off slightly to her side and pinches her left nipple before twisting and pulling. She tries hard not to make noise, but it’s impossible not to whine when he produces a set of brutal clamps from his pocket and attaches the first. He follows suit on the other side and smacks both of her breasts, causing her to nearly open her mouth to cry out. She must concentrate on keeping her teeth clenched.

His hand skims down her belly and he smacks her sex with the back of his fingers. She closes her eyes with the second blow, and starts to focus on the feeling of clenching her aching jaw, in an effort to keep herself from writhing beneath his touch.

The blows grow more intense, then he produces a heavy flogger from somewhere. He spins her and begins swinging it in a back and forth motion across her buttocks and thighs, then up her back before travelling back down her legs.

The strikes begin to really burn as the strands bite her flesh. She cannot hold back the noise that escapes her throat with each searing hit. But she can process pain. And this is nothing she hasn’t experienced already.

Suddenly, he increases his speed and starts circling around her, hitting nearly every part of her body. When the flogger’s strands catch in the nipple clamps chain, the pull of her flesh is frightfully painful and she screams, but somehow manages to hold the strap in her teeth. He does it again and again, and she squeezes her eyes shut as she counts the blows.

Tears fill her eyes at 9, and start to fall at 12. But she goes silent, only grunting at each strike. Trust him. She’s nowhere near her limit. And she begins to feel the drift… That chemical reaction that changes the pain, turns it into something else.

“Not yet.”

His breathless growl makes her eyes flash open. He stares at her as he steps back to the table to drop the flogger and picks up a cane. God, no. She hates the cane, despises it.

Again, the look on his face is unreadable. Somewhere between dark desire and… uneasy anticipation?

When he steps back toward her, she stares at the thin wood rod. Her heart hammers so hard. He really does mean to push her. She’s only ever been beaten with a cane once, and it was a wicked experience. But when she told him about it, he believed it was the total experience that wrecked her. Not the implement.

He steps absolutely flush against her, tugging the strap from her mouth..

“I knew you could do it.”

Suddenly, he tosses the gag and wraps his fingers around her throat. He pulls her lips to meet his and scorches her with an intense kiss. She’s breathless and spinning when he releases her. He is also visibly affected.

“I know you’re scared. I know you have this built up in your mind as some sort of hellish experience, but I promise you, sweetness, I’ve dealt you far more pain with other things than I will with this. …I need you to trust me. …Do you trust me?”

His fingers have moved around her throat and are woven into the bun at the back of her neck. He pulls her head back again, and as her body arches against him, she reminds herself what he said earlier. And why she’s here.

“…Yes.  Yes, Sir. Implicitly. …No safeword.”
“No safeword.”

Staring into his eyes, all she can do is pray she isn’t making a mistake. Remembering her thoughts from yesterday, she tells herself the same thing, repeatedly. Trust him. I must trust him.

He strokes her cheek and steps away, the expression from earlier returning. She wishes she could figure out what he is feeling.

He walks behind her and begins rubbing her bottom. Down her thighs, then back up. He raises the pulley again so that she’s barely touching the floor, her weight is distributed between her toes and wrists. As his hand returns, but this time, slips between her thighs, she exhales deeply.

He had said long ago that he enjoyed watching her in that state of pure pleasure, then nearly overcome by pain, followed by that serenity that takes over when she’s able to change the pain or transcend it. But that there was something very satisfying about holding her between the levels.

His fingers weave their magic until she is panting and whimpering loudly. She wants to cum so badly, days without release has her completely on edge. She aches and drips and almost begs, but resolves not to speak, as that wouldn’t get her what she wanted anyway.

Then, the first blow hits her thighs. The second, across her ass. It stings just as badly as she remembered. Tears spring into her eyes, but somehow she manages not to cry out. Her almost orgasm is completely forgotten by the time he’s struck her six times. Then, suddenly, his hand slips around her front. One finger circling her clit, barely touching her, before two more strikes, hard and in succession cause her to scream.

He rubs her hard, the pleasure and pain breaking into her mind and scattering her thoughts. Three more blows make her scream again, then groan as his fingers slip inside her.

“Oh, Sir… Sir… please.”
“Who do you belong to, slut?”
“You, Sir. But please.”

Pulling free, he swings the cane back and it hits a new spot at the top of her cheeks. Oddly, she barely makes a sound, and is more desperate for the return of his fingers than for the caning to stop.

“Please, please, please.”
“No.”

When his hand returns, he starts all over again. Oh, it was a test. She bites her lips and absorbs the infuriating teasing, waiting for more. Of what, she is unsure.

He reaches for the chain attached to her nipples and pulls while simultaneously increasing pressure on her clit with his thumb and slipping two fingers into her sopping wet pussy. The pain is so intense, her nipples feel like they are hardwired to the nerves behind her eyes. But the pleasure is equally intense. Her body begins to send her mixed signals, and the pain in her breasts feels good.

This is the moment she loves. It hurts… so good. Every nerve ending in her body is alive and when he blows on her neck, she convulses but holds back, not allowing her body to defy him..

He lets go of the chain and turns her to smack her again with the cane. Four more blows that completely wreck her mind. She is lost in the synergy and doesn’t even make a sound. Five additional strikes only seem to deepen her stupor.

“Good Girl,” he breathes against her lips, but she still can’t open her eyes. “How much do you want to cum right now?”

As she tries to focus her mind, his fingers tease her further, while his other hand grips her burning ass painfully. She wants to, so badly. The ache of need courses through her whole body.

As his fingers push deeper inside, her eyes fly open. He lifts his other hand from her backside to her throat, wrapping his fingers around her and squeezing tightly, “You won’t though, will you sweetness? You won’t defy me.”

She can’t help but stare into his eyes. She focuses every ounce of her being on his fingers around her neck instead the ones pushing her towards the sun. She’s not sure if he expects an answer, but before she can decide, he pulls away completely, hissing, “Yes. My good fucking girl.”

Stepping behind her again, he picks up the cane and delivers several more blows. Then spins her around and bends to remove the cuffs at her ankles. As he stands, he unzips his pants and pushes them down, releasing his iron cock before grabbing her thighs and wrapping them around his waist.

Pushing into her slowly, he groans with pleasure before reaching up and grasping her throat tightly, pulling her lips his. Before he kisses her, he growls into her mouth, “Who’s slut are you?”

She exhales quickly, “Yours, Master,” trying to steel herself against expectations, but so hungry for more of his approval.

As he thrusts into her, again, he bites her lower lip and grips her ravaged ass tightly. She yelps, but then moans as his tongue slides against her own.

His hips buck into hers wildly, and she wonders how she can hold back. She clenches tightly around his shaft, causing him groan again as his mouth threatens to devour her from within.

Pushing and pulsing, he finally pulls his lips away, grunting and cursing as she writhes wildly against him. He still has not given her permission to climax, but she has transcended the need. Her only desire is to make him cum. Her only need is to feel his complete satisfaction.

“Fuck!” He shouts as he pours himself into her. She wills her body to still, somehow, but can’t open her eyes out of fear that she will climax at just the sight him.

He pulls out of her and holds her against his chest while unbuckling the cuffs around her wrists. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he walks over to a bench where he sits.

He holds her tightly, releasing her hair and combing through it with his fingers. His breath is still labored, but she thinks she hears him whisper, “Good Girl,” a few more times. He uncaps a bottle of water and holds it against her lips. “Drink baby.”

When she opens her eyes, and draws the liquid into her mouth, she wonders how it is possible that she isn’t feeling frustrated or pouty. All she feels is pride in herself. And a freedom she hadn’t expected. She closes her eyes again, bathing in the bliss of being his fuck toy.

“How are you, sweetness?” His gravelly voice wakes her from her revelry. “Are you in pain?”

She swallows and licks her lips, looking up again into his eyes, not caring if she’s supposed to or not. “Not much, Sir. But can I have some more water?”

One corner of his mouth curls as he presses the bottle to her mouth again. “Not too fast,” he whispers.

After she finishes, he strokes her hair as she rests her head against his shoulder. “Wasn’t as bad as you were expecting?”

“No, Sir. I am surprised that I’m not hurting worse.” Closing her eyes, she tries to absorb as much of this as she can, not knowing what the rest of the day holds.

She thinks he must realize this, because he simply strokes his fingers up and down her back, occasionally pressing his lips against her forehead. He says nothing, but his touch is the most soothing thing in the world.

When he tilts her chin up so that she will look into his eyes again, he bends to kiss her lips softly. “This is what you were missing the first time you were caned. You weren’t cared for. You were beaten and discarded. I will never do that to you… I love you, little girl… Seeing you surrender yourself completely to your worst fear…”

The emotion in his voice causes her to lift her fingers to his jaw. “I will do anything for you, Master. I am yours.”

His grin grows and his eyelids lower as he squeezes her against his chest, causing her to squirm. When he looks at her alarmed, she blushes and whispers, “I need… I need to pee, Sir.”

His smile changes, and the thrill he feels from his control over her is obvious. As he stands, carrying her across the garage, he chuckles and whispers, “Of course, sweetness. Then perhaps a bath, before the next part of your training.”

…to be continued.