To be owned… Part 2

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.

Moonlighting, Part three

To catch up on the whole series, click here.

He laughs and sits on the bed. When I’ve put away all the clutter, and wiped down all the surfaces with a face cloth, I look around the room and leave the hand towel next to His sink rumpled.

“I’m ready for inspection, Sir,” I call into the bedroom. When He walks toward me, this is the Master I know. His confident swagger returned, His demanding attention scoping around the room, searching out the tiny missed detail.

Of course he realizes it was intentional, and perhaps he understands that they all were. When He sees it, He grasps me around the back of the neck and walks me toward the infraction.

“Is this how I like my towels, sweet Chelsea?” His clipped tone hiding the sparkle that I hope gleams in His eye.

“Oh, no Sir. I’m so sorry,” I quiver as I reach to correct it.

“Go and kneel on the bed, knees apart, and wait for your punishment.”

As I obey, I’m again struck with thoughts of Marie. Lying or even kneeling on the bed she normally shares with Master seems like a betrayal, and my pace forward stops.

I glance back at Him, feeling unsure again. Perhaps this will not turn into anything, and we’ll all end up burying each other.

As I stand in the doorway, hesitating, He walks up behind me and places His hands on my shoulders. He pulls my back against Him and whispers, “She’s gone, sweet girl. And she won’t be returning.”

My body spins of its own volition. “What?! No, she’s on vacation, she told me herself!” I quickly check my attitude, “I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to shout. I-“

“It’s ok, little one. I asked her not to tell you, because I didn’t want you to assume that my desire to advance our relationship was due to some need to replace her.”

I stare up into His eyes, feeling exactly that.

“The truth is, I have ended my arrangement with both she and Rachel. But, I am allowing Rachel to stay in the apartment for a while.”

I turn and reach for his robe hanging from a hook beside the door, but my knees give out, and I’m suddenly in a heap on the floor.

Sir grabs the robe and drops to His knees to wrap me in it, then holds my face between His hands. “I’m definitely befuddled here, sweet girl. I never expected your loyalty to run so deep. I never expected to… I never thought I’d be willing to turn my life upside down… “

“Please say something… at least look at me?”

I shift my gaze from the floor to His face. Looking at Him still feels odd.  But His expression is so warming.  I feel the questions blooming in my mind.  I need answers.  “May I… Sir…”

“Please, Chelsea, ask me anything,” He breathes, relief washing over His features as he sits with His legs on either side of me, and lowers His hands to cover mine, rubbing them to warm them.  “You’re freezing, little one…” He whispers.

“Why?”

“Why… what?”

“Why did you turn your life upside down?”

He exhales, struggling with the answer. “Do you remember the week your divorce was final?  You texted me that afternoon. You said you were free, and you sounded so pleased. But then the next night, you left me that voicemail.”

He was stroking my hands, and I suddenly wished I was wrapped in his arms in bed instead of huddled in front of him on the cold, marble floor.  I shiver shot through me as I recalled that humiliating message. I had been so sad, lonely and frustrated. I sought out his companionship, knowing it wasn’t truly available.

“I was so concerned about you that I drove to your home. I wanted to hold you and comfort you, make you feel wanted and cared for.  Your sadness drove down deep into my heart, and I honestly couldn’t stop thinking about that. Every week I couldn’t wait for Wednesday, and it became very noticeable to Marie.  She asked me 4 weeks ago if I realized what was happening.

“I told her I was considering asking you to live here with us, and she told me it would never work.  She made me see that you were not like her and Rachel. You were submissive, but if you were truly going to be safe in the lifestyle, you would need someone who could devote themselves completely to being your Dominant.  She does not believe I have it in me to do that.  I’ve surrounded myself for years with many submissives who could all offer me something different.  I could never settle for just one.

“But every week after that, you showed me something about yourself that I had never found before.  And then, a few weeks ago, I heard you chatting with Marie. She had already told me she was leaving, and I was worried what she was going to say to you, so I eavesdropped.  You had just had a pretty brutal strapping, but you babbled away as if you hadn’t been punished at all.  During your conversation, Rachel found me listening and smiling, and she told me she thought I was falling for you.

“And then you said something that knocked the wind out of me.  You told Marie that you wished you could find a single guy, just like me.  Rachel heard it too, and when she saw my face…”

I looked up at Him, waiting for Him to finish.  But His eyes told me everything.

“Sir, May I ask how you even know that…  I mean, what if I… What if we cannot be what each other needs?  I cannot bear the thought of your whole world-“

“Stop. After just ending a marriage, I can’t believe you would even… No, I can believe it, but if you accept… If you become mine, this is your first rule: You are not permitted to believe you are not worth my whole world.”  His fingers trace down my cheek and neck, to stroke my hair.  “You are the most amazing creature I have ever had the pleasure to gaze upon.”

His words stopped my heart. My chest feels odd, and full again, as though the years spent shriveling in an empty marriage never happened.  But I’m still not ready to offer Him my everything… My complete submission?  I’m not even sure what that would mean for my life, career, etc.

“I’m just… Please, Sir.  Can we get up off the floor?”  I squeak, feeling too vulnerable.

“I have more questions, but could we put all of it aside for tonight?  I think… I’d like… You were… About to punish me, Sir?” I know my voice is barely audible, but I know feeling His Dominance will help me.

I need to feel, even just for a moment, what it will be like to be His, completely.

He doesn’t speak, and I can only guess He is struggling with what to do.  He’s never been in this situation before, always having had experienced subs.  Taking me on as a service sub had been a very difficult decision for Him.  This must seem like completely foreign territory.

I decide to help by removing the robe.  I stand to hang it back on the hook, and then lower myself to the floor, on my knees, in front of Him, linking my arms behind me and lowering my chin. A small show of submission. A request for power exchange.

He remains silent and still for a long time.  When he finally rises, I remember Rachel once telling me to never have expectations, when it came to punishments. So I tried to empty my mind, pushing my anxiety down into the pit of my stomach.  I wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but He wasn’t reaching down to collect me, so I concentrated on my breathing.

After several more minutes, I hear Him moving around.  He opens a drawer in the bedroom, then I hear Him pulling something out of the linen closet behind me.

“Since, my pet, you let on that you didn’t like being on the floor, part of your punishment will be to remain there for a while.” He kneels beside me and pulls my arms swiftly down my back.  He wraps them with something tightly, and I respond to His signal to clasp my hands together. “Good girl,” He whispers, and the delicious rush those two tiny words provide is exhilarating.  I cannot wait to hear them again and again.

He exhales deeply, and glides His fingers down my backside.  He arranges my body with expert hands, pushing my chest to the floor, pulling my knees apart as far as my muscles will allow, and then he grips my hips and pulls them up, raising my behind into the air.  When I move my feet, to use my toes on the floor for balance, He slaps them both and presses the tops of them against the cold tile beneath me.  “Use your large muscles for balance, pretty girl, not your tiny ones.”  His admonishment sends me further into submission.

“Now, sweet Chelsea, I am not punishing you this evening for the hand towel, but because you intentionally ignored a minor detail while completing your task, and this is clearly a pattern of manipulation.  True submission is to be constantly pleasing, not seeking out punishment.  If you are in need of attention, you need only tell me so.  Manipulation displeases me.  But communication makes me very happy.  Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” I bleat against the tile.

“Because you appear to enjoy spanking and strapping, I will only use those for pleasure.  Your punishments will be much more intense.  Do you understand?”

“I… You… Are you going to hurt me badly, Sir?”

“Sweet girl, have I ever hurt you badly? Or even close?”

“No Sir.”

“You have a very high tolerance for pain, so I am going to have to experiment on you.  But if it is too much for you, you need only to tell me so. I will take things slowly, but I am fairly sure I have a better idea of what you can take than you do.”

“Ok, Sir.”

“I’m going to use a flogger to start. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then, I will begin.”

He inhaled a long breath, I felt the air rush over my backside, and then the tiny strands of leather sting against my skin.  After several blows, the stinging sensation gets hotter.  He swings in a steady pace from side to side at first, and the rhythm becomes meditative.  But that doesn’t last long as he increases speed.  Suddenly, I feel the bites of just the tips of the strands, like a hundred bee stings, and I cry out.  He does this again several times, and I feel my will starting to return.  I’m not sure how much more I can take, and just as I think I might say stop, He shifts back into the repetitive side to side swings that he started with.

I don’t allow myself to float off this time, and instead listen to His breathing.  With each blow, He grunts very softly, and I find myself imagining His growing erection.  I picture Him watching my ass redden and undulate with the strikes, with a satisfied smile on His lips.  My body responds to my thoughts and my hips rotate slightly as I raise it higher in the air by arching my back as much as I can.  He groans, and increases His speed again, flicking at the end of each swing so that I feel the bee stings again.

This time, the pain pushes me down further.  I want to complete this punishment, I want to hear him say those lovely two words that will wrap against my heart and make me whole.

Sensing my determination, he changes pace and direction, again. And whimpers and moans escape my throat automatically. Tears sting my eyes, and something within me breaks.  A wrenching sob escapes my chest, and I shout, “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry…” He doesn’t stop. And I don’t ask him to.

As he continues, the heartache and sadness that has filled my heart for months, maybe year, pours from deep within me. It is an incredible release.  The sobs rip through me, and I think he is speaking to me, but his words don’t register, even though I think I answer.  I feel like I need it to be more.  Harder.  Suddenly, he throws down the flogger and uses something else. It cracks against my skin and whistles through the air.  With each burning strike, I feel something blooming within me.  I let go, and allow it to take control.  This punishment has turned into something I never expected I needed.  As I let go, the release of my tears and the movement of my body is all that I feel. I inhale deeply and as I release that breath, I feel detached.  I feel words leave my lips, but I don’t hear them.  I feel the air across my skin, and goose-bumps tingle across my flesh, but cannot place what causes them.  I exhale again, suddenly realizing that I think I hear his voice.

“Sir?”  I whisper, unable to open my eyes.

I hear his voice again, but cannot make out the words.  I feel his hands unbinding my arms and then his breath on my back.  His breathing is hard and fast, and I feel him move in front of me, scooping me up and onto His lap.

“Sir?”  I breathe again, still unsure of what is happening.

“Yes, my good girl,” he growls against my hair, stroking me and rubbing my arms.  “I believe that turned out to be a therapy beating.”

“Sir?” I force my eyes to open, and when they do, the flood of light surprises me.

“Shhh, give yourself a moment, my sweet.  You were deep in subspace.  Are you in any pain?” His words are soft and gentle, but his voice is husky and breathless.

“No, sir.  I’m not sure I feel anything….”  He squeezes me in His strong embrace, assuring me.  “I… I’m not sure what happened?”

“You broke.  Reset.  The pain opened you up to let go, emotionally.” He kisses my hair and is pulling the robe around my shivering body. “You said he ruined you…”

“S-sir?  I think I might like a few more of those….” I whisper, the room feeling small and overwhelming at the same time. “Letting go…”

“What did you mean, precious?  Who ruined you? Your ex-husband?”  His hands rubbed and kneaded my hips and thighs.

“He took the best part of me.  I loved him and gave him everything, but he didn’t really know how to love. At the end, I stopped taking care of him.  I stopped talking to him.  When we did talk, he was always hurtful and empty.  I think he is broken, and that is why he ruined me.”

I felt the tears sliding down my cheeks again, and Martin’s arms tighten around me.  He leans me back, wiping my tears with his thumbs.

“Oh, darling girl… Thank you for letting me rip it out of you. You are not ruined. He took from you, but not the best parts.  It will be my life long goal to build you back up, to make you complete again. But the best parts are all still here.”  His lips drop to mine, and his flames pour into me, reigniting my desire.

I moan as his tongue circles mine.  His fingers trail down my cheek and neck, and flatten so that his whole hand glides down the length of me.  He lifts me off his lap, setting my seared backside on the cold tile floor before rising to his knees and scooping me up in his arms.  He rises with such ease, his strength so obvious, I’m overcome with my feelings for him, and bury my face against his neck.

As he glides into the bedroom, he dims the lights and places me on the bed, pulling the robe off of my body as he does so.  He quickly removes his clothes and clicks a button on the night table, filling the room with soft music.  He places his palms on the bed next to my shoulder and glides onto the bed, lying directly on top of me. I squirm against his erection, wanting him inside of me, but only achieve a small amount of friction.

He drops to his elbows, placing his hands on either side of my face. “Tonight, I am going to make love to you the way only I can, sweet Chelsea, because that is what your shattered heart needs most.”

…to be continued.