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Monday, January 30, 2006
Day #13: Training
"Hello slave," he said as he stepped through the doorway. She knew immediately from the tone of his voice that he had a scene planned for her that night. It was heavy and the words seemed to hover in the air between them, cementing her feet to the floor. She studied his face and his crisp, almost formal appearance, his smooth features and his clearly defined jaw, his lightly tanned skin and short spiked blond hair. He stood before her like a statue, looking down at her with azure eyes divulging nothing.
As their eyes met he reached out his right hand grabbed her neck, pushing her back against the wall next to the closet. "Did I give you permission to look at me, slut?" he yelled.
Surprised but wary of her behavior, she resisted reflexively pulling away from the hand that was nearly choking her. "Sorry, Master, I...I didn't mean..." she faltered, her voice a mixture of awe and apprehension.
"How long have we been together now?" he asked, still pressing her against the wall.
"Two months, two months and two days."
"I don't feel we've had very much time to spend on your training. I can't have a slave that isn't properly trained, can I?"
She shook her head, being careful to keep her gaze no higher than his shoulders. He retracted his hand and pushed her over toward the living room couch. In three long strides he was in front of her again, his stare still burning down on her.
"Get down on your knees. Sit back, with the balls of your feet on the ground and your hands on your knees. Look down, not at me."
She obeyed, noticing how much more empowering this position was for him. He seemed miles above her, yet completely encompassing.
"Good girl, this is what I want you to do when I say 'kneel'. Now stand up."
As she stood he took great care in positioning her arms and legs just the way he preferred. Shoulders back, hands clasped behind her, feet ever so slightly spread apart.
"This is always how you still stand before me, slave. I won't accept anything else." Satisfied with her posture, he sat down on the couch to admire his property. She always looked so proud, so confident, but he didn't mind. He derived so much pleasure from tearing her apparent fearlessness away from her every night they spent together.
"Ok, kneel."
She was on her knees in an instant exactly the way he'd instructed her, then without thinking she looked up into his eyes to see if she'd pleased him with her quick response. The second she had done it she was immediately sorry. She saw his face harden and his hand pull back to strike her, but she fell backwards out of his reach and put her hands up over her face. Although he knew her recoil was purely instinctive, he was determined to break her of the annoying habit.
"I'm sorry, I'm-" she managed to squeak out, but was interrupted by his hand around her neck again and his body crushing down on her.
"Bitch, I told you not to look at me!" he said through clenched teeth. "And then you back away when I'm trying to punish you?"
He pressed her firmly into the carpet and held her head and neck in place with his vice-like grip. She squeezed her eyes shut as the open palm of his other hand smacked across her cheek, leaving a bright red mark in it's aftermath.
"Open your fucking eyes. This time I want you looking straight at me, don't close your eyes, and don't you dare think about moving," he said angrily, feeding off the fear now registered clearly on her face. She opened her eyes and saw his hand rise again, but an instant before it hit her she winced and jerked against him in anticipation.
"I can't!" she cried, the stinging in her face and the emotion tearing through her making her glassy eyes shine up at him. He felt a hint of regret for hitting her so hard when he saw the way she was looking at him, but he never would have let her see it.
He stood and pulled her to her feet by the collar of her shirt. Brushing her hair out of her face he said with as little inflection as possible, "go into the bedroom, take off your clothes, and kneel on the floor with your forehead up against the back wall. Don't move until I tell you you are allowed to. I'm going to give you at least an hour to think about how you can make your rude behavior up to me."
When he'd finished with her orders, the room had never seemed so silent. She simply nodded and turned to walk away, not daring to look up.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Day #14: Captive
She heard him step into the room from over her shoulder, but kept her forehead pressed against the wall and her eyes lightly closed. Her hands were clasped behind her back and her legs folded neatly under her. In the midst of deep, concentrated breathes, she had lost track of how long she had been kneeling there waiting for him. His feet brushed against the thick carpet of the room as he walked, letting her know when he finally came up behind her and knelt down.
He felt the heat radiating off of her naked skin when he reached a hand out to pull a few strands of loose hair back behind her ear. Her figure remained still despite his nearness, an ivory cast before him.
"Did you miss me, slave?" he asked, his voice pouring over her like warm water.
"Yes, Master," she murmured, her lips barely in motion.
"Good girl, you've been in here an hour. Hopefully you learned your lesson."
She inhaled sharply as she felt cold metal pins press against the soft skin of her back, just to the left of her spine. The sensation trailed downward, then back up again, smoothly weaving from side to side. She shivered from the strange thrill it produced within her, so carefully calculated by his masterful hands as the pressure varied from feather-light to almost unbearably forceful.
He watched the goosebumps form on her skin as he roamed the pinwheel over her body, enraptured by the site of this willing captive under his complete control. When he'd had enough he set the pinwheel down and pulled her long, streaming blonde hair back behind her shoulders. She felt him wrap a smooth piece of leather around her neck and pull it tight, buckling it securely. He then attached a heavy, chain-link leash to a D-ring on the front of the collar. The cold metal made her shiver even more as it brushed her skin, and she felt the weight of it pressing down on her as if it were the weight of her own master's touch.
"Turn around and stand up," he ordered, grasping the braided nylon handle of the leash in his left hand. As she stood she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind him. The collar was white, delicate and wicked at the same time. Seeing it around her neck, the leash weaving loosely through his fingers, made her feel so unconditionally his. From the look in his eyes she knew he felt the same. He devoured her with his stare, a precursor of everything that was to come. Her gaze traced the contours of the muscles of his bare chest. Tan sweatpants hung lazily at his hips, only accentuating the toned form of his body.
He stepped toward her, so close that their faces nearly touched, and pulled the leash taught so that she would feel the pressure at her neck. In that moment they lost themselves in one another, their hands entwining, skin against skin. He kissed her then, letting his lips press down on hers with all of the raw emotion he felt for her.
His hands found their way up to her shoulders and pressed her backwards into the bed. He lifted her up and set her in the middle of the large expanse of blankets, climbing on top of her in an instant. His grip was now much higher on the leash, leaving only about a foot of length between his hand and her neck.
"Why are you my slave, bitch?" he growled, hardly able to contain himself now at the site of his slave wearing the newly purchased collar.
"Because I want to make you happy, Master," she answered, watching the motions of his hand as he pulled ever tighter on the chain.
"What if seeing you in pain makes me happy?"
"Then it makes me happy too, Master."
"Good girl," he said, smiling now. He surveyed her body spread out under him, noting a bright red spot on her knee that looked like a rug burn. "Did I do that?"
"Yes."
"Good. You deserve it. My slut deserves to be in pain, doesn't she," he said, slapping her across the face then grabbing her lower jaw and forcing her head back into the bed. The palm of his other hand pressed the cold metal of the leash into her chest. As he watched her wince and gasp for breath, he listened attentively and kept a close check of her breathing. He felt her cough slightly under the pressure, but she offered no resistance.
"Doesn't she, slut??" he repeated, lifting his hand from her chest and smacking it against her face repeatedly as he held her still by her chin. Her cheek turned a bright crimson almost immediately amidst the onslaught.
"Yes, Master," she whimpered, barely able to move her jaw enough to speak.
He let go of her chin and pushed the fingers of both of his hand between her neck and the collar, pulling it upwards and leaning down so that his face was up against hers.
"And you'll do anything I say, won't you, slave?"
She shook her head up and down, too stunned to speak.
"We'll see. Turn over, get on your knees and put your ass in the air."
As she obeyed he got off the bed and picked up from the floor the weapon that she feared most. Although she couldn't see it she knew from the sound of the gentle metal clanking of the buckle that it was the leather belt. So simple yet so brutal. As she waited for the first strike she felt weightless, somehow hovering between two worlds - one that was reality and one that would save her from the anguish she knew would come.
When the belt finally kissed her pale skin it came with a force so strong at first she felt nothing at all. The area was immediately numb. But then the waves of pain crashed over her as she buried her forehead deep into the blankets below her. She forced her arms to keep her from collapsing with the weight of the strike.
"That might have been the hardest I've ever hit you, slave. It's already making a really nice mark on your lower back. Are you ready for another one?"
"Yes, Master," she said quietly, trying to keep the words from being laced with trepidation.
Each time the belt came down it was the same. The thick leather pushed into her skin with the same force with every swing of his wrist. He always paused to watch the pain register on her face however long it took. He wanted her to feel every ounce of agony before he renewed it.
After the fourth stroke he came around to the side of the bed and pushed her down, rolling her over onto her back.
"Put your arms above your head," he instructed, his voice flooded with an intoxicating tone. As she stretched her arms up to the headboard of the bed he added, "Keep your eyes open. Watch the belt come down every time."
This was one of the orders she dreaded most. It always caused her body to tense before the strike, making the pain infinitely worse. She didn't know how many times he hit her - she let her mind become lucid and blank, only snapping back to reality the next time he spoke.
"One more," he said, knowing exactly what he was doing by pulling her out of her trance-like state. She saw the belt come down as his wrist snapped sharply, and the pain raged through her again, renewed in all it's intensity.
"I lied, this time one more."
The last strike hit her across her upper chest, cutting into her so fiercely she could no longer keep her arms stretched out. He watched her roll onto her side away from him and pull her arms into her chest. He knew she didn't want him to see her face, thinking she had disappointed him by not being able to withstand any more. Silently he stood towering over her, staring down with eagle-eyes at her exquisite form laying on the bed before him.
The soft, cool fabric of the white down comforter pressed lightly against her skin. She pulled labored breaths in through her mouth, inhaling and exhaling rapidly. She felt her warm breaths rushing over her hands and found respite in the gentle rhythmic sensation. Every so often a quiet moan would escape her lips, but eventually she began to pacify.
After a few minutes of watching her, he knelt down at the side of the bed and almost imperceptably began to stroke his hand through her hair.
"Baby, baby, baby," he whispered, "you make me so proud."
It was then and only then that she felt the tears begin to rush down her face. Everything that she had been holding inside her came out in torrents. As she began to shake uncontrollably she felt his arms wrap around her and his body cover hers. She'd been hanging on desperately to the edge of a cliff and just as the last finger slipped he was there pulling her back. She turned her head to look up at him and saw the genuine concern in his face. At that moment she was utterly captivated by him, held there more by his eyes staring down at her than his body wrapped around her, and wondering why it had taken her so long to realize what she was truly looking for.
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