Nervously she sits. Her mind swimming. But is it the rum? Is it the anticipation? Not sure. Don't care. Hungry. A falafal from her purse. Mmmm...foods. He comes, sits down. We're next He tells her. Yes, it is excitement.
Tonight they prove their love, their devotion. She remembers the other two. Remembers what they stand for. Thinks of what this one will stand for. Her heart beats with joy. And nervousness. That last one hurt. Bad. She's afraid to cry. He won't judge but that doesn't matter. She judges herself. Harshly.
Come He calls. She sits on a stool before Chung. The men talk, bullshit over nonsense. The work about to be done. Other works. Names. Awesome Danger. See babe, everyone likes it. She smiles...too nervous to speak. Not accustomed to conversation. Far from social.
"Is this how you want it?" Yeah He says. She looks. Fills with...pride? happiness? joy? love? all of these and more?
She lies down, making sure her body is covered by her coat. Her back is to Him, ankle in Chung's hand. Eyes closed. Ready for the pain. He reaches over her tensed body. Wraps His fingers around hers. She responds. He holds her hand firmly. Tightly. Gently. Tenderly.
The needle buzzes. Burns. Stings. It doesn't hurt. She doesn't feel pain. The last one hurt. Bad. She swore to never get another. The one on her back still needed to be fixed. She opens her eyes. It doesn't hurt. Her body relaxes. Her fingers ease up. She lifts her head. What's he up to? The S and L are done. "I did the outline. Now I'm just filling in." She's almost done. He lets go of her. Her mood has shifted. Nervousness gone. Excitement lingering. Joy overwhelming. He's done. She sits up. There it is. Small. Simple. Profound. Nothing else will feel like this. So much...pride, happiness, joy, love. She loves Him. She is devoted to Him. She adores Him. This is it. This is true love. And He loves her back...
Monday, July 25, 2011
Position One
The Master opened the door. She stared into the dark abyss for a moment before carefully climbing down the rickety staircase. With each step, she felt the wood buckle under her weight. Squeak, pop; the steps spoke to her, warning her of what lay at the end. He followed behind her and when they came to the bottom, He gently grasped her by the hand and led her deeper into the dank. A pull string light in the center of the room showed the horrors previously hidden.
To the left was a cage fitted for a large dog. This is where you will sleep when you misbehave. Yes Master. A large frame stood across from the cage suspending a seat mid-air. The seat had a bar across the top and two straps on either side. She could not figure out how it was used but was sure she would soon learn. Behind this swinging seat on the wall hung various toys- gags, whips, a collar, restraints. A support beam stood in the center of the room with a chain hooked to it. Your collar will be connected to this chain at all times until you are broken in and allowed to roam freely around the house. The chain extends the entire length of this room. A strange looking machine stood beside the cage. He allowed her to go to it. She touched the cold steel bar and ran her fingers along it to where a second adjustable pole held it up from its small, stable base. As she fingered the icy metal she felt her Master behind her, lifting her skirt and sliding His fingers between her thighs. Would you like to see how it works? A small smile and a nod were His answer.
He pushed her down on all fours, knees hip width apart, her hands matching. Eyes front. Remember this. This is Position One. He fixed the machine to fit her height and went to the wall where the playthings were kept. He placed a rubber phallus on the end of the sex machine and fingered her vagina to moisten it. The machine vibrated and began to thrust itself into her. Hard. Fast. Painful. She began to moan, to scream. The Master reached for a gag, an open mouthed gag, and strapped it around her face. Service your Master. He pulled His erection from His now tight pants and slid it into her wide open mouth. He fucked her face as fast and hard as the machine fucked her cunt. She gagged on Him, holding back the rising vomit. Her vagina ached and began to dry from the friction but the machine didn't stop. She tried to cry out, to make her Master aware of her pain, to beg Him to stop. He ignored her struggle and continued slamming His member down her throat until His salty seed came spewing out of her mouth along with the sandwich she had for lunch.
To the left was a cage fitted for a large dog. This is where you will sleep when you misbehave. Yes Master. A large frame stood across from the cage suspending a seat mid-air. The seat had a bar across the top and two straps on either side. She could not figure out how it was used but was sure she would soon learn. Behind this swinging seat on the wall hung various toys- gags, whips, a collar, restraints. A support beam stood in the center of the room with a chain hooked to it. Your collar will be connected to this chain at all times until you are broken in and allowed to roam freely around the house. The chain extends the entire length of this room. A strange looking machine stood beside the cage. He allowed her to go to it. She touched the cold steel bar and ran her fingers along it to where a second adjustable pole held it up from its small, stable base. As she fingered the icy metal she felt her Master behind her, lifting her skirt and sliding His fingers between her thighs. Would you like to see how it works? A small smile and a nod were His answer.
He pushed her down on all fours, knees hip width apart, her hands matching. Eyes front. Remember this. This is Position One. He fixed the machine to fit her height and went to the wall where the playthings were kept. He placed a rubber phallus on the end of the sex machine and fingered her vagina to moisten it. The machine vibrated and began to thrust itself into her. Hard. Fast. Painful. She began to moan, to scream. The Master reached for a gag, an open mouthed gag, and strapped it around her face. Service your Master. He pulled His erection from His now tight pants and slid it into her wide open mouth. He fucked her face as fast and hard as the machine fucked her cunt. She gagged on Him, holding back the rising vomit. Her vagina ached and began to dry from the friction but the machine didn't stop. She tried to cry out, to make her Master aware of her pain, to beg Him to stop. He ignored her struggle and continued slamming His member down her throat until His salty seed came spewing out of her mouth along with the sandwich she had for lunch.
The Beginning
It began with a text. 'Hey haven't heard from you in a while. What's up?' Six months later she would be His slave. In a year...
They met through friends. At a bar. She was pretty, very pretty, and bored. That was clear. His interest in her was immediate. The way she suddenly appeared, quietly sitting on the bar stool between Him and her friend. An introduction took place, her hello's quiet and reserved. In conversation she was incredibly awkward and easily embarrassed by no other than herself. Silence suited her best. The night was young and a second bar was eminent. Upon entering He ordered her her drink. Rum and coke. She smiled a thank you but spoke no words. Shyness was an understatement. He would have to take His time with her, gradually pull her out, easing her into the world. His world. If He wanted to make an attempt He'd have to act soon; she was trying to leave as quickly and quietly as she came in.
"Hey leaving already?"
"Yes."
"Can I walk you to the train?"
"Alright." His attempt to learn more about her was futile. She kept her answers short and looked at the ground when she walked. When they reached the station, He asked her for her number. She pulled out her phone and requested his instead.
Three weeks passed. He usually spent His days after work drinking in this pub or that, with this girl or that. It was rare for Him to be infatuated anyone and in the three weeks that passed before He saw her again, He realized He thought only of her. Every young hot thing He spent the night with reminded Him by contrast of how odd she was, how quiet, how awkward. Despite her being so uncouth, she was attractive. Her breasts were large yet very much perky. Her hips were wide and her behind perfectly shaped. Her smile was dazzling and her large brown eyes were the perfect compliment to her pale porcelain skin. He couldn't understand how such a beautiful woman could be so shy and withdrawn. Three weeks passed and she was the only thing on His mind. He had to see her again.
"Yo Brian. It's ____. Do you remember that odd quiet girl at the bar a while back? She was friends with Becca."
"Mila? What about her?"
"I need to get in touch with her."
Brian gave Him some advice: leave that girl alone. He knew her through Becca, both friends of his from high school. Mila apparently had several complications. She was often depressed, which is why Becca had convinced her to come out that night, to try to get her out of a rut. Mila also had odd tendencies. She counted things. She also counted nothings. A bottle of hand sanitizer was ever present on her person. She had had a nervous breakdown and suffered from post traumatic stress disorder. Neither Brian or Becca knew what was the cause. Brian thought ____ was only interested in one thing, and given her outward appearance, despite her obvious lack of charm, understood why. Knowing his warning fell upon deaf ears, Brian arranged for the four of them to meet again.
"Mila, it's Brian. I was wondering if you'd like to come out Friday night. Becca and I were planning on going to McFadden's around 9. Call me back."
Mila sat at on her bed watching the sun set. Cairo, her cat, purring in her lap. His warmth and vibration put her at ease. The world could end outside that window and it wouldn't matter so long as the cat was in her lap, purring their cares away. While she pondered the world's end, the phone rang. She had been ignoring the phone for a few days now. Internet as well. She wanted to be unreachable. She rather enjoyed it. She felt society was backwards, people disgusting and ignorant. Everyone was concerned with Guido Jersey idiots. No one cared about the mysteries of the planets or what lies on the deepest ocean floors. People were shallow. Even those close to her. She hated so much. She longed for something. Purpose. Meaning. Anything. At dusk she climbed into bed with one of the books she was currently reading. She usually read three at once. Boredom was never far away. She knew if she slept now she'd wake up in the wee hours of the morning. Her favourite time of day. No one is awake at 2 am. And if they are, they are definitely not doing what she is: scrubbing the bathroom floor. The absolute worst thing in the world is a dirty bathroom floor. If someone ever enters your home, they will judge you on it's tidiness. Your toilet should look as if it is never used. Clean. Spotless. Perfumed air. Perfectly folded and hung towels. Pump soap. People, normal people, don't think this matters much. We all know what a bathroom is for. We expect some grime. Not Mila. That is unacceptable.
Friday night. After final inspection of bathroom and kitchen, bedroom and living room, Mila said good-bye to Cairo. She checked her purse, three times, and made way to McFadden’s Pub. She looked forward to seeing Becca and Brian and wondered whether or not __________ would be there. She thought she liked Him although she could never really be sure. People were different every time you met them. They change. First impressions mean so much that no one is himself on the first introduction. The second a hair closer to the truth. And it continues until by the sixth meeting you are faced with a different person entirely. He seemed to be different. For one thing He was rather odd. She remembered how He ordered her drink before she had time to ask. She thought He must like her. Why else was He so inquisitive? Who would ask to walk a stranger to the train? He must have liked her. It seemed obvious now. The thought made her smile. To her He seemed almost childlike, not being able to hold His reaction to Himself. Easy to read. Easy to know. To relate.
Mila arrived to the bar fifteen minutes before nine o'clock. She didn't want anyone to see her come in. She walked towards a booth in the back. Approaching her destination she was stopped abruptly by the swinging opening of the bathroom door.
"Mila! Didn't think you'd be here so soon!"
"Oh, _____. Hello."
"Grabbing a booth?"
"Yes."
"Go sit. I'll get us drinks and be right there."
She was surprised by His boldness, of His expecting her. She wondered if Brian and Becca were coming at all. If this was some sort of setup. It wouldn't be the first time Becca had done this to her. Once they were supposed to meet and some gentleman came in her place saying he was her friend, saying she said she was sorry she couldn't make it. Mila had left then. She might do the same now. Fifteen minutes. If neither of them came in fifteen minutes she would go.
____ came, placed two drinks on the table ad sat beside her. Rum and cokes. "I didn't think you would come. Last time you were so quiet and shy. I thought maybe the bar scene wasn't your thing."
"It isn't."
"Oh. Well, what is? Perhaps we'll journey to wherever you'd like, wherever you'll feel more comfortable. Just let me know."
Another silent smile. She fingered the straw around the glass, her paranoia preventing her from taking a sip. He did not know what to do. Clearly conversation was not her strong suit. Looking around their immediate surroundings, He noticed pens sticking out of her purse. "Mind if I grab one?" A shrug. He began to doodle on a napkin. Cartoons of the people sitting nearby. She glanced over and laughed. Quietly. Meekly. "That one?" She pointed to a heavyset woman with the same outrageous high hairstyle as the hippo-like image on His delicate canvas. He smiled and nodded as he added her shrew-looking male companion. They laughed. He was relieved. With such little effort He discovered a common interest: the dislike for others.
They met through friends. At a bar. She was pretty, very pretty, and bored. That was clear. His interest in her was immediate. The way she suddenly appeared, quietly sitting on the bar stool between Him and her friend. An introduction took place, her hello's quiet and reserved. In conversation she was incredibly awkward and easily embarrassed by no other than herself. Silence suited her best. The night was young and a second bar was eminent. Upon entering He ordered her her drink. Rum and coke. She smiled a thank you but spoke no words. Shyness was an understatement. He would have to take His time with her, gradually pull her out, easing her into the world. His world. If He wanted to make an attempt He'd have to act soon; she was trying to leave as quickly and quietly as she came in.
"Hey leaving already?"
"Yes."
"Can I walk you to the train?"
"Alright." His attempt to learn more about her was futile. She kept her answers short and looked at the ground when she walked. When they reached the station, He asked her for her number. She pulled out her phone and requested his instead.
Three weeks passed. He usually spent His days after work drinking in this pub or that, with this girl or that. It was rare for Him to be infatuated anyone and in the three weeks that passed before He saw her again, He realized He thought only of her. Every young hot thing He spent the night with reminded Him by contrast of how odd she was, how quiet, how awkward. Despite her being so uncouth, she was attractive. Her breasts were large yet very much perky. Her hips were wide and her behind perfectly shaped. Her smile was dazzling and her large brown eyes were the perfect compliment to her pale porcelain skin. He couldn't understand how such a beautiful woman could be so shy and withdrawn. Three weeks passed and she was the only thing on His mind. He had to see her again.
"Yo Brian. It's ____. Do you remember that odd quiet girl at the bar a while back? She was friends with Becca."
"Mila? What about her?"
"I need to get in touch with her."
Brian gave Him some advice: leave that girl alone. He knew her through Becca, both friends of his from high school. Mila apparently had several complications. She was often depressed, which is why Becca had convinced her to come out that night, to try to get her out of a rut. Mila also had odd tendencies. She counted things. She also counted nothings. A bottle of hand sanitizer was ever present on her person. She had had a nervous breakdown and suffered from post traumatic stress disorder. Neither Brian or Becca knew what was the cause. Brian thought ____ was only interested in one thing, and given her outward appearance, despite her obvious lack of charm, understood why. Knowing his warning fell upon deaf ears, Brian arranged for the four of them to meet again.
"Mila, it's Brian. I was wondering if you'd like to come out Friday night. Becca and I were planning on going to McFadden's around 9. Call me back."
Mila sat at on her bed watching the sun set. Cairo, her cat, purring in her lap. His warmth and vibration put her at ease. The world could end outside that window and it wouldn't matter so long as the cat was in her lap, purring their cares away. While she pondered the world's end, the phone rang. She had been ignoring the phone for a few days now. Internet as well. She wanted to be unreachable. She rather enjoyed it. She felt society was backwards, people disgusting and ignorant. Everyone was concerned with Guido Jersey idiots. No one cared about the mysteries of the planets or what lies on the deepest ocean floors. People were shallow. Even those close to her. She hated so much. She longed for something. Purpose. Meaning. Anything. At dusk she climbed into bed with one of the books she was currently reading. She usually read three at once. Boredom was never far away. She knew if she slept now she'd wake up in the wee hours of the morning. Her favourite time of day. No one is awake at 2 am. And if they are, they are definitely not doing what she is: scrubbing the bathroom floor. The absolute worst thing in the world is a dirty bathroom floor. If someone ever enters your home, they will judge you on it's tidiness. Your toilet should look as if it is never used. Clean. Spotless. Perfumed air. Perfectly folded and hung towels. Pump soap. People, normal people, don't think this matters much. We all know what a bathroom is for. We expect some grime. Not Mila. That is unacceptable.
Friday night. After final inspection of bathroom and kitchen, bedroom and living room, Mila said good-bye to Cairo. She checked her purse, three times, and made way to McFadden’s Pub. She looked forward to seeing Becca and Brian and wondered whether or not __________ would be there. She thought she liked Him although she could never really be sure. People were different every time you met them. They change. First impressions mean so much that no one is himself on the first introduction. The second a hair closer to the truth. And it continues until by the sixth meeting you are faced with a different person entirely. He seemed to be different. For one thing He was rather odd. She remembered how He ordered her drink before she had time to ask. She thought He must like her. Why else was He so inquisitive? Who would ask to walk a stranger to the train? He must have liked her. It seemed obvious now. The thought made her smile. To her He seemed almost childlike, not being able to hold His reaction to Himself. Easy to read. Easy to know. To relate.
Mila arrived to the bar fifteen minutes before nine o'clock. She didn't want anyone to see her come in. She walked towards a booth in the back. Approaching her destination she was stopped abruptly by the swinging opening of the bathroom door.
"Mila! Didn't think you'd be here so soon!"
"Oh, _____. Hello."
"Grabbing a booth?"
"Yes."
"Go sit. I'll get us drinks and be right there."
She was surprised by His boldness, of His expecting her. She wondered if Brian and Becca were coming at all. If this was some sort of setup. It wouldn't be the first time Becca had done this to her. Once they were supposed to meet and some gentleman came in her place saying he was her friend, saying she said she was sorry she couldn't make it. Mila had left then. She might do the same now. Fifteen minutes. If neither of them came in fifteen minutes she would go.
____ came, placed two drinks on the table ad sat beside her. Rum and cokes. "I didn't think you would come. Last time you were so quiet and shy. I thought maybe the bar scene wasn't your thing."
"It isn't."
"Oh. Well, what is? Perhaps we'll journey to wherever you'd like, wherever you'll feel more comfortable. Just let me know."
Another silent smile. She fingered the straw around the glass, her paranoia preventing her from taking a sip. He did not know what to do. Clearly conversation was not her strong suit. Looking around their immediate surroundings, He noticed pens sticking out of her purse. "Mind if I grab one?" A shrug. He began to doodle on a napkin. Cartoons of the people sitting nearby. She glanced over and laughed. Quietly. Meekly. "That one?" She pointed to a heavyset woman with the same outrageous high hairstyle as the hippo-like image on His delicate canvas. He smiled and nodded as he added her shrew-looking male companion. They laughed. He was relieved. With such little effort He discovered a common interest: the dislike for others.
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