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Master?
Then he tipped me and rolled me onto my belly.
“Hands at your back. Fast!” The grating harshness of his words told me how close he was to taking me again.
I would’ve begged if I could have. Lust choked me, made me so aware of my vulnerability, of the moisture slicking my folds, and of how easy it would be for him to thrust his cock or fingers into me without me being able to do anything much to stop him.
“Good.” Like the inspector of some animal, he put his splayed hands either side on the cheeks of my ass then used his thumbs to stretch my lower lips, opening me to his gaze.
I moaned softly. Fuck me, please. My wrists were against each other, my eyes were closed, and I waited, heating up more and more with each passing moment. I knew where he was looking.
I heard the rip of tape being peeled from a roll and then a second later he taped my wrists together. While I was testing the inescapability of those bonds, the cane smacked down on my butt. With no warm-up the pain bit hard. Squealing and screaming only made him hit me again. Eventually I stayed silent and trembled, and took the last few blows only shuddering and gasping wetly into the floor.
Something had changed. I could sense an edgier purpose in what he did.
Fear crept into my bones and whispered to me, dark things.
“Count the stairs,” he said, as he hauled me up the stairs with a hand under my arm and the leash at my collar. “I will test you.”
Count?
I counted. Apparently I got it wrong, because after he went back and counted them too, he came up the stairs and caned me, again. The lines on my butt were lines of fire. Then he fucked my mouth again until I gagged, untaped my hands, then got me to do the dishes while my head was whirling. I was to count the dishes too, as I went, even when he put a vibe to my clit and got me off, gasping, crouched over the sink.
After that he lubed a small butt plug and inserted it. He came inside me while I sluiced out a cup. I wasn’t to move, or break anything. That cup got washed well. Round and round the sponge went for at least five minutes until I gave in and just held on tight. Dishwater sloshed out of the sink. I was punished, for grabbing the tap to keep myself still. Gasping sounds odd when you have a spider gag in.
The mess that dripped down my leg as I went back to washing and drying, I had to clean up after, and I had to count the tiles on the floor under the mop. Ever so dirty. Ever so wrong. Strange. And yet the times when I had the gag off, it hadn’t occurred to me to say no or stop.
I got good at counting over the next few days. From the tick of the second-hand on the clock at my back, to the timber floor boards I washed, to the teeth on the zipper of his pants. I counted them all, got some wrong. I mean really, teeth on a zipper?
Sometimes he used the cane, sometimes it was clothes pins on my nipples or labia, or my tongue. I hurt everywhere. I had orgasms by the dozen some days. The vibe used up all our batteries and he went away to get more. Then the package arrived with my new leather mittens he could buckle on instead of tape and take off if he needed to. In the same package was a huge massager that he commenced using to bring me to orgasm faster than anyone should orgasm. I found out my clit could go numb.
My clit and mouth and pussy were well used. Numbers ran through my head all day. The exercise bike I had tucked away in a storage cupboard was dragged out and I was allotted times to exercise. Klaus alternated so that every second day I was deprived of sight, of sound, and of normality.
Ear plugs, black goggles, mittens, I began to feel ever more disconnected from reality. I could hear, but sound was muted. I couldn’t see at all. I could only feel the insides of the leather mittens and rub my fingers against one another.
On those days the only time I was alone was in the toilet. Sometimes I wondered if I was sleeping at night or in the day. After one occasion when he caught me peeking from beneath the goggles and punished me with the cane, I gave in. Besides, the world was simpler behind them. I only had to breathe, and count, be fed delicacies by Klaus, and be fucked and have orgasms.
No money worries, no traffic, no stupid lame conversations with people you never wanted to meet again. No worry, at all. Even my existence seemed up to him. If some disaster happened, I’d have to rely on him to get us out alive.
But the thing that seeped into my consciousness above all was what I valued most on the days when I could see, and that was being able to serve him. We exchanged smiles, he bestowed on me loving caresses and kisses, and I knew I was the focus of his world as much as he was of mine. If I had to put my finger on it, I guess I’d grown to like giving of myself to him.
When I knelt and offered him a meal I’d prepared, and saw pleasure in his eyes, that was fulfillment. When he let me up on the lounge to be petted while he watched TV, I was grateful. Yet when I had to curl up on a pillow at his feet, I was just as happy. I’d changed so much. I knew the how and the why behind this change, and I didn’t care. I could see so much more in selflessness than I could ever have imagined as the woman I once was. I came to wonder if this was a form of love.
On some days, everything faded and I merely was. I existed. When I came to think about it, I knew that he’d aimed for this – I was his, nothing more.
I pined for things of course. Sometimes I wanted to choose. I wanted the variety of life beyond this. But it was still there. When I was ready, when Klaus was ready, we would return to it. I knew this. What I had now was unique. The pain he liked, it had less hold on me too. I’d learnt to bear it, and even, sometimes, to ride it into the realm of pleasure.
But one day I had an idea. A bad one. I thought of a way to escape. With Klaus away at the shop, I realized I’d not heard the usual click of the door. He’d left me in the basement room with the goggles on and ear plugs in. Knocking the goggles awry with my mittened hands was easy. I blinked and looked about, dizzy for a second as my balance mechanism reasserted itself. It always happened to me after long periods blind.
The ear plugs could wait until I got the mittens off. And wow, the door was ajar by an inch and not locked. On the floor I spied a splinter of timber caught between the door and the door frame, stopping the door closing. Glee possessed me at the danger of what I was doing. He could only beat me if he caught me. I nudged through the door with my shoulder and padded up the stairs, half-naked, in a bikini top and one of the skirts he liked. No panties.
Curious, I checked – polka dot blue and white this time. Huh. I had a notion he got these second-hand. It explained why he discarded them so easily.
The back kitchen door was deadlocked. Perhaps the front door? Or the garage door? That one would do. I couldn’t use a key but I could press the garage door button, surely?
Almost giggling with delirium, I went down the other short flight of steps into the garage. The button was on the center column. I approached it and stopped, thinking. Unused brain cells chugged back to life.
Crap. How clueless had I become? I couldn’t go out as I was. I needed underwear. I needed, I held my mittened hands before my eyes, to get these off. My heart pitter-pattered double time. Where was I going? What would I do out there? Was this the end of our experiment? The anxiety that arose was so stupendously ridiculous that more amusement bubbled up. I was worried about being normal? But, do I really want to stop?
