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The rest of the session passes quickly. Afterward, he takes me into the bathroom and watches me while I bathe. He doesn’t even bother to climb in with me.
I know why he’s started the sparring sessions. It’s because I’ve become boring, and he wants to see at least some spark of life in me. But I have no other choice. If I fight him at all, his punishments are so terrible I can’t survive them.
We go into the room day after day, and spend a couple of hours in there instead of in his gym. The weeks drag by, and I get better each day, but I never come close to being able to disable him, and I never will. After all, he’s the one teaching me. There’s also the fact that I’m 5’5” and about a hundred and twenty pounds, and he’s 6’3” and about two hundred pounds of solid muscle. And he’s been training for a very, very long time. And he’s just naturally faster, stronger, and more lethal than most people.
I enjoy the sparring, but I try not to. I don’t want to feel anything anymore. I want to stay numb until the day I die.
I don’t think it’s going to be enough for him. It doesn’t seem to reawaken his interest in me. And he said that he won’t ever let me go, so what will happen if he just gets bored? Will he break his promise and kill me, or just lock me back in my prison cell and forget me, which would be worse?
He doesn’t have sex with me anymore. I bathe myself while he watches. Often, his attention wanders as I’m bathing. And I miss the sex. I loved feeling his hands on me, his mouth. I loved his cock inside me. He was an amazing, fantastic lover, incredibly attentive. And I loved how much he loved being with me. The whole time that we were screwing, I felt powerful and sexy and desired. His body was incredibly responsive, he loved my touch and everything I did to him.
He gave me multiple orgasms every time we were together. Every single time. And now he acts as if he can’t stand the sight of me.
I keep practicing my breathing sessions every day in case someday he wants me to suck his cock again, but he never does.
One day, as I’m sitting in the lounge, wearing the good collar and the good ankle chains and staring at books I’ll never read, he strolls in. I glance up at him quickly. He’s so heartbreakingly beautiful. I love to look at him, to caress the sculpted planes of his face with my eyes. I’m not allowed to touch him with my hands.
“I have to leave overnight, Toy,” he says. I freeze. He hasn’t done that since I can remember. What will it mean for me?
“Yes, Master,” I whisper.
“I can leave you in your cell, or I can chain you in the playroom, Toy. Which one do you prefer?”
My heart constricts with panic.Not the cell. The darkness, the dank smell, the endless days, my screams echoing off the walls…
“In the playroom, Master.”
He scowls at me.
“Are you going to thank me for letting you have a choice, Toy?”
I hunch my shoulders defensively. “You punish me for speaking to you without permission, Master. I am not allowed to thank you unless you request it.”
His gaze flickers in annoyance. But that was Master’s rule! I am obeying his rules!
Nothing I do satisfies him. I feel a surge of frustration, and I stare at the floor to hide my face in case he notices. But he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t care anymore.
Silently, he leads me to the playroom and chains me up by a grate in the floor.
“Elizabeth will bring your food, Toy.”
“Thank you, Master.”
His cold graze travels over me, icing my skin. “I could leave you with entertainment, but I think it’s a good time to remind you of the fact that the only pleasure in your life comes from me. If I am not here, you don’t deserve any pleasure. My absence equals pain.” And he takes off the good collar and returns a minute later with the very thick collar, which I deserve because I have failed to make my master happy. He wraps it around my neck and fastens it.
He also sets down a roll of toilet paper and wipes next to me, and a blanket and pillow. Master is very kind. He did not have to give me those things. It is important for me to think about how good Master is to me.
He leaves with a look of annoyance pinching his perfect brow. He shuts the door behind him, and I am alone in a room full of whips and dildos, staring at the white walls.
I look at the toilet paper and wipes and the blanket and pillow. I feel the thick, choking collar which will force me to stare straight ahead until Master chooses to take it off me. My neck and shoulders and back will become cramped and painful, and soon I will be able to think of nothing else.
I am failing to feel grateful. I can’t make myself do it.
For the first time in a long time, I am starting to feel something other than a desperate desire to please him.
I feel angry.
I gave up everything.
