A Painful Learning Experience
Okay, I hope I got more attention with this title- titles have always been my weakest point... Anyway, another "re-telling" of some time spent with Master- background is: I felt like He hadn't been calling me enough, so I kind of gave a little guilt trip attitude dealie... high maintenance, yeah... anyway, I think Master got me over it...
As she ruminates on her weekend's lesson, she has a realization: a long time ago, before He was her master, He had promised her she would feel differently aobut Him once she had felt His hand upon her cheek. She had taken it to mean she would feel the depth of His love for her in the tenderness of His hand lain softly against her face. But now as she touches the places on her face still sore from Their training session this weekend, she discovers it was the sharp side of his hand on her cheek that was much more meaningful.
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Coming back from a cigarette on the patio, she found Him, naked, beckoning to her from his office. Following the directive unhesitatingly- unreflectively of the question in her mind as to His plan- she stepped inside the small room.
She struggles to remember how this lesson began; the memories play through her mind like little digital bytes- some are short videos, some are still shots. She works hard to give sequence to the events and fill in the gaps, to complete a full movie in her mind.
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He invited her onto the oversized chaise lounge to lie with Him, something she always happily and gratefully obliged. Talking to her of her behavior in the past week, of how she had doubted His love for her because of a few days' missed calls, He remained gentle. So she was completely unsuspecting and unexpecting when He slapped her soundly across her left cheek. Exclamatio npoint and capital letter in one, this slap caught her attention quickly.
As much as she tries to recollect how They got there, she can only remember her fear and excitement at being maneuvered around the room, His hand forcefully guiding her by the hair. She grabbed His arm just to keep balance as He backed her up into walls and cabinets of which she had no depth perception. Worrying that she ought not to be holding His arm, for He might have taken it as her trying to stop Him, she moved her hands behind her, gaining only tactile definition of her surroundings. Despite the obvious possibility that her body might unintentionally knock something over, He continued unconcernedly, demanding that she understand this relationship was not a game.
Though she has difficulty remembering the details of exactly what and when, the concentrated look of command of His eyes is vividly embossed in her mind. She thinks she had had glimpses of that look before, but not at this new level of gripping authority and dominance. She was awed, thrilled, instilled with the welcome sensation of being conquered by her master, finally having her stubbornness tamed, her will bent to His. He had been working on her discipline all along, but with much softer tactics of kind placidity; yet, she knew she needed more, so she consciously and subconsciously fought her hardest to have that need satisfied.
Unclear as to the in-between, what she knew next was that she brought down to the floor on her back, He on top of her, His face in hers. She remembers giggling, truthfully in nervousness, at a comment He made that she now can not remember.
She hears His voice echo in her mind: "Do you think this is funny?" But she has no idea if a slap accompanied the rhetorical question or not. Many moments encompassed her fearing and flinching at every move of His hand- never knowing whether He would slap her, choke her, or just continue to pierce her with His eyes. The time was filled with trepidation at all the possible unknowns He might inflict upon her. So she winced and trembled, to His satisfaction.
"Are you afraid of me now, little girl?"
"A little, Master," she answered, which was probably just the right amount.
"Good," He responded, elaborating that though He did not desire her fear, He required her respect and awe as her master. She agreed, enjoying succumbing to her master's domination as He dragged her deeper down into her own submission to Him.
Though she remembers His words loudly in her mind, the actions that escorted them escape her now. The ideas He communicated threatened her much more than his hand around her throat or His hand deep in her hair. She hears the speech again: a conditional statement, but she can only recall the second part... "If..., then go away." What was the "if" exactly? She knows He said something about if she was only there for the sex, if she could not believe He was not fucking around, then she should go away. If she could find someone better, then she deserved to be with that person and be happy.
Rushing and spilling from her lips without thought, like water from a fall, the unequivocal truth was that there was no one better. Without a doubt, she had always to admit to His superiority above other men; she was humiliated in this confession somehow, because she did not feel she could offer the same to Him. Thus, she had to concede, if only ever unspoken, that His breath gave her life. His life gave her purpose. She had to thrive on Him and everything He gave her. She had decided, agreed, even begged, on her knees, head to the floor at His feet, to give Him everything of herself. And He had accepted. Now she had to exist according to Him; now she could exist only for Him.
As He pulled her up from the floor, still by the hair, He emphasized His action with a verbal command to get up. She struggled slightly to move so quickly, unnerved by His unnecessary verbal reinforcement. She was aware she was witnessing a deeper level of His mastery as well as of his sadism. Hand-in-hand with His physical manipulation of her body, His words chiseled at her mind in this tutorial opus. Knowing she had earlier felt irrationally fearful that He might release her, he cut deeply to make His point.
"Give Me one reason why I should keep you," He demanded, making inescapable eye contact with her, His breath flooding her face.
her heart pounded, the perfect answer eluding her, not magically coming to her resuce, but she gave her best to Him, "Because i love You, Master." It was a question- is that good enough, Master? Please, i must know, Master. In the very back of her mind, she was sure His choice would have nothing to do with the response she gave- only with His desire for her. Yet, still, she felt morbid dread that she might fail that test. But He never let her know, explicitly, what her grade was.
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As she reflects now, lost in the memory, all the pieces still have not come together. She is unsure of what actions followed, but she does know at various points, He decided to use her mouth gratify His growing body parts. Of course, she did her best to please Him, working hard to take Him in deeply as he enjoyed. She fought the bile back down her throat with tears in her eyes, literally breathless as He gagged her with Himself.
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She remembers being very abruptly pulled off her master... she closes her eyes to recreate the scene in an effort to determine what happened between then and the next moment when she found herself pushed onto the chair's huge ottoman, her face crushed under His foot. But her ears had partly been covered and she missed the first part of His continued reproach- though even as she tries now, she cannot remember even the second part.
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Again, time is misplaced, and she has no way of knowing the exact events just before He brought her down to the floor another time, placing her at a very awkward angle. He asked her poitned questions, probing demands, of the difference in her love for Him and the mistress she had had last year. How did this slave know she loved her master now?
More realizations dawn on her now- these questions were not because He did not know, she mused, but so that she would know... and trust it... and trust Him. He made her laugh now, not then, with the threat of "beating the living hell out of her" if she did not answer the question truthfully. Of course, again, she did her best, though it was quite difficult because she was ill-prepared, having never asked herself this question.
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She realizes she has completely forgotten until now the brutal slaps across her left breast, and even the left side of her chest above her breast. Her reminder comes as she inspects her body for bruises, "leftovers", as Master calls them. She remembers now she has a bruise on her breast- the first on that body part ever in her life. She recalls fondly how His hand left a red imprint of itself across her chest, which has now faded, to her disappointment. With happy wonder, she envisions herself in memory gazing at the fingers tattooed in red across her skin. Again, she touches her cheek, grateful for the remnants still left there, wishing only for more and more and more...
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She finally lets herself focus on her favorite feature of this weekend's education- the highlight that she sometimes leaves on instant replay in her mind.
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After Master had begun to settle down, the two of Them were sitting once again on the chair, facing each other, His hand still in her hair.
He asked her if she had a better understanding now that He would not allow her to mistreat Him as she had other men before and that she would obey and respect Him as her master. He commented that it take all that beating for her to comprehend the realness of this situation.
For reasons still unknown to her, a wave of defiance crashed over her head, enveloping her brain at this completely inappropriate moment, and she did not stop to think before she spoke. "i could have told You that." A completely unacceptable response, made doubly worse by not even including proper address; though, she has to admit it was not the first time, but probably the worst time. Normally, her master just gave her a stern look, but He offered a different consequence this time.
One, two, three, four, maybe even five of the most severe slaps across her face she had ever received from him, given in rapid-fire succession, accompanied by the demand, "What's My name?! What's My name?"
"Master! Master! Sorry, Master!" She replied automatically, desperately, stunned at His response, though she knew she deserved it. Shame filled her and she did not want to meet His gaze. But He commanded her to look up at Him, which she did obediently, albeit difficultly.
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She is left now with only memories to feed her hunger, her insatiable appetite. Whether in punishment or play, the pains He gave were always welcomed and desired by her. With each time, she relearned ever more deeply how critically she needed His skillful and powerful treatment... to many, it might seem the opposite of just what it was: ultimately loving and intimate, fortifying the connection between Them.
She looks to His photo on her desk at work, affected with a desire to place her lips to the glass- something she would have previously ridiculed, in herself or another. But now... she finds herself doing and feeling odd things like that...
"Master, Master... i need You so badly..." she thinks to herself, realizing this need in her is just what He demands from her. Master, You have it. i am now on my knees, desperate in anticipation, desire, and pure, raging hunger for everything You offer and everything You are... forever waiting to be with You once more, Master.
