Day 12, continued.
The door opens to the back seat of the vehicle and I climb in.
“Thank you, Miss Dominique.”
“I look forward to breaking you, little one.”
The remainder of the ride is silent. I don’t know how to respond to that. We arrive at Dominique’s a little bit before 10pm. Inside the house Sammy and Dominique escort me to my room. I receive instructions at the door.
“Take off your clothes, little one. I’ll see that they are washed.”
I nod and remove my wallet and phone from my pocket. I place them on a try that Sammy holds in his hands and start to undress. I fold up the clothes and set them in the center of the tray. Sammy opens the door. Based upon his efforts it must weigh quite a bit. It’s dark inside. I enter slowly and run my hand along the wall looking for a switch. The bit of light disappears as the door shuts heavily behind me. I hear the click of the bolt turn. A bare bulb lights up in the center of the ceiling.
The room is tiny. After a short entryway, the room itself is maybe 4’ x 6’ with no windows. It is empty except for a metal bucket sitting in the corner. I turn back and test the door. It is securely locked with no form of handle or anything on the inside. All I can find is thin seam about halfway up. It feels like the type of door in solitary confinement of a prison and this is the slat that a tray can be passed through.
The walls are barren. They are painted an almost white color and the texture makes me believe they are bare cinder blocks. There is no light switch. On the ceiling I find a vent and a dome, most likely housing a security camera. The floor is smooth and cold. I hear a clunk and the vent hums. My suspicions confirmed, I can feel cold air cycling through the previously still air of the room. What is up with dominant women and making me freeze?
I return to the door and pound my palm on it.
“Miss Dominique? Sammy? Gordon? Hello.”
I receive no response. I place my back against the wall and slide to the floor. If this is a psychological mind game of some sort… it’s working. My mind begins to race around in every direction imaginable. Regret. Oh God, what have I done? I know what Dominique is capable of, why did I choose this? Denial. Can I still get out of this? If I beg and plead or try to run, can I get away? Self-pity. I can’t believe I’m so pathetic that I would choose this over being alone. I can’t believe Mistress expected that I would need this. Fear. I wonder what she’s going to do to me. I wonder if I can handle it. Acceptance. This is the path I chose and I just have to deal with it. I was out of control and out of options.
I lose all track of time. I have no reference. The hum of the electric air continues to chill me from above. I curl up into a ball on the floor and rub my skin for warmth. I’m cold. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I’m lonely. For fuck’s sake, was I always this selfish?
I twist and turn, unable to get comfortable. I pace around… I am a caged animal. I pound against the wall and cry out. I’m so tired. I finally collapse in a heap on the ground, finally content to accept that I have no control. I feel my eyes close slowly as the rays of light from the bulb above start to sting. I feel my consciousness drift and my head becomes heavy.
No sooner does my head reach the floor that a heavy bang at the door startles me. I push myself into the corner. The bolt turns and the heavy door creaks upon its hinges. I look up in fear as the shadowy figure steps out of the shadows and into the light. The smell of the perfume reaches me just as she reveals her form. The long leather coat trimmed in fur. The Russian military styled fur hat. The heavy boots. The mask, oh God, the guard’s mask from the prison. My body reacts on its own as I whimper and press myself deeper into the corner. Her voice laughs.
“We really did a number on you back then, didn’t we, little one? Your terror is truly delicious. Up against the wall. Spread your legs.”
I rise, still trembling and place my hands against the wall and do as she says. She roughly takes my wrists within her grip and pulls my arms behind my back, handcuffing them tightly together. I feel the cold touch of metal as a ring is closed around my neck and locked. My breathing heaves and I focus on calming myself to no avail.
“I’ve been looking forward to this for years, little one. I finally have permission to break you.”
She jabs me in the back with something firm and turns me by the shoulder.
“Let’s get moving.”
I begin walking slowly. She nudges me when she wants me to pick up the pace, all the while calling out directions when she wants me to turn. I had forgotten how large her house is. A couple of minutes later we descend the stairs to the dungeon.
“Lay on the ground.”
I drop to my knees and flop onto the ground.
“Be a good boy and raise your feet.”
I lift my feet and strain as she locks them within a pair of shackles dangling from the ceiling.
“Before we get started, little one, I have a few things I wanted to tell you. You drive me crazy.”
She paces back and forth in front of me, her long coat swaying too and fro. The mask hides her expressions from me. I can’t remember the last time I felt this much fear.
“I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but do you realize that when I’m around you I find myself drawn to acts of kindness… or possibly even pity. That infuriates me. I don’t know if you have any idea just how much I have agonized over finding the reason for this. It took me months to figure it out and finally it dawned on me. The first time I had you here I absolutely brutalized you on a level that you had never experienced before. Not once did you beg me for mercy. Not once did you plead for me to stop.”
She paces over to the wall and retrieves a device from a hook. Her body blocks my view. Dominique continues talking.
“I have toyed with a lot of men in my lifetime. A LOT of men. They are so quick to throw themselves at me, promising this, promising that, blah blah blah. Once I show them my true self they crumble and whimper and whine and beg like little bitches.”
Her voice switches to a mocking tone.
“’Please stop hitting me, I’ll do anything you say, anything.’ It’s absolutely disgusting. They want no part of this. It’s all a game to them until I hit them once or twice. They have no spirit worth breaking. But you, little one… you drove me so mad. I expected you to fold up and start making empty promises and shouting out hollow words as I systematically broke your body.”
While I am flattered that she is sharing with me, I have never seen this side of Dominique and I find it even more terrifying than her usual self.
“I obsessed about this for weeks after but could never figure it out. It’s only recently that my thoughts have come together about you. I finally understand why I hate you as much as I do. Why I go out of my way to comfort you in your times of need. Why I am drawn to you. Within all of the pain and agony, you never once betrayed your Mistress. You had absolute faith that you were simply following her wishes and that kept you from even considering trying to talk your way out of it all. You knew that it would end… and you persevered. What upsets me so much is that I respect you. God, I can’t believe I am telling you this. I actually respect you. Me, respecting a lowly slave. It’s so silly… but it’s true.”
She leans down and looks at me, my terror-stricken face reflecting back at me in the mirrored goggles.
“I hate you so badly that I wish to destroy you.”
She lets out a laugh. While I writhe in my bonds. I’m trembling and I cannot get away.
“I realized a long time ago that Cass loves you so much that she would never let you go. It was then that I realized that I could never possess you and that as long as she is alive, your heart will be hers. A lesser woman might still desire you and resort to underhanded means to pry you away from your Mistress. I would never dream of stooping to such a level. You should know, though, that envy doesn’t suit me.”
She moves quickly. Whir, smack. My body convulses and I let out a blood-curdling scream as the cane strikes the bottom of my foot. Whir, smack. The other foot. I scream again as tears stream down my face and I begin to weep. I can feel my heart beating in the throbbing pain. I sob meekly.
“I don’t know if it’s because I never graduated high school, but I’m just not clever like Cassandra. This is the best solution I could come up with.”
Whir, smack. Whir, smack. I choke on my saliva as I wail in agony. I feel my feet twitching and I can’t do anything to soften the blows.
“Cass is my friend and I love her dearly. She’s a woman that I consider my equal, if not even my superior. It makes me feel awful thinking that I covet what is hers. It took months for this opportunity to arise but I finally have my solution: to make you something that I do not want.”
Whir, smack. Whir, smack. I shriek and struggle, flopping around against the cold stone floor.
“By the time I’m done, little one, you will be broken. I will no longer respect you, and I can return to who I am without being haunted by you.”
The next few moments blur as she bombards the bottoms of my feet with the cane. I lose count as my brain spins out of control, overwhelmed with pain. It doesn’t take long for her to finish. I feel her unlock the shackles from around my ankles. My feet fall to the floor. It’s freezing in the dungeon but my body drips with sweat. My feet throb badly, they pulse and swell shooting pain up my legs.
I watch from the floor a she tilts her head from side to side stretching her neck. She removes the mask and tosses it to the floor.
“I suppose by now you’re so terrified that I don’t need any gimmicks, little one. Up up.”
I roll onto my stomach and attempt to get my legs under me. I touch my foot against the ground and collapse. She paces her way across the dungeon. I shuffle on my knees after her as best I can. She stops next to the pillory. Oh the memories. This awful device. Dominique kneels down and unlocks the handcuffs from my wrists, tossing them on the ground. I lower my head and force myself up, grabbing onto the beams for support. As I put weight on my foot pain shoots through my brain and I begin to stumble. I’m surprised when she catches me and helps hold me upright.
I take tiny, ginger steps, the cold stone of the floor pressing painfully against my flesh as I go. She secures my ankles in the leg stocks before guiding my hands and neck into the upper, closing and locking it after me.
“I was debating how I would do this, little one. I found a method on one of my favorite blogs that I think will work perfectly. It involves four devices: a paddle, a cane, a strap, and a flogger. I plan to hit you with each of them, rotating through them until you submit. If you make it through two cycles I will add the bull whip. You can make me stop at any time with the words, ‘I submit to you, Mistress.’ Consider these words carefully, little one. I’m sure you know the weight that they carry.”
I sniffle and sob inside my restraints. I understand her plan. She intends to make me betray Mistress. That is the most painful thing I can think of.
Dominique begins with the paddle. She hits hard. The blow of the wood against my buttocks nearly knocks the wind out of me with every swing. I grunt and cry out with each hit. The pain is intensified by the ache of my throbbing feet.
She continues talking to me throughout the process. It surprises me a bit. She pauses between hits just enough to allow my brain to process her words before continuing.
“I don’t know if Cass ever told you about me, little one. She’s the only one in the circle that knows about my past so I doubt that she shared it with you. I grew up In Europe in a small town. We were poor. My mother ran out on us when I was three. My father was an alcoholic. Cass has told me about you, so I figure you know what a raging asshole with a bit of booze in him can do.”
My tears stream down my face and my body continues to drip with sweat in the cold of the room. The pain is severe. Dominique is sharing with me some of her private self. I am actually a bit honored. A funny thought to have between pain convulsions and shrieks. She switches over to the cane and continues her work on my rear and thighs.
“When I was twelve I finally had enough and ran away. I hitchhiked to the city where I lived homeless. I begged, borrowed, and stole to survive. When I was fifteen the owner of a small bar took pity on me and gave me a job and allowed me to rent a room in his house for a very modest amount. This was my first experience with self-respect. He was a kind man. One of the few men I ever grew to trust. He never pried, never pressed me or expected anything out of me but an honest day’s work to earn my pay.”
She works me over with the cane while continuing with her story. Each time it bites into me I cry out. I can tell that she’s pacing herself. She knows that breaking me will not be easy and if she’s not careful, it may actually kill me.
“When I was seventeen a man approached me in the bar. I had grown up by then and he ‘liked my look.’ He offered me the chance to make some real money… some serious money… money that someone like me would never have been able to make. I thought the bar owner would stop me and try to talk me out of it but he didn’t. I think he knew that for someone who never completed school that opportunities would be few and far between. The position was as a pro dominatrix.”
She pauses and my ass throbs and burns. I can’t stop crying. The pain is almost unbearable. My legs tremble and shake, barely able to support my weight. I’ve been on this ride before, soon the pillory will be the only thing holding me up. The strap is next.
“I was brought to a seedy club during the day and introduced to some ‘colorful’ characters. The veteran women trained me in the art of domination and corporal punishment. I learned how to act, how to walk, how to stand, and most importantly, how to hurt someone.”
The strap gives a different kind of pain. It compounds the pain of the thin lines left by the cane and the swelling from the paddling. I endure as I always do. This will continue until I fold. If she had started with the whip and not given me any pauses I probably would already be done. I realize now that she is trusting me with a part of her. It is a strange feeling, but not altogether bad.
“I had no idea what to expect but it turns out I was born for it. Most of the others treated it like a job. It was an act… a switch they would turn on and off as a show for the client. I used it to shape the new me. I had always been dependent upon others… now I was my own woman. I was beautiful, powerful, and a bit out of control. Within six months I had my own place and was charging $300 an hour, half of that went to the club. By the end of the year I was making $500 an hour.”
By now my voice is hoarse and my legs are teetering, ready to give at any moment. The tears have dried up due to dehydration. She forces a water bottle into my mouth and squeezes. It feels amazing as the fluid quenches my parched throat.
“Every week I sent the man that took me in the equivalent of about $200. He would write me back about once a month telling me how much he appreciated it and asking how I was doing. This continued until he died. At the funeral his best friend had a long talk with me and told me all about the man that I had really barely known. He had lost the rest of his family in an auto accident and barely scraped by after that. The medical bills had piled up for his wife and daughter and neither of them survived. When he took me in he was up to his eyes in debt and contemplating suicide. He paid me a living wage and fed me even though the bar didn’t make nearly enough money to cover that.”
The impact of the flogger makes me scream my first word. “No.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere, aren’t we, little one?”
The second strike has me reeling as she continues her story.
“It turns out that the money I was sending him was the only thing keeping him afloat. He was never comfortable telling me how truly grateful he was. This was all news to me. I cried when I heard that. I hadn’t cried in years… this man that I owed so much to but never truly knew. I realized then what respect was. He took responsibility for his choices and saw them through without complaint. That was the last time I cried. I also vowed to live in a way that made me feel alive. I simply couldn’t bear the thought of living a sad life after that. It seemed so… unfair in a way.”
On the sixth strike I shriek again. “No more!” My body collapses. My legs buckle. I feel blood trickling down my legs. She continues. Somehow I remain conscious enough to listen. Actually, I think the listening is why I am still conscious.
“By the time I was nineteen I was famous within the scene. People traveled from other countries for sessions. While I was always going by the name Dominique, I had earned the nickname, ‘Dee-mon-eek,’ probably because I was never able to tell if they were calling my name or calling me demonic. I like to think it was a little of both.”
She lets out a small laugh as I convulse under another blow. My throat hurts so much I simply moan from deep within. I feel the hot blood flowing freely along my cold skin. The sweat stings my wounds. On the upside, I barely notice the pain in my feet anymore.
“It was during that year that I had the experiences that changed my life. A few of my clients were rather wealthy… one was a fashion mogul, another was descended from nobility, and the third was what could be called a ‘titan of industry.’ All three of them wanted exclusive access to me and were willing to pay for it. Rather than choose any one of them I leveraged each other against one another and raised the bidding to a point where they were willing to share rather than continue to inflate the price. We finally agreed upon each of them having exclusive access to me for four months a year and I received $250,000 a month in exchange for removing myself from the scene.”
I can feel my neck and wrists bruising under the strain of the wood. I gasp for breath. I feel myself fading. She gives me more water before resuming the blows.
“I guess I’ll have to speed this up, little one. Most of them would plan their extended business trips and take me with them. By day I was their companion. By night we lived a life with myself as Mistress and them as slaves. We kept up that arrangement until one of them died. It turned out he left me quite a sum of money and I retired. Not long after I moved to the states and that pretty much brings us to where we are today. I met your Mistress at her shop and it really didn’t take long for us to become friends.”
The last few blows of the flogger land. I feel like my entire backside is torn to shreds. Everything hurts, stings, throbs, and bleeds. I can barely keep my eyes open. I blurt out some words without thinking.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
Dominique laughs with her demonic cackle.
“Oh, little one, you never cease to amuse me. To be honest, it’s because you are the only person I have ever met that ever called me kind. I figure you deserve to know that before I beat you to a pulp. I like being the villain. You are the only one that takes me out of being myself.”
I hear the flogger clatter on the floor.
“I know that I promised two cycles before going to the whip but I’m pretty certain you won’t survive that so we’ll just move on to it now.”
I hear her boots click across the room slowly and then back. I whimper and squirm. The anxiety and fear build as her steps get closer. I have seen what she can do. This may be the end of me.
The whip cracks and the heavy impact cuts into my back. I let out a garbled screech as my breath leaves my body. The world fades to black. This is all a dream, right? I’m not really here, right?
My head jolts as the smelling salts pop under my nose. The pain quickly returns with the harsh burn of the whip and the heat of the blood trickling down my back hits me plainly as day. I sob, completely at her mercy.
“You can end this, little one. Just say the words.”
She unleashes three strikes in a row. The pain is so intense that my body’s tensing to the initial strike doesn’t have time to relax before being hit again. My brain loses thought, all I know is the searing pain. Crack, crack, crack. Another three in quick succession. My neck and wrists buck against the stocks, the pain of the bruises is dwarfed by the pain left by the whip. Crack, crack. My words barely sound human between the cries and sobs.
Crack, crack. Crack, crack. Crack, crack. I mumble out a slurred phrase between the tears and the drool.
“I submit to you, Mistress.”
I hear the whip hit the floor. A moment later she removes the locks from the stocks. I collapse to the floor in a sobbing bloody mess.
“You disgust me. Kiss my feet.”
I press my trembling lips against the toes of her boot and kiss. First the right foot, then the left. She kicks my face away, turns and leaves, her boots clicking against the stone floor. I lay my head down and weep.