Sunday, February 12, 2017

Fiction: fs01 - Part 75

Author’s Note: I added a section to part 74 about 5 minutes after publishing it. The post had 2 views when I updated it. If you happen to have read it within 5 minutes of it going live, please make sure that Day 23 was in it.


Day 24.
I wake up with my head pounding and my stomach twisting from hunger. Last night’s sleep wasn’t restful. Mistress returns today. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and hang up her robe before heading to the kitchen for breakfast. I return to a plain diet today: a piece of dry toast and a hard-boiled egg. How quickly I shift back to old routines and habits, almost like the past three weeks never happened.

I wash the dishes after eating and move on to the living room. I haven’t practiced Mistress’s song since I left. I pick up the guitar to give it a run-through. The fur on the cuffs of my uniform interfere with my hands and prevent me from being able to play. I’m a bit disappointed at my lack of forethought as I return the guitar to its stand.

The reality of Mistress’s arrival fills me with anticipation. I’m actually nervous. As the time crawls closer I begin to feel ill as negativity crowds out my other thoughts. I’m terrible. I’m unworthy. I’m unforgivable. I’m weak… why am I so weak? Why did I do those things? Did I hurt her?

I know this line of thinking isn’t productive… logic doesn’t save me from it. After a while I hear the sound of tires on the driveway. I hurry my way to the door and kneel before it. The click of her boots on the walkway causes my body to stiffen. I reach out, unlock the door, and open it.

The sunlight frames her in a bright glow. My eyes squint as her silhouetted figure towers before me. She stands with her hands on her hips, the outline of her figure is clearly defined as the long leather coat, trimmed with fur moves as she shifts her feet. I move out of the way as my Mistress enters the door. It’s been so long. My feelings almost jump out of my chest as my heart races at a rapid pace. She stops in her tracks. I bow my head low and kiss her feet, first the right foot, then the left.

She walks past me without speaking and makes her way to the coat closet. I imagine that she is tired. I shut the door behind her and hurry past her, ready to accept her coat. She turns her back to me without a word as I carefully guide it off of her. Her perfume fills my nose and I feel my sex strain against the belt. She tosses her hat at me and begins working on removing her gloves from her hands. The soft leather impacts my chest before falling onto my outstretched arms supporting her coat.

I carry them into the closet, carefully putting them away before returning with her robe, hat, and slippers. We perform our normal ritual. As I work my way around her I steal a glimpse of her face. Mistress is expressionless and this adds to my sense of uneasiness. I kneel and remove her boots, guiding her feet into her slippers. I press my lips firmly and deliver an elongated kiss. My heart sinks as she pulls her foot away.

“Fetch the rest of my bags from the driveway. Meet me in the dungeon when you are done.”
“Yes, Mistress.”

I answer in a small voice while keeping my eyes to the ground. As she departs the room I hustle outside and begin the arduous process of carrying in her luggage. Any thoughts that Mistress has a lot of luggage when we are gone for a week is completely overshadowed by the mother-load that sits stacked before me. I move the trunks one by one, first moving each piece into the entryway, getting them out of the cold. It takes me a dozen trips to get them in and another dozen to haul them upstairs and position them to be unpacked. At least when I move them back to storage they will be empty. By the time I finish I am perspiring and out of breath. I must be quite out of shape.

I descend the basement steps slowly. My heart starts to ache as it pounds away inside my chest. The fear builds and I want to run away. I continue on, driven not so much by courage as a sense of responsibility. In the dungeon I kneel in the corner facing the wall and wait for Mistress.

She makes me wait. Time drags on so slowly. My knees ache. Being alone to stew in my thoughts increases the discomfort. I have to believe that Mistress is well aware of this. After what feels like an eternity I hear the click of heels on the basement stairs. My ears perk and my posture instantly corrects itself.

I can smell as she enters the room. She must have taken a bath as the scent of her bath oils flows through the room. I hear the whir of the motor as Mistress prepares the chains. This confirms my initial fears… I doubt this will be a pleasant reunion.

“Come here, slave.”

I respond instantly to her monotone voice. I hop to my feet and approach her slowly, keeping my head down. I present my wrists. She locks the chain ends to the O-rings and pulls it over the hook above my head before getting to work on my ankle chains. I assume without looking that the chain will run through the ring bolted to the floor. She stands before me and I sneak a look at her. The long fur coat hangs open revealing her siren outfit. Knee high leather boots and gloves complete the outfit. She pulls the blindfold over my eyes locking it in place and depriving me of the pleasure of viewing her.

Her footsteps pace away and soon the motor comes to life, stretching my arms above my head. The spikes in my cuffs dig into the skin on my wrists as the hook pulls me until I teeter on the tips of my toes. I let out a small groan.

Her scent draws near to me and soon her hands glide over my body. Her touch on my skin makes me shudder. I feel her tracing over the marks and bruises that remain on my backside from Dominique’s onslaught. I can hear her breathing intensify.

“So tell me about the infractions for which you should be punished, slave.”

My mind races a million miles per hour, overthinking if I should work from intensity, chronologically, in reverse, and so on. Her fingers pinch a bruise and I yelp. I hear the light rattle of chains as the clamp digs into my nipple. She tightens it until I scream before repeating the process. My head grows cloudy with pain as I blurt out an answer.

“I submitted to Miss Dominique, Mistress. Although she released me, she broke me physically and I gave in to save myself.”

Mistress responds with a deep breath that passes both in and out through her nose.
“Disloyalty isn’t very becoming of a slave. What made you do such a thing?”

I cringe as I answer.
“It hurt too much, Mistress She used a whip on me.”

I hear her tongue click against her teeth and imagine a look of disgust.
“You’ve been whipped before, slave. You didn’t break then. Why is that acceptable now?”

I fall silent, unable to justify myself. Shame tints my cheeks a dark shade of red.

“It only seems fair then that your penance should be with a whip then doesn’t it, slave? I will have to cleanse you of this betrayal. I think we’ll start with 200.”

I let out a gasp and whimper. Her fingers caress my jaw and then pinch my face firmly between her index finger and thumb.
“It won’t be 200 at once. To let your suffering end after one day doesn’t do the punishment justice. We’ll do 20 a day for ten days. I assume the slave approves.”
“Yes, Mistress.”

“What else?”
“I looked at porn on the internet, Mistress.”
“Porn?” She laughs. “Did you find a way out of your chastity belt?”
“No, Mistress.”
“What would porn do for a chaste slave?”
“My heart was hurting… I wanted to find something that would cause feelings.”
“What kind of feelings?”
“I wanted to feel submission, Mistress.”

I hear her pace around me in a circle. The intensity of her perfume trails around my body as my nipples and wrists ache and my legs and back begin to tire.
“How did my slave get so pathetic? I used to brag about his quality to my friends.”

Her words carve deep into my heart. I agree with them. I release a small sniffle as tears well up in my eyes behind the blindfold.
“Well, a slave is just a pathetic male after all. For this we’ll go 50 with the paddle, five per day for ten days. Next?”

“I found your blog, Mistress.”
With this she stops in her tracks. I feel her grip the chain between the nipple clamps and pull. My brain floods with pain as they stretch farther and dig deeper into my tender flesh. I let out a low squeal as she holds it in place.
“I don’t ever remember giving a slave permission to do that. How much did you read?”
“Two posts, Mistress. One about my uniform and your last post before you left.”

I sigh in relief as she releases the chain.
“The funny thing about trust, slave, is that it is so easily broken but so difficult to earn back.”
I begin to sob. Her disappointment in me is evident.
“I will add 100 with the strap. Ten per day over ten days. What else?”

My tears are flowing freely as I choke on my sobs.
“I wore some of your hats, gloves, and scarves because it was cold, Mistress I went to a bookstore and bought some things… the salesgirl teased me. I went back three more times… I couldn’t stay away. She took my phone and emailed you.”
“So you even tried to submit to a complete stranger?”

I weep and try to continue.
“No Mistress. I wasn’t submitting… I don’t know why I couldn’t stay away.”
“Stop making excuses, slave. You have embarrassed me as you’ve embarrassed yourself. I suppose you just want to leave things as is?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Then you expect me to clean up your mess and compensate her for the troubles you caused?”

I’m so ashamed that I can’t speak.
“This will be 100 with the cane. Is there anything else?”
“I let some food spoil, Mistress. It went bad before I could eat it.”
“That was irresponsible of you, slave. Serves me right for expecting a slave to be able to manage his own food. Add 50 with the paddle. Is there anything else?”

I shake my head and bawl.
“I’m so sorry, Mistress.”
“Do you think sorry is enough, slave?”

I shake my head.
“Apologies are only meaningful when the feelings matter of the person making them. Does a slave’s feelings matter?”
I shake my head.

“I’m a bit furious with you, slave. I’m going to add 100 with the flogger as well. That brings us to 20 with the whip, ten with the paddle, ten with the cane, ten with the strap, and ten with the flogger each day for the next ten days. During this time you will be on high protocol. You will be gagged and you will not speak at all for its duration. You will not look at me. If you make eye contact with me or any of my guests we will add a day. Your chastity tube will be switched to a spiked version and you will be plugged each day. You will not sleep in my room. Any new punishments will be tripled.”

I hear her boots click away across the floor. I hear her take an object off the wall. She swings it and I hear it swish through the air.

“Your beating regimen will begin tomorrow.”

I feel her hook the back of my dress to the belt, leaving my bare ass exposed. I continue to cry as I swallow and attempt to prepare myself for what is coming next.

Whir, crack. The whip bites into my flesh. I let out a howl as my body writhes against my bonds. Whir, crack. I scream and flail as the leather leaves a searing burn across my tender flesh. Mistress isn’t holding back.

Whir crack. I shriek. The pain reverberates through my body, finally throbbing in my wrists where the spikes dig deeply into my skin. Whir, crack. I feel the hot trickle of blood as my legs quiver, barely able to support my body. Whir, crack. I scream and shake with pain as I feel the light flow of more blood on my skin. Today feels different. I don’t hope for her to stop. I know I deserve this.

Eventually the whip comes to a rest. I slump against the chains, exhausted. My legs have no strength left in them as I hang from the hook above. The motor whirs, lowering me a few inches… just enough for me to put the front halves of my feet flat on the floor. I continue sobbing… it occupies what is left of my energy.

I feel the fur of her coat brush up against the skin on my thigh. She leans in and places her lips over mine, plunging her tongue deep within my mouth. My nose is filled with the scent of her perfume and her sex. She withdraws and drives the gag firmly into my mouth. I hear it lock into place. Her steps click away and she leaves me alone to stew. My body throbs. My heart hurts. I’m sorry, Mistress. I love you.