This is it, you tell me. Are you ready? I tell you that I understand what I'm getting into.
I have butterflies, but your voice reassures me.
Ever since that night last year, after the prong,
we've explored many of our desires and our brief times together in the secret relationship.
This is a step I've been dying to take for months, and we've talked about it a lot.
I'm to be yours today, totally. I'm your slave, and you will use me in any way you like.
I know I'll be hurt today, hurt and humiliated,
though I don't know how or how much. Though I'm a little scared, I'm far more excited by it.
You lead me down to your basement and into a room in the rear.
The walls are old concrete and stone, the ceiling is run with pipes.
There is a strange-looking workbench in one corner, and a stand of photographic lights throwing the
opposite wall into brightness. The room is clean but dank. The lights are not that bright,
but they do serve to keep the rest of the room dark. I wonder if you're filming this, and I hope
you are. You order me to strip and lean against the curious workbench to watch, idly flipping
a writing crop against your thigh. I hadn't noticed before, but you're wearing totally hot
leather jeans. You were very particular about how I was to be groomed and what I was to wear today,
so I take care of taking it off. I kick off my short boots and begin to unbutton my top.
I can't see you anymore, you're somewhere in the darkness.
I feel a chill as I shrug the shirt off my shoulders, and, finding no place to hang it,
I lay it on the cement floor. My tank top follows.
I'm not wearing any underwear today. My fingers are trembling a little as I undo the button of my
low-cut jeans. I bend down as I peel them off me and push them to the side. Fold the clothes neatly
and put them on a pile, you say, from close by. I squat down to do it, but feel the writing crop
sting my shoulder. Do it on your knees, slave. I change my position as you order and continue to
fold my clothes. You take the pile from me and put it somewhere in the darkness.
I've been naked with you many times before, but it feels different now.
Even more so when you place a thick leather collar around my neck and tightly tie my wrists together
behind my back. You order me to stand at attention and walk around playing the crop over my body.
Leather tip teasing my nipples, my belly, and my ass.
You're inspecting me, and that makes me so hard. You notice me watching you, and the crop lashes
out and catches me on nipple. Eyes on the floor, slave, you order.
Yes, master, I say as I lower my head, and I'm unprepared for the fact that I've been
a slave, you order. Yes, master, I say as I lower my head, and I'm unprepared for the feeling that
comes over me. I'm ready to surrender everything to you, and I'm so wet and horny I can't believe
I'm not dripping. My nipple is a white, hot spot, and it feels so very good. I feel your hand moving
over the lips of my pussy. I shave myself bare for you as instructed, and since I don't feel
the sting of the crop, I know that it pleases you. Your fingers enter me, and I feel a rush.
You're wet, you tell me. All for you, master, I say. You laugh bitterly, and suddenly you pull
my arms above my back, bending me forward. The writing crop strikes my ass three times hard and
quick. I gasp at the sensations, but it feels good. It feels better than I expected.
You're lying, slut, you tell me. You push me forward towards the strange workbench.
Up close, it looks more like a doctor's examination table. You bend me over the table,
hold my neck, and press my face into the cushions. Your hand enters my pussy again,
and I'm tossed between the violence and the sexiness of it. You derided yourself with a boy,
you sneer. You didn't keep yourself pure for me. No, master, I say, ashamed.
The first day I touched you, the bond was set, you say. You were mine and my alone from that day
forward. Didn't you know that? It's true, and I nearly cry when you say it. Yes, master,
but you betrayed me, you little slut, you say. You untie my arms, but only long enough to pull
them in front of me and shackle them to a chain at the other end of the table. You're
on the other end of the table. You pull my head up on my hair and force me to look at you.
I'm going to give you what little sluts deserve. For a wild moment, I'm worried that you're really
angry about it. Thank you, master, I say weakly as I try to remember my safe word.
Then he starts whipping me. I lose all train of thought. The short whip savages my ass, legs,
and pussy as I writhe in my bonds. Then you loosen the chain and pull me up before roughly
spinning me around and pushing me down on my back. My thrashed ass protests as I hit the
cold vinyl. You attach the chain lower down on the table and then do something to raise
a section of the bench by my legs. Soon I am firmly strapped to the new, longer bench
with you behind me. I'm pulled up so that my breasts are sticking out and my legs lashed
so they're spread apart slightly. Then the crop comes down on my chest and I can't contain my
moan. You're whipping me fast on my breasts and my pussy alternately.
My tits are on fire and the pain rockets through me, doubling up with the pleasure
and forcing me into orgasm. You notice of course and this makes you whip me harder
on my thighs and my belly. This waste was made for a corset, you tell me. As your rain blows
down on my shaved cunt, I can't help but scream and cry. You tell me I'm making too much noise
and the whipping stops. What's this I found in your jeans, you ask, holding a pair of my panties
in your hand. Were you permitted underwear? I thought for after. I'm sorry master, I say quickly.
Shut your lying mouth, you say casually and rub the panties over my face and push them in my mouth.
It's such a perfect gesture and it fills me with a wave of pure desire, but these panties taste
funky and mine were clean. I make a protesting noise and hear you chuckle. Oh oops, you say,
holding up the panties I'd shoved in my pocket after dressing. Those must belong to some other
dirty slut I fuck, you say with a nasty sneer. Suddenly I want to tell you that I love you.
I hadn't noticed what you were doing after you gagged me, but now I see you have a candle in
your hand. I'm afraid for a moment that you're going to burn my nipple with the flame. When I
see the wax drip and fall right into the center, I scream through my gag. You quickly move over my
body, dotting me with wax here and there. The back of my arms, my hips, my legs. I feel like I must
be covered in dark red wax. I wonder if it looks like blood. As the wax drips, it feels hot and
painful for a moment, then the wax spreads and cools, forming a crust that melts the pain from
the writing crop. I feel like my tits and ass must be bruised and scarred, but I don't really care.
Master, I'm nothing but pure arousal. My master can do whatever he wants with me.
You sense that somehow. Sense that I've totally surrendered to you. You put the candle down and
pull the sodden panties from my mouth. I'm sorry, Master. I tell you, tears welling up.
I'll never disobey you again. I'll do anything you want. Anything. I know what you say, but nothing
else. You undo my ankles and attach the chain holding my arms to the bench. Then you attach a
thin metal leash to a ring in my collar, before undoing the cuffs binding my wrists. You pull me
on the leash, and I get off the bench. I look down at myself, expecting a bruised, bloody, dirty mess,
but it's not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. You pull my leash to the wall. Up by the corner,
there are some shackles. They look very old, and like they're made of iron. They're very cold as
you clasp them around my sore wrists. They force me to back up close against the irregularity of
the stone wall, and it's like an electric shock when the stone touches my ass. I'm full in the
light again, and you disappear into the darkness. When you come back, you're coiling what looks like
a huge black snake in your hands. As you get close to me, I see that it's a bullwhip. You walk up and
slam my body with the weight of the coiled whip. I'm getting kind of scared now. It's a really big
whip. You turn suddenly, and the whip flashes out with a loud crack. I jump, and my pussy responds
warmly. Who do you belong to, you ask? You, my master, I reply. Since when, you say, as you pull
the whip back? Since that night you massaged my leg and fixed my cramp. Ever since then, I've been
meant for you. Only you. I say as earnestly as I can, but my voice is breaking. You think you
can serve me faithfully now, you ask? I nod. With all my heart, I manage to croak out as the tears
fall. You look into my eyes and see what you're looking for. You drape a loop of the bullwhip
around my neck and pull my lips to yours. We kiss for the first time all day, and it's like a warm
light from my heart. We met out for a while, and I'm frustrated that I can't touch you with my hands
shackled. I feel you undo your pants and warm with anticipation. Suddenly, you push yourself into me,
pushing me back into the wall. I moan and cry out in pleasure and pain, but I don't know why.
You start thrusting into me roughly, and I'm just along for the ride as my senses
and my emotions roll through me. You're grinding my aching butt into the rough stone of the wall,
but the feel of you in me, the feel of you kissing me, makes me feel like I'm made of incandescent
white light. I hum, even though it doesn't seem physically possible. I have lost count of how
many times tonight, and when you pump me full of your semen, I do it again. You hold me against
the wall until all of your calm is in me before you let me go. I'm still dizzy, coming down from
my high when you step back into the darkness. You come back holding a small enamel bucket and
a metal contraption. I'm confused. I expected you to unshackle me and take me upstairs, but
no, you attach cuffs to my ankles and use the bar to spread my legs. The bucket fits onto a ring in
the bar. I hear a drip of our calm fall into the bucket. You stand up and look at me, smiling
remotely. As a sign of your devotion, you will stay down here while I take a nap.
Yes, Master, I say meekly, and when I come back, you will drink whatever falls in that bucket.
My gasp and another wave of desire floods me. Yes, Master, I say. You pleased me tonight,
you say, and then you disappear again and I'm alone. I love you, my whisperer, hoping you'll
hear me and wondering how just hanging here is testing my devotion. Then it occurs to me
how much I have to be.