I rush to His house giddy with anticipation and stricken with fear. It is ever thus, this monthly escape always squeezed into too little time. Little white lies allow me to leave work early and arrive home for dinner a little later than normal. How early and how late determines the amount of time I have to be His.
His. For a few hours each month, that word defines me. His – to enjoy as he pleases. His – to tend to His every command. His – to be a vessel for his carnal desires.
I hurry, desperate to be in His presence. To feel His power. To submit completely to Him, for these few precious hours.
My heart races and my breath quickens as I ring the bell of His front door. My head lowered, eyes cast downward as a good submissive always does. It seems forever before I hear the creak and feel His eyes upon me.
“You’re late, pet.”
“I’m sorry Sir.”
He grabs my hair and pulls me inside. I kneel before Him in silence, my head remaining bowed.
He places the collar around my neck. The cinch of it reminds me that I am owned and allows me to enter my subspace. A calm descends upon me, and happiness fills me. I am at home.
I flinch in anticipation of the pain and physical exhaustion that the next few hours will bring. Yet my heart swells to think that I am worthy of Him. He understands that my submission is freely given. He can be terribly cruel and yet incredibly tender in the same moment. He knows my buttons, and my limits, and over the course of our time together He has shown a knack for taking me right to the edge, again and again. He has gradually expanded my boundaries and I have blossomed under His command.
This is what I have come to realize I so desperately need, what I had been lacking. Having no desire to abandon my normal life, I have found in Him, in Us, an alternate world that nourishes and sustains me. How I arrived here seems lost in the fog of memory. It’s best to say it just happened, gradually. All that matters now is that I’m here, that I have this place of respite and renewal.
I stand, knowing the routine well enough that He need not speak. He motions toward the special room, and I enter. My dress falls to the floor. I am naked beneath, as He expects. He bends me over and applies lube to my ass before inserting the plug. It is large and will keep me in discomfort. He has me lie face up on the table and shackles my wrists and ankles. I am exposed and at His mercy.
We have one inviolate rule – no marks. He clamps my nipples and tightens them until tears appear. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. My arms and legs are stretched to the point of extreme discomfort, and He tugs on the chain between the clamps as a jolt of electricity from the wand He holds shocks my clit. My entire body jumps, and I struggle against my restraints.
He shocks me again. And again. I want to scream but am forbidden to do so. I descend deeper into my subspace as He alternates torturing my clit and my nipples. I don’t think I can take any more and still He keeps at it. Just as I feel I could pass out, He relents. He leans over me and says only one word – slut – before spitting in my face.
Slut. He degrades me, and I feel only joy. Then I see Him lighting the candle and I brace for my next test. The first drops hit my belly, and I spasm in response. More drops, on my nipples, my chest, my inner thighs. He is working his way toward my clit. The anticipation is agonizing. I remind myself that this is a test of the mind even more than the body. When a drop finally hits my nub, the pain is excruciating. My face contorts in anguish as He administers just as much torture as He knows I can take, and not a fraction more.
It is the uncertainty, the fear that just this once He will cross the line, that proves almost unbearable. And yet, my body is already screaming for release, my arousal fed by the mixture of pain and anxiety, my orgasm so close, so close. I know that I must wait for permission. This denial is torture, and still, it feeds me.
On and on it goes. His cock is out now, and He jams it down my throat roughly, my head hanging off the table. Tears stream down and I fight the gag reflex over and over, not wanting to disappoint Him. His cock enters me now, roughly. This is not tender lovemaking. He is fucking me like I am nothing but His toy. The pain is intense, and so is my need to climax. I fight like crazy not to cum, and I dare not beg. He pulls out and slaps my clit again and again because He knows how insane that makes me. He shoves his cock back into my hole and with a rough tug the nipple clamps rip off. The searing pain is too much, and I let out an involuntary scream.
I catch myself and try to stifle my cry, but the anger in His face is already evident. He slaps my cheek hard, calls me a weak cunt, spits on me again. He pulls out of me and walks away. I begin to whimper. He leaves the room.
I am alone. This, this is torture. I have displeased Him. I have failed Him. Time stretches on. My emotions descend to the depths. I struggle against my restraints. I wish I could just stand and leave. The longing in me hurts terribly.
Finally, He returns. The anger in His face has turned to annoyance. He slaps my tits roughly, jams His fingers into my mouth until I am sure I’m going to gag. The next slaps land on my pussy. They sting. He pinches my nipples hard and twists them until I am writhing helplessly. My breathing is labored, I exhale aggressively, trying to control my body and my mind. My arousal, already near the breaking point during His absence, reaches another level. Inside I am screaming that I need to cum. I am delirious.