An Intense Connection

I was summoned for 9pm. I arrived 20 minutes early, freshly showered, eager to please. When I arrived he was waiting outside for me. He instructed me to go inside the building and not to speak.

He simply walked around me, taking me in in silence. Then he grabbed hold of my neck from behind and walked me through to the lounge area. He placed my hands behind my back and instructed me to keep my eyes on the floor.

He sat down and watched me standing there, waiting for his next command.

Finally, he removed my coat and ordered me to my knees. He asked me questions. When I answered I looked at him. So he slapped me hard across the face.

The shock and the pain were soon replaced with sweet pleasure as my mind relaxed and I sank lower into submission.

I kept my eyes on the ground.

When he spoke, his voice was soft and quiet. "Everyone needs a purpose in life. You are here because you have a need. You need to be given a purpose. I am here because I need to find a purpose. What you need and what I need happen to be opposite sides of the same thing. Don't you think?"

"Yes Sir," I replied.

When he hits me he is brutal. He is a sadist after all. I accept each blow and lean into the pain. The chemicals release and I start to float. My mind is completely clear. I exist only in the moment. This is what I came for. This is my purpose.

Later, he chooses the cane to ease me back to Istanbul. I've been gone for four months. My body is not used to pain any more. The cane is the most hardcore instrument he uses on me. He knows I prefer thuddy instruments like paddles and hate stingy instruments like the cane. And yet he chooses it to warm me up. Of course he does. Why would I expect anything different. I've been conditioned by him not to expect. So I live within the moment.

I know this is deliberate because he needs to cause me pain. And he knows I need it because I've not felt the pain since the last time we met.

But still, it doesn't stop me wishing that the cane would snap or disappear.

When he discards the cane in favor of his belt, I almost melt in gratitude.

I now bear the bloom of purple and red across my breasts and bright red cane marks across my back and ass. I wear them with pride, as a reminder of what I came to do.

We don't speak much throughout because although words are important, the spaces in between are where truth lies.

But I do make the mistake of calling him a sadistic bastard. Then I laugh when he hits me.

I'm not supposed to laugh. But when it hurts so bad it's good, I get the giggles. And it frustrates him because he gets off on the fear and the pain. But I can't help it. I'm giggling and it's hard to stop.

He knows what to do though.

He hits me several times so hard on the leg that I scream and scramble on to the ground to beg for mercy. When I say the word "mercy", he laughs.

And then the chemicals release and the pain flows into pleasure and I'm heading into marshmallow mode.

I'm on the ground on my knees, curled around his leg, kissing his foot.

He says "this is where you belong."

I whisper, "Yes Sir."

"Louder," he says.

"Yes. Master."

It just slips out.

"Again?"

"Yes Master."

There it is, that word. A slip of the tongue.

He grabs me and pushes me against the wall and lays into me so hard that I can't catch my breath. But I'm an empty vessel, at peace, at home. I have surrendered.

There is only silence inside. I exist only in the moment.

When his soft, gentle kisses trailing across my shoulder jolt me from my reverie, I am falling backwards into his arms and I am sobbing.

I am home. In my place. I am free.

He inspires the grovelling, subservient bitch in me. I find myself longing for more discipline, more pain, more degradation, more chances to serve. I like being on the ground at his feet, used and abused. Stainless steel round my neck and a leash controlled by him. There's no romance here. Just need fulfilling need. It's the natural order of things.