Perfect Slave

Written by Ericka Addison

Hearing a voice in the darkness, I turn my head towards you. Bound by the chains, I worship the sweet pain you give. I hear the door close and the lock turns, sending a shudder of anticipation through me. Your boots tap lightly on the floor and I feel your breath on my skin. Your hands glide across the reddened trail you forged earlier, causing me to fight back a wince. I can't cry out. It would displease you. You increase the pressure and move around front. I see you smile as the tears leak from the corners of my eyes.

"Does that hurt?" you ask.

Like a good slave I reply without hesitation, "Yes Master."

"Good. And you like it, don't you slut?"

Again I answer, "Yes Master."

I wasn't always this way, a slave whose greatest desire is to please her Master. If you told any of my friends about my life, they would say, "What?! Are you sure we're talking about the same chick? Ericka would never be into something like that." I lead a double life. Professional, focused, demanding English major by day, perfectly trained personal fuck-toy by night.

I'd had my twentieth birthday a few months before and Master's twenty second was just around the corner. We had spoken online for about a year and a half with frequent phone calls in between chats. I finally got a chance to go to him and he took me in as soon as I arrived at the airport. The first thing he said to me was,

"You will not fight, you will obey me, and you will continue to call me Master."

I was ready for this and answered quickly,

"Yes Master, I understand Master."

I grabbed my bags and he showed me to the car. He opened the trunk and pulled out a set of police issue handcuffs.

"Hands behind you." he growled.

I set my bags on the ground and clasped my hands behind my back. I felt the cuffs tighten until they were just barely cutting into my wrists. He put my bags in the trunk and guided me to the door. After I was seated, he went to the driver's side and slipped into the car.

I had expected a more eventful ride. I had actually hoped I might have the opportunity to taste him: A chance to show that I could satisfy my new Master as well as my own curiosity. I'm sure he knew that because he never even looked in my direction. That is, until I stepped out of line.

I had never liked long periods of silence, and I figured this one had gone on long enough. Permitted or not, I was going to say something.

"How much far..." and the first blow fell.

He hit me so hard that my vision blurred and I could barely make out what he was saying.

"Did I say that you could speak?"

I sputtered, "Nnnno Master."

"Then why did you?"

"I'm sorry Master."

Another blow. My world spun, but I recovered more quickly this time.

"That is not what I asked for. I asked you why you spoke without permission. Now answer me whore. Why did you do it?"

I faltered for a moment, not knowing the answer he wanted, but fearing if he were to strike again, my world would go completely black.

"I wanted you to look at me" I mumbled.

"What did you say?" he yelled, raising his hand to strike.

I cried out in fear, "You wouldn't look at me. I just wanted you to look at me"

His expression softened a little. Not much, but it was a small comfort to know that he had told the truth when we had spoken before.

We met through a mutual friend in an instant message chat. We were all online and our friend thought we would get along famously. Little did he know it would lead to this. We hit it off great right from the start. We had the same tastes in books, music, science, and poetry. Oh God yes, the poetry. It impresses me to this day that such an aggressively dominant man like Master can make a string of words sound like a melody.

We spoke of normal things until an innocent misunderstanding led to an in depth discussion on bondage. We spoke on the topic enough that we discovered we were nearly a perfect match. He was a bit too violent for my liking, and I was a smart assed rule breaker. Otherwise, we were like the last two pieces of a puzzle. You know where they belong; you just need to add a bit of pressure before they click into place.

That little bit of pressure ended up being one of our last conversations before my trip. We had spoken of pain, and my liking for it, but he had never addressed the matter in terms of what I could withstand. When asked, I explained that I had an extremely high tolerance for pain.

"I'm one of those people who can be thrown from horseback while racing, receive a concussion, sprained ankle, and a neck brace, and still make the trek to the University for classes the next day." I said with a laugh.

He was quite pleased, knowing that, although I did not like the extent of his violence, I could take it. He said that if he ever did break that threshold, I was to let him know. That bit of kindness has never been of much use as I am also unbelievable stubborn. Though it has grown higher over time, he still reaches that threshold on occasion, sending me spiraling into darkness. I find myself waking to feel the chains remover and his arms wrapped around me, holding me close.

Master is very kind in that he allows me to live a life that feels mostly normal to me. I attend classes to reach my dream of becoming a writer. I spend time with my friends, though always accompanied by Master. He even allows me to use his given name. David. It's a grand name isn't it? A good strong name right? Wrong. That name is just a mask. The slight smirk, soft touch, and warm laugh are all real, but his name is not David. Not to me. It still feels so foreign to call him something that does not show, in the name itself, that I am his, but he insisted.

When he decided that I should go back to school, I was stunned. That meant going back into the world. A world that knew nothing of what we had. I was terrified, and he knew it. He slowly coaxed me back into the 'real' world where he had a double life, just as I would. It took time, but at some point, he knew I was ready. I applied, and was accepted into a nearby college and my double life began for real: Ericka Addison by day, and a menagerie of terms by night. Even now, there are times, when he knows I am too exhausted to reply, that he whispers softly in my ear, "How did I find you, my perfect slave?" Then he pulls me close and we drift into a peaceful sleep, each dreaming of the other.