The Cost of Things

Author's Warning: Intense Content

* * * * *

She was a classic "good sub." A loyal, obedient, and zealous submissive woman who was dedicated to the service of her dominant mate. To him. She displayed these virtues so consistently that he gave her a special gift. He had been in the US military for several years and had rendered good service to the nation. He had earned the Good Conduct Medal twice, for which he was very proud. He gave her one of them. On the reverse side, as is customary, were engraved the words of the martial virtues "Loyalty, Obedience, Zeal." She pinned it to the velvet lining of her jewelry box.

It was easy for her to be a good sub. She loved to obey him. Doing as he wished was her chief joy. When they were apart during the working day she would sometimes call him just to ask his permission for something. It didn't matter for what. To masturbate, to walk in the park with their two dogs, to buy something. And it didn't matter much whether he said yes or no. As long as she could follow his instructions, do his will, obey him. It gave her joy, and gave her life meaning to give herself over to another, to an entity she regarded as larger than herself. It was easy to be a good sub.

It's not that she never committed the odd infraction, requiring a few swats on the ass or a little while in the corner. She was still in training, after all, still learning his ways. It was to be expected that she would have the occasional misstep. But the corner that he had dedicated as the punishment corner got precious little use. The loose leaf binder he purchased to be the "punishment book" had all of one page filled in over six months. The thought of failing or disappointing him was painful to her. She had once worn the wrong color (red when he had specified black) when she met him at the airport for a flight to New York. When he pointed it out she was mortified. It really was just an honest mistake, but the hour she spent chained to the bed in the hotel was nothing compared to the six hours of punishment she gave herself during the flight.

And of course the cane had never been used. He never found any need. She had a dread of the cane. Her previous dom had been too free in its use, unskilled, and sometimes drunk, as was she, back then. The previous dom had gone to Texas or Oklahoma somewhere, and was in jail for something. She, on the other hand, had been sober for two years. But she still had a scar on her left thigh from the cane. And when she would see it in the mirror she had to acknowledge that she was no masochist. She would endure some amount of pain for her master's sadistic pleasure, but it caused her only suffering. She hated it. And He, her current owner, regarding the exchange of power as more important than sensation play, sharply limited himself in the delight he took in reddening her creamy ass with hand or paddle. But the mere sight of the cane, leaning up against the hat and coat rack in the entryway, made it still easier for her to be a good sub.

It was all so easy. Too easy. For him. Whatever he desired of her he knew would be his. His orders would not be merely followed, they would be anticipated. She never talked back, never displayed a trace of "attitude," never disappointed or failed him. "What's the value of something that comes so easily?" he thought. "How much do we esteem a thing we don't have to work for? When I was 17 I worked my ass off to buy an old used car. And I loved that car, and cared for it and kept it up for years. But when my dad won a lottery he bought a brand new Jaguar, and within six months he totaled it. And he didn't really care." He looked at her photo on his desk. "Did I just win you in a lottery?" he thought. "Would I care if I lost you?" The very idea was painful to him. If he could not cherish her, value her as his most prized possession, treasure her, then what was the point? To own and keep another human being should be the most awesome responsibility and deepest joy attainable to a dominant personality. "And you," he continued to the photo, "With me so easily pleased, will you tire of me?" For what can be the value of the easily had?

***

She had been out for the day visiting. It was dusk when she returned home. He was standing in the entryway holding her collar and leash. He put a finger to his lips to signal quiet, and she smiled, cast her eyes downward, and stood waiting. He advanced to collar his property. Then taking up the leash he led her into the living room as darkness gathered outside. The room was dancing with the light of a dozen candles. The air was scented with fresh orange blossoms. In the center stood a new addition: a massage table, about three feet high. He led her to the center, stood behind her and said, "Strip." her filmy garments began to billow and fall, one by one, to pool at her feet. "Stop," he commanded, when she had only her panties remaining. "Turn." She turned to face her Master. He held scissors. He stepped forward, and in two quick snips cut away her last covering and yanked them to the floor.

He took a moment to savor her appearance. Below her neck was not one follicle of hair, not even on her arms. He touched her nipples delicately and they rose in greeting. He admired the bare mons, and stroked and petted its alabaster smoothness. He caressed the pink, rose-like petals that coyly peeked through her slit. And he tenderly kissed her mouth. That was the easy part. Reaching into his pocket he produced a blindfold, and in an instant her world went dark. He led her by the leash to the massage table and directed her to lie upon it face down. With soft nylon rope he bound her ankles to the table legs at that end. He did the same with her wrists at the other end. Using a 12 inch wide strip of Irish linen he bound her at the small of the back to the table, so she could not buck and injure herself. Her chin hung just over the forward edge of the table, her leash depending almost to the floor.

What he was about to do gave him pause. He began to doubt his course. Would this just ruin it all? Would it be too much? Would it backfire? Maybe it would. Maybe at the end of this process he would be without her, and she without him. But he had cast his die. The cost of things cannot be denied. He would go forth, and hope that he had done wisely. Loved wisely. What were the words of Othello? "One who had loved not wisely, but too well." Yes, wisely. "Let me love wisely," he prayed. For, as also in the words of Othello, "It is the cause, my soul. It is the cause."

He laid the cane upon her body, along her spine, its one end resting on the nape of her neck, the other lodged in the cleft of her ass. She knew instantly what it was, and she shivered with fear and confusion. "What did I do?" her mind screamed. "I haven't done anything wrong!" She wanted to ask him "why" but she knew better than to speak unless ordered to. Then it occurred to her that it was just for the fear. He liked a little fear. "Of course," she assured herself with a deep breath. "It's just for the fear."

He stood in front of her and ran his fingers through her hair. He grasped fistfuls of it and tugged and released, tugged and released. This always helped her begin that long, delicious slide into subspace. "What is your chief responsibility to me?" he asked her.

"Obedience," she replied without hesitation. "Obedience." The word felt good in her mouth.

"And what is your highest purpose?"

"Your pleasure," she cooed, falling into the regular pattern of this discourse.

"Even at the cost of your own?"

That was a departure from the usual drill. She wasn't sure how to answer. But she found her tongue and said, "There can be no cost to me, because your pleasure is mine."

"So you say?"

"Uh, yes, sir."

"And where do I find my greatest sexual pleasure?"

"In my mouth. In my loving, receptive mouth," she said with some relief, his qustioning restored to their private catechism, all the while slipping deeper into that luxurious submissive zone. She heard his zipper come down, and she pictured in her mind's eye how he drew out his cock. She knew he was stroking it, bringing it to full erection. She loved to watch this when she could.

"Open," he commanded.

Her lips parted obediently. She knew it was millimeters from her mouth, she could feel its heat on her lips, smell his musk. "You would never disappoint me, would you," he said. "You would never let me down."

She shook her head, now unable to speak, waiting for his flesh, waiting to be the source and means of his pleasure. She felt the glans at her lips, as her Master's penis began to find its way into what he owned. The shaft slid easily along her tongue, her lips urging him inward to pleasure. Ever so slowly, he reached the depths of her mouth, and then paused. Her tongue began its well-trained side to side massage of Master's dick. "Listen to me, Pet. Listen. At this moment, the pleasure I feel is intense, exquisite. And not only from the physical sensation, but also the love and submission you give me. My faith is in you."

Her head spun, and she simply went floating into subspace, a transcendent traveler in the mysteries of human experience. So far gone that she did not hear the wicked SWISHHH! of the cane, nor the CRACK! as it impacted her ass. It was a full second before the massive eruption of pain registered in her consciousness. Her jaw went slack and she released an involuntary scream into the flesh of her Master's cock. "Don't fail me, Pet!" he intoned. "Give me the pleasure you owe me." His words, and his fulfilling presence in her mouth, steadied her. And then the SWISHHH! and CRACK! exploded again sending electric currents of agony throughout her body. Though the blow fell only on her ass, even her arms and legs hurt. Tears gushed from her eyes. "Oh, my God, Pet," he moaned. "Oh, God you feel so good." And he began to pump slowly into her, gently fucking her mouth. "Be a good slave, Precious. Make me proud of you."

SWISHHH! and CRACK! and another welt began to rise on her naked hillock of flesh. SWISHHH! and CRACK! again. He began to moan repeatedly, telling her of the ecstasy he was experiencing and that she was the source. She held onto his throbbing cock like a lifejacket, clinging to the fact of his pleasure, forcing herself to think only of that. But the pain, SWISHHH! and CRACK!, threatened every second to overpower her and make her beg for relief, even to use the safeword that she had told herself she would never utter. SWISHHH! and CRACK! Her tears were clogging her sinuses and breathing through her nose became difficult. She began to feel dizzy. She trembled from head to toe. "You're doing so well, Pet. I'm so proud of you," he said hoarsely as he continued to take his pleasure in her mouth.

SWISHHH! and CRACK! Her agony was about to overcome her. But the thought of failing him, of denying him what she owed him, would be agony, too. But the pain, SWISHHH! and CRACK! was about to get the better of her. SWISHHH! and CRACK! Through the fog and fire that roared through her body and mind, miraculously almost, she was able to feel his penis enlarge and harden even more. It stretched her lips, it bulged on her tongue and pressed more urgently against her throat. Suddenly, she was aware of the taste of small droplets of semen that were prematurely leaking out and flowing across her tongue. "The messenger, Pet," he cried out. "The messenger!" SWISHHH! and CRACK!

The messenger was how they referred to his cum. For whenever she felt it enter her, or saw it arcing through the air to find a place somewhere on her body, it was the message to her that He was experiencing the greatest physical pleasure possible, and that she was the source. The messenger was hot, visceral proof of her connection to him, his ownership of her, the fulfillment of her highest function. It was her reward. And the messenger was now on its way. SWISHHH! and CRACK! SWISHHH! and CRACK! The cane landed on a previous welt and the blood seeped up to the surface to form tiny red pearls.

Her nose ran profusely. Her eyes streamed hot tears. The fire in her body consumed her. As close as she was to the end of her ordeal she felt she was about to lose the battle. "Protect me!" he cried out. Yes he. "Protect me!" Any man, even a dom made of steel is at his most vulnerable at the moment of release. And when that release is in his lover's mouth his most delicate part is juxtaposed to her hardest and most deadly parts. So he must trust her. And for this man, this dom made only of flesh, trust was an aphrodisiac.

Her protective instincts rushed to the fore. And she took great satisfaction in this role. She was like a medieval page who bore her knight's shield into the battle. She protected him from the slings and arrows while he dealt with the foe. This was the only time in any sex act with him that she had an active role to play. Otherwise she was entirely submissive. And now, in the battle with agony, she was called to the fore. It gave her just enough of her own strength to hold back the crushing weight of the pain. Her responsibility to him was now supreme, and she was willing to sacrifice every nerve ending in her body to hold him in safety.

SWISHHH! and CRACK! The cane fell from his hand. Sperm gushed into her mouth. With lips curled protectively around her teeth, she held onto him lovingly, being both his vessel and his shield. She swallowed him with joy and relief. While the welts on her ass continued to rise and sear and throb, the pain was somehow diffused. The messenger had delivered its missive. She had earned her place in his heart. And he had had to work very hard for her. All was worth its cost. For now.