In the beginning, there was sex twice a day, sometimes more. I was bruised all the time from his excessive loving. Everyday was a new adventure in sadism, masochism, bondage, submission and dominance. But we got used to each other, as all couples do, and one day he said to me, as I was reading a book, "Come here, please."
I answered him with a fraction of my attention, absent-mindedly murmuring, "Sure, just a second. I'm at the good part."
So absorbed was I in my book that I didn't hear his approach and I cried out angrily as the volume was unceremoniously snatched from my grasp. Furiously, my eyes met his and something in their expression made my heart climb slowly into my throat.
Calmly, he set my book aside and crossed his arms, staring down at me. I shrank in my chair, my cheeks turning pink as I forgot to breathe. He said, "It looks like the honeymoon is over."
Immediately, I slid from my chair to crawl to him, pressing my cheek to the tops of his feet, "Please, Master, don't say that!" My heart swelled and I could hardly swallow. It sounded like he was starting a breakup speech over just one mistake.
He crouched so he could rest his hand on the back of my neck, keeping me pinned to the floor as he spoke softly, as if reading my mind, "Lately I have to ask you twice because you don't obey the first time. Shh. No. Don't apologize, I'm not angry."
His feet had shifted when he crouched and now my face was pressed against the floor, I could feel the skin crushed between bone and hardwood. He stroked my hair and continued to speak softly, "I am not going to punish you, but it is my job to make sure you remember what you are to me. We will not become complacent." And then he pulled gently on my hair, lifting my face from the floor so he could pull me close and kiss me.
It was frightening in its tenderness, that kiss. His lips were gentle, his tongue parting me so he could slip it inside and caress mine, the fist in my hair holding me still for him. I was breathless as he broke the kiss and searched my eyes, his voice thick, "I am going to hurt you as I never have before. You are going to be humiliated and tortured severely because that is what you need. Do you understand?"
And I did. I knew I'd become comfortable and it was clear to me that I needed something big to sharpen my submission. My voice was scratchy and hard to find, "Yes Master. I understand. I love you."
He smiled and nodded, "Very good," and then he turned and walked away, his fist still tangled in my hair so I screamed and was nearly dragged along behind him to the basement stairs. He hoisted me up on his shoulder and began the descent into his dungeon, the position causing my stomach to be crushed with every downward step so I grunted and blood rushed to my head.
He set me down in front of one of the metal support poles in the basement and, with one hand at my stomach and the other in my hair, he guided me to bend over. Harshly, he separated my long hair into two sections which he held on either side of the pole.
Quietly, he joined those two sections of hair, the pole between my scalp and the mane he began braiding all the way to the end, finishing it off with a hair elastic. I whimpered, my hair tethering me to the pole so any effort to pull away stung my scalp. I couldn't even stand up.
Sulfur used to smell like blackouts and romantic evenings in the bathtub. Now it smells like hot wax dripping on tender flesh. He silently cut my clothes away, tossing them into the dark shadowed corner out of sight, and then he lit a fat paraffin candle.
One large hand rested on my abdomen, pressing up, "Straighten your back, stay still," and I shifted my feet to make a level plane of my spine before freezing in place. The hot wax made me moan as he trickled it in a liquid mound in the small of my back and then pressed the candle base down. There I was, bound helplessly, my hands gripping the pole to take the pressure off my scalp, I was a human candelabra.
I tried not to breathe, afraid the candle would fall to the stone floor with the slightest motion. I had no fear of fire as there was nothing to burn, but I didn't want to disappoint him. He left me and approached the wall where all of his tools hung in organized fashion on display. Upon his return, he held his cane under my face so I could see it and I whimpered. I had experienced the cane only once before, just long enough for us to discover that I do not like it at all.
I like thuddy pain. Paddles and thick heavy floggers work for me but stinging pain overwhelms. Even a hand can be too sharp for me. "Yes?" he asked. "Yes please, Master," I whispered in reply, my voice so small I could barely even hear myself.
He withdrew the thin cane and stepped behind me. I couldn't help it, I shifted awkwardly and gasped as wax spilled down the candle to puddle on my back, but the candle held firmly in place.
