No, me, mine, and I. Words Master Frej had outlawed from my vocabulary. I recall vividly our early days together.
My! It was difficult not to use these four simple words by accident.
This is where I learned silence was my friend. To begin with, being young and untried in the ways of the world, I had thought it was like some kind of extreme dare, or more just a difficult challenge. The application of his leather belt soon showed me otherwise. In those first few weeks of ownership, I wondered how I could go on. How to lull my bruised body to a state of acceptance. I pondered the idea of running away, however, there was nowhere to run to, nor did he provide me with the opportunity to do so.
Now years later I must again be mindful of those tiny, so easily spoken words. Though I carry his brother's precious son I am sure he can still find many artful ways to inflict unbearable pain. He has become more interested of late in exploring the area of mental submission, or could I say more accurately the mind fuck.
I have always been guarded with strangers, and somewhat terrified of male ones. He knows this fact well, disobedience over this has led us to some rather ugly extremes in the past. For me ones that have caused lifelong injury and regret. He knows when he fucks me it hurts me, but quite unlike other men he has this ability to see past me; through me. He does not stop, he doesn't ask me if I'm all right, and he doesn't even have to cover my face with a pillow or a cloth like his brother often did to be able to continue onward to his own pleasure. This sounds bad, callous even, but to me, it is a sweet relief. Difficult it is because of my injuries to lay there and hide my pain, and it bothers me greatly that most men can't just see past it like he does and get the job done. Crazy huh? I love him in essence because he cannot see me.
Once in our past, he had told me of a fantasy he had wanted to try. Mortified I had suffered through it, thinking all the while leading up to the act he would relent last minute. He had whored me out to a man I did not know, whether the instance was contrived or not I will never be sure. I never forgot that man, nor the words Master Frej spoke to me in my crying aftermath.
"Men desire you Lidia. I have made you that way." He had said huskily. I could feel his desire as well, as I sat in his lap. "They will pay their hard earned wages to have you, even if only for a little while, but they cannot have you unless I say. You are mine, and mine alone from the day I first laid eyes on you, you were always marked to be mine." His words held a heavy finality. "Remember this my girl." I looked back at him, we had often sat in this fashion. "If, I did not care for you Lidia, and make you my slave. If I freed you, you would have little more choice than to do as you did tonight. This night and every night until you are old, used up, and no one wants you. Men don't treasure prostitutes Lidia, they use them. They don't ask them questions, and they don't care for their feelings. They fuck them, and walk away."
Maybe, just maybe these days it was all I wanted.......
*****
It had been a very average day, with the exception of one worry. I had busied myself in all the usual pursuits and was feeling quite happy in my own small world and all that it entailed. I know my world to many is not much, but I surmise I do not think the way many others do, and the small things I fill my days with seem wonderful enough to me.
So what was my one worry you may ask? Before he had left for work that morning, he had put on the table the dreaded heavy rubber hood that he often used on me for breath control games. Games that both brought me to screaming orgasm and blatant fear. All day the butterflies had reigned in my vitals, making eating a quest of difficult proportions, and concentration difficult. I kept looking up at the clock, it could have almost been old times.
Master these days did not seem the social type, after his divorce and near death last January he had markedly changed. His glamorous friends seemed few, though from time to time he did entertain the occasional visitor. However apart from his mother, brother, or the occasional visitation of Mick or Arlette, the mother of his recently born daughter, strangers were a rarity.
He rarely came home early, but I always made him dinner regardless. He would eat at ten p.m. or so, sometimes even later. Unlike his elder brother, I knew he did not dally at work, sometimes he drank with colleagues, or he prowled the nightclubs of the inner city seeking willing prey. This particular night he was habitually late, and I had made him his usual favorite meal, trying to time it to his impossible-to-gauge schedule lest it be spoiled. He did not take kindly to overdone or cold steak.
Relieved I was when I heard him at the door at 9.30 p.m. I knelt by the door unclothed, with eyes lowered, my mind still firmly on the mask that sat on the side table. I had been feeling the thickness and weight of the rubber all day, part of me was excited by the thought, part of me fearing it for good reason. He was a man who often did not know when to reign in his sadistic impulses, and it would not be the first time he had sent me to dizzying unconsciousness via this method of employ.
Tonight he was drunk, though I counted my blessings this particular evening, at least he was a happy one. I wondered what had brought on this buoyant mood of his, usually drunkenness for him meant cruelty and an excess of pain. Still, as he ate fear again welled in me and I hoped longingly he would skip that which he had threatened on his departure this morning. He too now had a desk job, and the formal suit and tie was the mode of acceptable dress code. Unlike his elder brother, he hated the garments, and power dressing was lost on him. He must have been hungry for he uncharacteristically ate first, after he was done he beckoned me to undress him, and I hoped and waited for him to ask to run a bath. The activity that usually preceded bed.
I had him stripped to the waist, I was about to undo his belt but he halted me. Not in words just in hand signals. He and I rarely spoke, I'm sure it would have been strange to an onlooker had there been one to observe us interact. I again knelt patiently by his feet waiting for his command.
I drew a deep breath as I saw him turn to the table and take up the thick rubber mask in his large hands. Yes, air it tasted sweet. Even this simple thing he could deny me, and I shivered, and at the same time felt a mini orgasm's tremor at the thought of what he could so easily take away. He turned in time to see the look on my face and he smiled, oh, that smile, with it he could have the world.
No more time to dwell on such things. He was fitting the mask over my head. It was constrictive and tight and pulled at my hair. He made a comment that it would be easier if he shaved my head, I half think he meant it. Finally, he had it on, I could no longer see, and all I could think of were the strands of my hair maddeningly pulled too tight at various points on my scalp, and the constriction of it fastened about my neck. I waited in dread, I knew this was only one part of this dreaded mask. He would gag me next, and my panic would come, for then I would only have my unreliable nose to breathe through. No matter how calm I tried to be when it came to the gag I fought him every time, then he would fit the remaining layer, the one that could totally seal off my air intake.
He returned from his short sojourn into the bedroom and his small but nasty toy cupboard. I was still, so very still on hands and knees on the floor. I thought for a moment I should suggest this might not be good for his brother's son, deciding fear was ruling me, surely he would have thought of that. He pulled me upright to rest on my knees, I waited for the horror of the gag. It did not come. Instead, I could feel he was passing heavy leather strapping about my waist buckling it tightly, leather cuffs followed and these he fastened to the wide belt at the small of my back. He intended to tether my hands out of the way of his ministrations. New panic abounded, now I was sure the gag would follow. I knew better than to whine or plead, and still, I did. All I got for my badly timed words was a stinging slap to the rump and a curt "Shut up." My mouth closed immediately.
