After the weekend, Andrew gave me some space to get my head together, which was good. To be honest, I was 'on autopilot' all week, and hardly able to concentrate. I was glad work hadn't noticed. The experience at Dean's tilted my world on its axis, and I started to wonder about all kinds of things.
Going up there was a good idea, I decided, even if it was only to open my eyes to the possibilities. I learned some good lessons there. Probably the best one was that if my head was in the right place, I could deep throat Andrew, which was pretty exciting. Discovering a depth of subspace that I didn't know existed was amazing too. My mind and body were capable of handling torments and pain much better than I thought. Though I was achy and marked for a few days afterwards, they soon went away.
Before going up there, I had a pretty good idea of what went on at Dean's, but I honestly thought I was going to get the option of getting involved. Like I could've just watched if I wanted. But it wasn't like that at all. I was in it from the start and I fucking loved it. That threw a spanner in the works. How dare I love it? What kind of a slut was I? God. Even the horrible feelings of being ignored faded from my selective memory. It was an incredible weekend, and thoughts and flashes from it haunted me for weeks.
And yet, my jealousy concerned me. I could drown in sensuality, but if Andrew received pleasure from someone else, I felt betrayed! Then I felt guilty about thinking such ridiculous thoughts. What was wrong with me? It was the only part of the weekend that left me with questions.
One time at work I giggled when I thought of writing, 'My Master's pleasure is my joy!' a hundred times on the whiteboard in the executive boardroom. I wished I were always so nonchalant and laid back about it. But I wasn't, and I hoped my jealousy wouldn't be my undoing.
Dominique and I had discussed many subjects over the previous year. I felt I knew what she was capable of, and I knew her limits. In the days following the weekend, we talked briefly about the night with Paul just prior to it, and about general conclusions from the weekend itself. She had nodded and agreed with things I pointed out to her, and added comments of her own. We even went to our first munch together during the week, and I was so proud of her. She'd been wonderful, demonstrating a depth and understanding of herself that I was proud to witness. She seemed to speak her mind in thoughtful ways and I enjoyed the maturity she was showing. I was pleased with her progress.
As the week wore on, it became clear new questions had been raised in her mind. She seemed to be wrestling with something she thought was important, but she didn't come to me about it. One time I was about to enter our bedroom and I hesitated in the doorway. She thought she was alone, and her brows were furrowed in deep concentration. She was sniffling, holding a tissue to her nose, tears trickling slowly down her cheeks. As I turned and allowed her some privacy, it became clear something serious was going on.
A few choice words still had their desired affect. Now that I think about it, in the days after the weekend at Dean's, I can't remember how often I said words like, 'Dominique, come here, ' but it was a few. I was increasingly worried about her, but I didn't sit her down and question her. I let her think it through, expecting her to come to me if she had an impasse.
After all, I reasoned, scening was still a relatively new concept to her. What we did together, to her, was simply how she submitted to me. Allowing herself to be used, to whatever degree I chose, during play, was 'her life'. But scening in full view of others, having others use her at my whim, or seeing me use another woman, was a pretty big step. A lot had happened, and she still hadn't come to me.
By Saturday evening I decided to get to the bottom of it. "Dominique? Come here, pet."
"Yes, Sir?" I replied, entering the lounge room from the kitchen, wiping my hands on my apron. I'd been peeling potatoes for Andrew's favourite potato salad. It was a bit weird how I threw myself into meal making.
"Come and kneel in front of me, pet."
"Oh, um," I hesitated, thinking about the water about to boil. "Yes, Sir." Andrew had arranged a cushion for me and I kneeled down on it, my eyes flicking at the kitchen door.
"I want you to tell me what is on your mind."
"Just that I have some water on the boil. I probably should turn it off if this is going to take some time." I noticed Andrew's eyes narrowing, but it was strange. It wasn't an angry look, more like he was trying to see inside my head. I thought, Uh oh.
"Go on," he said with a sideways nod.
"Yes, Sir," I said, springing to my feet. Trotting on tiptoes to the kitchen, I turned off the stove and took off my apron before hurrying back. As I settled, I looked up into Andrew's eyes and held my breath as he spoke.
"Good girl," he said, smiling softly down on me. "Okay, now what's on your mind?"
"Um," I replied stupidly, trying to buy some time. "What do you mean, Sir?"
"Don't answer a question with a question. Tell me."
I sighed and looked down at my hands. I wasn't being good and I knew it. "I'm sorry. I haven't been myself lately."
"I've noticed. It's okay. It's time to talk to me about it."
I wanted to... I really did... "I... I..."
"Dominique. See that door?" He pointed toward the front door and my eyes widened. "You may go through it at any time. Now talk, or walk."
Fuck!. "I just... I mean... I don't know what I mean to you!!!"
The weirdest silence settled over us as his shoulders slumped. He looked down at the floor for the longest time before raising his eyes to me. Tears threatened to spill onto my cheeks, I was so afraid. I don't know why, but I thought he was going to be angry. God, I was so wrong.
The look in his eyes floored me as he whispered, "You mean everything to me, pet."
"Oh, Master!" I cried.
"You are mine, and I am yours."
"I'm so sorry!"
"We are one entity. Two people, but we are one. Together. You and me."
"Forgive me!"
"We are on the same side. It's you and me against the world."
"I doubted you!"
"You are forgiven."
"I'm a terrible sub!"
"No, you are not. There is more to this life than you know. Your lessons are not ended."
"I'm so sorry, Sir!" I burst into tears at his feet. I don't know. I was wound up so tightly. With my fingernails tearing holes in the cuff of his dress pants, and my mascara running onto them, I heaved and cried my eyes out. My guilt had convinced me I wasn't good enough for him.
"Hush now," he said softly. "It's okay."
I could feel his fingers at the back of my head, sliding into my hair. Gently they tightened, but not to the point of pain. It was just short of that. It was exactly tight enough to halt my tears. As he raised my head with gentle pressure, I let go of his pants and moved up to all fours, following his desire for me. Backwards he bent my neck, arching my back and bringing my eyes to his. I must have looked a sight.
"Everything about you is wonderful. Know I love you."
My mouth opened but nothing came out. I'm sure my heart stopped. As I gazed into his eyes, trying to find a hint of doubt and finding none, I finally found my voice. "Thank you, Master," I whispered. His fingers slid from my hair, letting my head drop and giving me time to catch my breath. I sat back on my heels and spread my knees, placing my hands palms up on my thighs and arching my back. God. Joy filled the void in my heart and I longed for his touch.
Always reassure me like this. Always make me yours like this!
His eyes burnt into mine and I melted before him. I would never meet another like him. Only he touched me without touching. We both knew it. Oh God, we both knew it. The hair on my neck bristled as he rose from his chair and slid his fingers into my hair once more.
"Come, Dominique," he said, grinning and brushing a tear from his eye. "It's time for the works, pet."
I've always believed actions spoke louder than words. It's an old saying but so true. Discerning the veracity of Dominique's words wasn't hard. Her body language screamed the truth of them. Every heave of her shoulders, every sob into the carpet while holding the leg of my pants, told of her pain. How could I have been so stupid? I'd been so single-mindedly pursuing an outcome that I'd failed to recognise the danger signs. I guessed empathy wasn't my strong suit.
When she questioned her importance to me, her heart wasn't the only one that skipped a beat. Mine also stopped in time. In that split second I saw Rebecca, waving her finger and laughing at my foolishness. I barely had time to crush my guilt and listen to them both.
Move on, you big oaf.
So I did.
It was that easy.
The next morning, I was enjoying a few quiet minutes of solitude, lying in bed, my mind wandering. Andrew had driven to the local bakery for some Danish pastries to have with our leisurely morning coffee. Mmmmmm... I loved Sundays...
When I ran my fingers over my hip, I felt a couple of slightly raised and sensitive ridges of skin. Into my mind came the memory of being struck twice in the same place, and Andrew's voice, reminding me not to move. My eyes fluttered closed and I cooed as I brushed my fingertips along the ridge. I'd had lots of these before. I didn't mind. They were only tiny and didn't last long. I actually liked them.
Why did I like being 'marked'?
The reason I didn't tell my vanilla friends the details of my relationship with Andrew was because they would confuse what we did with physical abuse. As might any uninformed observer if they saw the marks. I'm sure they would equate what we did with Andrew physically abusing me. I wished I could cast a temporary spell over them so they felt what I felt. Maybe then they would understand.
For starters, Andrew has never hit me in anger. For example, I would never be struck across the face in the middle of a heated conversation. I was assured of that a couple of months ago when Andrew and I agreed to add it as a hard limit for me. Andrew said it was a hard limit for him too, and I was never to strike him across the face ever. I never thought of that. Blushing, I gulped and nodded!
Also, no matter what he uses, rarely if ever does it begin hard. This is where I think internal wiring comes into it. Most people call it subspace, and just about all submissives experience it. It's where time doesn't exist, only what you feel exists. And what you feel is somehow experienced in a way that makes sense. Subspace can come over me at a moments notice. A look or a word might be enough. Even at my most feisty, even when an inappropriate thought is bubbling away barely in control, when I first feel that toy or his hand touching my skin or my hair, something happens and I slide into the place where I am me.
When Andrew strikes my body, whether it be softly, medium or hard, every time it is measured to coincide with what I want or need at that particular moment. Sometimes what I need is not necessarily what I would choose. But that is what I give to my Master. I give him the right to choose what I need. It's true that most of the time we agree anyway. I wouldn't be here if we didn't. So when he tells me he is going to use something on me, I know he will 'warm me up' before using it with any force. I know he won't actually hurt me. And, to my delight, most of the time I get no less than I deserve.
So when I talk about being marked, I don't mean being beaten black and blue. God. I can't imagine what that is like, and I can see no parallels at all between the two. Andrew's dominance is measured and accurate. It's exactly what I like about the lifestyle: that it's structured and clear.
This is your place, and that is mine. I am like this, and you are like that. This is what excites me, and that is what excites you. We fit together.
Sometimes I've woken in the morning wondering why I'm aching. Later, I can feel what he has done through my clothes. It affects me, being able to feel them without touching them, knowing they are there with me. A part of him. Being marked makes me feel owned, and serves as a constant reminder of my submission.
Just last week, at my very first munch, we had an evening picnic with floodlights and barbeques. While sitting on blankets and munching hotdogs and steak sandwiches, one of the regular girls asked, "What is the difference between a slave and a submissive?" After a few protests that the subject had been beaten to death, two girls spoke up, saying they'd really like to know.
Without thinking I offered, "A submissive chooses." Everyone looked at me and I was very embarrassed. I think it was one of the first things I said in front of strangers. Maybe it was because I had given it some thought that I blurted. When everyone was quiet and waiting for a follow up, I was blushing madly and hoping Andrew would rescue me. But he didn't. I had to say something! "A... A submissive chooses her path. A slave's path is chosen for her."
Someone said, "That's pretty good, I like that..."
I looked up at Andrew and he smiled and nodded, then added for the group, "A slave and a submissive are close allies. They are very similar in thought processes. Often it is simply a self-image thing, where one prefers to think of themselves as 'slave', rather than 'submissive'."
A feisty sub asked, "Yes, but what, in your opinion, is the difference?"
"Well, the lifestyle being what it is, there are any number of possible answers. But mainstream thought says a submissive is one who, by a choice that may be revoked, relinquishes a limited and pre-defined amount of power over themselves; and with this, he or she is satisfied, and so is their dominant. A slave is considered to be one who puts his or her entire being at their Master's or Mistress' disposal, without limit, and nothing less would satisfy either of them. As far as my opinion goes, I think in some ways, the 'slave mindset' is a little deeper than the 'sub mindset'. Deeper in the sense that it is more assured. It is unquestioned. This may or may not be a good thing." He gazed down at me and I blushed. "For me, I enjoy watching Dominique's internal tug of war."
Someone yelled out, 'Write that down!' And people laughed and agreed.
I've thought about what he said the last couple of days, wondering if I am more sub than slave, or vice versa. In terms of consensuality, I feel a real sense of control over my destiny. I have chosen how I want to live my life. I chose to submit. I don't choose when or where. But I did choose to submit in the first place. I guess it comes down to degrees. So, does that mean a submissive is more independent than a slave? Is being independent a good thing? What about being 'strong'? Can one be a 'strong' sub or slave? Is that a good thing?
These thoughts and more wandered through my mind as my fingers wandered over my skin. I felt the welts again and wondered if I was bruised. I was a bit sore, but not too bad. It was more just numb and tingly, and my skin was a bit bumpy. Andrew had cropped me very firmly last night. Particularly on my ass and the upper part of the back of my thighs.
From the bed I looked across at my full-length mirror and decided to take a look. Wincing, I slid out and walked over to the mirror. Turning around and looking over my shoulder, I cast my eyes over my reflection. Despite my light olive skin, my ass was still pretty white, and I do bruise fairly easily. My butt and the back of my thighs were dotted with blotchy red marks, some of which were edged with thin short lines of darker bruising. I thought they might take a day or so to go away. I ran my cupped hands tentatively over my ass and sighed in pleasure as visions of last night came flooding back.
I crawled back into bed, remembering how I was kneeling right here with my head down and my ass up. Andrew wanted my forehead resting on the bed. My knees were spread very widely, wrists cuffed behind my back. I was naked except for my collar. He told me he wanted me prepared before he fucked me. Just like that. "I want your ass nice and red before I fuck you, pet. Yeah, curve your back like that. Damn. That's lovely."
I think he also said something about it pleasing him to crop me. When he started it was so gentle. He took his time, building so slowly and finding his rhythm. It made me squirm. I couldn't help it. I moaned and groaned. Some of the words I used made me blush. Mmmm...
The feelings escalated. Like a wave approaching the shore, they gathered strength and speed in time with the warming taps of the crop and my descent into subspace. When Andrew stood over me, with a crop or something in his hand, I could honestly say there were few other moments when I felt my submission more acutely. And God how I loved it.
"I want you to keep me informed, pet. Tell me what you are feeling and ask if you want more or less."
"Yes, Sir," I breathed, shuddering in pleasure. Just being bent over like that, on my knees with my wrists cuffed behind me, gave me tingles of delight over my warmed skin. Trying to describe how I felt made it even more intense.
"Tell me if it's good, or just right, pet, by your words and your actions. Push your ass back if you want more. Tell me if it's a bit too hard, and certainly tell me if it's too much." He always subtly reminded me of my safe words. It was like a ritual.
"Mmmm... Yes, Sir," I replied, trying to relax.
"Good girl." The warm up was finished and he started smoothing the end of the crop over my ass and down my legs. Barely touching me, gliding slowly. The folded tip of leather was cooler than my skin. I could feel my own breath gather pace as it glided up and down my back again. It won't be long now. Easing into the warm embrace of my space, I moaned when he twisted the crop and drew a line with it down the length of my spine.
"How does that feel pet?" he asked, smoothing it over my ass again.
"Mmmm... Nice, Sir. I... I'm ready." Pop. "Ohhh..." I squirmed, clenching inside. Automatically I pressed back against the crop as it smoothed over the light pink welt left on my skin. I didn't even think about it. I didn't have to wait long for the next one either.
Pop.
"I am going to colour in your ass, pet. I think red tonight. Do you understand?"
Pop.
"Mmmm... Yessss..." I hissed, pressing back against the tip of the soothing crop.
Pop.
"You like this, don't you?" Andrew asked.
"I... I love it, Master. It makes me so hot. More please. Please..." I pressed back, swaying my ass invitingly.
Pop.
"Good girl."
Pop.
"My pussy is already so wet, Sir. I'm so hot inside I can feel it pulsing."
"Use stronger language tonight, Dominique."
"My cunt is so wet, Sir." Pop! "Ohhh... Mmmmm..." Pressing back again, I bit my lip when Andrew reached between my legs, lightly stroking the moistened and slightly parted lips of my pussy. I rolled my hips against his fingers making it obvious I wanted more, but he withdrew them. The crop returned and I groaned, unable to stop myself pressing back against it. I was hunching and trying to get him to touch my clit with it. Andrew noticed of course.
Pop.
"Keep a little more still pet."
Pop.
"Ohhh... S... Sorry, Master," I breathed.
Pop. Pop.
"Mmmmm... That's just right, Sir." I closed my eyes and swooned.
Pop. Pop.
Pop!
"Ooohhh..."
Pop! Pop! "Oh, Goddd..." I clenched my teeth, groaning, "My cunt is-" Pop! Pop! Pop! "Oohhhh... Your slut's cunt is very-" Pop!! "Ooohhhh!! Oh... Mmmmm... Very fucking wet..." I ended in a whisper.
"I'll have to check again, pet."
He put the crop down next to me on the bed. His warm hands spread my ass cheeks and I felt his breath as he examined my skin closely. My breath caught in my chest when I felt his kiss. He ran his fingers firmly up and down the opening of my pussy, parting the lips and spreading the juices all over me. Pressing two fingers more firmly against me, I arched and trembled as he pushed them into me. There was no way I was going to be able to keep still, and I shuddered and gasped as his fingers slid back out. He firmly forced them back in, all the way. I gripped them tightly and had a small orgasm. "Oooohhhh..."
"Slut," he whispered, no doubt feeling the light spasms fluttering through my cunt.
"Y... Yes!" I agreed. His fingers started squelching as he thrust them firmly back and forth, faster and faster. Suddenly I felt like I was hurtling toward orgasm, and it was going to be huge. At the last moment he withdrew his fingers, leaving me teetering on the edge. His fingers ran over my asshole, wetting me there too, and I ground back against them. "Please, Master! Please!"
"Almost ready, pet."
"Mmmmmm," I moaned. I couldn't help it.
"You enjoy being touched here, don't you, Dominique?" he asked, circling my now lubricated anus with a fingertip.
"S... So much," I squeaked, shuddering more.
He swirled his fingers over it, increasing the pressure at the centre. "You like things in your ass quite a lot, don't you, my little slut?"
"Mmmmm... Yessss," I groaned, feeling his two fingers stretch my hole and push inside. They came out just as quickly and instinctively I pushed my ass back.
"I think you need your plug, don't you, Dominique?"
"Y... Yes!" I was getting so frantically horny! "Your slut needs her asshole plugged while you fuck her, Master!"
Andrew was reaching for the bedside table, mumbling, "Just as I thought..."
From the corner of my eye I saw him open the drawer and retrieve my plug. The whole time his free hand was caressing my ass in big circles. He picked up the crop and told me to hold it between my teeth. For a short moment I braced myself before feeling the plug push steadily into my pussy.
"Mmmmm... Ooohhhhh, Shhiirrr!!" I cried in surprise, biting down on the handle. Trembling with need, I pressed back against the plug as it slid into me, deliciously stretching my cunt. "Oohhhhh..." I moaned, arching and tossing my hair down my back. Trying to keep hold of the crop, my eyes rolled back in my head and my thighs quivered.
Andrew grabbed a fistful of my hair and took up the slack, arching my back further. He slid the plug almost out then slowly back in again, over and over. Each forward movement of my head was stopped with a pull of my hair. I licked my lips. My body was trembling. I was going to cum!!! I had to tell him!
"Ooohhh please, Master! Please let me cum!"
Andrew froze with the plug buried in my cunt. "Not yet, my precious little fucktoy."
"Th... Thish girl ish... ish... 'ery 'lose, Shhirrrr!" I hissed through my teeth, curling my toes trying to stop its advance.
"We can't have that..."
Very slowly he twisted the plug out of me and I groaned in frustration, dropping my head as he let go of my hair. "Oooohhhh..."
His hands were on my ass spreading my cheeks again. I could feel the juices running down the inside of my thighs. It cooled as it dried on my skin. A counterpoint to the hot redness of my ass, the juicy heat of my pussy and the tangled throbbing nerve endings of my nipples and clit. He took the plug and wiped it up and down my dripping cunt, twisting and coating it as I writhed. He held me still with a steadying hand on my ass. I gritted my teeth. I knew what was coming next.
"Here is something for my dirty ass-fucking slut."
"Ooohhhhh..." I moaned, gasping and dropping the crop as he centred the plug against my asshole. I bore down like he taught me and I felt my ass opening, stretching and accepting as he pushed. An intense rush of adrenaline and pain ran through me as I opened up and I felt faint. My asshole stretched and stretched around the plug then thankfully closed around the base of it.
Andrew patted my ass. "Good girl."
"Oh, God..."
Pop! Pop!
He had the crop again.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
"Oooohhhh, fuck... Mmmmmm..." My skin was starting to smart back there. Heat radiated from each firm strike of the crop. He was on the second 'coat', using the same pattern as the first. I recognised it and began to anticipate each kiss. Alternate cheeks. He was working in larger and larger circles from the centre of each cheek, getting closer and closer to my pussy and asshole as each circle widened. Then there was a change.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
He started down the back of one thigh. Up and down, up and down.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Then up and down the back of the other.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
Then round and round and round my ass again, seemingly harder and harder.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
I don't know where I went. I felt my body shaking. The pops didn't sound the same anymore. They sounded more like thuds. My moans sounded low and drawn out like they were in slow motion. I could hear my breathing and my heart, thudding in my chest faster and faster. Or was it the crop? I couldn't tell. Oh my God, it was so close to my pussy, so close to my full ass. There was a dull roar in my ears and my skin prickled all over my body.
At some time he had grabbed me by the hair again. I felt it when I tried to turn my head to watch him. His tanned broad chest twisted with his movements and trickles of sweat ran down his sparkling skin as I groaned. He was watching his work and our eyes met. He saw I was more than ready.
Throwing the crop to the floor, he was naked in seconds and climbing onto the bed behind me. His hands gripped me under my hips and moved me into the position he wanted. He wedged the head of his cock between the lips of my pussy, and his words bent my world. "Cum when you want, I don't give a fuck!"
He impaled me. Not smoothly and insistently. Nooo, not at all. He shoved his long hard cock straight up my cunt. I was suddenly and deliciously full. "Aaaaahhhhhh!! Oohhh ohhh Ooohhhhhhhhh!!!" I moaned, a crashing orgasm bursting inside me. Then I came again. "Ooohhhh fffuccckkkkk Sirrrr... Ooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh Goddddddddd..."
And so it went. Again and again my body boiled in the fiery cauldron of my submission. The last I remember was my Master slapping my ass, pulling my hair, twisting my plug, and fucking me endlessly.
I woke up in the middle of the night.
Andrew must have fucked me more than once. Our combined juices left me lying in a big wet spot. And God! My ass and the back of my thighs were on fire! Gingerly I turned over to face him, but he was sleeping soundly, turned away. I spooned my body to his and slipped my arm around his torso. I calmed and thought briefly about what had happened, and about what he had said. Fortunately sleep and exhaustion consumed me.
Dominique's depth of submission was something that still had me concerned. Tinkering with it was an inexact art. It wasn't like fiddling with a dial. She was a real person, and the danger of miscommunication was ever present. Before sleeping that night I resolved to talk to her more regularly about my motives, and about what I wanted from her. It was a good idea and I planned to start in a couple of days.
I just had one more plan.
It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. But every time was like the first time. Every time I brushed my fingertips over my welts, his welts, was like the first time. Every time I turned around and looked at myself over my shoulder in the mirror, was like the first time.
Is there the remotest possibility I might ever tire of my own use? I wondered, waiting for the arrival of the Danish pastries. I am most certainly a satisfied woman. When I think about what happens to me in my life, warm shivers go through my body. My life exceeds the most outrageous fantasies most women have. How could I not be satisfied? I never imagined it would really happen to me... that I would be here, in a relationship like this.
Then my brow furrowed as I remembered Andrew's words last night. 'Cum when you want, I don't give a fuck!'
What did he mean by that? Had I displeased him in some way?
'I don't give a fuck!'
Why didn't he give a fuck? Was Andrew getting bored with me? My stomach fluttered and I started to feel nauseous. Maybe I was failing him. I closed my eyes and traced another ridged mark near the top of my thigh. I brushed it back and forth over and over. The feeling was comforting and somehow I drifted into a light sleep.
