Digging

I'm on my knees. Not like that, you unimaginative heathen. I'm crouched over a trowel, smelling the damp black earth. The sun is warm on the skin of my bare back and the chains between the steel shackles make a pretty jingling sound as I work the earth in Master's garden. I'm happy to be outside on a nice day, free to do only as I'm told. The comforting weight of the collar and cuffs make me feel safe. I don't know how long I've been working when he comes ambling up from the house towards the garden. A pang of arousal runs straight down into my belly knowing he sees me, naked, chained hand and foot, serving him.

"Having fun making a mess, girl?" He asks mildly.

I want to sass back at him that manual labor is not supposed to be fun. But the fact is, I was enjoying playing in the dirt.

"Yes Sir," I say and smile to myself.

"Good, we'll go inside soon before you're sunburnt absolutely everywhere. I just finished an awful meeting with outside sales. Every single one thinks they are the priority. What a personality type. Especially this harpywoman, my god. She's calling every five minutes as if everyone lives to serve her."

His face is distant for a moment, thinking about the exchange with his coworkers and a smile plays around his lips as he remembers some witty exchange they had together. A strange emotion surges up inside me at the thought of him bantering with this woman, seemingly out of nowhere and I feel cold, as if a cloud has passed over the sun.

He's standing there in his fine work clothes and expensive watch talking about the real world. He's perfect. I'm a grown woman here naked in the dirt, playing at servitude like silly little girl. How ridiculous, I think, he probably laughs when he tells people about this, if he's not too ashamed to talk about it at all. What am I doing? What kind of woman likes this? No wonder he would prefer some competent, smart businesswoman over some fuck toy who follows his orders. Tears start to gather in my eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asks, alarmed and truly perplexed at the look on my face.

"I don't know Sir." It's not a lie.

"Tell me what you are feeling." He tries again.

I search for the words, shaking my head. "Sad... Embarrassed... Ashamed."

He tilts his head to one side as if considering, and then nods slowly.

"You will finish tilling this row. When you are done, you will come ring the bell. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," I say quietly and start digging, avoiding his gaze. He walks away without another word. Now I'm angry with myself for making him leave. We did this every weekend since the first session, over a year ago. He'd used me for every twisted fantasy and I'd loved it. Impact play. Rope bondage. Puppy play. Whatever his fancy was, and I'd ate it up. I felt free on these weekends. It was the only time I felt good really. So why do I have to be emotional like this? Why do I have to ruin everything?

I finish up and walk to the patio door, forced to take short steps due to the leg chain. I ring the bell and wait to be let inside, determined to make up for my emotional behavior.

After a few minutes passes, he opens the sliding door and looks me over. "You're filthy, slave. Get in."

I expect a shower or even a cold blast with the hose as I've gotten before but this time I'm guided to a different bathroom. Inside is a claw foot tub. He takes out some keys from around his neck and starts unlocking the chains running from the wrist and ankle cuffs to the collar. Then he throws the whole muddy lot into a bin.

"Get in." The command is gruff.

As soon as I sit down in the wonderfully warm, scented water, he locks my wrist cuffs to rivets installed into each side of the tub. Despite my shame at how I behaved earlier, being locked onto the tub is so erotic. I feel a tingling in my lower lips and begin opening and closing my legs slightly, gyrating my hips.

Master must notice but says nothing as he takes a sponge and begins washing me all over. At first, I'm uncomfortable. I'm used to serving him. This feels the opposite. But he pays especially close attention to my breasts and between my legs until I relax to let him play with me. I am soon panting, inconsolable with lust, pushing my cunt up towards his hand. There's some other strange feeling I can't pin point. His face is as handsome as I've ever seen it. I can smell him over the scent of the water and it's driving me crazy. I'm so frustrated that I shake my hands frantically against the restraints, struggling. It makes an awful clanging noise.

"Stop it! Why are you doing that?" He barks.

"I want to touch you." The words had come out before I even had time to think.

He stops washing for a moment. He's not angry but taken aback at this strange, disobedient behavior. "I am not to be touched. You are for me, to touch and use in any way I want."

"I know. I'm sorry Sir." I am also shocked. I am not a brat. I do not misbehave, ever.

He sighs and drops the sponge. Soon he is unlocking me and leading me to the dungeon. I know I will be punished and I'm almost relieved. I don't know why I'm acting this way. Perhaps this will bring me back to normal. Master orders me over the padded bench and I comply to let him lock my wrists and ankles down once again. Presenting face down, ass up I wait for the beating I know I so sorely deserve.

My mouth opens in surprise as he bypasses the leather paddle and soft flogger. Instead his hand rests on a wicked cat-o-nine with tiny metal beads fastened to each end. A shock of genuine fear runs through me and I breathe slowly in and out through my nose, preparing for the sting, keeping my safe word close. I'm startled as the leather cords land softly instead of striking and trail down the skin of my back making me shiver.

"Is the slave ready to explain their behavior today?" He asks

"I don't know what happened, Sir. I'm so sorry," I explain again honestly.

"Unfortunately for you, you won't be getting out of it that easily," he says, letting the tails of the whip fall harder, but still soft, against my backside.

"Please sir, I'm sorry I was emotional. I won't do it again. Please." The strokes are not yet painful but they will be soon as he becomes more forceful with each stroke.

"You're not being punished for having emotions. I want to know what's wrong. You were happy when I first came out to the garden and then something changed didn't it? Tell me what it was, slave," his voice coaxes, like he is speaking to a child or small animal. I don't know what he wants me to say. My ass is starting to burn, making my pussy glisten with juice.

"I... can't. I don't know sir."

"Yes you do. You said you were ashamed and sad. Why?"

The blows from the cat-o-nine are relentless. It's hard to think about anything except how much it will hurt if he slips up and hits the tender folds between my legs.

"This isn't going to stop until you tell me," he warns again.

I think desperately back to what set me off in the garden. The way he smiled when he talked about his coworkers. My eyes go wide as I pinpoint the emotion. Jealousy. How can I be jealous? We've never been romantic. The boundaries between us as dom and sub only are very clear.Slaves are not jealous. I can't tell him. I have to say something else.

"I was thinking bad thoughts about myself master. About how a woman should behave. Wondering if I'm a pervert and wrong for doing this. I felt worthless," I say through gritted teeth. It's not a lie exactly but it hadn't been the only source of my outburst either.

The blows to my backside stop. The skin there is hot and stinging as he starts to undo my bonds and flip me around to my back to look in my eyes.

"I own you during the time you are here, don't I slave?"

"Yes sir." It's difficult to focus with his hard weight pinning me down to the bench.

"So are you calling my property worthless?"

"No sir."

"I enjoy what we do very much so maybe you think I'm a pervert? Or maybe you're not enjoying yourself anymore?" His eyes are practically drilling into my skull now with their intensity.

"No!" I cry out, "Please sir, I would never say that. I think you're perfect and I love my time with you. It's just... I want more but I don't know what that means... I don't want to ruin this," I plead.Tears are forming in my eyes.

Understanding slowly washes over him and he has a look I'd never quite seen on him before. It's something like indecision or vulnerability. I hold my breath as he stares down at me, seemingly conflicted.

"Tell me what you want," he says finally.

"I... I want you Master." I can't bear to look him in the eyes for fear I might turn to ash. Instead I gently stroke the hair on his upper arm, begging him silently.

He says nothing, but cups my face in his hands and kisses me instead.

His tongue in my mouth is passionate, almost frantic and I can feel him working to get his pants undone. I'm needy for his cock now and wait to be restrained before he uses my body as he normally does. It never comes. Instead my arms are left free while my legs are still cuffed. He grabs some of my hair to hold my head still where he wants it. Finding the wetness between my legs, he drives his thick shaft into the depths of my pussy. He opens my legs wider to fuck me harder and deeper still.

I'm crying out in ecstasy as he pins me down and I'm able to grab him for support. My hands roam over his beautiful shoulders and chest while he fucks me with an intensity that has me rocketing towards an orgasm. Shapes and colors explode behind my eyelids as I cry out and hold him as tightly as I dare. He's right on my heels and I moan deeply in satisfaction as I feel his him twitch inside me and empty streams of his hot load. He holds me close to his chest for a moment and I drink it in, dizzy in my post-orgasmic haze.

He releases my hair when he's done and I quickly drop my hands, not sure if I had done something wrong. He hadn't given me permission. His look is gentle as he takes my hands and places them back onto his chest

"Who knew two people spending nearly every weekend together in the most intimate situations could somehow lead to...having feelings. Ew," he scoffs with fake disgust... I realize he's teasing me.

I blush and my heartbeat speeds up considerably. So he feels it too. I can't help but use my hands to cover my face. I'm too scared of this.

"I'm sorry," I murmur through my fingers.

"Sylvia, look at me." He never uses my name when we were alone. "Sylvia," he says again sharply until I uncover my face. Softly, he strokes hair back away from my face.

"I care about you very much. I hope you know that."

I ignore the way my heart fluttered like a bird trying to escape.

"I don't want this to end," I say, "I can still be your sub. We can pretend this didn't happen."

"Listen to me. No. We. Can't," he said, punctuating every word. "We can't pretend. We can only move forward. And who said I was going to let you go anywhere? Of course you're still my sub. You're the only thing I look forward to every day. No one else on this earth can give me what you give me. I've been wanting more as well but I didn't want to pressure you. I wasn't sure if you'd be comfortable saying no... You can say no."

Equal parts giddy and uncomfortable from his praise, I want to just evaporate into mist or melt into the floor. Up until now, there had been a clear line between my private life and my time as his slave.

"I understand I could say no. You've always made that clear, but I would never want to.... I mean... I want to be with you. Not just on the weekends... but I don't know how to do this. I'm a very independent woman when I'm not with you. I have a job and responsibilities. How can I still... serve you but keep myself if we're together more?"

He lays his head on my chest and sighs, his hot breath over my skin. "I have no fucking clue."

I blink. It wasn't the answer I expected. I'm not used to seeing him unsure of himself. I'm not used to seeing him as a fallible human being. James. Even his name feels strange. He continues as I stroke his hair, "I've never done this before either and I don't know how to make it work but what I do know is that you wouldn't be happy doing this 24/7. Maybe we can date during the week and be kinky on the weekend."

He pauses and there's silence.

"C'mon I'll untie your legs and everything and I'll even take you to someplace fancy, like McDonald's," he says.

I feel the pressure bubbling up from way down deep wherever relief comes from and I start to laugh so hard I can't breathe. I try to stop but every time I look at his face it just gets funnier and funnier. Finally he's had enough

"There's no laughing in BDSM, slave! No having fun! You must stop laughing immediately!" He exclaims, mock crushing me.

When I finally stop laughing there are tears running down my face.

"Whatya say?" He asks, unlocking the leg shackles.

"Ok, but no McDonald's please," I smile, drying my eyes.

He holds out his hand to help me off the bench. "You see that? You let the slave girl out of the dungeon for a little while and she gets all demanding..."