Long Is The Way Ch. 01

His bare ass was now a fleshy rainbow of painful colors and streaks. The tortured tissues were inflamed pink and light red, criss-crossed by stripe marks of darker red and welted black. Each time she lashed his ass with the cane, another brutal impression was left in his flesh. This was the kind of discipline that would make it painful to sit for days. Owen's favorite kind.

The best part of his predicament was his swollen testicles, locked in the contraption of leather and metal and stretched downward. Attached to the cruel device were several weights, danging from his aching scrotum. Each time she struck him, the pain of the blow was matched by the agonizing jolt of his privates.

*WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP*

"ARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHH!!! AHHHMMMPPHHHMMMMUHHHHHH!!!"

The weights clanked behind him as they collided with each other and tugged on his nethers. His arms and legs pulled on the thick chains in utter futility. Owen's eyes crossed as the overwhelming surge of pain flooded his body from head to toe. His body leaked sweat all over the clingy leather. His hair was wet with perspiration, the beads running down his face and dripping from his brow to the floor.

"Really? Not done yet?" the woman asked in a dispassionate voice. "Most of my clients tap out by now. But you're still thirsty, aren't you? Yes, I know your type. It's never enough, is it? It would be impressive if it wasn't so pathetic. Lucky for you, I can do this ALL. FUCKING. NIGHT!"

*WHAP*

*WHAP*

*WHAP*

The three lashes ripped into his already brutalized flesh in time with her emphasized words. It was the first emotion the seasoned Dominatrix had displayed all night. Up until now, her instructions had been infrequent and almost clinical. She was cold as ice and her voice dripped with disdain.

"That's it! Lap it up piggy! Eat your fill!"

*WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP*

Her sudden burst of enthusiasm was almost reassuring. Up until now, the woman might have been mistaken for a Femdom android. But what had triggered it? His pain tolerance? Her perception of a challenge? Or perhaps her words were sincere and she truly was disgusted by men like Owen.

It was often hard to tell whether it was an act or the woman he'd hired to torture him was working out her own issues. Dommes who offered this kind of service with this level of skill had fully embraced their sadism. That much was clear. What remained a mystery was the driving force behind that sadism.

Madam Payne was very well named. She was inflicting some of the most intense agony Owen had ever experienced. To her, it was the simplest thing in the world to reduce him to a gibbering wreck. She needed nothing but practiced flourishes of her thin wooden reed.

That was all well and good, but there was something off about her. Something Owen didn't like nearly as much as the torment she was delivering to his quivering, whipped-raw ass. There was a cruelty that went beyond performance and eclipsed even the giddy indulgence of the sadist. There was scorn in her gaze and it extended to her words and movements.

Some men probably loved that about her. Owen, however, was growing increasingly wary.

*WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP*

Her powerful blows came fast and steady. The blistering, red hot suffering in his ass was growing exponentially. The arcs of pain shot through his every nerve with every loud slap of her wand. Owen's toes curled and his teeth chomped down viciously on the phlegm soaked bit. He grunted and screamed into the gag with every vicious swat into his burning bottom.

The Domina's eyes were wide with excited glee. The woman cackled as she continued to flay his ass, the business end of the cane biting deep into his flesh. Owen's eyes now ran with tears and his limbs pulled on their bindings fiercely as he yelled into his leathery muzzle.

*WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP*

His limited reached, the bit flew forcefully from Owen's mouth and the safe word echoed off the dungeon walls.

"MERCY!!! MERCY! Mercy..."

Madam Payne's arm, poised to strike again, lowered slowly. The thrill of torment faded from her eyes, slowly. A smile spread across her lips for the first time that evening.

Owen quickly learned that her after care regimen extended only to unbinding him and making sure his wounds required no immediate medical attention. With that done, she exited and left him to dress. It was by far the most painful dressing he'd ever endured, followed by an equally agonizing walk up the stairs.

When he reached the top, he turned and entered the foyer. The leather clad Domina was there waiting for him, already smoking a cigarette. Her attire was matched by her jet black hair. Owen estimated she was at least ten years his senior, but she'd stayed in remarkable shape.

The scorn was gone from her eyes now and replaced by something worse. Even after the intense personal experience they'd just shared, she looked at him like he was some kind of wounded animal. A creature to be pitied. If there was a single spark of warmth in her, it would never be shared with Owen.

"Thank you, Madam Payne, for a wonderful evening" he half-lied.

"You're welcome, piggy" she said before taking a drag. She exhaled a wispy cloud from her ruby red lips.

"May I leave you a tip?"

"You may."

Owen removed a crisp one hundred from his wallet. He left the folded bill near the lamp on her console table.

"Call again any time" her icy voice beckoned him.

He turned and nodded to her before grabbing the door handle and making a hasty exit.

Owen stepped into the darkness and followed the small glowing lampposts back to the parking lot. As he made his way to the car, he decided he wouldn't visit Madam Payne again. Not unless he was desperate for a fix.

* * * * *

The room was quiet as Owen lounged on his inclined weight bench and stared at his flatscreen. JAWS was playing and one of the iconic scenes was coming up. He had a sofa, but he'd gotten used to sitting on his weight bench over the years. He often lifted while watching TV.

He held a half-filled glass of scotch to his chest; the most recent of several that night. He'd been sipping the amber liquid through most of the movie with a pillow lodged under his brutalized bottom. The scotch was the perfect partner not only for his pain, but a scene where a half-drunk sailor was about to give one of the greatest speeches in film history.

Just as Robert Shaw launched into it, Owen's phone rang. He cursed, balancing his drink with care as he reached over to grab it. The blaring device rested on the coffee table near the half empty bottle of liquor. Owen picked it up and quickly answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Sergeant! Where you at?"

"Hey Flash. I'm at home and that's where I'm staying."

His real name was Howie, but everyone in their unit called him Flash. It was a popular army nick for anyone with the last name "Gordon." It didn't hurt that he was quick on his feet, either. The name fit like a glove. That's how nicknames worked in the military. You didn't get to pick one. You just sort of fell into them.

"Oh cmon! I thought you said we were hanging out tonight!"

"I said maybe, but it's not in the cards. I went a little hard on the weights today. Think I pulled something."

"Awww, is Sergeant getting too old for a little PT?"

"Fuck you."

"Whatever man! Your loss! Since it's not gonna be a guys night out, I guess I'll just have to find a new girlfriend. There are some HOT young ladies in this town, let me tell you! College honeys everywhere!"

"Yeah, and I bet they want nothing to do you with your buck-toothed, thirty one year old ass."

"That hurts, Sergeant. It really does."

"Pffft... Go find yourself a date. My date tonight is a bottle of Johnny Walker. I'll be asleep in an hour."

"You're a real party pooper sometimes, you know that?"

"We'll do bowling and beers soon, I promise. Now piss off! I'm missing the Indianapolis speech."

"Maybe you haven't heard, but you can rewind shit on Netflix. You can even pause! Just a little tip for ya..."

"Bye, Flash."

"Later, Sergeant. Feel better!"

Owen ended the call and set his smartphone aside. He slumped back on the weight bench and listened to what was left of the harrowing speech. It was a gruesome tale of desperation and death on the merciless sea. When he'd drained his tumbler, he reached for the bottle and poured himself another drink.

He took a bigger gulp before setting the glass aside. Fittingly, Owen started to sing along with the drunken characters on screen. His drowsiness increased and he closed his eyes, muttering out the same words as the sailors in their dark, ocean-tossed cabin.

"Show me the way to go home...

I'm tired and I wanna go to bed!

I had a little drink about an hour ago

And it went right to my head!

Wherever I may roam...

On land or sea or foam

You will always hear me singing this song

Show me the way to go home..."

* * * * *

Another week of classes flew by in the blink of an eye and Owen found himself in Dr. Long's meeting room once again. The ceiling was pure white. Aside from a single fan in the center of the room spinning away and circulating the air, there was nothing to behold but a white expanse. Owen had opted for the couch this time. He was even laying down in the old school fashion of Freudian analysis.

Elizabeth hadn't asked him to, he'd done it voluntarily. Owen had learned, during their first session, that sitting opposite your hot, young therapist and staring at her for an hour could get rather awkward. Not that he didn't love the view. If anything, it was distracting. A woman so sultry she could distract you from her own questions. And yet, every time his gaze became lost in her flowing curves, that wonderful accent snapped him back to reality.

Owen shook his head. He was doing it again. Wandering off mentally and focusing on the wrong things. Even without the doctor in view, she had that effect. She was sitting off to the side in one of the armchairs. Her pen was scribbling away following his previous answer.

"So, it's safe to say you feel conflicted about your time in the military?"

"Yeah. I mean, one the one hand, it's family to me. The only family I've had as an adult. I love the men and women I serve with and the army has given me crazy opportunities. At the same time, I've seen too much to believe in the mission any longer. Not fully. I've done things I'm not proud of. So have many of my friends. It wears on you..."

"We'll delve deeper into that another time, when you're comfortable doing so. I know this isn't easy, especially with someone you've only recently met."

"Sure. Thanks, Doc."

"Of course. Let's return to the present for now. How's the quality of your sleep?"

"Hit and miss. Some nights I sleep like a baby. Others, not so well. The worst nights are when I stare at the ceiling for hours, like I am right now."

"And what are you thinking about when you're awake at night?"

"I don't know... I guess I'm wondering what this world wants from me and what I want from it."

Elizabeth's ballpoint flew across the clipboard, marking the page in a flurry.

"Would you say that's been affecting the quality of your life? That you'd like better sleep?"

"I think I do ok. Way better than some of my squadmates."

"It's not a contest, Owen. I'd like you to refrain from comparing your experience to your fellow soldiers as much as possible. I know that seems odd, when so much of military training is trying to measure up, but our time will be focused on you. Your well being. How we can make things better for you. I want you to embrace that as the goal."

"Yes, Ma'am. What is it you'd recommend?"

"If you wanted to try a sleep aid, I could get you a consultation with someone who would evaluate your needs. I'm not a psychiatrist, so I can't prescribe drugs, but I work with several who'd be happy to help."

"Negative. No drugs. I don't want to get used to taking something right before I'm sent back into the field."

"I understand how you feel, but I want you to tell me if sleep is hampering you in any significant way. Especially if it gets worse. Even the military knows the importance of good sleep, yes?"

Owen snickered. "Yeah, sure they do." If only she knew how often he'd been put through the ringer with little or no sleep.

"There's no shame in taking something to get a better night's rest. Trying something is always an option if you change your mind."

"Noted" he answered curtly.

"Good. Now, tell me... Overall, how would you describe your mood?"

"My mood? I guess, most days, my mood is pretty good. Certainly better now that I'm back home. It's nice not having to worry about IEDs every time you cross the road."

"Is that something you think about often? Worry about?"

"No. I didn't mean to imply that. Believe me, I've seen people who come back and jump at every loud noise. Who rage out over the dumbest little things. I'm not like that. I don't have PTSD."

"Based on what you've told me so far, I think it's likely you don't have severe PTSD, but not all PTSD is severe. Even milder forms can adversely affect your life. And if I were to diagnose you with a mild or moderate form of PTSD, I would reiterate that's nothing to be ashamed of."

Owen sighed, but a cheeky grin spread across his face as he did. "Yes, Ma'am."

Elizabeth didn't give an inch. She wasn't putting up with any of his shit. The young doctor felt like one of his old drill sergeants in that regard. This woman was going to whip him into emotional shape, come hell or high water. Perhaps that's exactly what he needed. Especially if he wanted to survive another tour overseas.

"A complete analysis is going to take time, Owen. I know that patience is difficult when you feel like you're under the microscope. Making yourself emotionally vulnerable is hard. It can be especially challenging for men in our society. Perhaps even more so for someone coming from the military. I want you to know that I understand these challenges and I want to help you navigate them."

"With all due respect, doc, I don't know how you could understand my challenges."

"I'm trained to listen, analyze and understand. I've dealt with many cases of psychological trauma, some stemming from war. Without getting too personal, since we're here to talk about you and not me, I'll disclose that I've had family members in the military. I've never been in a combat zone or suffered its after effects, but I know very well that war is hell."

Owen said nothing at first, reluctantly absorbing her words. Suddenly, he was reminded of the famous line from Paradise Lost. "Long is the way, and hard..."

"That out of hell leads up to light" Elizabeth finished the quote with him, in unison.

Owen sat up and turned to look at the beautiful doctor. Pleasant surprise was written plainly across her face.

"You've read Milton?"

"I have" he said with a smile. "I'm not minoring in English Lit for nothing. I love the classics."

Dr. Long's phone began beeping. She learned forward and tapped the screen to bring the alarm to an end. "And just like that, our second session is done."

Owen looked at his own watch in disbelief. "Has it been an hour already?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Time flies when you're having fun?"

"Oh, yes, so much fun!" he replied with just the right amount of snark to make the doctor laugh. "Same time next week?"

"Yes, and in our next session we're going to have even more fun! You'll need to be at your most courageous, because I'm going to examine your coping mechanisms."

"Coping mechanisms?"

"How you deal with stress. Particularly any ways that might be unhealthy."

'...Uh oh.'

* * * * *

Guitar riffs and thunderous drum beats pounded through Owen's speakers, flooding his apartment with one of the great rock anthems of the late sixties. He smiled and tapped his foot as he adjusted the weight plates on his barbell. The spinlocks rattled on and off the ends of the bar in between adding more heft to each side.

"Some folks are born, made to wave the flag

Ooooh, they're red, white and blue!

And when the band plays "Hail to the Chief"

They point the cannon at you, Lord!

It ain't me! It ain't me!

I ain't no senator's son, no!

It ain't me! It ain't me!

I ain't no fortunate one!"

The sun flooding through the windows and the impassioned music of Creedence Clearwater Revival weren't the only reasons for Owen's good mood. It was Friday, classes were over, there was only a little reading he needed to do over the weekend and otherwise he was free to enjoy himself. Even better, he had another date setup for tonight and his ass was freshly healed.

Sure, his glutes still bore some scars, but a week of mending along with several applications of aloe vera gel meant they were ready for action. He was eager to drink from the river of anguish again. If her resume was any indication, Mistress Isabella, the woman he'd booked an evening with, would have no trouble putting him in his place.

Before that, he would tear into his own arms and legs. There was nothing like crippling his body with exquisite soreness before spending a night with a haughty disciplinarian. After his workout, he would have a quick meal and take a shower. Then he'd be off to meet his third Domina in as many weeks.

Owen stepped over the bench and lowered himself onto it gently. He mouthed out the lyrics as he took position and prepared to lift all two hundreds and fifty pounds from the safety latches. He took a deep breath, gripped the bar carefully and launched into his first bench press.

He groaned as the massive weights lowered down, his biceps straining as he pushed his entire body weight, plus fifty pounds, back up. He breathed in through his nose when the bar lowered and exhaled each time he pressed the weight up. As the burn of tearing muscles ignited in his arms, he likened each brutal lift to the sting of a riding crop on his ass.

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

* * * * *

The beautiful afternoon had given way to an overcast evening. Now there was steady rain as Owen approached his destination. He proceeded down the street, passing rows of run down apartment buildings. The eager submissive peered through the gloom, looking for the right complex.

Upon finding it, he quickly pulled into the grounds and parked. The grassy concourse was dotted with large trees. A walkway split through the wooded area and led to a long row of ground floor dwellings. Owen spotted his destination in the distance before killing his windshield wipers and lights.

He stepped out into the drizzle, locked the car and hurried down the path. The trees offered some protection as he made his way to the long apartment complex, but his short brown hair was getting a second shower. He trotted down to apartment number eight, pressed the door bell and stood in the rain, hoping his new hostess would answer quickly.

Owen didn't have to wait long. The door opened and he was treated to a sight of unparalleled loveliness. She was an alabaster Goddess wrapped in black latex from head to toe. Her midsection was buckled in a shiny corset, leading up to a generous view of her cleavage. Her shoulders were wrapped in black rubber all the way down to her wrists. Her legs were decked out in luscious leather thigh-high boots. Her brunette hair fell freely around her head. Her lips were the color of the darkest red rose.