M is for Master

Sometimes the dark delicious mist of the snow globe loses its appeal to its willing inhabitants for a fleeting moment. The promise of deep desire and sexual gratification is marred by divergence of views and flaring tempers, made worse by inexperience and brattiness.

I was still seething from our latest disagreement, they have been few and far in between but able to wreck my core. My dual personality deepens my own struggle, knowing that I care deeply for my One True Master and want to perfectly submit, I remain in his lead at all times but I am stubborn, insecure, presumptuous and impatient.

"I hate you." Those three words spewed out at him in the heat of it all. What a new use for disgusting saliva in our passionate relationship. My heart beat fast, I did not know how he would react, with the usual calm and discernment or with violent fury. I felt a pang in my heart as I saw that all too familiar sad smile, and watched as he turned his back and exited for work without a word.

I spent the day miserably, with bouts of anger mixed with sadness. Sadness because of all the beautiful words and times we share in our complete sexual deviance. I became irritable and desperate to see him again as sunshine soon turned into a dark night dotted with few shimmering stars.

I bathed and curled up in bed, in the foetal position that tells that I am a still a scared little girl in the face of the world. I think of the million things I want to tell my Master, I cannot wait for him to return home. I want to apologize and express my lifelong devotion and loyalty to him.

My mind and body jump with anticipation when I hear the front door open. I decide to stay in the bedroom, our haven, perhaps after we sort out our minor setback we could have some cum worthy make up fun.

He stands at the doorway and his face is stern. Not sad, not regretful, not subdued after so many hours passing. I stay still like a frightened cat, wishing not to be seen but nothing prepares me for what comes next.

"Clothes off. On your back. Spread." I hear the commands but I am in disbelief. My body remains frozen and I am sure my face tells of my utter confusion. "Now." Still I do not move, but my blood begins to boil. After our fight; an entire day of remorse and heartache on my part he shows no pity?

My face mirrors his own demeanour. I sit on the edge of the bed, stare at him with my furious hazy dark eyes and with fear filling my stomach and lungs I utter. "No."

He repeats the commands again, unmoved. This time he points to the usual spot on the bed where I would indeed spread for him. "No." I say it louder and more forceful this time.

With one swift movement he charges towards me and grabs my ankles. He pulls me to the said spot across the bed as my body flops down on the mattress. I try to sit up and escape, to where I do not know. As I attempt to rise he puts his foot on my stomach and presses me into the bed, as he undoes his jeans. I writhe and try to break free but soon I feel the weight of his body come onto me.

As he forces down on me I feel his large hands pulling away my nightgown, I hear the sound of ripping satin. The anger inside of me gives me new found strength and defiance, I fight back. I cross my arms in front of my body and turn my face achingly to the side. When he pulls my legs apart to position himself between them I kick and scream trying to fight him off.

"No. No. No. I don't want to." I say it weakly and repeatedly between pitiful cries. This does not affect him; he has the determined, angry look in his eyes. I cannot blame him because I am his property. I belong to him to do as he pleases. I try not to think into what the future will hold for my great show of disobedience.

I cannot hold my legs together for much longer. As they spread he holds them down and I feel the steel head of his member press against my opening. As he shoves his ready cock in, it is greeted by an unusual atmosphere, a dry cunt.

He does not hesitate to push its length in and thrust even more forcefully and rapidly than usual. I scream in pain as the sides of my unwilling cunt burn and bruise with the unlubed friction. My cervix hurts badly with the violent pounding abuse. He continues, his eyes piercing into my face despite it being turned deeply into the pillow that is soon becoming soaked with snot and tears. I bite into my cheek, upset at his show of dominance over me until I taste blood.

After minutes of torture he grabs my breasts in his hands, squeezing both with force that I struggle to break free. He then takes my nipples and rolls them between his fingers roughly and painfully. My body betrays my mind, as I feel drips of cocklube pooling between my legs onto his cock. He tugs, pulls and bites them until I feel a sharp pain followed by a warm trickle on both sides of my glands as he digs his nails into soft flesh. I shatter around him, uncomprehendingly and feel a wave of calm that makes me want to melt into the pillows.

I am prematurely pulled from my euphoria as he swiftly sits back on his knees, stands up and grabs my ankles again. This time he drags me off the bed, my head slamming into the floor with a dull thud. The shooting pain phases me but I am still conscious, seeing a faint smile forming on the corner of his lips as my limp body skates on the tiled floor all the way to the kitchen. He props me up on a chair facing the stove, quickly fastening my arms and legs with his cuffs to the wooden throne. Where did he get the cuffs? I can't recall. My mind is blurry, from the throbbing pain about my body.

Surely it can't be. Through half opened eyes I see a flame erupt on a burner, following a clicking sound. I see it emerge, the small metal rod with its ornate head. All my nerves shoot to life and I writhe my body vigorously in my limited range of movement to protest my fate.

That day he brought it home, I loved it. I do not know where he got it from, but it was beautiful. A branding iron, with a very exquisite letter M, its dark, regal, intricate, cursive yet symmetrical perfection paralleled only by my Master. M for Master and M for his name. He always wanted to mark me as his property; a ring, a collar, a tattoo were all too commonplace and simplistic for my Master's sadistic pleasures. We both decided that I would prepare myself mentally for its 3x3 inch area, and it would be done on a special day, maybe a 3 month or 3 year anniversary.

But that was not to be. I writhed and begged. "Please don't, Master." What a sight I must have been as I saw him preparing the now red turning iron on the stove top. Hair a mess soaked from sweat, a wet tear and snot stained face, wide scared eyes of an animal with heaving udders leaking blood from their sides, all surrounded by a pool of yellow fluid on the clean floor that had been unknowingly eliminated due to fear.

Time stopped as he grabbed the iron and walked towards me. I heard my shrill screams piercing my own ears as in slow motion the iron made its way to my pelvic region, to my pubic bone, to the right of my owned cunt. As it lands I hear the sizzle and take in the nauseating smell of burning flesh. The pain is unbearable, claiming and breaking my entire body. My being gives away and I soon see black, the last image before I go unconscious is my smiling Master vigorously stroking his cock, with its swollen, angry purple head aimed at me.