Mastering Submission Ch. 10

I moved my arms and legs cautiously as life returned to them. I tried to rub my shoulders, but winced at the pain. Master knew I couldn't walk on my beaten feet, so he picked me up and carried me.

Master took me into the bedroom, laid me gingerly against the pillows of the double bed, and cradled me against his body. To me, this is the best part of being beaten: being held by your Master afterwards, Master checking for damage, giving quiet and calm that lets the enormity of what you've been through sink in.

No, I'm wrong -- the best part of all is going up to the Music Room with your Master the following day, drawing back the heavy curtains and looking in the mirrors, examining each bruise together and remembering the blows that caused them. I knew Master was very experienced, which meant he must have handed out many severe beatings in his time, but I believed he'd surpassed himself. There was nothing that wouldn't heal, but it hurt like hell.

But my face, I knew, was radiant; my inner woman unharmed. If anything, I had been strengthened by the ordeal I'd undergone.

We looked into one another's eyes with love and mutual respect. I was amazed that Master had inflicted so much pain; Master's eyes let me know that he could scarcely believe I'd endured it.

Master was my torturer, but he was also my rescuer. Master was the one who dealt out the pain, but also the one who comforted me afterwards with creams and caresses. There's a convention in S&M circles that a slave cannot claim ownership. Master could refer to me as "my" slave, but he was "the" (not "my") Master.

Although I knew this was the convention in S&M lifestyles, my tiny smile that crept onto my lips after this brutal beating expressed something both Master and I knew but never said aloud: I was not Master's slave at all, but the slave of my own desires; that Master belonged to me every bit as much as I belonged to him. Though the words we used together were chosen to emphasize how noble Master was and how unworthy I was, every scene ended with Master playing the part of servant. Not only was Master "my" Master, but Master was also my slave.

* * * * *

"Take a look at this," Master said as he removed with a flourish a cloth he had draped over the dining table. Master had divided the table by drawing a chalk line down the center. On the left side of the line was a high pile of a strange assortment of objects. There was:

An electric torch

A stick of seaside rock

A large paintbrush

A fountain pin

An assortment of crayons and pencils

A carrot

A cucumber

A pea pod

A single runner bean

A bicycle pump

A chopstick

A screwdriver

A spanner

A hammer

A bone

A candle

A cigar

A rolling pin

A wooden ruler

A telescope

A bishop from a chess set

A penny whistle

A standard-issue police truncheon

"Can you guess what's going to happen now?" Master asked, after giving me a few minutes to take in the items.

"You're going to move everything from one side of the table to the other," I suggested.

"Bright girl," Master said with a smile. "Now, what have all these things got in common?" Master picked up the cucumber, and prodded it rudely towards my mouth.

"They're all long and thin," I responded.

"Well done," Master said gleefully. "So what will I do with each of these things before I move it across that line?"

"You're going to fuck me with them," I said.

"Clever girl," Master said. "No wonder they gave you a Ph.D. There are a lot of different things there," Master said sympathetically. "Perhaps we can speed things up by shoving them in two at a time: the carrot and the cucumber, for instance."

I didn't say anything.

"Or perhaps you'd like to add a little something of your own? A lipstick perhaps? Or a can of hairspray?"

I shook my head, feeling there were more than enough implements amassed already.

"Very well, let's get on with it," Master said. "Hitch up your skirt."

I bent over the table and spread my legs, preparing myself for violation. Then I looked over my shoulder anxiously.

"Eyes front, Meat," Master said disapprovingly. "Now, I know you don't like making decisions while you're being a slave, but it's up to you which you get fucked by first."

I swallowed. "The - the spanner, Master," I said softly.

"Speak up," Master responded.

"The spanner, Master," I said. "Please fuck my cunt with the spanner first."

As Master picked up the spanner, the phone rang. Master stuck the spanner up me, and slapped my rump as he responded to the phone. "I won't be long, Meat," Master told me. "Stay where you are, and keep that inside where it belongs. I'll be back in a minute."