My cheeks burned white hot but I knew I pleased him. He kissed me hard, so passionately that I didn’t know where he ended and I began. I could feel his erection pressing against my body and my juices wetted the tops of my thighs. I managed to control my breathing, managed not to show my arousal. It was not for me to do that unless he allowed it.
He broke off the kiss and slapped me across the face once more. I brought my eyes back to his quickly, but it seemed he was done, for now. His hand slipped between my legs, touching the wetness that I could not control, could not hide. He brought his hand to my face but this time he smudged my lipstick, wiping it across my face, smearing and washing away my make up with my own juices. Again, yet again, until there could have been very little left of the carefully painted, lady-like and together image I had presented when I first entered this room, however long ago.
He lowered me to the floor carefully, gently cradling my head, and touched between my legs one final time to smear my juices all over my face. I was overcome with emotion - pain, guilt, and the aching need to give him whatever he desired. Tears spilled over and ran down my cheeks.
He walked away and I lay quietly, feeling brought down, stripped bare, even though I was still fully clothed. My tears dripped slowly to pool onto the wooden floor below me.
I could not look at him. I dared not, but my ears strained, listening for any sound to tell me what might happen next, and I heard the creak of his leather chair as he sat down...
Say something. Say something now. Tell him, I said to myself, the confession hovering right on the tip of my tongue.
But the words would not come.
Stay where you are. I want to ask you something. If you lie to me or try to hide the truth even a little, we’re done, okay? We will be over.”
“Yes, Master.”
“I want to ask you about my journal. The one that you are forbidden to look at.”
“Yes, Master.”
Suddenly there was a tremble in her voice. He knew she had looked in his journal because he had seen her do it. He knew she would admit it. The stakes were too high not to.
“Did you look inside?”
“Sir... I...”
He gave her the full throated voice. He knew this would make her dissolve and the sobs wouldn’t stop anytime soon.
“Did you the fuck look in my journal?”
She went into what appeared like a body shock. She writhed on the floor, obviously wishing that a hole would appear to swallow her up. She calmed herself just enough to speak.
“Yes, Sir.”
Her voice was a whisper, barely audible.
He kept his silence. He kept his breath low, his mood elusive.
She knew that she had done the hard part but she also knew that admission is just a prelude to inquisition.
After what must have seemed to her like an age, he questioned her in the softest, most gentle of tones; as if he were simply asking her if she had seen his car keys.
“Why did you do it?”
She sniffed and rolled over away from him; she was unable to hide the shame covering her face and she didn’t want him to witness it. She spoke slowly, hesitantly, as if each word were a struggle to find.
“Sir... I... I was a little unclear about one of your instructions. I... did not want to trouble you. Oh Sir, I’m so sorry...”
He gave her no comfort. He said nothing.
She knew that he would vent his fury on her but he would decide when to enact that punishment.
“Let me get this clear. You knew it was wrong?”
“Yes, Sir. I knew immediately that...
“And yet you did it? And you never thought to tell me. I had to drag out of you.”
“I’m so sorry, Sir. I was going to tell you, I swear. I’ve been trying to tell you ever since. I know I should have. And I couldn’t say it. And I knew it was wrong and I only looked on one page because...”
“Oh you only looked on one page!” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh well, that’s all right then. Why are we making such a fuss?”
She quailed away from him, shaken by his anger.
“So you looked on one page.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And does that make it right? Don’t bother to answer that. You know the answer already. So you did do it, even though I explicitly told you not to.”
“Y-yes, Sir. I… I really am so sorry to have displeased you.”
“Then why did you do it? If you didn’t want to displease me, why the fuck did you do it?”
“I’m so sor…”
“Just shut the fuck up. Do you really think you’re the best person to be talking right now? As you did it, did you not even think to yourself how galactically senseless and thoughtless, and pathetic you were being?”
There was no answer to that. Her voice dissolved into sobs.
Without a word, he rose from his chair and walked over to where she lay. He turned her face to look at his. Eyes firmly fixed on hers and knowing that she would not dare to look away, he spoke softly and slowly.
“So you did look in my journal. You did do it, knowing it would not please me. Knowing that it was just plain wrong.”
He spoke the next three words slowly, accented and with a tremendous anger in his voice.
“How dare you?”
He did not let her escape his scrutiny. He held her eyes for a long time. Longer than made sense, but it pleased him to do it.
“You... you are going to regret that you did that. You are going to regret that so fucking much. Do you understand me?”
Barely audible and still looking straight into his eyes, she said, “Yes, Sir.”
I don’t know how long I lay there trying desperately to speak. It might have been only seconds or many long minutes. No way to tell how long he had been quietly contemplating me or what he was thinking.
His voice broke the silence.
“Stay where you are. I want to ask you something. If you lie to me or try to hide the truth even a little, we’re done, okay? We will be over.”
A cold stone dropped into the pit of my stomach. I had never heard him so serious. He knew I would not lie to him. I trembled, feeling sure I knew what he was going to ask.
“Yes, Master,” I said, my voice high and shocked, tears already pricking at the corners of my eyes.
“I want to ask you about my journal. The one that you are forbidden to look at.”
My eyes widened and I took in a painfully sharp, guilty breath. No. Oh no. He knew. I shouldn’t have done it, I knew I shouldn’t. And I should have told him. I should have confessed at once.
“Yes, Master.” I couldn’t keep my voice from trembling.
I looked at the floor, waiting for the axe to fall; waiting for him to ask what I knew was coming next.
“Did you look at it?”
“Sir… I…” I stopped, my throat tightening with unshed tears, and for a moment I couldn’t speak.
“Did you the fuck look in my journal?”
I squirmed on the hard wooden floor, my whole body tensing and curling up to protect itself. My face burned red with shame at his words and I closed my eyes and tried to turn my head away from him, wanting to find a way to hide from his gaze. I realised I hadn’t given him an answer and hurried to speak.
“Yes, Sir.” My voice was so quiet, the words so hard to articulate that I said them and then wondered if I had said them aloud or just in my mind.
I must have spoken out loud because he asked me so softly, as if he could never have shouted at me like he had a few moments ago; “Why did you do it?”
It was his gentleness that undid me. I didn’t deserve it. I felt so ashamed that I couldn’t bear it any longer. I swallowed a sob and, despite my bound wrists, somehow managed to turn over, away from those piercing blue eyes.
I tried to remember what on earth I had been thinking. Surely I could have found a better way than to open his journal. I just remembered not wanting to disturb him when I knew
he was so busy, and not wanting to let him down or to make a mistake. And this was what I did instead? How could I have?
I tried to explain, knowing that really I couldn’t. There was nothing I could say that would excuse this.
“Sir... I... I was a little unclear about one of your instructions. I... did not want to trouble you. Oh Sir, I’m so sorry...”
I stumbled haltingly to the end and waited, trembling, for what would come next.
Another agonising silence. No acknowledgement of my apology, no reassurance that it would be okay.
Guilt threatened to overwhelm me. I knew I’d done wrong. Worse than that, I knew I’d hurt him. I’d hurt my Master. If ever I needed him to punish me, I needed it then to set everything right between us. I needed it to release me from my guilt.
He would not be kind, I knew that. He had the right to punish me whenever he wished and I knew he would for this. I deserved it. I welcomed it. I wondered what anyone else outside this type of relationship would make of it. What would they see? An act of cruelty? But he wasn’t being cruel. It was just and fair that I be punished. And he was doing what needed to be done.
Right there, I wanted to beg him to punish me. I needed it so badly that I’m still not sure what kept me from kneeling at his feet and begging.
The silence stretched on.
Then the interrogation began. Rapid fire questions that I had to race to answer.
“You knew it was wrong?”
“Yes, Sir. I knew immediately that...
“And yet you did it? And you never thought to tell me. I had to drag out of you.”
“I’m so sorry, Sir. I was going to tell you, I swear. I’ve been trying to tell you ever since. I know I should have. And I couldn’t say it. And I knew it was wrong and I only looked on one page because...”
“Oh you only looked on one page! Oh well, that’s all right then. Why are we making such a fuss?”
I wilted under his sarcasm.
“So you looked on one page.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And does that make it right? Don’t bother to answer that. You know the answer already. So you did do it, even though I explicitly told you not to.”
I almost stumbled over my tongue in my haste to apologise.
“Y-yes, Sir. I… I really am so sorry to have displeased you.”
“Then why did you do it? If you didn’t want to displease me, why the fuck did you do it?” he asked, incredulously.
“I’m so sor…”
“Just shut the fuck up. Do you really think you’re the best person to be speaking right now? As you did it, did you not even think to yourself how galactically senseless and thoughtless, and pathetic you were being?”
At that, the tears that I had been trying to fight spilled down my cheeks and I began to sob.
I was crying so hard that I did not hear his footsteps until he was right next to me. He reached down and lifted my face until I was looking into his eyes.
“So you did look in my journal. You did do it, knowing it would not please me. Knowing that it was just plain wrong. How dare you?”
I flinched at his words, wanting desperately to look away from the disappointment in his eyes. I should have known he would not let me escape his gaze. I tried to speak, though I had no idea what I could possibly say, but my throat was so tight from the tears that the words would not come.
“You... you are going to regret that you did that. Do you understand me?”
I swallowed hard, still looking into his eyes, and managed a quiet, despairing, “Yes, Sir.”
Not only did you disobey a specific instruction, you also dishonoured me.”
His voice was now quiet; still commanding and authoritative, but there was a sadness in his tone, a heavy note of disappointment.
He began pacing around her very slowly. He knew exactly what he was going to do but she must suffer ‘the silence’ first. He would say nothing. He would make her wait. Her anticipation and fear would grow during this quiet time. He must assert his dominance but now he would be distant and withdrawn. He knew he must exact his punishment when the anger had dissipated and he could think calmly and thoughtfully.
Questions were forming in his head too... had he been unspecific or ambiguous? Was it so big a sin anyway? All she had done was to seek confirmation. But that thought was quickly grappled to the ground; she had disobeyed him. A direct order. There would be no lightness of touch in the punishment that was to follow.
His voice began loudly enough and she trembled, but by the end he was speaking with the fury of God’s own thunder.
“I shall now keep that journal under lock and key. And you know why, don’t you? Because I cannot trust you to be in the same room with it. I cannot trust you at all, do you understand me? We are starting all over again. It is as if all that has gone between us has gone. You are just a worthless little cunt.”
On that word, which he rarely used, there was a flash of venom. What followed was heartbreaking.
“Now I must teach you all the basic fucking skills of submission all over again. Like how to follow a simple and fundamental instruction. You are worth NOTHING and I shall have no faith in you until you restore it to me, which may be a little too much for your microscopic brain to cope with. We shall begin again - you must learn how to follow a straightforward instruction.”
And then, in a voice so loud the walls were shaking...
“Do you understand me...?”
He waited for her to say something but it was plain that she could not. She nodded almost imperceptibly, eyes cast down.
“Stand the fuck up,” he said.
With her hands still tied, she tried to use all the power in her legs to obey him. She managed it, but only just. Then, immediately...
“Lie the fuck down.”
This was easier but there was no room to take a single, solitary breath.
“Stand up.”
And so it went on. “Sit down, stand up.” As soon she thought she was in some sort of rhythm and she could anticipate his next words he stopped giving them.
“Who in the fuck told you to move?”
For an age this went on, until she was almost exhausted. He could see this and always took his position so that she could not see his face. He was treating her like the dog she was - or the bitch she had become to him.
“Come here. Don’t look at me.”
She moved closer to him and SLAP - his hand hit her cheek. She recoiled but went back for more. There was no more.
“Bend over my desk, you slut; you fucking piece of worthless meat.”
She did so. He reached for his cane. He swished it into thin air to increase the anticipation and then laid the first stroke hard across her ass.
There was no gradual build up, no moment in between when, in a former time he might have tenderly caressed her butt between strokes.
Nine more thwacks of the cane followed. She was screaming by now... the pain utterly unbearable as the cane tore into her flesh...
Not only did you disobey a specific instruction, you also dishonoured me.”
Thankfully he didn’t expect me to look into his eyes while he said that. I don’t know if I could have done it. He stood and walked around me very slowly, deliberately; the sound of his beautifully polished leather shoes echoing on the floor. Every step sounded like an accusation: you disobeyed me, step, you dishonoured me, step, you displeased me, step, you disappointed me, step. On and on.
I ached for him to say something to break the silence, anything to stop me being alone with my thoughts of what I had done. I knew he would punish me. He would make me suffer, I had no doubt of that, but what he would do… I couldn’t imagine.
The tension rose in the room as he paced until I began to think even the walls would bend under its weight. Please say something, Sir. Please.
Seconds ticked away, surely lengthening beyond all regard for the laws of physics. Then he spoke and his words made me wish I was back in the chasm of
silence.
“I shall now keep that journal under lock and key. And you know why, don’t you? Because I can’t trust you to be in the same room with it. I can’t trust you at all, do you understand me?”
I didn’t think it was possible to feel worse than I already did, but it was. I wanted to protest, to beg; to say ‘You can trust me, Sir, please. Please don’t say that,’ but he did not give me any chance to speak.
“We are starting all over again. It is as if all that has gone between us has gone. You are just a worthless little cunt. Now I must teach you all the basic fucking skills of submission over again...”
I flinched at his anger. ‘Worthless cunt, worthless cunt, worthless cunt’ rang round and round my head like a cascade of discordant bells, and a sob that I didn’t think I had left in me escaped my lips.
He continued. “...Like how to follow a simple and fundamental instruction. You are worth NOTHING and I shall have no faith in you until you restore it to me, which may be a little too much for your microscopic brain to cope with. We shall begin again - you must learn how to follow a straightforward instruction.”
I did not think it was possible to feel so small that I could wish the floor would open and take me deep enough into the earth that I could no longer hear the anger and disappointment in his voice.
And then, in a voice so deafening that surely even the dead must have heard him...
“Do you understand me...?”
I tried to speak. I really did, but I was beyond words and I could only nod, defeated.
“Stand the fuck up.”
Unable to use my hands, it took all my strength to stand up. Usually he would help me, lift me, but then he stood and watched me struggle.
As soon as I managed to get unsteadily to my feet, he spoke again.
“Lie the fuck down.”
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, hardly able to believe he would have me do this, then I sank to my knees and squirmed back into a prone position. I was out of breath already; from crying, from all the emotion and from what he was making me do.
The Journal (Her Master's Voice) Page 2
