The Journal (Her Master's Voice)

by Liv Honeywell

  He grabbed her by the hair and tossed her from side to side. When she stumbled and was about to fall, he grabbed her hair again and pulled her up. Her screams muffled by the makeshift gag, his hands grasped ever tighter. Then he tossed her onto the floor where she lay for the longest time, not daring to move.

  “Get out. Get out of the apartment and stand in the street. I’m not done with you.”

  Her mascara all over her face, huge clumps of duct tape still over her mouth, she had no choice but to obey. As she reached the door, hesitating on the step, he kicked her ass further and further into the driveway. He opened the trunk of his car.

  “Get in,” he said coldly. “Get the fuck in.”

  She did so and the hatch was slammed down. He started the engine and the car moved off...

  By the time I awoke fully, it was a bright, crisp morning. I quickly showered and changed my dress. I spent a long time cleansing my face of the mess from the night before and putting on fresh make up, trying to hide my puffy eyes from so much crying. I wanted to look my best for him for his return. He would return, I told myself. He had to.

  Then I remembered what he had said – ‘Punish you more? Yes, I shall certainly do that.’ I closed my eyes, not wanting to think about what else he might do, and then found a glimmer of hope as I realised that if he was going to punish me more, he had to come back. I opened my eyes and finished putting on my mascara with a shaky hand. After I was done, I checked every last chore all over again.

  I laid out his clothing for the day as I always did, as if he were there, and then went into the kitchen. I tried to eat breakfast, but could not manage to swallow even a bite of toast, despite not having eaten the night before. I made fresh roasted coffee in the pot in case he wanted some when he came back, but I couldn’t manage to drink any of that either. I knew I didn’t need to but I hurried through the apartment again for one more check that everything was as it should be.

  The morning dragged on glacially slowly. Then I heard the car engine. I knew it was him. I rushed to the window to confirm it. He was home. If nothing else, he was home.

  I almost ran into the study and knelt on the floor, where he would expect me to be. I was shaking all over again, wishing I had time to check the apartment just one more time. I kept telling myself over and over ‘It will be okay. It will be okay. Please let it be okay.’

  I heard his key turning so slowly in the lock that I thought it would never end and then he was in the hall and walking toward me. He had had a haircut and he looked wonderful. He always kept his suit for work in the car and he had changed into that.

  I lowered my eyes, suddenly shy, able to see only his shoes as he stood in front of me, contemplating me for a long moment.

  “Look at me.”

  I did, hope showing in my eyes as I gazed at him. His face was expressionless but still almost impossibly handsome.

  “What would you do if you were me?”

  He was asking me? I could barely splutter out coherent words. This was the last thing I expected to hear. I tried to think what to say. What on earth would I do? I couldn’t begin to imagine. I started to speak several times, trying to give him any kind of answer, but I couldn’t.

  He snapped at me.

  “This would be a good time to use those things we call words we›ve often talked about. Speak, woman, speak. Make an utterance. What would you do if you were me?”

  I looked up at him, pleadingly.

  “Sir, I don’t know. I can’t... I can’t think in those terms, Sir. I don’t think I understand what you want me to say...”

  He interrupted me.

  “My, aren’t we wonderfully articulate today? Let me try a different tack; do you think I have punished you enough?”

  I didn’t hesitate this time. My mouth opened and I answered him almost before I even had time to think.

  “No, Sir, no. You haven’t punished me enough, Sir. What I did was so awful, Sir, I expect...”

  An eloquent cough from him was enough to prevent me saying anything else.

  “Come here.”

  I rose as gracefully as I could, my muscles protesting from everything I had gone through the day before. I walked towards him, gazing into his eyes all the time, not wanting to look away even for a second.

  “Then we are in agreement,” he said. “Take off your panties.”

  I reached under my dress and removed my panties, balancing carefully to free them from the high heels of my shoes.

  I had barely straightened up when he grabbed them from my hand and pushed them into my mouth. I could taste myself on my tongue again but this time I was not aroused; not even a little. I was too worried about whether we would be able to recover from this and too busy wondering what he was going to do to me.

  He took a pair of my tights from his pocket and pushed them into my mouth after the panties. My tongue was flattened right down and I was sure he wouldn’t be able to squeeze any more into my mouth, but he did, and then he duct taped my mouth shut, placing more and more pieces of tape across my face until he was satisfied.

  He stepped back just a little and I wondered if that was it. Was this to be my only punishment? Thoughts were giddy in my mind and I really should have known better.

  He drew his hand back and slapped me across my face, not hard but it was enough to make me want to look away in shame. I didn’t look away though. I wanted to give him everything; I wanted him to be able to see every last reaction.

  “You filthy cunt. You will never, ever do that again. Or anything like it. Am I making myself abundantly clear?”

  My eyes filled with tears again at his words but I didn’t drop my gaze. I nodded quickly, eagerly; hoping he knew I would never do such a thing to him again.

  Without warning he grabbed the front of my dress and tore it open all the way to my waist, revealing my bare breasts to his gaze. He paused for a second and then began to spank my breasts hard, over and over again; sometimes catching my nipples, sometimes not. The pain was excruciating and I wanted to cover my breasts and protect myself. It was a struggle to hold my hands away, but I knew I daren’t risk any more of his anger and I clasped them behind my back.

  He grabbed my hair, close to the scalp and threw me from side to side like a rag doll. Several times I almost fell but he simply grabbed my hair again to steady me. I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell; perhaps I even thought to beg him to stop but the gag held me silent. Then he threw me to the floor as if I was nothing. I lay still; feeling brought low and degraded, as if I were a worthless bundle of rags.

  It was not over yet. Again he spoke and this time my blood ran cold.

  “Get out. Get out of the apartment and stand in the street,” he yelled.

  I scrambled to my feet hoping I had misheard, hoping that he wasn’t really going to throw me out.

  “I’m not done with you,” he said, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I didn’t care what else he did at that point. I didn’t care at all, just as long as he still wanted me.

  I reached the front door and hesitated on the step suddenly remembering that my dress was torn and my breasts exposed for anyone to see. I glanced onto the drive, wondering how I could ever have thought that the humiliation might be over but he kicked me onto the path, pushing me further down the driveway towards his car. He opened the trunk.

  “Get in,” he said icily. “Get the fuck in.”

  I hurried to obey, settling myself into the uncomfortable boot of the car. He slammed the hatch down hard. Shivering and shaken to my core, I heard the engine start and the car moved off...

  He drove at speed, having no regard for the fact that she was rolling around in the trunk like a single mint in an otherwise empty packet of Tic Tacs. He already had in mind exactly what he was going to do.

  He drove her to a quiet wooded area with a shallow river. He backed the car up right to the edge of the water then opened the trunk. She was fine but she did have terror in her eyes.

  “Get out, you fuck slut
.”

  She climbed out of the trunk with all the grace she could conjure but she did look terribly dishevelled and very unglamorous. Unable to speak she looked at him for what on earth he meant her to do.

  “Walk into the water,” he said calmly and with such soft assurance. She walked toward the edge of the icy river. By the bank she looked back at him again, plainly completely nonplussed as to what he had in mind to do to her.

  “Keep walking.” He folded his arms and rested his chin on his hand as he gazed into her eyes; he was serious. He wanted her to walk into the water and she knew she must do it.

  Slowly, she advanced forward, the firm soil under her feet turning to mud. Then came the feel of the water. So cold. So very cold. She looked back at him, clearly wondering if this was it.

  He was playing with her, with cool nonchalance and was relishing every moment.

  “Keep strolling on. I’ll tell you when to stop,” he said, pure evil running to his core.

  Off she went again feeling the icy chill on her ankles, her legs, her thighs; until she was in the water up to her waist.

  “Turn to look at me.”

  In the middle of the river she turned her frozen body to face him.

  “Are we less inclined to disobey me now?”

  Furiously, she nodded her head. She tried to speak but was unable to, her mouth still packed with panties, tights and duct tape. Not a single recognisable sound came out but he could tell that she had no intention of doing anything like this again.

  “I was just wondering if you’d like to stay there a little longer, just to make sure it sinks in.”

  She shook her head, her whole body, and tried to speak again, but garbled noises were all she was able to make.

  “Because I’m in no hurry. I do want the message to be driven home.”

  Her eyes rolled with the frustration at not being able to make herself understood, compounded by the extreme discomfort she was experiencing.

  “So we’re clear then, are we?”

  Again she nodded wildly.

  “Okay then. Out you come.”

  Her relief was palpable. She took a few heavy steps toward the bank.

  “Stop there. I’m just not quite certain yet that the full magnitude of your betrayal has come home to you. Maybe you should stay there a little longer.”

  He went back to the car and opened the door, switching on the CD player. Sibelius played loudly, filling the air with his magnificent orchestral melody.

  In truth, the rage had long gone. Her betrayal had been a serious breach of trust but he had known all along that she understood. He would never beat her in a rage anyway. Now he was just teasing her and enjoying every single moment of it.

  The music came to a massive climax and ended.

  “Which symphony was that? I’ll show you how benevolent I’m feeling – to an extent. I’ll give you a clue. Was it number two or number five?”

  He waited, watching her try to think. Given her predicament he’d be amazed if she could remember. A pause and then she held up five fingers.

  “Symphony number five, did you say?”

  Nodding and exasperation followed and he tried to bite back a smile.

  “Oh, bad luck. It was number two. So close, but no cigar. You really should have known that. Just stay there a little while longer.”

  He turned his back on her again and kicked stones with his shoes, singing Sibelius at the top of his voice.

  He sighed heavily. “Imagine that. Someone needs a crash course in the symphonic output of Sibelius, don’t they? And I’d be happy to give you one.”

  He skimmed a couple of flat stones into the river, further downstream from her, watching them skip across the top of the water.

  “Number five has those seven chords at the end. It’s got quite the tingle factor, you know. I’m sure you would remember if you weren’t so chilly.”

  Another stone followed the first two.

  “Okay, come out now. Walk toward me. I mean it this time.”

  From the back of the car he pulled out a warm rug and a flask of coffee. She was shivering as she headed for the river bank and the comfort of his warm arms. And yes, he hugged her, pulling the blanket around her shoulders and rubbing her arms. He took the gag off meticulously, each piece of tape at a time.

  “I’m rather tired of the sound of your voice so let’s not say anything when this comes off, okay?”

  “Mmm-mmm.”

  He steered her to the passenger seat and sat her down. He poured her some of the hot coffee. He ran his fingers gently though her hair. In silence, he drove her home.

  The trunk of the car smelled of motor oil and metal from his toolbox, and the rough carpet scratched against my cheek and my bare breasts. I tried to cover my breasts with the remains of my dress but I couldn’t keep my dress closed and manage to hold on to stop myself being thrown about. The trunk was not big enough for me to stretch out and I curled my knees up to my chest, feeling for the walls in the dark and bracing my hands against them to try to keep myself still as the car seemed to race through the streets. Despite my best efforts I was thrown from side to side every time he took a sharp corner.

  I had no idea where we were going or what he was going to do and the length of the journey and the darkness inside the trunk gave me far too much time to think about it.

  Eventually, the smooth road under the wheels turned into a rough, bumpy track and I was tossed around even more. The car stopped for a moment and then I felt him reverse it and stop again. Were we here? Wherever ‘here’ was.

  The engine stopped and there was silence for a moment. I tried to catch my breath and calm down after the journey. I heard him open and close the car door and then listened hard to see what else I could hear.

  No cars passing, not even any sounds of traffic in the distance. I could hear trees rustling and the sound of water very close but that was all. Where on earth had he brought me?

  I didn’t have to wonder for long as he opened the trunk and looked down at me.

  “Get out, you fuck slut,” he snapped.

  I sat up quickly. I smoothed my hair out of my face, but some of it was caught under the gag and as I brushed it back, a few strands were pulled out by the roots. I climbed carefully out of the trunk, shivering as the cold wind hit my skin. I tried to hold the front of my dress closed, but a swift glance and a raised eyebrow from him had me putting my hands behind my back and lowering my gaze.

  I waited for whatever he would do.

  “Walk into the water,” he said calmly.

  My eyes widened and I couldn’t help but look up at him. Surely he didn’t mean it.

  He glared back at me, implacably.

  I couldn’t hold back any longer or I’d be in even more trouble. I walked to the river, already chilled to the bone from the biting wind.

  On the bank, I hesitated, gazing back at him; eyes pleading, where my mouth could not, to ask him to reconsider.

  He stared at me, absolutely serious. “Keep walking.”

  I turned and looked at the river again. Black, bottomless, for all I knew, water looked back. I wanted to check back with Master that this was really what he meant me to do. I wanted to beg him not to make me do it, but even if I had been able to speak I would not have dared.

  I stepped from the grassy edge onto the soil near the water, my heels sinking in as the ground turned to mud. One more step. Only one more and I would find out just how cold that river was. I paused again, not sure if I could make myself do it, but I knew he would not hesitate to make me if I couldn’t find the courage.

  I braced myself for the shock and stepped one foot into the water, quickly following it with the other to get it over with. I let out a muffled scream at the vicious bite of the icy river. The water rushed into my shoes and I moaned, shivering even more.

  That had to be enough. Surely that was enough. I turned to look at him again, hoping he would leave it at that.

  “Keep strolling on. I’ll tell yo
u when to stop,” he said. I could hear the enjoyment in his voice. He wanted to make me suffer and he had his wish.

  I choked back a sob and turned to face the river again, stepping forward once more, then again and again, stumbling occasionally on the uneven bottom in my high heels, until the water was up to my waist and I had icy tears running down my cheeks. How much further?

  “Turn to look at me,” he said.

  I turned slowly to face him, holding my arms up to keep them out of the river, the movement disturbing the water and chilling my body all over again. Oh please, no more.

  “Are we less inclined to disobey me now?”

  I wanted to speak, wanted to say ‘Yes, Sir’. I tried but the gag muffled any sound I might make and I could only nod madly, hoping that he understood.

  “I was just wondering if you’d like to stay there a little longer, just to make sure it sinks in.”

  The irony of the fact that I was steadily sinking into the mud was not lost on me. I let out an incoherent but recognisably frantic noise, trying to say ‘No, Sir, that won’t be necessary, Sir’, and shook my head, my whole body, desperate to be able to speak and beg for this to end.

  “Because I’m in no hurry, you know. I do want the message to be driven home.”

  Again, I thought the words ‘driven home’ were a cruel irony. I rolled my eyes, so frustrated at not being able to speak, though if I hadn’t been gagged my teeth would have probably been chattering too much to make sense anyway. I nodded again. I really had got the message. It would never, ever happen again.

  “So we’re clear then, are we?”

  I nodded desperately. I knew he was making me wait deliberately, just to prolong the agony and well and truly make his point. Oh please, please let me out of here.

  “Okay then. Out you come.”

  My body sagged in relief and I took a few steps towards the bank, my soaking dress weighing me down as I walked.