Part IX
I felt the ball gag stretch my cheeks wide, I tasted the rubber as it filled my
mouth. I heard him tell me to recite my mantra again, and I did. I did! What was
wrong with me? He couldn't understand it now; it came out as unintelligible
grunts and whimpers. The ball gag was effective that way, but still I recited
it, and still he watched and listened.
After he finished cinching it in place tightly, causing me to wince, he sat back
and softly stroked my face, his fingers tracing the red ball lodged in my mouth,
the leather straps biting into my face. "Again," he said and he would say that
word so many times that I would lose count. And every recitation brought me
lower, lower and lower and closer to breaking.
I had heard about breaking, had read about sub space, but I had never been taken
that far, had never reached those edenic shores. I wasn't sure that he could
bring me there. I wasn't sure that I could let him. I wasn't sure about a lot of
things. I was sure, however, of one thing, that he had the control, that I was
sinking fast and I didn't know how to stop it.
It felt like I was mumbling the first stanza of my mantra for hours. "Again,
again, again," became his litany, and I complied, kept speaking though it hardly
resembled speech, didn't sound like the words that had been drilled into me,
etched upon the fabric of my soul. He seemed to enjoy hearing my mutterings, so
I kept at it dutifully, ever mindful of the pretty, metal collar awaiting me in
the other room, until I began to feel my own saliva begin to pool at the corners
of my mouth.
I couldn't drool. I couldn't let him see anything so vile tracking down my chin.
I just couldn't. It was embarrassing, disgusting, and shameful. I stopped
speaking, trying to tip my head back and force myself to swallow the mouthful of
spittle that had developed. I gasped as he reached out and grabbed my chin,
forcing my head down. He glared at me sternly, the pressure of his hand
increasing, deepening my pained expression.
"Did I tell you to stop, slave? The last stanza now. Recite the last stanza and
continue until I tell you to stop."
He squeezed harder and then released my chin with a cruel twist. I whimpered
softly. His words weren't particularly harsh, but his eyes were stern and cold.
I felt the slobber edge past the corner of my mouth, felt it on the soft
underside of my lip. No! No! No! I silently raged and tried to suck it back up,
tossing my head back, doing anything to stop its downward trek.
SMACK
I glared at him in shock, the sting of his palm against my thigh smarting, the
sound of flesh on flesh contact still ringing in my ears. He just hit me! I
couldn't believe it.
"Now!"
I shook and quivered but could not stop from protecting myself from the
degradation of drooling and went to try to suck it up again. He was too quick
for me. His hand snaked out and he wiggled the ball in my mouth roughly, back
and forth, dislodging the corner puddles, forcing my saliva to dribble down the
sides of my face. Tears were imminent as I stared at him blankly.
"There. That's out of the way. Now, the last stanza, slave."
I whimpered and sniffled pathetically, shaking my head against the shame burning
my cheeks, the slimy wetness streaking my face.
"I won't say it again."
I closed my eyes against his, as if not seeing him made my shame, my horror go
away, as if not seeing him made my spittle invisible, too.
"To be a slave is to please her Lord. To obey him is to honor him. To honor him
and his dictates is to show her true love for him. This is her gift to her Lord,
obedience and love."
I felt myself cracking as I heard his litany begin once more. "Again."
"To be a slave is to please her Lord. To obey him is to honor him. To honor him
and his dictates is to show her true love for him. This is her gift to her Lord,
obedience and love."
"Again, again, again..."
***
She looked so helpless, so lost behind that gag, so small, so vulnerable, so
beautiful. Her eyes were twin wells of emotions and I couldn't wait to explore
them all. I kept making her recite her mantra and with every line, her eyes grew
darker, her breath faster, more uneven. I felt like a god or a superhero from
one of my comic books. My heart expanded and filled my chest. Damn, she didn't
even know what this was doing to me. How could she? She was lost in her own
world, a world I had the privilege of bringing her to.
There was a lull in the rhythmic mumbling and I pulled my attention back to her.
What was she doing? I cocked my head and looked quizzical at her. She was
tilting her head back, tipping it gently from side to side, sucking heavily on
the rubber ball in her mouth. Was she ok?
Just as I was about to panic thinking she must be choking, I caught it, saw the
light reflected in a small pool of slobber at the edges of her mouth, saw her
throat work furiously, saw her trying to swallow. I smiled, but caught myself
before I started laughing outright.
This was priceless. Now that I was attuned to her struggle, I could feel her
mounting humiliation, smell her deepening shame. Ah, my silly slave. Didn't she
realize that this was part of it? Didn't she understand after all this time that
this was how I wanted, no needed, to see her...humble, devoid of pride, stripped
of guise and artifice, brought low by my hand?
I watched her a few moments before putting an end to it. I grabbed her chin hard
and felt a twinge of guilt at her cringe, her pained look.
"Did I tell you to stop, slave?" I stared harshly at her. It was time to remind
her what she owed me, where she belonged. "Recite the last stanza," Yes, that
would remind her, help her through this part, if she'd let it, "and continue
until I say stop."
She blinked at me, confusion, shame, defiance all warring in her eyes. Defiance
won out and she tried to swallow down the mouthful of saliva doing its best to
leak out. I was slightly taken aback by her continued disobedience. Was pride
that important to her? I shook my head. Apparently so, for even in the face of
my angry stare she tossed her head to and fro, sucking for all she was worth,
trying to get rid of the evidence of her humility.
I slapped her, on the top of a bared thigh. It sounded much harder than I knew
it was. It was loud in the quiet room and it shocked her senseless. That much
was clear. She looked at me and I could see the silent "How dare you" in her
eyes. Oh, my little firebrand, I dare alright. Keep pushing me...
She must have heard my thoughts for her eyes narrowed and she went back to
dealing with her slobber. I felt the stirrings of anger. I was going to take
care of this little problem right now. She had just pushed her luck a little too
far. Didn't want to feel humble before her Master, did she? Well, I took that
choice away from her.
I jammed that ball around her mouth a few times, watching in satisfaction as the
drool was pushed out of her mouth and down her chin. I was sorely tempted to
smear it all over her face as an object lesson, but I restrained myself. This
was sufficient. More than sufficient I thought as I noticed the tears filling
her eyes. I stared coolly back at her. Oh yes, my slave. You know who's in
charge now, don't you?
I repeated my demand for the last stanza. She was crumbling before my eyes, her
resistance barely there, a mere whisper. And with a slimy, drool covered face,
my slave began...with eyes closed tight against me...she finally complied.
***
Something was happening to me, something I had not been prepared for. My insides
were a mess, all of my thoughts and feelings were all jumbled up inside. A part
of me wanted to yield. This part of me knew that the reward out weighed the
risk, that what awaited me on the other side was far greater than anything I had
ever known, worth all of this and more. And then there was the part of me that
feared, that feared giving up my independence, feared being thought of as weak,
as less, feared the unknown.
I really didn't think it would be like this, this difficult. I thought, I truly
thought it would be a piece of cake, a no brainer, that the worst I would have
to contend with would be a hard spanking or whipping...that would have been so
much easier to handle than this. A few tears and it would be over, I'd be in sub
space with all of my pieces in tact. But as I was finding out, it didn't work
that way, and that's what scared me.
This required something more from me...surrender. And I meant surrender, total
and complete. I knew that it would...I had read about it, talked to other
submissives about it, but the reality, the full meaning, the full depth of that
word had been lost to me. I had sugar coated it and had convinced myself that I
could do it, that I could surrender without giving in, could bend, but not
break, could let myself be broken down, but still retain my own foundation. No.
I had been gravely mistaken and now I was left wondering if I could really give
that, if it was really worth it...to surrender so completely. Was it even in me
to do it?
I felt that drool bubbling at the corners of my mouth with every blessed word of
my mantra and I hated. I hated him for doing this to me. What happened to the
warm and fuzzy glow I had earlier? Why did he have to ruin this evening for me?
What was he trying to prove? What did he have to gain by watching me spit all
over myself? God, how I hated him.
"Stop."
Ah, finally. I was given a reprieve from the now gurgling sounds of the mantra.
What next, I wondered. What new level of vileness would I have to endure? I had
turned my head away from him, refusing to meet his gaze with drool coating my
face so I jumped at the first touch of the cool, soft cloth upon it. I jerked
around to look at him, confusion puckering my brow.
My disquiet grew seeing the now tender and loving expression on his face. He ran
the cloth over my face and though I wanted to pull away, it felt so good, so
soothing, so comforting. And when he reached my mouth and started wiping away my
drool, I did twist from him, but his other hand just reached up and cupped my
chin, holding it immobile as he continued. The soft expression never wavered
once.
What kind of trick was this? A part of me didn't really care...it felt so nice.
I bit back a grateful smile that was tugging at my lips. I didn't know where
that came from. Was I supposed to be grateful? He was only cleaning up the mess
that he had made, the shame that he had made me endure. Then he started speaking
and the distance that I had put between us began to disappear, the invisible
barrier I had erected to separate us, started falling away.
"There. Much better, my pet. Doesn't that feel good?"
I listened as he bathed my face, softly, gently, lovingly and I felt the hatred
dim, felt myself flush and redden in sudden shyness.
"Good slaves are rewarded when they please their Lord. Doesn't that feel nice?"
His hand fell away from my chin; there was no need for it now. I was still under
his attentions. His free hand began softly stroking the upper portions of my
torso, skimming along my collar bone, across the upper slope of my breasts. He
came so close to touching them, but he didn't. He just walked his fingers all
around them. They swelled eager for his touch, my back arched off the bed as his
hands danced closer, yet still he denied their ache and kept speaking in a
hushed, soothing tone.
"You are such a pretty slave. Yes, you are." He stroked the delicate skin of the
undersides of my breasts, light, teasing fingers tracing undecipherable patterns
on my flesh. "You please me when you wear this gag for me. Pleasing slaves are
rewarded."
His hand closed over my breast...finally...and I groaned. My breast swelled to
fill his hand, my nipple puckered to tease his palm. Too soon the contact was
gone. I heard my frustrated whimper echo in the room.
I lost track of what he was saying. I was focused on his hands, which seemed to
be everywhere all at once. The cool rag had been discarded, I'm not sure when,
and he now used both hands as weapons against me. And both of them were wicked,
teasing my hottest spots, the spots that ached the most for his touch. For the
most part, he avoided those areas, my breasts, my nipples, the juncture of my
thighs and my desire flooded the room, a sultry, musky scent that he couldn't
have missed.
But occasionally he would touch me...his fingers rolling my nipples, teasing my
clit. He brought me so close to the edge and left me hanging...time and time
again. I wasn't quite sure what the deciding factor was for him...when he would
grant me what I wanted and touch me, stroke me, play with my clit, squeeze my
breasts. All I know was that he kept talking to me, soft, gentle words while his
hands played me like a harp, plucking my strings, making music with my body. And
I was taut, quivering on the brink of some forbidden knowledge, ancient
lore...and I wanted it...I wanted it. The it? I wasn't exactly sure...but I
wanted it just the same...and I was fast approaching the point that I would give
anything in return...for just a glimpse of it...a small taste of it...just one
little, tiny bit of it.
