Part XI
I heard the words from my own mouth, scratchy, barely audible, barely
recognizable as actual words. I tried to stop them, tried to be stronger,
tougher than he was, but I couldn't, I couldn't. I was drawn so tightly that I
was in danger of snapping and flying off into a million pieces. I had never felt
like this, never felt like I was in danger of dying. Sure, I had joked about it,
played Ms. Drama Queen a time or to, "Oh, you're killing me," or "If I don't get
taken care of right now, I'll just die," but never had I felt the very real
possibility of it happening. Until now. Never, until now.
And a part of me was surely dying; with every word that was falling from my
mouth...a part of me was dying. It was that part of me that was willful,
independent, spirited, headstrong, the part of me that was wholly my own,
uniquely mine, the part of me that needed nobody and nothing. That piece was in
mortal danger. I could feel it, I could sense it in every cold and hot tremor
that wracked my body as my mind worked to stop the words that my heart knew I
needed to say and that needed to reach his ears.
I was so very strong in real life. In the real world, nobody got the upper hand
on me. Nobody. How did he do it? How did he do it so quickly? I could go several
years without sex, had done so in fact, so why could I not last, what, an hour,
without orgasm? This was ridiculous, absurd in the extreme. And yet, all of this
mattered not one iota to my heart or my body. They craved, they thirsted, they
needed. And they had me outnumbered, outvoted 2-1.
"Pl....Please...Oh, Milord.....please."
Nooooo! Noooo! I bit down on my lips and could almost feel blood break out; I
was biting and chewing on them so hard. I had to get myself back under control.
I just had to. I felt myself splintering, my body on the verge of an explosive
climax that I was sure would singe the very reaches of heaven if I gave into it,
and my brain on the verge of letting someone wedge their way inside and assume a
rightful place there. It was not his rightful place. I could not let it happen.
"Milord!....Please!"
My ears recognized the growing strength behind the words as they spilled forth.
Nooooo! Cut it out this instant! We can do this, we can beat him. Be strong. My
heart and body were just not cooperating with me. How could my brain be
separated from the rest of me, my heart and body individual entities, each with
their own brains, not using the one they were attached to, not using the one
they belonged to? What had he done to me? How could those parts of me owe
allegiance to him? He hadn't been where I had been; he hadn't lived the life
that I had. My heart, my body...they were mine, dammit, they were mine!
"Milord....please! I need you!"
Need? Nooooo! I don't need anybody. I don't. I can't. I won't let that happen.
But a part of me knew I was fooling myself. It had already happened. Just
because I didn't wish it to be true didn't make it any less true. And then I
thought about calling "red", using my safe word, putting an easy end to this
torture. How simple it would be. This pain, this agony would be over...or would
it?
What would it do to him? He would feel like he failed me...that he either pushed
too hard, not enough, or that he simply couldn't be the man I needed. And where
would that leave me? Alone, that's where, and for good. And that brought me up
short and I burst into tears. I couldn't bear that thought, I couldn't live
without him, and I couldn't cause him that kind of unwarranted pain. I just
couldn't because the cold, hard truth of it was that I had been pushing him to
this point, constantly testing him, prodding him, needling him.
Whose fault was this then? It was mine. I was naive. I was silly and stupid and
rash and heedless. Did I expect it to be easy? To come without cost? Without
sacrifice? If I let him walk away or push him away now, I was still going to
bleed. The damage was already done. I did need him, needed him like the air I
breathed. He was everything to me. Was my pride really worth this, the loss of
everything I needed?
A shadow darkened the doorway and I raised weepy eyes to him. How long had he
been there, witnessing my turmoil? Could he read my mind? Did he know he'd
already won? I noticed his hands; they were toying with the collar. The shiny
metal band winked and twinkled at me and in that instant, a weird, uneasy peace
settled within me.
"Milord," I wet my lips, stared meaningfully into his eyes, "please, please!" He
inclined his head as if in deep thought, his hands running along the edges of
the collar. My throat was scratchy and raw with need, physical, emotional and
spiritual.
"Please, Milord, please." He started walking forward, his blazing eyes locked
with mine, "Please, I need." I couldn't complete the sentence. I hoped it was
enough, that he understood. "I need."
***
I watched the TV, but my mind was in the other room, on my bound beauty, on the
collar resting on the mantle instead of her neck. I began to doubt everything,
my choices, her, me, the collar, my abilities, her needs, my dominance, her
submission. We couldn't keep going the way we had been. I knew that. Could we
have a vanilla relationship if this didn't work out the way we wanted? Could I
put aside all of my deep longings for control and just be a man? And was that
man enough for her?
I ran a tired hand through my hair. Everything I'd read had not prepared me for
this, had not even come close to describing this mental anguish, the waiting for
her decision to submit or to walk. When did I fall in love with her? What was it
about her that had me in a state of breathless anticipation, which propelled me,
pushed me to this point? She was willful, spirited, stubborn. And I loved her.
Could I let her go?
The minutes dragged painfully by. I wasn't the man she needed. I had failed her,
had failed myself, had failed us. I clicked the television off, rose and picked
the collar up off the mantle. I held it and stroked it sadly. My dreams were
crashing and burning before my very eyes. Would I ever have the courage to
embark upon this journey again? Would I ever be able to free my mind and heart
of her?
She was still whimpering and now it sounded like she was crying as well. It was
time to end this. I couldn't do this to her. It was time to end the pain so we
could start the long road to recovery. It was time. I walked woodenly to the
door, each leaden step reflecting my heavy heart, my sorrowful soul. I hazarded
a look at her. The sight of her tears undid me. I clutched the collar tightly
mourning the fact that it would never grow warm from the heat of her skin, the
fire of her submission to me.
"Please, Milord...please."
Her ragged cries convinced me that ending it was for the best. She didn't
deserve this torment. She tried. So did I. At least we had a few wonderful
months to look back on and smile. Hey, we tried. We gave it our best shot. It
just wasn't meant to be. My head dropped and I stared one more time at the
collar, mourning what could have been, what should have been had God any sense
at all.
"Please, Milord. I need..."
My head shot up and I gaped in shock at her, in disbelief, in hopeful stupor.
"I need..."
Ah, my precious, so do I. My relief, my joy, my awe, my amazement and wonder was
so great, I nearly cried. I had to fight the urge to race to her side and hug
and kiss her. My heart sang, my soul rejoiced and something clicked inside, the
hammer fell and I felt a deep sense of peace, contentment. I began walking
towards her, my steps decidedly lighter. With every breath I took, I felt
confidence surge back into me, buoying my spirit.
"I need." Those two words did something to me, triggered a response on a primal
level. I recognized the need for what it was...I had the same need. She needed
to be mine...I needed to make her mine. The walk to her was short in distance,
but long in mind space.
My face schooled itself into a controlled mask. I felt a renewed sense of
purpose. I was determined, resolute. I knew I was the man she needed. Now it was
her turn...to be the woman I needed.
"I need." Those two words meant the world to me. They were the most precious
words I had ever heard, especially coming from her own two lips. Unfortunately,
they were no longer enough. Nothing less than her all would be enough for
me...not now, not ever again. I was not going to make the mistake of leaving her
enough room to wiggle free. She was mine, dammit! My hands gripped the collar
brutally. I knew it, so did she. Now, she needed to say it, to admit it. I
wanted to hear it. I needed to hear it. I would hear it.
I stood over her, taunting her with the collar. The old me would have coddled
her, comforted her, would have made this easy for her. But he was no more. He
died with those two words, "I need."
"Tell me. What do you need, my slave?"
***
Something had changed in him. I could see it. I could feel it. It cloaked him;
it moved with him, it charged the air around him. My whole body trembled with
whatever it was. I cried softly still, my body shook with pent up need, raw and
powerful. The words, so close to the surface moments ago, got stuck in my
throat. He stood over me, handling the collar that all of a sudden I wanted
desperately about my neck. Subconsciously, I leaned my head to the side and
arched upwards, exposing the pulsing veins just below my ear, just above my
chest.
What do I need? I chuckled on the inside. I thought it was obvious, I knew it
was obvious. Could I do it? Could I say the words? And once spoken, would they
free me? Or damn me? I felt like Moses, climbing Mount Sinai, seeing the burning
bush. I was slowly walking towards it, unable to help myself, despite the
overwhelming awe, the monumental fear, not knowing if I was going to be burned
alive, or be gifted with something miraculous. Angel or demon? Good or bad?
Right or wrong? Which is it? What will it bring? I couldn't stop pressing on,
blind to the danger, heedless of the warning bells, deaf to the voice of
caution; going, walking, onward, forward, embracing the inner turmoil, clutching
the fear, drinking the terror, anticipating, frightened, awed, cowed, thrilled.
I licked my lips. "I need it....Milord." I panted with the effort those words
cost. And sighed and growled in frustration as I watched him set the collar on
the night stand and cross his arms over his chest. His eyes narrowed at me and
he lifted a cocky, arrogant eyebrow.
"Not good enough, slave."
My heart jumped in my chest...my stomach clenched. His eyes...his eyes were cold
and dangerous orbs, steely gray, piercing my soul, reading all of my secrets. He
reached between my legs and jerked on the toy lodged deep within. He pumped it
out hard and fast several times...then slowed it...then pumped it hard and fast
again. Over and over he did this until I was on the verge of losing control.
"Don't you even think about it, slave."
How could I not think about it? I was half crazed with need. I was one tick away
from a rollicking climax. I didn't know if I could hold it off. My body was
taut...my breath was a steaming teakettle, hissing loudly, needing to vent. They
were such small words...why was it so difficult?
"Tell me, slut!"
I cringed and howled at the insult...but could neither deny nor control my
body's response to it...to him. It was the small nudge I needed and I climaxed
violently. I couldn't stop it. I was too close. It reached up and grabbed me
before I knew what was happening or how to stop it. It was a brutal orgasm,
painful in its intensity, made more so because I knew that I hadn't permission
and by the time I came down from that momentary high, I was crying, sobbing; I
knew that I had made a terrible misstep.
I had just decided to give him what he wanted from me and my own body betrayed
me, pushed me beyond the boundaries of acceptable behavior. I was never going to
get the collar now. My heartbreak and shame knew no end. I looked up at him,
hoping and praying that he saw that I didn't mean it, that I, in that second at
least, had been trying, had been fighting against myself, my fears, my terror at
loss of self and had been about to give in, to cede the battle, to become the
slave he both wanted and needed. Would I ever be given the chance to do that
now?
I felt the hard smack on my upper thighs and the vicious wrenching of my nipples
before I heard his accusing, biting questions. "What was that? What did you just
take from me?"
I howled in pain as his hand continued to grip and twist my nipples, one after
the other. I stuttered and stammered, my tears and choking apologies and pleads
indecipherable between grunts and groans of sheer pain and shame-induced horror.
"That orgasm belonged to me and you took it without asking. You thief!"
His hand stopped raining blows on my upper thighs and he curled cold and icy
fingers around my still throbbing clit. He pinched it and I felt faint. The
blinding pain as he twisted the sensitive, swollen bud lanced clean through me,
and yet it was no match for the emotional pain of his words, words that he
continued to spew forth in a litany of disappointment, disbelief, anger.
"...you selfish slave....naughty slave....not worth the trouble....should have
known....you always take the easy way out...why do I bother....how dare
you....thief....wretch....slut....whore...."
I was shattering, breaking apart. My tears, a torrential downpour upon my face,
fell unchecked, big, fat drops one after the other, wetting my face, the pillow,
and the beautiful spread beneath me. Despair enveloped me...the collar, now so
close, in my line of sight, was now unreachable, unattainable. I felt everything
light and happy that once was me fade away...emptiness took its place and my
insides became a dark void. I had nothing now. I was nothing....nothing without
him.
