I suspect I misunderstood him.
I often do.
I ascribe kindness where there is only egotism.
When he sent me to bed, which was precisely what I needed, he probably just wanted to shut me up after reading my immoderate outpouring of distress. However, whether he cared about my state of exhaustion and emotions or not, his words did make me feel taken care of, so I suppose that counts for something.
I slept heavily and well, and the lunatic cats, culprits these last few weeks for part of my misery, were both on the bed with me this morning in an unusual state of peaceful co-existence.
In my continuing struggle to recover from the horror of Wednesday's sadistic punishment - which I know could have been so much worse - I wished I had a ritual to help cleanse me and free me and return me to a state of devotion and submission and arousal. So he ordered me to design some rituals and to consult with him for suggestions. Having been giving some guidance for the first one, and feeling so much better after hours and hours of sleep, I went down to the room - to his room - in hopes of receiving inspiration.
I stood there in the room and almost choked.
Fear and anger.
Hunger and pain.
The walls held my screams and my tears.
They dripped with the blood
ripped from my lip
by the jaws of the beast.
and wrote my Master,
proposing an exorcism.
He proposed a chat.
I won't share our conversation. And really, I'm not sure that its content quite explains the change that came over me. He didn't say all that much. I think it was my own words, my own explorations, that brought me back to his feet and reawakened my cunt and for the first time gave me pleasure in the abstract art that covers my buttocks. Parallel slashes of persistent red alternating with amorphous areas of black and green. Pain after three days that matches what I usually feel immediately after. All that, plus the realization that I shouldn't want more but I do. As long as it comes without the anger. The fury. The outrage that I should have risked the uncontrollable release of the beast from the chains against which the creature had been pulling for weeks and months and perhaps even a year.
The risk is clear to me now.
I was so close to running from him.
I was so close to saying it's gone.
There's nothing left.
And now I'm so close to saying yes.
Enjoy me as you will.
And such a bad idea.
For both of us.
I see the risk now.
Full in my face.
But I was also reminded of the emptiness should I flee, and I felt so alive again once the clamps were removed from my heart. So I will redouble my efforts to be obedient, and accept that belonging to this brilliant monster of a man is the best life I could ever hope for. No matter the struggle. No matter the danger.
And now it's back to work.
I have a ritual to write.
A ritual to perform.
And a swollen, begging pussy to ignore.