A week, a night, a gift - beaten, peed on, and treasured (2)

A week before the main event, the sadist subjected me to a test. Even now, I'm not sure of what all the parts were meant to prove, and I suspect that was at least partly by design. And with a few weeks gone by, I can't really remember everything that happened that morning.

I do remember being warned that the visit would be very important, would determine whether he would allow me to go or not, and that I needed to concentrate very hard.

Normally, I meet him at the door completely naked.
Actually, I wait for him behind the door naked,
and only slip out once the door is closed.
But this time, I was instructed to wear bra and panties.
Plain, white bra and plain, white, cotton panties.

I remember the way he touched me. The beast was there, lurking in the background, but the sensuous lover was there, too. The way he touched me, caressed me, fondled me... even the way he put his hand to my throat...

He wanted me to succeed.
That I knew.
It would have been easier to leave me at home.
But he wanted me to be there for him to enjoy.
So he warned me to concentrate.
And when he was enthroned in the Eames chair
and I knelt before him,
he took my head in his hands
and slapped my left cheek.
Hard.
Then my right cheek.
Just as hard.
Far harder than ever before.
My ears rang.
His intensity had gotten the better of him.
His desire had gotten the better of him.
And he knew that slapping me focused me.

I don't remember much more beyond that of what might have been the sections of the test. But I do remember one of them, with which I reveal something you may find curious.

My Master always wants me to be clear on the underlying truth that everything we do is for his pleasure alone, and that I must never forget that. He is quite taken with my mouth, which in the very beginning he hadn't expected to be such an important part of my service to him. He devours my mouth. I open my mouth, present my tongue, and then he takes from me what he wants. I am not supposed to kiss back.

I am really into kissing. A good kiss... oh, it is the most beautiful, sensuous thing! And I have been with one or two truly delicious kissers over the years. The quality of a lover's kiss is quite important to me. I can make myself cum, but a kiss? For this I definitely need a skilled and sensitive partner.

The fiend's kisses are beyond description.

And I am not allowed to kiss back.

I must admit that I am not truly passive as he enjoys my mouth. That would be impossible. But there is definitely an imbalance of activity between us.

On that morning, I was given permission to kiss him.
And in those kisses, I believe he read everything.
I think I earned a lot of points right there.

At some time in the visit, he mentioned that when he left me he was going to see his slave, who is quite an extreme masochist. The very first time he came to meet me, he told me the same thing. To taunt me. To be cruel. And it did hurt. I was jealous as hell, not fully understanding what was going on. I knew the slave would be getting what I had inspired. I thought it was sex. I didn't realize it was pain. Now I know better. And I said I was grateful for his slave, who suffers horribly because of the desire I inspire in my Master to torture me. The slave's suffering helps the sadist protect me. So I said I was grateful, and that I appreciated that the slave and I and the other submissives all serve his different needs, and that I am now secure in my place and am no longer jealous. That I am his treasure, and that he suffers to try to keep me safe from his worst desires.

I did know I had passed the test even before he officially told me. And as he intended for me to pass, he came all prepared for the next step. He said that despite attendant difficulties, I would be allowed to drive out to this other town, a few hours away, check into the hotel, precisely follow the various instructions he would send me, and await his arrival at the room.

He had a pile of $20 bills, which he started peeling off and sticking in the waistband of my panties and the cups of my bra, all the while listing what they were for. He talked about making the hotel reservation immediately after he left, and e-mailing him that it was done. He spoke of things I should buy for the trip.

I was allowed to fondle him as he spoke, but not to take him in my mouth. Not to make him cum.

He said he wished he were staying with me rather than going on to the next stop. He said he wished he could do to me what he would be inflicting on his poor slave.

I shuddered.
I knew what he meant.
He said it in so many words,
with a sad, desperate longing.

He wanted to torture me.

I do not think he uses that word lightly.

He didn't torture me.
I wish he could.
I wish I could handle it.
It pains me that I cannot take that pain from him.
But we both know it could destroy the relationship.
And I am his treasure.
He doesn't want to lose me.
So his slave suffers in my stead.

But his hunger was great that day, and the sight of my butt and my pale round belly contained in those innocent white panties was too much for him.

He ordered me onto the bed. First, I think, on my back. I'm not sure, and I don't remember what he did. Then I was ordered onto my belly and he caned me. Hard. Harder than he meant to. Those plain white cotton panties cushioned the blows - and I hate to think what the pain would have been like without that soft armor.

There is still one small bruise remaining from that morning 3 weeks ago.

And then he was gone.

If I had been smart, I would have applied the bags of frozen peas to my cheeks - both those on my face and those surrounding my tight little ass hole. But I had been instructed to make the hotel reservation right away and so I did. I ran upstairs, cautiously sat down on my very sore butt, and made the reservations, trying not to be distracted by the sense of joy that was dancing inside me.

He had given me a very special gift.
And a very special privilege.
The privilege was to serve him for a night.
The gift was knowing that he wanted me with him.
Me.
His pet.
His angel.
His treasure.

I still hold that joy within me,
cupped in my hands.
I take it out daily,
bring it to my mouth,
gently kiss it,
and whisper in its ear
I love you.