A week, a night, a gift - beaten, peed on, and treasured (5)

We return to our regularly scheduled program after that shameless commercial interruption announcing the publication of Best S&M Erotica Vol. 3, containing the first smutty story of mine to be published in a book you can hold in your hands. It's an e-book, too. Oh, and there's an on-line book release party going on at Cyber Launch Party. Head on over and shmooze with the other authors and our editor M. Christian!

Now where were we?

Oh yes. The insidious thoughts, images, and scenarios that the sadist was planting in my brain in the days leading up to the magic weekend. So far, we've been through his pet as a lush jungle creature, neither plant or animal but all lure, and nothing but an item tossed into his travel kit that might or might not be used.

On the third night, he gave me a piece of himself. Raw and bleeding. I will not share this with you. I'm ashamed that I even asked for permission, and ashamed of what I wrote for him in response. Oh, at the time I thought it was quite fine. It was long, and intense. (I wrote it, so of course it was intense.) But re-reading it now, I see that it overlooked the thrusting and vulnerable honesty of his own few sentences. So no. I won't share that.

What I will share are enough of his words for you to drown in.

He introduced part of the concept the night before:

The injection I had planned for you for tomorrow may take a bit more time than I originally anticipated, but it is a crucial step. Therefore I will begin some foundational work now.

I have spoken before about the red-tailed hawk that considers my yard his killing field. I think it is because 1) it is the largest open land-space near the water he considers his dominion and 2) it is usually teeming with potential prey. I have had several encounters with him, watched him in action, and found the remains of many of his victims on my property.

One thing I have learned from these observations is that despite the propensity to project human characteristics upon creatures like these their actual comprehension is very small. They do possess, however, a very compact, but very effective decision matrix. Almost every moving object is immediately categorized as Prey or Threat. From there the only decision is Strike or No (in the case of Prey) or Evade or No, if the object has been identified as Threat.

This concept is key to my promised discussion of your imprisonment.

And continued on the following day.

You have often remarked on how I made you my prisoner, thanked me for holding you in my cell, admitted to joy at being bound by my chains. Yet none of those are true. Not in a literal sense, or even figuratively. Make no mistake, I believe, I know, you are imprisoned, isolated, separated, walled off from the general population, from society. You are denied access to normal interaction with other humans as surely as if there actually were concrete walls and steel doors between you and everyone else in the world. You most definitely are a prisoner. But not in any structure of my making, nor did I put you there.

You were a captive when I found you. Your own nature, or, more accurately, the way the world reacted to it, doomed you to be shunned, figuratively locked away. You always knew you were special, but that also meant you were different. You were misunderstood. Each broken dream, each shattered illusion, each unkind reaction to your otherness, every man that rejected you, every coworker that thought you were odd, every acquaintance that passed out of your life, pushed you farther and farther away from community and deeper and deeper into your own mind. It seemed safer there. Not as many hurts. So you built up defenses from the inside, as they had constructed barriers from the outside, and your prison walls grew thicker. No one could hurt you, or so you thought. But your longing, your heartache did not stop. You dreamed of breaking out, or more specifically, of being rescued. You knew you had so much to give. Your mind was full of wonders if only they could see but there was no one to marvel at them, to approve of them, to enjoy them, and you. I could go on, but the tears you are no doubt now crying fill in the rest of the details better than my writing could. And besides, you know all this anyway, even if you have pushed it away.

My point is that the place I have described is where I found you. I recognized it immediately. Remember the hawk's crude decision matrix I described earlier? My predator's sense saw much more in you but came instantaneously to the same two conclusions: Prey. Strike. I saw not only a victim but a gifted, valuable, rare prize, defenseless within a blanket of pure, obvious vulnerability. Stumbled accidentally upon you to my surprise and delight. Looked around to see if others saw too, and couldn't believe my good fortune. I could have helped you, you know. I could have freed you. Befriended you, supported you. At very least I could have left you no further harmed. But that was not my choice, was it angel? As you hung there by your bound wrists and squinted in the light through your bedraggled hair at your rescuer finally come, you hoped for release, but soon found that instead of liberation he intended only to take advantage of your bondage for his twisted pleasure.

And here, HERE, my sweet, is the cruelest, the most tragic part; you needed what you desired so badly you were now powerless to resist. Because he knew, he had seen and instantly recognized all those things you wanted so desperately to be known. And even though he offered only miserly bits of what you hungered for from his hand, and demanded such agonizing sacrifice for even those few, brief moments of relief, you knew, and still know, it is a price you must pay. Now that someone knows, someone understands, someone can touch even if that touch is a painful strike on an open wound, you know you cannot go back, cannot live entombed as before. So you deny and subjugate the wish that if only your discoverer had been someone, anyone other than him. And worst of all, you know he relishes, thrills at that combination of heartache and addiction because that is exactly where he wants you; it is not enough to give him total devotion, he wants you completely broken, your utter capitulation outweighing the abject, pathetic hopelessness you feel that your new captor is as he is.

And so you see my pet, though we use euphemisms and prosaic verbiage to describe the dynamic, you truly, actually are imprisoned, and only I know where you are, and what you need. Only I can bring you even the tiniest bit of relief from your suffering. These words have certainly saddened you, and I revel in that. They may have even angered you. But I have zero concern that you would do anything that would cause me to lose my ability to amuse myself with my treasure. You could cut off contact. Maybe even hold out for a while. But you would be back, and I would always know that.

Once more to the hawk: an early encounter with him was when he had a still barely-alive victim beneath him in my yard, held fast by talons nearly as large as the small bird itself. When I came into his view he immediately assessed me: Threat, but Evade No, since I was too cumbersome to approach him without allowing more than ample time for escape. So he stood there, while his victim frantically flailed, occasionally striking with his beak into the doomed creature. Not to feed, but seemingly to to torture, or more likely to prove to it that it had no hope of escape.

Let all this be your thought for the day, my pet. And the issue will be continued following your ascent into the hills.

[If you have joined us in the middle, you might want to go back and read Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, and Part 4.]