I want to hurt you, he said, without a trace of the beast in his voice.
Bring me the cane, he said.
Bring it to me here, he said, enthroned in his chair.
There was no trace at all of the beast in his voice as he asked for the cane, sitting in the chair. It was almost gentle. I belong to him. He merely wanted the sweet pleasure of hurting me.
I felt no fear.
I felt soft and sweet.
Soft and sweet and drunk on his kisses.
Soft, sweet, sensuous kisses.
Kisses to wash away the pain of my struggles with this slave business.
Soft sweet kisses to make me feel safe.
Safe and secure.
Safe at his feet.
Safe in his arms.
Safe with my arms wrapped around him and my head in his lap.
The only way he could really hurt me would be to send me away.
I almost floated over to the large, heavy, pale wood coffee table that held everything from a pair of water glasses and salad bowls to a flogger, a chain, and the long strip of wood that he uses as a cane. I floated back over to my Master in the Eames chair, offering him the safe, square end of the cane, leaving the jagged, pointed, dangerous end free to express itself. The end that has, at times, carved my Master's initial in the soft, pale pillow of my ass.
As my Master ordered, I lay face down on the open futon, my head on the pillow. Of my own volition, I spread my arms and legs, forming a tempting white X against the dark red of the sheet. I felt him place the strip of wood on my back... I can't remember now... was it at first perpendicular to my back? For sure, it was settled into the valley of my spine. I was aware of how soft I felt... He told me to raise my ass more. I did, sure that now the first blow would land. Instead, the jagged end of the cane wandered down between my butt cheeks.
Turn over, he said.
I turned over, returning to the X formation.
Offering my softness.
Offering my vulnerability.
Giving him whatever he wanted.
He ran the jagged point of the cane down between my breasts.
He traced his desire among the folds of my pussy.
And then he stopped.
I'm not going to hurt you, he said.
Do you still want to? I asked.
I thought he was sparing me.
I didn't want him to spare me.
I was soft and warm and loving and yielding.
I wanted him to take whatever he wanted.
Whatever he needed.
I was never going to hurt you, he said.
I wanted to see you offering.
And then he rolled me over onto my side, lay down behind me on the dark red sheet, and gathered me in his arms.