The Most Important Lesson (July Entry)
He was no escape artist. There was magic in his words, his hands, his manipulations of my body and heart, but an escape artist he was not.
William and I had a vanilla relationship, initially. I had encouraged the less vanilla elements into our relationship, but he amazed me with how adeptly he had taken to new ways. Though I had read more on the topic, he seemed to be a natural Dom.
I had worried that I was asking too much of him, but he ended up leading me, which was ultimately what I wanted.. I had fallen harder than before, though I kept this to myself. There is great risk in telling a man you loved him, even after he had uttered the easy words himself. Fear of whips, bonds, and torturous hours paled in comparison to my fear that he, like all past lovers, would disappear without a word.
Subconsciously, I had been testing him. I had pushed his limits of tolerance, which were seemingly boundless at first. Yet, I always received a phone call the day after. There were punishments, but they seemed like rewards—signs that he would stay, even if temporarily.
I was foolish not to see how tiresome he had found my behavior. Had I looked past my fears, I would have seen that he was losing patience.
I arrived at his house that night expecting to be taken out. We were both prone to staying in, and so he had implemented date night as an impetus for us to get out. I stood at his door, wondering we would go, and what he would expect of me.
I was surprised when he opened the door and, without even a kiss, immediately gave me a command.
“Strip.” His voice was more forceful than ever.
“We aren’t—“ He stopped me with a glare. I wasn’t to question him.
I shed my dress, leaving it pooled on the entryway floor. I stood, hands behind my back, hiding their fidgeting from him.
“The shoes, too.” I kicked off my shoes with trepidation.
William is a leg man. It came as a great surprise for him to want his favorite shoes sitting in his foyer rather than on my feet.
The shoes having been discarded, he slid in beside me, fisting my hair in his hand, pulling my head back to look me in the eye.
“No more speaking once we leave this room. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, Sir,” I managed to force past the lump in my throat.
“You are gagged by my command alone.”
“Y-yes, Sir.” This was highly unusual as he enjoyed hearing my voice. I was rarely gagged.
“One question, and then we go.” Go? Was he taking me out, after all? After I had gotten naked? I was beginning to know true fear. “What are the words?”
“Fast lane,” I almost whispered.
With that, he pulled me by the hair through the house into the back bedroom. It didn’t ease my mind any to realize that he was not, in fact, planning on taking me out of the house. The fact that he had not used any of my names, legal or pet, was terrifying.
When we got to his bedroom, he positioned me with my back to the bed. Releasing his grip on my hair, he blindfolded me with one that fitted snugly against my head with elastic.
There were no words, now. He was punishing me for something by not letting me know what he was planning. He always did that for me, understanding intuitively that the knowledge and the words turned me on and allayed my fears. Apparently, he was interested in neither of these things.
He led me to the bed, pushing me to it, and with few words, told me to stand on the mattress. I felt him guiding my feet backwards, until I could feel the footboard against my heels. Leather cuffs were place on my wrists and ankles, and expediently lashed to the posts of his four-poster bed. Visions raced through my mind. I was being punished for something, which was the least of my worries.
I still had bruises from two nights ago. He always waited for bruises to fade completely before playing again. Also, this seemed a dangerous way to endure a physical punishment, but I was gagged by his order and my fear.
Once I was lashed to the bed like the captain’s daughter in “Wreck of the Hesperus,” silence filled the room. I hadn’t heard him leave the room, but I was unsure of his location. Minutes passed by slowly.
I was nearly in tears by the time he stepped behind me and wrapped his arms around my body. He was tall enough, and I was short enough, that even with him standing on the floor and me on the bed, he could rest his head between my shoulder blades. Then, he let go. Something trailed up the outside of my thigh. It took a second to realize that it was a flogger, and probably the one I had given him as a gift. I shivered with anticipation and fear.
He began to speak as the threads of the flogger traced over my skin. My muscles tensed in expectation.
“You’ve been testing me,” he said, with no question in his cold tone. “I don’t like being tested. You tell me you trust me, but then you expect me to betray that trust. I’ve spent the last week figuring out how to approach the issue. It wasn’t until yesterday that I realized a couple of things.” He paused, dragging the flogger over my spine.
“First, I know you’re often not aware that you’re testing me until after you’ve done so. Secondly, your actions are driven by the fact that I haven’t left you, which is what you’ve learned to expect.”
The pieces of leather swirled over me as his words hit home. My stomach rumbled with anxiety, and my eyes brimmed with tears. This was how it was going to end, I thought. He wouldn’t disappear like the others, but he would humiliate me and leave. I choked back a sob and willed the tears back inside.
“You are overdue for a very important lesson.” His voice was edged with ire. “It will be the hardest thing you’ve had to endure with me.” This was the ideal moment for the flogger to begin falling upon my skin, but instead, the touch of leather was replaced with the bristles of a hair brush. He was avoiding the most obvious of erogenous zones, but the touches on my back, legs, arms, and stomach began to have his desired effect. Desire welled within me, tentatively.
The brush ran up the back of my leg, and I shivered. “Listen carefully, because I expect you to learn this lesson tonight, and learn it well.”
Just as the brush neared the crease between my thigh and torso, he removed the sensation completely. I heard footsteps. He had moved away from me, denying me his touch. All I was granted was his words.
“I am not Gary.” The name of my most recent ex uttered in the steely tone of his anger impacted me like no flogger, whip, or hand ever could. “I am not J.D., Brad, or Michael.” Each name had the same effect on me, and he knew. This was far more painful than any punishment I had received. My body shuddered with sobs. I longed for him to comfort me and hold me, but that was the most diabolical part of his punishment. I was denied his touch and his mercy.
“I am not going to leave you. You believe yourself unworthy of love, but I do love you, and I will not leave. I control you. You won’t come unless I tell you. You won’t speak unless I command it. But, what you have not yet learned is that you have the ultimate control. The only way that this journey will end is if you end it. Tonight, that is how you will utilize your safe word. All you need to do is say the words, and it ends. But I can’t and won’t be manipulated into making that choice.”
I understood, and that understanding hit me like the sting of a cane. The belief that followed was the salve, soothing the wound. He wanted me, and would not leave, despite my expectations. The choice was mine. I knew that he could beat me for hours and I would never say the words to end it all. Fear turned to relief.
“I am going to let you think about this,” he said, suddenly behind me, lifting my blindfold. My eyes slowly readjusted to the light as I blinked tears away. He had gone, but I could hear him in the kitchen.
It took a few minutes to see what was directly in front of my face. Above the headboard, almost perfectly positioned at eye level, was a nail which supported a round piece of leather with snaps joining the ends. Surprise overwhelmed me.
A collar. I had never told him how the idea of being collared had haunted my every thought for months. I had always thought it would be as presumptuous as hinting that I wanted an engagement ring. I had come to the conclusion that collars were not his style, but there it was, begging me to grab it.
How long I stood there, my legs tired from standing still for so long, I do not know, but I steeled my resolve and waited for his return.
I heard music drifting in from the living room. William had always used music to relay messages to me, and yet that night, he had summoned up the most meaningful of words of his own accord. I strained to hear the message he was sending me.
“Foreplay does nothing for me, but commitment makes me wet.”
Suddenly, I knew that it wasn’t a message from him to me, but a message that he wanted from me.
“This is so torturous, I know that I shouldn't, but I can not resist."
Just what is it that you are weaving that's keeping my body from leaving?”
I hadn’t understood that my safe word, chosen by him, was his way of telling
me that he understood what I was feeling, and how scared I was to tell him.
His return was punctuated by the feeling of his fingers through the soft folds of my flesh. His fingers sought out my clit, and I wept with joy when he found it.
“Just a nod or a shake of the head will do. Do you understand what I’ve said and what I’m offering you?”
He rubbed lightly against my center. I nodded, not daring to look at him.
“You accept my offer by letting yourself come, remaining gagged. You reject it by saying the your safe word.”
In the silence, all I could hear was the echo of his words and the deafening flames being ignited within me as his fingers pushed me quickly higher. I was convulsing with my acceptance of his lesson and his offer.
After I came, he supported me with his hands, my knees threatening to give way. Once he was sure I could support myself, he untied me, though he left the cuffs in place.
He lowered me to my hands and knees. “Go get it, little one,” he whispered. Driven by the desire to be possessed and by the use of his pet name for me, I crawled across the bed, and grabbed the collar. He joined me on the bed, wiping tears from my face. He whispered, “say it, little one.”
I could have told him that I was his slut, his whore, his treasure, but I knew that wasn’t what he wanted.
“I love you, Sir.”
He smiled and snapped the collar around my neck.
