[Master]We Can Be Heroes Just for One Day

Just a quick note, this is a very long but important post for me. So sit through it if you will, but know in advance it'll take a while.



I've spent the past few days trying to put together how to make heads or tails of what happened four days ago. Ever since she got on the plane and headed back, she told me she was writing a blog about our encounter--well, I'd ordered her to, but she truly got into it. So, before writing up an entry of my own, I decided to wait and see what she produced in the way of entries. Now that she has I'm writing my own, and contemplating what is truly the best approach.

There is no true way to put into words the euphoria that made up my birthday. Working nights, it makes mornings difficult for me usually. She flew in early that morning, a few hours after I worked, but I was too excited to rest. Excitement isn't a sensation I usually feel, but I did that day. Butterflies fluttered furiously that morning. Though they kept themselves under control most of the morning, when she texted me letting me know she'd landed--I was already waiting past security where friends, family, and business relations received the fliers--they began jittering about nervously.

I felt a calm sort of confidence, however. I knew, unflappably, that my slave was my possession. That might sound like a simple and obvious statement, but it can be as much reassurance to the Master as to the slave at times. I awaited her, my memory of her first appearance into my life throbbing quietly in the forefront of my mind. Shoulders squared, arms crossed, legs spread evenly, chin up, sparkle in my eye...It wasn't anything overtly intentional, but I knew, even if subconsciously, that this was the posture of a true Master.

When she moved through the small sea of bodies and became visible, however, my breath caught in my throat. she was even more beautiful than I remembered. Her hair, naturally curly, was pinned back. Her shirt and skirt were adorable and rather figure-accentuating, and even though her shoes gave her a few inches, she still looked absolutely tiny. I love how small she is; how easy to pin down and control with my own muscle power...an advantage of being--what is it now, 6'3"? Add to that the fact that my broad-chested build was more designed for an American Football player rather than anything else, and it's of little consequence.

As she arrived she came to stand before me. I couldn't stop smiling. She was such a vision of beauty, and already her eyes averted away from mine submissively, which made me smile even broader. It's true I took pleasure and enjoyment in her submissiveness, but I also knew that it was a touch of her shyness peeking out. It had been three years, after all. I reached out and let my hand grip her head, pulled her close, and gave her a deep and commanding kiss. It was a kiss that expressed most of my emotions that couldn't be put into words. It was deep, it was full, it was hard, and it was wonderful. Her mouth immediately supplicated, but even in her own submissive way her kiss was just as intense as mine. I think no matter what words might have been said upon our meeting, nothing could have spoken anywhere nearly as clearly or succinctly as that kiss...which I suppose is why the words and their order spoken at that moment have already faded from memory as somewhat unimportant, but I will never forget that kiss for as long as I live.

Even after the kiss broke, our foreheads pressed against each other's, just standing there and soaking in each other's presence. It was such a perfect and delicious moment. Eventually, however, we moved to grab the train that would take us back towards my apartment. That entire time--for her entire stay, really--she clung tightly to me. It wasn't a bad thing, I'm actually glad for it lest I look odd doing it to her, tiny thing that she is. Our entire trip back I couldn't get enough of looking at her. Just absorbing every facet of her beauty. My eyes rarely ever left her...usually only out of necessity. The entire train ride home we were pressed against each other, getting as much contact as possible. I'm a lover of contact for contact's sake. I suppose you could describe me as a rather 'touchy-feely' person in that regards, especially with my slave. I couldn't get enough of her smooth warm skin or the smile I'd usually receive after stroking her gently in some manner.

All during the trip home, as our bodies pressed together, recognizing and re-familiarizing themselves with each other once more, we conversed lightly. She was nervous at first I knew, but our casual conversation (with a few teasing words tossed in) was relaxing her quickly. She was becoming comfortable in my presence during the ride home, and for that I was grateful that the ride was a bit of a ways away from my apartment. Even after the train ride, it's still just short of a mile walk uphill to my home, and we continued to chat as we clung to each other during the trek.

As we arrived at my building, our breathing a bit accelerated from the uphill walk and our bodies loosened rather than stiff from riding the whole way, I began pointing out parts that she recognized from my descriptions of where I was when we were on the phone. Once we called the elevator down and began to ride it up, I couldn't help myself. I pushed her against the wall of the elevator, and I heard her breath catch in her throat as she looked up at me with a combination of submission to my will and surprise. I kissed her there ferociously, similar to the airport, and though it was a more short-lived kiss, it had as much if not more hungry eagerness in it. We were close to privacy, I knew--close to her collar, which I could finally place around her neck and seal in place with the heart-shaped lock I'd ordered and had sent to her for safekeeping months previous--and I was feeling the Master in me rise to the forefront.

The kiss broke as we arrived at my floor--two short floors up--and I brought her forward towards my apartment. I think during those seconds she was still trying to catch her breath from my sudden display of hunger, an abrupt departure from the smiling conversationalist she'd been with moments before. As we arrived at my place and I opened the door, we both went inside. I locked it behind me, same as I always do, though with a fleeting grin I felt that this was different...as though I was somehow locking us in rather than everyone else...as though I was locking her in; as though my apartment was a cage to contain my slave. Immediately my tone turned hard and controlling.

"Strip," I ordered, wasting no time. She rushed to obey after a second of absorbing the additional abrupt alteration of my mood to be that of her complete Master. There are many facets within me. The Master, the Husband, the Soulmate, the Lover...the last one is usually the least prevalent, as it focuses on the love of the act, which in an odd way is almost a counter-purpose of our entire relationship. In a strange way I can show my love for her as her harsh Master with more breadth than I can as a gentle or giving lover. Before she was seeing the Soulmate and the Husband, which are very close to the same. Now she was seeing the Master for the first time other than in my kiss and my posture; in my whispered words. Now she was seeing it in my eyes and the hardness of my tone, and she moved to obey without hesitation.

As she came undressed, embarrassed in her nakedness, I eyed her body appreciatively, inspecting my possession approvingly. She stood before me, awaiting further instruction, having fallen into full slave mode.

"Where's the lock I had sent to you for your collar?"

"In my bag," she replied, her tone fully subservient to my whims.

"Get it." She moved to do so, removing a small pouch, and handing it to me. I removed it, smiling, and inspected it as yet another of my important possessions. After nodding, I spoke once more.

"Kneel," I followed up with, and she took to her knees immediately. I reached onto a shelf where I'd moved my tools to, near the bed. The top shelf, in fact, one she'd have trouble reaching without climbing onto something. I removed her collar showing it to her.

"Do you know what this is, pet?" she nodded meekly.

"My collar." I smirked in response.

"That's right. And tell me pet...where is your place?" I could tell she was both excited and nervous.

"At your feet," she almost whispered softly, and I stepped forward. I opened it along the hinge, placing it around her neck, and as it closed around her throat with little room so spare, I closed the lock, securing it into place. It could look like a pretty ornament or necklace, but her and I both knew what it was. I caressed her face, kissing her forehead, as though sealing her place.

"Come look at it in the mirror," I spoke, not quite feeling satisfied, "I want you to see your collar around your neck." She moved into the bathroom--the only place that has a mirror in my apartment--and gazed at herself with it. I slid behind her, my arms sliding around her to gently roam her body as she looked at herself, at us, and I knew she took pride in what she saw.

"It's beautiful," she whispered softly, and I smiled and nodded as my hands caressed her flesh. She was mine, and we both knew it. This was what had been missing...this was the satisfaction I'd been seeking. Her realization of what she looked like with the sign of my ownership around her neck. For the first time perhaps ever, I think she saw a brief glimpse of how I see her. A beautiful possession, my most valued and hoarded treasure.

Interestingly enough, most of the rest of the day was spent being gentle and caring and loving, though there was a point not long after where I used her mouth. She started off sucking at my command, gentle and playful and teasing, and the sparkle in her eye told me that she adored pleasing and serving me. That sparkle that told me that no matter how demure and innocent and shy she was...with the right word from me, she could become an absolute whore for me. Eventually, however, when I was sufficiently worked up, I slid my hand into her hair and began to thrust, pulling her head forward. She was no longer sucking, I was fucking her mouth, and I even took a bit of cruel pleasure as I heard her choke on my dick on occasion. I was using her mouth to get myself off; a warm hole to help me jerk off, and doubly so a cumrag to absorb my essence so as not to leave a mess.

That was what she was, after all...a fucktoy and a cumrag. These were names I had called her in the past, names that caused her breath to quicken in arousal as I degraded her, downgrading her from person and willing slave to thing, object used for my own amusement and release. She enjoys such objectification--not that I do it for her. As I used her, fucking her mouth, I got off in her throat and obediently she swallowed every drop, taking it all within her. She knew that my cum is a gift, not to be wasted but that every drop should be cherished. I knew she liked feeling my seed in her belly.

Most of the day passed with simple adoration. Enjoying touching and clinging and being together, not wanting to miss a moment of each other, including going out to dinner, using some of the gift cards I had for Red Robin. I played with her a bit there, letting my fingers slide up her dress to play with wetness a bit despite the flourish of people present. We were tucked in a corner near the bar area, easy to forget or dismiss, and no one could see us that well. She was nervous, but submitted as she tried to keep her breath under control. She gets no thrill from the risk of being caught as some people do, but she does get a thrill from my exertion of my ownership, even in public where we might get caught, and so she gets aroused despite herself. Hell, she is aroused consistently by my very presence, but it gets especially noticeable when she feels my control and my ownership. It didn't last long, however, as it was just a passing fancy of mine, before eventually we finished and went home.

Again, most of the day was spent lovingly and simply enjoying each other, with very little actual sexual contact. She would have been content even without it, but I also knew she burned to be used. I knew and I held it back specifically to prolong her torture, cruel bastard that I am. Sure, she had received a few playful swats from two of my tools earlier but nothing serious. Now, however, having decided it was time--again with a suddenness that I suspect surprised her--I told her to stand as I retrieved what I sought. Just moments before I had been caressing her. Her top had a moderately low cut, and so I had pulled her tits free, smirking at the sight of them. Framed and pressed high like that...she looked like a gorgeous little whore, ready to do my bidding. If I had the two dollars on me I would have shoved them between her tits to make her feel like a true whore, but considering my lack of paper money on my person, I forewent that portion.

Instead, after having ordered her to stand, I retrieved my handcuffs. I ordered her to turn and place her hands behind her back, which she did obediently, and cuffed her hands into place. After that I retreated once more to grab my crop after unzipping her skirt and letting it drop so she wore nothing but her shirt and bra, which her tits were pried free of. I began to crack it across her flesh a greater degree of seriousness. She yelped and cried out at points, trying to fight against the pain and her arousal, I knew. I struck at her lazily, giving her moments to breathe between each strike and prepare for the next. She let her eyes flutter closed and screwed them tightly shut so she wouldn't be tortured by the anticipation of the next blow, but horrible man that I am I had a signal I used anyway. I would press the leather tip of the crop against the portion of flesh I would strike if it was a sensitive spot, holding it there for a second as if to memorize it's position and steady my aim. After doing it multiple times I knew she would recognize it and tense for the blow in anticipation even if her eyes were closed.

I let it fall across her ass, her back, her thighs, and her tits. Earlier that day I had bit into her nipple...hard. It had hurt and she'd cried out, crying quietly. It was painful, and she derived no pleasure from it. It especially hurt when I cracked the crop across her tender nipple. She also learned the difference between getting hit with the leather loop at the tip of the crop, and the graphite rod itself. She knew the rod hurt far more than the loop, and though the loop left a louder sound and a more sudden sting, its pain faded much faster than that of the rod. I took the leather cuffs and the spreader bar, the other half of my birthday presents from my pet, and connected them before tightening the leg cuffs around her ankles. I snapped the locks into place--two on each cuff--so that her legs were forced to remain spread for me, opening her thighs for me pleasingly, before I continued to torture her with my crop. As she cried softly at the sensations that flooded her body, I asked her something to remind her.

"Do you remember what you asked of me for my birthday?" I asked her quietly.

"...yes." I smiled and nodded.

"What was it?" I could almost feel her mouth dry and see her face wince at realization of the true meaning of her earlier request now, but she voiced it aloud anyway, her voice only barely cracking.

"To not hold back." I nodded and repeated the phrase. She knew what that meant. It would only hurt more from here on out, and she had asked for it. She had asked without truly knowing what she was getting into, and because of it though I did hold back some, it was not nearly as much as I normally might have to help her acclimate to the sensation of being beaten by her Master.

Then I placed the crop between her thighs, across her cunt. I knew her sex was wet; I could smell it when I was close, and it amused me. As I placed it upon her cunt, she knew what it would mean. I could see her tremble in anticipation of what was about to happen. I pulled back and drove the crop upwards, slapping it across her cunt, and she gasped loudly. It was a sharp report, and her breathing was ragged at the sensation. Then I struck again, and again, and again, in quick succession. No other blows had come in a series, this was the first string of attacks I'd done so far, and it was across her most sensitive place. Her body reacted before she could even think and backpedaled away from me, but even as she did so I eyed her dangerously.

"Did you just back away from me?" I asked challengingly. She steeled herself and stepped forward to where she'd been standing previously, while whispering a hoarse, "Sorry, Master."

It wasn't the only time I did that. To her credit, when I did it again later, though she doubled over in pain at being struck so ferociously in so tender a spot, but she resisted the urge to retreat. Shortly after, I bit her other nipple, and she cried out as she had before.

Eventually, after having played with her body with my crop enough--her back and ass bright red, her chest bearing the red marks and my teethmarks, hands bound behind her back with steel cuffs, legs forced wide with the spreader bar, wearing so very little...I grabbed her camera. I snapped pictures that even now she hasn't seen, and they remain my private images of her on my computer for my eyes and mine alone. I photographed her arms and legs, bound, her chest with its markings, and even the tears in her eyes. God, I love those tears. I don't know why, I can't explain it, but her crying, her sobs, her tears...they get me off.

Shortly after a few more smacks I undid her handcuffs and told her to suck. It was awkwaard with the spreader bar, but she obeyed as best she could. I snapped a picture of this too, also for my private collection. There were no signs of her earlier whorishness, simply an object being used and she was aware of it. After I felt myself getting sufficiently aroused I ordered her to turn around. There, on all fours, still sobbing a bit quietly, her legs still spread to accommodate me, I got behind her and entered her.

Facing away and down into the carpet, careful to not let her burning nipples rub against the coarse carpeting, ass up and awaiting my use, I fucked her. We did not make love, we did not gently express our union of souls...I fiercely and hungrily used her cunt to get myself off. As I used her hole, I could hear her gaining control of her sobs. I didn't want that, so I slapped her ass in tender spots multiple times. This got her crying again, and it aroused me even further. As she cried for me, her soaking wet cunt opening to me, her body taking my dick as it should, I came in her hole. She loves being used in this fashion, but again I did not do it for her. I did it to get myself off. My slaps to elicit more cries from her, punctuating that this was for me. That I had no concern for her arousal or her completion, that she was a tool for me to use, almost like the spreader bar or the crop was a tool for my amusement.

As I finished myself in her I removed her ankle cuffs, and she curled up on the carpet. Head down chest pulled to her knees, back up...it was almost a worship position, truth be told, and in some small way I suspect that's what it truly was. Worship. She worshipped me, and my seed, and my use of her. She worshipped what I brought into her life. So many times throughout our exchange she would shudder and cry, and look to me to see if she pleased me by enduring my attacks. So often what she would find was me stroking her face, telling her that she was doing wonderfully and that she was being an excellent slave.

I am very much a creature of contrast. I show my gentle and loving side even as I flog my slave. It's just as well, I suppose, considering how much she adores contrast. She said the other day on te phone something that seemed to punctuate how made for each other we are. She said, "I was created to appreciate contrast, and you to induce it." It is oddly appropriate, I must admit, and such moments only proved to highlight that fact. I held and cuddled her, ordering her onto the couch like a pet, and she came obediently, curling up with me as I tenderly reminded her of my love for her, despite our lack of lovemaking and the obviousness of my cruelty. As I held her, we both lay there, satiated. Me in having used her and gotten off, and her in having taken it all and proven her subservience for me.

I learned something a while ago about my slave, you see. While physical stimulation for physical stimulation's sake is something most people enjoy weather they mentally like it or not, this is not so with my pet. Her physical arousal and enjoyment of something stems directly from her emotions, and the circumstances surrounding the contact. It doesn't matter how much you touch her, she won't simply 'get wet' from the generally pleasurable stimulation of certain nerve endings. No, with her arousal is all about the emotions driving the situation. Subservience and my domination, my amusement at the act, her knowledge that what I did was not just for her, as she sometimes feared, but that I did it because I enjoyed it and I enjoyed using her. I was not being supplicating and caring about her feelings, because the moment I care about her, it becomes about her and she is the focus, which she hates. It ruins any arousal she feels. Fortuitous then, that I don't care. She knows I care about her and how she feels, but in those moments I don't care about her enjoyment or arousal. I care about my own and only my own. Selfish by many's standards, but if it were any other way she wouldn't enjoy what I do to her nearly as much, if at all.

Because of it, I get what I want, and she gets what she wants. So uniquely attuned are our bodies to certain desires, sensations, and patterns...and so often they line up as being exactly what the other wants and needs. This is no coincidence...she and I have long acknowledged that this is far too great of a coincidence to be mere happenstance. We were made for each other. We truly are soulmates.

Even when she left, both of us tearful and hating to part, she wore the jacket that I chivalrously loaned to her to fight off the cold, even as her body still burned with marks of my abuse. I watched over her for as long as I possibly could as she went through security, before eventually departing. We were both saddened, truly, but there was something else that lingered within both of us.

What had occured between us had been a reprieve from life for both of us. I cared naught about my own life for the 24 hours she was here; the life I normally lead without her present forgotten as I spent it entirely absorbed in her presence, taking in as much of her as I could. She even told me later that she felt guilty for forgetting to call her daughters because she'd thought of nothing else but me that day, but I reminded her that everyone needed a vacation from their lives, children included. It was the first day since their respective births that she'd ever forgotten and simply enjoyed the present moment, all other thoughts fleeing from her mind. It was so very therapeutic to her, getting a break from the craziness that had been her life, and yet it was therapeutic for me as well.

I had used my slave. I had gotten off. I had enjoyed fucking my pet and spending time with her. We had both changed in many ways since those three years ago, but more importantly, in many ways, we were the same two souls that fell in love even before we'd laid eyes on each other. Being able to lay with her, to sleep with her in my arms, to fuck her, to use her, to feel my power of control and witness her subservience...any and all fears I had about our relationship and our future, the possibilities and the worst case scenarios....they've all vanished. There has always been a nagging part of my mind that voiced the worst possible outcome as though to prepare me for it should it come true. After my birthday, it has gone away completely. I have no concerns nor questions nor doubts about our future, not even that nagging worst-case scenario voice.

She feels as though I have given her a gift, and perhaps I have, but not nearly as important as the one she'd given me.

The gift of complete and unhesitating belief in our future together.

Well...that plus sex, considering I hadn't had any in what, 13 months? I joke, but the truth of it is that when she left me, it had jaded me and made me a much darker person. Part of that still lingered, I'll admit, and it was proven by that little nagging voice. It's vanishing proved that I'd received what I needed most: That jaded portion of me was gone. I'd thought being jaded and bitter and cynical was just part of growing up, but I realized they were simply scars from bad experiences we encounter that never truly heal.

My pet, my slave, for my birthday you did what no one else could possibly do, not even myself: You healed me. For that I could never thank you enough. You truly are my most prized and hoarded possession, and I love you unceasingly and without end or limit. I can't wait to see what our future brings.

~Master M