“Could you come in here a minute, hon?”
“Be right there,” Maria replied absently, her eyes locked onto her computer screen. She loved jigsaw puzzles, but sometimes they could frustrate a saint. Like now. There was one piece that, no matter how hard she looked, simply was not there. Could a computer puzzle lose pieces?
That one? No. How bout that one? Dang!
“Are you coming, hon?”
“On my way.”
That one? Maybe that one? This was getting on her nerves in a big way.
“Maria?”
“Damn it, I’m busy!”
Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, Maria froze. Oh no! Did she just…….? Nervously, with maybe just a bit of fear thrown in, she turned toward the door, waiting.
It had only been about three months since she’d moved in with him, maybe a month since she’d knelt. In that time, she’d learned some important things about him. The one that came to mind now was that he would not! tolerate backtalk. He considered it rude and disrespectful, and, while he actively encouraged her to speak her mind, he fully expected her to do so in what he considered the proper manner.
Now, seated nervously, she heard his steps move along the hall, saw his lean form fill the doorway. At the stern cast to his features, the light blazing in his eyes, she shivered violently, slipping almost without thought from her chair to kneel in front of him.
“I’m sorry, Greg,” she stammered.
“What did I hear you say?” His voice was low, soft, yet the tone made her tremble.
“Greg - Master? - I didn’t mean it. I was distracted. I didn’t think about what I was saying. Please don’t punish me.”
Greg was her first Master. Before him, she hadn’t even considered kneeling to anyone. So she had no actual experience until this past month. She had studied intensively online, though, so she was well aware of how painfully slaves could be punished. Eyes falling, she fell silent, resignedly awaiting what she knew would be a most unpleasant fate.
“Go to the toy box,” she heard him say in that soft, deadly voice. “Bring me a gag, the penis gag. Do it now.”
Leaping to her feet, she rushed past him, feeling her skin seem to shrink from any possible contact. Entering the bedroom, she threw open the large chest at the foot of the bed, grabbing the gag he’d named. Gag in hand, she turned back, then hesitated.
Did she really have to allow this? She and Greg had had many discussions in her short time with him, about the rules of her submission. One thing he’d emphasized was that, no matter how deep her submission, she always had the final word. That word, he told her, was “no.” If, he had told her, she ever felt unable or unwilling to serve him, she had only to tell him no. At that time, her submission would be considered over, and she would be free to leave his home and get on with her life.
Now, standing with the gag in her hand, his punishment looming over her, Maria seriously considered exercising that option. Why should she allow this to happen? Why should she allow this man to punish her as if she were a criminal of some kind? Why should she accept this kind of treatment from him?
Almost as soon as her mind asked the questions, it provided the answers. She should, and she would, because she loved him. His face, his voice, his touch. The control he wielded over her. She loved it all, and the thought of giving it up seemed unbearable. She would accept whatever punishment he chose to deliver. Because, no matter what he did to her, she knew, in a way that required no thought, that he loved her; knew, also that, whatever he did, he would do it because of that love. Squaring her shoulders, she firmed her grip on the gag and stepped from the room.
Back in the computer room, she silently handed him the gag, then stepped back and began removing her clothes. Slaves, she knew, should be naked when punished. Carefully, she folded each item as it was removed, placing them on the desk. Once naked, she turned and knelt in front of him, head bowed as she awaited her punishment.
When the tip of the gag touched her lips, they parted, perhaps a bit reluctantly, to let the penis shape slip between them. The straps were now buckled, holding the gag firmly, but not painfully, within her mouth. As his hands dropped from her head, she raised her eyes to see him looking down at her.
“If you cannot speak in a proper manner,” he said softly, “then I see no reason for you to speak at all. You will wear that gag until I say otherwise. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Master.” Even though her words came out muffled and unintelligible, she knew he expected a verbal reply. Still kneeling, she waited for the punishment to begin.
“I’m not mad at you.” His words surprised her, coming as they did in that soft voice. “And I don’t like that I have to do this.” Her eyes closed in resignation, sure the pain was about to start. Those eyes flew open, however, as she heard him say, “But you have disappointed me greatly.”
Suddenly, Maria felt moisture begin to gather in the corners of her eyes. Pain, that she could handle. Pain was physical, temporary. But this? Seeing the disappointment in his eyes, hearing it in his voice, knowing she had let him down by her thoughtless actions? Maria felt shame wash through her, followed quickly by anger that she could have let this man down. Blinking back the moisture, she dropped her head, suddenly feeling unworthy to look at him.
“Now,” she heard him say, “I’m sure you can find something better than a jigsaw puzzle to occupy your time. If not, I will have to find something for you to do.” Nodding, wondering when the real punishment would start, she scurried from the room.
Later, as she polished an already spotless table, Maria froze. This was her punishment, she realized. And that punishment ran deeper than she could have believed.
After all, she could remove the gag at any time. He had not locked it, so only the buckle held it in place. It would be so simple to reach up, undo the buckle, and remove the gag. Except for one thing.
She would never do it. He had placed that gag on her, his hands had fastened the buckle, and it would remain until his hands removed it. The gag, she realized, was no more than a physical symbol of her punishment, one that forced her to contribute to her own helplessness by leaving it in place. The real punishment, the part she dreaded, was going on inside her.
There, within her mind, her heart, her punishment was very real, and oh so very painful. And it wasn’t her Master inflicting that punishment on her. It was her. Over and over again, in her mind, she beat herself for disobeying him. For disappointing him. He would never hurt her, she knew. But now, silently, she tore herself into emotional shreds.
Blinking, watching the tears that now fell to the table’s polished surface, she remembered something he’d told her not long after she knelt to him.
“A good slave,” he’d told her, “actually doesn’t require any kind of harsh punishment. That’s because nothing her Master can do to her will hurt her half as much as what she’ll do to herself. Mentally, emotionally, the good slave will punish herself far worse than her Master ever could. All that is required, sometimes, is a symbol.”
The gag she wore, she now realized, was just such a symbol. It symbolized his disappointment, perhaps even pain, at her behavior. Sobbing openly now, she berated herself for allowing her own thoughtlessness to cause this. He had given everything of himself to her, asking in return only the submission she herself had freely offered. How could she have failed him so badly?
Blindly, she turned from the table, wandering through the house until she found him. Dropping to her knees, she threw her arms around his legs, burying her face against him. She felt his hand on her head, touching her lightly. For long moments, she clung to him, then slowly raised her eyes. Even as their gazes locked, she felt his hands at the back of her head, unfastening the buckle, then slowly drawing the gag from her mouth.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she sobbed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“I know,” he replied softly, his hands gently drawing her to her feet. She felt his arms wrap around her, holding her tightly, yet gently. “I know it won’t.”
For a long moment, he simply held her, then his arms released her and he stepped away. As she watched, he brought the now hated gag back to her mouth. Her eyes widened, and tears began to gather once more.
“You accepted your punishment,” he said softly, “and you endured it with honor. You have made me very proud of you today.” At his words, the tears ceased to form, and her lips parted to allow the gag entry once more. His hands found her cheeks, turning her head upwards as he softly kissed her forehead.
“You’ve learned your lesson now, and that’s behind us. And you took your punishment well. For that, I think you’ve earned a reward. Get what I need for a good spread eagle from the box, then onto the bed with you.”
“Yes, Master.” Uncaring that he couldn’t really understand her words, she turned away, her tongue caressing the shape of the gag. A moment ago, she’d hated it, this symbol of her punishment. Now, she knew, it would serve a much more joyous function; to muffle the moans and cries of pleasure she knew she would be making as her Master once again claimed her for his own. At the door, she turned, again not caring that the gag rendered her words unintelligible as she said, “I love you, Master.” Smiling behind her gag, she moved quickly to do her beloved Master’s bidding.
Later, lying spent and sated in his arms, she glanced past him, at the gag he had placed prominently atop the bedside table. That gag had taught her much today, she knew, about submission, and about herself. Looking at it now, she vowed silently to strive to always honor this man who loved her so much, he would even let her punish herself. Smiling, she whispered to the gag, “I love you too.” Then, safe in her Master’s embrace, she drifted gently to sleep.
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26.11.13