It wasn't overly obvious, but then again it never is.
But it was a certain look on Master's face, a subtle shift in his tone of voice.
I knew, the sadist was out to play.
I didn't have any clue of what he had planned.
And that might have been to my benefit.
Because this was clearly a time, where it was so not about me.
What I want, didn't even matter a little.
How I felt about it all, mattered less.
At least, while it was happening.
I was only expected to follow, to submit, to obey.
Gods, the surrender thing is hard.
But sometimes its easier.
When you have no choice and its been taken from you.
I found myself, lying totally exposed.
Propped up and opened.
His fingers explored those inner parts.
Explored, is putting it too nicely.
He pulled and yanked and stretched.
He inflicted pain.
And it hit me hard, crashing over me.
I can take a flogging, a caning, without making a noise.
He trained me to do be able to take the blows without making a sound.
But sometimes, Master likes to pull out sounds and reactions from me.
He likes to hear and see the affect of the pain he's inflicting.
Rope. Bamboo. Home made spreader-bar.
He left my arms free.
Which was kind of a bound of its own--because I had to concrete on making sure I didn't put a hand there to block or parry.
An array of insertables.
All found there way into me.
Anal plug and dildo.
What's the big deal there?
He did it for painful effect.
Hammering into me, spreading me open, making me feel as if my flesh was going to fall apart.
Sometimes it's not in the what but in the how.
I yelled and bucked.
He grinned, "You like this torture."
"No?" His hand dove in, around the glass, ramming it further into me. "But your body does. Your sopping wet."
What argument can I make, there?
None, really, none that would matter.
He flipped me over--from back to front--and that was really painful.
At some point, I didn't even know what was happening.
I was lost in sensations and blinded by pain.
Only anchored by his voice.
He lifted the spreader bar, up and down, wrenching my legs where he wanted them.
And then, thrust into me.
At another time, it might have been pleasure, it might have been at that looked for point where the pain becomes pleasure and they override each other.
Nope, not here.
The pleasure didn't come for a very long time.
He held it off, held it away from me, until he had his way with me.
He knew. Knew when I was starting to feel the edges of the pain leave, knew.
He knew. He controlled.
And finally, when I was sure I couldn't take it any more--not one more slam, thrust, pull, not the feel of the cold bar, not the pressure of the insertables...
He took me further, proving me wrong.
Only when Master was satisfied and done, when my legs were unbound and the toys removed, when he had me curled against him, did he give me release.