Dirt, dirt, dirt…
Why oh why won't I say it?
What am I waiting for? Master's slave Caroline is in agony. It isn't even a week yet and Brian is coming up with things that would make the Marquis de Sade blush.
At the moment I am strung up on my tiptoes in what used to be my bedroom. It is our bedroom now, although I am sorely tempted to kick his ass out on the street, trust fund and all.
He likes to tell me how it's his room and his bed and his fucking everything and as long as it makes my pussy wet, I'm along for the ride.
I wish I could complain and say I felt neglected-but he is on me too much, consumed with me too much, into me too much.
Enjoying me too much.
My sweat. My pain. My whimpers as he inserts … the sharp points, the deceptively thin metal, thin as wire.
"You have a lot more of them to go, angel,” he reminds me.
"Brian … Master, I will never make it,” I say, just like I always do when a new torture is introduced.
Today's game is Let's Make Pincushions out of Caroline's Breasts.
He has these real tiny ones and he knows how to just prick the skin, no blood, only pain. And the total mind fuck because this is a sexual region and he keeps hinting about going after my nipples.
"Fine. No more."
I hold my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Always does.
"Unless you ask."
My body tenses in dread. I am so fucked.
You have no idea what it means to be owned … he can do this, he can make me ask for the pain, make me beg for it. “Master…"
He masturbates me. I'm trained to the point where the briefest touch makes me ready to come.
Right to the brink and then he cuts me off.
I know what's coming…
I can have his finger back at a price.
He blows hot air in my ear. His bare chest so close. He holds the needle. He touches it to my breast, doesn't prick the skin, just presses, exquisitely. Now the finger moves … oh … I can feel it right there. I can't move and reach for it, the needle will sink an inch deep. On the other hand if I hold still I won't get anything.
"Puh … puh please, Master."
The needle goes in and the finger goes in. I whimper, I cry, I moan … no fucking way I can take this again, but it will go on. Thirteen more needles. Seven in me so far. Ten are to be on each breast.
And now I have to fucking ask for them.
He does it to me again, makes my very existence hinge on what he's doing to my drenched cunt, the juices all down my inner thighs already.
I have to say it this time.
"Please … put another needle in my tit."
He caresses my nipple. “Good girl."
I want to shout out fuck you, I want to rebel, call it off, get out of jail free, he wouldn't really keep me slave in my own apartment against my will? Hasn't he had enough already? He's taken over everything. I wear what I'm told, I piss only with permission, I come when he calls, I crawl, I listen, arranging my life around looks, snapped fingers, I live, I breathe Master.
Thomas’ son.
Oh, he must be laughing in Nowhere Heaven.
"Would you like another?"
I want his finger back on my nipple. I have to have it.
Do you fucking understand?
"Please, put another needle in your cunt's breast,” I plead with him.
"Yes, slave girl."
Generous good Master, hurting me, teaching me.
At fifteen needles he plays a new game.
His lips. On mine, barely brushing, only a hint. “A kiss?"
I pull myself as far back as I can … if our chests should touch.
"Master … Master, please,” I'm crying, before it's even happened.
"A kiss."
Not a question anymore as if it ever was.
My mouth pronounces the yes and is crushed. The needles drive home even as his smooth, naked body molds to mine, crotch to crotch, penis driving into pussy. I fucking god damned explode. I am out of my skin; I am all over the room, all over my fucking life, the canvas covered…
Master comes inside me afterwards as I hang limp.
And then he puts in the other ten needles.
Because he doesn't fuck around. He's a sadist. He stays on the bike until it stays up.
But it's ever so much more. Playground Caroline isn't this year's model.
It's his higher power.
How's that for a head-trip?
He worships the body he abuses.
I don't have to worry when he unchains me, I can fall, I don't have to do a thing as he carries me, like a leaf, to the bathtub and lays me in the warm, soapy water and the way he touches me, the magic he works, I don't feel a thing as he takes the pins out, one by one, all the way to twenty. Man of his word, this one.
Soon we'll be going on the road. I'm going to be his roadie, groupie, and little guitar slut. Lots of games ahead. I'll listen every night in little costumes and he'll motion with his eyes, girls he wants to fuck or men he's going to let fuck me. But there is no debating who I am, who he is. Our souls are to be sealed.
We are to be married in the only way that matters, in our private selves and where our sex organs go with whom is no one's business. With the proviso that my sex organs are already his anyway.
He kisses me in the bath, he rinses me, we go to bed and this time it's a leisurely fuck, I am clean and squeaky and I am allowed to love him and be loved without chains, without rope. Only his will binds me.
And the single necklace, gold and jade, whose meaning is known only to us. A gift from Monica, to both our amazements. She insisted we take it. On Thomas’ behalf.
I feel him here and this is so good because as dominant and controlling as Brian is he will never mind that a piece of my heart has gone to rest with another, because that man is his father. We keep that memory alive together and we will forever.
And maybe we'll have children to keep our memory alive.
It is a possibility, you know.
Master lays down beside me afterwards. I am tired, I need to center and find the deepest place of rest.
"I love you, angel,” he snuggles close, making it all worthwhile.
"I love you, Brian."
I listen to the sound of his heartbeat. The world is far away from us both and I know Thomas is happy for me. His son can't replace him, but life goes on and that's a good thing.
I cuddle up tight. I must get a full night's rest. Tomorrow is another day. I want to be good and feisty by morning. Bratty, bitchy, argumentative. Whatever I feel like. He likes the fight in me and deep down we both know I call all the shots I like. I am just happy to be who I am. Not the other woman but simply Caroline, who needs pain and is going to get as much as she can stand.
A few hours later Brian wakes me up. He's hungry, it's three am, and he smacks my ass awake so I can make us grilled cheese. He lets me eat a sandwich with him as we curl up on the couch and watch some other stupid program on the music video channel.
He falls asleep, just like he did yesterday and the night before. He'll deny it. But I'll mention it anyway. He has the remote control. I try to gently pry it free.
"I'm watching that,” he grumbles.
I try again ten minutes later. He pushes my head down to his lap so I can suck. Serves me right. Fucker starts snoring again, just as soon as I get him hard and full and pulsing in my mouth.
Should I bite him?
I take just a little nibble; can't resist.
He puts me swiftly over his lap and makes me very sorry. I don't even try to count the blows, they are thick and heavy and meant to blend in my mind … and on my ass.
I am moaning and begging, I need to be fucked, hard, I need him to take me to that place, all over again.
He lays me down on the couch, ass up.
His dick thrusts into my cunt savagely. The couch cushion presses into my face. He is slamming me with his cock and balls. My pussy receives, as it must. This is a very good case in point why slaves should be wet at all times. Imagine this experience dry? Would have been my tough luck, though.
Apparently I've earned some pretty bad hair pulling, too. This isn't so much a disciplinary fuck as a just-because-I-can. I can orgasm or not, he doesn't care.
Of course I do. And often.
He has the presence of mind to pull out before the end so he can flip me over and come on my face. I open my mouth and give him my tongue to soak as a sign of obeisance.
It's a nice thick, full load. He lets me wipe off and then I have to clean him off, on my knees between his legs. Then he wants me to kiss his feet. I cannot resist him. I do what he wants. I am totally, completely, gloriously fucked.
Enough for now, right?
Guess what, though?
Tomorrow at breakfast? A certain arrogant musician is going to have a whole lot of extra pepper in his eggs. Am I gonna catch hell?
I sure hope so…
After all, Caroline does need pain…