By
Lisabet Sarai
“Please,
Sir. I’m so sorry...”
Elena
prostrates herself at my feet, pleading for forgiveness—again.
I’ve already punished her for her latest infraction, as she
expected I would when she showed me the damage. The whip marks that
crisscross her back look red and puffy. I’ll have to rub some
ointment on them later.
The
knowledge that she has disappointed me pains her far more than my
lashes, though. I can’t see her face, but I know it’s stained
with rueful tears. Poor girl. She’s really hurting. I’ll admit I
was angry when I discovered she’d left my favorite flogger outside
on the balcony, despite the fact that it’s rainy season. I needed a
good half hour to cool down before I could give her the thrashing we
both knew she deserved.
Elena’s
far from stupid—she has a degree in computer science from USC and makes a good living as a freelance consultant—but sometimes I think she has a congenital common
sense deficiency. Plus she’s so eager to please that she forgets
everything else but her kinky inspirations. For instance, I vividly
recall the day she handcuffed herself to our bed, hoping to surprise
me when I got home. She left her phone in the living room, so she
didn’t receive my text saying I planned to stop at the club and
wouldn’t be back till ten. Even if she had, there wasn’t much she
could have done, since I keep the keys to the cuffs. By the time I
finally returned, her wrists were a bloody mess and she’d lost
control of her bladder, ruining our best satin sheets. Needless to
say, I was furious—partly
because I understood how risky her behavior had been.
I
forgave her, though. I always do. Though I worry sometimes that in
her enthusiasm, she’ll do herself some serious damage.
She
tries to be a good sub. She’s imaginative, courageous, pliant and
willing, completely heedless of her own desires in trying to cater to
mine. If she were disobedient, bratty, or demanding, like some of my
friend’s submissives, I’d send her packing, but her intentions
are perfect. It’s just her implementations that are flawed.
There
was the time I phoned her, for example, telling her I wanted her
ready to be butt-fucked—as soon as
I arrived. After giving herself an enema and inserting the biggest
plug she could find, she arranged herself in the entry hall, her ass
pointed toward the door. As it happened, I came up in the elevator
chatting with Mrs. Schwartz, the elderly lady in the condo across the
corridor from ours. I shut the door as quickly as I could when I
realized what was just on the other side, but I’m pretty certain
our neighbor got at least a peek at Elena’s delightfully plump
bottom, with her rear hole distended by three inches of purple
silicon. Since then, Madame Schwartz hasn’t even said hello.
Instead
of sodomizing Elena that evening (which I knew she wanted), I paddled
her until she screamed, then shut her in the closet for half an hour.
But
after her punishment, I kissed her, forgave her, and fucked her until
she came twice. Because how can I stay mad at someone so sweet and so
devoted? Not to mention so lush, ripe and always ready for me?
“Get
up, girl,” I order, trying to sound stern. “Go lie on the bed, on
your stomach.”
“Are
you going to whip me some more, Sir?”
Is
that hope I hear in her voice?
“No,
you’ve had enough for now. You need some balm on those welts.”
“Thank
you, Sir.” She rises to her knees then dares to look me in the eye.
I don’t chide her; she needs to see I’m no longer angry. “I’m
really, really sorry, Sir. I swear I’ll do better next time.”
“I’m
sure you will, Elena.” As sure as I am there will be
a next time. “Now get yourself into the bedroom before I change my
mind about that beating.”
“Yes,
Sir!” Off she scrambles, relieved that I’ve regained my normal
imperious manner. As far as Elena’s concerned, the sun is shining
once more, when her Master is back to giving her commands.
As
for me, I’m willing to put up with the good-natured ribbing my Dom
friends give me about Elena. She’s worth the trouble. I’ll try to
protect her from the consequences of her own thoughtlessness. Try to
rein in my anger when she trips up once again. Punish her. Try to
teach her. And forgive her, yet again. Because that’s what it means
to love.
