Eventide (Her Father, My Master) (11 page)

And then there was the play.

The chant became a regular staple in our play. All my master had to do now was command me to say

it, and I would. He could slap me on the ass, hard, and I would reflexively just blurt it out. It was totally ingrained in my psyche. And it helped that it was true.

In the first few weeks, Mr. Hendricks merely re-familiarized me with all the aspects of play we'd had

already gone in our previous year and some change. The thread play, the wax and ice, the whipping and

spanking, bondage, everything.

And then there was the anal.

I'd been tasked to keep myself limber over the summer. I still remembered him handing me that plug

and telling me to use it weekly. But I'd been bad. I hadn't done it. It wasn't because I didn't want to do it. It was merely because I was immature and lazy. It didn't bring me as much pleasure as other things, so I... forgot. And now that I was here, in his house, I was almost afraid to bring it up. But my master forced the topic, one evening.

“Now, for the final part of our little refresher course,” he said as he silently entered my room one

evening. I jolted upright, having been hunched over my laptop, working furiously on a paper that was

due. One of my professors apparently really enjoyed giving out papers. I loathed her.

“Yes, master?” My heart fluttered nervously. I was nervous. He hadn't mentioned anal at all in the

past couple of weeks, and I hadn't done anything to keep that tight hole flexible. I already knew I was in

for a punishment.

“Did you use your plug over the summer?”

I thought about lying, and saying that I did, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't lie to my master.

“N-no, sir,” I said in a stuttering voice. I knew what was coming. Punishment.

He sighed heavily, and sat down on my bed. “Come here, pet.”

I shakily got to my feet and walked silently over to him. He suddenly grabbed me and pulled me over

onto his lap, belly side down. His slacks rubbed against my skin, and his hands stroked me gently, almost

lovingly. “You disobeyed me,” he murmured, a hand working its way towards my ass as another gripped

me around my waist. “You know what that means, right?”

My heart was racing now, my breath coming in jerking gasps. He was going to spank me. “Yes, sir,”

I replied.

I felt the wind whistle around me as he abruptly raised his hand skyward, and it whistled again when

he brought it down to crack against my ass. My body tensed, my heart felt like it stopped.

But there was no blow. He stopped that punishing hand of his less than an inch from my rear. I could

tell without even looking; I could feel the heat of his hand radiate warmth onto my skin. “You like this

punishment, don't you,” he stated instead of spanking me.

“No, sir, I don't,” I said, squirming ever so slightly on his lap. It was only a half-truth. I liked the

pain, I liked the attention. Sometimes he went a little far, almost to my breaking point, though.

He dropped his hand the last inch, and luxuriously petted my ass now. “No, I think you've come to

like this punishment a little too much, pet. I'll have you do something else instead.” With that said, he

threw me off his lap, onto the floor.

“The corner,” he ordered, and I obeyed, scuttling across the carpeted floor on all fours, like an

animal. I instinctively assumed the position that I knew he wanted from me – the pray position, my ass in

the air, exposed, my forehead pressing into the scratchy fibers of the carpet. My body was on fire now,

tense with anticipation and longing. What was he going to have me do?

“Repeat after me,” he said. I waited, my breath almost completely still as I focused all my attention

on him. “I am a bad slave. My master gives me pain.”

“Y-yes... sir,” I said, scarcely able to comprehend what he was saying, even though I was totally

focused on him.

“Say it!”

“I am a bad slave. My master gives me pain,” I immediately said, obeying him.

“Again.”

“I-I am a bad slave. My master gives me pain.” My breath came hot and pooled around my face as I

spoke, the carpet sucking up all the warmth and retaining it. The air around me already felt stale. I felt like I couldn't get a good lungful of air. My body was utterly exposed to my master, and I was just waiting for the first blow to come. I was saying it myself. My master gives me pain. He was going to do it.

“Repeat that until I tell you to stop,” Mr. Hendricks said, and I did. I thought I heard the light pad of

footsteps, of him leaving the room, but I wasn't sure.

“I am a bad slave. My master gives me pain.”

I didn't know how long I crouched there, chanting. The words meant the world to me at first, but

slowly that meaning melted away. I felt like I was speaking a foreign language. I didn't understand the

syllables my mouth was making. Then the meaning crept back into my brain.

“I am a bad slave. My master gives me pain.”

My knees ached, my arms were itchy and sore. The carpet fibers dug into my skin like tiny biting

insects. Blood was slowly rushing to my head, making me feel dizzy. My pinky fingers fell asleep,

tingling with pins and needles. Still, I chanted.

“I am a bad slave. My master gives me pain.”

I felt like I'd been going for hours. For days. There was nothing in the world but me, and my

chanting. This was the longest I'd ever gone with this particular exercise, and it was indeed becoming a

tortuous one. But I persisted, for my master.

The whip came with the suddenness and harshness of a bee sting. No, it was the sting of the largest,

angriest hornet in the world. It filled my brain, pushing everything else out from the pain of it. The

searing throb of the whip-mark lanced up my ass, my back, stabbing straight into my brain. I screamed

and lurched forward.

“Say it!” my master commanded in his deep, authoritative voice.

“I am a bad slave. My master gives me pain.” I trembled, waiting for the next bite of the whip.

It came like clockwork, crashing on me as soon as I finished the verse in my chant.

“Again,” he ordered.

“I-I am a bad slave. My master gives me pain.”

The whip came down again. And again. Every time I said the chant, the whip came down, beating me

into submission, beating me bloody. And my master was at the other end of that whip, controlling it.

Controlling me.

And it was true, I was a bad slave. A very bad slave. Through my inaction I'd disobeyed him, and

now I was paying the price. The exquisite, luxurious, painful price.

At first I loved it. I thought to scream and beg for more, but I knew that wasn't what he wanted to

hear. He only wanted to hear the chant.

And he wanted to drive me right up to the edge of what I was capable of. My brain could only take so

much pain, and I was approaching my limit.

Finally, right when I was about to beg for mercy, he stopped, throwing the whip on the floor. “Clean

this up,” he commanded, and left the room.

For many long moments I lay there, my body trembling. I was at the very limits of what I was capable

of, and I wasn't certain I could even make my body work, at this point. I tried to force my limbs to lift me upwards, but they wouldn't listen to me. I was like a doll, stuck in this position, this revealing,

embarrassing position for all of eternity.

I felt a trickle of something roll down my rear, and curiosity finally got the best of me. It broke the

spell. I lifted a hand, and wiped at the strange liquid.

It was blood.

Like I did when I was younger, I licked the spot of blood from my finger, and finally lurched my body

upwards, into a kneeling position. My ass and back screamed in protest whenever I moved, but I had to

take care of this.

The whip was bloody – it'd left a spotty red mess on the white carpet. I'd have to clean that, too.

For now, I picked the offending instrument up and slowly walked to the bathroom. Not only did my

ass scream in protest, my entire body ached from having to hold that degrading position for so long. I

shivered and shuddered as I walked. I was a wreck.

When I reached the bathroom, I immediately surveyed the damage in the mirror, twisting my body and

craning my neck to get a good look. It wasn't quite as bad as I feared. There were a couple of thin red

lines, slowly oozing a small amount of blood, and a lot of angry pink welts. There was some already

dried blood smeared around, no doubt because of the whip.

I deserved it. I was a bad slave, and this was my punishment. A thrill ran through my body as I

thought that. This was the harshest punishment my master had ever administered, and I loved it. My skin

throbbed, a constant reminder of the attention he gave me. My ass twinged and ached. And I savored

every last little bit of echoing pain.

I now took the whip, and ran it under the faucet. The water turned pink from the blood on it. My

blood. There wasn't a lot – only just enough for it to stain the carpet. After the whip was cleaned, I took a paper towel, and wiped the same liquid from my skin. Again, there wasn't much. Just enough to be a

constant reminder of my master in my life.

Now for the carpet. There was carpet cleaner in the linen closet, and I grabbed it before heading back

to my room. I carefully placed the whip on a dresser and then turned to the carpet. This shouldn't be too

difficult, though I'd never really cleaned carpet before. I shot a stream of liquid at the offending stain that I'd caused. Within moments, it vanished.

The place was clean. I'd done my duty. I wasn't sure what to do next, so I returned the carpet cleaner,

grabbed a towel, and placed it on the bed, gingerly sitting on it and awaiting the return of my master.

I didn't have too long to wait, thankfully. Apparently my master thought I'd had enough punishment for

one night, as he returned to my room ten minutes later.

“I'm disappointed, my pet,” he said as he stood before me, towering over me. I looked up at him

hesitantly, nervously. I wasn't certain that the punishment was over, yet. “I gave you an order, and you

disobeyed it.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” I replied, ducking my head and letting a curtain of blonde hair fall in front of my face.

I couldn't handle this. I was a bad girl, a bad slave.

“We need to fix your transgression,” he said, hooking a finger under my chin and lifting my face

upwards.

A thrill ran down my spine, once again. “Y-yes, sir,” I said, stuttering. Why was I stuttering at him,

all of a sudden?

Wordlessly, he leaned down and grabbed me by the waist now, bodily lifting me upwards into a

standing position and turning me around. He was so strong.

“Hands and knees,” he rasped, and I fell onto the bed, immediately complying. I may have been a bad

slave, but right now I wanted to be a good slave. I wanted to be good for him.

His fingers traced along the whip-marks he'd put on me ass now, and I flinched at the aching pain. It

still hurt so much, and I knew I would be feeling that pain for days. It's been months since I'd been

whipped like that. My skin was so tender, so easily broken.

“It seems we're going to need to start, from the beginning,” he said quietly, in an almost conversational

tone.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, steeling my will, but letting my body relax. It had to relax, to be able to take

whatever my master wanted to dish out to me. I could hear the rustling of something behind me. He was

getting the plug.

“Perhaps not quite from the beginning,” he growled and suddenly leapt upon me. I tensed in shock.

He was just going to take me, like this, right now. “You should have done as I told you,” he said harshly,

his unclothed body rubbing against me, his hot flesh searing my own.

“Yes, sir,” I whimpered, my body tensing and then un-tensing as my mind warred with itself. My

instinct told me to squeeze myself up like a ball, but my higher brain function was ordering my body to

relax. All the while, my master was dragging his thick cock along my back, over my tortured ass

cheecks. He was huge, he was so huge. It was going to be a shock to my system when he plunged inside

me.

I couldn't help but tense up again when he slid between my cheeks, and I heard the squirt of lube. I

nearly squealed and jumped forward when I felt the cold, sticky fluid on my skin, on my tight hole. “Hold

still,” Mr. Hendricks ordered. “Relax.”

That was all I needed. At his command, I immediately felt my body loosen up. Until he pressed his

finger inside me. I clenched up again, but then forced myself into looseness once more. It was a constant

battle within my mind.

But I succeeded in the end, keeping myself just loose enough for his invading finger. Even that one

finger felt huge inside me. I didn't know how I was going to take his cock.

He followed the finger with a second, and pressed them against my tight walls, loosening me up with

his talented digits. It felt good. It felt great, actually. I lowered my head and moaned slightly at the

sensation.

“Does my pet like that?” Mr. Hendricks said. “You'll really like this, my lovely little thing.” With

that said, he withdrew his fingers, and brought his cock to bear once again. I gasped and panted as he

pressed the tip of his hot dick against my tight hole – his fingers were big but they were no match for this monster. “Relax!” he ordered once again, and I breathed out deeply, forced my body to loosen up once