Tuesday night was a night off. We both pretty much needed a day to go to sleep early after the events of Monday night. My head had been swirling with thoughts of his lighter, and everything else he had done, all day long. I even had a nap and then went to bed early. Master was already asleep when I finished feeding the dogs.
Last night, I had no idea what to expect. I did know to expect sex, since he told me he needed it, but otherwise, like usual, I was in the dark.
First he orders me onto the bed using the most objectifying language: "It gets a blanket and gets on the bed". His tone and wording tell me I'm in for it, and I hop to obey with excited foreboding. (Is excited foreboding even a possible thing? I guess it is here.)
I kneel on the bed until he tells me what position he wants.
A black strap across my eyes.
My legs are spread, trembling, wanting to close.
My hands are gripping the headboard rails tightly.
My stomach flips in fear.
He brings the lighter in closer so I can feel the heat. He is saying stuff to me that I don't remember. I only remember the feel of the lighter and fear that everything is going to go up -POOF- in flames.
I was so careful shaving. I took a tweezers to the little hairs that the razor (a new one) missed. He doesn't care about that, he's just in it for the fun.
When I feel the heat on my thighs I'm wishing myself far away. Can I get out of my own head? Can I even move a millimeter? No, I'm very much present, and escape, even to a far away headspace, is impossible. I begin to shake and cry. I'm hoping he will be done soon. I want it to be over. After a few times of touching the hot lighter to my inner thighs and lips my crying stops and I have given up. He asks if I want to be done with this.
I say, as I am required, "Whatever you want, Master."
He asks again, "I want to know if you want me to stop".
"Yes, Master, I want to stop this now."
He doesn't stop. He brings the lighter in close again. Touches my thigh. I yelp and jump and he orders me to hold still. I still can't see because of the blindfold, but I felt the heat, here and there and all over. He rolled me to my side and had me suck him, and still the lighter is clicking close to my hip. I smell some burned hair, very distinctive, that smell.
Periodically, he sets it down on the bedside table, and I have a moment of relief that he's done, but no.
He finally fucks me, making me say things that I don't want to say, humiliating me. I am still blindfolded with the strap. I feel my way by touch into the different positions he wants.
Afterward he held me and I cuddled up against him, feeling so grateful and utterly dependent on him.
He asked me if I was injured at all. I began crying again, "I don't know, Master" I blubbered. I didn't know. He asked me several more times, in an unemotional, unconcerned way as if he just wanted me to realize it myself: "Are you burned? Do I need to get some creme?" Finally my brain did a system check and I found no place that was hurting except my butt where he'd smacked it with the spoon (how did I leave that out? Oh yeah, fire!). When he asked again if I was burned I said "No, Master".
Dreamless sleep came surprisingly easy. I wasn't actually burned; there is not anything you can see on the outside, but he had well and truly fucked over my mind.
No, that's not my bed. And I'm not dead. I was getting worked over by two men, and looking pretty out of it at that point. ...
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