A runaway’s worst fear

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Fingering

A runaway’s worst fearI have a confession.I ran away from my Master. I’m not talking about Antebellum slavery ran away- I didn’t have run through the woods, and avoid being chased by dogs and gunmen. I didn’t have to hide out in people’s basements to avoid being taken back by slave catchers. I didn’t have to forge papers stating that I was free when I really wasn’t. No, no, not that kind of slavery. Lower your NAACP flags for another day. I’m talking about the BDSM type. You know, the one I consented to. The one I agreed to be collared. I ran away from that. Now before you start raising your feminist flags, hear me out. My master wasn’t necessary a bad man. No, he was kind and sensitive, he always made sure that I was ok, he provided when we played together. No,no, it wasn’t his fault that I ran away. I ran away because I couldn’t trust him. I ran away because I wouldn’t communicate with him. I ran away because I no longer felt comfortable around him. Life got in the way and I could no longer play the way I used to. I was living on the streets, fending for myself. I was finishing college and working on a campaign. There was just no way I could continue on with so much on my shoulders.And yet some part of me feels guilty that I did it. Did I run away? No, I merely walked and burned the bridge. With him fuming on the other side. And I always imagine one day- one day he would find me. Find me out on those streets by myself. Demand that I get into his car. He would take me someplace, someplace where I could stay and he wouldn’t worry about me. Because he would worry about me- even more so than the people related to me. In the car I imagined him asking me questions. “How long have you been out here?””A bahis siteleri couple of months.””Do any of your friends know?””No.””What about your coworkers?””Nope.””And your relatives?””They don’t know either.””And you expect me to be okay with you living out on the streets?” My mouth is shut and quiet. I’m embarrassed to reply. I wanted to say no, but the truth was yes. I did expect him to be okay. He was older, more experienced. He had other submissives just eager to be pleased by him. Yet he, he took the time and money out to see me to a safe place. He worried about me. I felt guilty. “I’m your Master.” He stated. “And right now Master is very angry at his submissive for lying to him and cutting him off. Do you understand that?” Silence. I knew what was coming. Well, fuck it, I really didn’t know what was coming except for pain. What kind of pain I didn’t know. “Do you understand?” “Yes.””Yes what?”Yes Master.” He was into speech restriction, eye contact restriction, everything I did naturally. I was an ‘easy’ submissive, save for one thing: my weight. I saw his ads for a petite submissive. It drove me nuts. I starved myself just for him. I ended up gaining the weight back. I had asked him for help and it was the same-old, same-old: don’t eat processed food, don’t drink soda and fruit drinks, don’t eat carbs. I’m a college student, the fruits and veggies don’t come cheap! I reconciled with myself, on cutting myself off from him, that he would be happy with his petite submissive(s) and find no need for me. I would pictured it constantly. To this day I still picture it. We arrive at the townhouse and he lets me in. The first thing he does he orders me to take a hot shower. Usually when we were canlı bahis together, we took showers at the same time, but I imagined since I stank so horridly I was going to shower alone. I did. It was the first time in months since I had a hot scorching shower and the water alone peeled off accumulated dirt off of my body. I scrubbed and scrubbed, crying along the way. How did I ever end up on the streets? Through lying and deception. Wasn’t a dominant/submissive relationship built on honesty and communication? I had fucked up horribly. Once I had finished washing and scrubbing, I got out of the shower and dried myself off. In search for clothes, there were none. I knew that I was going to get my punishment now, tonight. He was not going to wait. Timidly I walked out of the bathroom, past the bedroom and into the living area. He was sitting down in a chair. “Kneel.” Through sheer will, I got down on both of my knees and put my hands facing up on each one. With my eyes closed, I heard him get up from his chair and approach me. He unbuckled the collar and snapped it around my neck with a snug. He came in front of me and pressed his crotch against my face. I breathed with guilt. “Come this way.” He tugged the collar and I opened my eyes. Without directing looking at him, I crawled on my hands and knees behind him to the bedroom. Guiding me onto the bed, he positioned me so that the upper half of my body was on the bed while my feet were on the ground, leaving my ass wide open in the air. He pulled my hands back and handcuffed them. “Now, how long have you been out there?” “August.””August what?””August 9th.” “And today is..?””January 31st.” “You know how many days that has been since you’ve hid from güvenilir bahis me?” I ran the numbers in my head. 31 days in January, December, and October. 30 days in November and September. August had 31, but I was sheltered for 9, so that 22 days. 31..31..31..30..30..22..93 plus 60 ..153 plus 22..175..”One hundred..and..seventy five..days..Master.” “That’s right. 175 days you’ve lied to me. And you’re going to count for each and everyone of them with ‘I’m sorry, Master.'” Normally when he ‘disciplined’ me with his whip, I would tighten up my butt to ease the pain. But this time there was no use. He would start over if I did. Crack! “I’m sorry Master!””That’s for the first day.” Crack! “I’m sorry Master!””Two.” Crack! “I’m sorry Master!”It kept going until we reached One hundred and seventy five. My ass burned. Tears were streaming down my face. I didn’t scream, but I sobbed like I had watched the people dear to me die. I felt completely vulnerable and broken. “Now, will you ever lie to me again?” His hands were rubbing my ass, intensifying the pain to almost the point where it was unbearable. “No…No Master.” I whispered. “I’ll let you sit here and think about what you’ve done..and what your proper punishment should be.” I heard the vibrating sound as my legs were spread apart and a small dildo was wedged inside of me. “Do not cum.” He ordered. I was too exhausted to even think of orgasming but I knew my body would want to please itself in a while. “Yes Master.” I answered. He got up and walked out of the room, leaving me there to ponder over my choices- and my decision to cut him off from my life. Bringing it back to today, I have not contacted my Master at all. I do not see him as such. I know that he is doing well and quite positive he is with a more honest, thoughtful, and considerate submissive. One I could never be. However I do dream of this scenario often and I wonder if it is just the guilt in me for my actions.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

  • tags

Related Posts

Got Something To Say:

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir

*
*