I catch sight of the faint scars on my shoulder and my mind drifts back to earlier today, to one of my training sessions that left me appreciating him even more.
“I want you to paint your scars,” Isaac told me as I sat on a leather training bench. He grabbed a bowl of whipped cream and strawberries off a stand nearby and held it out to me. With the bowl in his left hand, he held the long stem of a large, fresh strawberry and dipped it in the homemade cream.
“Open,” he commanded me. “Stick your tongue out flat.”
I did as I was told and he traced a line down my tongue with the point of the berry and then around my lips, teasing me. “You’ll paint them with the cream for me to lick off.”
He pulled it away from my mouth and I responded as I knew I should. “Yes, Master.” I’ve learned to love those words. I love pleasing him. He makes it so easy.
Obediently, I took the strawberry from his hands, and only then did I really register what he’d told me to do. I didn’t know why he wanted me to paint my scars with cream and fruit, but I knew I shouldn’t question him. Everything he makes me do is for my own good.
My skin pricked with his eyes on me as I carefully dipped the strawberry into the cream in the bowl and began painting my scars, slowly and deliberately. My eyes watched my movements in the trifold mirror from the vanity he’d placed me in front of. The vanity was from my room, but the bench was in his. I started with my neck first, covering all those ugly marks I so hated, before moving to my collarbone and then my shoulders.
I remember how I got them. How my old Master would chain me to the bed and let the whip rip across my back. Occasionally it would break skin, but that’s not what made the scars, it was the tips of the braided tails. In the beginning, when I wasn’t perfect, he’d attach the punishment spurs. They’d stick into my skin and when he pulled back… I closed my eyes, hating the memory.
The second I shut my eyes, I felt Isaac’s strong hand between my legs and his tongue licking along the faint bit of cream painted over my scars.
I gasped with pleasure at the sensation, reveling in the feel of his warm wet mouth, and had to fight the urge to wrap my arms around his neck and keep him in place. I knew I could only accept what he gave me, and nothing more.
He moved up to my neck, kissing away the cream, sucking on my neck.
Isaac continued kissing and sucking on my neck until all the cream was gone, and when he pulled back I was so fucking out of breath. I’d never experienced having food literally licked off my body, and the sensation of it had been incredible. The places where he licked me felt alive, tingling with sexual energy from his hungry lips and tongue. God, I had felt so good.
“Master,” I breathed, panting, my chest heaving and my pussy clenching uncontrollably. Seriously, I almost came just from that. “More. Please.”
Isaac responded by grinning at me and standing tall in front of me. “Be careful what you wish for, kitten.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant until he walked away and came back with a buzzing object. A huge fucking vibrator. Grinning, he placed it on the bench, making the tip of the head barely touch my pussy lips and clit. I instantly shivered at the sensation, so turned up already and wanting so badly to cum.
Smack!
I cried out from the pain and pleasure stinging my ass as Isaac drew back the riding crop he’d picked up from the side of the bench.
“You’re not to move,” he told me. “You’re to stay perfectly still while that vibrator teases your pussy and the only thing I want to see move is your arm as you cover your scars with whipped cream again. Understand?”
I was breathless, wanting to protest. I needed to cum so bad. I was so turned on it was unreal. But I did as he commanded.
“Yes, Master,” I replied.
The session went on to last another hour, and I was whipped several times for moving, but each time I didn’t, Isaac rewarded me with his mouth and a bit of pleasure, licking and cleaning my scars. By the time it was over, I’d gotten better at being perfectly still and I was rewarded with one of the hardest fucks Isaac had given me.
My eyes flicker back to the mirror, to the scars on my body. Scars that now have a different memory. My heart clenches in my chest. This isn’t what I thought it would be. It’s so much more. Submitting to Isaac makes me feel liberated.
My past is losing its grip on me. And it's all thanks to Isaac.
As if summoned by my thoughts, a terror that constantly haunts me, one of the recurring images that has viciously torn me from my sleep and kept me a captive to my past for years, rages in my vision.
I can see my old Master's sick smile as he hits me, delighting in the perverse pleasure my pain brings him. I can see the scene unfold as if I'm having an out-of-body experience, and I see myself cowering in the corner as he beats me over and over again, the back of hand slamming against my cheek, splitting my lip open and filling my mouth with the metallic taste of blood. Unconsciously, I raise a hand to my face, touching where he struck me.
But there’s no pain there. No bruises.
It’s not real, I tell myself confidently, shocked at how little I’m affected by that horrible image, just a fading memory.
“You need a bath, kitten,” Isaac says, breaking me out of my reverie.
I take in a sharp breath as I see him standing in front of the beautiful garden tub, cloaked in steam, his dress shirt unbuttoned and rumpled, his black dress pants doing little to hide the huge bulge in his pants. My nipples pebble, my mouth waters, and my pussy clenches with need as I think about how he will soon be cleaning me himself, his hot hands roaming every inch of my body. I want it. I want him.
“Yes, Master,” I say obediently, a feeling of warmth lacing with my desire. I feel so safe in Isaac’s presence. I could not have asked for a better Master. But I’m starting to feel a little lightheaded from the steam. Today has been such a long day, and I’m tired. Taking a warm, steamy bath will hopefully help me relax.
He gestures at my robe. “Take that off.”
I do as he says, letting the pink robe slip off my shoulders and fall to the floor. I don’t miss the flash of desire in Isaac’s eyes as he surveys my naked body, my hardened nipples, my flesh riddled with goosebumps, and the chain attached to my clit. Exactly how he likes me.
His eyes burning, he walks over to me and places a hand on my abdomen, tracing his name he’s written across it before taking the chain off from around my neck and then unclipping the other end from my clit. The action makes my back bow with the sharp release on my tender throbbing clit. My head falls back and his fists my hair at the base of my neck. “Good girl, kitten,” he whispers, kissing my exposed neck and releasing me. I glance down at my midsection where his name is scrawled, feeling a sense of pride. Every day he writes his name on me, reminding me that I belong to him… but I want so badly to ask if I can write my name on him. I haven’t, afraid it might displease him.
He’d probably let me if I ask, I tell myself. As much as I want to please him, my happiness matters to him. It’s obvious to me now.
“Take off your anklet, kitten,” Isaac orders next, his voice heavy, his eyelids hooded with lust. He never touches the anklet. It’s truly mine. And so far, it’s helped at night. The weight mimics the shackle. But the way Isaac looks at it makes me uneasy.