Obedience

By Pretty Lil Hate Machine

The sound of rushing air fills the woman's ears; the object responsible for the disruption gives a sharp crack- a sound only capable of being good leather hitting flesh; her body warms and then freezes at the thought.

A shadow lay in the doorway, its left hand wrapped around a thin strip of leather... mist rolling off its form in near liquid waves. It doesn’t seem to be at all happy to be there except for the moments when its red eyes stray to the leather switch in its hand.

She opens her eyes a fraction of an inch and freezes, she doesn’t always enjoy this shadow when he graces her doorway, not when those red eyes seem to burn so deep into her soul. Except for those terrifying moments when it feels too right to be stripped so bare, to be unable to hold anything back, to feel nothing but his gaze and know that whatever is to come, he is in control.

He is indeed in control; his hand gives a twitch as he thinks of the use that the switch will soon be put to. Her unmarred skin shining in the light cast from the hallway, as if taunting him with its pristine perfection.

A matter he would rectify soon enough.

Three strides led him to her still body and it is all she could do to repress the shiver that threatens to crawl up and out of her. Frozen in fear, or is it lust? She scarcely knows for she could only allow her eyes to drift up the length of his body. Dark and sensuous, his blood-red eyes seemed to drill deep into her core, pulling secrets from within that she did not know existed, nor wanted to.

The depth in those cold eyes may have been what prompted her to act- the promise of pain lying just beneath the surface, moving her to her knees, eyes downcast. Had she dared to look up she would have seen the passing ghost of a smile flicker across his lips, quite pleased that this level of obedience to his unspoken wishes came so easily to her now.

She was indeed learning.

The scarcest flick of his wrist and the hiss of sound was all the warning issued before the switch in his hand lashed out and struck her across the buttocks, leaving a bright, cherry red mark across the pale skin covered by the sheer lavender negligee that she wore at his request, nay- order in disguise. He has demanded many things, above all that should he ever feel the inclination to see her body, he would.

She is his and that is something she knows well; she does not wince as the second and third blow fall, the tightening of her jaw the only sign of pain she shows.

Her obedience assured he begins their nightly ritual by clearing his throat, a signal, and her pose shifts instantly her eyes further downcast and hands folded over her bent knees waiting for the questions that she could answer even in her sleep.

“What is your name?”

“I have no name except for that which you may call me, Master.” Her voice is calm and quiet, completely assured that the statement is true.

“And to whom do you belong?”

“To you Master, only ever to you.”

“Why do I hurt you?”

“Because it assures me that you love me and it makes me good again.”

A slight nod and he leans down brushing a strand of hair from her face, his thumb caressing her lips gently. “I do love you, because you are mine, and I do care for my possessions do I not?”

“Yes Master.” There is no resentment in her tone, only pure and undiluted love coupled with obedience. Indeed she is a possession, one loved and cared for, he makes her feel like a treasure, like something he is lucky to have when in reality it is her that is lucky.

He lifts her from the ground and carries her from her bedroom. As he walks her through the darkened hallway she finds herself comforted in his arms, she feels safe, protected, and warm. Finally after what seems to have been only seconds to her she is lain down on a soft bed, the covers conforming to her body’s shape.

There was a moment of silence and stillness so complete that for a moment she feared that he had left her to remain alone, she held her eyes shut tightly refusing to open them lest her fears be true.

Finally, after long agonizing minutes she felt something cool run up her inner thigh, she could not restrain the shudders that wracked her body.

She had never liked blades, not in the slightest.

He knew that fact very well and had assured her in the beginning that she would never find herself pushed beyond her limits. However he no longer wished for her to possess even that mild amount of control over his actions. He would not tolerate it one bit.

The knife was pressed harder against her skin then was at all comfortable and tears came to her eyes as she twisted away from the knife, not thinking, acting blindly regardless of the punishments that might befall her.

The moment she twisted from his blade something inside of him snapped, she was his to do with what he would, regardless of what she wanted. She would not refuse him anything that he wanted.

The shadows about his form seemed to grow darker, his eyes more intense. She couldn’t be sure when the first cut happened, but there didn’t seem to be a pause between them. Thin red lines began to crisscross her body, growing closer together as his anger grew.

Tears began to leak from her eyes as the pain seeped into her bones, growing closer and closer to screaming aloud, her eyes no longer able to open fully she had screwed them closed so tight.

And then something else snapped, he had driven the knife to deep, and a loud crack could be heard, the kind of sound that may begin a life in a wheelchair, or confined to bed, each option of course would be preferable to the reality.

He had wanted absolute control, and he had got it, after all a corpse cannot talk back.

And as Sabin washed the blood from his hands his mind began to whirl, what had He done this time?