DSalonica
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Joined: 6/20/2010
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I am D, a female slave from Greece. My Master, Master V, released me about 2 months ago, for as yet unclear reasons, after a year and a half of an intense M/s relationship. I would like to post here some excerpts from a book that I have written in Greek. The book will be published by the end of this year in Greece. I hope you enjoy these excerpts, which I have translated myself…
ASPECTS OF REFORM
I did not realize straight away that the time had come for my punishment. He had told me that he would punish me, had announced my sentence the previous day, but I had not paid much attention. Since it was going to happen anyway, why worry about it?
He arrived at the apartment, I was ready, dressed for a night out. He came near me and took me by the shoulders. He took me in his arms, I let him do that, I moved to touch him too, with my hands, somewhat clumsily and self-consciously, the way I always do, because I am a little afraid of him, I am afraid he might get upset, might find it improper, I don’t know what I’m afraid of, and so I rested my hands lightly on the small of his back., with my fingers touching him lightly. Very softly, so that the movement would not have the meaning of a complete movement, a certain and definite movement in time, but it would be the trace of an intention, a sketching of my desire to touch him, and nothing more. It was one of those movements for which we are never certain whether they took place or not. And that is why we never forget them.
That is how I usually live, in the interim between what is happening and what is not and I find it very beautiful and that is why I smile so often. But a man cannot see things with such dreamlike lightness. I always have the sense that he wants to pull me away from that palpitating, constantly shifting, dreamy world, and bring me by force, with one move, once and for all, to his own harsh earthly planet, that is made up of crystal clear events, of objects that do not require interpretation, of creatures that occupy certain positions, within an almost geometrical shape of existence, creatures that move only along certain pathways, like pawns in a strange chess game, autonomous and self-willed, incapable however of escaping their predetermined moves.
So the cuddle that was never a cuddle ended very quickly and I found myself from the veranda in the room, without quite realizing how that had happened, staggering slightly on my high heels, as V was pulling me by the hair. He did not seem to care very much about the result of his impetus on me. But I did not bear a grudge against him for that, he was right to want to punish me. Besides, anger is not one of my predetermined moves. I am as incapable of feeling angry with him, as he is incapable of feeling sorry for me.
I removed my dress and my sandals and my underwear, obeying his order to get undressed, as fast as I could. He dragged me naked to my position, he tied my arms open wide with the straps and attached the straps to the rings, right and left on the wall. Then he wrapped a long rope round my waist. He could hold me like that from behind and pull me to his heart’s content, ignoring the rubbing of the rope on my skin, forcing me to stretch my body backwards.
In order for me not to get on his nerves with my screams, and so as to keep quiet, for it was hot and the balcony door was open, he gagged me with that hard ball he sometimes puts in my mouth when I am naughty and he punishes me. I suspect that my moans also annoy him, but I cannot be certain of that. Perhaps he derives a certain pleasure from those senseless noises, from that hollow resonance of a secret, underground place. We do not know what exists in there, it is quite vague. Perhaps there is nothing there. But then, what is that echo that comes up from these bowels? And why do we like to listen to that thing that has no name?
With the corner of my eye I see him lift the black whip with the tree leather cables. They are knotted at the end. He holds me tight with the rope around my waist and beats me as if I were an animal. Every strike is a triple strike, I feel it three times, the marks spread al over my body, like long thin fingers that rip me up. The sentence is 50 strikes. There is no reason to mention the offence, it is not important.
After the first twenty strikes, my knees do not hold me anymore, they are bending and I am just hanging there by the straps. I cannot help crying, I don’t want to, but the tears are running constantly from my eyes, constantly, constantly, I cannot stop it. My skin opens up, the blood comes up to the surface. Tears drip to the floor, I drool through the gag that chokes me. I want to start banging my head on the wall, over and over again, until I pass out and the pain stops. Oh, why don’t I do it? Why don’t I pass out? Why do I endure?
He gives me all the strikes he had announced. All fifty. I do not know how we did it exactly, but it is as if we opened up a door into the mystery of existence and in there we found the howl of a small animal. We cannot do anything else but balance in there like trapeze artists, one step next to the ultimate loss of something that must never be lost. He is the one who is balancing, not me, I am the medium, the tool, I am the observer who records the scene, and at the same time I howl, but the howl is silent, for he has deprived me of the ability to howl, the secret door is wide open now, and I discover that I am the small animal in the bowels of my being, I am the one that is howling. This astonishes me.
He removes the gag, I am sobbing, I ask for mercy. He spills some clear alcohol onto my wounds. He leaves me tied there for a little longer until I have fully understood what has happened to me. Then he unties me, makes me kneel down in front of him and ask for his forgiveness. I kneel down, I look him straight in the eyes, I have stopped palpitating and shifting and making traces of movements, I like this naked, harsh planet where he has brought me and nailed me on my knees in front of him. Here we can finally look at each other, everything is crystal clear, I see the white of his eyes. So white. Please forgive me. Do not open that door again, I will never do it again. Oh, please close the door. I want to be me again.
I go to the bathroom, wash my back carefully, the water is cool, I wash my face too, it is swollen, I wrap the towel around me, I do not dare rub myself, softly, softly, be careful. I look in the mirror, I am impressed that I am not harmed more than that. I go out to the veranda, I sit near him, at his feet, I am completely calm, and so is he.
I do not remember anything else from the rest of the night. I was lost. It was very quiet where I went, I think there was nothing there, just emptiness. Then I think he left, yes, he must have left, because I looked around me and I was alone and then the moon came out and it was very beautiful and then I lay down on the bed, softly, softly, be careful, on my right side, and I stayed still.
Then I slept.
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