4 Little Words
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4 Little Words
The money didn't matter. Disobeying his orders mattered, mattered seriously. The first few days after the statement, she figured that it wouldn't matter too much; she would show Jonathan the check which had cleared since. As his absence lengthened, though, her picture of the scene darkened. And, as his absence lengthened, she missed him more and more. She felt totally abandoned. Finally, she called a number she'd promised herself never to call again.
As usual, she got a recording. "Master, this is slut 273. I beg for an appointment. I will call back later."
When she called back and identified herself, the phone was picked up. "You've been gone a long time, slut 273," a voice she didn't recognize said. "Come Friday at 7 pm. Bring $2,000."
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The $2,000 nearly cleaned out her account. Paying off the Visa Gold on Jonathan's orders had drawn the account lower than usual. She checked her watch by the radio on Friday. It was correct, as usual. She took a cab to Master's place. At 6:58 on her watch, she rang the bell. The door opened and she went in. There were the same two tables, and the same dog collar on one. The whip on the same table, though, was longer and looked more vicious than the riding crop she was used to. She spread out the money on the table which held the whip and her clothes on the other. She put the dog collar on, took the whip in her teeth, and got down on her hands and knees in front of the door. This time the wait seemed interminable.
Finally, the new voice said, "You may enter."
When he'd taken the whip from her mouth, she said "Master." He just looked at her. Finally, he gestured for her to rise. She walked to the post and he tied her with her belly to the post. Her hands were over her head and her legs were to each side.
"Count," He said as always. The first stroke of that whip, though, was high on her back. She screamed. It hurt worse than the crop ever had until the last blow. "Count," He said and lashed her across the same place. "I won't lower the place where the lash strikes until I hear your count."
She screamed again before managing to choke out "One." She had to repeat "fifteen" because her sobs muffled it, but she was still counting at twenty. She was still counting at twenty nine, and the lash was hitting her behind the knee. Then Master stepped back and did something else with the whip. It gave a much louder crack against her calf, and the blow sent fire through her. She screamed and then sobbed "thirty."
He stopped and walked over to stand just behind her. "Have you been a good girl?" he asked in a very low voice.
"No Master. I found someone else to control me, and now I don't know where he is."
"You found someone else? You're my little slut! Is that why you've been gone so long?"
"Yes, Master. And I didn't even obey all his orders."
"That's why you strayed. You went to someone whose orders you can ignore." It wasn't like that; she hadn't wanted to ignore Jonathan's orders. But Master hadn't asked a question, and he rubbed his thumb over her cuts before stepping back.
This time the blows came from her right side, crossing the earlier cuts. They started low on her leg and moved higher. It was lucky Master didn't order her to count because she was either screaming or sobbing too loud to do so. The blows were fire on her back, even worse on the inside of her thighs. When Master finally stepped back, she was hanging from the ropes. She knew what was coming but didn't have the energy to brace for it.
The whip cracked right on her vulva. She screamed and collapsed. Master untied her hands and lowered her to the floor. The rough carpet was abrasive to her cuts, but she took forever to summon the will to roll over and untie her ankles. When she'd got up and staggered out the door, she was faced with dressing.
She stuffed her bra and pantyhose into her purse rather than have them against her welts. When she was dressed, the voice said, "I've called a cab." She staggered out and got in the cab. She barely had the presence of mind to tell the cabby to take her to the train station.
She paid him, and got out. Before she could walk into the station and out another door, a car door opened beside her. "Get in the car." Jonathan's voice!
She had no will to resist anything right then. She got in the car and managed to close the door on the second try. "Seat belt," said Jonathan. That hurt, but she had no energy to argue.
"Where were you?" she asked.
"That's my question. But I know where you were."
She sat silent beside him as he drove to his neighborhood. They had to walk three blocks to his apartment. At least the chill air numbed the pain of her welts. He unlocked the door and gestured her inside. There he took her coat and gestured her towards the bedroom. He still hadn't said anything.
"I was frightened," she said. "You'd been gone so long." Taking her clothes off the bruises and welts was a relief, brief though she knew that relief would be.
"It was less than two weeks."
"I was still frightened. And the credit card...."
"What about the credit card?" he asked. The tone of his voice sent shivers through her.
"The last payment on the credit card got there late. I still owe something." By this time she was totally naked.
"How much?" He gestured towards the closet, and she hung up the blouse and skirt on her side. There seemed to be a trace of oozed blood on the blouse.
"Less than twenty dollars. That's as of the last statement. A payment for most of that crossed in the mail."
"And you thought that would make me angry?" He asked. From his tone of voice, it had. "And that made you go to that creep?" Master wouldn't like her listening to that description. "What did you pay him? That sort of set-up can't be maintained as a hobby."
"$2,000," she admitted. If Jonathan could find her, he could find out anything.
"To punish you for a twenty-dollar oversight, you paid a man a hundred times as much. I should charge you for punishing you for this betrayal. It would support me for the next century." He was going to punish her, punish her more, punish her worse. She quailed, but -- well trained -- she said not a word.
"Put on the gym shoes now," Jonathan said. These always were difficult, being nailed down. It was a worse struggle with her welts hurting, but she had no choice. When she stood up, he walked to the closet to pull the sash out of his robe. He tied one end of the sash around her left wrist. She winced as it tightened over the bruises there. Master's ropes had hurt her more than usual; she must have struggled against them more than usual. "Bend over and rest your hands on the seat of the chair. I'm not going to sit down this time." When she did, Jonathan looped the sash around the legs of the chair and up to her right wrist. He tied this wrist as well, leaving nearly half the sash dangling from it.
He walked around behind her. "Your cunt looks redder than usual," he said. When he fingered it, she winced. "Did he whip that?"
"You shouldn't have let him." She'd been tied up at the time, but Jonathan wouldn't accept that as an excuse. She'd gone to Master, let him tie her up. "That cunt belongs to me. Who does it belong to?"
"To you, Jonathan."
"Say it in a full sentence. 'My cunt belongs to Jonathan.'"
"My cunt belongs to Jonathan," she said.
He got something she couldn't see out of his closet. She guessed it was one of her punishment devices. When he came back, he asked, "And your ass?"
"My ass belongs to Jonathan."
"So it does, and you let him play with it and get it all messy." He hit it then, and she gasped at the pain. The flat of the paddle hit some welts, but the wires hurt worse. "You shouldn't do that, Melissa. Who do you belong to?"
"Four little words, Melissa. Say, 'I belong to Jonathan.'"
"I belong to Jonathan."
"Learn those words, four little words that will make your life so much simpler. Say them again and again, one at a time. Now!"
"I." Slap, and pain shot through her. She jerked, but her bonds kept her hands close to the seat of the chair.
"Belong." She knew that blow was coming, but it hurt just as much.
"To." Again the blinding pain.
"Jonathan!" And he hit her again. But he'd told her to say them again and again.
"I," she repeated.
The End 4 Little Wrords Uther Pendragon firstname.lastname@example.org 2004/01/30 2004/09/02 Thanks to Denny for editing this. This is one of a series of four stories about Melissa and Jonathan. The first story story in the series is: "1 Careless Moment" The index to almost all my stories is: Index to Uther Pendragon's website