Wednesday, 18 January 2012

Big Mistake - End

That was last week. A whole week ago and I'm still reminded of my error nearly every minute of the day.
Sir came back into the dungeon not long after he left me strapped tightly to the bench. I couldn't see well at all owing to the leather strap across my neck making head movement extremely limited but I heard his boots on the steps, slow deliberate strides, approach me from the front. When he stopped my view was one of his leathers and those wonderful knee high boots that I kept polishing as though my life depended on it, as it might very well do.
"I've been thinking about your punishment," he said, "although the crime itself has also featured heavily in those thoughts. We have always agreed that I don't need any reason to flog you, to tie you into excruciating positions or to use you in any way I please other than that of my wanting to. I need, and actually want in this case, to punish you for the errors of judgement you've made but I am determined that whatever punishment I administer will reflect your ill judged behaviour and not just be another whipping session for my pleasure."
I was seriously worried at this point. It was obvious from the position I was in that I was to receive a beating, or so I supposed. I was totally confused at this point.
"I think you'll be pleased with my conclusion. I'm not intending to take away the bike, well, for more than a couple of weeks anyway and you'll be banned from the car for the same period. Any journeys you make will have to be under your own steam. Running, walking, maybe your cycle, whatever way is most convenient at the time. Umm, perhaps the cycle only after a few days, say next week."
So......I was running through the possibilities in my head when he walked over to the table the gear was arranged on. He walked back with the Dragon Cane in his hand and ran it over my shoulder blades.
"Yes," he repeated, "I think this is an eminently suitable punishment."
The first thing I knew was that someone had taken a red hot dagger and stabbed me in the sole of my foot, driving the blade up through my lower leg and twisting it. My choked scream spat drool across the floor as I opened my mouth wider than I thought possible, allowing spit to shoot over and around the ball gag. The same pain repeated in my other foot and my legs went into spasm, pulling against both the straps and the ropes. He continued to beat me in a viscous bastinado, using that cruel instrument, for several minutes varying the strokes so they fell across my heels, my toes and the length of each foot adding several to my backside to allow the pain in my feet to sink in before adding to it. My screaming was reduced to a sobbing moan long before he stopped. I was crying, pleading between breaths, tears flowing freely as my head swam with the pain. I felt as if my legs had been plunged into boiling water or ice up to my knees. They had lost any natural feeling, it was simply a hot cold stinging endless burning.
I wasn't sure if and when he finished. As I recovered some of my sensibilities I found he had thrown the cane onto the floor and left without another word. My straps had been loosened although my feet were still tied to my thighs. I slipped off the bench onto the floor and landed on my side. I began to sob quietly again as I fumbled with the rope. I sat resting my back against the legs of the bench not thinking about anything but the throbbing pain in my feet. I couldn't bear to touch them.
At that moment he opened the door at the top of the stairs and called down. He wanted several jobs done and I was to do them immediately. I got up gradually and went to walk to the stairs. It was then I found how the punishment was to work. I took a step, it shot a pain up my legs and into my body. I cried out and fell down. I hauled myself up and managed to hobble slowly.

Although after a day or two it got gradually better I continually experienced an agony that reminded me of the error of my ways. No car, no bike, everything to be done on foot for at least a week. He was right. Even the bandages he allowed me to put on when several of the weals bled after my boots rubbed the sores open did nothing to lessen the pain.
Speeding, it was a silly mistake. Not trusting him enough to tell him, for fear of the consequences, was something that I would never repeat. It was a slip that could have damaged our relationship. I hated myself for it. I cried more to myself in bed that first night, embarrassed and feeling both guilty and sorry. I know that he forgave me though, the punishment was just that, a punishment. The effects lingered but it was over. Later, when I was allowed into his bed, I held him as never before.

No comments:

Post a Comment