OBEDIENCE TEST
Eventually, (after how long?) I heard the welcome sound of his returning footsteps. He unhooked me, helped me to step out of the bath and with the Follow Me on a short lead headed back towards the kitchen (scullery?) I had first entered. But instead of turning left into it, we stopped and he opened a door on the other side of the corridor. "Careful" he said, "three steps down", and gripping my upper arm guided me down. A very different feel here. Only three steps down but a distinctly subterranean feel, chill and damp and musty smelling. Not a nice place. I felt apprehensive. What felt like old worn bricks underfoot rather than stone. He halted me in what felt like the centre of a large space because when he spoke, his voice had an empty, reverberant quality. "Display" he ordered and I snapped into the position I had been taught. "Obedience test" he announced. "Let's see what stuff you are made of" Oh God, I hoped I could live up to his expectations. I was very nervous. Suppose I should fail, what then? He removed the Follow Me and explained that he was going to lash me about the body with its other end. There would be nine lashes placed randomly, "front and back, neck to knees". As I was in a drill position, I was not to drop my hands or move my feet. That would be disobedient. "Do you think you can take it?" he asked. "I - I don't know Sir" I stammered. "A good answer" he said, "let's find out" and with that he struck the first blow diagonally across my back, slicing down from my right shoulder.
Christ, but it stung! It was only a light thin strap of soft leather, for God's sake, why should it hurt so much? What I didn't know was that the other end was fashioned into a loop, fixed with a rivet, to slip over the master's wrist and so was double weight - plus the rivet.
I braced my back for the second blow but it flicked across the backs of my thighs, catching me completely unaware. I yelped and very nearly jerked my foot up off the ground but stopped just in time. Somehow I felt that was underhand even though he had warned me "neck to knees". So where next? Where was he? My whole back was tensed, anticipating the next slash. But the bastard had moved silently round to the front. From left shoulder right across left pec it came, the tip biting deep into the point of my shoulder. And quickly after it another on the same line but lower down, the vicious tip biting low into my chest. 'The bastard's trying for the nipple!' I thought, just as the third of the batch scored a direct bull's eye. I screamed and bent forward, aghast at the pain, but still managed to keep my hands and feet in position. He'd said nothing about bending or twisting and I prayed I had not failed the test. The next was across my back, the end flicking round to sting my ribs. God but that hurt! Then over my ribs to whiplash round to my stomach. Long pause. There were little whimpering noises of fear coming from somewhere.
With disgust I realised they were from me. And I had so wanted to take the flogging like a man, suffering in noble silence! But here I was yelling and whimpering like a - YEOWWW! Standing to one side he had lashed me straight across the chest, overshooting so that the tip flicked round and buried itself into my armpit. Oh shit! that was painful! Intended to make me snap my arm down for protection? Well I didn't, so sod you mate! Then across the arse, the tip stinging my flank. Every time it was that bloody tip which did the damage. How many was that? Surely there could not be many more? Masters always expect their victims to keep count, but you are so busy dealing with the pain that you can't count as well.
"You did well, Fuckface" he said, "many don't make it to the end". I thanked him. I felt so proud.
Pathetic really, but it meant so much to me to be praised by him. I squared my shoulders and pushed my elbows back, displaying my whipped body to him. Offering it to him. He touched my chest lightly and traced the line of the weals with his fingertips, while I forced myself not to flinch as he caressed the wounded flesh. He walked round me and traced the raised welts on my back . . . my flanks . . . my belly, with something akin to tenderness. A feeling of total, passionate commitment to him blossomed inside me. "Anything, master" I whispered, "anything". What did I mean? That I would do anything he wanted? He knew that. That he could do anything he liked with me? He knew that. That I would give him anything? I had nothing to give save my body and my submission and he already had those. But my "anything" meant all of these and more. I leaned into the sensual touch of his hands in a moment of communion with him . . . longing . . .
giving . . . surrendering to him . . . I felt he was about to embrace me, but he suddenly pulled away. "Elbows back" he snapped, and grabbing me roughly by the balls dragged me to the far end of the cellar. I heard him pull back one heavy bolt . . . and another. A door swung open. He pushed my head low and shoved me through presumably a low doorway into yet another room.
Smaller, much smaller, this one. He slammed me against one wall, my arms now outstretched before me. He kicked my legs wide apart and back until I was leaning at a 45 degree angle against the wall. He leaned his huge body against mine so that my arms had to carry the weight of us both.
He groped and mauled my nakedness with deliberate crudity, raking his nails up my whipped torso, crushing my tits in his strong fingers, wrenching at my testicles, bruising my ribs with his knuckles. "Anything?" he hissed in my ear, "Anything? We'll see, Fuckface. We'll see." He pulled me off the wall, spun me round and slammed me back against it. Handcuffs were snapped over my wrists, but with my hands in front of me this time. Well, that's not so bad, I thought.
Fool! I should have known better. There must have been a broom handle propped in a corner ready for this moment, for it was pushed between my elbows and my back. This yanked my hands so far apart over my stomach that the manacles dug into my wrists painfully. I cried out but he took no notice, throwing me down onto my knees and then shoving me onto my back. Can you imagine what it is like to lie on your back with a stout broom stale shoved behind your elbows? It hurts your back I can tell you. But worse still, your own body weight crunches it down into your arms and that is bloody painful! You struggle to sit up but of course you can't (try it some time!) The only way to ease the pressure is to arch your back, to try and get the weight off your back and onto your shoulders. This does nothing to stop the handcuffs cutting into your wrists but it does stop your arms being crushed. I don't suppose I could have held that position for long anyway, but I wasn't given the chance for my owner put his boot squarely on my chest and pressed down. And held it there. Pressing firmly. Had he felt a moment of tenderness, of intimacy even, a little earlier? If so, it was effectively ground out under his heel now, as he would grind out a cigarette butt. Trapped, squirming in pain under his boot, God how I hated him then! "Anything, Fuckface?" he sneered. Then he was gone. The door slammed shut and the two bolts were shot noisily home. One, two. Bang, bang.
It is possible to get to your feet from that position. I know, I did it. It took a long time, a lot of trial and error, and a lot of effort. I leaned back against the wall exhausted and covered in sweat but feeling rather pleased with myself. I had beaten the bastard! The sweat quickly cooled and soon I was shivering, so I set off to explore. What could I learn about my black hole? Brick walls. Brick floor, but very gritty. Why? Smell of coal or coke. Perhaps this had been used as a coalhole - that would explain the gritty floor. Heavy wooden door only shoulder high and round topped.
Following the walls with my shoulder, I edged gingerly forward. Funny how, in total blackness, you fear a 30 foot drop might open before you. It was indeed a tiny space. A cell, really. But there was something odd about the end wall. I had followed it round with my shoulder but couldn't feel it with my foot. By crouching down a little I found the answer. The end wall had a low arch like the doorway opposite. And beyond the arch? Again, irrational fears took over.
What if there was a well . . . a savage dog chained up . . . a rotting corpse? Absurd, but very cautiously I bent down to enter - and immediately pushed my face into a spider's web. Startled, I leaped back with a cry of disgust. But with my hands cuffed I could not claw the mess off my face and had to try wiping my face on my shoulder. With my heart thumping, I very cautiously put my head through again, then one foot. Something soft. Straw! How surprising. Another cautious step and my head touched something. Immediately I jerked back in a reflex action and banged the back of my head on the inside of the arch. Yet another cautious probe and I encountered something hard. Wall? Ceiling? Neither. It was a downward 45 degree slope like the underside of a staircase, forming a wedge-shaped space like a piece of cheese. And the floor was all strewn with straw. For bedding presumably, to stop me getting too cold. How kind! But if I got down into it, would I ever be able to get up again? The cold decided it. I dropped to my knees, then on to my side and did my best to wriggle into the straw in my little wedge-shaped nest in this subterranean pit of desolation God but I was hungry! And thirsty. And cold. And miserable. I wished I had eaten a proper meal on the train. How long ago was that? Hours, certainly. It felt as if I had been here for days.
Slowly I drifted into exhausted sleep.