"Can I at least drop you off?" I hear you ask meekly, as you raise your head from the sweat-drenched floor to look up at me.
I love how you look right now, face down on the tiles, your wrists bound behind your back, naked, stripped of all dignity, your ass in the air, still trembling with pain, owned inside and out.
I don't respond right away, choosing instead to take a moment to admire just how perfect you look. How perfectly obedient you look. You have much to learn, but you're trying your best, and I'm proud of you.
Of course, you're far from well-trained. For instance, this insolent persistence that you seem to lapse into from time to time. Like right now, as you repeat your request: "Goddess, it would be an honour..."
"What would be an honour?" I ask softly.
"It would be an honour for me to drive you and drop you off at his house."
"I'm sure it would," I respond nonchalantly. Yes, that persistence of yours, as boyishly charming as it may seem sometimes, often gets on my nerves.
"But what have you done to deserve this privilege?" I continue, idly running my fingers across your back, tracing every bruise, every welt with my nails.
"I've been obedient - - I did everything you asked" Your voice, now pleading, sounds ragged and desperate. But not quite desperate enough.
"Yes, you have." I say. "But do you honestly feel you've done all you can?"
No answer from you. Of course. I expected none. As I said, you have much to learn.
"Supposing I did allow you to drive me, to drop me off at my lover's house...What would you do for me? How would you ensure this privilege isn't wasted on you?"
More silence. I'm glad. These are important matters, and I want you to learn how to think through your requests. I want you to learn how you can coax your Mistress into allowing you to belong to her more.
Finally, after hours, it seems, although only a minute has passed, I hear your anxious, pleading reply: "I'll pamper you when you return, Mistress. I'll bathe you, I'll massage you, massage away all the soreness..."
I don't let you finish. I stop stroking your back with my nails, and the sudden loss of my touch makes you moan in frustration. "But that's a reward for you." I say, my tone playfully sarcastic. "Tell me what pains you the most about the evenings I spend with my lover."
"The thought of being alone." You answer, the tears making you choke up. "To think of you being with him, and to realize I'm not even worthy enough to witness your pleasure. That is what pains me the most, each evening you spend with him."
"Good boy." I say, smiling at the involuntary shiver of pleasure that runs up your spine every time you hear me say those words.
"So here's what you're going to do." I begin stroking your back again, fingers delicately moving over the darkening bruises.
"You're going to drive me to his house. You're going to watch me climb out of the car and walk up to his doorstep. You're going to turn away the moment the door opens because you haven't earned the privilege to see us together just yet. You're going to sit still, hands on the steering wheel, and wait.
You're going to wait, and you will do nothing to distract yourself. You'll spend every miserable second of the evening looking through the windscreen, but not really seeing anything, instead, imagining all the things you haven't yet earned.
Imagining every single way I'm being ruined by him, and feel the frustration of not being able to watch.
And when I finally return to the car, ecstatically happy and radiant, my cheeks flushed, I want you to look at me, look into my eyes as I climb in.
And I want you to feel lucky.
Lucky that you've finally met someone who knows that all you've ever needed is to be kept on a short leash.
And I want you to kiss me then, and taste him on lips, and say "Thank you, Mistress, for the privilege."
