Be her thing

I managed to say.

• Yes, Mistress, I am your thing, I love you so much.

She stopped and signaled to her maids, who stopped. She whispered in my ear as I fell ****,

• That's good, you understand. Rest, I'll talk to you later.

Everything finally went black!

When I regained consciousness, I was lying on a cold, hard bed, my limbs aching from the ropes that still bound me. Mistress was sitting beside me, her face impassive, but her eyes shone with a sadistic light. She gently stroked my cheek, a gesture that contrasted cruelly with the pain pulsing within me.

• You were very brave, she murmured, her voice low and raspy.
• But it's not over. You still need to learn to love suffering. You'll move into the cell I've prepared for you. You'll live there when you're not working for our club or your studies. You'll belong to me. I'll elevate your submission and your pain to a level that will be art. Do you accept?
• Oh yes, Mistress, everything for you.

Mistress smiled, visibly satisfied with my submission. She stood up and gestured toward the door, where two figures were waiting.

• Take her to her new home, she ordered firmly. In your cell, you'll find a journal. I want you to write down your thoughts, desires, and fears every day.

The two women approached, untied me from the ropes, and helped me stand. My legs were shaking, but I knew I had to obey. As I left the room, I saw that the crowd had dispersed, but their laughter and cheers still echoed in my mind.

The two slaves led me roughly into the basement, unlocking a small cell of almost unfinished stone, a small desk, a stool, a commode, a wire mesh bed without a mattress, a thick blanket, and just a small skylight barred with metal bars. A ceiling lamp emitted a harsh light with no way to turn it off. They threw me onto the bed, and I lost consciousness.

I woke up in the total darkness of my new cell, the cold stone wall against my bare skin, the metal mesh biting into my flesh. My muscles were stiff from the ropes that had bound me for what seemed like an eternity during the previous day's session; I didn't know when that was. The residual pain between my legs was a stinging reminder of what I had endured. I groped for the journal lying on the floor, my trembling fingers tracing the contours of the paper.

My mistress wanted me to write down my thoughts, my desires, my fears. But how could I express what was consuming me? The submission, the pain, the love I felt for her despite everything. I had no idea that a year awaited me, completely surrendering to being her thing, one day, who knows, I might be able to speak in an experience I wish on no one and yet that I cherish deep down.