Master Returns

When he opened the door and looked at the floor and then to me, nothing was said. He simply held out his hand while closing and locking the door.

It is the one thing he knows I hate. Making myself nude before him, after all these years. But as always I do it when he gives me the gesture. I strip, kneel and wait. He approaches lifts his boot to my lips and I kiss it, handing my folded clothes to him, my cloth of respect.

I watch as he leaves the room, words unspoken. The house always seems colder when he leaves a room, almost like a freezer to my bare skin. Yet, I feel the desire between my legs rise.

When he returns I feel the gag on my lips, the leather cock gag violating my mouth, tension in the clasping to put it in place.

The feel of the cold metal collar is a familiar sensation.

The clicking of the lock reminds me of whom I really am.

His.

There is never any room for me to say no to his wishes. Never. This time he has totally ensured it. He grabs me by the hair and forces me to the hidden pulley in the living room. Pressing me to the brick wall I feel the brick scrape my cock, my chest and my face.

My shoulders are yanked backwards towards my ass. With an incredible rhythm he starts to wrap my wrists and snake the ropes up my arms. He always stops at the elbows. With one pull he tightens the rope around my forearms. Then, his boot between my shoulder blades, he presses me to the wall.

With one jerk I am tossed to the floor with only one knee to soften the blow. Contact. With one kick I am fully positioned on my stomach. My arousal is causing me some very specific pain as Master presses my ass to the floor while spreading my legs with his other boot. My arms are wrenched towards my head, I swear one-inch further and my joints are going to pop. The creaking of the pulley takes my attention away from my other discomforts. The click of the pulley locks in place.

This is my place, below him. The dust settles on my cheek and it mixes with my spit.

I stay put as I feel the pressure release from his boot. I make sure to stay very still as I feel the leather jam into my balls. And despite my fear I can feel my arousal.

I knew this was my punishment. I knew it. He never said a word when he returned from work; he just looked at the floor. He just looked at me in that way that he does and I knew.

He knows it is in these moments of awkwardness that I remember. His boot pressing harder against my testicles, he pulls my arms up further. One kick. I bite hard on the rubber ball. Master hates it when I whimper. Press. The shooting pain removes the burning ache now in my shoulders. I want to puke. Master hates that. Kick. It is the worst kind of kick. The small kind that only serves to make me remember that just a second ago all I had to deal with was the pressure of his power. Tears strip my face of ego, pooling in my spit.

I try to focus there as he returns his boot to my back, pressing me against the cold dirty floor. I run my toes across the texture wanting to mentally escape the pain between my legs and compression of my chest. His boot returns to my head pressing my face hard against the floor.

I hear the sound of his zipper. Silence. The pressure on my face has lessened. I take a big breath, hard. He is going to fuck me. It has been so long since he has used me this way.

The hot flow of piss on my head makes me jerk my head up only to meet the bottom of his boot. He aims his pungent flow to my face making sure to cover all of me. I cannot help but gag on the sensation, react and struggle to get free. The click of the hoist lifts me ever so slightly off the floor.

The burn.

I hear his zipper close; the pressure of his boot releases me. The tension of the rope releases me. The squeaks and clanks of the snap-release clips chime like church bells. The rope is slowly being unwound around my forearms, my flesh still burning.

I lay limp like a doll waiting on his next move. Master liked that. He kicks my legs together and walks away. I am floating.

"Is this what you think of my house? That it is some pissy place?" he asks me. It is not the words that sting; it is the disgust I can hear in his voice.

"No, Sir." I screamed trying to be clear and crisp the way Master likes.

He kicks my thigh. "You were not even listening."

I had no words. I could not choke down the tears.

"You had a simple task today, and every day. It is all I ask for service. In return you get clothing, housing, food. And this is the respect you give this home and your Master."

I choked on my spit and tears.

"Can you at least get up on you knees?" he says with such disgust.

The strain of holding my arms behind my back is finally relieved. I slowly place them to my sides and try to push myself up. They are so sore and shaking with my struggle but I make to my knees and place my arms on my thighs. I cannot look at him. I sit staring at the floor where my face has been.

"Keep this house clean. That is all I ask. Simple. Easy. And you are unable to keep the filth at bay. You will do better."

"Do as I have asked. And do not let this happen again. The consequence will be greater. Do not treat this home and myself with such disdain again. And when you are done truly cleaning this floor to a spit shine, clean yourself up. I expect both you and the floor to be spotless."

I nod as the tears run down my face.

I can hear his footsteps to the door and the click of the lock.