Falling for Sir was as ill-judged as it was inescapable. There was always this sense of tension and inevitability. My problem is that the man I'd fallen for didn't exist. I'd only gotten to know his personal representative. An amalgamation of all the things he thought he should be. What I'd mistakenly labeled as love and thoughtfulness was really just a by-product of his obsessive efficiency.
I'd found that all subs who stayed over two months got full wardrobes. Carolyn Acton had dressed most of us. I guess it was easy as most of us were Winters. Brunette, pale, petite dolls for her to play dress-up with while plying her trade. The majority of us shared the same size, too.
The one-of-a-kind bracelet that I'd prized so highly from Tiffany & Co., he'd also purchased for each of the subs that were still around after six months. For all I knew, he may have even qualified for a bulk discount. Obviously, I had asked his former subs all the wrong questions and I would have to return to the drawing board to attain the longevity I craved.
Once I'd surpassed the established average time with Sir, I'd imagined that things would change, and eventually evolve, but he hadn't received that memo. His response to a sub's job well done was not a promotion, only an increased fervor to 'push' the sub's limits. Oh, and stuff. I would tell him that this girl didn't deserve such things, but he would only insist and of course I was forced to acquiesce because it became apparent that acceptance of his gifts was necessary for his enjoyment.
Pampering and providing for his subs was seemingly one of the most vital aspects of all of his arrangements. In that sense, I was nothing special. He had paid all educational expenses for the sub who attended medical school. She became a surgeon. Far after the end of their arrangements ended, Sir still continued to recognize and meet the needs of his submissives despite no longer acknowledging the subs themselves.
However, as I came close to reaching the end of my tether and giving up, a miracle occurred in the guise of Dr. Flynn, Sir's therapist. Soon, all that I needed to please Sir was at my fingertips. Discovering how and why he chose his submissives, the reasons he eventually cut them all loose and how he became a Dominant was critical to my progress. I'd been handed the blueprint to Sir's personality and I was nothing if not rigorous in my attention to detail.
My world enlarged itself as I determined all the aspects of my lifestyle that I would have to change or cultivate in order to become indispensable. Eating was a very important concern for Sir, thus in his world, sex and food were inextricably linked. He had a visceral reaction to what he considered food waste, and loved to watch me eat. Scouring floors with weighted plugs and nipple clamps didn't excite his interest, but get a fork in my mouth and he became immediately focused.
I began to elevate food consumption to an act of foreplay. And during my spare time, I enrolled in cooking courses to excite Sir's discerning palate. Being a visual artist helped me create dramatic presentations for Sir's pleasure. If my dishes were especially pleasing, Sir would sometimes apportion them across my prone form and eat them off or from me. One particularly sumptuous dessert of honey balsamic strawberries with whipped vanilla crème fraîche featured in the most spectacular bout of cunnilingus I'd ever experienced.
Sir could eat pussy like nobody's business, despite the fact that he rarely bothered with the practice. Like kissing, it too was as scarce as fresh, cool water in a barren desert. He resented the intimacy of kissing and it extended to both orifices. So sure he had many ways of stimulating my sex but even during cunnilingus, he clearly maintained his boundaries, ensuring that he was never perceived as submissive, even during the act.
I was always tightly bound and folded into strange positions as he forced me to absorb the pleasure as I slowly went out of my mind, often screaming myself hoarse with the sharp, yet exquisite, sensations bombarding my body. And these were acts Sir was loath to perform, so one can only imagine how masterful and attentive Sir was to the the acts he liked.
He specialized in caning and rope bondage. I had seen the latter art performed in a few clubs and been impressed by the accuracy and intensity of a professional bakushi, but Sir was clearly an adept. I once asked him where he learned shibari as it was an art that took some decades to master but he retreated someplace deep in his mind, becoming quite cold to me and robotically terminated the scene. He later admitted that it was not shibari, but would explain no further.
When it came to caning, Sir had no equal. The power and strength of a tiger was contained in his lean, whipcord form. His shoulders wide and long, sculpted arms gave hours of pleasure. I used to wonder how a person could experience such a level of prolonged pleasure and not die.
The frequency of my forays into subspace was astounding. No wonder Sir had subs dedicated to him even years after their terminations. They had even established and dedicated a support group in Sir's honor, jokingly dubbed the Sub Club. Since every sub had also subbed for Sir, it came as no surprise that the main topic of conversation was one Christian Grey.
How often and how hard he fucked. Positions and how he manipulated our bodies. How limber a sub needed to be to prevent cramps the days following one of his marathon sessions. How large his cock was and insane proposals to request a mold be created to provide them all with silicone copies. Farfetched, ridiculous shit that Sir would never consider. Meeting Sir's current sub allowed them to continue fucking him by proxy, so they were eminently helpful, offering advice and useful tips to keep Sir calibrated so he didn't go thermonuclear at the office, ultimately jeopardizing the economy of Washington. An outsider would never conceive of how much effort went into keeping Sir sucked and fucked to his satisfaction. As far as we were concerned, we were providing a public service.
Despite the fact that we all proudly tooled around in virtually identical red Audis, I'd convinced myself that only I knew Sir's secret heart and I solely would be allowed to claim it. Perhaps the subs before me once believed the same thing, but I was special. I was allowed to spend far more time with Sir than the others. Sure, he didn't speak to me, and I was relegated to the corner like a long-forgotten piece of furniture, but accessibility was all I desired. To bask in his presence was all I required. Eventually, the rest would come. I just knew it.
Therefore, I enacted another phase of my plan. I began a subtle tug-of-war between neediness and independence. There seemed to be nothing as fulfilling to Sir as being needed while being able to troubleshoot and problem-solve. The real work was being needy, but not so much that my actions could be construed as greed or clinginess. Those attitudes were Sir's unspoken hard limits.
Since he took me shopping a few times, I'd assumed that this would be a regular practice, but, to my quickly masked disappointment, he never invited me again, as once his contacts had taken my measurements, they no longer needed me for in-person fittings. I worked hard to maintain my physique, afraid to risk anything that might cause Sir to become dissatisfied with me. I even attended pilates with a couple of Sir's former submissives. The diet sheet was my Holy Grail. I even sought out a nutritionist which Sir paid for, nodding his head approvingly at my initiative. Mens sana in corpore sano - A healthy mind in a healthy body was his byword, although how firmly he ascribed to the healthy mind was no-one's guess.
Last week's scene left me wondering what message Master was attempting to convey. He left me bound while he jacked himself off to completion. The song about the hunter getting captured by the game… Was he trying to tell me he'd fallen for me despite the contract? Was he worried about how to approach me? I couldn't let this awful misunderstanding tear us apart.
I regularly presented myself to Mistress for inspection and maintenance. I used almost all the services Esclava had to offer at Sir's expense. Waxing, massage, facials, body wraps, manicures, pedicures, hydration, full body masques and polishing. Sir didn't want to find any evidence of hair on my body (not even fuzz), unless it was my eyebrows, eyelashes or the hair on my head. No landing strips for Sir. He wanted my pussy smooth and accessible with no stray hairs to get caught in the chains and bindings. It was mostly for my benefit, though I was also sure that he appreciated the aesthetic.
Mistress rarely attended me personally, so I felt especially grateful for her setting time aside for my treatment. Sure, she oversaw my overall services and made sure to check on my satisfaction with the contract, but little did I realize that she had weekly scheduled dinners or lunches with Sir. It was never listed on his schedule, but they happened as sure as the rising and setting of the sun. She knew everything and had finally decided to make her move. Her timing, like everything else about her, was impeccable.
First, she carefully assessed my hair and scalp, focusing more on certain areas. She commented stiffly, "You were due for a trim two weeks ago, missy. And you also haven't been using the shampoo and conditioner I recommended. Your hair and scalp are so dry, I could use them for kindling. The gloss you applied might fool some people, but to me it just looks like accelerant."
I winced at her admonition as Mistress only continued her litany of complaints. "You've also been straightening your own hair (badly). Obviously not using the flat-iron I suggested. There's some signs of heat damage, but I can repair some of the it. Shame. I was hoping to put some small highlights in your hair, to really make it pop, but I imagine that's shot to hell," she went on scathingly.
"Sir doesn't want my hair changed," I stupidly interjected.
"Sir likes long, healthy hair that can withstand rigorous pulling and yanking, but I don't see you providing that!" she whispered scathingly in my ear. "You were a couple weeks away from needing hair extensions. Why don't you thank me for rescuing your mane like a good little girl and stop thinking? Confusion does nothing for your complexion."
"Yes, Mistress," I replied lowly, chagrined at her chastisement.
"Look, why don't you just tell me what's really going on?" she asked, inviting me to confide in her. "You're rebellious, talking out of turn, unfocused… Your hair is a mess. This is not a good reflection on me and all I've been doing to help you. Have I been wasting my time?"
"Sir," I began haltingly. "Sir and I are no longer on the same page. I want more and I'm beginning to think he wants more, too, but no matter what I've done, nothing has changed," I confessed, tears of frustration and despair gathering in my eyes. "I don't know what to do," I implored.
"Well, that is a problem, but it doesn't sound like an insurmountable obstacle. The key is to adequately communicate your needs to your Sir. By refusing to express your needs from him, you are denying him true submission. You're playing a game of subterfuge," she stated firmly. "This whole attitude of yours reeks of dishonesty. Trust me. Sir will be most displeased. How long has this been going on?" she inquired clinically, as if she was attempting to solve some complex equation.
"Well, it began a couple months before we reached our first anniversary. I had been with him longer than any other sub," I stated proudly, as she gave me a curious look, head titled in dismay.
"The length of time is not the issue. As long as you are doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result, you're going to be doomed to disappointment," she retorted, as she carefully parted my hair, applying some sweetly scented serum to my scalp and locks, thoroughly saturated each area, massaging it in gently. It was warming and invigorating. I relaxed into the chair as she focused on my nape. I had stored up so much tension and I hadn't realized it until I made my confession.
"Leila, I'm telling you this as a friend. You need to be very clear with Sir or you are headed for a world of hurt. If you don't tell him how you feel, you're only cheating yourself out of the rewarding relationship that you can have with him. If you let your courage fail you, you may as well just say good-bye now. Men are simple creatures. They know nothing unless we tell them. Sometimes diagrams may be involved," she stated sagely, lightly bumping my shoulder in a show of solidarity.
"But I'm his sub," I replied glumly, trying to convey my dilemma without appearing desperate.
"…and the sub holds all the power. How did Eleanor put it? No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Besides, as far as BDSM negotiations are concerned, you are equals."
"Oh. Who's Eleanor?"
"Don't you worry your little head about who she is. She's just an old client. Remember what I said. Either put on your big girl panties, or say…"
"Good-Bye," I ended sadly.
"Treatment's done. I'll call Franco to complete your shampoo, condition and trim. Never miss another appointment. Don't make me have to retrieve you from Sir's apartment," she added conspiratorially, with a laugh.
"Thank you for your advice, Mistress," I answered, grateful for her aid.
"No problem. It's what I'm here for."
Walking out of the salon, I briefly wondered why I hardly ever went to the Bravern location. I shook my head. No worries. I need to plan how to explain my needs to Sir.