The Journal (Her Master's Voice) (3 page)

The shock snapped my head to one side. I felt sure I must be branded, his hand print burned forever into my skin for everyone to see. Branded his plaything, his toy. Why else would I bear his marks upon my skin? He knew how vulnerable this made me feel, was fully aware how much I struggled to look at him afterwards even after all this time, yet I knew he demanded absolute obedience; that he expected to use me for his pleasure. I raised my head, willingly, looking into his eyes again. I deserved to be slapped for what I had done. I couldn’t speak, could not say the words without his permission, but I hoped he could see it in my eyes. As it pleases you, my Lord, my Master… Always.

He slapped me again and again, once more on my left cheek, again across my right. I lost count. I was lost. It took everything I had to look at him again, to hold my face ready to be slapped again or stroked, but somehow I did. I had to. For him. Ever for him. Nothing else mattered.

My cheeks burned white hot but I knew I pleased him. He kissed me hard, so passionately that I didn’t know where he ended and I began. I could feel his erection pressing against my body and my juices wetted the tops of my thighs. I managed to control my breathing, managed not to show my arousal. It was not for me to do that unless he allowed it.

He broke off the kiss and slapped me across the face once more. I brought my eyes back to his quickly, but it seemed he was done, for now. His hand slipped between my legs, touching the wetness that I could not control, could not hide. He brought his hand to my face but this time he smudged my lipstick, wiping it across my face, smearing and washing away my make up with my own juices. Again, yet again, until there could have been very little left of the carefully painted, lady-like and together image I had presented when I first entered this room, however long ago.

He lowered me to the floor carefully, gently cradling my head, and touched between my legs one final time to smear my juices all over my face. I was overcome with emotion - pain, guilt, and the aching need to give him whatever he desired. Tears spilled over and ran down my cheeks.

He walked away and I lay quietly, feeling brought down, stripped bare, even though I was still fully clothed. My tears dripped slowly to pool onto the wooden floor below me.

I could not look at him. I dared not, but my ears strained, listening for any sound to tell me what might happen next, and I heard the creak of his leather chair as he sat down...

Say something. Say something now. Tell him, I said to myself, the confession hovering right on the tip of my tongue.

But the words would not come.

S
tay where you are. I want to ask you something. If you lie to me or try to hide the truth even a little, we’re done, okay? We will be over.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I want to ask you about my journal. The one that you are forbidden to look at.”

“Yes, Master.”

Suddenly there was a tremble in her voice. He knew she had looked in his journal because he had seen her do it. He knew she would admit it. The stakes were too high not to.

“Did you look inside?”

“Sir... I...”

He gave her the full throated voice. He knew this would make her dissolve and the sobs wouldn’t stop anytime soon.

“Did you the fuck look in my journal?”

She went into what appeared like a body shock. She writhed on the floor, obviously wishing that a hole would appear to swallow her up. She calmed herself just enough to speak.

“Yes, Sir.”

Her voice was a whisper, barely audible.

He kept his silence. He kept his breath low, his mood elusive.

She knew that she had done the hard part but she also knew that admission is just a prelude to inquisition.

After what must have seemed to her like an age, he questioned her in the softest, most gentle of tones; as if he were simply asking her if she had seen his car keys.

“Why did you do it?”

She sniffed and rolled over away from him; she was unable to hide the shame covering her face and she didn’t want him to witness it. She spoke slowly, hesitantly, as if each word were a struggle to find.

“Sir... I... I was a little unclear about one of your instructions. I... did not want to trouble you. Oh Sir, I’m so sorry...”

He gave her no comfort. He said nothing.

She knew that he would vent his fury on her but he would decide when to enact that punishment.

“Let me get this clear. You knew it was wrong?”

“Yes, Sir. I knew immediately that...

“And yet you did it? And you never thought to tell me. I had to drag out of you.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir. I was going to tell you, I swear. I’ve been trying to tell you ever since. I know I should have. And I couldn’t say it. And I knew it was wrong and I only looked on one page because...”

“Oh you only looked on one page!” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh well, that’s all right then. Why are we making such a fuss?”

She quailed away from him, shaken by his anger.

“So you looked on one page.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And does that make it right? Don’t bother to answer that. You know the answer already. So you did do it, even though I explicitly told you not to.”

“Y-yes, Sir. I… I really am so sorry to have displeased you.”

“Then why did you do it? If you didn’t want to displease me, why the fuck did you do it?”

“I’m so sor…”

“Just shut the fuck up. Do you really think you’re the best person to be talking right now? As you did it, did you not even think to yourself how galactically senseless and thoughtless, and pathetic you were being?”

There was no answer to that. Her voice dissolved into sobs.

Without a word, he rose from his chair and walked over to where she lay. He turned her face to look at his. Eyes firmly fixed on hers and knowing that she would not dare to look away, he spoke softly and slowly.

“So you
did
look in my journal. You did do it, knowing it would not please me. Knowing that it was just plain wrong.”

He spoke the next three words slowly, accented and with a tremendous anger in his voice.

“How dare you?”

He did not let her escape his scrutiny. He held her eyes for a long time. Longer than made sense, but it pleased him to do it.

“You... you are going to regret that you did that. You are going to regret that so fucking much. Do you understand me?”

Barely audible and still looking straight into his eyes, she said, “Yes, Sir.”

I
don’t know how long I lay there trying desperately to speak. It might have been only seconds or many long minutes. No way to tell how long he had been quietly contemplating me or what he was thinking.

His voice broke the silence.

“Stay where you are. I want to ask you something. If you lie to me or try to hide the truth even a little, we’re done, okay? We will be over.”

A cold stone dropped into the pit of my stomach. I had never heard him so serious. He knew I would not lie to him. I trembled, feeling sure I knew what he was going to ask.

“Yes, Master,” I said, my voice high and shocked, tears already pricking at the corners of my eyes.

“I want to ask you about my journal. The one that you are forbidden to look at.”

My eyes widened and I took in a painfully sharp, guilty breath. No. Oh no. He knew. I shouldn’t have done it, I knew I shouldn’t. And I should have told him. I should have confessed at once.

“Yes, Master.” I couldn’t keep my voice from trembling.

I looked at the floor, waiting for the axe to fall; waiting for him to ask what I knew was coming next.

“Did you look at it?”

“Sir… I…” I stopped, my throat tightening with unshed tears, and for a moment I couldn’t speak.

“Did you the fuck look in my journal?”

I squirmed on the hard wooden floor, my whole body tensing and curling up to protect itself. My face burned red with shame at his words and I closed my eyes and tried to turn my head away from him, wanting to find a way to hide from his gaze. I realised I hadn’t given him an answer and hurried to speak.

“Yes, Sir.” My voice was so quiet, the words so hard to articulate that I said them and then wondered if I had said them aloud or just in my mind.

I must have spoken out loud because he asked me so softly, as if he could never have shouted at me like he had a few moments ago; “Why did you do it?”

It was his gentleness that undid me. I didn’t deserve it. I felt so ashamed that I couldn’t bear it any longer. I swallowed a sob and, despite my bound wrists, somehow managed to turn over, away from those piercing blue eyes.

I tried to remember what on earth I had been thinking. Surely I could have found a better way than to open his journal. I just remembered not wanting to disturb him when I knew he was so busy, and not wanting to let him down or to make a mistake. And this was what I did instead? How could I have?

I tried to explain, knowing that really I couldn’t. There was nothing I could say that would excuse this.

“Sir... I... I was a little unclear about one of your instructions. I... did not want to trouble you. Oh Sir, I’m so sorry...”

I stumbled haltingly to the end and waited, trembling, for what would come next.

Another agonising silence. No acknowledgement of my apology, no reassurance that it would be okay.

Guilt threatened to overwhelm me. I knew I’d done wrong. Worse than that, I knew I’d hurt him. I’d hurt my Master. If ever I needed him to punish me, I needed it then to set everything right between us. I needed it to release me from my guilt.

He would not be kind, I knew that. He had the right to punish me whenever he wished and I knew he would for this. I deserved it. I welcomed it. I wondered what anyone else outside this type of relationship would make of it. What would they see? An act of cruelty? But he wasn’t being cruel. It was just and fair that I be punished. And he was doing what needed to be done.

Right there, I wanted to beg him to punish me. I needed it so badly that I’m still not sure what kept me from kneeling at his feet and begging.

The silence stretched on.

Then the interrogation began. Rapid fire questions that I had to race to answer.

“You knew it was wrong?”

“Yes, Sir. I knew immediately that...

“And yet you did it? And you never thought to tell me. I had to drag out of you.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir. I was going to tell you, I swear. I’ve been trying to tell you ever since. I know I should have. And I couldn’t say it. And I knew it was wrong and I only looked on one page because...”

“Oh you only looked on one page! Oh well, that’s all right then. Why are we making such a fuss?”

I wilted under his sarcasm.

“So you looked on one page.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And does that make it right? Don’t bother to answer that. You know the answer already. So you did do it, even though I explicitly told you not to.”

I almost stumbled over my tongue in my haste to apologise.

“Y-yes, Sir. I… I really am so sorry to have displeased you.”