Victory in No

[Deleted Member]

He was in his chair, she in her favorite spot on the floor with her head resting against his legs. Usually, he would be brushing or stroking her hair, but not tonight. He is on his phone and paying her no mind.
"Master is everything alright,"
"Yes.""
"Have I done something wrong?"
"No."
"Are you upset with me?"
"No."
"Are you mad at me?"
"No."
She puts her head back on his legs. He keeps working on his phone.
Something isn't right, she thinks to herself. He may not be in the mood to play, which has happened before, but he at least will engage with her, talk to her, and caress her hair, something. Tonight, he is almost motionless. It's as if he isn't here, and neither is she.
"Can I get you a drink, a bite to eat, something, Master?"
"No."
What could be wrong? Her mind is playing all kinds of negative thoughts and scenarios. He has lost interest, and he doesn't love her anymore. He is going to release her. Whatever it was, the silence was killing her. She has to do something.
"May I be excused to leave the room Master?"
"As you wish."
She gets up, stands for a momment, and stares at him. He doesn't even look away from his phone or blink. She slowly turns and softly walks out of the room and down the hall. She stops. Her breath gets heavier, and her heart starts pounding in her chest.
She doesn't look at it at first. She reaches up with her left hand. She runs her fingers over it. The grain of the wood feels like the welts she has received on her butt, thighs, and back. Even the door to the room feels hard and cold tonight. She turns to face the door, punches the combo in on the lock without looking, she knew it by heart as she had to come get her own form of punishment, like a child out of the old west had to pick their own switch for punishment.
The door slowly creeks open an inch or two. She takes a deep breath, breathing in the smell of leather, sweat, burnt candles, and perfumed oils. She pushes the door open and enters the room. Walks to the wall of whips, ropes, cuffs, and other objects of masters collection of joys. Then she looks down at the table. More of masters toys lay there in perfect order and arraignment. Nothing out of place. She smiles briefly as she remembers special sessions with some of her favorites.
Her pleasure quickly escapes as her eyes catch the site of the apparatus she ***s the most. There it was on the center of the table, resting on its elevated holder. She runs her fingers over it. It's smooth and polished and hard. She wraps her fingers around it and slowly picks it up. Running her hand up and down the length of it. Feeling the nubs and veins in each section. She steps away from the table while bending it and seeing the splinters, the cracks in the end. She starts to tremble and shake as she holds what she ***s the most.
Suddenly, she brings it down hard on her thigh. The sting of it makes her whimper. Her legs shake as she endures the *** of her stroke. She knows it will be more ***ful in his hands than hers. Still, she knows she has to do this. She has refused the use of it, begged it not to touch her skin. With it in her hand, she walks out of the room, closing the door behind her. The sound of the lock engaging echos through her ears.
She continues down the hall, to her room. She undresses, folding all her clothes and leaving them neatly on her bed. She takes a red satan robe off its hanger and d***s it over her shoulders. Picks a pair of heels off the closet shelf and puts them on. Picks up the toy and proceeds back up the hall. Her heels are clanking on the hardwood floor. The closer she gets to the room where he sits, her pace slows to a slow motion pace. Each step deliberate, each clank of her heel, sends *** up her body. She doesn't want to do this but knows she must.
During each session, they have it always started the same way. He asks if she trusts him, if she puts her faith in him, and if she loves him. All of which she answers yes. Tonight, she needs to prove to him that she truly means the words she says. Yes, she loves him. Yes, she has faith, and now she must prove her trust, even to herself.
She sees him still in his chair still on his phone. She steps into the room. Her head down, eyes to the floor. Her hair falls forward over her shoulders. She ever so slowly walks to the center of the room. Her heels sound like a hammer pounding steel on an anval. She can feel her *** pumping through her veins. Her heart is now in her throat.
"Master."
He does move. Not even the slightest. It's as if he is a statue. Dropping her shoulders, the robe gracefully falls off, and she shudders as it brushes her bare skin and falls to the floor. She momentarily stands there naked as the day she was born.
"Master, please." And holds out the cane in her hands.
His eyes look up at her and then back down at his phone.
She turns and walks over to the bench. With her left hand, she places the cuff around her ankle and buckles herself to the bench. Places the rod in her left hand and buckles her right ankle to the bench. Trembling with *** and scared beyond words, she leans across the cold, padded leather and buckles her left wrist to the bench. Her hair falls over and covers her face. A split second of relief as she doesn't want him to see her fainting ***. With her right unbuckled hand she lays, the bamboo cane parallels to her spine and waits.
Every sound her body is making sounds ten times louder than ever. She didn't hear him move. Suddenly, she feels his rough callius hand grab her wrist and buckle it to the bench. Gently brushes his finger across her cheek, wiping a tear off. He picks up the cane and then bends over to kiss the back of her head. Then her back.
"Thank you Master. I have faith in you and love you Master and i, Trust you will cherish the *** I have of your cane."
She heard the whoosh as the cane was raised and felt the smile on his face as it came down across her butt. She shuddered and bit her lip as she endured the *** ripple through her body.