I arrive at the bar early for a drink and some time to settle in to the evening and calm my nerves. I end up drinking mostly water. I am seated facing the door and waiting, knowing that within the first ten seconds of Him arriving I will be able to assess whether or not this was a mistake. Why am I here? What is it in me that makes me crave this? What is it about Him specifically that pulls me in in a way that others do not?
He makes His entrance and something in me settles. It’s not relaxation or relief exactly, just maybe a clear focus and resolve. This is happening and it’s what I want. He is a palpable presence and my desire to serve Him is immediate. He is training me while we are at the table, quickly correcting my mistakes. I’ve never had any kind of training before. I have much to learn but I am eager. I don’t want to disappoint.
“Eyes down, elle.”
“Offer the drink to me with both hands, elle.”
He calls me elle. Every slave needs a slave’s name and many Masters consider it a great honor to be the one to bestow it.
I’m in the bathroom fumbling with the collar He requested I wear out of the bar. It takes longer than it should for me to come out with it on because my hands are shaking a little and my mind is such a swirl that it takes me a minute to figure out the clasping mechanism. There is something very ceremonial and natural about me putting it on. The cool silver links drape effortlessly around my neck. I feel a thrill as the metal ring clinks shut. I am elle.
When I return to the table I can tell He is ready to leave. I realize I am too. As previously instructed, I move the straw to the other glass as a sign. We leave. I am walking slowly because I have worn high heels for Him and I’m a little unsteady on my feet. We arrive at His door and He blindfolds and leashes me before entering. I am disoriented but determined, following blindly. I have no choice but to trust. He spits in my mouth. It shocks me. It also puts me in my place. I am beneath Him at that moment. I lick His palm. I lick His shoes. I am a slave. I am His dog.
I am kneeling at some sort of bench, cuffed and chained as He begins to introduce me to the impact scene. We run the paces from His version of levels one through four. I think He’s using a crop but I can’t tell for sure. I know He is really only just getting started but I quickly slip into some sort of altered state. I am hot and dizzy and floaty. He asks me if I’m drunk. I am not drunk but I am transformed, already in sub space. Mentally I know I have to pace myself but my body betrays me and I become inarticulate. He allows me a much-needed break while I try to compose myself for Him. I don’t want to let Him down.
I lap vodka from a dog bowl.
I am now standing against a wall, gagged, with my hands chained above my head as the intensity throttles up. He is experimenting with my body, reading my reactions, correcting my mistakes. He plays me like a sadistic instrument. He runs a sharp metal pinwheel across my skin and wields a heavy leather strap that cracks loudly against my body. I am drunk from the pain. He allows me to orgasm from it but I am not sufficiently grateful and He is very displeased with me. Disgusted even. He almost kicks me out and I am horrified. I don’t want to go. I have let Him down. I’m not worthy. I don’t know how to be a slave. I want Him to show me.
I think He eventually sees how repentant I am for my ungratefulness and unworthiness and He allows me to stay. I cry for so many reasons. Shame for not being good enough, relief from being allowed to stay, happiness from knowing I am where I should be and what I am meant to be doing, and overall release from being broken down by Him.
I am now on my back on the floor and He is fucking me. He calls it rape. I panic quietly. I’ve been raped before and for a split second I am back in that experience, the word triggering me. I struggle to regain my composure and return myself to the present but I understand what He means. This is not sex. I am His receptacle. I am just a hole He is using for His pleasure. I accept that. He feels good inside me and I am grateful. I am instructed to be perfectly silent as I listen to Him release.
He asks if I want to start winding things down for the evening and I say yes. I kneel by His bed and He pets me gently and teaches me about jazz as we listen and I try to float back into reality. We laugh and chat. He is patient as I slowly put myself back together, dressing myself, gathering my things. I am no longer elle; I am Grace again, for now.
He removes the blindfold just as He shuts the door behind me. The hallway light seems so bright. The world starts to snap back into focus but I am still deeply into sub space. I stumble as if I’m drunk. I know I’m a mess. I hope no one is watching me. I get into the Lyft and accidentally reply “Yes Sir” to the driver when he asks me a question. I laugh to myself. I don’t think he minds.
The ride home is long and riddled with traffic. I pull out my phone and read the backlog of text messages. I respond to a few but I’m still disoriented so I say my goodnights. The car arrives at my door and I pour myself out of it and directly into bed, replaying the evening in my head as I slip quickly into a deep sleep. I wake up a few hours later with a start. Right then I receive a text from Him, as if He knew I had just woken up. I confirm I’ve arrived home safely and agree to this writing assignment. I fall back into a deep sleep with Him on my mind.
I’m a slave now. I am elle.