Songficish
“This is a big responsibility, boy. Will you be good and make sure everything is done properly?” My Mistress had asked, glancing at the long list of instructions she had left on her coffee table.
“Yes, Mistress Abigail. I will be good,” I responded. Her instructions were clear, and I had house sat before. I was not concerned about my ability to comply with her instructions.
At least, that had been two weeks ago. It is easy to become distracted and lax with instructions that are minutely detailed, especially when there is no one to supervise you. I was certain that everything would look as though it had been done to the letter when my Mistress returned however. Her cat’s box was clean, her house was clean, her mail was sorted, and her television was set back to the same channel it had been on when she left.
I arrived to pick my Mistress up at the airport Sunday morning right on time, and returned her to the apartment. I carried her bags carefully inside, and my Mistress instructed me to unpack them in the bedroom while she took care of some work in the office. I obeyed, neatly putting her business suit, casual clothing, and toiletries away. When I was finished, and had returned her empty suitcase to it’s place in her closet, I stood in her bedroom and waited.
Eventually, I sat on her chair and waited. My mind wandered. I watched out her bedroom window at some children playing in the park next door. My stomach began to rumble.
The door to the bedroom slammed open, revealing my Mistress glaring at me, nearly uncontrolled rage apparent on her face. I jumped to my feet, startled, and looked at her in confusion.
“Come with me,” she said in a very quiet voice.
I followed quickly behind her into the office, and my heart sank as I saw what was on her computer. A low-resolution black and white video feed showed a picture of me, sitting on her couch, with the remote control in my hand. I realized from the angle that the camera was right on top of the fireplace mantle. Humiliated, I hung my head.
“Must you… be supervised… constantly?” She demanded in a low growl. I felt tears coming to my eyes. I should have known she would have a way to make sure I behaved! What could I say?
“Yes, Mistress Abigail. I think so.”
“You think so? You think? I don’t believe you thought at all. I don’t think you thought of my trust in you, of the well being of my cat, or your own hide.” She took a deep breath, visibly working to calm herself. I was shaking too, terrified that she would simply cast me out and tell me to never return. I wanted to curl up on the floor, cry, and beg her forgiveness, but I could think of nothing that would help the situation so I waited.
“You have a choice. You can leave. Now. This can end. Now. Or… you may stay, and take what punishment I feel is necessary. If, during your punishment, you feel that it has surpassed your limits, you will safe word, dress, and leave. You will not return. If you are still here when I am done punishing you, perhaps… perhaps you will not have to go. Do you understand?” She asked. Her voice was low and firm. This was not up for discussion, even if I had felt I could discuss it with her.
“I… I understand Mistress Abigail. I will stay. I will take your punishment. I wish to show you I am sorry.”
“You will be far more than sorry, you stupid boy. You will beg my forgiveness, and still I will not be done punishing you.” She paused, still calming herself with deep breaths. “Do you have sick time available to you at work?”
“Yes Mistress Abigail. I have four days sick time.” I responded.
“Call your workplace. Leave a message saying you will be out tomorrow. Leave my number saying they can speak with you here. Then go to the bedroom. Strip naked, and leave your clothing folded neatly on the chair.”
“Yes Mistress Abigail.” I fled from the room, not quite running, and rushed to the nearest telephone. I dialed work, and left a brief message on my boss’ answering machine. I knew he would not call, but I left the number anyway. Then I continued into the bedroom as my Mistress closed the curtains in her living room and pulled open the door to the living room closet. I was naked as quickly as possible, and stood, with silent tears sliding down my cheeks.
I could hear the sound of wood and metal from the living room, but my Mistress did not call for me. I waited, wondering what she was doing, and growing chilly from standing naked in her bedroom. Nonetheless, I waited longer, until I was sobbing quietly, my shoulders shaking. Would she give more than I could take? Would I use my safe word under her lash, and leave in disgrace? I was willing to risk the possibility, but I was terrified.
After long minutes, my sobbing calmed, and I stood sniffing. My Mistress appeared in the doorway, and crossed to her closet. She pulled her traveling clothes off one piece at a time, and left them on the floor. The she turned to me, her naked body showing tense muscles.
“Put these in the laundry hamper,” she ordered, motioning briefly to the clothing. “Then take my toy chest into the living room, and leave it next to the cross I set up. Wait for me there.”
She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower as I carefully put her clothing into the hamper. Then I lugged the large chest from the foot of her bed out into the living room, where she had set up a large black cross against a wall that was usually empty. She had moved a loveseat slightly to one side, but it was clear that this part of the wall had been used for this cross before. In fact, I could see small marks on the green wallpaper left by the cross’ black paint on some previous occasion.
When the toy chest was set in front of the TV I waited again, but this time not for very long before the shower turned off. I heard rustling for a few minutes, and then Mistress Abigail appeared again in the doorway. She had dressed in a pair of slightly scuffed combat boots, a black satin skirt that barely covered her bottom, and a black satin bra. Her long hair was wrapped up in a bun held by two black sticks.
My Mistress crossed to the chest, opened it with a combination I could not see, and inspected the contents. She pulled out first a black collar that I had worn many times before, and placed it around my neck. Then she added a padlock to the back of it, and snapped it in place. I stood passively, still sniffing when necessary. Then she pulled a small black contraption from the box, and applied the leather cage to my genitals. It was a series of small black straps that effectively bound my cock and balls quite firmly. I doubted I would be fully aroused any time soon, but I could tell if I were that it would be an uncomfortable experience. A small metal ring was attached to the top of the cage, and my Mistress attached to that a chain that eventually led up to a pair of cloverleaf clamps. She applied these unceremoniously to my nipples.
This hurt. It was the first bit of genuine pain I had felt from her this day, and some small amount of relief came from that. If I was hurting, she would be feeling better. As long as I was hurting I was doing penance for my misbehavior.
The last thing I saw come out of the chest was a black blindfold. She set this around my face, blocking my sight of what she could be doing.
“Can you see?” She asked.
“No Mistress Abigail.”
Finally, she turned me around, and set my body against the cross. The chains on my nipples pulled slightly against it, sharpening the pain for a moment. I breathed through it, and kept quiet. I felt fur lined cuffs placed gently around my wrists, and then they were connected to the cross with my arms out and up. The same was done to my ankles, making my lean some of my weight onto the cross. I relaxed against it, with my head rocking forward slightly. It wasn’t uncomfortable… yet.
I felt a soft round ball being placed into one of my hands.
“This is your safe word. If you drop this ball, I will stop. Remember… if you safe word, if you drop this ball, I stop forever. Not just for today. Understand?”
“I understand Mistress Abigail,” I replied. I squeezed the ball, determined to hold on tightly.
I could hear her walk away a small way, and then the click of something electronic. Then, without much warning, loud music filled the room. The beat was fast and electronic, with a heavy thuddy back beat. It was the sort of music I thought of when I pictured what the inside of a major S&M club might be, though I had never been to something so public. There were no lyrics, at least at first.
Along with the thudding of that heavy back beat came blows on my upper back. I recognized Mistress Abigail’s light leather flogger, and the gentler touch she used when just starting out a session of flogging. The only part that hurt yet was the slight tug on my nipples with every hit, but these numbed slightly as the blows came harder and became painful in their own right.
The music seemed to bore into my skull, melding with the slowly growing pain of the leather on my back. Between songs my Mistress switched to a heavier flogger, bringing a deeper pain into the beating, and renewed the twinge of the clamps on my nipples. This pain was beginning to bring a reaction from the rest of my body, and I could feel goose bumps on my arms and legs, as well as the beginning of swelling in my groin. I couldn’t help but respond to this kind of bearable pain with an erotic response; the ideas had been too intertwined for me for a long time now. I breathed deeply both to tolerate the pain and to try to will my cock to relax.
My hand stayed firmly closed around the ball, because I felt in someway like it was my only connection to the woman hitting me. I could not hear her at all over the loud music, or even the sound of the flogger coming through the air toward me. I could hear it hit my body, but her sense of rhythm was perfect, and the thudding of leather on flesh melded into the industrial tones perfectly.
Eventually the repeated hits from the flogger were hurting badly enough that I could feel myself buckling at the knees. I was panting heavily, and would have asked her to stop if this was any other day. But because I knew if I did so I would not see her again, and because I trusted her not to do me serious injury, I held the soft ball just as tightly, and tried to focus on something else. My cock was limp again now, and my nipples totally numb, which could have been counted as a blessing, except that it only forced me to focus more on the repeated impact of her flogger.
The fourth song ended, and the blows stopped just as abruptly. Then a new sound came in, of a distinctly different song.
Tell myself, on the ride home.
Getting tired, hating all I've known.
Holding on, like it's all I have.
Count me out, when it's clear that I find it hard to say.
And you find it hard to care.
I focused on the lyrics, trying to breath off some of the agony in my back. I could hear Mistress Abigail moving behind me, and then coming up beside me. She reached over and unclipped the clamps on my nipples, causing me to cry out in pain. I couldn’t help it; the pain was just totally different and unexpected.
“Shut up boy, and listen.”
I wanted to see something that's different; something you said would change in me.
Wanted to be, anything different, everything you would change in me.
I did not know the song, but I listened to the best of my ability, thinking that changing sounded very good to me right now. I wanted to change; I wanted to be her good boy…
Got this way, upfront but never true.
God I'm wrong, it's just the way I am.
Crashing down, any chance you hear.
Caving in, any chance that you could see inside of me.
And I, I'll know what to say, It's fine.
This isn't Hollywood.
So fine, getting in your way.
Mistress Abigail’s hand came down on my bottom almost gently, once, then twice, following every other beat in the already slow song. She was somewhere between patting me and hitting me, just gently enough that it made no noise. My cock perked up to this sensation, however, sending it into it’s own uncomfortably contained world.
I wanted to see something that's different, something you said would change in me.
Wanted to be, anything different, everything you would change in me.
I'm taking a chance, this could be different.
This could be all I'm waiting for.
Taking a chance, this could be different.
This could be all I'm waiting for.
When the song ended I realized I was crying again. It wasn’t just the pain in my back, or the discomfort of the near-spanking and near-hard-on I was experiencing. It was also that the song had pretty much identified how I was feeling. I did want to be her good boy, I did want to behave for her, and I did want to be a very different person than the lazy jerk this experience had shown me to be.
There was a long pause after the song, and then a slower version of the heavy industrial rock that had been playing earlier returned. My Mistress’ spanking increased with it, in both tempo and force. Soon, she was coming down as hard on my ass as she had been on my back. After one song she switched to a paddle, and got both cheeks until they stung so badly I expected that I would not be able to sit for several days.
I was sagging at the knees again, allowing the cross and my wrist cuffs to hold me up. Tears had soaked the blindfold and I could nearly hear my own sobbing over the mind-pounding beat of the music.
After the second heavy song the music ended, leaving a ringing in my ears. I was acutely aware of the heaviness of my Mistress’ breathing, and I was not surprised that she chose that time to unhook first my ankles, and then my wrists from the cross. I collapsed on the floor, unable to hold myself up, and kneeled there, panting and sobbing for a few long minutes while I heard my Mistress moving about and turning on a faucet. She returned, and pulled my blindfold off my face. The room was darker, lit only by the light from her bedroom, and she was holding a large glass of water out to me.
“Drink,” she commanded. I did, swallowing the full glass even though my stomach was clenched. She reached down and unclipped the chain from the cage round my cock, and tossed it, the leather cuffs, and the blindfold into the toy box, which she then closed and locked.
“Lay down,” she ordered. I flopped onto the carpet, shaking as the room spun around me. She went back into the kitchen, refilled the glass, and set it on top of the toy chest.
“You may have more water if you need it. You may use the second bathroom if you need it. Otherwise, stay there. I will see you when I am ready. I suggest you try to sleep.”
She turned, and went into her room and closed the door. I closed my eyes in the darkness and began to cry again.
It wasn’t until I had nearly fallen asleep that I realized I was still holding the small soft ball in my tightly clenched fist
“Yes, Mistress Abigail. I will be good,” I responded. Her instructions were clear, and I had house sat before. I was not concerned about my ability to comply with her instructions.
At least, that had been two weeks ago. It is easy to become distracted and lax with instructions that are minutely detailed, especially when there is no one to supervise you. I was certain that everything would look as though it had been done to the letter when my Mistress returned however. Her cat’s box was clean, her house was clean, her mail was sorted, and her television was set back to the same channel it had been on when she left.
I arrived to pick my Mistress up at the airport Sunday morning right on time, and returned her to the apartment. I carried her bags carefully inside, and my Mistress instructed me to unpack them in the bedroom while she took care of some work in the office. I obeyed, neatly putting her business suit, casual clothing, and toiletries away. When I was finished, and had returned her empty suitcase to it’s place in her closet, I stood in her bedroom and waited.
Eventually, I sat on her chair and waited. My mind wandered. I watched out her bedroom window at some children playing in the park next door. My stomach began to rumble.
The door to the bedroom slammed open, revealing my Mistress glaring at me, nearly uncontrolled rage apparent on her face. I jumped to my feet, startled, and looked at her in confusion.
“Come with me,” she said in a very quiet voice.
I followed quickly behind her into the office, and my heart sank as I saw what was on her computer. A low-resolution black and white video feed showed a picture of me, sitting on her couch, with the remote control in my hand. I realized from the angle that the camera was right on top of the fireplace mantle. Humiliated, I hung my head.
“Must you… be supervised… constantly?” She demanded in a low growl. I felt tears coming to my eyes. I should have known she would have a way to make sure I behaved! What could I say?
“Yes, Mistress Abigail. I think so.”
“You think so? You think? I don’t believe you thought at all. I don’t think you thought of my trust in you, of the well being of my cat, or your own hide.” She took a deep breath, visibly working to calm herself. I was shaking too, terrified that she would simply cast me out and tell me to never return. I wanted to curl up on the floor, cry, and beg her forgiveness, but I could think of nothing that would help the situation so I waited.
“You have a choice. You can leave. Now. This can end. Now. Or… you may stay, and take what punishment I feel is necessary. If, during your punishment, you feel that it has surpassed your limits, you will safe word, dress, and leave. You will not return. If you are still here when I am done punishing you, perhaps… perhaps you will not have to go. Do you understand?” She asked. Her voice was low and firm. This was not up for discussion, even if I had felt I could discuss it with her.
“I… I understand Mistress Abigail. I will stay. I will take your punishment. I wish to show you I am sorry.”
“You will be far more than sorry, you stupid boy. You will beg my forgiveness, and still I will not be done punishing you.” She paused, still calming herself with deep breaths. “Do you have sick time available to you at work?”
“Yes Mistress Abigail. I have four days sick time.” I responded.
“Call your workplace. Leave a message saying you will be out tomorrow. Leave my number saying they can speak with you here. Then go to the bedroom. Strip naked, and leave your clothing folded neatly on the chair.”
“Yes Mistress Abigail.” I fled from the room, not quite running, and rushed to the nearest telephone. I dialed work, and left a brief message on my boss’ answering machine. I knew he would not call, but I left the number anyway. Then I continued into the bedroom as my Mistress closed the curtains in her living room and pulled open the door to the living room closet. I was naked as quickly as possible, and stood, with silent tears sliding down my cheeks.
I could hear the sound of wood and metal from the living room, but my Mistress did not call for me. I waited, wondering what she was doing, and growing chilly from standing naked in her bedroom. Nonetheless, I waited longer, until I was sobbing quietly, my shoulders shaking. Would she give more than I could take? Would I use my safe word under her lash, and leave in disgrace? I was willing to risk the possibility, but I was terrified.
After long minutes, my sobbing calmed, and I stood sniffing. My Mistress appeared in the doorway, and crossed to her closet. She pulled her traveling clothes off one piece at a time, and left them on the floor. The she turned to me, her naked body showing tense muscles.
“Put these in the laundry hamper,” she ordered, motioning briefly to the clothing. “Then take my toy chest into the living room, and leave it next to the cross I set up. Wait for me there.”
She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower as I carefully put her clothing into the hamper. Then I lugged the large chest from the foot of her bed out into the living room, where she had set up a large black cross against a wall that was usually empty. She had moved a loveseat slightly to one side, but it was clear that this part of the wall had been used for this cross before. In fact, I could see small marks on the green wallpaper left by the cross’ black paint on some previous occasion.
When the toy chest was set in front of the TV I waited again, but this time not for very long before the shower turned off. I heard rustling for a few minutes, and then Mistress Abigail appeared again in the doorway. She had dressed in a pair of slightly scuffed combat boots, a black satin skirt that barely covered her bottom, and a black satin bra. Her long hair was wrapped up in a bun held by two black sticks.
My Mistress crossed to the chest, opened it with a combination I could not see, and inspected the contents. She pulled out first a black collar that I had worn many times before, and placed it around my neck. Then she added a padlock to the back of it, and snapped it in place. I stood passively, still sniffing when necessary. Then she pulled a small black contraption from the box, and applied the leather cage to my genitals. It was a series of small black straps that effectively bound my cock and balls quite firmly. I doubted I would be fully aroused any time soon, but I could tell if I were that it would be an uncomfortable experience. A small metal ring was attached to the top of the cage, and my Mistress attached to that a chain that eventually led up to a pair of cloverleaf clamps. She applied these unceremoniously to my nipples.
This hurt. It was the first bit of genuine pain I had felt from her this day, and some small amount of relief came from that. If I was hurting, she would be feeling better. As long as I was hurting I was doing penance for my misbehavior.
The last thing I saw come out of the chest was a black blindfold. She set this around my face, blocking my sight of what she could be doing.
“Can you see?” She asked.
“No Mistress Abigail.”
Finally, she turned me around, and set my body against the cross. The chains on my nipples pulled slightly against it, sharpening the pain for a moment. I breathed through it, and kept quiet. I felt fur lined cuffs placed gently around my wrists, and then they were connected to the cross with my arms out and up. The same was done to my ankles, making my lean some of my weight onto the cross. I relaxed against it, with my head rocking forward slightly. It wasn’t uncomfortable… yet.
I felt a soft round ball being placed into one of my hands.
“This is your safe word. If you drop this ball, I will stop. Remember… if you safe word, if you drop this ball, I stop forever. Not just for today. Understand?”
“I understand Mistress Abigail,” I replied. I squeezed the ball, determined to hold on tightly.
I could hear her walk away a small way, and then the click of something electronic. Then, without much warning, loud music filled the room. The beat was fast and electronic, with a heavy thuddy back beat. It was the sort of music I thought of when I pictured what the inside of a major S&M club might be, though I had never been to something so public. There were no lyrics, at least at first.
Along with the thudding of that heavy back beat came blows on my upper back. I recognized Mistress Abigail’s light leather flogger, and the gentler touch she used when just starting out a session of flogging. The only part that hurt yet was the slight tug on my nipples with every hit, but these numbed slightly as the blows came harder and became painful in their own right.
The music seemed to bore into my skull, melding with the slowly growing pain of the leather on my back. Between songs my Mistress switched to a heavier flogger, bringing a deeper pain into the beating, and renewed the twinge of the clamps on my nipples. This pain was beginning to bring a reaction from the rest of my body, and I could feel goose bumps on my arms and legs, as well as the beginning of swelling in my groin. I couldn’t help but respond to this kind of bearable pain with an erotic response; the ideas had been too intertwined for me for a long time now. I breathed deeply both to tolerate the pain and to try to will my cock to relax.
My hand stayed firmly closed around the ball, because I felt in someway like it was my only connection to the woman hitting me. I could not hear her at all over the loud music, or even the sound of the flogger coming through the air toward me. I could hear it hit my body, but her sense of rhythm was perfect, and the thudding of leather on flesh melded into the industrial tones perfectly.
Eventually the repeated hits from the flogger were hurting badly enough that I could feel myself buckling at the knees. I was panting heavily, and would have asked her to stop if this was any other day. But because I knew if I did so I would not see her again, and because I trusted her not to do me serious injury, I held the soft ball just as tightly, and tried to focus on something else. My cock was limp again now, and my nipples totally numb, which could have been counted as a blessing, except that it only forced me to focus more on the repeated impact of her flogger.
The fourth song ended, and the blows stopped just as abruptly. Then a new sound came in, of a distinctly different song.
Tell myself, on the ride home.
Getting tired, hating all I've known.
Holding on, like it's all I have.
Count me out, when it's clear that I find it hard to say.
And you find it hard to care.
I focused on the lyrics, trying to breath off some of the agony in my back. I could hear Mistress Abigail moving behind me, and then coming up beside me. She reached over and unclipped the clamps on my nipples, causing me to cry out in pain. I couldn’t help it; the pain was just totally different and unexpected.
“Shut up boy, and listen.”
I wanted to see something that's different; something you said would change in me.
Wanted to be, anything different, everything you would change in me.
I did not know the song, but I listened to the best of my ability, thinking that changing sounded very good to me right now. I wanted to change; I wanted to be her good boy…
Got this way, upfront but never true.
God I'm wrong, it's just the way I am.
Crashing down, any chance you hear.
Caving in, any chance that you could see inside of me.
And I, I'll know what to say, It's fine.
This isn't Hollywood.
So fine, getting in your way.
Mistress Abigail’s hand came down on my bottom almost gently, once, then twice, following every other beat in the already slow song. She was somewhere between patting me and hitting me, just gently enough that it made no noise. My cock perked up to this sensation, however, sending it into it’s own uncomfortably contained world.
I wanted to see something that's different, something you said would change in me.
Wanted to be, anything different, everything you would change in me.
I'm taking a chance, this could be different.
This could be all I'm waiting for.
Taking a chance, this could be different.
This could be all I'm waiting for.
When the song ended I realized I was crying again. It wasn’t just the pain in my back, or the discomfort of the near-spanking and near-hard-on I was experiencing. It was also that the song had pretty much identified how I was feeling. I did want to be her good boy, I did want to behave for her, and I did want to be a very different person than the lazy jerk this experience had shown me to be.
There was a long pause after the song, and then a slower version of the heavy industrial rock that had been playing earlier returned. My Mistress’ spanking increased with it, in both tempo and force. Soon, she was coming down as hard on my ass as she had been on my back. After one song she switched to a paddle, and got both cheeks until they stung so badly I expected that I would not be able to sit for several days.
I was sagging at the knees again, allowing the cross and my wrist cuffs to hold me up. Tears had soaked the blindfold and I could nearly hear my own sobbing over the mind-pounding beat of the music.
After the second heavy song the music ended, leaving a ringing in my ears. I was acutely aware of the heaviness of my Mistress’ breathing, and I was not surprised that she chose that time to unhook first my ankles, and then my wrists from the cross. I collapsed on the floor, unable to hold myself up, and kneeled there, panting and sobbing for a few long minutes while I heard my Mistress moving about and turning on a faucet. She returned, and pulled my blindfold off my face. The room was darker, lit only by the light from her bedroom, and she was holding a large glass of water out to me.
“Drink,” she commanded. I did, swallowing the full glass even though my stomach was clenched. She reached down and unclipped the chain from the cage round my cock, and tossed it, the leather cuffs, and the blindfold into the toy box, which she then closed and locked.
“Lay down,” she ordered. I flopped onto the carpet, shaking as the room spun around me. She went back into the kitchen, refilled the glass, and set it on top of the toy chest.
“You may have more water if you need it. You may use the second bathroom if you need it. Otherwise, stay there. I will see you when I am ready. I suggest you try to sleep.”
She turned, and went into her room and closed the door. I closed my eyes in the darkness and began to cry again.
It wasn’t until I had nearly fallen asleep that I realized I was still holding the small soft ball in my tightly clenched fist