Smoke and Mirrors

The Sub

He crawled toward her, ashamed and embarrassed.

He knew his lack of self-confidence had gotten him into this position, but that wasn't what drew such raw, gut-wrenching emotion from him. His Mistress was disappointed with him, and knowing that tore him up. He hated when she was upset with him.

This was Zack's second D/s relationship, although the first couldn't really be considered D/s. It was more like a sadistic woman who liked to abuse, and a sub who didn't really understand what power exchange actually meant.

All he'd known was that he had a yearning to please women. To let go of all the darkness that inhibited him and allow another to take control of him, even if the control was only for an intense session.

His first Mistress was happy to beat him, not for punishment or because he did something wrong, but because she loved the power wielding a cat or a cane gave her. Zack didn't realize that this wasn't a healthy Dom/sub relationship, for he was new to the lifestyle.

When he went to hospital for what he suspected was a broken rib after a session with his first Mistress, he was seen to by a woman with the softest and most caring brown eyes he'd ever seen.

Of course he didn't know it, but she was a Domme. She automatically recognized in him the beautiful traits of a true submissive.

Lowered eyes, willingness to please, and of course the strength it took to embrace such a lifestyle.

The doctor spoke to Zack at great length, and although she had a moral obligation to report the monster he was currently seeing, she chose to try a different approach.

There was just something about him...maybe his timid, shy ways, or his hypnotic blue eyes that called to her. She wanted to protect him, to guide him, but mostly, to teach him.

She invited him to the local BDSM club as her guest to observe, so he could truly understand what a D/s relationship was.

Zack debated going, but after drawing up a pro-and-con list, he chose to go to the club. When he found the doctor, he kneeled beside her on the soft carpet and watched everything as it took place. Her hand gently petted him as he witnessed first-hand the correct forms of a D/s relationship.

His eyes grew large, and his heartbeat raced inside his chest. He watched the Doms (mostly male) play with their submissives (mostly female), and he watched as the subs begged for the stern, yet loving hands of their Doms. He saw that the play here was all consensual, sane, safe, and surprisingly loving. Not once did any submissive use their safe word, and he wondered about that.

He'd used his many times, only to have his Mistress continue to flail away at him, ignoring his pleas to stop. But watching these submissives become aroused by the caressing touches of their Doms made him begin to comprehend the awful situation he had been in.

He finally understood that what he had with the Mistress that landed him in hospital was not love. It wasn't even BDSM. It was a woman on a power trip, a demon, a sadistic temptress who hurt others just for the sick fun of it.

But now, three months later, Zack crawled toward the doctor, and his heart was hurting. She told him that she didn't want him to disrespect himself any longer, nor did she want to hear him say that he felt like a failure for not understanding the signs.

Today at lunch, he had looked at the doctor and told her that he 'felt like a fucking idiot'. His new Mistress snapped her eyes to him and put down her fork. He could tell she was angry.

"I've told you on more than one occasion that I won't allow you to think such things about yourself, and secondly, you swore to me that you would not. You're also aware that I do NOT tolerate such vulgar words," Mistress had said, making Zack lower his eyes in shame.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," he replied, completely ashamed.

"Tonight I'll give you ten strokes of the cane for your persistent self-loathing. You will not come, and all play is suspended for a week."

Torture! That's all that Zack thought.

Not being able to please his Mistress was the ultimate in punishments. He'd happily take the ten strokes, or even more. But knowing that he'd not be able to pleasure her or please her, ripped his damned heart out.

"Yes, Mistress," Zack said, trying to be the good submissive he knew she wanted, although he was fighting back the emotion attempting to tear out of his chest.

Now Zack was kneeling beside the whipping bench. His head hung low, his body alive but regretting that it was his own mouth that got him here.

He sat back on his haunches, waiting for his Mistress's command.

"I'm disappointed," she started, and his heart broke at hearing those words.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," he said in a small, defeated voice.

"Why are we here, Zachery?" She only used his full name when she was incredibly upset with him.

"Because I used bad language and called myself a name," Zack said, trying not to reinforce the negative thoughts that seemed to run through his head incessantly.

"Up on the bench. Thread your wrists through the leather straps, bottom up in the air," she said in her usual cool, controlled tone.

He knew though. He knew she was still saddened by his self-loathing. It was getting better, the voice of his former Mistress telling him how ugly and useless he was, began to slowly fade in his mind.

The first strike of the cane stung, though her cool hand was soothing the moment the cane was lifted off his skin.

"Count them out loud," she said, when the second strike happened.

"Two," Zack murmured.

The third blow was harder than the first two, and when he screamed out the number three, her hand automatically kneaded the soft skin where the cane had landed.

"Why am I upset, Zachery?" she asked with the fourth blow, landing right in the middle of his butt.

"Because of how I think of myself," he spoke in a small, sorry voice.

The fifth, sixth and seventh strikes were in quick succession, though they all still hurt the same.

"That upsets me, because it means that you don't trust in your Mistress," she said when lowering the cane with hit number eight.

Zack tensed, not because of the pain, but because he didn't stop to think that when he said those things about himself, he was in actual fact, demonstrating a lack of trust and belief in his Mistress's words.

He wasn't giving her his submission and allowing her to take care of him, even though that was what this world revolved around. It wasn't the toys, the whips, the handcuffs, or even the sexual torture. No, they were all sensation play. The heart of a D/s relationship required him to trust that she would take control, releasing him from his troubles and worries, and keeping him safe.

Number nine snapped him out of the heavy head space he'd fallen into, and he whimpered when he spoke the number.

When the tenth kiss of the cane came down, his Mistress instantly dropped it onto the hardwood floor and told him to let go of the leather straps he held. She commanded him to turn around and wrapped him in a beautiful, loving embrace.

She soothed his hair, and peppered his face with kisses.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," he said, his own arms tightening around her, understanding dawning on him as to why he was really being punished.

The next words spoken completely floored him, for he didn't believe that he deserved her or the three perfect words she whispered.

"I love you."

Zack's heart filled with a light so bright, so forceful, so powerful that he did the only thing he could.

He dropped to his knees – head lowered, palms facing up, and in total submission, he was finally able to tell her what he felt.

"I love you, Mistress."