"It is sure the hell not dominance as I practice it!"
I was sitting in the living room of a man I barely knew, debating with him over our individual practices in the D/s realm, and getting hot under the collar listening to him describe how he treated his "property".
Jeff (not his real name) had been in a 24/7 relationship with Andrea (called Andy) for two years. He and I had met by chance in a bar on the south side of Chicago, and, when I bought him a drink, he and I began to converse. One thing lead to another, and suddenly I found myself invited to his home with my sub, Deanna.
Jeff had just finished telling me how he had "tamed his bitch," as he put it. Turns out that Andy had had submissive urgings for years, but had failed to follow through until she told Jeff about them. Cut to two years later. Andy was kept at home washing, cooking, cleaning, and waiting on Jeff hand and foot. Not so unusual. Except Andy also was costantly bruised, bloody, and beaten, and not from consentual punishment. Seems Jeff just liked to beat women. And he was proud of it! He regaled me with stories of how he "put her in her place":
- knocked out her two front teeth for serving him leftovers; - broke a bottle over her head for forgetting to buy his favorite beer at the store; - peed on her in her sleep for no good reason;
... and on and on the litany of abuse went on. Until I got fed up.
"Dominance is a beautiful thing, Jeff. But it is not a one way street! You cannot cross the line the way you have and consider yourself a Master!"
"I am a Master, old man. I have the slave to prove it!"
"Slave? I'm sorry, Jeff. A slave is a woman whose desire for dominance is such that she agrees to worship you in return for fulfillment of her needs and desires. She expects to be commanded, punished when she disobeys, perhaps even physically or mentally pushed to certain limits which enhance her desire and pleasure. But no where in your list of 'punishments' for Andy have I heard the one thing which would make me think that you were truly a Master."
"That you and Andy ever agreed on the limits of your relationship. That you have ever considered her needs in the equation. That you have, in fact, complied with any of the tenets of the BDSM community, especially not 'safe, sane, and consentual.' You are at best a bully, Jeff; at worst, you are guilty of assault, rape, perhaps even murder... though I doubt any jury would ever convict you of murdering someone's spirit, as you obviously have this girl's. Master? You may use the title, but it doesn't suit you at all."
As I had hoped, the last little diatribe pushed him over the edge, and he came up out of his seat swinging. Being both almost drunk and mad as hell, he came at me swinging wildly, which is why I felt so much satisfaction when I dropped to one knee and buried my fist up to the wrist in his solar plexus. His midsection actually wrapped around my hand a bit, so deeply it was buried! His face turned red, then blue, then purple... before his eyes rolled back in his head and he hit the deck.
Dee came running out of the back bedroom and wrapped her arms around me, crying and laughing. "I saw that last little bit from the hallway. God, I was so happy you nailed that sonofabitch, I almost wet my pants."
I pulled her in and held her close for a moment, then I pulled away slightly and looked down at her frowning. "You know I just broke my cardinal rule, right?"
She looked down at the floor, a slightly guilty look in her eye. "I know... never interfere in the affairs of another Master and his sub. You've lectured me enough times on the subject. But..." She looked back to the bedroom, then took my hand and pulled me toward the door.
Inside the room, Andy's room, there was no furniture, no bed, nothing but a blanket and pillow on the floor. The room had been painted black, the windows boarded up and painted black as well. Several leash tethers had been bolted into the wall at various heights; given Andy's small stature, at least two of them would have had her standing on her toes, straining to keep from strangling should she attempt to lower herself.
"He locked her in here most nights, chained to the wall like an animal. No light, sleeping on the floor. Depending on his mood, he might tie her hands with a belt and gag her. It was not pleasure for her. It was like she lived her life constantly punished... even when she pleased him." She shook her head and allowed tears to form at the corners of her eyes. "And what's even sadder..."
"She still loves him... and would stay if he would only change a little."
I pulled her close again and kissed the top of her head as she silently let out all the fear and loathing she had felt for the past two months, the time it took to set our plan into motion. She had been looking for Andy for months, since she had disappeared from her job and her home without even saying goodbye nearly two years ago. And then, without warning, came the e-mail saying where she had gone, why she had gone, and what she had endured in the meantime. And asking for help. Her sister's help. Our help.
So I had befriended her diseased penis of a boyfriend. Wined and dined him. Invited him to what he thought was my home (rented especially for that occasion, but actually belonging to a couple of bodybuilders who owed me a favor - let's see him try to intimidate them!). And I had tried to get him to see the error of his ways... until he pushed me about as far as I was willing to go when talking about the sister of the woman I loved. And so, I nailed him.
"Go get Andy ready. I have something I need to take care of."
She looked up at me, a bit of fear in her eyes, perhaps wondering what I was going to do... but then she nodded and went into the bathroom, where I gathered she had been talking to Andy to try to keep her out of the way.
Making my way back to the living room, I saw Jeff starting to stir, and thought that perhaps I should help him up. Grabbing him by the head, I pulled him up to his knees by his hair... and watched as he vomited all over his nice plush carpet. As he sat there on hands and knees evacuating his stomach, I took the opportunity to take the desk chair sitting nearby and rolled it over to where he was. "Here you go, Jeff, have a seat!" I pulled his hair again until I got him up into the chair, then took the handcuffs from my pocket. Before he could react, I had one on each wrist, then crossed his wrists, connecting the empty cuff to the bottom of the chair. His arms effectively rooted him to the chair, and the position would become uncomfortably restricting in an hour or so. As he struggled to protest, I took my other gift for him out of my pocket... a ball gag. And there he sat, deflated, deluded, and now bound and gagged like he probably should have been years ago.