Chapter 8: Dangerous ground

I was so tired I didn't want to move. I had been kneeling for hours, been beaten and trampled, my hands had been tied close together, and all my body was complaining one way or another. After a few minutes just lying on the floor, unmoving, I took off my blindfold, and I could see a little light leaking through the curtains. It was very late, and all I wanted was to sleep. Sleep and forget.

My mouth tasted all kinds of awful. After sucking on my dirty socks for ours I had been made to drink master's piss, and that flavour wasn't going away easily, so in spite of wanting to just lie there and rest, I slowly got up, groaning at the cramps on my arms and legs and at the pains on my arse and my tender balls, and managed to get myself to the sink.

I still had some tape stuck to my wrists, so I got rid of it under the hot water before it became too much to bear. After that, I simply filled the sink up, and started trying to apply wet towels to the bits that had been more cruelly treated. When I touched my arse with the towel, the contact and the heat made me wince, but it felt a little better afterwards. My balls were just a constant source of pain, no matter what I did. I wondered if I had been permanently harmed in some way, and I dared, in the quiet of my mind, to vow vengance if that was the case.

The stranger had overstepped. Grossly. There was much I was willing to tolerate to avoid embarrassment and humilliation, but it wasn't worth going through that. Never again. Until that time, I had to admit that, at least to a certain extent, I had been fascinated about the stranger. I would perhaps not have minded doing many of the same things, if only I had known who he was, and he'd have been kinder and more caring, but this episode crossed a line. The stranger, whoever he was, would forever be my enemy.

I washed my teeth and rinsed my mouth several times, but nothing could quite wipe the taste. Or the memory of the taste. Or the humilliation of having someone's piss poured in one's mouth. After a while I realised I was just rinsing for the sake of a cleanliness I wouldn't be able to feel, then or perhaps ever, and which no mere water would grant me, so I stopped. I looked for my wotch and it read 07:45. Practically time to get up. I almost chuckled.

As usual, the stranger hadn't left any useful clues to his identity. I looked about, but I could only see my own things: my computer, which had become an extension of his power; my two chairs; my door, perfectly locked, as I ascertained, and perfectly useless to protect me.

I picked up my night clothes, pondering whether to wear them again. I shivered a little, half from cold, half from knowing I could be and probably was being observed, naked and vulnerable, and decided to do so. I took my socks, entirely drenched with my own saliva, and placed them in the laundry bag, and looked longingly at the bed. The clock read almost 8. That was when I started crying.

To this day it is hard to know why. I guess I simply couldn't bear it all anymore. I had been abused and tortured, and I couldn't tell anyone. No-one was safe. It was my fault anyway. My fault for being stupid, for not planning, for not keeping to a schedule, for being so entranced by some sweatty socks. My fault for being so shy and asocial that I wasn't able to speak to anyone before it got serious. My fault for being so ashamed of myself, of my own urges, that I couldn't bear being exposed. My fault for having those urges which made me ashamed in the first place. I was a mess, I didn't deserve any better. Those were my thoughts as I lay on the bed, sobbing and quivering.

After a while, my alarm clock started ringing, and I just couldn't see how I could possibly go to class that day. I couldn't even think of sitting still for more than five minutes. Not the way my arse was feeling. I was so tired and distraught I wouldn't be able to make any sense of the material even if I could bear the pain. So after a little arguing with myself, as much as the conclusion was foregone, I made the decision not to go. To oversleep class. For the first time in my life.

I was already lying on the bed, but if I was going to sleep over, I might as well be comfortable, or, rather, suffer as little as possible. So I got under the bedding, tried to avoid putting weight on the sore spots, curled myself for warmth and the illusory sensation of safety, and cried softly, feeling spent and alone.

Unlike the previous time I had been punished, I soon fell into an uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. All my resilience had been exhausted, and my body needed to recover as best as it could. I didn't have the energy to be restless.

When I woke up, I was feeling somewhat better. The first thing I realised was that it was late, and that I had slept for long. I checked the time, and it was four in the afternoon, so I had missed my lectures, my breakfast and my lunch.

My arse hurt when I touched it, but it wasn't the excrutiating pain I had known. I could now explore the skin with my fingers, and felt there were some small swellings. Oddly, my balls hurt even less, though I could still notice they were sore. At least I hadn't been seriously injured. I didn't dare check myself in the mirror before sleep, fearing what I would see, but it was the time to do so.

Instead of checking myself in the room, I decided to go to the toilet. I was going to need a thorough shower anyway, just for comfort if not anything else, and I hoped that the stranger couldn't see me there. I reasoned that such small cameras must have cost a lot, and that the stranger was probably only interested about my room. At least in the shower I had a chance to keep whatever dignity there could have remained.

After assembling a change of clothes, I went to the shower. I looked at myself and winced, and thought it was good I hadn't looked before. My arse looked awful. There was quite a lot of apparent bruising, unlike the previous time, and I could only hope it would go away soon. Looking at my balls, there was some evidence of mistreatment, but not by far as much as I thought. I reasoned that since they are so sensitive, the punishment inflicted didn't have to be that strong to hurt like it had. On the whole, it could have been worse.

I took a quick shower and went to the common room to have some breakfast. It was late but I had eaten nothing since last night's dinner, and I felt hungry. I expected to feel a little queasy after having drunk urine, but it didn't seem to bother my stomach much.

I was alone in the common room, and perfectly happy to be so. Anyone could have been the same bastard who had tortured me last night. I cooked myself a couple of boiled eggs, and had some cheese on toast. Not a robust meal, but I was hoping to have dinner a few hours later. As I was washing up, my mobile phone rang, and I quickly dried my hands to take the call. I checked to see who was calling, but I got the typical "caller unknown" message. Great, I was rushing to get a stupid spam call.

"Hi, who's calling?"

"Dave?" I heard. It was Clara! I could hardly believe it. The day wasn't going to be a complete disaster after all, and I could feel the beginning of a smile forming on my face.

"Clara! Dave speaking. How are things? How come the unknown caller?"

"Oh, that. I wanted to make sure it was your number. What about if we meet tonight? Up for it?"

Of course I was! Perhaps we could have a meal somewhere cheap, or go to a pub. I didn't want to meet her here.

"Sure! Do you have any particular notion in mind, or anything goes?"

"Well, since last time we ate at your place, what if we have dinner at mine this time? I'm cooking, of course."

"Excellent. Unfortunately there is a small issue: I've no idea where you live."

"I was thinking ... I could bike to your place and we could bike back together. What do you think?"

Completely impossible, given the state of my arse. If I had some trouble sitting still on a comfortable chair, biking was going to be hell.I tried to look for words to explain how I didn't mind the idea in principle, just not this time.

"Hmm, not up to it, I guess?" she asked. She sounded a bit deflated.

"Not this time, if you don't mind. I don't usually object to biking, but I'm rather tired today. We could meet at the library, if it's somehow on the way, and walk to your place. Or perhaps somewhere else if you prefer."

"Ok, let's do that. Let's say there in half an hour." She still sounded a little disappointed. "You want to meet today, right? You're not too tired..."

"Absolutely! Your call's the first thing to go right today. No way you can convince me to drop it now", I joked.

"Cool! So, then, it's a deal, and, maybe, it's a date?" Her voice shook a little as she mentioned dating, and she didn't wait for a reply, she simply hung up. No matter, I was meeting Clara, and it was a date!

I still had a little time, as my flat was about 10 minutes away from the library, so I quicklly finished the washing up, went to my room, and wrote an e-mail. That mistake wasn't going to happen again, and I had some important things to tell the stranger.

From: David Anderson
To: Your Lord and Master
Subject: Daily routine and what happened last night.

First off, I'm sorry to have forgotten the daily chores you set me. All I can say in my favour is that I'm not yet used to them, and it simply went out of my mind as lectures begun. I suppose I ought to thank you, since you didn't make public any of the things you could. So thanks for that.

During the whole time you were punishing me, I was thinking of your feet. Every little touch, every way they intruded in my senses, limited as they were, made an impression on me. I even must admit I was very grateful when you gave me that little rest and let me sniff your toes. I had wanted to beg for your forgiveness for the whole time, but of course I was gagged, so I couldn't say anything, and nuzzling them seemed like the only way I could express myself. Sorry if I went too far.

Since you know all about my urges, which you seem to have somehow woken up, there's little point in being coy or pretend otherwise. There's something in me that wants to please you, and that finds being humilliated and made to serve you exciting, sexually. I feel it's a disgusting perversion, and yet I obviously can hardly restrain myself. You know about it, and you want to take advantage of it. Fine. I can't oppose you. I'll keep demeaning myself for the chance of touching your feet, socks, footwear, and even for a kind word, or an unkind one. By my own sense of ethics, perhaps I even deserve to be treated that way, since it's what I crave.

I must warn you though. What you've done last night wen too far. I'm sorry for addressing you like this, and I'm very afraid you'll punish me again, but this needs to be clarified. If anything like that happens again I will not care about being exposed: I'll do whatever it takes. It may repeat once, it won't repeat twice. The pain you caused me was unbearable. I'm not willing to go through that again, for any reason. So if you want to expose me, fine, you do that. There are limits. I'm not going to pretend I was happy last time you punished me, but at least there was some moderation.

I can't work out how I feel about what you made me do. I can't even bring myself to write of it. Although the pain was worse, I won't let you do that often. I simply won't: whatever happens, happens. I'm worried about the health consequences of it too, and there's no way I'm letting it become a routine.

I'm really sorry to have to write this. It sounds like I am setting you conditions and I suspect you will resent that. The last thing I want is having you annoyed at me, I understand how difficult you can make things for me. I also resented when you did the same to me, but I suppose part of me liked it, and still likes it. The fact is, though, I am setting conditions. It's your choice whether you take me seriously or not, but I mean what I'm saying. Being exposed would be the most embarrassing experience in my life, and probably would have consequences way into the future, but you think it through: you may end up exposed as well. However interested I am in avoiding it, and I am extremely worried about it, I'm simply not willing to be tortured like that.

I feel I'm repeating myself though. I just want to make everything as clear as possible. Please, don't make me have to keep my word in this.

Yours,
Dave.

I thought for a few seconds, consciouss that time was running out. In the end I decided to send it: I wasn't sure when I'd come back, and this was the best strategy I could think of to avoid a repeat of last night. It had the virtue of being, as far as I knew myself, the simple truth, and I left for Clara's with a somewhat lighter heart.

We met at the library, though I arrived a bit winded from running. All the stuff I ended up having to do before leaving home had taken a bit longer than I estimated. Still, I made it on time, something quite a few girls seem to care much about.

Clara asked me why I had had to run. She knew where I lived, and how close it was to the library, so I told her I was washing up when she called. The best lies have much truth in them, and I was just keeping my privacy, so I didn't feel too bad about it. We walked side by side, and at last I found out her address. Progress!

She lived in a private flat, unlike ours, which belonged to the university. She shared it with 3 other girls she hadn't met before, but she told me it had turned out alright for her. It was about half past five by the time we got to her place, and she asked me how hungry I was.

"Not that hungry yet", I said. "What about you, do you normally have an early dinner?"

"I'm not too good at keepint to a fixed schedule. I eat mostly when I'm hungry. I could bear waiting a bit before cooking. I'm planning some pasta so I think it'll be done in about half an hour."

"Sure, if you don't mind I'm all for waiting a little too. I ate not too long ago."