Chapter 9: Plans afoot

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

That was not a good way to start a day. Perhaps if I ignored it...

"What on earth happened to your arse?"

"Er, what?" I replied bewildered.

"Why does your arse look like that?"

"I've no idea what you're on about. It's morning. What's the time anyway?"

"It's already 08:30! And don't change the topic!"

Clearly sleeping with someone had its disadvantages. I was trying to think up a way to convince Clara to leave me alone for a few more minutes when what she'd been saying penetrated my awareness. I guess I must have blushed.

"Oh, my arse?"

"Why does it look like that?"

"It ... well, it just does, right?"

"Something must have happened."

"I don't want to talk about it", I said, trying to hide my anxiety.

"That's such a pity, because I do."

"Ha ha, very funny."

"So that was the reason. That's what you were so self-conscious about last night."

"Clara, let's have breakfast and talk about this some other time, please?"

"Fuck that! You've eaten my food, entered my cunt and slept in my bed. I have the right to know what's going on!" I realised that she was serious, and getting angry.

"Clara, I can't talk about it. There are good reasons why I can't. You have to trust me on this."

"Have you been with someone else?"

What was I suppose to say? Was being tortured by my master, against my will, being with someone else? How would Clara react if I said yes and refused to give her any details?

"That's a simple question, Dave. You're not leaving this room until you answer."

"It's not as simple as you think."

"So you have." She sounded a little disappointed, but not enraged.

"Clara. It's more complicated than that. I haven't been with anyone by my own will." I hoped I hadn't said too much.

"It's ok, we weren't very clear last time." Her voice trembled. "I have no right to be angry if you were. But don't you fucking lie to me, you bastard." She started crying.

"I'm not lying to you." I wanted to hold her, but I didn't know how she would react.

"Sure. Some girl came to your room and raped you."

"Well fuck you then, if you don't want to believe me." I stood up.

I knew things weren't going well and I wasn't helping, but I just didn't know what I could do. Telling her about the stranger was out of the question: how could I tell my girlfriend that a flatmate had made me his foot slave? That I was letting him beat me and humiliate me to avoid anyone else finding out what I had done of my own accord, and perhaps to have the opportunity to do those things again? Perhaps she wasn't even my girlfriend anymore, the way she was looking at me.

"Fine. I believe you. For now. But if what you're telling me it's true, then I need to know what happened."

I sighed and sat by her on the bed. When I tried to hold her she pushed me away.

"Let's imagine for a moment that something bad, sexually, happened to you." I tried to explain what was so hard about it, hopefully she would understand. "Something which would make you feel embarrassed and ashamed. Let's imagine that you were sitting here, in my place, right now. Would you honestly find it easy to tell me about it?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"Now let's imagine that this thing that has happened to you, you don't know exactly how, or who did it, and that whoever did it (could be anyone) is in a position to tell everyone about some of it. Or even show pictures."

"Goodness, Dave. You're actually serious."

"Of course I am fucking serious." Now it was me who was crying, and Clara tried to hold me. I didn't push her away.

"But Dave," she said, "if you're serious then someone needs to find out about this. You can't just do nothing."

"I have a plan", I said trying to calm down, but still sobbing a little. "I think there may be a way to find out ... what I need to find out. But I can't tell anyone until that happens. I need to make sure I have it all put together."

"Let me help you." She stroked my hair. "I can be discreet, I promise I will never say anything to anyone."

"I can't tell you, Clara. I just can't." She placed my head between her small breasts, and somehow it made me feel better. "Perhaps some other time. I hardly know you. I know we..." I didn't want to say I loved her like this. "We care for each other, but it's just too difficult."

"Let me take a picture of you."

"What? No way!"

"Please, Dave, listen. This is not a joke. What you're talking about is ... well, it's as close to rape as it gets. You're going to want to have proof."

"The last thing I want is fucking proof! The last thing I want is for this to go public. Haven't you been listening?"

"Why not?" She really didn't get it.

"It's horrible for a woman to have to come out and accuse someone of rape. Surely you know this."

"Of course, but it needs to be done."

"Well, imagine what it's like for a man."

"Why should it be any different?"

"Damn, why am I supposed to know? Perhaps it shouldn't, but it is different. A woman who gets raped is an object of pity. That may not be very nice, but a man who ... a man would be an object of ridicule."

"Nonsense. Let me take a picture of you. You can't let whoever did this to you just go free, surely."

"Clara, you're not helping. I have a plan. If all goes as it should I'll have the means to make it stop. That's all I want, ok?"

"Fine." She sounded a little disappointed. "Is that why you missed lectures yesterday?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

She kept stroking my hair, saying nothing, and after a few minutes I was feeling calm enough to face the world. We got dressed and got ready, though she didn't have a sink in her room. It's good no-one saw us get to the toilet.

We had breakfast together, but neither of us was in the mood to talk. It felt awkward after the previous night, when everything had gone well. Right before we left, she hugged me, got sure I had her phone number, and told me to call her if I needed anything, or just to talk. She was probably hoping that I'd call her to tell her about it all, and I was hoping I'd never have to do so. I'd gladly talk to her about anything else, though.

I had to attend some seminars that day. Just because I had missed a day of lectures it didn't mean I was about to waste my chance to get a degree. First, though, I wanted to get home and check that everything was in order. Somehow I was fearing that the stranger might have decided to take revenge for my last e-mail, and that I'd find pictures of myself worshipping his socks placed all over the house. I needed that piece of mind or I'd not be able to focus well on my studies, and anyway, I still had a couple of hours. While I could have gone to study at the library, it hardly seemed worth it.

I got to my room and everything was in order. I found the pair of dirty socks on my pillow had an almost calming effect. If master was still playing that game it meant things weren't going to go out of control, hopefully. There was no note by them this time, but I knew what was likely expected of me.

I checked my e-mail, and there was a reply from the stranger.

From: Your Lord and Master
To: little worthless footboy
Subject: Re: Daily routine and what happened last night.

I see that you are going to be harder to train than I thought. You seem to be both more stupid and more of a fucking worthless wimp than I imagined possible. Do you really understand the long-term consequences of showing what a perverted sick piece of shit you are to your friends and family? To know that you'll always be associated with that, no matter how many years pass by? Really, how the fuck did you get into university? Were you already a teacher's pet, sucking toes for grades? I can't believe such a dumb pig was allowed to pretend to be a university student.

Facts are facts, though. I understand from your previous e-mail, which was absolutely unacceptable, that you're too much of a child to comprehend how a little short-term pain is far better than your life getting completely screwed up forever. I can work with that, though it will require more time and ways to teach you what is at stake.

I want you tomorrow, at 1600, by your computer. I will open up a Skype session and we will achieve some learning objectives. Don't bother wearing clothes.

At the same time, and don't think this is going to make things any easier for you after that e-mail, I'm glad to see that you're starting to realise how you need to belong to me, to serve me and become mine. If you're so worried about being punished, how about this idea: learn to behave like the servile doormat you've always craved becoming. It's quite a unique opportunity to be offered the chance to do what you love, and which happens to be the only thing you'll ever be good at. Don't waste it.

You see, if for some reason things don't go well, I have more options than exposing you. I could just ... disappear. Be honest, if not with me, with yourself: you know getting my socks to wash, reading and writing these humiliating e-mails, even being punished, all these things have filled a hole in your life, something you needed even if you weren't aware of it. How will you do without it all? It's not like you can ask a flatmate if you can hand-wash his socks, now, is it? If you had that sort of integrity, if you didn't care what people thought of your perverted desires, you could perhaps do something like that, but you're too insightful for that. You hate yourself and your appetites. You know they're twisted and disgusting, and no friend of yours would want your sort as a friend if they only knew.

Obeying, serving, pleasing me in all things, is the only chance you have to do what you truly want, and to avoid the worst of your nightmares from coming true.

You didn't sleep in your room last night. I don't approve of that. I got all concerned that my puppy wasn't returning home. So you have a curfue at 01:00.

You can get working on the socks. Usual rules apply: sniff and lick if you want, but hands off yourself.