Want Is a Cruel, Cruel Mistress

Want. Roughly, she handcuffs me to the bed and then tortures me with temptation before forcing me to say it yet again, “I want this, and I want that, and I want most of all what I can’t have.” Her cat o’ nine tails whip and flails my exposed naked flesh as she laughs out loud with every lash, and each time she tells me repeatedly that I can’t have whatever it was I had wanted and had pleaded for. Wave after rough wave of disgust permeates my very soul as she pushes the often-sucked toe of a dirty, stiletto-heeled thigh-high boot between my lips until it’s inside my mouth and orders me to lick its sole clean and worship the lovely leather-clad foot. Slave-like shame washes over me while being abused, victimized, and violated over and over and over again by my mistress. Her name is Want, and Want is a cruel, cruel mistress.

“Say it again. I want to hear you say it another time! Say it again you slimy little slug,” Want wickedly commands.

“Oh, my mistress, I want this, and I want that, and what I can’t have I want most of all. But I’m so utterly unworthy of what I ask of you, my beautiful and cruel, cruel, cruel, cruel mistress.”

“Say it again. Say it again you unimportant little pig!”

“I want this, and I want that, and I want most of all what I can’t have.”

“Now, say it like the stupid and helpless little boy you are. Say it now, maggot, and say it so loud all your neighbors will hear your commiserable confession through these laughably thin walls!”

“Me want w’is, me want w’at, me want wha’ a bad wittle boy can’t have, mistress.”

Cackling in garish glee as she notches up and increases the intensity of my punishment while the nine tails of the cat cut, slice, and lacerate my bare, and reddening crimson skin. Want holds back nothing as she does her worse to my helplessly bound body. My feeble cries are unheard by her as my tears stream unseen down my cheeks, hot and salty tears that will be dried by no one. There are no words that are adequate or fit to describe the ceaseless pain that Want inflicts upon me during our all too frequent nightmarish sessions of bondage, flagellation, and humiliation.

As quickly as the flogging had begun, Want now drops the handle of the knotted thongs of her plaited rawhide flogger to the floor, commences to un-cuff me from my bed, then announces, “Okay, our time’s up, sweetie. Are you good, baby?”

Slowly, I struggle to sit upright on the mattress she had me bound to and begin to use both of my hands in an attempt to assist with the unblocking of the partially blocked blood circulation resulting from the cold metal manacles that had only moments earlier been locked all too tightly around my wrists and ankles.

“Wow, I always lose track of time when we’re together, mistress.”

“Yeah, I seem to really have that kind of effect on a lot of people I come into contact with, sweetie.”

“I left the money for your services on the table, mistress.”

“You know what, hon? Tonight, this one’s on me. You’re one of my best customers so there’s no charge for the session this evening. I don’t usually do this so I hope you appreciate what a fortunate slave you are. Just think of it as like a little barroom buy-back, babe.”

“Oh, thank you, mistress, you’re too kind and I just want…” but I never get a chance to finish the sentence, because Want hauls off with a shiny, latex-gloved hand to gob slap my feckless face so hard that I’m knocked backward on the bed again. My cheek burns with the hot sting that spreads as rapidly as a raging wildfire along one side of my head after the sudden and unexpected abrupt blow I’d just received from my mistress. Tears of pain again well up in my eyes while a stifled cry of indignation sticks in my throat as I attempt to choke back my anguish and suffering another time again.

“Shut up, silence slave! You do not speak to me without permission, you inconsequential bug. Do you understand me? Do you understand me now, you useless piece of garbage? You’re my meager and contemptible servant and you do as I tell you, boy. Can you not finally get that through you thick, stupid skull, you moron?” Do you not understand what your magnificent mistress is telling you, you mangy and malignant rat-faced rodent?”

“Yes mistress, you’ve made it perfectly clear to me time and time and time again. Please find it within your magnanimous heart of hearts to forgive your fool for his foolishness,” I foolishly respond, and again her gloved hand strikes me once more for my insubordination and disobedience.

“So, are we all set for the same time tomorrow night, sweetie?” Want wants to know after planting a quick kiss on my now tear-stained cheek and before departing to go wherever she always goes next after leaving me. That place that I’ll never know, and perhaps with people I may or may not have ever met before. Want will always dissipate into the darkness another time to go somewhere, maybe to be with someone else, leaving me alone for another night. Leaving me still wanting this, and that, and most of all, what I can’t have.

Having learned my lesson only a few seconds ago I timidly nod my head in wordless affirmation. The difference between getting what you want versus having what you need is a measure of wisdom, and often I’m unwise. I know I’ll spend my hours between now awaiting her arrival tomorrow, and then for all the tomorrows thereafter, to repeat our sadistic ritual again and again. Thus, I accept that I’m too powerless, too unworthy, and too weak to turn her away when I next hear Want knocking upon my door. Want is a cruel, cruel mistress.