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THE STRAP
by Master Ed
The strap hangs on the wall in your Master's office at home, in plain
view of his friends, your friends and you. Made from an old dark brown
military belt, 16" long, 1 3/4 wide, 1/8" thin, its meaning and purpose are
obvious. And everyone, and you best, knows how it is with us and how you are
strapped with it when you have lost you way.
Everyone we know has seen you called over your Master's lap for minor
misbehavior and your jeans pulled up tight for a few hard smacks with his
hand, but they have never seen you get a strapping. The first time your best
friend asked you about the strap on the wall you were too embarrassed to
speak. Then you remembered your Master's promise to demonstrate it for
anyone whom you didn't feel able to tell. Now you are used to it, but the
shame of answering questions about the strap can still make you come.
And your women friends have many more questions when they get you
alone. Your closest friends know almost everything.
How you soak in your bath before bedtime to prepare your soft warm
bottom for punishment , and how you present yourself to him in a lacy
camisole that leaves you bare from the waist down.
How you toe the line on the bedroom floor as he sits in his leather
wing chair, and how you can scarcely remain standing as you try to answer his
questions for which you have no answers.
How his voice seems to envelope you yet to come from very far away, as
he reminds you of why you are being punished and as you are told the number
of strap strokes you are going to count out loud.
How you are sent to fetch the strap from the other end of the house and
deliver it to him, kissing the tip in submission. How you drape your torso
over his lap with your bottom sticking up and how your legs start to tremble.
How he caresses your hair, the backs of your neck and thighs and
finally your bottom, reminding you that safe words are for good submissives
who have earned the right to play, not for brats who forget their place. And
of his hope that the marks and pain of this strapping will improve your
memory.
They know how you are beaten first over his lap, then over a high
stool, which you have shown to them. How you keep the count even as you cry
and weep and blubber promises to be good if only he will stop, without a hope
on Earth that he can be moved from his resolve: to walk you over burning
coals back to your place at his side. To imprint on your soul that there is
no shred of yourself that you have not called his. To remind you that you
can be colonized anew at any time by a heart that feels so much but is more
hardened than your own.
And they finally know that there are no words that can describe it as
the strap falls over and over and you vow that you will never again forget
how it is to be strapped for justice and punishment by the Master you love.
All you can tell them is that it is like nothing else and how you dread it
and hate it and find a part of yourself in what it creates between the two of
you. And how it is like being carried away by a tidal wave bo be washed up
breathless on a foreign yet familiar shore.
Your best friend thinks you are crazy but she has always known that.
Another feels something stirring in her and remembers someone who made her
feel something like that, but they never knew it. Another wonders what it is
like to be so intensely possessed and driven and are wondering how she can
find out without risking anything. As if the feeling could be simulated by a
kiddie ride.
And the one you told today is thinking about the way she cursed at
someone on the phone last night out of sheer frustration that he has been
away. She hopes that she has not driven him away. She wishes that he could
see the strap and meet you, this extraordinary complex, driven, contented
woman with whom she feels such sisterhood. And she wishes that her lover
could know just how complex and driven she feels so often. If only she could
find a way to let him know.
Maybe he would know what to do, and would want to. All her life she
has pined for someone who could know what to do with her when she is afraid
and has lost her way.
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