The Proper Answer

by QuipsAndChains

Tags: #bondage #dom:male #m/f #microfiction #pov:bottom #sub:female #consensual_non-consent #Master/slave_language #sadomasochism

Recollections of a session where I learned my purpose.

"What are you?"

His voice echoes in my head, and though my thoughts are slow and muddled, I find myself responding anyway.

"Your slave." I mutter simply, the two words almost taking more effort than I'm able to muster.

"What is your purpose?"

I hesitate. There are so many responses, and my trance-addled brain tries to come up with the best answer.

That's when he slaps me. A hard, stinging slap across my face that would wake anyone else up from this drifting, floating trance. But for me, it only sends my mind spiraling deeper and deeper down. Something inside of me breaks. Some small piece of resistance shatters and my thoughts become clearer, even as I fall.

"To serve and please You." I finally manage to make out. I still feel deeper than ever before, so close to a waking trance with my thoughts no longer feeling sluggish and heavy. My thoughts are so clear, and right now they're hyperfocused on obedience. I'm rewarded for my answer with a brush of his hand between my legs. He says something that my brain chooses to forget, and I find my legs spreading, parting to give him access. His words cut through the fog in my mind, a lighthouse, giving me safety to cling to. But even as I try to remember what he's said, they've fallen away, like trying to hold water.

"Good girl," he coos in my ear, "why do you exist?"

"Because you allow it, Sir." I respond, no longer thinking about the answer - It comes automatically under his touch and guidance, just as we've been practicing for months now.

"Who owns you?" he continues, still stroking away at my wet cunt. I try to close my legs against the stimulation, but his words keep me bound, stronger than any chain.  "Y-You do, Master." I find it odd that my voice is barely trembling, my hips and body too heavy to respond to his ministrations. Nothing gives away my arousal as it builds and builds deep in my core. The pleasure intensifies by an order of magnitude as he says something else, and it forces me down. I'm not sure I could ever come back up, even if I wanted to. All I can think of now is release. His fingers pump in and out of me quickly, leaving me too focused on that to think about the words he's growling into my ear, breaking down my will and replacing it with his own.

"What are you?" he asks again. This time, I know the proper answer, even as he perfectly holds my body on the edge of release. "Whatever Master says I am." I manage to whine, my arousal finally beginning to show through the haze of trance. He gives me a particularly hard thrust of his fingers, and my body trembles from the strain.

"What is your name?"

"Whatever Master wants it to be."

The questions continue for a while, and every time I give him the proper answer, my pleasure and arousal magnifies, higher and higher, until I'm no longer sure if I'm awake or still deep in trance. The feeling of his fingers thrusting in and out of my pussy got replaced with his cock at some point, but I've still had no release. "Does my property want to cum?" he finally asks, holding me still; teetering on the razor-thin edge of climax. I struggle to come up with an answer - no longer sure of what I want. "Does Master want his property to cum?" I ask sincerely. It no longer matters to me. The only thing that matters now is letting Master's will guide me. All I know and care about is that I am property, and property doesn't have any power, nor can it make decisions.

I feel him twitching inside me and he says one last thing that drips out of my mind before we orgasm together. He moans, calling me a good girl, a good slut, his good slut, over and over as I practically wail. The climax that's been building and intensifying all night crashes over me like a tsunami, and my thoughts get washed away into nothingness. All that exists any more is Master; his will, his words, his control. I no longer care about what or who I am outside of that context. 

I'm not sure how long the orgasm lasts, but I come to on my knees, sitting happily at Master's feet. He runs his fingers through my hair and asks,

"What are you?"

Grinning, I give him the only answer I can think of. The only answer that matters. The proper answer.

"I am yours, Master."

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