Under His Hand

The journal of a slave

Lights Out

Sometimes when he comes up behind me and wraps his arm (or his belt or the whip or..) around my throat and squeezes squeezes squeezes

there’s nothing but pain. Crushing pressure in my throat making it hard to breathe, sometimes impossible to breathe actually, and panic sets in pretty quick.

Other times, there’s the sloooooowest build (dim?), fuzzing at the edges, discomfort around my neck, and it just… hangs there (no pun intended).

Then there are the times he wraps around my throat and squeezes and things fade and buzz and I’m just about to protest- somehow? someway?- or at least I think I should protest because my knees are buckling and my vision is going dark and surely THAT warrants a protes– and the next thing I know… I’m waking up.

Or, he holds it right there, and loosens it just the tiniest bit, to say things in my ear, to remind me of things, and then tightens it again and next thing I know… I’m waking up with those words echoing in my head. “I own you. You’re mine.”

And then there are the ones where his arm goes around, and there’s the squeeze and I have time to think “Oh, f-”

What happens then?

I have no idea.

For how long?

I have no idea.

It’s like when you go to sleep and you wake up and you’re not sure if it’s been 2 minutes or 2 hours because there’s nothing.

It’s like when you go to sleep in a different place and you’re slowly waking up and for a moment you’re not really sure where you are or why or how you got there.

There is, first, the sounds coming back. The thump of music, the low buzz of voices in the darkness. There’s confusion, my brain trying to connect the dots as they sputter to light. “Someone left the tv on.”

Then comes an awareness of my body. In the most recent case, hanging by my wrists in suspension cuffs, and having just the vaguest sensation of pain in my arms, of tingling, and thinking I should stand up or something… but not at all able to figure out how one actually does that.

With the body awareness comes the realization that I’m twitching uncontrollably. I should stop doing that, it feels weird. But I can’t figure that out, either.

And then another voice; closer, louder, familiar. Penetrating the confusion and demanding response. I know him! I know that voice. I have to answer that voice, I’m compelled to answer that voice. It feels… dangerous… not to. What is it saying??

I listen.

“Hey. Hey, baby. You here?” A hand on my cheek, tapping.

I am. I’m here. I should tell him so. I open blurry eyes to look at his blurry face.

“Hi. Welcome back.”

I smile loopily at him. I want to pet him.

He strokes my hair off my forehead. I love that. He’s so nice. So gentle.

Then things come back into focus and memory. Oh yes! Dungeon, party, Master, choke hold.

Gentle? Nice? Wait…

He wraps his arms around me and hauls me up, propping me back on shaky legs. I’m still teetering when the whip catches me across the back. I feel the bright flash against my skin but it’s muted, everything hasn’t connected yet and I’m slow to react. The next one hits my ass while I’m still comprehending the first one.

He pops me again. Again, again, and again, whipping me back to the here and now, until the last of the fuzziness has been replaced by the white hot pain of right fucking now.

We’re bantering and laughing, or rather he’s laughing as I cuss him out and give him dirty looks and dance to the ends of the chains, trying to dodge the blows and distract him with my wit and sarcasm (hey, sometimes it works!)

And then he’s behind me again and his arm (or the whip or his belt or…) is snaking back around my neck and I lift my chin in supplication, offering my bare throat, and waiting for, begging for, that fade and buzz and dim

that is him, taking control of my body completely and utterly away from me.