Page 35 of Dozer (Rolling Thunder MC #14)

Chapter 35

Daisy

Have you ever felt like everything was off ? Like the universe changed channels and you didn’t? The last time I’d made a journal entry before everything felt wrong, my laptop had told me it was Tuesday. I’m almost certain of it. But then Master took it from me and I didn’t get it back for a few weeks. His schedule changed, so he wasn’t working fifteen-hour days anymore, and he stayed home with me four or five days, I think. Also, it was like I could smell things better, but when it faded, I thought maybe I’d imagined it.

When I finally got my laptop back, it felt like the timing was off, but I couldn’t be certain. Like the laptop thought it’d been longer than I thought it’d been, since I’d had it.

Also, my collar and cuffs didn’t hurt my ankles, wrists, and collarbones for several days, and then everything hurt again, but Master didn’t relent, and he made me keep to my same workout schedule.

Eventually, as he said, I got used to them, but he added another kind of training onto my daily regimen during this time.

“We can tighten your anal muscles by making you work out while wearing a heavy plug with a narrow neck, but we train your pussy to squeeze my dick in other ways.” He showed me a narrow piece of metal, a ball on the end of the six-inch-long rod. The ball was slightly smaller than a golf ball, and the rod about as big around as my pinkie finger. There was a hook on the end of the rod.

He stood me in his bedroom under the ceiling hook, and my hands were connected over my head. A spreader bar went between my legs, so wide I’d have fallen without my arms strung up over me. My wrists weren’t bearing my weight, but they were certainly keeping me from toppling over.

Without warning, he stuck the odd tool inside me, and then strapped a butterfly on over my clit. He touched something on his phone and the vibrating butt plug in my ass came to life at the same time the butterfly did. My legs were bound apart, my arms over my head, and there was no way to escape the pleasure. Somehow, Master always knows when I’m about to orgasm, and when I was right on the edge, he grabbed my nipples and said, “Come for me, little flower, but don’t lose the training device!”

When you orgasm, your muscles spasm, and that means they open and close, kind of. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold onto it, but there was nothing I could do about it.

When it hit the floor, he turned the butterfly off with his phone, waited a few seconds as if he was making a decision, and then turned the plug off before he walked to the wall and returned with the cane. “One strike this time, two the next, and so on. You get five tries today.”

I didn’t know how many strikes that would be, but it was a shitload more than I wanted.

And it’s crazy, but the single cane stroke, even though it hurt something awful, made my clit throb and my empty pussy wish to be filled — but with a dick, not with a skinny piece of metal.

I tried not to come when he turned everything on again, but with vibrations in my ass and on my clit, plus the bondage, I was on the edge again within moments, and my pussy obeyed him when he ordered me to come.

I held onto the device longer this time, but it fell out again. The very second it did, he turned both vibes off at the same time. The orgasm wasn’t finished, and I whimpered in frustration.

“Two this time. Arch your back and push your ass out a little to show me you accept the consequences.”

Fuck , I didn’t want to do that, but no way would I refuse that kind of order. I swear he hit harder this time, and I could tell he was going to make his way down my ass and onto my thighs. I added up how many more strikes I was going to get if I couldn’t hold it in. I’d had three, plus three is six, plus four is ten, plus five is fifteen.

My eyes were watering when I stood and waited for him to stick the training device back inside me. “The hook is for me to add weights. When you can do this five times in a row, we add weights to it and work up.”

I didn’t manage to hold onto it any of the times, and he made his way partway down my thighs with the cane and then started at the top again, but angled, instead of straight, and it hurt so much worse, over the top of previous cane marks.

When the ordeal was finally over, he made me kiss the training device and the cane, and he tossed them both on the bed and released me. “Wipe the cane down, wash the training tool, put everything away, then meet me in the living room to run through your positions. Tomorrow, you’ll try six times. The next day, you’ll try seven times. When we add weight, it goes back to five times and builds again.”

And so it went, but the punishment was different each day. On Monday it was the cane, on Tuesday it was the electro-butt-plug that shocked the fuck out of me. Wednesday, it was the cane to the fronts of my thighs, instead of the back, and it returned to the cane on my ass on Thursday.

Even after Master went back to work, this happened every damned day. Some of my training only happened on his off-days, but not this.

At first, Master had gone to work fifteen hours a day, three days a week, but after the whole time-warp thing, he was only gone twelve hours a day, three days a week, though he often left on Saturday morning and didn’t return until Sunday afternoon, or occasionally Sunday night. I knew he could watch me and hear me, though I had no way to hear from him.

When I was crying one day, he came home and held me, and when I tried really hard to figure out how to get loose from my chain while in the bathroom, facing a direction I couldn’t imagine he’d found a place to hide a camera, he came home and spanked my hands with this wide piece of thick leather than hurt like fuck . My palms were beet red when he finished, and I got the message — he can see me wherever I am.

I’d looked for the cameras a few times, and I’d found some tiny little lenses in lamps while I dusted them, which made sense, since that meant there was an easy way to provide electricity to them. I also found one where the screw of a light switch would normally be, and once I found it, I realized how easy it was for him to put them all over the fucking place.

I tested it one day by masturbating where I didn’t think he could see, and when he got home that night, he put me on the fucking machine and left me on it with all three holes being fucked for two hours — and then he only disconnected the mouthfucker, and left the other two going the rest of the night. I was soooo sore when he finally turned it off, and he’d clicked my right wrist and ankle together, then my left wrist and ankle, and fucked me hard, hurting my already bruised cervix until I screamed and begged for relief.

There’d been no mercy and no relief, though, and when he came — without giving me permission to do so, he flipped me over to knees and chest, and fucked my asshole.

“So fucking tight. All swollen and hot. I should do this more often. Fuck , if I’d taken your ass first I’d have blown in minutes.”

But he’d already come once, which meant he also fucked my ass a long time before he finally came. This time, though, I wasn’t even close to an orgasm, and it just fucking hurt the whole time.

The orgasm training was a bitch, because now that I could mostly keep from coming, sometimes I wasn’t allowed to. At all.

And then other days he made me come so much, I begged him not to make me come again.

I was always either locked in my cell or locked to the long chain when he wasn’t with me. I hated being locked up, and he knew it. I think he enjoyed that I hated it, so I tried to stop being obvious about it. I’m pretty sure he still knew, though. I was also locked in my cell at night, plus had a chain on my ankle, I assume to make sure I couldn’t leave even if I got the door unlocked. Also, he most often connected my hands to my collar in the front with a short rope through the O-ring. I could rub my face, but not much else. He connected a bidet to my toilet, so I could be clean after I used it, since I couldn’t wipe at night. The button to control the bidet was on the wall beside me, so I could lean to the side a little and reach it. I then sat on a towel in a chair to dry off before returning to bed, and I had to put the towel into the hamper in the morning, and put a fresh towel out in the evening.

I eventually learned to clean to his specifications, but I still screwed up sometimes. Not often, because his punishments are brutal. Most often, it was kneeling on rice in the corner, but sometimes he’d fuck my face while I kneeled on rice, or put me on all fours and fuck my ass. Sometimes it was the cane, which I actually preferred. Once, when he showed me that I missed a spot on the floor, I smarted off to him about his perfectionism being something he should see a therapist about, and he washed my mouth out with soap and then caned me while I knelt on rice.

But it wasn’t all bad. I loved our meals together, loved helping him cook, and truly enjoyed just spending leisurely time with him. My absolute favorite was lying beside him with my head in his lap while we watched television together, but I also enjoyed helping him in the garage, whether he was working on one of his bikes, or the Ramcharger, or making stuff in his little leather workshop. It was hot, helping him make a flogger I knew he’d beat me with. I can’t explain it, but I can’t deny it, either.

I got used to being naked all the time. When winter came, he put blankets all around so I could cover up if I was cold, and he bought me warm fuzzy socks with little rubber things on the bottom so I could wear them in the house but not slip around on his hardwood floors.

I accidentally discovered he’s ticklish, but he retaliated by tickling me until I nearly passed out because I couldn’t breathe, so I’ve been careful not to tickle him again.

He doesn’t mind me playing around with him sometimes, though. In fact, he kind of encourages it, but only when he’s in the mood for it. But tickling him and popping him on the ass with a wooden spoon while we’re cooking? I’ll never do either again. Playing around has its limits with my Master.

I’d learned a whole lot of people choose to be slaves, too. When he was around and watching, he allowed me to get an account on Fetlife, and to talk about my life, and converse with other slaves. He was right there watching as I typed everything in, but it wasn’t like he didn’t already know everything I think, because he asks questions I don’t dare answer with anything except absolute honesty.

But talking to other people helped me understand this is a lifestyle choice for some people. The choice had been made for me, it wasn’t mine, and there were parts of it I hated, but other parts I’d miss, if I had a say in things.

I mean, sometimes I hate the sex, but most of the time it’s out-of-this-world great, even when it isn’t what I want to do.

I like the fact I don’t have to steal from people anymore, or scam them out of their money or possessions.

Going back a step farther, though, I’d been better off when I lived with my parents, and when I’d been in school.

Sure, they’d completely controlled my life, but when I compared their level of control with Master’s? Not even in the same ballpark. I mean, if I’d have let them control my life for another six years, I’d have gained control of my first trust fund, which was more than enough so I could’ve controlled my destiny from that point forward. I’d have been able to leave whatever law practice I was part of and support myself in luxury while I learned how to be a tattoo artist.

But that option was gone, and Dozer had his own house and way more money than most people. Not anywhere near what my family has, but I wasn’t interested in having that kind of money.

Other than the all-night-fucking-machine and the occasional miss when I cleaned, I mostly stayed out of major trouble. Twice, I had to deal with a soapy mouth and soapy enema for getting sassy with him when I didn’t realize he was grumpy, and then there were the regular little consequences that happen when he trains me in the positions, but mostly, I’d figured out how to follow his rules and keep him happy.

But I needed to get out of this house. It was going beyond want. He took me into the backyard sometimes and had me jump rope and do chin-ups, and we ate on the porch a few times a week, but I needed to go somewhere else, just for a little while. A change of scenery.