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Stories and Fantasy

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Author: kaya

Filed in: slavery, ownership, m/s, dismissal

They stared at each other across the room. Her face was wet, swollen and blotchy from sobbing, a wild look of panic consumed her eyes. He was hard, cold. His jaw was set and He forced Himself to maintain eye contact. He made sure she saw that He meant every word.

His unfeeling exterior masked the whirlwind of emotions that He felt. Fear, excitement, sympathy. He was worried. He knew the risk He was taking with her, He understood the possibility of tragedy. And yet, on top all that was a belief that He was doing the right thing. The next step.

"I don't want you anymore." He repeated.

She crumbled to the floor, devastated. She belonged to Him. She always had belonged to Him even before she knew it. He was her world, her reason for everything and she just couldn't accept the words that were hitting her ears.

"Why, Master? What did I do?" she could barely get the words out. She'd asked a thousand times already and always He gave the same answer. "Nothing." She'd done nothing to be cast away. There was no reason, and therefore, nothing she could fix or change or promise or make sense of.

He abruptly spun on His heel, turning His back to her. She closed her eyes, dropping her head to the floor. Something inside of her shattered.

"May I go for a walk?" she asked, her voice completely emotionless. He shrugged, needing to continue the illusion of not caring what she did. "You come back," He said, 'God please come back', He thought to Himself, "And I'll help you to gather your things."

He'd not anticipated that she'd want to leave the house and He worried about her being out of His sight. But something told Him that she wouldn't dare to disobey just yet. He'd told her to come back and she would. He had to trust that.

"Don't be too long. I've a busy day today." He told her as she stood at the door. She looked back at Him and He almost caved. Her eyes, her normally bright and sparkling eyes, the eyes that had drawn Him to her so long ago, had gone flat. Dull. Empty.

He was killing her.

After she left He leaned against the door, suddenly exhausted. Doubt surged through Him again. There were so many 'what ifs' to consider. He'd been going over this for months and months, arguing with Himself. He'd abandoned the plan a million times. It was too risky, too cruel. Success of the plan relied too heavily on the actions of other people, people that He would have no control over and He stumbled over that constantly. If they didn't do their part, the results would be tragic. Hell, the results could be tragic even if everyone acted appropriately.

Knowing the worst possibilities had caused Him to bury the idea over and over. Yet it kept coming back, kept resurfacing, nagging and persistent. Always filling Him with the belief that it had to be done, regardless of the chances. Not doing it had brought their progression to a halt. He'd spent many a sleepless night, watching her as she slept, and asking Himself if He could live without her. The worst case scenario, that He would take this gamble and lose.

He understood that she could just leave. He'd released her, set her free. She could pack up her meager belongings and move on. He'd help her, give her money, find her a home. After all, it was He who had stripped her of all her possessions when He claimed her as His. If that was the choice she made, then at least He'd know.

If she chose to leave, He'd never really owned her. He didn't possess her. And that is what He needed to know.

The words and promises that she'd spoken to Him should have been enough. Would be enough for most anyone else. He'd questioned His need to have proof, to know explicitly that she wasn't just saying the words that He wanted to hear. The answer was simple enough really. Because proceeding with the process of dismantling her and making her what He wanted her to be could not go one step further if she didn't need Him enough yet. It wasn't enough that she said He was her reason for living. He had to know, she had to prove it. It had to be done.

He sat down to wait.


She plodded along on the sidewalk, not knowing or caring where she was going. Her path was blurred by the constant stream of tears anyway, a steady river that showed no sign of end. Confusion coursed through her. Nothing made any sense. She'd gone over every word, every action for the last several days, mentally examining it and looking for reasons. Had she failed to please? Just the night before He'd ravaged her body with a fervent need unlike ever before. He'd held her to him afterward, so tight she could scarcely breathe, she could feel His heartbeat as it hammered inside of Him. There had been no cross words, nothing she'd refused Him. She done her best, always she'd done her best for Him and yet, here He was, abandoning her. She was devastated.

She considered just walking and walking until she could walk no more. Until she passed out from exhaustion. "And then what? Start over? Go back to society like I haven't been gone for the last few years? Get a job, eat and sleep, breathe, day after day, and without Him? Without my reason?" A fresh round of tears coursed down her cheeks at the thought.

After a time, just as her legs began to tire, she looked up and found herself just a block from His house. She'd made her decision, and though she was very sad about it, she also knew it was the only option she had. For a moment, she considered not going back (and had He known that, He'd have panicked for sure) but she dismissed it. She couldn't go out of this and have being disobedient as her last act. It would taint everything.

She took a deep breath and nodded to herself. It was the right decision. She knew it. She headed for the door.


When the door opened and she walked in, He closed His eyes for a moment in relief. Then He looked expectantly at her. As soon as He saw her face, He knew the decision she'd made. It was written, plain as day across her features. She'd never been able to hide anything from Him and she couldn't start now. There was a very sad peacefulness in her eyes. It tugged, hard, at His heart and He had to swallow before speaking, the pause allowing Him to control His voice.

"Are you ready?" He asked, feigning cheerfulness. He saw another door slam shut on her face. The small hope she'd had that He might have reconsidered while she walked was killed.

"Yes Sir," she said softly. "I'm ready." She walked to the bathroom and clicked the door shut quietly behind her. His question had been in regards to beginning packing, but He knew her answer hadn't been to that. He reached impulsively for the doorknob, suddenly afraid. He knew what she was doing in there and He was frightened out of His mind. He wanted to scream at her to stop, that He didn't mean it. His fingers trailed off the knob, the door remained shut. He pressed His forehead to the wall and blinked back the tears. It was in motion, it had to finish.

She sensed Him outside the door, could even see the shadow of His feet. She'd not locked it, she wasn't allowed to anyway. He could come in if He wanted to, and somehow she knew without a doubt that He knew what she was doing in there. He knew and He wasn't stopping her. That fact extinguished the last spark of hope she'd held.

Her hands shook as she pulled the bottle of pills out of the medicine cabinet. She opened it, the tiny white pills tinkling against the bottle. Her mouth went dry and fear consumed her. She wasn't a religious girl, she didn't worry about the supposed sin of suicide. Her God stood outside the door, her God had rejected her. But the unknown was scary still, and she trembled as she dumped the contents into her hand.

He bit into His fist as He heard the quiet rattle that was pills being poured out of a bottle. His heart skipped a beat when He heard the rush of water as the faucet came on. He backed away from the door as silence filled the air. On top of the fear that He was filled with was another emotion, an exhilarating emotion. He did possess her, completely, totally, and she'd just shown Him the truth.

All of the times that she'd sworn from her place at His feet that He was her very reason for living had led them to this moment, right here. "I can't live without You, Master," she'd said, time and time again, and He'd wondered and questioned that statement. The seriousness of what He was doing to her slammed into Him then. She was His, to mold, to shape, every last bit of her sat in the palm of His hands. He could make her into whatever He wanted, including destroying her. The sobering effect of that knowledge caused His knees to buckle and He sat heavily on the couch.

For a while He stared at the closed door, frozen. He'd hoped this would be the outcome and He knew how noxious that was. But He couldn't deny the relief He felt. She was His. Forever. There would be no limit now to how He could tailor her. As if she'd been presented to Him anew, He was filled with wonder at the possibilities. A blank canvas, her mind, body and soul lay in His possession.

She was His.

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