Ignorable man

The Ignorable Man

His view was straight between her legs. Her ankles were perched on his
shoulders and held by his manacled hands. She sat in an armchair,
staring past him somewhere. The pleasure of looking was the only
pleasure he was going to get. She would never think of giving him what
he really wanted. The sight that stretched out along her parted legs
should have been a prequel but it would never come to that. He hated
her for that. Their relationship had progressed into something that
robbed him of any dignity and quality of life. The last few months had
been a wild ride of fantasy and exploration. He had allowed things to
happen that he hadn't thought possible. He had willingly given himself
to someone else, wholly and completely to someone. Every aspect of his
existence was now controlled by her. He had no responsibilities to
anything or anyone. It was in stark contrast to his all powerful job
that had had him presiding over his company like an emperor, hiring and
firing at will, entirely in control. He had been curious for a while
about the idea of periodically giving up some of his time to be ruled
over, even just for an evening, in order to relieve himself of the
pressure that threatened to break him. He'd tried a few mistresses,
mostly unattractive, middle-aged bulls who seemed to take no real pride
in their work, mudanely grinding through the slave/master scenario
without any of the relish or realism that he had hoped for. He
eventually found her though, recommended by a friend who was also a
client. Initially there was some pleasure in being treated this way by
a beautiful woman, of relinquishing control and having a sexual and
sensual relationship that was more mental than physical. Only
occassionally would she offer him any relief from her teasing, but this
had stopped weeks ago, their partnership had taken on a different
feeling for some reason. She had become more distant from him and
treated him with less respect. He didn't mind this at first but she
seemed to be goading him for some reason, and much more sadistically
than when they had begun.
He willed her to make eye contact, straining to make her look at him.
She just ignored him. She always ignored him, unless she wanted to
humiliate him. If the mood came upon her she would pinch him, slap him,
poke him with a stilleto heel or stub out a cigarette onto his
out-stretched hand. It was the only time that she appeared to see him,
the only time that she acknowledged his existence. He hated her for
that too. But he couldn't help himself from loving her too, not just
because of what she was and what he let her do to him but because of
who she was, something he felt he sensed underneathit all. She rarely
let her guard down in front of him, always playing the role of master,
always being in control. Only once had he seen another side to her. A
couple of days before she had let something get to her that spilled
over to their relationship. She'd been moody all day, wilfully hurting
him every time she went near him, violently grabbing his balls and
squeezing them till his eyes watered and he began to pass out. Only
when she saw this would she let go and let him drop to the floor.
Towards the end of the day it seemed too much for her and she dragged
him from his corner by the chain and began attacking him for all she
was worth. She pushed him onto his back and knelt on his arms and
repeatedly punched his face with both hands till he was bleeding and
groggy, his head giving in to every blow. He could have said the safe
word but he couldn't help feeling that it would only make her more
angry towards him. He daren't try to stop her either, as that would
really break the rules. He had conditioned himself to take whatever she
metred out to him as a sign of his love for her and of his commitment
to them both. She continued to rain punches onto his battered and
swollen face as she began to cry, eventually slowing down to
ineffectual slaps and salty tears that dropped onto his cheeks and ran
with the blood. Exhausted and beaten she fell onto him and sobbed. They
lay like that for some time, he dazed and totally confused, her, broken
and vulnerable on top of him. Through his hazy perception he was unsure
of what to do, this scenario had never occured before, should he let
her ride it out, should he comfort her, what? Any thought of a sexual
advance was out, she would never allow that. He made a decision. He
slowly and painfully raised an arm and placed it on her shoulder. She
had quietened a little at that. He had just started to ask, in a
whisper, what had he done that was wrong when she quickly sat up, spat
in his face and screamed. Standing up she kicked him hard a few times
in his side and dragged him back to his corner. She hadn't come near
him since then. He was just left alone to regain his strength,
occasionally looking at the bedroom door with it's sign, "I Dare
You".
Those couple of days she had sat in her room trying to forgive herself
for the outburst. Why wouldn't he defend himself? Why hadn't he said
the safe word? She couldn't believe that he would take all that and do
nothing, what had he become? What had she made him into? He'd taken his
role much further than any of her other clients, giving up his job and
family in order to be her sole property. His money was hers, his
possessions were hers, his very life was hers if she wanted it. And she
did. Not the thing that lay bruised and ruined outside her door, but
the man that she had first met. She wanted to confront him and ask why
he did this to himself, though she also couldn't help asking herself
why she would do it to him. They were both to blame for the extremes
that the roles had been taken. She loved being in control. Recently
though she had started to question her motives, her desire and need to
do this to willing men. What the hell was going on? They'd both played
out the roles to perfection, portraying role reversal stereotypes
against all of their natural feelings. She wanted to see whether he was
still inside there, just waiting. How much more could she inflict on
him to make him react? Initially she had been almost sensitive in her
abuse of him, knowing when he couldn't take any more and flashing him a
wry smile and a glimpse every now and then to keep him interested.
These last few weeks though had seen her descend into a silent denial
of any human feelings toward him. She wanted so much to break the
barrier between them, pushing him ever further to where she hoped he
would snap and give some punishment back to her, anything at all; a
slap in the face, a word of warning, anything.
She opened the bedroom door and slowly entered the lounge. She wanted
to try, one last time, to make him react, to force him to become what
he once was; a man. He lay on the floor with his back to her, quietly
sleeping on the cold boards. She could see the bruising on his arms and
side. She almost choked with feelings of guilt. He stirred slightly and
painfully began to turn to face his mistress. As his face became
visible she finally saw what she had done to him, the damage to his
features and his expression. His face was bloated and blackened, his
eyes were wary and frightened. He was aware that in this state he
couldn't defend himself if he wanted to. He became aware that she was
trying to look him in the eye. For the first time in months she was
meeting his gaze. He noticed something different though. Her face
showed no anger or violence as it usually did, but he detected a look
of pity and remorse. They were now making full eye contact, silently
searching for signs that would give them clues to other new situation.
Should he speak, even if it meant invoking her wrath? What should she
do now? Comfort him? Her decision was made for her as a tear formed and
began to make its way down her cheek, her knees buckled and she dropped
to the floor beside him. She held out her hand and gently placed her
fingers to his lips. "It's over", she whispered.