Table 15, F4F

I'm glad to see you looking well.

I'm flattered you still think so highly of my capabilities, but I don't have anything to do with the seating chart. I barely know these people, I certainly didn't know you knew them. Will you stop looking around like a bomb is going to go off? We're both adults, no need to cause a scene.

Much better. Not going to tell me I look well? I thought you liked me in red.

I do want to talk, though. And if you won't respond, I'll have to choose the topic myself. I told you to stop squirming.

Of course, of course. I have no right to tell you what to do anymore.  I notice you did stop squirming, though.

Glare at me all you like. That weakness in you isn't my fault.

Well. Maybe it is, a little. Sure, you were always submissive, but I did put the screws to you, didn't I? Before you met me, you had no idea what sort of things you'd beg for. Does the boyfriend know?

He can't, or he would have come over here already. If he knew what you were like, he'd know what that conflicted little face means. Halfway between please, ma'am, stop, and please, ma'am, make it worse.

I'll say what I like to you. Make a fuss, and I'll say it louder. Right now people are ignoring us. It's on you if that stops.

Why isn't he sitting with you?

[faux-sympathetic:] Did you have a fight?

No, of course not. He just wanted to talk to his friends, and of course he trusts you completely. Why shouldn't he? He doesn't know who I am. He doesn't know I used to own you.

I'm guessing there's a lot of things he doesn't know.

Oh, call it instinct. It took some time for -me- to pry your secrets out of you, and I could use pain to do it. Or pleasure. Though once you've come enough times, hard to tell the difference, isn't it? Do you remember our third anniversary, strapped to the bed and still trying to crawl away from my tongue, legs shaking, chest heaving... Mmm, memories.

Must have been an adjustment, going from having an owner to having a boyfriend. Picking out your own clothes, never having to hide a bruise, never curling up at his feet...

Do you think he'd still want you, if he knew the things you've done? If he knew you the way I do?

You're right, of course. I could point out I also made you come harder than you ever have in your life, but I did do terrible things to you. I made you cry. Bleed. Crawl. Beg. I've seen you broken and sobbing and covered in bruises and sweat and tears and come.

And I always wanted you. I wanted you when you were pathetic and desperate, I wanted you huddled on the floor and shaking, I wanted you without pride or cleverness or artifice.

Would he, do you think? Would he clean the tears and come off of you and still kiss you afterwards? Would he hold you until you stopped shaking? If you asked him for every nasty thing that makes you wet, would he still want you? Would he find anything beautiful in the girl that passed out on my bathroom floor, my belt around her neck?

I still have those pictures. We could find out.

Ah, ah, ah. I think you mean "fuck you, Ma'am."

Really? Alright. Say my name, then. No, my first name. Come on. Look me in the eye and call me what my equals call me. Come -on-. I'm giving you permission. Not that you need it, oh no, not you. You make your own choices, now. Big strong woman like you, surely you can look me in the eye and call me by my name.

[laughter]

Do it. We're equals, here and now. Should I call -you- ma'am? Just don't think about how much the belt hurts, -ma'am-. Don't think about holding that bar of soap in your mouth, or the way you retched up bubbles, or how you had to clean your mess up. I'm just a person. I don't own you. How can a person own another person? How barbaric.

Watching you try is adorable. You can stop, it's alright.

Mmm. I shouldn't have done that. Now I'm wondering what other lessons you still remember.

[quieter, maybe even whispering] How long did it take you to learn to come without permission? Hmm? How long until your body stopped expecting to be punished for it?

[normal tone] Take a bite of something, you're starting to look suspicious. Have a drink of water.

My poor, neglected slut. It's so hard for you to think when I get like this, I know. Your little head goes empty and all you can think about is that wet, needy hole between your legs. Oh, stop. You've been wet since you heard my voice. Pressing your knees together and hoping I'd give you an order. Hoping I'd put my hands on you.

Mmm. To be fair, I'm not in a hurry to stand up either.

[surprised tone:] Of course I am.

Of course I still want you. Don't get me wrong, I'd punish you for leaving until you couldn't fucking walk, but... you were the best thing I ever owned. What's that face? Did you think I didn't?

Huh. I thought it was pride that kept you from coming back. Or fear. That you couldn't handle being what I was making you.  All this time, did you think you couldn't come back?

Well. That shines a different light on things. Pet, I let you leave because I am a terrible person, but I'm not a rapist. I didn't let you leave because I -wanted- to. Your cage door was always open, if you wanted to crawl back in.

Mmm. Want is too nice a word, maybe. I don't think you just 'want', I think you need. No, hush now, mistress is talking. Pick up your purse. Get me a pen. Stop acting like I don't know everything about you,  of course you have one. Good girl.

Oh, you flinched a mile. It's not just my control you still need, is it? You need my approval. Poor little slut. We're going to have so much catching up to do.

Here. This is my number, these days. Call me when you can't pretend to be a normal woman anymore.

I'll be waiting.