What Price Desire

"A quick learner, I like that. It will serve you well." She then walked over, pulling what looked to be an animal crate with a minimal blanket inside, a bowl of water as she pointed inside. I hung my head, doing my best to move until I had crawled inside, heard the lock click and her voice say, "Sweet dreams Jonathan, from this moment forward, your world will never be the same again" and the room was plunged into darkness.

She was right, time was a blur, the first week teaching me proper protocol, how to stand, how to present myself, how to speak, even how to listen. With each mistake or as she called it "inadequate" presentation I felt the touch of the flogger, the crop, the cane, each day a different weapon, a different sensation. Each mark though not permanent was a reminder of how I must strive for perfection something which she constantly reminded me I was far from.

It was the seventh day that I found myself in the kitchen, being taught a crash course in serving a meal, the man standing beside me dressed in a butler's uniform. The look on his face was a sour one as for the fifth time he scolded me as I tried to imitate his movements. I had followed behind him like an obedient pet as he served the opening course to removing the final plate to what he called, "The lady of the house".

Finally he announced I was as good as I was going to possibly get under such time constraints and sent me out into the dining room. It was not a full presentation, simply the after dinner drink that Ms. Anderson would take and as I tried to carry the tray without trembling, without spilling the brandy I knelt. Raising the beverage while speaking softly, "I pray Milady finds this service as pleasing to the eyes as she does to the palate." She took the offered beverage as I sat there, awaiting a chastisement but instead to my surprise I heard the following.

"Nicely done Jonathan, you may kneel at my side." I did my best to move fluidly to do so and was rewarded, her hand finding my face, stroking it slowly.