Love Hurts by Anonymous

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Love Hurts
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The whisper of the wind through the emerald leaves brought with it the scent of wild garlic and jasmine.  None of the sounds of the outside world permeated the ring of trees, leaving only the sounds of nature, and the crackling of the fire.  The sun was high overhead, it was perhaps noon, and the warmth of its normally welcome face did little to warm the ice of my naked flesh.

The long grass in the clearing must have tickled her bare thighs as she paced around me.  Her normally relaxed, easy expression was stern now, her eyes hooded in the mask of her frowning glare.  She paced the same circular path around where I was, bound hand and foot over a felled tree, the bark pressing painfully against my flesh, the very idea of beetles and bugs creeping across my skin elliciting a involuntary quivering.  The fire spat and hissed and growled, hidden in my blind-spot.  Each time I tried to turn to look at it the thick rope around my wrists would yank me, tug me back without hope of release.

I tried to recall when this dark mood had overtaken my Mistress, the woman that was grooming me for a place at her feet.  Certainly, the mood was frequent enough that I could recognise it as being a cause for alarm.  When She was angry, she scowled.  She was not scowling now.  When she was upset, she let her mask of easiness slip away.  This was different, it was intense.  It was fearful.

My mind drifted to last night, recalling how she had me kneel at her feet. Her lithe fingers eased beneath the curve of my chin, pushing it up to regard her, serious eyes bore into mine, "Do you love me?", she had asked.
"Yes", I had responded wholeheartedly. What other reply could I give her?  What other answer could there be? Was she expecting something else? Her fingers dropped away from me, falling like autumnal leaves, her eyes returning to her viewing, but something had clearly unbalanced her happiness.  Her expression had slipped a little to what it was right now.  That night she had not allowed me my usual comforts such as sleeping in her bed, but instead had left me downstairs.

The unfeeling click of the leash being attached to my collar snapped me out of twisted dreams. I blearily blinked awake, looking up into the face of Her as she threw some clothes at me and a small pack, her expression set in the visage she still bore as she trailed through the grass.  Every couple of revolutions around the tree she made, she would pause at the fire and poke at it, then return to her unending patrol.  Not a single word was uttered as she paced.

The ropes bit hard into my wrists, holding me over the log, they bit into my ankles, spreading me over the fallen oak.  The sun kissed down my spine, over my bare bottom. The spitting and growling of the fire behind me spoke to me, imagining her poking it with a large stick.  I wondered at this behaviour.  It wasn't cold enough to warrant a fire. The sound of sizzling and spitting grew closer. Then the words...

"Do you love me?"

"Yes..."  I mumbled, earning a painful crack across my backside.  Again, she fired the question at me.  This time I spoke clearly. "Yes!"  I declared.  Again, her hand fell on my bottom, her manicured nails leaving imagined lines of red.  Again, the question came, growled at me.  "Do. You. Love. Me?"

Naked, shivering, bound, helpless, and beaten with the same question ov er and over,  the sound of my yelled declaration  sent the birds shooting out of the trees.  The hissing and spitting sound from behind me rose in volume and something the size of a large coin pressed firmly into the meat of my spanked bottom.

'What is...'

I had been wondering what it was pressing on my naked flesh when the sudden, violent searing pain bit deeply into my flesh and bore a hole, the stench of bacon frying filled my nose, my scream felt like I was breathing fire.  She held it firmly, pressing down hard, preventing me moving... I passed out.

The sunlight through my eyelids brought me around, a hand stroking through my hair.  The brand on my backside raw, painful, the flesh forever etched with her mark.  Cradling my head in her arms, her expression had softened, her cheeks lined with tears.  I realised that she had not been angry, but scared.  I suddenly understood she had not been annoyed, she had been concerned. I was about to mumble "Do you love me?" to her, when she answered before I could speak.

"Mine," she said.