My new mistress rules my world. Since she came around, my social circle has constricted; often, it’s just us. I’m complicit in this, of course. Because I’m so completely in her thrall, I’m shy about introducing her to my friends.
It took me a while to fall into my role as her sweet sub. Five times now, she has thumped my chest so hard my lungs collapsed. She sends me breathless to the hospital where she asks her white-coated conscripts to remove my clothes, pierce my skin, send poison into my veins and press me supine where I lie, benumbed and confused and at her mercy, for days.
Jealously, she does not allow me to exercise, and that means no sex. “I’m maybe starting to have feelings for this guy,” I once ventured, “He’s totally vanilla, nothing like you…” but I couldn’t finish the thought. She curled her lip and spat, “Do you think he likes bald chicks? I’m going to yank your hair till you weep. It’ll come out in fistfuls. You’ll wonder if I will ever stop, you’ll google pixie cuts and worry it’ll never grow back.”
I soon learned this wasn’t an empty threat. My scalp burned. A cascade of hairs trailed me everywhere I went. I’d find them dangling like auburn tinsel from the elbows of my sweaters. Whenever a snarl came off in my hands, I’d feel searing resentment, mixed with a small frisson of pleasure. “Here is evidence of what we have together,” I’d think. “Here is proof that it’s serious, it’s not just in my head.”
At home, after one of our hospital stays, I peeled off the dressings in front of my mirror. Narrow, tawny streaks had appeared on my skin. Her again. She’d given me flagellate erythema, a response to toxicity that presents like lashing-marks on the torso and back. I touched an angry-looking X below my belly button. Under my clothes, nobody knows it’s there. Our hot little secret.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/5xjzyy/topping_from_the_inside_disease_as_domme_ff