Master was angry. I had no idea who had pissed him off, or what had happened, but he was pissed. He stalked right past me, hardly acknowledging my presence, which he only does when his anger could potentially cause me harm. I knew to stay out of the way until he called for me, and just did the household things I knew he’d appreciate until then. When he finally did call for me, I could hear the iron-willed control that I loved so much threading his voice. When I found him, Master was in the dungeon, and he had his flog and riding crop out, along with the shackles. Master told me that he needed me to endure pain for him, and that he was sorry that he needed to because he loves me so dearly. I walked over to the table, bent myself over it, and held my hands in their proper place. He shackled them to their respective bindings, and ran a hand over my bare ass. He bent down and kissed each cheek, apologizing again, before I felt the first blow from the flog. He spanked me hard several times, then switched to the riding crop, landing blows all across my cheeks, and occasionally hitting my hips and thighs in the process. I was welting, and I would bear these marks for a few days, I already knew this. But, I knew that I was helping Master, and that made all the difference. By the time his fingers found their way to my cunt, I was sore and aching, and I needed what only he could give. When he finally rammed his dick all the way into me, I cried out with the pain and pleasure of it. Master took his anger out on my cunt and ass for over an hour before kissing every inch of the skin he’d bruised.
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