Master’s Plaything: Training His Slave

Master has had me so busy with writing, that I forget to keep up my posting on the blog every week. This week I decided to share a portion of the story that is a trigger for me.

TRIGGER ALERT: Small enclosed spaces.

The excerpt is raw and doesn’t show her fear.


I am having to write the specific act and move on to the next act. Then I will be going back to add her thoughts and fears.

He took me back to the playroom. Once more forcing me into the cage beneath the bed. I crawled inside.

“All the way to the wall.”

“What? No.” I shook my head scooting backward.

“Slave, get up to the head of the bed, turn over on your back, and spread your legs.”

“Why are you doing this? Being beneath here is horrific enough.”

“Why do you want to be my slave?”

“I asked first.”

“I will answer your question as soon as you do as your told. Make your way to the wall and tell me you want to be my slave. It will keep your mind engaged.”

I wanted to stall. Maybe if I was bratty enough, he’d punish me. In the end the result would be the same. I needed to accept what I wanted and begin to act like a slave.

I focused on the wall. The room narrowed and stretched like distortions shown in the movies. My vision blurred. “Master. Um…


“Can’t see.”

“Open your eyes.”

“They’re open.” A charcoal gray blob, I assumed was the wall appeared so far away.

“Get moving. Things will be better once you get there.”

I crawled on my belly, making sure I kept my head far away from the underside of the bed.

“Good, now turn over.”

“I made it?” I blinked, once, twice, and once more. The room came into focus.

“Yes.” He chuckled.

I blinked how good it was to hear the man I knew. My muscles relaxed instantly. I turned on my side. My shoulder brushed the bedframe. I screamed.

“Slave, are you hurt.”

“Yes, oh yes.”


“My… all of me.

“Slave, did you actually hurt yourself?”

“I think I scratched my shoulder.” I rubbed the spot. “No blood.”

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