A Soul's Surrender

What I am about to tell you is not an easy thing for me to relive. I do feel it is something I need to share. This event takes place about a year after meeting my Master. Let me start by saying for those of you who may find this frightening, abusive, or totally abhorrent, that it happens in ourLifestyle more than you realize, and more so in a Master/slave relationship. It is however, not spoken of openly. It is a life changing moment.

Many Masters feel this is the defining moment in His taking a slave unto Himself, for both Master and slave. It is called the claiming of the slave. It is, in most cases, a one-time occurrence. At least for my Master, it was as distasteful to Him as it was to me, but as it had to be.

Biker and i had been seeing each other as often as possible. We lived some distance apart. I had moved closer to Him so that i might see Him more often. He would come to visit a couple of weekends a month. We had the wonderful times together. He was always so loving and attentive. I would wait for those weekends with great impatience. The weeks between seemed endless to me, lonely and hungry for His presence. I would gaze through my front window listening for the roar of His bike, the apartment clean and orderly, and His favorite Liquor ready to be poured into His glass.

We might go out for dinner, but more often i would have dinner prepared. Sometimes, after dinner, He would take me for a ride. I loved riding with Him, my arms about His waist. I was never happier. I needed nothing more than Him being with me. There would be hours of play, his teaching me how i should serve Him in every way. Sometimes it wascaveman style (rough and wild), while other times He would be gentle and sweet, but always caring and concerned. This was how it had been up until this one weekend in April. Springtime had come.

That evening began as the others had. He came in the door and I helped Him remove the heavy, black, leather jacket and vest. He sat down in the armchair in front of the TV. I prepared His drink, and we talk quietly. I listened to the sound of His voice, which I enjoyed so much, and sat at His feet looking up at this firm, but gentle, caring Man. I must tell you, and i don't overstate when I say this, I adored this man. I sat there waiting until He decided that He wanted something more from me, making sure He never had to ask for His drink (rum & coke) to be refreshed. I longed for Him to demand something more. I craved to serve Him, to make Him smile, and to see His eyes delight in my service.

He began so gently, stroking my blond hair, His touch so soft. I had no idea what lay ahead of me that evening. Biker told me to go to my chair and to sit. He wanted to watch me play with myself. I wanted to show Him the slut that He had made. I was proud to be His whore. I stripped off my clothes and tossed them aside. I sat down in the chair and parted my legs, revealing to Him my soft mound, parting my lips for Him to view my wetness. He said for me to make myself cum, to rub my clit until I came. He seemed to grow agitated with me. This is difficult to recall.

In an instant, things changed. There was a stranger there with me. His tone, usually so tender and loving, was now cold as steel: icy. His eyes, although a soft, deep blue, took on a dark, dead gaze. I have lived this over and over again in my head. I did as i was told without a word. I couldn't look at Him. The face I so loved was blank, cold. There was nothing that said this man loved me, no sign of caring or of tenderness.

He was speaking to me with such ugliness, calling me names. It wasn't like He hadn't used those terms with me before, but now they seemed dirty, not the same as before. Then, they were like endearments to me. My mind was in confusion. What was going on? He became more and more cold. His voice wasn't loud, but dry and uncaring, telling me I wasn't trying. I wasn't pleasing Him.

"Go on, Bitch, make yourself cum. What's wrong with you?" He said. He ordered me to get up and kneel at my chair, pushing my head forward, my bare ass in the air. He stood behind me. I was silent. He began slapping my ass. He was speaking so harshly, telling me how i was His, that i would be His forever, and that I would please Him in anyway He wished.

I'm not sure when the tears began falling, soft and quiet tears, no sobbing. No sound came with them. I felt his hands parting my ass cheeks, fingers digging into me, fingers probing roughly into my holes. I know it was painful, but that pain I could bear. It was the mental anguish I was feeling. Where had my Loving Caring Biker gone? He was still cursing at me, the ugliness so profound. I don't know when I began trembling, but I was. I felt so cold.

I heard the sound of the zipper from His pants, Him telling me to be still, Him demanding me to say i was His. Did I know I was His? I couldn't speak. I couldn't find a voice. I felt a screaming, hot, searing pain. His hard cock plunged, without tenderness or caring, into my ass. I have never been taken that way. He had played with my ass, but always so gently, taking great care not to hurt me. I did not resist or cry out for Him to stop.

I felt myself wet. Somehow, even in my state of mind, I knew I had wet myself. I was trembling so hard. He took my ass deep and hard, not caring about me at all. I was lost in this dark abyss. What is strange, i was never afraid. I know, that doesn't make sense, but it's true: confused, yes, but not afraid. When He had filled me as He wished, He suddenly withdrew.

I lay there, not moving, waiting for some sound, some word, wondering what was next. With an angry voice, He told me to get up and sit down and not move or speak. It was hard to move. I was lifeless. He made no effort to help. Always before, after we had played, He would give wonderful after care. This time, He made no move to help, not even to help me up. I struggled slowly, pulling myself up into the seat, somewhat crawling into the chair.

I managed to right myself. I couldn't look at Him. He ordered Me to look at Him, too look into His eyes. I didn't know then, but He was looking for fear in my eyes. He told me later He saw there was none. The absence of fear proved to Him i trusted Him even with what had just happened. Yet, still there was no kindness. I tried to collect myself. I asked quietly if i might go to the bathroom. He demanded to know why. Did I wish to leave Him? Was I ashamed? I had to admit to Him I had wet myself. I wanted to shower and clean myself. He told me i could, but to do it quickly and get back there, but not to dress.

I managed to get to the shower. I wasn't crying now, but I felt such great confusion. I took a quick, hot shower, dried myself off, and hurried back to Him. He never looked at me. He demanded I make Him a drink, as if nothing was out of the norm. The coldness was still there. Was He finished with me? I made His drink, brought it too Him, and asked if i might sit down. With a nod of His head, i took my seat. I asked for cigarette. I was allowed. I sipped my water and sat quietly. After a time, maybe an hour, i was told to make dinner. I did. For the rest of the weekend, little was spoken between us.

On Sunday, Master left. There was not one kiss or hug goodbye, not one kind word. It was several days before we spoke again. It took me months, years to come to terms with what had happened. He did tell me that week it would ever happen again. There was no need. I was His, and we both knew it. I will add, it never happened again.

A few months later, at our annual bike rally, He placed His collar on me.

Can i tell you how it changed me? No I can't, but it did. I was Biker's slave, my soul was His.