my marks and scars tell a story

this is the way that i feel personally about the scars that my Mistress has given to me over the years. they are truly a beautiful thing, and they in and of themselves have a history and a story to tell.

the barber and the barfight

"Hey, you been in a barfight or somethin" recently hon?"

i had just settled into Her chair for a shampoo, cut and style at my barbers. my hair was dripping wet and i squenched as She rubbed my head vigorously with a clean, white, fluffy towel. i squinted my eyes and feigned indifference or deafness as She continued to rub harder. it seemed as if each stroke and pass through my tender scalp was going to loosen more of my fleeing hair.

my barber stepped back and then spun me and the chair around in a dashing fashion. W/we faced the huge mirror and finally with the water and soap out of my eyes, i could see and now painfully feel what she was talking about.

"you musta didn't hear me baby ... didja just been in a barfight?" this time i heard Her perfectly. She was a large Woman with large fleshy hands with beautifully long tangerine manicured nails . She gripped my shoulders and squeezed them a bit.

"it wasn't going to go away, was it?" i thought.

i continued to pretend that i had not a clue what She was talking about.

"Wh - What? Oh, that ... it's just where i hit my head accidently putting some stuff away in the attic. you know how it is sometimes, when it is terribly dark and you forgot a flashlight. that board just sort of came up out of nowhere and brained me." i chuckled at my quick reparte ... even slapped my knee for good old effect. i sincerely hoped that it would go away. "please,.... please .... please .... don't ask me about this anymore."

but, She was persistent. She narrowed her big almond eyes, furrowed Her brow and pressed Her lips into a frown.

"Mmmm ... Hmmmm"

"Baby doll ... I been cuttin' hair for a long time ... probably long before you was out of diapers, and I knows what a bottle mark looks like on a head. and you have not one, but well, lets see ... you have three of 'em'. See one, two, three .... uh... huh... maybe four."

She traced the outlines of each circular mark on my scalp with Her long talons. and them is bruised pretty badly. Quickly She grabbed my hair and with a smoothing motion pulled the hairs on my wet scalp close together to reveal the
tell tale marks.

there was no denying it. they did look like perfect bruised circles. they were now a lovely purple with a sickly yellowish hazy ring around each circumference. one was reddened, and still a bit puffy from recent impact.

"Don't they hurt darlin'?" She combed the hairs at the front of my scalp back and tried to lightly pat around them, but the truth of the matter was they smarted like hell.

i wrestled in my mind for an explanation as to how they came about and who had given them to me. i couldn't tell the truth. that would be excruciatingly painful and embarassing. i fidgeted and hemmed and hawed in the barber chair, hoping that this uncomfortable situation would melt away.

suddenly, it did. She wanted to cut my hair and get on with it. She laughed and noting my discomfort gave me an honorable way out.

"Well, i sure would like ta see what the other feller looked like afta ya clobbered him."

"oh, yeah, yeah ... i said somewhat boastfully, hopefully convincingly. we had a big party and well some of us got a little, you know drunk and well one thing led to another, and before you knew it, everybody was throwing punches, bottles. it was a mess." i tried to lie convincingly, desperate to cloak the truth.

the truth was, my Mistress sometimes gets into these terribly playful yet sadistic moods. the night before my haircut She clobbered me hard in the head four or five times with the bottom of Her water glass. each crack she delivered made a sickening thud of a sound and blood rushed to my head with a rush of throbbing pain. She seemed to delight in the pain and suffering Her well aimed strikes were causing. i myself am a masochist, so i enjoyed getting my bell rung, but had no idea how hard She was clocking me until the next day at the barbers. of course, it didn't help that W/we both were drinking. She tends to get even more aggressive and sadistic once She has had a few drinks, and the opposite is true of me. i tend to roll into a little ball of anaesthetised goo which She delights in beating the snot out of. so, the bottle bruises told the whole story of Her vicious marks on top of my poor head.

"Uh Huh, yeah, i bet they did. She look through my scalp one more time, laughed and then said,

"you had better have them nail scratches looked afta also." "They is gonna get infected if you don't keep em' clean in your hair." i cringed, and reached up toward the top of my scalp. there placed perfectly were the gouge marks of my Mistress's nails spaced perfectly apart. She had scratched my head yanking and pulling on my hair. sometimes, i think Her goal is to have me totally bald.

"It's ok hon, i'll be gentle and cut around them." "How bout i put some witch hazel on those scratches." i agreed half heartedly and thought i had covered things pretty well until ...

She dabbed the cotton swab on my scalp and said ...
"That girl does have a good aim though ... Mmmmm Hmmmm ... a damn good arm if you was to ask me."

Omg! She knew! She knew exactly what had happened! suddenly, i felt like i had shrunk to the size of a little boy in that barber chair. the rest of the appointment was spent in silence. She cut my hair and did a damn fine job. i paid my bill, gave Her a nice tip and then prepared to leave.

as i was leaving She put Her big hands on my shoulders and whispered in my ear.
"Next time, don't get Her so liquored up, or you may end up with a black eye."

She laughed hard, noting my discomfort and stuck the 5 i had just given in Her apron pocket.

i shrugged, somewhat embarrassed and walked off. "How did She know?" "How the fuck did She know what happened?"

i puzzled and puzzled over this driving home. when i arrived, i told my Mistress the whole story and how i felt. the only thing She did was laugh, and laugh and giggle at my expense.

"That is so fucking awesome!"

before walking upstairs, She stopped midway in the hall, grabbed a large, painful chunk of my hair, pulled me down to Her eye level then said,

"Yeah, I am a walking barfight, and don't you forget it." She threw me down by the steps, then said,
"Now let's get back to work. I have lots planned for you this evening."

i rubbed my poor head and counted the hairs She had yanked hard from my scalp, and followed Her obediently up the steps.

doormat

the other day, a friend of my Mistress's stopped by for a visit. W/we had a great time chatting and so forth, but as the conversation strayed to other more personal areas, My Mistress invited her friend to take a swing at me and beat me.

"It's my form of therapy. and it's very helpful at relieving stress."

her friend refused to oblige and called me something which was troubling to me at first.

"No offense pescado, but you are a doormat."

"i know." i said.

as i have taken on the role of a submissive within my Mistress's home, i have noticed that my back bone has all but dissolved into putty. there are no acceptable arguments or disagreements with Her. What She says goes and there is no straying from that fact. showing attitude is an awful faux pa, and there is no good reason to question a decision She has thought long and hard about.

Her confidence and bravada astound me! She embodies and emboldens everything that i am not. it is almost as if She sucks the energy from me and grows stronger in will, determination. mental stamina and strength. i am little more than her shadow when W/we go to the grocery store, or on an errand of Hers. i seemingly fade from view as She dominantly takes over the scene and the stage. on many occasions, i am Her chauffeur, cart boy or the errand boy running hither and thither for Her. when She calls my name it is as if it has been slammed repeatedly across the pavement until only a blood stained mark remains. i have no leash or tether to speak of, but i am attached to Her by text and phone. as such,i always get a quiver that can turn to a shiver when She chooses to contact and summon me. many times i stumble over my feet trying to quickly respond to Her whims and wishes.

i am whipped and broken, and rightly so. Her needs and desires always come first. i am Her Bitch and could not be prouder. i am Her friend, but also Her loyal servant who relishes the opportunities to disappear, yet to serve.

my Mistress has walked over me and on top of me many times. She has wiped Her dirty feet on my body and on my face until bloody scratch marks emerge and my nose is bruised, swollen, and malformed. She has tromped through the deep recesses and crevices of my mind. I have felt both sneaker, boot heel, platform and barefeet, but it is the way in which She chooses to trample me mentally that has shaped and made me into the person i am today.

for many, a person wiping their feet physically upon you is a humiliating and degrading experience. this is true, but it is also nurtures a deeper bond between the Dominant and Her submissive.

it is the true nature of the submissive to serve. i proudly serve my Mistress in all realms, aspects, and experiences. She has but to call ... and i will be there.

for,

i am Her devoted slave that hopes to become one with the soles of Her feet and the floor.

i am proud to be Her doormat.