1 BROKEN SOUL
I look at my Master. He was always so strong, so defined and a leader. Now, looking into his eyes, he is lost, and I can see that he can’t find his way back. I need to guide him back, not just to me but to himself. I was always his follower, but right now, I need to serve him without being asked. I now understand what he meant, ‘sometimes you will just know what I need and do it’. Right now, he needs to find himself again, and I am the one to do it, the only one capable of it.
I have never seen a man so broken. His screams are the sound of a broken soul trying to mend itself while, in the process, it causes more pain and misery. It is like his body is overtaken, like he can’t control it, can’t stop it, the crying, the screams rippling through him as he stays collapsed on the floor.
The man I am looking at is not my Master. He is far from it. He is a broken man, a destroyed man, with sorrow in his eyes. When I look, all I can see is tears, tears he can’t control, tears he can’t stop. He won’t speak, not a word escapes his mouth, and we can’t do much. My arms wrap around him. My mind considers ways and how I can help, what he needs, and how can I give him that?
I sit here for hours, just holding him, letting him cry, and the tears soak through my shirt, everyone walking around, talking about what happened. I close my ears because I don’t want to know. I want to hear it from him. I want him to say it, to open up, to tell me about his pain, even if it takes months, I will wait for him. He stands suddenly, shaking and walking out of the room. I look at Georgina in a way to tell her to watch the girls as I follow him. He walks into the office, shutting the door behind him.
As I walk in, he is sitting there in the corner, knees are drawn up, hiding his face. My heart is breaking, I can’t stop it, his pain is spreading to me, I am taking it on as my burden to try and ease his own pain.
We sit here for hours longer. He looks at me, and I feel like I am drowning, his heartache overtaking me. I try to fight myself for words, words of comfort, words that will ease his pain.
“Sir, I am offering you my heart, my soul to share your pain with, so you’re not carrying the burden alone, so you can find a way to fight this and be strong.” I am not sure how, but I will find a way, a way he can pass some of his pain onto me, so he isn’t carrying it alone.
He looks at me. “He’s gone.” His voice is heavy with sadness, the same way his guilt weighs down his shoulders. “It is my fault. He is not coming back.”
He is feeling guilty, blaming himself. His whole stance screams it. I hadn’t noticed before but now, looking, I can see. He blames himself for someone’s death, whose, I don’t know. I just pray it isn’t Marcus.
I have grown fond of Marcus, and the thought of him gone makes my heart break slightly. I will need to be strong for Jackson, and at the same time, grieve for a man who rescued me, kept us safe and stayed respectful through everything he had seen.
He doesn’t say anything else. I sit and wait to give him time to find the words. I’m not in the place to force him to speak, and I certainly don’t want to cause him more pain. I feel like we’re going to be sleeping here in the office. After hours he finally moves. Without saying a word, he walks into the kitchen and starts looking to cook. I place my hand on his back, shaking my head and taking the pan off him.
I walk around the kitchen, cooking while watching him, wondering if he will talk. I place his food on a plate and sit next to him. We eat in silence. The house is quiet. Everyone is asleep by now.
“I killed him. The bullet was meant for me, not him. I moved, and he was behind me.” His words hurt, he is riddled with guilt, guilt that shouldn’t be there.
“That is not your fault. You’re not guilty.” I grab his hand and look him in the eyes, hoping he sees how much I am right.
“You have not asked about Max, or what happened? Why?” He is confused. I don’t want to make him feel like he has to open up. Max can wait. Jackson is more important.
“You are all that matters right now. I don’t care if Max is outside waiting to grab me. I am happy to wait until you’re ready.”
He looks at me and smiles. “You’re foolish. Most would be wanting to know they were safe.”
“You may see it as being foolish, but I see it as caring and realising when your needs come before mine.” He smiles. I can see from his eyes it is fake, and he isn’t happy at all.
“He has been arrested. I kicked the door open, saw him standing with the gun, waiting. I jumped to the side, and he fired. I had no idea Marcus was behind me. I heard the shot. I heard his body as it slumped to the floor.” I feel my heart break, break for Jackson, who blames himself so much, and break because Marcus is gone. “I chased after him; I nearly killed him, the sight of Marcus on the floor was plaguing my mind like a cancerous cell, spreading too quickly to control. I lost control. I kept hitting him. Everyone pulled me off him. I was ready to kill him, ready to commit murder right there. Max will walk away from this. He might be locked up, but he doesn’t deserve his life.”
I never thought I would hear of Jackson losing control. I feel that there is more to this than he is saying. What had he done to Max? Because I feel like he is still hiding something.
“You are not to blame. Max is the only guilty one. I am so sorry, Jackson.” My arms wrap around him, trying to comfort him, but it seems like it is failing.
“I went back to Marcus. I couldn’t stop the bleeding, there was too much blood, it went too deep. He passed out, started shaking and wouldn’t wake up. In the ambulance, he was on monitors and everything. He went straight to surgery. He is now on life support, and they said there is basically no chance of him waking up. I had to watch his wife break down in tears as they told her.” I am confused. Is Marcus dead or still on life support? Surely if he is still on life support, there is hope? I’m not sure if I should ask, but right now, he could be beating himself up mentally, and there may be no need.
“Is he still on life support?” I ask, waiting and hoping that he is, although I get a sense that he is that bad that it will be switched off very soon.
“He was when I left. I couldn’t stay there. The guilt of seeing his wife in so much pain, the fact that I caused it, I can’t do it, Alena. I can’t stand the thought.” His hands grip his head like he is trying to crush the thoughts from his mind. I feel stuck, like mud is dragging me in. I’ve no idea what to say, I just know I’ve to say something, and I’ve to find a way out of this mud that holds me in place and keeps me a prisoner from talking. I grab his hand and guide him upstairs to the playroom. I have no idea what the plan is, but I have to try. I lead him to the bed. He sits on the edge, and I begin to strip.
Standing here, naked, I put the blindfold on, standing in the spot I always do, waiting. I hear him move and walk out. I stand here waiting. He sometimes leaves to build up the tension. However, what seems like over an hour later, he still isn’t back. I remove the blindfold and get dressed and go to find him. I walk into our bedroom; he is here, sitting on the bed. Maybe, I should switch, become his Domme. The last time I used the whip, it drove him wild. Maybe that is the key to bringing him back?
I grab his hand, trying to prise him off the bed. He stays, unmoving, his eyes looking at me. Every time I look at them, it breaks my heart a bit more.
“Trust me, Jackson, like I trust you”. I pull him again; this time he stands up, and he walks with me. I guide him back to the playroom.
Tears build in my eyes as I begin to undress him. When he is fully naked, I hook his hands above his head and watch as I say goodbye to his eyes, as I put the blindfold over them.
He stands here, unmoved, silent, almost like a statue that I have to try to break and bring back to life. I feel out of my depth. I’ve no idea what to do. With Roxy it was different. With Jackson, though, something doesn’t feel right. I have to try though. I grab the flogger, my hand trailing it around his body, the flogger teasing him, running over his body. It feels bizarre, like I am offbeat with my movements, inexperienced, and I feel useless, truly useless because, although I did this with Roxy, I am struggling to do it to him.
I am glad he can’t see me, as the tears fall while I try to break him in any way possible to bring him back. My hand continues to stroke his body, my lips finding his neck. As I kiss lightly, my lips trail along his body, planting kisses as I move down, my tongue gently licking the head of his shaft, before I move back up again. Standing up, I swing the flogger hard across his ass. I wait, expecting him to react, to pull at the restraints, and tell me to stop. Anything.
He doesn’t. He stays here, hands above his head. I swing it down harder, and he stays still, with no reaction. I move around, kissing down his body again, my mouth sucking his cock inside, my tongue teasing under it, stroking it gently.
He moans as I feel him begin to stiffen in my mouth, filling it, making me moan from the sensation.
I snap back, standing in front of him, walking around to the back of him. I swing the flogger down, hitting him harder, my mouth biting his neck, as I moan against it.
My nails dig into his chest as I scratch down, watching as he bleeds. My mouth teases his neck as my hand grabs his cock, slowly stroking it.
Swinging the flogger harder, I don’t stop. I count to five and swing it again, 1…2…3…4…5…swinging the flogger one final time with all my strength. I see his body react and slightly stiffen up. I look around me at the items. I find a clamp that he often puts on my sex. I slowly tease him with my mouth, sucking the cock inside my mouth teasingly and then back out. Once out, I close the clamp down on his foreskin.
I watch as he jumps, growling at the feel of it. I can tell he is close to breaking. I move around his back, my hands trailing along his body, as I swing the flogger down again. This time, I turn. Moving, I grab the paddle. It has wires attached. I have no idea how to use it, and I just hope it doesn’t hurt him. Turning it on, I swing it over his ass. He growls loudly, pulling at the restraints before relaxing.
Degradation; humiliation. He had mentioned those as forms of punishment, a way to break a sub. He mentioned how it was the one thing he could not stand, him being humiliated or degraded. What would make him feel humiliated?
I walk out of the room, back to mine, and grab the bag. Walking back in, I open it, and I begin removing the makeup, hoping that he will realise what I am doing before he has all the makeup on. I grab the brush and blusher and walk over to him. I rub the brush into the blusher before applying it to his cheeks. I swing the paddle over his ass again.
My hand strokes the brush against his cheek. He doesn’t react. I hit the paddle across his ass again, tears falling from my eyes. I hate this, I really hate it. I stroke the brush across the other side, making sure he has enough pink on them. He doesn’t react. I have a feeling this isn’t going to make a difference. It is almost as if he is letting me do this as a punishment. I grab the smaller brush, preparing to do his eyes. As my hand reaches up to remove his blindfold, I whisper, “Don’t open your eyes”. I lift it, his eyes staying shut. I slowly stroke the brush across his eye, watching as they flash open, his hands pulling down and ripping the chains from the ceiling.
“What the hell are you trying to do Alena, humiliate me so that when I leave everyone can see you’re trying to degrade me?” His hands whip down. As he speaks, he grabs me, throwing me on the bed. His eyes are still not the same, but at least he has responded. He is doing something. He has me pinned to the bed, his eyes black, pitch black. I feel abused just looking at them, trying to hide myself from them. “Don’t ever do that again,” he snaps, then looks at me and now notices my tears.
“I hated it, I fucking hated that Jackson, but what choice did I have?” I shout back, my hands trying to fight against his grip. I watch as his face falls, his eyes lightening slightly, but not back to the original colour, but it is something.
“Just leave me. I will sort it out myself. I don’t need your help, or anyone else’s”. I shake my head. He does need help, a lot of help.
