Throughout history mirrors have been perceived by some as gateways to the spirit world. Many have claimed to have seen ghosts while sitting in front of the mirror brushing their hair or checking their appearance.
I’m a modern man and don’t believe these claims for one second. But thinking about mirrors and spirits reminded me of a very different experience with a mirror.
One evening a few months ago I was sitting at my computer in my slave uniform, writing an article for my Queen, about the similarities between sub space and enlightenment states. I was engrossed in my work, oblivious to my surroundings.
Suddenly, and shockingly, I was jerked back to the present when a rope was thrown around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides, and almost instantly, before I realized what was happening, my Queen had thrown six red coils around my arms and chest, rendering me helpless and immobile. She pulled them very tight, and knotted them behind me. She did the same to my legs and ankles. Within a couple of minutes I was trapped on my chair, movement all but impossible.
She came into view. She was wearing a short black latex dress with a low neckline. She had paired it with knee high black boots with the stiletto heels. It covered her shapely body with shiny blackness which always thrilled me and inevitably led to the largest erections. She gazed into my eyes then, a beautiful smile on her face, and asked me if I could escape. Of course escape was impossible. I could hardly move at all. I tried to feel for the knots. I could not. They were well out of reach of my fingers. Mistress is expert with her ropes.
Then she disappeared, and came back carrying a mirror. She placed it on the desk in front of me. I saw myself, looking foolish in my frilly maid dress and black leather collar. I was intensely curious, but dared not ask questions. As slave, I am not to speak unless told to speak. She spoke then. She reminded me that she owned me, mind body and soul. That she was a free woman without limitation. That my very life was hers. I began to guess what was coming. My stomach lurched and my balls contracted. My erection disappeared. She noticed, and laughed a rather sinister laugh, without a trace of humour. She assured me that soon it would come back. I knew what she was talking about; she always knows me and my reactions and responses.
She unlocked my collar, and unfastened it, and for a brief moment my neck was free. But she immediately drew it tighter than before, and fastened it again. My erection came back. She produced some black clamps with a chain attached. With alarm I saw her forcing open a space between the coils of rope. She attached the clamps to my nipples and suddenly I was writhing in the chair, trying to escape the awful pain. But there was not the slightest relief possible. In the next instant she pulled the chain hard which made the steel clamp down much harder. I screamed. She attached the chain to the ring in the collar. I was panting like a dog, and tears were glistening in my eyes. Now I was panicking. My collar was compressing my neck and the pain in my nipples was extreme. My erection had disappeared again. She was sighing as she gazed into my eyes, and I imagined I saw there the mind of some ancient torturer intent on inflicting the maximum pain possible. She smiled, a smile of pure sadistic joy.
She went away then, and left me to my suffering. I saw everything in the mirror, the collar tight around my neck, the clamps biting and stretching my nipples, the chain taut against the collar ring. I looked every inch a slave, and my face told the whole story of what was happening; the intense pain, the helplessness of a prisoner, and the fear of what might be coming next.
After perhaps half an hour she came back and asked me if I was suffering. I gasped that yes, I was. She disagreed then, and told me that worse was to come. I saw my face go white. She then told me that I was now going to take a trip to the edge of my world. I started shaking then, in fear or pain, I don’t know which. I dared not speak. She unfastened the collar again, then pulled it tighter still, fastening it one notch tighter than before. My neck was now gripped hard by the black leather. In less than a minute my face changed from white to pink. She stood behind me, gazing at my reflection, and watching me trying not to look at my face in the mirror. I closed my eyes, and in the next instant my cheeks were on fire from slaps from her hand as she ordered me to watch. Daring not to disobey, I opened them, and witnessed my face getting darker and my eyes looking strained.
But she wasn’t finished. She was panting with excitement, as she loosened the collar again. When she pulled it tighter still I knew that I was in mortal danger. I felt and heard the fasteners close, and my neck constrict to the point where I was getting only a little air. My chest was heaving, trying to get enough oxygen to stay alive. I was struggling and straining against my bonds. My face was puffy, and changing from pink to purple. My eyes were bloodshot. In what was left of my mind, the thought arose; she has gone insane. She wants to see me die. Her sighing had changed to loud moaning. She seemed beside herself with ecstasy and madness. My reflection was getting hazy, and my world was growing dark. I had no thought. Only agony.
Suddenly, relief! The collar was looser. It was still tight, but it wasn’t strangling me. My nipples were still clamped and hurting, but were growing numb. My Queen was still gazing into the mirror at my reflection, but her expression had changed. I saw no madness. Only deep calm. From my tortured throat I managed to ask her what had happened. She said just one word: fulfillment.
She released me then, and told me to shower. I staggered to the bathroom. A benediction of hot water poured over my racked body. After a long time I emerged, towel wrapped around myself, and went to the bedroom. She was lying there in her red silk robe, her extraordinary face relaxed. She pointed to the cheongsam and scarf on the bed. My sleeping clothes. I put them on, tying the scarf like a collar. She nodded towards my place on the floor. She bade me goodnight, using my slave title. I bowed and thanked her and said goodnight. I lay on the mattress and in an instant I was asleep, exhausted.
When I returned to my writing the next morning, the mirror was gone. I hoped that I wouldn’t see it again. But my Queen is creative and unpredictable. She will do it again if she wishes, but will add more torments. She owns me and as she is truly free, she will do what she wants. Always.