I leant back in my chair as she walked through the bar door, taking a sip of my drink. As ever she had that haughty look about her, like every floor she stood on or person she let her eyes fall on was somehow unclean. Yet her cold beauty still shone through; she'd always been a head turner, not just her looks – her innate confidence and realness made you take notice.
She spotted me and made her way through the sparsely populated bar of the hotel. A few families having a quiet drink, the odd tourist and the business type on an overnight. I was aware of the male eyes following her body (and the wives casting glances at their men) as much as she appeared oblivious to them.
Finally she stood before my table, a half smile on her lips as she stared at something above my head, her face hiding her emotions as ever; then her head dropped, one hand rested on her hip, the other hip dropping as she deliberately raised her heel off the floor, accentuating her curves. I let my eyes take her in, the high heeled black leather boots ending just below her knees, the dark – stockings I presume – the tight black pencil skirt and fitted white blouse, top buttons undone. She kept her head lowered then raised her eyes to look at me, then slowly raised her free hand, showing me the palm, the perfect picture of submission. I can't deny I felt a little hard right then. I nodded my head almost imperceptibly, to show she could speak.
“Is this fucking good enough for you........Sir?”
**
A few days earlier then. At a certain time of the night, another bar, one where people go to drink away their week, small groups of friends, single glassraisers that may be romantic in their self absorption or simply sad, depending on what stage you were at yourself. I liked it; it was a friendly warm place with a sympathetic jukebox …and a pool table.
The black ball rolled casually towards the bottom corner, dead weight, then bounced from one knuckle of the pocket to the other in a way that makes lazy commentators say “that wiped its feet” before dropping finally into the pocket with that satisfying thud rumble sound. I slowly stood up and turned to her.
“Game. You are mine”.
**
But let's go back a little further. Let me tell you about Sara and how we came to be here. I don't know what path led her to work here but I do know I'm not sure our company could manage without her. She gets things done. Oh of course the staff moan about her as they do all managers, have their names for her and jokes, but I think there was respect there. Ultimately you need a bastard in charge, someone who gets things done. Part of it I'm sure was because she was a woman, and a confident one at that – she has to be, working in a male environment, but I don't think that is the reason – the jokes were different to those directed at male bosses; all the clichés you can imagine; “Bitch”, “Frigid” and unthinkingly contradictory “Tart”– but in the main the men jumped when she asked. Personally I'd say we had an efficient working relationship. Not that we really knew a jot about each others private life. To my way of working I'd much rather find solutions to problems than waste time and energy apportioning blame. I think that's why we worked well together; if you want something doing, give it to a busy person. Which is how we found ourselves in my office that night, the building deserted save for that feeling of a mass of people having just left, people who have better places they want to be, silent bar the radiators ticking and the sounds of the building breathing that are normally disguised. The Make or Break (tm) contract finally through the first production phase, we'd done it – we'd caused anger, blood and tears but everyone would still have a job for the rest of the year - and probably my face on their dartboard. I dropped in my chair as Sara dropped the build folder on my desk.
It struck me that I didn't really know her, that I wasn't actually sure she liked me beyond trusting me to back her up professionally. I respected her, but I couldn't say we'd ever bonded. Yet we fought through this night together. Bonded?
She tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, her demeanour making it obvious this was going to be the usual “thank you, now fuck off home” sign off. I suddenly needed more.
“Do you fancy a quick drink?” I said. Not a come on, yet I still regretted it instantly, I'd shown a weakness to her. She looked at me with that… beautiful sneer on her lips. “No” she said after a pause calculated for maximum discomfort on my part, like I'd just suggested we not only eat her cat but I'd like to watch her to cook it too.
“I fancy getting pissed.”
**
We left our cars at work and got a taxi. I guess it was slight mischief on my part that led her to my favourite bar, but as ever she was unfazed, fitted in. Shone of course, a magnet for male eyes, but at comfort, she looked like she had never drunk anywhere else. And we talked, we talked about music, life, work, ambitions, we got drunk personal, we talked about submission… I don't know how it came to that. Did I steer conversation around? Maybe, I've certainly got no morals about taking advantage of a girl with a few drinks in her. Though that would imply some sobriety on my part, which in all honesty was not the case.
“I've always had the desire, the wonder to submit,” she said, long finger circling the top of her glass, “and don't give me any shit cod psychology about 'the bitch boss' needing to give up power, I've always felt like this. I remember as a child twisting my hands in my knicker elastic, restraining myself. I remember being attracted to the power of Wonder Woman – don't laugh – I aspired to be like her, but also loved it when the bad guys tied her up”. And we talked about power, we talked about respect, her and I. We talked about consent, trust and giving. We talked about pain. I wanted to grab her hair, press her over the table and fuck her right there.
Drunk on arousal and drunkenness: “Submit to me then, be mine.” She threw her head back and laughed long and hard, but then the eye contact was back. “I'm not that easy”.
She cast a thumb over her shoulder at the pool table. “Win me.”
**
So, we are back to where we came in, in that hotel bar. We talked, light chat, until it was time. “If you do go up to my hotel room then you are mine, mine until 10.a.m. tomorrow morning. I'll use you as I see fit, I'll care for you, I'll help you, but I will use you, you'll submit to me fully. I'm giving you one last chance to back out Sara. Go to the toilet, consider it, and if you agree then walk back to this table bare foot. If not, no hard feelings, we'll finish our drinks, and maybe have another.”
She took her time, slowly draining her glass then stood up, face impassive. She walked away then paused long enough to wink over her shoulder. I watched her hips wriggle away and drained my drink.
Her boots were in her hand as she stood again in front of the table, hand raised. “Yes, you may sit”. I'd swear she'd lost some of her confidence.
“I want you to go out to your car and collect your bag. Go up to Room 216 and stand outside facing the door, one heel off the floor as you've been taught. Wait for me.”
“Yes Sir. I have one question though. May I put my boots back on first?”
I gave her enough time then took the stairs up to our floor. Bless her, there she stood, still, calm, that stunning model figure, her eyes fixed on the door in front of her. I wonder how many guests had walked by her as she stood like that? I unlocked the door then went inside, leaving her in the corridor. I took my time finding a suitable music channel on the T.V. then went back to the door. “Come in, take your boots off, leave your bag by the wall and stand in the middle of the room.”
She did as instructed, and I can't describe the pride and thrill I felt as she stood there, one foot off the ground, hands resting on her thighs, her head bowed. This girl was no doormat, yet she was under my command. I sat on the edge of the bed. “Lift your skirt up, I want to see your legs”. She did as told, shimmying the tight material over her thighs. The soft skin above her stockings filling me with desire for her. She was beautiful.
I stood behind her, wrapping her hair around my hand, pulling her head back gently. “Mine”, I whispered in her ear. I ran my hands down her spine, firm, slowly, then out around her waist, round to her stomach. I moved my hands up, softly cupping her breasts, “These are mine” I whispered again, increasing the pressure until I saw a twitch in her face. My hands went higher, one wrapping around her neck, tilting her head back, I could hear her breathing roughen, sense her discomfort.
“This is mine” I said, running a finger around her mouth, then sliding it between her lips. “Suck”. I trailed my free hand over her bum – so firm! - “This is mine”, then slowly withdrew my finger from that so soft mouth and moved my hands over her hips, pressing between her legs, pressing her bum against my thighs as I whispered in her ear again “mine”.
“Yes Sir, yours.”
“You will take what I choose to inflict on you? You know that I'll respect and care for you, but that I will be harsh, that I want to push you? To learn what you are capable of?”
“Yes Sir, whatever you choose to do to me” I could hardly hear her voice.
“Then let us begin…”
I sat back on the bed, making it easier for me to run my eyes over my property, savour the curves of her body and her stillness as she stood before me. There it was again, that look on her face, something in her posture, mischief, nervousness, yes, but also something else – anticipation? Excitement?
“Kneel.”
“Bitch?” she replied after a pause, a teasing smile playing on her lips. That ramped up my anticipation levels too, for I've never been attracted to those who give their all without question. Over the years we've worked together I've got to know and respect Sara's strength of personality, her direct forcefulness, and that she with all her self aware independence was now submitting to me only added to my excitement and pride.
“No, you aren't a bitch. I'm not here to try and put you down. I'm telling you to kneel as there are certain conventions I expect of you. How I wish you to behave.”
That smile played on her lips again, her eyes focused on mine almost staring me down. She was on a loser there, I've practiced on my cats. (Current score: Nerfertiti 3, Domly One 2). Her eyes lowered then her head bowed, I could see her chest raise and fall with her breathing, then she slowly sank to the floor, kneeling in front of me, her thighs and back in a straight line, her hands clasped in front of her skirt.
“Good girl”, I said, a smile playing on my lips this time. And as I'm trying to tell this tale with as much honesty as I can I'll admit to you now I began to get a little hard at the sight of her. Yet she wasn't quite as I wanted. I let her stay there for a while in silence then got up and walked around her. I gently put my hands on her shoulders (did she twitch almost imperceptibly at my sudden touch?) and pressed her down until her bottom rested on her heels. I went down on my haunches next to her then and said “like this”, taking her hands and placing them palm down flat on her thighs as tenderly as I could, finally resting my hand on her head and pressing it slightly lower until it was at the angle I wanted. I stood up again and stroked her hair, caressing fingers down her cheek as I explained how this was the position I expected of her when she was told to kneel for me. “Yes Sir,” she whispered back in a flat voice. I walked away from her, leaving her there while I dimmed the lights in the room a little. I went to the fridge and got the wine I'd bought especially, chilled just right.
As I poured two glasses I wondered what was going through her mind, how she thought this night would pan out. Is this what she was expecting or wanting? Yet the night held so many possibilities, I saw no need to rush. “Lean forward please Sara” I instructed, my voice calm and measured as I took a sip of the wine leaning on the wall on the far side of the room “place your forearms flat on the floor in front of you, your forehead touching the carpet between them”. She gave a – not a gasp or sigh as such, more an exhalation, as she slowly moved into position. Hands sliding along the flooring, her bum naturally presented up in the air to me, that bottom I'd secretly admired walking down the corridors at the office so many times; “built to go all night” said one particularly crass workmate once. If only he knew.
I walked back to her, pausing at the bed and my bag, as I unzipped it I notice her head tilt to one side slightly, trying to listen and understand the sounds she was hearing, the rustle and gentle clink of what I took out the bag and carried towards her.
“Sir?” Her calling me Sir, the reversal of our professional roles still amused me, yet had a certain power, more than such a small word should, but then it's not just a word is it? It's the meaning behind how it's offered. “Remind me – did we discuss safewords?”
“You only need to say 'stop', if you need Sara. But I think you knew that already.”
Again, I went down on my haunches behind her, leaned forward to caress her face and neck, lifting her hair from where it had fallen, stroking it and laying it on her back. I ran my hands down her spine, flat, down to her waist and around her sides feeling the warmth of her firm body, moving slowly then over her behind, feeling the firmness, pressing, exploring - being touched and investigated like this so soon was probably an intrusion to her, but one she bore silently, willingly.
I finally took hold of one of her ankles and placed one of the thick lined leather cuffs I'd retrieved from my bag around it, locking it just tight enough around her ankle, over her stocking. This time there was an audible gasp from her throat, a twitch from her body. I repeated this on her other ankle, then stood up to move around in front of her, taking her wrists in turn and locking them into the cuffs below the sleeves of her top. I took my position sat on the bed again. “Stand up”.
Up she got, slightly unsteadily, to stand before me. She looked at the cuffs, fascinated, turning her wrists and testing their weight before bowing her head again and resting her hands on her thighs.
“Take your blouse and skirt off.” Her head came up and this time there was no playful smile on her lips. She looked me directly in the eyes, but I said nothing more; our eyes were locked, words unsaid passing between us. Was this the point when it all became suddenly real to her? That this wasn't a game and she realized what she would be giving? What did she feel? Embarrassed that she had to reveal herself, that she would possibly have to give herself? Anger at being bossed around despite her desire for submission? Scared in case there would be pain? My own concerns were only that I looked after her, that she felt safe whatever may happen, and that this was about her not some random piece of meat. Even as I was thinking this she raised her hands and began unbuttoning her top.
“Slowly, don't be in a rush” I said, “You have a beautiful body, reveal it slowly to me, so I can savour it. Don't be afraid to tease me”.
Sara paused with the button under her fingers half undone and laughed. “Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised, but then in my experience most girls do think that 'strip' means 'get 'em off as quickly as possible'. Is there no art to this anymore? That always made me sad. I tilted my head and gave a self conscious smile and half laugh. “Really.”
Sometimes she can pull the dirtiest, knowing expression, the pout of the lips, the glint in the eye. She turned her back on me and planted her legs wide, stretching the material of her skirt, then turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. Just that look made me hard again. I'd say any shame she felt had gone…
A flick of her long hair and she faced away from me again, she continued unbuttoning her blouse even though I couldn't see her revealed skin. When she'd done she pulled the fabric wide open with another look over her shoulder to see my reaction, the pout back on her lips. She closed the blouse around her again, then turned on her heel, facing me then began slowly walking towards me one foot directly in front of the other – I've worked with this girl for years and had no idea - stopping in front of me she slowly ran her hands from her neck, tangled in her hair then down over her body, oh so slowly over her breasts. She tilted herself towards me, hands then down over her breasts, cupping them before pressing lower over her stomach, then she straightened and ripped the blouse from her body, throwing it on the floor with a flourish. Her breasts cupped in a lacy white bra, breasts so often fantasized about during those long meetings, revealed like that, for me, had the sound of my heartbeat drumming in my ears, but she wasn't finished. Sara seemed to be revelling in letting her hitherto unimagined slutty side loose, and I liked it.
She knelt between my open legs, maintaining eye contact all the way then ran her hands over her torso up to her hair, flicking it, shaking her head, then with her eyes lasered into mine, daring me to break contact, reached behind her back, unfastened her bra. Holding the cups she revealed her breasts with the slowness of tectonic plates, eventually dropping the bra on top of her discarded blouse. Her hands were at her breasts once more, caressing, taking her nipples between her fingers, squeezing, and I had to look at her displaying herself, I couldn't stop my hardness increasing but didn't care if she saw.
She must have, for that was her cue; she leant in close, her lips brushing the material over my crotch, her eyes still fixed on mine, daring me to look, to react as I felt her tongue brush me. Slowly she raised herself up, curving her body so I felt the softest touches of her breasts against my stomach, my chest, her face was in front of me, lips tantalizing millimetres from mine, I was lost in the scent of her skin and perfume, the feel of her soft skin against my cheek, her breath in my ear as she whispered, “You want me don't you? Admit it, you want me, want me to be your slut, you want to take me, fuck me… Sir.” She'd never said 'Sir' with such contempt, and it was all I could do to contain myself at the power of her mischief, but then she was suddenly away from me again, standing tall with her back turned away from me.
Her hands followed the waistband of her skirt, found the button and slowly unfastened it, followed by lowering the zip agonizingly slowly, revealing a hint of the soft silky material underneath. Her hands were back at the top of the waistband, her thumbs slipped inside and she slowly lowered the tight skirt down over her hips, her thighs, bending at the waist keeping her legs locked straight. Lower, past her knees, bending to slide her hands down her legs until the skirt was down on the floor, bent fully over, the most blatant of displays.
She curled back up, almost straight, looking over her shoulder again, then moved backwards until she was sitting on my lap, her back arched making her breasts stand irresistibly proud, her face alongside mine, her hair a confusion around me as she rubbed and pressed her cheek against mine, all the while grinding her arse into my thighs and hips, feeling my hardness for her. Her arm reached across me, around my neck, cupping my head, then she was whispering softly in my ear again, and this time there was only innocence and vulnerability “You like?” Her body was still grinding against me “You like this? I'm pleasing you? What are you going to do with me Sir?” No trace of contempt this time. We were rubbing our faces against each other, echoing the way her body was pressing into mine, “I… I” Then suddenly she was gone.
Business Sara was back. She calmly walked across the room and picked up her wine glass from the desk, leant against it. Almost distracted as she flicked her hair again and took a drink from the glass, like this was the most natural thing in the world, though the flush in her face gave the lie to that.
This girl was perfection.
There was no need to hasten. As she drank I drunk her in, naked save for her knickers, stockings and the cuffs. I could only admire her coolness, but then that was always the attraction, Sara the one always in control of her self, of the situation. Strong, and who could ever dislike women so much that they wouldn't want a strong woman? What man worth the name would be so insecure in his manliness that he would be threatened and need to diminish that strength? Not I, but tonight would bring such revelations, such memories to savour though our pleasure of her pain, her tears, her screams.
“Put your glass down Sara. Turn around and bend over the desk, forearms flat on the surface. Look into the mirror. I want you to look into your eyes, because I think it's time we began…”
She gave that knowing smile of hers again, the look in her eyes saying, 'oh, I may be the one almost naked and cuffed, the one about to be spanked, but I saw and felt what my striptease did to you' before she slowly turned around and bent over the desk as I'd asked, legs apart, forearms flat on the desktop, looking at herself in the mirror. The old Sara dies hard I guess, despite her desire for submission, or rather her desire for someone strong enough for her to submit to.
The power here was obviously still in the balance, at least for her. To me there had been no doubt since the second she walked up to my table in the bar downstairs – sure she'd been given an out, but we both knew that wasn't going to be an option. I'd let her tease because, frankly, I enjoy it. We were still flirting, toying at that point, and of course I was being gentle, letting her find her way. Enough of this.
I opened my bag again to remove a few items that may be of use, careful to block her view of what I was doing in the mirror, but I hoped the noises they created against each other piqued her interest.
I took my time selecting a paddle then walked over to her, placing it on the desk next to her right forearm so she could see it, consider it.
I ran my fingers gently over the small of her back, along the skin above the waistband of her white silk panties; the feel and warmth of her excited me again, along with the knowledge of who she was, my boss in this hotel room, the strong unflappable Sara, about to be beaten, broken. My hands moved lower over the smooth silk, feeling her warmth, the firmness of her buttocks, I caressed them, ran my fingers over them then lower, squeezing gently, testing, down onto the exposed skin between the silk and the tops of her stockings. My hand moved around her thigh and I gave her a hard pinch; her head jerked up immediately and she said a loud “Ow!”, but I stayed silent. Instead I moved my hand up higher between her legs until I was touching the silk again. I pressed up firmly then began to gently stroke, feeling her through the cloth, exploring her, she was shaven, just how I like, and let out a half gasp, half sigh at my touch and caress “You are wet, slut, I think you are enjoying this” I said, my fingers continuing to move over the silk. With my free hand I took a handful of her hair, pulling her head back so she had to look at herself in the mirror, moving the hand between her legs so my finger was now circling her clit, my thumb pressed hard between her buttocks, “You like this?” I asked, echoing what she'd said to me as she had grinded into me minutes earlier.
She gave no answer, so I told her to keep looking in the mirror as I released her hair, I trailed my fingers, my nails slowly down her spine as soft as I could, a hint of a scratch, watching her move slightly under my touch. I ran my nails slowly up again without breaking contact and held them at her shoulder. I pressed harder, digging my nails in her smooth skin then agonizingly, steadily, began dragging then down the length of her back. “Down!” I said as she cried out and bucked upwards at the pain, I pressed in harder leaving red trails in her flawless skin until I reached her knickers. My other hand had been playing between her legs all the while, but I removed it now and put both hands on her shoulders.
“Again” I said, as I raked the nails of both hands down her back, watching the lines grown and her squirm and twist, beautifully.
I let her get her breath back, before bringing my hand down sharply on her left buttock. Sara rocked forward with an expression of shock on her face. “Stay still” I told her, “that's just the first”. I rubbed her bum again, stroking her skin under the silk, getting her used to the contact, then alternated the caresses with spanks, soft to begin with, then increasing the intensity. I watched fascinated at her reaction, the twitch of her body, the look on her face as the frequency of the harder blows increased between the soft ones and caresses. I varied the tempo along with the force, moving over her bum, then a series of fast, testing strikes just where the curve of her cheeks met her thighs. She was gasping now, her head sunk below her shoulders, trying to move forward away from me, I put my hand around her hip and pulled her back, her reward for moving away a series of the hardest spanks yet.
Sara's face was softer now, a trace of shock there, her lips were parted slightly, her breath heavy. I caressed her where my blows had landed, and told her to stand up straight. She raised herself up slowly, tilting her head to look at me over her shoulder. “Take your knickers off, then get back in position.” She didn't say a word, but lowered her knickers slowly over her bum and onto her thighs, pausing to feel her hot spanked skin before lowering the silk over her stockings and down her legs to the floor, finally kicking them - with a certain elegance - to one side. When she straightened up again she seemed to be considering something; she shot me another lingering look over her shoulder then slowly bent over the desk again, her eyes large in the mirror, looking directly into mine. “Did that hurt?” I asked. Her voice was soft and low when she cleared her throat and replied “It, it did, the hard ones really did… and… humiliating”.
I smiled at her and my reply was voiced equally gentle, “I know Sara, but you did really well, you took it all. But that was just the start, I'm afraid.” Not that I was afraid, I could feel my own heart beating, the sight of her naked and exposed, I wanted to fuck her so much it almost hurt me – use her cunt, her arse, I didn't care, I just wanted to know how he felt to be inside her. Instead I told her to spread her legs again, my hand back exploring her without the silk between us this time. She was wetter now, moistening my fingers as I slid them against her, I inserted the tip of a finger into her and she immediately pressed back, pushing me into her, “Not yet slut” I said, taking my finger out of her, putting it in her mouth “Suck it clean”. Her eyes closed and I felt her tongue flick against me, her lips tight on my finger; we both knew what was alluded to here, and she didn't seem to mind.
When I'd had enough I claimed my finger back. “This, I instructed perhaps a touch patronisingly, “is called a paddle”. Sara gave no reaction as I picked up the handle and rubbed the flat cold leather against her bare skin. I brought it down – not too hard – with a satisfying thwack/thud against her skin. “This time I want you to count, slut, count each blow, then say 'thank you Sir'. Do you understand?” Ok, this was somewhat of a cliché, but sometimes one just has to do such things. “I understand” she said, with a voice bolder than last time. “You understand what?” I said bringing the paddle down hard, timed as I said the 'what'. She flinched and her head flew back with a cry, “I, don't, I... oh, I understand, Sir. I understand Sir.” Her voice this time was soft again.
“Good girl”.
I began gently, giving her plenty of time to speak, (“one, thank you Sir”) but slowly I built up the force, the speed, so she had to reply quicker, eventually her words and the next sting against her skin running into one – “Eighteen! Thank you Si..” thwack! “Ah! Nineteen! thank yo…” Thwack! “Twenty!” Her voice had began to change, there was a catch in it, her body was moving more, bending at the knees at each stroke, I saw her hands had bunched into little fists on the desktop, so I slowed down again, reducing the severity of the beating, almost kissing her with the paddle, letting her recover but not stopping. Her voice had gone flat again, the hint of tears, of breaking had gone. She was almost calm again as I ramped up the force, each cheek in turn as I swung my arm, redness upon redness, the colour darkening.
The calm had gone, replaced by pure reaction “Oww! Forty-one, thank you Sir..Ah! Forty…two, thank you…Sir” every new count sounded tearful now, every 'thank you' sounded pained, the 'Sir' almost questioning, 'why are you doing this to me?' I could tell we were reaching a critical point.
Thwack! “ Ow, fuck! Forty… forty-six..” She left it at that and I looked at her face in the mirror, there were tears in her eyes but she fixed me with eye contact, a look a lot like contempt on her lips, as she saw the paddle raise again in a slow arc behind her. I held it there for two heartbeats then brought it down with shocking fierceness. Her knees almost collapsed this time “Fuck! Oh you bastard, you bastard…”
“Stand up”. I threw the paddle on the desk behind her as she stood and turned to face me, her face a mixture of angry defiance and tears… and something else I couldn't place. I stood back, arms folded, not saying a word just looking at her, watching her breasts rise and fall as she tried to get her breathing back under control.
Eventually I moved behind her, I took her wrists, placing them at the small of her back and fastened the cuffs together with a short metal clip. I didn't utter a word until I was back in front of her. She was facing resolutely forward, not looking at me. With an expression of defiance on her face, only spoilt by the redness around her eyes and the tears still wet on her cheek. I moved my hand over her hip, around to her bum and placed my hand flat, gently on her darkened buttock. “Who does this belong to?” I asked kindly, tilting my head to one side. She made no effort to reply for a moment then spoke so softly I could barely hear her – “It belongs to you”. I reached lower then gave her a hard pinch, holding it as her face contorted and she tried to move away, her cuffed hands trying to push mine away “Who does this belong to?” I repeated. “You Sir, it belongs to you Sir!... Please!" I released my grip and rubbed her skin as her shoulders hunched and the sobs began again.
I waited until the sobs dried up before speaking. “That's correct. Mine. You gave yourself to me, remember?
“Yes, I do.”
“Willingly. This is what you wanted, remember? To submit to me? To feel wanted and protected? To be abused like this too? Is that not what you told me?”
When she turned her face to me finally she almost looked lost, but there was a smile on her lips this time, “I did , I do. It's just… it hurts. This is what I wanted, but it hurts so much. I'm sorry. But I can take it, I can, for you”.
“Is that why you said those things to me, because of the pain?
“I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, I just reacted, please forgive me Sir, I'll try harder?”
My turn to smile now. “I understand Sara. This isn't easy, I know. Just because you are a masochist doesn't mean it won't hurt. We are learning here, you and I, yet I wouldn't go that far if I didn't think you were ready.”
“I am ready!”
“I know, but words were said Sara. Open your mouth.”
A delicate puzzled frown creased her forehead, but she did as told and lowered her jaw slightly. I reached down and picked up her panties from the floor, they were still warm from her body, and still wet where my fingers had played. “Wider” I said.
The material was soft, and though they were hardly bellyslappers and folded up small, they still filled her mouth as I fed it between her lips, gagging her with her own recently worn knickers.
It struck me again just who this was stood before me. Sara, my boss of too many years than I care to relate, the woman I respected yet hardly knew as a person until the events of the previous week, stood bruised and naked save for stockings and cuffs in front of me, my plaything, and my responsibility. I knew what she desired, and I certainly knew what I needed, but how far could I push her? I couldn't help drink her body in, she still had the body of a model, but that is maybe doing her a disservice, for the soft roundness of her tummy was far more sexy and feminine to me than any concave abdomened lads' mag model, far more so when contrasted by the firmness of the gym worked muscles barely defined under that soft skin. My hand still ached from the spanking, poor old me.
I gently cupped her breasts and ran my thumbs featherlight over her nipples. She'd confessed on that night in the bar that she didn't like her breasts, and as much as I'd tried to convince her then that the immovable rocks on the chest of any number of Nuts or Loaded strumpets are just eye candy, for real sexiness they could never compare to a real woman, 'droopy' (her word not mine) boobs and all, as I held her I knew know I could speak with absolute authority. For her breasts were wonderful. I lowered my head and gently pressed the flat of my tongue against her nipple, moving it slowly over the surface, feeling her stiffness. I used the tip to circle her, slowly, softly, then began to flick her nipple, with all the delicacy I could – a whisper of touch and sensation. Squeezing her breast harder I began to flick harder, feeling her in my mouth, hearing her moan, then I took her nipple between my teeth, gently at first, then pulling. I relaxed back, kissing her breast again, before revisiting her nipple with my teeth, stretching her further, harder this time, her moans turned to protestations through the silk in her mouth, but I gripped her breast harder, pulling it to my mouth and teeth.
I released her and stood up, my fingers soft to stroke away the pain, I leant in and kissed her neck from shoulder up to her ear as I caressed her, I whispered in her ear, “my beautiful slut” before teasing her lobe with my teeth. Then when her moans had died down I took her nipples between my fingers. I squeezed and slowly pulled, stretched them towards me, just a small amount but enough to have her twisting, to try and raise the hands cuffed behind her back to defend herself, for her to cry out in alarm through the gag. I let her go and leaned in to kiss away the pain from each nipple in turn.
I smiled at her, not unkindly, then brought my hand down in a savage slap to the side of her breast, first one then the other. She tried to cry out again and step back, but I grabbed the back of her neck in a firm grip with my right hand and delivered three more stinging retorts to her right breast. Her eyes were full of shock, questioning and beginning to fill with tears again. I didn't relent. I released her neck, then my fingers were back on her nipples, hard, pulling. I could see the muscles in her neck bulging at the pain until I released the tension.
I took hold once again. “Lean back,” I said, looking directly into her eyes. She shook her head fiercely, but I only applied the pressure harder. The tears were coming stronger now, but slowly, with her shoulders hunched she leaned her weight back, stretching her nipples against my grip. Her neck was bulging harder, her jaw set against the agony until I relented and instructed her to lean forward again.
Her shoulders were still hunched, rocking as the sobs coming again harder than ever. She'd never looked more beautiful. I pulled her towards me, held her tight as the sobs continued, told her it was all right, all right, that was over, she'd been a good girl, she'd made me proud.
The wracking sobs died down, but I still held her, rocking her slowly, soothing and reassuring her. Eventually I broke the hug and took her face in both my hands, wiping the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. “Are you ok?” I asked. She couldn't answer through the gag, but nodded slowly at me after a pause. “Sure? We can end this here, and that's ok, you've done wonderfully. Do you want to continue?” A longer pause this time, but again the slow nod.
I smiled then walked away from her. I made a big show of selecting something from my toys, then turned to let her see the cane. I swished it in the air a few times, testing it's weight, before laying it on the pillows. Her eyes were transfixed on the cane as I stood to one side of her and undressed.
“Now,” I said, as I sat on the edge of the bed in front of her, “I want to see just how good a slut you are”. I indicated to the floor between my legs.
“Kneel….”
To be continued.
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Submitted by : Skyhook
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