Four weeks after we started dating, Jon learned I was a sexual
deviant.
One of my girlfriends told him about my perverted fantasies, I found
out later. She thought it was the only way shy ol’ me would get laid
properly. Thanks, Laura.
At first I thought he would dump me in disgust. Then, I figured I’d
have to dump *him*, because I was afraid he would try something. But
he sat down with me and had a nice, calm discussion. At least, he was
calm. I was just too frightened to run. He confided that he had tried
some kinky stuff “once or twice”, and that he was “willing to
experiment”. If I ever felt uncomfortable we’d stop right away.
I decided not to tell him that I was already way beyond
“uncomfortable”.
Anyway, that’s why I showed up at his door at 2:58 PM on Friday, as
instructed. On auto-pilot, I knocked, processed his “Come in,” and
closed the door behind me.
Then I waited. He sat with his back to me, apparently checking his
email, while I tried not to fidget or ask what the hold up was. Those
first two minutes were as bad a torture as any implement I’d imagined
him using on my body.
When it was exactly three o’clock, he gave me my orders without even
turning around. In a scarily emotionless voice, he said, “Strip.” It
took me a few seconds just to comprehend that he’d spoken, and
by the time I’d convinced my fingers to move he’d turned around and
was glaring at me. “Well?”
After I had my sandals, shirt, and jeans off, I wondered why I was
turned on by this treatment. Here I was, read to submit and lose my
virginity all over again, and it was like he didn’t even care! I’d
fantasized about all different types of Masters commanding me, and
here was a real live one, as brutal and powerful as I’d imagined, one
who just happened to sometimes be my geeky “normal” boyfriend.
I felt great.
Still terrified, though.
**
After I was naked, he made me wait again. The room wasn’t that cool,
but standing around naked changes things. Once, I was bold enough to
bring my arms up. It was like he had eyes in the back of his head!
Without turning around, he just cleared his throat and, I went back to
statue mode. As for sitting down, well, I didn’t even think about it.
I felt like I’d been waiting for weeks.
It must have been about fifteen minutes.
Finally, Jon stretched, cracked his knuckles, and ambled over. He
walked in slow circles around me, fixing me with a distant, intent
stare that pierced through my skin. I flushed, feeling more naked
submitting to his scrutiny than ever before. Finally, he came to a
stop behind me, where I couldn’t see what he was doing.
I felt his arms reaching forward before he made contact, and flinched
involuntarily. But he drew me into his embrace and bent his neck
around my shoulder, sliding his hands around my sides to meet over my
navel.
“Ahhh, little one,” he whispered in my ear, and this time his voice
was all tenderness. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
After a few moments of caressing my belly, Jon moved me over to the
bed and forced me down to it. I slowly went limp as he half-turned me
and positioned my body lying down. He then sat down at the other end
of the bed and lifted my feet into his lap, massaging the toes. I let
my stress flow into them, my eyes fluttering closed as his caresses
pulled the nervousness out of my stomach.
“It’s really too bad I’m not a foot fetishist.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, without opening my eyes.
“They’re the first thing I noticed about you, you know. Your toes, in
those platform sandals.” He wiggled them firmly for emphasis.
“I hate those.”
“Oh. Do they pinch your feet?”
“No, but I curl my toes when I walk and–ummmm… why didn’t
you tell me you could do that?!”
“You never asked.”
I opened my eyes and he was beaming down at me, so I gave in to the
change in mood and basked in the sensations he was creating. This was
dominance of a different sort, and I decided that he was doing it on
purpose; that he was going to show me all my fantasies so I could
enjoy my first time as much as possible.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Thank you.” I hesitated. “Should I call you something? Like ‘Sir’, or
‘Master’?”
“Master’s fine.” Beat. “Roll over.”
I did. When he straddled my back and pulled my arms up above my head,
I didn’t resist, but the some of the nervousness came back. Not as
much as before, though. Was this to be more of the massage, or
something new?
He had a way of taking my mind off things. For some reason, as soon as
he crossed my wrists and started wrapping cuffs around them around
them, my doubts vanished. The feeling of restraint felt so *right*,
like I had been begging all my life to be made helpless, like I had
been made to go without some basic need.
Jon gathered my hair and arranged it around my neck. “Are they
OK?”
He had taken away my wrists! As I tugged at them experimentally, I
felt an answering tug between my thighs. At least someone was enjoying
this.
Finally, I told him the cuffs were fine. My ankles, too, were captured
and stolen, as the helplessness I had felt since I walked through the
door became real. I moaned softly into the pillow and wriggled
joyfully. When he asked what I’d chosen for a safe word, I told him,
and he made me promise one more time to use it if I had to.
Then he showed me the whip. It was a fearsome-looking thing, nine
tails and made of deliciously scented leather dyed a dark blue. He
dangled brushed it against my face, and I inhaled deeply.
“How many do you think you can take?”
/Uh-oh./ “Twenty, Master?” I stammered.
He laughed. “You’re brave, little one. I’ll give you five to begin.”
I was relieved. Five little strokes couldn’t hurt that bad, could
they?
Did I want them to?
Without warning, he rained fire just above my right shoulder blade.
“EEEE-YAAAA!” I screamed, as the burning sting spread out into my
consciousness. It was as if he could read my mind. The instant I’d
gotten used to the feeling of my first flogging, a second blow hit my
left should, the mirror image of the first. “*Please*, Master!”
“If you want me to stop, just say the word.” He waited. “Good girl.”
He snapped his wrist sharply and stroked pure agony across the upper
left side of my back. Three.
“I’m proud of you.” He didn’t wait as long for the next one, and my
buttocks seized up. Whether in pain or pleasure, I couldn’t tell.
Four!
One part of me realized that I was babbling something, pleading
interspersed with frequent “Masters”. Another part was surprised to
find how much my breasts and pussy loved the abuse of my back. The
rest of me was somewhere out of state, busy experiencing someone
else’s use of my body.
The fifth stroke was the best yet, the whole of my back erupting into
flames as I dug my mound into the mattress and screamed through a dry
throat. Five, and the whipping was over, but neither of us were done.
The next thing I knew, Jon’s hands were on me, exploring the scorched
skin I offered to him. His touch had a soothing, tranquilizing effect
on me, but not on my arousal.
“You took that so well, little one. I hope you enjoyed it as much as
I did.”
“Uh-huh,” I agreed, in between heaving breaths. I was still trying to
process the sensations when he touched my inner thighs and I felt
his tongue where I needed it most. “*Uh*-*huuuuh*!” I said again,
helplessly arching into the bed almost immediately. My hips rocked
and squirmed as he applied mouth and fingers.
I cried out again and again, conscious but not aware of it. He
caressed and spanked me a few times as I shivered, reddening new areas
and stimulating those that had been touched by the fourth hit.
**
Later, after I’d recovered and he untied me, we just cuddled for a
while. He was still mostly dressed, although I got his shirt off. In
between snogs while working on his pants, I said, “You’ve done this
before. And more than once or twice.”
Jon laughed. “All right. I know your dirty little secret, so
it’s only fair that I let you in on mine.”
“Oooh, what is it, Master? I *promise* not to &tell*….”
“Yes, I have a little more experiance than I let on.” He kissed my
throat, then looked me straight in the eye. “With men and women. Does
that bother you?” He seemed almost anxious.
“As if about my Master would bother me.”
Thanks, Laura.