This is a story of the introduction of a young woman to bondage and D/s, and is collaboration by two writers, Clystra49 and Master of Discretion. Each chapter begins with the man describing what has transpired, and is then followed by the woman's emotional response (in italics).
You lock your car door you gaze over at the hotel and feel more than a little intimidated. Still, the same feelings that brought you to this point provide you the requisite resolve to walk toward it. As you enter the lobby you immediately scan your eyes and, reassured that there are not many people, make your way to the couch in the far left corner as instructed, while being careful to not make eye contact with the people behind the reception desk. Once again you look around you, then sit and wrestle with the overly short dress you're wearing as it slides up and threatens to expose the lace top of your stockings.
You're a few minutes early and you attempt to compose yourself when, suddenly, you hear a voice from behind you. "Hello there." The greeting is friendly and immediately puts you at ease as I take a seat in the armchair opposite you and continue with small talk, calming you somewhat, until I ask if you've dressed according to my instructions.
"Umm, yes..." You find it difficult to answer without gazing around the lobby, and your voice is quiet.
"No pantyhose, then?" My eyes slowly scan down your body and stop at your knees, making it eminently clear what I intend for you to do. Your hands slide to the sides of your thighs as you eke out an almost imperceptible, "No, Sir."
"Look only at me." My voice, while calm and friendly, is clearly more than just a suggestion.
Biting your lower lip you slowly slide your dress up, up to the top of your stockings, just enough to expose the lacy tops.
"A little more." I smile at you. "An inch or so of thigh will do."
Although painfully aware of that you are fighting the urge to look around, you find yourself immediately in compliance. I stand up, then reach my arm out to you.
"Very good." I smile as I speak, and you eagerly rise to your feet, enabling your dress to fall back down. We walk toward the elevator and I press the button to call for it. The doors open immediately. We're instantly inside and, as the doors close, I turn and look at you.
"Tell me," I begin. "What type of panties do you have on?"
I must be out of my mind! What am I doing here? I hadn't been this nervous since my wedding day 10 months ago, as I walked down the aisle to meet the man I thought would fulfill all my needs. As I enter the lobby of the hotel, it's all I can do to stop myself from turning around, fleeing back to... to what? That's the question, isn't it? In such a short time, my life had become so routine, so predictable. Something vital was missing in my life, something I knew I needed but couldn't begin to express. So I'm here, yet I have no what I'm really looking for.
Oh, it was exciting, very exciting, flirting with a strange man on the net. I never expected it to lead to this, to actually be meeting him. It started innocently enough, a conversation or two, each giving brief outlines of their respective lives, their spouses. I began to feel comfortable chatting with him, safe. As we began to delve deeper, we found that in a great many ways neither of us was being fulfilled in the way we had hoped. We began to describe to each other our ideal partner... I told him my ideal man would be someone with whom I could discuss my darkest fantasies without fear of condemnation, a man who would have the desire and the ability to dominate me sexually. He began to question me closely, patiently overcoming my ingrained reticence when it came to the topic of sex. What kinds of sex had I engaged in? What felt good? Where did I like to be touched? Did I masturbate? How? Did I have fantasies of being controlled, of bondage? Did any of my fantasies include rape? Had I ever considered sex with more than one partner? Had I ever considered sex with another woman?
As I haltingly answered these and other questions, I could tell that my responses struck a chord deep within him. I began to realize that I was becoming aroused. Without thinking, I told him so. As soon as the words appeared on the screen, I regretted it. There was a long pause; I began to think he had disappeared. "Are you still there?" I typed. His response made me tremble. "I think we should meet," he said. He explained that he thought I could be what he needed in a woman, someone willing to be challenged and to explore, a submissive woman seeking a man willing to dominate and control. My answer was simple..."I think you're right".
And so I am here, walking across the lobby of this hotel, as nervous as a cat. Your instructions were explicit, leaving no room for deviation on my part. I was to dress carefully in a certain way, I was to arrive at the hotel at a certain time, cross the lobby to the far corner, and sit patiently until you arrive. The waiting was the most difficult part... I felt so exposed, sitting there alone, praying no one would recognize me, especially dressed this way. My dress kept riding up, threatening to expose the lace tops of my thigh-high stockings. I felt almost naked, and tugged at my hem uncomfortably. I'd arrived a few minutes early, hoping to be able to spot you before you realized I was here, perhaps give myself a chance to escape unnoticed if you seemed too threatening. My breath catches in my throat as I hear you speak from behind me. My heart begins to race as you take a seat across from me, and begin to speak. I can barely hear your words over the pounding in my ears, and try desperately to focus my attention, my anxiety increasing, my eyes rapidly scanning the large room. As you speak softly, my pulse begins to calm, at least until you ask if I've followed your instructions. I indicate that yes, I have, I am not wearing pantyhose. Your eyes travel downwards, stopping at my knees; you want proof. Oh please, don't make me do this! I can feel myself redden, my eyes imploring you not to make me do this, not here, please. I slide the hem of my dress up slowly, perhaps an inch, to show you the lace at the top of the stockings. Silently I beg you to let me stop here. Relentlessly, you instruct me to raise the hem higher still. I desperately want you to approve of me, to accept me; against my will and with great embarrassment, I do as I have been told. You nod, and begin to stand. Quickly, I lower the hem until as much of me as possible is covered again. With a trembling sigh, I rise to stand before you. Your hand on my arm, you guide me toward the elevator.
My knees are weak, my legs trembling as the door to the elevator closes and you press the button to take us upwards. "Tell me," you say, "What type of panties are you wearing?" In an instant I'm aware that my panties are damp, and realize that even though I'm overwhelmed by embarrassment, what has just transpired between us in a very public lobby of this busy hotel has excited me far beyond anything I can recall. My cheeks flushing a bright pink, I respond softly "I'm wearing the ones you told me to buy, Sir." "Describe them for me" you say. "They are white, Sir, trimmed in delicate lace, cut high on the thigh, riding just under my hip, with a matching bra with the clasp in the front as you desired". You smile slightly, nod, and say "Very good". The elevator stops, the door opens. You turn to me, extend your arm in my direction; I take your hand.
And the dance begins.
"I'm wearing the ones you told me to buy, Sir." "Describe them for me" you say. "They are white, Sir, trimmed in delicate lace, cut high on the thigh, riding just under my hip, with a matching bra with the clasp in the front as you desired." You smile slightly, nod, and say "Very good." The elevator stops, the door opens...
We walk together along what seems to be an endless corridor past closed doors, an alcove containing vending and an ice machine, a smile and hello to the maid with her cart, all the way to the room at the end. With the swish of a card the door opens and you're eased inside. The curtains are open and the view of the city below draws you toward the window. I stand behind you, my hands gently touch the tops of your arms. "Stand up straight," I speak softly into your right ear, "and keep perfectly still." You feel my face on the right side of yours, my breath at the nape of your neck. "You can do that, can't you?"
"Yes... yes, Sir." Your voice contains an intoxicating mixture of trepidation and anticipation. Your hands tremble slightly at your sides. I slide my hands down your arms until your hands are in mine, then gather the sides of your dress with them before squeezing your fingers together to hold them in place. Your hem is now an inch above your stocking tops, held firmly on each side by your hands. You feel my touch below your left ear as I trace my index finger down, along the underneath of your chin, up to the edge of your mouth, to the side of your left eye, behind your ear and down the back of your neck.
"Good," I say with an enthusiastic approval. "I'm pleased you're able to follow a simple command and keep still." You feel my hands at the zipper of the back of your dress. "Do make sure you continue to do so."
The zipper seems overly loud as it slowly moves down your back and you suppress a gasp as my hands touch the sides of your neck, gently massaging you as your bra straps are uncovered and the dress top falls off your shoulders, held in place by your arms but completely exposing the bra you so nervously described to me in the elevator. I walk in front of you, examining you, my chin in my right hand as I nod. Slowly, I look up at your face.
"Very good." I smile, " and you say your panties match?" I ease into the large armchair only a few feet in front of you, the light from the window streaming over my shoulder. I place my hands behind my head.
"Raise your dress." I look into your eyes. "To your waist."
As we walked down the hallway, I begin to feel some of the tension leave my body, the muscles in my legs begin to respond to my command. As we continued moving along the corridor, one of the hotel maids approached from the other direction. I think to myself, "She knows, she knows all about us, she's seen this many times before, she knows why we're here, what we will do". A flush begins to creep over the young woman's body, intense heat, embarrassment. All she can think of is reaching the door to their room, closing it behind her, locking out those prying eyes. Her instinct to flee returned, overwhelmingly... too late for that... they have reached a doorway which must be theirs, as he guides her to stand in front of it, inserts the key card. The lock disengages with a loud click, he opens the door, and turns to take her hand and lead her inside.
The entryway opens onto a large room, thickly carpeted in a shade of deep rose; a delicately carved tiger maple dresser holds a television and VCR; a matching armoire; a small, low table set into the far left corner upon which sat a large zippered case; two very comfortable looking side chairs on either side of the window; a king-sized bed, and another doorway leading off to the left, which she assumes to be the bath. Curtains in a somewhat lighter tone of rose framed a vista of the entire city, breathtakingly beautiful at this final hour before darkness. She feels him waiting behind her, watching her reaction. Needing a moment to compose herself, she walks to stand before the window, captivated as small pinpricks of light began to appear in the buildings spread before her, the darkening river in the distance.
With a slight shudder, she felt his hands upon her arms, just below her shoulders. He stands for a moment, gazing out into the distance, seemingly unwilling to break the spell that holds her. For a time, she wished nothing more than to be able to stand here with him, hidden within the deepening shadows, never speaking, barely breathing. His touch as his hands slowly slide down her arms brings her back to the moment, makes her focus sharply on the sensations engendered by his slightly roughened fingers gliding over the bare flesh. He closes those fingers around her hands, engulfing them completely, and with them the silken fabric of her dress. Before her next heartbeat, she feels his touch upon her face, a single finger delicately tracing patterns over the contours of her chin, her nose, then behind her ear. Trembling slightly, she wills her body to be still; he has told her not to move, but it is oh so difficult. She begins to turn slightly in an effort to face him, to know beforehand what he will do; he stops her instantly with the touch of his hand, reinforcing his desire that she remain motionless.
Sensing that he has moved to stand just behind her, she turns her eyes to the window, hoping to follow his movements in its reflection. In the deepening gloom, she can just make out a vague amorphous shape over her shoulder, backlit by the dim light from the table lamp at the bedside. With certainty, it has truly begin, no turning back. A wisp of sensation on the nape of her neck, the sound of a zipper moving, as she feels the back of her dress falling away from her shoulders, exposing her to his gaze. The cool air of the room caresses her skin, sending a quiver down the length of her body. Still attempting to discern his reflection, she watches closely as he moves off to the right and circles in front of her, taking a seat in the armchair next to the window. His eyes have not left her for an instant, the intense scrutiny making her desire for motion almost unbearable. But his manner has made it clear that it would be a mistake to do so; she fears even to breathe, unwilling to create in his mind even the slightest doubt that she wishes to proceed.
She has hungered for this; her willingness to submit to his control reinforces her resolve to please him, to do as he wishes to her, whatever that may be. It enables her to remain still, to wait, her anticipation growing. Her only wish now is that he find her acceptable, that some aspect of her body or dress or character not quench his desire for her. "Raise your dress," he instructs her, "to your waist." She feels an almost instantaneous reaction throughout her body; her heart leaps in her chest, pounding maddeningly, her hands grasping the side of her dress begin to tremble, her knees weaken and threaten to collapse beneath her. She knows that she must, he has ordered it. She knows that she wants this, wants to give him complete control. She is so terribly afraid that he will not be pleased with her, that he will reject her, send her from him. Her soul cries out in fear of loosing this chance to be complete, to be what she knows she must be. The war within her is unknown to him (or possibly not); the only outward sign of her turmoil a single tear gently tracing its way down her cheek.
I smile as I watch the hesitation in your trembling hands as they wrestle with themselves in order to comply, but exercise a quiet patience as they painfully, slowly expose more and more of your naked thighs. You bite your lower lip as your panties are revealed to me, then stand quivering with your dress bunched around your waist, secure in your tight grasp. My slow nod carries the promise of approval and you remain as motionless as possible as I subject you to visual examination. I silently rise to my feet and take a step toward you, only inches away, then pass to your left. You feel the touch of my hands once again on your bare shoulders and my breath on the back of your neck as I speak. "You've done well, although I perceive your hands seem a little unsure." You feel what could be a kiss on your shoulder. "So I'm going to give you a little help. Would you like that?"
You nod... the words don't seem to come easily. "What was that?" I ask inquisitively. "Yes," you barely whisper from what sounds like a dry mouth. "Yes, Sir."
"That's better." You feel me take a step back and my hands caress the middle of your back. "In order to more effectively enjoy you we need to remove your dress so," my hands displace yours, "arms up." Your dress slides effortlessly up and is instantly gone. You instinctively pull your hands to your body.
"What was my last instruction?" My tone is quite pleasant.
"Umm... hands up?" you query.
You hesitatingly return your hands to up above your head. "Obedience is most important," I whisper into your right ear. "Along with paying attention."
"I'm sorry Sir." You speak rapidly, your hands reaching upward.
I walk in front of you and stroke your left cheek with the side of my right index finger, then slide it under your lower lip. "Those hands of yours," I smile, shaking my head. "They're going to get you into trouble yet." I step away and you hear a drawer opening. "But I did say I would help you, didn't I." You realize the question was rhetorical as, from behind, your hands are first pulled to your sides, then behind you. The cold steel of the handcuffs almost makes you gasp as it clicks onto your right wrist and within seconds your hands are immobilized.
"There," I say as I walk in front of you again. "Now we'll have no more problem with your hands, will we?"
"No, Sir." You whisper and look down.
"No." I raise your chin with the crook of my index finger. "I'm confident that we won't"
I step back, taking my seat again. "Now then, come here." I beckon you to stand a foot in front of me, and then motion with my right hand for you to slowly turn. When you once again are facing me I instruct you to stand up perfectly straight then, starting at your knee, slide the back of my hand up the inside of your left leg, then across that inch of cloth covering the mound between them. I look up at your face and smile and I slowly retract my hand, then stand and run my finger from your neck along the top of your bra. "Now then," my hand slowly traces over the flesh of the exposed portions of your breasts as I speak. "You're here in a hotel room with a stranger. Willingly, I might add. I've taken off your dress and you're standing before me in handcuffs, ready for whatever I wish. Is that correct?"
You partially close your eyes as your head nods affirmatively. I toy with the clasp on the front of your bra before tracing my fingers up the left strap causing it to slide from your shoulder. "We'll continue to work on obedience, of course." The other strap slides away and I trace my fingertips from behind your ears, across your shoulders, and down your arms, sliding the straps even further and straining the front of your bra, then with a quick flick of my hand the clasp is popped and your bra is gone, hanging from your handcuffed wrists. I stand behind you and take your nipples in my thumbs and forefingers, squeezing slightly. "Please me and I promise you the rewards you seek." My words, my English accent, seem to carry an ominous, unspoken alternative. Then my voice lightens as I continue with, "but, of course, you do wish to please me, don't you?" I smile at you and continue before you can even think to answer. "Don't worry, I'm confident that you will."
Your legs weaken and you lean back against me for support causing more pulling on your extended nipples. Your mouth opens partially in a silent gasp.
"A pretty mouth." I'm speaking only inches from your left ear. My hands slide away, releasing your nipples and caressing your torso while effortlessly holding you on your feet. "A wanton mouth, perhaps. Yes?"
I try desperately to still my trembling hands; they do not respond to my will. As I respond to his command, slowly lifting my dress, I experience an agony of embarrassment. More than anything, I want to feel his touch, to see the approval in his eyes. I must do this; should I fail to comply in some small way, I know with certainty he will turn away from me, and we will be finished. I have waited my entire life for this moment, to give myself to a man such as he; I will not fail. A deep shuddering breath as he approaches, touches me softly about the neck and shoulders. He must see the tremors as they course through me, for he offers his aid. Feeling myself unable to speak, I simply nod.
"What was that?" he asks, gently but firmly correcting me.
Why is it so hard for me to remember? Such simple instructions he has given me, and yet I cannot seem to get this right. He must feel that he has made a grave error in judgment in choosing me. I cannot bear to look at his face, to see the disappointment that must be plain upon it. My eyes downcast, I respond "Yes... Yes, Sir."
Without hesitation now, I lift my arms high above my head. He raises my dress over my head, and it is gone. I stand before him, nearly naked. My innate sense of modesty forces my hands down to my sides in some pitiful attempt to shield myself from his gaze.
"What was my last instruction?"
He must think me a fool! What is wrong with me? I must concentrate, must try harder to please him. The first tiny threads of anxiety begin to form a knot in my stomach as I slowly begin to raise my hands from my sides, and then extend them above my head. I sense from the tone of his voice that he is mildly displeased as he reminds me that he offered to help me with my hands. What does he mean? How can he help me with my hands?
With rising confusion, I feel him grab my wrists in his hands, and draw them down and behind me. In an instant, I know. Cold metal encircles my wrists... a loud click. That little knot of anxiety flares red-hot as I test myself against the metal and find that I am securely bound. For the first time I feel fear, real and immediate. Nearly overwhelmed with the gamut of emotions you have produced in me in so little time, I struggle desperately to control myself. My mind races, frantically trying to find an island of calm within me, all the while knowing that I am now defenseless and unable to resist. A moment or two passes before I realize that you are speaking to me. What was he saying? A quick spike of fear causes me to shudder; anxiously I try to focus on your words, unable to comprehend their meaning. With a small feeling of relief, I watch as you take a step or two away from me, and motion with your hand, indicating that I am to turn around in a circle.
I obey you instantly, slowly turning until I am once again facing you, perhaps a step or two away. I focus intently on you as your hand moves towards my upper thigh, softly caressing in an upward motion. It is then that I realize how wet I have become, so wet that I can feel it soaking into the small triangle of fabric between my thighs. As your hand inches higher, I must consciously quell a desire to move away so that you do not feel my arousal. I do not know why this is important to me. Perhaps it is that I wish to retain some amount of control over the situation, that I cannot let you know that I find what you have done to me exciting, that I do not wish to give you that last measure of power over me. I do know that it is embarrassing to me to know that I am aroused being controlled, that the touch of the handcuffs upon my wrists instilled desire along with the fear.
Your hand rises inexorably, passing softly over my cleft. As you rise and begin to toy with the straps of my bra, I see a glimmer of a smile pass over your lips, the light of satisfaction in your eyes. You know how wet this is making me, how much I am in your control. Your hands pass lightly over my shoulders, pushing the straps down over my arms. You speak to me quietly, reaffirming my reasons for being here, and force me to acknowledge my complicity. With your words, you strip away all my defenses, refusing to allow me hide within my fantasies. As I nod weakly in compliance, inwardly I think yes, I am here willingly, and yes, I do choose to give you complete control. I ache to have you do to me whatever you wish, to encourage me to submit without reservation to anything you desire, to force me to beg you for release.
Standing behind me, your hands slide down to the clasp at the front of my bra, and slowly release it. You grasp my nipples between your fingers, creating intense waves of pleasure. My knees weaken as I lean back into your body. Now there is pain, for you do not release your grip on my flesh; my now engorged nipples stretched taut within your grasp. A sharp gasp escapes my parted lips, though I try not to react, still desperate to hide my arousal from you. You are too experienced, too knowledgeable, and read my reactions easily. To torment me further, and perhaps even to instill a touch of fear, you reaffirm the promise of pleasure to come, but only if I please you. Please, my mind screams, teach me to please you, force me to obey, make me your willing slave. I will do anything you command, but touch me. Touch me everywhere. Never stop.
Holding you securely in my left arm I caress your breasts with my right hand before sliding it down, down across your stomach, and slide it across the sliver of soaked fabric between your legs. I press slightly, tormenting your clitoris, before tracing my right index finger up your body, your neck, to the edge of your mouth. I touch it to your parted lips and trace around them, forcing your mouth to open slightly more, then slide my finger partially in, tracing now the inside of your lips.
"We'll play with your mouth later," I whisper as I withdraw my now wet finger and apply the moisture to your right nipple as if I were painting it. My head moves lower and you feel a cold stream of air as I blow across the wet nipple. "Your lips, your tongue, your mouth will all receive attention in due course," I continue as I raise my head beck up next to yours to speak into your ear. "But now, I'm going to pull your panties down."
I feel your legs about to give way but hold you up securely. "Apparently, you don't seem able to stand up for me, though." I kiss the side of your neck just below your ear. "I suppose that means I'll have to put you across my lap."
With just two steps, effortlessly carrying you along, I reach the chair and sit down while simultaneously placing you across my slightly parted legs. Firmly in place, your head facing the carpet and your handcuffed wrists behind you, you feel my hands toying with your panties, pulling them to one side to expose your soft behind. You feel my hand massaging your right cheek, then gasp as I suddenly slap it. "Quiet," my voice is quite matter-of-fact. "Unless, of course, you want more than just a little spanking." I pause to hear the silence. "I thought not. Now then," you feel my hands once again at the sides of your panties, "Let's get these off."
In an instant the fabric is rolled up around your ankles and I'm caressing your naked behind. Suddenly I slap it again, this time a little harder, then immediately slide my hand between your legs and, feeling your wetness, and fully lubricate my hand before soothingly applying it across the glowing spot on your bottom. "One more," I tell you and the slap on the same spot now stings.
"Good girl," I say approvingly as I reach down to take your panties from your ankles and toss them across the room. "The lesson of keeping still will now continue. Separate your legs a little." I help you to ease your legs slightly apart and, when your feet are separated by ten inches I tell you that's good. "Now, keep both still and quiet." I lean over to see the side of your head. "Unless, that is, I ask you a question. Understood?"
I watch your nod and listen to your whisper of "Yes, Sir." "Splendid." I sit up and you feel three fingers slide right into you, then slowly, nearly all the way out again, separating and opening your vagina wider. Then four enter while my thumb toys with your anal entrance. You tense up. My hand withdraws and you both feel and hear the instant slap and sting. "I'll touch you in any way I wish," I tell you. "Now then, shall we try again?"
"I'm sorry Sir. Yes Sir."
Your words are almost tearful, but this time my thumb meets no resistance and you relish the approval of "good girl." My wet thumb slides into your behind and I squeeze my hand together and rub from side to side. You remain motionless, although I can sense the active suppression on your part of the urge to squirm as I feel my fingers and thumb making contact through the thin layers of sensitive membranes...
I didn't think it was possible to get any wetter. I was wrong.
The instant your hand began its slow tracing across my breasts and passed over the small mound of my stomach, I felt a rush of slick fluid soak my already sodden panties and begin to seep down my thighs. As your palm brushes lightly across the apex of my cleft, I can feel a trembling begin in my upper thighs; sweet torture, for your hand is already gone. Groaning inwardly, aching to beg you to touch me there again, to envelop my sex with your hand, to tease me, torment me, give me the satisfaction my body craves, over and over again. But I must not speak; you have ordered me to be silent and I dare not displease you. If I am good, oh so very good, you will bring me to that place I seek. One option alone is open to me... to do only as you command.
All I can do is concentrate on the delicious sensations your fingers produce as they play upon me; a gentle touch here, a bare caress, and then your finger enters my mouth and all I can think of is wanting to taste you, to have my tongue play along the length of you and hear your breathing quicken, to know I am pleasing you; to know that you want my touch as much as I want yours. Another jolt of sheer animal lust travels from my mouth as your finger withdraws, now centering on my nipple as you trace a slow circle around it, then downwards directly to my clitoris, causing it to twitch deliciously. I tense the muscles in my thighs, attempting to increase my pleasure by rubbing them together slowly, but it is not enough. I want, I need, much more. Please, I think, please, more. Touch me, my mind screams, I will beg you if you will only let me speak.
At the sound of your voice, and the words you speak, my heart stutters. You know my thoughts; you will give me what my body craves, but you will do it slowly, forcing my body to respond as you desire, by your rules, in your time. Nearly overcome with wanting, my legs trembling at the task of supporting my own weight, I feel myself begin weaken and slide from your grasp. With what seems to be little effort, you halt my descent, lift me gently and place me face down upon your lap. Your fingers slip under the elastic of my panties, pulling them aside, exposing the soft flesh beneath. Your action forces that moist triangle tightly against my labia, against my clitoris, eliciting a soft groan of passion from my lips. I can feel the silk sliding across the overly sensitive membranes, torturously arousing. An overpowering urge to squirm, to thrust my hips, to seek more stimulation, floods my thoughts. Before I can even begin to enjoy these new feelings, your hand lands with stinging force on my right cheek. A gasp instantly replaces the passionate moan.
"Quiet" you warn me, reminding me that pain can be a very effective training tool should I be unable to control myself. I am instantly silent, all thought of attempting to pleasure myself banished from my mind.
Immobile, I wait; face down across your spread legs, hands manacled behind my back. You do not keep me in suspense; I feel you grasp the waistband of my panties and quickly roll them down to my ankles. Immediately your hand descends again, this time with considerably more force. With great effort, I force myself not to respond... no sound, no movement, not even a slight tensing of gluteal muscles. I am rewarded immediately as your hand snakes between my slightly parted thighs, sliding through my wetness, parting my outer lips with your fingers, then slowly back out again. Purposefully, you do not enter me, nor do you touch my aching, swollen clitoris. Frustration wells within me... it seems I am to be like one of Pavlov's dogs... conditioned by a constantly repeated pattern of pleasure and pain, of anticipation, partial fulfillment and denial. Though my mind recognizes what is happening and in some way rebels, my body responds. As my hips begin to arch upwards, seeking further stimulation, your slickened hand begins to sooth the burning flesh. Again your hand reinforces the lesson, replacing soft caresses with a sharp sting. Through the haze of pain, the words I have wanted to hear..."Good girl."
You admonish me to remain still, and to open my legs slightly. As you help me to comply, your remind me to be silent... I am not to be allowed to respond in any way. In a quavering voice, I confirm my understanding..."Yes, Sir." I breathe. With that, I feel your fingers part my labia, and three fingers enter me completely, spreading, twirling, then retreating just to the entrance. Before I can catch my breath, you've re-entered me, this time adding another finger. I can feel the inner lips being stretched, your fingers spreading wide, forcibly increasing the small opening. Pain and pleasure mix, as my body attempt to relax to accommodate the size of your fingers. I feel your thumb begin to inscribe small circles around my anus, slowly spreading my fluids towards the exquisitely sensitive center. Instinctively the muscles tense, trying to deny entrance. Your reminder is swift and painful as another slap falls on the already overly sensitive globe, striking the same spot for the fourth time. I can hear the beginning of anger in your voice as you voice your displeasure.
"I'll touch you in any way that I wish".
My apology is swift and fervent; my only desire to have your touch once again within me, to be allowed to concentrate on the pleasure you can give. Please, I think, please, more.
Your hand returns, fingers once again probing, forcing, invading, your thumb seeking, finding, entering. A new feeling, subtle pressure, your fingers moving within me, sliding from side to side, then pressing together, grasping, holding me tightly. You begin a slow in and out motion, fingers working in concert. My flesh resists as you begin to move outwards, clinging to your fingers, seeming to hold you just at the edge of my twin entrances, then forcing you back in. My heart racing, some primal urge wells within me, waxing until it is all I can do to remain motionless. It is unendurable, and yet I must endure it. To move means the end of pleasure, the promise of pain. Please, I think, please, more
Rolling my fingers together I close my hand to a fist inside you then rotate my thumb to expand your loosening anal opening. Pleased with your controlled stillness, I slowly remove my hand and speak while caressing your buttocks. "Excellent," I tell you, "You've earned the next step."
Your right wrist is released from the handcuff and I rub the red mark encircling it, testament to your inadvertent struggle, before rolling you over into my arms and scooping you up. Your limpid body requires hardly any effort on my part as I walk you over to the bed and lie you down, face up, in the middle of it. In this position you're made most aware of your nakedness as I visually scan you, noting in particular a twitching motion in your vaginal area. Saying nothing, I carefully take your hands and, placing them above your head, reattach the handcuffs. You realize they are also attached to something at the head of the bed, ensuring they will remain in this position.
"We want no distractions now, do we," I tell you in a rhetorical manner as I produce a blindfold from the nightstand and slide it over the top of your head.
You're plunged into darkness and immediately feel a squeezing pressure on each erect nipple, a pressure that remains constant as you feel my hands moving down your torso, sliding down your right thigh, then lifting your leg as your stocking is removed. Soon the other leg follows suit and you lie with your now naked legs spread slightly, incredibly aware of your vulnerability but unaware of my location in the room. Your nipples tingle and begin to feel engorged--every sensation is highlighted by the darkness. Suddenly a light touch on your clitoris causes you to fight the urge to thrust your hips upward and you bite your lower lip in order to remain in control of your rebellious body.
You feel the bed give as I sit next to you, lie next to you, one hand still lightly teasing the mound between your legs and the other caressing your face, coming close to but not touching your parted lips. You feel my face close to yours.
"We're going to examine three areas," I whisper to you. "The first," my finger exposes and exerts pressure on your clitoris, "is right here." You begin to pant as my finger makes rapid movements back and forth while pressing harder and harder, your clit throbbing under the assault. "You may open your mouth wider if you like," I tell you. For some reason you do so and immediately emit a moan as my finger stops moving and simply presses down. "That's the first," I whisper between your panting breaths.
"This," two fingers slide inside you and immediately stop at a rough fleshy spot about knuckle depth, "is called your g-spot." I slowly caress it. "It's stop number two."
Your wrists hurt as you pull against the restraint and I lean onto your body as I continue, holding you down as you begin to writhe out of control. You swear you can hear a smile in my voice as, while my fingers dance on your most sensitive area, I tell you, "Perhaps I should completely tie you down, eh? Firmly. So you can't move at all."
My last words cause a wave in your body that temporarily stops your breathing and, as your back attempts to arch against me, I slide more fingers inside you. Deeper. There is no resistance as my fist fully enters you.
"Ready for spot number three?" My voice teases you--you're unable to speak. "This is to demonstrate your position as sub. You will orgasm at my command. Do you understand?"
"Yes... Sir." you manage to emit between gasps.
I lean next to your ear. "Actually, I don't think you really do. At least, not yet." I sit up. "I will demonstrate." There is a few seconds of silence and you hear the word "now" simultaneously with a sensation inside you over which you have no control and you almost scream with pleasure as you gush across my hand. "See?" My calm voice does nothing to your uncontrolled attempts to breath. "On three now. One, two," I pause and position my fingers, "three." You instantly repeat, the same intense sensation. "I now completely control you," I tell you. "To prove it, I want you to try to not cum. Try hard, as hard as you can. Ready?"