The Chance Encounter
Anna is a beautiful young woman (well, of course she is, who would write about an ugly woman? I mean, this is fiction, after all). She stands 165cm 'tall' (sorry, no feet and inches today, metric it is), on shapely legs and looks at the world out of warm, blue eyes that form a nice counterpoint to her brownish-red hair. Her hair is cut at her neckline, framing her beautiful face. Her breasts are not overly large, but round and firm.
Her dancing partner did not show up today (Friday, by the way), and since I am new to this town (and this dancing club), I haven't found a partner yet. With neither of us having a training partner, we decide to team up for the lesson. Must be my lucky day. That feeling stays, right until the first Tango, third bar. I take a step backward, she a step forward. Suddenly, sharp pain shoots to my brain; the epicentre is located somewhere in my left foot. Have you ever made close contact with the tiny 7cm heel of a woman's dancing shoe, nickname 'steel drill'? Well, don't. Ever.
She apologises over and over. I notice she is very cute when she does that (apologising, not spearing my foot with her heel, obviously). I muster a smile and tell her not to worry. After all, since I'm the one who's leading, everything that happens is my fault anyway. "Well, then why don't you let me lead for a while. That way, you can at least be mad at me when I step on you again...". Great, she's funny too. "Let you lead? And give up the last bastion of male dominance in the world? Never!" She smiles at me, and I take up the heavy burden of leadership once more.
After the lesson, when I have changed out of my dancing shoes, and she has changed out of her instruments of terror, she steps up to me again. "I still feel bad about stepping on your foot. Can I try to make it up to you, say, by inviting to you to dinner?" "Well, cliché as it is, but I try never to decline a dinner invitation by a beautiful woman!"
Since, as she put it, "her cooking skills were not all they could be", and "she had done enough damage to me already", we decided to head for a nice restaurant. Mhh, French cuisine. You can say about the French what you will, sometimes they can be proud, overbearing, arrogant even. But after a real four hour French meal with all the trimmings, you are ready to forgive them anything. (Actually, I rather like the French, I just thought this might sound cool.)
Dinner was a pleasant affair. But let's face it, you are not here for the small talk, so I'll spare you and skip ahead to desert (mousse au chocolat, followed by a selection of cheese - if there is a heaven, I just found it!). The conversation had already covered the basics, and was now moving to more interesting things.
"So," she says, "you like a challenge? Is that a challenge to gain the upper hand, or a challenge just for the game's sake?" "Actually, it's a challenge to keep the upper hand. Naturally." "Naturally. Does that apply to all areas of your life, or just your work?" "Oh, it probably does not apply to all areas, but right now I can't think of any examples. Why, are you thinking of challenging me somehow?" "Ah, never mind. You probably couldn't handle me anyway." "You? Now that's rather impertinent. You are quite naughty, aren't you. Maybe I should do something about that." "Really? Well, why don't we go someplace else then and see if you can?"
'Someplace else' turned out to be my house, since it offered more comfort than her apartment. Since that was a little farther away than her place, 'go' meant driving. And since a French dinner wouldn't be a French dinner without wine, 'driving' meant calling a cab.
When the cab had driven off, and the door had closed behind us, without switching on the lights, I take her shoulder in my hand and say "Tell me what you really want. What you usually wouldn't dare ask at a first time. What you wouldn't tell your friends about. What you really, really want. Tell me." She just stands there for a while. I hold her shoulder, reassuring, but not demanding or eager. Finally, she speaks. "I... I want to..." She swallows. "I want you to hurt me. Bad." "That can be arranged." I put my other arm around her hips and hold her closer. "Define 'bad'. What do you consider being hurt bad. Clothespins on your breasts? On your nipples? A paddle? Candle wax? Just how bad is 'bad'?" "I want to be whipped! Tortured! I want you to stick needles in my breast! Can you handle that? Can you handle me? Tell me?!" "All right. There is one thing you need to know before we start. When we 'play', you will have two save words. Don't interrupt. The first one is 'yellow'. It is a warning. It means that you are close to your limit, that you are not turned on by what is happening, or rather the opposite. It is a plea for me to back off a little. Now, that one is optional for me. It gives me information about your state of mind (and body). I can ignore it, or act on it if I choose to. The second one is 'red'. It means 'stop whatever you are doing, untie me, let me go.' You should use it if you are in intolerable pain, if you think you will go insane if the pain does not stop, or if you are in any physical danger. However, be careful when to use it. If you do, the session is over, and we will not try again for at least two days, even if you want to. There are two reasons for the two-day delay. First, if you have to say 'red', something has gone very wrong. We both need time to think about it. Second, knowing that it will end the session prematurely will encourage you to hold out a little longer, to suffer a little more. Hopefully, it will also add to your arousal. So, remember, 'yellow' and 'red'. If you are gagged and need to speak, wiggle your fingers and toes. Of course, as long as you are not gagged, feel free to tell me about your current feelings. As I don't know you very well yet, it will give me a better idea of what you like - and what you don't like. Any questions?" Slowly, she shakes her head no. I take her to my bedroom.
The First Time
I adjust the lights to a comfortable level, then quickly move some small tables and cupboards out of the way. This reveals two small hooks on the floor, about 2 metres apart. Two identical hooks are just above them in the ceiling, covered by a lamp. First I secure each of her feet to one of the hooks on the floor, then I tie her hands to the ones in the ceiling. I pull the ropes tight, so that she is stretched a little, although her feet still touch the ground.
I gently stroke her lower arms, the insides of her elbows, her lower arms again. Her sides, her legs, her thighs, her hips, her belly. Her torso, just between the breasts. I circle the left one, then the right one. I trace my way back down to her belly button. Further down, to the left thigh. A short brush against her labia, then her right thigh. Smack. I hit her right breast. She yelps, more in surprise than in pain. I am using a riding crop with a broad leather end. It has a certain sting to it, but it's not really painful. I hit her again, on her other breast, then on the underside. The right one again. Now on her nipples. I cover her breasts with light, steady blows. She squirms in her bonds, moans softly. I increase the strength of the blows. Now her arms. Her armpits. Her belly. Her legs. Her moaning get louder. I hit her thighs. Suddenly, a hard blow directly between her legs. A shriek. Her thighs again. Upwards to her breasts. Her chest heaves in arousal. I'm leaving a red trail on her skin, covering more and more of her body.
She is squirming in her bonds, her hips moving oh-so-gently. She moans. That's when I exchange the crop for a whip. Her breasts and pubic area are my main targets - which translates into higher pitches moans and some screams. When I increase the strength behind the blows, her volume rises with it. Crack. Crack. Crack. Across her nipples now. Crack. The underside of her breasts. Crack. Crack. Between her legs. Crack. Another one on her pussy lips. Crack. Now right between the protective folds of her labia. Crack. Harder. Crack. She shrieks. In between, I caress her nipples, stroke her breasts, lightly touch her sides. Crack.
She really does get turned on by pain! She is quite wet. Delectable. I quickly put the whip aside and collect a few other toys. She moans at her loss, when I stop whipping her. However, soon after, the voices she makes are more pleasurable. That may or may not have something to do with the small steel phallus I pushed inside her. Attached to it is a lengthy cable, that I now connect to one of my favourite gadgets (for those of you that know what I'm talking about: an ET312, with the output set to 'high', program 'intense', MA at full, and the A channel used between 20 and 60 percent). Another cable is soon connected to a conductive pad that I place right above her clitoris. Some tape helps ensure its immobility. After switching on my favourite gadget, I slowly turn up the power. Electric current runs through Anna's pussy directly into her clit, which she acknowledges with a tight moan. At first, it is just a prickling and tingling, a feeling similar to blood rushing back into a limb that had been tied off. The tingling increases in intensity as I turn up the dial. A yelp, as I shortly turn it up quite a bit. A content purr when I turn it back down to where it was, then slowly up again. This is intensely arousing for her, as is evident by the thick fluids oozing down her legs. Suddenly, I take up the whip again and start lashing her breasts. Left. Right. Left. Right. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Her nipples. Crack. The underside. Crack. The power a bit more up. Crack. A bit more. Crack. Another slow turn at the dial. Anna writhes against the ropes, straining to move her pussy against something - anything - that will offer some resistance. As she is nearly hanging from her arms, she meets only air. Her cheeks flush as her arousal grows.
With her arousal, her tolerance for pain increases. I quickly fetch a pair of nipple clamps to finish the ensemble. And I am not talking about rubber-softened clover clamps here or anything like that, I am talking about metal alligator clamps with a rather strong bite. Thus, Anna gasps when I fasten the first one to her right nipple. Yet she does not try to withdraw her other one, in fact, the pushes her breasts out a bit so I can attach the other one all the more easily. Both clamps are connected by a chain, which I now start pulling. With my other hand, I steadily increase the voltage that runs through her lower body. Anna is moaning and whimpering without pause now, her hips moving ever more rapidly. Suddenly, I give the power dial a large final turn, and sharply tug at her nipple clamps. Her eyes fly wide open, her entire body first freezes, then starts spasming.
I quickly remove the clamps, which have produced a few tiny drops of blood when they bit into Anna's soft flesh, then slowly turn down the electricity, trying to draw her orgasm out a bit. Finally, I switch the power off and remove both electrodes from her body.
The Second Time
I untie her and put her on the bed. While she is still not quite herself, I gently stroke and massage her. When her speech gets coherent again, I offer her some water, which she gladly drinks. "Now rest for a while, I'll be right back. I'll just fetch a little to eat, to help restore your strength." After a few minutes, I return with toast, butter and honey. "Feeding time - now open your mouth and say 'Ahh'. That's a good girl. Here you go." When Anna has finished eating, I join her in bed and we both drift off to sleep.
There are a lot of ways to wake up in the morning. A shrill alarm clock is one of them, even though that's hardly a personal favourite of mine. Another one is having your penis slowly, lovingly, licked until you become half-conscious, followed by a full-grown blow-job to get you awake the rest of the way. That one is a personal favourite! No doubt about it, a great way to start the day. Anna takes her time, so it is a while before we are done. When we are, I ask her how she would like me to return the favour. "Let's do it again. What we did yesterday. That was amazing!" "Right now? What about breakfast?" "Well, I just had mine..." the little minx replies. I can't argue with that. However, I can't argue with my growling stomach either. So breakfast it is - Anna agrees to wait for her desert. Despite my appetite, I must say that desert sounds rather good to me as well, even though my recipe does not include many nutrients. So, let's make it a quick breakfast! Eggs, 7 minutes; toast, 3 pieces each; butter; ham; some cheese (gouda and camembert, to be precise): perfect. Ten minutes later, the empty plates wander into the sink - hold that, we are in a hurry - the empty plates stay exactly where they are, while we are already back in the bedroom.
"All right, you asked for it, you'd better be ready for it. Lie down on the bed." "With pleasure." "With speed! Now!" Smack. "Ouch. I'm here, I'm here! What now?" "What do you mean, 'What now'? How about some respect? Have you no manners?" "Ohhh, my apologies... are you going to punish me now? I have been a bad girl, I know." How can I resist those hopeful, innocent eyes, blinking up at me? Did I just say 'innocent'? Never mind.
"Bad does not quite cover it. Now you might want to rephrase that question you asked earlier, or I'll have to tie you up and leave you for an hour, to contemplate your mistake. And I'm sure you don't want that any more than I do." "No, certainly not. Well, what I meant to say was 'How may your willing plaything please you? What position might find your approval? How would you like me to make myself available for your every whim?'" If there was any irony hidden in there, it must have been well hidden. Or maybe I didn't look hard enough. No matter. "Since last night you formed such a beautiful vertical 'X', I want you to form a horizontal one now. Lie on your back, arms spread above your head, legs spread wide. That's it, I knew you could do it." My bed does not have bedposts that extend over the height of the mattress, but it does have four legs, and to those legs I quickly bind her extended hands and feet. She can move a bit, but not enough to do her any good.