by dweaver999

Copyright© 2017 by dweaver999

BDSM Sex Story: Valerie knows that Francine is ready to dominate again, after three years of therapy. Now she needs to convince Francine herself.

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa   Consensual   Fiction   BDSM   FemaleDom   Rough   .

The whip laid into Valerie’s back with a vengeance. Blood flipped off the end of the whip to create a splatter pattern on he wall behind the creature wielding the instrument of torture. More blood streamed down the nearly dead woman’s back from the open wounds on her back; more appearing each time the savage whip laid into her with a loud crack.

“Say it!” the demon raged, it’s high pitch voice shrill with anger.

“Never,” came the whispered answer, uttered by a throat too soar to scream in pain any more. “I’d trust her with my life.”

“We’ll see about that,” she raged, her face contorted in a strange combination of fear and anger. “Trusting me will cost you your life!”

As she spoke, the demon’s skin fell away to reveal a tall woman with scars covering her own back.

Francine Traline woke with a gasp, her body covered in sweat and her heart racing like a Ferrari. Rolling onto her back, tangling the covers even more than they were, she tried to calm herself with reminders that, “it’s just a dream, a nightmare.” It wasn’t surprising that this particular nightmare would come tonight. After all, this was the night; the night she learned if she could return to domination.

“Three years,” she thought to herself, “three long years of fear, hopelessness and therapy.”

It was three years since it had happened; since she’d savaged her best friend’s back during a scene and then tried to kill herself. It had taken one year before Francine had been able to forgive herself for the attack. Attack; Valerie hated that word. Valerie insisted, to this day, that is had been a consensual scene gone wrong; gone wrong because of the attack by Harv.

Three years ago, Francine had revealed her love of BDSM to her boyfriend, Harv, and that she was a Domme. He’d gone nuts and attacked her, leaving her beaten (and not that good beating subs like so well) and locked in the cabin. Valerie had rescued her physically, but not mentally. Francine had panic attacks at first, breaking into crying fits and nightmares at the drop of a hat. So desperate for relief, Francine had gone numb, feeling nothing. That numbness had concealed a smoldering rage that sought out expression.

At first, she’d sought that expression through pain of her own. She’d sought out a cutter, a woman who got her kicks by slicing subs with a knife. Actually, her knife designs were quite lovely on Francine’s breasts and thighs. The scars on her back, the result of a man called Painmaster, weren’t so. Painmaster believed in no safe words and no limits for his subs. Oh, he was honest and upfront about it when he was trolling; but he was quite willing to take a newby who agreed to more than they had any idea of. He deliberately went for blood on his victims. Francine, desperate to release and feel again, had sought him out and received the scars on her back.

The next day, Valerie had called and offered to sub to Francine, who was in no state to be topping anyone, let alone someone she had strong feelings for. Francine, driven by the equivalent of post traumatic stress, went to the scene with the intent to do whatever it took to drive Valerie away from her. It was a testament to Valerie’s then new submissiveness that she held up to the agonizing pain for a hour before giving her safe word; the safe word that Francine, to her eternal shame, ignored. It would go another hour, with Valerie’s back savaged, before someone would find them and stop her.

When Francine had come to her senses and seen what she’d done, she ran to the kitchen and sliced her wrists, unable to bear the betrayal she’d committed. It had been Valerie, bleeding herself, and suffering untold agony, who had knelt on Francine’s wrists to stop the bleeding and saving Francine’s life. Both had been outed as sadomasochists and Valerie had lost her job. Through it all, Val had maintain her love for her friend and her forgiveness for what had happened. She had also forced Francine to swear that if and when she returned to dominating, that Valerie would be her first sub.

It was strange how things went, actually, considering that the significance of the ignored safe word in that scene. Now, Valerie was a switch, who owned her lover, Sally Thatcher, in a no safe word arrangement, and submitted to her Master, Charles Vanquil, in a similarly no safe word relationship. Tonight, there would be a safe word. Francine needed Val to have one.

Knowing she wouldn’t get any more sleep, Francine got out of her bed and hit the shower. Sleep and sweat were washed from her body, much like she wished she could wash the worry and fear from her as well. Part of Francine didn’t want to do this. She didn’t trust herself, not really. She remembered her last session with Dr. Gloush, her kink aware therapist.

“Francine, it’s about trust. We’ve dealt with all the other issues from the attack on you and the beating you gave Valerie. You need to trust yourself.”

“But Doctor, how can I trust myself? I haven’t earned that trust, certainly not Valerie’s. I don’t understand how she can be so willing to let the person who savaged her tie her up and take a whip to her back.”

“Because she trusts you. Francine, people don’t just trust those who’ve earned our trust, we also trust those in positions of authority. We extend trust to strangers on a provisional basis, to give them a chance to earn that trust. Without that kind of trust, there would not be complete trust. You need to give yourself that chance to earn your own trust. You need to play out a scene with someone; Valerie would be best.”

“Why, why would she be best? Shouldn’t I just bid on a sub at the auction?”

Francine was referring to the monthly charity slave auction at The Mephisto Club. Doctor Gloush shook his head. “You’re not afraid of going too far with a stranger, but with someone close to you. To be sure, it has to be Valerie.”

She washed the shampoo from her hair as the remembrance faded. She thought about the last year as she massaged the conditioner into her hair, letting it restore her hair’s full body. A little over a year ago, she’d gone back to Charles, her first dominant, to ask to be taken back in by him. Both Francine and the doctor had agreed, she needed to start entering back into the lifestyle with submission. For the first year after the incident, she couldn’t bear being near any BDSM. The sight and sounds of someone being dominated, especially receiving pain play, was more than her spirit could handle at that time.

Charles had been the perfect person to dominate her over the last year. Charles Vanquil had a passion for introducing submissives into the lifestyle properly (or at least as he viewed proper). An observant and caring Dom, he was able to lead a submissive to find just which aspects of the lifestyle he or she was interested in and comfortable with. Ironically, very few submissives stayed with him for a long time; Valerie and Sally were now the longest serving subs he had. That both had fallen in love with him wasn’t a coincidence.

Francine had learned much over this last year. When she’d first started in the lifestyle, Francine had discovered that she wasn’t much of a submissive. She could, with the right person, submit, but she’d been a natural dominant back then. Now, she was a more natural switch. The attack and subsequent loss of control had changed her. That dominant part of her soul was still there, but now, Francine Traline needed to submit to someone from time to time. She also discovered that there was a lingering attraction from the bad times. Francine craved being blooded. She’d returned to the lady who originally had cut her breasts and thighs several times since. The sight of her body’s precious life fluid slowly oozing out of the wounds the scalpel made gave her, simultaneously, a rush of excitement and a sense of peace; that all was right in the universe.

Several people had told her that such play was inherently wrong; that it was too dangerous (especially on the thighs, close to the vital femoral artery). They didn’t understand. The feel of her skin being violated, parting as the cut grew in length; The sharp pain of the skin being sliced; the feel of the blood as it ran along her skin; they were like food for her spirit. Randi knew what she was doing; where she could cut and how deep, safely.

Mephisto’s opened in five hours. Francine had insisted that Valerie and her play out their scene at the club; a public venue. As she puttered about the house, Francine recognized that familiar feeling building in her. Her dominance was rising, recognizing the opportunity that was coming. Valerie was a fantastic sub; able and willing to endure much for her dominant. As the desire and need to control, to put a sub through her paces grew, Francine’s fear of herself grew with it. “How can she trust me,” Francine would think. “How can I trust myself?”

She’d packed her toy bag the previous night. Good thing, too; as she doubted she could think about what to bring this afternoon. On the drive over, Francine’s fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel. At each red light, she had to force herself to calm down; to not blare on the horn or yell at the nearby drivers (who had no control over the lights anyway). When she realized that she had parked cockeyed across two spaces, she didn’t even try to re-park.

Inside the club, the main floor was already beginning to fill. Saturday’s were very popular at Mephisto’s, even on the days when there wasn’t an auction. Her toy bag hanging from one hand, Francine scanned the people milling about for Valerie. A waving hand caught her eye.

“Francine! Over here,” came Valerie’s voice.

Francine waved back, a smile gracing her face, as she moved towards her friend. Her bag hit the floor as they embraced, clutching each other tightly. The initial embrace easing, Francine pulled back a few inches to gaze at the friend who’d stood by her all these years. Like always, Valerie was beautiful in her sub garb; a loose fitting blouse with no bra underneath and a short skirt that Francine knew would have no panties hidden behind it. Her collar, snuggly encircling her neck, read, “Valerie, slave of Master Charles.” The O in the word of still had the .22 slug that Harv had tried to shoot at Francine on the steps of the hospital, the day Francine had been released. Tears filled Francine’s eyes as she recalled the horrible, final, confrontation with her ex-boyfriend.

Harv pulled a hand out of his coat, a revolver swinging towards Francine. The police officer dropped the papers he was carrying and drew his own Glock. Francine froze and screamed in terror. Valerie put her hands out, stepping in front of Francine, yelling, “No!” Sally shoved Francine to the side, falling as she did. The pop of the .22 and the roar of the Glock sounded in rapid succession. Both Harv and Valerie lay on the ground. Valerie had her hand to her throat, mouth moving but no sound coming out.

Francine’s own voice was loud, the terror wrenching from deep in her heart, “Valerie! No!” Sally and Francine, both wept in gasping sobs, crawling to Valerie. “Don’t you dare die on me. I can’t do this without you. You brought me back. Please Valerie, come back to me,” Francine had cried in anguish. The small lead slug was stuck in Valerie’s collar, stopping short of the lethal throat shot it could have been.

Valerie saw the tears and remembered as well, her own eyes filling. Her actions that day had been unthinking and instinctive; seeking to save the life of someone she loved.

“I’d do it again, in a heart beat, Francine. I love you more than life itself, just as I love Sally and Master.”

Francine shook her head, her voice breaking. “I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to make sure no former boy friends try to shoot you, won’t you?”

Smiling at the joke, Francine replied, “It a deal. I won’t get shot and you won’t take the bullet.”

Valerie’s face went serious, showing her concern. “Are you okay? Are you up to this?”

“I don’t know. I’m scared. I don’t know if I can be trusted behind the whip.”

Valerie took her friend’s face between her hands, looking into the eyes of the person she was intending to allow to do anything she wanted to her. “You can be trusted, Francine. I trust you. Master Charles trusts you. You need to trust yourself.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked, truly confused by Valerie’s surety.

Valerie slipped her blouse off, drawing no more than a couple of eyes in the process. “Because, the woman who did this,” turning to show Francine the scars she knew by heart, “was walking wounded.” Valerie turned back around. “The woman I’m looking at now, is healthy. There’s no reason to not trust you. Once we’re finished this afternoon, you’ll see that as well.”

“We’d better start before I lose my nerve.”

“I’ve rented a private room. it’s this way,” Val said, turning towards the wall that held the private play rooms.

Francine caught her shoulder. “No, not yet,” came the firm voice of a Domme giving an order. Valerie turned around, her smile widening and her breathing picking up a bit. Francine opened a side pouch to the bag and pulled a D-ring and leash. Brisk motions turned Valerie around and clipped the D-ring between her cuffs, locking Val’s hands behind her. Francine took the blouse from Valerie’s hands and wrapped it around Valerie’s head, blindfolding her. When Val felt the leash clip to her collar, she moaned, her knees almost buckling at the surge of dominance from her friend.

Francine held the leash short, her hand nearly at Val’s throat. Her other hand found Valerie’s breasts. It didn’t take much in the way of caresses to bring Valerie’s nipples to fully aroused size, poking up invitingly. Accepting the invitation, Francine pinched one, squishing it nearly flat as Valerie groaned at the sensation. Instinctively, Val bent her back, thrusting her breasts forward in offering to her Domme for the day.

At first, Francine was forcing herself to start the scene, as her dominant side and fearful sides warred with each other. But, as she took control, she found the fear fading in the rush of pleasure she felt from the control Valerie allowed her to take. Francine pulled Val closer by leash and tit, kissing her on the lips. Valerie responded eagerly, her mouth opening and tongue offering itself to Francine. Francine accepted and bit, gently, on Valerie’s tongue, trapping it in a painful vice. Francine let her teeth scrape on Valerie’s tongue as she ended the initial kiss.

“Which room, slave?”

“Number 4, Mistress.”

Holding the leash, Francine took off, leading her slave to the room in question. Even at the slow pace Francine kept, it was still a struggle for Valerie to step out blindly at the tug of the leash. Unseen by Val, the growing crowd parted, making way for the mobile scene walking through them. Part way there, Francine stopped and pulled Valerie’s skirt off; a single tug sufficient to pop all the snaps on the side so it pulled free in one fell swoop.

The lights glistened on the damp pussy that was revealed, showing Valerie’s arousal and enjoyment at the loss of control. Francine brought her free hand down to Valerie’s cunt, stroking it as Val gasped in pleasure. Mixed with the pleasure was embarrassment, as she knew they were still on the main floor, in full view of anyone cared to look. Francine stopped well short of Valerie’s climax, preferring to let her stew in her own arousal.

It had been some time since Francine had played in Mephisto’s, but she still recognized her favorite play room. Hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room was a sling of sorts. Consisting of a narrow support of webbed fabric, it had strips running out from it to hold arms and legs. A victim could be placed in it face up or down, with the center strip of six inch wide fabric supporting either the back or center of the chest. The actual pelvic area was unsupported, but the slight decline of the top (where the head was located, made support for that area unneeded. The arms and legs were supported in cupped lengths of fabric with moveable straps to secure the hands and feet. A face down woman’s breasts would hang free and vulnerable.

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