“Eager little tramp, isn’t she?” the first words from Bernard’s lips that I remember. “You’ll fight like angry cats, friend,” he told Heinrich. “Make certain you stay on top.”
“I don’t worry about that,” my husband answered him. “She knows what she needs and likes.”
Three years down the road, there were many meetings with Bernard, even times when we were alone together when our affections for each other grew into friendship. He was like a father—on two occasions cleaning up the dizzying mess I’d become when Heinrich was on an awful tear. He wouldn’t actually side with my husband—though he never spoke badly of him. Instead, he’d lead me back to my true desire. After holding me while I cried, he then pushed me away and gave me a tongue-lashing with his keen eyes burrowed into my soul. He suggested that he’d punish me himself for being so silly and so weak. Oh, I trembled at the thought of that!
Given our past relationship, it was only natural for Bernard to welcome me.
With the restraints of keeping a marriage intact lifted from my thinking Bernard supplants any other dominant in my mind. Perhaps I exalt him too much. Perhaps I don’t know his imperfections; he seems so perfect side by side with my flawed husband. I go so far as to wonder if he’ll give up Makaila for me—though that’s a ridiculous thought. And, I certainly don’t want to make any trouble for him. But for just one hour, or even a few minutes, I’d like to listen to him speak. I’d like to let him lecture me again, or counsel me. That’s all I ask.
When I made the appointment to see him, he was a bit surprised, but he agreed without asking why. I as mount the steps to his house, I have to think of what I’ll say to him, how I’ll answer the initial question. I could speculate that he already knows what I’m going to say, but he’ll have me spit it out, lay it all on the line.
“I’d like you to take me into a scene, Bernard. I want you to top me. I’d like to slave for you.” There are a dozen ways to say it, they all mean the same thing. I’ve gone over them in my mind repeatedly, and wonder exactly how I’ll tell him the truth. I guess I want a whole lot more than just his stern lecture.
“Anna, how nice to see you!” he greets me in his conservatory with his arm going around me for a generous hug. His lips meet mine and I’m ready to drop to the floor at his feet. Instead, I stand back and smile. Though he scares me, I could melt into him now. “How are you?” He backs up and sits on his pruning bench where he’s been clipping his prized orchids. “Sit,” his hand motions to the chair behind me. Taking a seat, I look up at his open face and feel more yielding. I’m sure he reads exactly what’s in my thoughts. “This is a surprise.”
“Am I wrong to visit an old friend?”
“Not at all.”
He strikes a causal pose, one tight ass cheek and his leg resting on the bench—an open posture that draws me in. My face is at his crotch height unable to take my eyes from where I know his black dick resides.
“So, what brings you here?”
I sigh. “I would think you could guess.”
“Guessing sometimes gets you in trouble, better you tell me.”
I get brave, “I’m missing the scene.”
He nods as though it’s no surprise. “Runs deep in you, Anna.”
“It does.”
“You want your husband back?”
“Oh, good lord no!”
“You know I think your divorce was a mistake. You had all the right ingredients, just needed a little coaxing to make it a real relationship.”
“I didn’t come here to go down that road.” He sees how I flinch at the very mention of my marriage.
“Then what is it you want?”
I think for a moment, unable to speak. All those words and phrases I practiced, and none come out but the one word that matters, “you.”
“Me?”
“I need it nasty, Bernard. My whole being is so wanting. I used to count on a good thrashing to ease my inner turmoil, but it’s just day after day of waiting for something that is not going to come. Do you know how many weeks it’s been? Not weeks, but months. I’m living with a man I love, but he only knows half of me, and only has half of me to love.”
“And you can’t tell him the rest?”
“No, no, no,” I shake my head. “I can’t make him into something he’s not and I refuse to try.”
“So, you’ll cheat on him the way you did Heinrich to get the other side. Seems like the flip side of your marriage. Not fair to anyone.”
His words are stern and reproachful.
“I’m only asking for it once and while. Or maybe just once, until I get this figured out.”
He considers for awhile, just staring at me like his eyes could bore through oak—and I’m just a slender sapling with no roots at all.
“You haven’t atoned for your crimes yet, have you? Washed away the stain of your infidelity?”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but perhaps not.”
“I think you’d better feel it that way. You’re feeling empty and unfulfilled because you didn’t treat your marriage with any respect. You committed adultery and now you’re paying in loss and sorrow. I should just let you just stew in your misery.”
“Bernard please.”
“You are a selfish and scheming woman, Anna. Charming as you might be you have no scruples. That’s what’s dangerous about you.”
Though I’ve felt this kind of rebuke from him before, I sense bitterness from him I didn’t plan on. Before, his lectures were like a game we played. But this is no game—as though I’ve truly offended him. There was none of this during the divorce. He could have laid into me a dozen times but he certainly held back. Feeling as though he’s pinned me to the wall, I attempt a counter attack, “Is Heinrich any different?”
He points a finger at me and rises from the pruning bench. “We’re not talking about Heinrich, we’re talking about you.” The glare in his black eyes alarms me. “If you really are the woman you say you are, you don’t need a husband, or a compassionate lover, or even me. You need a harness, a dog collar, and a leash, so you can crawl at some dom’s feet for a few months and forget that you are a person at all. You need to slave for a master who will show you no mercy. You need a sound paddling at dawn and dusk everyday, a good thrashing at noon—then you should be left in a closet the rest of the time.”
He walks around his conservatory, getting lost inside the melange of plants. There is a reckless, seething energy about him that I’ve seen only once before when he was furious with Makaila for disobeying him. As he slowly makes his way through his jungle, he finally emerges with his feelings more restrained and says, “Please excuse that outburst. It wasn’t planned.”
“But that is what you feel,” I reply.
“Oh, it is. Adultery of body or mind pisses me off.”
Through the entire divorce, no one ever put my actions in such a conventional light—took offense that I’d cheated on my husband. I thought about it, but no one else ever said a word, as though the infidelity didn’t really matter anymore. It mattered to me sometimes and even more now that I realize how much it matters to Bernard.
“I can’t defend myself,” I say.
“No, you can’t.”
“Is there hope here, or have you given up on me?”
“I should. Should make you just live this way, or send you to a man who might actually knock some sense of decency into you.”
“But you won’t?”
“I don’t know what I’ll do, Anna. I will consider your suggestion and get back to you. If anything happens at all, however, understand this—you don’t balk, you don’t disobey and you tell your lover everything.”
“What?” I can’t believe he means that.
“Are you serious about him?”
“Yes, I think so…”
“Then you tell him everything.”
“And if I wasn’t serious, I wouldn’t have to?”
“No. You’ll tell him regardless.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Then it’s impossible for me to help you.”
“No.” I’m in tears.
“Yes, Anna.” He lifts me to my feet with his hand, then runs that hand through my hair, staring at it as though he’s fascinated.
“You are harder than Heinrich.”
“I’m a better man,” he admits without shame. “And understand, if I’m inclined to do anything with you, I will tell your husband.”
“You’ll tell him? But he’s not my husband anymore.”
“But he is my friend.”
“What difference does that make, you take women all the time?”
“It matters to me because it would matter to him. The fact that you don’t like that is another strike against you.”
He’s being a bastard while he’s being kind. Though he walks me to the door affectionately holding me to his side, he lays down impossible ground rules, making it clear that he won’t budge an inch. There’s no way I can meet his demands and I realize it was stupid of me to come. He’ll be telling Heinrich and I’ll feel like a fool in front of my husband should I see him—though that’s something I certainly don’t plan on.
Chapter Four
The first time I chain and whip Delia, the extremes of the circumstances almost make her panic. But it’s a good scene. We’re in the cavern at Tethers inside a small subterranean alcove away from the rest of the activities.
I knew it shook her when I mentioned at work that we’d be going out for the evening. She had other plans which needed to be canceled, and I could see she was in a tailspin before she left the office that night. Her clamped dark hair was falling loose as though she were anxiously tearing it out of the tortoiseshell clip. There was a damp spot on the skirt of her dress, pussy juice saturating a quarter-size spot in a very embarrassing place—if she’d been aware that it was there. I was tempted to tell her, but she was already too undone to take more sexual input. Her impending evening was enough to unhinge her after what I’d already put her through that afternoon.
I invited her into my office where she sat in front of me, at first quite pertly—expectantly awaiting some order, and then quite disconcerted when I finally told her what I wanted her to do.
“So, do you masturbate now about the two of us?”
“All the time, Mr. Keller.”
“Then do it for me now. I want to see what you look like.”
She didn’t just hesitate; she totally balked for two uneasy minutes while trying to decide if I was really joking. And because I didn’t say another word, she finally understood that I was completely serious.
“Right here in the chair?” she blurted out.
“That’s just fine. Raise your skirt and let me see how your fingers move on your cunt.”
An inch at a time her skirt moved up her legs. I didn’t mind the slow process since her raw innocence was a seductive charm all its own. The flesh of her bare white thighs caused my crotch to jolt, and as she pulled her thong bikini aside to expose a blanket of jet-black hair. I had the urge to go to her with my hands and find what was inside that dark fur. I didn’t have to be that bold, however. She parted the sides of her pussy for me and found the center with a long middle finger, the shiny red nail disappearing inside for a while then returning to the surface as though it were coming up for air.
She leaned back and closed her eyes, though I made her open them, “I want you to remember I’m here.”
The reality made her blush, but she obeyed—a good sign for the future. I know this was a tough assignment. But apparently not too tough—she was obviously quite horny. Her hands worked her crotch, pulling labia, pinching her clit, fingers running down her thighs and back to the center again where those painted nails disappeared again and again. After five minutes she began rubbing herself in earnest, while several fingers continued to jab at her insides. With her eyes focused on me, my expression was grim—as relentless and unbending as she wanted it. Kept her from fleeing in fear. Her hands poured over her flesh, getting wet from precum, and then that slight black bush bucked high, ass off the chair altogether, as though she were reaching for something to draw inside the hole. Her gasp of pleasure was muted, and there was a little cry, then she slumped back down in the chair. Realizing that her eyes had closed while she climaxed, they popped open suddenly to stare at me.
It was then I knew we’d get serious. And I had no intention of waiting.
She’s come far quickly. I suggested she wear leather tonight—if she had anything, and it didn’t surprise me to find her dressed in a short leather skirt and halter when I picked her up at her apartment. The club almost makes her faint the moment she walks through the door. I give her an hour to adjust to the surroundings and feel her relax just as I decide to act. Her first scene will be one she’ll never forget. This will be hard on her, so much stimulation coming all in one day. But she can’t stand more waiting as much as that would please me.
The snap of leather on flesh resounds everywhere tonight. Fierce scenes are going on in all directions, even one Delia can see as she hangs for me in our more secluded retreat, her arms gracefully above her head, tethered with ropes to a hook a few inches from the wall. Her generous and now very naked body shines in the dim candlelight, the skin gleaming and flawless against the dank background of stone. She twists gracefully, waiting for me to use the whip in my hand. There are tears and fear in her eyes, and she grits her teeth breathing deeply so her chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm. Silver clamps dangle at her nipples, others cut the flesh of her labia. I watched her hold back her response to the pain as I turned the screws to tighten them to her flesh, and now see her silence become more difficult each time I slap her pussy.
“Turn around and press your face to the wall.”
As she obeys, I stand back with my buggy whip and wait until she eases again. Then with a quick flick of the flexible little instrument from hell, I snap it meanly on her buttocks and her body jolts. She gasps loudly.
When I repeat the strike, another slight scream of terror joins the others in this cavern of slaves and masters. The strikes come fast now—my arm and this extension of it feeling fused to what she gives back to me in terror and pleasure. The whip sizzles, her body jolts. Red lines begin to appear, one after the other on her fleshy buttocks, and then her thighs and on her milk white naked back. Everything in her shivers as she cries. I wait for her to stop me, her safe word suddenly screamed. But she can’t. For the all the ruthless energy I pour out on her, she loves it and wants more. Never have I seen an initiate so willing in a first session. Her response electrifies my body.
I stop with one last powerful stroke across her welted ass. Her feet dance wildly and her terrorizing cry stings my ears. I move to her side as her body stops its wild gyrations and her breathing calms. She twitches as the air around her tickles the roughed skin. When she feels my palm on her ass, she twists again, her empty pussy thrusting forward against the stone wall.
“Ride it, Delia.”
She answers pressing her cunt against the cold, looking for anything that will slip inside and send her orgasm over the top. I reach for the crack of her ass, and part her swollen cheeks.
“Oh, my noooo!” there’s another kind of agony in her voice as my fingers finds her anus and press against the unyielding opening.
“No anal sex?”
“No, sir. Never.”
“My, then, we’ll surely have to do something about that, won’t we?”
“Oh, please not that.”
“Such fear,” I mock her.
“But I can’t.”
Smack! My hand hits her ass. “A slave makes no excuses. And any master worth the title wouldn’t listen to a submissive beg for mercy. You’ll do as I say, or be punished. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How about your mouth? You have as much objection to that as you do to getting fucked in the ass?”
“Oh, no, sir.”
I sense her relief
as I move on to a new subject.
“Then prove it, slave.” Loosening the ropes that bind her arms, she drops to her knees on brick floor, and with hands still in manacles, she seeks to free my cock. Though she struggles nervously with the zipper, the stalk is soon moving down her throat as she slurps the precum and tongues the surface with a wet tongue. With her voluminous hair threaded through my fingers like a vine, I control the blowjob: her ability to suck, the need to swallow and the ejaculation as it first starts down her throat, and then, as I withdraw spewing, the thick liquid spilling out on her face and breasts. She looks at me longingly as she cleans the last from my cock.
For a moment, I stroke her face, remembering the texture of a woman’s soft skin, and the memory of such softness touches me strangely, but I’m not sure why.
“Bow for me, Delia.” There is little force in my voice now, but she obeys without hesitation, kissing the bricks at my feet with her wet lips.
Her willingness amazes me still, and I wonder how far she’ll go, how much humiliation she can endure.
Taking a leash from the wall, I attach it to her collar, and my initiate, on hands and knees, joins me in a stroll around the cavern showing off her punished flesh.
The night is a rare one. So much sadomasochistic activity in this dank underground overwhelms my once virgin maid. We watch as other subs are whipped,. Men and women are strung up to racks and alcove walls like the one where Delia hung, bent over rails and chained in suspension, a whip sizzling in this heated air making every moment a painful torture. One particularly nasty scene in the enema chamber makes her shrink in fear as she sees a fat nozzle plunged into a female ass. She shrieks almost as much as the subordinate slave who takes the sudden rush of water into her bowels. Delia’s fear climbs at every turn. Her scratched knees hurt almost as much as her ass. And though she figures there is little more that will happen to her this night, she’s shocked to suddenly discover me tugging her toward the top of a platform where she’ll undergo a careful inspection of her wounds.
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