I read with half my mind watchfully gazing at the picture of Analise bound in the attic. When I can no longer focus on the book for thoughts of her, I decide to return to her side.
When I enter the attic again, I’m thoroughly relieved to see that she’s still bound the way I left her—indeed nothing in the room is changed. I do believe she’s been alone for these several hours. I thought it didn’t matter what happened in this game of ours, but I realize now that my new found dominant desires have me longing for another session with this fair waif.
My body immediately responds to her tethered state; the way she looks so divinely erotic fascinates me. I could study her for hours. Her arms bound over her head make her torso look even thinner than it is. Her ribs show and her breasts almost disappear against her chest. Her taut nipples and the creamy white skin of her thighs make a sensuous feast for my eyes.
It surprises me that she’s awake, I would think she might have dozed, but perhaps it’s more difficult than I imagine to remain comfortably bound. I forget my own bondage at Elizabeth’s hands. This seems much more sexually provocative than what I experienced. But then, perhaps provocative is in the eye of the beholder. I wonder what she’s been thinking all this time. Could she guess that there would be another dominant woman to take charge of her, or did this moment surprise her as much as it did me?
As I look at her, I think of a hundred things in a flash of a second that I might do to her next. They are memories from my own writings, fueled by those darker times that come to mind. Yet, it’s a fleeting thought, a quick flash of brilliance that moves me to act.
I untie her ankles.
“On your knees,” I order her. She maneuvers awkwardly, but is able to turn over even with her hands still bound. Her rear end rises high as she presses her face to the pillows. I find the pose the ultimate in submissiveness. Her small rounded ass intrigues me, so I play with it, running my hands along the surface of her skin, and down her wide-open cleft. I find her sphincter with a probing finger and she jerks away. “No please, not there,” she says. Her refusal startles me, though I remember hearing this protest before.
“Why not?” I ask.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” I ask again.
“The pain won’t go away,” she says.
“I know it does, Analise,” I counter her.
I imagine she pleads her case well; but as an expert on backdoor violation, I’m suddenly inspired to bring this puzzling woman to a new sexual initiation.
I find lubricant in the small chest by her bed, and dildos in several sizes… almost as if they were waiting for me to use for just this task.
But rather than stun her, I begin with my hand, with just a simple well-greased finger. A little less than two inches beyond her anus, she’s already in tears, the tight place screams at her, wanting me to stop. But I know better. What begins as resistance is only need, crying so fearfully loud that the pleasantness cannot get through.
I refuse to stop despite her angry impassioned protests.
“Hush,” I say, slapping her ass lightly. Then I stroke her as I continue to gently probe her. I massage her back and shoulders, and coo softly in her ear.
“Relax, relax, relax.”
Elizabeth was never so gentle with me, but I’m a better lover than she ever was.
It takes some minutes, some terrifying minutes, where Analise screams, “NO!” to me, and I refuse to relent. She will get beyond this idiotic fear, I vow silently to myself.
She tenses even more, the more I probe. A shot of brandy might do her well, but without that, all I can offer her is my tender but firm assurance that her pain will fade away. And as I expect, with little warning, something seems to let go within her, and her whimpering ceases. I shove my finger deeper, and though she gasps, she doesn’t scream or plead, or refuse me.
“See, love, you just need patience,” I tell her.
I work my finger there for some time, allowing the first sweet anal pleasures to rush over her. I think to myself how lovely they are, the wild bursts and fits of sensation that accompany such an intrusion. I almost think she’ll cum if I continue, but I want her to wait. I plan to give her much more than just this simple beginning.
Freeing her from the offending finger, and untying the scarves, she falls to the side and stares at me with her childish vacancy.
“You’ll wear these until you’re ready for the largest. It’s a matter of time and patience, but you’ll accommodate even more than this,” I tell her, showing her the various dildos in my hand. I wish I had the large butt plug that had been used on me by Cozinne, but then I’d likely scare her half to death with that. “It’s not right to deny your finest pleasures. You’ll use this one first.” My waif-like lover accepts my dictum, though I can still see a hint of fear in her eyes. Even the small finger-like dildo frightens her, though it’s hardly larger than my own violating finger. “Secure it with ribbons, ropes, whatever you can find, and by tomorrow you’ll be ready for something bigger.” I show her the next size, and her eyes grow wide. I can see her trembling. “You will do this,” I say sternly. “It will come to arouse you beyond belief; all this fear of yours is ridiculous.” She stares at me so I can’t avoid the reluctance in her eye. I can feel where she comes from, that submissive place where the simple command of a lover seems too much. But I know she can get beyond it. Though my personal experience with these matters is modest, I know these things; they appear in my writing over and over again. The submissive will at last submit. They’re bound to do so by their nature. “Keep it in, except for when you have to go to the bathroom,” I instruct her. “Feel it as a welcome friend.”
Analise nods, even though her expression implores me to reconsider.
“What is it?” I ask directly. Strangely my voice sounds more commanding than I’ve ever known it to be.
“Will you take me like this again?” she asks.
I’m amazed by her question; she’s more willing than I suspected.
“Maybe,” I tell her. “If you behave yourself.” I warn her with the inflection in my voice. The thought of her following my orders is a pleasant aphrodisiac all by itself.
I leave her unbound and free, handing her the dildo as she sits demurely on the bed. As I withdraw from the attic, I have no idea where this bond between us will lead. I remain intrigued with Analise and the possibilities she presents me, but I’m not willing to call this love. I still love Peach. I only know that I have the most compelling desire to dominate this child/woman; and she appears to have the complimenting desire to surrender.
I spend the remainder of the day at the beach. I have a sandwich fixed for me, eschewing the dining room crowd of women at the six o’clock hour. Sitting on the beach, I watch the waves. Their endless motion reminds me of a caressing lover, they remind me of Peach and what I miss about her: the jubilance of her bright face, the sensuousness of her body and the quixotic nature of her mind.
So much sexuality around me, so much sexual invention. On the one hand it seems so absurd, on the other hand so natural.
“Hello,” a voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I turn to gaze at a woman I’ve seen several times at the house. She has a pleasant manner, though I wonder at her involvement with the “rites” going on around us here. She appears so conventional by the way she dresses and wears her hair. Her gentle body seems beyond the crazy whims of sexual fancy.
“I get a little weary of the shenanigans in the dining room,” she explains to me.
Aha! I think. Even her speech declares herself.
“But then, this time of year is rare,” she says, “a most unusual atmosphere around this place.”
“You’ve come here before?” I ask.
“Several times. Anastasia revels in crudity like no one else I know. There are always surprises, a feast of decadence, don’t you think?”
Her appraisal of things certainly matches my own, even though I have no idea what she means by “feast of de
cadence”.
“I wasn’t aware of what happens here until I arrived,” I tell her.
“Oh my, then you’ve probably been taken by surprise. I can see where it might be daunting.” She’s as kind and wise as Miriam, though not as erotically appealing to me. I’m aware that there are other stories unfolding around me, and that’s comforting, even though I prefer to keep mine to myself, just as she will keep hers private.
We eat in silence for some time, listening to the ocean and watching its regular rhythm.
“The fire on the beach is splendid,” she says, “be sure to stay for it.”
I look at her perplexed.
“You will be there, won’t you?”
“I think so, though I really hadn’t made any plans.”
She smiles, and leaves me challenged by the impending future. I can’t be thinking that far ahead, but perhaps I’ll have to.
The night brings Analise to my room again. As before, she arrives like a phantom, fluttering in on the ocean breeze, reaching out to me from the shadowy darkness. As her soft body slides in next to mine, I take her in my arms, and we press our nakedness against each other.
“I didn’t want you to sleep alone,” she says, kissing my mouth. I hadn’t thought that was such a problem, being alone. But she has easy access to me these days because I’m in such a perpetual state of arousal that the relief of sexual climax is welcome, and likely necessary. It’s as easy a lovemaking as it’s been before. I’m becoming used to her body. She knows where to touch, I know where to touch her. Our mouths seem to melt into each other, almost as if we’re one person. It’s not the same with Peach. Peach and I are always different in some obvious way. Making love to Analise is like making love to my reflection in the mirror.
The only thing to mar the episode occurs when I note that Analise is not wearing the dildo as I told her to. I pass over the omission, saying nothing to her now. But I will later.
Chapter Eleven
Throwing open the attic door, I see Analise shrink back on her bed, afraid.
At lunch I told her to meet me upstairs at four o’clock. She knows why, but doesn’t balk at my stern command. In fact, I see the submissiveness on her face, as if she were waiting for my wrath.
As she trembles, she’s naked and compliant. A patch of sun streaks across her bed, making her white skin glow like alabaster. Ah yes! It will soon be glowing, wildly red!
I’ve never punished anyone before, but I will today.
I think back to Elizabeth. She would have slapped my face a dozen times before she even began to talk. She would have me backed into a corner with her nasty cane in hand, had I so negligently ignored a direct command as Analise has done. I can’t be so ruthless with Analise. She’s convinced me of her frailty, which may be a fine act. But she’s also convinced me that she needs a thorough reprimand. If I can’t avoid the darkness that lingers inside me, neither will she avoid what she begs for through her fears.
“You thought I wasn’t serious about your ass?” I inquire.
Her childlike eyes attempt to melt my anger. I don’t know if it’s simple fury that rises in me, or a role I’m playing for both our benefit: something that occurs to me as I recall Elizabeth and her rash attacks. I know I’m not Elizabeth, I’ll not be as arbitrary as that woman, but the firmness and intent of my designs come clear to me.
“I’ve never tolerated things in my ass,” she tells me soulfully.
“But you will now,” I tell her.
“Please, I can’t do it,” she whines more.
“Yesterday, you adjusted to the penetration; there’s no reason you can’t now.”
She hangs her head, knowing how displeased I am.
“Though, what I’m most concerned about now is your disobedience. You deserve a decent thrashing, and you’ll get it,” I vow.
She bites her lip sheepishly. The anticipation of punishment appears to arouse her. As she sits on her haunches on the bed, she grinds her cunt and bottom against her legs. The soft sultry look in her eye may suggest fear, but it also tells me so much more.
“You can’t wait to have your bottom whipped,” I comment.
She doesn’t answer.
I remember the trunk and the things inside. There was something in the bottom that will do nicely to punish her ass. Analise stares at me as I stride toward the old steamer trunk. Opening the creaky lid, its contents fly hither thither about the floor, as I search for what I saw there the day before. Spotting the instrument, I pull it from its hiding place and allow the handle to become comfortable in my hand.
The leather paddle will sting like the belt Peach used on my ass. It’s at least eighteen inches long, with a firm flexible paddle end that’s three inches wide. The girl has lessons to learn and this will teach her well.
She sees me coming, and I’m surprised to see that she doesn’t cringe. Though perhaps she’s used to be being spanked by Tasia, for whatever has offended that woman. I imagine Tasia would punish her even harder than I will, then again, maybe not? Nonetheless, I know exactly how much a woman can bear before it’s too much, having been through this so many times.
Analise stares at me expressionless. Her chest heaves, her enormous eyes become moist, but she still doesn’t flinch.
“Turn over,” I instruct.
She wavers only for an instant, then moves around the bed, so that her ass is once again waving at me. She knows to keep her head and chest pressed against the sheets in a way that makes her rear cheeks spread out wide and her white skin tautly stretched.
I stand to one side and aim the paddle as if I’ve done this a hundred times before. It feels so very natural, so complimentary to all the sexual acts I do. How many times I’ve written this scene on paper, varying details, altering names and faces and places. It’s still just one scenario, just one simple feeling of righteous justice being meted out on a naughty brat. My pictures have always made me the star, the receiver, the punished. Becoming the administrator, however, is just a simple alteration of a well rehearsed plan.
The paddle falls effortlessly against the woman’s bottom. I hear her groan, crying into the comforting softness of the bed, but she fails to revolt in any way, taking her admonishment like the act it is: a well deserved moment of justice.
By the time I smack her a half dozen times, I see the color pink rise gloriously on her once fair cheeks. It’s so appealing, the change of color, seeing it for myself for the first time. Another half dozen smacks and the pink blush turns red. I see lines laced across her skin where the paddle hits again and again. I hear little whimpering shrieks with each fierce blow. Her cries suggest that she’s reaching her limit, but I don’t trust her to be honest. I’ve never been when I’ve been spanked by Elizabeth or Peach. It becomes a contest of wills between submissive and dominant. No matter how much pain I can take, I attempt to ward it off at the same time—whether it’s what I want or not. There is so much mixed emotion in the volatile act. I assume Analise is no different than me, so I spank her harshly, until her bottom looks raw and the lines on her skin stand out as rude welts.
She shrieks, moans, and cries her muffled cries. Her ass jiggles every which way as if she could escape the paddle. She falls to one side and I force her to rise again, and deliver more punishment until I can’t stand her agony anymore, and neither can she.
I finish abruptly, then stop and listen to her sobs. I watch the fiery red on her fanny, wondering how long it will take until it fades.
“Turn over,” I order her, and I wait.
This time, she sits directly on her sore rear end; I imagine that the sheets feel cool against her burning skin. Pulling the finger dildo from the drawer, I hand it to her. “You know what to do with this?” I ask.
She nods.
“In your ass now, and don’t remove it without permission. You do, and I won’t wait to plant a six inch plug inside your bottom, and I won’t care how much you wail at me to stop. As it is, I’m sure I’m being kinder than you deserve.”
She looks so forlorn. Cradling the tiny dildo in the palm of her hand, she gazes down at it, as if she’s staring into some horrible abyss. I wonder at all her trepidation, how real it really is. It still crosses my mind that I’m being played for a naïve fool by Analise and Tasia—with Analise’s sole purpose to keep me here and well occupied while Tasia goes on with whatever despicable plan she has for my lover. As often as I think that, I dismiss the idea; I need this, even if it turns out to be a foolish illusion.
As I watch the woman gazing into her grave scared eyes, it’s as if I’m looking at my twin. Whatever her reason for being with me, I do see something genuine in her distress and her carnal needs that perhaps I alone can share with her.
At dinner, Analise appears dressed like a fairy princess. Her marble complexion shows no trace of tears, and she wears the soft waif-like smile I’ve become accustomed to. Her floral dress is white with pink flowers cascading across the fabric. It clings to her body as all the others do, showing every curve of her lanky form. There’s no indication that she hates me after the afternoon’s ordeal.
“Cassidy,” she whispers to me as she grabs me by the hand. I resist her gentle tugging, wondering what she wants.
“Sit down,” I tell her.
“No please, come with me,” she insists, and I’m soon out the door, following close behind her until we’re sequestered in an alcove beneath the main staircase.
Analise bends over readily and pulls up her dress. She shows me her rear, where I see several red marks remain on her skin. I run my hand across them, knowing how sore they are. Yet, what the woman really wants me to see is the small dildo nestled neatly in her ass. There are pink ribbons around her waist and through her cunt which hold it in place. She’s had to pull them tight to keep the small thing from slipping out. I see how much they cut her.
I press my hand against her anus, seeing it wink at me as the sphincter opens and closes around the offending intrusion.
Lizbeth's Lesbian Collection Page 10