Raw Silk

by Lisabet Sarai

  Kate felt her jealousy and despair melt away. He was right. As long as she could please him, what else mattered?

  She heard him moving behind her, near the bed, then he stood before her again, something dark in his hands.

  “I left this, also, on the bed, for you to examine and consider. But apparently you did not notice—or did not allow yourself to do so.”

  He held out the article for her inspection. Kate swallowed the lump in her throat. The item in his hands was clearly some sort of leather whip.

  “The technical term,” Gregory said, smiling, “is cat o’ nine tails. You’ll notice the many strands of leather radiating from the handle.” He grasped the handle, which was neatly encased in braided leather, in his left hand, running his right over the strands as if caressing a lover’s hair. “Each thong ends with a knot. When used correctly, the thongs apply a sharp heat, while the knots digging into the skin provide an extra sting.”

  He dangled the whip above her shoulder, the knots just touching, then brushed it lightly across her breasts. The leather was amazingly soft, but as he dragged it across her still-swollen nipples, she felt the echo of the clamps on her flesh.

  Now he was delicately tracing an upward path, from her pubic fur across her belly, sending delicious tremors up her spine and down her bound arms. Thus far, he was using the cat o’ nine tails as an instrument of pure pleasure.

  He spoke again, without stopping his leather caresses. “Have you ever been beaten by a lover, Kate?”

  Kate shook her head, and felt herself blush, though she did not understand why.

  “Have you ever dreamed or fantasised about such a thing?” Gregory asked.

  “No,” said Kate, indignant. “Of course not.”

  Gregory laughed. “Of course not? Indeed! Perhaps you don’t remember your dreams, Kate.”

  He leaned close to her ear, whispering. “The first time I laid eyes on you, Kate, I sensed that you craved the whip. I saw it in your eyes, in the way you moved, in your fierce, almost defiant independence. I felt your yearning to be mastered, to be set free.”

  Kate hung her head, and said nothing. Was what he said true? Did she really know so little of herself?

  “I want to whip you, Kate, whip you well, to open your mind and your senses to the possibilities within you.”

  He lifted her chin with the end of the whip, so that her eyes met his.

  “Will you do this for me, Kate? Do you dare to take this next step?”

  His gaze was a spotlight, searching to the depths of her soul. Kate felt fear and desire, rebellion I’ll show him what I dare! and devotion how could I not do whatever pleases him? She found herself fascinated by the leather implement of punishment that he wielded with such familiarity. She was curious, disgusted, and, as usual in Marshall’s presence, unbelievably aroused.

  Finally she answered. “Yes,” she said softly. “I dare. For you.” Her cheeks burned at admitting her weakness.

  “Good,” he said. “Once again, you do not disappoint me.” He circled around behind her. “Now, relax. And breath.”

  The first stroke caught her by surprise. Confused by her mixed emotions and muddled by her lust, she had not been thinking about the pain. Each leather strand was a red-hot wire, searing the flesh of her buttocks. She bit her lip, trying not to cry out.

  A precise ‘snap’ and a second stroke landed, a little lower, on the fullest part of her rump. “Ouch!” Kate could feel the individual traces left by the knots, a dozen separate bites all over those swelling cheeks.

  “Does that hurt, Kate?” said Gregory, with a little laugh. “But I have just begun.” He swung the whip three times in rapid succession, crisscrossing her behind with sharp leather kisses. Then there was another snapping sound, and the thongs raked across the sensitive skin on the backs of her thighs.

  Kate whimpered. Each stroke built on the pain of the previous one. Her whole rear burned and stung, as the man behind her methodically applied the whip to her ass, her thighs, and her shoulders. She twisted and writhed, trying in vain to avoid the lashes; the bonds held her taut.

  Gregory used an uneven rhythm, so that she could not anticipate the blows. There would be a pause of several breaths, then he would rain four or five quick strokes on her quivering flesh.

  Kate could no longer feel the individual strands of the whip. All had blended into a hot haze of pain, streaking up and down her body. Tears pricked in her eyes. She wished that she could see her tormentor; perhaps that would give her courage.

  Even as this thought came to her, he stopped. She felt his palms cupping her buttocks. Even against her inflamed skin, his touch was hot. Now she felt him sliding his fingers into her cunt, probing and massaging.

  Kate knew that she was drenched with arousal, that the beating had left her sex more swollen and hungry than before. “Just testing,” said Gregory with his characteristic mocking tone. “I want to make sure that you are enjoying yourself.”

  Kate was mortified. It was hard enough to admit to herself that the whipping had excited her; for him to know this was too much to bear.

  “I am not finished yet, my little slave.” He came around to face her. He was flushed and breathing deeply, yet his voice was totally controlled. “I’m just getting a bit warm.” He stripped off the vest and shirt, as she watched in fascination. The sight of his lean, hard body made her weak with lust. She was glad for the ropes that held her upright.

  “No, Kate, you’re only half-done.” He raised the cat over his shoulder, and brought it down sharply across her right breast. The force of the blow horrified and thrilled her, as she watched the muscles move under his skin. The sting of the lash was complicated by the ache in her still-sore nipples. A symmetrical stroke landed on her other breast.

  Kate watched his face as he slashed the thongs over her belly, and, with amazing precision, up and down the insides of her spread thighs. His full lips were pressed together, a hint of a smile behind intense concentration. His blue-diamond eyes darted over her body, measuring, evaluating the effects of each stroke and planning the next. He was a powerful machine, a pagan God, a lurid nightmare in black leather.

  She floated now on the waves of pain, sensitised, tender, without thought. He would never stop, it seemed, and she did not want him to. Vaguely she realised that her cunt was pulsing, expanding and contracting in time with his strokes. In the midst of the pain, she was close to climax.

  Gregory paused dramatically, just long enough for her to miss the kiss of the whip. Then, with expert skill, he flicked the leather thongs between her legs. The knots caught her clitoris, distended and protruding from between her aching lips. It was enough.

  The orgasm broke over her, hot and strange, her raw skin crackling with electric twinges, her sex, it seemed, turning inside out. The room turned red. Kate hung helpless in her bonds, writhing, twitching, undone.

  When Kate returned to awareness, she found that Gregory was unfastening her wrists from the walls. He massaged her shoulders and upper arms, urging the blood to flow. She let her arms drop to her sides and stood there before him, silent. What could she say? Her body spoke for her.

  Gregory stood back a bit, looking her over. “Once again, Kate, you surpass my expectations. Now, indeed, you look as my slave should look, well-whipped, and well-satisfied.

  “Come here,” he said softly. “and let me show you.” He led her over to the mirror.

  Kate was shocked by the image that greeted her. The same full breasts and full hips, the nipples still erect, but now the white skin was marked with red. Each lash of the leather had left a rosy track on her flesh, that still burned slightly. She could see, now, that Marshall had planned his strokes for visual effect as well as for the sensation. There was a symmetry, a pattern to the marks, that was both disturbing and pleasing.

  It was hard to believe this was her own body, her own flesh. She traced one of the welts on her breast with a hesitant finger. The skin answered with a muted sting. Something was famil
iar here, she thought. Then she remembered the roses, red veins on creamy white.

  Gregory stood behind her, watching her reaction. “You should see your ass, Kate. Lovely red tracks across your sweet skin. The marks will be gone by tomorrow. But I know that you will not forget the pattern.”

  He put his hands on her buttocks, brushing his fingertips over the reddened skin. Kate sighed, and leaned against him, exulting that he was touching her at last. The heat that came from him made her sweat. His eyes met hers in the mirror, as he continued to stroke her nether cheeks.

  Then his touch changed. While one hand continued to caress those twin globes of flesh, the other found its way into the crack between them. Once again, Kate knew mingled shame and pleasure as his long fingers began to probe her rear.

  Marshall was less tentative than Somtow had been. Or perhaps her anal passage was a little less tight now, from Somtow’s attentions. Gregory pushed one finger deeply into her, then two. Kate could not help the moan that escaped her.

  “Ah yes, Kate. I thought you’d like that.” He grinned at her in the mirror, a wicked look on his face. “Bend over,” he ordered. “Rest your elbows on the dressing table.” Kate could see the nervousness and excitement in her own face as she complied.

  Gregory pushed a third finger into her ass. She winced as the circle of muscle was stretched to a new limit. Then suddenly the man behind her removed his hand. Kate flushed, realising that she desperately wanted him to continue.

  He stepped to one side of her, so she could see him in the mirror. Slowly, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. His cock rose from between his leather clad thighs, longer and thicker even than she had remembered.

  “No!” she began, understanding his intent. “I never … I can’t…”

  “Oh yes, you can, Kate,” said her partner. “Spread your legs.”

  He reached between her thighs, plunging his hand into her wet cunt. Pleasure surged through her. Then, as she watched, he ran his hand over his penis, across the glistening knob at the end, lubricating himself with her juices.

  He positioned himself behind her again. “You can, Kate. And you will, for me.” She felt the tip of his penis against the curled knot of muscle, then pressure as he began to push his way into her.

  “Let go, Kate. Let go.” He pushed harder. Kate felt panic as sharp pain tore her virgin flesh. She looked at him in the mirror. His eyes were closed. She felt the intensity of his concentration, and his passion. His hands were like steel clamps on her buttocks, holding her open.

  She suddenly understood that she would do anything for this man, this master who knew her so well, better than she knew herself. She put her head down between her hands and tried to relax the stubborn muscles keeping him out. Enter me, she thought, take me, use me as you will.

  Sensing the change in her flesh or her thoughts, he thrust hard. Agony and ecstasy flooded her as his member stretched her wide and he filled her most private cavity with his hot, hard flesh.

  He hung there for a moment, pinning her with his cock. Kate could not believe the sensations exploding inside her. All the dirty pleasure of being full, down there, and the desire to let it all out; the tremors in her clitoris, another climax gathering; the pain at the gateway, where her delicate tissues were stretched near to tearing; the sting where his hands clutched her leather-lacerated skin.

  There was a long moment of stasis; the feelings grew, till they were almost unbearable. Then Gregory pulled out, letting her feel the guilty delight of being emptied. Then he thrust in again, deeper, deeper than Kate would have believed possible. In and out, Gregory ploughed her ass. The rougher his thrusts, the more abandoned Kate became. He worked his cock around inside her butthole, grinding his hips, fierce, raw, finally letting go of his own control. Kate clung to the dressing table, moaning, as he reamed her, buggered her, sodomised her like the sluttish slave that she was.

  Dimly, Kate heard a low, guttural cry, and realised that it came from Marshall. New fire exploded in her anus. She opened her eyes and saw Gregory in the mirror, his head thrown back, his hair tangled on his sweaty shoulders, his mouth open in animal yell as he pumped himself into her rear passage.

  She was shocked and amazed at the raw power that flowed from him, usually in check, now set free. He pulled his cock from her anus, leaving her empty, gaping. Moisture trickled from her stretched hole and dribbled down the backs of her thighs.

  Kate felt dirty, violated, sore, and blissfully satisfied. Her master helped her up stand, then swept her up in his strong arms and laid her gently on the bed. The cool, quilted silk was soothing against her raw skin.

  Gregory looked at her, silent, for a long time. Kate held his gaze bravely, proud that she had endured his trials and come out the other side. Finally, he bent and kissed her tenderly on the lips. There was amazement, even awe, in his voice. “You really do trust me, don’t you?”

  Kate was too exhausted to answer. In any case, there was no need; Gregory knew her, body and mind, saw her clearly through the masks of respectability and independence. The things he showed her about herself, she was not sure she was ready to see. She had to believe that he would not push her further than she was ready to go—or perhaps, a bit beyond.

  Chapter Six

  Lost in the City

  Kate called DigiThai on Friday morning, pleading illness. She was not dissembling. Every muscle ached, and though the red embroidery on her skin had faded, sitting down woke painful memories in her still-tender flesh. Meanwhile, she felt as if she was stretched open and gaping, behind. Her body reminded her continuously how she had been used, a dirty little toy in Marshall’s hands, a helpless, willing pawn in his games of humiliation and power.

  Away from the cold blue light of his gaze, Kate found herself confused, questioning, ashamed. She had been willing, that was the difficult thing to face, willing and even eager to be beaten, marked, used in the most obscene and degrading manner. She had enjoyed it all. In fact, even in the throes of her guilt and self-disgust, she felt the stirrings of perverse arousal.

  She saw again the pattern of the whip’s traces on her breasts and felt the muscled leather of Gregory’s thighs against her buttocks. Almost unconsciously she lifted her hand to her throat. The slave collar was gone; Gregory had laughingly told her that he would keep it safe for her, “until the next time she wanted it”. But Kate could swear she still felt the warm clasp of leather around her neck. Her cunt burned; she wanted desperately to put her hands inside her robe and caress herself. What was happening to her? Who was she becoming? She barely recognised in herself the practical, rational, self-disciplined and self-reliant woman she had been in Boston.

  It was Bangkok, this paradoxical city of beauty, decadence, and indulgence, where every fleshly pleasure had its price. It was making her crazy. She had to get away, somewhere sane, away from Marshall and Somtow and all the other fascinating and frightening temptations that Thailand offered.

  Just then Ae entered; Kate felt a pang of raw, unnamed emotion, at the liquid grace with which the Thai moved through the room. Just another example, Kate thought fiercely. Lovely and corrupt.

  The young maid smiled, surprised to see that her mistress was still at home. “Hello, Madame. You are still here? Are you unwell?”

  Kate made up her mind suddenly. “No, Ae, I am fine. But I am going away for a few days. I have some business, in Singapore.”

  In fact, Kate had never been to Singapore, but she knew that it had a reputation for cleanliness, order, and predictability. The Switzerland of Asia, a friend had once called it, half-laughing and half-admiring. She needed to get away, somewhere where she could be alone to sort out her thoughts and feelings. A clean, modern city without traffic jams or pollution, street vendors or go-go bars, seemed ideal.

  Kate threw a few clothes in a bag and grabbed her passport. Within an hour, she was sitting in the lounge at Don Muang Airport, ticket in hand.

  She looked around her nervously, afraid that someone would re
cognise her. Once, she thought that she caught sight of Chaiwat, Edward Harrison’s lascivious chauffeur, but she convinced herself that this was only her imagination. Still, she breathed a sigh of relief when the plane was finally airborne and winging toward Singapore.

  As she gazed out at the mountains of cloud piled around the aircraft, Kate resolutely pushed away the images and recollections crowding her thoughts. Later, she promised herself, later she would consider the situation, the implications, and the alternatives. For now, she wanted the peace of an empty mind.

  Immigration formalities in Singapore took only a few minutes. There were no long lines or inexplicable delays; the human traffic flowed smoothly and efficiently. Kate found this enormously comforting. Before long, she had checked into a tourist class hotel near one of the major commercial districts, and was strolling down a wide sidewalk.

  Glittering shopping plazas lined the street, for block after block. There were many pedestrians, mostly Chinese, well-dressed and polite. They did not make eye-contact, respecting her privacy. Kate recalled, in contrast, the good-natured curiosity of the Thais when she walked the Bangkok streets, the calls of the hawkers and the frank stares of the Thai men. She felt an odd mixture of relief and loneliness.

  The store windows offered elegant clothing, sparkling jewellery, electronic gadgets, and Oriental handicrafts. Kate did not feel like buying anything. She wandered through the crowds, which flowed around her without touching her, in a kind of daze.

  Later, she took the subway to the famed botanical gardens on the outskirts of the city. As she queued at the entrance to the train, waiting for the doors to slide silently open, she noticed that there was no trash on the spotless tile floors, no ragged figures stretched out on the benches, no loud radios. A recorded feminine voice warned travellers in three languages to be careful of the gap between the platform and the train, and to stay clear of the closing doors.

  The gardens were lovely, refreshingly cool and uncrowded. Kate walked aimlessly up and down the paths, under the moss-hung limbs of old, twisted trees. Bright birds flashed like jewels in the green thickets and then were gone.