Daddy abruptly put Princess’s nipples back in their place and ordered her to go into the kitchen and get ready to serve dinner. “We are going to talk privately and when we are done talking, you will serve us dinner. Now go.”
Princess liked being spoken to that way. She had long since stopped wondering why, and had stopped wondering if it meant there might be something wrong with her. She got dinner ready, using the time to collect her thoughts. She needed to prepare herself. Tonight was going to be a challenge. She was excited, but she was also scared. She found the handsome woman incredibly attractive and very frightening, in just the way she liked being frightened. Daddy had to have known that she would feel this way. She was such a good and considerate lover.
“I generally cane her quite a bit,” Daddy told her friend. “She likes the stinging feeling and besides, that’s my specialty. Whips are okay, but I generally use them as a warm-up, if I feel like using a warm-up. With canes, I like to cut her skin and see her bleed. It’s very pretty. I don’t usually restrain her. I order her to be still, and I enjoy seeing her wiggle. That way I can punish her for moving, if I want to. But I can restrain her, if you’d prefer it.”
“The main thing I want to do is something that would be hard for her,” said the stranger. I’m also in a mean sort of mood tonight, probably for the same reason as you. It’s so good to see you. Princess embarrasses pretty easily, doesn’t she? It’s sort of cute. Would it be okay to push her a little? I kind of would like to see her get really scared and break down a bit. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
Daddy now remembered why she liked this old friend so much and realized how much she’d missed her. She looked at her tenderly and, without thinking, kissed her old lover deeply on the lips. “I’ve missed you, you son of a bitch, I didn’t realize till now how much. Don’t disappear on me like that again.”
“It’s good to be back,” the woman responded.
“The very thing that Princess likes is also what scares her. She likes to be objectified and exposed. That makes her feel disoriented, and then she loses control. She is shy and slutty all at the same time. It is kinda cute, but more important, it’s hot. She tries to figure out what’s going on, knowing that in the end, it’s none of her business and certainly not under her control. What’s important isn’t so much what we do to her, but that we make sure we embarrass her and make her give in to us. If we talk about her instead of to her, that’ll get her going. I can see that she is very attracted to you, yet afraid of you. She is trying to figure out the nature of our relationship. We can fuck with her, teasing her by not letting her know who we are to each other. That kind of teasing will torture her wonderfully. How about if I give her to you and you have temporary ownership? I will assist you in her torture. That will terrify and thrill her and would be great fun for me as well.”
The handsome woman’s eyes welled up. “God, I’ve missed you. I never met anyone as romantic as you. You really know how to treat a girl.”
Daddy smiled and sighed. They hugged. “Let’s go eat dinner. We 11 eat quickly, and let’s not eat too much. Wouldn’t want to mess with our sex drives. Let’s be quiet over dinner and make her nervous with anticipation. Then, let’s let into her and have some fun. Tonight’s going to be a good Shabbos.”
‘What’s with this Shabbos stuff?” the visitor asked.
“Oh it’s this Jewish stuff that Princess is into. She’s got her S/M all mixed in with traditional Judaism. It’s actually pretty cool and kinky. I enjoy it quite a bit. You know I’m Jewish, but I never knew how much fun it could be until I met her. Shabbos is the Yiddish way of saying Sabbath and Shabbat is the Hebrew way. Princess uses them both. It’s a day for rest and rejuvenation, a time for eating, sleeping, and fucking. You’re not supposed to worry on Shabbos, and it’s a time when you stop doing, doing, doing. We are supposed to remember that we are not here just to accomplish things but also to enjoy God’s creation. Part of that enjoyment is to take pleasure in our bodies. Early Christianity trashed Jews for being so into the body. The Romans called us lazy’ because we took a day off. Jews have been into eating and fucking for thousands of years. I’m telling you, it’s a fun religion. It just hasn’t gotten good press.”
Princess had thought about investigating the issue of whether using canes on Shabbos would be halachically forbidden. She had also thought about looking into whether cutting the skin might not be allowed because it could be considered creating something (also forbidden on Shabbos). But she eventually decided not to investigate it, because she had no intention of giving it up should it turn out to be forbidden. As an Orthodox rabbi friend of hers once told her, Tf you are going to do what you want to do anyway, whether it is allowed or forbidden, then don’t ask. Because once you ask and you are told that it is forbidden, it is very poor form and extremely disrespectful and rude to the rabbinic authority you questioned not to follow his ruling.” Since S/M is about respecting limits and other people’s needs and feelings, she decided to leave that whole issue alone. Anyway, where would she find a rabbinic authority she could tell this to without being perceived as a nasty weirdo? She sighed, wishing she knew an S/M rabbi.
Dinner was served. Princess got more and more nervous as Daddy and her friend ate quietly, without saying a word. Silence always made Princess nervous. Finally, her lover took her aside and told her to calm down. “You’re getting yourself all worked up for nothing. You re no good to anyone, including yourself, if you exhaust yourself with anxiety. You know I would never cause you any harm. You know I love you and this is all supposed to be fun. So for crying out loud, just breathe. Go lie down and rest. Maybe I’ll come get you and maybe I won’t. Too much anticipation is too much of a good thing.” Daddy kissed her on the forehead and ordered, “Now go.”
Princess was disappointed, but also relieved. She plopped down on the bed and turned out the light. Soon, she was fast asleep.
Princess woke with a start. She was lying on her stomach. She started to move her right arm and suddenly felt the coldness of a chain against her skin. She slowly tried to move her other arm and her legs. She was spread-eagled and heard the slight jingle of chains. She was restrained. She remembered to breathe. She felt the stinging and burning sensation several times in quick succession before she let out a whimper.
“I think she’s awake now.” said Daddy.
The chains were immediately undone and Daddy barked at Princess, “Go pee and brush your teeth and get back here immediately.”
Princess jumped up and did as she was told. She returned and was pushed onto the bed, face down.
“Will you keep still, or do I have to restrain you?” Daddy demanded.
“Please restrain me, Daddy.” And it was done. The stinging of the cane came again and again. Unable to move, Princess showed her compliance by lifting her ass to meet the blows. She let out whimpers, trying not to scream. Her breathing grew shallow. The blows stopped and she felt a hand caressing her bottom. The pain changed, spread to wetness between her legs, and she sighed.
The two dominants laughed. Princess felt embarrassed. The many times her lover had told her she wasn’t laughing at her but with her didn’t seem to make a difference. She kept her mouth shut, lying there, feeling herself the object of scorn.
Daddy knelt in front of her, looking Princess in the eye. “How’s my little girl doing?” she asked.
“So-so,” Princess replied honestly. “I’m self-conscious, worrying about how I’m doing, trying to relax.”
Daddy’s voice hardened. “When I’m done with you, slut, you won’t be worried about it.”
Princess shuddered, but a strange calm came over her and she began to relax. The chains were removed, a blindfold was put on, and a pair of hands turned her onto her back. She assumed it was Daddy, but a horrible thought crossed her mind. There were two women in the room and she couldn’t be absolutely sure whose hands those were. She repeated to herself like a mantra, “You belong to Daddy and you have given yourself to
her. Your job is to obey her. It doesn’t matter whose hands are touching you. It’s all for her pleasure, and it’s all her.”
She drew in her breath and sighed. She felt two fingers on her right nipple, and then those fingers were pulling on her nipple ring. The pleasure shot through her body, landing on her cunt. Another hand was spreading lube between her legs, and then she felt the dildo. If a dildo was being worn by her lover, she always called it a cock. But this one was free-form, attached to a hand, so it was still a dildo. In one quick motion, the hand pushed it in. Princess cried out, finally letting out a scream.
“Did we hurt you, little girl?” asked Daddy sarcastically.
“Yes Daddy, you hurt me. Thank you for hurting me, Daddy.”
“Oh, so you like being hurt, little girl?”
Princess whispered, “Yes Daddy, I like being hurt. Especially by you.” Daddy whispered back in her ear, “It wasn’t me, little girl. It wasn’t me.”
“It’s all you, Daddy. It’s all you.”
Suddenly, the blindfold was pulled off. Princess found herself staring at the handsome visitor and could see that she was fucking her. The woman looked her in the eye and said, “Honey, I’m the one fucking you. Open up, cunt.”
Princess closed her eyes.
“Open your godamn eyes and look at her,” Daddy yelled. “Show some manners, bitch.” Princess obediently looked into the woman’s eyes, as though she were staring into blue space. The woman fucked her hard. Princess was in that wonderful-awful place of total discomfort and total pleasure.
The woman was hurting her and pleasuring her. She wanted to run away, yet she knew she had been born to follow orders. The woman slapped her on the cheek. “Bitch, I heard you were well trained. Your master told you to look at me. Don’t embarrass your owner.’
Again that strange calm overtook her; Princess relaxed and entered the pain. The dildo came out and the woman put a glove on her big hand. Hands with short nails, no nail polish and no rings. Lesbian hands.
The woman fucked her with her whole hand. Daddy was sitting on the bed and had Princess’s head on her lap, playing with her nipples and caressing her hair. Princess wanted to look up at Daddy but knew that would displease her. She focused on opening up her cunt and letting the woman in as much as she could. This was a woman whose name she did not even know, a woman she had never even kissed. She felt like a whore, but if that’s what Daddy wanted, then it was what she wanted, too.
But Princess was scared. As much as she opened, the fucking hand was hinting her, tearing at her insides. In a way, she didn’t like being hurt simply because it hint. This confused her, because she also liked it because it hurt. After all this time, she still didn’t quite get it. She knew that she wanted to show Daddy what she was willing to take for her; it was kind of a masochistic macho. But she was also embarrassed. What kind of a person would allow herself to be given to a stranger in such a fashion? Princess thought too much, fought too much. Why was it so hard for her to trust and just enter the pain? After all, it inevitably transformed itself into intense, almost unspeakable pleasure. She had met some masochists who claimed to actually enjoy the pain itself, but Princess considered herself to be a more ordinary sort of masochist. She primarily liked the pain because of the transformation that it brought. The trust that was necessary was really threefold. First and foremost, she trusted that Daddy knew what she was doing and that she would not actually cause her any real damage. The second part was to trust the process of how the body worked, to trust that pain would turn into pleasure. And last, she needed to trust herself; trusting that she would still be there for herself even if she were to let go; rather, especially if she were to let go. She loved the New Testament proclamation “He who loses him-self shall find himself.” Wasn’t that what S/M was all about?
“Just be the pain and breathe,” she coached herself. Focusing on her breath, she slowed it down. The woman pulled out her thumb and began alternating between pumping in and out of her cunt and circling her clit with her thumb. Princess’s pleasure mounted. The woman was in tune with her. She could tell that Princess had finally given herself over to the pain and to her. When she relaxed and entered the pain, the hurt felt good. The clitoral stimulation was getting her close to the edge. She knew better than to come without asking for and getting permission. Thinking about that made her wetter. She sure was wired funny. Princess politely asked the woman if it would please her if she came.
“The insolent bitch wants to come,” the woman sneered, addressing Daddy.
“Please don’t think of me that way,” Princess begged. “Please.”
“Please shut up,” the woman ordered. “Shut up and don’t come.” The woman continued to tease her by circling her clit while Daddy squeezed her nipples. Princess gritted her teeth, pleading with her eyes for the woman to let her come. Princess was afraid she’d mess up by coming without permission. Then she felt herself growing angry for having been put in this impossible position. She knew that the woman was purposely pushing her buttons, trying to make her angry.
Finally, the woman said softly, almost kindly, “Honey, now you can come for me.” Princess felt ashamed of her anger. She hoped the woman hadn’t noticed. She made a mental note to herself that she really needed to work on learning to trust and be a better girl.
When Princess came, it was with a loud scream, while staring into the woman’s eyes. Afterward, she felt naked and cold. She shivered. Then Daddy covered her nakedness with a warm blanket, scooped her up in her arms, held her tightly, and cooed in her ear, “Good girl. Daddy’s proud of her good girl.”
Princess didn’t look at Daddy now that she had the chance. She held on tight as the tears started to flow. It was over for now. She felt fulfilled. She had heard the words she had wanted to hear. Daddy was pleased. That was all that mattered. After a few moments, Daddy ran her fingers through Princess’s hair, kissing away her tears and saying in a kindly whisper, “Good Shabbos, good girl.”
Princess caught her breath, kissed her Daddy on the cheek, and answered: “Good Shabbos, Daddy, good Shabbos.”
The Nanny of Ravenscroft
Joyce Moye
I tapped on Jack’s bedroom door, even though it was open. I don’t know when I had stopped thinking of him as Mr. Mainhardt, or even as John Mainhardt.
He was sitting in one of the two chairs that flanked the fireplace, cradling a brandy snifter. His feet were propped up on a tufted hassock upholstered in the same chintz as the chairs. A fire crackled on the hearth, the flickering light throwing reddish shadows on the satin lapels of his dressing gown.
I pictured the cozy domestic scene this must have been when Valerie was alive: husband and wife, relaxing after a long day, gazing silently into the flames and listening to music.
Handel’s Royal Fireworks was playing.
“Come in,” he said, without looking in my direction. He nodded toward the vacant chair. “Have a seat.”
Glancing down at my fleece robe, the hem of my flannel nightie, and the oversized bunny-rabbit slippers peeping from beneath, I felt more out of place than usual. Valerie Mainhardt would have worn peach lace.
“She’s asleep,” I said as I sat. “I think her fever’s broken.”
“Here,” he said wearily as he passed the brandy snifter to me. “Drink this.”
We were comrades-in-arms, surveying the littered battlefield at the end of a long fight. He rose, walked over to the small oak credenza where a silver tray held a crystal decanter and several more crystal glasses, and poured himself another brandy.
“Earaches are hell,” he said.
“Especially on parents,” I observed wryly.
The biting, pungent fumes made my eyes smart as I took a sip of the liquor. Old, expensive cognac seared my throat and burned its way down.
He raised his glass in a salute as he returned to his chair. A smile hovered around the corners of his mouth. “I take it nannies are immune?”
“I’m not experienced e
nough to be immune.” I gave him a self-deprecating grin.
We probably weren’t talking about Precious anymore. In the last few months, we had arrived at a place where friendly banter rippled just above the surface tension of deeper waters.
Uneasy, I tried to change the subject. “Do you always have a fire going in here, even in the summer?”
Whenever he was home, neatly laid logs burned discreetly on the hearths of Ravenscroft.
His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Always.”
When had I begun to think of him as handsome? His massive head, pockmarked complexion, and broken nose were not the Hollywood ideal.
“Why the infatuation with burning logs?” I asked.
“Why?” he repeated absently as he stared at the red-hot coals.
He knocked back half the contents of the brandy snifter and gave me a detached smile. “When my parents died, my grandfather sent me to a spartan English boarding school. A first-rate place, as they like to say.” The smile faded as his words trailed off. “It was one of those public schools that purport to turn boys into men with a regimen of frigid showers and freezing dorm rooms.”
His expression hardened. The memories I had dredged up were far from happy ones.
“And being from California,” I said quickly, wishing to undo what I had started, “you never could get warm.”
“Sort of.” Flashing an ironic grin, he visibly relaxed. “I was born in New York, actually. When I returned to the States, I’d never heard of surfing.”
I made a tsking sound. “And they say American culture is universal.”
He lifted one black eyebrow, and my insides began a slow meltdown.
“They say a lot of things,” he said in a low, earthy tone.
The Oy of Sex Page 9