The second evening of our journey through Europe, I assume there will be no sexual scene at all. We are in a compartment with an older, though certainly quite virile gentleman, and his brooding wife who looks as though she’s in her forties. Billy has introduced Gregor as a business associate, Laura, like me, is along for the ride. It’s hard for me to tell if these two have a relationship like mine and Billy’s. First impressions make me think there’s nothing sexually odd about them.
There’s easy conversation between us—mostly Billy and Gregor talking about the places they’ve been through Europe. Laura, like myself, says little. I’m lulled by the wine that Billy pours me and the gently rocking movement of the train, and the chugging sound of the wheels on the rail, all making me think I’m safe for the night.
“Laura,” Gregor suddenly speaks sharply to his wife. “Show Billy where I left my marks yesterday.”
I see her flinch, just as I’m flinching now, seeing how this genteel woman in black is suddenly transformed into another kind of creature altogether—a decidedly submissive one like myself. Though she initially hesitates, as surprised as I am by the unexpected command, her delay is only momentary. Sitting forward in her seat, she draws away her black knit shawl, then unravels the bodice of her uniquely tied silk dress. She’s a handsome and salacious example of female sensuality. Her black tresses of hair are piled atop her head, while large olive-shaped eyes grace an elegant, though somewhat haughty face. And yet, when her small lips part invitingly she looks oddly demure and resigned. She too must be a humble woman.
Opening her dress, Laura’s essence burgeons from voluminous breasts, the abundance of flesh wobbling precariously at the crown of an exquisite waist cinching corset. Two fine, pink areolas almost burst from the confinement, but remain just slightly tucked inside the confining fabric so the center of her nipples remain hidden. What’s most astounding about this unveiling, however, are the severe looking welts that mark that jiggling breast flesh. There must be nearly a dozen between the two orbs, crisscrossing the skin. It’s been several days since she was marked, for the weals have healed over—but I’d be surprised to learn that her flesh was not broken by the cane that caused them. Several of the lines have scabbed over where the skin was rent.
I shudder realizing that I too could be marked this way.
“Beautiful,” Billy remarks, genuinely admiring the delectable looking woman.
“Let my friends see your ass, Kirsten,” Billy turns to me. Just so I won’t hesitate, he takes my hand and helps me to my feet. My heart pounds more eagerly, my legs tremble and my hands begin to sweat. I’m hardly as scared as I was when there was an audience of twenty—this seems much easier with just these two in this cozy train compartment. But I’m disturbed by the order.
Billy cut me hard the night before while we were making love. During sex, he lays his cane on my buttocks with so much force I’m sure people outside our compartment could hear my screams. What remains of those few strikes delights me. When I sit, I can almost feel that comforting ache. But, I consider this a private thing. After the way I was humbled by Billy and Derek before that audience, I want to relish this feeling in secret.
Knowing I have no choice, I lean into the window corner of our seat, and bend over, lifting my skirt. Billy ordered me to go without panties tonight—now I see why. Exposing my ass for this couple becomes all the more convenient. Once displayed, I hear a slight sigh from Laura, and with each second that ticks by, I’m more nervous. Finally, Billy tugs at my arm. “Laura would like you over her lap,” he tells me.
Oh, good lord! This was not what I expected. I’m sure all the color drains from my face. I feel weak. I’m not sure whether to be aroused or frightened by these plans. But with so little maneuvering room, I don’t have the luxury of protesting. I’m over the woman’s generous lap feeling the great warmth of her body totally envelope me in her luxurious contours.
She has some infatuation for my caned behind, and runs her fingers along the skin. The same lovely tingles of desire that I felt with Hope rises up in me, and I find myself undulating peacefully against her broad thighs. That bountiful passion I experienced relishing her breasts wells in me again
Laura’s hand moves gracefully along the up-turned curve of my behind, and delicately along the crack. For a moment, one finger pushes carefully between the mounds and I clench up, spasming as my belly tightens with a new erotic surge. I clench more as she traces a line along the healing welts. There seems to be an energy still contained in them—a submissive energy that appears with any touch to that marred skin. Moving downward, she cups the tender place at the bottom of my ass in her hand, and then journeys further stroking the back of my thighs. Each movement enlivens me, makes my skin crawl prickly as I dream of her turning these mild caresses into something more passionate.
Returning to my cheeks, Laura gently squeezes them both, and then, after abruptly drawing her hand away, I feel a smack on my warmed flesh a second later. The warmth of that first sting vibrates through my entire body, spreading its sensuous heat outward. She repeats the smack, landing another on my other cheek, and then, as she picks up speed, I realize that I’m being enthusiastically pummeled. Emboldened by the act, her body moves with mine in a vigorous rhythm that has us both groaning delightedly—though certainly, as she continues, my groans become more excitable. She leaves me at the edge between pain and satisfaction—each new strike stinging more hotly that the one before.
I wish she’d slow. Even if it was for just a few seconds, I imagine myself cumming from this crazy heat. But Laura continues on, raising the burn a degree at a time, until I’m beginning to feel real pain. I squirm uneasily, and even more, when I realize she’s changed from her hand to a wooden spanking paddle. Now the smacks grow hot fast. At one point I’m almost shrieking, any second expecting Billy to bark a command to hold my tongue. But then, when I think I can’t stand another swat, she begins to slow to a rhythm I can tolerate, and then eases off altogether.
Once the paddle disappears, her hands move on my ass again. As though she’s asking for forgiveness for the pain she caused, she caresses the skin until I begin to feel the hurt diminish.
I’m certain I’ll cum. The burn between my thighs multiplies. I’m wiggling without shame, groaning and cooing as I work to the end I desire. When a hand moves deeply between my legs, she presses two fingers inside my cunt and manipulates my clitoris as though she’s done this a hundred times before to other women. Expertly guiding my sex to a climax, she stays with my orgasming mound as I buck and tense with grinding spasms and then finally settle into a satisfied peace.
As Billy lifts me off of her, I see the lust in Gregor’s eyes. His hand has been at his crotch, and I imagine his dick is stiff. I expect to be used more by these three, and feel myself shrink at the thought of being taken for a first time by another man. Though this has me wary, I’m so resigned I know I’ll gladly do anything I’m told. The sensuous mood that encircles us all makes my languid body open, my limbs and mouth and crotch willing to please.
The result of all this arousal is nothing like I expect.
Taking my seat, I see Gregor motion to his wife, “you must thank Mr. Fitzgerald for his generosity,” he says.
I watch as the sumptuous creature responds quickly. Falling to her knees in front of Billy, she sways before him, her punished breasts still naked. She stares submissively into his drowsy eyes, and as she begins to undo his fly, my fiancé can’t take his gaze from her. His arms are spread wide as he slouches in the seat, and I can almost see his erection rising up boldly inside his pants. He’s primed for sex and this is how he’ll take his satisfaction—without me.
Watching passively, I’m hypnotized by the unexpected turn. Seeing Laura’s long lacquered nails unbutton the top of his pants, a pang of jealously bolts through me as I note how he savors every move she makes. She pulls the zipper down the way she might draw her tongue down his prick, and then reaches inside daintily pulling his nearly eng
orged penis from his trousers. Her eyes now move to the rising thing, as though she’s preparing for a meal. As her hand clutches the stalk firmly in her fist, her mouth goes over the head and she sucks. Developing a steady tempo, she suckles and grasps his organ, until my lover falls back against the seat, with eyes rolling, his hand coming to her head to encourage her. There’s an expression of earthly bliss on his face.
For a time, she backs off with her mouth and jerks his thick prick hard, and Billy groans—just the way I’ve heard him groan for me. She uses her tongue to tease him, lapping at the meat, running the tip down to the base, where her face nuzzles in the aroma of his pubic hair. As she breathes deeply, I do as well, thinking that I should be able to sense that aromatic fragrance I associate now with devotion to my master.
Each move pains me, though I’m feeling more flutters of excitement in my stomach. I’m fearful of her powerful style, the way she aggressively lures him and draws his animated reply with a skill I envy. He’ll cum soon.
When I spy Gregor beyond Laura’s bobbing body, he is as mesmerized as I am, but without the jealously I’m sure. She’ll do this to him anytime he asks, for she’s obviously his to give away.
For just this moment my Billy and this woman are lovers. They fuse in their body heat. His desires reach out to her and she answers him doing everything he enjoys most. As if by instinct, she knows his physical language, all his pleasured grunts and sighs, when to suck, jaws milking hungrily, when to back off, when to tease like a self-conscious virgin, and then finally, when to spark his climax.
She works hard to please him, those lips and tongue of hers adroitly making a tasty meal of Billy’s dick. When his groin suddenly tenses at the moment of release, she takes the first spurt of cream in her mouth and lets the remainder cover her lips and chin as her mouth breaks forth in the satisfied smile. Her eyes finally open to see Billy gazing down on her with the eyes of an adoring master.
I don’t realize until the finish that there are tears welling in my eyes seeing the expression on Billy’s face and noting his adoration for the woman between his thighs.
I never thought my humility could be so complete, or that it would take this form.
“And how did you feel?” Billy asks me when the couple departs. I would have thought Gregor would want his wife just as Billy had her, but perhaps he has other plans for taking his satisfaction. Certainly, he prefers his pleasure in private to what I might offer.
“I felt useless and unnecessary,” I answer Billy’s question.
“And …” he knows there’s more. I’m sure he saw the tears.
“Green with envy,” I say.
I can hear him say those horrible words, “another lesson”. But he doesn’t have to speak them, they are implied.
As the countryside flies by our train, I have the feeling I’m moving into another world. I have no roots but what Billy supplies, no strength but what I glean from him and myself. I can cling to nothing but the desires I have, what my body tells me about where I want to take these passions—it’s very deep, aggressively seeking its satisfaction. My mind can hardly keep up with the way it draws me down. Billy knows this. He guides me well. But I cannot relax for even a second. He’s constantly prodding me as though he has that cane in my side nudging me forward.
***
Once we reach Paris, Billy’s opens his apartment, which is an anxious moment for me. I’ve never been in his personal surroundings and I initially feel like an intruder. I’m sure he’s had dozens of women in this third story flat. The rooms are large and quaint, cluttered with furnishings that represent his travels, his job and his sexual tastes. I’m surprised to see a bamboo cane hanging on the wall in plain sight, and immediately think of Holly—her statement that they don’t keep the tools of their relationship prominently in view. Apparently, Billy feels differently about such things. As I inspect the walls of his apartment, I find a paddle on one, and an odd leather piece, that at first looks like it might be a bridle and bit for a horse, but there are too many straps for that. These indications of Billy’s sexual preferences seem tossed about as though he doesn’t care who knows the truth. Then, I suppose, anyone who gets this far in his life to be invited into his sacred territory would know anyway.
Just as I expect, Billy says nothing about these intriguing finds. I’m curious about everything in his apartment—from the S&M tools, to the great mélange of pictures, to the antiques, wall hangings and statuary that have turned this place into a fascinating statement of Billy’s life and lifestyle. I want to ask him dozens of questions, but as son as we arrive, he’s immediately on the phone for several hours, and there’s no time to even say hi.
I listen to him arrange stock acquisitions, fight with a securities attorney, prod his accountant, and verbally seduce a woman who owns a pendant he’s determined to con from this easily led woman. He gives me a quick play by play of his strategy, which could lead to disaster or triumph. He hardly seems to be concerned about the outcome, just the process.
By the time Billy’s free to pay attention to me, my curiosity has waned for explanations about the things I’ve noted in his apartment. Not that I don’t want answers, but I feel less enthusiastic about asking the questions. I’m sure that early in our relationship—just six weeks ago, I would have barraged him with more questions that he’d willingly answer. He’s never dodged one about any subject, especially his sexual choices. But now, I’m more meek and subtle, and content to wait for the right moment. It certainly isn’t when he’s conducting business where his energy for battle rides a raging bull.
Much in me has obviously changed, a product of the submissive training I’ve undergone. I know my master better than I ever believed I could know any man, and he knows me so well, I sometimes think he’s residing in my head. I don’t believe I could ever be this close to anyone. Being trained makes me more restrained. I defer to him before jumping into anything—even simple conversations. In one respect, it is a comfort. This newly blooming side of me eases into submission like a hand slipping into a silken glove. In another respect, it takes some getting used to.
I notice, in general, that Billy and I are not as casual or as garrulous as we were in the beginning of our relationship. In one sense, we don’t seem as close. I wish we could have one of those cozy conversations we had the first two weeks. I can hardly remember that time it went by so fast. We’ve seemed to travel light-speed in our arrangement. Though I can’t fathom living without him or the ever present vigil his dominant mien casts about my being. His visions bathes me in a sea of thought and feeling and physical brilliance that is wholly me. And still, I have no idea what living with him will truly mean. He would say our relationship is still evolving and I would have to agree.
I don’t remember having been lonely our first days together, or the weeks on the boat, in Amsterdam and on the train; but now there are long hours when I feel an odd ache resting quietly beside my submissiveness. I take long walks through the Paris streets around the apartment, shop in expensive trendy boutiques, buying little trinkets, gifts for myself, for Billy and friends and family back home. I sip coffee, tea or wine in small cafes, drinking in the beauty of this city with each swallow that lingers in my mouth. My body fills with the subtle sensations of Paris—its history and romance, its hedonistic sensuality, and the darkness that I’m sure awaits me. And with every breath I draw of its distinct fragrances, I am more lonely.
It has been three days since Billy and I had any kind of sex. And the last time seemed way too brief. He came home late. Though there was a smile on my face at his arrival, he could tell I was upset that he’d missed the dinner I fixed him, that sat cold on the stove long after I finished my portion and cleaned the kitchen. I felt like a spurned housewife—that thought perhaps the most annoying.
Though Billy doesn’t feel remorse, he sensed my mood and ate what I heated for him with such passion I know he was trying to make it up to me. But that wasn’t enough. I was testing out my mood, seeing h
ow a cheerless disposition would affect him—if he’d even notice that I was gently petulant with his attempts to make conversation. He would tell me later I was baiting him because I was feeling abandoned—and I’m sure he was right. I was quite aware of my less than sunny quips, and the sarcastic tone that suddenly took over my replies to his questions. Like I had the cane in hand, each remark prodded him—just a little. We both like the subtleties of sexual tension. I can feel myself enliven every time I lay on a barb and he keeps his annoyance to himself.
I suppose, Billy was too tired for subtleties. After ignoring my mood for some time, when I finally cleared his plate from the table, he grabbed my wrist in his so tightly that I could feel his nails digging into my skin. “You want to tell me what has you so pissed?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Then you’ll want to change your tone, my slutty slave.”
“Or you’ll what?” I didn’t change my tone at all, and Billy answered my remark without saying a word.
He was out of the chair, dragging me with him, swiftly removing a paddle from the wall. Yanking me over the end of the table he whisked away my robe and spanked me hard, my ass end burning hot in seconds. I screamed angrily, and the force just got worse. I even tried to get away, and he had my wrists quickly lassoed with a rope and tied behind my back with me still jerking to get free. He finally pushed me to the floor with my head on the carpet, and his foot pressing down on my neck.
“Don’t fight me bitch!” his seething comment stung. “You take punishment from me like you take everything else, obediently. I will lock you in stocks for an entire day if you so much as make a peep, or move a muscle against me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Reduced to the raw basics of our master/slave agreement, I was smart enough not to utter another word, though there were many teeming through my mind. Still, this attention was the most I’d felt in days, and the swell of erotic sensation skirting my body made me want more. I didn’t have to worry about that. Once he released my neck, I breathed easier for a few seconds, though I didn’t move. The pain that followed bolted savagely to crotch and clit when he briskly laid the wood on my ass again. But this pain was not as biting as I felt with those first strikes. And though my ass was screaming hot again, the fire was my exhilarating friend.
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