Kevin walked slowly around her, tapping lightly with a crop on her ass, her breasts, her feet. Each tap brought out a cry from Heather. I could see sweat starting to break out on her forehead. She kept this up for five to ten minutes. It was hard for me to judge the passage of time. It must have seemed like an eternity to Heather. Kevin glanced over at Jeanne, who gave a slight nod of her head, and Kevin lowered Heather to the floor and removed the rope. I think I was breaking out in a sweat by this point. The rope markings on Heather were vivid and red and they didn’t look like they’d just fade away in a few hours. They would be bruises. I understood the things submissives are sometimes asked to do are extremely hard and also call for extreme trust. There had been no genital contact between Heather and Kevin, yet everyone in the room was aroused by what they saw. Kevin put a collar on Heather and then pulled her up by it, leading her over to the wall where she was chained up next to Denise and me. Heather wasn’t looking at anyone. She seemed to be in a zone of some sort, and I hoped it was a good one and she was as aroused by all of this as were those watching. I had to admit I was impressed with her skill, because there had to be some involved in successfully hanging like that, even for ten minutes.
While Kevin was putting her equipment away, Pat was pulling a pommel horse to center stage. It was about waist high and a foot wide, leather clad on sturdy metal legs. She then made her own trip to the armoire while Kevin got a drink and joined Jeanne. I saw Jeanne pat her on her knee, as if to congratulate her on a job well done. Pat dumped some items on the floor and then came over to get Denise. I felt a little heart stab, not out of a sense of being rejected by Pat, but more at being last to be asked. Again with the high school stuff.
Pat put a collar and cuffs on Denise and then pushed her over the pommel horse. Her body was bent in two, her ass in the air, and her head hanging upside down. Pat fastened her cuffs to the legs of the horse, tightly, so Denise could not move at all. She picked up a bamboo cane and walked in a circle around Denise. I heard Denise make a noise through her gag when Pat walked past her head and she saw the cane. It confirmed what I’d read, that the cane was the least liked of all the implements used on submissives. It stung the most, and it could do a lot of damage with very little effort on the part of the dominant. It was often misused as a result. I would trust Pat. I’m not sure I’d want to be caned by Kevin, though. She seemed skilled, but I didn’t like her. Therefore, I didn’t trust her.
My thoughts, which had a tendency to quickly complicate the very simple, were brought quickly around by the sound of Denise crying out. It looked like Pat was barely tapping her on the ass and I wondered if Denise was being overly dramatic. Certainly, it couldn’t hurt that much. Pat was moving from ass to thighs and then down to her feet, which got a particularly loud cry, a scream really, though all of it muffled by the gag. This went on for quite a long time and Denise’s ass and thighs grew cherry red. There were horizontal lines across both. Denise was no longer making any noise other than a little whimpering. Pat reached down and removed the gag and then strapped on a dildo. She took Denise by the hair at the back of her head and raised up her head.
“Suck it,” she said. She looked very fierce. She was rubbing the dildo up and down as if it were really her own cock and she was getting it ready. I believed it was her own cock. Denise opened her mouth and did the best she could from her awkward pose, trying to swallow the cock and push it against Pat’s clit. Pat stood in front of her, staring down at the mouth working on her, holding Denise by the back of the head and pushing further into her throat. Pat’s thighs were trembling from the strain and the excitement, and all at once she pulled out, leaving Denise gasping for breath. Pat kept hold of her head with one hand while she took off her harness, and then she thrust her pussy at Denise. Again, Denise took her into her mouth, using her tongue instead of the back of her throat to excite her. I could see Pat rubbing, holding Denise rigid between her legs, rubbing and rubbing until I thought her legs would go out from underneath her. She came, quietly, but her body language was clear. She let Denise’s head drop and pulled up her pants.
I looked over at Jeanne and Kevin. Jeanne looked perfectly composed but certainly interested, while Kevin seemed a little overheated. Her hand was snaking into her trousers. Without looking at her, Jeanne reached over and pulled Kevin’s hand out of her pants.
Pat got Denise off the pommel horse and chained back on the wall next to me. She looked flushed but happy. She hadn’t come, I don’t think. Was she truly happy without having an orgasm? I hoped I’d be able to talk to Denise about this question of coming or not coming. I believe in submitting, but I believe in orgasms also. I didn’t want to give up one to get the other.
After Pat put away her equipment she poured another drink for Jeanne, Kevin, and herself. Nothing was offered to the submissives. Jeanne rose and walked slowly and gracefully to the armoire and came back with her own accoutrements. She kicked the ottoman over from where Kevin had been propping her feet on it, and then she walked toward the wall. I had a bad moment where I thought she might pick one of the other women instead of me. But she didn’t. She took me off the wall, without looking at me and without speaking to me. She attached a collar to me and then clicked on a leash.
“Get on your knees,” she said. “And I expect you to keep up with me.”
I dropped to all fours and looked up at her just as she set off at a brisk pace toward the back of the room. It was a bit like the Westminster Dog Show, though I stumbled a bit, making her yank on the leash and wrenching me forward by the collar. I quickly got my limbs working and scrambled to stay at her side as we went around the room. It was a large space and the floor a polished hardwood. I felt like I was bringing a hammer down on my knees with each step. It was painful, and it was also the most humiliating thing I’d done for Jeanne. I felt everyone’s eyes on me. The effort was making me breathe hard, and I was drooling through my gag. At one point I balked, needing to catch my breath, and Jeanne stepped behind me and kicked me in the ass with her boot. Hard. For the first time since I’d been with her, the actions we were taking were not what I thought would be arousing to me. I never fantasized about wanting to be dragged along like a dog and kicked, but I had constantly fantasized about being spanked and whipped. And yet, as I found myself falling into some kind of rhythm beside her, I also felt my arousal. It was strong. It was fed by seeing Jeanne’s leg striding beside me, leading me by tugs on the leash. When we finally stopped, in front of the sofa where Pat and Kevin sat, I was ready to be taken in any way imaginable. Doggy style seemed appropriate.
I was encouraged when Jeanne pulled me over to the ottoman and draped me over it.
“Grip the legs of the ottoman and don’t move. Keep your legs exactly where they are. If you move, bad things will happen.”
Jeanne picked up a flogger, not unlike the one I’d admired in Paris. She dangled the strands over my body, brushed them up and down my back and ass, and did it a little more as I cooed appreciatively. But then came the thwack of the whip as it met my flesh and I howled through my gag. This was much heavier and more intense than anything she’d used on me before.
“You said you were ready for this when we were in Paris,” Jeanne said. “So I’m going to take you at your word.”
She hit me five times with it. Five horrible times. But each time I felt the pain in a different way, a progressively intoxicating way, as I saw myself go further under and Jeanne grow ever larger above me. By the end of the fifth blow I was panting, but it may have been as much from excitement as from the pain. I hadn’t moved at all while she was flogging me. I hadn’t moved once to avoid the blows, even though I was unrestrained. I could feel the shape of the strands where they left their impressions on my back. I relished the idea of them being there for days.
I was still in a haze when Jeanne returned me to the wall. It didn’t look like I was to be granted an orgasm either tonight. I also realized Jeanne had not come (I don’t think) and it seemed unlikely she
’d let that remain the case. This worried me, for good reason. Jeanne now returned to her comrades and sat in a wide chair, signaling Pat to bring Heather to her. Pat took Heather down from the wall, took off her gag, and gave her some water. Then Jeanne pointed to the floor at her feet and ordered her to service her. I could hardly bear to watch.
Heather looked like she knew what she was doing, which was no surprise. I concentrated on watching Jeanne’s face. She didn’t look at me once. Instead, she stared at Heather’s tongue on her. Her eyes started to become hooded and her hands gripped the arms of the chair. It seemed it was just a minute or two before she came, her hips rising, her hands now pulling Heather’s mouth tighter against her. Then she collapsed back against the chair and signaled Heather to go away. Pat walked her back to the wall, and I tried not to look when Heather walked by me, the shine from Jeanne’s juices still gleaming on her skin.
Chapter Seven—The Country House
The following Friday morning, I was on the train to a town two hours north of the city, a region dotted with hobby farms and expansive retreats for the city’s well-to-do. These properties encircled a quintessential small town with cute Main Street shops and overly sophisticated restaurants, the menus and prices of which would be of no interest to the year-round residents of the area. I’d been up here once before on a weekend trip with some fellow students, crammed into a lake cabin and too poor to eat at any restaurant. As the train pulled into the newly refurbished station and I saw Jeanne standing next to a Range Rover waiting for me, I knew I was in for a totally different experience this time around.
She took my bag when we reached each other, giving me a one-armed hug and a kiss. She seemed genuinely glad to see me. I’m not sure why this continued to surprise me, but it did. As I stepped up into the big car she pinched my ass and laughed before closing the door for me. Playful. It was also taking me a while to realize what a playful person Jeanne was, even beyond the sex play. She was not above a tickle fight, and one night we sent the feathers flying during a pillow fight. I felt guilty later that Mrs. Kirchberger probably had to clean it up.
“I’m so excited you’re here,” she said. “I was starting to go stir-crazy by myself.”
“I thought the place was going to be full of people this weekend.”
“It will be. But they’re just now trickling in. Most will be here by mid-afternoon.”
“When is the initiation?” I said.
Jeanne looked at me and smiled. “Nervous?”
“Of course. For all I know I’ll be pierced a la Story of O, or branded, or something else along those lines. I’m going into this blind.”
I could see Jeanne thinking about this. She took my hand.
“And you would go through something like that for me?”
I hesitated just a quick moment and returned her gaze. “I would. I would trust you to know when the right time would be.”
“You’re brave. I can see that in you. And you trust me, which means more to me than you probably know. But this isn’t the time for anything like that.”
I was relieved, and I also was even more trusting of Jeanne. I didn’t want to be jolted out of that place of trust by fear she’d do something that was too much for me. Would she one day order my labia pierced or a red hot brand applied to my flank? Possibly. But it would be when we were both ready for it.
“The initiation is scheduled for Saturday night. After the dinner you will leave with the other submissives while we vote on your admittance to the Society. The vote needs to be unanimously in favor, which I’m sure it will be. Then we proceed to the initiation and the party afterward.”
Jeanne drove as I looked out the window, at peace with the moment and able to not worry about what the weekend would bring. The countryside looked fairly bleak in the early November gray, but it was beautiful as well. Austere and graceful. The fields were on either side of us, both harvested and fallow, and I thought of their abundance and of how marvelous it would be to have such a simple and important reason for existence—to provide food. In between the working farms were the larger, elaborate properties used as second homes. Other second homes were located on the many lakes in the region. After a fifteen minute drive, Jeanne pulled into a narrow gravel road that ran through thick woods, emerging after half a mile onto an enormous property on one of those lakes. The house was an excellent imitation of an English manor home and it sat on the rear of the property, surrounded by acres of lawn and garden.
The property was on a bluff above the lake, and as soon as I walked through the front door into the house I saw the floor to ceiling windows that looked over the water. This one room appeared to be the central meeting area. It had a lot of furniture in it, all of it comfortable. Several women were sprawled around on sofas and chairs, and I could tell right away they were dominants. I didn’t think the submissives would sprawl. Jeanne introduced me briefly and then made our excuses to the others. She wanted to take me for a walk on the property.
“I’ll save our tour through the inside for tomorrow,” Jeanne said. “I want to show you the art, of course, which will take a little time. I’m looking forward to you seeing it.”
We walked out the back of the house. Twenty feet away were wooden stairs leading down to the lake, a vertical drop so steep it would be impossible for anyone in poor health to come back up once they’d gone down. The lake itself looked gorgeous—quiet and a steely blue. Jeanne led me away from the stairs and to the north lawn. There was a walkway that led some hundred feet or so away from the house, and along it were several outbuildings. Jeanne paused in front of the first.
“The first building here is a writing studio. It can also be an art studio. It can also be your studio if you want to do some concentrated work up here. Maybe on your holidays from school, when you want to get a lot done on the dissertation.”
“Really?” I was flabbergasted. I was starting to feel like a girlfriend. A girlfriend of a rich woman. We peeked into the studio and what I saw was an adorable cottage quite a bit bigger than my present apartment.
“I’d love that.”
Jeanne looked pleased. We went along the path and came to a tool shed and then a guest cottage, approximately twice as large as the studio, and finally a barn/workshop/auxiliary garage. There were no horses or livestock of any kind in the barn. Just jet skis and scooters and bikes and sporting equipment. As we were approaching the building I wondered if it were another play space—huge and elaborate. But it was a bit far away from the house. Getting to it wasn’t the problem, but I imagined staggering out of it all the way back would be.
On the other side of the house there was an enormous patio and an outdoor pool, and beyond that a tennis court. I felt like I was at a Four Seasons Resort. Jeanne talked about the work she’d done on the place, what it looked like when she bought it. All of the boring things people tell you when they are in love with their properties. It made me happy she was in love with hers.
We went down the steep stairs to see the beach. At the base of the stairs was a long dock out onto the water, with a boathouse at the end of it. It was surprisingly warm inside. Jeanne turned on an overhead light and I saw a large Chris-Craft cruiser clad in gleaming wood.
“It’s too cold to take her out today, but let’s sit in the boat for a while. I find it relaxing.”
Jeanne stepped down into the boat and turned to help me in. I loved how she automatically did the most thoughtful of things, just as she automatically felt an ownership over my body. She would offer me her arm one moment and give me the flat of her hand on my ass the next. It was hard to believe I found this soothing.
There was a bench seat in the back of the boat and we sat side by side, gently rocking as the lake moved beneath us.
“Can you tell me anything more about this society?” I asked. “Is it like Story of O? It seems the elements are there—the country house, the dominants who are in charge, the submissives who come to be initiated.”
“I hate to think of this as
being so derivative.”
“We’re not talking about art, after all. Maybe there just aren’t very many ways to have such a group. And anyway, Story of O was popular for a reason.”
Jeanne grinned. “Kind of like the Bible?”
“Yes, the Bible of Dominance and Submission. So what’s the genesis of your group?”
“I am, I guess. I found as I became acquainted with more and more women who were interested in living this kind of life, it was feeling unwieldy. I didn’t feel all of the submissives were safe, or all of the dominants well trained. Essentially, I wanted a way to vet the people I play with, and it turned out there were many others who had the same concerns.”
I felt as if I’d found a home after looking for one my entire life. It was a feeling of tremendous relief. I teared up.
Jeanne looked startled. “Is that upsetting to you?”
“No, it’s like magic to me.”
Jeanne put her arm around me and held me close. “I gathered a few together and put the pieces in place for the organization.”
“How many are there?”
“World-wide there are probably two hundred or more. In this part of the country there are around fifty, and probably a third will be here this weekend. It’s a fluid number because there are people who are members but who are now old enough they don’t attend every function. People who were quite a bit older than me when we started. And then there are younger members of all ages, women who have been admitted over the last year and are still undergoing training.”
I sat quietly for a bit, taking it all in. I didn’t want to know all of the details up front. I knew Jeanne would let me know what I needed to know.
“I want to say something, but I’m not sure how good I am at saying this sort of thing,” Jeanne said.
“You’re good at everything.”
“You shouldn’t overestimate me.”
“What do you want to tell me?” I couldn’t imagine what it was.
The Collectors Page 11