The Story of Emma

by Sean O'Kane

  “I might allow it… but only if…”

  “All right, please can I go to the Ladies?” I ground out - fierce with desperation.

  Ben gave me his most infuriating grin yet and helped me slide past him. But at the last minute he grabbed me by the arm.

  “Of course K would always say, ‘Please sir,’” he whispered.

  “Fuck K,” I spat back. The cold water was now running down my thighs and I had had enough.

  “That comes later!” he retorted instantly. “After I’ve flogged her raw for breaking every rule in her book!”

  He let me go and I tottered off, weak with shame and excitement. I suspect that only a woman can fully appreciate just how exquisite the humiliation was. My hair was a mess, my tits were almost hanging out - and despite my efforts with the tissue, I had damp patches over my jutting nipples which made it look as if I was lactating. Trails of moisture were glistening on my thighs and only I knew that it was water. From the corner of my eye I caught some startled glances and practically broke into a run.

  Once safely in a cubicle I tore my knickers off and wiped myself dry with toilet tissue, and maybe I did rub at myself a bit harder than necessary while I contemplated the total success of my strategy. I regained my composure and revelled in Ben’s threat. Once back at his place I was in for a real session, I was going to suffer for this night’s work, and in the upside down world of SM, my punishment would be my reward. But not one groan or scream would be faked although I was looking forward to the pain.

  I ran a brush through my hair did a quick bit of repair work, disposed of the knickers and returned with a little more dignity although the back of the skirt was horribly cold and damp. I decided to risk winding Ben up just one more notch when I got back to our table, and instead of sitting opposite him, with my back to the wall, I slid into the chair on his left. My bare legs immediately felt the rasp of his trousers against them and sent a tingle spiralling down into my naked sex. I desperately wanted him to reach out under the table, slide his hand up between my thighs and touch me there, take possession of me again. But somehow I kept my mind on my aim of provoking him one last time.

  “You know, I bet even your shameless little whore has never done what I’m going to do next,” I told him, and before he could say anything I gave a mock squeal of dismay and dropped my clutch bag on the floor. I pushed my chair back hurriedly and dived down right under the table, tucking my legs under me as best I could. Ben’s hand shot out to grab me and haul me up but I avoided it and reached out to hold the bulge of his erection. I had him then and I knew I was being very unfair; because of who he was I knew he wouldn’t dare draw any more attention to us that evening. So I began to stroke his rod between my thumb and forefinger, moving them up and down slowly. I longed to open his flies and take him into my mouth but that was going too far - for that night anyway.

  Instead I spread my thighs, grabbed one of his legs, pulled it forward and began to rub my crotch up and down against it. There really wasn’t much Ben could do to stop me and I grinned at the thought of what he was going to do to me once he got me home, but then to my horror I saw the waiter’s shoes approaching.

  “Your bill, sir,” I heard him say.

  I froze while I listened to Ben take out his credit card, but the waiter didn’t leave. He must have seen my feet and ankles poking out from under the table.

  “Er…?” he began.

  “She’s lost a contact lens,” Ben explained smoothly.

  I smothered a giggle as I saw him walk away and re-surfaced, wiping at my eye with my napkin and snorting with suppressed laughter. Even Ben’s look of pure, tight-lipped fury couldn’t entirely quench the giggles. But in the cab back to his house I did my best to resume the serious, obedient demeanour I knew was expected of me. I only really achieved it though when Ben took the wind right out of my sails.

  “I’ve more than half a mind to take you straight back to your flat and leave you there for good,” he said quietly. “I could send any clothes back to you tomorrow.”

  I stared at him in horror. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t what I wanted at all!

  I slid off my seat in a complete panic and knelt in front of him on the filthy floor, pulled his strong hands to my face and smothered them in kisses.

  “No, please sir,” I begged. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to show you…”

  “Show me what? That Clair and I have been wasting our time? That you consider this a girlish game? That you’re a spoilt little brat who’s always got to get her own way?”

  “No! No!” I sobbed openly. “I want to serve you! I really do, I just wanted you to have an excuse to really… to really punish me, sir. I’ve missed my master so badly, I wanted him to have every excuse to… beat me… do anything he wants with me.” I looked up at him, blinking back the tears. “I want my master to know that I belong utterly to him and I welcome the pain of the punishment he is about to inflict on me.”

  I shocked myself. These were thoughts that had previously only been in my head, never had I expressed them so openly, but I knew that I meant every word with all my heart. If Ben dumped me I wouldn’t want to go on living, I knew that now.

  For what seemed like an eternity he stared down at me impassively and I cried in terror.

  “I can play games as well, K,” he said at last with a tight smile. I sagged with relief and realised that after all, my little rebellion which had nearly gone too far, had left me where I wanted to be. He had put me firmly back in my place.

  I don’t think any master could have wanted more from his slave than Ben got that night. The terror and relief made me more obedient and responsive than ever.

  Once I was naked and collared he clipped my hands behind me and hobbled my ankles with a two-foot length of chain clipped to ankle restraints, then, still in the lounge he began to exact his revenge. He gave me a really good slapping to start with and that was why he started in the lounge. I had plenty of soft things to fall into and over. I held my face up to him like a normal woman would if she were expecting a kiss or a caress, but welcomed the jarring of the slap and the burst of lights behind my eyes as I staggered back in my chains. Inevitably after only a couple of slaps I lost my balance and sprawled onto the sofa. It took me some time to get back on my feet and face up to the next which sent me crashing to the floor. I knew Ben would be enjoying the sight of me, naked and chained, crawling and struggling at his feet. It took me quite some time to get my legs under me and kneel up, but with my hands held behind me I had to use the coffee table to support my torso while I straightened my legs. It must have been an erotic display of humiliation, particularly as I was struggling to get up purely so I could be knocked down and do it all again. I managed to weather a left hand slap to the face followed by a right across my breasts and then a left again to the face which spun me helplessly across the arms of his chair. That was a bruising impact and he let me take a break after I had doggedly shaken my head to clear it, got my legs under me and levered myself up. I wasn’t going to fail him again.

  But that was enough he decided, however much he could see I was loving it. His hand reached between my legs and I felt his fingers slide up into me, I shuddered and moaned immediately but he gave me a tap across my breasts and shook his head, then removed his fingers grabbed my right nipple, and twisting it hard led me stumbling and crying out, up the stairs.

  He tied me face down across the whipping trestle and whipped my bottom to start with. It was a hard whipping, much harder than I had grown used to with Madam, and much harder I suspected than he himself had ever delivered before. I counted twenty lashes out loud and thanked him for each one and then he began on the needles. I had seen them in the cupboard while Madam had been there and had trembled at the sight of the long thin steel spikes. But I had never had them used on me, nor seen them used. Now Ben put some disinfectant on a cotton
wool pad and spread it over my throbbing buttocks, then, making sure I could see, he took one needle at a time off the crossbar beside me and stuck them into me. It wasn’t so much the pain, which really wasn’t so bad in comparison to the aftermath of the whipping, it was just the thought of all those spikes going in that had me moaning and pulling at my chains. The last few went into the soft flesh of my inner thighs which were chained wide apart and I yelled at those, in fright as much as anything else. Ben left me for a while and when he returned he was naked. He also carried a mirror. He dragged my head up by my hair and made me look at my reflection. Behind and above my tear-stained and reddened face I could see the mounds of my buttocks and sticking up from them were the needles. It was an intensely erotic sight and I did hope that maybe Ben would stick the gorgeous erection he was sporting just next to my face straight into either of the entrances I was displaying between my decorated cheeks.

  But instead he hot waxed them next. He lit a large white candle and a red one in front of me and held them for a while to get the wax running and then moved behind me. I leapt and yelped as each blob dropped onto me. Ben had propped up the mirror so that I could see the candles and watch the wax melt and gather then, as Ben tipped them, watch it run slowly down and drop. It was a horrible extension of the Chinese water torture, irregular intervals between sharp scalds on already abused flesh. Every now and then he would let a dollop fall between my cheeks, right onto my anus and sex. The gyrations of my hips were not purely from pain by then, I was trying to tempt Ben into sampling the excitement he was causing. But he was coldly and cruelly back in charge now and I had still got a lot to pay for.

  Even when he put the candles down he didn’t let me up. He clamped and weighted both labia and nipples and then left me again after taking a crop to my shoulders and back. Just a quick ten, enough to make me scream, jerk and set the weights swinging at each stroke to increase the pull they were exerting.

  But when at last he did come back he took the needles out and removed the clamps before letting me up. I could feel the wax cracking as I stood up and stretched, then waited for whatever was coming next. I could tell by his look that there was still more, and I wasn’t disappointed. He pulled the spreader bar which hung from the ceiling right down to the floor and ordered me to sit.

  It felt very odd with the wax cracking as I bent and stretched. Ben replaced my ankle restraints with wider, softer ones and clipped them to the spreader bar. My heart raced as I watched him work. I was going to get an ankle suspension. I had seen Janet get one and had thought it was the most exciting thing I had ever seen. The experience of undergoing one though, completely eclipsed just seeing one. Despite the wider restraints the tension on my ankles and legs was incredible - both scary and exciting - and as Ben hauled me up until my arms swung clear of the floor and my wide splayed crotch came level with his face, I became more acutely aware of having my legs open than I would ever have believed possible. The urge to close them, one so deeply ingrained in women was almost an ache. I could feel the muscles in my vagina and my anus clench in a vain attempt to shield themselves. I even tried to bend up so that I could get my arms there, but Ben pulled them back down and clipped them to the ring at the back of my collar so they couldn’t interfere with his plans. I hung there, just like a slab of meat on a butcher’s hook, just a female body for her master to amuse himself with, the sinews in my inner thighs still twitched every now and then as the urge to close my legs grew worse by the second and the distress and the pain of the suspension itself set floods of hot juice oozing out into my sex. Ben picked something up and then approached me until I could nuzzle and lick at his scrotum and the base of his shaft. Having my face upside down and helplessly pressed against him like that made me whimper with desire for something to fill my own sex. All I could do was rub my cheeks against the soft skin that coated his shaft, flicking my tongue and then taking long lascivious licks. I urged him on hoarsely when I at last felt his fingers part my labia.

  “Yes, sir. Please!” And then I screamed and thrashed in my bonds, my stomach clenched as I frantically tied to curl up around the burst of agony which had consumed my crotch. Ben stood back and watched me twist, curl and stretch, screaming and begging for mercy at the same time.

  He tutted and then squatted down so I could stare upside down into his face.

  “It’s just a clit peg, K. A good bolt of pain like that will open a slave like you up nicely.”

  I had no choice but to bear it, and he was quite right.

  He fisted me and I took it quite easily. I really was getting to be a pain freak. He worked three fingers inside me, giving me a running commentary on how wet I was as he worked on me, then four fingers, then he flicked at the clit peg a bit to make me scream again and then he went for it; his whole hand. I held my breath as I felt my lips spreading wider and wider and then wider still and finally he was in and making a fist inside me. I could feel my insides being stretched and rubbed as he twisted and thrust down into me then withdrew. I could feel everything so much more forcibly than with normal penetration, I was sure that if I could only crane my head up I would be able to see a bulge in my stomach where his fist was. He made one violent plunge down and I was catapulted into an orgasm so suddenly that I hardly felt the onset. I just went into spasm after spasm while he fucked me with his fist and I twisted and spun. I screamed and gurgled and sobbed and he played with me, ramming down into me to make me scream, pulling out to make me choke as my labia stretched but I tried to hold him in, then sobbing as he twisted his fist right at my entrance. Then he did it all again. And again. Until I was nearly unconscious. He didn’t wait for me to come round properly, time was running short, I had been suspended for quite a time by then. So even while I twitched and whimpered in the aftermath of the orgasms which were still running through me, he flogged me. Walking round and round my body he swung in blows to every part of me with a multi-lashed whip. I just swung and moaned at the swish and crack of the strokes, my whole body racked with pain. I didn’t care where he whipped me or for how long, I was bathing in my pain and the fact that I hung upside down in front of my master, available and helpless.

  But my lethargy was rudely shattered when he began crotch whipping me. I didn’t think anything could hurt like that. I didn’t think the universe contained that much pain. I couldn’t even shriek for the first few blows, just stretch and arch as if I had been electrocuted. He struck so that the lashes bit down along the whole of my vulva, hammered across my anus and then splayed out to further inflame the already flogged, scalded and pierced buttock flesh. What engulfed me was a tidal wave of purest agony and only shock, I think, prevented me from orgasming more intensely than even with Danny. I was still crying and gasping when he took me down and carried me to his bed.

  He didn’t chain me that night and I slept happily curled in his arms after he had taken me. Once I fully realised all I had endured that night, I was ecstatic and when Ben had kissed me and congratulated me for my stamina, in a whisper I begged him to fuck me, fuck me hard, make me hurt all over again. I relished the carnal brutality of the word itself as well as the knowledge that I had spoken out of turn and would have to be punished. And he did it. Making me his own again as he sank deep inside me, re-awakening the pains in my tenderised sex flesh and driving me to wild orgasms until I reached utter joy when I felt him attain his release inside me. I was his property to hurt and abuse as much as he liked and I fell asleep still murmuring how much I loved him. And I meant it too. I really did that night.

  I was punished and happy again in the weeks that followed. And even politically there was the honeymoon period while the new government settled in, but there were lots of briefings to attend, interviews with new cabinet ministers, ‘portrait’ pieces to write about new figures on the political landscape. So I was kept busy.

  Ben now had much less pressure on him and he devoted more time to me. Once or twice he came round to my flat and we
had sessions there. I think he understood my dual personality very well and judged it important that Emma should have nowhere to herself. K should be everywhere. But as I lived in a modern apartment we had to be a bit careful about noise. I had a wrought iron bed though, which made tying me to it very straightforward. The most bizarre thing was that when he rang to say he was coming round, I went into a cleaning and tidying frenzy. How typically feminine! Ben wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at the piles of knickers on the bedroom floor, the rumpled bedclothes or the chaos of my dressing table, but I was determined that whatever Ben did to me, he would have a tidy flat in which to do it.

  It was really weird seeing him wandering round there, inspecting my pictures, my furniture; it was as if he had found another piece of me which he hadn’t dominated up till then. But even after he left I could still feel him there. It wasn’t just the chains on the bed posts, the selection of dildos in my underwear drawer or the whip coiled up in the bottom of the wardrobe, it was that he had been there and I couldn’t ever pretend when I was on my own that I was not a devoted sex slave. Janet was quite right, it doesn’t matter where you are or what you are doing; once a slave, always a slave.

  I remember the first time very clearly. I opened the door to him dressed as he had instructed, basque, stockings, high-heels. I was proud of that basque, it was black satin with good boning and half cups with scarlet bows on them. I had worn it around the flat a couple of times to get used to the constriction and was now highly appreciative of what it did for my figure, particularly the way it made my hips and bottom and boobs swell out so invitingly. I had spent hours on my makeup and knew I was looking good, the only marks I was carrying were from the bootlace whip which Ben had used on me the week before and I had made no attempt to cover the faint stripes which fanned out across my upper thighs, dived between my legs and then fanned out again on my buttocks.