***
As John goes through the details of the show with me, I only have one thought in my head.
This is going to be interesting.
***
There’s some music playing, some kind of dystopian trance/electronic music that softly pulses in the room. The music fits the scene well.
I’m already on stage when the curtain is raised. This time, I’m hanging suspended from the ceiling, facing the floor. My breasts are tightly bound together, and they are rapidly reddening and ballooning under this treatment. My arms are drawn back in a cruel tie. My hair has somehow been woven through the bindings so that I can’t slump my head. My calves are tied tight to my knees, and my legs are spread open, and tied in place.
There are cameras on the floor, ready to project my every quiver and moan on the screens off the side.
I’m already in a bit of pain. The rope is cruel, and my body is contorted for the viewing pleasure of the audience.
I am utterly helpless, and I love it.
The music increases in volume. It is now filling the room in a stormy crescendo. And then, silence.
Utter, perfect silence. The eyes of the audience are upon me, and though I can’t see them, I feel their hunger in the air.
The feel of this show is different. In the last one, John was joking with the audience; the audience was hollering, whistling, cheering. This show will be different, John has said. This one will be more solemn. There’s a sense of ritual in the air. There is a spotlight on me; and the screens off to the side are lit as well, but the stage is otherwise dark.
Crack.
Out of nowhere, the flogger has struck my ass. I jump involuntarily and feel a line of fire beginning to rise on my skin. The force of the stroke sets the suspension spinning. I slowly start to revolve.
The strokes come steadily. Music has started playing again, softly; something with a pulsing drumbeat. John times his strokes to the drumbeat, keeping the pace slow and deliberate. Every stroke is hard though and I’m flailing in pain. I concentrate on breathing.
Suddenly I jump in surprise. John has shoved a vibrating dildo into my pussy; he does something with the ropes to keep the dildo in place. Tremors are running through me now, fuelling my arousal.
The flogger continues its work.
Pain. Pleasure. Pain. It’s a confused whirl. Am I jumping in pain? Or am I flinching because the vibrations in my pussy are causing me to rise, higher and higher? I ache for a touch on my clitoris. I am so, so close.
Through the haze, I realize what John is so cleverly doing. He is expertly blending the boundary between pleasure and pain, and I’m not sure which side of the line I am.
And now, John moves towards me, two nipple-clamps in his hands. A quick pinch of my nipples, and they are on, and… wow. My breasts are already red, sensitive because of the rope, and the nipple clamps are painful, and oh-so-intense. I feel my nipples start to throb. I bite my lip, moan a little. The microphone sends my moan around the room, a counterpoint to the pounding drums.
A chain connects the clamps, John adds some weights to the chain. Then, he sets me spinning through the room. As I spin, the weighted chain swings, and I shiver as the sensations roll through me.
I’ve lost track of where I am. I’ve forgotten there’s an audience watching me. That’s the beauty of being whipped. There’s an intimacy to it. The room shrinks, and it’s just me and the whip and the clamps and the vibrating dildo, and I’m entirely in John’s mercy.
John resumes whipping me. Each stoke sends me swinging, causing my nipples to stretch painfully as the chain connecting the clamps sways. I clench my thighs and try to push down harder on the vibrator. I am so close! But I’m pretty well-immobilized and I’m in John’s mercy.
He is in control of my body. I will orgasm if he wills it, and if he does not, I will not. I find this control strangely, hugely arousing. My body is not mine tonight and I revel in my surrender.
I’m spinning again. I come to rest facing the stage; my face clearly visible under the lights.
And then, a well-placed crack. Right at my clitoris. Pushing me over the edge. I scream, my face contorting; every muscle clenching, as a powerful orgasm rolls through me.
The curtain is lowered. Dimly, I hear applause.
Has it been an hour already?
***
I’m in the antechamber, recovering. John’s simply cut through the ropes to release me; he massages me, applies the cream on. I put on a robe and process the experience.
I realize I love the feeling of surrendering control probably as much as I like the actual pain. Interesting. I’m learning all kinds of things about myself from this experience.
John hands me $500.
“You’ve made quite an impression on the audience,” he says.
“Why?” I ask. I’m not sure how I’m different from any of the girls who perform at the House of Pain. Not that I’ve met any of them, so really, how would I know?
“Every single emotion runs through your face. It is fun to watch.”
Oh. Mortifying. I’m far more embarrassed by the idea that my emotions are on display that by the fact that I was naked in front of twenty men, being flogged.
***
Two things happen Monday.
The first thing in the morning, I get a call from the place I’ve interviewed at. They want to hire me. They make me a generous offer. Aside from a significant raise, I will also get an extra week of vacation. I’m thrilled, I accept on the phone.
The second – at about 10.00am, I get a call from a woman. I glance at the Caller Id: Maija Jones. It’s an internal number, I pick up.
“Is that Sara White?” Her voice is competent; professional.
“Yes.” Mine is distracted. I’m trying to find her on the company directory at the same time.
“I’m Doug Patterson’s admin,” she says. Am I supposed to know who Doug Patterson is? “Doug asked me to set up a meeting - can you meet with him today? He’s only open at lunch though.”
“Umm, sure.” Is this about the new marketing program I’m supposed to be working on? Why wouldn’t he just talk to my boss? I’m entirely confused.
“I’ll send you an invite.”
She hangs up, I look up Doug. I whistle silently. Doug is the Vice-President of Strategy. I vaguely remember meeting him about a month back, just after I’d broken up with Colin, at a work meet-and-greet. He reports to the COO – he’s a big deal. I wonder what the heck he wants to meet with me about.
I’m distracted all morning. I’m oddly uneasy, though I should be jubilant about my job offer.
I walk to the restaurant I’m supposed to meet Doug Patterson at. It isn’t far, and it’s still lovely and warm in Toronto, summer just easing into fall.
I recognise Doug, he’s already seated. He gets up when I walk in; shakes my hand.
“Sara, thanks for meeting me here at such short notice.” His voice is nice. Confident, but not arrogant. The voice of someone who has a very good idea who he is, what he wants, and is totally comfortable with it. He’s about 6ft tall; short dark hair; he’s good looking, but in a normal guy kind of way; and more importantly, no wedding ring.
Focus, Sara, I scold myself. He’s a Vice-President at my company. Not in my league.
“I’m in back-to-back meetings all day, I have a hard stop at 1.00pm,” he says. “Do you mind if we order right away? The waitress has promised to get the kitchen to hurry with the food.”
“No worries,” I mutter. I quickly order the lunch special of the day. Doug does the same. The waitress sets our drinks down, and leaves to put in the order.
“This is a bit of an awkward conversation,” Doug says, looking at me, once we are alone. “You see, I was in the audience last night at the House of Pain.”
I am in the act of taking a sip of my water. I stop, mid-sip. My mind goes blank. I am completely, utterly horrified.
I speak, and my voice is the merest whisper. “Are you trying to blackma
Chapter 4
“Blackmail you?” Doug looks a little astonished. “What on earth?”
Okay, maybe that first thought was a stupid one. I flush. I keep silent. I’m waiting for him to continue.
“I don’t generally need to blackmail women,” he says mildly. Now I’m mortified. He’s good looking and he’s a fancy corporate executive. I feel like an idiot.
He takes a deep breath. “I’m looking for a sex partner, and judging by yesterday’s performance, we have a lot of interests in common. I was wondering if you were single, if you’d be interested in giving it a try?”
“What?” I gape at him.
He looks at me. He’s trying not to look annoyed. I’m unfazed. The entire thing is too bizarre. “Explain, please,” I say. “Give what a try? What do you want from me?”
He looks less annoyed in the face of my genuine confusion. He smiles. He’s got a really nice smile. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m not doing this well.”
“I’m looking for a partner that would be interested in doing some of the same kind of things you did at the House of Pain, but with sex being part of the package,” he says. “In privacy, with me, not in front of an audience.”
“You want me to sleep with you?” Clarity slowly emerges.
He nods. “It is a lot harder than you’d think to find someone who’s interested in the same sexual kinks as you are, especially if you want to stay clear of Internet dating.”
“So, I’d be your submissive?” I ask.
“I don’t like labels. But, for the purposes of this conversation, yes.” The waitress arrives with our food and we both stop talking as she sets the plates down.
I eat with my thoughts on his offer. I’m startled to realize I’m actually considering it. This is my chance to find out if this is what I want in a sexual relationship. And his comments about Internet dating are spot-on. I’ve dated online before, but I don’t think I’d ever go about trying to find someone to dominate me on the Internet. Too much potential for serious harm.
“Let me think about it,” I mutter.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course,” he says smoothly. We finish eating. He pays, waving off my attempts to reach for my wallet, and we head back to the office. He writes his cell phone number on the back of a business card and hands it to me. “Call me if you are interested.”
I ponder his offer all week.
***
In the end, two things make me call him.
The first reason is that I’ve signed my offer letter and I’ve given work my two weeks of notice. I would have never called Doug otherwise; that’s just too complicated. But we will not work in the same company in two weeks.
The second reason is cruder. I come back home late Saturday night, and I masturbate to the thought of Doug’s eyes on me as John whips me. As my powerful, shuddering orgasm dies down, I resolve to call him. Just one time, to see what it’s all about.
I call him Sunday mid-morning.
***
“Doug?” I ask hesitantly, as his voice says hello. “It’s Sara White. Umm, we had lunch last week?”
“I know who you are, Sara.” His voice is amused. I flush.
I’ve rehearsed what I’m going to say to him a couple of times, but now, in the moment, my brain goes completely blank. “Umm, I’d like to discuss your offer,” I finally blurt out.
“Are you busy today?” he asks.
“No, not really.” The only thing I have to do today is clean my apartment.
“Ok, why don’t you come over to my place? We’ll discuss, and then, if all goes well in our negotiations, we can get going right away.”
Whoa. Too fast. Entirely too fast. “Umm. Maybe. Ok. Where do you live?” I sound like a babbling idiot. I take down his address, tell him I’ll meet him at 1.00pm, and hang up.
Yikes. I look down at his address. We live in two very different worlds, Doug and I. His address indicates he lives in Rosedale, one of Toronto’s Old Money neighborhoods. I, on the other hand, live in rough-and-tumble Parkdale, where the rents are low, but the neighborhood is definitely, well, colourful.
I get ready quickly, reaching for my prettiest bra and underwear. I make a face as I look at myself. I confess that I’m intimidated. Doug’s miles out of my league, and my simple black panties and bra don’t lend me a ton of confidence. Still, they fit well, the bra has that magic ability to lift my breasts just enough to look make them look utterly touchable. Over the bra and panties, I pull on a simple black dress – another personal favorite – it shows the perfect amount of cleavage and leg, but is still daytime appropriate.
I grab my purse and head out. Summertime in Toronto means the transit system is near-constantly under construction, and delays are inevitable. I don’t want to be late.
Just before I leave, I make a quick call to my friend Amanda.
“Hey,” I greet her. “I just need to tell you I’m going on a date, okay?” I give her Doug’s name, address and phone number. Just in case.
“Internet date?” she asks.
“Someone who works with me but I don’t know him at all.” I don’t reveal more than that; I’ve told none of my friends about the House of Pain.
“And you are going to his house?” I sense the disapproval in her voice.
“He seems fine, I’m just being cautious,” I mumble. And that’s the entire truth. Doug seems fine, normal; but he also wants to tie me up and beat me. It seems wise to let someone know my whereabouts.
“Well, have fun,” she says, a certain amount of resignation in her voice. “I want to know all about the date next week, okay?” Amanda and I are in the same French class; I’ll see her tomorrow evening.
***
It takes an insane amount of time to get to Doug’s. I read on the streetcar and try not to fidget in nervousness. My emotions are a strange mix of anticipation and fear. I read an entire page of my book, realize I don’t have any idea what it said, and give up the reading as a lost cause.
Instead, I focus on the fear. I like being spanked, it isn’t the pain I’m afraid of.
No, I’m afraid of the entanglement. Doing a show at the House of Pain is easy. I show up, do a show and go home. It puts my deep craving for pain and submission into a nice, tidy box. The rest of my life proceeds, unaffected. But having sex with Doug has all the potential of getting messy.
I make a silent resolution. I’m going to do my best to keep Doug in that nice, tidy box. I’m about to start a new job in a couple of weeks. I’d like to move. I have hobbies and interests that keep me busy. I don’t need this to become complicated.
***
I find my way to Doug’s place. It’s a nice house. Not too large, beautiful landscaped garden out front, a small front porch with an armchair on it. I’m quaking with nerves. I walk up, ring the doorbell.
A dog starts barking inside the house. “Shut up, Alia,” Doug’s voice yells out. There’s a certain wry resignation to it. The door opens, I’m nearly bowled over by the golden retriever. She’s friendly; her tail wagging. Doug has his hands on her collar, trying to hold her back. My lips twitch. This is very different from the cool, controlled executive who had lunch with me the other day.
“Come on in, Sara,” Doug gestures, still trying to keep Alia down. She’s threatening to bowl me over. I start to laugh, helplessly. Doug laughs with me.
“Sorry, she’s a handful, and I indulge her shamelessly,” he says, looking at Alia ruefully. “Alia, down.”
Alia finally listens, she settles down, tail wagging, in the hallway. I’m still laughing. I like this version of Doug much better. Doug follows me into the living room.
I look around. Not what I would have expected. His house is warm and comfortable. The leather couches are clearly chosen for comfort; throws are scattered about on them. There’s a lot of warm tones; reds and oranges mixed in with the browns of the leather. The house looks lived-in. I settle myself on an armchair in one corner, perched on the tip of the chair.
“Want a drink?” Doug asks me. “I have beer and wine, coffee and tea?”
“Just water, please,” I say. Doug nods, disappears into the kitchen. When he comes out, he’s holding my water in one hand, a beer in another. He hands me my water, sprawls on a couch opposite me.
Today, he’s dressed casually. He’s wearing a red t-shirt and faded shorts. His hair is damp; he smells faintly of soap and aftershave. He looks good enough to eat.
“Have you eaten lunch?” he asks politely. “Pizza should be here any instant.”
“Pizza sounds great,” I say. I realize I’m starving. Breakfast was a long time ago, and in any case, I was too busy rehearsing what I was going to say to him to actually eat.
“What did you want to discuss?” he prompts. Ah. We get to the topic at hand.
“Everything,” I say. “I’ve only done a couple of shows at the House of Pain. Before that, I’d never been spanked. I’m totally new to all of this.” I’ve decided to just be honest.
He nods. I notice he’s not entirely too comfortable either. His grip on his beer bottle is tight. I relax slightly. It’s good that he’s nervous; it makes him more human.
“It’s a bit strange to me too,” he says, his eyes on me. He takes a sip of his beer. “Approaching you was a total impulse. But, like I said, it is hard trying to find a partner who is interested in the same kinks as you.”
“What do you want from me?” I ask.
“I’d like to tie you up, spank you and have sex with you.” He doesn’t mince his words.
“Once?” I ask.
“Well, let’s see how it goes,” he says. “You might hate it; I might hate it; the chemistry might just not be there.”
“I’ve never done this before.” There. I’ve said it.
“You’ve never had sex before?” He looks obviously surprised.
“No, I’ve never had tied-up sex before. I don’t know how submissive I am.”
The doorbell interrupts whatever Doug was going to say, setting Alia off again. Doug grabs Alia, opens the door. “Hang on,” he says to the pizza guy, trying to restrain Alia. “Come on, Alia, cut it out. Sara, can you grab the pizza?”
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