by Alison Tyler
There is a dazzling chandelier that hangs in long tendrils over a glass reception desk. Candles burn in clear votives along its length.
“Would you like something to drink?”
I stare at the beautiful woman as she stands with me, my jacket draped over her arm. She has an impossibly small waist, jet-black hair that falls in soft waves to her shoulders. Her lips are bright red, her skin milky pale. Her black clothes are elegant and clearly tailored as they fit like a second skin: pants and a shirt unbuttoned seductively so that I can see the lace of her matching bra.
“No, I’m fine, thank you.”
She gestures for me to take a seat. I grab one of the magazines, flicking aimlessly through it, but I’m unable to think of anything but John as my heart patters in my chest.
“Just go, for me...please...” he’d begged.
“What if I don’t like it...?” I’d been unable to hide my apprehension and fear as I’d wiped away my tears.
Since he’d said those words in bed, I’d retreated from him physically and emotionally as I dealt with it. Searching Google about his desires didn’t help.
“Don’t look at the Internet...” he’d chided softly, gently taking the laptop from me, “that’s ninety-nine percent of what I don’t want...”
I inhale deeply to bring myself back to the room. I love that man; have committed to marry him...I’ll try...I can at least try.
I bury my head in the magazine for a few more minutes.
“Miss Nolan?”
My heart buzzes frantically. “Yes?”
“Demica is ready for you.”
I’m escorted to a room. Expecting an office, I get a bedroom, the most stunning opulent space that I’ve ever seen, outfitted solely in white. From the shelter of the canopy over the king-size bed to the thick carpet that gives softly as I walk.
“Make yourself comfortable.”
I nod dumbly, ambling to the middle of the room as she leaves. There’s nowhere to sit except on the exquisitely dressed bed or the love seat by the shaded windows. I stand by the seat, grateful for the breeze from the open windows because my armpits are damp.
The door opens. My heart jumps into my throat again as a tall, slender woman practically floats in on sky-high heels, the seriously sharp toe peeking out from her black, billowing pants that rise up and skim her neat waist. Her ample breasts shift sensuously against the silk of her white shirt, the neck modest however, reaching up and ruffling just under her chin. Her black, poker-straight hair is tied at the base of her skull; the tail end of it swishing against her buttocks.
“Miss Nolan,” she says, extending her hand, “I’m Demica, and I’m in charge of your induction today.”
I swallow back the surprise as I take her perfectly manicured hand, the French tips gleaming. “This isn’t what I imagined...”
“A dark dungeon with nothing but whips and chains?” She lifts her long, elegant hand to indicate the room, blood-red lips parting in a warm smile. “This is a much more conducive environment for training.”
I gulp back my worry when Demica gestures for me to join her as she folds herself gracefully down onto the love seat.
“I’m a bit confused...” I mumble, clutching my bag on my lap, “I don’t know anything about this...lifestyle...”
“Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands,” Demica purrs softly, “Your fiancé is one of my most valued clients.” Hearing it confirmed makes me sweat even more. “He’s intimated very strongly what he would like to achieve from this.”
“What about me...? Don’t I get a say in all this?”
“Miss Nolan,” Demica smiles, “you’re the one with all the power, just remember that.”
I hold my bag a little tighter.
“Now, the bathroom is through there; why don’t you freshen up and change.”
“Change?”
“I have picked some lingerie for you.”
“Lingerie?”
“Miss Nolan, if you keep repeating what I say, we’ll be here all day.”
I rise hastily and clumsy fingers let go of my bag.
“Shit...”
I sink down to the fur, stuffing things back in.
“Miss Nolan...you can say no.”
“I love him.”
“Good. This is an act of trust, so we’re halfway there.”
I go to the bathroom, dump my bag on the counter, fighting tears. As I compose myself, I see in the reflection of the mirror a clothes rail filled with varying styles of lingerie all in green.
Green...my favorite color.
My emotions tumble within; he’s shared secrets with a woman I didn’t even know existed.
I pick through the rack, choked. There are elaborate creations from the biggest names in fashion and not one item has a price tag on it, but they are clearly brand new.
I look for a modest number, but there’s nothing even close to my usual basic black...I pick a strapless bra but once I’ve put it on, it barely covers my nipples. I slide the matching high-cut panties on. I stare at the woman in the full-length mirror. Okay, so the workouts for the wedding are paying off...but...I can’t. I’m about to haul them off and look for something else when there’s a sharp knock at the door.
“Miss Nolan, it’s time.”
Shit.
I spray some deodorant on, grab the matching silk wrap that reaches midthigh and head out.
“There, that wasn’t too difficult was it?”
I’m hot on my cheeks, feeling thoroughly exposed.
“That color really does suit you,” she says, as she taps her finger against her lips, “but you’re missing something...”
She reaches for a box that has been pushed under the bed out of sight and opens it.
I shake my head, “I don’t wear heels that high...”
“You do now.”
I take the black pumps...they are my size.
“How...?”
Demica just smiles. The knot in my stomach tightens.
John.
I slide them on, teetering a little as I adjust my posture.
“Take the gown off.”
I don’t hesitate. There is a sharpness to her voice that frightens me. And I want this over and done with as soon as possible.
“Hands to your hips.”
I do as she asks, watching as she walks around me slowly, adjusting the bra straps, making my breasts lift. She alters the panties, her hands skimming my backside before trailing her fingers along the lace at the front.
“I don’t understand why he didn’t just talk to me,” I whisper as I watch her, watching me, in the mirror opposite us. Her smile is dark, different from the welcome that I’d received earlier. Her eyes drop to my nipples, poking straight out through the lace and just visible at the top.
“He prefers action, as you will find out,” she whispers into my ear, her decadent and heady perfume claiming my senses. “Come through please.”
A door from within the room opens. I blush from my collarbones as a stark naked six-foot man walks in.
“This is Casper, and he is yours for the day.”
“Excuse me?” I’ve already shimmied away from Demica and pulled the gown back, hastily tying the sash. I watch as Casper climbs onto the bed and lies flat out on his back.
Good god!
The man is bigger than John; his balls are neat and perfectly round and he’s totally hairless, even his armpits.
“Look...I think I’d better...” I have visions of running up the street in this lingerie until I find a cab and probably breaking my ankle in the process.
Demica is unconcerned as she blindfolds Casper. He doesn’t protest; he just simply lifts his head toward her, accepting the white silk cover before sinking back down to get comfortable on the pillow.
“Come here.”
I tremble where I stand.
“Come here, Miss Nolan, and take that gown off.”
“I...I...”
“Miss Nolan, I won’t ask again.”
>
I slide out of it, feeling marginally better that the naked stranger can’t see me... But oh, god...he’s really naked! A naked, muscular, fine piece of work...
Demica takes his left hand, and using a restraint that looks like it belongs in a hospital, she locks him in.
My heart booms within.
“You can do the other one.” She walks me round. “Take his hand.” I look at her pleadingly. “Take his hand, Miss Nolan.” I do, unable to hide the quiver in my fingers as I connect with his warm palm.
“Good, now take the restraint.” On better inspection, I can see that it needs to be anchored to the wall where there is a metal plate with a semicircle welded onto it.
I look around the room I’m in. There are numerous plates studded around the room...some are even on the ceiling.
“Now, wrap it around his wrist...fasten this rope through the loop here and then to the wall...”
I do as she asks, but when Casper tests it, he’s able to pull away.
“Knots are for next class then,” Demica purrs.
Once we’re done, I look at Casper: arms stretched wide, cock resting on his inner thigh.
We repeat the process for his feet, then Demica walks to a dresser and opens a drawer to lift out a black riding crop.
A cold chill drops from the nape of my neck to the base of my spine as Demica bends the crop daringly in both hands before handing it to me, “Miss Nolan, this play is all about sensation and taking it to such heights that the physical release you get with intercourse is heightened.”
I swallow back a lump.
“Now, what do you think would be a natural move to make with this in your hand? Remembering that you are at the very start of play.”
I put the crop on Casper’s breastbone, winding it down in a lazy swirl.
The man ripples.
I whip the crop away, startled.
“Good, Miss Nolan, again.”
Minutes rack up as I drag the crop in long, lazy loops across his body, letting it dip and tickle over his muscle definition.
“You’ve touched every part of him except his genitals.”
I look at her, then Casper. He’s halfway hard. I smile to myself as I put the crop on his lower abs. Casper moans in anticipation, his cock swelling magnificently. An incredible fire develops in my lower belly as I discover...power.
I adjust my stance, drawing my legs together as a strong sensation of wetness seeps through the delicate panties. Demica watches me like a hawk, a knowing smile on her lips.
I run the crop along his shaft, but it’s difficult to maintain a connection as it bobs.
“Hold him, use your fingers instead.”
The suggestion ruins the panties.
“You’re not betraying John; he’s approved of everything that we are doing today.”
Those words are like a blow and must show physically, because Demica directs me to the bathroom again.
I splash cold water over my face, staring in the mirror. The bra and panties are on the wrong body...I don’t suit this...I don’t belong here.
But I love him.
I splash more cold water on my face, pat it dry and head back out.
Casper is now on his front, Demica tying the last bind before handing me the crop.
“Newcomers can get carried away with strikes in play, so be mindful. This...” she pats the crop against his buttcheek, “is soft, light...suggestive. This”—the crop cracks through the air connecting with Casper’s buttock and making him moan while I jump out of my skin—“is business.”
I stare at the flushed cheek, “What...what does John like...?”
“Miss Nolan, that is for you to find out.” She hands me the crop. “Your turn.”
I pat his butt lightly. Wet heat gathers on my inner thigh.
“Again,” Demica says.
I pat him again, gradually increasing the tempo, but not pressure.
“Try a full stroke on the bedcover.”
I do. The crop whistles through the air before it connects with the linens. Casper moans in anticipation making my nipples tingle.
I run the crop down his inner thigh, making Casper writhe. I whip the crop to the covers again. Something springs inside my chest when he groans my name unexpectedly. I’m expecting the cold rush of fear...but it’s not there.
Demica’s hands go to my shoulders.
“Do you want to know what it feels like?”
I look up at her, holding her challenging gaze for a few seconds before I nod.
She unties Casper as I watch from the love seat. He’s still hard.
“He didn’t...you know...” I say to Demica quietly once he’s left the room.
“You didn’t say he could.”
Oh.
“Come here, Miss Nolan.” Demica draws me to one of the posts of the bed. “Up.” She motions to my hands and my nervousness breaks out through every cell.
“I read something online about a safeword...” I gulp back my heartbeat.
“Excellent research Miss Nolan,” Demica says with a smile. “In this play the safeword is ‘ground.’ You must use it if anything gets to be too much.”
Quickly, she works the cuffs in place; they are soft, padded on the inside, similar to the ones we used on Casper.
I’m left hanging on my tiptoes in these awfully high heels. I keep my legs together hoping she can’t see how wet I am.
“Uh-uh...” I get a tap from the crop on my knees before it works its way between my legs. I get the hint. I pull my legs apart.
“Why, Miss Nolan, I think you’re enjoying your training.”
I blush even more deeply than when I first saw Casper, as the riding crop snakes up my inner thigh. I suck my breath in as my body undulates. Something deep down inside springs into being.
The crop settles on the patch of fabric between my legs. Demica moves it back and forth achingly slowly. I let out a whimper and get a sharp crack from the crop against my thigh. “Oh!” My thigh explodes in pain from the blow. It certainly wasn’t as hard as the one I’d delivered to the covers...but it’s new to me and smarts like a bitch.
She reaches into my hair and unravels the band. My hair falls down beyond my shoulders.
I pull myself together.
And stand up straight.
The crop returns to the panties, going back and forth in a slow, methodical tease.
Her hand works the bra. It unclips, but she doesn’t remove it; instead, she holds the cups and rubs them against my breasts. She might be lithe looking, but she’s strong...her pressure flattens my nipples and a desperate ache breaks out across my lower belly.
She throws the bra to the love seat. The crop lightly taps my nipple in a succinct beat that makes me moan.
Crack!
The crop meets my thigh again. And this time the sting is multiplied and lingers deeply. The safeword vaults to the tip of my tongue.
She returns to the tapping, light and sure against my nipple.
Her fingers reach for the panties; she winds them into her fist, catching any slack. They’re pulled hard against my clit and I bite my lip harder, desperate not to make a sound.
I hear something tear, the panties ripping away. I lower my head, staring down at my bared body. My thigh is burning, growing a deep shade of red. The crop works its way between my lips, immediately sliding in the wetness. The flat end of it rubs against my clit.
I start to shake.
The crop cracks my thigh and an explosive sob leaves my mouth.
Power.
It takes long minutes of silence to compose myself, and for the crop to come back to my clit.
I hold my nerve, close my eyes to allow the sensations to pummel me.
I start to come. It’s basic, alive and begins from my core.
The crop starts to work harder. Faster. Faster.
“Hold yourself together Miss Nolan, you haven’t been given permission yet.”
I clamp my mouth shut, suck in my abs as the divine and
very new pressure builds.
She taps the crop against my clit now.
“Climax, Miss Nolan, now.”
The orgasm is barbaric, ripped from deep within a space I never knew existed, and is expelled with a scream of joy, frustration and salient understanding.
I wait, patient and pliant as she meanders beside me, searching my body. I know she can see my juices running to my knee.
“Well done, Miss Nolan.”
She reaches up and unties me. My hands are tingling violently from the odd angle. I shake them roughly.
“Have a shower; the room is booked for another hour on John’s account.”
I slide into the gown, white-hot pain pulsing on my right thigh. It hurts. I’m not going to lie. She goes to lift the crop from the bed as I come strangely alive.
“Can I take that? The heels too?”
The tingles on my thigh vibrate upward, deep between my legs and into my core, broadening when I see Demica smile.
“Of course, Miss Nolan, I will put them on John’s account.”
“No,” I say, standing as straight as I can, my nipples clearly visible through the silk wrap. “May I open one of my own, please?”
JACOB’S NOTE
Derek McDaniel
Julie came home from work that night to find what might have been the sweetest note Jacob had ever left for her. It was written on a sheet of vellum and sat, deliciously, upon their tightly made bed. The late-evening light was slanting through the windows, and when she flipped the light switch, nothing happened. She was left to regard the bedroom in ambient light.
There was a fresh comforter cover on the bed; the sheets and pillowcases, tomato red, had been freshly changed from the more typical, more prosaic ivory ones. Those were cotton; these were satin. There were three extra pillows, plainly new and very, very firm. These, too, were cased in red satin, but the fact that the three were stacked atop each other, midway between headboard and footboard, left no question in Julie’s mind as to what they were for or what was intended to go atop them. The vellum note had been pinned to the pillows.
From each of the four corners of the heavy bed frame trailed loops of black nylon rope, open padlocks hooked around them.
She felt the ropes; they were quite secure.
Atop the white comforter between there were scattered rose petals. On the lower part of the rose-covered bed, south of the pillows and the note, there were two very large-looking dildos with a complicated array of straps, two pairs of padded restraints, a pair of silver-and-black nipple clamps joined by a bright silver chain, and a dog collar.