Jenny saw right where it was. It felt like slow motion, each step a study of delicious anticipation. He was going to whip her ... that was to be her first lesson. No wonder he hadn't wanted to tell her. A weaker woman might be put off. What a lucky break—she could show him right off how she wasn't a weakling.
She took the crop gingerly. It was a real whip. Like the kind used on horses. What would it feel like? Would it hurt terribly or only a little? Would he use her sexually afterwards?
"I'm waiting, Jenny."
Jenny pulled herself from her reverie, from thoughts of penetration and sweet invasion. Yes, he was waiting. Her new master...
Jenny turned to face him. Gasping, she beheld the last sight she expected to see in the world. “S—simon?"
He was naked. Completely nude, hands at his side. “You will affix the chains on my wrists,” he instructed. “You will secure me and then you will whip me."
She swallowed, a desert in her throat. “But you were to teach me..."
"You can't learn to submit if you don't know domination. Control is the beginning of everything. It is the source of balance. Besides, how will I know anything of what it will feel like for you if I don't feel the pain myself at your hands?"
She couldn't argue with the logic. She had no comprehension of it, but she couldn't argue either. “I've no idea how to do this, though."
"It's quite simple, Jenny. You'll whip me as you would want to be whipped. That is how you will teach me."
"Is this a test?” She wondered.
A smile flickered across his eyes—it was the first real mirth she'd seen in the man so far. “If you'd like it to be."
* * * *
Simon Majors felt the tension in his body as Jenny hoisted him onto his tiptoes. He was a single sinew now, a reed, ultimately vulnerable, to pain and to pleasure.
"You must keep my cock hard,” he told her, his voice a gray whisper. “You must dominate my sex."
"This is so not what I expected to be doing here,” Jenny shook her head.
"It's what is required."
"I don't know where to begin."
"Touch me, with the tip of the whip. Wherever you like. Pretend I'm you. And you're me. What would you do?"
The whip flicked over his nipple. He trembled powerfully. “Like you said, I'd dominate your sex. You came here to be owned. I'd do that. You came to give yourself. I'd take you."
She flicked the second nipple. “Yes,” he concurred, moaning slightly.
"No mercy.” She tapped his taut belly. “You'd stay here as long as it took, and I would do what it took to change you over."
"Change me how?"
"Into something new. A butterfly. From an ugly cocoon. Cause I'd be the only one in the world who saw it. The only one who could really appreciate you."
He grimaced as she slapped his balls. “But what proof could I give you ... that I am what you say?"
She thought about this. “I guess it would be your pain, wouldn't it?"
"Maybe..."
"Call me Mistress,” Jenny decided.
Yes ... she was catching on.
"Yes, Mistress."
She lashed his hip, testing the whip's power. “You've been holding out on me, slave. You need to come clean."
Maybe she was catching on too well...
"What are you talking about?"
"I want to know the truth. About that story. And what really happened.” She lashed his other hip. Goddamned beginner's luck.
"You read it ... it is what it is."
Jenny whipped his cock, unleashing agony. “You're talking back, slave. And you're not calling me mistress."
"Fuck...” He cried. “That hurt."
"I'm doing what you told me to. I'm dominating. Now answer my question."
Waves of pain cascaded his body. Was this really what she wanted for herself? “I was married to a woman named Christine. She cheated on me. With an employee. They betrayed me. That's the whole fucking thing."
"You didn't get to punish them?” She put the whip to his lips, forcing his mouth open. He shook his head no.
"You wish you could have, though?"
He moaned as she played with his sore shaft. “Yes, Mistress ... I wish ... I could have."
"You'd have made them pay."
"Yes, Mistress."
Oh, god, she was going to make him come.
"You better hold onto that erection while I whip your ass,” she warned. “Or I'll leave you up here all day. I'll find a dildo. I'll fuck you from behind. Wouldn't that be fun for you?"
Simon was brathless. His head swam as she gave him ten lashes, well delivered, across his cheeks. He found himself craving the pain, and craving her even more.
"Do you want to know who I'd like to punish?” She asked, embracing him from behind, her leather covered crotch grinding against his burning ass.
"Yes, Mistress,” he writhed painfully. “It's not my parents, if that's what you're thinking. They've suffered enough. I know, not many twenty year olds will let their folks off the hook so easy. It's not that I don't like torturing them, and hell, they're both fuck-ups in their own way, but the truth is, there's a bigger fuck up. A nice big stain on the old Randall family record."
She moved in front of him, standing on tiptoes herself to kiss him. “I had a brother,” she caressed his nipples. “An older brother."
Simon was breathing fast, hanging on her every word.
"His name was Kyle. I loved the fucker. I worshipped the ground he walked on. I wanted to be everything he was, everything the parental units weren't. But then he decided to kick things up a notch ... go to the extreme. Know how far he went?"
Simon knew all right; there was no mistaking the breaks in her voice, the impending crash. “Mistress ... Jenny, it's all right,” he soothed. “I'm here."
But was he here? Where the fuck had he been, when it came to the human race? How many women like Jenny had he passed by, good women in need of help, submissives in need of special dominant loving. Or maybe, in Jenny's case, something even more complicated by way of switching.
"Simon.” She wrapped her arms about him, forgetting perhaps that he was bound. “I've never felt that way. I wanted to ... to..."
"You felt anger at Kyle,” he supplied. “And that's okay. Why shouldn't you feel that? Suicide leaves a hole. It rips a whole in the fabric of life, it's like a bomb. People take years to sort through it all. I know. My father killed himself."
"Oh, Simon, I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter,” he shook his head. “I need to be living in the present. I owe you an apology ... I haven't been ... myself."
"Oh, but you have. You've been everything I ever dreamed of,” she exclaimed.
He bit his lip, fighting the urge to point out her age. So what if she was young? Was that any more an excuse than him thinking himself too old? “I thank you, Jenny, but there's a lot you don't know about me."
"And if I want to spend my life finding them out, who are you to deny me?” She challenged.
"I'm not worth a lifetime, especially not yours ... you have so much going for you."
Jenny frowned, undoing the leather cuffs that held him prisoner. Waiting until he was firmly on his own feet, she went down on her knees before him. “The best thing that I will ever have is you. As my Master."
He shook his head. “You're over-simplifying."
"And you're over-complicating,” she challenged.
"You wouldn't make much of a slave arguing like that,” he sought to outflank her.
"That's what punishment is for. Besides, isn't any Master/slave relationship whatever two people make of it?"
He threw up his hands. Beaten again. “Jenny, you read a book. That's all you have to go on. And me ... well I don't know the first thing about you."
"You fucked me,” she pointed out. “That must have told you something."
He sighed. “There's no beating you, is there?"
"Nope. Guess you'll have to keep me."
"Only for
a couple of days,” he bargained. “Just to convince you how wrong this is."
"So you say,” she replied with all the confidence of youth. “But don't worry, you'll come around to the truth."
"What truth is that?"
"Destiny,” she shrugged. “You and me."
He sighed. “For the record, this is crazy."
"So noted. So is it my turn to get whipped now?"
Simon rolled his eyes. “Maybe after coffee."
"Yes, Master."
"Don't call me that,” he snapped.
"Sorry, Master."
"You planned this all along, didn't you?” He grumbled, following her petite ass up the stairs.
"How could I do that, Master? You had control of everything. You made love to me, you made me come here, you had me tie you up and whip you."
"That's what frightens me most,” he declared. “How you made it all look like me."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Master."
He gave her a healthy swat on the ass as they reached the top of the stairs. “I'll just bet you don't, young lady."
Jenny giggled, throwing herself into his arms. “See, things are perfect already, Master."
"Yes,” he deadpanned. “After a whole, what has it been five minutes together?"
"I'll make a believer out of you yet, Master."
He accepted her kiss, warm and willing. The truth was, he wanted her to make him a believer. More than anything in the world.
PORTRAIT THREE
MARLENE
CHAPTER ONE
Marlene Randall's pulse quickened at the sound of Jake's voice on the phone. This was the call she'd been waiting three days for...
"This is it, babe. The Thunderbird Motel on 12th. Room sixteen. Half an hour."
"I'm at a meeting,” she whispered.
"That's your problem,” he rasped.
It was true. The arrangement had been that he would contact her some time during the week, giving her half an hour to report to a place of his choosing, for as long as he wished, to do just as he wished.
As senior vice president for marketing at Triple First Bank, she could hardly afford to take time off. But that was the thrill of it—having to throw all caution to the wind just because a hot, dominant man was wanting a piece of ass to fuck, manipulate and otherwise enjoy.
"It's a major staff meeting,” she persisted, trying to avoid being noticed by Lloyd Bennett the CEO at the far end of the long, suit-packed mahogany conference table.
Jake was unimpressed. “The clock's ticking, hon. And as your new sex ed teacher, I can tell you, you really don't want to be late for the first day of class."
Marlene caressed the cell phone, a sudden hot weakness pervading her body. “What happens if I'm late?” She breathed.
Jake laughed. “How about you tell me, sweet cheeks."
She thought of the discussions they'd had, the things they'd done on-line, the look in his eyes when they'd met for coffee last week. “Will I be punished?” She asked, barely audible.
They both knew the answer to that one. There'd been discussions already, about her limits, the things he enjoyed, the toys and games he had to offer. Still, she needed to hear the words.
"Sugar, you won't sit down for a week,” said the independent contractor with the raspy voice and the dreamy domineering persona. “I guarantee you, crossing me is a mistake you won't want to make twice."
She licked her parched, slightly parted lips. Ooh, this one was good all right. She'd yet to even go to bed with this latest find off the Internet, and already she was experiencing the heavy-duty stuff. That in-over-your-head, take me away to another reality feeling that always came with living out her fantasies of being used and abused by a handsome, alpha male.
Maybe it was just the release that came from being treated like a toy, from having no say so in what happened. Certainly in the last couple of years, one tragedy after another, her secret sex life was the only happiness she'd known.
"I'm on the way,” she said.
"Excuse me?"
Oh, god, he was giving her no quarter. “I'm on the way ... sir."
He hung up on her, leaving her to her own devices.
"Ms. Randall, is there a problem?” Bennett groused, focusing his hawk eyes, his overgrown white eyebrows poised on the edge of his forehead as if they were about to launch themselves.
"I have an emergency,” Marlene rose to her feet. “I have to go home at once."
That wasn't entirely unbelievable, given the events of the previous year. She should probably be ashamed of herself for hiding behind Kyle's suicide like this. Even a bastard like Bennett wouldn't dare fire her under these circumstances. Still, she was playing with fire. They'd find another reason. They downsize her job, outsource or reconfigure it. They'd offer to keep her on, but in some unacceptable position.
Maybe a part of her didn't care. Maybe her own professional suicide was just another step along the journey of coping with the loss. The psychologists suggested as much. Then again, you could look at it that she was surviving, doing whatever it took to feel even a little bit alive.
Why? For Jenny, waiting to see if she'd fall flat on her face and need a mother, whether or not the ungrateful little witch was prepared to accept it? Yea, like that was going to happen any time soon. If Jenny was anything like her, and she had to be for them to hate each other so much, than she'd let herself be dragged halfway to hell and back before she admitted she was in trouble. God forbid, that would mean saying mommy was right about something. Anything.
She had the vibrator in her desk. Heading to the bathroom, she took off her panties and replaced it with the tiny egg, set on high. That was part of the deal. She was to come to Jake a hot and willing slut. The bra came off, too, leaving her nipples raw and eager against the silk blouse.
Taking a quick look in the mirror, she smoothed the front of the blouse and skirt. Jake had already served notice she would not be wearing slacks on his watch. Being a submissive woman meant being available in his book. Cunt and ass accessible with a single flip of soft, feminine material. Just moving in a skirt made Marlene feel that vulnerability, that sense of being possessed.
The effect was vastly amplified without underwear. She was half afraid she would drip down her legs in plain sight walking to her car. It was always a temptation to cheat in situations like this, to keep her panties on until the last minute. How would the dom know the difference?
Except that she was a terrible liar when it came to the men she chose to submit to. Ordinarily glib and in command of her tongue, she'd fall to stammering silence in the face of their cross examinations, barely able to make eye contact.
A delicious, sensual shivering would come over her as he would sweep her off her feet and onto her knees ... showing her her true place as a sexual being. Never did it extend past the bedroom, though, or outside the careful parameters she herself laid.
Robert, her no show, fuck anything on two legs but her husband, called her a head trip, a mind fuck extraordinaire. As if he had some idea of what was good or healthy behavior.
Seating herself in her Jaguar XJ, lifting the skirt so as to air her crotch according to Jake's further specified wishes, she started the engine. With the top down, there was the possibility someone might see her pussy, but that was her problem, too.
So was coming on the way to the sex motel. Jake had already told her there'd be consequences for this and she had no reason to doubt his ability to carry them out.
So far he'd held his ground impressively. Every night for the past two weeks he'd made her perform on camera, making it clear that if she did not follow every instruction to the letter, he would terminate contact with her immediately and permanently.
His goal was to reduce her as much as possible to the status of a panting, needful slut. To this end he invited others to join chat rooms where they could watch her enslave and humiliate herself. First she would be made to take her clothes off, slowly and sensuously. Then she wou
ld display her body, revealing each part in graphic detail.
Marlene's flesh was his to use ... and abuse. One of his favorite things to do was to have her clamp her nipples and play with a large, black dildo. She'd wet it by taking it deep in her mouth, then she'd put her legs up on the chair, thighs spread wide and thrust it deep into her aching hole.
Sometimes she would have to repeat the process, licking her come off the dildo and re-inserting it. He had her get a little butt plug, too, so he and the others could see her fill two holes at once.
He didn't just limit her to dildos. She fellated cucumbers for him, too, and long, polish sausages. Often he would deny her orgasm for hours, forcing her to play with herself while getting off the many men who would log on to masturbate over her.
He'd yet to get off himself, though. That was a treat to be reserved for today. Marlene was to be privileged with his come—assuming she followed orders.
Marlene was thrilled by Jake above all the relationships she'd found online the last ten months. She'd taken more risks for him, to be sure. Not just her job, but at home, too. Robert was out a lot, sure, sometimes till one or two in the morning and even then he rarely if ever disturbed her in her office, still, there was always the possibility.
Admittedly, there was something a little bit exciting about that. Just like there was walking out of work. The danger just seemed to put her brain on hold, like the BDSM did.
Did you ever think maybe you're addicted to the sex? one of the therapists had asked.
What did he know? Had he lost a child and tried to go on, even one single minute?
Had he tried to fill the mad and empty places, to silence the screams in the night?
Marlene was five minutes from the sex motel, the vibrator whirring away in her crotch, when she felt the rockings of her first orgasm. It certainly wasn't helping that every thirty seconds she was required to rub her nipples through the partially unbuttoned silk blouse to make sure they stayed hard, either.
She tried to hold it back, but it was no use. Her little pussy clenched and unclenched furiously, automatically ... and pleasurably. She was a bad girl, coming before she was supposed to, without permission.
"I—I came, Sir, she called him on the phone, following the protocol.
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