Dahlia stood silently as he removed a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. The door groaned as he shouldered it open. Dahlia stepped inside, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes scanned the large room. In the center, suspended from the ceiling, was a large wooden X adorned with large eyehooks, several footrests, straps, and an intricate pulley system.
“I’ve never seen a real saltire before,” Dahlia whispered, running her fingers along the smooth edges. “It’s beautiful.”
Blake raised his eyebrows. “What? No fear?! This is a professional dungeon, Dahlia. A place of pain and repentance.”
“It is my dream. My deepest need,” Dahlia responded, running both her hands over the spanking bench. “Will you beat me if I don’t cooperate with your rules?” she asked hopefully.
“Are you trying to convince me that you are a masochist? You get off on pain?” he asked as she lifted a cane off the implement rack and struck it sharply against her own thigh. She quickly returned it and replaced it with a short leather strap.
“My first therapist said I was wired ‘wrong,’” she giggled, venturing to the stocks and slipping her head and wrists between the padded planks.
“Wrong or differently?”
“He specifically used the term wrong. Daddy sent me to him after I was busted stabbing myself with a pin. He put me on drugs to ‘curb my desires.’ They didn’t work,” Dahlia grinned. “Daddy then sent me to another therapist who specialized in alternative lifestyles. She convinced me to stop self-inflicting and explore my needs. Come spank me, Blake. I have been a bad girl, you know.”
“You certainly waste no time in making demands, do you? I have been a master for eighteen years and I have never encountered someone quite like you,” Blake commented, his voice thick with both arousal and sadness. “Your punishments will not be for pleasure, Dahlia. And certainly not because you demand them. You would have been better off not sharing your desires so quickly. You have given me a means to truly discipline you.”
“Wait a minute! Are you saying you won’t spank me? How sadistic can you be?”
“You would be surprised, my dear,” Blake chuckled, securing the stock bar and locking her in place. He ran his hand down her back and cupped her firm bottom in his large hand. “We can work out a reward system though. Spanking for your cooperation…”
“But that would mean I actually did some real work around here!”
“Yes, and brought your grades up. Would you like me to spank you? To take your jeans down and leave them at your ankles?” His hands ran down the length of her long, slender legs, then up the inside while forcing her to spread her legs. “Does pulling your panties past your bottom and leaving these cheeks defenseless excite you?”
“Yes. It all excites me. Please.”
“Do I have your permission to direct you as I see fit?”
“Yes! Just don’t tease me,” Dahlia begged, wiggling her bottom.
“I’m a complete stranger to you. Why would you allow me this control? Don’t you have any self-preservation instincts?”
“No. I only want what I want. How I get it doesn’t matter.”
Blake shook his head, seemingly in genuine concern. “Let’s make a deal. I will provide you with what you need under the condition that you do not seek relief from any strangers. I also want the names and addresses of any play partners you have. You are never to lie to me about where you have been, either. I do not want to have to worry about your safety.”
“Are you telling me that if I agree, you will play with me as hard as I want?”
“Within reason. We will explore your limits.”
Dahlia wobbled as shivers pricked her skin. His low, solid voice vibrated against her protruding buttocks and she moaned. He lifted a slender rattan cane from the implement rack and made a swishing sound in the air.
“Are you a virgin?” he asked bluntly, tracing the backs of her knees with the tip of the instrument.
“Not really. I have lots of toys that I have played with,” Dahlia forced out, her nipples pebbling painfully as her anticipation grew. She felt the long stick rest across the center of her bottom.
“Have you ever been caned before?”
“No. Please, do it!” Dahlia begged, wiggling her backend frantically.
“Why should I? You have done nothing to earn this pleasure, young lady.”
“You motherfucker!”
“Let me explain something.” Blake walked around to calmly look into her angry face. “No one has the power to provoke me. I have some personal quirks that I hold to. My personal limits include slapping faces or non-scripted rape, nor will I allow any bloodlettings to occur. While you are here, you will not be stabbing, cutting, or mutilating yourself in any manner. I can give you the pain you need without harm, but that will only happen when I see you earn it. You will be trained to obey as well as to take pride in the work you do. Got it so far?”
“That is hypocritical, don’t you think? You will beat me with a cane but won’t slap my face. It makes no sense. Maybe I want my face slapped.”
“It is a personal choice I have made and one I will not deter from. I don’t care how much you like it, you will not receive that from me. As for making sense to you, it does not need to since it is my own boundary.”
“You know, it is my body and…”
“You abide by my house rules or you move back in with your father. He has made it clear that you will be penniless if you quit this opportunity. Your choice. Comply and earn pleasure or not.”
“You are a beast. How do I know you aren’t just teasing me?”
“You don’t, which makes it even more enjoyable for me. I am accustomed to dealing with submissives. Men and women who simply want to please their master. You are a hedonist, and, as such, care only about your own needs and desires. I will change that.”
“You are awfully sure of yourself, Blake Turner. What if I have no desire to change?”
“You will after you get a taste of my skills with a cane and a whip,” Blake assured her as he resumed his circling around her body. He drew back his arm and, with an angry hiss, slashed the cane across the crowns of her buttocks.
Dahlia jerked her head up in surprise as the burn cut through her. “That fucking hurts!” she shouted, unable to shimmy out from the hold of the stocks. Blake chuckled, aimed, and sliced a second and third stroke to her sit spots. She screamed, her backend dancing to escape another stroke.
“Do you want some more?” he asked, running his hand down her back again.
“No! Not with that horrid thing. Use something else!” Dahlia demanded.
“Somehow, I am finding it hard to believe you are bothered by this. Let’s see the damage,” Blake said, skimming her jeans and panties down to allow him full access to her pale bottom. “Not even pink. Let’s see how your skin takes direct contact.”
“No way! Let me get high first!”
“There will be no drug or alcohol use in this house. Where did your bravado go, little girl?”
“Let me gooooo. Please?” Dahlia begged, stunned by the discovery that she had no tolerance to the pain she believed that she desired.
“Are you finding that fantasy is so much more enjoyable than reality, Dahlia?” Blake began tapping the cane repeatedly against her skin, his wrist relaxed as he drummed the implement against her bottom, thighs, and down to the backs of her knees. Dahlia groaned, projecting her body toward him in demand for more. He chuckled, “You like the cane when I use it like this, don’t you? Let’s go a bit harder. This technique is called tapping.”
“More,” she pleaded. “This is amazing…”
Dahlia expelled another moan as a flurry of tiny, focused bites devoured her flesh in a whirlwind of pleasure. Blake awakened her senses with occasional true blows that she heard before feeling, but he made it impossible to anticipate when one of these would arrive. Dahlia found herself begging for more. Blake happily obliged, and delivered a true stroke against her sweet spot.
Dahlia cried out, lifting onto her toes, but kept her back fully arched. Blake flicked the cane repeatedly over the lengths of her legs, increasing the intensity as he crossed her buttocks and upper thighs. His rhythm was untiring and steady, and Dahlia began to sway weakly as her body released itself to his control.
She screamed out as she came violently, the orgasm rattling her senses as her body seized, drinking in the sensation. Blake lightened the tapping, alternating it with smooth strokes of the instrument until Dahlia finally slumped in her restraints.
He pulled a straight-backed chair in front of the stocks before unlatching the boards. Blake caught the young woman before she slid to the ground and carried her to the chair where he deposited her across his strong, muscular lap. His hand grazed over the hot, streaked flesh of her bottom, fingering the lovely welts left by the harder rattan strokes. Her steady breathing soon told him that she had fallen asleep.
“I’ll be damned…” he chuckled. “I think I found me a diamond in the rough…”
Chapter Two
The next morning, Dahlia wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, her back aching from bending over the deep sink since 5:30 AM. Mrs. Alonso had entered her tiny room without so much as knocking, ordered her into the unsightly gray bag that she called a uniform, and set her to work washing pots. Pots, of all things! And the uniform! Could it be any uglier or more uncomfortable with its scratchy, starched linen collar and knee-length skirt? The only sense to it was the white sneakers and ankle socks.
Dahlia made her opinion well known regarding the wake-up call, the clothing, and the chore. She heard the older woman mumble something about her needing to learn about humility, but that lesson was the farthest from Dahlia’s mind. She wanted more of what Blake had tantalized her with and if scrubbing pots earned her another session with the master of the house, then that was what she would do.
The clock struck eight and, for once, Dahlia was grateful to get ready for school. She quickly changed into her jeans, grabbed her backpack, and ran outside to where Blake waited in his large, white F-250 pickup.
“You are on time! Good girl. How did your chores go this morning?”
“They are ridiculous and that Alonso woman is a bitch. Look at my hands!” Dahlia complained, displaying red hands that were raw from the hot water and soap.
“Hmmm,” Blake turned them over to study the irritated knuckles, “they look better than I thought they would since they had never seen a day’s work.”
“I can do better things than scrub your stupid pots. And if that woman continues to badger me, I might deck her. Just saying…”
“I am not worried about Giada taking care of herself. She is very capable. What I am concerned about is your attitude,” Blake remarked. “Buckle your seatbelt.”
“My attitude? That woman acts like she owns the place. I can’t believe that you allow a servant to have so much power.”
“It is my home, my business, and my decision. I believe in rewarding loyal employees with special privileges. She has earned the place in this house as my steward and acts in my stead when I am not available. She has been instructed about your, uh, preferences. So do not attempt to provoke her to strap you,” he warned.
“Strap me? I will not tolerate any woman laying a finger on me!” Dahlia snapped. “I forbid it!”
“Really? So your fantasies do not project toward women dominating you? Interesting.”
“I am not a lesbian, so…”
“So what? This has nothing to do with your sexual preference. I own male slaves and I am not gay. Several members of my staff engage in both homosexual and bisexual activities and know I fully support them. As long as they abide by the rules I set for their safety, they are permitted to entertain themselves however they desire.”
“What do you get out of this arrangement? It makes no sense.” Dahlia shook her head.
“Loyalty. Trust. Freedom. Since all of my staff are involved in dungeon lifestyle, there is no fear of any of them exposing me or the others to a very judgmental, uneducated community.”
“What if they do?”
“Then I cross that bridge when I come to it,” Blake answered. “I have the money and the means to ensure silence, but it has never been an issue. Here we are. One of us will be by to pick you up at six. Be out here waiting, please.”
Dahlia watched as the truck took off down the road before she turned away from the main campus and headed toward the dorms where a friend kept a room. She had better things to do that day, and they did not include attending class. Using the key borrowed from the room’s occupant, she unlocked the door and made herself comfortable as she kicked back in the beanbag chair, surrounded by a cloud of smoke as she puffed away on a blunt. She threw her bare feet in the air as she lounged back, her eyes closed as she recalled the events from the night before. She reached her hand under the waistband of her jeans as she took another deep draw of the drug.
Her hand found her moistened slit, her body craving attention. She imagined Blake’s thick fingers sliding along the edge of her velvety mons, cupping and probing the recesses of her body, and the sight of his mouth as he licked her juices from his fingers. She ran her hand across her slickness and inserted three fingers deep inside, rubbing them against the soft, silky walls of her pussy. Dahlia purred as she started to pump her fingers within, pretending that they were Blake’s rigid cock. But it was not enough. She paused to glance around the room for something to raise her sensual awareness. A thought struck her mind and she went into the bathroom where her friend had strung up a small clothesline to hang her delicates. With a broad grin, Dahlia removed the clothespins from the line and returned to her place on the beanbag chair.
She stripped completely and leaned back, jutting her breasts toward the ceiling as she resumed where she had left off. As her right hand played a sensual dance over her throbbing clit, she opened a clothespin and clamped it over her left nipple.
The pain shot through her like a bullet! And what glorious pain it was! She caught her breath, absorbing the sensation, and then applied a second clothespin to her right nipple. She gasped, arching her back as the device bite into her. She panted as she froze, giving her body time to comprehend the beautiful agony that she had bestowed upon it. Her breasts throbbed as she flicked the clothespins, renewing the shocking sensation to her tortured nipples.
The next clothespin snapped over her clit, and Dahlia groaned aloud as she convulsed against the pain. Would Blake know how to use these simple devices of luxurious torture? If not, Dahlia was determined to teach him. She pressed her eyelids closed and played back her favorite fantasy.
She was bent over a rounded bench that was mounted on a flat table. With her knees spread wide apart and strapped in place, and her ankles secured to hooks on the table’s edge, she had no means to protect her fully exposed pussy and outstretched bottom-hole. Her bound wrists were tied to a post in front of her, forcing her ample breasts to dangle helplessly. Her faceless tormentor refused to blindfold her, wanting her to see and anticipate every move he made. Nor was she gagged, for he loved to hear her beg and scream. He knew, as did she, that her pleading was to urge him to continue and her cries were ones of delight. Even her tears, when shed, signaled her satisfaction.
A crowd of strangers stood around her, watching and waiting in eager anticipation to see what the master would impose upon her body. A hush fell as he approached her, a handful of alligator clips in his palm. He laid them on the table next to several long, menacing piercing needles, alcohol wipes, and a large, foreboding metal Wartenberg wheel. In her mind’s eye, Dahlia shivered with excitement as he uncoiled a long horsewhip that he had hanging on his hip.
Her fingers delved deeper within her body as she replayed this fantasy, made so incredibly real by the marijuana.
He cracked the whip against the wall, the snap reverberating through the room. The crowd murmured in excitement as he lifted it and aimed carefully. Dahlia screeched as the braided leather etched a wel
t across the backs of her thighs. She felt his warm hand run across the mark and slink up between her ass cheeks.
The whip slashed against her again, this time between her shoulder blades. It bit into her flesh, the pain bright and vivid just before it toned down to a sweet throb. A third lash fell, etching into her buttocks. The master paused, picking up the alligator clips and walking to stand before her. Dahlia watched eagerly as he opened the first one, testing its quality. She had refused a safeword. She always did in her fantasies. There was no need for one, anyway. Nothing he could do would ever be enough to make her want to quit the scene.
Slowly, he eased the teeth of the metal clamp around her dangling nipple and carefully released it. He gauged her response by her moans and the way she presented her body to him. In this fantasy, words were not needed. He knew everything about her, what she wanted, and how much she needed. He clamped the other nipple, pausing to listen to her moan. He then systemically began to tighten the little thumbscrews that were set in the clamps. Tighter and tighter until her nipples began to turn a lovely shade of purple and tears ran down her face. Satisfied, he attached two tiny chains to the clamps and secured them upon the flat surface, ensuring that any move she made would be felt instantly.
He lifted a thick mahogany paddle off of the wall rack and ran his hand down the flat side. The holes drilled into the wood held smooth edges but still, he always checked for splinters or cracks. He wanted to give her pain, not cause her harm. She loved him for that.
He caressed her bottom with the paddle, preparing her for the swing. He would not restrain himself as he did in her other fantasies. This time he would let it fall with full force. THWACK! White heat flashed over her body. Searing pain from both the paddle’s impact and the abrupt tugging of the clamps attached to her breasts stole her voice. The tension to her breasts was released as she pressed her chest down. This movement also forced her bottom higher, poising for the next stroke. Dahlia envisaged crying out had this event occurred in real life, but this was no more than fantasy. She enjoyed the release of a good scream, though, and did so in her dream-state.
Meeting Her Master Page 2