"The dress next."
Sarah's knees went weak. How many times had she undressed for him, but always as equals? This was different. This was a command.
The zipper sounded loud as thunder in her ears. Her nipples were hard against the fabric. As she pulled it over her head she felt a wave of heat on her belly and thighs.
"Lay it on the couch and stand for me, hands at your sides."
She did so, dressed only in bra and panties, black silk. She'd picked them out especially, hopefully, having gone home from her aborted date with Luke to freshen up.
He looked her up and down, making her feel sultry and wicked. “You wore that for your boss?"
"The dress, yes, but not this. This is for you, Mark."
"I think it would be appropriate for you to call me ‘sir’ right now, don't you?"
"Yes, sir,” she answered the rhetorical question, her voice a faint rush of air.
"You're a beautiful woman, Sarah. You know that."
"Yes, sir.” There seemed no point now in false modesty. He wasn't paying a compliment here, he was laying out a case for keeping or rejecting her.
His lips pursed very slightly. She knew he was thinking, brooding. “I've never felt very good about your career, Sarah, I'll be honest with you. I think women should stay home and care for families."
"Yes, sir.” Sarah felt the same, it's just no one had asked. At least not the right one.
"I also think the husband is the boss. I'm sorry if that makes me old fashioned."
She lowered her eyes, shyly. Was this leading to some kind of proposal? They got along good, their lovemaking was fantastic, but they'd never talked so seriously before.
Oh, god, he was walking towards her. She didn't think she would be able to stay on her feet if he touched her right now.
Mark's finger went under her chin, raising her eyes to his.
"Kiss me,” he said.
It was not a request.
The need to obey made Sarah so soft and receptive she felt like the first woman in the world, the mother of the whole species. There had never been a kiss before this one, nor had any female ever touched a male in such a way. She was so aware of his power as he stood there, waiting on her. Tenderly, timidly, like a deer in the glen, she lifted herself to tiptoes. A slight moan came to her lips, a deep sigh as she surrendered to the inevitable: in order to reach his lips, she must press her pelvis to his, her silk covered breasts to his naked, exercise worked chest.
It was like a rabbit coming to lick the fur of a lion. The prospect, the risk was maddening-she was tempting him with the offer of herself, essentially arousing a member of the stronger dominant gender for her own rape.
The man's lips were hot and dry. Even this part of him was without weakness, without compromise. She was almost reverent in her self-offering. Their mouths knew each other well, but the power dynamic had shifted. Mark remained passive, but now it was a mocking thing, a tease in anticipation of the overwhelming force he might at any time apply on Sarah.
Where would he make his move and when? Why was he leaving her nominally in charge? Sarah wondered. Why was he making her maintain the façade of seductress? It was all there, the clear evidence, her nipples burning for him, the soaked panel of her panties against his shorts, her thighs and legs, trying to touch and rub him everywhere.
She needed to be put out of her misery. Put down and lifted up at the same time.
His hands went first to her upper arms, steadying her. She was slipping down, to be sure. She belonged on her knees, or on her back and she wanted to show him how good she could be for him.
But the choice was not hers and as he moved his hands to clamp her waist it was clear the kiss was far from over. It was the inside of her mouth he wanted, perfect prisoner for his tongue to ravish, a quite symbolic taking. She moaned her surrender, allowing him the access necessary.
Sarah's eyes slid shut. He was fucking her already, using her mouth, making her melt and meld and blend against him. What it would be like with his cock inside her, she could scarcely imagine. Unable to resist herself, she fumbled very lightly, in a quite female way for the waistband of his shorts. She wanted to feel his unsheathed penis. She had to begin to pay it homage. There were things she needed to say with her body, ways she need to apologize and show her loyalty that a woman could only do in communication with a man's most intimate parts.
Mark was too quick for her. His hand encircled her wrist like steel, like a cuff, form fitted. Applying the necessary pressure, he brought her to her knees. She went down like a rag doll, the proud, accomplished agent, top of her class.
She licked her lips, thinking she would finally be allowed to suck him, but he had another plan in mind.
"Go into the bedroom and get my belt. The brown one hanging on the back of the closet door."
She opened her mouth, a thousand things on her mind as she looked up at him, miles above her. In the end there was only thing that seemed right.
"Yes, sir,” she replied meekly.
"And make it fast.” Mark dismissed her with a crisp smack to her ass, having hauled her to her feet and spun her around. The heat combined with the sudden humiliation of being put in her place brought mini-spasms to her pussy.
He's really doing it, she thought. He's dominating me. She ran excitedly to the bedroom, almost giddy with anticipation. Whatever this would feel like, however much it hurt to be whipped with her boyfriend's belt, it was an experience she wouldn't trade for the world. Most especially for the door it was opening for them, and their relationship.
She knew the particular belt well. It was leather, with a heavy buckle. There were imprinted designs on it and stitching of a cowboy style. He had gotten it out west years ago and it was his favorite thing to wear on his days off. Sarah smiled a little, appreciating the irony. Being the fashion conscious filly she was, she gave him endless grief when he tried to wear it in their heavily urban environment.
Here was another way she would get her comeuppance. And if things went as planned and they reconciled, she could be pretty sure she wouldn't be telling him what to wear anymore. More likely, he'd be telling her what to wear and a whole lot more besides.
Trotting back to him on her small, bare feet, feeling like half a slave girl already, Sarah presented the belt to her man.
"Come here,” he said, wanting not only the strap of leather but her body as well.
She presented herself, moth to flame.
"You know why I'm doing this?” he ran his fingers over her cheek.
Sarah shuddered, devastated already. “Y-you're punishing me, sir?"
He shook his head and slipped a hand over the globe of her tingling ass cheeks. “No, Sarah. I'm teaching you a lesson. I want you to know what it feels like to be hurt by someone who loves you."
Her eyes lit up. Had she missed something or had her non-committal boyfriend just said he loved her?
Another soul melting kiss and she was pushed back, gently but decisively. “Take off your panties, Sarah, and lean over the arm of the couch."
It was the most erotic moment she had ever shared with this man. Her eyes locked on his, trying to read how excited he was, how much it turned him on to see her thumbs hooked in the waistband, sliding down the sopping wet underwear, black as sin. Over her hips, very slowly, teasingly, dragging it out as long as she dared. Her heart simmering in her chest, like she had never been naked for him before.
And in a very real sense she hadn't, not like this. This was a new level of stripping, an achieved vulnerability that a couple might spend fifty years together and never find. For she was about to give him the right to beat her and he was about to do precisely that, whipping and welting her bare flesh, getting inside her in a way no form of conventional sex could manage.
Like some kind of butterfly out of a cocoon, Sarah emerged, the wasted black material falling down her legs, landing at her feet like a husk, to be shed, stepped out of.
"Give me those,” he said.
She bit her
lips very slightly. Mark wanted the wet panties. Was he going to show her what he was doing to her-what submission was doing to her?
Feeling so strangely bound up in only her bra, she bent to retrieve the silk and brought it to him.
"Open wide."
The scent of his power in the air, mixed with her own weakness made her swoon. What was he doing? All right, she knew what he was doing-he was going to put her panties into her own mouth-but why?
"Don't want you disturbing the neighbors with your screaming now, do we?"
He was grinning in a way she dare thought was sadistic. All she could manage in response as he shoved the wadded material all the way in was a garbled retort.
What it would have meant in words she wasn't sure herself.
There wasn't much to say anyway, was there? Sarah was here, following the orders of a man, gagged with her own panties being prepared for a bare ass whipping.
"I need the bra,” he told her.
Such an odd way to put it, she thought. As if he would wear it himself.
But it wasn't any such feminine purpose he had in mind. Telling her to put her hands together in front of her, wrists crossed, he used the material to bind her. The final degradation, the final conversion of clothes into tools of mastery.
"Okay, now you're ready."
Ready. To go to the couch, that was it. To lay herself naked over the arm of it, hands bound, so her ass was in the air for him to do whatever he wanted with it. Pain being his primary intent.
He wanted to show her what it was like to be hurt by someone who loved you. Did that mean he took for granted she loved him, too? Did he even care? Sudden doubt began to fill her, and fear. Was she just another pretty body to him, a fashion doll to be enjoyed and showed off to his parents or the guys at the station? Luke seemed to think of her as more than a trophy. Sure, he'd used her brutally, but it was her brain, her potential as an agent he wanted to exploit in the end.
Mark would never appreciate that. He wanted a house slave. A barefoot, pregnant wife. And she wanted ... damn it, what did she want? The agency was her father's idea, and as for Mark, he had come on to her first and told her she should go out with him. Everything was like that in her life. Men deciding things for her.
Or was it that she was so desperate to please them she would do whatever seemed good to the man most powerful in her life at the time? If so, shouldn't she find the right man and take it from there, starting all over if need be?
With her hands tied, she kind of fell over the sofa.
The leather of the couch stuck to her skin. She was afraid about leaking all over it because she was so wet and sexed up. Her skin was hot already and he had not even touched her. He could see everything; she was totally exposed. The material had a deep, rough smell that made an odd mix with the softness. She thought of collars and whips, but also of seraglios and women lying at the feet of pashas and emperors.
"Legs apart,” Mark commanded.
Sarah thought they already were, but she widened the soles of her feet, nonetheless. Now she felt the air on her pussy, no mistaking it, the cool, conditioned air from the vent on the ceiling.
"Wider."
It was like he was beating her already, forcing something from her and into her. Remolding her into something totally different. This time she had to bear down on her belly, which was on the rounded part of the couch arm. Both her nipples were squashed. Even her cheek was against the cushion.
"Stretch your palms, put them face down."
The position became still more awkward, still more a sign of their inequality. After all it was him evaluating, standing there comfortably, clothed, holding the belt, like some kind of craftsman getting her into just the right arrangement to get the job done.
"Have you ever been whipped, Sarah?"
She shook her head no, hoping he'd get the message and go easy.
"My mother takes whippings from my father. Did you know that?"
No, she didn't. Karen and Leo Breewell had seemed about the most stable and sedate couple in the world.
"It's consensual. She submits to him in the bedroom. He has a riding crop and various other tools. She's seldom without welts. It's one of the reasons she sells so many houses. Call it incentive."
Sarah tried to picture the slender auburn haired lady, not a hair out of place, the very picture of grace in her pleated skirts and smart blazers, bending over a couch like this, or maybe leaning against some wall, with her conservative, middle aged husband behind her turning her buttocks into meat tenderizer.
"Some of it I figured out on my own, the rest my father told me when I confronted him one night. Can you imagine how angry I was to find out he was laying into my mother's naked ass? I should have figured it out years earlier. I just happened to see her in the bathroom one day, totally by accident. She just smiled and said it was personal. I was gonna kill my old man, but he got me drunk first and he put all his cards on the table."
She could imagine the scene, father and son, two of the stubbornest people she'd ever met outside her own father, discussing the possible abuse of the most important woman in both their lives.
"Turns out he's been like this since puberty. He needs to dominate in order to get off. Mom's the same way, from the female submissive side. It's a perfect match. To the outside world, they're an average couple, but only they know what really goes on. He keeps her in line, freshly marked and aroused. Sure as shit was too much information for me at the time, but whatever floats their boat, right?"
Sarah heard the belt whistle through the air like one of those horrible missiles with a homing device planted right on her ass. She could see immediately why the gag was in her mouth. She was screaming bloody murder and all that came out was some feeble ‘mmph’ sounds.
But that didn't mean she couldn't get up, pull the thing out and fight back, right? After all, this really hurt-her whole ass was on fire.
"Don't make it harder on yourself,” Mark pressed his hand down on her back, holding her in place.
She relaxed at once, hating herself for her submission and for how much she needed his touch on her skin.
"Every act of rebellion earns you five more."
Sarah whimpered into the gag. This couldn't be happening. Not to her.
The second blow hurt twice as bad. And she had no idea how many more were coming.
"When we're done, Sarah, I'm going to give you a choice.” Mark was over her now, inserting a finger in her pussy. Like a slut dipstick.
She writhed under his touch. She didn't want to push her ass up against him because it hurt too much and besides it was humiliating but there was nothing she could do to stop her own body, not after coming this far.
"You can either get dressed and walk out of here, and we'll never see each other again, or...” and now he stopped to run his palm over her welted behind. “You can stay."
Sarah was moaning. Tears poured from her eyes. This was worse than the belt. With every fiber of her naked, conquered flesh she begged mercy.
"If you stay, everything between us will change. I'm not as dumb as I look, Sarah. I've seen this submissive tendency in you all along. Frankly, I've been dating you to see what would happen. I never thought of myself as being like my father. And I can't say I'm ready to marry at this point. But I do know if you and I stay together, it's going to be like this. I'll have total control. Over your body, over everything."
His finger wormed its way under her clitoris.
"Come for me,” he commanded.
Sarah shook, her body in a frenzy. Every part of her felt sexual. It was like electrocutions, convulsions being induced by this one man. His finger. His voice. His belt.
Come for me.
Her body undulated shamelessly, prostrate before him. She was lifting her ass for as much attention, as much pressure as possible. He was lenient at first, but then he slapped her down hard.
"Lay still."
She finished her orgasm alone, untouched, a come whore. Mark wiped h
is fingers in her hair then took up his place behind her. Five more times he struck her as she settled back down through her aftershock. The blend of pain and pleasure set her on a razor's edge, slicing open her soul.
At last he tossed the belt over her head, landing it on the far side of the couch. Was that it, then? The time of decision? No. There was more. A palm roughly placed on the small of her back and a familiar hardness at the entrance to her pussy lips.
Yes.
He was going to fuck her.
There wasn't any need for foreplay. Nothing was required other than naked flesh, fitting together, finding perfect union. She was in pain from the beating and the pressure of his body on hers intensified it, but it only served to heat her up further.
There weren't words to describe it. It wasn't even like she had her own feelings anymore-just the glow borrowed from him, or was it hers loaned to him? More than anything it was an event, a glorious surrounding of their sex act that included everything they had done and said since she knocked on his door, and before that, all the things that had transpired since the first time they had laid eyes on each other at the gym they both worked out at sometimes.
She wanted to call out to him, to tell him what all this meant, but she had no voice, only the panties wadded in her mouth, soaked with drool and sex. She wanted her hands, too, but they were also forbidden her. All she had was a cunt to be invaded, hips to be held by strong hands, an ass to be marked, a bright prize for him as he slammed his way home, again and again.
Was she pleasing to him? Would he want her again? Would he take her like this some other time if given the chance? Or would she be a good enough girl to never again need such stern discipline? Perhaps a simple spanking or a stern look would be enough in the future to re-direct her.
But would there be a future? The choice was still hers to make. Would she walk out, following the first option, never looking back or would she stay and face an uncertain future at his hands? He wanted power, absolute power over her life. Everything would change, she know that.
She should leave. Just accept this hot, meltdown sex for the novelty it was and run for her life. Anything was better than offering up her freedom on a silver platter. Better a hundred Lukes to one Mark.
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