The room is dimly lit, sparsely furnished, and did nothing to alleviate the knot of fear forming in your stomach. You stand there quietly, letting your eyes grow accustomed to the lesser light, as the still-dark forms begin slowly to take form.
The first thing that you notice is the walls, the floor, (you glance upward into the darkness) perhaps even the ceiling, are of a tightly fitted flagstone, smooth and unbroken; and your immediate impression is that you have been transported somehow to another place; one of a barren, rocky landscape bathed in perpetual dusk.
This is quite a contrast to those elegant rooms you had seen in the rest of the house. Only moments before you had been in the midst of a wonderful party filled with bright lights, delicious foods, and the voices of dozens of people talking and laughing. The music was loud, but not harsh, and, as you wandered slowly from room to room, you had noticed, with a certain sense of satisfaction, the eyes of the many men there had found you, held you, and caressed you with more than just a passing interest.
You imagine for a moment that you can still hear those now distant sounds, but as you hold your breath to listen closely, you realize that the only thing you can truly hear is the rush of your own blood in its quick, rhythmic course. No sound seeps in from the outside world, just as you know that no sound made within, no matter how shrill or piercing, no matter how desperate, would escape to it. The knot tightens.
You look around. The room is not dirty; it is, in fact, spotlessly clean and orderly. You can now see that a matching pair of dark walnut wardrobes standing opposite each other, near the corners of the room. A heavy, well-padded, wooden bar stool stands near the one on your right. On your left, taking up most of the length of the wall is a table; well, something like a table, anyway. The top is bare and flat, but the sides are covered with rings and what appear to be fastening devices of some kind. The sweet smell of scented wax hangs like a whisper in the air.
The stone walls are bare of any ornamentation except for a single large glass display case directly across from the door you had just come through. The door is, even now, locking. You jump a little as the large slide bolt is forced home with a loud clack. Inside the case there are several rows of dildos, vibrators, oils, candles, switches, crops, canes, floggers, and whips, all lined up like little soldiers, it seems, ready for battle. As you gaze at this collection a shiver works its way through your body, and you wonder, once again, why you have come here with me. I step past you, my body massive and towering, and that feeling of being small, weak, and helpless washes over you, as it had the first time you had seen me. A tiny tremor of anticipation flutters within your sex.
"I'm so glad you chose to come," I say softly, my voice low and honey-filled. You start to open your mouth to speak, but I am walking away from you, toward the stool, so you say nothing. You look down and swallow. The knot grows tighter still. You stand wondering as you listen to me move about. Had you chosen to come? It didn't seem so to you as the images of the past few days race through your thoughts.
You had met me at a party only two nights ago, and you had found me to be handsome, charming, witty, and masculine. Very masculine. As we spoke, while sitting before the glowing fireplace, you had felt the familiar stirrings within. Yes, of course, there was that, you thought, but there was something else about me. Something different. Something unusual. Something...well, something intriguing enough for you to accept my invitation to a party celebrating my forty-first birthday two nights from then.
You had come alone, even though I had told you that you could bring an escort if you wished. All night long you had only caught glimpses of me as I moved about talking and laughing with my other guests; My eyes catching yours for a moment I gave you a quick, enigmatic smile, and then moved on. In fact, you thought crossly, for the whole of the evening I had not said a word to you; had not even welcomed you to my party, or my home. But suddenly; surprisingly, I was there before you; my hand extended, palm up, a smile playing on my lips, a look of expectation in my eyes. You placed your hand in mine. So small, you thought, and I led you away. Away from the light. Away from the music. Away from the voices and the laughter. To here. You had not, you remembered, even looked back.
You thought that I would take you upstairs, to my room, where I would demand your sex, and you would have given it to me gladly. The thought of me above you, driving into you, made you flush with excitement. But when I opened the door at the end of the hallway and the stairwell led down, and my hand was at your back, gently pressing you forward, you felt the ends of the rope in your stomach encircle each other and your anticipation became anxiety.
The sound of the stool's feet scraping across the polished stone floor brings you back to 'here', and you glance around once again. I bring the stool to the middle of the room and, turning to face you, take my place on it, half-sitting and half-leaning against it. For several moments I remain motionless, my head tilted slightly, hands folded loosely in my half-lap, looking at you. my eyes move slowly from the top of your head down to your feet. You shiver as I appraise you; as I follow the contours of your form, looking openly at the gentle curve of your hip, the round fullness of your breasts, and I notice everything it seems; each soft curve, each gentle fold, even to the slightest of imperfections. You blush under my gaze; the pink of your flesh becoming deeper, darker, and more luxuriant. You bite your lower lip nervously and lower your eyes as you wait. This is not in the least what you had expected, and you shiver again; out of the sense of anxiety in not knowing what is about to happen, of course, but, as you feel the fluttering tickle at your sex again, you have to admit that the eager anticipation of what is about to happen is returning, as well.
You glance up once again at me, and the thought that I look like a king on my throne crosses your mind. You hide the smile this image brings to you as you watch me sitting there, regal and proud. I am certainly giving every indication that I am your Lord and Master, you think. The smile fades as you tumble the words around in your mind. Lord. Master. You glanced up again to find my deep steel blue eyes on yours; cool, serene, penetrating...the eyes of one who owns another. The eyes of a Lord. The eyes of a Master. You look down quickly, trying to find something, anything, for your eyes to focus on. Your breath quickens; becoming more shallow, as the knot tightens slightly once again.
"Take off your clothes."
My voice is the voice of a Master as well. Deep. Controlled. Almost a whisper. Your mind is racing, seeking the words you need to deny me what I want; to demand that I return your at once to the party upstairs. Your mouth hangs slightly open, waiting for your mind to fill it. But your hands! Your hands are already fumbling at the buttons and snaps of your dress. You look at them dumbly, as if they had a mind of their own, as if they are betraying you to me. The black and silver dress slips softly from you, ending in a puddle at your feet, followed by the black slip.
You look up, feeling disoriented, perhaps even a little dizzy. I have not moved. Even my expression is unchanged. You focus on me, on my serenity, until the churning in your stomach stops until you stop trembling.
"All of them."
You nod slowly and reach behind yourself to unclasp your bra. All the while you are thinking “This is what you wanted wasn't it?” “You are attracted strongly to him, aren’t you?” You feel a tickle at the top of your thigh as the nectar from your body forms a small bead and begins to trickle downward which tells you that you desired me greatly. As does the aching hardness of your nipples as you pull the bra free of them and let it fall carelessly to the floor at your feet. “Then why do you feel this way? Why are you so...afraid?” You step back, out of your heels, leaving them buried under your clothes.
You had been nervous when, as a girl, boys had done things to you: when one had first touched your budding breasts, when another had placed his sex at your lips, when still a third had pushed, first his finger, and then his sex up inside of you. Back then you had had girlfriends who giggled the night away at slumber parties talking of boys, and the things that they would do to you. And so, when the time came, you had been nervous, but not afraid; not like this. Because this was so different, so unlike anything you had ever experienced before, and no girlfriend had told you about men like this. Even if they had, no girlfriend could have told you that you would desire a man like this or that you would desire the feelings I was bringing to you, like this. You hook your thumbs over the sides of your lace panties but pause for a moment as you glance past me at the glass case hanging on the wall. Are you to taste pain before I make love to you? Would it be so bad if you did? Would the pain I give you be overshadowed by the pleasure? God, you want me so much! You moan softly as you push your panties down and stepped out of them.
You stand there, exposed before me, holding your hands nervously together at arm's length, trying not to appear too obvious as you covered yourself. You feel your skin pulled tight as goose bumps cover your body; a tangible feeling, like a caress.
"Stand up straight. Put your hands behind your back. Spread your feet out more."
You followed the directions I have given your numbly, slowly, no longer thinking about the consequences, or the alternatives. You think, instead, of the boys again. Each time that they took what they wanted from you, you had struggled, and they had held you tightly in your struggles. Each time you were helpless to stop them from doing to you what they wished. And each time your struggles led you to the same sweet conclusion: that by submitting to their desires you had discovered your own. You glance up at me again and wonder, what desires of mine will you be submitting to? What will I draw from you in your submission?
"Come to me."
You regain your normal footing and, step over the pile of clothes before you, walk the few paces to me. I stand up from my stool, standing just before you. Again, the feeling of being small and weak overpower you. And helpless, of course; helpless before me and my desires.
"You may take mine off now."
Different. Again, I am different. You have never met a man who had not ripped his own clothes from hisr body, anxious to be rid of them, anxious to skip the delectable appetizers of your feast entirely, hungry only for the main course. You reach up and began to undo the buttons of my shirt. You work slowly and methodically. You pull the tails from my pants and then undo the buttons at my wrists before slipping the shirt from my shoulders and down until it hangs loosely in your hand. You stand still for a moment, the shirt dangling loosely from your fingers, wondering what you should do with it, until I take it from you and toss it over the pile of your clothing, covering it. You lower yourself to your knees and work at removing my shoes and socks. That done, you reach up and unfasten my belt. You bite your lower lip again as a sense of something familiar finally begins to take effect. You unbutton my pants and slid them down the length of my legs to my ankles, holding them as I step out. You look up at the briefs that remain, the front bulging from the strain of my sex's aching need to be released. You carefully, tenderly, pull it from its silk prison, unable to stop yourself from sliding your fingers along the shaft, reveling in its hardness, before tugging and pulling the briefs down and off. Your task completed, you kneel there at my feet, waiting for my voice to tell you what to do next.
Instead, you feel my fingers slide into your hair at the back of your head, entwining themselves in the locks, and begin to pull up gently but firmly. Yes. At last, the knot begins to loosen. This is something you know; a landscape you recognize. You lift your head, tilting it back, and opened your mouth to receive me. But the pressure at your scalp continues unabated, threatening to lift your from the floor. You gasp at the sudden, unexpected pain as you scrambled to your feet, clutching at my hips for balance. My stiffened sex brushes along your cheek and breasts as you rise unsteadily. The feeling of being on an icy walk, unable to gain a sure footing, overtakes you. What do I want from you? Why was what your willing to give not enough?
I release my grip on your hair and take you into my arms, pulling you to me, crushing your breasts against my chest. My mouth clamps onto yours fiercely, my tongue pushing its way past your parted lips into your mouth. Your arms hang limply at your sides. You don't know what to do. You don't know how to please me. You feel like a foolish, naive schoolgirl; your teacher impatiently repeating instructions you thought you already knew. My tongue explores your mouth, taunting and teasing your own to dance, to play. You feel your desire beginning to rise again and you feel faint. A moan rumbles in your throat. You feel my sex throbbing at your belly, and press yourself against it. You lean into my kiss, sucking at my tongue, your hands rising to encircle my waist. You lift yourself up on your toes, reaching for me, your body crying out its need. Suddenly, I brake the kiss, and look at you. My eyes are narrowed as I peer into yours, as if I was looking for...something. Yours are wide, What?, almost frantic. What? I turn and walk away.
God damn it! You burst into tears as you stand there in misery, your palms upturned, and your head and shoulders sag forward. The pain from your eyes and the desire from your sex floods in equal torrents. What was wrong? Why am I doing this? You have never failed to excite any man and had never failed to please the man you chose to. Never. Until now. You step forward and place your hands on the cushion of the stool for support, your vision is blurred by the tears. You can hear a soft rustling nearby, and you know that I had found you wanting and was gathering my clothing, preparing to leave you. The sound of a door closing brings a fresh sob from your throat, but when you open your eyes I am there, standing before you. Your heart leaps and pushes away the confusion you feel. I’m giving you another chance to prove yourself, another chance for you to please me, and that is all that matters to you.
"I'll do anything you want me to." You can barely get the words out. "Anything."
My voice is soft and soothing, caressing you; touching not your flesh, but your very soul.
"I know you will, my darling. I know you will."
My fingertips brush your hair from your forehead, away from your eyes, but the tears that cover your cheeks are left untouched. Then my mouth is on yours once more, the kiss forceful and overpowering. You hear the soft rustling sound again as I drop something to the floor and then my hands are on yours, gently squeezing and caressing them as I touch you. I take your wrists firmly in my hands for a moment, and then release them as I begin to drift slowly up the length of your arms.
I lean forward into the kiss and you stand up, pulling your body back to relieve the pressure on your neck. My hands slide further up your arms and then I push them back behind you until your wrists are crossed at the small of your back. I hold them there for a moment and you understand what it is I want from you. At least, you think that you do. As I release you and draw my fingers back slowly, you hold your wrists together, as if bound.
I cup your breasts in my hands and lift them slightly, measuring, testing, exploring the weight and feel of them. My touch is soft and smooth as I caress and fondle you. I lift my hands a little more and capture your erect nipples between my thumb and forefinger. You close your eyes, blocking out everything but the feel of my touch upon your flesh.
You press your hips towards me, signaling your aching desire for me, but are blocked by the padded stool that stands between us. My lips and tongue continue their ravishment of your mouth as my fingers do the same to your breasts. I begin pulling harder, the weight of your breasts being lifted by the stretched nipple. You push yourself forward again, grinding the mound of your sex against the soft leather of the padded cushion on the wooden stool. The painful pressure is like a gallon of gasoline poured freely over the fire in your loins. You pushed yourself up on your tip-toes reaching for me, giving yourself to me both physically and emotionally.
The pressure continues to increase as I pull you forward still, towards me; lifting not only the weight of your breasts by the nipples, but the weight of your body as I lift you higher. It is everything you can do not to bite down on my tongue filling your mouth. The pressure. God! It was almost unbearable; almost too much.
And then it was too much. A startled cry escapes your throat and races past my tongue, finding voice in my mouth. You open your eyes wide and bring your hands quickly from behind your back and grab at my wrists, thrusting yourself up and towards me as far as you can, both pushing with your toes and pulling with your hands to relieve the agony at your breasts.
You are overwhelmed by that dizzy disorientation again as you suddenly realized that I am below you, kissing up at you. It gives you the strangest sensation of floating. You looked to the side, trying to see past my face, trying to find something to focus on, trying to regain your sense of equilibrium. You realize that I have crouched down in front of you and you are indeed kissing down at me. You are pulled after me as I lower myself still further, until your contact with the floor is lost and you are, in fact, floating...balanced unsteadily as you lay across the stool.
Your hands remain on my wrists as you pull me to you, both to keep your balance and to manage the pressure on your nipples. Then, without warning, the pressure is gone; but so are my hands. You grab at the stool legs to keep from falling forward over the top and find yourself trapped; not wanting to fall but not able to push yourself back up. You looked up into my smiling face as I pick up a short piece of bright white rope from where it is laying on the floor and calmly began to turn loop after loop around your wrist and then two more around the bottom rung of the stool, tying it off tightly. A sense of helpless fear washes over you, but you find yourself grinding your hips against the soft leather once again. You watch, dazed, whimpering softly, as I pick up another piece of the rope and casually tie you other wrist to its corresponding leg...three loops, two loops, a knot...and you are bound to your wood and leather prison completely. Only now do you let go of one stool leg, for just a moment, to tug at the rope around your wrist, as if testing the reality of your situation.
Another pitiful moan escapes your throat as the fetter holds tight. You try to look back up at me but I have moved to your side and your long hair has slipped down over your head and hangs loosely all around your face, creating a heavy veil through which you can see almost nothing at all. The only thing that you can see clearly as you hang draped over the stool is through the legs of it, to whatever is directly behind you, which at the moment is only a pile of clothing and the heavy, bolted door.
You feel my breath on the back of your neck, warm and moist, as I kiss you there tenderly. A gentle kiss and then an equally gentle nip, your skin drawn into my mouth first by my teeth and then my lips sucking at it. A fresh wave of goose bumps wash over you at my soft touch. I repeat the kiss a little farther down your neck, and then again yet another inch or so farther along...and again... I follow the stepping-stones of your spine across the writhing flesh of your back, moving closer and closer to your bottom, now raised and completely exposed to me as you lay across your perch. You instinctively clench your cheeks together tightly as my lips move to the dimples on either side of your tailbone. And then I am behind you, murmuring just loud enough for you to pick the words out between the pounding of your heart in your ears, telling your how perfect....how flawless...your bottom is, how the skin is like pink silk against my lips. I kiss one side and then the other, back and forth, lower and closer together each time. You gasp as my lips brush against the folds of your labia peeping out between your legs. Then I am kissing my way down the length of one of your legs. The feeling is exquisite, and you close your eyes again, losing yourself in the sensuousness of it, so much so that you hardly feel it as I loop the third piece of rope around your ankle and fastened it to the stool.
By the time I have kissed my way up your captured leg and down the other one, you no longer care when I reach for the final piece of rope. In fact, you long for it, wondering, with an intoxicating mixture of desire and trepidation what will happen next, now that you are completely in my power...your body exposed and open to my every whim.
My hands are at your ankles, exploring the textures of rope and flesh with my finger-tips. You look back through the legs of the stool and see me kneeling behind you. You see the light brown wood of the stool legs, the pale color of your legs behind them, and the bright white of the nylon rope holding them together. My hands, darker than all the rest, slowly move up from your ankles, stroking the velvet-soft skin. You close your eyes, shutting out everything but the feelings of my touch on you.
You feel my lips on your body once again as I began to kiss you with tiny, light pecks. It feels like little butterflies fluttering against you as the softness of my lips and the tickle of my short beard land here and there along your upper thighs and round bottom again and again. My kisses encircle your sex completely but only tease you with the nearness of them. My hands reach the tender backs of your knees and I push them apart, forcing them to the outside edges of the stool legs.
You lean forward slightly and arch your back, lifting yourself higher, making your sex more available to me. The circle I am kissing tightens and soon I find your center, kissing and licking lightly along your labia. You grit your teeth and pushed yourself towards me, opening yourself as much as you can as a raw, animalistic lust overtakes you. A moment of panic clouds your mind as you realize that you are no longer in control of even your own emotions, the very core of your being, a feeling you hate, but you find yourself surrendering to it, as well, and soon savage, guttural sounds fill the small room as my tongue finds and tapped maddeningly at the swelling nub of your clitoris.
My hands are on your bottom now, clutching and pulling the halves apart, and my nose and lips are pressed into your sex as my tongue continues its erotic dance with your trembling sex. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you approached your orgasm. Please, you think, Don't stop. Let my torture be ended...don't stop.
You pull up hard against each of your fetters with all of your strength, pulling yourself into the padding of the stool, intensifying the feeling of the restraints, of being held tightly, as much as possible as the orgasm rips through you. Your release comes in the form of a scream, so loud and shrill that it frightens you, but I am unfazed and relentless as I ride the orgasm to its shuddering conclusion and began coaxing another from you almost immediately. Your ears ring from the piercing sound caught in the small room. A scream, you think, I've never screamed before, no matter how good it was...
A sound comes to your ears through the fog of your declining orgasm. A rough, scraping sound. Through your tingling nerve ends you feel a sudden, short movement forward. Your body continues to wriggle atop the stool, responding to my expert attention. I press deeper and the stool slips forward again. The thought of me following your around the room on my knees as you ride the stool comes to your mind unexpectedly and you began to giggle weakly. You bite down on your tongue. No, you think, Don't do anything to spoil this. You feel the next wave build in intensity, and you close your eyes again.
The stool slips forward once again but stops suddenly, short of its usual distance. You opened your eyes and look down. The foot of the stool stands against the lip of the next stone; one slightly higher than the one the stool is on. As you are looking at this, your eyes half close, a slight smile on your lips, as the wave continues to heighten, you feel the stool move forward again, but the foot remained where it was; trapped against the higher stone. You look back at the rear legs and see that they are off the floor by more than an inch. Instinctively you raise your hand to catch yourself if the stool actually does fall over, but the movement is cut short by the rope around your wrist, holding you fast.
For a full second, an eternity, your mind stumbles over and around the facts being thrown at it. Your hand remains open, frozen, reaching out, as you balance tentatively on the two forward legs your perch. Your orgasm rises up, engulfing your like a dark cloud. You gasp aloud, "Oh God!" as the realization of the danger you are in finally comes to you. You press yourself frantically backwards, away from the fall, toward me. Your fear holds the crushing wave at bay until the stool drops back to the floor with a solid Thump! The orgasm that follows, fueled not simply by lust and libido, but with a jolt of adrenaline, roars through your body uncontrolled, shaking you like a dog would shake a rag. You can hear nothing...see nothing.
Your not sure if you had fainted or not, as you come to yourself once again, or whether your body had simply collapsed from the sheer intensity of your orgasm. You hang limply, unable to move and feel my hands on you again, higher up, nearer your hips. When had I stood up? You try to lift your head but are still unable to.
You feel another strange shift in reality as it seems suddenly that things are moving faster than you can grasp.
You try to collect yourself and focus on what is happening. You are aware of my hands on you; no longer low, at the crease between bottom and thigh, but almost on top, pushing down, pushing you...away from me. You are also aware of my manhood nestled between the round orbs of your backside. You shudder. Not there! You have never been taken there. Was this what he had wanted all along? You feel the stool rise as it lifted on two legs once again. You hold your breath. I am holding you. You think “He wouldn't let you fall”. “He wouldn't.” You feel my sex slide along the split as I pushed you forward. It was a lewd, nasty feeling having it there. You are moving forward still, and even though you know that it is useless, you opened your hands again, fingers spread wide, and pull against the bonds.
You feel the hard shaft follow the course it is in still further until the contact between my flesh and yours is a mere point at the fullest part of your bottom. Finally, as you whimper, knowing that you are very close to the point that you will fall no matter what I do to stop it, you feel my sex drop from its touch with you and then I am pulling you back. You gasp, first in relief as you feel yourself being brought back from the edge, and then again as you feel me enter you.
You lift your head, your lips part, and wait for me to drive up into you. Your heart is pounding. You moan as you realize I am holding you in place, not letting you move forward or backward. You are being torn apart by the competing needs of fear and desire - each trying to control completely your thoughts and emotions.
My strong hands hold you tight, rocking you back and forth gently. You whimper, "Please. Oh God ....please!" as you hang over your perch in a teetering balance, but you don’t know which you are pleading for more: to be taken from the terror you are feeling or to be taken by the turgid shaft that stayed, teasingly, at the entrance to your sex. And then I let go of you and you are falling.
You fall back towards me and are impaled. There was no other word you can think of to describe what is happening to you. This was not the hard thrust of a lover's hip. This was a driving locomotive slamming into you, overpowering your, rending both body and spirit. You clamped down on me as hard as you can but it does nothing to slow the ruthless penetration of your body. Your scream ends only when the feet of the heavy stool crashed to the floor and your bottom slams against my lower belly, pushing me back with the impact.
Your eyes are wide, your mouth open in shocked surprise as the stool clatters to a standstill. This can't be! you think, Not like this! My hands are on your again, pushing you up, pushing your away. As I slide from within you, you moan and try to drive the feeling away. I push you higher, and then release you, letting your fall onto me again. Our bodies shake with the force of the collision. Again I lift and again you fall. No. No. No. My voice comes to your like a caress, like a gentle, sweet kiss.
"Cum, my darling. Cum hard. Give me your desire. Give me your release."
The orgasm engulfs you...devours you. Your submission to it is your complete and total submission to me. I am your teacher...your lover...your Master. The electricity flows freely through your veins and you become aware that I have lifted you again and am thrusting into your with short, frantic stabbing motions. A low gasp and I am flooding you with my seed. You realize that you are sobbing.
And then, somehow, you are free of the stool and in my lap, my arms around you holding you tightly to me, my voice in your ear, whispering your name and of my devotion to you. Your arms are across your chest as I hold you, rocking you, as if you are a child; and, like a child, you feel the safety and security...the love...that you have missed for so long. I brush your tears lightly from your cheek and kiss you tenderly. I looked deeply into your eyes and whisper, "I will do anything you want me to. Anything"
You nod slowly and slip your arms around my waist, pressing your cheek into my chest. Fresh tears flow as you feel your heart swell. Images flood your mind, images that such a short time ago would have horrified you, and you know that what you 'wanted' has changed much in the last hour. You glance up at the glass case on the wall and sniffed again at the aroma of the scented candles, and you know that neither your desires nor you will ever be the same again.