At eleven thirty the next morning the limo was waiting outside my brownstone. The driver ushered me into the car as quiet and stoic as ever. We rode in silence until we reached Drake's floor.
I stepped out of the elevator, clutching my "offering" to my chest. After an hour of pondering I chose not to gift-wrap it, deciding it was ludicrous to decorate a sacrifice. I doubt the Roman's spent time putting a bow around a lamb's neck before offering it to the gods. Eventually I stuffed it into a plain brown bag.
Drake stood waiting for me. "Is that your offering?" He asked, gesturing to the bag.
"Yes," I said holding it out to him.
Reaching into the bag he pulled out my humble sacrifice. It was a vase that had been passed down to my grandmother, and she had given it to me. It was simple, with no real financial value but I felt pangs of guilt handing it over.
Drake smiled, "You feel guilty don't you?" He said, "Giving up something with such tremendous sentimental value?"
"Yes," I said nodding, "It's been in my family a very long time."
"Guilt and remorse have no value. They're shackles that will keep you from reaching your potential. You must un-learn those emotions to succeed. Yesterday you did things you never imagined, and with a total stranger no less. Later when you were alone, did you feel guilt?"
"Yes," I said, being honest, "I felt like I whored myself out."
"And was that really why you felt guilty?"
"No… I felt guilty because I enjoyed it."
"You see, the guilt was a useless exercise because you wanted to do it again anyway."
He was right, I had no reason to feel guilt over what I did. It's better to accept that I wanted more and enjoy it.
"So are you ready to begin?" He asked.
"So ready."
"Good," He said, leading me by the hand. Then he paused, "You're not afraid of heights are you?"
"I don't think so."
"Excellent," He replied, and led me to his private sanctum.
Moments later we were in the Rumpus Room, Mahler's symphony playing in the background. Drake carefully placed my offering on the shelf, next to so many others. I pondered who these women might be. Once again Drake read my mind.
"You'll meet all of these women on your climb to the top though you will never know each other's names."
Then he kissed me gently, "Thank you for this beautiful item."
We kissed again, passion rising as our tongue wound tightly. My nervousness vanished, replaced by fierce desire. Why did this man have such power over my emotions? My breath came in short, shallow gasps and my heart was racing.
Drake stepped back for a moment, grabbing the hem of my dress. He pulled, tearing the fabric, leaving me naked.
"You didn't wear lingerie today?" He observed, pleased at my choice.
I just nodded my head, and we kissed again. I ran my hands under his shirt, feeling the solid muscles beneath.
"You may undress me this time," He said.
I slid his T-Shirt over his head and was about to toss it aside until I saw the disapproving look in his eye. I carefully folded the shirt, placing it on a nearby chair.
"Now the pants," He said.
I unbuckled his belt and slid his pants to the floor. He had also forsaken underwear today and his stiff cock bobbed up an inch from my face. I wanted to touch it, stroke it and taste it but I knew my duties. I carefully folded the pants, but intentionally did it wrong, ignoring the crease. I turned to place it on the chair and felt a sharp smack across my ass.
Drake swung his hand back, smacking my bottom again.
"You did it incorrectly. Try again."
Once again I folded them wrong, earning another smack across my bottom. The sensation of his hand smacking my butt sent a warm rush through my pussy. After a few more smacks I folded the pants correctly.
Sitting down on an armless chair Drake gestured me to him, "Come here, and lie down across my knee."
I bent over, placing myself across his knee like a disobedient schoolgirl. His hand came down with a sharp smack. His hard cock poked my belly as he spanked me again.
"You deliberately disobeyed me didn't you? Why?"
"I wanted to be punished," I moaned, enjoying that stiff cock pressing against my tummy. He gave me another hard spank.
"Now stand up," He commanded.
He rose, walking to the center of the room. A network of ropes was suspended from the ceiling as if designed for a giant marionette. He tugged at them, ensuring they were secure.
"Come," He commanded.
I obeyed. Drake wrapped the first rope around my waist, securing it tightly. The ropes were soft, never biting into my skin.
"This is called Shibari, the ancient Japanese art of rope bondage," He said, pulling another rope tautly across my mid-section.
He adjusted the main rope, lowering it from the ceiling, allowing me to lie on a bamboo mat. Drake pulled my hands behind my back, securing them with another set of suspended ropes. Drake’s hands gently stroked my skin between tying knots. Once again the maddening contrast of gentle caresses with punishment sent waves of pleasure through me.
The ropes continued, a complex spider web of knots rendering me immobile on the bamboo mat. Drake was meticulous, checking each line ensuring tautness but never tearing at my skin. I lay there, breathless, panting, and unsure of what was to come.
"The beauty of Shibari is that it renders you completely helpless," Drake said, kneeling beside me, "It requires total surrender to my will. If you can't accept that I'll cut the ropes and you can leave."
"I want to stay," I moaned, lying on my stomach, unable to move.
He kissed my cheek and walked to the corner of the room. There was an elaborate network of ropes tied off, extending to pulleys on the ceiling. Carefully he loosened one and pulled. My body rose slowly. Drake's knots were precise, distributing my weight perfectly. There was no pain or pulling of muscles. Only helplessness… the way a fly must feel suspended in a spider's web. I only hung a few feet off the ground, but I still had to fight off panic. I craned my head trying to see, but the movement sent me into a slow spin. I did one complete revolution until Drake's hand brought me to a stop. Poised in front of me was his hard cock. He inched forward allowing my lips to kiss his penis. Drake moved his hips back and forth, fucking my mouth, while letting his fingers dance across my inner thighs. Every sensation was intensified by the helplessness of being suspended face down, hands secured behind my back in a spider web of ropes.
My sucking grew too aggressive, sending my body into another dizzying spin. Again Drake's gentle touch stopped the whirling. This time he was behind me, fingers probing my sopping wet pussy.
"Oh god," I moaned, overwhelmed, "Please Drake, fuck me!"
"If I do that you'll feel guilty later… won't you?"
No… no guilt, never again!"
Drake pressed the head of his cock against my pussy, allowing the tip to slide in. With my amplified senses that inch might as well have been a foot.
"Oh yes, yes," I cried out, thrilled that Drake was finally inside me.
He shifted gently, slipping another inch into me. He grabbed my upturned ankles, rocking my suspended body back and forth, sliding in more cock with each swing. Sheer inertia drove his cock in deeper, his thighs pressed against me as he thrust. My body shook, spasms of pleasure firing through every muscle of my body, every synapse of my brain.
How long did I hang there, feeling orgasms roaring through me? It was a transcendent experience… then it stopped. His still hard cock slipped out of me. I hung there, listening to the sound of my breathing.
Drake knelt down in front of me, his face inches from mine, "Do you understand why guilt is such a destructive force?"
"It robs you of your pleasure," I gasped. Being suspended and helpless made honesty a reflex.
"Exactly," He replied. Drake was holding a riding crop. Was I about to be spanked again? Could I endure any more stimulation? But the end of the riding crop wasn't hard leather; it was an array of soft feathers. Drake began to run it across my body. He wasn't tickling me; it felt more like soft caresses. Each one went through me like a string of firecrackers exploding.
"I promised to teach you Rebecca, so listen closely," He said, running the feather across my back. "Guilt will rob you of more than pleasure. Let me give you an example. Right now I'm preparing to take over the New England Tool Company. I quietly bought up all the shares of stock and did everything possible to inflate its value." He continued stroking me with the feather, breaking down my will with each stroke, "Now I'm going to sell all those shares and break the company apart. I'll sell its assets and make even more money. Most people would experience guilt, worrying about all those people's jobs and pensions, about all the shareholders that will get stuck with nothing. But that's weak thinking… poor man's thinking. By eliminating guilt I can succeed."
Drake knew I was a "power groupie" who loved hearing these stories. To me this was hot dirty talk, enhancing my pleasure even more. Drake continued talking, each story giving me warm chills.
He became silent and stepped out of my limited line of sight. Oh god, I thought, is he going to leave me here? But I felt my body lowering, until I was lying on the bamboo mat listening to Mahler's symphony draw to a close. Slowly and methodically he untied the ropes. With each loosened knot I felt my body going limp, exhausted. Totally spent from an overdose of pleasure. He gently picked me up and carried me to the couch as he had the day before. We lay there for a few minutes, saying nothing until I slipped into a deep blissful sleep.
I woke up alone. Lying there naked I remembered that my dress had been shredded early in the "Lesson." But a beautiful designer ensemble hung by the door… dress, shoes and even a matching handbag. I took the lack of underwear as a hint. Pinned to the hanger was a handwritten note reading "Noon tomorrow. PS - there is another gift waiting at your apartment."