Chapter 8

 

 

 

 

December 12, 1961

I’ve been moping around for a few days at work. It’s been too long since Mr. Stevenson used the ruler. As odd as it is to even write these words, I miss the sting, the sexual humiliation, the erotic power of the interaction. I feel so alive when I’m being punished. I guess that isn’t really much of a punishment, is it?

Lately I’ve been taking matters into my own hands again. I purposely left a sentence out of a letter yesterday. This morning I sloshed his coffee. This afternoon I forgot to bring in a key file.

The one thing I didn’t do, didn’t dare to do, was come out and ask for it. Admit aloud to him that I was craving the sweet heat of that ruler on my bottom. Or, let’s be totally honest here, Livvie—I can’t stop thinking about the flogger. The way the leather smacked down across my flesh—how it heated me up from the inside out.

Am I sick? Am I wicked?

Mr. Stevenson assures me this is all perfectly natural, and I want to believe him. Submission, he says, freely given and lovingly taken, is the ultimate sensual expression. What evil or harm can there be in a consensual exchange of power? And when he says it, it makes sense.

But it’s a lonely business, this secret submission to my boss. I should be sharing my discovery with my husband. Obviously, that’s not possible, ever, on any level. Even if I left out what I’m doing at work, even if I just tried to add more “spice” into our sex life, Frank would be confused and horrified. He would never understand, not in a million years. Not that I blame him. He has no frame of reference.

So. I just have to keep these two worlds separate.

Back to Mr. Stevenson, he finally called me to account after one coffee slosh too many. “Olivia,” he said in that dangerous, sexy way he has when I’m in trouble.

Biting back a squeal of excitement, I entered his office, trying to look calm, my face a mask of innocence, though my panties were already damp with expectation. “Yes, Sir?”

But instead of ordering me to lift my skirt and bend over the desk or go stand in the corner, he said, “We need to talk. Please sit down.”

Was this a new game? What were the rules? I took a seat in front of his desk, curious.

He regarded me for a long while, looking into me in that way he has that makes me feel completely naked—body and soul. “Olivia,” he finally said. “I know what you’re doing. And I even understand why you’re doing it. You have come to crave the very punishments that are designed to prevent you from making the careless mistakes that you are now making on purpose. Am I correct?”

I started to deny it, even though it was true, but he cut me off.

“Please. If you’re going to lie and pretend not to understand, save us both time and go back to your desk. I want you to be honest, my dear. And to tell you the truth, I am not displeased that you have come to long for the pain and erotic humiliation that you now appreciate can deeply intensify any erotic interaction.”

Yes. He really talks like that.

He leaned forward, his expression earnest, even vulnerable. “I think it’s time we dispense with these little games, because that’s really what they are.” He smiled a little as he added, “We do actually have a law practice to run, and I hate to think you’re making errors just to satisfy your lust.”

I ducked my head, feeling like a fool. The man understands me sometimes better than I do myself.

His voice grew gentle. “Though we haven’t talked about it, what we shared that night at the hotel was unique. I will admit to you that I’ve pulled back some because I was afraid of the intensity of our—of my—feelings. The very nature of a relationship like ours can be so intense that sometimes one can confuse the sensual desire and need to submit or dominate with actual love.”

I looked up at this. Was he saying he was in love with me? Or that he didn’t dare to fall in love with me? Did he think I was in love with him?

“We’re both married,” I blurted. “We can’t possibly be in love with each other.” Even as I said the disingenuous words, I knew how ridiculous it sounded.

But he looked relieved. “No, of course not,” he agreed. “We have lives outside of this office. I like to think of this as our private sanctuary. We do share a kind of love, but it isn’t something either of us can afford to actualize in any deeper sense. Any permanent sense. That is, uh, I mean, uh…”

Color began to creep up his face. Mr. Stevenson actually seemed to be at a loss for words—a definite first.

Of course I knew what he was trying to say. I took pity on the poor man and spelled it out for him. “You mean you don’t want me to get the wrong idea and think we’re having a love affair that’s going to lead to us ditching our spouses and running off together.”

“Well, uh,” he mumbled.

I barreled on. “Well, don’t you worry, Mr. Stevenson. We’re on the same page. I’ve got three kids who need their daddy, and despite what we have here, whatever that is, I love my husband.”

He looked so relieved it was almost comical. “Then we do understand one another,” he said, regaining his usual poise. “Which is excellent, as the new phase of your training may make you particularly vulnerable, and I would never want to take advantage of that.”

The new phase of my training! Well, and about time, too.

“Going forward,” he continued, “I’ll still punish you if I feel it necessary, but you’re ready to move to a new level of submission. I’m going to teach you the pleasure of pain.”

The pleasure of pain.

The words still echo in my head.

My brain instantly tried to tell me that sentence didn’t compute, and that pain by definition is not pleasurable, but my body and soul quietly smiled, opening themselves to his words and his promise.

 

Later: I keep going to the bathroom to look at my bottom. I know I should be horrified, but I’m actually thrilled at the delicate bruises left from the spanking. I’ll need to be careful when getting in and out of the shower if Frank’s in the bathroom, though I guess I could always say I took a tumble.

You’d think a spanking wouldn’t hurt as much as flogging with an actual whip, but you’d be wrong. When it first started, I certainly didn’t appreciate the “pleasure” of the pain. It just plain hurt.

After our little talk, Mr. Stevenson got to his feet and went over to his couch. He directed me to approach him and ordered me to remove not only my skirt, but my panties, too.

I took off my skirt and the pink satin panties I’d chosen for that day and laid them neatly on the back of a chair. I stood before him, my hands covering my privates, blushing like a fool.

“Hands at your sides,” he directed. “Let me see you. Stand calmly in a relaxed stance. Offer yourself to me. You are my possession to regard and admire.”

His possession? Excuse me?

That’s what my brain said.

My body whispered, Yes. Yes, please, Sir.

Aloud, I said nothing. I just did as I was told.

He raked my bare lower half with a detached expression, though I swear his icy blue eyes were sparkling.

It’s hard to describe the potent mixture of arousal and humiliation I experienced as he ogled me as if I were an object. A sex object. But I was damned if I’d let him know how difficult it was for me. I stood my ground, chin raised high, eyes fixed on the middle distance.

Finally, he patted his knees and said, “Come over here. Lie across my lap. I’m going to give you your first proper spanking, slave. I’m going to spank you until I’m ready to stop. You can cry out as much as you wish, but I don’t want you wriggling away or telling me to stop. Those are not your prerogatives. I will decide when you’ve had enough.”

He waited as I draped myself somewhat awkwardly over his knees, my cheek resting against the couch cushions. My heart was pounding like a drum in my chest.

I had wanted this.

Hadn’t I?

Be careful what you wish for…

He placed his palm on my lower back. His touch made me jump at first, but as he stroked and soothed me, I began to calm down.

“This will be your first test in this new phase of submission. The spanking will hurt, make no mistake, but I want you to focus on the pleasure of the pain. I want you to experience it as sensation. Erotic sensation. And know that you will be pleasing your Master, because this is what I want for you. I want to hurt you, but in a way that gives us both pleasure.”

Sounds like gobbledygook, right? Utter nonsense.

No. Only to the uninitiated. To me, it made perfect sense.

Beneath his wool trousers, his erection bulged against my thigh, which pleased me. He can pretend to be cool as a cucumber, but it turns out he’s still a man, after all.

He began lightly at first, patting my bottom more than anything, and then slowly building up the intensity. I was reminded of the flogging, and my skin seemed to remember too. It was tingling with anticipation. I wanted to experience the spanking, though I was also genuinely scared to receive it. What if I made a fool of myself?

Then came the first real smack, his hard palm cracking across my bottom. The sound of flesh on flesh resounded in the room, along with the sharp sting.

I yelped.

He placed his other hand on the back of my neck to keep me still.

You can handle this, I told myself. You can do it. And at first, I could. But after twenty or so swats, it was really stinging. My poor bottom was on fire. I began to whimper, but when I brought my hands instinctively back to protect myself, he slapped them away.

It wasn’t long before I forgot all about being a good, obedient slave girl. I had thought I understood about pain easing into erotic pleasure, but this just plain hurt! I was wriggling around, crying real tears now, but on and on it went. I begged him to let me up, to stop, but he ignored me.

“Take it, slave,” he admonished in a husky voice. “It’s what you need. It’s what you were born for.”

Then the strangest thing happened. Somehow, those words—it’s what you were born for—zapped my panic away. I was able to catch my breath, and I became more aware of the heat building in my sex, mingling in a powerful way with the pain. I began to perceive it differently—not as something to be avoided at all costs, but to receive, to embrace.

Maybe it was just that my perception had changed, but then, isn’t perception everything?

All I know is, the pain was no longer something to be avoided. It had shifted somehow. Not to pleasure precisely, but to something more than that. Some kind of blend that was stronger than either pleasure or pain alone. This was what he was talking about.

I was no longer struggling or whimpering. I felt relaxed, almost as if I were in some kind of trance. I could still feel his hand crashing down against my bottom, but I no longer wanted him to stop. I loved what he was doing.

I craved it.

Longed for it.

Needed it.

When his hand slipped between my legs, I spread my thighs without a trace of self-consciousness and moaned aloud, giving myself over to his skilled fingers.

I can’t describe precisely what happened. Words fail.

I just know I wanted what he was doing, and I didn’t want it to stop. His use of the term “slave” is more apt than he knows.

As I write this, I realize I am afraid.

Where is this going? How long can it continue?

~*~

One day several weeks into their relationship, Ryan invited Tess to stay the night at his place. His roommate, Peter, was out of town, and they’d finally have the place to themselves. Tess had yet to meet Peter and his girlfriend, Amy. Trying to find a time when the four of them, all with busy work schedules, could get together, had been like trying to herd cats. She was kind of glad, though, that Ryan and she would have the place to themselves the first time she came over.

Though they’d parked in his garage, he led her around the house to the front door to give her the full effect, which she found oddly touching. She’d half expected a stereotypical bachelor pad, with clothes, empty pizza boxes and beer cans strewn about, but the place was pristine. The high-ceilinged living room was tastefully furnished with soft red leather couches and chairs. The floors were dark hardwood, with handspun rugs placed here and there, and large abstract paintings on the walls.

“Your place is gorgeous,” Tess enthused. “Maybe you missed your calling as an interior decorator,” she added with a laugh.

“I can’t take the credit. My mom helped me with the place. She’s an architect. She has a good eye for space and color.”

“Maybe I could get her to come to my place next time she’s in town,” Tess replied, only half joking.

As they entered the kitchen, Tess couldn’t help but comment, “Wow, even the kitchen is spotless. You guys are much neater than I am.”

Ryan shook his head with a rueful grin. “It won’t last. We have a maid who comes in once a week. Yesterday was her day.”

As Tess took in the gleaming granite counters and stainless steel appliances, she asked, “Does anyone ever cook in here?”

Ryan grinned. “I heat up takeout in the microwave. Peter’s a fantastic cook, though. Sometimes I think I should sell him this place and find somewhere new, since Amy practically lives here when he’s in town.” He opened a bottle of chardonnay and poured a glass for Tess.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said, a sudden mischievous glint in his eye that gave Tess pause.

She took a sip of the cold, crisp wine. “Oh, yeah?” she replied, her stomach swooping with excited anticipation. “Tell me.”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you.”

He led her down a hall to what looked like an exercise room, complete with an elliptical, a stationary bicycle and a pile of free weights. “Leave your shoes at the door,” he instructed, slipping out of his loafers as she kicked off her sandals. As they entered the room, Tess caught her breath at what she saw in the far corner.

Two thick metal chains hung from large hooks mounted in the ceiling, black leather wrists cuff dangling at the ends. A two-foot metal rod lay on the ground beneath them, a cuff attached at either end. A large, black leather flogger rested in an umbrella stand nearby.

“What in the world?” Tess breathed, awestruck. “Where did you get this stuff?”

“The Stockroom, online. I placed a rush delivery because I can’t wait to use it on you.”

Tess hugged herself. Ryan had become increasingly dominant in the bedroom, and she thrilled to each new experience as he had introduced light bondage and spanking to their repertoire. But this was a whole other level. “Ryan, I don’t know,” she said in a small voice, both terrified and thrilled at the prospect of being bound and flogged by her lover.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he said, reaching for the fly of her jeans. “I do.” He pulled her jeans down her legs, along with her panties. He lifted the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, and then reached back to unclasp her bra.

Tess stood passively as Ryan undressed her. She felt dizzy, but it wasn’t the wine.

Ryan pulled off his shirt, revealing his sexy, smooth chest, and Tess’s nipples hardened in response. He took her into his arms and gave her a long, lingering kiss. When he let her go, he stared down into her eyes. “It’s time, Tess. Time to take you to the next level.”

He led her to the corner and crouched beside the metal rod. “This is called a spreader bar. It will help keep you in position while I flog you. Stand over it and spread your legs so I can cuff your ankles.”

She obeyed as if in a dream, allowing Ryan to cuff her ankles onto either end of the bar. It felt awkward to have her legs forcibly spread, and it was hard to keep her balance.

Getting to his feet, Ryan lifted her arms one at a time and cuffed her wrists so she was pulled taut, spread eagle and utterly helpless before her Master. Tess’s cunt was tingling, her breath already coming fast, though he hadn’t yet touched her with the flogger. Could she handle this? What if she freaked out?

Ryan picked up the flogger and held it out so she could see it, drawing his fingers through the long, leather tresses, which were shiny and black, knotted securely at the handle.

He lifted the flogger handle to her lips. “Kiss the whip as proof of your willingness to suffer for me. Kiss the whip that’s going to mark you.” The words were alarming, and something in his tone was different than before—sharper and darker.

Panic rose suddenly in Tess’s gut and she jerked against her restraints. “Ryan, you’re scaring me,” she gasped.

He lowered the flogger, his expression softening with concern. Bending down, he lightly kissed her lips. “Shh, calm down,” he said gently. “You can trust me, Tess. You know I love you and would never harm you. But you also know we’re ready for the next level. I want this to be real for both of us. Yes, I am going to flog you, but I’ll only give you what you can handle. If it’s too much, you can use a safeword. We’ll keep it simple. If you feel panicky, and like I’m not listening to you, just say red light, okay? I’ll stop whatever I’m doing immediately.”

“Red light,” she repeated, suddenly thrilled that she had her own personal safeword. Yes, she did trust Ryan. And yes, she did want to go to this new level. “Yes. Yes, okay.”

Ryan lifted the whip again. “Kiss the whip, Tess.”

Charlotte always had to kiss Sir Jonathan’s chosen instrument of torture before he used it on her.

Tess brushed the soft leather with her lips.

Ryan reached for the back of her head and drew her into a passionate kiss.

She kissed him back, her entire body on fire with lust and excitement. She was still scared, but somehow that only added to her excitement.

Finally, Ryan let her head go and took a step back. His cock was clearly outlined in his jeans, and her mouth actually watered at the sight.

The flogger still in his hand, he stepped behind Tess.

She bit her lower lip in nervous anticipation.

The leather whooshed down over her ass, and she jerked reflexively, though the sting was light and easy to tolerate.

He struck her again, this time a little harder—a little surer. “You good?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, though her heart was pounding.

He began to smack her ass in a steady beat of leather against flesh, each stroke a little harder than the last. It stung, yes, but it also felt good, or, more accurately, it felt right.

Then he struck her hard across both cheeks, the tips curling painfully around her left hip. Tess cried out, trying to twist away, though bound as she was, she couldn’t move.

“Breathe,” Ryan said. “Flow with it. You’re doing great. You were born for this.”

Tess drew in a shuddery breath and released it.

“Again,” Ryan urged. “Yes. That’s better. I’m going to whip you harder now. I want you to accept what I give you. Remember it pleases me to make you suffer in this way.”

His words skipped her brain and lodged directly in her bones, which melted with raw lust as she sagged in her chains. Yes. Yes, yes, yes, a voice shouted inside her soul, though all she could manage aloud was to pant.

He struck her hard, the leather crashing against her skin in a rippling sound, and she cried out in response. The pain was real, but the dark lust just beneath was real, too. She wanted it. She needed it. She never wanted it to stop.

But when the stinging leather moved its way up Tess’s back, she yelped and jerked, pulled from whatever trance she’d been in. “Ow,” she yelled, trying in vain to twist away from the lash. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears, and she would have fallen to her knees if she hadn’t been held in leather and chains.

“You can do it, Tess. You are doing it,” Ryan said, his voice deep and masterful. “You’re taking this for me. For your Master.” The flogger moved back down to her ass, striking with force.

Tess’s mind had stopped processing. She was raw feeling—stinging pain, hot, needy passion, aching sexual desire.

It was too much—too much, and not enough. Give me more. No, no, stop. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop…

“No,” she murmured softly, barely aware she was speaking. “No, no, no, no…” It wasn’t a plea, but more of an incantation, which shifted as he continued the flogging to, “Yes, yes, yes, yes…”

Finally, pushed to the very edge of what she could tolerate, Tess begged in a hoarse, ragged voice, “Please. Please fuck me!”

At last Ryan dropped the flogger. He brought his arms around her and pressed his body against her heated flesh. “You are so perfect,” he breathed in her ear. He kissed her neck. His erection was hard against her burning ass. “I am so, so proud of you.”

Dropping his arms, he appeared in front of her, his green eyes filled with love and fire. “I have to have you. Now.”

Crouching, he released her ankles from the spreader bar and then stood, reaching up to undo her wrist cuffs. He caught her as she sagged forward, exhausted but elated. He lifted her into his arms and carried her from the room and down the hall to the bedroom.

He set her gently on the bed. Though the sheets were soft, she winced as her heated flesh made contact. She forgot her discomfort as she watched him strip.

His cock was hard, his eyes flashing with fiery lust. With a primal growl, he fell on top of her, scooping her into his arms and kissing her mouth as his body sought hers.

She was sopping wet and more than ready when he entered her. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in deeper. He fucked her hard, each thrust sending a spiral of raw pleasure through her loins.

Tess clung to him, mewling with rising passion. Their bodies were slick with sweat, and Ryan was panting with lust. “You’re mine,” he whispered fiercely. “You belong to me now, completely.”

“Yes,” she cried as he lifted her into the arc of a powerful climax. “Yes, Sir. I do.”