Kara and I lay in bed, sweaty and breathless, the sheets twisted, our bodies intertwined; I savoured that golden moment after sex as ecstasy recedes and the ordinary real world comes back into focus. Then I rolled away onto my stomach and propped myself on my elbows so I could look at her.
She was worth looking at. I had left the strap-on inside her after fucking her and the shaft jutted from her up tiled ass, propped on pillows to make her easier to screw. The round globes of her buttocks were red and ridged from the whipping I had given her before I fucked her, and her prim tight bum glistened with sweat and cunt-juice, hers and mine. Her legs were parted and I could see the beads of wetness on her short shaven cunt-hairs. Her long lithe muscular thighs and calves were wide open, as I’d left them. Her arms were by her sides, palms open in surrender. Her slim waist and wide shoulders heaved as she panted for breath. Her short-cropped black hair shone with sweat, her lovely face buried in the pillow. She groaned and stretched, then reached back and slowly withdrew the dildo from her anus; then she rolled over to look at me.
“Christ, Carla, when I asked you to fuck me . . .”
“I took you at your word, Kara, my darling.”
“I’ll say.” She held my gaze and then blushed and lowered her eyes.
Beauty is over-rated in my view; it’s common, so many women are physically attractive these days. Conversely, so many men are not conventionally handsome. But there’s something else, far rarer and more mysterious than physical attractiveness, that intrigues me and draws me in. That is the other person’s need for sex, the hunger, the passion to take and be taken, to give oneself to another person, to take possession of another. The subtly visible signs of this arouse me far more than beauty. To me they are beauty beyond beauty. As I looked at Kara I could see that her need to be fucked went deep, and showed itself in her body, displayed for me; in the expression in her sweet cornflower-blue eyes, the upcurve of her wide full lips, the swelling breasts and strong nipples, her smooth belly, the contoured shaven bush and her crimson, swollen cuntlips. She parted her legs for me and I reached out and drew my finger slowly along her proffered pussy, from her anus to her clitoris. Her head went back at once, her shoulders back, breasts thrust out. She gasped with desire and her thighs parted.
I savoured my power over the most famous dominatrix in London. But then, as Bob Dylan said, “you’ve got to serve somebody”; and I myself was due to be flogged and fucked that night. A very demanding client who could be relied on to fuck me senseless, and to bring a few friends along to make sure I got exactly what I deserved and he paid for.
“Sorry, my little sweet slut, I’ve got to go. Big night ahead. Next time.”
She pouted and then smiled.
“Before you go, Carla, listen to this. It’s from Alex.” She took her phone from the bedside table and played me the conversation she’d recorded:
“Hi Kara. Alex.”
“How did you get on with Carla?”
“It was amazing. I can’t wait to see her again next week. But when can I see you?”
“When Carla tells me you’re ready, Alex, not before. Is that clear?”
He hesitated, unused to following rather than giving orders. “OK Kara. Whatever you say.”
His submissiveness was new; a result of my training a few days before. But he had a way to go yet before Kara would accept him into her stable of slaves. I looked forward to taking him there.
I’ve always been submissive, but dominating men was a new thrill, an adventure for me; as being enslaved was for Alex. I had been fantasizing all week about what I was going to do to him. I ran the images over in my mind and instantly my cunt moistened in anticipation. I smiled at Kara, reached for her and ran my hand through her smooth short hair, then cupped her neck roughly and drew her face down between my legs. Obediently, Kara licked and sucked my clit and I lay back, my orgasm gathering, thinking about what I was going to do with my new toy, Alex . . .
*****************************************
She takes from the table two leather collars, large and small. He raises his chin to make it easy for her to fasten the large collar around his neck. The smaller collar she fastens around his root of his cock, cinched below his balls . . . he shivers as her fingers brush his perineum, and she takes his stiff cock in her hands, cupping his balls. Instinctively he moves, seeking to ride her hand to the orgasm he craves.
“Stop”. She takes the ring on the collar around his cock and balls and twists it expertly and measures and controls the pain that surges through him. He stops, stops all movement, stops breathing. She holds him tense, poised with her twisting hand.
“You’ll come when and if I say. Understand?”
“Yes Mistress.”
She lets him go and he gasps with relief. Her hand gently squeezes his cock; he winces at the pressure of her nails. She hurts him again and he stiffens and she goes on hurting him until he relaxes, with en effort. Then she lets his penis go and slaps him once across the face. He bows his head before her.
He remains on his knees before her, hands cuffed, head bowed, mind empty, pain ebbing into peace.
She takes a long thin leather belt from the table and clips it to a ring on his neck-collar, then turns and strides across the room . She does not look back to watch him jerked to his feet and following her. She brings him to the bedroom.
“Kneel on the bed.” He obeys. “Face down”. She pushes him roughly into position, face down, bum raised. As his face presses into the soft quilt he has a sudden flash of the many women who have bared themselves thus for him, compliantly, so he could fuck them. She walks back into the living room, and returns. “Look at this.” He lifts his head and she shows him what looks like a string of large beads. “Think you can take these up your ass?” Her smile is quizzical, patronizing, but her eyes are intent on his, gauging his reaction, his resistance. She watches the indignation rise in him as he almost objects, rebels, then watches his resistance fade again, and smiles, warmly.
“Spread your legs, slave.”
He tenses and suddenly, with delight he feels-- not the first of the beads--but her lubricated finger, gliding over his anus, spreading more lubricant, deliciously cool. A buried memory of delight springs into his mind, vanishes . . . what is happening to me? He asks himself. Then her finger slides deep into his arse and he tenses with pleasure and with the strangeness of the feeling, touched in a place that until now was closed, prohibited. Her invading finger sliding up his arse delights him. He tenses.
She grabs his nape and with her other hand she spanks him, hard, her hand smartly slapping first one buttock, then the other. When she stops he knows what she wants. With an effort of will he relaxes and makes himself open to her. She stokes his bum and when she is satisfied she pushes her finger deep inside him and rotates her finger, opening him, loosening him. He is moaning now and she begins to move her finger in and out, slowly at first and then faster, harder; she is fucking him in the arse with her finger; he moans and gasps and his pelvis moves involuntarily as arousal and excitement flood in him.
“Stop.” This time he doesn’t hesitate; the memory of recent pain allows him to stop moving, even when aroused, immediately, without choice. He realises how he’s being trained. Then he realises that he is past indignation and feels delight, release, a luxury and freedom unknown since he stopped being a child and became a man.
She rewards his obedient stillness with a slow stroking movement inside him that touches something deep in him, a gland perhaps, bringing waves of pleasure. Then she withdraws her finger, slaps him hard on the arse, pulls his bum-cheeks apart and places the first of the beads, or balls, against his anus. He tenses. She slaps him again, even harder, a stinging blow.
“Relax.” The tone of command makes him obey, again before he can think, reaching something deeper in him than choice. He arches his back and relaxes his muscles, opening his arse to her so she can do with him as she wishes. The first ball slides into his arse so easily he is amazed, then the second. The pressure on his cock from the objects up his arse is new, amazing, another wave of pleasure shocking and delightful in its novelty, fresh, unknown to memory. He gasps. She laughs softly. She knows, he says to himself. Then the third ball slides in . . . . his arse feels so full he is suddenly afraid, and groans.
“Ssh, just one more.” Her tone is gentle, delicious; she speaks to him as though he were a beloved animal. At that moment he would do anything for her. The fourth ball is almost more than he can endure . . . not pain but a sensation of being opened up, then filled up to bursting . . . in delirium he flashes on the thought that this is how women must have felt as he pushed his big cock into their bottoms . . . then the balls are all inside and he’s ok, he’s done it. He kneels there and doesn’t move. His face is deep in the quilt, his cuffed hands over his back, his arse lifted, filled, the cord that connects the balls protruding from his anus and lying against his leg.
“Good man. Now your reward.” He feels her hand on his cock, stroking, and then gliding over his balls, then gripping his glans and wanking him with a small, strong, delicate movement that delights him. He moves with her, his whole body following her tugging hand. He feels her fingers caress his distended anus and then suddenly she pulls the cord and the last ball inserted, slippery with lubricant, pops out of his arse.
“Jesus!” The pleasure is incredible. She laughs again, he can hear how much she loves this.
“Stop!” A swift tug on the collar around his cock and balls immobilizes him. He waits. She starts to wank him again, her practiced hand controlling his pleasure, harder and harder and then another ball is pulled out of his anus and he groans with delight and then a third and he feels himself start to come . . .
“No.” Her voice is quiet but somehow it stops him cold. His orgasm subsides and he waits patiently. Again her fingers close over his cock, very gently this time, ringing the tip, two fingernails raking his glans. He surrenders to the pain and when the last ball slides slowly from his arse his pleasure is so deep he hardly notices the pain as her nails press into his stiff prick.
She lets him rest, breathing hard, his hair wet with sweat.
His face is in the pillow and he seems to drift off into a strange, hypnotic space; the intensity of his arousal, and erotic force different from anything in his life before but wanted from boyhood; the glow of delight and frustration in his cock and balls, the strange pleasure of his dilated passage all combine to spin his mind far away.
She lets him rest and then he feels the bed move as she kneels in front of him. He lies prone before her like a worshipper or suppliant and she runs her fingers through his hair. Then suddenly she grips him by the hair and jerks him upwards. Looking up he sees her smooth muscular thighs, the black tights and suspender belt, the black latex girdle and the smooth bulge of her crotch so tight he can see the indentation of her cunt, her slim waist, the crimson basque and her breasts squashed and lifted, swelling over the bodice, her arms gloved to the elbow, one hand in his hair gripping and lifting so that he feels the pain, the other hand holding a cat of nine tails, a short ugly whip with coiled and plaited leather thongs. Her blonde hair is tied back and her face is powerful and serene, beautiful in a way new to him and yet remembered, lost a long time ago but now found again. His mind floods with images, memories. He feels a strange delight and finds himself looking a the whip in her hand. He fears it and yet he wants it; he knows she is going to hurt him and yet he wants the hurt and the subjugation it portends, and he wants what will come after. He craves it. She watches him with that strange smile, accepting, wise, contemptuous, strangely loving; again he has the sense that she can read his mind, that she’s controlling him, or rather accepting his desire to be controlled by her, to surrender completely to her. The thought is thrilling.
Slowly she brings the whip forward so that the thongs fall over his arse; he shivers and his breath catches. He needs it desperately now.
“Please . . .”
“Please what, slave?” She makes him say it. She glides the whip forwards and backwards and he feels the leather sliding over his balls and brushing his anus, then caressing his stiff penis.
“Whip me, Mistress, please . . .” It’s hard to say the words but wonderful once they’re said and the barrier is gone.
She smiles again and slowly raises the whip and then she slices it down on his bare arse and the pain is awful. Then the pleasure is almost unbearable. She makes him wait and then lashes him again and again and grips his hair forcing his face upwards so he can see her face and her arm rising and falling as she beats him. He is groaning with pain and pleasure as the lash falls again and again on his arse and the thongs curl around his buttocks to bring pain like fire to his cock and his balls.
She pauses. He kneels before her drenched in sweat, his arse stinging and on fire, almost in shock from his beating. She looks in his eyes and savours his surrender, her complete power over him, and then slowly she tightens her grip on his hair and brings his face closer to her crotch. He can smell the warm latex and the spicy tang of her cunt beneath. The closeness and the smell of her rich juicy cunt delights him, he longs to worship her. She reaches her whip-hand forward and he watches as she opens the buttoned flap in the belly of her latex girdle, then lets it fall and he can see the v of her thighs and her cunt between, the mons swelling, the short tonsured curly golden hairs of her bush, beaded with drops of juice, the swollen crimson lips of her cunt. Her pussy smells stronger now. He waits and she brings his face forward so his mouth and nose are squashed against her crotch and her thighs close over his ears and squeeze him into her.
“Suck me, slave.”
Blindly he reaches out his tongue and finds her crack and licks her long and hard and then again, tasting her pussy juice, his mouth open. She grunts and shivers.
“Good boy” she says and then she whips him, lightly, on his lifted rump. The blow makes him gasp and he licks her harder, seeking a rhythm to please her. She helps him, whipping his buttocks in time with his rhythm as he licks her cunt. He finds her clit and she grunts again and whips him harder, like a jockey with a racehorse. His mouth is open now and he nuzzles her cunt hard, her hand on his nape forcing him close into her crotch so that he can hardly breathe. He takes her labia between his lips and sucks them. She is bucking with delight now and riding his face. She flogs him harder and the pain is glorious.
“Now suck my clit, you cunt-licking dog.”
The lash stings his penis and balls and he whimpers.
“Look at me, you dirty little mongrel.”
She forces his head back so that she can look into his eyes as she pleasures herself with him. Hand on his neck, she forces his open mouth up and down over her clit; his chin drips saliva and cuntjuice as he holds his tongue steady and lets her use his face to pleasure herself, and then she whips him harder and harder as she starts to come. She mashes his face against her cunt and thrusts her hips, bucking as she rides him harder and harder and then she comes and comes, shouting, her whip rising and falling, her sweat dripping on his back as she climaxes again and again.
When she’s finished, panting, she lets his head drop and he collapses on the bed, his cuffed hands behind him in agony, his buttocks stinging, his face drenched with his own sweat and his mistress’s cuntjuice, his cock so stiff that it’s almost bursting. Again his mind seems to slip away into that new and wonderful space, the unimagined erotic dreamworld she has led him to through subjugation.
“Well done, Alex.” She says. In her warm and light and musical voice is a tone he remembers from his own voice, talking to the women he has fucked; the amusement of triumph but also the delight in him, the tribute to pleasure received. She strokes him shoulder to ass and he nuzzles into her hand. Then she smacks him lightly on the rump. He knows that he has pleased her and feels glad. He wonders what she’ll do to him next; he desperately wants to come but his surrender to her is complete now and he luxuriates in his own absence of will.
He lies there, and then hears her voice, speaking on the phone.
“Kara? . . . . Very well. I think he’s ready for you now. Suite 604.”
She leads him across the room on the leash and makes him kneel in front of the door, ready to greet his Mistress. A soft knock and Kara stands before him, smiling, a strange expression in her eyes. Carla stands watching her, holding the leash. Alex is cuffed and naked kneeling between them. He sees the two women smile at one another and feels a delicious fear.
“Alex, Carla and I are going to fuck you now. You ready?”
He bows his head. He’s ready.
(to be concluded)
