Remembering Him

PROLOUGE

She stood in front of the mirror…again. She gazed at her body, her eyes slowly moving up and down as she took in the image reflecting back at her, still shaken, still in wonder at the events of just four days ago.

The welts from where he’d whipped her still raised lines on her skin, the bruising that that outlined the edges of each mark just starting to fade. It amazed her that only 12 stripes could have brought such intense physical pain and pleasure, and such a deep emotional reaction.

She was struggling to understand her response to him, his touch, his whip. She had felt the whip, the crop, the paddle, anything that could bring pain and the blessed escape into the haze of pain and sexual need she craved. He had taken her there, yes. But he had taken her there in way she had never imagined, never contemplated. She had been aware of every nerve in her body, every thought, every second of the time she had spent with him.

Yes. Him. It was always Him she saw when she looked in the mirror.

Her right hand left her side and moved upward, across her body toward her left shoulder, her fingertips finally resting near her left shoulder, touching the end of the welt that was first to be raised upon her skin. Her finger slowly moved along the mark, diagonally downward, across the rise at the top of her left breast, through the gap between her tits, under her right breast, downward toward her right hip.

Her eyes stared her reflection in the mirror, watching her finger trace the line, knowing she would trace every mark he’d left on her body before she moved away from the mirror. She had repeated this ritual countless times in the last four days.

But even as her finger followed his whip, and eyes watched the slow progress downward, she was not seeing herself in the mirror. She was back THERE. With HIM.

Remembering…

ARRIVAL

She trembled as she stood before his door, knowing why she was here, knowing what would happen. Yet somehow knowing her life was about to change.

She reached for the doorbell with a shaking hand and pressed the button, her stomach tightening as she heard the chime sound from inside. She dropped her hands to her side as instructed and waited.


It seemed like an hour to her as she stood on the doorstep. He knew it was only 10 minutes as he opened the door and stepped into the doorframe before her.

It was all she could do to stand still, to not step back, as he stood inches from her, slightly above her on the threshold step. He gazed down upon her for a few seconds – minutes to her thinking – and watched her struggle to keep her eyes downcast. He understood her struggle. She was desperate to see him, to see his eyes, after all this time on-line and on the phone. But that moment would wait, until he was ready, until she would show him her soul with her very first glance into his eyes.

“Follow me”, he said, and turned around, striding quickly into the house.

Her eyes came up briefly, catching a glimpse of his back as he strode away. Her breath catching in her throat, stomach churning more quickly, she all but ran after him, fearful of the mistake that would deny her this moment, turn him away from her.

They moved rapidly through the house, his steps filled with purpose, hers with an effort to move quickly yet gracefully as she struggled to keep pace. She caught glimpses of rooms to her right and left as they walked down a simple hallway toward a door, sunlight showing through the window in the upper half of the exit way.

He grasped the door handle and pushed the door open, stepping through it without pause. She had to reach up and catch the door to keep it open as she raced to keep pace with him.

Her eyes took in an expanse of green grass, fenced in, the fence softened by dozens of beautiful rose bushes. The grass was split neatly in two by a simple brick sidewalk that led straight across the yard to a small outbuilding, its door painted bright green and centered precisely on the front of the building.

He reached the outbuilding and without pause opened the door, stepping inside and turned to hold the door open for her. His body language made it clear what he expected.

She stepped through the door into the center of a small room, perhaps 15 by 15 feet square. She jumped when she heard the door close behind her.

The room had no windows. Just bare walls on two sides, a third bare wall broken up by the door behind her. The wall in front of her was different…a wall of cabinets. They were beautiful dark mahogany cabinets from floor to ceiling. Every door closed, hiding its contents. The roof was peaked, an A-frame like shape, perhaps 12 feet high, with soft cloth covering the hard ceiling and lending an almost theatrical feeling to the room.




She gasped when she heard the door close and fought her every instinct to run and remained in place, eyes still downcast. She felt him move behind her, open a case or door she hadn’t noticed. Then he was in front of her. She could see his body from his chest down, fought to keep her eyes lowered. Waited. Waited…. Waited.


BINDING

Her heart beat against her ribs when she saw what he held in his hands. Simple, stout leather wrist cuffs, only a simple buckle and D-ring on each. Not fancy or spectacular. Quite ordinary bindings in fact.  But, as she knew and would learn again, very, very effective.

He reached for her left hand and she wanted to scream as he calmly raised it toward him and with easy, practiced movements buckled the cuff about her wrist and then let if fall.

He repeated the motions on her right wrist, and then allowed her stand for a moment, waiting, before he took both hands from her sides and brought them together in front of her at her waist.

His hand pressed the cuffs together and she understood she was to hold them there as he let go. She pursed her lips and drew air inside as she watched one hand reach behind him and bring out a short length of chain with an open padlock on one end. In seconds the lock had passed through the D-rings on her cuffs and been aligned. She gasped loudly, breaking the rule, when he pressed the hasp of the lock down. The “click” of the lock closing was the loudest sound she had ever heard.

“Stand,” he ordered. And she did, shuddering in fear and breaking out in a sweat as she felt her already moist pussy flood in arousal.

He walked to the side and slightly behind her, reaching upward for something, then guiding it back toward her. She could hear the sound of chain rattling as he moved, then again jumped when she felt chain brush over her right shoulder. His hand came into her vision, holding the end of the chain flowing across her shoulder. This chain too had a padlock hanging open. He reached down and took the chain holding her wrists together and with a simple movement, locked the two chains together.

In an instant she heard a motor start and the chain lying on her shoulder began to slide. She broke her posture and stepped back, trying to flee, as she realized the chain was moving upward and that her hands would soon follow.

“No,” she gasped, even as the chain lifted off her shoulder and she felt the first tug on her wrists.

“Please,” she pleaded. “Wait.” Her hands reaching eye level as she sought him, looking for him, wanting out. Now. But he was not to be found.

Her wrists passed the top of her head and as suddenly as it had started, the motor stopped.

She spun around desperately, never more afraid of anything in her life, only to realize that he was gone. And she was utterly alone. No one knew where she was. Or why she was here, chained to the ceiling of this man’s building. But she had asked for no mercy and he had promised it.

Her breathing was heavy and fast; sweat forming on her brow, as she waited for his return. Seconds became minutes, minutes adding up, and he did not return. Her breathing calmed. She tested her bonds. Thrashed against them. Even called for him and begged him for release. Nothing but silence greeted her.

Her arms grew heavy; her legs weary, and still no sign of him.

Slowly. Very slowly, she accepted her fate and her reality. Realized she had sought this, sought one like him. And found arousal mixing with her fear.


SUSPENSION

She still screamed with surprise when the door opened without warning and he stepped through. She wanted to speak but fought the urge.

He moved quickly, efficiently.

A pair of large, sharp scissors appeared and in just a few snips she was naked, shaking, and somehow aroused as never before. He bent down and attached cuffs to her ankles, then opened small hatches in the floor, uncoiling rope and securing her legs about two feet apart.

She didn’t understand why he left slack in the rope…until the motor restarted and the chains started moving upward again. This time they pulled her hands over her head, straight up, and lifted her into the air. Her body pulling upward, her feet leaving the floor, then with a small jerk her upward movement stopping as the slack in the rope at her ankles ran out, her toes a mere 3 inches off the floor. Upward the chain pulled, stretching her body until a small groan escaped her throat.

When the motor shut down her panicked breathing made it impossible for her to think.

After a few moments she was able to process what had happened and realized that she hanging, stretched, from the rafters of the this man’s ceiling, helpless, completely vulnerable, and remembering her challenge to him to break her, to addict her to him.

She licked her lips nervously, looking for him, calling him. In time she realized he’d again left her alone.

After a few minutes the pain set in as her shoulders, stretched upward and supporting her weight, began to ache, then burn with pain. Sweat began to pour from her body with the strain, her breathing again increasing into a shallow, rapid sound of pain and fear.

She knew what he wanted…to hear her plead for relief. So she fought the pain, tried to hold out and remain silent. But her failure was inevitable and when she broke, she did so with a strangled cry of agony. And still he did not return.

She was aware enough to know he would return on his schedule, and for a time she sobbed quietly through the pain, thinking and realizing that he not really touched her yet, understanding that he was waiting for her to pass through some threshold of pain and surrender that she did not yet understand.

Each second became an hour as she hung there. A few times she pleaded, begged for him to just let her down, to relieve the pressure on her shoulders for just a minute. But her every sound was greeted by silence.

She was startled when she heard a voice that sounded much like her own, only pain-racked, guttural, desperate, screaming, “MASTER, MASTER. BEAT ME, WHIP ME, MAKE ME BLEED, ANYTHING YOU WISH IS YOURS. PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE. I BEG. LET ME DOWN!”

“PLEASE.”

“Please.”

She sobbed in pain.


HEAT

Through her pain she heard the door open and she sighed in relief, thinking “Yes, he
heard.”

But nothing happened. She felt him standing behind her, admiring her from behind as her body shook with pain. Nothing had prepared her for this.

“PPPPLLLLEEEEAAAASSSSEEEE,” she screamed suddenly, shrilly. She shuddered when she heard him laugh out loud at her plight.

Before another thought could register he was in front her, looking at her, clearly enjoying the pained expression on her face, the glazed, pain-filled lack of focus in her eyes.



He stepped forward and reached his right hand toward her, palm up. She looked down and somehow watched with fascination as his hand moved between her legs. Her stretched body shuddered with a sexual sensation that ignited every nerve in her body when he roughly jammed three fingers deep into her cunt. One hard, brutal thrust as he filled her, his thumb finding her clit and pressing down, rubbing up and down it quickly.

Her eyes went wide with the pain and brutality of his action. Somehow she understood that her pussy was a seeping, flooded sea of her lava, his fingers parting the wetness, her cunt offering no resistance as he drove into her.

And then she came. Screaming, swearing, gasping, pleading for more, pleading to stop, pleading for relief, begging, screaming, drooling, panting, asking, demanding, and the pitch of her voice rising and lowering across octaves as she came.

Her orgasm seared her, burned her nerve paths with the hottest, most intense sexual
heat she had ever known. Her body shook, thrashing within the limited movements her bonds allowed her, her muscles rippling even as they remained bound and stretched. The animal desire his touch unleashed in her created strength, strength enough that she was able to arch her pussy forward to pull his fingers even deeper into her.

And then she was empty. Bereft. A gaping, seething hole remained where his fingers had been, a hole that felt like her body was empty and hollow. She gasped but a single word, “NO!,” as her eyes widened and her hips moved seeking his fingers, his beautiful, magical, orgasm-inducing fingers. To her it felt that she was thrusting her hips freely. As he watched her seek him he smiled, understanding that her muscles reacting instinctively to a need for more stimulation.

Her eyes closed, she thrust hungrily, searching for something to quench the fire he had ignited. She had never known such an orgasm, and had never known such need for another…and another…and another. Somewhere in her lust addled brain she knew she was now addicted to something more powerful than any drug. And wondered what else he would draw from her body today.

Her body continued to shudder through wave after wave of its orgasm, a simple, mindless animal at work, stimulated by nothing but her own intense desire, as he stepped to the side to prepare her for the next stage. Through the dim haze of her orgasm-muddled mind she heard him mutter, “Amazing. What an amazing slut.”

TABLED

He worked steadily, not dallying, while she hung stretched from the ceiling, her body shuddering through mini-orgasms as it slowly calmed.



She felt something brush against the back of her calves, then slide upward until it pressed against the back of her knee. He tightly strapped her ankles and shins, just below the knee, to some kind of upright post. Then he released her ankle cuffs, leaving her legs secured to the posts

Her hands moved backward, pulled in some way by the chains from which she hung. Her body bent at the knee and her spine stretched as her calves remained in place. Then she felt something along the back of her legs, something hard and unforgiving. Leather straps secured her thighs, holding them tight against whatever the object was.

Step by step her body was strapped tightly in place against the object. Her ass touched, then her back, straps across her waist and chest securing her in place. She was frightened when the wide, thick strap passed over her neck, scooping around her chin to hold her head in place. But he quickly refocused her when he removed her wrist cuffs and stretched her arms above her head, securing them at the wrist, above and below the elbow and at her shoulder.

He stepped back to be admire his work, and to watch her eyes dart about as she took in what had happened. She was secured to a table, her body spread into a large X, unable to move any part of her body, her head motionless, seeing only the ceiling.

This time he walked over to her, placed himself between her legs and reached for her tits with her hand. She braced for pain and instead received the most tender, gentle touch of his fingertips. Her over stimulated body reacted instantly, her mind a whirlwind of confused thoughts, sensations and emotions as he teased ever so gently, running the tips of his fingers around the base of her tits, then climbing her tits to barely caress her nipples, making them harden and ache for more of any sensation.

And that was how he treated her for the next several hours. She lay motionless, unable to affect anything, forced into silence by the collar about her neck, He could have beaten her, bruised her, used her body in any way imaginable. Yet his choice was gentleness.

He explored her. He touched her everywhere. He caressed along the straps which held her, reminding her of her helplessness. He stroked her face, caressed her eyes, tickled her inner thighs, rubbed her feet, and caressed her pussy lips.

He was patient. He was relentless. She moaned into her collar, wanting to ask him to stop, to press harder, to hurt her, to do something to end what had become torture for her.

His touch was expert. He knew a woman’s body well, and he was learning hers with each passing moment. He found nerve endings she didn’t know she had, and ways to touch them and stimulate them that went straight to her pussy.

Her cunt had been an ocean when he’d filled her with his fingers as she hung. Now it was a lake filled with hot lava. She could feel her moisture dripping across her asshole and onto the floor. She could feel her heat, like a blast from a sauna, over her stomach and seemingly scorching the base of her tits.

She wanted to cum. Again. She was desperate to cum. Her body ached, her pussy weeping at the gentle torture his expert touch was applying. She tried to beg and plead, to open her mouth against the collar that secured her jaw, but it held firm.

She needed to cum, wanted to cum, had to come. She need to release so badly that she knew physical pain more intense than the slash of a knife. She knew would endure anything to cum, and she knew that was his plan and she helpless to change its outcome.

Slowly she sank into a place of overwhelming erotic sensation and thought…a dreamy, trance-like state. Deeper and deeper, almost accepting that this was her reward instead of orgasm, when she realized that something had changed.

He was gone! The room was completely dark. No light at all. She had no idea how long he’d been gone, when he’d stopped touching her. Her body was arousing itself, his touch so ingrained in her sub conscious that he was unnecessary.

As she slowly came out of her trance-like state she felt her need and heat again. Bound to the table, aroused and teased to an unimagined level, her body and her mind needed to cum, and she could do nothing to provide the final stimulation that would take her there.

And so she lay, smoldering, an animal in heat, trapped and unable to release herself. Slowly her mind and body quieted and she fell into a different trance, a more needing, quietly painful sensation running through her body.

PAIN

He returned quietly, so quietly she didn’t hear him. Her eyes closed, she didn’t open them when he turned on the soft, glowing red light that would allow him to see during the next few minutes.

He was rock hard, something that rarely happened. A testament to her response, unlike any he had ever experienced. She was unique…so far. The instrument in his hand would tell him just how unique.

It was made of fiberglass. It was thin. Very, very thin. With a small strand of steel woven into it and a steel tip, all to make certain the woman being struck by it felt and remembered the blow.

When used properly, as he of course would use it, it generated tremendous force as it struck; it’s very flexible design ensuring that it actually bent into the skin of its victim. The device had only one purpose: to inflict pain…deep, lasting pain that would linger for days in her body, and that would remain forever in her soul.

She had no knowledge of this as she lay strapped to the table, her body aroused and hypersensitive from all that it endured thus far. Her brain struggled to process all the sensation being sent its way, leaving her just as he expected she’d be…intensely sensitive to the slightest touch of pleasure or pain, with a brain that could only react instinctively to new sensations.

He smiled, thinking quietly, “She’s ready. More ready than any other woman to pass through this room.”

These thoughts passed through his mind he had quietly moved into position. He stood at her left thigh, her bound and open body unable to defend itself from what he would do it. The very thing she had asked him to do.

With the speed of a jaguar and the strength of a lion he struck. His whip slashed downward across her body, the metal tip digging into her right shoulder, the length of the whip slashing over the top of her right breast and drawing a diagonal stripe across her belly and down to her left hip.

For a moment nothing happened. He could feel the vibration of his blow in his whip; he could see the line on her skin where he had struck.

And then all hell broke loose.

Her body convulsed, trying to fold itself up into the fetal position. He could hear the leather straps strain to contain her as the pain of his blow seared through her body. The stripe took on an angry red glow and began to rise above her skin. He could see the muscles in her body strain to absorb the pain of the blow while at the same time trying with every fiber of her being to free herself, to escape the pain.

But it was the sounds she made that took his hard cock to the edge. At first, nothing. A deep inhalation of breath through clenched teeth.

Then an effort to scream that came out as nothing more than, “MMMMmMMMMmmmmmMMMmmmmmmmmMM,” a deep moan that changed in pitch as the pain from each inch of the slash on her body penetrated her brain.

Then, as the effect of the blow went below her skin, driving deep into her body, the real pain set in. And with it her breathing, limited only to her nose, created a chugging sound not unlike a train as her nostrils stretched to draw in the air her lungs and body hungered for. She let out a keening sound, like an animal in need. Something had to leave her body to make room for the pain. The sound rose and fell in pitch and intensity as her body struggled to accept and process and accommodate the pain.

It morphed into a howling sound, like a ghost on Halloween. Or perhaps a wolf over its prey. Pure. Passionate. Powerful.

He stepped back to watch and enjoy, his cock as hard as could remember, her sounds unlike any other woman’s. He knew it would take several minutes for her body to stabilize. He would wait until she was ready for the second stripe. He wanted her to feel the full intensity of each blow, and to see how fully she would recover from each, for she had many more to experience.

This her test, her chance to prove her claim that she was worthy of his time, of being his property, or ceding her body to him not for a few hours, but forever.

Slowly her breathing quieted, her body stilled. Her eyes darted about, seeking him. But the collar held firm and she saw only the wall behind her and ceiling above her.

MORE PAIN


Until the second blow struck!

TTTTTHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP!

A second line of pain and heat appeared, this time starting on her left shoulder, over the top of her tit, and across her belly to her right hip.

The effort to fold her body. The pulsing of her bound muscles as they strain to accept the pain. The chugging sound at her nostrils. The wailing, keening, sounds of pure animal pain and need.

He stepped back. Watched. Waited. Quietly changes location while she quiets.

TTTTTHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP!

The third line of pain crosses her belly from her right side, across her belly button, intersecting the first two, creasing her, wrapping around her left side...

By now, the first line of pain has started to bruise, and a hot, pulsing pain, like liquid fire, is spreading from it. But not outward along the skin. No. Downward. Into her muscle fibers. Through the muscles into her very being.

More thrashing at her bonds. Wailing. Trying to speak. She wants it to stop. To end NOW. Her overcharged body is imploding, like a star, all of its heat and energy is beginning to turn inward, building heat and fire.

TTTTTHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP!

The fourth line of pain comes from her right again. This time igniting her inner right thigh, a white hot line from inside the knee, across the thigh and abdomen, just right of her pussy lips, and finishing just below the pulsing band of fire that cuts across her belly button.

TTTTTHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP!

The fifth line burned across her chest, cutting just below her tits. This time the breathing sounds were even more beautiful to his ears because his blow had all but knocked the wind from her lungs.

TTTTTHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP!

The sixth blow mirrored the fourth, cutting along the inside of her left thigh, just missing her pussy and reaching for her stomach.


He stepped back to rest, his cock throbbing, aching for release. For a brief moment he considered releasing her head for a moment, drawing it back and ramming his cock deep into her throat until his sperm coated it, denying her tongue the taste or feel of his liquid. But his inner discipline ruled him. He returned to his whip, waiting and watching as she struggled to settle down.

Inside her world there was nothing but searing fire. Six lines of fire, each distinct, each different, each spreading through different types of muscle and issue, each at a different stage of driving the pain into her body. Her world had gone from the pain of suspension to the ecstasy of orgasm, to the incredible torture of gentle arousal and the deep denial of release, to a broiling, pulsing universe of heat and pain. Her body was literally filling with a heat she could only associate with Hell, dry, pulsing, scorching, and never, never ending.


TTTTTHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP!

The seventh stroke of the whip drew a line across her right tit. He stood to her left, near her head, and slashed diagonally across her tit, drawing a line over her breastbone, flattening her tit as the whip came down, cutting her nipple, and leaving a trail of fire down her side.

She tried to roll over against her bonds, but they held tight, groaning as she tried to stretch the heavy leather that held her. She wanted the whipping to stop. She’d lived her fantasy, she understood what pain was, but this was more han she bargained for, more than she’d asked for.

The pain HAD to stop. The heat HAD to go away. Somehow it had to end. NOW.

She knew that she dreaming, hoping, that he would not stop. But somewhere in her mind a fear was taking shape…a fear she knew she would face before this was over, a fear she would not allow to surface…at least yet.

TTTTTHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP!

The eighth bolt of pain cut her left tit in two, striking so hard against the nipple that it bled. The sting of the pain and smell of her own blood induced a small sense of panic in her and again she thrashed helplessly against the straps that held her down.

Her fear was still there, deep in her mind, hidden. But forming. A shape she knew, a sense of something to be feared like nothing else.

TTTTTHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP!

The ninth stroke came from her right. Directly across the point where her legs and torso joined, cutting across her mound, just missing the top of her clit. The heat from this blow took only seconds to penetrate straight to her clit, the heat creating instant awareness that she was aroused, that her pussy was again flowing hot liquid.

Her fear spun itself about, throwing shadows of reality into her subconscious. Forming a meaningful picture. Something real, tangible. Deathly frightening. Powerful. Real. Something that would break her and remake her into a different woman, someone known to her but suppressed, someone she longed to be but feared becoming.

TTTTTHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP!

The tenth stroke came from the left. Perhaps half an inch lower than the last blow. Her thighs prevented the whip from touching her clit, but the blow was so close that she felt the air move over her nub as the whip passed by.

The last two blows had created such heat in her groin that she was screaming silently, an unheard scream, groveling in her bonds to be allowed to put her hands into her cunt and pull the fire inside out, shoveling heat with her hands to relieve her agony. But it was not to be. Her body was helpless before his whip; she would receive whatever he decided she would receive; she would know pain when he chose pain, and pleasure when he chose pleasure.

He waited until she stilled.

TTTTTHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP!

He had walked between her legs to deliver the eleventh stroke. Brutally, this stroke came right between her breasts, slashing a line perfectly down the center of her body, over her belly button, across the abdomen, the line separating the top of her pussy lips and stopping mere millimeters above the top of her clit.

It was as though this stroke had opened her heart and intestines wide, the heat of the stroke pulsing downward directly to her clit, rushing deep inside her already seething pussy. Every fiber of her body convulsed at the pain and heat generated by this moment, the heat exploding inside her as her orgasm had earlier, revealing her sexual arousal driven from pure agony and his whip.

The keening changed its tone and he recognized it instantly. The sound of a woman seeing her true self for the first time, recognizing herself as the sexual animal she is, the submissive woman, the slave to her own passion, passion that only he can create within in her.

It was the sound of complete surrender, total immersion in her seething, tortured body, finding the deepest arousal from the most intense day of sensation and use of her body.

He listened to the sweet sound of her surrender, the sound of a woman trying to deny her true self but seeing it before her, the need for the release of orgasm her only thought.

SURRENDER

He walked around her, standing now above her. His hands reached down and removed the collar that held her head and prevented her from speaking. Her eyes sought his as he stood over her and he gazed back, waiting until he saw for certain her understanding of what would happen next, of where the next stroke of the whip would fall.

It took awhile, and then her eyes widened as she understood. Her lips trembled, unsure how to form the words she knew she would have to say. He smiled when he saw the light of recognition flash across her eyes, and stood waiting.



She was torn. Never had she known such heat in her loins, such pure, unbridled arousal. Never has she wanted to cum so badly, needed to cum so badly. But the price seemed to steep. Her soul. To him. He’d never asked for it. She had pursued this moment. She had wanted this…to be forced to submit everything for one spasm of pleasure, one moment of bliss.

She licked her lips. Tried to speak and stopped. Again.

Finally, a tortured, “Please”.

“Please. I need it so bad.”

He waited, immobile.

“Please…I beg you. Please. Don’t make me say it. Let me have it. Let me cum, PLLLLEEEEASSSSEEEE.”

His eyes turned stone like and she shuddered.

A deep breath. A shudder. Licking her lips again.

Finally, the words.

“You are my Master. I give you my soul and my body for your use. Take me. Use me. You have no limits. I am yours.”

The last three words came out a tortured sob.

And still he waited.

“PLEASE MASTER. PLEASE. I HAVE GIVEN YOU ALL I HAVE. PLEASE. I NEED IT. I NEED TO CUM. PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE. MAY I CUM. MAY I SERVE YOU AND PLEASE YOU BY CUMMING, BY CUMMING AND SURRENDERING MY PRIDE AND MY BEING TO YOU.”

The blow came so quickly that she felt it but never saw it. Perfectly placed. The point of contact exactly in the center of her clit, the steel tip whipping out and entering her cunt, fucking her like a razor sharp cock head, the base pressing across her mound, separating her pussy lips, cutting her in half like a surgeon’s knife.

This time her scream was clear and bright. Pure, like the primal reaction of her body.

“AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”.

“OOOOOHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHH. OH FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

“I’M CUMMING. CUMMING. CUMMING. CUMMING. OH MY FUCKING GOD, PLEASE DEAR GOD. OH FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME. SHIT.”

And on it went. And on. A babbling, winding, erotic sound as her body exploded, melted, reformed, over and over as wave after wave of orgasm ripped through her.

The heat of his whip had built up inside her motionless body, the pattern of his blows drawing the heat closer and closer to her clit and into her cunt, until his final blow had drawn it all to one place, one release point, the only part of her body he could not immobilize…her cunt.

Now her cunt simply pulsed, wave after wave after of raw, pure sexual energy leaving her body through its walls, her clit on fire, a molten core that had replaced her heart as the center of her being.

She simply came and came and came until her body gave out and she collapsed, spent. Useless for now. Raw and beaten and unconscious. Her head fell to the side.

He took the whip and laid it between her breasts, then sat on the floor to wait for her to return.

CLAIMED

After a while she rolled her head and tried to focus, to figure out where she was and why she could not move. He saw her awaken and moved quickly.

His need was great, and now he now would not be denied.

He quickly stripped, his rigid cock upright in front of him, as he walked around her, and then stepped between her legs.

He did not pause but simply mounted her, driving his turgid hardness deep inside her in one stroke. She was still wet, still horny. There was no resistance.

“AAAHHHHH, SHIT,” she screamed in complete shock as he filled her, his cock separating her folds and re-igniting still hyper sensitive nerve endings, She tried to raise her legs and arms to welcome him and could not.

Her mind sharpened quickly and she understood, her eyes opening to look at the man who had defeated her. His cock drove home against her whipped pussy, all 12 lines from his whip still throbbing, still sending blood and heat to her loins. Only now her loins were full of him, of his heat, filling her completely with each deep thrust.

She came. More intensely then with the whip, than with any other man before because she had surrendered. He owned her. He had taken her places she did not know existed. And she understood, completely, that he would show her many, many new places because he owned her mind, her heart, her soul…he had broken through every barrier to break and take her and change her.

Her screams this time were of surrender, of supplication, of devotion, of loyalty and service and existence for only him, of complete and utter submission to the man she would call Master from now on.

And as she came yet again, her cunt squeezing around his thrusting cock, he felt his balls tighten, the familiar pull where the sack met his body tight and full of his fluid. He did not resist the sensation but instead embraced it, allowing her body to massage his cock, to squeeze him in her incredible heat, and he came.

Like never before, he came. The first jolt of semen came from his toes, the nerves in his legs feeding into his cock and emptying into her as he came. She felt the rush of his semen hit her pussy walls, harder and sharper than ever before, and she heard his scream…his scream.

Almost painful. A scream of release and relief. Of complete abandonment to the moment. And as jet after jet of semen filled her pussy, more and more of him entered her. He took her as he filled her, each drop cementing her to him more tightly than before.

He finally collapsed across her. Spent. Exhausted. Consumed by her passion and surrender to him.

She again lapsed into unconsciousness. He slept for a while. She remained bound to the table. He lay sprawled across her.

PROPERTY

She awoke with a start, something different about her. It took her a moment to orient herself, and she remembered where she was.

Then she realized she was no longer bound, or on the table. But rather on a soft cushion on the floor. Naked. A blanket to cover her.

She stretched her body and felt the soreness, and as she stretched her body the blood began to flow where she pulled along his whip marks, breaking open the healing bruises and cuts.

She gasped at the pain and felt her cunt moisten automatically, memories of her time in this room flooding her.

She saw the short note thanking her, telling her where she could find a dress to wear home, and telling her he would call for her when he needed or wanted her. She felt her heart drop, wondering if she had somehow failed him.

She stretched again and felt the sweet pain of each mark pass through her body. She rolled over and stood, then felt something between her legs. She looked down and gasped in disbelief.

A small ball, maybe an inch around dangled on a short chain between her legs. The chain led to a bar...a small metal bar, each end piercing a pussy lip, preventing a cock from entering. She picked the ball and saw what was engraved on it…”Property of Michael”.


EPILOUGE

She stood in front of the mirror…again. She gazed at her body, her eyes slowly moving up and down as she took in the image reflecting back at her, still shaken, still in wonder at the events of just four days ago.

The welts from where he’d whipped her were still raised on her skin, the bruising that that outlined the edges of each mark just starting to fade. It amazed her that only 12 stripes could have brought such intense physical pain and pleasure, and such a deep emotional reaction.

She was struggling to understand her response to him, his touch, his whip. She had felt the whip, the crop, the paddle, anything that could bring pain and the blessed escape into the haze of pain and sexual need she craved. He had taken her there, yes. But he had taken her there in way she had never imagined, never contemplated. She had been aware of every nerve in her body, every thought, every second of the time she had spent with him.

Yes. Him. It was always Him she saw when she looked in the mirror.

She no longer saw herself. She had ceased to exist except as he defined her. She was nothing without Master now, dead to all others for only Master  knew where to find her, had the strength to take her and remake her, and she would be forever his willing chattel.

Her right hand left her side and moved upward, across her body toward her left shoulder, her fingertips finally resting near her left shoulder, touching the end of the welt that was first to be raised upon her skin. Her finger slowly moved along the mark, diagonally downward, across the rise at the top of her left breast, through the gap between her tits, under her right breast, downward toward her right hip.

Her eyes stared her reflection in the mirror, watching her finger trace the line, knowing she would trace every mark he’d left on her body before she moved away from the mirror. She had repeated this ritual countless times in the last four days.

But even as her finger followed his whip, and eyes watched the slow progress downward, she was not seeing herself in the mirror. She was back THERE. With HIM.

Remembering. Again…

She jumped when the phone rang.

Hurried to answer it.

“Hello,” her trembling voice said.

“Come to me”, said Master. “Now”

And the line went dead.

She smiled, joy in her heart, as she dressed for the last time in this room.

Master had accepted her body as his. Claimed her heart and soul.

She would never return to this place.

She walked to door, stepped outside and saw the waiting car, the door open. She closed the door behind her, took the few steps required to reach the car, sat down and closed the doors.

The locks to the door clicked shut in an instant.  She noticed the doors had no handles, making it impossible for her to open them.

She smiled. She didn’t want to open them. She was going to her Master. Her destiny. Her future had begun...