Cat Is Taken In Hand

Dear Reader

The following is a true story. Every word is true. Only the names have been changed… to protect the guilty.

Following the break-up of my marriage to Chris, I moved to a new town. I wanted to have some uncomplicated, no-strings sex. A few months ago I met a man, Paul, on a sex site.

Paul has a girlfriend. He and I meet every week or two for sex.

Just lately I've been on 'normal' dating sites, looking for a man who might become a boyfriend. It doesn't ever occur to me to consider giving up Paul if I do end up in a girlfriend-boyfriend relationship with someone. The sex is just too good to give up.

Cattypuss

xx

Part One

Friday.

Early morning. My phone goes beep beep and I see Paul's name on the screen. There is a mild physical response from me… a sort of erotic equivalent of an eyebrow raised in expectation. This has been going on for a few days every time I see his name on screen. Ever since he told me that he was gong to send me an email about next Sunday, with instructions on "how to be prepared, what to wear and where to be waiting for me". He knows very well that I like it when he takes charge. The text message tells me to check my email.

I open the email. And get something of a shock. I had been expecting something along the lines of a quick note telling me, say, to wear no knickers and to be waiting in the bedroom when he arrived. The email that I actually get blows that idea out of the water, and it takes a while for me to digest it.

First, the tone of it. Rather impersonal; very curt. Not like the Paul I know. That puts me on the back foot. Then I take in the meaning of the words. He is going to send me detailed instructions nearer the time, but for now he is telling me to make sure I have black underwear, candles and chilled white wine for Sunday. So far, so good -- no problem there. Except that he says that if I fail to do this to his satisfaction (whatever the fuck THAT means), I will be punished.

The word 'punished' sits there on the screen and I stare at it for a while, trying to take in the implications and trying to get my head around how suddenly the way in which he and I usually interact has changed so much. I read on. He shows me a list -- rather worryingly "non-exhaustive", of five punishments. I am allowed to veto any item on the list but if I do so I will automatically receive a punishment chosen from the list. In a confusion of shock, apprehension and a smidge of incipient arousal, I notice the loophole ("Aha -- if I veto all five, he can't punish me for it, because the punishment has to be a remaining item on the list") and also I'm thinking "Okay, this is serious. This is basically the point at which I can say "Sorry, Paul, I don't want to play this game; let's forget about whole thing", OR I can take a deep breath and go with it.

I decide quite quickly to do the latter. For at least ten years, my masturbatory fantasies have often revolved round a scenario of this type -- and I've always had the longest, most powerful orgasms when they have. Why would I deny myself this?? I never thought I would have the opportunity to make the fantasy a reality. Well, that's not strictly true. There was Sam, last year, at whose Chinese clinic I was getting acupuncture for muscle-pain. After giving me several presents every time I went to the clinic (earrings, fans, bangles…), Sam said, out of the blue, that he was into D/s and that I should go to a club with him; that it would help muscle pain and tension if I acted as his sub. Wrong man (totally unattractive) and wrong time (I was still living with Chris). That weird moment after telling me that… the weird moment when he announced that this week's present was a necklace and proceeded to sit me in front of a mirror, stand behind me and very slowly, rather ceremonially, put a pearl choker around my neck. I let him do it, knowing what was going through his mind, but I never wore it to his clinic again -- and I saw the hurt in his face the first time. But I digress. Wrong man, wrong time.

Finally, a man to whom I am very sexually attracted, who I have fantastic sex with, is there shoving my fantasy in my face. I owe it to myself to play along.

I have to consider the five punishment options over the weekend, rather than deciding straight away. I quickly realise that this instruction is calculated to have a significant mental effect on me. My first reaction is that the only one I can possibly accept is the spanking by hand. But as Friday goes on, and all through the weekend, I argue with myself and reason with myself…

Spanking by hand. This is okay. He first spanked me - was the first person ever to spank me -- a few months ago. I liked it. He always leaves me wanting more of it.

Spanking by belt. The thought of it… the image of it… I am, all at the same time, scared, alarmed, worried… and intensely aroused. A combination of feelings that I will quickly learn to expect from him. Of all of the options, this is the least far removed from what I have experienced before. My gut instinct is that if I can accept one more punishment, this should be it. But a BELT??? How wide will the belt be? How stiff will the leather be? How hard will he be spanking me with it? WHERE on my body will he be spanking me with it? Scary. Scary scary. It plays on my mind. All through Friday. I change my mind about whether I need to veto this option at least a couple of dozen times. And then I take a leap of faith. I cannot ignore the fact that the thought of it, in amongst the negative reactions, turns me on like hell and makes me unbelievably wet. I have spent all of Friday at my desk with a dark patch on the crotch of my jeans where the cunt-juice is just flooding out of me. I take the leap of faith and I promise myself that I won't veto the spanking by belt.

Dripping candle wax. There is just negative stuff, no arousal, when I initially contemplate this. But I owe it to him and to myself to consider it properly. I go and get a candle. Light it. Wait for some of the wax to melt. Dribble some onto the fleshy part of the inside of my forearm. FUCK -- OUCH. Not just the initial pain, but the continuation of it -- the intensifying of it -- until the wax cools on my skin. Okay. Again. This time from further away, to give the wax time to cool a little on the way down. This time I feel the familiar lurch of arousal in the pit of my stomach. Pain, intensifying after the initial hit, but tolerable. Maybe I can allow this. But again the doubts crowd in. How close to my body would he hold the candle? Where on my body would he allow it to drip? I park this one for the night and go to bed. I can't even face contemplating the other ones on the list -- not properly -- not yet.

I have made myself come three times during the day. Every time I have come so hard it's taken my breath away. But every time I've been back where I started within a couple of minutes -- desperate for his touch on me.

In bed I imagine him with a belt in his hand, about to bring it down on my body with a thwack. I imagine candles burning, ominously, in my peripheral vision. And I come so hard that I get a painful rectal cramp that won't go away for an hour.

Saturday.

I wake up and realise that my cunt, my crack and my inner thighs are sticky and wet. I am not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination and it always takes a least until 11 a.m. for my libido even to think about waking up. But here I am, early morning, just woken, up, drenched and horny as hell. I wash in the shower. I can't wash my cunt clean because it just keeps on streaming.

I don't know if I'm allowed to, but I text him to tell him how I've woken up.

Back in bed, I lie there, imagining candles near the bed, imagining his presence in the room. I squeeze my legs together rhythmically while I pinch my nipples as hard as I can and pull hard on them. Eventually I can't stand it any more and I rub my clit hard and fast and come like a ton of bricks.

A text from him saying he is enjoying my responses. Saying there are further tests to come. I came only a minute ago but his text has instantly made me want to come again. He says I will have to self-monitor on the test and report to him if I fail to obey. I assure him I will. He seems pleased. I am ridiculously aroused.

I decide to save it. I have to go shopping today. I realise I want to be fucked so bad that I REALLY want a dildo in the house. I text him to ask his permission to buy one. He gives it. He also praises me for asking his permission. Hey, maybe I do have an inkling of how to behave with him. I walk the dog. As yesterday, with a spreading dark damp patch on the crotch of my jeans, getting very cold in the wind. As I walk I think of candle wax. I don't know if I can accept it. I want to. I want to please him, and also I want to push my limits and really experience whatever is to come at the limit of what I can tolerate. And that thought -- the thought of being taken to the limit, makes me so aroused that my knees are literally weak. I can't decide about the candles. Not yet.

Still walking, I contemplate the next option. A live webcam broadcast on a sex site; a close-up of me masturbating. And if I fail to get a big enough audience, a further punishment of his choice. I did check with him what he meant by 'close up' (and incurred a punishment for doing so). Clearly it would be entirely anonymous. So why does my gut tell me to veto this? Is it because it's the first option on the list that is more about humiliation than pain?

I get home. A text from him. He tells me I can buy a dildo but not use it until I get his permission. He refers to himself in this text as my Dom. Seeing that word on screen provokes an instant physical response in me -- my cunt muscles contract with arousal and force out a sudden flood of cunt-juice. I'm gonna have to clean up and change before I go into town.

I do so and drive towards town, my mind working over the webcam option. If he says it would be anonymous, I believe him 100%. So what's the problem. I consider the humiliation question. Over and over, searching my feelings. I sit at a red light imagining the scenario and trying to work out what my problem is. I get honked at for still sitting there in a reverie after the light has turned green. I put it all out of my mind as best I can until I am parked up in town.

I go for a coffee. Still thinking. I realise the truth -- this fantasy, this scenario, would not be complete without humiliation. It's part and parcel of the whole D/s experience, and my fantasies for years have involved both pain and mild humiliation. So anonymity isn't the problem. Humiliation isn't the problem. And then I realise what it is. The problem is that I don't want the video steam passing through my computer and through my wireless, non-secure broadband link. Suddenly all is clear. I realise that if he had chosen instead to take anonymous pictures or video with a standard camera, I'd have accepted this option with only a little work on my reservations. It wouldn't bother me that he would have the pictures or footage permanently, or that he could post them on the internet. The sticking point for me was using my computer and my non-secure internet link.

So be it. I decide I have no choice but to veto the webcam option. A shame in a way because in theory the idea turns me on very powerfully.

Still drinking my coffee, I get a text from him saying that I cannot use the dildo unless I send him a text picture of it and get his approval. Stronger control. The idea of stronger control makes me wetter. So does the knowledge that he clearly feels free to move the goalposts. I am about to book a manicure. I ask him whether he wants me to get my nails painted. His response is friendly but dismissive. I feel embarrassed for asking. Clearly I DON'T know how this whole scenario works. I decide to get my nails painted -- something I've done maybe three times in my life -- because when I look at women masturbating in porn, painted nails against their cunts in the image turn me on just that bit more.

I go to a high-street sex shop and, in amongst the novelty vibes and hen-party outfits, I see EXACTLY what I want. A glass dildo with a large textured head and a curvingly ridged shaft. Perfect. I can't wait to fuck myself with it. But I need to get his approval.

Back to the coffee bar and into the toilet. A quick text picture of the dildo in my hand.

No response from him.

I go to Marks & Spencer. I need clothes for my date with Simon on Saturday. I always turn up to first dates in jeans and a t-shirt. But Simon's special. I've already fallen for him without meeting him, just from the chats we've had on the respectable dating site where we met, and on the phone. He deserves for me to scrub up a bit and wear a skirt and heels. Heels. Ugh. Painful, risky -- especially with my sprained ankle -- and I walk like a pantomime horse in them because I've never learned how to wear them properly. But he deserves it.

My mind is on Simon as I look at skirts. A text message arrives. The dildo is approved. I smile and feel a rush of arousal at the thought of using it. I read on. He tells me I won't be allowed to pleasure myself for a full week leading up to his arrival next Sunday. My reaction is immediate and strong. THIS IS NOT FAIR. THIS IS BEYOND THE PALE. HE CAN'T DO THIS TO ME. I text him back -- "fucking hell!", with a tone of voice in it. Instantly I receive a reply from him. All it says is "Punishment incurred". And the sudden realisation makes my knees buckle so that I have to grab the clothes rail in the shop and stand up properly again. The realisation is a big one and it has come out of the blue. I realise that HE MEANS THIS. He will enforce his control and I have to understand this and I have to submit to his will.

I have to submit. I have to be his sub.

The effect on me is mostly mental. It feels enormous -- a complex mix of desire, trepidation, excitement… and it has taken me by surprise. I text him -- "That just made my knees buckle in the middle of M&S". His response: "On Sunday I'll make your knees buckle in the middle of S&M". No doubt he means it. But there is humour in his message -- the familiar kind of humour that I recognise as belonging to the man I've known and trusted until this last week. And that humour releases something in me. Suddenly I'm grinning. I KNOW this man. I may not know him as a Dom, but I know him. And I trust him 110%. He has earned that trust and there is no question at all in my mind that Paul, the man I know, would never put me or keep me in a position that I did not want.

I buy the clothes. I walk out of M&S with my head held high. I realise that for weeks I've been feeling very unattractive and down. I've put on weight and spraining my ankle meant I couldn't even walk it off. But right now, walking tall as I move along the street, I feel like the sexiest, most desirable woman in town. It doesn't matter that it's pissing down with rain and I'm wearing tatty jeans, trainers and my horrible sexless dog-walking anorak. Right now I am the most confident, most alluring, woman in probably the whole county, never mind the town. And, what's more, I'm the best fuck and I give the best head.

I have candles at home. White ones. I've been meaning to get nicer candles fro the house, and something in my gut tells me that I may be punished if I don't get coloured candles. I go to the nice home decor shop and carefully choose five 12" candles in different colours, and some simple holders for them. As I'm paying, my thoughts return to dripping candle wax. Do different kinds of candles -- different waxes -- have different melting points? If I haven't yet vetoed the wax option for sure, then I probably want to get wax with a low melting point. But I wouldn't know how to do that, even if there is a difference…

I start to drive home, contemplating dripping candle wax. Still I can't come to a decision. It's the thought of the way the pain momentarily intensifies after the wax has stuck to the skin. That thought simultaneously scares the shit out of me and makes my clit so swollen that I practically come from the seam of my jeans moving against it as my feet move on the pedals.

At home… and the dildo is all that I hoped it might be. The head is thick -- a stretch for my cunt at first until I've been fucking myself with it for a while. It's good and long too -- I can force in as much length as I can physically take. It feels sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo fucking good and it feels amazing when I come hard with it deep inside me. Coming without penetration is wonderful. But it will never be a match for coming with a full cunt. And the dildo is rock-hard as my muscles clamp down on it involuntarily as I come. I feel really fucking dirty. I feel like a slut. It feels good.

I am struggling to imagine how I will cope with no masturbation -- and no contact with my new toy -- for a week. It's not possible to imagine it.

The rest of Saturday and most of Sunday consists of lots of dog-walking and a hell of a lot of masturbation. At one point I pull the dildo out of me, coated in cunt-juice, and put it in my mouth, imagining it's his cock. Feeling his cock in my mouth always makes my cunt drip anyway. The thought of it in my mouth during Sunday's scene makes me almost swoon (good job I'm already lying down!!).

While I fuck myself, I fantasise about his fingers and his cock in me on Sunday. And then I remember something. He told me in a text that he may decide not to let my cunt feel his touch on Sunday. Shit. Would he seriously do that to me? Allow me to get as aroused as he knows I WILL get on Sunday - and not give my cunt what it will be SCREAMING out for? I wouldn't put is past him, although I console myself with the knowledge that he likes to watch me come.

I suddenly realise that I have no idea of how I will feel after the scene ends on Sunday. For all I know I will be in shock/feeling post-traumatic/feeling lost/feeling all "weirded out"… and I realise that I want the old Paul, my friend, the man I feel safe with, to stay with me after the scene in case I need comfort or reassurance. I can't keep this to myself and so I email him.

Early evening and the text I've been expecting comes. I am not to give myself any physical pleasure from now until I see him in a week's time. I was expecting it and now, oddly, I get a little thrill from it. I go upstairs. Wash the glass dildo. Put it in its little velvet pouch. Get his toy box out and put the dildo in there. Notice the other equipment in there as I do so and feel my stomach lurch in apprehension and arousal.

A very powerful mix, that - fear and desire.

He replies to my email. Says he'll stay around for a bit after the scene. Says he won't stay the night. I'm disappointed. I see an image of myself alone in the house, feeling all lost and vulnerable, with no dog, even to touch and hold, as the dog is booked into kennels for the night. But he has his reasons and I'd rather accept he can't stay all night than give up the whole idea of Sunday's scene.

He says in his email that he has some concerns about the long-term effect of all this on me and about how it may affect a future vanilla relationship for me. Yes. He has just voiced a concern that has been niggling away at the back of MY mind. Time to let it come to the front of my mind and actually deal with it, because it's important.

I have an addictive personality. I know that. That, plus this sexual 'escalation', could be a dangerous combination for me.

I think of the most similar thing in my experience that I can dredge up. For years and years I fantasised about threesome with two men. I never really thought I'd be in a position where it might be possible. And then a man I was sleeping with offered it. I initially leapt at the chance and then over time the doubts crept in -- one of which doubts was "What if I do this and it's all I imagined it might be, and normal sex will never be enough for me ever again??". It was a real concern, as I did -- and still do -- want to be able to have normal relationships, driven my love and intellectual attraction rather than just by the horn.