David & Lisa

Lisa had confided in a friend, who'd passed her on to a friend, who knew of a group, one of whose members was David. Eventually, they'd met for coffee. He was older than she, in his late 30s or early 40s. Medium looks, trim build, sandy hair, business-casual dress. She had an impression of self-assurance, but not in any ostentatious way. He seemed more like someone who liked to quietly arrange things behind the scenes. She knew that he'd never married, had no children, owned his own home and business, and volunteered some community time. He seemed to be well thought of. Other than that, she knew nothing about him.

She'd hoped he would make it easy and ask her bluntly what she wanted to know, but he didn't. He seemed mildly interested but rather detached, as if waiting for her to bring up why she'd wanted to meet him. She'd edged around it, talking in generalities, asking him questions about himself, digressing into stupid stories, feeling more and more self-conscious, and finally falling silent in confusion. Maybe this had all been a big mistake. There was an awkward pause. Then he said quietly, "Lisa, there really isn't anything I can explain about it. You either jump with both feet or you don't jump at all. Here's my e-mail address. If your decision is go, just e-mail me the word 'yes,' and when you're available. If your decision is no-go, then you don't owe me any explanations." That had been the end of the conversation.

With great trepidation, she'd sent her "yes" late that same night. She'd spent a nervous day waiting before he responded with detailed, straightforward instructions for the coming weekend. Now it was 11 a.m. Saturday and she was standing facing his front door, her heart thumping.

David greeted her with surprising warmth. "Lisa! Please come in!" He wore tan slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. He looked like any prosperous Seattle homeowner on a sunny weekend morning.

He closed the door behind her and slowly looked her up and down. Lisa held her hands in front of her and dropped her eyes. She'd done her best to follow his instructions to the letter but now, she thought, he was going to find something wrong. That's the way the on-line fantasies usually started, anyway.

Instead, he said, "How about a cup of tea?"

"OK," she said, nervously.

The house was at least a hundred years old, nicely redone. Dark wood with lots of light and color splashes--fabrics, wallpaper, plants. He led her back to the kitchen, a cheerful yellow place with big windows looking out in three directions into a groomed, private-feeling yard. A china teapot, cups and saucers were on the breakfast table. He poured them both tea, offered her milk and sugar. He drank his straight. There was a long silence.

"So," he finally said. "We have a date."

Lisa tried to chuckle and made a choked noise instead. He appeared not to notice.

"How are you feeling?"

"Nervous."

"Physically, though? Are you well?"

"Yeah, I think so," she said.

"Did you sleep last night?"

"Yeah, I always sleep." She didn't tell him she always used her vibrator to get to sleep.

"Did you eat breakfast?"

"Yes," she lied. She'd had half a piece of dry toast. Couldn't get any more down.

There was a silence. "Do you want to ask me anything?"

Lisa's immediate thought was to explode with questions:

What are you gonna do to me? How much is it going to hurt? Will you stop if I ask you to? When will the sex start--and are you going to do everything I read about on the internet?

But questions would lead to more talk, and this talk was unnerving her. She wasn't absolutely sure she could do this, and if they kept on talking her second thoughts would grow like a snowball. He'd said she had to jump with both feet. Well, she could jump right at this moment, but maybe not five minutes from now.

She gave David an imploring look. "I'd rather just get started," she said.

He smiled. "Understandable." He gulped down the rest of his tea, stood up and motioned her to follow him.

He led her down stairs, to the basement. Lisa's heart sank.

God, a dungeon!

She had a feeling very close to panic. She fought it off long enough to reach the bottom of the stairs. Down a short hall, then they turned into a large windowless room that could have been a home gym--fluorescent lights, linoleum floor, some mirrors, and things that could have passed, at first glance, for home-made exercise equipment. On the wall was a rack of what at first looked like pool cues.

Oh, no--canes and whips!

David told her to stand in the middle of the room and relax. He disappeared behind her for a while. She heard him doing something but couldn't tell what. Then he slowly walked around her several times, looking serious, as if he were studying a piece of sculpture. She looked straight ahead and fought butterflies. He reached down and with both of his hands gently unclenched the fingers of one of hers. He massaged the fingers for a moment. His hands were hard and warm, his movements unhurried and sure. A surprisingly sudden bolt of desire shot through her. More of that touch would be welcome. She shivered.

He gently lifted her glasses off and set them somewhere. Then, unhurried, he began to undress her. He looked right into her eyes as he undid her shirt buttons. She dropped her gaze, but he told her sharply to look at him. She swallowed and did so, afraid of his eyes. She felt tiny tears starting in hers. She felt the warmth of his hands moving near her breasts, but he didn't touch them. Then the sleeve buttons, then he stepped behind her and her shirt slipped off. He hung it up. Then he undid her belt, pulled the zipper, and tugged on the skirt, letting it drop around her ankles. She gave a tiny gasp. This was taking on an air of unreality. He took her hand and helped her step out of it. He hung the skirt, too. There was no jewelry to remove. He had forbidden all ornaments, even a hair pin. Her black hair hung rather awkwardly around her face.

Now she stood in her underwear (not very pretty underwear, either--he had specified it must be new, white, all-cotton, full-cut and completely plain), ankle socks and boxy shoes. She felt like a schoolgirl undergoing some kind of health inspection in a chilly gym. Her trembling had to be visible, but he didn't seem to pay any attention to it. She felt an immense relief that it had finally started--

he just took my clothes off!

—because there was less risk she would bolt and run, but she also felt an even more immense vulnerability. She wished she could hold her lips perfectly still, but they insisted on twitching. She feared she might cry.

David disappeared again. From the sounds, he seemed to be doing something with his clothing. She tried to calm her breathing. Her eyes darted around to take in some of the furnishings. One was something like a padded gymnastic horse but a bit lower. Leather wristlets and anklets dangled from the legs. Not hard to guess how that would be used. A St. Andrew's cross against the wall. A low plywood A-frame covered with a thick mat, again with attached leather restraints. She relaxed ever so slightly. At least what she saw was only what she'd spent endless internet sessions fantasizing about.

But when David suddenly walked around in front of her, she stifled a cry. For second, she didn't know who it was. He now wore a black leather hood that showed only his eyes and his mouth. It made him grotesque, deformed. His slacks and shirt were gone, replaced by black tights and a black leather vest. The taut muscle lines stood out in his arms and thighs. In one hand he held what looked like a slender riding quirt.

One part of her brain said frantically it was just a costume--it was still David under there, the same man who'd touched her fingers so soothingly. But another part snorted and reared in terror. A mask removes identity, denies accountability, and (as shamans have always known) even negates humanity. It creates something alien, that we can't predict or control. The eyes were still David's hazel ones, but disembodied like that they looked inhuman. Lisa didn't know it, but her face was twisted in appeal, begging him to do or say something to reassure her.

Instead, he stepped up, took her by the chin, tilted her head firmly back, and stared into her eyes: "From this point on," he said, "say nothing except in answer to a direct question. Do you understand?" The mask seemed to change even his voice. She nodded, trembling violently.

He stepped back, folding his arms, the whip now uncomfortably visible.

"Take off your bra."

She fumbled with the clasp, then slowly pulled it off and let it drop. Paradoxically, revealing herself made her feel at once helpless and yet oddly powerful, like a slave up for auction but hopeful at least that the bids will flatter her. Lisa knew her beauty was exotic to American men. Her rounded face, black hair, liquid dark eyes and full lips came from her Lebanese mother. Her skin had a Mediterranean pallor, with finely shaded darker pigments under her eyes, in her throat, her armpits, and around her large conical nipples. Holding her shoulders square and her breasts firmly up, she was able to look straight at David. He might punish such boldness, but he'd still be reacting to what she was now, surprisingly, proud to show him.

A faint smile crossed his disembodied mouth. He understood, and approved.

He stepped closer, raised the quirt, and gave one breast a prod. Not painful, but with a nervous giggle, she folded her shoulder over and stepped backward. In a single swift motion, David bounded to her left and then cut hard with the quirt across her buttocks. The sting shocked her. She gasped and grabbed her ass.

"Get your hands down!" he snarled. "Stand up straight." She struggled to comply. Her breathing wouldn't come under control.

Now he was behind her, where her poor vulnerable ass quivered in pain. She stared straight ahead and tried to steady herself.

Do whatever he says, do whatever he says, do whatever he says

. She had no idea whose voice that was, but it gave her something to focus on.

She flinched again when the quirt touched her lightly, between her thighs. This time the leather tip caressed her a little, stroking softly up and down. She almost sobbed with relief--and felt the first wetness spring inside her. Not a lot. She was still too scared to let go. But, irrationally, David's whip now seemed to merge with David's fingers. It, too, was an extension of him. It carried his power to excite and to soothe as well as to inflict pain. He continued his slow circular inspection of her, touching her gently with the whip a few times. She flinched but also, each time, found herself wanting to feel it again.

He was somewhere behind her now, doing what she didn't know. She felt impatient to get out of her remaining things--these ridiculous knickers and stupid socks and shoes. If he liked her breasts--and Lisa was sure he did--then it would feel great to stand completely nude and proud in front of him, to exhibit everything. She couldn't wait for that.

"On your knees," he commanded. She sank. A dark cloth covered her eyes, then he was knotting it, firmly, behind her head. It surprised her that she was surprised. After all, this was in most of the fantasies. She supposed a gag was next.

But he told her to get up, then led her slowly by the hand across the room. It thrilled her to depend on him this way, as if they were children playing in a darkened room, he guiding her through some obstacle course he had made of furniture and blankets. In her blindness, his

charge

of her seemed so complete. She squeezed his hand a little. She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't help it. He didn't respond.

Another command to kneel. Her knees hit padding this time, and she realized she must be at the low A-frame. He pushed her forward till her belly bent over it, her head down on the other side. Then the straps on her wrists, which held her arms straight back at angles. His foot nudged her knees wider apart. Then straps on her ankles, and others just below her knees. She was immobilized, except for being able to raise her head some. Awkward, but not too uncomfortable. Yet anyway. Hard to say how long before she would start to feel strain.

With her ass up, she expected to feel the whip again. She feared the pain--but now she didn't fear it in quite the same way. She would try to be receptive to his pain as well as his pleasure. The very thought of pain and pleasure both coming from him, as he chose, started her wetness again. The darkness helped everything. It encouraged her to retreat into a feeling of soft, helpless, acceptance. She was there to give—meaning, paradoxically, to receive. To take whatever her wanted her to feel.

What she felt next was a slight tug at her knickers, and then the unmistakable sound of scissors. He was cutting the back of her underpants open! That was so bizarre! Why hadn't he just told her to remove them? The shears snipped up the middle, then made other cuts on the top and bottom. She felt cold metal touch in her crack once, but it wasn't sharp. He must be using medical snips. For the first time, she felt his hard fingers brush her buttocks as he pushed the cloth to the sides, exposing her. The touch made her skin tingle.

Now she thought how she must look to him. She had read about this view in fantasies and had seen it in pictures. But it still shocked her to realize that she didn't know how

she

looked from that angle. Women from her background were proud of full buttocks, but did they look fat to this very American man? Her legs were wide open. He was seeing the pear-like globes of her lower pubes, somewhat furred by her black bush. Did the fact that she didn't shave disgust him? He hadn't given any instructions about that. On the internet, the girls were always shaved, but she had always felt somewhat attached to her body hair, though it required more maintenance. It made her feel closer to her parents' world. Her asshole was on view to David, too, but to her consternation she had to admit she hadn't idea what it looked like. Tight? Large? Pink? Brown? (Brown, she thought, like my other coloring. Ugh.) "Rosebud," the porn often called it, but there were plenty that looked nothing like a rosebud. Was there, God forbid, any black hair growing around hers, as she knew some women had? She'd never thought about that before. Now he knew, and she didn't. It was her body, but he possessed it in ways she didn't.

David hadn't instructed her to take an enema. But she had, just to be on the safe side. Lisa had never had anal intercourse and was frightened of the idea. But perhaps that, too, was part of jumping with both feet. Now, in her darkness, she tried to accept it:

Do whatever he wants, do whatever he wants, do whatever he wants.

The next thing she felt was the divine gentle stroking of his fingertips over her labia. Soft, confident, like he was soothing a nervous farm animal. The thought of being an animal he owned and could touch and stroke, and even breed, he wished gave her a deep, dark thrill. She felt like mooing or purring.

Oh, yes, that's so good.

His mere touching projected his complete power over her, and it moved her unspeakably that he was using that power to gentle her sex into readiness to receive him.

Oh, God, yes. Touch me. Please, reach inside me. I need it even more intimate. Inside me. Please.

As if reading her thoughts, he did, ever so softly, slip a fingertip inside, touching her wetness, spreading it. It was so slow, so gentle. She was flooding now, and knew he could feel it. She was a female getting ready to be taken. He slowly circled her sensitive place with his wet fingertip.

Please, please, enter me.

And he did, first with one finger, then with two. His touch had complete authority. It took whatever it wanted. Whatever it took, he had the right to take. She melted at the thought. Whatever he took, she swore to herself, she would give him more. He drew his fingers out of her, spread her wetness over the outside of her labia, then re-entered her more firmly.

Lisa moaned and pushed back against his hand, hoping to make him do it harder, faster. He froze, then he disengaged. She was confused. What was wrong? Then his palm crashed down on her ass, hard. She sucked in her breath. Another blow. And another. And another. She could feel her ass bouncing under the blows. Involuntarily, she jerked against the restraints. She couldn't move. The spanking continued--hard, stinging, hot. On. And on. Her ass was on fire. Her cunt overflowed. All the sensations suddenly swamped into one big turbulent one, an exploding feeling of need. She tried to return to the quiet dark acceptance she had felt earlier, but she couldn't find it now. A kind of frantic feeling rose. She needed something, needed it so much, needed it like air, she would die without it, she couldn't take this much longer--

His thrashing of her buttocks stopped abruptly. She froze, trying to figure out what he would do. Then she was aware he was in front of her, close, so close she could feel his warmth and hear him breathe. She felt his strong fingers lace into her hair and pull her face up. Not roughly, but with the cool muscular authority she was learning to expect. He spoke suddenly, very low, right in her ear, so she jumped.

"Little girl, who can satisfy you?"

She had more difficulty find her voice than she'd expected. "You can," she half-whispered, half-rasped.

She knew his face was right beside her head. She could feel his breath. She could smell her sex on his fingers.

His upward pressure on her head increased slightly, as if to remind her who was in charge.

"Do you want me to satisfy you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Now he forced her head down, until her face ground into the mat on the frame, flattening her nose and distorting her mouth. He punished her that way until the mat was smeared with her slobber.

"Do you know you have to earn that privilege, little girl?"

"Yeth," she slurred against the matt.

"Very well," he said. His grip on her relaxed and she heard him moving around. She had an idea what was coming next.

He brought her face up again and seemed to be positioning her head. "I'm going to give you a chance to show how much you want to earn my approval. I expect absolute, total concentration. You are to have no thought of anything except what I'm permitting you to do. I have enormous experience and I can tell what is going on in your mind and heart. If I think your attention wanders, you will pay a high price. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lisa said.

"Extend your tongue." She did, as if she were about to receive communion. She tried to feel like she did when, as a little girl, she waited to receive the host.

She smelled his cock just before she felt it. Not strong, just a faint skin odor with a hint of sharpness. The essence of male. Then its soft, wrinkled undersurface came gently into contact with her waiting tongue. He was rigid. For a long second nothing moved, as she reflected that she was tasting the cock of the man who held absolute power over her. The thought thrilled her.

His power is entering my mouth!

It

was

like communion, taking this godlike maleness into the soft, wet privateness of her mouth. She wanted badly to move her tongue and give him pleasure (while pleasing herself with his taste). But she remembered,

Do whatever he wants, do whatever he wants, do whatever he wants.

She waited for him to take the lead.

His hands came into her hair again, asserting the now familiar control. He moved forward, slowly filling her mouth with his sex and her heart with a feeling of awe. If his hands had authority, then his cock's authority was ten times greater. It was hard and thick and full of promise that it would take whatever it wanted. It did not care about her, she realized. It knew only its one, huge, straining need, and it would not stop until that need was completely satisfied. That's what men did, or what she wanted them to do, anyway: to use their power on her till they fell, satisfied. It was the awesomeness of male sexual need that drove her own desire. All she wanted was to satisfy this cock. She was sure she could. She had sucked cock before. But she'd always had the feeling that she was doing the man a big favor. This was different. She had nothing to say about it. This man, this cock, were completely in control of her. She was only going to submit to whatever they wanted. She had forgotten her burning ass and brimming cunt. Now she was all soft, receptive mouth. Everything that had happened up to now had been nothing, compared to how this use of male power was going to make her feel.