Learning

(As a number of astute readers have pointed out, the names of my characters in the original version of this story got mixed up. This version corrects that.)

The party was getting boring and I was getting tired. It was almost 11:00 p.m. I started to move toward the door when I noticed, for the first time, a lady dressed in an inviting black skirt and sheer white blouse that revealed a pretty white-laced bra beneath. I caught her eye and, surprisingly, she smiled at me. I think I blushed.

Moving toward her, past a few revelers, I got a closer look. She was stunning. A clear, milky-white complexion. Long auburn hair. Deep blue eyes. An engaging smile. Perfect teeth. A cute pug nose. She was holding a glass of red wine.

"Hi, I don't believe we've met," I said. "I'm David…"

"David Reynolds," she interrupted.

I was startled. "How do you know my name?"

"I asked someone," she replied with a coy smile. "I'm Sarah. Sarah Haney."

"Well, I'm please to meet you, Sarah."

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Reynolds."

I wondered why she didn't address me by my first name, but there was something quite pleasing about her formality. We spent the next half hour finding out about each other. She was an attorney, apparently well-to-do. Soft spoken. She liked to laugh. When she talked to me, her eyes seemed to go through mine. She had a habit I especially liked— she lightly touched my arm from time to time to make a point.

When she finished her glass of wine I asked her if I could get her another. "I'd prefer a martini," she said.

"On the rocks?"

"I prefer to make my own," she replied.

"I'll be glad to help you."

"I should hope so," she laughed. "Would you be kind enough to go upstairs and get my coat?"

I looked at her with a bewildered look. "I thought you wanted a martini."

"I do. But I have the perfect ingredients at my residence, Mr. Reynolds."

I was stunned. There was no doubt about what she meant. "I… I thought you said you were married."

She laughed again. "I am. Is there anything wrong with a drink between friends?"

It was my turn to smile broadly. "No, of course not."

"My coat is the half-length black leather coat in the closet near the front door."

I retrieved her coat and helped her into it. The leather was unbelievably supple. "Thank you," she said. "You are a gentleman, Mr. Reynolds. I am driving the white Maxima out front. Why don't you follow me."

She led the way. It was my first real opportunity to steal a glance at her legs. They were perfect, like the rest of her. Long and sleek. I wondered if I would get a chance to see more of them later."

Her house was a dream. Tastefully decorated. Well maintained. She threw her coat over a chair near the door as I followed her in. I placed mine on top of it.

"The bar is in the rec room downstairs, Mr. Reynolds."

I followed her again. Her exquisite ass strained against the tight black skirt. She had to have known I was looking at it.

The rec room was just as beautiful as the rest of the house, occupying the entire basement. A pool table with a bright green cover over it was in the middle of the room. The bar was stacked with a wide variety of liquors.

"May I get you something, Mr. Reynolds?"

"I'll have what you are having, Sarah."

"I make a really mean martini," she laughed. "How do you like yours?"

"On the rocks, with a lemon twist."

I watched her make two drinks. Hers was straight up, with an olive. She handed me mine and moved to a tan leather sofa. Politely, I waited for her to be seated. She crossed her legs demurely. I sat next to her.

"I guess your husband is not at home," I said, somewhat nervously.

She laughed, obviously aware of my nervousness. "He's away on a month-long business trip to Singapore. He just left yesterday."

We chatted for at least an hour. Her seemingly innocuous touches continued throughout the conversation, sometimes on my forearm, sometimes on my thigh. I was growing more and more enamored with her as the evening wore on. Just as I was wondering if I should make a move, she shifted her body toward me and brought her face closer to mine. "You have very informative eyes," she said. "I can tell a lot about a man from his eyes."

Suddenly she leaned forward and kissed me, her hand moving stealthily to the back of my head. The kiss, light at first, kindled into passion. When her tongue sought mine, I thought I was in heaven. My erection was instantaneous. When she broke the kiss, she looked down at the obvious bulge in my pants.

I blushed.

"We've awakened a sleeping giant, I see."

"I don't know about the 'giant' part," I said. "But it sure isn't sleeping."

She laughed. "I am glad to see you are easily aroused. I like that in a man."

I couldn't believe my good fortune. I was already picturing her naked body in a satin- covered bed.

"I didn't bring you home, Mr. Reynolds, merely for drinks and conversation."

I smiled. "You had an ulterior motive?" I asked coyly.

"Exactly. Stand up in front of me." Her words were more like a order from a drill sergeant than a sexy request, but I complied. "Lower your zipper," she commanded.

Her eyes were glued to my crotch as I pulled the zipper down.

"Take your cock out, Mr. Reynolds."

I reached inside and somehow managed to disengage my penis from inside my underpants, allowing my erection to poke skyward from the "V" of my lowered fly.

"Move your hand out of the way. Give me a better look."

I moved my hand away from the front of my pants. I felt foolish standing there with a solid-gold erection in front of a woman I hardly knew, but was beginning to fall for in a big (no pun intended) way. She stared at my cock for at least a minute, studying it like a child with a schoolbook. I waited for her to reach out and touch it.

"Masturbate."

I looked at her dumbfoundedly. "What?" I asked incredulously.

"Make it come for me," she said in that same commanding voice.

This was insane. "I… I…"

"Sorry. You are taking too long, Mr. Reynolds. Let me show you to the door."

She arose from the sofa, being careful when she uncrossed her legs not to give me too much of a glimpse between them.

"I don't understand," I said, already feeling a deep sense of disappointment.

"It's very simple, Mr. Reynolds. I do not permit hesitation when I ask someone to do something. You may put that thing back in your pants and get your coat."

Her tone was obvious. I eased my now half-hard erection into my pants and zippered back up. Retrieving my coat from the chair, she showed me to the door.

I turned toward her as I left. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I would like to see you again. Please."

The look on her face was cold as ice. "I doubt that that will ever happen, Mr. Reynolds. Good evening."

The sound of the door closing behind me hurt terribly. I went home and hardly slept. I had become infatuated with this beautiful woman. The next morning, a Saturday, I looked up her telephone number in the phone book. Thankfully it was not unlisted. Her sexy voice was on an answering machine.

"Sarah. This is David. If you are there, please pick up."

Silence.

"Sarah, please call me. 344-5428."

A day went by. No call. I called again on Sunday. Answering machine again. I left the same message with one difference—the "please" was more like a pleading.

Still no return phone call. I guess I gave up and realized this dream of a woman would never be in my arms.

Just after dinner on the following Saturday, my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Reynolds?"

"Yes! Sarah???"

"I think you are worth one more chance. There was potential there."

"I am sorry if I offended you," I blurted.

"You didn't offend me at all, Mr. Reynolds. You disobeyed me. If you can follow simple commands, then you are welcome to drop this evening."

"I… I'll do anything."

"I know you will. That's why I am inviting you over. BUT—if you even hesitate for a brief second when I ask you to do something, the evening will be over immediately. Is that understood?"

Domineering was too light a word for this woman, but I was so drawn to her that I readily agreed.

I knocked on her door and it was opened by a maid dressed in a typical maid's uniform, black with a white apron. I was surprised to see the maid. She was quite pretty, perhaps 24 or 25 years old.

"You are Mr. Reynolds?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Yes."

"Mrs. Haney is downstairs. I will show you to her."

I followed the maid to the recreation room that I had failed Sarah in. She was sitting on the same sofa, dressed this time in a totally black, form-fitting dress that almost took my breath away. She seemed more beautiful than I remembered her. "Thank you, Pricilla," she said.

Pricilla turned and went back upstairs. Sarah smiled. "Welcome back, Mr. Reynolds. I trust we can come to better terms on your return trip."

I felt that familiar blush. "I hope so."

"Mr. Reynolds, you were dismissed last week because you felt a need to disobey me. You must understand that when I ask you to do something… anything… anything at all, it will be done without question, without hesitation. The second I feel you are incapable of that requirement, you will be asked to leave again. Only this time, you will never be invited to return. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now come closer to me."

I moved toward her. She was like a magnet. I was drawn to her in a way I had never been drawn to any woman. Had she cast some kind of spell on me? It was almost uncanny.

Suddenly she stared at my crotch. "Take it out again," she said in a firm voice.

My mind raced for a fleeting moment, wondering why she would do this with her maid in another room. As I lowered my fly, I looked at her and said, "It's not hard yet, Sarah."

"That is fine. I like to watch a cock get hard. I am sure we can achieve that state in just a few moments. And, Mr. Reynolds, until you are told otherwise, you are to address me as 'Mistress.'"

"Yes, Mistress." What the hell had I gotten myself into?

I took my penis out. She watched as it hung limply. "You have a gorgeous cock, Mr. Reynolds. I saw the 'after' last week, and I like the 'before' just as well." She stared at it while my face turned a thousand shades of red.

"You may make it hard now, Mr. Reynolds." I reached down and slowly stroked myself into an erection. It was surprisingly easy. I stood in front of her, stroking myself, while she watched intently. "Very nice," she almost cooed. "I like your cock very much. I think we can find some interesting things to do with it."

I was hoping she would.

"Bring it closer and take your hand away."

I stepped toward her as she leaned forward, my penis only inches from her face. Suddenly she reached inside my pants and gathered my testicles. Gently, she extracted them from the confines of my underpants and drew them outside into the night air. Her touch was electric and my cock gained in stature.

"There is way too much hair on your balls, Mr. Reynolds. We will have to shave them, sooner than later."

I gulped. "Yes, Mistress."

She grasped my cock and squeezed it, lightly at first, and then quite firmly. Almost too tightly. Bit I endured, taking a deep breath. She ran her thumb alongside the urethra, pressing inward and upward, forcing clear pre-cum to emerge. "Very nice texture," she said in a voice soft as silk. "Except for the balls, I think everything is quite in order."

I wanted to thank her, but thought the better of it. She began to stroke me lightly for a few moments and I cocked my head back to enjoy the feeling. I could feel the urge building inside me.

"One of my rules, Mr. Reynolds, is that you are not permitted to cum unless I give you permission. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Have you ever been whipped?" she asked out of the blue.

The word "whipped" buzzed around my head for a moment like a bee in a bottle. I bit my lower lip. "No, ma'am."

"You shall be, of course. Turn around and let me examine the target area." She released my cock and I turned away from her. "Drop your pants down," she ordered.

I opened my belt, undid the button, and let my pants drop to a circle around my feet.

"The underpants too." The underpants followed. "Now bend over, hands on your knees."

As I bent over, she pushed my shirt half way up my back to give herself an unobstructed view of my naked ass. I felt her eyes on me, yet, despite the obvious embarrassment, I somehow liked the feeling of being under this woman's power. I felt her fingertips search the surface of my skin and then, without warning, she used her two thumbs to pry the cheeks apart, exposing my most private of places.

"Mmmmm. Very nice anus, too. Very fuckable."

I couldn't believe what I had just heard. I had never thought of my ass as "fuckable."

"The first evening, Mr. Reynolds, is always the easiest. Kind of a test to determine your predisposition to events that will follow. If you have potential for growth, then I am sure we will have many pleasant evenings together." Still prying my ass cheeks apart, she ran the nail of her index finger across my anus. It actually felt good. Surprisingly good. "But, as I said, the hairs on your genitals must be removed. Priscilla will take care of that in a few moments and then prepare you."

Holy shit! The maid shaving me???? And what was I going to be "prepared" for?

I could have stopped the proceedings right then and there. Before meeting Sarah I would have never let things get even this far. But her spell was far too deep to resist.

Suddenly she called Priscilla. Here I was, my backside exposed to the wind, and a maid I had barely met was standing next to me. "Yes, Mistress?"

So she called her "Mistress" too.

"Mr. Reynolds requires his genitals to be shaved. When you are done, bring him to the Pleasure Room and prepare him for a little whipping."

"At your service, Ma'am. Mr. Reynolds, please follow me."

I pulled up my clothes and followed Priscilla to a rather large, beautifully tiled bathroom. The bathroom was big enough to accommodate an eight-foot table that had bath towels laying across it.

"You will get completely undressed and lie down on the table," said the maid in a soft- spoken yet firm voice.

"Completely?" I asked.

She didn't answer me. Her stern look was all that was necessary. And I didn't want word to get back to Sarah that I had hesitated even in the slightest. So I disrobed down to my birthday suit, my cock now limp as a noodle, and eased my back onto the table. Priscilla seemed unaware of my predicament, moving about the bathroom, basically ignoring me. I closed my eyes and thought deeply about how far this all would go. I opened my eyes once more when I felt the maid's hands on my balls.

"I am going to lather you up a little," she said, half-whispering. "Please don't move."

When I saw the straight-edged razor in her hand, I knew I dare not move. Nonchalantly, she coated my testicles with a thick lather of shaving cream. It was quite cold to the touch and I felt my cock shrivel slightly at the first touch. She then lathered the area around the base of cock. I closed my eyes at the first touch of the blade to my privates. I was leaving my most worldly possessions in the hopefully capable hands of a young maid.

I felt the blade contact the sensitive surface of the testicles. I gripped my hands tightly. "Relax, Mr. Reynolds, I have done this many times before." Somehow I assumed she had. As she removed the hairs around my balls, she applied more lather and soothingly warm water as needed to accomplish her mission. The rest of my pubic hairs were next. I was almost petrified, but kept perfectly still. Amazingly, I came through the procedure unscathed. Thank goodness!

Priscilla dried me with a soft cotton towel. Her touch urged my manhood slightly, but I maintained my dignity long enough for her to help me from the table. "Come with me, please," she said politely.

"My clothes?" "You won't be needing them where you are going, Mr. Reynolds. Not for the rest of the evening anyway."

Totally naked, my cock swinging freely, I walked next to Priscilla to a room at the far end of the corridor. She used a key to open the door, then held it for me to enter. There was only one item of furniture in the room, if you could call it furniture. A black sawhorse with a thick red velvet pad on top of the cross-bar. And leather cuffs at the bottom of each of the four legs. All of a sudden I had an idea of what being "prepared" meant.

"You will lean over the sawhorse, Mr. Reynolds," said Priscilla, "your tummy on top of the cushion."

With more than a little trepidation I moved across the thick carpet to the ominous-looking contraption that stood in the center of the room. Hardly had I bent over it when the maid moved to kneel behind me. Quickly she pulled my left leg to the side and affixed the leather cuff around it, tightening it just enough to cause a slight discomfort. She moved to the other side and did the same. I could only imagine the view she was getting with my legs spread wide and my genitals swinging in the breeze. Before I knew it, my wrists were shackled to the front of the sawhorse. For good measure, she drew a strap from one end of the sawhorse to the other, pulling it tightly over my back, ensuring my movements were all but impossible. Before she left, she placed a blindfold over my eyes so I was left in almost total darkness.

In an instant, Priscilla was gone, leaving me naked and alone. Purposefully, Sarah left me naked and alone like this to ponder my fate. I knew I was about to be whipped for the first time in my life, but I had no idea what else might be in store for me. As the minutes passed, the more worried I became.

Finally, the door opened. I had no idea if it was Priscilla or Sarah who moved behind me. Whoever it was moved so quietly I could hardly hear movement. I strained to listen in the darkness. Then, without warning, I heard a slight whistling sound, followed by a loud crack of leather against flesh. Her leather. My flesh. I felt a searing, burning pain across my backside and cried out. My voice reverberated throughout the room.

"My dear Mr. Reynolds," came the voice through the pain. It was Sarah. Wickedly beautiful Sarah who was also wickedly painful Sarah. "If you are going to be a baby about this we are going to have to gag you. Please try to be a bit more quiet."

I braced myself for the next stroke. Instead, I felt a few light taps from the tip of whatever she was using. Then she reached back. I braced again, clenching my ass cheeks tightly.

"The more you clench like that, Mr. Reynolds, the more it will hurt. You will need to learn to relax and accept. Easy for her to say. And the second I relaxed she wailed into me with a second stroke that must have left a huge gash. It didn't, of course, but it sure felt like it. My ass was literally on fire from just two measures of her merciless whip.

"He is taking it better than I thought, but he has so much to learn," said Sarah.

"He is streaking nicely already," said a second softer voice. Priscilla. Watching this show!

"His balls look very nice. You did a fine job, Priscilla."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Would you be kind enough to tease them for me?"

"Gladly, ma'am."

A small hand on my newly-shaved testicles, weighing the sack in her palm. Gently massaging them. Pushing them and watching them sway to and fro between my well spread legs. Suddenly she grabbed them, squeezing them tightly, pulling them sharply down. I winced, then cried out again from the pain. This was more than "teasing," at least in my book. When she cruelly twisted my beleaguered sack while applying way too much pressure, I cried out even more loudly than I had the first time.

"He didn't listen very well about making noise, did he?" asked an obviously annoyed Sarah.