No Quarter for Atherine

Warning: This story contains graphic scenes depicting pain.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 years or older when in sexual situations.

I'll explore further adventures if there is reader interest. Let me know what you think.

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Prologue

I sensed it was time to fulfill our intertwined destinies. I went downstairs to my "playroom" knowing that Jessie was waiting with great anticipation. Not less than an hour ago I secured her to my St. Andrew's cross with her pure white unmarked back exposed for her pain and my pleasure. I had shown her that she had always had a submissive streak in her and she now wanted to learn about the sensual transformation of pain into pleasure. I was going to be her teacher and lover.

My heavy boots echoed into the basement below as I hit each tread of the open wooden stairway with an authoritative "twump." I'm sure Jessie's heart rate was accelerating with each footfall. As I reached the bottom of the stairwell I once again reveled in the sight of Jessie's nude body; a body that would inflame even a person of the most prurient of intentions. Her long flowing auburn hair, the curve of her back, the perfect shape of her buttocks and thighs, and the toned muscles in her calves accentuated by her 5 inch black stiletto heels, made an indelible impression in my mind.

I picked up my riding crop and traced a line from her neck to her shoulders and down the small of her back. She shuddered, with goosebumps rising on her arms and legs. I lowered the crop to her inner thigh, and then swept it upwards to capture the moisture from her clean shaven pussy and massage those viscous fluids against her inflamed clit. Her inner thighs were now beginning to subtly tremble.

"Please Master Duncan," she groaned as if her plea would be heeded.

I took the riding crop and struck the St. Andrew's cross not more than an inch from her left ear. She flinched against her bonds and beads of perspiration were now dotting her forehead. I repeated the same motion next to her right ear. Her breathing was now in staccato gulps.

I waited for a minute, or an eternity in Jessie's mind, before I landed the first strike on her left shoulder blade. She was determined not to cry out but the sting of the blow caught her by surprise and an audible gasp escaped her lips. The crop left a bright red impression on her shoulder. I then hit her right shoulder with equal force. She was able to stifle her groan but not without considerable effort. I reached out my hand and lightly traced my fingers across her shoulders. She pressed her body firmly against the St. Andrew's cross as the intensity of the light touch was more than she could bear. I repeated that series of blows and touches all the way down her back, alternating blows with the riding crop and the touch of my hand. By the time I reached her buttocks Jessie's back was dotted with marks from the crop. She was unable to control her crying and struggled to catch her breath between sobs.

I looked down between her legs. Her pussy was a sodden mess with her fluids now running freely down her thighs.

I pulled down my leather pants to my ankles and shimmied forward until my erect penis was touching the entrance to her sex. I could feel the moisture and heat of her pussy on the head of my penis. It took every ounce of my self-control to stop myself from taking her right then. Instead, I took my right hand and snaked it around to the front of her body and used two fingers to caress Jessie's clit in slow circles.

"Please, please Master!"

Her pleas again went unheeded as I quickened the motion of my hand. Her thighs were now uncontrollably quivering and her panting was the only noise we could hear in the cavernous basement. I then thrust my penis deep inside of her and at the same time whispered in her ear, "Cum you slut."

Jessie let her body go and it responded with an intensity she didn't dream was possible. She was mine and I was hers.

Chapter One

August 20

That was a wrap on Chapter 5, the final chapter of "Jessie Submits to Her New Master." It was fun to write. I wasn't sure how it was going to turn out until I wrote it. I was really happy that I was able to write this final scene in a way where Jessie would experience the pain and pleasure she was seeking and not paint Duncan as a pure sadist. I loved being able to weave together raw sex with an undercurrent of romance.

I spell checked it and posted it to Literotica in the BDSM category.

That was the fifth series I'd posted to Literotica. My last series, "Jenna Becomes a Pain Slut," was also well received. I received over 20 public comments and at least a dozen private ones.

I updated my profile to tell my 158 followers that I'd posted the last chapter to "Jessie Submits to Her New Master." I knew it was a bit of a dodge to have me down in my biography as "Male" with a location of "California" and fetishes such as "Domination, Pain and Orgasm Denial." Did anyone really want to know that I was really Katherine Marconi, a 39 year old housewife in Teaneck, New Jersey who was straight, married for 20 years, with an 18 year old teenage daughter, who had never stepped out in her life and whose only spanking was administered by her mother when she was four years old? Probably not.

It was late August and my baby, my Stephanie, was off to college in two weeks. After the grueling process of college applications and tours she was finally going to Boston College. My husband Michael took three vacation days from his job as a staff attorney with an agency of the City of New York so that we could drive Stephanie to school and help her move into her dorm room. I had never spent any time thinking about what it was going to be like to be an empty nester and that moment was about to be on top of me.

August 24

Chapter 5 of "Jessie Submits to a New Master" was published the previous evening. I checked my "Works" tab and saw that it already had over 4,000 views, 50 reviews and 6 posted comments.

The comments were for the most part complimentary of the last chapter with one that was unintelligible. I went to check in my second gmail account that was linked to my Literotica pen name "TheVelvetGlove." There were four new e-mails with private comments. The first one said "Wanted to let you know that this story resonated with me. I identify with Jessie and am waiting for my Duncan." I meted out a quick response. "Glad you liked the story. Everyone needs a Duncan to complete them. Good luck on your search." The second one asked me if this was a true story. "It's based on some experiences I've had. Thank you for your comment." I knew my response wasn't really true but it was based on experiences I've had reading other stories. The third one was a note urging me to write more. The fourth one made me pause. "I've read all of your stories. I know your bio is false. Your true self is revealed in your stories." The note left a reply e-mail of NoQuarter1979@gmail.com.

I couldn't resist replying to this e-mail.

TheVelvetGlove: Please let me know what I have revealed.

August 25

I started the process of packing Stephanie's bags for her freshman year. It was a challenge as her room accumulated a wide assortment of items over the ten years we'd lived in this house. I made two piles -- one for consideration to go with Jessie and one for consideration to go to the local homeless shelter. I corralled Steph from the family room and made her go through each of the piles.

During this down time I went to my computer to check my e-mails. I got a reply.

NoQuarter: You want everyone to believe you are Duncan. You are Jessie.

The reply gave me a shiver. I closed my laptop and grabbed a glass of my favorite chardonnay. Is that true? I'd never asked myself that question. Am I a submissive? Do I identify with Jessie?

While Steph was fussing in her room I did some soul searching. Why did I write these stories? It certainly wasn't for the money so it was clearly for pleasure. It gave me pleasure to write about these BDSM scenes. It gave me pleasure to put myself in the place of my characters - - to visualize what they were going through and to project their feelings. I'd never identified with the strong male character. Yes. I identified with Jessie.

I had to screw up the courage to reply, even knowing my reply was essentially anonymous.

TheVelvetGlove: You are right. I am Jessie. What am I to do with this epiphany?

August 25

NoQuarter: Love it and live it.

TheVelvetGlove: How do I do that?

August 26

NoQuarter: If you need to ask that question you are more fucked up than I thought. If you want my help you're going to need to tell me the truth about yourself. If not, you're not only fucked up but afraid.

I was interested in what he had to say but terrified at surrendering my anonymity. I started drafting a response and stopped. Anyway, it was time to get Steph off to college.

August 30

Back from Boston. Checked my e-mail and saw I had one new one.

NoQuarter: Thought so.

That night I tried to initiate sex with Michael, something that usually doesn't happen.

"Hey frisky one. What's up with you?" Michael asked with true curiosity, an emotion usually not evoked after 20 years of marriage.

"I just wanted you. Is that OK?"

"Of course, I'm all yours," he replied, pulling his pants off. As he laid back to receive the usual pre-intercourse blow job I didn't think I was ever going to be anywhere close to Jessie with Michael. Too much water under the bridge for that kind of sea change in our relationship. We did have great vanilla sex but NoQuarter's e-mail was gnawing at me.

With Michael snoring away, I quietly slipped out of bed and into my study.

TheVelvetGlove: You're right about me. I'm a 39 year old housewife in Teaneck, New Jersey. I'm happily married with one adult child in college. My life has been vanilla. I want Neapolitan. Is it too late to change my ice cream preference?

I was checking my other e-mails when a reply came in.

NoQuarter: No. It's never too late. I'm going to be in New York on business in a week. I'm staying at the Ritz-Carlton. Send a picture if you want to meet me.

Whoa. I'm happily married. I'm curious. I'm not interested in taking this step. It's one thing to write about it, another to act on it. No.

I went back to bed. Michael was still snoring. I'd gone through a five minute mini-trauma and Michael was none the wiser.

August 31

This morning was my first as an empty nester. Michael already went to work. I was alone in the kitchen with my coffee. I really didn't have any friends that I could share this information with (without the risk of it getting out) and I was sure as hell not going to ask my mother. I checked my e-mail again.

NoQuarter: Cat got your tongue?

TheVelvetGlove: I'm thinking about it.

NoQuarter: I'll be in the hotel lobby bar on September 4 at 5 p.m. I'll have a dozen red roses in front of me. They'll be for you if you show.

TheVelvetGlove: I can't promise I'll be there.

How convenient. Michael was going to be in Philadelphia on business for two days, including September 4. I couldn't believe I was actually thinking about it.

I decided to vent my feelings in a new series I called "Kat's Adventure."

So should Kat's heed the siren's call of her virtual Master? The world within her mind started to merge with the real world. Master Quinn was as real as her husband. His command must be obeyed.

I decided to go to New York. I could always pull the plug and walk away. You only live once. I was an uptown girl living in a white bread world (sorry Billy Joel).

September 4

Michael was already gone for a day. I was thinking about it all night and barely got any sleep. I picked out a sexy outfit. My best party dress; a low cut powder blue dress that was cut four inches above the knee, matching high heels and my black lace demi-bra and matching panties. I checked myself in the mirror. Girl, you've still got game! My cleavage was substantial. I decided to bring a button up sweater in case I wanted to cover myself. I took an Uber to the Ritz-Carlton.

It was an hour ride into the City. That hour gave me even more alone time to reflect on what I wanted to do. What would Jessie do? She would follow her heart. It was 4:50 p.m. I was sitting in the back of the lobby bar, probably fifty feet from the bar. Lots of well-dressed people milling around but I didn't see anyone with roses. Maybe it was a joke. I decided to wait till 5:15 and then take off. I would chalk this up to experience and a dead end in my life.

It was 5:00. I walked closer to the bar and saw a man sitting at the bar. He was wearing a nicely tailored suit and was sitting next to a dozen roses on the bar. Handsome, probably late 40's or early 50's. Salt and pepper hair. A bit of a five o'clock shadow that looked sexy. Probably six foot, medium build. He was sipping what looked like a bourbon.

I wasn't sure I could do it. Maybe the chase was more thrilling than the capture. I felt like the dog that caught the bus. What did I do? I ran. I turned tail and went out to the street. I fired up my smartphone and ordered an Uber home. The car arrived in no more than three minutes and I was off to the safety of Teaneck. What the fuck was I thinking? Did I really want to risk my marriage for what might be a senseless rendezvous with a stranger? Of course not. I kept telling myself that all the way home. An hour later I was in my kitchen sipping wine and playing that scene over and over in my head.

I fired up my computer and wrote:

Kat told herself that her conscience was strong. She wanted to heed the call of her Master but her loyalty to her husband ruled the day. At least that's what Kat told herself. The truth? Kat didn't have the courage to go through with it. She knew she longed to obey her Master and to surrender control of her life to him but couldn't seem to break the chains she's forged in her vanilla life. Should she reconsider?

As I was writing this passage a new e-mail popped up in my inbox.

NoQuarter: Couldn't screw up the courage?

I dashed off a reply:

TheVelvetGlove: I'm afraid not. I'm sorry.

NoQuarter: I saw you.

I was truly surprised. I never sent a picture.

TheVelvetGlove: I wasn't there.

NoQuarter: Of course you were. You were wearing that stunning blue dress with the matching shoes. By the way, you looked sensational in that outfit.

TheVelvetGlove: You got me. I just couldn't bring myself to go to you.

NoQuarter: Don't worry my pet. That was an introduction enough for me. Don't forget. I've read all your stories. I formed a mental impression of you. You fit that impression.

TheVelvetGlove: How so?

NoQuarter: Beautiful, vulnerable, a non-risk taker, curious.

TheVelvetGlove: Beautiful?

NoQuarter: Don't be so obvious about fishing for a compliment. But I'll indulge you. Your pouty lips to touch mine, your neck and ears to be nibbled, your creamy white breasts to be caressed and kissed, your long sinewy legs to be stroked and that lovely junction between your legs to be licked, fingered and fucked and your ass to be striped with my flogger. Your husband doesn't do that for you?

TheVelvetGlove: You know he doesn't.

NoQuarter: And he never will. But you want it. You want it more than anything, don't you my pet?

I paused. Even this interchange was happening too fast. I was too easy to read. He was anticipating my every move, even my false start at the bar. I was the rabbit. He was the fox. But doesn't the rabbit want to submit to the fox?

TheVelvetGlove: I do.

No response. I thought my virtual Master wanted me to simmer and so did I. Too much to process in too short a period of time.

September 18

It was two weeks since I'd heard from NoQuarter. I'd calmed down. I didn't do anything I would be ashamed of. I went to the City. I went to a bar and came home. Nothing to see here. But that nagging sensation had now become a siren's song. I could hear it all day and all night. I couldn't let it go. It was also blocking my writing. I couldn't seem to write about anything.

Then that evening:

NoQuarter: I'll be in the City again on business. Same bar, same time on September 25.

TheVelvetGlove: I'll think about it.

Of course that's all I could think of. This time there was no convenient excuse with Michael. He was not traveling that week.

September 21

I decided I had to go. I couldn't function. It was all I could think about. I needed to deal with this now or live in purgatory. I couldn't take that.

TheVelvetGlove: I will try to be there. But there are conditions.

NoQuarter: I'm listening.

TheVelvetGlove: You can't lay a hand on me.

NoQuarter: Easy enough. I wasn't planning on that. See you on the 25

th

.

Crap. I couldn't believe he readily agreed to my condition. Was he lying to me? Now I had to deal with Michael. I told Michael I was going to meet a girlfriend in the City for drinks and dinner on the 25

th

. That was partially truthful. I was going to the City for drinks. So far it was only a little white lie, right?

I'd already worn my best party dress. Time to shop. I went to Nordstroms and picked out a tasteful outfit. Yellow blazer with low cut black bodycon dress, narrow black belt and black platform pumps with five inch heels.

September 25

It was time to call Uber. Off to the City. I was in my new outfit. I was feeling confident and apprehensive. Also a bit guilty even though technically I hadn't done anything . . . yet. Michael was still at work and wouldn't be home till at least 8. I got to the Ritz a half hour early and sat in the back of the bar scoping out the action. There wasn't very much going on at this hour. My heart was beating a bit fast and I couldn't slow it down. I went back to the bathroom to check my make-up and take a last minute pee. When I came back there were a dozen roses sitting on the bar. There were a handful of people sitting at the bar but I didn't see the man I saw last time. It was show time.

I walked to the bar. There were three people sitting in proximity to the roses. I approached the man that was sitting closest to the flowers.

"Excuse me, are those your roses?"

"Sorry no. They were sitting here when I sat down. They must belong to someone else."

An attractive woman sitting next to the man wiggled her finger in a "come hither" motion. I turned to face her. "TheVelvetGlove I presume?"

I was completely flustered. "But . . . but . . ."

"You were expecting a man?"

"YYYes," I stammered.

"Did you want to leave now?"

"No . . . no. I just wasn't mentally prepared for a woman. I saw a man last time sitting in front of the roses."

"That's right, but I was sitting next to him and the roses were actually in front of me. You were expecting a man so you saw the roses in front of him. Isn't that a bit sexist of you?"

I was embarrassed. She was right. I envisioned seeing a man so I saw what I wanted to see. "I'm so sorry. We've gotten off on the wrong foot."

"Not at all. I was hoping to have a reason to punish you."

Ohhhhhhh.

"I love the new outfit you bought just for me. By the way, my name is Victoria."