Sable

You must understand about Sable, not judge her harshly for the pain she was giving to me. She expected me to convert the pain, before her, so she might watch me turn the agony into bliss; to enjoy my struggle, that it might give her catharsis, and me pleasure.

The feud with Johnson had gone on for 3 years that I had witnessed. He wanted her more prestigious classes; to be fair, Sable wanted more of his. They squabbled at times within their own set boundaries; at others, their words were biting, cruel, and meant to slash. They kept themselves within the limits of respect at all times when on campus in the presence of others; at department meetings, they ground out their hellos and comments with coldblooded efficiency and bite.

But everyone knew, who knew them at all, that they despised each other. Sable has only spoken of him a few times, and not I, nor Ian or Eric, nor a few others who have come and gone from our home in the time I have been there, have pushed her to know more. Johnson is a terrible rival, a brilliant adversary, intent on owning Sable's office and acquiring her privileges. In the academic world, and a medical one at that, this is flinging down the gauntlet and spitting in the face of the enemy at the same time. Others had tried in the past 3 years to help them work past their "little difficulties." I had begun to suspect that in some ways, Sable enjoyed the challenge, and Johnson did as well. I secretly felt that both she and he were sadists, secretly enjoying the battle of words and will.

But at times, it would go too far, the stress would be too much. And that was the way it was this day, as I was tortured, tormented, driven to agony, brought to pleasure, plunged back into pain, helpless as the world outside walked by and saw and heard nothing...

Before this day, this afternoon, there have been many times when Sable has smiled and motioned for me to undress before her, as she sat at her desk, or would pull a comfortable chair closer to me. I have hung, braced against the thick wooden door of the closet, very often when I was naked, and outside the bells would ring to draw students to class, and the voices would grow loud in the sidewalks below, then fainter, then still as classes began again, and Sable would look at me during those times, and perhaps say nothing at all, just look, and I would flush in my body and be pleased. My arms would be stretched overhead, tied to the large brass brace that jutted out from the top of the door, my ankles linked by the chains on my leather cuffs to the clever metal bars that Ian had figured into place at the bottom of each side of the door.

At times, Sable has taken great pleasure in making calls to the dean, perhaps, or to colleagues, and placed the phone on speaker, so that I dared not breathe too loudly, or hiss, or moan. If she began to feel I might be in danger of losing control, she would bind my mouth with one of her silken hose that she kept in her desk, wrapping it tightly about my head and between my parted lips, so my mouth could not shut, nor my tongue move about, and she would continue wrapping it until she was satisfied, and tie it behind my head, so I might be muffled more easily. Then I would know, on those times, that I would not merely be hanging against her door for her to watch and tease me with comments, but be played with, toyed, used, for her amusement, for the queen of pleasure and pain, dear Sable.

I had never thought before to look to a woman as my owner, my master or mistress, rather. But as I worked with Sable, and she had begun to tentatively question me, and later, Ian sent to me in private to ask me more, I began to be intrigued, and had played with her, and Ian, and 2 others who lived at her home at that time, until I had accepted her offer and moved in. It was considered prestigious; our mentor, our advisor, providing us with appropriate dorms, easing our way, assisting us so we might be closer to labs, to aid in her research, to help with our studies.

And she did do this. She does do this. And we have benefitted.

But she also plays with us, and though she films me on this day of torture, it is for her, and perhaps a deeply trusted few, and she takes great care. But the danger of it, the excitement for her, of having me in her office, naked, tied and helpless, braced against her closet door, amuses her, excites her, and at times she will call Ian or Eric, or both, to scurry to her office, and then let them in carefully. She torments them, strokes them, ties them, plays with them, until they beg her to please allow them to please her, in turn. Sometimes she will. Sometimes she has me tied, helpless, eager, wanting, watching, and nothing is done to me except to enjoy my torment as I only watch, longing, wishing.

Another great enjoyment for Sable, such as last week, is to bind me again, dangling from huge brace, my legs spread, and as I noted, to have the phone on speaker so that all might hear if I slip in any way. It is a danger, an excitement, and always a fear of mine, but now she knows that I will not betray her. But – she enjoys pushing this, dear Sable. She enjoys it.

Last week, as I was held by my wrists, she pulled the rope much tighter than usual so that even my toes no longer touched the floor, and she bound her hose about my mouth and tied it firmly, and I knew then. She had pulled her favorite chair closer, just in front of me, and at times, as she spoke to this distinguished colleague or that important doctor, to the dean's secretary, to others of significance, she would sometimes stand and hold my breast with her hand; once, she slapped my breast, then again, hard, and a third time, and told the listener that there was a mosquito in the room. Another time, she might play with my nipples.

Last week, before she began her calls, she took a strong ruler, and smacked the insides of my thighs with it many times, until they were stinging and red with marks, and then she began to smack the ruler up, up, flat side, between my legs, laughing as I jumped. Sable enjoyed that very much, and I was glad that she was pleased. She said that she would do that again sometime, since I liked it so much. I was not fond of the pain, but I had begun to have warmth there, from the stinging whacks of the ruler, and from that, I knew I could work myself into pleasure. She was amused, knowing that I did not enjoy the pain of it, so she set aside her calls for a moment more, and continued to slap the ruler up, broadside, up between my legs, again and again, until I began to jerk away from it as much as I could. She grew a little irritated at that; Sable delights in inflicting pain, but she does not want us to draw back from it. She pulled out yet two more slots that Ian, the devil! Had created in pockets on the sides of the thick oaken door. There are 3 sets of slots on each side of that malicious door. This set is midway down the door, and the slats come out, then cleverly twist forward, to face Sable, in this case.

Sable made certain the two metal slats she had pulled out from each side of the door were firmly locked into place. I dreaded this, and she laughed and stroked my breast, leaning over to bite my nipple. "You should not have moved," she said simply, and leaned down to release one of my ankles from the slat below. She raised that leg and pulled it up, up, then over the rounded edge of the slat, which was very awkward for me, as my other leg was still chained below to the lower slat. She soon remedied that; that ankle was freed, and that leg hoisted up by her, over its own slat, and now took a braided rope and went behind the door. I could hear her behind me, humming. She was happy. I heard the clink! Clink! As she snapped first one, then the other ankle links onto one end of the rope, then the other. And now, I could not swing my feet forward at all. I was hanging with all of my weight on my wrists, unless I braced myself against the metal slats that the underneath of my knees now rested on. Behind me, behind the door, was the short braided rope, each of its ends with a link of its own, to which my ankle restraints were now hooked.

I probably looked like a spider, spinning down from my web at my fingertips, my legs hiked up and spread much wider.

Sable was much more interested in another thing, though. Her fingers patted it, stroked it a little.

"Poor, poor little pussy," she said softly. "You really should not have moved away when I was having so much fun, my dear." She bent down and kissed my clit, softly. I moaned.

"No. I will make the noise. You will be very, very quiet. Yes?" I nodded. She checked the silk stocking that was tied about my mouth and head, and added another. I groaned, shaking my head a little.

She used the ruler many times against my clit, the flat side slapping again and again against the soft tissue until it began to redden and swell. Now and then, she would stop and touch it with her cool fingertips, and I would shiver. But she would continue, and at times, she would bring the ruler up under my bottom, striking it with the flat of the ruler hard, hard, smack, smack, until the tears began to roll down my cheeks. At that, she smiled and began to smack my breasts with the ruler, first one, then the other, and then came to the side so she might more easily lay the flat of the ruler across my nipples in sharp, hard whacks. Sable found this a better vantage point, and complained that her wrist was a little tired, but not, she added cheerfully, so tired that she would stop yet.

From this point, she made a few more whacks across my nipples, and a time or two, across the insides of my lower arms. After a moment of this, though, she moved to stand before me again, to reach between my legs more easily, to flick my clit back and forth with the edge of the ruler, sucking one of my nipples as she did until I moaned and began to be eager. At that, she laughed.

"My dear, sweet little whore. When you are in class tomorrow, and I look across the room at you, everyone will think of you, what a good girl you are. What a good, decent girl, your legs crossed so politely. But you and I," she said softly, looking at me as her tongue found my nipple, "You and I will know how eager you were for me today, won't we? How easy it was for me to spread your legs. Didn't you?" I nodded yes. It was true. "And you will squirm in your seat a little, sore, tender, and remember." She smiled, and bit my nipple until my head went back against the door, and I closed my eyes partly. The laugh again, and then a sharp whap so that tears blurred my eyes.

She whipped my clit, my crotch – no, she said the words until I nodded, until she made me agree with her, my pussy, as bad girls do, she said, and she whipped it with the flat of the ruler until it broke, and she was satisfied.

And then, dear Sable, with her long legs and beautiful face, her long black hair that Eric brushed and cared for so tenderly, or that Ian washed at times, or that I tended when Eric could not, for she loved Eric's touch the best on her hair – Sable, dear Sable, giver of pain and pleasure, pulled off her slacks, and her panties,, and went into her closet. She returned with my favorite pair of her shoes on her feet, her smile, her eyes watching mine, and she smoothed her hand down her belly to her crotch, fondling herself as I watched.

Then she pulled her chair closer to me, and she flung one leg over the arm rest, and rested the long, long pointed heel of her lovely, lovely black suede heels, the silver stiletto catching the sun, rested that foot on the floor, turning her foot side to side, looking at it for a moment, then at me, smiling. Then Sable's long slim fingers, her dangerous fingers, punched in the number to dial a colleague, and marvelously, in all the time that followed, she never lost her focus, in discussing chemical reactions and possible theories.

In all that same time, my crotch reddened, my clit swollen maddeningly, my skin buzzing from the stings, my breasts, my nipples, yearning to be touched, stroked,, pulled, twitched, it did not matter to me – in all that time, as Sable spoke and her colleague chatted, she had taken up the foot from the floor and lifted it, lifted it, braced the heel against my belly, then deliberately, slowly, traced the tip of her sharp, silver heel, her long silver heel of four inches, around my belly, slowly, then into my navel, teasing. I shivered a little. She told the man on speaker phone that she had thought of something amusing one of her students had done in lab one day, and told him of it, and they laughed lightly, and her heel fell lower and lower til it rested upon my clit, and there she pressed in a little, and then a little more, and then leaned forward in her seat, watching me, laughing gently with the man on the phone, but watching me intently, as I was her, and she pushed the flat of her shoe against my clit now and I turned my head, closing my eyes, and gripped the chains of my cuffs tightly, tightly. I must not moan. I must not make any noise.

Her laugh again, and more chatter, and the toe of her shoe, mashing against my clit, rubbing a little, tilting back and forth now, rocking side to side a little. I bit into the stocking, hard, my eyes closed tighter now.

They began to discuss when to meet, to bring their notes, write the draft, and a part of me began to wonder how, how could she speak of such things, when her foot, her foot was, and I nearly gasped, and I turned my head and opened my eyes, looking down, the toe of her shoe mashing into my clit again, hard now, and the silver stiletto rising slowly up inside of me. I pushed my head up and back against the wall, and she told him finally that she must go. She ended the call, and removed the shoe from me, and I sighed. She stood and came closer to me, one hand holding my face so that I could not turn my head.

She reached down, and took off her shoe, that shoe, and using the other hand, she glanced down only once, to make certain of her aim, and then pushed the stiletto up inside me again, deeper this time. She worked it back and forth a little, in and out, and it was not enough. Not enough. I had tears again, but of frustration, of yearning, of desire. She saw this. She knew. She depended on it. She plunged the heel back inside me, twisting the shoe against my skin, pushing hard with it, til I pushed back, eager.

"No!" she said suddenly, stepping back. "I decide! I decide when you get more, or if you get more. I do! Me!" I nodded, anxious to please her. This must have shown a little, for her face relaxed, but only slightly.

This led to a delay, for me. She removed me from the door, from my restraints, and I lay on the floor for a few moments, rubbing my wrists and ankles gently. I dared not rub my breasts or clit. Sable owned those. She dressed, then ordered me to do so, though she helped me to rise from the floor, as I was a little shaky. We drove home in silence for a time, then went inside and down the stairs to the Room.

The Room is in a section of the basement, but it is padded and beautiful, dark and sleek just like my Sable. There is a medical table; Sable enjoyed the irony of that. Benches. Hooks on the walls and in the ceilings, a few on the floor. 2 chests to hold toys. One wall has a peg board with whips, floggers, and crops, a few chains. The door is into the Room is heavy, padded as well, and inside, you can scream and moan, and no one can hear you, except for Sable, or those she allows into that room with her.

Other than her victim, of course.

I had tried to push, to gain pleasure before she was ready to allow it, and she was not pleased. When we arrived in the Room, she told me to strip again, and I neatly hung my clothes on the peg designated for my things. Sable preferred neatness.

There is what Sable calls her chain hammock; two sets of sturdy 4x4 posts, grouped 3 posts bound together, and a few feet apart, a second set of 3 posts. It is near a wall, with a strong hook overhead in the beam above. Each grouping of posts has strong hooks near the top, and one or two near the bottom. Sable changes the method she uses as her mood changes.

She was frowning, and I approached her, naked, barefoot, shivering a little. The Room can be chill, at times, but I was also wondering what would result from her mood. She motioned to the posts; I followed and stood, waiting. The red marks from the ruler were fading, but the skin was still tender, the nipples now erect again in the cooler air, and in my nervousness.

"You know you must wait on me, me to decide, to choose, when you may have pleasure." She said that. It was not a question. I nodded. I did know this. But there had been that moment – it did not matter. It was for her to decide. I had agreed to that 3 years ago.

She checked the peg board, her hands moving among the chains hanging down. "Put on your cuffs," she said over her shoulder. I obeyed. The cuffs here were the same as those in her office: leather, padded, softness inside so my wrists or ankles would not show marks. Just as difficult to free myself, though. She had had them made for her tastes by a friend, and the buckles of the cuffs had a final lock on them. Only Sable could free me, once she chose to lock the cuffs about me. I knew this, too.

She selected a chain, satisfied, and I shuddered, said nothing. She does not like to be interrupted. She hooked one end of the chain to the top of one post grouping, walked to the second grouping of posts, and hooked the other end onto the top of it. There was a slight amount of draping in the center of the chain, which was strong enough to hold me, unfortunately, and narrow enough to fit snugly between my legs. I sighed to myself, so she would not hear. Sable scooted a footstool towards it, centered it beneath the chain. I stepped onto the edge of it, swung one leg over, and sat on the chain, wincing. I'd done this before a couple of times. Sable brought over the camera that she kept in that room, settled its tripod, and focused it onto my crotch and the chain. From time to time, I knew, she would move the camera so she could catch my face in it as I winced.

"My dear, eager little slut. You know you are not supposed to be eager, unless I say you may?" I nodded. She smoothed her hand on my hair. "You may scream here, if you want to." I nodded again. We both knew that nobody would hear me, except her, and the camera. She smiled, happy. I lifted my arms up, and she clipped my wrists cuffs to a hook that was lowered, then when she was satisfied that the restraints were sturdily clicked into place, she locked the cuffs, then pulled the rope that held the hook, and hoisted my arms above me, tied it off to its hook on the wall, and stepped back. She placed clover clamps on my nipples, laughing as I jerked a little. They were sore and tender, swollen, from the ruler. She added weights to the clamps, then added little chains to the end of the clamps, and lifted those above, standing on her toes, and hooked those to the end of my wrist cuffs as well, so the nipples were tugged painfully upwards, while weights tried to force them down. She was in an evil mood tonight, and enjoying it.

She checked to make certain that my flesh was separated on each side of the chain, so I was pressing my weight against my clit and openness, and she stroked my bottom with her fingers and told me to enjoy myself, and cry if I must. That I could come on the chain and in fact, she added considerately, I could not be removed from the chain until I had done so, at least once. I nodded, already gritting my teeth.

At times, while I straddled the chain, I tried to ease the pain by shifting a little, but this began to help less and less. I pulled up a little with my arms, so that I might ease the weight a bit, but she saw this and quickly hooked my ankle cuffs to bolts in the floor, so I might not rise more than an inch, if that.