Before my eyes opened, I was able to sense his presence in the room. The weight of his eyes on my skin was more than enough to pull me from the innocence of my dreams. I tried to keep my breathing steady, to continue to feign sleep in order to lengthen this moment that I was beginning to find so dear - the way he simply looked at me. His fingers softly touched the side of my face, tracing down over my jaw and brushing over my lips. A smile betrayed my attempt. I opened my eyes, the first step down the long journey of tonight's lesson.
He inched the covers back over my body, letting his fingers graze me each bit of the way. Slowly, uncovering me, a shiver rustled over my skin. Partly to blame were those wonderfully soft fingers, the other - the coolness of the room. Sleep was still heavy on my skin and in my eyes which made my senses slow to realize that I was in yet another new room. This one was as unfamiliar as the last. Pulling me to my feet from the bed, the cold wooden floor was the last jolt I needed to fully wake and take in my surroundings. The bed was large. It was a dark, carved mahogany four-poster.
The ceilings were vaulted with heavy wooden beams supporting curved doorways and arched windows. A dark iron chandelier hung from the center of the room, dripping with lit candles. Opposite the bed was a large stone fireplace, a fire casting lapping shadows on the walls despite the cool temperature of the air. Two items flanked the fireplace. To the right, a simple wooden chair. To the left, a heavy wooden table with metal rings and rope attached at each corner. A deeper shudder made my body visibly quiver from head to toe as I remembered last nights lesson in heavy ropes.
"Mia. It is time." His voice was soft. He held my face for a moment, a palm resting lightly on each side of my cheek. He leaned in close, his words a mere whisper in my ear. I stood - fixated on him. His touch was so deliciously soft that I had to fight to remember, concentrate to shake the swimming bluriness of my insides to recall that those same soft hands inflicted tonight's fresh bruises. In his hands was such power, so much control. I was merely his student. He took great pleasure in teaching me. Molding me. Forming me into what he desired. My pleasure came in pleasing him. I did not question his hands. Not ever. When his lips grazed over mine, I felt a rush of blood flood my face and pelvis. To resist him was impossible. "Yes," I answered, as if there had been a choice.
He turned on his heel and walked across the room to the chair. Looking around at the art on the walls and the scant photos next to the bed, I knew this room must his. Taking a deep breath confirmed my suspicion. It had his smell. Unsure of what he wanted, I stood by the bed where he left me, waiting. "Mia. Come over here." His command was soft. I took a step towards him. He crossed his arms, a significant showing that he was not pleased. "Not tonight Mia. Tonight, you crawl." There was no unkindness in his voice. No humiliation. It was simple. Matter of fact. I dropped to my knees. Keeping eye contact with him, I began to work my way across the floor.
The small white gown I wore clung to my skin, hugging my breasts to my chest and slinking over my hips. Glancing down, I knew that my cleavage was painfully obvious. The dark pink of my nipples pressed outward from beneath the sheer fabric. I winced. The floor was hard and the sores from last nights crawl across the gravel was still in my knees. For a moment a softness crossed his face. I did not pause and continued my journey across the floor to him. When I reached him, I rested on my knees. My face was level to his waist. Very softly, I brushed my cheek over the black softness of his fluid silk fuji pants. Where previously I had been able to smell the others - the other girls that he kept here with me - tonight the only scent that he carried was my own. He pulled me abruptly to my feet.
"Tonight Mia, this may hurt. Like every other night, I will give you what you are able to take and no more. You will cry. You will beg. But I will continue ... until you tell me to stop. And once you have asked me stop, it will be over. All of it. Do you understand?"
The heaviness of his last words unnerved me. It will all be over. I did not believe that he meant only tonight, but all of this. All of this - as in my being here, with him. Fear swept over me. He had never warned me that it would hurt before. But stronger than the fear of pain was the fear of "this" being over. I had no control over the tremble in my flesh. "Yes," I replied. "I understand."
"Mia. Your hands." He rose onto the chair, standing above me. Without question I raised my hands over my head. A metal clink snapped my attention. Looking up, I saw what had been my previous oversight. Manacles were suspend from the ceiling from heavy chains. With a quick gasp from my throat, I was already bound.
He lowered himself back off of the chair. In the mirrors that covered each wall at the corners I was able to see both my frontal view as well as the rear. I also was able to see him. His was a body of contrasts in itself. His contrast to mine was striking. His hair was dark, set against pale skin. The muscles in his shoulders and back were highly defined. He hand angular features and hard sculpted ridges. Tattoos covered his lower back. Yet in his hands was that softness. It was mirrored on occasion by his eyes. I watched those eyes silently tracing over my body. Compared to his sculpted ridges I was soft curves. Stomach softly spread out into hips. Ass tapered into back of thigh. Breasts curved out, nipples rounded out at the tips. Long red hair tumbling in waves. The only thing similar was the pale of our skin.
He wrapped his arms around me. Standing behind, the warmth of his body was soothing. I felt his heart beating against my back. His hand pressed softly against my stomach, pulling me closer back to him. His body was so strong. So unyielding. I let my head fall back on his shoulder while his fingers traveled up. He cupped my breast in the palm his hand, kneading it firmly against my body. Between his thumb and first finger he rolled my nipple back and forth. Instantly, I was breathing faster. Fear was melting out of me through the growing wetness between my thighs. His hands traveled down my back, one circling around to the front. They met in my crotch and a low rumble in the back of his throat told me that he was pleased with the moisture that he had found. His fingers found my clit, where he gently stroked me until I was swaying - arms manacled up over my head, my tiptoes barley on the floor - to the pace of his touch.
A sudden sting on my thigh slammed my mind back into reality. I opened my eyes with hard blinks. He was still holding me close. In one hand was a long whip, which he had just brought down over my leg. He rose it quickly and brought it down over my opposite leg. Our eyes locked in the mirror in front of me. In mine a wild panic was forming. In his - calm. He rose the whip and brought it down again. The sting was just enough to bite for a second, then the pain was gone. He repeated the strike. As the whip came down across my legs I felt him exhale hard against my back, inhaling deeply as he rose it back into the air. I realized the lesson he was giving me. I had to breath. Breath with the whip. I was terrified. I knew he could destroy me with this thing. With every fiber of my being objecting the whip, I adjusted my breathing to accept it.
I heard his silk pants fall to the floor in a whisper behind me. In the mirror, I gazed at his nakedness. His cock was partially erect. Hardness was swelling in him as he took a few steps back from me. I watched the muscles in his arm flex as he brought the whip up into the air. I took in the way they rippled on the way down. The sting inflicted to my back brought forth a gasp from the back of my throat. Again I watched his body - focusing on him rather than the whip itself. This strike was a bit harder, and I felt all the muscles in my body contract on contact.
As he began to work up a rhythm, I concentrated on my breathing. He'd bring the whip down, then give me just enough time to allow my muscles to almost completely relax, but not quite all the way - then bring the whip down again. I was gripping the manacles hard with my fingers, trying to brace myself. The whips were gaining speed and intensity. A sheen of sweat was covering my skin and in the mirror I was glistening in the firelight. With each strike of the whip there was a thankfulness that the strike was not any harder than it was, and a fear that the next one would be worse.
The pace became faster, and I hardly had a moment to exhale before the next strike was landed. My back was wrought with welts which trailed down over the softness of my ass to the most sensitive of spots on the backs of my thighs. Each strike was harder. My moans were coming from a deeper location in my throat. Each whipping brought forth a primal sound - fear and pain mixed with delicious pleasure. Though my skin was aching, the contractions of my muscles had my pussy wet - dripping. My pussy was clenching - contracting in on itself. My clit was burning with the desire to be stroked by his able fingers. My back arched out away from the whip, jutting my nipples out into the air where they begged to be touched.
