The Abyss Ch 01

Description: A career woman is seduced by the BDSM lifestyle

Category: BDSM

Tags: bondage, spanking, BDSM, submission, lesbian, mistress, whipping, d/s, pain, female dominant

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, 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 over 18 when involved in sexual situations.

WARNING: This is a BDSM story that contains scenes depicting pain.

This is the Prologue and Chapter One of the story. If there's reader interest I'll continue the tale.

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Prologue

It's black.

I'm running for a precipice I can't see.

I know I'm almost there. I want desperately to once again feel the sensation of falling - - tumbling head over heels into an abyss of my own making - - an abyss of unbridled lust and depravity.

Mistress unfurls another lash from her magical whip. I can hear the rush of air as the tendrils of the whip accelerate towards the sound barrier, the end of each tendril to meet the soft unmarked flesh of the back of my thighs. I can feel I'm closer. The white hot sparks of pain from my thighs advance me ever so closer to that edge. The sparks dissipate into glowing embers that pulse with heat. I put my complete faith in Mistress to lead me to the edge of that precipice. I let it happen with no expectation of what is to come. I wait for minutes, accepting the pain as a necessary evil in my advance to the edge and not as an end unto itself.

Mistress takes her delicate hand and slowly caresses my skin, appreciating the artistry of her whip on a canvas of white welted skin. I can sense that her mind is now focused on the selection of her next instrument of pain. I can hear her pacing about the room and my flesh now starts to tremble with anticipation.

Mistress flexes a rattan rod close to my ear. She wants me to hear the whoosh of the rod as it travels back and forth like a metronome counting the beats to my release. There is a slight pause and then I feel the sting of the cane, the whipping action from the tip of the rattan rod ever so precisely inflicting pain on my inner thigh, the most sensitive of my areas. I flinch on the bench and use every ounce of my energy to suppress the scream that comes bubbling up from my lungs. Mistress knows that the sting of her stroke will linger for minutes.

Another pause. My mind is now cluttered with crosstalk between my pain receptors and my pleasure center. Mistress knows that I am ready. I hear the buzz of the vibrator and the overwhelming desire from my overheated cunt masks all of my other sensations.

She again strokes the back of my thighs as if calling for an encore to her performance art while holding the vibrator, whose incessant buzz holds the key to my release. My thighs are quivering and I feel the sensation of the moisture leaking from my cunt onto my thighs and the bench below. Mistress vigorously rubs the head of the vibrator against my clit. I hear permission being given. I'm falling - - falling into the lightless expanse where my mind and body leave this world for another.

Chapter One

My name? My name is of no consequence. I answer to whatever my Mistress chooses to call me. I answer to them all - - my slut, my whore, my pet - - they are my names.

In a former life I was Justine. I was an accountant. I worked for a "Big Four" firm and I travelled the world on behalf of a multinational client as an audit partner. I was married, with two grown children, enjoying the prime of my adult life at the pinnacle of the accounting profession. I lived in a large house in suburban New Jersey and spent the weekends on the New Jersey shore. I gave it all up for this. And I would gladly do it again.

Why?

Because Justine was not my true self. I spent my life painting a canvas by the numbers. The husband, the children, the career. It was all marking time until I found her. My Mistress. My world.

It started a year ago. I was in our Paris office, handling the review of an audit of one of the client's French subsidiaries. It was the end of a two week engagement there and our audit team had a hiatus for two days before we were scheduled to be back stateside. I'd been through this drill a hundred times. The young pups would go out and find adventure, free from the shackles of their lives back home. They would undoubtedly explore the hot bars and night clubs their Parisian brethren would share. My typical practice was to go back to my hotel room, have room service deliver dinner, take a long hot bath, and then go to bed. At 43, I was too old to run with the big dogs.

This particular hot August night I felt different. As I was nursing my post-work drink with my team at the hotel bar I started to feel the tug of my oncoming middle age crisis. Had I really lived the life I wanted to? Was it too late to find out? I was in Paris, the city of eternal and never ending pleasures. Art, food, wine, and sex; it was all there to be found and savored. As happy hour wound down the usual ask was made of me to accompany the pups on a night on the town. To their great surprise I accepted. We agreed to meet in a half an hour in the lobby and begin our night time tour of the city.

I went up to my room and immediately questioned my decision. I was the partner on the engagement. I was to set the example for my team. I shouldn't be rabble rousing with them. Instead, I should be responsible and stay in my room. But the tug on my curiosity prevailed and I went through my wardrobe to see if I could at least dress the part of a thrill seeker. On longer trips I did pack my "slut" outfit in the unlikely event that an opportunity would present itself. I'm no saint. I had stepped out on my husband almost ten years ago with a junior partner from another office. It was a one night thing but its memory sustained me when I wondered what it would be like to be with someone else. Always being prepared, I had a pair of 4 inch stiletto heels, a skirt that was about 4 inches shorter than the one I wear to the office, and a sheer silk blouse. I finished this ensemble with a lacy black balconet bra, matching black panties and suspenders and lace top sheer thigh high stockings.

I went down to the lobby to meet up with my team. Needless to say the shock of my agreement to accompany them was reinforced by my outfit. Sasha, one of the junior members of my team, was the first to speak up. She asked "My God Justine, who let out your inner slut?"

"What DO you mean?" I asked back, knowing the response it would elicit. After the laughter died down I said "It's good to keep my team on its toes."

Barron, one of the more senior members of the team, voiced the opinion of the two guys in the group, "Well, at the risk of sexually harassing you, you look amazing."

"Thanks. I don't want to feel more out of place than I already do. I hope I've dressed the part."

Barron looked me up and down, probably a little too long. "Oh, you have. Trust me."

The four of us were off to a club that Sasha heard about. It was a BDSM themed club that everyone wanted to not necessarily participate in but to see. We headed off on the Metro to the Place de Clichy stop and walked about two blocks to an unmarked store front. It was already becoming a challenge having traveled this far in my heels. Apparently every woman in Paris is trained to walk in high heels since the age of two, but that unfortunately didn't include me. The entrance to the club was a small anteroom with some leather handcuffs hanging from hooks on the wall. The host tallied up the charge for our group. Now my welcome presence made more sense. It was cheaper for the guys to get into the club when they were accompanied by women.

We were directed down a long stairway to the club itself. The club appeared to be housed in an old wine cellar. The walls were built out of brick in a large semicircle, with the apex of the semicircle about 16 feet off the floor. The ceiling tapered down on each side until it was flush with the floor. There were rooms off of the main corridor that now housed public areas and also private areas behind closed doors.

The men wandered off, presumably to ogle the women. There were plenty that were attired in black leather and a number that appeared to be trolling for eligible young men to either dominate or be dominated by. I watched with amusement as Sasha sidled up to a woman at a bar with long black hair and struck up a conversation. I didn't know that Sasha was interested in women but of course a good reason why is that I never asked. I was leaning against a tall table with a drink in my hand, surveying the landscape and thinking about when I would gracefully bow out for the comfort and safety of my hotel room. Sasha and the woman turned around to move to a table with drinks in hand. It was at that time I got a good look at the woman. I've never really been interested in woman in a sexual way, but this woman immediately struck a chord deep within me. She was tall, and even taller with her 5 inch heels. She had a short black leather skirt and a form fitting top that accentuated her breasts. The top was cut low in the middle so I was able to see her ample cleavage, even from across the room. Her long black hair was cut in layers across her back. She was holding Sasha's hand as they located a table in the corner. As they were walking the woman purposefully looked in my direction and for a moment we were looking at one another. I immediately redirected my eyes elsewhere, but there was an unmistakable visual connection made and filed away by that woman. It sent chills down my spine.

Sasha and the woman were having quite an animated conversation, and there was no trace of our two male companions. As I reached the bottom of my glass I placed the glass on the table and made my way to Sasha to bid good night. I leaned over to say good night when the woman spoke. "Join us Justine."

Her invitation, spoken with a French accent, felt like a command and not a request. I looked at her and into her dark green eyes and her almost catlike demeanor. Sasha was the lure and I was the real prey.

"Sasha was telling me all about you. I saw you across the room and knew I had to meet you," she said with authority. "You're married with two grown children, right?"

I fumbled like a schoolgirl. This woman and her piercing green eyes had accomplished what a boardroom full of men could not. She made me lose my composure. I didn't even remember what she said to me. "Uh, umm, I'm pleased to meet you."

Sasha giggled. She had never seen me flummoxed before.

"My name is Laurine, and I'm pleased to meet you as well." A smile curled on her face. She held out her hand, presumably to shake my hand. I don't know what possessed me, but I kissed it instead. Her smile got bigger.

"Sasha, why don't you be a dear and me another drink and the same for Justine." Sasha got up and sauntered over to the bar.

"You probably figured out that I was friendly with Sasha so I could meet you. She's much too young for me. I throw the young ones back into the sea for others to catch. " Laurine confirmed what I had been thinking. Why confess this to me?

"You know I'm married, " I protested.

"I know you're interested in me. I saw the way you looked at me." She was right.

"But I'm not." I didn't say this because I meant it. I said it because I was instantly afraid of where this was leading.

"If this relationship is going anywhere, and it will, you can't lie to me," said Laurine emphatically.

"Relationship? I just met you," I objected.

"Just an observation. Trust me on this. Since you don't think we have a relationship you have nothing to lose with a truthful answer. Are you interested in me?" She was persistent.

"Yes, all right yes. I am interested in you. You're a beautiful woman. Even though I'm not interested in women I don't think you can help but be interested in you." There, I admitted it.

"Thank you for being truthful and thank you I think for the compliment. You're here on business. You're looking for something but you don't know what it is. Am I right again?" She was boring in closer to home.

"Yes. I'm here on business and yes I think I'm looking for something but I have no idea what it is." This was as brutally frank as I've been with anyone in my life, including my husband, and I've only known this woman for five minutes.

"I know what you want. You don't know but I do," she said smugly.

"And what would that be?" I said in a haughty tone.

"You want to be dominated. You want to be possessed. You want to be truly loved," she said, going for the kill.

Silence. I stared into her eyes. Sasha showed up with the drinks. Neither of us diverted our eyes from one another. Sasha said to no one in particular, "I think I may be interrupting something important here. I think I'll go find the guys." She departed.

I wanted to answer her carefully. "I don't know why I'm baring my soul to a virtual stranger, but here it is. I do love my husband but the love only goes so deep. I'm gone sometimes for weeks at a time and I don't get that yearning to be with him. I think I know why. I do want to be truly loved and possessed. I don't know about domination. I don't understand that term as it relates to a human relationship."

"Ah, but I do. And I can tell that if you submit you will find what it means to be truly loved and possessed." Laurine conveyed this truth with complete conviction. She leaned towards me and took my hand in hers. The din of the crowd around us faded. I was totally focused on her. "Give me fifteen minutes of your time. We can go in one of the private rooms here. I promise I won't harm you. We can leave the door open if you wish. If at the end of the fifteen minutes you don't feel the way I think you will, walk away. It's only fifteen minutes of your time. You can go back to the United States to your boring life and you'll never see me again. But if I can, in fifteen minutes, give you a glimpse of what can be offered to you, just think about what you can have if you invest yourself in this lifestyle."

Fifteen minutes. I can do anything for fifteen minutes. Sure, why not. She is beautiful, and if nothing else I'll have something to savor on the long plane ride home. "Sure," I said with a lighthearted tone as if I was agreeing to something inconsequential.

She took me by the hand and went to one of the hostesses in the bar area. They spoke in French for a minute and then she led me down a hallway that contained doorways to some of the private rooms. The rooms had a small window at eye level. She led me into one of the private rooms. After we cleared the doorway she asked "Would you like me to close the door?"

I thought about it for only a second. "Yes please." I wanted to minimize the chance that the guys or Sasha would see us. I wasn't worried in the least about Laurine.

"Do you agree that I can touch your body? You can say the word 'red' and that will be the end of the session. Agreed?"

"Yes."

Laurine led me to the corner of the room where there were leather cuffs suspended from the ceiling. She raised my hands up so I was stretched upwards about as far as I could reach, still standing in my heels.

"Lovely," commented Laurine.

She then started unbuttoning my blouse.

"Wait! I thought you were going to just touch me."

"How can I touch you without taking off your clothes?" she asked as if I just said the most stupid thing in the world. She didn't wait for a reply. She took off my blouse and then unhooked my bra. My breasts dropped with a bounce. I felt the cold air on my chest and I wanted to cross my arms to cover my exposed breasts and struggled against the cuffs. She then unfastened my skirt and pulled down my skirt and my panties in a single motion so that they puddled around my heels. She could see my suspenders and lace topped hose and my pubic patch, now showing signs of my arousal.

She eyed me carefully from top to bottom and then walked all the way around me. "Lovely is an injustice. You're exquisite." My husband had never said that to me.

She was reading my mind. "Your husband never has told you that you have an exquisite body, has he?" She paused before she said the last two words, emphasizing that she knew more about me than I would have thought possible.

"No," I said with some sadness in my voice.

"He's a fool," she said categorically.

She went into the corner where there were a number of assorted implements. She picked up a leather mask and what looked like a leather whip with many tendrils. I was worried.

"Don't be worried. I won't hurt you. I want to put this mask on you so that you will focus on the sensations I'm about to give you. I won't hit you with this flogger unless you ask me to."

She pulled the mask over my head and zipped the back. She covered the eyeholes so I couldn't see. There were only holes for my mouth and nose. I could hear myself breathing rapidly.

"It's OK. It's natural to be nervous at first as you adjust to wearing the mask. It will only be for ten minutes so don't be alarmed." She took her finger and traced around my breast. I shivered. She circled my nipple and then lightly pinched it. I gasped. I enjoyed the darkness. I was in tune with my body and it was clear that Laurine was as well. She traced her finger around my breasts again but this time ended with a firmer pinch on both nipples. It felt like a lingering electric shock. The small amount of pain melted into a pleasant warmth in my breasts. She then traced circles on my belly, making me thrust my hips as encouragement for her to go lower. She didn't. She continued to stroke my belly and then going back up to my breasts. My thrusting became more urgent. She continued to tease me until I yielded to her. "Please."

There was a pause. She took her hand away. Then I felt two fingers trace their way upwards from the lips of my pussy, gathering the moisture that had collected there, and brushing ever so lightly over my clit. I thrust my hips forward in hopes of more vigorous contact but Laurine anticipated my reaction and pulled her hand away so that only the lightest of contact remained. This was the most erotic foreplay I had ever experienced and it was done in less than five minutes with two fingers.

I next felt the flogger. The twenty or thirty leather ends of the flogger retraced the path Laurine had just taken with her fingers. The flogger increased the intensity of the sensations fivefold, as the tip of each end of the flogger felt like the tip of a finger. She caressed my breasts and then pinched my nipples with her fingers. She ran the flogger in circles around my belly, again eliciting involuntarily thrusts from my hips. Instead of going down to my pussy she stepped behind me and caressed my back with the flogger and then the cheeks of my ass and the back of my thighs. I had never felt this level of desire before and I knew that my pussy was drenched. I caught myself moaning. Laurine knew how to manipulate me because as I was sensing that my pussy was approaching overload she rubbed the leather handle of the flogger hard in the area between my pussy and anus, causing my knees to buckle so my full weight was borne by my wrists against the leather cuffs. The cuffs dug into my skin but I couldn't avoid the pain because I was unable to regain my balance on my heels. The flogger felt sensational. She continued rubbing until I sensed I was approaching an orgasm of unprecedented proportions. I felt like I had jumped off the edge of a cliff and was falling head over heels into an abyss. Falling . . . tumbling . . . Then she stopped.

I realized she wasn't going to continue.

"Please," I whimpered.

"Please what my pet?"