This is my only story to date that is inspired, if only partially, by actual events.
***
She stands before him, on the opposite side of his kitchen. She still cannot catch her breath. The sight of him had taken her breath away the moment she walked through the door.
She meets his eyes only to lower them instantly, submitting to the heat in his gaze. He leans against the wall in a well-tailored suit, sans tie, his shirt unbuttoned one more button than is strictly necessary even in the summer heat. His eyes devour her, dressed for his pleasure in a brief, snug black skirt and an equally well-tailored shirt, seamed stockings, and high heels. Her blonde hair curled, also for his pleasure, at just the perfect length to grab a fistful should it suit him.
He lifts her chin and forces her eyes to meet his. She finds him irresistible, yet he intimidates her and she drops her eyes again. He moves even closer, the warmth of his breath releases a different warmth between her thighs.
He steps back and offers her a sip of his water, which she accepts. He takes the bottle from her and holds her at arms length and checks that every detail of her appearance pleases him. Satisfied, he takes her hand, "come with me."
He leads her around the corner to the living room and settles down in his chair, and points to the coffee table, "stand on the table."
"Yes, sir."
"Undress."
He reaches over and turns on a slow, grinding blues rhythm as she unbuttons her dress shirt distractedly.
"Pay attention, whore." He picks up a long dressage whip and she gasps when it strikes her thigh, leaving a long, thin, red welt.
She unbuttons her skirt, balancing precariously on her high heels as she steps out of it one foot at a time.
"Fold your clothes and place them on the corner of the table."
She folds the skirt and starts to place it in the corner in front of her and to the right.
"No, behind you."
She turns around and slowly bends over to put down the folded skirt. Her garters stretch with the movement, tugging her stockings so they frame the curves of her ass. Her balance is precarious and she bends all the way down slowly, exposing her bald and dripping cunt, just as he intended.
She begins to take off her shirt but feels the whip on her thigh once again. Instinctively, she stops and turns around so he can watch as she removes the shirt to reveal a black lace bra that matches the garter belt and, while it cups her round breasts beautifully, does nothing to conceal her rock hard nipples. She turns around again to fold the shirt and place it with the skirt. She cannot see his smile of approval as her pussy is again on display.
"Put this on." He hands her a weighty leather collar with several D-rings.
Then he hands her wrist and ankle cuffs, which she also dons. When she's tightened the last buckle, she presents herself to him for inspection, tits out, showing off her smoothly shaven pussy. He stands, slowly circles the coffee table and takes in her every detail.
"Spread your fucking legs." She complies instantly, the pain from the whip still fresh in her mind.
He picks up several lengths of chain and summons her to the edge of the table, snapping the heavy chains to her collar, wrists, and ankles, limiting her movements. He returns to his chair and changes the song, still blues, but slower now.
He sits back down in his recliner and just looks at her. He continues to enjoy the view as she stands there, displayed for him, restrained, nearly naked and totally at his mercy. The song transitions to another and yet another sensual blues number and he continues to watch her, testing her patience.
"Put your arms above your head."
She lifts her arms as high as the chains will allow. Finally, he speaks, "do you feel exposed, slut? Vulnerable?"
"No sir, not really, well, a little bit..."
She is startled by how quickly his hand is at her throat, just under the collar, squeezing tightly.
Her eyes water from the surprise and the lack of air, "I'm sorry, sir! I feel terribly exposed. But I am glad to be if it pleases you."
"Much better. Now get on your knees."
He walks around the coffee table back to the implements displayed next to his chair. A blindfold materializes from his pocket and then all she can see is blackness. She jumps involuntarily when he places the ear plugs in her ears. She can see and hear nothing but she can feel the low rumblings of the sultry blues that continue to play on the surround sound.
The flogger stings her breasts through the thin lace of her bra, but she's grateful he didn't start with anything more severe. The skin on her chest and stomach and upper thighs glows a brilliant pink when he steps away. She's managed to keep mostly still and quiet thus far but she tenses in fear when she feels the paddle swing towards her clenched ass cheeks. She calls out when the paddle violently contacts the tender skin. The second blow knocks her off balance, but she is not able to catch herself with her hands restrained by the chains.
