The Door

Standing, starring at the closed door, the sound of her heart pounding in her ears seems deafening; looking around to see if there is anyone else that can hear it; Ravenna's traitorous hand trembles slightly clutching the small card; Absently she smoothes the lightly bent edge, no doubt a result of being jumbled in her bag with like so much other detritus of her daily life. Silently she admonishes herself for the action; as if the card were in need of soothing.

[R1]

Seemingly alive in her hand, this small piece of paper is sending a buzz through her body, causing her breath to catch and ending up in Ravenna's most private parts; the moistness she feels causing her to flush with a mix of embarrassment and excitement...

Thinking back, simultaneously shuddering and smiling at how the card came to be in her possession, and the events that brought Ravenna before this heavy door...

Running late and embarrassed, with excuses rapidly tumbling through her mind...Hair roughly thrown in a ponytail, the 'interview suit' so carefully planned abandoned, stood up like a blind date, [R2]in the closet. Real life getting in the way... pausing to catch her breath and slowing down to the stride of a non crazy person the near run now a very quick walk; anonymous amongst all of the other people rushing around with their own important things to do and places to go preoccupied with their own concerns.

Catching the eye of the young man standing next to her Ravenna stops, looking at him with a sideways glance; thinking "I know he is judging me," her stomach flips "he knows my darkest secrets, needs, desires. How?" She sees clear disapproval of her in his face, in his eyes a judgment rendered harshly. Looking away, face reddening, Ravenna continues to berate herself "surely he must know who it is I am tardy meeting."

Nearly tumbling through the door in a panic quickly look around, her eyes darting back and forth, praying she hasn't missed her appointment, having heard how busy he is from a girlfriend during an evening of tipsy

confessions...

Feeling them before actually locating their owner, Ravenna spots a pair of vivid brown eyes burning through her from across the very crowded shop, full of the typical late afternoon rush. Finding it hard to hold the gaze sheepishly she looks away; flushed from the overexertion and trying to hide her bright red cheeks. Looking up again the eyes are still pinning her in place—making her wish the floor would swallow her up,. She takes a deep breath as, finally, a hand now beckons her over...

Back in the present, staring at the heavy door, flipping the card in her hand over and over as she shakes herself back into reality, shifting her weight from foot to foot, nervous, a habit picked up years ago as a child having to perform in front of peers, turning the card again over in her hand and trying to focus on the dark text standing out from the off-white background. Checking her watch, she reaches for the phone just to the left of the heavy door then recoils sharply, all of her senses screaming to turn and leave.

Taking another deep breath and thinking to herself "Ravenna, God hates a coward" a hand slowly lifts the phone from its cradle and is almost shocked when she realizes it's hers...a short word, a reply. She replaces the phone, eyes darting left and right, a last chance...too late, the door opens slightly. There is no turning back now.

Passing through the door and entering into a hallway Ravenna feels and hears, rather than sees the door close and lock. Sensing his presence as he moves from behind her, he politely takes her coat and bag, and as she looks back at the locked closed door the realization washes over you that there will be no escape--and no interruption of the outside world.

Quiet words emanate in the foyer. "Follow." She instinctively averts her eyes, following the dark suit. Just as instinctively she catches herself studying him from the back. Suddenly turning, a knowing look passes between the two. More embarrassment evident on her face.

Indicating a chair, Ravenna is offered a seat more as a command then a request. Watching him as he crosses the room, a drink is proffered. Accepting the glass of water feeling strangely parched she appreciates the cool, heavy glass giving her something to do with her hands . Finally settling down he sits across from her, a small table nearby. Trying to be casual and failing miserably, Ravenna answers the idle question he asks, wondering about the small talk, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand up...instinct kicking in once more and beginning to look for some escape.

Defeated she realizes there is none. The words hang in the air. She hadn't heard them over the roar of her pulse. Again, the single word. "Stand." Harder now. A non-verbal, verbal warning. The same she uses with her sometimes rambunctious children. Establishing control. Ravenna, as her children do, comply.

"Turn." A simple order. "Please", a seemingly strange request, courteous. Proper. Turing away from him, Ravenna closes her eyes and breathing out is resigned to what is to transpire. "Lift your skirt." Again the words are measured, quiet, emotionless followed by a very mannered "please." She doesn't know how to react.

Her hand is on the hem of her skirt when the crack of a strap across your ass shocks her. The request is repeated harshly. Quickly she learns there will be no negotiation, nor any pause. Quickly pulling the hem

of the skirt up, exposing her legs, encased in sheer stockings which are attached to a dark garter belt, Ravenna feels her behind, stinging from the strap, exposed to the cool air of the room. Keeping her eyes clamped closed and feeling utterly exposed to him, she avoids the shame of having to look him in the eye. The strap sings again, and again against her ass. Three quick, short blows...the flesh springs to life as the cool air of the room caresses the quickly heated skin...He stands behind her, Ravenna can feel him. Low words in her ear burning into her soul. His hand running over the curve of her ass, roughly sliding between her legs, feeling the desire through moistening panties.

His fingers run over Ravenna's puffy lips pressing the thin material of your panties , teasing her...again her ass burns from the strap, more blows at the same time he fondles her lips, pressing the wet fabric into her.

A cruel laugh, recognizing his power. "On your knees." Ravenna complies without hesitation. She doesn't have a choice. Her body reacts instinctively. Lifting her arms away from her body, the sweater is pulled over her head and off. Carrying it away and folding it on a side table. Turning and taking stock of her, he grabs the back of her neck and pushes her head down to the floor, forcing her red behind up into the air.

"Arms to the side." She feels her breasts heaving in her bra and her breath short and shallow in her chest. The skirt she had so carefully chosen bunched at the waist. Hearing the zipper released, feeling it tugged down and off. She watches him carry it to the same side table, fold it softly and return. She looks away, not wanting to face him. The small tears of shame stinging her face in the same way his paddle stung her ass.

Kneeling near Ravenna, fingers caressing her neck as he attaches a leather collar around her neck, then the sound of another click; the end of a leash?!? When her head is tugged backwards, she knows she is right. Though the pleasure of such knowledge is fleeting.

Keeping the leash short, he reaches again and slaps Ravenna's ass with the strap, once, twice, each time harder and each time faster...

With each strike he holds the leash firm in his hand. Watching, observing her reactions. Like a schoolgirl, he makes her count each blow. Slap. "One." Slap, "two" after the fifth blow, the fifth admission of desire, her voice cracks. She's breathing heavily. He continues. Encouraging obedience and confession. "Eight." Her knees are screaming, the soft nylon of her now run stockings no relief against the hard wood floors. "Ten." Panting from the exertion and from the uncontrolled desire. Ravenna is pulled up to a kneeling position; she notices him holding the heavy glass, marked lightly with the demure lipstick she had chosen. The drink a great relief.

He pulls her forward, nearly causing her to lose her balance. Up. She stands on weak knees. "Stand there," are the words and he points to a corner of the room. She moves unsteadily but as quickly as she can, lest the paddle make another appearance. Standing facing the wall, she feels the leash run through her legs and wound around her wrists which are pinned behind her. She's thankful to be facing the wall, ass burning as deeply as her cheeks, knowing he is taking you in, observing every detail.

To cope with the feelings of being on display her mind wanders back to that fateful interview...

...Ravenna's attempts at remaining calm, collected, detached—as if negotiating a deal— fail miserably before his incredibly penetrating gaze. She tries not to look, focusing on the neatly folded paper on the table. Sunday's Times crossword. In pen. Bold, neat letters intertwined, unlocking each answer.

His words, conversational, easy, break the obvious silence. "Would you like anything?" Certainly not the words she was expecting to hear. The voice measured, confident but not cocky. She knows he knows why she sits before him. He needn't overpower her. Well-mannered. Not wanting to be rude Ravenna accepts his offer, his single palm raised toward her stopping her cold as she reaches for her wallet. In an instant he is gone, caught up in the rush of the world around them.

And, strangely, it feels as though she has become untethered from the daily life she leads. Sitting there in the small coffee shop rarely frequented—she instantly appreciates his discretion—it feels as though time and man are passing her by.

He returns, the drink now before her. Profuse thanks spill from your lips feeling like glass on your tongue. "Ugh, how needy sounding!" Ravenna thinks to herself. His smile and self-effacing wave again throws her for a loop.

What was it she expected? Someone akin to the covers of the pulp novels she brushes past at the grocery store? All pectorals and ripped shirts...he looks like he could just as easily be talking to you about insurance or financial options as her darkest needs. Older? The assumption that age equals experience or maturity.

Berating herself quietly for the presumption. Ravenna glumly looks down into her drink wondering if this all hasn't been some terrible mistake--about herself.

The words cut deeply. "Don't doubt yourself." Bolting upright, as though kicked in the shin, Ravenna stares directly at him, taking in what he just said. "Don't doubt yourself." Repeated, hanging in the air, as if in one of those cartoon dialogue balloons. A burden lessens. A small wry smile plays across his face. He is enjoying this.

Nodding, mutely, trying not to look but deciding that not unlike Alice and the rabbit hole she's willing to see where it goes. Holding his gaze Ravenna studies his eyes; dark and curious behind fashionably retro frames. Focused right back on her, steady. Seeing and memorizing every single detail. A little unnerving really. She notes the dark hair, matching the eyes. Short. Not flashy, not conservative. Well maintained—just enough product for his age. She attempts to guess, each time discarding her silent answer.

He leans back into his chair, relaxed. Control oozes from every fiber of his being. Ravenna notices the dark suit. Black, European in cut and fabric, outlining a slender frame. The pressed shirt and well knotted tie. Effortless, unlike her spouse; whose ideas of fashion are less than refined and who only grudgingly puts on a suit for big events and even then it's like dressing a child.

He never takes his eyes off of her....

Shaking her head to snap back to the present surroundings, she can feel those eyes again, the two dark orbs boring into her, heating her red, tender flesh, contrasting against her skin and the dark stockings she wears. Ravenna tugs at the bonds. Serving no purpose except to rub against her exposed lips and clit. Forcing more wetness...her face burns an even deeper shade of red. She hasn't had to stand in the corner since she was seven and threw a petulant fit about something long since forgotten.

Time passes. She hears him behind her but doesn't dare look back. Ravenna's arms begin to ache, turned as they are and tightly wrapped together in the dark leather. She presses her forehead against the cool plaster wall. Behind her again like an apparition--there but not--a blindfold darkens the room. She feels the buckle against the back of her head, hair lifted and then allowed to fall over it. Her breath sucks in at the sudden inability to see anything. She tenses, straining for what might come next.

Wrists undone, the leash snaked back through spread legs, noting the grazing of fingers against her moist, heated folds. The blood comes back to her arms, a tingling sensation. Ravenna is turned, by his hand firmly on her shoulder and made to again kneel. The toe of his shoe pushing her legs apart at the knees.

The collar around her neck is tugged forward, cutting off her breath, forcing her to crawl quickly to keep up. She's led across the floor, back, she thinks, to where they started. A short, single tug brings her to a stop, face forced down, legs spread open, arms pulled out to either side. The humiliation of this position, the debauchery of being spread open in front of a total stranger, brings another hot flush to her skin...

...She feels herself squirming slightly under the unyielding gaze, growing slightly embarrassed in his presence. He moves in closer across the table, his voice low, conscious of the fear she has of being discovered. She's mesmerized by his perceptions. The questions intimate, though not salacious or graphic. Admitting to him, in public, some of her deepest secrets.

He leans back, dark eyes flashing. Reaching into his jacket, he produces a small card. Laying it on the table he pushes it toward her. Trembling fingers reach for it and pick it up. Ravenna notices the color, the weight. A welcome respite from his eyes. The stark black text against the off-white background. He speaks again and before she can register the information he has offered there is a goodbye friendly and relaxed. She can barely mumble her own farewell before he is up and moving past her, a final glance down which she don't return and he is gone, swallowed up in the post-work crowd...

Sitting there, alone now, in stunned silence. She focuses on the text on one side in the same confident hand from the newspaper: a date, an address and a phone number. Quickly she turns it over. A name. His name: Parker J. Mason III. That's it. It looks not unlike all of the other appointment cards crowding her life...

..... Parker J. Mason III is sitting before her again. Slowly taking in her predicament. She knows his eyes are studying her, taking in every detail, as he did across the table when they first met. She has no choice but to allow their gaze. Without being able to see, Ravenna's other senses take in her surroundings: the feel of the leash draped down the middle of her back, its length splitting her behind and draped against the floor. She hears a glass being returned to its table. Mason's footsteps fall away. The rustle of a jacket being removed and hung. A drawer opens, closes. A cupboard door.

The footfalls return. She senses him standing over her. Blindfolded, opened, Ravenna keeps her head down, breathing the close air between her mouth and the floor.

The pain sears through her as she is roughly shoved forward by the falling of the smooth paddle against her tender flesh. A gasp of air leaves her lungs and she balls her fists, fighting for another breath and fighting to not scream out. Again, the paddle sails through the air and lands expertly. She hears the blow as it approaches and feels the hard sting driven deep within her--the paddle spreading more pain yet no less precise than the earlier strap.

The paddle falls against her again and again, roughly pressing her down into the floor. Told to remain still, Ravenna begins to sob and nod, barely able to breath, unable to form an answer...The paddling continues, stroke after stroke.

She feels numb but her mind racing, her breathing is ragged, the pain ripping through her entire bottom half and extending its way up her back and radiating through her arms. She knows that her limit is close; she can barely take any more, gasping for air...when one final blow collapses her into a heap on the floor.

Silence. pain. The only sound she hears is the labored breathing as she fights the agony within. Blindfolded still Ravenna has no idea what is coming next; whether or not Mason still stands over her, paddle in hand, catching his own breath, small beads of sweat on his forehead, face reddened from the exertion. He is. And he is smiling, thinking that she will make an excellent playtoy. Ravenna shudders, reacting to the ache in her body...and the tingling sensation growing inside of her.

Mason's hands grab the leash and pull her up into the position she began in. Face down, arms spread, ass up and legs opened. She knows he can see the fiery red of her ass, that he is probably enjoying his handiwork. He is. She feels his hands tracing the edge of her garter-belt, reaching down and snapping the strap against her leg--small, painful jolts, as humiliating as they are painful--Ravenna remains still, sniffling, lip quivering. Mason steps away again. She hears something heavy lifted, brought over nearby. Set on the floor.

His hands again tug at the leash, silently pulling her up and across the room. Half crawling, half being dragged she follows...

Lifting her up by her armpits and depositing her on a firm, soft bench of some kind. Ravenna can feel the cool leather under her stomach. She's laid flat against it but feels bent in half draped over the middle of the bench. Mason pushes his hand into her back, compressing her belly against the bench, letting the leash fall to the floor. If she could see she would be staring at the floor, not daring to move.

Her left wrist is attached to a leg of the bench. Then the right. Next her ankles: left and then right. She squirms a little, trying to find a little relief from the hard paddling, the pain of which is spreading further and deeper through her body.

Mason's gloved fingers are soft against her back; tracing each line created by the position he has her in. Her shoulder-blades, her spine, all creating a new topography for him to explore, to test.

The back of his hand brushes against the side of her breast. She can't help but squirm a little more under the contact. Then the other. She feels him take the material of her bra and pull it down, forcing her breasts up and out, leaving them exposed, hanging there, the nipples harder than they have ever been before.

Down her back Mason's hands travel, stopping at her aching behind, still burning. Ravenna convulses involuntarily at his touch. The coolness of the leather as much of a shock as the paddle at first. Stepping away, he returns and she feels her cheeks spread open slightly more. She tries to squirm away but the hard slap against an already bruised left cheek causes her to freeze. Something slightly warm is pressed into her. A small gasp escapes. Ravenna can almost feel his leering smile. Mason works his fingers into her, probing and stretching her. The tears begin to form again. This has never happened to her before and Ravenna's humiliation—and excitement—is evident. His fingers are not encased in the cool, soft leather she felt just moments earlier. No, now they are covered in latex. As if he is examining her. Poking, prodding, working the warm solution deeper into her tight sphincter. She grips his fingers trying to expel them.