Author’s Note: This was another fantasy written in response to my phantom master’s command. He wanted me to take the dominant role so that I might understand how it felt to have the responsibility for a submissive’s pain . . . and pleasure.
~~~~~~~~~~
You hear the whistle of the riding crop just before it catches the tender flesh of your buttocks. With no time to brace yourself, you’re propelled forward one or two paces, but manage to keep your balance, in spite of the fact that your hands are firmly secured behind your back, causing you to adopt a hyper-erect posture. You stifle a moan, sensing that the slightest outcry will result in the crop raining even more blows on your sensitive skin.
[What you have yet to realize, my sweet, is that it simply doesn’t matter. Tonight I will inflict pain simply because it pleases me. Your ability to perform or react will have no bearing on the punishment I’ll inflict. I do it simply because I can. Because it pleases me.]
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When you arrived at my apartment earlier tonight, you were dressed, as I had requested, in a navy blue pinstriped suit, white dress shirt, a necktie of crimson silk, navy blue socks and navy wingtips. The heavy gold rope chain I gave you at the holidays is around your neck, under your shirt. No underwear. When you asked about this last request, I merely smiled into the phone. “Oh, you’ll see,” I responded coyly.
When you rang my doorbell, you were met by my slaves: one a deeply-tanned blonde, the other a fair-complected brunette. Both girls are tall, at six feet in height, and wearing 5-inch spiked heels, they look down at you. But the first thing you notice isn’t their height. Neither is it their contrasting coloring. Their near nakedness, however, does capture your attention. The corsets and the silk stockings which each of the girls is wearing, leaving their tits, asses and pussies exposed, enhances, rather than hides, their virtual nudity.
“She’s waiting,” the brunette says, and turns and walks away. It takes a few seconds before it dawns on you that you are to follow her. Your eyes widen when you see the red welts decorating her backside, the unmistakable signs of a recent discipline session. Unable to take your eyes off of her rounded ass, you fall into step with her. The blonde follows. You feel your cock start to twitch as you wonder if she, too, bears red stripes on her derriere. You also wonder who put them there.
Your escorts lead you into my den. It looks much the same as when you were here last. I’m sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, my feet propped up on the matching ottoman, a bored expression on my face, reading a book. You’ve seen me sitting in this chair dozens of times before. Tonight, though, there’s something different. Maybe it’s the red high-heeled patent leather boots that reach well above half of my thigh, the tops held in place by garters. Maybe it’s the red silk corset that I’m wearing, my nipples barely covered, pussy exposed. Maybe it’s my makeup, more dramatic than I usually wear. Maybe it’s the riding crop gripped in my right hand, which I rub idly against my pussy lips. Or maybe it’s the various toys I have spread over the coffee table next to my chair.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I look up at you briefly, without expression, then return my attention to my book. I continue reading for several minutes. The only sound in the room is that of the ticking grandfather clock in the foyer. When the clock finally strikes the hour, I close my book and place it on the coffee table, next to the assorted toys.
I look at the Amazons flanking you. “Strip him,” I say quietly.
The brunette helps you out of your suit coat, as politely as if she were your hostess at a dinner party. She then steps behind you, holding your upper arms, as the blonde unties your necktie and slings it over her shoulder. She rips open the front of your shirt, buttons spraying across the room.
Her hands at your waist, the blonde unbuckles your belt and removes it, handing it to me. She then unfastens and unzips the trousers, letting them fall to your feet, your erection exposed. The blonde then kneels in front of you, pulling off your shoes, socks, and slacks while the brunette removes your shirt.
At my nod, the brunette comes forward and retrieves the belt from me, then steps behind you again. You look rather startled as the leather belt is looped around your upper arms several times and then cinched tightly, causing your shoulders to be pulled back and your chest to be thrust forward.
Your attention is suddenly focused on the blonde, who pulls your red silk tie from her shoulder. She and the brunette trade places, and your wrists are bound with the tie. The blonde lets the free end of the tie fall to the floor, and the brunette bends over and picks it up, pulling it between your legs, making sure that the silk is wedged between your ass cheeks, around your balls and just under your cock. Using the tie as a leash, the brunette leads you to my chair.
Rising, the crop tucked under my left arm, I take the end of the silk tie in my left hand; I then take your chin in my right hand, holding it firmly. My face is just an inch away from yours, I’m looking into your eyes coldly as I speak. “I’ve brought you here to punish you; to make you pay for your extreme carelessness, your inexcusable rudeness.” The disdain is in marked contrast to the yielding warmth which you have become accustomed to hearing in my voice. “Don’t you think you owe me an apology?”
“For what?” you ask, a puzzled look crossing your face, a look which quickly changes to one of surprised agony as the crop whistles through the air again, this time landing a stinging blow on the back of your left thigh.
Your body jerks, instinctively leaning away from my right hand, as if to avoid further blows.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” you ask.
“Until you give me a specific apology for your egregious behavior, you will address me as ‘Madame’, do you understand?”
“Yes, Babe--, ah, Madame. But apologize for what?”
“You offend me and then ask why you should apologize? This is intolerable!” The tone of my voice is quiet, threatening, you have to strain to hear me. Your pulse is racing, your heart pounding.
“Gabriella, bring the Waterford bowl to me.” The blonde comes forward with a crystal bowl filled with ice, on top of which are two gold clamps.
“Suck his nipples, Gabriella. And make sure that he enjoys it.” The blonde bends over, her lips capturing one of your nipples between her lips and starts to suck it, gently at first, then with more vigor. You feel her tongue laving the sensitive nubbin of flesh, twirling, licking, sucking. In spite of yourself, you close your eyes and concentrate on the pleasure that my amazon beauty is giving you. It is at this precise moment that the blonde takes her mouth away from your hardened nipple and I allow the jaws of the freezing clamp to slowly close around it.
Your eyes fly open at the pain, and you look at me, mute, wondering at the sudden change in my behavior.
You feel Gabriella’s lips surround your other nipple. You try to resist, try not to respond to the delicious sensations as my toy teases your nipple, pulling at it with her lips, the tip of her tongue fluttering back and forth over the nipple, pinching it gently between her pursed lips, nibbling it, sucking it.
I watch you relax and almost before the blonde can take her lips away from you, I let the icy clamp close over the second nipple as well.
As you begin to cry out, I lean forward and kiss you gently, my fingers wrapping around your impossibly stiff erection. You pull back from me in surprise, not realizing how aroused you’ve become, in spite of yourself. Your eyes meet mine and I smile at you sweetly, moving my face closer to you for another kiss.
Relaxing slightly, you lean toward me, and our lips meet in a searing kiss. Pleasure dissolves into pain when I start to twist the nipples which are being punished so cruelly by the clamps.
“Are you ready to apologize?” I ask sweetly, ignoring your agonized expression.
“I don’t understand, Ba--, Madame, what is it that I have done wrong?”
You jump and nearly fall backward as I reach out and slap your erection.
“What’s my name?”
“Uh, Madame?”
