Diane Wets For David

Meeting David (who had previously been known to me only as the "Innocent, Corn-Fed Muscle Boy from Eau Claire") was a slightly unreal experience. For the first time since plotting out the upcoming weekend with Diane, I experienced a real sense of indecision. Did I really want to go through with this?

I shook his hand, nearly twice the size of mine, looked into his smiling face and clear, blue eyes, and asked him his name again, stalling for time. He laughed heartily, repeated it, and slid into the booth. I waved the waitress over to our table. We ordered coffee and pie, and she flirted briefly with him before wiggling her way back to the small counter where she prepared everything herself. I couldn't blame her for flirting, David was everything Diane had said he was. An easy, boyish charm, blond hair, short enough to not need more than a shake to look good but long enough to dance on his head when he laughed.

Even his clothes bespoke a welcoming "hello". Comfortable cut jeans, black boots, and a standard white cotton dress shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar open. No jewelry, just tanned and toned flesh. Amazing. Did I really want to corrupt this boy? I guess at 26, he wasn't technically a "boy" but everything about him seemed SO young.

"So," I began, "did you read everything I put in that last email?"

He nodded.

"And you're sure you want to go through with this?"

David squirmed in his seat just a bit. "I have to say that...I guess I'm mostly curious. Anal sex. Wow!"

I smiled, sat back in the booth just a little, and nodded. "I know. From everything she told me, and from what you've said yourself, the sex was pretty vanilla. Intense, but just a happy ride-em-cowboy kind of thing."

David laughed. "She's a helluva rider, I'll tell you that. Damn near worked me to death!"

"She told me you brought something out of her she didn't even know was there. It sounded pretty amazing."

"Yeah, she..." David paused while the waitress set the coffee and plates on the table. I'd ordered apple with melted cheese, he had rhubarb. "She tore the place up, nothing like I'd ever seen."

I took my fork to the pie, cutting a large chunk for myself, jabbed it, and enjoyed the texture of melted Wisconsin magic on my tongue.

Diane and I hadn't ever actually done it. Our few encounters in the past had consisted of bondage and spanking games, as well as some public edging with an RC vibrator. She'd been the first woman I'd taken a crop to and you never forget your first...

David's voice broke into my trip down memory lane. "I said, I don't find it TOO hard to believe she likes it that way, but it's still a surprise."

"Well, I'm just glad my email didn't scare you off. She really wants to see you again, and I promise I'll not stay in the room any longer than the two of you are comfortable with."

I watched David eat his pie for the next few minutes in silence. This was strange territory for him. I could tell that. Especially that I was the one setting it up, not Diane. But I could also tell that the emails I'd sent had strung him along at just the right pace. He'd show up. No doubt, he was planning right now how to most politely get me out of the room so he could be alone with her. But he'd show up. And that was all I needed.

=====

Diane took another drink from the water bottle I held to her lips. I stroked her hair with my free hand, she raised her eyes and looked at me. I smiled, wiped the water that had dribbled down her chin and leaned forward to give her a little kiss.

"How are we feeling?"

She turned her face away. Immediately, I felt the same rush of anger that had been toying with me all afternoon. A dominant cannot afford to lose his temper, I knew that. I also knew that, whatever I might feel in an individual moment, there wasn't any chance of that happening. And the anger itself felt good. It fed something inside me, an ember that Diane's boyfriend in Madison had been fanning in me for the last several weeks.

"Oh, Diane, that is so impolite," I taunted. "I think we need to adjust things a bit." She raised her head slightly, eyes following me as I stepped away from her and toward the cups. I poured a bit of the water from the bottle into each of the two cups. Diane bit her lip and rose up on her toes, trying to relieve the tension a bit.

The two cups were only about a third full of water. Each was tied to the end of a long string, which in turn was threaded through a pulley secured to the ceiling. The other end of the string was connected to a simple nipple clamp which was, of course, connected to Diane. I continued pouring until each cup was one-half full and Diane's eyes were squeezed shut tight.

"Now, I know you are not going to cum - I've finally accepted that - but I am going to turn on the vibrator anyway." I pressed the button on the RC setting on the table among the crops, paddles, and other toys. Her knees trembled slightly and I heard her moan.

"You know, you have your friend in Madison to blame for this," I whispered into her ear. "The other times we were together, I was so, so focused on making it mutually enjoyable..." I walked slowly around her, my fingers lightly touching her naked body, here and there, gently, gently. She quivered, her flesh responding to even the smallest contact. It fascinated me how her body reacted so willingly, so hungrily, even though both of us knew she couldn't cum.

"While I understood your need for humiliation and restraint, I still worked within the framework of mutuality." I kept my voice a flat drone. With her, at least, it had the effect of calming and soothing her, while at the same time implying menace just around each corner. Many of our early sessions had been over the telephone - later, voice-over the net - and I'd learned where her aural buttons were. There was a particular cadence, a certain softness to which I'd learned she responded especially well.

Her belly quivered and her breathing quickened as I turned off the RC unit, slid the vibrator aside, and pushed my finger between her moist lips. I penetrated her with just my fingertip. After a few seconds, I sank deeper into her and she arched her back, gasped as her motion pulled the strings taut and yanked her nipples.

I pulled my finger out of her, turned again, then put the palms of my hands under the cups. I lifted them. The strings went slack and Diane nearly fell forward, staggering between relief from the pain and losing her balance.

I raised the cups a few inches. "It would be so awful if I just dropped these again, wouldn't it?" I asked softly. Her eyes widened. I put both cups in my left hand, picked up the water bottle with my right. "Or if I filled them to the top, then dropped them?" Diane relaxed slightly, feet flat on the ground, taking advantage of this slight respite to rest her aching calf and leg muscles. Her eyes were glued to the cups.

"Your stories enticed me, you know. If you hadn't told me about him giving you to others, I might never have spent all that time figuring out who he was."

"How...how did you know?" she muttered through barely moving lips.

"It was 2001. Sometime in April. So that's what, over six years ago?" I tapped the bottle against the edge of one of the cups. "You mentioned to me that you'd met someone new online. And in a terrible, terrible breach of etiquette, you gave me his email id."

She raised her dropping eyelids. "I would never..."

"Well, no, not exactly. It was more of a series of small oversights on your part. In one email, you mentioned where he worked, in another, something about an award he'd received. Very vague, but I knew it was a Friday in May and the ceremony began at 7:30. That kind of thing. Then, in a chat, a final clue about his family status. Not much to go on, but the Internet is amazing." I pressed the lip of the bottle lightly against her belly. "Truly amazing. A set of initials here, an awards newsletter there, a university class schedule and - magic! - I narrowed it down to about half a dozen possibles." The bottle moved slowly down her belly toward her crotch. "A few emails, a few dropped hints, and I hit pay-dirt."

I raised the bottle to her lips. "Time for a little more ballast, Diane." I pushed it between her lips and tilted the bottle back. She didn't swallow and the water ran down her chin and neck.

"I know what you're trying to do," she whispered.

"Then you know I've largely already accomplished it, don't you?" I answered. I gently lowered the cups, letting the strings grow slowly taut until they were again swinging freely on their own. Diane's hands were still tied behind her back, box style. She kept her feet flat on the carpet this time, she was adjusting to the pain. I smiled. We had all day.

I pushed the bottle back into her mouth. She resisted and I pushed my thumb against her cheek. Her teeth parted and I quickly filled her mouth with water. She sputtered but drank most of it. I kept pouring and she stopped resisting. Another few ounces. I smiled.

"Well, let's get you all adjusted," I said, reaching between her legs to reposition the RC vibrator where it would do the most good. I stepped back a few feet, settled into the armchair and stared at her.

It had been frustrating, those first two times, working so hard on her and never seeing her cum. Only in the last hours of our second visit had she explained that she had a very hard time and nearly never did. She'd never bothered with therapy, it didn't seem to bother her much. But, to me it was an incredible let down.

Since then, we'd hardly spoken or even swapped email for nearly a year. There really was no point. No harm, no foul, but I wasn't interested anymore. That moment of abandon and surrender was the center for me. Everything else was play, variations on a theme, experimenting with the thousands of ways to get her there. But she had to get there.

Then, out of the blue, she sent me a short paragraph describing one of her latest encounters. She'd evolved into a plaything for her Madison connection. And worse - or better, depending on how you looked at it - he wasn't the one doing the playing. He'd been pimping her out to a series of deviants who'd been using her and - from the stories she told - they were using harder and harder than I'd ever considered.

I sat up and took notice. My favorite fantasies with her had always involved third-parties. Something about the pure power of handing a lover over to a stranger was intoxicating. And, knowing as I did, that she was being handed over not only to be used, but to be abused, I couldn't stay away any longer.

When I'd done my detective work and tracked down her pimp - or whatever she wanted to call him - everything else fell into place. He and I spoke on the phone, met twice for dinner, and established to our own satisfaction that Diane was still sane, safe, and in control. Safe words were in place, precautions were taken, and the men were screened. I didn't ask him whether any cash was being exchanged, I didn't want to know and really didn't care. It was hard to guess which answer I'd prefer, anyway.

Our conversations were very enlightening. While I'd spent so much energy designing scenes - elaborate schemes that included tape recordings and headphones, blindfolds, ropes, clamps, and weeks of planning - he was handing her out to men who just wanted to paddle her until their hands hurt then spend the rest of the night using a cane. Or wanted a party favor for a dozen or so friends. Or a cum dump they could keep stoned on

paco

for a week, then leave on her own to deal with the withdrawal symptoms. One of them, an Argentinean named Ignacio, had in fact paid extra to watch her go through the following week of detox. He reported that the videos were priceless. To this day, both Diane and her pimp were nervous that the tapes might show up on the Internet. So far, though, Ignacio had remained true to his word.

Over the course of our visits and chats, he'd encouraged me to dig deeper into the darker corners of my own mind, dig deep for things that would amuse me. I went through that phase, but still it wasn't enough. My amusement wasn't the point. There were other things. First off, I was aware that I wanted to find some way to outdo him. The raw power in his ability to give her so freely was a huge jump past anything I'd considered for her in real life. I wanted some of that.

Second, I realized that I wanted to dig deeper into her than I had in the past. She'd surrendered much to me, taken the floggings, the endless dozens and hundreds of attacks I'd made on her thighs and belly with a 12-inch ruler and a riding crop, the hours in private and public with that RC toy endlessly teasing her, the duct tape applied and yanked off her most tender parts. But I needed to go deeper. Find something inside her that she refused to surrender, something she kept protected, and take that from her.

All of those thoughts had been swimming in my head during the weeks since we'd arranged this lost weekend, during the drive last night, and during my meeting after breakfast with David earlier.

David. The key to everything. The 'straight fuck' she'd enjoyed so much. A non-kinky boy who plowed away at her like a machine - her words.

"I..." Diane whimpered.

After a few seconds, I turned toward her, saw her head turned slightly, eyes looking at me.

"I...need to go..."

"Yes, I know," I said. I stood up and walked to where she stood. With slow and measured motions, I lifted the cups and emptied the water back into the bottle, letting the strings between Diane and the ceiling go slack. "I know." I stroked her hair. "We need to make a few adjustments, I think," I said.

"I...need to go..." she whimpered again. "Bad."

"Um, hm," I nodded. I stepped around behind her and untied her arms. I tied her wrists together in front of her, then raised them above her head. I pulled the free end of the rope through another, larger pulley in the ceiling, tugging it just taut. She was still flat on her feet, I didn't feel any need to raise her on her toes. Not for this. Not right now.

I looked at the clock. I'd miscalculated. It was only a little after six p.m. and David wasn't expected until seven. I turned off the vibrator and slid the elastic bands down over her bottom, her legs, finally letting her step out of the device completely.

"We won't be needing this," I said calmly, wrapping the bands around the unit and placing it gently on the dresser. I opened the top drawer and took out a pair of sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose.

"Lift your foot," I told her. She glanced at me through half-closed eyes and raised her left foot. I continued working with her until she was dressed in the pantyhose and a pair of new 2-inch black heels.

"Now, just to make it a little more interesting," I said as I walked to the closet. I opened it and removed the hangar that held her $4,500 custom made business suit. While she'd been a bit close-lipped about her career - maintaining that Internet distance even with me - I knew it had something to do with law and I knew that she reveled in the power games she played all day. The suit was an indispensable part of the armor the game required. She'd never damage it voluntarily.

I laid the suit on the floor between her feet, smiling up at her as I smoothed the jacket over the pants. A beautiful expanse of grey, positioned for exactly the same use as an old newspaper at the bottom of a birdcage.

"Just to prevent any accidents," I said.

"You pig," she muttered. I smiled. A slight victory, she was losing her composure.

"Mouth getting dry? Would you like a little more water?" She closed her eyes, tried to ignore me. I dropped my voice to that monotone I knew drilled to the center of her brain. "You know, water? Like water coming from faucets, water rushing over waterfalls..." I watched her face. I knew she was trying to distract herself with thoughts of baseball scores, shopping lists, dry, boring legal codes.

"...Cool, clear streams, trickling through the rocks, flowing..." I wanted to touch her, to push her over the edge, but the sweetness of watching her struggle was even better. "...the small twigs floating on the surface, the water swirling in small pools along the banks..."

"Fuck you, fuck you!" she yelled.

"Are we getting a little agitated?" I teased. For several minutes, I remained silent. I watched her leg muscles tremble, saw her clench her ass several times, tighten, then loosen, then tighten again.

I'd picked her up at one o'clock. True to her word, she'd brought a small bag with the things I'd asked for. A single black pullover dress and her RC vibrator and control, a dozen condoms and a bottle of water-based lube. We didn't talk much as I drove her to the rented apartment Madison had arranged. Once inside the apartment, she stripped naked, hung up the expensive suit in the empty closet in the front hallway, and pulled on the black dress. It was a drill he'd put her through many times before and I didn't want to mess with success.

The man who owned the apartment and two of his friends fucked her unceremoniously on the living room sofa, her bent over the back, face in the cushions, dress rolled up around her waist, while they talked and laughed and finished their beers, fat bellies slapping against her bottom, the last one with his thumbs pushed deep inside her ass. Afterwards, each of them peeled off their condoms and threw them into a bowl on the floor in front of her.

After they left, I threw her the RC unit which she dutifully pulled into place. I produced the high heels from my small bag and handed them to her. She stepped into them, the size exactly correct, as Madison had provided them from his stash. I told her to use the toilet, brush her hair, then meet me outside in five minutes.

We taxied to some nearby shops. The first thing I did was turn on the RC. The glazed look came over her immediately. The unit did something special to her that I still don't understand. In less than five minutes, her upper lip and forehead were covered with a thin film of sweat and her eyelids were quivering. I turned the power down and we walked into a convenience store.

I bought two bottles of water. I told her to empty the first one completely on the spot, the second we carried around with us. We drifted aimlessly from the hardware store (where I had her toy with a variety of ropes, pulleys, and clamps all the while toying with the speed of the RC), to the grocery story (where she obliged me by stuffing an entire plum into her mouth, trying to keep from gagging while I calmly walked around the store pretending to shop, eventually walking out without paying for it), to a coffee shop where I ordered her a (mercifully) small black iced coffee. It was an especially sweet tease as I recalled a conversation with her some years back in which she warned me about its diuretic effect. Her eyes met mine with each sip, obviously irritated by my wide grin.

By now, it was nearly five o'clock. She stood up from her chair and I reached for her wrist.

"What are you doing?"

She tried to pull her hand free, remained silent.

"Tell me where you think you are going," I repeated, holding her firm.

"I have to use the bathroom," she said in a very quiet voice.

"You have to pee?" I said just a bit louder.

She reddened, whispered "yes".

"Then say it," I said.

"I...have to pee," she nearly whispered. I broke into a wide grin.

"Now, you know what I mean, don't you?"

Diane looked around the room. Her head jerked as I switched on the RC unit, turning it all the way up. Her eyes locked on mine, then she turned away and surveyed the room again. The closest person was only about four feet away, an older woman, sipping tea and reading the paper. She could easily have heard the RC and would certainly hear Diane if she asked me anything. With an angry look, she sat back down.