Barry hadn't called, and didn't get home that evening until after 9:00. Jill was sitting in bed, reading a book. She was wearing the pink camisole that he liked so much, her nipples jutting prettily against the satin. She had been engrossed in her novel, and she jumped slightly when he entered the bedroom. “Oh! Barry, I didn't hear you come in!"
"So I see.” Barry went to his bureau, removing his tie and undoing his cuff links. He hung his jacket neatly in the closet and came to sit next to her on the bed. They kissed for a moment and then he sat back, appraising her. “Well?"
"What?” Jill asked, though she knew.
"Did you read it?"
"Yes."
"And? How did it make you feel?"
Jill bit her lip, and then looked up through her long lashes. “Lots of ways. Hard to explain."
"Try me."
"Well, excited. Nervous. Frightened."
"Frightened? In what way?” Gently he touched her arm.
"Well, like, can I live up to all that stuff? Always obeying, never questioning, accepting punishment. My God, punishment! I mean, I know you've punished me because of what I did with those guys. I mean...” She stopped, flustered, regretting having reminded him of her transgressions.
"Listen Jill, a contract, this contract, is a loosely drawn up document designed to outline parameters. It isn't a bible. It's an idea, really. The idea that you submit to me, and I take care of you. It's called a voluntary exchange of power. And it's not non-negotiable either. If there are things you simply cannot tolerate, you tell me. You talk to me. You explain what's bothering you and we work through it."
"Well, what about safe words?” Jill had learned about safe words online. Other submissives told her she had to have a ‘safe word’ in case play became too intense, and her master was taking her too far. Barry had also heard about safe words.
"Safe words are for games, Jill; for ‘scenes.’ Safe words are for people who don't know each other very well and don't trust each other very much. If you're concerned that you might not be able to tolerate something I'm doing—that it hurts too much or might compromise you in some way, you say, ‘stop,’ or ‘I don't like that.’ And I'll listen to you. That doesn't necessarily mean I'll stop. But it means I'll listen and decide if I agree with you, and if I do, I'll change what I'm doing. I love you. I would never do something that I didn't think was in your best interest. But this isn't a game. And you should understand that. If you sign, you'll be giving yourself to me. Body and soul. You will be relinquishing control. And I know that isn't easy in the ‘real world.’ But it's something I want. And if it's something you want, I promise you that you will be the most loved and cherished woman on this planet."
She started to speak, but he muffled her words with his own mouth, as he kissed her. She responded, ardently, and his hand slipped down under the covers, sliding over her silky smooth thighs to the hot little center of her. Gently he pressed her legs apart, still kissing her mouth. His fingers slipped past the satin shorts to her bare already wet pussy. They probed and teased, making her moan with pleasure through his kiss. His other hand found her nipple, and he pulled and tugged it, causing it to harden. His grip hardened and he twisted, still kissing her mouth, still fondling and teasing her pussy.
Jill fell back against the pillows and Barry leaned into her, still controlling her body with his relentless hands and mouth. He felt her heart beating against him. He felt her pussy lips swelling, wet and hot, and he gave another rough twist to her nipple, making her cry out, though the cry was still muffled by his mouth on hers. She started to tremble and jerk uncontrollably, her pelvis thrusting and then pulling away from his fingers, which wouldn't let her go. And still he kissed her, his tongue deep in her mouth, forcing it open, licking her, tasting her, dominating her. Her soft mewling moans were punctuated by her rapid breathing. He felt her stiffen suddenly, and then spasms wracked her body and her moans turned to a squeal.
At last he let go of her, and she fell back, disheveled, her lustrous dark hair wild over the pillow, her cheeks flushed, her thighs fallen open like the petals of a crushed flower. Slowly she opened her eyes, which were full of adoration. “I want to,” she whispered.
He leaned forward to hear her. “What, Jill? I couldn't hear you."
"I want to. I want to sign. I want to be your slave girl."
Barry had almost never taken a vacation from his burgeoning law practice. He had accumulated months of time. For the first time in his life something was more important than his work, and as a result, he decided to take a month off. A leave, as he explained to his bosses, because his wife needed him. He intimated that she was ill, and possible surgery was in the offing. They were concerned, solicitous and very supportive. He got his month.
The guest bedroom was fitted with the latest toys from the bondage boutiques. Barry loved to buy toys, and soon the room was filled with equipment that would rival any professional torture chamber. Jill was at once fascinated and a little afraid, gasping in surprise each time he unveiled the latest item, which would certainly be used on her later that day or evening.
Today, several weeks into her training, found Jill naked and tethered to a gynecologist's exam table. Her bottom rested on the edge of the table, with her feet tied in the stirrups. Barry had thoughtfully placed bootie socks over the cold metal of the stirrups. Her arms were tied under the table, secured by rope. There was also a rope around her neck, which prevented her from raising her head.
Master and slave had developed a sort of routine over the weeks. Jill had never spent so much time with Barry, and had it been like before, in the ‘vanilla’ days, as she thought of them, she would have been dying to get away from him. But now she literally lived to please him; to be with him, to experience the endless variety of pleasure and torture he continued to concoct.
She was to awaken her master each morning by kissing his balls and licking his asshole. She wasn't to touch his cock until it was fully erect, and then only with his permission. “You don't deserve my cock,” he would tell her. “You belong in two places: at my feet or with your tongue up my ass. You do know that, don't you, whore?” And even as her face would burn with shame at his words, she would nod. He would smile with satisfaction, and point to his ass. She always scrambled to obey, thrusting her tongue as deep as she could, and then kissing the little puckered hole.
It was humiliating and degrading, and yet the lovely paradox of it was that she adored it. She thought of it as ‘delicious humiliation.’ She came to crave it. She would wake up and, remembering her first duty, begin to kiss and fondle her darling husband until at last he gave her permission to suck his lovely hard cock. Sometimes he would come in her mouth. Other times he would spurt on her face and breasts. She loved it all.
Her first whipping had terrified her, but then she found it wasn't nearly as bad as she feared. Oh, it hurt, make no mistake, but the sting was certainly tolerable, and just like the spankings, it seemed to transmute itself to almost unbearable pleasure. Using hooks he had secured over the closet door, Barry would tie Jill's hands up over her head, securing them to the hook by her wrist cuffs. Sometimes he would secure her legs, forcing them far apart with a spreader bar and locking her slim ankles into place. Other times he would leave her legs free, especially when he wanted to test her discipline.
Barry would start slowly, just whipping her round ass for a while, never too hard. Gradually he would hit her harder, loving the sight of her bottom turning from white to pink to red. Then he would add a stroke to her back, to her thighs. She always jerked forward when he first did this, and gasped.
"Stay still,” he would admonish her. He liked to force her to remain as still as possible while he slowly ratcheted up the torture, hitting a little harder, a little faster, slowly building up her toleration for the pain. He would stop midway, often, and pull her back by her hair, so that he could kiss her. He would fondle and tickle her cunt, pinching the lips and making her moan. When he felt her hot and wet against him, trying to fuck herself on his hand like the slut she was, he would laugh, pull back and begin to beat her again.
This would go on until she could no longer stay still, despite his orders not to move. She would be jumping and writhing, trying anything to get away from the lash. When she lost control like this, he would hit her hard, telling her she had no discipline. He would whip her until she sagged, covered in sweat, defeated at last by exhaustion.
Only then would he let her down. Sometimes he would carry her to the bed and make gentle love to her. Other times he might force her to her knees, so he could thrust his cock down her throat. No matter what he did, or how rough he was, or how much she cried, afterwards she always had that same puppy dog face, as he thought of it. She would look at him with big eyes full of unmasked adoration and kiss him over and over, little butterfly kisses all over his body, while she whispered how much she loved him.
Because she was such a willing slave girl, so eager to please, and because Barry was a driven sort of man, who liked to take things to excess, he began to experiment further than he might have gone if she had been more reluctant. He was, he supposed, looking for her limits. And today, as she lay tied to the table, legs lewdly spread and bound open, he planned to stretch those limits a bit further.
She was alone in the room. Barry liked to bind her and then leave her a while to contemplate her fate. Invariably when he returned after a few minutes, she was wet and breathing in the deep, slow way she had developed when entering what his friend Paul called ‘sub headspace.’ Today was no exception. She turned to look at him, her lips parted, her eyes blazing. Barry walked over to her and without warning slapped her face, hard. Jill jerked her head, which caused the rope around her neck to tighten, forcing her head back to its original position, eyes to the ceiling.
Barry appraised her calmly, feeling his cock rise as usual as he took in the lovely sight of his bound and helpless slave girl. He especially liked the look of the white rope against her fragile throat. The cheek he had struck was flushed. He liked symmetry, so he slapped the other cheek and Jill cried out, but this time didn't jerk her head. She was a quick learner. He smiled lazily, and took out a long thick piece of silk. “Open wide, baby,” he said, pressing the gag against her mouth until Jill parted her lips. He tied it tightly, forcing a wad of the fabric back into her mouth, to further muffle her cries. Once it was secure, he tightened the rope around her pretty throat, so that movement was even more limited.
He touched her chest above one heaving breast, and felt her heart pounding. His hand moved slowly down to the nipple that was already erect and eager for his touch. He pinched it, hard, till she moaned in her gag. He loved how easily he could arouse his slut of a slave girl. She was becoming so sensitized to his touch, to his command, that he could literally make her wet with just a whisper or a gesture. He would point to the floor at his feet and she would hurry to kneel in front of him, legs spread, hands on her thighs, as he had taught her. He would reach down and feel her throbbing pussy, always wet, always available to him.
Now her cunt was spread wide, the pretty dark pink labia pulled apart by her position, so that her hooded clit and vaginal entrance were clearly displayed, along with her pink little asshole. Barry touched the labia, barely caressing the sensitive folds. Jill shuddered and tried unsuccessfully to move closer to his fingers, which fluttered teasingly away. Again his fingers brushed her labia and clit, using her own pussy juice to smooth the way.
He knelt between her legs and licked her cunt, licked the hot sweet spicy folds of her pussy, purposefully missing the hard tiny clit, circling around it until she was half mad with desire. At last his tongue found the center of her heat and he was merciless as he drew a long shuddering orgasm from her. Jill liked to tightly close her legs when she came, and of course, now she couldn't do this. It left her somehow unsatisfied, and the ironic effect was that she was still on fire, even after the searing orgasm that had wracked her body.
Barry went to the side table and chose a single lash whip from his already substantial collection of crops and whips. Jill hated this one. It welted her delicate skin. It didn't give her a chance to adjust to the pain. Barry knew this, of course. On some levels he was still a little afraid to use it. While he liked to watch his wife suffer, he also tried to make sure that the suffering was matched by at least as much pleasure as pain. The single lash didn't seem to afford that particular balance. Jill's fear of the lash kept her from completely giving herself over to its sweet fiery kiss.
And yet something perverse in Barry made him want to use it on her. He had discussed this with Paul, who had encouraged its use. “You need to always press the envelope, Barry. If you are to move forward as a D/s couple, you have to expand the limits. You have to take her further. It isn't just about what pleases you; what you like to watch or do. It's about taking her to her limits and just a fraction beyond. If you stay in the ‘comfort zone,’ she'll lose interest eventually. She'll be back out fucking the stable boy or whoever it was she was fucking before."
Barry bridled at this reminder, however inaccurate, of his wife's infidelities. He trusted Paul, who had so far guided him well in his exploration of sadomasochism. And while he was still unsure with the lash, a secret, darker part of his nature thrilled to the damage he could inflict with that little piece of finely braided leather.
Today he felt especially sadistic as he leaned over the lovely slave girl. “Look what I have for you today, Jill. Your favorite whip. The single lash. Kiss it.” He held it before her face, drawing the lash teasingly over her cheeks and mouth. Jill shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut. “Please,” she whispered.