BDSM Library - Submission in Seattle

Submission in Seattle

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WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. DELETE NOW IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO VIEW THIS TYPE OF MATERIAL. COPYRIGHT 1998: This story is copyrighted by the author, MB.

AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION TO: "SUBMISSION IN SEATTLE" Most erotic stories with an SM theme are set in distant times or places so that the reader can more easily enjoy descriptions of intense sexual behavior that would be unacceptable in his or her own society. "Submission in Seattle" adds a small dash of fantasy to a very real part of modern American society, the BDSM subculture. I hope that you will find this reality-based story even more erotic than one which is totally based on fantasy. I have been told by some that the story is too "cerebral" for most people to be able to enjoy it as erotica. However, others have said that it is the most erotic BDSM story they have ever read. The popularity of BDSM has exploded in recent years, spurred on by the rapid growth of the internet. The creed of the modern BDSM culture is "Safe, Sane and Consensual". One might assume that erotic fiction which respects this boundary would be less arousing than the usual punishment/rape/enslavement SM tales that are found on the internet or in the erotica section of your local bookstore. "Submission in Seattle" may surprise you. To millions of television and film viewers, the standard symbol of BDSM is the stereotypical leather-clad professional Dominatrix. In American society, female domination of males is the most visible and politically correct form of BDSM relationship. For those couples who choose to practice male domination of the female, there is no such reassuring symbol for them to follow. The majority of these couples exercise their rights as consenting adults in private, in isolation and with a justifiable fear of persecution. As the BDSM community matures, subgroups which enjoy certain facets of BDSM play are beginning to coalesce. One group that is now asserting its right to exist is the maledom-femsub community. This novel is for them and those who are curious. Our main character, Howard Cole, is a professional male dominant for women. As everyone in the BDSM community knows, this is highly unusual. The simple rule of supply and demand in sexual commerce prevents men from making a living in this manner. However, a small number of dominant heterosexual men have established themselves as professionals. Typically just one or two in a large city that might support scores of female pro-Dommes. If you are in need of their services, seek them out in the darker regions of the internet. You won't be disappointed. M.B. 1998

SUBMISSION IN SEATTLE CHAPTER ONE Innocence is everywhere, but the honest enjoyment of perversion is rare. On a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon, platoons of harried women in expensive cars shuttled their well dressed children along the streets of an upper class neighborhood near Seattle, Washington. Each house concealed its unique story behind a screen of tall evergreen trees and fashionable forest landscaping. One home on a particular suburban lane had its own special energy. This energy was provided by the women who passed beyond the heavy black door into the residence of Howard Cole. There was nothing outwardly unusual about the one story contemporary home. Three young children from nearby families played noisily within fifty feet of the conservative gray painted exterior. The pleasant open space between the large houses was shaded from the late afternoon summer sun by a canopy of eighty foot Douglas Firs. Predictably, one of the children launched a piercing, repetitive scream in response to some injustice perpetrated by a sibling. The occupants of the gray house, as if in another world, were blissfully unaware of the commotion outside. Insulated in the soundproof basement of his large home, Howard Cole stepped back to appraise his work. As a talented photographer, he appreciated the finer points of composition, color and lighting. He stroked his short beard for a moment, then adjusted the rolled up sleeves of his open necked black silk dress shirt. He stretched his solid, six foot frame to loosen up his shoulders and straightened his round metal framed glasses. The warm, spacious, high ceilinged room resembled a photographer's studio. It had been, until he discovered a more compelling hobby. Unusual electronic music played from a sophisticated sound system, creating an air of mystery and erotic ritual. Around the edges of the hardwood floor, in semi-darkness, oddly shaped pieces of furniture rested under black sheets. In the center of the room a massage table with a well padded, brown leather top rested in a pool of light. It was quite heavily constructed, with brass fittings where its thick wooden beams joined together. Cole didn't appreciate the room as much as he did the girl. Kristina was one of his latest favorites; a true masochist who dreamed of being a slave girl. This was her fourth visit to the intimate basement dungeon. He had yet to find one girl to steal his heart forever, but he enjoyed them all for their individual qualities and varied physical attributes. The one trait they all had in common was the need for submission. To Cole, it was a priceless treasure and extremely beautiful. Every submissive girl he met captured his attention, at least for a while. Kristina was a gifted young software designer who happened to work part time as a nude dancer. He could see it in her dancer's legs and perfect little ass. She was exhibited quite nicely at the moment, he thought. He had a talent for posing the girls in the most flattering and erotic positions. A result, he was sure, of his photographic experience. *** Kristina noticed his admiring gaze, then wiggled her well curved bottom to let him know she was ready. She displayed her slender nude body and fragile youth while seductively bent over the top of the waist high table. The overhead spot lights illuminated her perfectly, and she knew it. She grinned as she thought, "Krissy, you've been wanting this for weeks. Trust Master Cole, he knows what you need." She felt the tension in her arms from the soft leather cuffs that pulled her wrists toward the far end of the table. Another pair of restraints held her ankles to the sturdy, polished table legs, making her struggle a bit to touch the floor with her toes. It was another one of Cole's subtle touches that reminded Kristina of her delicious vulnerability. "Looks like I'm going to get my money's worth tonight," she predicted silently to herself. She listened receptively as Cole spoke in a low, hypnotic tone that penetrated deeply into her mind, "Krissy, it's time for me to enjoy you now. If you need to stop, you know how to communicate that to me. However, if you stop, that will be all for today, and you will go home knowing you didn't satisfy me. Do you understand?" "Yes, Master Cole," she said in a dreamy voice. She looked up at him and saw a handsome forty one year old man with short dark hair. His precisely trimmed dark beard and mustache somehow made him look sophisticated and sinister at the same time. The piercing gray eyes were almost hypnotic. When she was in this delightfully submissive and sensual state, his attractiveness was very compelling. She wanted nothing more than to be close to him and give herself to him in every possible way. She closed her eyes for a minute to concentrate on the hypnotic music and she felt herself slipping into the trance-like state that she so treasured. The stresses of her high pressure life fell away bit by bit. Kristina stretched her muscles sensuously as Cole placed his hands on her well formed back and began to massage away her tension. His knowing fingers traced the firm muscles that were hidden beneath her tan skin. The bright halogen studio light made the barely visible fuzz of tiny blonde hairs sparkle and caused a languid warmth to penetrate her body. When her muscles were nicely relaxed she felt him shift his touch to the provocative curves of her ass. The first few swats of his heavy right hand were delicate, as if to judge the range and check the sensitivity of her flesh. Kristina pushed her bottom out a little farther to signal her need. As Cole gradually stepped up the spanking she could feel the stinging impact of his big hands driving her against the table. Her face was forced closer to the padded tabletop and she inhaled the sweet aroma of tanned leather that added to her arousal. "Do you like this, Krissy?" "Yes, Master Cole, may I please have it harder?" She tossed her head to spread out her glorious, shoulder length blonde hair, which she knew he liked. He smiled, "Of course you can. Your pretty bottom is getting very red, little girl, and you know that turns me on." "I know, I know," she whimpered and she continued to take the force of his hands on her bottom cheeks. She could tell that the intensity was carefully measured, being increased in precise intervals that must have taken him years to perfect. Slowly, a growing sexual tingle made itself felt in her clitoris. "It's starting," she thought with an audible groan. Kristina was no stranger to the SM scene. She loved pain play, when it was done right, but she also loved to submit. I have plenty of friends who'll give me a good spanking, she thought, but why is Howard Cole the only one I can submit to? I usually play because I enjoy it, but with him I seem to do it because he enjoys it! A more intense wave of arousal interrupted her thoughts, reminding her of the helpless position she had gotten herself into. She was restrained with her legs apart and she knew that he must have a perfect view of her cunt. He had ignored it completely and it was driving her crazy waiting for the first touch. The wonderful sensation of bare skin striking bare skin helped form an almost spiritual connection between them. Cole's strong hands were ideal spanking instruments and each solid blow landed with a loud crack. Krissy swore that she could hear the sharp sounds echoing off the walls. He changed hands frequently, using the off hand to stroke smoothly up and down her back to enhance the emotional bond. "Oooh, mmmm, ouch," Krissy whispered. The pain suddenly became more intense, and she had a brief moment of fear as she realized that he was striking the backs of her long, lean thighs. *** Cole could feel himself perspiring lightly after several minutes of hard spanking. When her breathing became heavier and the blood was circulating furiously in her inflamed asscheeks, Cole dragged his fingernails lightly across her hot red skin. Kristina's sharp intake of breath indicated that she was properly warmed up. He noticed how her small hips widened from the pressure of the table edge and the soft outer curves of her breasts swelled where they were pressed against the leather. Cole leaned back a little to look carefully between her parted legs, where her pouting nether lips were outlined in a most enchanting way by a well groomed thatch of fine blonde hair. Knowing that he could penetrate her later if he wished, he began to grow erect, but stopped himself so he could concentrate on the scene. Moving quietly around to the head of the table, he bent down to speak with her in a soft voice. "Open your mouth, Krissy. You'll need this rubber bit." To protect her teeth and tongue, Cole placed a rubber bar in her mouth like a horse's bit that buckled behind her head. To demonstrate his complete control, he reached down to gently open her sex with his fingers and softly stroke her sensitive inner labia. *** Kristina's muscles contracted involuntarily with the surprising new stimulation. She was embarrassed by her sudden straining against her bonds and moaned as she felt an overwhelming sense of submission and inevitability. Her heart beat faster and the excitement grew within her. She could feel the first trickle of wetness between her legs. She watched as Cole picked up a long, straight rattan cane and showed it to her. It was a quarter inch thick and one end had been covered with thin black leather to form a handle. As she studied it, her breathing became difficult and irregular. Holding the cane reverently, Cole walked around behind her into an area reflected by a large wall mirror. Kristina could see the full reflection of her helpless form strapped to the heavy table and she realized that she would be able to see exactly what was happening to her lovely bottom. Her own wide eyed expression in the mirror reminded her of the way a deer looks when caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. *** Cole noticed it too. Slowly drawing his arm back for a full stroke, he aimed the cane directly at the center of her perfect ass and drove it with full force into her taut gluteal globes. The skin was deeply indented for a hundredth of a second. A heartbeat later Kristina's head jerked, causing her hair to fly up and descend in a pretty golden shower that sparkled as it caught the light. It was as if she had been struck by lightning and her eyes widened at the astonishing impact. She grunted around the rubber bit, which had just saved her tongue from a serious injury. Looking carefully at his watch, Cole said calmly, "I like to allow about thirty seconds between strokes so that you can fully appreciate the pain." *** Kristina heard the music change from an erotic electronic piece to a Gregorian chant. Then she heard the hiss of the cane through the air. It struck before she could even tighten her buttocks in anticipation. The pain was extreme, and Kristina didn't know if she could continue to take it at this intensity. She contemplated ending the scene, but knew that if she did she would regret it later when she was longing to be in his bed. "Continue to breathe," she told herself, "concentrate and you can take this for him." Five minutes and ten loud strokes into the ritual, Kristina's ass was a perfect example of the double track signature of the cane. Each raised red welt was placed parallel to the others. Kristina, her skin flushed and damp with sweat, moaned and pulled hard at the leather cuffs. She forced herself to breathe very rapidly, almost panting with the pain. It seemed to help, somehow. The fire in her hindquarters slowly penetrated into her brain and fulfilled the mysterious need that only Cole understood. She knew that she had now reached that familiar plateau that was like the moment when an orgasm becomes inevitable. The scene would now continue to its conclusion. There was no other option. There was a brief pause and she was afraid he might stop. Then she looked at Cole in the mirror and listened to him speak. Her vision was slightly blurry with sweat or arousal, she couldn't tell which. "I want to hurt you some more, Krissy. You've only had ten strokes so far. I'd like you to take twenty five. The last girl I used this big cane on was barely conscious after 20 strokes, but I think you can do better." Kristina was both exhilarated and frightened, but continued to look at her own reflection in the mirror as if she were observing a dream. She watched in fascination, as the heavy rattan cane cut into her outraged bottom. She tried to scream into the rubber bit as he continued to dispense the severe blows, "Oh God... No, oooh, YES!" Her endorphins began to flow and the pain was slowly transformed into pleasure. It took six more of the slashing strokes before she was truly flying high on a trip induced by a cocktail of fantasy, emotions and natural biochemicals released by her bruised flesh. The powerful strokes slowly continued as she moaned and thrashed against the table. She was not struggling to free herself. She was writhing in ecstasy. As on previous visits, she was allowed to spend the night. Her submission was absolute. This time, after satisfying his perverted sexual urges, she was forced to sleep on the floor next to his bed. She loved every minute of it and was happy to hand him a slim envelope as she left the next morning. Kristina knew that she was just one woman among many in the unusual life of Howard Cole, but she didn't mind. Her world felt complete. She was deliciously satisfied and quite proud at having taken twenty five strokes of the terrible cane. She left his house smiling, feeling the sexy soreness in her buttocks and vagina. With any luck, she thought, she would be reminded of her caning for two or three days as she sat in her boring office cubicle. Her breasts bounced a bit as she got behind the wheel and her sore nipples peaked, reminding her of other pleasures. She drove along the conservative Sunday morning streets, observing the ordinary people living their ordinary lives. "If they only knew..." she speculated. She grinned at the thought of the secret she carried inside and wondered how long it would be until she needed to contact him again. *** As he watched her go, Cole felt strangely alone. He was pleased that Krissy believed she had taken the full twenty five strokes, when he had actually stopped at nineteen. The little psychological games were all part of the service. It had taken him years of trial and error to learn how to weave a woman's fantasy into a practical reality. He played the role well, very well, but he knew there must be more.

CHAPTER TWO Howard Cole placed his glass of Willamette valley pinot noir on the desk next to the computer and looked around the expensively furnished home office to clear his mind. As was his nightly custom, he powered up his computer to check his email. He grinned slightly as he recalled his session with Krissy the previous week. He thought briefly about how much more interesting his life had become in the years since he had discovered organized BDSM and later, the internet. "Life certainly has its surprises," he said before taking a sip from the one glass of wine he allowed himself. While he waited for the computer to complete the logon and download procedure, he recalled the unlikely chain of events that led to his unusual lifestyle. From his elegant home in a heavily forested suburb of Seattle, Cole reached out into the shadowy world of those who searched for satisfaction via the internet. His occupation as a patent broker allowed him ample time to pursue his true love, the sexual domination of women. He enjoyed being his own boss and was usually able to set his own hours. His clients were major universities and small research companies that needed to sell their patented ideas to various industries. They usually met with him at his office in Bellevue where he shared a receptionist and secretarial staff with four other businessmen. None of them had the slightest understanding of his unusual sexual tastes. Most of the businessmen in his circle of friends brought their wives or girlfriends to business related functions. Cole usually showed up alone, which caused some speculation that he might be gay. In reality, he simply did not want to mix his sex life with his work, for obvious reasons. He remembered that on the rare occasions when he brought a woman friend, his colleagues and their wives would spend the next few days trying to figure out what gave the woman such a mysterious air of sexuality. Ill equipped to understand sexual submissiveness, they usually decided it was something mundane, like her clothing or perfume. He had no idea what a strange direction his life would take when he graduated from a Southern California law school in his late twenties with a profound distrust of the adversarial legal system. During his final year of school, he interned at a law firm specializing in criminal defense and other trial work. The things he saw there convinced him that he could never participate in the courtroom games that his classmates loved. That was also when his wife announced that he wasn't the kind of man she wanted to be married to and demanded a divorce. Shortly thereafter, he discovered a talent for patent law and never looked back. According to his estimate, he could retire at age fifty and live very nicely for the rest of his life. When the monitor finally displayed the list of incoming email, he snapped back from his self analysis and quickly focused on the messages. Ah, three responses tonight, he noted. They were replies to the personal ads that he had placed systematically on various websites and newsgroups. Each of his ads was slightly different, but they all contained basically the same message. Cole described himself in the ads as a professional dominant for women only. Although the ads didn't mention it, his fee was negotiable. It would usually depend on what the customer could afford. He didn't need the money, but it helped establish a very important boundary. It also created an atmosphere that allowed for some intensely hot play sessions. When he first considered this idea, he was told by his friends from the Seattle SM scene that there was no such thing as a professional male dominant, unless you wanted to dominate men, of course. It was a simple case of supply and demand in the sex industry. The conventional wisdom also said that most, if not all, submissive women were looking for a long term relationship. After some research and several experiments in advertising, he discovered that there was a small, but significant market for his services. Not enough to make a living, which he didn't need anyway, but enough to keep him busy with interesting new women. Once he had worked out the system, there was a slow, but steady stream of women who answered his internet ads. Most of them lived too far away, didn't have the money to travel or were just too frightened to meet with a stranger for such an intimate and dangerous activity. Cole gently discouraged many others who did not meet his personal standards for physical appearance or intelligence. About two or three times a year, he would arrange to meet with a new correspondent who seemed to be a good potential customer. In the back of his mind was always the possibility that he might meet a woman who could become his permanent partner. He discovered that many submissive women didn't feel like they could really give up control to a man who was going to be a major part of their lives. A professional dominant, on the other hand, could do his job and vanish. The woman could carry on safely with her normal life, keeping only the treasured memories of her submissive sexual experience. Many of the women he met were in situations that prevented them from seeking the kind of relationship they truly desired. Perhaps they were married and unable to leave. Perhaps their career or public image was at risk. Others wished to safely learn about their submissive feelings. It seemed that each woman had her own unique reason for seeking his services. He dropped out of the Seattle SM scene when he realized that he wasn't finding what he needed there. By avoiding public gatherings of the SM community, it was also less likely that his secret life would become known to his vanilla friends and colleagues. He would still occasionally meet his kinky friends at Beyond the Edge Cafe, the unofficial meeting place of the leather community. Only a few of his most trusted scene friends knew of his second occupation and they would occasionally send him a woman who needed his services. A meeting of the local SM club had to be something special for him to attend these days. He might go if a nationally known figure was speaking. Laura Antoniou had been at the last one and Cole had enjoyed it greatly. He sat in the back and waved politely at old friends who recognized him. After the meeting, instead of joining the milling crowd of people eager to meet potential play partners, he waited only long enough for Laura to autograph a set of her books for him. Then he quietly disappeared from the room. Now, staring intently at the computer monitor, he quickly read and eliminated all three of the responses. Not my type, he sighed. He sent each of them a polite reply telling them that he was currently unavailable. Then he answered a two day old email from a previous customer who wanted to schedule another session. Their first two sessions had been in her home, but this time she was interested in being "kidnapped" and taken away to be ravished by Cole. He quickly typed an email message: "Dear Victoria, I would be pleased to provide you with a kidnapping scene on Sunday the 18th. The usual rules will apply, except that this time I will not specify a fee. After you have had a few days to think about the experience, simply send me whatever amount you feel is appropriate. I will need the full details of your schedule that day. Make certain that you are available until at least 10 PM." Cole sent the message and shut down the computer. He thought about the particular fondness he had for Victoria. It wasn't just the fact that she had a very sexy, mature body. Under her too perfect exterior and snobbish attitude was a little girl who needed to be dominated. He also had a great deal of respect for her. Victoria wasn't a thrill seeking young SM player like Kristina. She was the mature female of the species, experienced and formidable. Too bad her obsession with her looks and her society lifestyle were so annoying, he thought. Still, she had responded very nicely during their sessions and he felt like there was potential for more good play. Unlike some of his customers, she didn't seem to mind marks and bruises, as long as they could be covered by her clothing. In fact, she had indicated that she would like it a lot rougher if possible. Cole grinned at the thought. *** At that moment, in the elegant ladies' room of a historic hotel in downtown Seattle, Victoria Windham-Jenkins checked her make up for the fourth time. She was forty two years old, but looked like she was thirty. "A young thirty," she said to herself as she reshaped the outline of her slightly too bright lipstick. It made her feel better after her exchange of insults with a snobbish couple in the grand dining room a few minutes earlier. She was aware that both her mood and her behavior had been gradually deteriorating in recent weeks. I'm getting to be such a bitch, she thought, it reminds me of that weird movie I watched last week. What was that Navajo word for life-out-of-balance? Koyanisqat-something? She tried to remember exactly how long it had been since her last session with Howard Cole. Was it four months ago or five, she wondered? Her secretary had jokingly pointed out one of Cole's internet ads last year and Victoria had since experienced two successful sessions with the professional dominant. Victoria's wealthy husband had died a decade before, leaving her with a company that controlled two hundred thousand acres of prime timber land and two world class paper mills. There was more money than she could possibly spend. She still missed the old bastard, though. He was so deliciously rough and he always seemed to know when she needed it. She constantly tested him and she could still remember how his big hand would bruise her bare bottom when she pushed him too far. Actually, she thought, I could use a little bit of that right now. Although she was technically the Chairman of the Board, her presence was rarely required at company headquarters. A veritable army of managers and accountants took care of things quite nicely without her. When she was not attending society functions she spent her time in the gym and at various health spas being wrapped in odd substances guaranteed to preserve one's youthful skin tone. As yet, she had avoided the plastic surgeon. It was a matter of pride, which she had in abundance. She paid a small fortune to keep a hairdresser on call at all times to maintain her elaborate bleached blonde hairstyle. She copied it from Farrah Fawcett almost twenty years ago, but she thought of it as her trademark and would never consider changing it. Looking in the mirror one last time, she admired her bright green eyes, then patted her hair and smoothed the low cut velvet gown around her womanly curves. As she left the ladies' room, she cheered herself with the thought that men were always in plentiful supply. They would compete among themselves to see who could serve her most sincerely. She remembered a recent art gallery opening, where she had counted four attractive men of various ages who swarmed around her offering flutes of champagne, crab cocktails and radishes that were carved into perfect little flowers. To intimidate the other women that night, she had worn a tight red evening dress that displayed her large breasts and narrow waist. That sexy Italian artist told me I looked like Marilyn Monroe, she recalled with a smug little smile. She remembered how she took the lucky fellow home with her that night and discarded him the next morning as if he were an empty wine bottle. Her memories ended as she returned to the party and surveyed the crowd. Tonight she had her eye on a handsome young doctor. She watched him show a mouth full of perfect white teeth when he grinned at a joke. "He'll do nicely," she thought while moving in for the kill and trying unsuccessfully to suppress a shark-like grin. The result was never in doubt. They left the party early and her chauffeur drove them both to her place. The poor doctor was used and sent home by midnight. Afterwards lying alone in her gigantic bed, she thought of her late husband, Eric, and wished that he was there to give her what she really needed. Fast and easy sex was better than nothing, she figured, but she could still feel a tension within her that would be impossible to describe to anyone else. She reflected briefly on her arrangement with Howard Cole and thought, I guess I do have something to look forward to, if I can just hold out till next week. When Victoria awoke the next Sunday morning, she remembered that she had given the housekeeper the day off. She was alone in her very large house. It had twenty three rooms, an outdoor swimming pool that was of little use in Seattle, and a smaller house for the servants. Cole hadn't told her when she would be kidnapped, but since he had asked her where she would go and when, she expected it to happen when she left the house to have lunch at her favorite Sunday restaurant. She told her driver to take the day off, so she would be free to go out alone. After a very light breakfast, she got into the shower and started to shave. She always shaved her labia and left just a little triangle of hair above. After shaving, she spent several minutes stroking herself and thinking about what might happen to her later that day. She was reasonably certain that Cole had understood her requests for rougher play. Just as she was on the verge of coming, she stopped the erotic self stimulation in order to leave herself with a nice edge. "Oooh, gotta stop now," she said to herself. Having a hair stylist on call, she normally did not wash her own hair. Unfortunately, the stylist was not available today and she resigned herself to being without her perfect hairstyle until tomorrow. It's going to get messed up anyway, she hoped. Reaching for the shampoo, she proceeded to wash her long blonde hair. It pleased her to see that she remembered how. With her eyes tightly closed, she put her head under the shower stream and rinsed out the floral scented shampoo. Without warning, a strong arm reached past the frilly shower curtain and wrapped around her waist. She was lifted completely out of the tub and a black cloth bag was placed over her head before she could identify the intruder. She hoped it was Cole, but she wasn't expecting him for a few more hours. With her heart pounding, she said meekly, "Howard, is that you?" The intruder was in the process of pulling her arms behind her back and snapping a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. A muffled voice said simply, "Shut up, Bitch!" It didn't sound at all like Howard. She was completely terror-stricken. Still damp from the shower, naked, handcuffed and shivering with fear, she was forced to walk through the house to the garage. The intruder lifted her into a vehicle that seemed to be a van of some sort and pushed her down onto the carpeted floor. He strapped her down firmly to the floor with several wide nylon straps that felt like rough seat belts, then covered her with a thick, soft quilt. She was unable to move or see, but she heard someone get into the driver's seat. Then the garage door opened and the van drove out. When her panic had subsided a bit, she called out to the driver, "Who are you, where are you taking me?" He ignored her completely. Oh God, I've really been kidnapped! she thought in panic. Her corporate security department had warned her that this was a possibility and now it had happened. She felt very frightened, but at least it was warm beneath the quilt, which was apparently filled with goose down. Maybe they'll just keep me for a few days until the ransom is paid. I certainly have enough money for that, she mused. The pressure of the tight straps and the gentle rocking movement of the vehicle gradually calmed her and created a warm submissive feeling. Somehow the feeling combined with her fear and produced a subtle erotic aura. Blinded by the cloth bag and completely immobile, there wasn't much to do but relax. After a long time, the van seemed to drive into another garage and she heard the electric rumbling as the door closed. The unseen driver opened the side door of the van and released the straps. With upward pressure on her cuffed wrists behind her back, he forced her to walk into a house and down a flight of stairs. She thought she was in a basement, but it was quite warm and the floor felt like smooth varnished wood. There was a slight smell of perfume, or was it incense? Still without a word, the man pushed her face down onto a firm bed and removed the cloth bag from her head. Before she could turn to look at him, he placed a padded leather blindfold over her eyes that was held in place with a strong elastic band. She was surprised when he took a minute to comb out her damp hair and dry it with a towel. The touch of the comb felt very intimate. Damn, I'm getting turned on, she realized. Then the handcuffs were removed and leather bindings of some sort were firmly attached around each wrist. He pulled her across the smooth floor and attached her wrists to something in front of her. A moment later, her arms were pulled straight up above her head. She was able to keep the strain off her wrists by holding a leather strap that crossed the palm of each hand. She didn't know what to expect next. The kidnapper still hadn't spoken more than three words, so she had no clue as to why she had been forced into this humiliating position. Except for the leather restraints on her wrists, she was totally naked and exposed to anything the kidnapper wished to do. She could feel that her large breasts were nicely displayed by her raised arms. She was very proud to have such attractive breasts at her age. As her ankles were fastened to the floor about two feet apart, she struggled between fear and arousal. When she thought about how her shaved cunt was now exposed, she knew that arousal was going to win. The man removed her blindfold. He stood behind her so she still couldn't identify him, but she could tell that she was in a darkened room with a single spotlight shining down on her. Nearly blinded by the sudden light, she could just make out the shape of a video camera on a tripod with a red light blinking. Perhaps the kidnapper was making a tape to send with a ransom note? Who would be looking at that tape? The thought made her hold in her stomach and thrust out her chest to show off her lush figure. The blindfold was suddenly replaced, but not before she had looked down at her nude body and noticed how her firm breasts were thrust forward and her nipples were as hard as little rocks. The feeling of debasement was strong and it stimulated an increasing wetness between her legs. *** The kidnapper decided to enjoy himself a bit and started slowly caressing her. No kisses, he didn't want her to feel his beard. Seeing her without her usually perfect hairstyle made her seem more than naked. The strong spotlight emphasized the fashionable paleness of her skin. Her milky white breasts were made to be offered in this position, he thought. He made sure to pinch and twist the erect pink nipples, then squeezed each breast hard several times. He lifted and dropped each one repeatedly to appreciate their resilience and weight. Reaching down between her legs, he started to lightly stroke her slightly damp cunt. Hmmm, freshly shaved, he noticed. After a few minutes, he found her clitoris, which was as hard as her nipples. She jerked when he touched it, betraying its extreme sensitivity. The ankle restraints made it impossible for her to bring her legs together, granting him free access to her erotic center. After several minutes of light touching and teasing, his semi-willing victim was nearly ready to scream from frustration. Removing his hand from between her legs, he stepped back and picked up a four foot single tailed whip that his years of practice allowed him to control perfectly. To make sure that it was properly flexible he cracked it in the air a few feet behind Victoria's back. The sound was like a small caliber gunshot. He enjoyed seeing her jump and fight against her bonds. *** The threatening snaps of the whip frightened Victoria and she began to make sexy whimpering noises as she realized that she did not have the slightest control over what was going to happen next. With a series of gentle overhand strokes, the braided nylon cracker on the end of the whip started to kiss her pale skin. Just a light snap on her shoulder blade, then a stronger one on her left ass cheek. The impacts burned like fire for thirty seconds, then left a hot glow behind. Very light strokes alternated with moderate ones for several minutes, leaving distinct red welts on her upper back, buttocks and thighs. There was a slow, regular rhythm to her punishment that added to her arousal and her desire to surrender herself to her captor. Every ten to fifteen strokes, the whip would crack near her helpless body with a loud report, re-igniting her fear. A few strokes began to creep around her generous hips leaving more raised red stripes there. She could feel every one of the burning welts, although she had lost count after fifty lashes. *** The thrill of dominating the normally haughty woman was making him hard and his rapid heartbeat was almost audible. "I feel so alive when I do this," he thought. There was an almost painful pressure as his cock tried to find a path for expansion. He would have to remove his jeans soon if this continued and he decided to pause for a moment to regain control. To regain his composure, he concentrated on his technical skills and carefully used a backstroke to place several lashes between her open thighs, setting fire to her already overheated labia. He walked around her, admiring her body and noticing how vulnerable she looked, blindfolded and hanging there within easy reach. I love the way this position emphasizes her hipbones and the way her breasts stand out and beg for attention, he thought. He sensed that it was time for another hard stroke, this one needed to strike an unmarked area of white skin just below her well shaped right bottom cheek. *** By this time, Victoria was sure it was Cole. He was playing her like a musical instrument. Nobody else understood her responses well enough to do that to her. Gasping between lashes, she cried out, "God, you're good Howard. I'm so horny I could die!" Pulling the blindfold off, he smiled and said, "You are such a slut, Vicky." "I am not a slut!" "Yes you are. Look how wet you get when you're tied and whipped. I'm not stopping until you admit it. Admit that you're a horny little tramp who needs to be dominated." He adjusted the overhead rope to pull her wrists higher, forcing her up onto her toes. The harsh restraints stretched her voluptuous frame to its limits. She turned her head to get a glimpse of Cole standing behind her. The handsome face with its sinister beard and the studious glasses reminded her of how hot she was for the man. The pressure of her arms against the side of her head told her that her damp hair was nearly dry and must look horrible. It was bad enough being put on display in such a lewd manner, but she shuddered with humiliation at the thought of being seen without her usual perfect hairstyle. Cole didn't mind a bit. He thought that her nicely stretched body looked quite delicious, especially when forcibly stripped of its artificial decoration. He moved around in front of her and carefully aimed the thin whip at her right breast. "No! Please... not my tits!" She moaned and watched fearfully as the tip burned a red line into the inner curve of her sexy cleavage. She tried to shake her chest from side to side to spoil his aim, but he slowly covered her thrust out bosom with one stinging welt after another. The delightful jiggling of her breasts only spurred him on. He saved her engorged, sensitive nipples for last. She was biting her lip to keep from saying the one humiliating thing that would make him stop, when she realized that he was taking aim at her highly aroused left nipple. She was a strong willed woman, but her eyes opened wide when the whip lashed her helpless teat. Almost instantly, before the pain could arrive at her brain, he had done the same to her other nipple. Throwing her head back she let out a long scream that echoed off the walls of the large room. Hanging there whimpering as the pain in her breasts slowly diminished, she said, "You're right, Howard, I am a slut. I need to be fucked so bad I can't stand it another second." "So, you're a horny little slut, are you? You'll have to beg me to fuck you. Do you want it that bad, Little Vicki Slut?" He slid three fingers inside her while using his other hand to lightly brush her abused nipples. Victoria sucked in a huge breath as she felt her vaginal muscles relax and invite the invading fingers deeper. A large quantity of her slick fluid flowed onto Cole's hand. She was terribly embarrassed by her obvious need, but it didn't stop her from begging. "Yes, please sir, I really need it now! Fuck me, please fuck me!" Victoria had never felt so degraded and debased. *** Cole lowered her until he could unfasten her wrist and ankle restraints from their attachment points. Then with the leather cuffs still on, he led her to a low bed in the corner. "Get on your knees slut, you're going to be fucked like an animal. Get your head down all the way. Arch your back. Stick that cunt out for me." He reached beneath her with one hand to roughly fondle her large breasts, which were hanging straight down in a tantalizing way. His other hand slapped her welted ass and stroked her cunt to bring her arousal to a peak. He quickly removed his clothing and touched his aching cock, which confirmed his extreme horniness. Cole slipped a thin textured condom onto his thick organ and knelt behind her. The view of her hips and cunt was intoxicating. He slipped easily into her wet opening and began long slow thrusts that gradually increased in speed and power. He always used a condom with his paying customers, partly to protect himself and partly to help delay his own orgasm. He was glad for the reduced sensation this time, since he had become highly aroused by dominating the proud Victoria. *** Being fucked from behind was Victoria's favorite position, but she never allowed her lovers to take her that way. She thought it was demeaning and didn't want them to see her like that. Being ruthlessly whipped, then fucked doggy style by someone who really knew how to use her was something from her hottest and most secret fantasy. Her skin was still burning from nearly a hundred thin welts, when the pounding of Cole's cock pushed her over the edge. She came in a long series of violent internal spasms and a guttural scream that sounded as if she were dying. *** Cole was breathing heavily, not from the physical exertion, but from the intense concentration. He was just a bit disappointed when she collapsed forward onto her face. "Humph!" he muttered. "You're not getting off that easily Miss Vicky." She seemed completely incapacitated as he rolled her over onto her back. He quickly fastened the wrist cuffs to the head of the bed and used soft ropes to pull her ankle cuffs to each side, leaving her cunt gaping and ready for his attention. When she opened her eyes he saw her look at his face, then at his hard cock. He felt the wave of total lust that she projected. It was obvious. Even though their relationship was strictly limited, at that moment she wanted him inside her more than any man she had ever known. "Please, please, I need more!" she begged, while trying to thrust her wanting pussy toward him. Warming up on a nearby chair was an electric massager with a large flat head heated to several degrees above body temperature. Grasping the cylindrical handle, Cole turned it on and began to slide the warm, flat, vibrating surface up and down the slippery length of her shaved vulva. He varied the pressure in time with the movement of her hips creating a symphony of sexual stimulation. Straining against her soft bonds and panting like she had just run a marathon, Victoria had two or three more earth shattering orgasms before Cole decided to give her his own cock again. He released her legs, then held them up together while he knelt and pushed himself fully into her warm depths. Her legs folded conveniently over his shoulder. The extra tightness caused by holding her legs together helped offset the effect of the condom and the soaking wet cunt. Seeing her hands still restrained above her head reminded him that he was in complete control. He looked down at her breasts, which had flattened considerably in this position, but now jiggled dramatically with his thrusting. "Nice tits, my little slut, you should see how they bounce when I fuck you like this," he said in a humiliating tone. Victoria tried to respond verbally, but could only manage a series of gasps and grunts. The physical and emotional stimulation soon had him on the verge of coming and he slapped her welted ass with his hand just as he started to spurt. Even though Victoria was exhausted, Cole's loud groan of pleasure and strenuous thrusting forced her to come once more. Nearly an hour later, when they had both recovered enough to talk, he inspected her for any cuts or bleeding. She was covered with thin welts about four inches long. Fortunately, none of the welts had broken the skin and they were all in areas that would heal nicely. "You'd better stay away from the health spa for a while. There's no way you're going to explain this," he said. "You won't be showing any cleavage either," he noted, while looking at her striped breasts. "I know, but it was worth it. I feel so relaxed, so balanced, it's almost like being high. I can survive the rat race for another few months now. Thanks, Howard... really." She grinned and pulled him into a lover's hug. "Don't you worry about me, I'll heal up OK." He showed her that the video camera had been a fake. It was all part of the performance. She took some time attempting to make her hair look better, then asked for a scarf to cover it. He drove her home and handed her the garage door opener that he had used to gain entrance to her house. When she asked how he got it, he simply grinned and said, "A pro-Dom can't tell all his secrets." Victoria turned to watch him drive away. In many ways she wanted him for her own, but she knew that it was best to keep their relationship just as it was. Turning to go inside, she started to think of her next social obligation, a party that she was hosting in a week. Her newfound state of relaxation allowed her to contemplate her duties without the tension that had been present the day before. A few days later Cole received a letter from Victoria addressed in her excellent handwriting. Inside he found a personal check for two thousand dollars and a one word note that said "Thanks."

CHAPTER THREE Several months later, in an apartment close to downtown, a woman with gloriously curly, long brown hair hunched over a glowing laptop computer. It was, appropriately, resting on her lap as she reclined against a pile of pillows on her queen sized bed. Her name was Monica Peterson and she was trading email with a man whose personal ad she discovered on the internet the previous month. So far, she knew him only as Howard. She brushed her hair back from her pretty face and frowned in concentration. As she thought about the best way to convey a very private thought to her new correspondent, she recalled some of their previous conversations. He described himself as a professional dominant for women, a pro-dom. When they first made contact, he asked her to explain in great detail what she was looking for and why she wanted it. It was not easy for her to discuss such private thoughts, but it was a very enlightening exchange. They traded email almost daily for six weeks and talked on the telephone several times. His deep, sexy voice on the phone made her tingle inside. At first, Monica was reluctant to believe that he was genuine, but gradually she became convinced and started making plans to meet and perhaps sample his services. Early in their correspondence she revealed considerable information about herself to avoid any misunderstandings about what she was looking for. He patiently answered her numerous questions about dominance and submission, then asked more questions about her past. In one of their first phone conversations, she asked how he would make her submit. He patiently explained, "I have no interest in making anyone submit. Not by seduction, threats or trickery." "If someone wants to be my submissive," he told her, "they must submit willingly, even eagerly." He had vowed never to waste his time on someone who was not sure what they wanted. She learned that one of his greatest fears was to have a partner appear to submit, then change her mind and accuse him of forcing her. Monica worked as an account executive in a well known Seattle-based marketing firm. She believed that the pressures of her job were partly responsible for her intense desire to submit sexually, but the roots of her sexuality extended back beyond her dimmest memories. Perhaps it was even determined by her genes. As she and Cole were getting to know each other, she conscientiously answered his questions regarding her childhood and her first memories of wanting to submit. "When I was seven," she told him, "I remember hoping that my cousin would tie me up. He was about ten years old and had no interest in me at the time. I was very disappointed." At age nine in Boise, Idaho, she would wrap herself in long coils of rope and pretend that she was a woman being held prisoner by various villains. She wasn't exactly sure what the villains would get out of it. Apparently, tying up women was part of their job, or at least it seemed that way on television. Then there were the Nancy Drew books. She discovered them when she was eleven. The scenes where Nancy was captured and tied up held her attention like nothing else she had read before. In one book, Nancy was spanked with a hairbrush by a nefarious thief. In the privacy of her gingham and lace bedecked bedroom, Monica found out what turned her on. The next step in her sexual development occurred when she found her father's pornography hidden in a dresser drawer among the socks. There were several bondage magazines and some SM oriented paperbacks. Her favorite was the Story of O. It provided her with endless hours of erotic fantasy. Even more important, it proved that there must be others like her. She knew that someone had to be buying these books or the publishers wouldn't print them. The dog eared copy that she had stolen from her father was still kept reverently with her important papers in a safe deposit box. When she went to college in Chicago to obtain her business degree, the college men that she had expected to be so sophisticated were completely clueless. Sex was a big disappointment. Lots of groping and awkwardness. It was so hard to tell a man what she wanted, especially when so many of them expected her to take charge. Couldn't they see that she wanted them to be in control? She thought she was close to meeting her secret need when she dated an attractive older student named Robert Hamilton. He was drop dead handsome and came from a wealthy family. Several of her classmates had dated him and many others were interested. She was surprised when he expressed an interest in her, since he was only seen with the best looking women and she did not consider herself to be very attractive. He certainly acted more dominant than her previous dates, telling her what to wear and when to show up at his place. "Be at my place at eight o'clock, wearing a short skirt and the white sweater that I like," he instructed her. At first, he seemed to understand when she hinted that she wanted him to tie her hands or give her a real spanking. Unfortunately, he insisted that they stick to his script, which invariably required her to satisfy him orally. "Yeah baby, suck it hard, that's right!" His good looks and wealth had conditioned him to expect easy service from women, always on his terms. They dated three times before she was ready to admit to herself that he had no interest in spanking or bondage. "He's just a stuck up jerk," she finally told her girlfriends. Giving blow jobs could be fun for her, but only in the context of submission. He was also uninterested in helping her climax, so the sheer sexual frustration was becoming a problem. During her college years, masturbation remained her favorite sexual activity. She built up a nice collection of erotica that she kept in a locked footlocker in her tiny student apartment. It consisted mostly of soft core SM novels that she found at the mall bookstores. The first few times she purchased one of the dirty books, she was sure that everyone was watching and wondering what kind of pervert she was. The English discipline stories were particularly hot. Reading about a young woman being tied over a bench of some sort and caned beyond the limits of endurance always made her sopping wet. It could be quite embarrassing if she was reading in the bookstore, standing in the aisle where the clerk couldn't see her and wondering if the wetness was showing on her jeans. She soon learned to buy the books quickly and take them home for a thorough road test. The pirate stories were another reliable trigger. Using her favorite books and a small vibrator, she could vividly imagine herself being the helpless slave of a strong, handsome pirate. Of course she was not a very good slave, so she was ruthlessly punished quite often. Her most frequent fantasy involved being tied to the mast and flogged on her back and ass. Then the sexy bearded pirate would take her to his cabin, tie her spread-eagled to the bed and rape her with lots of pinching and slapping of her sensitive parts. Of course her own hands would stand in for Captain Blood, the Scourge of the Caribbean. She had hoped that the move to Seattle would give her a better chance of finding a compatible partner with whom to share her secret. Unfortunately for Monica, none of the men she liked had been willing to provide the kind of domination that she craved so deeply. What she really wanted was a chance to give herself completely to a dominant man, a master. She wanted a man who would ask her to take pain for him, then use her for his own pleasure. In her email messages, she briefly outlined for Cole two previous relationships that ended when her partners decided they couldn't live with her kinky tendencies. Modern American men had been conditioned to think in ways that precluded good male dominant sexual play. The constant repetition of media messages against domestic violence made any thinking man recoil at the thought of hitting a woman. She did notice however that there were more and more roles created for sexually dominant women. The image of the leather clad Dominatrix was getting to be a clich� in films and television sitcoms. It made her feel even more alone. Her dating experience in Seattle did prove that she was attracted to older men. Men seemed to become much more sophisticated about sex after a decade or two of practice. She also wondered if perhaps the older men weren't quite as well indoctrinated with political correctness as the younger ones. Monica discovered the kinky side of the internet about two years ago and decided to experiment with personal ads a bit later. She had some brief flings when she chose partners simply for the fact that they could play the dominant role, at least long enough to sleep with her a few times. When she realized that what they wanted was vanilla sex, or to have her dominate them, the spell was broken. Each time she came out of the semi-hypnotic state that she called her submissive headspace, she felt disgusted that she had allowed such gross men to touch her. She suddenly realized that she had been staring at her computer for several minutes, while she analyzed the events that brought her to the present situation. It was time for action, she thought as she added the final sentences to her email message. "You know I love to be spanked and dominated. It's so frustrating to have a guy give me a few pats on the butt and then ask politely for sex! If I have to pay a pro-dom to get what I want, then so be it. Let's meet somewhere and talk about this face to face. What do you say? Sincerely, Monica." Working industriously at his home computer, Cole was interrupted by a pleasant chime that announced the arrival of an email message. When he reached the end of a paragraph in his report, he switched to the email program. The message was sent by: subgirl@seattlenet.com . As he prepared to open the message, he remembered her description from her second email. She was five feet eight inches tall and one hundred forty pounds with long brown hair that was naturally curly. Her friends described her face as having a touch of Julia Roberts, perhaps because of her dark brown eyes and sexy mouth. She seemed to be rather sensitive about her weight and had described herself as being slightly pudgy. One of her messages led him to believe that there had been some emotional damage done by her mother who was a diet fanatic. Although some dominants required their on-line submissives to provide their exact sizes and measurements, Cole hadn't asked for a more detailed physical description. For one thing, she was not yet his submissive and he felt it would not be polite. He also felt that most women tended to greatly over or underestimate their attractiveness. Since Monica lived in his own city, it should be easy for them to meet and he preferred to see for himself. He already knew a lot about Monica and it sounded like they would be an amazingly good match. There was just a chance, he thought, that she might become his long term partner. He pushed the feeling aside to avoid becoming too eager. Reading tonight's email he found that she was finally ready to meet and possibly negotiate for his professional services. About time, he thought, I've never put this much time and energy into a potential customer before. There is something special about this one. He wanted to find out if Monica was serious, so he quickly typed his response. He described what he required of the women who wished to submit to him. The list of rules was easy to remember, as it was short and he had typed it many times before. The first rule was that Monica must continue with her daily life, including work, family and friends. If her dominant/submissive relationship with Cole began to interfere with her other responsibilities, it would have to end. The second rule was that he was not available for a complete relationship. Only her desire to submit could be fulfilled through this liaison. The third rule was that when they were together, her submission must be complete and without question. He assured her that their activities would include plenty of spanking, bondage and other forms of SM play which she would be expected to endure. The fourth rule was that some amount of money, to be negotiated, would change hands to establish that he was a professional. These rules had worked with many women who Cole had previously dominated in the context of a professional agreement. He was confident that this was the best arrangement for both parties. Cole closed the message with a request that they meet for the first time next Saturday at one of his favorite upscale restaurants in Seattle. He knew that this would be the test. He guessed that about half his prospects would back out at this point or simply fail to show up at the appointed time. His alternate plan was to have an excellent dinner alone and see a play at a nearby theater. In his dealings with submissive women, he had learned the hard way to have a back-up plan. When Monica received the message, there was no thought of rejecting the offer. She was exceedingly curious about Cole and badly wanted a chance to meet him in person. She didn't know much more about him than his physical description and how he felt about dominant and submissive sexuality. The pro-dom role that he had chosen for himself did not lend itself to a complete two way exchange of information. If he proved to be reasonably attractive and seemed to be honest about his abilities, she was fully prepared to enter into a professional arrangement. The next evening, Cole found another email reply from Monica. She agreed to meet him Saturday evening at Cutter's restaurant on the waterfront. He typed out a few details that she would need. The reservations were at 6PM under her name, Anderson. She didn't know his last name yet and he wanted to keep it that way for now. She knew that he was a legal professional and that he lived East of Seattle in a nice neighborhood. He described himself as being about six feet tall, short dark hair, average build, with a well trimmed beard and mustache. He would be wearing roundish metal framed glasses and a black sport coat. She also knew his correct age of forty one years. He reminded her that he had not yet agreed to accept her as his submissive and vice versa, so there would be no play at the table. Cole laughed when he reread that, since he could imagine punishing her later for being a naughty girl and playing at the dinner table. After a hectic Saturday afternoon dealing with a distraught client whose patent had just proven to be invalid, Cole went home to clean up and dress for dinner. As promised, he wore a black sport coat that would be appropriate for the restaurant. His car was still in the repair shop, so he had to drive the minivan that he normally used to carry clients and their staff to important meetings. He proceeded downtown, traveling against the evening traffic in the sleek black Voyager. Not exactly your typical bachelor's vehicle, but the nearly opaque windows and large carpeted floor space had come in handy on certain memorable occasions. He parked in a lot beneath the restaurant just off Pike street and walked around to the front door at five minutes before six. Monica was already there, watching the entryway from her seat in the bar, so that she could sneak out quietly if the man who asked for the Anderson reservation turned out to be something other than what she expected. She felt a familiar tingle inside her nether parts when she heard a handsome man, looking thirty fivish, ask for "Anderson, party of two?" He was pretty much as he had described himself, except he had neglected to mention that his frequent workouts made him trimmer and more muscular than the average forty one year old. He seemed to walk and move with unusual ease, as if possessing great internal energy. The beard and mustache were trimmed in a way that made him appear intelligent, but slightly dangerous. After Cole was seated at a table near the window, Monica approached the desk and asked to be seated at the Anderson table. Cole saw someone walking behind the hostess, but did not immediately think that this was the woman he was waiting for. He was expecting someone a little on the heavy side, but that did not describe the woman approaching him in a slinky black cocktail dress with a high neck and long sleeves. This woman was built like the playboy playmates that he fantasized about as a boy. The thin black dress was made of a knit material that clung to her body as if it had been painted on. The dress revealed the precise shape of her breasts, which was perfect and yet not quite perfect, so it was hard to tell if she was wearing a bra. Surely she must be a plaything of one of those rich executives that he knew so well. Her lush figure caused Cole to start drifting into an analysis of how society had come to demand that women must look emaciated in order to be attractive. It took him a moment to realize that the woman had stopped at his table. Then she smiled and spoke directly to him. "Hi, I'm Monica. May I sit down?" A mild feeling of embarrassment washed over him and Cole felt like he was thinking in slow motion as he looked up from her nicely rounded hips, past her narrow waist and perfect breasts. Then he noticed the brown eyes and slightly wide mouth. He was momentarily stunned. Slowly, a smile of understanding crept across his face. "Of course, I'm Howard. Thanks for being so prompt. I like that." He collected his wits as Monica sat across from him at the small table that was set for two. He had to remind himself not to stare at her body in the black dress. He made up his mind to look either at her face or out through the long bank of windows where the lights of early evening were sparkling on Puget Sound. They made small talk with the pleasant waiter, who took their orders and entered them into a small hand held computer that used a wireless connection to the kitchen. When they were alone with glasses of an excellent Chardonnay, they began to talk. "So... what's it like being a professional dominant?" she asked, a bit breathlessly. "It's hard to describe. It can be very intense, totally absorbing and sometimes very rewarding. I think it's probably the most exciting thing I've ever done," he replied calmly while looking into the dark pools of her eyes. "Although I think semi-professional would be more accurate. I wouldn't want to try making a living at it." "That's too bad," Monica said "it's such a hot fantasy." She wondered if her body language was projecting the flirtatiousness that her friends often pointed out, even when she was not trying to flirt. At least this time it was intentional, she thought. They could both feel the chemistry already. It was a bit like air and gasoline being mixed, waiting for a spark to set off the mixture. The service was excellent, as usual. As they ate their dinner of perfectly grilled salmon and pasta with a mild cream sauce, Cole explained in rather serious tones what he expected from a submissive and what he had learned from his past partners. His comments alternated with Monica's candid description of her previous experiences and what she was looking for. Their conversation seemed to flow naturally, as if they had known each other forever. "I have to admit I'm a bit surprised at how attractive you are," he told her. "From the comments in your email I didn't expect such beauty." "Really? You think I'm attractive?" "Extremely. Why, don't you think so?" "It's a long story Howard. One of those emotional baggage from childhood things." "Hmmm, someone told you that you were ugly, I'd guess. Was it your mother or your father?" "My mother. Let's talk about something else. Why do you think I'm attractive? Is it because I'm subby?" Cole gradually became more certain of his opinion that this was one of the most naturally submissive women that he had ever met. She was highly intelligent too. He didn't think he had ever known anyone else who had completed Calculus 4 in college. He sensed that this was a woman he could fall in love with. That was not quite what he had planned, but he was compelled to continue. Their conversation went on until they suddenly realized that they had been talking for well over two hours and agreed to adjourn to the bar and free the table for other diners. Monica's mind was racing. She thought that she might have finally found what she was looking for, but damn it, the man was a professional and not available. It was almost more than she could handle. She was glad for the brief break in the conversation. After receiving their drinks in the bar and engaging in safe small talk for a while, they agreed to trade looks at each other's driver's licenses. He instructed her to write down his full name and address, which should be given to a friend to hold in case she failed to return at an agreed time. Since he had not offered to tell her very much about his life, it gave her some assurance that he was being honest and was not hiding anything sinister. Then, Cole turned the topic to their future relationship. "Monica, we've done a lot of communicating the last few weeks and I have to admit that I'm very attracted to you. We seem to be developing a relationship that is quite different from what I originally expected. Before we proceed any further I'd like to ask if we can eliminate two of my rules. They don't seem appropriate anymore." "OK, I'm listening." "First the one about me not being available for a complete relationship. Would you still be interested if there was no limit?" he said with a smile and then held his breath. "Howard, you must be reading my mind. I'm very interested," she said quietly as she dug her fingernails into her palms beneath the table to help steady her voice. "There's one other thing." "What is it Howard?" "Well, I explained that I usually charge my submissives a fee to help maintain the relationship within the proper boundaries." "That's no problem, I can pay!" she exclaimed quietly to avoid the eavesdroppers in the bar. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't want our relationship to be like that. There won't be any fee. This is just for us. To explore each other and see what happens." Monica dropped her eyes for just a moment and said, "I'd like that very much." "Then ask me to accept you as my submissive." he said in a suddenly very deep voice. Her breath caught in her chest and she had to wait a few long seconds before she could speak. "Sir, will you accept me as your submissive?" "Yes, Monica. Thank you for giving me such a precious gift. From this moment forward, as long as we both agree, I am your Dominant and you are my submissive. You may call me Master if you wish, but do not consider yourself a slave. You are a free woman who is choosing to submit to a man who you believe is worthy of that gift." "Tonight you'll go home and think about this. I want you to have a chance to back out. If you still wish to be mine, come to my house next weekend. Make sure you don't have any other plans. Send me an email on Monday if you're still committed and I'll give you your instructions. We'll start slowly. I think you're something special and I don't want either of us to mess this up." They discussed a few more details including an agreement that they would both have tests for AIDs and all other STDs on Monday. As far as they knew, they were both free of any disagreeable maladies. Cole had a vasectomy many years ago, which they appreciated now since Monica was not on the pill and they both disliked condoms. After taking the elevator down to where they both had parked, they forced themselves to part with a polite hug and kiss. Then Cole watched silently as Monica drove off into the night at the wheel of a pretty blue Mazda Miata. He took several deep breaths to calm himself before climbing into his own vehicle. Arriving at her fashionable apartment twenty minutes later, Monica ran for the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. She threw herself onto the bed and began masturbating furiously. "I've never been so horny in my life!" she shouted into a pillow. There is something about Howard that really pushes my submissive buttons, she thought. Maybe it was that sexy beard or the hint of gray in his hair. Perhaps his large hands, which seemed so powerful. He wasn't at all like the men she met from the internet or those posturing assholes who answered her personal ad in the kinky section of the alternative newspaper last year. She received over a hundred responses from a single ad. She must have dated a dozen guys before she got totally disgusted and gave up. Howard was different. He said he was some kind of legal professional, although he wouldn't be more specific. It had been roughly eight months since she last had sex with someone other than herself. Prior to meeting Howard, the only good thing about her social life was that she had plenty of time to haunt the internet and hang out with her girlfriend Jennifer who had similar interests. There were countless mailing lists, chat rooms and web sites that discussed Dominance and Submission. She had learned enough about D/S to know that it was what she wanted and that she hadn't yet experienced it. SM was interesting and she did love a good spanking, but it did not satisfy her urge to serve and submit. She felt envious of the women on the internet who wrote stories and poetry about their submission. Was it finally her turn, she wondered? After several intense orgasms fueled by fantasies of her new master, Monica fell into a deep sleep, drooling slightly from the corner of her Julia Roberts mouth.

CHAPTER FOUR On Sunday morning Cole awoke at seven AM as usual and looked out the window through the tall fir trees that screened his house from the neighbors. Since the Autumn monsoon was absent today, he decided to indulge in one of his favorite Sunday morning activities. Dressing in a black sweat suit, he drove to the nearest Starbuck's for a large Cafe Mocha. He passed the mirrored glass building where he rented a small office. Then, appreciating the light Sunday morning traffic, he crossed the floating bridge over Lake Washington and continued up Interstate Five to Green Lake. Finishing his coffee drink as he arrived, he parked and started to jog under a light gray sky around the 2 mile asphalt path that encircled the lake. While he idly watched the female joggers, he considered his situation. It had been twelve years since his divorce, which was painful, even though it made perfect sense. His wife had been correct, they were not at all right for each other. Constantly fighting for control was no way to live. It had taken him two years to get back on his feet emotionally and financially. Then there was a time of disappointing vanilla dating. He couldn't count the number of times that women had lost interest when they found out that his favorite form of sex play was something they considered perverted. His discovery of the organized SM scene began an important period of experimentation and personal growth. Seattle had an active pansexual leather community. Kinky organizations would form and dissolve regularly. They all had the same motto: "Safe, Sane and Consensual." To Cole, the concept of SM as a form of healthy play came as a revelation. The large pan-sexual play parties at the mansion had been an amazing experience and a great place to learn. His new friends told him that he was something called a Top, the label applied to the active partner in SM play. It turned out that he had a real aptitude for topping and he learned a lot from the Leatherdykes who were happy to teach him their highly ethical brand of consensual and almost spiritual SM. Even the professional FemDoms, who were so influential in the scene, seemed to accept him. He eventually decided that although SM play was great fun and highly stimulating in its own way, it wasn't quite what he was looking for. By the time he was ready to move on, he knew that he was more Dom than Top. It was great fun to spank or whip a willing play partner, but it was even more intense when she submitted to whatever he wished. He liked the term "playmate". It seemed a little more joyful and a bit less formal than "play partner". He played because he enjoyed it, not because he was driven by some inner demon. Taking the dominant role in sex turned him on at the deepest levels. Apparently, he was just wired that way. On the few occasions that he had tried to be sexually submissive, it had been a complete waste of time. A good massage would have felt better. He developed friendships with other dominant men and learned what he could from them. Many of the maledoms used names like Master Joe or Sir Harry. Cole never gave himself a title, although he had his subby playmates call him Master if it turned them on and enhanced their feeling of submission. He knew right away that he found some maledoms repulsive. They were the ones who talked badly about their female partners and seemed to have little concern for their well being. He called them ego-Doms. Some of them were fans of the GOR novels by John Norman, which portrayed a planet where most women were bought and sold as slaves. To be fair, however, he had met couples who seemed to have constructed comfortable D/S relationships based on "Gorean" principles. The amazing variety of kinky relationships was a never ending source of fascination for him. Around this time, Cole stopped using the initials SM to describe what he did. A new term was coined on the internet: BDSM. It was an artificial acronym that incorporated Bondage and Discipline, Dominance and Submission, Sadism and Masochism. It was a flexible term for a flexible lifestyle. Since he engaged in all the included activities, it seemed the perfect label. He had always been curious about the influences that caused a person to enjoy BDSM, so it was often his favorite topic of conversation. He never was able to figure out why he had turned out this way himself. He had no history of abuse or neglect. His earliest memories of sexual fantasies around age ten were a desire to tie up the little brown haired girl down the street. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd do with her then, but he'd seen women tied up on TV a few times and knew that it was terribly exciting. For the last three years, since turning away from the local scene and advertising on the internet, he had enjoyed more erotic female companionship than he had ever dreamed possible. He respected every woman he played with and he learned something from each of them. He was still in touch with several of his old playmates and had parted on good terms with those he no longer saw. Oddly enough, he considered himself a feminist and on occasion had used his influence to help women advance in his profession. The only thing that Cole lacked was a permanent partner of his own. The house seemed so empty at times during the long Northwest winters. He wondered if Monica would be the one. As he jogged through some fallen leaves he noticed that the women joggers didn't seem as attractive today. None of them had her smoldering sexuality that was a product of her intelligence and her submissiveness. OK, maybe her delectable body had something to do with it too, he thought with a wide grin. On Monday, Monica sent an email stating that she wanted very much to proceed with their relationship. She signed the email, "Your submissive, Monica." He sent back an email that included the following terse instructions. "Arrive at my house at exactly seven thirty Friday evening. You will be punished for tardiness. Be prepared to spend the night. What you wear is not important. Eat before you come. You can expect to be used sexually if I find your behavior acceptable. Bring the results of your STD tests. You are not permitted to have an orgasm until we meet." That week was a long one for Howard Cole. His clients were particularly demanding. He checked the local weather website and found out that there was indeed a full moon. Instead of setting his own hours, he was forced to work evenings. At least he was able to do much of his work at home. Unfortunately he didn't have time to prepare his basement dungeon as he usually did for a new playmate. Perhaps, he thought, this would be a good time to do something different. The dungeon could wait for a future session. On Friday, Monica was able to leave work an hour early and skipped her usual workout at the gym. Her friend Jennifer Lee had been envious when Monica gave her Cole's address and phone number as a precaution. Monica promised to call the next day with a full report. The two women met on-line almost a year ago in a Compuserve forum dedicated to Dominance and Submission. Upon finding out that they lived in the same city, the two quickly became close friends with a hint of sexual interest between them. Jennifer, a slightly built woman of mixed Chinese and French-Canadian ancestry was a stunning beauty. Her exotic facial features with almond shaped hazel eyes and a high forehead were the type that made everyone look twice. Her sensuous waist length silky black hair drew more attention from men than she wanted. Unfortunately, her history with men was abysmal, which was why she could usually be found in the company of women. She insisted that Monica share all the juicy details of her rendezvous with Cole, so that she could enjoy them vicariously. Monica obeyed Cole's instructions forbidding an orgasm and by now it was almost impossible for her not to masturbate. Her clitoris was in a constant state of tingling arousal and she was slightly wet with anticipation. She bounced around her apartment in a mixture of excitement, fear and just plain lust. She bathed and shaved, then tried on several outfits. With each new outfit she stared in the mirror and told herself that she was fat and ugly. Her mother and her first boyfriend had told her that a thousand times and now it was too late to believe differently. Perhaps her new master wouldn't care, if she was sufficiently submissive and obedient, she thought. Since Master Cole said that her clothing was not important, she did not want to overdress. She settled on a pair of moderately tight jeans and a tight white top with no bra. She didn't really need one. A pair of high heels made her ever so slightly large legs look elegantly slender. As she drove to the home of her new master, she was already getting slightly wet and was glad she had worn panties, even if they were just a little pair of lacy white things. She was a bit nervous, but she was comforted by the fact that they had agreed to use a safeword. All she had to do was say "safeword" and he had promised to bring their play to an immediate halt. She was more concerned that he would be too afraid of hurting her, like some of her useless boyfriends, she thought contemptuously. Approaching Cole's house, she noted the impressive neighborhood, then found her new master's home on a narrow private road. It was a large single story residence. She studied it carefully in the fading daylight. Perhaps two thousand square feet, if there wasn't a basement and it was probably built within the last ten years, she estimated. It wasn't the biggest one in the area, but it was nicely screened by large trees and seemed quite secluded. The landscaping had a distinct Japanese influence, with several large boulders placed artistically in beds of raked gravel. She parked in front of the three car garage and went to the door. Cole answered her knock with his heart pounding. There stood not only the sexiest play partner he had ever had, but someone who just might be the mythical perfect partner. He hoped he wouldn't make any stupid mistakes. Fortunately, being around Monica made him feel very dominant and confident. Was it just a coincidence that she was 10 minutes late? She saw that he was wearing black jeans and a white long sleeved casual shirt. Giving in to a strong urge to cast her eyes downward, she noticed that he also appeared to be wearing expensive leather loafers. "You're late," he growled. "Come in and follow me." He resisted his impulse to give her a hug and led her toward his study, where he had just turned off the computer a few minutes earlier. Monica scanned the interior of the house for any clues about her master. A dining room contained an expensive looking table, but only four chairs. The kitchen had several gleaming pieces of copper and stainless cookware hanging on the wall. As she followed him down the hall to the study, she noticed several professional looking framed photographs of outdoor scenes. In one, she recognized a waterfall that was near Mt. Rainier. Since her master had mentioned his photography hobby, she made a mental note to ask him later if the photos were his. They entered the large study and stopped just inside the door. "We have a little bit of business to attend to before we can begin." Cole announced, "Did you bring the results of your tests?" "Yes Sir, here they are. I guess I'm pretty healthy." Cole handed her his paperwork which stated clearly that he was STD free. She looked at it carefully and handed it back, saying "Thank you Sir." He noticed that she was wearing just the right amount of perfume. He couldn't quite come up with the name. It was something to ask her about later. "Stand right over there and be silent unless I ask you to speak," Cole said, pointing to the center of the room. A light piano concerto played softly from expensive speakers concealed in the polished oak bookcases and soft light spilled from two lamps in the corners. Monica's heart was pounding and she concentrated on the features of the room for a moment to calm herself. She saw that his computer was one of the latest models. Probably a late Pentium class, she guessed, nice big monitor, ergonomic keyboard, CD-ROM drive, expensive printer. The furniture reminded her of the expensive walnut and teak pieces that her company's CEO had in his private office. There was a fax machine or copier on a credenza behind the desk. The stereo was apparently hidden, she noted. As she looked down at her feet and noticed the fine texture of the light gray carpet, her heart was again beating normally. Cole pulled up a comfortable chair. He placed it in front of her about six feet away and sat down, which brought her attention back to him. He waited a few moments to see if she would remain silent as instructed. Monica was looking approximately at his feet, which he hoped was a sign of submission. She was wearing a short bomber-style jacket over her white top, so the next thing he said was "Thank you for coming, Little One. Take off your jacket and place it over the chair behind you" Monica complied and returned to her position in the middle of the room. Cole was fascinated by her instinctive submission. Perhaps she had more experience at this game than she had admitted. "Put your hands behind your head." Cole's line of sight was drawn inexorably to Monica's breasts and he studied them intently. "Put your arms down," he said, then "Put them back behind your head" He noticed that her breasts did not sag like they should for a 26 year old woman with this kind of figure. "What is your bra size Monica?" She felt a delicious wave of humiliation sweep over her and struggled to get out her answer. "I'm a 36 C, Master." "Do you have breast implants, Little One?" "No Master!" she exclaimed. "Take off your top and we'll see about that. Place it on the chair by your jacket." Monica pulled off her white top by grasping it from the bottom and pulling it over her head. After placing it on the chair she resumed her position in front of Cole with her hands at her sides. Cole stepped forward to examine her breasts and brushed some of her beautiful long brown hair out of the way. With her arms down, they did sag slightly. The nipples were medium size and quite hard already. They were a beautiful pair, perhaps the prettiest breasts he had ever seen. The word perky came to mind, but he didn't know if perky could apply to breasts this size. Perhaps he should mail the question to the Playboy Advisor, he thought while suppressing a grin. He very delicately brushed her nipples with his fingertips and they grew even harder. "Put your hands behind your head again," he ordered, in his dominant voice which Monica found both charming and irresistible. He began to squeeze and fondle the perfect globes while he inspected them for any surgical scars. After a minute or two Monica felt lightheaded from the stimulation and became slightly unsteady. The delicious feeling of humiliation wasn't helping. "You pass the test Little One. Those are the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen. Put your arms down now and take a deep breath. Can't have you passing out now, can we?" "No, Master." Cole sat down again and tried to take a few deep breaths himself. Could a potential partner be too perfect? He was feeling slightly overwhelmed. After a short time he ordered, "Take off your jeans now and place them on the chair." Monica complied and resumed her position, now clad in lacy white panties and black high heels. On her own initiative, she put her hands behind her head to thrust out her breasts in the manner that her new Master seemed to like. Although Cole was a card-carrying breast man, the view of Monica's perfectly rounded hips and flat stomach almost caused his heart to stop. She had a tattoo over her right hipbone that he moved forward to examine. It appeared to be a small naked woman that might be described as a winged nymph. It was exquisite, perhaps the work of a famous tattoo artist. I'll have to ask her about it later, he thought. Cole moved back to his chair and just looked at her for a few minutes, drinking in the intoxicating sight. His inspection of her body gave the solution to another mystery. Although she didn't carry an ounce of what he would consider excess weight, she was slightly large boned and firmly muscled beneath her curves. Her reported weight of one hundred forty pounds was probably accurate, but most people would guess it to be about twenty pounds less. He was delighted that she didn't resemble the starving fashion models, but he could understand how she might be worried that she didn't measure up to society's standards. "Do you lift weights often, Little One?" "Yes, Master. Three or four times a week." "I see. Take off your panties and drop them on the floor." Monica quickly tossed her panties on the floor behind her, revealing her perfectly shaved pubis. Then she replaced her hands behind her head and parted her legs slightly. How did she know that I love a shaved cunt? Cole thought, as he struggled to breath normally. Fortunately, Monica was looking at the floor and was not aware of his difficulty. "When did you start shaving your cunt, Little One? I don't recall ordering you to do that." "I've always done that sir. If you don't like it, I can stop shaving, but it would feel very strange for me." He knew his voice was shaky as he said, "That won't be necessary. Continue to keep yourself smooth. It pleases me." He noticed that she had a light tan without lines. In Seattle that meant about one session on the tanning bed each week. Pausing to collect himself, Cole managed to give his next order calmly, in a deep voice that a radio announcer would envy. "I said that you would be punished if you were late. We'll have to take care of that before we can begin your training. Kneel on that stool over there, then bend forward and place your palms flat on the floor." His command voice was working well now, he was relieved to see. Monica thought that she would faint from the excitement. None of her previous men had treated her this way. It was as if her greatest fantasy was being made into reality and she hoped it wouldn't end too soon. She wondered if her Master would notice the slight trickle of lubrication starting to drip down the inside of her left thigh. Was she allowed to be aroused or would she be punished for it? Monica moved to a padded footstool about a foot high and two feet across. After kneeling with her knees apart and with her feet dangling off the back of the stool, she bent forward at the waist to place her palms on the floor. Her perfect ass was presented in a most lewd and vulnerable manner. Her breathing was rapid and her skin flushed. Cole tried hard to ignore his growing erection as he approached her from behind. "You'll be spanked on your bare bottom until I feel you've been punished properly for being late." He didn't know if he had the strength to administer a good spanking since most of his blood supply seemed to be heading straight for his cock. Sneaking a look at her deliciously dangling breasts, he wanted to reach down and caress their sexy outer curves, but he pressed down gently on the small of her back and began to spank her. In this position, her hips and buttocks formed a classic symbol of feminine beauty. She was offering it to him as a gift. The stinging slaps were gentle at first, then harder. Red handprints began to show up on her lightly tanned skin. Monica reacted only with a slight intake of breath at each blow. Her firm ass muscles soaked up the spanking easily and Cole realized that he was hurting his hand as much as he was hurting her. Stepping over to the closet, he removed a thin wooden paddle that would nicely cover one cheek at a time. Measuring his stroke carefully, he struck the lower curve of her left buttock, then the right. Her body jerked slightly with each impact, but she held her position perfectly. He tuned his senses into Monica and felt that familiar joining that occurred to him during intense play sessions. Monica felt it too. She imagined that she was the one spanking a pretty kneeling woman who thrust her ass out to receive each blow. Although the woman was Monica herself, she was perceived as much more beautiful, almost ethereal. The heat from her punishment gradually spread through her body. She felt like she would explode from the strange sensation that was half deep submission and half physical lust. They both lost track of how many minutes went by or how many blows were struck. At some point, without conscious effort, their breathing became synchronized. When Monica started having trouble maintaining her position, Cole forced himself to come back from the strange space that he had entered with her. Regaining his senses, he noticed a heavy flow of slippery fluid on Monica's muscular inner thighs where the tendons stood out with the strain of holding her position. He hadn't even touched her cunt yet and already she was dripping, he thought. Standing up straight, Cole told her to rise and stand before him. He gathered her to him with one hand firmly gripping the hair at the back of her head. Looking into her eyes he spoke carefully. "I'm very impressed with you so far Little One. I've punished you enough for being late. As a test, I'm going to give you a choice about what we do next. You will not be punished for choosing either way." "We can either begin your training or you can offer your new Master the pleasure of using that pretty cunt. Which option do you choose?" She took a step back as Cole released his grip on her body and hair. Kneeling before him with her hands behind her head and her eyes locked onto his shoes she said, "Master, I'd be honored if you would use my cunt for your pleasure." Then she thought to herself, Oh please, oh please, oh please, I need it soooo bad! He breathed a silent sigh of relief. Unless he could get his hormones under control, this relationship was going to involve more sex than domination. Maybe that was not a bad thing, he thought as he escorted Monica to his bedroom down the hall. She looked around Cole's bedroom with great interest. The fog of lust had dissipated just enough that she could remember her girlfriend's theory that you could learn a lot about a man if you saw his bedroom. She noticed a king size bed with a padded frame around the edge. The handsomely built oak headboard contained some closed cupboards and several metal fittings that looked suspiciously like bondage points. Glancing up at the ceiling, she suppressed a smile when she noticed the large eyescrews embedded in the ceiling at various places. She tried not to appear too curious, in case her Master objected. "Lie on the bed, face up, in the center," he ordered. Taking two pieces of soft rope, he carefully tied each wrist to the headboard with non-tightening knots. He then wrapped lengths of rope several times around each ankle to distribute the pressure without causing discomfort. He did not fasten the free ends to anything just yet. "Be quiet now and just enjoy, Little One. I certainly intend to enjoy you," Cole said as he stood up to undress. She took advantage of the opportunity to study his nude, muscular form in the dim light. She knew exactly what she wanted and it was terribly hard to wait. With her arms securely fastened about three feet apart to the headboard, Monica could only lie there and allow her Master to explore her body, which would reveal to him her most private sexual responses. She tried not to writhe her hips as Master kissed her flat stomach around her navel and hip bones. With a great effort she was able to hold nearly still while he gave her breasts the most professional stimulation she had ever experienced. When he finally removed his mouth and hands from her glowing teats she would have sworn that they were steaming from the inner heat. Monica was afraid she might faint from extreme sexual desire and she was sure that she would die if he touched her rock hard nipples again, but still she kept nearly silent. Only when Master began tying her ankles to the headboard did she start to make a strange repetitive moaning sound as she imagined what might come next. When her legs were pulled all the way back and spread as wide as possible, her Master placed a pillow under her head so that she had a direct view of her own cunt. The strain of the unusual position was not as bad as she would have imagined, but the sight of her own erect nipples and gaping cuntlips was a visual stimulus that only increased her sexual tension. Her hood of her clitoris appeared to be much larger than normal and she wondered if it could possibly return to its regular size. Cole wondered if she was going to hyperventilate as he eased himself down on the bed and applied his tongue to her swollen clit. He disliked going down on women who weren't shaved, but the sight of a sweet shaved cunt on a restrained woman brought out the cunnilingist in him. Dominant or not, he had been taught long ago that a gentleman always makes sure the lady comes first and old habits are hard to break. He made himself stop periodically to prevent her from coming too soon. He expected a woman with her pelvic structure to be rather large inside, so he was somewhat surprised to find that she was very tight. He used his tongue and fingers for a long time to make sure she was as well lubricated as possible. Eventually, Monica had the first of many orgasms. She felt that she was being forced to come. It would have been impossible for her to resist. She closed her eyes so that she couldn't see Master doing that shameful thing to her private place. Most of her boyfriends had not been willing to do that because the