The Edge of Desire

[dr_mabeuse]

I'm preparing to journey to the edges of experience and imagination

I'm looking for a woman who wants to be trained to serve, who wants to be tied and taken, who wants to taste the whip and be held in chains, who will obey my will and carry out my wishes, who wants to find the edges and limits of her desire and sexuality in the service of mine.

She must be comely. She must be intelligent and literate. She must be imaginative and expressive. She must be a woman who is capable and independent in life. I am not looking for a helpless slave or masochistic doormat. I am looking for a woman who is comfortable with who she is but whose life lacks the fierce immediacy of sexual desire and mystery. She must be willing to travel to the far outposts of experience and report back to me on what she has seen and felt.

She must be willing to give me several evenings a week for several weeks for preliminary examination and evaluation. Upon successful completion of this trial period, the real work shall begin.

The sessions will take place in a private and secure environment of my choosing. Discretion and confidentiality is absolute, although I will eventually require you to expose everything to me as the laboratory of our work shall be the whole of your world.

Interested parties, contact me at this site.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

This is where the jouney starts, in the bitter March wind, with sleet falling, in this dark and afandoned indutrial corridor of the city, among the empty warehouses and boarded up factories. The streets are cracked and pot-holed. There are few if any cars. The few street lights that still work give a flat and cruel light.

One building is different from the rest, not because of its size or the state of repair, but because the thick iron grate has been swung back from the darkenes front door, and on the second floor dim, bluish light can be seen seeping around the edges of the drawn shades. The sleet and snow have been shovelled back from the front door to make a path for whomever might seek to enter.

This is 1770 Commercial Street, an abandoned factory. The machinery and conveyers, the boiler and plumbing, all function but are not currently in use, not in the way they were untended to be used. The heat is on and it is warm inside, almost hot.

In a room on the second floor overlooking the wet, deserted street a man sits in a chair. He is dressed enetireley in black and has black leather gloves on his hands. Next to him is a cart upon which are arranged implements and devices of chrome and black leather, white nylon rope, traps of black webbing. There is a bottle of wine and a bottle of tequila on the table, and a pitcher of water. There is a bottle of smelling salts.

There are two expensive videocameras on tripods aimed at an empty spot on the floor. There is a tape recorder. There is a chair with straps attached to the arms and legs, and there is a large bed, bare except for the new white sheets. There is a stack of clean towels next to the bed.

Incense is burning in several braziers, the smoke curling up in the glare of the white and blue spotlights that illuminate the scene.

The man is waiting.

 

[Annabelllee2003]

Dear Sir,

I have read, reread, and pondered your petition since I came across it on this site. Your succinct appeal and subsequent elaboration on the qualifications you seek in a respondent has robbed me of a night of sleep and has finally named a yearning desire that's been building inside of me for longer than I care to reveal.

While not at the very top of the food chain, I have an important role in a successful agency that caters to needs of a clientele that is at the top. I am an Image Consultant and I find it wonderfully ironic that I am fascinated by an image of me in exactly the role you have described. My work life is devoted to creating a personable, intimidating, likeable, sophisticated, sexy, or commanding persona for a client, dependent on their need. Frankly, I need quite the same service. But, what I need transcends the mere patina that most are satisfied to achieve.

I need more. I burn and ache to explore more shadowed desires. The propinquity I felt in your petition as you told of the woman you seek spoke to me in a very personal way.

Comely is somewhat vague although I am thought of in that way, certainly. I do not have illusions that I am a great beauty or suffer delusions of being some sort of sexual goddess. I won’t insult you by listing statistical data of my attributes. I neither want nor desire to be looked upon or judged by those terms. I am a whole person quite secure with my looks, my friendships and my world in general. With that said, I have enclosed a photo that shows you how I appear as I move through my world. In the event that age is relevant I will give you my age, I'm 38.

If you judge me thus far as a woman that may blend into some salient aspects of your ideal, then please contract me at this address. If we mutually come to terms and I choose to accompany you on your excursion, I should expect it to be very rewarding for both of us.

Sincerely,

Annette Covington

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Dear Ms. Covington,

Thank you for your expression of interest in the proposed project. Your letter was succinct and to the point, and your description of yourself presents a picture of a woman who is very close to what I had imagined as ideal for this work. I would welcome the opportunity to explore our compatabilities and mutual understandings at your earliest convenience or, if you are amenable, you may avail yourself of the arrangements I have already taken the liberty of making, described at the end of this note.

Although confidentiality is of the first importance to me, I believe a brief introduction is in order at this point. For the time being you may know me as Mr. E, and I trust you will forgive what appears to be a weak pun. My real name shall be revealed to you at the appropriate time when sufficient trust has been established between us.

By profession I am an antiquarian and collector, and with all modesty I can say that I have been very fortunate in my field. Material possessions mean little to me however, as it is the secrets of the human heart and mind that have always been my true passion. I have now reached a stage in my life where I am in a position to realize my life's cream of investigating certain aspects of the nature of love and desire, and this is the work I am recruiting you for.

I probably do not have to tell you that work of this nature will be extremely emotional and intensely personal, and should not be entered into lightly or without sufficient forethought. My goal is to examine the deepest roots of our sexuality: our desires, fears, and identites. These are subjects which go to the very heart of who we are as human beings, and there are of course serious risks involved in probing into these areas.

Should you agree to my terms, I will expect your full and immediate compliance with my instructions and orders as we create an edifice of trust and mutual respect upon which to work. I will not say that this work should take precedence over all other aspects of your life, but if it proceeds as I expect, it will naturally do so. You must therefore not be in possession of anything which you would be unwilling to lose in the course of our time together, be it financial, interpersonal, or professional.

We will be on a journey of exploration, and I therefore cannot tell you where we shall end up. I will however guarantee that, should you make the commitment, we shall end up there together. I will be your guide you to the place, and you will tell me what you see.

The rewards of such a journey are legion. Insight and a new understanding of ourselves, a new understanding of our capacity to love and to feel being foremost among them. I fully expect to emerge from this work entirely changed.

If you are still interested, I would ask you to indulge me in one more preliminary interview. On the third floor of the Algauer Building on Clark Street there is a private dining establishment known as the Evening Club. If ytou will present yoursle there on the evening of March XX at 8:00 PM and inform Marco the Maitre d' that you are the guest of Mr. E., he will direct you to a private booth where we may further pursue this matter in perfect privacy.

If the results of that discussion are mutually agreeable, we may begin work that night. For this reason, should you accept this invitation, I would ask that you wear a simple skirt and blouse devoid of ornament or jewelry. You may wear a sweater or jacket as well, but you should keep your clothing simple and uncomplicated.

Please inform any interested parties that you will be unavailable for the rest of that evening and until noon the following day. I trust you will not tell them where you are going nor whom you are going to meet.

I would also ask that you wear your hair in such a fashion that your neck is bare, and that your wrists be bare as well. No wristwatch.

I apologize for these curious conditions, but they are necessary. I ask your indulgence.

Should these arrangements be unsatisfactory for any reason, please call my secretary at the number enclosed. Otherwise I shall look forward to making your acquaintace at the time and place stated above.

Your humble servant,

--Mr. E.

 

[Annabelllee2003]

“This is Ms Covington, please inform your boss that I will be joining him this evening. Yes, C-o-v-I-n-g-t-o-n. All right, thank you.” She drops the phone back in its cradle like it’s burned her.

She’s wrangled and wrestled with the decision to go, not to go, every day since she’d received his reply. She’s been jumpy and nervous and finally made the call around noon. By 2:00 PM, she can’t sit in her office any longer.

Picking up the phone again, Annette buzzes her secretary.

“I’ll be out for the rest of the day Stacy, and tomorrow. I’m meeting some potential clients. Do me a favor and let Dan know, please.”

“Yes, Ms Covington.”

“Thanks Stacy.”

Punching another button she recites the number of Mr. E’s secretary and leaves a message to Stacy on inner-office messaging. Stacy routinely checks messages in the morning and she’s secure in the knowledge that Stacy will act on the message if she doesn’t call by 1:00 the next day. A precaution. Mr. E had stated that no one should know where or who she is meeting, but what does she really KNOW about him? Her cautious nature makes it impossible for her not to have a net.

Picking up her bag, jacket and briefcase, she avoids looking directly at Stacy when she says goodbye and heads to the garage for her car. Her normally pale face is flushed. There she sits for a moment, the scent of the leather is soothing. Then she gets lost in what she’s about to do.

With a start, she comes back and her eyes slowly focus on the windshield. Starting home, she manages to keep her mind on cross-town traffic.

After she puts down her briefcase and purse in the foyer of her apartment, she’s rocked by a near orgasmic shudder that leaves her shaken and gasping. The sound of her keys hitting the floor makes her jump and she presses her fingers to her temples. Annette’s in such a heightened state of arousal she feels almost ill, her stomach in knots. “Get a grip Annette.”

The longing she’s pushed deep inside for years has been released and grown fierce.

She spends the afternoon oscillating between excited fear and uncertain apprehension. He’s articulate and exciting this Mr. …Edge, as she calls him in her thoughts. He stimulates her overwhelmingly with his talk of exploration and intensity. To taste the whip and be bound in service to such a powerful man is a secret desire she’s hoarded and guarded, and managed to keep hidden from herself for a long time.

As she soaks in her bath she touches her body then presses down hard on her sex as another pre-orgasmic spasm washes over her. The apprehension fades into excited anxiety as she dresses for the evening in a simple black skirt, cream silk blouse, dark hose and modest heels. Her lingerie is cream colored and tastefully elegant.

Her hands tremble as she twists her dark hair into a loose French twist to be held by a tortoise shell comb. The light make-up she applies doesn’t hide her heightened color and her eyes appear huge and glow with an excited sheen.

Eschewing her watch, she removes her rings and earrings then slips on the matching jacket and searches out an appropriate purse. Loading it with a credit card, cash, drivers license, cell phone, lipstick and a little aerosol can of pepper spray. Illegal perhaps, but she’s a careful one, our Ms Covington. She’s lived in this city for 6 years and is used to being on her own.

Before leaving she scribbles a note and leaves it on her kitchen table. Another precaution. If she doesn’t come back, at least someone will know where she went and as soon as that thought surfaces she brushes it away.

Her doubts make her circle the block twice, then again as she tries to reign in her excitement and trepidation. She finally parks and walks to the entrance telling herself it’s only a meeting. Nothing has to come of it. This eases her and when she arrives on the third floor she is able to present a placid and calm demeanor to Marco as she states her name and whom she is to meet.

Marco shows her to an empty booth on the far side of the club. It's high walls promotes privacy and lends a sense of seclusion. She doesn't order a drink. She's not sure she could swallow it.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

The restaurant--the dining club, to be precise--fairly reeks of taste and money. The walls are panelled in dark walnit, the carpet is money-green, thick and luxurious, the ofor of food and hum of conversation soothing. The table is set for two, but she is alone.

"Ms. Covington?"

The low male voice comes from right behind her, from the very wall behind her head. She is startled, but not frightened.

"Please do not look around. You know who this is, and I am directly behind you. Such precautions are necessary. Please put your hands were I can see them, on the table."

Annette lifts her hands from her lap and sets them on the spotless white cloth so that he can see she wears no jewelry. Looking at the wall of the booth opposite, she sees now that there is a panel of fabric in the upper portion. He must be looking at her through this panel. It all seems rather melodramatic and she feels slightly silly.

"Very good." he says. "I have taken the liberty of doing some research about you, Annette. (I hope you don't mind my calling you Annette. No? Good.) You own your own firm, you live alone. You seem to be a competent, level-headed, and intelligent woman. I assume you have thought this through, am I correct?"

"Yes I have." she said.

"Fine. I am prepared to work with you, Annette. I am prepared to take you on. Do you have any questions?"

She felt a brief thrill sweep through her and wondered once more what she was getting herself into. Yes, she had questions. She had many questions. But for now only one came to mind.

"Why are you hiding?" she asked softly.

His answer came in a whisper. "Because right now I am any man. I am every man. I don't want to have a face yet. I don't want to have a body yet. I could be almost anyone, couldn't I? A former client, someone you've passed on the street, someone you've seen on television. You tell me who I am."

She smiled. "It's not very likely that I know you. You couldn't have known that I would respond to your request."

"As you wish." he said. "But for now I have no face for you. Now tell me, are you ready to begin tonight? Now?"

"Well, I..."

"Yes or no, Annette. Yes or no is sufficient."

"Yes." she said. "I'm ready."

He made no reply, but she heard him sigh.

"I will go and make preparations." he said. "I would suggest you have something to eat. The food here is excellent, the veal marsala especially. When you are finished, simnply tell Marco you are ready to go, and my car will be waiting for you. Do you understand?"

"I'm really not hungry."

"Then wait for ten minutes before you leave." he said.
"One more thing, Annette. Open your legs."

Her legs were beneath the table. She almost turned to look at him and laugh, this was so typical. "Really." she said.

"Open your legs." he repeated. "I want to see if you can follow orders."

Annette drew her feet beneath her and spread her knees, hiking her skirt up slightly.

"Touch yourself. Your bare flesh."

"Are you going to tell me I'm a slut?" she whispered.

"No. Why? Are you? I don't think so. You're an experienced woman. I just want to know that you'll do what I say, that's all. Now touch yourself. No one's watching."

No one was watching except for him, and despite being an experienced woman there was a trace of lewd excitement in his voice that aroused her.

"Are you wet?" he whispered behind her. "When you're wet, let me see. Put your fingers against the screen behind your head."

She was wet, surprisingly wet, almost embarrassingly so. She removed her hand from her panties and she could smell herself as she raised her hand to the screen behind her.

"Very good." he said. "Now put your fingers in your mouth. Suck them clean."

She did as he said, aware of him breathing behind her. She sucked each finger clean. She was still wet.

She waited there for his next order, and it was several minutes before she realized that he was gone.

 

[Annabelllee2003]

Annette

I wait with my hands clenching the table, a million thoughts spinning, darting and dancing through my mind. I just did things I would have sworn I was incapable of a week ago. And for the life of me I can’t figure out why I asked him if he were going to call me a slut. I don’t even know where that came from. His low voice was so compelling. It wasn’t me responding but a hidden woman. When he whispered so urgently to touch myself, I FELT the rush of wet along with the shuddering spasm I’m starting to be accustomed to.


It must have been ten minutes, I think as I glance down to look at my watch that isn’t’ there. I get up on shaky legs to walk back through the dining area to where Marco stands.

“Marco, I’m ready to leave.”

“Very good Miss, the car is out front. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you Marco.”

I feel as though I’m walking in slow motion. Every thing I do, everything I hear is distinct and much more REAL. The click of my heels as I walk out the door seem to echo and bounce in the night. The plume of exhaust from the limo shimmers and floats vividly, the streetlights cause dazzling reflections to dance on its shiny surface. I pause at the bottom of the stairs. The street is damp and sounds hushed. Expectant. It feels just like the moment of silence you hear before the curtain draws open for the first act.

Mr. E’s driver steps out and opens the door for me. The solid thunk as it’s closed seems final, the no-turning-back point.

As we drive I get another more intense flash that travels from my damp panties to my extremities with a quiver. I clutch my purse and stifle a moan.

Breathing deeply, I recover my wits and thumb the intercom, “Please what is your name, Driver.”

“I’m Charles Miss.” Of course his name would be Charles.

“Where are we going Charles?”

“I’m taking you to Mr. E, Miss Covington.”

“Charles, I realize that… But where is THAT?”

“Mr. E didn’t tell you Miss?”

“No Charles, that’s why I am asking.” I begin to get a little piqued with his evasion.

“Well, we are here Miss.” And sure enough we stop and I sit back looking out the tinted window. Here? Charles opens the door and extends his hand to help me out.

“Here? Are you sure?”

“Yes Miss. Mr. E said you are to go in through the door there,” he points to a door framed by a stout iron gate. “Second floor.”

The area is terrible, run down and decrepit. The limo looks out of place in this setting.

I begin to get scared. I hesitate and would have stepped back into the car, but Charles has shut the door. He’s standing there like a sentinel, intent to see me enter the building.

“Second floor,” I repeat. At his nod, I step forward and after the first step it’s easier. My heart is thumping slowly and hot in my chest. The night goes surreal and I step through the door. It’s dark, only lit by a hanging emergency light. It takes every ounce of courage I have to shut the door behind me. When Charles gives me a brisk salute and swings the iron gate closed I almost lose it right then. Dread settles into my stomach and knots it, mingling with anxiety and fear.

What the hell am I doing? Just what am I doing?

Do I really want to be here? Was this really necessary?

I reach into my purse with trembling hands and pull out my cell. My numb fingers slide over the keypad as I try to think, to grasp what I’m doing here.

Then I remember his voice and it seems I can hear him speak the words written on the site. I feel the return of excitement and my longing. It churns together and crowds the other occupants that took residence in the pit of my stomach.

I draw a deep breath, drop my phone back into my purse and walk towards the dangling light that faintly illuminates the stairs beyond. I walk slowly and breathe deeply as I climb. At the top it’s dark until I turn and see another faint light shining under a door.

With another thread of fear weaving into my stomach, I grope in my purse until I find the pepper spray. I take it and put it in my jacket pocket but it’s more a talisman or charm against my fear than real protection.

I stop at the door and call on every resource I own to be able to calmly open it. The door takes a lifetime to swing open calling out with a weak metal on metal scream.

The room is in darkness save for a solitary chair that is brightly lit with spotlight. My senses seem suddenly more acute and I strain to listen to every sound …but it’s quiet. The only sound is a tick-tick that I associate with the steam radiators in old buildings. It’s hot in here and I feel a light sweat begin to form on my upper lip.

“Hello?” I call into the room from the doorway. The chair is for me I know but I don’t feel I can sit there.

“I’ve come.” My words hang then die in the room and the silence returns dragging slowly in its wake the tick-tick that keeps time with the heavy beat of my heart.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

"Take off your coat and sit down." he says from the darkness.

She slips out of her coat, and seeing no where to put it, goes to hang it on the back of the chair.

"Not there." he says. "Just drop it."

She holds her coat for a moment, then drops it uncomfortably on the floor. She comes around in front of the chair and sits down under the bright white light.

For several minutes there is no sound but the ticking of the radiators and the soft rattle of sleepot against the window. Then she hears the strike of a match and sees a glimpse of his face as he lights a cigarette. It is just a glimpse, but it is enough to show her that he is real, and that he is sitting in the darkness not ten feet from her.

"Stand up, Annette." he says quietly, and she does as he says.

"Now kneel down on the floor. Keep your eyes down."

She hesitates for a moment, and then gets down on her knees, looking at a spot on the floor in front of her. With her peripheral vision she can see the glow of his cigarette grow brighter when he inhales. He leaves her on her knees for what seems like a very long time, then she feels him stand up. She feels it rather than hears it, and her stomach tightens as he approaches.

She keeps her eyes fixed on the floor but he is so close to her she can clearly sense him, smell his vague male smell, hear the soft rustle of his clothes. He steps in front of her and she is aware that he is wearing black woolen slacks and black shoes. Expensive shoes. She is aware too that his groin is on a level with her face, and it seems as if she can sense the nearness of his cock to her, feel its heat in some way.

Suddenly he drops somethings in front of her and they fall with a soft jangle, startling her. She refocuses her eyes and sees they comprise a black leather collar with silver rings attached, and two black leather wrist cuffs.

"Put these on." he says, and then he disappears into the darkness again.

Annette fumbles with the cuffs, having some trouble with the right one. Her fingers are clumsy, but he waits until she has finished buckling on the collar.

The feel of the collar on her neck surprises her. It is very exciting, very erotic. She suddenly feels owned, possessed, and her hands linger at the collar longer than necessary as she explores this new feeling. Her excitement embarrasses her.

"Take off your blouse." he says.

She was expecting this, but not so soon, not so quickly, and her fingers hesitate as she undoes the top two buttons of her silk blouse, preparing to reveal herself to him. She thought there would be more time, more com,munication before the disrobing began. They were still total strangers.

"May I say something?" she asks.

"What is it?"

"I thought...I mean, aren't we going to talk?" It seems a stupid thing to ask, but it's all she can think of now.

He doesn't answer for a time, anmd she is afraid she has said something wrong.

"We talk too much." he says. "All of us talk too much, always trying to explain things, trying to understand."

"Yes, but..."

"And what do you want to talk about? You want to know who I am, don't you? You want to tell me who you are. Well it doesn't matter who I am, and it doesn't matter who you are. You're a woman. I'm a man. That's enough. No. We're done talking."

Something about the way he says "woman" almost makes her want to blush. It sounded very sexual when he said it. She's suddenly aware of her body, of the way it feel within her clothes, of the excited glow in her sex. She drops her gaze.

"Is there anything else?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

"Then go on with your blouse."

She finishes with the buttons, pulls the garment from her skirt and lets it slide off her shoulders to the floor. She was afraid she'd be cold, but if anything she's warm. The room is quite warm.

"Stand up." he says, and she gets to her feet, her knees aching.
"Remove your skirt."

A sudden gust of wind throws hard sleet against the windows as she pulls down the zipper on the skirt and unbuttons it. It falls to her feet and she leaves it there.

She stands under the light in her stockings and underthings with the black cuffs on her wrists and the collar around her neck. She hears him in the darkness, walking around her, inspecting her again, and she keeps her eyes down. She can very nearly feel his eyes on her like points of heat, and the feel of him looking at her makes her nervous and unaccountably wet.

He fades into the dark in front of her again. She hears a click and is aware that he's switched on a light behind her.

"Turn around." he says.

She turns and sees a steel rack bolted to the floor standing under a blue and white spotlight. There are hooks on the frame and silver chains hang from it. She knows what it is and her heart suddenly beats faster.

"Let's begin, shall we?" he says softly.

 

[Annabelllee2003]

Surely he can hear her heart. It’s beating hard enough burst through the boundary of her chest. Her mouth goes dry as she looks at the rack. But look at her. She’s down to her underwear in an abandoned building with an obviously rich man she only knows by the diminutive name of Mr. E. Where is her sense? This lady bears little resemblance to the in-control confident businesswoman with her own successful company.

She is a sagacious woman, not prone to acting without a plan and clear objective. Never subject to impulse.

Annette has abandoned one of her more noticeable characteristics.

The silence continues while he allows her to come to a decision.

I'm looking for a woman who wants to be trained to serve, who wants to be tied and taken, who wants to taste the whip and be held in chains, who will obey my will and carry out my wishes, who wants to find the edges and limits of her desire and sexuality in the service of mine.

…whose life lacks the fierce immediacy of sexual desire and mystery…

…You're a woman. I'm a man. That's enough. No. We're done talking…

Her skin suddenly is riddled with gooseflesh and the shiver that passes over her is inappropriate given the heat of the room. Her nipples rise and harden pushing against the silk of her bra and she’s again hit with an almost unperceivable jolt of need.

It’s her decision. And it seems she made it when she could put a name to the unrest and vague dissatisfaction she had in her life. The dark petition he published on site is a cynosure that speaks directly to her buried lusts.

Stepping out of her skirt, she walks toward him and stops an arm-span away from the rack. Her breath catches in her throat and she has to swallow hard, once, twice to be able to speak.

Raising her chin, she echoes his words, “Let’s begin.”

 

[dr_mabeuse]

He takes her left wrist in his hand, lifts it, and clips it to a chain. Moving behind her, he does the same thing with her right, so that her arms are spread out cruciform. She keeps her eyes down, though it is impossible not to notice that his face is covered in a black hood. All his clothes are black. He wears leather gloves on his hands.

She is very nervous now. Very nervous and excited, and she is trembling. She is standing practically naked in front of a man she's never even seen, chained helpless to a whipping frame. She feels an almost overwhelming urge to say something, to make a joke, to somehow defise this tension that she feels, but she can think of nothing.

She gasps as he passes a blindfold over her eyes and ties it behind her head and her trembling increases. She hears him walk away.

Then he is back, standing behind her. His leather clad gloves reach out to her shoulders and trace slowly along her arms, then back. They slide down her sides to her hips, around to her ass. He squeezes her buttocks in his hands.

She can hear him breathing now, deep and accelerating as he touches her, explores her, and she tries to keep her own breathing steady.

He kneels down behind her, and she feels his hands slowly caress one leg, from her thigh down over her knee, her calf, down to her foot. Then the other leg. The leather of his gloves is smooth but somehow she can feel his desire through them, the way he enjoys the feel of her body.

The gloves trace up her leg, slowing over her thigh. They do not touch her pussy, but they come close enough so that she can anticipate their touch, imagine what it would feel like. Then they are gone, and she feels him move around in front of her.

Again he slowly strokes her legs, from top to bottom to top again, then over her hips, up her belly, until he rubs his thrumbs over the ridge of her ribs. He has not touched her sex nor her breasts.

She feels the light touch of the gloves on her face, tracing the blindfold, the line of her jaw, her ears, her chin and lips. She is breathing rapidly now, her attempts to dontrol herself forgotten. She manages to force a finger into her mouth and she tries to twist away. She tastes the bitter leather in her mouth, and he probes her mouth as if he were inspecting an animal, mindless of her discomfort.

She can't stand it, this intimate invasion, and she begins to twist her head from side to side. She cries out as she feels as though he's going to push a finger down her throat and she pulls at the chains, staggering back and she unexpectedly feels the hard pressure of his body behind her as she bumps into him. He is hard. His body is like a tree, rooted to the floor. Although she jerked against him rather forcefully he didn't budge. She feels the wool of his clothing against her skin, and then he steps back, away from her.

She swallows several times, breathing hard, surprisingly out of breath, and tries to relax.

He seems to be away from her for an unusually long time, and then he's back. He draws something down her back, something long and thin and moderately flexible. Automatically she clenches her buttocks and prepares for the first blow.

 

[Annabelllee2003]

And it doesn’t come.

Instead the ?crop? continues down her back across her buttocks to thighs and legs. It seems to leave a trail that she thinks is almost visible. Up and down the maddening sensation continues until she’s so tense that her hands make fists above the cuffs.

SMACK! The slap of the crop echoes in the silence of the room. She cries out and jerks away from the strike that lands on her silk clad ass. The sting of the blow doesn’t have time to fade before another lands. Then three more smacks in rapid succession and she’s dancing against the restraints, her cry discordant and breathy. He pauses and she hears him draw in a ragged breath before he continues.

It’s not that his blows are hard. She can sense the restraint he uses. But each one leaves a line of stinging fire in its wake and is so erotically charged that a shudder of indecent desire courses through her.

SMACK – Smack – SMACK.

Then she feels him move, his hands grip her hips and yank her back against him, pulling her flaming buttocks against his groin. Her nails dig into her palms and she moans hoarsely as he moves against her. Her panties are quite sodden.

In a flash he moves away, leaving her there in a state of arousal unknown to her before. And she’s straining… straining to hear his movements to try and discern what he will do next.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Now she hears him speak, so close she can almost feel his breath in her ear though his voice is scarcely above a whisper.

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" he asks as he runs the crop over her stomach and thighs.

Is seems like a ridiculous question. "No." she gasps.

"You don't?"

She can't be sure, but he sounds genuinely curious. But what can she say? Because it hurts? Because it feels good? Instead she shakes her head.

"Think." he says, and immediately two more blows fall on her behind. The sharp pain is accompanied now by a dull ache that seems to be melting into her sex. She's aware that she's perspiring, her skin is clammy.

"Because it hurts." she says.

"Why would I want to hurt you?" he asks gently.

She hears him get to his knees behind her, and she feels him slip his thumbs into the waist band of her panties. He slowly pulls them down over her hips and she groans as the fabric scrapes over her bruised skin. He removes them, letting her step out of them, then she feels his gloved hands on her hips and she gasps as she feels his lips on her burning skin, kissing the welts he's just made, sliding his warm tongue over them.

"You're wet." he says softly between kisses. "You're excited."

She says nothing. There's nothing to say. He's right; there's no way to deny it. Hewr mind might be horrified and frightened but her body is terribly aroused.

He walks away from her and she listens carefully, trying to still the beating of her own heart to hear what he is doing. She hears clothes rustling. It sounds as if he is changing. When he approaches her again she is much more aware of his smell, the subtle scent of his cologne, and a new smell of leather.

With her senses strained to their limits, she is startled when he presses himself against her back, and even more surprised to feel his bare chest against her back, warm and firm. She feels his cock for the first time, hard, encased in supple leather, and pushing with thrilling insistence against the crease of her ass.

She feels leather too against the backs of her legs, and she tries to pucture what he could be wearing that would make him feel like this to her. No sort of trousers would let his prick extend so straight out from his body. She decides he must be wearing something like western chaps, or possibly leggings, that leave his crotch exposed.

He pulls her back against him and his hands wander over her body, her breasts, her pussy. By bending his knees he is able to bring the length of his cock up against her slit and the touch of him is electric.

She hears him move in front of her again and drag a chair or stool over the wooden floor until it is right before her. "Spread your legs." he says, and she moves her ankles apart. She feels him move his own legs between hers, and it takes her a moment to realize what he's doing. Apparently he's leaning against the stool, his cock inches from her pussy. The leather's gone; she can feel the bare skin of his prick as he adjusts himself so that he is poised perfectly for her to take him inside her. Using only his hips he is able to caress her cunt with the head of his cock, parting her labia and wetting himself with her copious juices.

She is waiting, breathing hard, on fire for him to take her now. But instead he reached around and she hears the angry snap of the crap against her ass once again. She cries out and flinches away from it, only to force his cock partway into her pussy. That is all she can reach; she cannot reach to take him all the way inside, and she growls in frustration.

He hits her again, and again the same thing happend. Her hips twitch forwardm forcing her labia open on the head of his cock, but she can't achieve full penetration.

He hits her agaian and she cries out in a frustrated sob, throwing her head back.

"Tell me." he says to her, his voice thick with pleasure. "Why do I have to beat you? Why? Why?"

 

[Annabelllee2003]

Each ‘why’ is punctuated with another sharp snap of the crop, forcing her hips forward every time. It’s not near enough to feed her need.

“Because – because I need to FEEL it!” she finally moans in a torn voice. “I need you to.”

With a shove and crash the stool is overturned as he rises shoving his cock deep into her aching pussy. His hands clutch her wounded ass roughly pulling her against him. His driving force makes her stockinged feet slip and slither on the floor and when she loses purchase he’s driven deeper inside.

Again and again he fucks into her with his own need, hard and fast. When he pulls out of her suddenly, her cry is one of frustrated denial.

She understands when she hears him the sound of him stroking his cock and feels the first splash of his cum on her belly. His groan of release makes her shudder in unbridled lust, but she isn’t able to make it to the edge.

“DAMMIT.” She strains against her bonds. He continues to pump out his semen on her with a deep moan. She feels it start to slide down her belly.

Mr. E watches her with satisfaction as his cum drips down her lean stomach.

He moves to stand almost against her and breathes in her ear, “Annette… Annette.”

Smearing his cum into her belly with the lightest of touches, he whispers, “What Annette? Do you need something? Did my cock feel good in you? Hard and hot in your pussy?”

His finger reaches and slides briefly against her clit. He smiles at her cry and spasm. Another hand teases a nipple. Annette is throbbing with need. Her ass burns, her pussy aches.

“Please,” she stammers.

“Please what Annette? Please what?” He reaches and gathers a dollop of cum from her belly to press to her lips. “This what you want Annette? Taste it, suck my cum off my finger.”

Without hesitation her mouth opens and she sucks his finger inside eagerly accepting his offering.

“Tell me Annette, what do you need?” Another flick to her clit and a pinch of her nipple.

“I want you to make me come.”

“Mmm Annette,” he pauses, “is that how you ask?”

For a long moment she doesn’t comprehend what he’s saying, or even if he is asking a question.

“I… I. Please will you make me come?”

“That’s better Annette. But not yet. You will learn to appreciate and love the need as much as the release.” With that, she feels him move away.

Frustrated and needy, she waits.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

She's left to hang in the chains, his come drying on her belly as her body aches with need. She needs release desperately, but it is obvious that he is in no hurry to give it to her.

He comes up behind her and unclips her hands from the chain. She stands passively as he removes her bra and casts it aside, then runs his hands over her again. "On the bed." he says.

She lies down on the bed which is hardly more than a pad on a sheet of plywood, firm and unyielding. As he releases her his body touches hers and she is able to get an idea of what he is wearing. He is indeed wearing leather chaps, open at the crotch, his cock exposed. He wears some sort of leather harness over his bare, muscular chest, but with the blindfold on, that's all she can determine.

He's right; he could be anyone, and the idea that she does not even know who ishe is giving herself to makes her shudder with a lewd and guilty thrill. She feels like a slut. More than that, she realizes she is one.

He clips her wrists to the bedposts, then buckles cuffs to her ankles and attaches those as well, streching her out spreadeagled on the sheet, totally naked except for her stockings, the leather collar, and the blindfold. He runs his hands over her body, and his touch is like fire on her over-sensitive body. She can't hide her arousal, her stiff nipples, her glistening pussy, the goose bumps that spring up under his hands, the way her body presses itself against his gloves.

"Aren't you ashamed?" he asks her, his voice heavy with sarcasm, his hands caressing her body. "Look at yourself, Annette. You're a successful businesswoman, a professional; mature and sophisticated. And yet you're lying here naked and in chains, praying that I'll fuck you like a cheap whore. Praying I'll shove my cock in your pussy and fuck you till you scream. Aren't you?"

She bites her lip to keep from answering. His words excite her terribly

"What if they could see you now, the people you work with, your friends, your lovers? What would they think of you?" He comes around to her side and she feels him sit down on the bed. "You do have lovers, don't you Annette? You must have had many lovers. Did any of them make you feel like this? Did any of them make you feel so hot? Make your pussy drip like it's doing now?"

His hands went to her breasts, tickled her nipples, then took them between thumb and forefinger and squeezed. Squeezed until she sobbed and arched her back off the bed, spears of pain shooting through her body, making her need even sharper.

"Tell me!" he whispered hotly. "Did any of them make you feel like this? Did any of them know what a filthy little slut you are?"

"No." she breathed. "No one knew. No one ever knew."

"But it's true, isn't it? You love this, don't you? You love being tied up and whipped and fucked, made to do whatever I want." His hands were travelling roughly over her, squeezing and pinching her, teasing her pussy, coming close but never touching her there.

She felt him stand up. She was breathing hard and her lips were dry. Her body still trembled for release from the sexual pressure, the great ball of need that was centered on her pussy.

He turned her head to the side and she felt him kneel on the bed next to her. "You're going to suck my cock now, Annette. You're going to suck my cock like a good little whore. And if you do a good job, a very good job, maybe I'll let you come."

She felt the smooth head of his cock against her lips, and she opened her mouth without thinking and let him push it into her. It was hard, big and heavy, and it brought her some instant gratification as she heard him groan as she sucked him into her mouth. She tugged at the chains, trying to turn her body, but she was held too firmly. All she could manage was to lift her head slightly to make it easier for him to fuck her face. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked him and savored his virile musk. His cock was alive in her mouth, twitching, throbbing against her tongue.

"Look at you!" he hissed down at her, "You don't even know who I am. You don't even care. All you want is my prick, isn't it? You are a whore; you've always been a whore, and we know it, don't we Annette? All your money, your nice clothes, your fancy friends, and inside you're just a cock-sucking whore!"

He began to pump faster, and she revelled in the feel of him sliding over her lips. She moaned with pleasure, and when his gloved hand slid down to her pussy she cried out through her cock-stuffed lips. He was touching her: he was going to get her off. She just needed to feel his hand, his finger. She was so wet, so open.

She begged him with her mouth, sucking hard on him, swirling her tongue around him, all the while feeling those delicious pangs emanating from her pussy.

"I'm going to come!" he panted hoarsely, "You fucking bitch I'm going to come in your mouth! Suck my cock, Annette! Suck it!"

And then he plunged his leather-covered finger into her, spreading her, sending stars of shameful pleasure swirling through her body. Her hips jerked against him and she arched her ass off the bed, her ass clenched tight. She felt him throb in her mouth and as the first bolt of his hot come shot into her mouth her own orgasm struck her with the force of a tornado, making her scream.

Her mind was filled with images of her own degradation, her own shame. She heard him grunting in pleasure as he poured his thick seed into her mouth and she coughed, sucked him, and coughed again as he flooded her with semen, shooting across her lips and face, her throat.

Exhuasted, she collapsed back onto the mattress, her body quaking with little spasms sof pleasure. He pulled his oozing cock from her mouth and she turned her head to the side so that he wouldn't see her shame as the reality of what she'd done returned to her.

As her breathing slowed she heard him getting dressed. She lay on the bed and said nothing, listening to the sleet against the windows. Then she heard his steps approach.

"I'll see you again in two days. I'll give you the detaials. Meanwhile here is what you're to do: Every day at noon you will think about me and masturbate, and you will record your thoughts, your fantasies. Buy yourself a nice notebook, something that you can carry with you, and record your fantasies in it. I'll expect to see it when next we meet.
"My driver will be her in fifteen minuites to take you home. He'll want your phone numbers so that I can reach you whenever I want."

He unclipped her hands from the bedposts and started to walk away, then she heard him stop.

"And since you still don't know what I look like, I may stop by and visit you, so do be prepared.
Good evening."

And she heard him walk out.

 

[Annabelllee2003]

As his footsteps echo down the hall I reach up and undo the blindfold. My hands don’t want to function properly. Turning my head I can see the frame of where I had been cuffed. Shame colors my body as I picture what I must have looked like to him.

I shift to sit on the bed and when I pull up, my ass presses down and I feel every mark of the crop. Unbuckling my ankles, I see the red skin on my wrists and ankles where I have pulled against the leather and cuffs.

“Whore…Slut…Cocksucking whore…” his words were burned into my brain and now spin and sputter, a litany of disgraceful terms that makes my skin crawl. Is this what I am? Have I come to be this? My eyes go to the posts again and a shudder passes over me as I relive it.

Fifteen minutes. I rise on shaky legs to gather my clothes. I look about and see a table with a pitcher. Water. I’m so thirsty, I drink and then cross back to the bed to get a towel from the stack. Pouring water on the towel, I wash my face and pussy. I start to wipe the cum from my belly and stop. Tangible evidence, this crusty coating of his pleasure. Another shudder. With a great deal of sudden animosity I scrub at it. Ashamed.

Dressing quickly, I figure I have a few minutes left to search the room. A cart laden with various instruments of leather and metal. Implements of dark dreams. I see no personal belongings, nothing to give me any clue to the identity of the man, Mr. Edge.

I slip on my jacket and stuff my panties in my bag, there is no way I want them against my sore ass. The car is there when I step into the street, the sleet frigid and cold on my flushed face. I can’t look at Charles as he opens the car door. I step in and sit, just able to stifle my groan as my buttocks gingerly settle on the lush leather. He wants my phone numbers. As if he didn’t have them already, at the very least I know he has my office number. He certainly knew enough about me. He knows more about me than I know myself.

In no time we’re back at the Algauer Building. When Charles opens my door, he hands me a piece of paper and tells me to write my phone numbers on it. I still can’t look at him directly. I feel he knows all that has gone on and my shame makes me think he judges me. With a trembling hand I scribble my home, office, cell number and add my private line at work.

“Thank you Miss, be careful driving now, the streets are a bit icy.” I nod and thank him in a low shaky voice, shoving my hands in my pockets, I'm not even surprised that the pepper spray is missing.

Then he’s gone and I make my way to my car and drive home.

The rest of the night is a haze. I shower in water hot enough to burn, trying to wash the night from me. I shuffle between intense sexual need and shame. When I fall into bed, my dreams are broken and fragmented. I keep hearing the way he says my name… “Annette… Annette...” sometimes as a caress, sometimes in a choked voice thick with lust.

By 9:00 AM, I’m in my office. Stacy glancing up in surprise.

“Finished earlier than expected,” I explain as I duck into my office. I feel I must be different, my face, body something. But when I looked in the mirror this morning I looked the same, except for my eyes.

Reaching for the phone I punch the number for Stacy.

“I need a notebook, or journal. We probably have one in the supply closet, if not can you please get one?”

“Yes Ms Covington.” I make sure she’s erased my message to her from yesterday and lean back in my chair.

What had he said?

And since you still don't know what I look like, I may stop by and visit you, so do be prepared.

God, anything but that. I’m a nervous wreck at the thought of him showing up here and what reaction I would have. I’d recognize his voice though. And his energy, I think I’d be able to FEEL him in a room.

With a mental shake I try and get back to business, calling Dan to my office, I brief him distractedly and try to focus as he tells me of his current clients. I pass a couple on to him and feel his surprise when I give him free reign on two of my personal favorites. I don’t need the stress of those big names right now.

“You’re able to take on an assistant Dan. I’ve been selfish in letting you spread your wings here. I know and trust your abilities.”

“Thanks Annette. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

I glance at my watch and conclude the meeting rather abruptly, my heart starting to beat heavily in my chest. Locking the door behind him, I’m racked with another spasm I’ve had on and off since reading Mr. E’s first message.

Every day at noon you will think about me and masturbate…

It’s not Annette Covington that stretches out on the short settee. Not Ms Covington that lifts her skirt and pulls aside her panties to stroke and pull at her clit until she has to cover her mouth with the other hand or scream out with the orgasm.

It’s the slut, the whore.

But it’s me, silently sobbing with my face in my hands a moment later, as my body still convulses. The phone at my desk buzzes and I jump and cry out. Pulling myself up off the settee I reach across my desk to answer it.

“Yes?”

“I have your notebook Ms Covington,” Stacy, ever efficient, “and I’m ordering lunch. Can I order you something? Or are you going out for lunch?”

Scrubbing my hand across my eyes I think for a moment.

“I’m leaving for the day Stacy, but thanks. Take messages and if anything’s urgent, reach me on my cell or at home. If something can’t wait, give it to Dan.

“Drop him off the folder of résumé’s will you? He’s going to be hiring an assistant.”

I leave the office but not before getting the notebook from Stacy. I don’t take the elevator to the garage, but move toward the main entrance, walking out into the first really clear day of March. I hesitate and then turn to get something to eat. I’m suddenly starving.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

When she gets to work the next morning, a package and a letter are waiting for Annette. She opens the letter and reads:

I will see you tomorrow night. These are your instructions.

(1) I will be coming over to your apartment between 10:30 and 11:00 PM tomorrow night. You will make sure that you are alone and that we are not disturbed.

(2) You will bathe and attend to your makeup and hair before I get there so that you will be attractive to me. You will shave yourself so that your body is hairless except for your head and eyes. You will wear your hair up so that your neck is bare

(3) The accompnying box contains a blindfold, a leather slave collar, two leather wrist cuffs, and two ankle cuffs. You shall attach the collar around your neck and attach the silver leash to the collar. You will put on the blindfold before I arrive so that you see nothing. You shall wear the cuffs and anklets, new charcoal grey stockings, and black, high-heeled shoes. That is all. No underwear, no other clothes, no jewelry.

(4) Before my arrival, you shall unlock your front door. You will draw all the blinds in yiour apartment. You will not have any music or distractions playing.

(5) Before I arrive, you will dress as indicated. You will position yourself on your knees on your bed, and reach your hands back towards your feet. You will await me in that position. You will not speak when I come in. You will not greet me. You will not look at me. If I do not appear by 11:00 PM, you are free from any further obligations to me for the evening.

(6) You will follow all my instructions, you will cede control of your body to me when I am with you.

(7) I will bring an audio recorder with me to record the sosunds of our session. This will provide me with a valuable instruction tool to be used at a later time. I will not remind you of the recording device again.

(8) Failure to obey these instructions will have serious consequences for the course of our further relationship.

--Mr. E.

 

[Annabelllee2003]

As Annette

My hands tremble and my throat tightens and vaginal muscles contract involuntarily. Mr. Edge is very clear and concise in his instructions. His note leaves me dry mouthed and wet. I feel a little crazy. It feels like I have taken the body of someone else entirely.

My phone buzzes and I recoil. “Ms Covington, Your appointment is here… a Mr. Parker.”

“Stacy,” I begin, and start again, “Stacy, I can’t be disturbed right now. Tell Dan he’s….. No, wait, give me a couple minutes then show him in, then get coffee or tea for us, whatever he wants.”

I shove the letter and package into a desk drawer and take a few deep breaths to calm down. I can’t let this… my… personal… mania affect my business. I stand as Stacy ushers in Mr. Jenkins. Shake his hand, smile and offer him a seat. .

“So, Mr. Jenkins, how can we help you?

“Ms Covington, I’m looking to improve my public appearance and …” I listen and nod as he tells me his desires and what he wants to accomplish. The switch is thrown in my head and I get back to business with only an occasional stray thought of the contents of the package.

I conclude Mr. Parker’s interview with a promise that my top consultant would be in contact with him. Always pays to stroke the client.

Calling Stacy in, I give her the preliminary file and tell her to pass it off to Monica or Stanley. Mr. Parker is a very routine request, one that any of my people can handle easily.

“No more interruptions Stacy, thank you.”

Calling my favored salon, I request a total body wax. Spa treatment, the works. They are always happy to oblige, we send them a great deal of business. And I plan a trip to a boutique I have been tempted to shop but haven’t.

I reach into my briefcase and pull out the journal. I describe masturbating the day before and how it made me feel. I write my confusion and lust. As I write it’s like a dam bursts and there are pages filled with my frustrations, shame, need. I write before thinking, of my anger at not knowing who he is. And the shame of what he’s called me. The personal shame of how those names make me weak and wet. And of the little wormy doubt that I can sustain this …relationship… with aloof precision.

At noon, I masturbate again. It’s not hot, not needy and I don’t orgasm. Then I write of that as well. But my fantasies… I don’t write those. Not yet. I put the journal away and spend the rest of the afternoon reading his note, touching the items in the package and wondering if I should continue with my endeavor.

“I’m leaving for the day Stacy.” I head out to make my appointment and to stop by the shop to purchase hose and the highest black heels I can find. I may as well look the part and fulfill his requests.

As the attendant waxes my body, another mental shift takes place. Once again I am the needy woman I don’t recognize. This seesaw, or roller coaster is crazy. By the time I leave, I am an emotional, wanton mess and have to fight to hold my composure. In the boutique I finger the silk of the hose, imagine how it will feel against my skin and find a four-inch pair of shoes that really aren’t meant to be walked in for any significant amount of time.

I’m almost panting when I lock the door behind me when I reach my apartment. Standing with my back to the door, I drop my packages, briefcase and keys and my hand goes to my pussy and I rub furiously until I climax. The force of my orgasm make my knees buckle and I slide down the door wondering how I am going to make it through another night and day before seeing him.

------

The next morning, I don’t even make an excuse when I get to my office and hand out assignments and shift the workload to leave at 11:00. By noon, I’m home to masturbate and fantasize of the night to come.

By 10:00pm I’m ready and waiting except for the cuff, collar and chain. I walk around my apartment and make sure it’s according to his instructions. I unlock the door. I put my journal conspicuously on my dresser. I check my makeup and look at myself naked in the full-length mirror, then cross to the bed and put on the collar, attaching the chain, snapping on the cuffs, feet and wrists. Then look in the mirror again.

I look … I don’t know the words to describe how I look to myself… sexy? No, more than that. It’s as though the woman I fantasized about becoming has made a debut. At twenty-five after the hour I am on the bed, on my knees, blindfold on and hands by my feet. I am so damn darkly excited. My nipples are hard, and my pussy is so wet. I wait.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Several times she thinks she hears him come in, but they are false alarms. her senses are so acute, she hears sounds in the building she's never noticed before. She feels things in her body she's never felt before.

After what seems like a very long time, she does hear the front door open, there is no mistaking it. She hears him close it behind him and lock it. Straining her ears, she follows him as he walks through the apartment, stopping to take off his coat in the living room. He takes his time; so much time that she wonders if it is indeed him and not someone else.

But when he reaches the bedroom she can feel his presence in the room, and there's no doubt that it's him. She remains still, frozen on the bed, shamelessly exposed to him, presenting her pussy and ass to him. She knows he is looking at her, seeing if she has obeyed his orders.

He moves towards her and she feels something fall near her head. It can only be his gloves. And then, for the first time she feels his bare hands upon her skin. He presses down on the back of her neck with one finger and drags it slowly down her spine, stopping at the curve of her ass.

"Nice." he says. "Very nice, Annette. I am pleased with you."

She can't keep from twitching at his words. It is as if his voice caresses her. He reaches beneath her and she feels him clip her wrists to her ankles, locking her in this subservient position.

She hears something hiss through the air, and he touches her ass softly with a switch, making her gasp with surprise. He draws the head of the switch down the crack of her ass, and then to the inside of her thigh, up her thigh, until the wickedly thin end lies next to her pussy, in the space between her thigh and her labia, tickling her, arousing her.

"I was pleased with you the other night as well." he says softly. "You behaved well. This work seems to suit you."

His hands caress her buttocks, slide down the outside of her thighs, along her calves, down to her feet, then back up. She feels him lower his face to inspect her, and she blushes as she feels his breath on her pussy.

The switch comes down with a wicked hiss and stings across her ass, sending a flare of pain through her. Before she can evenb gasp it comes down again, and again, leaving cross-crossed welts of fire on her flesh. She cries out. The switch huirts more than the crop did, a searing, nasty pain, sharp and intense.

"You're very beautiful, Annette." he says in the same soft tine of voice. "You arouse me. You make me want to do things to you. That is why you must be punished. You see, it is for my sake I must cause you pain. When I think of how eager you are to be my slave, my slut, I get quite overcome. That is why I beat you. Do you understand?"

"Yes." she said, although she didn't. She didn't want to be hit again.

She heard a noise that might have been him laughing. "No, I don't think you do." he said, "Although that really doesn't matter. What matters is that you know you need the pain. That it means something to you. That it feels right."

She heard the sound of his zipper, and then felt his weight as he climbed onto the bed and got between her legs. She needed him badly. She ached for him.

When he touched her with the head of his cock, she gasped. He was aimed right at her, the head of his cock already nestling in her warm and open pussy. One thrust and he'd be in her.

"Tell me what you want." he said

 

[Annabelllee2003]

Annette couldn’t answer.

“Tell ME what you want,” he asked again as he brought a hand down on the welts on her ass, moving back just as she jerks forward to prevent him entering her further.

“I want… I want you to fuck me. I mean, please fuck me Sir.”

He squeezes her ass, making her shudder in pain and need then grabs a nipple and pulls it, squeezing tight.

“Do you think you deserve to be fucked Annette?”

At this her head snaps up and she answers forcefully, “I’ve done everything you’ve wanted.”

In an instant he’s has a hand tangled in the back of her hair, holding her by the French twist, her hair comb digging into her scalp. His lips are pressed against her ear.

“You think that makes you worthy of a fuck?” he whispers hotly into her ear.

“Yes... No, I don’t know,” she stammers.

With a jerk he releases her hair and she fights to keep her balance.

“Annette… You’ve barely begun to be my slut. All you’ve done is follow some simple instructions. That proves you listen. And you’re a pretty fair cocksucker. You’ve pleased me, but I hardly think that’s worth a …fuck.”

A hand reaches and pushes on her clit and the other pushes against her ass causing her to groan with pain and longing.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

She bites her lip to keep from crying out, but she can't stifle a groan, a long confession of pain and frustration, as he squuezes her clit between the wet folds of her pussy.

"You're still much too much the lady, Annette." he says. "You're still too used to getting what you want, when you want it. You still think you're in control of things, don't you?"

He lets go of her and steps back, and she gasps with relief and disappointment. Her frustration is too much for her, and she suddenly cries out in anger, "Look at me! Do I look like someone in control? I'm naked, tied up like an animal in front of you! Everything you've told me to do I've done! Goddamn it! What else do you want from me?"

WHACK! The crop comes down on her ass without warning and she screams in outrage as the burning kiss sinks into her flesh. She knows she's spoken out of turn, said things she's never supposed to say, but she is at the end of her rope. For the last two days she's been obsessed with thoughts of him, with thoughts of sex, hot and passionate, of surrender, of being taken and made whole by her need for him. All day long she's walked around dripping with desire for him. Not ten minutes went by when she didn't think with longing of what he would do with her tonight. And now this frustration, this denial. It was just too much. It was more than she could bear.

"Yes!" she cries out. "Beat me! Whip me! That's all you want to do! That's all I am to you! Do it if that's what gets you off! Harder! Hurt me!"

If pain is the only thing he'll give her, then she'll learn to love it. In her anger and rage the blows of the crop on her tender ass begin to feed the fire within her; the pain takes on a new edge of wracking pleasure. Tears leak from beneath the blindfold and she sobs in shame as she realizes that the pain is beginning to feel good, that she anticipates the fall of the whip and moves her ass in order to take the blow closer to the center of her desire.

"Oh God! Yes!" she whispers as the crop falls on the tender flesh between her buttocks, making her pussy quiver. He reaches below her and grabs her nipple, pinches it cruelly, and a spear of pain shoots through her, joining the raging heat between her legs. Her pussy feels full and congested, bursting with need. With each blow of the crop she exhales a shuddering groan, and they are rising in pitch and urgency as he continues to wail at her quivering ass.

She realizes that she is nearing an orgasm unlike any she has ever known: a deep, slowly building anguish of surrender, something she cannot deny. It picks her up and carries her along. She has no idea of why being beaten like this should be so erotically intoxicating. It's inhuman, foreign to everything she knows and believes about herself and about love, but the trembling excitement of her body is undeniable. She is a slut. She wants to be beaten; she desrves to be beaten, she needs it.

"Oh Goddd!" she moans and then bites the sheets to stifle the scream she feels gathgering inside. The crop falls but it is no longer painful: it is pure sensation, pure heat. She's losing it; losing control, losing her will, losing everything but the burning need to explode.

And just when she's at her peak, every muscle and tendon in her body tensed and ready for the cataclysmic eruption, he stops. She barely has time to recognize the fact when she feels his hands parting her buttocks and he thrusts the full length of his cock into her engorged pussy, filling her completely.

She doesn't even have time to be surprised because her orgasm is already boiling up from her belly, sweeping away aeverything in its path. "Come, Annette! Come you bitch!" he hisses as he holds her tight against agaiant his throbbing cock, his belly crushing against her sore and aching ass, and his words cut through the haze of climax before it takes her under.

She bucks convulsively against him and screams, a loud, raw, animal scream of total release as her pussy clenches convulsively on his cock. Her fingers spread winde, toes dig into the sheets as she screams again. His cock is like a bar of iron inside her, dominating her, ignoring her body's pleas to ejaculate inside her, a reminder of her subjugation to him.

She screams again and her entire body convulses, then all her strength drains out of her, leaving her bruised and battered and gasping for breath. He does nothing for a long time, his cock still hard and throbbing inside her. She feels like her body has turned to liquid, and for a long time she cannot control the little spasms and sparks of pleasure that continue to race through her body like embers after the main blaze has been put out.

Finally she groans as she feel herself reteurn to normal consciousness again. She feels him running his hands gently over her behind, soothing her abused ass, calming her down, and she begins to sob as she realizes what she has become.


sobbing with shame at what she has become

 

[Annabelllee2003]

As she sobs in compunctious humiliation, Mr. E unhooks her feet from her wrists and attaches the silver chain to the bed. Annette doesn’t notice until he moves her on her side, down on the bed. His body presses against her back and ass his cock still in her, his mouth at her ear.

“Shhh, little Annette,” he whispers as his hands run down her shaking body. “Shhh, I know it’s hard to face the truth. Shhh, little Annette.”

She cries harder at the tenderness in his voice. Peak to ledge, hell to ecstasy, when has she been so battered emotionally and physically?

“You’re alive aren’t you Annette?” he whispers. “You’re more alive than ever before. You’re learning and the rest of you will wake. And now? Why now, you’ve earned a fuck.”

The hand that had been caressing her stomach now moves to her pussy, his other hand presses her breast, both bringing her tightly against his body. His hips start to move, his body presses into her inflamed ass. She’s coming along nicely, much better than he’d hoped he realizes as he slowly pumps into her with his thick cock. They’ve got a lot to learn along the way, but it’s going to be a very profound journey.

“Feel my cock in you, little Annette? Feel it fill you and caress you?

“Feel how hard your clit has become? Feel my hand pinching your nipples?”

He fucks on and on with a slow steady rhythm until he feels her start to move back against him, her pussy starting to clench and draw his cock forward. Her sobs now tapering to ragged breaths.

“Feel your welted ass burning against me Annette? Oh it’s good, Annette, isn’t it?” he hisses into her ear.

He pumps harder, his fingers working her clit, a hand pinching and rolling one nipple then the other. Her moans are musical and wanton now. She moves back against him harder as the stimulation of her nipples, clit, cunt, and ass innervates and coalesces into blinding need.

“YES, yes.” The moaning answer is not really needed as she bucks back against him.

He feels how tightly she squeezes his cock and his balls tighten, aching for release. His breath rasping harshly in her ear, his hands squeezing tighter on her clit and tits.

When he reaches the point of no return he commands her “Come NOW Annette, Come on my cock, SLUT.”

His words drive her over the edge as she releases with an ear splitting howl. His hands pinch her clit and a nipple with such force that his knuckles are white. She spasms and writhes and bucks wildly with him, her clit and pussy throbbing from his use. His primal groan is stifled when he bites down and sucks on her neck right under the collar as he starts shooting into her twitching pussy. She clutches wildly at his cock, her pussy trying to pull his seed right up from his balls.

It lasts forever and his thrusts taper off until he’s barely moving, her spasms slow until she quivers every so often with deep antediluvian slowness. Time spins out and for the longest moment all they hear is their own breathing.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Finally, inevitably, he slips out of her, and she realaizes that she's been asleep, a deep, dreamless, sleep. She feels him move off the mattress behind her.

"Annette." he says softly, and she turns her blindfolded eyes towards his voice. She feels his fingers at the blindfold, and then he removes it. Blinking her eyes, she looks into his face for the first time.

It is a stern face, but the eyes are kind, almost amused. He has dark hair and a beard and moustache, all flecked with gray, which give him a professorial look. But the light in his eyes is deep and primal and goes to her soul. This is the man who knows her as no one else does. This is the man who has put a claim on her heart and soul.

She studies his face for a while as he looks at her patiently. Then she she says, almost as if she were speaking to herself, "I knew what you looked like. If I never saw your face I'd know what you looked like."

She turns her face away and he takes her in his arms and holds sher tight. "My poor baby," he says, kissing her and rubbing her head, "My poor Annette. Are you all right?"

She says nothing, just nods against his shoulder. She feels like she is close to tears.

He holds her for a long time, rocking slightly, as if comforting a child. She finds it strangely comforting, and she relaxes in his arms. Somehow she knows that the abuse of over for tonight. He's shown her what she is. He diesn't have to show her anymore.

"Lie down." he says softly, setting her down on her stomach. He takes a jar of cream and rubs some into his hands, then, very tenderly, very slowly, he begins to rub it into her sore and bruised backside, doinghis best to soothe the pain away.

 

[Annabelllee2003]

Journal Entry:

I wonder if I should research this…state I’m in. Or just live it. I know what he looks like, now. I know something about him. And he was right. I am alive. More alive than I’ve ever been. What I don’t understand is the pain. Why does that feel…good? Am I twisted somehow? What wires are crossed in my brain that allows this to feel …so erotic? How many others ?suffer? my affliction?

And what makes Mr. E tick?

When I lay on my stomach and he massaged cream into my smarting, bruised ass, he couldn’t have made a more poignant and tender statement.

You Mr. E. You’ll read this. So perhaps I should address this journal to you directly. You’ve whipped me, fucked me, and soothed me. I’ve begged for abuse at your hands. Since I first read your ‘ad’ I’ve been in a constant state of agitation. And what of you? What state are you in? I don’t know your motivations. Hell, I don’t know mine.

When I woke this morning, I was covered and you had taken down my hair, removed my shoes. I don’t remember. I must have fallen asleep as you massaged me. What were you thinking? You made me comfortable to sleep and I slept, dreamless, refreshing sleep. And as I move or bend or sit, my ass hurts. A constant reminder of your domination. My nipples are sore, my clit. And as I write this I feel a throbbing deep inside my pussy. I’m wet and anxious.

I watch the clock. I wait. Until I hear from you again. Until you instruct me again. I look in the mirror, twisting to see my backside. God help me, I run my hands over the marks and feel heat. I see the mark on my neck caused by your mouth and when I take off the collar, I feel… naked? I don’t have to be in the office today. I’m glad.

………
Journal Entry:

Noon came and went. When I masturbated today, I lay in bed one hand at my nipples, alternating pinching and twisting, the other hand on my clit, rubbing. I pressed my ass to the bed reliving each blow. His face swam before my eyes. When I come, it’s wicked and hard and I lose myself for a while, twitching and moaning.

I don’t do much after. Shower and change the sheets. Clean my bedroom. Eat a light lunch. And wait.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Shortly after one, he calls. The conversation is brief.

He wants to buy her some clothes; he'll pick her up in an hour and they'll go to an exclusive dress shop in which he's reserved a private showing room. She's heard of the place. It's very exclusive; very high-end.

He picks her up in his car and greets her cordially but not especially warmly, and during the drive he says little, but she is aware of his constant appraisal of her. He keeps on looking at her with a critical eye, as if she's a new purchase and he's trying to determine whether she was worth it. From the look in his eyes where she catches him in this appraisal it's obvious that he likes what he sees, and this makes her inordinately proud. Never in her life has she been treated as a showpiece, as someone to be displayed for her mere beauty, and although it is diamterically opposed to everything she believes about the relationship between men and women, she finds it terribly gratifying. Everytime she sees the gleam in his eye as he looks at her she feels a sexual warmth in her body. It is all she can do to keep still and not press her legs together to quell the growing ache.

The woman in the shop shows them to a large room in back, a room reserved for provate shows with their most valued customers. There is a chairs for them and refreshments, and the clothes start coming out.

Annette always prided herself on her fashion sense and taset in clothes, but she quickly realizes that this is another league entirely. All the dresses are handmade, the fabrics are exquisite, and the way they fit the models is perfect. She quickly senses that her comments are not welcome, that she is there only to be dressed and fitted, not to make her opinions known, but she soon learns to trust his taste. he is not going to dress her in miniskirt and fishnets, at least not at this shop. His tastes run to very sensual fabrics, natural fits, dresses that are sexy yet elegant and perhaps a bit more feminine than she would choose for herself, but not exceptionally so. She finds it exciting to see how his concept of how she should look differs from her own.

He picks out a dozen gowns and then she's taken into a fitting room where a troop of women crowd around her, pinning and fitting each one for his inspection. A different pair of shoes goes with each gown, and then she is brought out for him to look at.

After awhile, she begins to get into the role of model. The way he looks at her, undressing her with his eyes, the way the women fuss over her, it's all very intoxicating. She feels like a sultan's favorite wife, not unlike a kept woman. It is very flettering. She can just put her mind in neutral and let her body do the work, a strange but arousing state of affairs for her.

He picks out four dresses: a long black cocktail dress with a disconcerting slip up the side, a very elegant black crepe dress, a red silk gown in a pseudo-chinese style that buttons up to her neck, and, the most outrageous, a dress of a sheer metallic gold that fits her as if it were painted onto her skin.

He leaves instructions for the alterations to be completed by the next day, then drives her back to her apartment.

He is not coming up. As the car sits there idling against the curb with Charles behind the wheel, he guides her face to his and kisses her lightly. The kiss contiunues and he takes her lower lip between his teeth and begins to bite. She remains there, leaning over him slightly, and feels his hand invade her blousem find its way under her bram and he takes her nipple between his fingers and begins to squeeze, hard.

Annette gasps. He's hurting her and she wants to break away, buit she doesn't want to make a scene in front of Charles. Pain knifes through her from her breast and she grabs his hand to make him stop, but he removes her fingers with his other hand. She gasps as the pain increases, and she feels her pussy grow moist, the heat start between her legs, even as she is wracked with pain.

She sobs into his mouth, her body turning to liquid as he need for him suddenly overwhelms her. Agasin the pain changes into a throbbing of her entire body. Her clit lifts eagerly towards the source of the stimulation and she begins to tremble hotly.

He lets her go. Releases her nipple, breaks the kiss and sits back.

"I'll see you tomorrow night an seven." he says. "You'll wear the black crepe and we'll go out for dinner. You'll wear stiockings but no underwear. Do you understand?"

She blinks back the tears of pain in her eyes and nods. When she gets out of the car her legs are trembling.

 

[Annabelllee2003]

She has trouble getting the key in her door. Her face is flushed and she’s breathing rapidly. She takes off her coat and hangs it, still shaking. He makes her feel crazy. Going into her bedroom she takes off her clothes and moves into the bathroom to take a shower, deciding instead on a bath.

Annette pours her favorite bath oil into the tub and as the fragrant steam rises she thinks of him. His hands, his eyes. His hard body. His domination. She wonders still at his motivations. What makes him enjoy her in such a way? Control?

Turning the jets on low, she lets herself drift, lulled by the water. Calming finally. Mulling over the afternoon. She admits to herself that she’s gratified by his regard. She even admits she’s excited by his ease in making decisions, in dressing her to his ideal. It’s a sexy feeling to be thought of as a sexual being and not a ball-busting businesswoman. She’s worked hard to get to the top of her profession and to be taken seriously. How ironic that she allows him to control her. And how she gladly cedes that control.

Her hand drifts to her nipple, the one so rudely and cruelly pinched, not really surprised that she seems to feel his grip there still. The nipple hard and hot. Without thinking her other hands falls to her clit and she rubs herself, opening her legs as wide as the tub allows. Soon she is moaning and coming and then she lies back again. The little aftershocks washing over her.

-----

The dresses and shoes come the next day as he ordered. She tries each on with childlike delight, relishing the smooth, expensive fabrics against her body. She’s never owned custom made clothes. It wasn’t the type of store to have price tags on items, and she can only wonder at what they cost. They fit perfectly.

At 5:00 she runs another bath, sliding into the water she sips the glass of white she’d poured. Where will he take her? Back to his club? Or out somewhere else? She shivers. The anticipation of the evening is starting to build up in her. She unstops the tub and stands to wash her hair. As she stands rinsing the conditioner, her hands roam over her body. Her ass is less sore, healing.

When she finishes drying and putting up her hair, she has scarcely an hour to finish. Applying makeup, she uses a little more than normal, the stark black calling for more drama. It’s a beautiful dress and she feels beautiful in it. She slips into sheer thigh-highs and her shoes, no jewelry, no watch, no bra or panties. She’s ready. She’s ready and wet with anticipation, her nerves singing.

She paces the apartment the final 15 minutes until she jumps with the sound of the buzzer announcing his arrival. She buzzes him up and it dawns on her that the other night she didn’t do that. How strange.

Opening the door at his knock, she’s smiling, welcoming. And she wants his approval badly.