Ophelia Pennywise was not someone you would consider beautiful, but at first glance, ‘plain’ was the description that came to mind. She had a pretty, angular face with high, sculpted cheekbones. Larger than normal brown eyes, and an aquiline nose, would have given her a regal look were it not for the fact that she never wore make-up.

Lips that had never seen lipstick surrounded an interesting mouth that seemed to naturally pout regardless of her mood. All of this was framed with lush but mousy brown hair that fell mid-neck. If one looked long enough one would see traces of a young, dark haired Catherine Deneuve. What people didn’t see however, was what she constantly hid under too large and loose fitting clothing; a slender and shapely body.

Tighter clothing would have revealed well shaped breasts and hips. Long arms and legs gave her a smooth gait when she walked. Though, you couldn’t really tell under the collection of drab gingham dresses she preferred. Since she didn’t venture out too often, her pale skin gave her a somewhat sickly look. Overall, in spite of her downplayed attributes, she was not someone likely to get a date on a Friday night.

When she walked down the street, no men turned to look at her appreciatively. The only looks she got were those of questioning curiosity or “what is it?” looks as she called them. Ophelia felt that she was not a looker nor would she ever be one. She was resigned to the fact that she was destined to live the life of a spinster. She would soon turn forty, so she was well on her way with very little chance of any love possibilities. To her that was not necessarily a bad thing.

She wasn’t burdened with the responsibilities that came with being pretty and desirable. She didn’t need to spend hours in the gym maintaining her figure and she ate what she wanted, when she wanted. The only thing that showed this was a bit of a pot belly she had from too many Ho Hos. She kept her own hours and didn’t need to worry about calling anyone to tell where she was going; she just went. Any desire for her to have children vanished long ago.

And sex was, she had found out, entirely overrated. For her, excitement was a great Sci-Fi novel, a glass of white wine and chocolate. Not anything one would consider earth-shattering excitement. But such that it was, for Ophelia it did the trick.

She was the only child of John and Ruth Pennywise. He was a simple farmer and she was the domineering daughter of a Presbyterian preacher. Ruth never seemed pleased that Ophelia was around. From as early as Ophelia could remember she felt like she didn’t belong. Her mother made her feel as if she was a guest who had overstayed her welcome. Her father on the other hand showered her with love and affection that more than made up for her cold mother.

He always doted on his daughter when his wife wasn’t around to brow-beat him about spoiling the child. Ophelia loved him and always looked forward to the time they spent together after he came in from tending his fields. The two of them would go for long walks together out in the back forty where a small creek meandered its way through the Nebraska farmland.

It was a special time together that she always cherished. He was a ruggedly handsome man with broad shoulders and a shock of thick black hair. When he smiled, which was rare, his hazel eyes sparkled. Ophelia thought they looked like two twinkling stars. A bullet wound he received in Korea had left him with a slight limp, but sometimes when his leg wasn’t too sore, he’d carry Ophelia high up on his shoulders.

Ophelia always sensed something was wrong with her father though. When he thought she wasn’t looking, he had a look of infinite sadness on his face. She wasn’t sure what that was about. She figured it had something to do with her mother. Ruth Pennywise would have been considered the polar opposite of her father.

For all the energy he put into nurturing his daughter, Ruth Pennywise went with the same energy reminding Ophelia that children should be seen and not heard. The strict Presbyterian code that she lived by had never allowed her to show much affection for her daughter other than a rare pat on the head when she said her bible verses with no mistakes.

She was severe in dealing out rebukes for any and all perceived transgressions. Ophelia could never do anything right in her mother’s eyes other than memorizing bible passages. Her mother and father didn’t really seem to love each other. They never touched or held hands the way other parents did. Her mother was always nagging her father.

Whether it was about paying the help too much for the little work they did on the farm or for allowing Ophelia to laugh a little too much, she was never pleased with her husband. One of Ophelia’s first memories as a child of this was when playing on the swing set in the yard. Her mother had called her in for supper in her terse baritone:

“Opie come wash for supper.”

Even at that age she hated being called ‘Opie’ and she thought that’s why her mother called her that. To her Opie sounded like a boy’s name. Her father once told her she was named after a song but her mother told her she was named after a crazy woman. Regardless, she didn’t like it. No did she not like the name Ophelia at all.

She pretended her name was something else and that she was a Princess with a stable of white ponies who had names like ‘Sunflower’ and ‘Rose Petal’. Ophelia remembered going inside the house that day and seeing her mother disheveled and out of breath. She looked at her daughter disapprovingly and told her to go and wash as she was dirty. She was always dirty. A dirty girl.

“You’re such a dirty little girl, Opie. Go and wash yourself,” her mother would often say.

When she entered the house to wash, she saw her mother leaning against the counter with a wild look on her face. As she was walking past, saw her father sitting on the stairs with no shirt, his head buried in his hands. He looked as if he was crying. She looked away and kept walking thinking about how scared and confused she was by what she had seen.

A normal day for Ophelia began as it always did; at six am sharp. She worked as a back office clerk at a bank a few blocks from where she lived. And although the job was one even she considered to be mundane, it suited her mundane lifestyle. There was no stress. She didn’t have to speak to anyone in order to do her job and people pretty much left her alone. She awoke as she always did, on the right side of the bed.

Swinging her legs over the side, she pushed herself off the bed and up. Arching her back she looked at herself in the mirror and swayed her hips back and forth feeling her back crack as she yawned her way into the shower. The warm water cascaded down her body. She scrubbed her soapy body vigorously as she always did, never missing a spot.

As she worked her way down her thighs she thought about using ‘The brush’ but didn’t allow herself more than a passing thought at this. ‘The brush’ was only for special occasions. And besides, she didn’t want to be one of ‘those’ people who had sex on their minds constantly. Sex was dirty and she didn’t like being dirty.

“Hmmph, sex,” she thought.

Not at all what it’s cracked up to be if her first time was any indication. The first and only sexual experience she had hurt and took way too long. The thought of him of him sweating and grunting on top of her like he did, usually sent a shudder through her entire body. Thank god she doesn't have to do that all the time on a daily basis, she thought to herself. But, occasionally she let herself ponder what if it could be different?

When she did so she felt a familiar twinge ‘down there’. Her mind drifted. She closed her eyes and thought back to the date she was talked into going on by friends. Looking back she can admit to herself that she had been looking forward to it, and spent hours thinking how it would go; how he would understand her and how they would fall in love and get married and how she wasn’t dirty.

When they first met, she thought he was very good looking and nice. She didn't usually drink all that much, so the four glasses of wine that he insisted they each drink made her a little woozy. Unsteady on her feet, he had walked her home. When she got to her door, she fumbled in her purse for her keys. Opening the door she turned and asked:

“Would you like to come in for a cup…”

Before she could finish her sentence he brushed past her into her house. She was a little put off, but followed him in. Once inside, he pulled her towards him and roughly and kissed her. Not soft, gentle kisses like in some of her books but hard, rough kisses. He forced his tongue into her mouth. His breath smelled sour, of whiskey and garlic. When he started to bite her lips she pulled back hoping he’d get the message to slow down a bit.

Immediately he yanked her towards him and grabbed by the hair and pulled. She gasped at the sensation tingling sensation that ran down her back. She returned his kiss as best she could. He was the first man she’d ever kissed before so it was all new to her. He ran his hands down her back and with each of his hands he squeezed her ass. Her heart began to beat faster. She wrapped her arms around his neck and moaned softly.

One of his hands came round to the font of one of her legs and came up and under her skirt. She gasped at the touch of warmth on the front of her thigh. His hand came up with deliberate intent and cupped her swelling pussy.

“I bet you are really wet?" he breathed in her ear. “Let’s see.”

With that his hand came up her belly and slid into her panties where his fingers deftly stroked her slit.

He picked her up and carried her to the couch. With one free hand he released his cock from his pants and positioned himself on top of her. Pulling aside her panties he placed his cock against her very wet pussy. Ophelia looked down and gasped as she saw the purple head of the man’s cock part her labia. She threw her head back as it started to slide inside of her.

An uncomfortable pressure inside her made her feel as though his cock was huge.

“This is it. It’s happening,” she thought.

His thrusts were hard and caused her head to hit the back of the sofa. He wrapped both his arms completely around her so she was totally immobile. His breathing was loud in her ear. He started to chew on her earlobe which caused strange sensations. His breathing came faster and she felt his body tense. He suddenly got up his knees pulling himself out of her.

She looked down and saw him furiously jerking himself back and forth. His head was thrown back and he was grunting like a wild animal. She could have got up and ran but she lay there mesmerized by the scene before her. She wondered how his cock was able to take such punishment. He let out a loud groan and ejaculated all over the front of her dress.

She had never seen such a thing in her life and was in awe. Long strings of white goo shot out of the end of his penis like some kind of cannon. When he was done he grinned at her and he zipped himself back up.

“Can’t take a chance and have a little one running around,” he laughed as he got to his feet and zipped up his pants. It was clear he was completely pleased with himself. Ophelia just stared and was unable to say anything.

“I’ll call you,” he said as he walked out the front door leaving her there disheveled with her best dress splattered with semen.

She dabbed her finger in the splatter on the front of her dress and brought her finger up to her nose. It had a musky, pungent aroma that reminded her of an old closet. Feeling empty and cheated, she got up and went into the bathroom to clean herself.

“Opie, you must never give in to those types of feelings. They’re a sin,” she remembered her mother telling her as her mind drifted.

“The bible says relations are for a man and wife. And only for the purpose of bringing children into this world, nothing more. It’s a filthy thing Opie,” her mother admonished.

Part of her agreed with this sentiment. She remembered seeing firsthand what all that sex had done to her cousin and how everyone had called her ‘whore.’ Part of her though, longed to understand the feelings that she had sometimes. And maybe even experience them once again. But properly next time and with someone she cared for and was in love with and who was also in love with her.

But, she thought, she would have to have a man for all of that. And a man wasn’t in the cards for her. The rare time she did have these feelings she would wash herself with ‘The Brush’. ‘The Brush’ was a house warming gift from her aunt. Had her aunt known what it was mostly used for she would likely have a conniption followed by a coronary. Ophelia giggled at the prospect her seeing what her aunt would do when she found out that the beautiful horse hair scrub brush her aunt had given her was used to give her the most delicious orgasms.

It was this one rare, guilty pleasure that she allowed herself. She decided long ago that if she were going to go to hell because of it, she may as well enjoy the ride down. She turned the water off and got out of the shower. Toweling herself off she padded back to her bedroom to dress. Taking an apple from the fridge, she hurried out the door and into the morning sunshine.

She walked the six blocks to the bank in her usual twenty minutes. The sudden change in temperature when she entered the bank made her shudder for a moment. She made her way to the back of the bank saying “good morning” to her colleagues, then down a single flight of stairs and into a small room where her desk was. She turned on the light and sat in front of her computer realizing how lucky she was to have the solitude and not have to listen to the constant droning of customers and employees.

She finished off the rest of her apple, tossed the core in the waste basket at the side of her desk and switched on her computer. The day went like it did every day; slow, boring and uneventful. Lunch and the afternoon walk she usually took when the weather was nice were the only highlights of her day. This day the sun was bright, hot and felt good on her face.

When three o’clock came she shut her machine down, pushed her chair in and left the way she came in only this time with “goodbye” and “see you tomorrow” to people who barely knew she was there. Outside, the sun was still hot and the temperature hadn’t seemed to change. Rather than go straight home she decided that she wanted to stop and pick up a new book at her favourite bookstore ‘Elliott’s New and Used Books’ on Elm Street.

She walked the two blocks and entered the store. It was considerably cooler than outside. The heat accented the musty smell of the aging book paper. The bell on the door caused the only store employee and only other person present, to look up. Ophelia ignored him and went straight to her favourite section; Science Fiction. She was hoping to find something good for the weekend.

“Maybe I’ll even buy two books,” she thought.

The old wood floor creaked as she made her way down the aisle. When she passed the store clerk, she did not acknowledge his almost whispered “hello”.

Mark Rance was barely twenty-one. This was at his was his first job since leaving school. He studied English Literature and Philosophy. So far this was the best an arts degree could get him. Still, it wasn’t bad. He could read as much as he wanted and he got paid for it! During the week the store was not busy so his reading was rarely interrupted. When the plain looking lady came in each time he felt his heart in his throat. There was something about her that attracted him. It was not her looks so much as the aura of vulnerability that surrounded her. She was attractive he decided, but not too much.

All the pretty girls were interested in jocks and at his age they went for the guys with good paying jobs and nice cars. Mark worked for seven-fifty an hour and lived at home. So his fantasy at finding a Hollywood look-alike was just that; a fantasy. And though she seemed too old for him, the lady regular seemed right up his alley. She never said more than a simple “‘hello” whenever he tried to talk to her and the “hellos” were few and far between.

Maybe it was his glasses and long hair? Or maybe it was his Chaucer t-shirt? He had no idea. He knew he was handsome. And though he wasn’t a jock he did believe in looking after himself. He certainly was not skinny or fat as Ultimate Frisbee had given him a lean, athletic frame. He tried his best in subtle ways to get the lady’s attention but to no avail and he had all but given up.

Ophelia stopped in front of the sci-fi bookshelf and did a quick scan to check for the usual authors; Heinlein, Asimov and Dick. She stopped at a thick, black-bound book and pulled it out. She had never heard of its author, Pauline De Sade before. The title was plain white lettering on a matte-black background ‘La Mâitresse de Cuir’. She’d never heard of this book and opened to a random page in the middle. Her entire body tingled as soon as her brain registered the words.

‘Marcel knelt in front of her. He was sweating and bathed in her piss which had covered his entire body. He reveled in the sweet acrid smell. He let it fill his lungs until his senses were overwhelmed. She regarded him with a slight smile as she swung the crop in a wide arc that connected squarely with the left side of his face with an audible ‘thwack!’

 He didn’t flinch. The leather crop broke the skin that time and a small trickle of blood ran down his cheek. His entire body was awash in the electric sensation of exquisite pain. His head reeled. The front of his pants hid an impressive erection that longed to be free. He endured the delicious sensation as it heightened his senses. He felt totally alive’

Ophelia closed the book unable to comprehend what she just read. She was unaware of the look of shock on her face.

“Is everything alright?” a voice said behind her.

She spun around and saw the store clerk standing there staring at her.

“I’m fine,” Ophelia said tersely, “Do you always sneak up behind your customers like that?”

She glared at him, concealing her embarrassment with anger.

“Um no, I, uh…um,” the boy responded.

Mark felt himself turn crimson and was unable to respond. Dark eyes bored into his like drills. The woman put the book down and quickly brushed past him her shoulder making contact with his chest. Unable to speak Mark simply stepped back and watcher her walk out the store not quite knowing what had just happened. He turned and picked up the book she had put down. He knew the title and felt a familiar tingle in his groin. He had read part of this book and was excited by the leather-clad women who dominated their submissive slaves. He went to the erotic fiction section and placed the book in its proper place.

Once outside Ophelia walked quickly and with some purpose towards her house. He mind was awash with thoughts about what she had just read.

“What was it?” she wondered.

It sounded like sex but she was confused.

“What type of sex was this?” she thought, “A woman beating a man who seemed to enjoy it? What was that all about? And the man had been peed on?”

Ophelia felt flushed. Her mind kept returning to the picture she formed in her brain; the man kneeling, covered with the girl’s pee and allowing himself to be beaten. Ophelia had a hard time wrapping her head around this. When she got home she immediately went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

“I’m so dirty,” she thought.

A small shudder ran through her body thinking about the prospect of such a disgusting thing. She tossed off her clothes onto the floor and got into the shower. Soaping up her body she started to feel clean again. She tried thinking about other things in order to take her mind off the horrible experience. She thought about what she was going to eat for dinner which always seemed to do the trick. Once she felt totally clean she got out of the shower, donned her bathrobe and headed into the kitchen to fix herself some dinner.

Dinner in Ophelia’s house was almost always as a rule simple and sparse. She pulled some leftovers from the fridge and set about warming them in the microwave. Food was always good when coping with stress or some such other ailment. She hurriedly ate her meal standing up barely tasting it trying desperately to make sure she blocked the events at the book store. Once she was done she set her plate at fork in the sink and went into the living room to finish off her latest sci-fi novel. She plopped herself down into her favourite chair and picked-up where she left off.

As the evening wore on the events of what transpired earlier seemed a distant memory, thankfully. When her eyelids grew heavy, she placed her book on the table, got up and went into the bathroom to pee and get ready for bed. Stripping naked, she climbed into bed. Once she was there, she succumbed to the sleep god almost immediately and drifted off.

She was startled out of her sleep with what sounded like the crack of a whip along with a muffled groan. When she sat up she realized that she wasn’t in her own bed. A silk sheet fell from her naked breasts. She unconsciously grabbed it and brought it up to cover herself. She was in a large wooden poster bed. There was another crack, this time sharper, followed by a more audible moan.

Curious, Ophelia swung her legs to the side and slipped out of bed. The cold of the stone floor sent a shiver through her and she could feel herself break-out in goose bumps. The room she was in was huge. There were oil paintings on the wooden walls and the air smelled like a mixture of incense and mustiness. She got to the door she put her ear against it. She could hear someone talking in a foreign language.

She opened the door slowly and peered out. The room she was in was at the end of a long hallway. Ophelia quietly stepped out of the room. She could see that the hallway opened up into a large room at the end. Slowly she crept her way towards the light. About halfway down the hall she passed in front of a large mirror that hung lengthwise along the wall. She was shocked by what she saw.

Staring at her was a beautiful and sexy woman with long jet black hair. Her mouth was framed by luscious red lips that glinted in the faint light. The woman’s make-up was impeccable. She stood facing Ophelia one hip cocked and her hand propped seductively on her waist with the other hanging down at her side. Even more intriguing was the outfit she was wearing; black leather pants that fit as if they were painted on her, as well as a black, leather corset that barely contained the woman’s breasts. Long black leather cocktail gloves running up past her elbows gave her a dark, sinister appearance.

The woman stared back at Ophelia impassively. Ophelia’s eyes were drawn to the woman’s cleavage which she could see rise and fall slightly with each breath. They were full, perfectly shaped and strained to escape the leather that cradled them. Her narrow waist swelled out into taut hips that anchored two long legs, each encased in boots that went up past her knees. Ophelia felt strangely drawn to this woman.

Un-ashamed by her own nakedness she stared into the woman’s eyes. A desire she had never felt welled within her. A chill ran through her body, so she pulled her arms up to her chest when she realized that the woman staring at her in the mirror was her. She looked down and saw her leather-clad legs shimmer in the light. The tightness in her crotch made her clit tingle. Her hand went down to adjust herself and she felt something hard and foreign attached to her.

She gave the hard object a tug and immediately felt an intense shiver through her body like a jolt of high voltage electricity. She let out an audible gasp. Whatever it was seemed to be attached to her clit. The sensation made her feel warm in the pit of her stomach, She allowed herself a second tug, this time longer and with more pressure. Her free hand ran up her body and she pulled at her right nipple through the leather. Sparks flew from her clit throughout her entire body. Her open mouth let out an audible breath.

She had never felt this way about her body before. She felt more than alive; she felt powerful.

The sounds of talking grew louder as she neared the end of the hall. Ophelia could hear the click of her boot heels on the stone floor. The light became brighter and the smell of incense was so strong that it enveloped her like a cloud of silk.

She felt herself smiling as she entered the room as if knowing exactly what she would find. She was struck by the sheer size of the room when she entered. It was done in heavy, thick, wood inlay. Black leather furniture was arranged in front of a huge fireplace where a fire crackled. On the floor next to the huge hearth was a bear skin rug. Several candles were arranged throughout the room which seemed to give everything a dream-like texture.

On the wall opposite Ophelia, a young man lay on a long table. She could see that his wrists and ankles were bound. He was wearing a gag and nothing else. A thick, shapely woman with curly red hair, clad completely in red leather stood next to him holding a long wooden rod. Ophelia could hear the woman speak to the man in sharp tones. She must not have been happy with him because she kept smacking him with the rod. As she got closer Ophelia could his large erect cock.

It was obvious that he was turned on because she could see the tip of his cock glisten in the flickering candle light. The girl was hitting him directly on the cock with her long stick. Each time she did so the man let twitched and let out a moan of pleasure. Ophelia closed her eyes tilting back her head, allowing the sights and smells of raw sensuality to penetrate her. She reached down for her clit ring and gave it a sharp twist. Her knees buckled and she almost lost her balance.

When she opened her eyes the woman was smiling at her holding out the rod for her to take. She looked into the girl’s green eyes, extended her hand and took the rod. The girl slightly bowed her head, stepped back and knelt beside the table. Ophelia stood over him holding the wooden rod. He looked at up with pleading eyes, beckoning to Ophelia.

She looked down and saw something odd. Something about him was familiar to her; something about his face. But she didn’t quite know what. Without thinking she raised the rod and brought it swiftly across her body onto his cock with a sharp *thwack*.

He twitched and his hips shot off the table, his eyes rolled back into his head as he strained against his restraints. His moans excited her. She reached down with her free hand and found the clit ring again. Grasping firmly with her thumb and index find she twisted and pulled. Her knees buckled as the orgasm took hold of her. With her rod hand she reached out and steadied herself against the table. The man looked at her and smiled. It was the smile from someone who knew her. She looked into his pleading eyes.

“Mâiresse s’il vous plâit,” he said.

Ophelia cupped her swollen pussy. She felt feverish. Grabbing her entire labia with her thumb and knuckle she squeezed as she raised the rod once again and let out a low growl as it swished through the air onto her charge’s throbbing cock.

Ophelia opened her eyes. She hoisted herself up on her elbows and strained her to see where she was. She sensed familiar surroundings and knew she was back in her own room. The huge wooden bed was replaced by her plain old futon. She looked down and saw that she had kicked the covers off onto the floor. Though it was warm her skin was clammy and cool. Her nipples were tender as if they had been twisted. She also felt very wet down there. She lay back down on her pillow and thought about the dream she had just awoken from. She stared at the ceiling. She felt very confused.

Reliving the dream over again she felt a stirring between her legs. Timidly she slowly moved her hand down to where the clit ring was on her dream pussy. Using her first and third finger, she parted her lips and ran her middle finger softly up and down where the ring was attached. Her legs buckled and she brought her knees together. She rolled her head to one side. Her breath quickened. She started to rub faster. Her left hand reached down between her legs.

She was flagrantly soppy. The cool breeze allowed her to catch the occasional whiff of her own scent; earthy, feminine. Reaching down with her other hand she pressed her index finger against her other opening. The delightful tingles that went up and down her spine made her moan softly. Her mind went back to the man in her dream and how lovingly he looked at her. As she rubbed herself faster, she pressed her finger into the opening of her ass.

Her body began shake as her orgasm took hold. She arched her back, let out a deep moan and straightened her legs flexing the muscles. When the intense feeling had passed she brought both hands to her breasts and gently squeezed. Her legs twitched as she pinched both her already tender nipples. She rolled onto her side and brought her knees into her chest.

Catching her breath, she hugged her pillow as she thought about the look the man in her dream had given her. There was something that seemed real about it, something in his eyes. She tried closing her eyes to sleep but she was too awake. She was content to lie there and stare at the wall digesting the new thoughts running through her head.