As we approached the small, nondescript building standing among other nondescript buildings in a nondescript neighborhood, thoughts raced through my head. Was I ready to go through with this? With everything that it entailed? With so many possibilities?
And how would our interactions with the owner be like? Would it be embarrassing? After all, there was really only one reason for us being there, at that nondescript building in a nondescript neighborhood.
When we arrived, the door was locked. We exchanged glances, the bitter cold preventing us from seeing much past our heavy scarves and hats, only a slither of our faces visible under the layers of wool. Soon those layers would be peeled off, I thought, in a mix of anticipation and apprehension. The few minutes we spent outside, waiting for someone to open up the place, felt like hours, partly because of the freezing wind biting at our bones and partly because the nervousness that had been slowly growing in my stomach all day was now just too much to bear.
“Are you here for the rental?”
The solitary female voice caught me by surprise, and as I turned I was face to face with the owner. The one person in the world, besides the two of us, who knew my secret. Who could now identify my face and recognize my name, and know for a fact, and have evidence, of my true nature, of what I had been so good at masking for my entire life.
The thought made me want to sink into the ground. Yet I was happily surprised to note that she looked like any average person, a nondescript human being. The whole situation didn’t seem to add up, with such a normal looking place and a normal looking person, yet in what was going to soon turn into a definitely not normal, non-average situation. Or was I making it more than it was, and it really was quite normal?
She let us in with the most unassuming, matter-of-fact attitude I could hope for. The inside of the building was quite cozy, for a place of its kind, with a nicely decorated hallway leading to its variously themed rooms. As we walked into the one we had been assigned, the contrast between the owner’s attitude and our surroundings was suddenly too sharp to ignore. She gave us a tour of the room and its “amenities.” There was a bondage table, a cross, a swing. There were chains and ropes and handcuffs, made of metal and leather and fabric. There was a whole wall of paddles, canes, and floggers, of all kinds of sizes and materials. There was a crate of dildos, vibrators, and butt plugs. Menacing masks and whole-body bondage suits were neatly displayed on mannequins hung from one corner of the wall, looming over us in ominous invitation.
Our host handled each tool with expertise like it was just any other random object. I found it hard to keep up. Luckily for me, my master took note of everything, paying close attention to our hosts’ demonstrations, even asking questions. How was he so level-headed in this outlandish scenario?
Then we were alone. Out coats finally off and our faces visible, I turned towards my master with a questioning, slightly awkward, look. This was new. The sight of the room alone had made me already aware of a certain warmth between my legs, and at the same time, it was so much to take in that I would have had no idea where to start.
But he was over me in no time, pushing my thoughts and fears to the back of my mind as he pressed me against the wall, one hand choking my neck and the other driving both of mine above my head, his lips biting and his breath warm against my face, still chilly from the outside. If he had wanted to take me there and then, I would have been more than ready. But of course, that would have to wait.
Just as quickly as it had begun, the kissing and sucking on my neck was abruptly interrupted. Not more than a second passed, though, before his hands roughly turned my whole body to face one of the several dark wooden poles attached to the wall. I waited for a brief moment while he fetched something behind me. I soon discovered it was a bright red collar - my favorite color! - with a large metal ring attached to the front. He secured it around my neck and I immediately felt owned, nothing more than a toy for my master to play with. This feeling was strengthened as he fastened a heavy chain to the ring and then attached its other end to one of the hooks protruding from the pole above my head. The segment of chain was short enough that it pulled my neck upward at an uncomfortable angle.
“Keep your legs spread and your butt up.” He ordered, bending me at the waist. I was smart enough to obey, even though this caused my neck to be stretched a little farther and made the collar bite into my skin.
He started spanking my backside using his hand. While it did not feel particularly painful, as I was still fully clothed, the knowledge that there was much more, so much more to come was enough to make the wetness in between my legs grow.
“Stay in that position while I clean the bondage table.”
Fair enough; who knows what had happened on that same, scary looking yet nicely padded apparatus, with its chains and hooks and hanging ropes. The room came with a set of cleaning products, so I watched as my master sprayed the leather of the padding and proceeded to clean it. I wondered if I should have been the one assigned this task. Yet I knew his gesture was only a way to torture me a little bit before anything had even started, forcing me to stay still and keep myself together in that awkward position despite everything that was around me.
Possibly because he knew I would not feel as much pain with my jeans still on, his hand had landed on me with particular intensity, and the stinging was now transforming into an impossibly unbearable itch. He was so intent on his task that I didn’t think he would notice if I rubbed my cheeks just a little bit, just for a short second. But of course, he did.
He looked back at me just as my hand was leaving my backside and returning quickly to its position against the pole.
“What are you doing?” His voice was calm yet chilling as he approached me.
“Uhm, uh… Nothing!”
“Don’t lie to me.”
I regretted lying as soon as his cold stare pierced through me.
“I… was rubbing my butt. I’m sorry...”
Two sharp slaps to my face interrupted me. I knew they weren’t strong, but they still made my head spin in shock, and my flesh burn.
“Well, seems like you can’t obey even simple instructions…”
He started, as he unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down to my ankles together with my underwear.
“... so I’ll have to take some measures to keep you in place.”
Leaving me there, my upper body still clothed but my butt and thighs fully naked and exposed in their upraised position, he briefly left to inspect the wide selection of bondage tools we had at our disposal.
He returned with a pair of adjustable leather handcuffs, which he promptly used to tie my hands behind my back. Now I was leaning into the pole without the help of my hands, my face pressed against it while my butt was still forced outward. He looked at me briefly as if deciding on something, then I felt his hands adjust the chain connecting the collar to the pole, making it even shorter and forcing my neck up a little more, just enough for it to start being painful on top of being uncomfortable.
His hand returned to its previous task, but this time the spanks stung earnestly. I could only imagine my cheeks jiggling and turning a darker shade of pink under each one of his slaps. It was still fully within my capabilities to take this first punishment without much protesting, however, with only a few muffled gasps here and there when a particularly strong swat would catch me by surprise.
Soon, he was done. It had hurt, but not too much. I knew he was just preparing me for what was to come, though, and that of itself was beyond arousing. A solitary finger tantalized my sex, first slowly making its way up the inside of my thigh and then lazily checking the wetness around my opening. I was sure my master would not be disappointed.
He then left me there for a few more minutes, my sex wild with frustration, my joints threatening to cramp under their strain, as he finished cleaning. When everything was ready, he finally released the grip around my neck, detaching the chain and allowing me to stand normally. He undid the link tying the two handcuffs together, but left them on.
“Remove the rest of your clothes. When you’re done, put on the ones you brought with you.”
With as much grace as I could muster, I removed the warm sweater and shirt that had protected me from the freezing weather outside. I then reached into my bag and proceeded to re-clothe my naked body, though to a much lesser extent, with what my master had chosen for me earlier.
My new attire consisted of a lacy black bra, covered with a see-through black crop-top. My legs were enveloped by a pair of embroidered thigh high stockings. But the centerpiece were my new panties, which I had bought specifically for this occasion and of which I was very proud of. The front looked like normal lingerie, with black embroidering over smooth red silk. However, the back consisted merely of a net of elastic strings meeting together in a small bow right where my crack ended, practically leaving the entirety of my butt cheeks exposed. A look at my master’s face assured me that he approved of this look as much as I did.
“Now undress me.”
I did as I was told, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it off of him revealing his chest. I then did the same to his pants, and finally - not without a nod of encouragement from my master – I removed his underwear. Seeing his already erect shaft so close to my face, his scent invading my nostrils made me so hungry for it. I had to mentally restrain myself from taking it inside my mouth there and then.
Instead, I let him pull me by my arm and followed his instructions as I made my way on top of the bondage bed. I lay down on it on my back, the cold leather pleasant against the already warmed skin of my back. He first fixed the handcuffs back together, this time with my hands tight above my head and attached to a link of rope that was part of the apparatus.
This allowed him to pull at the rope and tighten my arms above me. He then found another pair of similar leather cuffs and attached them to each of my ankles. The cuffs were then themselves fixed to a long spreader bar which kept my legs wide open. I struggled pointlessly against my restraints, not so much in an attempt to escape, but rather because the feeling of helplessness in being immobilized alone was enough to inflame my lust once more.
My master watched me with a smile, fully aware of what this treatment was doing to me. Somehow that frustrated me even more, and I could not stop testing my bonds as he briefly left to choose from the wide array of instruments of torture.
He came back with a large flogger made up of soft but thick leather. I had never experienced its touch before, so I started sweating in wonder and anticipation as he teased me, brushing its tips against the inside of my thighs. The sensation was strangely sensual and I almost lost myself to its caress, when a sharp blow to the tender skin near my crotch brought me back to reality.
The blows of the flogger were not exceptionally hard, but they landed on the unprepared skin of my thighs with a regular, fast beat. Each sting built on the previous ones and their sum were soon unbearable, this time giving me a real reason to struggle against my ties, yet still unsuccessfully. The burn followed down my thighs and all the way to my shins, then back up and dangerously close to my sex. As I winced and shook, my master made sure not an inch of my legs was left unmarked.
When the rain of strokes seemed to finally end I breathed a sigh of releif, but it was not for long. I felt my master’s hands lifting my back just enough to undo my bra, then yanking it and the crop-top up exposing my chest.
The flogger made its way up my torso, giving light strokes to my belly and then finally focusing on my bare breasts, making me squirm in a vain attempt to escape the never-ending torment. Only when my breasts seemed to be as colored as the rest of the front of my body did he seem satisfied with his work. I deduced he wasn’t going to let much of my body go without pain today.
Still panting from all the squirming, I watched as he untied the handcuffs and without much instructions needed I removed my bra and crop-top entirely, leaving only my panties and stockings on.
“Turn around and lay on your belly.”
I figured it was time for the other side. I gave him a questioning look as I realized my ankles were still tied to the spreader bar which complicated the maneuver he had just requested. His steady gaze told me to deal with it, though, and I awkwardly managed to turn on myself all the while keeping my legs spread wide. Just as I finished, he tied the handcuffs back to the rope in front of my face, keeping my arms pulled in front of me.
The flogger returned to punish me, this time hitting my bottom, the back of my thighs and shins, and occasionally my back. This felt less strenuous than the previous treatment, partly because my butt had already been warmed a bit, partly because the skin of my back was not quite as sensitive as that of my breasts. The lashes were rapid and thorough, though, and I imagined my backside was now probably as evenly colored as my front.
When the onslaught stopped momentarily, I wondered what my master had in store next. I could not help but twist my neck enough to glance at what he had gathered from one of the walls. When I saw it was one of the several displayed paddles, an especially long wooden one, my heart sank a little. As he caressed my cheeks with it, I readied myself for its imminent impact. I suddenly regretted wearing those panties, which left my butt cheeks entirely exposed, as I was now not even granted the slim protection of their fabric.
He raised the paddle and I immediately flinched, clenching my butt in preparation, but for nothing. He tricked me like this several times, raising the instrument as if with the intention of hitting me, but then simply returning it to my skin in a caress that would make me wiggle in frustration. He knew that the expectation of pain was almost more arousing than the pain itself.
Then, just as I had started not to react to his feints, a sharp blow landed straight on my right butt cheek. It made a loud crack, but not as loud as the yelp I let out as I was flooded with sensation. Before I could recuperate, a second blow landed on my other cheek, just as powerful and piercing. I arched my back and tried to kick my restrained legs, my body tensing under the inexplicable agony that each blow brought with it. It must have only been a few swats, but I was ready to beg for it to stop when my master put the paddle down.
He turned my reddened face towards him and pulled out what looked like an hourglass.
“This is going to count ten minutes exactly from the moment I turn it over.”
He paused momentarily, allowing my imagination to run wild with questions about what was going to happen to me in those ten minutes.
“I will use the paddle on you until the time runs out.”
At that, my face dropped and I looked at him with horror.
“No! Please! I can’t take it! I really can’t!”
He just stared at me as I begged out of genuine fear. Those few swats had already been unbearable, and they probably had taken less than a minute to inflict. I did not even want to imagine what ten minutes of that would feel like.
He turned the hourglass and I kept begging for his mercy until I saw him grip the flogger once more rather than the paddle. I would have never thought the sting of the flogger would feel as welcome as it did then. Yet he made sure those ten minutes would count, and focused on my butt with particularly intense blows for what felt like forever. I gave a quick glance at the hourglass and realized it was still only halfway through the ten minutes. When I looked back, I watched in horror as I realized my master was now holding the paddle again. Just as I was about to beg again, he said; “Because you begged so much, I will only give you three spanks on each side, but I will make them count. I want you to count them.”
Thankful that I had roused some mercy in him, but still terrified of those few swats, I readied my already sore bottom for the imminent sting whose pain I had previously discovered. The first swat landed on my left butt cheek with a loud crack, sending a jolt of pain through my body and making me gasp for air.
“One.”
A second one landed exactly over the area covered by the previous one and I jerked involuntarily.
“Two.”, I said in a small voice.
The third was the hardest one, and it again hit exactly the same area. I felt tears forming at the corners of my eyes as I squirmed in vain.
“T-three.”
I could not believe it had only been three swats and I was already in such a state. The three blows to the other side were administered in the same fashion, and by the end, I was a mess of tears.
When they finished I was unbelievably happy, but as I looked back to the hourglass I realized there were still a few minutes left. My thoughts were cut short by the flogger, which began hitting my punished skin once again, this time on top of the welts left by the paddle. While it burned, it did not even come close to what I had just felt, and I endured it until I saw the last remaining grains of sand of the hourglass drip down, and it was finally over.
Or so I thought. As it turned out, the spanking was just one of the many ways my master had planned to torment me that day.
I felt his hands undoing my bonds and I was finally able to stretch my joints. He turned me over so that I was on my back again, the tender skin of my butt hurting as it pressed on the padded surface. My legs were spread, my panties peeled off, and I felt his tongue drawing circles inside my thighs, a slippery trail of sensation haunting me with its coyness. I could see it all, his face so close to my sex I could almost feel its heat. The built up frustration was so unbearable that I just wanted to push myself into him, but I knew doing so would have cost me dearly. So I clenched my fists and withstood the teasing.
Suddenly, I let out a moan as his tongue finally started playing with my most sensitive spot. I could almost feel my clit throb with arousal as he switched between brushing it tentatively and sucking on it hungrily.
When he stopped I was left quivering in a pool of saliva and of my own juices.