Dee's Story

A few times we had attended kinky fancy dress parties and events, it was Chris who decided where we went and how we would be dressed, not that I minded, even when after four of five of those parties she had me in little more than collar and chain, 'slave' to her 'Mistress' apart from a few unwelcome overly aggressive gropes and a lot of touching up, it was fun, at least it was cool, the venue had no air-conditioning and the dance floor was full of people sweating their way to dehydration, most so close it was almost an orgy of mutual masturbation.

Chris and I often got mistaken for Mistress and slave, but whilst I understood the confusion the truth was that we only played with the D/s roles. Chris was without a doubt a strong woman, her personality and our living and working relationship put her firmly in charge, but that was not her kink, or mine. Chris was happy to go as the mood took us, sometimes soft tender lovemaking, at other times hot and heavy fucking, no holes barred and toys aplenty. The first time I buckled on the strap-on and pushed Chris down on the bed was definitely a night to remember, and not the last time, even though she very often rolled me onto my back and 'rode' me as she bucked her hips and fucked herself even as I was fucking her. Hands reaching around to spank her ass, the look in her eyes as her passion slipped it's leash was awe-inspiring, for when Chris let herself go and dropped her need to control, the sex became something else, carnal and elemental, a raging inferno that consumed us both in wild outrageous lust. Those occasions left us both drained and sore, often bruised for days, rare as they were I treasured every one.

It was my desire to capture that unbridled emotion that led to a whole new experience, one that Chris refused to be a part of. It was not lack of interest or even jealousy, just her lack of knowledge and unwillingness to see me harmed. In fact it was Chris herself who provided the solution.

Sometimes our lust was not confined to each other. At first it felt strange to be so intimate with someone else, but once I understood that it was an extension of our pleasure, not something that Chris wanted to fill a space I could not, then it ceased to be a concern and I immersed myself in every new encounter.

Few things failed to excite me, perhaps because sharing a bed with two or more others provides for sensations that are just not possible between two lovers. Simple things like having two mouths and four hands all intent on driving me crazy was such a turn-on, the intensity of surrendering and just letting go was something so indescribably erotic that it often featured in both my drawings and my dreams.

So when Chris introduced me to Antonia, Toni, it was not a shock at all, the surprise was that Chris would not be taking part, although she promised to remain close. With that reassurance I readily agreed to what Chris had arranged, after all, I could hardly complain, I was after all getting exactly what I had asked Chris for so many times, I was going to get whipped..!!

Exactly why I wanted to be whipped is hard to explain, even though it made, and makes perfect sense to me. Partly it was to try yet another kink, just as I'd tried so many other things with Chris, but mostly it was to feel what it was like, to understand it in a way only possible through experience. My sketches of people being whipped still lacked something, I had even tried using the big photo in Chris's office to base my sketches on, it helped, but only for that image, well that and some other photo prints that had arrived more recently from the same studio, the same photographer too I was sure, every print was just as awe inspiring as the one in the office. I made sure not to mark them as I almost literally drooled over each one, not just the image but the way each was taken, the angles and the care taken to make every one look real, even a quick glance was enough to see that each was real, every detail correct because everything in the image was absolutely authentic.

Chris had arranged it for one Saturday evening, to give me the maximum time to recover before going back to work. Chris hardly ever took a day off, and I simply had nowhere I'd rather be.

Saturday was usually busy, which meant we hardly had time for coffee or lunch, and I had no time at all to think about the evening. Only when we were in Chris's car and headed out of Leeds to Toni's house did I start to get nervous. There was no way I was going to back out, too stubborn maybe, certainly too intent on improving my ability as an artist. I wanted to be able to capture those emotions, I needed to, if that meant pain then I'd accept it as the price of knowledge.

The Toni we had met before was not the Toni who greeted us as we arrived, at least where I was concerned. I knew that she was a Mistress and had a slave, though I'd not met her I had seen her at a few events. From the moment I entered her house she was "Ma'am", apparently I was not to address her as anything else, not to speak unless spoken to, I was there to learn, to be whipped and was expected to abide by her rules, even though she and Chris talked as friends. Oh well, if that was what was expected, then I would comply. I had by then experienced enough kink and BDSM to respect those who took it seriously, after all the whole point of coming here was because Toni, Ma'am, knew her stuff.

Whilst Chris sat drinking coffee and I made do with a glass of water, I got "the lecture," a safe-word, and some explanation of what to expect, then a last chance to chicken out, like I was going to..!! Ma'am knew why I wanted to be whipped, at first her reaction was less than enthusiastic, according to Chris, Ma'am had little time for anyone who did not take such things seriously, however having been shown some of my work she decided that I was serious. Now I was about to find out just how it felt to be whipped.

Being naked was no problem, even the feel of the wide padded cuffs that fitted snugly around by wrists and ankles did not make me feel different, though Ma'am fussed a little to get the perfect fit, something I was grateful for later, but that at the time seemed a little excessive. It was the walk to the Dungeon that brought home to me just what I had let myself in for. This was no light-hearted play room, this was a real Dungeon, the equipment solid and made to last, to restrain and suspend, to do other things as well, though what they were I didn't want to think about right then.

Ma'am positioned me between two very solid looking posts that looked as if they supported the floor above. I found myself standing spread-eagled between them, unable to quite reach them, whilst the padded cuffs I wore were securely fastened to them by short lengths of chain and snap-links.

I could not see Chris, I knew she was close, she promised, I guessed she was somewhere behind me. Ma'am stood before me, her words sealed my fate and brought my nervousness bubbling to the surface. "Scream all you like, nobody will hear you, and I enjoy it." Her smile as she spoke was enough to have me pulling at the chains, "to late now," her tone almost gloating, "either you submit to everything I do, or you chicken out and use your safe-word," her voice hard, the challenge very obvious, "if you chicken out, don't ever think of coming back, understood?"

I tried nodding, too nervous to risk speaking, that apparently was not acceptable.

"UNDERSTOOD?"

"Yes Ma'am, I understand."

I didn't expect the blindfold.

4.

Nothing. No pain, nothing. I had invested so much emotion, so much expectation, only for there to be nothing.

The blindfold fitted so well that I couldn't see anything, not even light or dark, the sides covered my ears, not intended to block out all sound, they just muffled everything, except there was nothing to muffle. I tugged at the chains holding the cuffs, not to get loose, just to check they were still there, my mind working overtime, perhaps it was a joke? Perhaps nothing would happen?

I forced myself to relax, trying to stop my mind from racing. Little by little I felt my body relaxing as I concentrated on one part at a time, willing my muscles to relax.

I screamed.

I felt so stupid, the snap of the leather as it struck me was a shock, but not painful, it stung just a little and left my ass tingling a little. I didn't scream at the next one, or the next. I was quite proud of myself. I think I smiled, I know I felt happy, relieved, I was finally going to find out what it was all about, what gave those people the looks in their eyes, I needed to understand how it felt, the mix of emotions, sensations, now I would.

The strokes were relentless, endless, the only variation was where they struck, sometimes seemingly random, other times concentrated in one place, my ass, my upper back, thighs, tits, stomach, those on my inner thighs were the worst, not because they were more forceful, but because each time I expected the next to strike my cunt. Yes, my cunt, somehow with the threat of being whipped there, it seemed wrong to think of it as my sex, my pussy, if the whip was going to strike me there, it was my cunt.

I had tensed up again at the beginning, now as the whipping continued I found myself relaxing, the regular strokes stung, but their perfect timing and the soft tingling lulled me, even the constant changes of target became part of the routine. Not at all what I had expected, no searing pain, no feeling of my skin being flayed as I writhed in agony, part of me was disappointed, another part relieved, whilst all the time I was aware that what was happening was out of my control, I could only accept whatever was decided, how hard, how long, how painful.

The stinging grew slowly, seeping through my body, my senses. Little by little my only thought became the stinging, so gradually did it build that there was never a point where it began to hurt, it was like watching the sunset on a summer evening, day becoming dusk, dusk becoming night, so slow you only realise it is dark when you decide to walk home and someone shines a torch.

A sound distracted me, a low moaning, almost crooning. As it grew louder I realised it was me, the stinging had built in intensity so much I could no longer contain it, the moaning seemed to release it, release me.

That was when I realised I was free, not free to go, not at all, but free to let the stinging out, to moan, to scream, to express my feelings, it felt strange, liberating, an unexpected gift. A gift I accepted fully.

I wondered at the strength needed to control the whip, to keep the speed and force so perfectly uniform, so precise, I tried to distract myself with thoughts of how it must look, how it must feel, the power, the control, but I could only imagine, that was not enough, not to distract me, my moans turned to screaming sobs, not words, just sounds of release, the sound of pain escaping my lips.

Then I noticed that the strokes were not all the same, that those on my inner thigh were different, they seemed to slap more, my skin there felt different, tingling, stinging, but... Oh fuck..!!! I was wet, dripping, aroused, fuckin' hot..!! For a moment I felt betrayed, my wanton cunt dripping, coating my inner thighs, all because I was in pain, my cunt was a traitor..!!

Often when I sit and sketch I find my body and mind separate, my mind immersed in the sketch, unaware of my bodies needs, until the cramp bites or the cold becomes freezing, even thirst and hunger take time to get my mind's attention. All this I knew, was used to, yet right then it surprised me, shocked me. Even as my body was in pain my mind was preoccupied with understanding why, not caring that my body was screaming out for something, anything, make it stop, make it more, make me cum, make me pass out, just make something happen, anything to relieve the cruel endless rhythm of the whip.

My throat dry, sore from screaming, hoarse from moaning, I realised I was sobbing, tears hot and wet on my face, salty burning on my lips. Sobbing became begging, pleading for it to stop, for it to end, hit harder, stop hitting, I no longer cared what, just do something, change the rhythm, please..!!

Oh fuck it hurt..!! Really hurt, my body so tender, muscles strained, shoulders burning from supporting my weight as I hung there begging, wanting it to stop, wanting the end even more, I needed to know, needed to feel the final coup de grace, the pain of enlightenment, of finally knowing. I feared more pain, I feared it stopping, not knowing even more.

Why Ma'am chose to remove the blindfold I don't know, the sudden change from pitch black to seeing momentarily checked my pleas, the light was not bright, even so it hurt my eyes, my vision blurred at first, then cleared to reveal Chris standing staring at me. Our eyes locked and she leapt forward, screaming, "No..!!, No..!!" Over and over she screamed that one word as she hurled herself at me, wrapping me in her arms.

I tried to shake her off, tried to tell her to stop, but it was too late, the rhythm of the whip was broken, and with it went my consciousness.

I don't remember what happened after that, I remember being conscious, I remember the pain when Chris held me, remember even my clothes feeling painful against my skin, but what happened, what was said, I have no idea. The first clear memory was later in Chris's car driving home, her apologising over and over for agreeing to help me, for arranging the time with Toni, Ma'am.

Everything was too raw for me to say what I felt, so I just sat there, whimpering every so often as the car bumped or I moved, tried to get comfortable, Chris cared so much, was so sorry, how could I explain that when she threw herself at me I hated her, hated that it had stopped, hated that I would have to go through all that again. That one thought burned brighter than the pain, I would do it again, and next time nothing would stop me.

Chris did everything she could to care for me, desperate to hold me, drawing away every time I flinched at the slightest contact. I undressed as we entered the flat, pealing off my clothes hurt but brought some relief, Chris had rushed ahead to prepare a bath, the water still flowing as I gingerly lowered myself into the warm water, heaven..!!

I lay there soaking so long that I had to add more hot water twice before Chris finally ordered me from the tub. Standing before the big mirror I turned left and right, looking for signs of the whipping. All I could see was large areas of reddened skin, no bruises, no cuts, just very red, very, very tender skin wherever the whip had been.

That night I did not expect to sleep, surely I'd never get comfortable? Chris ordered me to bed, I obeyed and lay there trying to relax, for a while I felt drained, then I must have slept.

I awoke sobbing, shivering as if freezing, Chris woke and took me in her arms, hugging me close, talking so softly, soothing me, I could not hear her words, they didn't seem important, I just focused on her voice and her arms, and slept again.

When I awoke again it was midday Sunday. I felt like I was glued to the bed, unable to move, everything ached. No hurt, no pain, just the deep ache of sore muscles. The need to pee drove me to the bathroom, then curiosity drove me to the mirror. No angry red, just a pink hue, like a blush, my body sore but not sensitive like the night before.

Coffee..!! My nose sniffed the aroma, I followed my nose to the kitchen, Chris smiled and waved me to a chair, placing a big mug of fresh coffee and a pint glass of water in front of me. "Drink love."

I drank, and drank, the first sip igniting my thirst. I alternated between sips of rich fresh coffee and cool water, Chris fussing over me, kissing my head, my cheek. My hatred had faded in the night, leaving me back where I was, cared for by Chris, caring for her, our bond renewed.

That night we went to bed early, our need mutual, we made love, slow, tender love, the kind that flows from kiss to cum, laying together, bodies touching, lips brushing, the exhilaration of orgasm fading towards a slow build as we worked our way back to bliss.

Monday morning, eyes open, mouth tasting of pussy, body smelling of sex. The warmth of my lover against my own. Perfect.

I slipped out of bed and made coffee, returning to bed to awaken Chris with a kiss and her morning nectar. So started another week, my recovery amazed me and surprised Chris, testament to the skill Ma'am had displayed until...

For weeks I ignored the nagging thoughts of what might have been, busying myself in the shop, the gallery, weeks became months. Sometimes the need surfaced, in dreams, in quiet moments, but never as strong as when we had another delivery from Cambridge.

Every delivery set my heart beating faster, eagerly unwrapping each consignment, taking my time to study every photograph, each brought back the need. The subjects varied, different models, different themes, different scenes, all shared one thing in common, the skill of the photographer.

The technicalities aroused me as much as the image, especially my favourites, the 'Impossibles', those pictures that were so perfectly composed that I struggled to work out how it was done, how the angles worked, how anyone could create such a perfect composition.

We celebrated our first Anniversary. Chris going as far as shutting the shop for a whole week, the first time ever, We went away on holiday, sand, sea, making love in the suite's huge bed, fucking beneath the palm trees, we played, we swam, we danced until dawn and slept 'till noon. A week in paradise.

As the months passed we grew closer and grew apart. We lived and worked together, we played together and with others but at work we were all work. Chris slowly relinquished the gallery to me whilst she concentrated on the shop. I appreciated her trust in me and worked my ass off to build the galleries customer base and the growing following for high quality pictures of BDSM themes. Meanwhile Chris was taking advantage of the internet to build the shop's mail order business.

Our shared intimacy grew all the time, we were more than lovers, we loved each other, yet we were not in love with one another. There was a part of Chris that remained aloof, her desire to control always lurking in the background, the times when she let loose and let herself go were always memorable, yet few and far between, their rarity making them all the more priceless. Yet her need for control did not cross over into the desire to dominate, she remained resolutely kinky but never committed to a role. I too found myself holding back, the need suppressed but still just as overwhelming, those times when it surfaced brought back memories of that night, her stopping the whipping too soon, at those times the hatred burned bright.

Once we played with others, but apart, a first, a measure of our trust in one another? Keeping each other by setting each other free? A lack of jealousy? Or perhaps a turning point in our relationship? Once became twice, twice became often.

We knew who and where the other played, we kept no secrets, shared each others experiences, used them to tease and arouse, to precede lovemaking or trigger the lust that drove us to unrestrained fucking. Chris of course had a wide circle of friends with whom she could play when time and opportunity arose, I was still making friends, not something I had much practise in. Few of those I had ever known would count as friends, at least by my definition. I found myself drawn to those who were submissive, those who had felt the whip, listening to their descriptions, sating the need vicariously through them. Until I met Emily.

My interest was piqued when a few people warned me off her, none seemed willing or able to say why, just that she was, "bad news." Such unsubstantiated rumour was about as effective as the 'wet paint' sign, you just have to touch it to see if the paint is indeed wet. Where Emily was concerned, the sign was correct, and it was I who was wet.