Please Take Baby Steps

She sighed at me, perusing my choice of items from the sex exhibition in the paper bag. "Why?"

"Because they are all awesome," I cried excitedly. "I've read about this and ..."

"Yes, I know you've read about it," my lover muttered calmly and ran her hands through her flowing red hair.

"We discussed this and ..."

"Come sit down," she cooed, calmly. I felt an aura of reticence and frustration in her voice. I nervously joined her on the couch, sliding my naked body alongside her gorgeous frame as she dragged my selection of materials to her feet. She was my dominant, my lovely wonderful girlfriend who I was adopting a dom/sub relationship with.

It was new and exhilarating: an exciting new chapter in our lives as I sought to unleash my fantasies.

Bridget was fabulous: driven, confident and so sexy, I knew she was the person I wanted to submit to, the lady I wanted to drive me to untold pain that I had fantasised about. I wanted her to coax the yelps and squirms from me, forcing incredible pleasure and inhumane agony from my body. She was the one.

"What did I tell you?" She asked, her voice soft and gentle. "Before you went to the fair."

"Ummm ... don't go silly."

"No," she agreed, coughing as she peered into my bag. "Don't go silly. Baby steps. Small things. Don't go wild. Don't rush this."

"I haven't."

"One. A slave contract. Extreme Edition." I tried to hide my smile as she opened the paper and her eyes flickered across the top of the expansive document. "So, are we doing this?"

"Yeah," I cried, my stomach doing butterflies as she glanced over the top of the paper.

"So, clause five is, 'the slave must drink all of his mistress's urine.' You OK with that?" She asked with a disbelieving edge to her voice as she watched me slide around on the abrasive seat.

"Yeah, I think so."

"OK, clause nine, 'the slave will never be allowed to have intercourse with his mistress, but will clean up the mistress after other men have satisfied her.' I'll just go call the boys round. How about it?"

"Ummm ... well."

"You better. Because of clause twenty. The slave will be castrated if he ever disobeys." She raised her eyebrows quizzically at me as I writhed; maybe the extreme edition was a bit too far. "Park that one for awhile?"

I nodded. "Yeah OK. But ... how about ..."

"Wait!" She interrupted, slapping my wrist as my hand moved towards the paper bag. She pulled out the biggest toy, groaning as she held the giant black dong onto her lap. "The strap-on," she cried incredulously, barely able to fit both her hands around it's girth. The four-inch wide toy, and thirteen-inches long was crafted from dense black PVC with a frenulum to suggest a realistic phallic shape. She groaned. "It weighs a bit. But where do you think that's going?"

"Up my arse. You said you didn't mind thinking about pegging me, and I just want to bend over for you, baby."

"Then bend over. I have some lube here and, don't forget you could barely take your anal beads, so this is like going from a scooter to a Lamborghini for you. But hey, I'm sure you arse will stop bleeding after two weeks. Well it might do. Come on!" She got up from the chair, barely able to hold the giant strap-on toy in her hand as she gestured for me to get into position.

"Perhaps ..."

"Perhaps you should have started with a four inch toy?"

"But they look so small."

"Honey, when it's up your arse, everything will feel twice as big as it is, trust me." I looked at the floor as the giant rubber cock landed on the carpet with a thud. She pulled out three neon pink T-Shirts with provocative silhouettes on them, reading the slogans imprinted before shaking her head. "I love my mistress," she read. "I am a big sissy!" She dropped the T-Shirt onto the chair before unfurling the last one. "I love being fucked in the ass! Why?"

"Well because I do love you and I want to tell the world. Be open about my kinks in public ..."

"And you are going to wear a pink T-Shirt to meet your friends and family that says you take up the ass?" She stared at me wide-eyed as I hesitated. "Seriously, let's go to that barbecue tomorrow and you wear the 'big sissy' T-Shirt. Because that's your boss, your brother, your two co-workers ..." She cocked her head at me as I hummed. "Maybe park that one too?"

"Well, no. I want to be open."

"Honey, be honest that's fine. Just be careful who you tell. There's open and then there's gaping. Park that one too until you work out who you want to tell?"

"Maybe." She raised her eyebrows at me. "OK," I conceded.

This continued: she was surprised by my pink panties, slipped the cock ring of spikes over my shaft until I screamed for mercy and touched my skin just once with the electro-torture toy that had me begging for her to stop.

"Genuine buffalo leather bullwhip," she read, holding out a desperately long weapon, and the last implement in the bag. "Bend over then."

"Ummm ..."

"Your mistress is telling you to bend over!" She commanded, slapping the weapon to her side. I whimpered, putting the palms of my hands on the coffee table as she stood up and the tail was dragged over my skin.

I flinched. Expecting the worst: my dreams and fantasies had run away with me and closed my eyes as Bridget slowly swirled the straps and slashed the whip against my thighs. I screamed, the rush of pain cascading through my body as the weapon wrapped itself around my legs. I did not expect that.

"Fuck! Oh fuckity-fuck-fuck!" I yelled, squeezing the profanity from my lips as I panted. I looked behind my shoulder at her, standing akimbo and focusing on the marks gifted by her new toy.

"I told you to do baby steps, didn't I?"

"Yes, but ..."

"Butt ... what a good idea!" She cried and with an undulating squeal of excitement slashed her weapon against my rump, causing my buttocks to feel the blade of the whip flashing across my backside.

It was agony. It was horrible, the sharp pain searing into my flesh as I screamed.

"Baby steps. Because one day, I may have you going to work in pink panties. Or going to the shops in a pink T-Shirt telling the world the you're a sissy. And one day, you might be a size queen and want that dildo. Or enjoy high end electro-torture. Or like the sharpest spikes on your cock. Or even enjoy the feeling of a buffalo leather whip. But right now, I'm not ready, and you're not ready."

I took deep breaths, feeling my painful buttocks and trying to soothe the pain away. "I just want to explore."

"Then let's explore. One step at a time. You are running when we've not walked."

"But just spanking me is so ... pedestrian."

She took a deep breath and let out a yell as the bullwhip swung from her hand. I was expecting it; I closed my eyes and tensed my buttocks as I felt the incoming leather from the hairs on the back of my leg.

It wasn't pain. It wasn't agony. It wasn't suffering, discomfort or soreness. It was torture. A moment of traumatic torture. The tail slashed against the wounds on my buttocks and they exploded; my rump a searing mass of excruciating pain that caused me to wail in desperation with tears flowing from my eyes. "Buttercup, buttercup," I cried, my safeword tumbling from my broken resistance. "No more!"

"No more?" She asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Or no more bullwhip?"

"No more whip," I muttered crestfallen.

"Then let's go upstairs for a spanking, yes?"

"Yes," I muttered as she tugged on my arm. "I'm thinking of getting something that signifies my ownership of you," she muttered as we left the room.

"A tattoo? A branding?" I asked.

"A collar," she snapped impatiently. "Quit running before you can walk! You'll enjoy it so much more if you just take baby steps."