A Binding Oral Agreement

“I’ve put my skirt away so I’ll have to use this.”

She picked up an old fashioned, ivory backed, hair brush from the dressing table. It had a long handle with a round head and she slapped it experimentally into the palm of her hand. Inwardly, I gave thanks. I was not sure if I could take another half dozen with the belt but just a few seconds later I changed my mind. The back of the brush came down on my buttocks with a dull splat but the first strike immediately reignited all the pain I had suffered up to that point. She did not spare me. In fact, she grunted with effort as she delivered six solid strokes covering the whole of my arse. I could not have been in more pain had scalding water been poured over me and I cried freely.

“Good, I think we’re getting somewhere. Don’t wait up for me I may be late. Wake me at nine tomorrow.”

She left without another word and my immediate instinct was to pack up my bag and leave but I had to admit to myself that something was working. The very last thing in the world that I wanted to do right then was to submit to another session of punishment; whether or not the right associations had been made in my subconscious I could not say.

I went to bed and found that lying on my stomach offered minimal relief. The bed itself did not help. It was an old fashioned, canopied, four poster which fitted in well with the undressed granite walls of the guestroom but the mattress felt as though it might have been the original. Katrina had forewarned me but I had insisted that I would make do with it. Finally, I was overtaken by mental exhaustion and I feel into a deep but fitful sleep.

I did not wake until eight thirty the following morning. I took a quick shower and threw my nightdress back on before knocking at Katrina’s bedroom door. As I entered she was still only half awake but she quickly sat up in bed.

“You’re just in time. Come here.”

I went and stood beside her.

“I was just thinking about you.”

As she said it she threw the quilt to one side. She was wearing a silk teddy which was rucked up around her breasts and I could see that she had at least two fingers buried deep inside herself.

“Do it for me.”

She slowly slid her fingers free and opened her legs a little wider. I dropped my head almost without thinking and it was only as I began to lap at her already copious outpouring that I realized that she hadn’t made me ask. I feared then that she perhaps saw this as something set aside from my course of treatment and I wondered if I ought to say something. I did not want her suffering from the misapprehension that our relationship could continue in that way once I had regained control of my life.

As it turned out it was me who was being deluded. She quickly came to a noisy, messy, orgasm but she had me lick her until she came down from the plateau. Once she had calmed down she languidly rose from the bed.

“Stay just as you are …”

She did not stint. She had another belt ready at the bedside. It was heavier and wider than the one from the previous day and as she applied it the agonizing slaps echoed form the walls. By the fifth stroke I was broken. I rolled off the bed and turned to her with tears in my eyes.

“No more!”

For a second I saw something of the old Katrina in her eyes.

“You were doing so well. Look, take one of these; it’s a strong sedative. I’ve got to see some students this morning but it shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. Go back to bed and I’ll wake you when I get back.”

I looked at the pill that she was proffering and my immediate reaction was to reject it. Drugs of any description had always been an anathema to me, I preferred homeopathic remedies wherever possible, but the prospect of two hours solid sleep free from pain was too much of a lure. I swallowed the pill with some water and returned to bed drawing comfort from the fact that, for better or worse, my experiment with Katrina was over.

The pill worked blissfully well but when I awoke something was wrong. At first, I thought I was still caught up in a dream but as I slowly regained my senses the sinister nature of my predicament became clear. My naked body was elaborately, almost elegantly, bound with a number of pristine white ropes. My arms were spread and tied off to the bedposts and other ropes crisscrossed my breasts and stomach lashing me firmly to the mattress. This was bad enough but it was the position of my legs that gave me most cause for concern. They had been bound together and then tied off to the decorative curlicues on the canopy of the bed. In this way my feet were almost over my shoulders and my buttocks were raised an inch or two above the beds surface.

For the next two or three minutes I struggled in vain to loosen the ropes but they had been tied by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Eventually, I gave up and shouted out in anger.

“Kat!..Kat, get in here!”

When she did not put in an immediate appearance I felt panic welling up inside but, at last, the door opened.

“Kat! What’s going on?!”

She walked into the room dressed in nothing more than a very brief satin nightdress..

“You’re back with us.”

“Get over here and undo these bloody ropes!”

“Sorry, no can do. I told you that once you started you had to see it through. After your behaviour this morning I’ve decided that we need to refine your treatment.”

“Don’t bullshit me! Undo me now, I want to leave.”

She came closer and gently rubbed the back of her hand across my perspiring forehead.

“Your problem is that you just don’t know what’s good for you.”

“Kat, am I getting through to you? It’s over!”

“I think you’ll find that it’s only over when I say so. I’ve been thinking about this and I’ve determined that the problem is that you are not making a direct enough connection between the two elements…so I’ve decided to enlist some help.”

The import of her words had barely sunk in before two girls came into the room.

“Kat, get them out of here!”

She ignored my entreaty and beckoned them closer.

“Let me introduce two of my students. Verona, here, is on a scholarship from Venezuela, Janet comes from right here in Edinburgh.”

Verona gave a dazzling smile and looked to all the world as though nothing untoward was going on but Janet appeared a little more reticent.

“Kat, I don’t know what you think you’re playing at…!”

She carried on as though I had not interrupted.

“Janet, put the camera on the dressing table.”

“Katrina! This stops right now!”

My obvious anger brought Janet up short for a second or two but than she set up the small digital video camera as she had been asked. Katrina’s face then loomed over mine.

“Here’s what is going to happen. I am going to sit on your face and you are going to make me come because, until you do, Verona is going to whip you.”

I desperately looked for any hint of amusement in her eyes, any clue that it was all a joke, but she was in deadly earnest.

“You can’t make me do this!”

“You think not?”

She slowly unfastened her nightdress and allowed the satin to slide off of her skin. I frantically shook my head from side to side but I could only keep it up for a few seconds. She waited patiently until I gave up and then she slinked up onto the bed. She straddled my head, facing down the bed so that she could see exactly what Verona was doing. I clamped my mouth closed defiantly but she stayed poised over me with her sex just a couple of inches away.

“Verona is going to make a start, gently to start with but with increasing severity. You know how to make it stop.”

I was grimly determined. She was not going to make me do it. I tensed my whole body and waited. The first strokes, when they fell, were little more than flicks and whilst I could not see I guessed that she was using the same belt that Katrina had employed the first time. The strokes came at regular intervals with only three or four seconds between them but by the time she reached a dozen they were really stinging. My pride would allow me neither to beg nor to do as she asked but each stroke was heavier than the last and my buttocks had been sore from the outset. Katrina remained perfectly still but a single, telling, drop of moisture reluctantly gave in to gravity and fell from the base of her sex to hit me squarely between the eyes.

I lost count but I must have taken two dozen strokes before I broke.

“Slow down. She’s got the message.”

I strained my neck, lifted my head, and started to lick. She was already in full flow and my tongue slid inside her with ease. Verona slowed down but she did not stop. The strokes still came at regular intervals but they were delivered with less venom. Even so, the pain was getting worse and I knew I had to satisfy Katrina as soon as possible but her elevated position made it a real effort to get to her clitoris. I finally managed it with my tongue at full stretch and I used the very tip to try and get her there. She managed to keep her poise for another minute or so but then it got to her and she eased down to grant me full access. When she finally came it was with most of her weight bearing down on my face but I was simply glad to survive the ordeal.

Verona had stopped at last but she may as well have been holding a clothes iron to my skin for all the relief that it brought. I wanted to give Katrina hell but I had to wait, with barely disguised impatience, to be untied. She got off of the bed onto unsteady legs and then stretched herself. I envied her that stretch; only at moment did I realize just how cramped my own body had become.

She went to Verona and took the belt from her hand.

“You did well. You’ve earned your reward.”

Verona gave a girlish squeal and she rushed to take off her clothes.

“Katrina!”

She turned back to me and smiled.

“I don’t have to tell you what to do, do I?”

Verona slipped off her high cut panties and then hopped onto the bed to straddle my face. She faced up the bed so that she could look down into my eyes and her expression was one of almost childish excitement but there was no doubting that she was a woman. She was a little slimmer than Katrina but her breasts were impressively larger. She had a much darker complexion and she had a fuller growth of pubic hair. Katrina had said she was a student but I was guessing that she was already in her mid-twenties.

“Janet, come and take the belt.”

Once again I tried to hold out and once again I failed. Janet must have struck me fewer than half a dozen times before I buried my tongue deep into Verona’s sex. She was so excited that she used her fingers to make herself more accessible to me and it was probably just as well. Janet was either reluctant, amateur or both. She struck me without rhythm and there was no telling haw hard she would strike. At one point she hit me so hard that I screamed into Verona’s sex and I was aware that Katrina had cautioned her to be more careful.

She came at least once but she did not let on. The flood had no sooner subsided than she was working herself on my face again and I had to endure at least another dozen strokes before she got there for a second time. When she dismounted I could no longer take stock of all the aches and pains that were assailing me.

It is a constant amazement how quickly you can become resigned to fate. It was almost inevitable that Janet would want her turn and I was already thinking in terms of getting it over with so that I could have my confrontation with Katrina.

“Your turn Janet, if you wish.”

Katrina’s words confirmed my fears and Janet started to undress but where Verona had no qualms about her nakedness Janet seemed more self conscious. She had a good figure but looked heavily built when compared to Verona. She was blonde haired and pale skinned leaving her red nipples to form the starkest contrast. As she drew nearer I caught her eye and I saw something there. It was neither the aloofness of Katrina nor the excitement of Verona it was something else and only later did I think that it might have been pity.

She took her place on the bed less gracefully than the others and seemed in two minds about how to position herself. In the end she opted to face down the bed as Katrina had done and it was at that moment that it fell into place. For the first time in my life I went into hysterics. I was dimly aware of a commotion around me and then I fell into a welcoming darkness.

Chapter 5

When I came to I was alone. The ropes were gone and I was lying in bed with the quilt over me.

I lay still for a moment or two listening for noises elsewhere in the flat but heard none. I got up and winced with pain as I got myself dressed. Someone had already cleaned my face and so I threw my things into my bag and less than ten minutes later I was standing in the street hailing a taxi. At the airport I managed to get my ticket changed to the early evening flight and then I killed a fearful couple of hours praying that Katrina would not come after me. Once I was safely on the plane I tried to get my thoughts in order.

It was seeing Janet’s body that had taken me over the edge. Her buttocks were a mess of recently inflicted stripes but there was evidence of much older punishments. I knew then that Katrina was not new to this. I had no doubt that both girls were indeed students but I surmised that Katrina was tutoring them not just in Psychology. I guessed that Verona was naturally dominant and was following in Katrina’s footsteps and it followed that Janet was probably submissive to both of them. That look that she gave me told me that that she had been there too, on her back, helpless, whilst they rode themselves to ecstasy.

Some weeks later Katrina phoned me. She confirmed that she was bisexual, mainly men, but occasionally women, but only on her terms. She told me that she had been attracted to me ever since school but she knew that I would not go for her particular brand of deviancy. At the outset she genuinely believed that she could help me but she was overcome by her own desires. She said that she wanted a reconciliation but I put the phone down without another word and never spoke to her again.

The day following my return from Edinburgh I found that I was not drawn back to the office. I speculated that this was because Gemma had tacitly agreed that I need not return before Friday which now meant that I had two days in which to try and find a solution. On the flight home it had occurred to me that, whilst I could not enlist the help of another hypnotherapist, I could, perhaps, explore the possibilities of self hypnosis. Now that I had a new goal I was galvanized. It took a couple of phone calls to seek out a medical library that allowed general public access and then, less than an hour later, I was seated at a study table. It seemed that the medical community was still pretty evenly split on the efficacy of hypnotic treatments with a large proportion of the anti lobby being vehemently opposed. I took a light lunch and then immersed myself once more, this time concentrating on techniques.

By the time I returned home I had a thick sheath of notes and a renewed spirit of optimism. It seemed that the key to self-hypnosis was the ability to relax and years of yoga classes gave me a head start in this regard. It was necessary to reach a state of hypnotic susceptibility that demanded a deep state of relaxation. Some people did this whilst standing up to avoid actually falling asleep but others failed because they remained too alert in an effort to recognize the onset of the hypnotic state. It seemed that the second important element was to have, simple, clear cut goals. Some of the literature recommended writing them down and committing them to memory so that they could be accessed by the subconscious. An alternative was to try and visualize them before going under.

In my case it was very simple. I wrote down the phrase “I will no longer submit to Gemma’s will.” half a dozen times and recited it as a mantra. By repeating the words I used it as a countdown and each time I said them I allowed myself to relax a little more. After an hour I felt as invigorated as I normally did after a yoga session but I had no idea if it had worked. The following day I repeated the process twice more having bathed and pampered myself beforehand to help things along.

On Friday morning I deliberately slept late to see if I felt any guilt about not going into the office on time and was elated to find that my conscience seemed clear. I got up, had a leisurely breakfast and everything still seemed well. I got into my car feeling happier than I had in days and realized that I was actually looking forward to my confrontation with Gemma. As usual, I allowed the traffic flow to dictate the route that I took but I found that I had turned into an unfamiliar street. I came to a stop at the kerb to give myself a chance to check my mental map but, no sooner had I done so, than there was a sharp rapping on the top of the car.

“You’re late!”

I looked up into the heavily made up face of a pneumatically breasted blonde and it took me a second or two to recognize the woman who had provided so much tabloid fodder over the preceding twelve months. Melanie Marchant, real name unknown, was a former lap dancer who had achieved notoriety after marrying a fifty year old postman. He also happened to be one of the countries biggest ever lottery winners. She divorced him within a year, citing his adultery, and took him for half of everything he had. The sap had bedded an equally well endowed “model” who, the tabloids later discovered, had once worked at the same club as Marchant. Much was made of it but nothing was ever proved.

More thoughts were cascading into my mind than I could immediately handle and I felt slightly faint. I got out of the car, leant against it, and took some deep breaths.

“Follow me.”

She walked back up the path towards a large faux Tudor house that was one of six in the street and, almost without thinking, I followed. My professional instincts were kicking in but it was all wrong somehow. She was a prospective client, I was late. I racked my brains. What time should I have been there?

The interior of the house turned out to be a nightmare of mismatched modern themes that screamed bad taste and only served to unsettle me further. She had me sit down on a particularly garish sofa and I realized that I had brought a set of proposal forms with me from the car. I tried to find something to say, to stall for time, whilst I tried to regain control.

“How…How did you hear about us?”

“I know Gemma from the club. You’d be surprised how many business women used to come in.”

She saw the shocked look on my face.

“When they ask for dances they pay better than the men: and then of course there are the little extras…I must admit I never thought that I would end up as the client. Why don’t you put those papers down and undress for me.”

I felt a wave of revulsion but it was quickly replaced by a dangerously familiar sense of guilt. It seemed that all my attempts at self-healing had been in vain.

“Nice body, you sure you don’t want a job at the club? You’d make good money.”

I stood before her naked and defeated.

“Dancing can be a turn on but we had a strictly “no touch” policy with the men; so, at the end of the evening we girls would sometimes help one another out…I’ve missed that this last year or so.”

As she said it she stood up and slipped her panties down her long dancer’s legs. Any lingering doubts disappeared like pollen in the wind. She came towards me and ran her hands down off of my shoulders and onto my breasts before moving lower still. I winced as her hands playfully squeezed my buttocks and she half turned me to see.

“You’re into that sort of thing? Oh baby, you and I are going to have so much fun..!”