A Guided Experience

"Apologies, ma chère, for the disruption. I hope you, er, we can, how to say, get right back to where you left of..."

His hands now rest on my buttocks and firmly grope, massaging, no, handling each half-globe of muscle. I gasp at the intrusion. Master Claude roughly owns every inch of my asscheeks.

"Shhh, shh...shhh. Relax and resume the experience ma petite..." he purrs, encouragingly.

He's strong, and no-nonsense with his decisive kneading. Warmth quickly builds in my bottom and radiates into my whole lower half. His kneading also stretches and lays more open the space between my legs...It's all happening so fast and I feel way too much. I'm flooded with sensation, incapable of keeping up fast enough with the increasingly shocking and ever unfolding turn of events to react timely or appropriately. I hear myself half-shriek, half-sigh with...not quite sure what, to be honest.

Outrage? Fear? Exasperation? Perhaps, most incredulously, frustrated indecision and wickedly contrary enjoyment.

"What's the matter...you don't want my touch? Seeing you riding our device with free abandon I concluded I am late and you are far past the gentle foreplay stage," he chuckles, darkly.

"I can, of course, pull back."

The hands are suddenly gone and I feel...annoyance at being...interrupted and denied.

"The band will snap open in just a few minutes, Mademoiselle, at which point it will be entirely up to you whether you stay or go." He punctuates the last three words with poetic cadence.

My mind spins. It's too loud to think with the deafening thumping of my heartbeat in my head. The burning, pulsing heat in my face also prevents rational reasoning. How can I be considering this? Rather than demanding my immediate release and getting the hell out of there, the heat and rushing sound cloud my thinking enough that, most improbably, I actually lean towards trusting this brazen stranger, and... staying. The growing heat between my legs blazes, nudging me towards continuing whatever this craziness is.

A stranger, a man, a highly attractive one at that, is watching my naked, lewdly displayed body, shockingly putting his hands on me and teasing me with his sibilant voice, and I... I'm rolling with it. This bitch of a traitorous body is directing me now, like a Machiavellian puppet master.

I moan again, more frustrated than I'd like to admit with him for staying away, denying me his touch, and with myself for desperately wanting this to continue. I want him to shut up and resume his brazen tactile ministrations on my lower half. I want him to...go further. Involuntarily, I push my ass towards him, as he hovers somewhere behind me. His guttural laugh makes me think he's observant and well aware of my state.

A change in the speed and cadence of the brush pads suddenly absorbs the entire spotlight of my attention and my hips respond, undulating forward and back automatically in alternating motion. My skin is on fire and I drown in more blush, if that's remotely possible, at the thought of how red and blotchy my face and whole body must now be.

"Any requests Mademoiselle? I'm here to help, but your words are necessary....Speak." He snarls the last word, his voice gravelly and deep.

"Y...yea...yes," I manage to breathe out. Between the little annoyed moans, I string together more words, with difficulty.

"Touch me again..." I surprise myself saying.

He inhales sharply, and remembering, I quickly add:

"...Sir."

Hands are back on my ass before I can take the next breath and I feel warm breath on my bottom as he speaks:

"Mmmmm....that wasn't so hard now, was it? It's a start. Next time, a bit more deference and supplication will do. More detail too, ma chère."

I struggle to absorb his words, reveling in and responding to the resumed expert massage of my asscheeks. Gods. My lower body seems to have a pulse and spring motion of its own. My pelvis grinding, swirling, retracting and thrusting back out in a perfect rhythm, as if motorized.

"Touch you... where? How?...And most importantly, why?" His voice IS sex.

"You must practice speaking these details of your desire shamelessly."

His nails now scrape along my bottom and the inside of my thighs. My legs grow tired and I reflexively bring my knees a bit closer together. He notices, and isn't pleased.

"Na-a-aah!" He warns, and one warm palm slaps the inside of my right thigh and roughly pushes my knees apart. I gasp, and feel my sex shudder at the same time.

"Allow me to help you."

"This -"

His touch leaves my bottom and I feel him firmly positioning and spacing my ankles apart. Something wraps around my ankles and with a metallic click I feel them separated and held rigidly apart, ensuring that taut and open space between my legs stays fully stretched and displayed.

"...this is ok with you? You look exquisite Mademoiselle, with the spreader bar assisting you. All pink, blotchy and flushed. Finally completely open. Your gorgeous red hair down your back and...that sprinkle of freckles across your sweet face. Perfection." His voice is husky and deep.

"Mnnnghhhhh!." Something sounding like an involuntary, grudging groan, escapes Master Claude's throat. It only now occurs to me to momentarily wonder, for the first time, about his perspective in all this. What is it like for him? Is this just a job to him? Is he entertained? Maybe even...aroused, as the sound he just made would seem to suggest? ...Does he find me attractive? I smile inwardly, thinking that with my legs locked apart now, I more fully resemble the girl on the instruction manual plaque.

Curiously, I have absolutely no urge to dispute or rail against the unusual bondage device between my ankles now tensing my body and splaying me more wide open...

Warm, large hands are back on my ass and thighs. I focus on my sensations again, and my rhythmic pelvic and upper body movements that keep me benefitting from the rotating brushes of the device.

Suddenly remembering he is expecting an answer from me, I force coherent words out of my mouth.

" So...If I stay... how long will...this take?"

"Good question ma chère, and try to be patient...there will be... clearly announced 'save points', like in a video game you might have played before, understand? They are points at which we can pause the experience, and you may come back to continue in the future. The best way to play, ensuring maximum enjoyment. Exit only at the save points."

He continues to touch my thighs and ass with his fingers and nails. He is very eager about it, but also no-fuss and very competent. He works my body with the seriousness, ardor and competence of an expert sailor, working his boat at high seas. So much to do, all of it so important, and calling for highly skilled, unerring motions.

"Remember the referral and the integrity of our... entertainment experience. You are extremely safe here and in the best place to maximize pleasure...which is why you visited The Garden in the first place, isn't it?" He questions in calm, deep tones.

"Tell me ma petite, why did I find you using this machine? What are you doing, and why? Speak freely and with detail...no coy words or euphemisms." He directs firmly.

"I...I...."

"Yes, ma chère, what made you climb this frame? Tell me."

"Curiosity?...missing the spice of life. Wanting to rediscover my capacity for pleasure I suppose...Mmmnnghhh!" I moan as I feel one of his hands dip between my legs, and fingers gently probe my slit, just at the entrance.

"I wanted...to feel...the brush against my soft parts, titillating my nipples and areolae. I wondered how hot I'll feel getting into this position, so exposed, even without anyone here..." I whisper through my pleasure.

He rewards my shameless confession with circling my entrance and massaging my clit. I feel flaming hot and excited to speak so openly about my carnal pleasures and yearnings to this alluring stranger.

I don't want to leave and give this up. Im going to get to that save point and give this a real chance. I want to resume what I started; to careen towards eventual oblivion. It's been way too long, and my body is already feeling so much more alive than in years, Gods, decades, and thrumming with sparkling energy.

"Mmmm ...so hot and wet. Slick, ma chère. Beautiful."

GODS. This man's tone and dirty talk are on point.

He works in one long finger while firmly pressing down on the small of my back with his other hand. It's a strangely hot and grounding move. His finger thrusts in a slow, luxurious motion. Soon two fingers penetrate me and I moan, arching to meet him. Suddenly there's nothing, as he pulls out and quickly ties a blindfold around my eyes before I can object. I hear a click and Master Claude announces in sibilant tones:

"The band is off, you now stay because you want to, ma petite!"

There's nothing pinning me to the device now. Before I can respond, two fingers re-enter me with purpose and resume their expert work. I mentally turn my mind to ignoring the fact that a strange and very sexy-sounding man is touching me most intimately, and I go back to my mantra.

Just feel, and do. Stop thinking. I flush, briefly wondering what I must look like right now, as a cool wind caresses my intermittently invaded opening... Master Claude goaded me earlier to share my words, my detailed words, well, the heat in me has now led to something like pluckiness or courage springing up.

"Masterrr-" I plead.

"I..." my mouth is parched and dry, Gods, I'm so thirsty.

"I...just imagined what I must look like right now, and the thought ignited such new heat in me... part of me wishes...that I could see myself, take off the blindfold and perhaps have a mirror..." suddenly I trail off, as if shy.

"Mmmnnghhhh....very good, ma petite. Speaking your heart. You are absolutely exquisite. So hot, it should be...illegal." He growls, then swallows, dryly.

All the while, he continues his devious ministrations, fingers varying their rhythm and thrusts.

"If you wish, photos and videos may be taken. Full confidentiality, just for you to see later."

"Ahhhhhhhhh..." I moan sweetly.

"Y..yesss. Please make it so, Master. I'd very much like to see..."

"Done." He says.

In the next minutes, I catch shutter sounds several times and smile, thinking ahead to seeing the images. I wonder if cameras are rigged in the area already, or if it's him taking the photos? I might as well get the most out of this. Gods, I'm in so deep. Master Claude's fingers are also in so deep, all over the inside of me.

He toys with adding a third finger now. I am SO full. I push greedily towards his exploring touch, wanting more.

"That's it, ma petite! Soooo hot ...and dripping wet." He purrs.

Indeed, more droplets slick their way down my thighs. I feel desire stirring in my belly again and begin grinding against the machine and the fingers in me. I arch and coil.

"Oh....Sirrrrrr" I moan.

"Oui, ma petite?"

He pulls his fingers from me and I protest.

"M..more...Please...Mmmhm....Master" I beg, breathless.

He obliges, and something cold, hard and stiff is now pushing at my entrance, teasing and spreading my hot nectar around.

"What... what is that?" I breathlessly inquire.

"One of our many... pleasure devices, ma chère. A sculpted, marble cock."

I swallow dryly, feeling the swelling and heat between my thighs intensify what feels like a hundredfold.

This man has no qualms whatsoever, and does not mince words.

My mouth drops open and I have no time to think as Master Claude expertly twists the intruder into my folds. Gentle but firm, he thrusts in a slow, swirling, twisting motion, filling just the first few inches of my fiery sheath, the part with the most sensitive nerve endings. My whole focus is now solely between my legs.

Fuck.

I feel the carved, cold, sculpted edges against my walls. The feeling is like nothing I've known before, and quite exquisite. I wonder if the toy has been cooled in ice. He withdraws, swirling, and re-enters, again, and again, and again. I push to meet each shallow thrust and am lost in the sensation as the carved surface scrapes against my silky, wet sheath, giving me quite a ride.

"More! Sir, pppleaaaase!" I implore.

"Mmmmmm...." He hums, darkly.

I feel a sudden emptiness as I'm left gaping after the last thrust.

"Noooo! Why? More, please...I beg you, Maaaster!" I moan, petulant now.

I feel him walk around me and hover in front of my face.

"Hold out your hand." He commands.

"...and eyes down. Only down. I'm very serious about that." He barks, his voice suddenly nothing but dominant.

"Yes, Master." I surprise myself with how reflexively I respond.

The blindfold falls away. My eyes flutter open. I see his muscled legs, in tight leather pants, and his riding boots. I coyly keep my fuzzy gaze down as instructed. There's a riding crop hanging off his waist, attached by the belt loops of his leather pants. The visions it coaxes from my mind flash in debauched snapshots and sting the inside of my folds like fire. I'm breathing heavily through my parted lips, still very annoyed at the pause in action. My stiff fingers uncurl from the right handle and I hold out my palm, open for any offering he chooses to bestow.

Master Claude gently lowers the beautiful, heavy shaft into my small hand, placing it horizontally, like a very heavy dowel. It's warm, slick and slightly sticky with my juices now. How incredibly hot it feels to handle the viscous remnants of my pleasure is definitely not lost on me. The object feels solid and heavy in my hand as I wrap my fingers around the girth. My eyes are instantly drawn to take in the whole form of the implement, and I gasp as recognition dawns on me.

The carved rod is white marble, streaked with grey, and must be over 8 inches long. Close to the base, there's a short uncarved transitional section, which gives way to a thick bunch of thin and supple leather cords, protruding from it. All of about a uniform length, some are braided and others not. The cords vary in weight and thickness and some have knots tied into them. They are the natural brown of leather and fall in a cascade from my palm.

I am holding a flogger.

"One of my favourite tools, ma petite. It's a reminder of how closely pleasure and pain are connected. Two sides of the same coin."

I stare at it as if transfixed, a realization forming in my mind that the exquisite, sculpted girth I was just riding, is also an implement for flagellation. I suddenly become hyper-aware of the prominent red blotches covering my chest and the top oh my breasts. Self-consciousness floods over me. Staring at the rod and letting my imagination run with it is incredibly arousing. My mind flashes to the man before me and since I've only caught furtive partial glances up until now, I'm suddenly possessed by a need to take in all of him. Heavy lidded, I raise my head and gaze to look at him. His face unfortunately remains covered by the roomy brown leather hood, but I catch a glimpse of his strong jawline, tanned skin, and short, salt-and-pepper stubble. Few things turn me on more than graying stubble. He's taller than I expected and the breadth of his bare, chiselled chest is imposing. A sparse smattering of salt-and-pepper chest hair makes his body perfect and I stifle an urge to reach for him. Strong, muscular arms complete the picture. My appreciation of what I see is interrupted by his wild snarl.

"Did you NOT hear me, Mademoiselle!? EYES DOWN was the simple instruction!"

His dark anger frightens me and I immediately drop my gaze.

"I'm so sorry Sir. I couldn't resist ...I wanted to see you." I say sweetly, my voice tremulous.

"Evidently. I made a mistake removing your blindfold and now you've ensured you will experience both sides of what you hold."

He's on me in seconds, replacing the blindfold and my vision goes black. I hear his steps around me and I know he's back to having an intimate view of my most private parts. Parts now coated in a fresh secretion of juices and tingling with tightness.

"Steady now. Tell me, Mademoiselle, have you ever been...whipped?"

His last word barely registers as in time with hissing it, he swings the flogger down on the left, then right side of my prominently displayed ass.

"Ahhhh!" I jump on my wooden scaffold.

"Steady, I said. And when I ask you a question, I expect a response in a timely manner, chère."

The cords of the flogger alternate sides and I lose count as my ass reddens and warms instantly. I hear the exertion quicken his inhales and exhales, and I'm immensely turned on by how sexual his breathing sounds. The surprisingly pleasant cadence of massaging strikes is punctuated by sharper stings from the braided, knotted, heavier cords. It's a well designed tool of punishment. My wetness spreads at such a wild pace I wonder for a moment if my bladder's given out, but I quickly ascertain all the syrup is dripping out of my now absolutely throbbing slit.

"Master. I...have never...been whipped...or flogged until now. I've read many stories about it but I've only tried spanking, briefly, decades ago." I manage to share.

"A novice. More than I could have hoped for. Tell me how it feels."

"Sir... it feels...." I halt, unable to find words amidst my heavy panting and the heady mix of pleasure and sting in my ass. More strikes pepper my asscheeks, top of thighs and lower back now. Master Claude varies the intensity expertly.

"The whipping, chère, is for ignoring my vital command not to look at me. Soon, it will also be for denying answers to my questions. How does it feel, I asked!" He raises his voice and unexpectedly centers and lowers the next strike.

Multiple, small but harsh explosions pepper my soaked, steaming sex. The cords catch my labia, with a few small knots striking exactly within the open core of my inside. His aim is impeccable.

"Euuungh!!!!!!" I moan, shriek and pant.

"Master, I can't describe it...it's so much...."

"Thank me properly for the correction at least, ma petite." He barks down at me.

"Thank you, Sir, for whipping my disobedient bottom, I'm sorry for disobeying you. I'm so very grateful for this experience. I'm open to your just punishment."

Open indeed. A few more strikes pepper my sex and some cord tips stick momentarily to my hot juices before they pull away. Im a sweaty mess of sobs and moans, all of my skin red and on fire. My sex clasps at air and in one moment I feel a little leather knot drawn briefly into my opening by my involuntary tremulous clenching.

Damn.

"More Master, pleaaaase...flog my wanton slit, it feels so...hot. I deserve it."

I raise my voice and moan as he obliges with a few more well placed strikes.

"Beautiful." his voice quiet, sultry and firm again.

The whipping stops, and before I can fully recover and catch my breath, I feel the marble rod at my awakened and slightly abused entrance. It practically slips into me with zero effort required as my small gaping opening is positively laden with moisture. He teases those first few inches and I'm melting at the feeling and the fact that the flogger of moments ago is now the stone cock ravaging me, coaxing sublime pleasure from me amidst the recent mixed, confusing but utterly delicious sensations.

Soon the whole insertable length thrusts in and out of me rhythmically, scraping, no, massaging my dewy walls with each stroke. My nipples and clit are delightfully teased and scraped by the moving brush plates. I make a quick mental note about trying one of those electric toothbrushes in the bedroom in the future, to replicate this delight.

The carved relief on the marble rod sliding in me must be quite pronounced, to be felt in such detail. It's as if my puffy, dew-heavy walls are a scanner, trying to map the surface of the rod and translate it to a visual and tactile image in my mind. In all the excitement, I had no time to examine the rod closely enough to fully see or identify its decorations. Briefly, I let my mind wonder what types of whorls and shapes emboss me from within. I am SO turned on right now. I swear I can pick up a tactile map of some lines, swirls and curves decorating the surface of my sweet intruder. I wonder if it's abstract or depicting anything identifiable. Since the handles I'm still desperately grasping are phallic designs, I smirk, picturing briefly the probable genitals or erotic scenes that may emblazon the tool, now slickly bathed in my juices.