Long Is The Way Ch. 02

There was a few moments of silence throughout the classroom as it slowly registered he was done speaking. Owen's classmates looked at him with wide eyes. Their expressions betrayed a sudden bewildered realization of his experience and worldliness.

"Very astute, Owen! You've articulated one theory of international politics very well. And if you weren't already aware, you'll be delighted to know that Mr. Fukuyama, himself, has begun to express doubts about the inevitability of western liberal democracy. In recent years..."

Mr. Ashton launched back into his spiel, critiquing one of the most boring and pompous books Owen had ever read. The sergeant turned his gaze back to the window. He looked out at the falling rain and his thoughts immediately drifted back to a gorgeous woman in latex.

* * * * *

Owen's week of classes dragged on forever. Time always seems to slow when your anticipation is at a fever pitch. The waiting is worst when you're looking forward to a vacation, a return home after a long deployment or a hot date. The fact that it was Elizabeth, beckoning him from the end of the week, made the slog that much more grueling.

At long last, it was Friday night and Owen pulled into the familiar parking lot. No rain this time, just the soft chirp of crickets as he walked to the sparsely lit row of dwellings. He'd looked them up online, interested to see the floor plans and how much they ran for. Did that make him creepy? His curiosity couldn't wait for the Femdom date night.

Even though they looked like standard apartments from the outside, they were built more like townhouses. Each one had two or three bedrooms and a decent sized basement. That made sense. Why rent an apartment to do Domme work if it was missing the most important feature? Every good Domina needed a dungeon. The units weren't cheap, but Elizabeth probably had no trouble affording it between her regular job and night gig. Hell, she could probably foot the bill from her Whiplash clients alone.

How many clients did she have? Was it foolish to hope Owen and her could ever have more than a professional relationship? Was he an idiot to even think of her in any other context? His mind was assaulted by endless questions and doubts as he strolled down the long path. As he reached the paved walkway that led to her door, he pushed all those thoughts from his mind.

'Relax. Breathe. Just enjoy the ride.'

He double-timed it to the doorway and pressed the ringer anxiously. A few moments later it opened and he was treated to a fresh visual feast. Elizabeth looked like a disciplinarian from hell. The fun version of the underworld where exotic women in glossy fetish-wear tortured you in the most pleasurable ways for all eternity.

Most of her body was covered in shiny PVC. It was a catsuit with military green tint that was strong enough to be visible, but weak enough to see through. Below the clingy, shiny material he could discern a black latex bra and panties. They matched the black latex gloves that clung from her wrists to her fingertips.

A leather corset was wrapped around her mid-section, tightening the rubbery attire around her body exquisitely. Tall, black leather boots with high heels completed her Femdom officer attire. She transferred a riding crop from her left hand to her right as she stared down at him disdainfully.

Her hair was done up in a large, circular bun. It sat atop her head proudly, like a crown of luscious brunette locks. Owen was immediately reminded of Princess Leia from the throne room scene at the end of A New Hope. Carrie Fisher was a looker, but she'd never been quite this enticing. Dark mascara and shadow set off Elizabeth's smokey eyes. Her stern look beckoned him even more than her words.

"Come in, slave."

Owen obliged happily and she slid the door closed behind him. He felt her crop flicker across his back and jab into his side.

"Take off your jacket and get on your hands and knees. Now."

He pulled it off and left it on the coat rack, just like last time. In a flurry of motion he was used to, he lowered down on the floor. He doubted she was prepping him for push-ups, but given how she'd dressed, anything was possible. The military hue of her outfit couldn't have been a coincidence. She wanted him drooling even harder than last time.

"In this place, you will remain on your hands and knees at all times, unless I say otherwise. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress Elizabeth!" he answered while staring at the floor. The chemical-based rubber shine she'd applied to her outfit filled his nostrils.

Elizabeth proceeded into the living room, her heels knocking loudly against the tile until the flooring turned to hard wood. Interestingly, her coffee table had been cleared away. She picked up a pair of her shoes that were sitting in a nearby chair, dropped them in the middle of the floor and pointed her crop down.

"Crawl to them" she instructed.

Owen trundled forward on hands and knees, feeling more than a little silly, but eager to obey her every command. He closed in until her pair of shiny white shoes were just below his face. They were most likely the pair she'd worn to the office that day.

Elizabeth circled around him and tapped her crop against the back of his thighs. "Spread your legs out. As far as you can in this position."

He widened his kneeling stance, wondering where this exercise was going. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Bend down and apply a loving kiss to both of them. You will do this three times for each. You may begin."

Owen leaned forward and pressed his lips to the front of the short-heeled classic. He applied just enough suction so that Elizabeth could hear his lips smack as he pulled away. He repeated the feat on the other shoe, then began his second round.

As he bent down to apply his fourth kiss out of six, he got the surprise of his life.

*POOOMMFF*

The tip of Elizabeth's right boot blasted into his groin, bludgeoning the vulnerable target between his splayed legs and plastering his cock and balls up into his body. A disabling bolt of electric agony crackled through Owen's form, crippling him. His stomach churned, tears clogged his eyes and a wave of nausea overwhelmed him as the air left his lungs.

He collapsed to the ground, rolling over on his side as he clutched his battered nethers. When he finally had access to oxygen again, long, pained groans exited his mouth loudly. Bile charged up his esophagus, threatening to eject portions of his dinner all over the floor. He barely held it in, coughing and writhing as anguish racked his nervous system.

There was good pain and there was bad pain. This was bad pain. One of the worst. As he convulsed on the ground and tried in vain to steady himself, Elizabeth walked into his field of vision. She pointed at him with a single, out-stretched latex finger, her expression furious.

"THAT'S FOR EMOTIONALLY BLACKMAILING ME!"

Owen looked up at her through red-cracked, watery eyes.

'Fair... Had that one coming.'

"What do you have to say for yourself?" She placed her hands on her hips and waited for him to respond.

"S-Sorry... Mistress."

"I almost believe you, but the truth is you would've said or done anything to come back here. Isn't that right?"

"Y-Yes..."

"Good. At least you take responsibility. Perhaps now we can begin with a clean slate. Lucky for you, I excel in exactly the kind of training you need. In your time here, you will learn not to be so goddamn selfish!"

Elizabeth stalked to his side. She raised her right foot and planted her boot on his hip. The glorious Domina leaned down, closer to his face. She stared daggers at him as her heel dug into his flesh.

"You're a fucking worm. A leech on the fairer sex, like most of your kind! You're not even worthy to kiss my fucking shoes! But I will train you into a better man. One worthy of worshiping a Goddess!"

Unbelievably, Owen's lip quivered. It wasn't her physical intimidation that struck a chord, though that was considerable. It was the thought that her analysis might be correct. That's what truly struck at Owen's soul. It was an emotional blow, and perhaps one he deserved.

Until now, he'd seen women like Elizabeth only for his own pleasure and to purge his self-loathing. Sure, he could rationalize it all. How much he needed it. Or how he was paying them, so he didn't need to consider their feelings. But those were quaint little lies. Sad excuses.

He'd never cared how one of his Dommes felt about him until now, and that was the point. She'd sensed that much about him. Knew it intuitively. Owen was getting a taste of real vulnerability. The kind that went beyond bondage and pain. The exposure that comes with caring.

The gorgeous brunette straightened herself, rising back to her full height. She hefted her crop, landing the tip in her free hand as she looked down at him. "I'll be back in a few minutes. When I return, you'd best be naked and kneeling. Leave your clothes in the chair behind you."

With that, she turned and strode off. Her boot heels echoed into the hallway.

* * * * *

Elizabeth dabbed her face with a cool cloth as she stared into the bathroom mirror. She was careful not to disturb her makeup as she breathed deeply and gathered herself. That had been very intense for the first five minutes with a new sub, but that was to be expected. This was a unique situation. She had to get that off her chest and he had to take ownership of it. By all appearances, he had. Now they could move forward.

Even so, this was going to be tricky. She'd felt a pull toward him from the first day Owen stepped in her office. Not just a crush, though she certainly found him attractive. It was something deeper. An undeniable connection had formed during their first two conversations. One that wasn't strictly clinical. She'd hidden it, of course. You had to in any professional relationship. Had she hidden it successfully?

If Owen had tried to hide his, he'd failed miserably. His puppy love was obvious, though Elizabeth had ignored it at first. It'd happened with other clients before and usually had no consequence, but things were more complicated now.

Even more obvious was the overwhelming loneliness at the core of the man. A black hole, sucking in all light and life until they were extinguished. Could it ever be filled? Could she help him? She wanted to so badly. Owen reminded her so much of... No. Now wasn't the time to dredge up the past. She had a performance to give.

But it wouldn't be just a performance, would it? And that was the problem. It wasn't wise to mix emotions and domination. Not unless you were already in a relationship with someone. And yet, the allure was there. Her desire was palpable. Denying it was useless.

'Fuck! Just get out there and do your thing!'

Elizabeth tossed her washcloth aside, grabbed her crop, flipped the light switch off and walked back into the hallway. As she re-entered the living room, she found Owen kneeling as expected. He stared forward proudly, his arms tucked behind him and his hands clasped behind his back; a soldier waiting for orders.

Her expression softened as she saw her new submissive naked for the first time. He was easy on the eyes. Owen's well-muscled arms, shoulders and thighs were evidence of rigorous physical training. His abs had definition, though not the exaggerated washboard variety that only dehydrated bodybuilders achieved. He was big, strong and handsome. Her favorite kind of plaything to bind and torment.

His limp cock hung out, slightly longer than average in its flaccid state. His chest and crotch were garnished with a moderate amount of dark hair. Would she order him to shave? It made certain activities easier to prepare for. On the other hand, she wasn't a huge fan of the shaved look. Not for men like Owen. Rugged men were more fun to top and a little body hair matched their bestial nature.

Elizabeth said nothing as she circled her new slave, tapping the crop in her hands. She drank him in from head to toe, holding back a smile. Stifling her admiration became easier when she noticed deep scars along his arms. Her brow furrowed as she continued stalking around him, her boot heels knocking across the wooden floor ominously.

'Oh my god!'

As she passed behind him and his back came into view, her eyes went wide and a knot formed in the pit of her stomach. The scarring across his flesh was so much worse. The result of second or third degree burns, by the looks of it. Healed over, but the scars would last a very long time. Caused intentionally? Probably not. More likely a battlefield incident than something a dominatrix had done. She certainly hoped that was the case.

'Don't ask. Don't say anything about it for now. This is not the time. You must establish dominance first. Put him through the 101. Force him to display patience and proper servitude. Then, before he leaves, give him a taste of what he wants. There will be time for questions later. Once you have a rapport, he'll open up in ways he never would've in the office.'

As she completed her circumnavigation, Elizabeth slowed to a stop. She brought her crop to the bottom of Owen's chin and lifted his gaze with it. Their eyes met and it was clear for the first time. He belonged to her, utterly.

"Very good. Buck naked and clean. Just how I like my slaves. This is how each session will begin."

She withdrew her tool of discipline, turned on her heel and strode to a nearby storage cabinet. Elizabeth opened one of the top drawers where her collection of slave collars was stored. She had a few dozen of them, sporting a range of lengths and thicknesses. Mostly leather, but a few ornate metal ones. All sturdy with built in bondage rings. Some were labeled with phrases like 'Bitch Boy', 'Brat', 'Man Whore', 'Sissy' and 'Pain Slut.' The rest were either blank or decorated with metal spikes and other gothic adornments.

Elizabeth selected a plain one with a large metal O-ring at the front. It was comprised of thick black leather, perfect for a sub with a strong neck. She switched drawers and retrieved a long chain leash to compliment Owen's new symbol of submission.

With everything she needed for the moment, Elizabeth crossed back to Owen and circled around him again. She wrapped the device around his throat and moved it into position. As she strapped and buckled it into place behind him, she explained their first activity of the night.

"Until we complete the tour of my lair, you are a dog. You will speak only in barks with the exception of your safeword, if needed. Two barks means yes. One bark means no. Your safeword is washout. Do you understand?"

"Arf! Arf!" Owen answered spiritedly.

Elizabeth chuckled as she circled to his front. She bent down and clipped the end of the leash on the front ring of his collar. "Well done. You'd be surprised how many screw up and say 'Yes, Mistress', earning their first punishment."

She rose back to her full height and put her hands on her hips. Her crop stuck out from both sides of her right fist. The chain leash jingled, leading up to her left hand.

"You will look at the floor at all times unless I say otherwise. If you fail to follow my commands in a timely manner, you will earn your first punishment. And since I know you enjoy pain so much, that will not be a punishment for you. No, your corrections will be much more tedious. They will subtract from the time you could be receiving the beating you crave so dearly. Understood, pup?"

"Arf! Arf!" he repeated.

"Good, then let's begin. Crawl to the hallway, take a right and proceed through the first door on the left."

As Owen took off on hands and knees, Elizabeth delivered a stinging swat to his bottom with her wand.

*SCHWACK*

A small sample of what was to come later. If he was a good dog.

* * * * *

For the next hour, Owen was led from room to room as Elizabeth showed off her other workplace. It was a well-equipped play space with several beds and sofas, numerous pieces of bondage furniture and endless naughty toys. In his many dates with various Femdoms for hire, Owen had rarely seen a more thoroughly prepared dungeon.

To think that this woman, whom he'd once viewed so innocently, took the Dominatrix role as seriously as any woman possibly could, blew his mind. He couldn't wait to taste her whip, or whatever tool she might bring to bear on his flesh. But first, he had to suffer her indignities.

Owen never forgot to bark, but he did look up a couple times when he wasn't allowed. Curiosity kept getting the better of him as they moved through her den of sin. For his first infraction, she blindfolded him and made him hold large ice cubes in the palms of his hands. Eventually, his hands could take no more and he dropped them, surrendering in freezing, quivering fragility. As he suffered the cold, she tapped at his sides and nudged his genitals with her crop.

His second punishment was more embarrassing. Elizabeth strapped a harness around his face, shoving a double-ended cock gag into his mouth. She knelt him down in front of a mirror and tied his arms behind his back. Owen was forced to sit up on already-aching knees, tasting rubber penis for a full fifteen minutes as he stared at his reflection. Mistress enjoyed a drink in the background, ordering him to slurp on the gagging device and moan for her.

As they entered the second hour of training, Elizabeth ended the 'pup' role play and led him down to her basement. On the bottom floor of her sanctum Owen was witness to even more depraved devices. There was fetish furniture that catered to more exclusive BDSM niches. One such piece was Mistress' Queening chair. On one arm of the chair rested a hardcover copy of Wuthering Heights.

It was a leather padded throne with a large rectangular box below. The seat featured a hole just big enough for a human face to fit through. Four straps led down to a leather sling, hanging in the hole where the submissive's head would be supported. On both sides of the throne, metal D-rings hung from the sturdy chair, ready to shackle a submissive's arms.

Elizabeth ordered him into position and went about her work quickly. She locked his wrists and ankles in metal-studded leather cuffs. The wrist restraints were fixed to the sides of the chair while his ankle bindings were linked together with a short snap-hook fastener. She pulled the leather straps above the chair taught and Owen's face was raised up into the top of the hole. In just a few minutes, his strong body was completely immobilized and his face was ready to serve as her seat.

Mistress Isabella gazed down at him from above the chair. She studied his bound form up and down. A beaming smile spread across her face upon seeing all his limbs restrained for the first time.

"You will not kiss or lick my ass. You haven't earned the pleasure yet. I'm going to take a little break and enjoy some reading. You're going to spend some time in my bottom, getting smothered. A fine way to get to know your Mistress, don't you think?"

"Yes, Queen Elizabeth."

It felt a little weird to say, being a famous title of nobility from the past, but it seemed appropriate as Owen lay locked in her royal throne.

"Excellent. Do rattle your limbs if you need some air."

With that, she pivoted and lowered herself into the chair. The latex of her bodysuit creaked and stretched as her fleshy cheeks lowered onto his face. Owen took a deep breath before her full weight plastered his face in glossy, rubbery musk. His entire leather-strapped head was pressed deep into her fleshy bottom as Elizabeth fixed her ass firmly on her slave.