Red Ribbons and Scripture

"Did you ever marry?" "No, I've never had the time. My goal is to have the means to retire at fifty-five if I so choose." "Were you ever engaged?" "No, Sarah, and why all the questions?' "Because I've shared with you." "I concede that point," and then Lucas rolled to face me and pulled me close.

I continued, "So, you never married and were never engaged. It would be silly to think you're a virgin. Have you had many girlfriends or lady friends? "That is irrelevant and will serve no useful purpose to tell you... I will share this with you, Sarah; I always sleep alone, solo, until now. I've never invited any woman to spend the night at my home.

Do you have any other questions or concerns?" and he kissed my forehead. "No," I replied. I did, but I knew him well enough not to push it. He rolled over on his back; I snuggled closer to him and was soon fast asleep, feeling safe and warm.

Lucas was up before me the following morning. I heard him moving around downstairs. It had stopped snowing by then. The sun was out, and the roads and streets cleared. While I was brushing my hair in front of the bathroom vanity mirror, Lucas walked in with a cup of coffee for me the way I liked it. He said, "Let me help you," I handed him my brush, and he began brushing, and he was not a novice at all, "I hope you slept well, Sarah; "Yes," I replied, "and you?" "Yes, very well, thank you."

I enjoyed this intimate moment enhanced when he quickly and skillfully braided it for me in a lovely three-strand braid and secured it with an unusually long red silk ribbon, wrapping it several times and tying it in a bow. I turned, putting my arms around his neck, and kissed his lips. I then playfully messed up his neatly combed hair. "I wish you wouldn't do that," so naturally, I did it again. Lucas sighed; I adore when he does that, and I pushed his hair back in place.

"I received a phone call while you were sleeping, Sarah. I have a complex and delicate issue to solve regarding you. I'll be in my office, so don't disturb me except for an emergency. I've decided you shall have bangs to frame your face and accent your beautiful blue eyes."

Before I could speak to protest, he warned, "Don't argue with me, Sarah. I decide how you wear your hair, and you know the possible consequence for disobedience," I did, and not just bangs, but a short haircut. Bangs could be a nice change, I told myself. "Your hair appointment is at 5:00 pm, and I will take you there," and he left to go to his office.

The "Black Pearl Salon" was a fashionable exclusive-by-appointment-only establishment and very expensive. Lucas had no business interest as far as I knew, and the woman owning it had a reputation for being an opinionated bitch, as well as a liking younger men.

I overheard this by two women gossiping about Ms. DeVane in the ladies' room at a one-thousand-dollar-a-plate fundraising event for the hospital. Elizabeth DeVane couldn't attend; however, she sent a handwritten card in response to her RSVP, with a check enclosed for one grand.

Wealthy upper-class society women flocked to her salon, like groupies, and it flourished. As we sat in the parking lot, Lucas said, "Beth knows what bangs I want for you, Sarah. She knows her place, "and he kissed my cheek, "aside from sexy bangs will set off your blue eyes and give them an aura of mystery. You will sit quietly in the chair. You will remain silent during your visit, and so will Beth."

We walked in to hear her admonishing one of her staff in a critical, overbearing- haughty voice about something or other. "It appears Beth is in rare form today?" Lucas observed.

In her mid-fifties, Ms. DeVane was a buxom, voluptuous, and curvacious woman with a clear light olive complexion and long, shimmering auburn-brown hair twisted in a low braided chignon at the back of her head. She was wearing white slacks and a black smock blouse.

Lucas motioned to her with his hand, and then the three of us went to a small, well-lit private room behind her office with an old-fashioned barber's chair. Lucas closed and locked the door, helped me off with my coat, and then Elizabeth DeVane sat me in the chair. The barbers' chair worried me; was it a message sent; how short would my bangs be, or worse, 'would she use electric clippers and thinning shears,' were the thoughts racing through my mind. Was Lucas angry with me messing up his hair this morning?

As Ms. DeVane caped me, I looked at Lucas pleadingly, and his stern eyes told me to be silent and comply. Ms. DeVane turned to Lucas, and her demeanor and posture seemed to change; she looked less arrogant and imperious; she was detrimental towards him and eager to please him.

Lucas walked over to us and spun my chair until I was facing away from them. I couldn't see what was happening, not even in the mirror, but I knew he took her to the other side of the room. He was murmuring; I strained to hear but couldn't make out the words. She said nothing. And then he returned to the barbers' chair.

Lucas took my hand and helped me out of the chair to the wash sink. My compliant stylist took my braid out, giving Lucas my red ribbon. She washed and lightly conditioned my hair and wrapped it in a towel to blot the water before carefully combing me out while looking for split ends.

Before she started cutting, Lucas turned my chair until I was facing away from the mirror. Elizabeth DeVane secured my damp hair on top of my head with three large plastic claw clips, bringing it down in sections, cutting it straight across the bottom, removing about an inch, using the fresh cut sections as the guide, as my long-time stylist does. She then parted my hair several times before my face until she was satisfied, pulling the rest of my hair behind me in a low ponytail.

My haircut seemed to take forever, and I wasn't allowed to watch. I was getting aroused, and I was all I could do to sit still. Finally, my stylist finished my bangs; I couldn't see them, and when I reached up from under the cape to touch them, "No, Mrs. Foster, she's not finished. Beth, continue."

My damp hair was blowdried and brushed out before Elizabeth pulled it back, fixed it in a high ponytail with an elastic hair tie, and then used the red ribbon to make a bow. I again tried to touch my thick eyebrow-length blunt bangs. "I warned you, Mrs. Foster, to sit still and cooperate. Give me the scissors, Beth, now," he ordered.

My mind was racing, was Lucas going to cut my ponytail off? My thoughts were conflicted; a mishmash of apprehension, dread, and hope; it would take years to grow my hair this long again. I was trapped. Where could I go? Lucas is too powerful to resist; he can easily hold me down in the chair while he cut it off, and what about her? Would she help him?

Smiling, Ms. DeVane handed Lucas the scissors. "Get on your knees, Beth!" I lifted my skirt, and my hand was pushing on my mound, my panties wet in my arousal.

Beth's eyes were pleading as she knelt before him. "Lucas, please, we," "Silence, woman," he warned, or I'll use the electric clippers this time." He walked behind her and took the pins out of her chignon, letting her thick, auburn-brown braid fall to the floor.

It was so warm in there. I could feel my heart beating, and I was breathing heavily. My face was flushed, and I was perspiring. Heaven help me, I was having a gentle orgasm; I wanted more, I wanted Lucas to fuck me hard; I pulled the cape off, "Stop squirming and sit up straight, Mrs. Foster, "Lucas admonished and put your arms on the chair armrests. I'll deal with you later." I now had a death grip on them.

He was not gentle when he grabbed her braid and pulled her head back, the scissors chewing through the thick plait showing no mercy until it was off. Beth's head fell forward; her once luxurious tresses were now ragged and choppy, just touching the nape of her neck, and her braid was in his hand.

"Open your mouth, and then bite." Lucas thrust the severed plaint in her mouth, "Excellent, now look at me. It was enjoyable while it lasted, Beth; however, all things must come to an end. I forgive you."

Lucas walked to the door, holding my long wool coat. "Mrs. Foster, we're leaving." I turned briefly to glance at her, kneeling, with her teary eyes cast down with her long braid in her mouth. As we left, I wondered what he forgave her for; however, I was secretly glad about the guilty pleasure I got to see him cut off her braid, thankful it was not me.

On the drive to his home, I kept glancing in the passenger door side window to look at my sexy blunt-cut bangs. They made me look much younger and youthful with my ponytail, and I adored them.

After we entered his home, Lucas locked the door behind us. He turned to look at me in the foyer, and his intense green eyes were hungry and feral, giving me goosebumps, knowing I was his prey.

"Undress quickly, woman," he ordered quietly, "everything off, now," as he did the same, tossing his clothes to one side. He pointed to the floor. I was thinking about my haircut and hers; how she submitted to him without question in front of me.

Lucas would have used the clippers on her had she not obeyed him, of that I am sure. These thoughts sent a thrill up my spine as I got on my knees, looked up into his intense, hungry green eyes, and started licking and sucking on his big cock, while he twisted my ponytail around his hand; he was studying me intently.

"No," he said abruptly, "I've changed my mind. As always, your body betrays you, Mrs. Foster. Your plump-shaved pussy is moist and welcoming. I can smell the musky scent of your arousal, my precious long-haired slut. You enjoyed your erotic haircut, all aspects of it as I knew you would, and those thoughts linger; excellent.

You are about to learn the difference between slow, gentle intercourse-love making and being fucked because I'm going to fuck your cunt unmercifully, Mrs. Foster-stand up. I did, and he crushed me to him. I could feel his hard throbbing cock pressed up against me as he lightly kissed and then licked my lips.

"You're a pretty submissive slut," he said softly, "say it." "I'm a pretty submissive slut," I repeated, announcing the word "Slut, licking my lips, and I was thinking, 'He's never sworn or used profanity, let alone being lewd or vulgar. Now he's talking dirty, and so was I. "Who's pretty slut are you, Mrs. Foster?" "I'm your pretty slut, Sir." "Do you want me to fuck your cunt? Beg me to fuck your cunt." "Please, fuck me, Sir. Fuck me hard, fuck my cunt and make your pretty slut come," I was blushing and feeling so very naughty.

"Not yet, pretty slut. Play with your ponytail, "I did, feeling the silky texture and weight of my thick and beautiful ponytail tresses. All the while, my Sir caressed my breasts, paying particular attention to my nipples, licking, sucking, lightly biting, and pinching them until my swollen cunt was wet and practically dripping with my juices. I felt a petite orgasm starting to happen, and he didn't even finger fuck me as before. He prevented me from coming by slapping my ass sharply.

"You don't have permission to come, pretty slut; remain silent until I say otherwise," My Sir admonished," take your hair down, and then hand me your ribbon." He put the ribbon around his neck like a tailor's tape measure and then arranged my hair about my back and shoulders. He took my chin in one hand, turning my head from side to side, "Your new bangs make you look younger," he praised, "turn and put your hands behind your back, palms out, and cross your wrists."

My Sir quickly tied my wrists together, lashing them and securing with a quick-release nautical knot, which explained the very long ribbon. "Your red ribbons are genuine silk," he explained and very strong. If I chose a different knot, you couldn't get loose, as it would tighten as you struggled.

He pushed my hair completely over my shoulder and down my back, smoothing it with his hand, and then stroked my bangs, saying, "I want your hair longer, Mrs. Foster-the bottom of your ass cheeks will be perfect. If I add another piece of ribbon to that on your wrists, I can further restrain you by tying it into your hair, which is very secure and effective when braided. Yes, a submissive woman's long hair has many uses.

Using my long hair like a leash, Mr. Cain brought me into our office, untied my wrists, and made me bend over the armrest of a leather couch. He gathered my hair back to front, pulling it forward until it covered my face, and then tied my hair at the bottom with my red ribbon, making a blindfold.

He slowly slid his thick throbbing cock into my wet cunt, making me gasp with pleasure as I squirmed and pushed against him. Lucas then lustily and brutally fucked me while I braced myself with my arms. He pounded my wet, slut cunt with his hard cock in a fast, brutal ravenous cadence-in and out, in and out. He was rough, uncaring, and relentless, thrusting and impaling me without mercy. I couldn't see a thing.

As his hot seed pumped into me, my intense and prolonged orgasm peaked violently, overwhelming my thoughts and leaving me disoriented for a moment as I went limp in the pleasurable after-glow. I was sure my eyes were glazed.

"Sarah Anne," he said softly, taking the ribbon out, "sit next to me." Lucas put a fleece throw blanket over our shoulders, gently took me in his arms, and we cuddled. There was no need for words. I could hear his heart beating, and being near him was comforting. What more did I need? I loved him.

After, we soaked in the tub with a glass of Port. I had vanilla-scented candles in my mini-van. He let me darken the bathroom to enjoy the flickering candles reflecting softly on the water. We had Chinese delivered, pork Lo Mein, chicken w/broccoli, and steamed dumplings.

That evening, before joining Lucas in bed, I fixed my hair in a loose side braid and tied it with my red ribbon. He was reading, but he put his book down when I got into bed to cuddle with him.

"Will you tell me about Elizabeth DeVane? "It's complicated, and it may upset you, Sarah." "Well, I am your red ribbon girl? "Good point," he admitted, "my red ribbon girl and so much more now." "Will you tell me, Lucas, please?"

"OK, here is the short version. I answered an ad in an erotica magazine fifteen years ago; call it youthful curiosity and a taste for the wild side. I was twenty when I met Elizabeth, and she thirty-four.

Little did I know, Elizabeth imagined herself to be a Dominatrix, imagined being the keyword. I assumed she preferred younger men as the ad stated; she lied. In the beginning, we met in different restaurants or other venues and then went to motels or her cabin on the lake. We were discreet. You must admit, she's a fine-looking woman. You're starting to tense up. Is something wrong? "No, I'm fine." "Sarah, she means nothing to me. You heard what I said to her, shall I continue?" "Yes, please."

"I was also Beth's escort for charity events or other things of that nature; suitable venues for establishing business contacts, which I did. One evening, for the first time, Elizabeth invited me to her house for a steak dinner with instructions to let myself in. I brought a bottle of red wine. There were two vehicles parked there, her red Jaguar XKR and a black Harley full dresser Road King that I'd seen somewhere before.

I rang the doorbell, nobody answered; I opened it, and I called out, "Elizabeth, it's Lucas?" "Come in, lover," she said, through the intercom, "and follow the trail of red rose petals on the floor." OK, I thought, this is different. The petals led to another door. I opened it. That's it, the shortest version. The end"

"Lucas!" I exclaimed. "Sarah!' he retorted, and he was chuckling. "Will you please stop teasing and tell me what happened next?" I asked.

"Pretty, please with sugar on it," he said, and I pinched him. "Well, since you put it that way, I opened the door to a semi-dark room, her bedroom, with a master bath to the left. I walked on a path of white flower petals illuminated by floating lit candles in clear vases leading to a circular bed. On the bed were coils of rope, two sets of handcuffs, scissors, a blond wig, ball-gag, and Elizabeth.

Her hair was up in a high ponytail, and she was wearing a black leather bodysuit with high stiletto heels, charming. She had a riding crop in her hand. She strode up to me with her head held high, trying to appear regal, and stroked my face with the riding crop. She said, "Get on your knees and worship me. You may then kiss my feet."

I smiled, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the closet door open a crack. "You've got to be kidding, Elizabeth, kneel before you," I said, laughing, "Nice costume, though; I like my steak rare and bloody."

Elizabeth became angry and perhaps was a bit surprised. She glanced at the closet and tried to hit me several times with the riding crop I casually blocked with the wine bottle before taking it from her and throwing it at the closet door. "Obey me!" she shrieked; "I know what you are, how dare you defy me after all I've done for you!" The closet door flew open with a loud bang, the doorknob denting the plaster, and then?"

Lucas pushed my hair away from my face and kissed my cheek. "There, satisfied, now beautiful? "No, finish the story." "Oh, very well, if you insist. And don't pinch me again," and he gave my bottom a light slap.

"By then, the Harley parked outside clicked. I knew where I saw him; the man owned a Harley and Mercedes dealership. Elizabeth introduced him to me at a party, and he gave me his business card. I located and repossessed six motorcycles for him, and one of them was in pieces; not my fault. DeLuca kept ducking me for payment, making excuses. I filed court papers with the County. DeLuca showed up to Court with an attorney; I couldn't afford one.

I argued my case and won. DeLuca rode up to me on that motorcycle, or one similar, and confronted me in the Courthouse parking lot. He called me an upstart punk, among other things; every other word was profanity. He challenged me to fight him; He was going to teach me a lesson. I laughed at him. I declined his challenge and left.

"Back to Beth's bedroom, DeLuca was wearing black leather Harley biker logo gear; jacket, boots, and leather pants with a custom belt made from motorcycle chains, with a hidden knife disguised as a belt buckle, a potential weapon. DeLuca imagined himself an outlaw biker who deemed me a coward and a punk, at the very least, given our previous encounter.

No doubt, David DeLuca had a high opinion of his fighting prowess. He had a coiled bullwhip in his right hand. I'll handle this," he said, annunciated loudly," cue a saber raised in the air and cavalry bugle sounding a charge; just kidding, and he cracked the whip inches from my face, "get the handcuffs Elizabeth while I teach the punk a lesson." I thought I was in a poorly scripted movie with terrible corny actors, the plot dependant on props, pomp, and bravado.

"What did you do?"I asked, "Did you hit him with the wine bottle?" "Don't be ridiculous; why risk ruining a good bottle of wine?" Then what did you do?" I asked

I tossed the bottle at him underhand; he flinched, then I neutralized him with a Mawashi Geri" "What's a Mawashi Geri?" I asked. "It's a roundhouse kick to the head and very effective," Lucas replied matter of factly. "And things didn't turn out as Elizabeth DeVane planned at all when I grabbed Beth's long ponytail as she lunged for the scissors on the bed, stopping her in her tracks. I forced her to her knees. She betrayed me; she lied to me; for all, I know they intended to extort me, and I was angry and justifiably so.

I informed her, "DeLuca will be unconscious for a few minutes and may have a concussion," and I forced Beth to lie on her stomach, holding her head to the carpet by standing on her ponytail. "Dear Elizabeth," I said to her," watching for DeLuca to stir," no, make that, Beth; I know calling you that irritates you, so get used to it. It's best to learn the difference between wishful thinking from reality; this is reality, Beth." She was terrified and was crying.