Self-Discovery Pt. 01

Note: All characters depicted in sexual situations are over 18.

Introduction:

That was close. Paul could feel she had loved it but he had been way too near to overstepping the boundaries they agreed upon. It is usually easier to tell apart sexual desire from the dominant control of her emotions. Today he almost failed to do it and that would have been a disaster. If there is something Paul would never accept is such a mistake. She is offering herself, totally. He must never allow his lack of control to hurt her in any way, neither body nor mind. Losing control is the ultimate failure.

She was slowing coming back from her intense orgasm. Her back, ass, and legs were in terrible pain. Every piece of her body felt extremely hot. He had whipped her over and over, so much pain that for the very first time since they started to "meet" each other she thought about crying out her safe-word, asking for mercy.

Wiping the tears with the palm of her hands she stood up and went straight to the bathroom. In front of the mirror, Liz turned around to see the signs of the whipping on her ass and... her legs! Right there on the most sensitive part of the back of her thighs, it was a complete mess. Big red swollen welts could be seen showing how wickedly he was whipping her moments ago. Liz is a redhead with very fair skin. The next morning her ass and thighs would be decorated with harsh bruises!

Despite the throbbing pain and the shock, she was smiling. For some reason, she started to love seeing the marks on her body. In the second week she met him, he whipped some wild bruises on her ass. It took days to heal and every time she sat down on the office chair a sting of pain would remind her of how much she was enjoying those encounters.

Still standing with her back facing the mirror and head twisted with some effort to watch the welts, Liz saw his reflection on the mirror. He stopped in front of her with a worried expression. Turning her face to Paul she wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled tenderly. Watched his frowning slip away as he sensed how much she was loving being his submissive pet.

They kissed with kindness, a subtle touch of lips. Her petite body completely covered by his arms around her, hands gently caressing up and down her back. The gorgeous and slender redhead could stay like this for hours, just feeling his kind touches on her skin and remembering the roughness and passion she had just been through.

Next morning:

Paul was still lying on the bed a couple of minutes after his alarm had woken him up. His mind recalling how good he felt every time he met Liz. She was a beginner just 3 weeks ago.

"So beautiful and outgoing, definitely not the stereotype of a submissive woman," he thought to himself.

Shy and introvert, from time to time he would wonder how he got into BDSM. Now 15 years have gone by, he was 49. He had thought about it many times and decided that the very first clue was that recurring dream. It started while still young, 18 years old.

In the dream, some older guy would keep a young nude woman, a bit older than Paul, caged in a damp basement. Dark rough walls made of what seemed to be a mix of cement and stone. The blonde was always curled up at the back of her prison cell. Always the same place, same fear expression, and hungry. Paul knew quite well why she was starving. The older guy keeping her locked up would bring her food with a strange white topping.

"Still not eating? Well, let's see how long you can keep avoiding food," he would say grinning at her.

She averted his eyes and waited for him to go away. Growling stomach and weak body reminding her that it was time to give in. The woman approached the bowl of food and took a slice of bread. For some reason not feeling disgusted anymore. The bastard had cum on top of it. Strings of white cum covering most of the sandwich.

The dream sometimes changed a bit. Some details added to the cum stained food. Once he had dreamed that she was already used to sucking him off swallowing his sperm as a way of taking some nourishment. But the variant he liked most was dreaming that she loved the man and would be eager to suck him and eat whatever food he gave her, with or without the special topping.

Paul was sure the dream was quite weird and he would rather not tell anyone about it. Despite the weirdness, he was not uncomfortable knowing he dreamed that kind of stuff. He just would not let others know of his strange imagination.

Sometimes he managed to control the dream events as his consciousness drew near, slowly building into full awareness. For a brief moment, he could be the man taking control of her head, maybe pulling the young lady hair while stroking his cock almost touching her face.

Every time the same woman and not particularly beautiful. Blond hair, too skinny, not tall. He did not know anyone resembling her and yet she was always there on those weird and hot dreams. Why hot? Well, Paul would not know exactly why. There was something in it, just something too strong to be ignored.

He would awake with a hard-on but instead of relieving himself, Paul would rather try to keep imagining the blonde doing the nastiest things he could think of. He would not touch his cock at all. Immersed in the dream and craving a few more moments with the young woman.

This is one of the things that made Paul wonder most about it. Imagining him manhandling the lady was so intense, so much better than cumming and it was probably better than sex. At the age of 18, he was a virgin and could not tell how good sex was. He had not even kissed a woman yet.

What kept him intrigued is that back then, somehow he already had a glimpse that dominating a woman was his fetish.

Well, it was getting late and already time to get up and start heading to the office. But first, time to text Liz and warm her body with some kinky stuff. So good to know he could make her wet by putting her into awkward situations or maybe just telling her to wear a specific... "Oh my! That high heel she was wearing the first time they had dinner together!"

Women shoes, so many types. No way he would know how was that kind of shoe called. Well, he could always describe it or simply say: "that one you were using the first time we..." hmm nay. Not a sexy thing to say. Paul wanted to text her a message that would start her into a quest for the day. Something to make her feel wet along the boring office hours.

Liz, at the age of 35, was the kind of woman that every man had to restrain from staring. She did not have to say anything or call for attention. Like a magnet, every guy would simply turn and watch for at least a second until the reasoning brain could argue for not ogling so long.

He got his phone and started typing, "Take a photo of yourself on those black high heel shoes. The platform ones you have. You know the ones with an ankle strap? Well, wear them for me, Liz. I want you remembering me all day long, every step you take on your office..."

Standing up and heading to take a shower he reached for the phone again, she had already answered. Liz was lightning fast while typing. He loved how efficient she was on everything she put her focus on.

"I don't need the shoes for that, you gave me some beautiful bruises to remind me every time I move my thighs," she texted ending the message with a small red heart.

He smiled broadly loving how witty and straightforward she was. And then he texted, "Wear them for me, baby. Miss your strawberry hair in my hands ;)" Paul was an old school guy still texting with emoticons like ;)

Before he had time to put his phone down on the side table he got a new text, a single redhead girl icon, and again another heart. It would take him a few seconds to find such icons on his phone keyboard but she could do it with a blink of an eye. Deftly little fingers.

Another boring day at the office:

Being a software developer, Paul sometimes had to make a lot of boring stuff like small tests to check if every small piece of code was working properly. It is not difficult or especially complex but very tedious. The morning work would be full of those tiny dull lines of code.

The cell phone screen lit up showing a red heart as the description below an image. Paul took the phone and selected the notification. A full-screen photo of Liz beautiful feet wrapped around by thin black straps at the ankle. Her strapped platform shoes so damn sexy. By the angle of the camera, she had her legs crossed and held up on the border of the work desk. He could see both feet and a little bit of her gorgeous calves.

He had to admit. There is something about Liz calves, legs, and butt that would drive him crazy no matter how she showed them off. Suddenly, another message notification, another red heart, and a photo.

This time it was a selfie taken in front of her office toilet mirror. Her long strawberry blond hair tucked into a ponytail. Back hidden by a white formal shirt and then he realized she was starting to know him way too well. She had taken off the skirt and Paul could marvel at the sight of her butt, bruised thighs, and the beginning of the calves. What a photograph!

Liz was an amazing woman. Not only gorgeous, she was actually much more. Extremely witty, deft hands and sharp-eyed. There were few things happening around her that she would let go unobserved.

He could bet she was not only showing him the bruises. Keeping the shirt on had been a touch of ingenuity. Her buttocks and thighs were now the sole focus of the picture. Besides, keeping both legs tightly shut made him desire, even more, to be behind her right now, kissing her thighs and slowly moving her legs apart.

He was about to answer this second message when a third arrived. A profile picture of her red lips and just the very tip of her tongue between them, mouth slightly opened. Damn, she knew how to play with his emotions. Being the dominant of their relationship he was the one supposed to be playing with her, not the other way around. Paul smiled impressed with Liz, "Such an interesting woman..."

Maybe this time he will have enough time to answer this message before she sends another one! He let his emotions free and decided to write whatever his fingers wanted to. Slowly he watched the words flowing: "Get two hairpins, those made of metal. Put them on each nipple bud."

She answered with a little picture, a stencil of a red-haired woman with lips shaping an "O", like in shock.

No more messages arrived until noon. Paul decided to take a 15 minutes break and text Liz. Her breasts were probably too sore by now. "Take a break baby. Have some lunch. You can take off those pins now."

Liz received the message and headed straight to the toilet mirror. The hairpins were hurting way more at first but now she had almost forgotten they were there. Liz found the pins on her office desk first drawer. Before applying them she had to pull them apart in order to loosen the pressure. It took a few times doing this process, adjusting the pressure carefully so that her nipple buds could take the abuse without excruciating pain.

The first minutes were harsh. Liz was on the verge of giving up, "He would not know anyway." But she would know. He was always so careful not to hurt her and every time they met each other she got more and more into the submissive role. No lies, no tricks. She quoted him on her mind, "Submission happens deep in the mind. Sincerity, fear, pain, and pleasure were the tools to help reach it." Liz wanted to become a good sub. Her chest was heaving.

She took the pain biting her lower lip. After some minutes she felt the pain receding. A few more minutes and Liz was able to keep working on her desk. The office door was locked and that made her decide not to wear the bra or even the shirt. "Paul would love to see me working right now. Nude from the waist up. Breasts in pain."

Sometimes, whilst moving her arms, she would feel a sting on her nipples. Not too harsh but enough to keep reminding her of Paul. How she loved doing whatever it was that he wanted. In front of him, Liz enjoyed being vulnerable, exposed. Here in the office, she loved following his instructions as a way of feeling him close to her.

This time she kept the skirt and removed the hairpins and bra. Now that her breasts were free from those tiny metal things she started to feel the nipples aching a lot as the blood started to swell her nipple buds.

She panted with eyes shut. Again biting her lower lip as if trying to trick the pain on her breasts. Slowly the throbbing became pleasure. Actually, she could feel both, torture and delight.

Liz positioned the phone in such a way that she could take a photo of her breasts without showing her face. She took the picture but got another idea. Her left arm was now positioned forming a line from the side of her left breast towards her pussy as if she was touching herself. Well, it would not be a bad idea at all to touch herself now. It was lunchtime, she could take a small break to have some fun.

In a rush, she took the picture and sent it right away, with no text or red heart this time. Liz laid the phone on the counter in front of the mirror and finally let her left-hand dive into the panties, the middle finger slid softly through her pussy lips. She felt how soaked her pussy was. Grinning and admitting to herself that she was getting addicted to feeling like Paul's little pet.

Thursday night anguish:

He did not answer her last message. Liz felt guilty for sending the photo of her breasts without a single word of text. Looking back at that moment she was feeling like she had neglected her "duty" as a submissive. Should have written a nice message to him, instead she went right away touching her pussy and forgetting her "owner" completely.

This word, "owner". Liz should call him "master"? It just did not sound like what she felt for Paul. He was not authoritarian. Well, sometimes he was definitely bossy and always dominant but most of the time it was like he wanted her to feel the need of doing his orders.

"He does not get a kick out of ordering me around," she pondered. "He wants me to desire to do whatever he says".

She did not know if it was right to call him her "owner". She actually never used the word. She once used the word "master" and something told her he did not fancy it any bit. Liz felt it odd to call him her owner, odd in a very sexy and kinky way.

Looking again at the cell phone to check if she had lost a message from Paul. Liz thought maybe it would be better to text him now. Ask him if he liked the photo of her breasts. Nah! It sounded so lame, so needy of her. She was no teenager anxiously waiting for attention. Maybe she could start a new conversation. He might just say something about the photo without her asking directly... "Ouch!" She was really acting like a clingy "girlfriend".

Sitting down on her living room couch Liz turned on the TV and started browsing the list of movies. No way she would give in to her anxiety. Besides, even though she was no teenager to play games with Paul, it would no be a bad idea to make him want to text her for a change.

Paul was lying on his living room couch, looking at the ceiling and no music playing. He would love to have Liz there, next to him. He made a picture of her sitting on the floor, leaning on the couch, head resting on his legs, and looking straight at his eyes. He would caress her beautiful hair, enjoying the moment.

Well, she was not there. He could easily spend the rest of the night texting her. Instead, Paul took his cell phone to admire Liz last photo. The bruised nipple buds swollen and red. Too bad she took the picture in such a way that her face was hidden from the camera. He would love to see Liz expression while taking the photo of her pert abused breasts.

A beautiful picture of her. The way her arms were posed made it even kinkier. He could bet she was not just teasing, Liz was probably in need of touching her pussy. But despite following his instructions to hurt her nipples he was sure that she was much more in need of relief than of sending him the photo. Paul was always trying to understand her one step further.

Nevertheless, the picture was beautiful. His little ginger pet. Maybe not "his" yet but deliciously becoming every time more and more his pet. Paul wanted to look at Liz's eyes and see her need of calling him her owner.

Paul started remembering the first time he realized how much a woman could love feeling submissive. Being sometimes overly respectful toward others, the idea of a dominant and a submissive in a relationship puzzled him way too much. It was clearly stepping over the line for him. And that made it all the more exciting and bewildering.

His second girlfriend after being divorced. A bleached blond with olive skin on her thirties. They did not get to know each other much. She wanted a boyfriend and he was clearly running away from a committed relationship. What baffled him was that night at her house.

She asked him to wait for half an hour cause she had some very important work to do. He looked awkwardly at her and she felt ashamed for asking him to be alone for 30 long minutes, being both of them so anxious to touch each other.

Paul turned on the TV and started watching whatever was on TV that night. Time flew by and suddenly he felt an urge to go inside her home looking for her. Paul met her working at a small room full of papers, a bit messy. She sensed him and turned the head to meet his eyes.

Taking her hands he helped her to stand and kissed her gently. She did not say no. She did not insist that she had work to be done. The kiss became rough and wanton.

What made him interrupt her like that? What was this strange feeling, the need of touching her? He felt as if he had taken her to a dance, leading her whilst sensing her emotions. It was not properly doing whatever he wanted. It seemed like so but no! Strangely enough, what he wanted was a mixture of her feelings and his lust. He would lead the dance but not in any random way. He would rather lead the dance as she desired him more and more. Their desire for each other was like the music that both followed away.

There was no bed or couch in that small room. None of them noticed how they got lying on the carpeted floor. He remembers being fucking her and being almost on the verge when she asked him to cum on her face. The look on her face was amazing. She was filled with lust and did not look quite like herself at all.

Paul came on her beautiful face amazed with her odd lustful smirk and then she said, "Now you got what you wanted from me uh? You pervert! Look at my face!" the lustful smirk still there.

That was a bit weird, delightful, awkward, and amazing all at the same time. She did not cum that night, neither she felt worried about it. She was happy and they still had dinner together before Paul went back to his home.

Not a particularly naughty night one might say. What made that night so special is how he "demanded" her to stop working and at the same time he felt like doing exactly what she wanted. There was no proper demand. Nevertheless, he felt like controlling her, a strange kind of power over someone, over a willingly lustful woman.

The second thing he could never forget was the look on her face when she asked him to cum on her face. The way she looked completely drawn into her own lust. The puzzling fact that at that very moment she wanted to please him and that was precisely what she desired. Not being forced to. Not manipulated to or ordered. She desired to please him and Paul could sense the breathtaking intensity of her desire.

Paul never wanted to forget that moment. It felt like a life-changing night. She probably never got to know how much that night meant to him. From then on he would always look for that amazing dance. Leading and being led by both his and her lust.