The 14th Anniversary

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On Valentine's Day, a sub surprises her Mistress.
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The 14th Anniversary

A Valentine's Day Story

She was kneeling on the hard surface of their sturdy couch table. It had been repositioned to face the entrance of their apartment; so she would be the first thing her Mistress would see when she came home from work. By then, she knew her knees and shins would be hurting, her breasts would be throbbing with every heartbeat, her nipples would have gone numb and her lips dry -- and there was nothing she could do about it.

More to the point: there was nothing she wanted to do about it. She had spent a lot of effort in coming up with first the general idea and then every single detail of her surprise. No, her position was exactly how she wanted to be found by her beloved wife and Mistress in about an hour and a half, with her body bearing clear signs that she had been suffering for her for some time already, and frankly, some discomfort was an inconsequential price to pay for surprising her Mistress. Their daughter would spend the night at a slumber party with some friends from elementary school. They would have the whole night for themselves, undisturbed, the whole night and the whole morning the next day.

She tried to shift her weight a bit, but their friend Ava who had helped her to prepare had done too thorough a job. Ava had first put her in a crotch harness; a waistband held the crotch rope that ran from behind her back through the crack of her ass and bisected her labia, pushing out her clitoris; pulled through the front of the waistband and led back down and back again an ornate knot pressed down on her external pleasure centre. She was used to wearing what the Japanese masters called a Sukaranbo. Her Mistress often made her wear it to work in anticipation of an evening or night of play and fun or of discipline and obedience.

In a second step Ava had bound her lower legs to her thighs and put her on the couch table, making it impossible to do anything but kneel. She had lashed her ankles together which had made her close her legs, but a length of rope running from her right knee under the table and having been fixed to the left knee held them open. To make it even more impossible for her to move her lower extremities Ava had bound the ends of the rope from the Sukaranbo to her big toes, pulling the rope taut and thus putting pressure on her clitoris.

A simple chest harness had been the base for a more elaborate breast bondage that pressed her ample tits forward and out, making them bulge. Her hands had been bound in a reverse prayer position, forcing back her shoulders and thus putting more emphasis on her breasts. Her hard nipples sported alligator clamps biting their teeth in her sensitive flesh. A length of thin hemp rope had been threaded through their eyelets and also bound to her big toes. It made it impossible to bend forwards even a tiny bit without sending bolts of pain through her nipples. To top off the presentation a bright red ball gad had been forced into her mouth and pulled taut, stretching her to the max.

She felt a bit of spittle trickling down from the left corner of her mouth. When she had planned her surprise she had long debated with herself about using a gag at all. She hated being gagged as much as she loved being bound and helpless. Bondage of any kind usually made her feel owned and secure in her Mistress' power. There was a certain dignity about being bound. Gags, however, inevitably made her drool and that not only let her feel helplessness, it also was extremely humiliating. There was nothing dignifying about drooling.

But the whole point of her kneeling on their couch table, waiting for her Mistress to end her shift at the hospital was to give her a pleasant anniversary gift, and her Mistress loved to see her lips stretched around a gag. She loved to see the pleading expression in her eyes and the resignation when her Mistress took a wipe to clean her up. That's why she had decided on including the gag, but even after only a few minutes she was already looking forward to have it removed.

She imagined her Mistress' loving gaze taking in the picture she presented and smiling at her. She imagined her Mistress coming closer and taking in every detail, the way her winter-pale skin contrasted with the hemp rope that had been dyed black, the way her pulse would begin to beat faster under the scrutiny, the way her Mistress would tuck at the thin rope threaded through the alligator clamps sending fire and lightning from her nipples directly to her already throbbing clit. She imagined her Mistress' fingers first retracing the ropes and then the flesh close to it. She imagined how she would try to push out her chest for more contact and how the crotch rope would be pulled taut and nudge her arousal up even further.

Gods, she could have come from anticipation alone, but she wouldn't and not only because she didn't have her Mistress' permission. No, she was determined to control herself because that was part of her anniversary gift for her wife and Mistress, the gift for the anniversary of their first not quite accidental meeting, fourteen years ago to the day, on Valentine's Day. To pass the time and distract herself she allowed her mind to stroll down memory lane.

~*~

Sarah Garber was bored. As the CEO and majority share holder of a prestigious publishing house she had done her social duty by coming to the Valentine's Day charity event and signing over a sizable check to the Children's Hospital. As customary with events of this kind the overpriced dinner had been unimaginative to the point of being boring and bland, the champagne they had served later had been of mediocre quality and the company of the other guests left a lot to be desired. Sarah was only waiting for the first chance to excuse herself and go home...

~*~

Sarah inadvertently moved and pulled her crotch rope. She shock her head at her memories. Had she really been such a snob? Probably. Well, her Mistress had surely cured her of her WASPness. She also was sure that she probably would not accept a novel that started like she just had. A first person narrative might be more appropriate to relate what had happened. It at least would offer a better insight in the main character's psyche.

"Even naked and bound to my couch table I'm thinking like an editor," Sarah told herself. "That's absurd, completely absurd."

That insight, however, didn't keep her mind from starting to compose said first person narrative.

~*~

When I first saw the woman who would soon become my Mistress she was kneeling with one knee on the marble floor and dried the tears of a young boy who had scraped his elbow running through the crowd. She looked up and if not for someone bumping me from behind I would have fallen right there and then in the deep brown pool of her eyes. I had to turn around to accept the apologies of the man who had run into me. He began a conversation and offered me another drink. I declined but he didn't want to take no for an answer. It took me almost ten minutes to get rid of him without causing a scene though it had been a close call.

I'm the first person to admit that sometimes I can have a rather volatile temper though the years and my Mistress' firm hand have mostly cured me of this particular penchant.

The few drops of champagne that had spilled on my dress, however, gave me the excuse I needed to leave the Valentine's Day Charity Dinner and Ball early and thus ending my boredom. I only got a few steps towards the entrance when my Mistress stopped me and exchanged the almost empty glass of champagne I was still holding with orange juice.

She looked at me and said, "You wanted to slap him, didn't you, Miss Garber?"

I should have been outraged by this stranger simply stopping me and asking such an impolite question. Instead I told her that as a rule I didn't like men who do not understand the meaning of the word 'no', and then I asked for her name.

"Rebecca Marie Eriksson, M. D., at your service. My apologies for not having introduced myself properly," she said and added, "As a rule you don't like men, Miss Garber, isn't that right?"

I almost dropped the glass I was holding. I had never openly talked about my sexual preferences. The club I occasionally frequented, the Earheart, catered to women like me, women in the public spotlight who for one reason or the other valued their privacy above all else. I looked at her to deny her allegations. I had to look up because she was half a head taller than I was, and I was wearing high heels.

Her left eyebrow rose, coupled with a quirky smiles, "I saw you at the Earheart, Miss Garber. So, don't bother denying."

I was instantly alarmed. I absurdly feared that she wanted to blackmail me or something, but she seemed to read my mind.

"Don't worry, Miss Garber, I'll not use that knowledge against you, but I intend to seduce you. I intend to make you mine. Have dinner with me, tomorrow evening, eight o'clock at Joker's. Don't be late."

She inclined her head and was gone before I could even think of saying anything. Stunned as I was I gulped down the orange juice and left the charity event. I spent the night and most of the next day alternately being angry at the arrogant woman, curious, fascinated and aroused. Even already sitting the cab that brought me to the restaurant I was not sure if I would go in. I even ordered the cabby to circle the block a couple of times.

When I finally passed the threshold I was a few minutes late. The Maitre'd escorted me to a corner table, private, intimate and romantic. She was already waiting. I smiled at her but she didn't return the smile. I was seated and greeted her. I asked her about her day but she only said, "You're five minutes late, Miss Garber."

"Five minutes don't count, Doctor Eriksson."

"In my line of work five minutes make the difference between life and death, Miss Garber."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't decide what to wear," I said defensively.

Her eyes narrowed at that but she refrained from saying anything because at that moment the waiter brought a cooler and a bottle of champagne. He showed it to her. It opened with an almost inaudible plop and he poured the sparkling liquid in two crystal flutes. He left and I reached for the glass to toast her but she stilled my hand.

"First you are late and now you are lying to me. I'm disappointed, Miss Garber. Isn't it right that you spent those five minutes driving around the block, deciding if you should come in or not?"

It wasn't really a question and I blushed to the tip of my ears at being found out. My eyes instinctively found the stark white table cloth and I whispered, "I'm sorry, Doctor Eriksson."

"That's better, young lady. You may call me Rebecca, Sarah."

She raised her glass and I raised mine. She looked into my eyes and I slowly repeated her name. We sipped and I was surprised to find sparkling cider instead of champagne. I had really looked forward to a sip of alcohol to calm my nerves but it would not have been polite to say anything. She, however, once again seemed to read my mind.

"I don't drink alcohol and as long as you are with me you won't either, Sarah."

Her tone of voice stirred my temper, "Who do you think you are that you have the nerve to order me around? No one tells me what to do or not to do."

My voice was soft and cold, despite the content of my words. I didn't want our conversation to be carried beyond our table.

She laughed, and had I not inhaled my manners with my mother's milk I would have chucked the content of my flute right in her face and left the restaurant.

"Look at me, Sarah."

I didn't want to, but there was something in her voice I could not resist. I looked up and into her brown eyes.

"You know who I am, Sarah. You simply have to allow yourself to see it."

The waiter brought a cold water melon soup as entrée which irked me further, "Don't I get to order for myself?"

"Not this time, Sarah. That's a privilege you'll have to earn."

All my hackles rose at those quietly spoken words. I had been raised to give orders, not to receive them, to make decisions, not to have them made for me.

"And if I don't like what you chose for me, Rebecca?" My words came out flirtatious but that was not what I had wanted to say. I wanted to call her on her arrogance.

"You will like it because I ordered it especially for you, Sarah."

That remark left me open mouthed and gasping but she totally threw me with her next words, "Do you like the soup, Sarah?"

"Yes, it's delicious. I thought it would be..., well, watery, but it isn't. It was an excellent choice. Thank you, Rebecca."

I surprised myself with my answer, but it was true. Joker's water melon soup was one of my favourites, as was pike-perch on kohlrabi, our second course that evening for as long as Joker's was in business. We had raspberry sorbet for dessert, and instead of an after-dinner coffee she took me for a walk.

A block from the restaurant we came to a fenced-in private park. She opened a small door and led me inside. Then she kissed me, right next to a wooden and iron park bench under an oak tree without leaves. The kiss took me by surprise. It was demanding and gentle, loving and dominating. I was breathless when she finally broke the kiss. I could have drowned in her deep brown eyes but I didn't allow myself to.

Instead I forced myself to ask, "Where do we go from here, Rebecca?"

"That will be up to you, Sarah. I had ample opportunity to observe you at the Earheart. You're searching for something none of the other women can give you. You need someone to take charge of you. No, Sarah, don't protest. You and I know better. I don't want an answer tonight. For tonight I only want you to know that I desire you. I want you in my life."

"How can you be sure about that after looking at me for only a couple of hours? What makes you sure, Rebecca?"

Rebecca, my Mistress, she smiled at me and I saw more than lust or desire in her eyes. I saw longing and love, "I knew that you were the one when I first laid eyes on you. Your eyes told me what you try to hide from everyone else. That's why I searched you out yesterday. It wasn't a spur of the moment thing. I had been looking for you. But I ask for more than you just becoming my lover. I want you to be mine, body, heart, and soul, from sunrise to sunset and from sunset to sunrise, every day of the year.

"You are the first person ever who made me feel this way. I can't explain it; it just is. I want you in my life and I do not only want you as my lover. I want more. I want to control you, not only in our bed but in everyday life with only one exception, your work. The publishing house is a part of who you are just as the hospital is to me. I will always respect that."

I didn't know what to say but I also didn't get the chance. She put her index finger on my lips, "I know you'll need more information before you decide one way or the other. So, we will talk, for as long as you need. We have to get to know each other better."

My Mistress once again kissed me deeply and then added, "I'll bring you back to your car and we'll meet at Joker's the day after tomorrow for breakfast, eight o'clock sharp."

"I didn't know that Joker's also does breakfast," I said.

"They do not, but the Chef is a friend of mine. She will make sure that we have all the privacy we need."

~*~

The restaurant seemed to be deserted when I came in two days later, five minutes early this time. The room was empty but our corner table had been set up for two.

I had not been able to get the enigmatic woman out of my mind since she had given me a chaste good night kiss on the forehead. Apprehension and arousal were warring in my mind. Her words haunted me.

"I want you in my life."

"Your eyes told me what you try to hide from everyone else."

"I want to control you."

I had been raised to be in charge, the alpha bitch of my pack. And for the most part I enjoyed being in charge, I still do. Over the time with my Mistress, however, I learned that it is not so much the part of ordering other people around I delight in, it's the thrill of getting things done, of making things possible. At the time I had learned to relegate my fantasies about bondage and submission to a dark part of my mind, on the rare occasions I acknowledged them to myself, but meeting my Mistress, meeting Rebecca had brought it all back -- and I was tempted.

I was jostled out of my musings by her voice, "I'm glad that you're on time, Sarah. Please have a seat. We have a lot to talk about."

"Hello Rebecca. Don't I get a welcome kiss?"

She smiled, "Do you think you deserve one?"

"I think I'd like to get one," I answered.

My future Mistress stepped closer. She hugged me and kissed me on the forehead.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but that was not what I had in mind, Rebecca," I tried to sound innocent.

"Good things come to those who wait, Sarah. Sit down, please! I'll be back with our breakfast tray in a moment."

Rebecca wheeled a small table in. I smelled coffee and fresh cut fruits. There was toast and jelly butter, jam and honey. All in all it was pretty much your basic breakfast fare, made special by the fact that my Mistress insisted on feeding me every single bite.

During dinner our conversation had been about music, literature, politics, places we had been to, places we wanted to see one day, just mundane things. This time we talked about sexual preferences and former lovers, about sexual fantasies and things we always had wanted to try. I confessed that I had always dreamed about being taken anally and my Mistress answered that with proper preparation it would be something I could really enjoy. She then asked me if I had ever been spanked by a partner or whipped or caned, but my sexual encounters with men and women alike had always been perfectly vanilla.

"There's more, isn't it?" Rebecca asked.

"My father once whipped me with his belt," I answered with a blush.

"Tell me, Sarah."

"I was sixteen. My father had bought me a small car, nothing fancy but with all the security money could buy. It was cherry red and really cute. One Saturday there was this big party on the beach and I wanted to impress my classmates. They were older than I was, and I was tired of being treated like a child. I took one of my Dad's cars, and old Mercedes 190 C in mint condition. I was going too fast and lost control of the car. The car ended in a ditch, totalled, but I didn't even have a scratch. The police brought me home and Dad sent me to my room without a single word of reprimand. A few hours later he called me down to the garage to the wreck of his car.

"He told me to walk around it and have a good look. He told me how disappointed he was, not only because I had taken the car without permission but because I had been driving recklessly. He said that I could have died in the accident. There was so much pain in his voice that I didn't even hesitate when Dad ordered me to bend over the trunk of the Mercedes. He pulled my sweat pants and panties down and beat me with his leather belt.

"Dad had never before raised his hands against me and during the first few strokes I was too stunned to feel the pain. That quickly changed. It soon felt as if his belt would not only hit my buttocks but my whole body. Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, what he said during the punishment began to get to me. He said that he had been sick with worry and that he had already seen me sick or seriously injured. He said that he had already seen himself rushing in an ER, waiting to be told that his daughter would never again come home.

"From this moment on I did no longer mind the belt hitting me. I knew I deserved it for frightening him and disappointing him. When he finally stopped I thanked him, and he took me in his arms. Dad told me that I was forgiven and that everything would be alright."

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