The Audition Ch. 01

"Did I give you permission to speak?"

"No, Sir." Her eyes dropped away from His as she swiftly knelt.. head to the carpet... ass high and thighs spread... awaiting the sting of His belt once again. Her ass cheeks were already showing splashes of color within the pattern of welts and bruises He'd left throughout the day. Tints of blue, purple and a dark, deep red accentuated the tops of her thighs, all over her plentiful buttocks, and even occasionally at the sides of her hips. Belt ends had a tendency to swing long and wide and could land their sweet kisses all around the body when prompted.

She heard Him unbuckling His favorite tool of discipline..the small click of metal against metal. Then the quick "swoosh" as He slid it free from the loops on His black Levis with an easy pull He'd learned through years of practice. Her body shuddered. She was afraid to feel the leather strap again so soon. But she did not protest... nor resist in any way. She had asked for this. In fact she'd practically begged for it. And this day she was reaping the benefits of her desires.. one stripe at a time.

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They were sitting in their usual places for a Tuesday night. Mark was in the recliner.. its maroon leather creased and settled to the contours of His 6'3" 250 pound frame. Sara was a few feet away in the decorative armchair. A small wicker serving table was the only tangible item separating the pair. The intangible obstacles were a very different matter.

The couple had been together for nearly a decade and were clearly settled on remaining together for the rest of their lives. Both were near fifty and thoughts of starting over with strangers had been firmly laid to rest due as much to their love for one another as to the distasteful images of uncomfortable first dates and even more uncomfortable "it's not you, it's me" conversations. And, in truth, they were a good fit. Weaknesses and strengths complemented one another and made the pair one that could withstand the tests of time.

Mark was a writer and it was through his writing Sara'd found him. BDSM erotica served as the catalyst for her initial interest. The stories he wrote under a pen name left her always wanting more. She would read a page or two, fingering an increasingly wet pussy, and finally have to stop mid-story for full scale masturbation. Each day she'd sign onto his site hoping against hope a new story would greet her. Two thoughts began to infiltrate her consciousness...first during the day and eventually interrupting even her dreams.

Regardless of any risk, she needed to meet the man who could write such words of lust, pain, love, and, above all, control. Sexually submissive for as long as she could remember, her psyche was hard-wired to be dominated by a physically and mentally powerful man. And the man who created these characters and the scenes within which they came to life had become almost godlike in his apparent ability to read her most private thoughts and desires.

The second thought was more primitive.. green-eyed jealousy. Sara came to loathe the women in his stories. She was positive they were more than mere imaginary characters. They had actually tasted the salt on his skin and felt the kiss of his whip against their flesh. And in her mind there was only one woman on earth worthy of this man's attention. He just hadn't met her yet.

Oddly enough it seemed both gods and the fates agreed with this greedy, yet determined sub. She made first contact by emailing her complete satisfaction with the erotic content, the author's writing style, and his understanding of the lifestyle beyond its "porn movie" motivated themes of handcuffs and blowjobs. His response was immediate and overwhelmingly positive. Email correspondence lead to phone conversations, face to face meetings, "dates," increasing mutual attraction, and finally declarations of love and the need for a common household. They fell together like puzzle pieces made of liquid gold.

He really was all she'd known he would be beyond the writing. He possessed a keen mind and a sharp wit. They could talk for hours about politics, religion, or even the eating habits of aborigines in Australia. His tall tales of life growing up in small southern towns left her laughing until tears streamed down her cheeks.

Quickly Mark became her Dom and Master. She felt complete and loved kneeling at his feet, riding his cock, and feeling the soft, yet powerful touch of his fingers against her cheek. They completed each other in ways that no other had ever been able to do. And it was good.

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It was Tuesday night. One of their "shows" would be starting on a local network in a few minutes. They waited without speaking. Each seemingly lost in a world consisting of internet sites and android apps. Dinner was over and the dishes put away. The remainder of the night would include television, light conversation, and possibly sex before she fell asleep earlier than him. It was their new "typical" night.. comfortable... but missing something.

A rerun of the Andy Griffith show had little Opie about to get a spanking from his Pa. He must have been watching because he looked at her and said, "You need one of those too." He laughed and then went back to the small screen on his phone.

She thought about what he had said and he was right. She DID need a spanking. In fact, she hadn't had one in weeks.. or was it months. To be honest, she probably needed one on a daily basis given she didn't respond to him with the degree of respect and service a Master should always expect and receive from his submissive.

As the years had progressed, their D/s relationship had been slowly but steadily replaced with all the elements of a vanilla couple including bills, jobs, failing water heaters, teenaged sons and daughters, and a myriad of other routine activities. On occasion he would push her to her knees and growl commands into her ear. Fun nights to be sure but irregular enough that they served more as happy surprises than as conditions of their relationship. She couldn't remember the last time she'd called him sir of her own accord. As a sub she knew this was wrong and she was determined at this moment to make it right again.

"Do you really think so?" she asked.

"Do I really think what?"He responded noncommittally.

"Do you think I need a spanking?" A small smile played about her lips but didn't fill her green eyes. She was serious and he noted it.

"I've thought that for a while ... but you always seem to not be in the mood anymore.. so I just let it go." His voice was steady but it held a note of sadness. "I won't force you. You know that."

Sara did know. It had always been a thing between them even when they were new and she knelt willingly and often in his presence. She felt the need to push against his control.. to see if he'd push back. And he felt that willing compliance and service should indeed be willing.. not coerced. Disciplining a sub was a necessary component of any D/s relationship but it was not supposed to be utilized as some type of test of a Dom's continued commitment or abilities.

She wondered now if that was one of the reasons they'd gotten so far off track. Life's problems set up natural barriers and the two of them had allowed the barriers to grow even higher by clinging to their own views of power exchange. Not that it mattered how it had occurred. It was there and she wanted to make a change. And it sounded like he did too.

"Yes. You're right. I know what I want from you.. what I need from you... but I get tired after working all day and then at home too. I'm always thinking about the kids and what we need for them. .. not to mention the house and all. And I get agitated easily.. even by you. I'm sorry. That's been wrong of me. What do you think about us trying again? Kind of like starting over?"

He hesitated, as if he was trying to word his response just right.

Finally he said, "I'm willing to try again, but I think we don't need to try a full blown Master/slave 24 hours a day thing. It won't work and you know it. It's not like you're going to be able to stop going to work every day. You'll still be tired at night and you won't remember to say "Sir" and you'll expect me to do something about it and if you're already mad you'll get even more pissed when I say something. You know I'm right."

He didn't speak with anger. She heard him speaking from his heart.. from a Master's heart. She sighed. "Okay. That's true. But I still want to try something to make it work better. What about doing what we used to do.. when we first met.. but just for a day or two? I could follow all your old rules about protocol and respect and dress and everything. I can do it for a day. I know I can. I promise I won't get mad and act all bitchy with you. Please let me try?!"

It was his turn to sigh. Then he stood and looked down into her pleading eyes. "Please let me try.. what?"

She knew this one. She smiled. "Please let me try... Sir?"