The Key

She sits, still half dressed in her slip, skirt, and heels, with the flogger lying limp across her thighs. She is stunned at how it came to be lying on her lap in the first place. She knows she needs to get up and make dinner, but she can't stop the scene replaying in her head.

—

She walked into the bedroom, dying to take off her heels and take down her hair. She stewed on the day's last meeting as she pulled off her suit jacket and blouse before stepping in front of the mirror. That's when she saw the key in the lock of his nightstand reflected there. She froze in her lace slip, skirt, and heels, slim arms above her head, gripping the hair pins. She knew the drawers locked—her nightstand drawers did as well, though she'd lost the key and had nothing worth locking up anyway—but she never thought he would lock them.

Her curiosity got the best of her and she walked over to his side of the bed. The key clicked ominously in the barrel as she turned it. Curiosity turned to rage as she pilfered through the drawer: a heavy leather collar with intricate scrollwork, matching wrist cuffs, several objects for which she could not imagine a use, the scent of another woman's perfume, and a heavy leather flogger. She was irrationally drawn to the flogger and rage took her completely: she spent several hysterical minutes mercilessly flogging his pillow.

When her arm was exhausted, she crumpled to the floor in front of his nightstand and something else in the drawer caught her eye through her tears. A photograph of a naked woman was tied on top of a stack of hand-addressed envelopes. The meticulous, elegant writing on each envelope spelled out his name and work address, the postmark indicating that it was mailed recently and from the same zip code as his office building.

Another look at the photo further stirred her rage: a young woman with tousled hair, sumptuously large breasts, and long legs punctuated with red stilettos sat naked, legs slightly spread, on the floor leaning against a wall covered in the same damask wallpaper in the dining room downstairs. She was sure she didn't want to know how this woman came to be naked on her dining room floor but she began reading the letter just under the photograph anyway:

Good evening sir,

Thank you for allowing me to visit you yesterday. The pain of the beautiful marks you left on my ass, legs, and back reminds me of our time together as I write to you. It is my pleasure to perform the task of recording my service to you and the pain thrills me—and will for days—each time I sit down.

Yesterday I arrived at your home at the appointed time and entered through the front door to find you sitting in the dining room. I watched you read on your phone for a moment, devastatingly sexy with your glasses perched on your nose. When you noticed me, I struggled to keep my eyes cast respectfully downward, but just the sight of you there in the morning sunlight watching me made it difficult to keep my eyes off you. My desire was barely controllable, but knowing your expectations of me...the thought of disappointing you brought my thoughts and actions sharply into focus.

My collar lay on the table with, much to my excitement, a new paddle.

I removed my suit jacket and then my skirt and finally my blouse and placed them neatly on the table beside the collar and paddle. I dared to meet your gaze and you summoned me to your side. It had only been a few days, but my skin ached to feel your touch again.

Your fingers felt like fire as you caressed your most recent gift: an intricate silk and lace chemise. I was wet already from the morning's anticipation, but you sent me back to the other side of the table. I finished undressing—except for the stilettos—and knelt in the warmth of the beams of sunlight to present the collar to you.

"Thank you, pet," you said.

And I replied, "The pleasure is mine, sir."

I sighed with renewed pleasure as you buckled the collar around my neck and I moved towards you to remove your belt, but you pushed me away and said, "Go get the paddle."

I complied immediately, kneeling before you again and presenting the paddle, quivering with excitement. But you placed the paddle on the table and motioned for me to lie across your lap. I obeyed immediately. Your hand stung as it hit my right ass cheek.

"Yes, sir."

And then the left.

"Oh! Yes, sir!"

The stinging turned to burning and my words turned to cries as you continued to spank me.

"Get up," you said abruptly and I returned to the floor, kneeling before you. I could feel the heat radiate from my ass cheeks as I waited for you to remove your belt. But, again to my disappointment, you laid the belt on the table and walked into the kitchen. I heard the freezer door open and looked up in confusion.

"Ass up," you said. But I hesitated, still confused, and you forced my face down into the carpet so my ass was in the air. I closed my eyes.

The sensation of the cold glass anal plug against the burning skin on my ass was overwhelming, but the way it felt when you slid it inside my tight asshole made me sigh again with pleasure. You helped me to my feet and I presented myself to you, still consumed by the feeling of the cold plug in my ass.

I was so consumed that I was shocked when you slapped me hard across the face. You did not give me to time to recover before pinching my right nipple and attaching a nipple clamp—to the very tip so it would be more painful. You gave my left breast a firm slap before attaching the other clamp to the tip of my left nipple. I was able to withstand the first clamp, but the second made me gasp in pain. My outcry did not faze you and you slapped my breasts over and over again. I could feel the bruises forming even before you stopped and removed both the clamps at once. The torture of the blood rushing back into my nipples made me weak in the knees. You supported me and then took my nipple in your mouth, gently massaging away the pain. Your tongue teased my nipple and your fingers found my wet cunt and teased my clit. You moved to my other erect nipple, massaging away the pain from the clamps, but then using your teeth to solicit another gasp of, "yes, sir."

You bit my nipples and then my soft breasts before moving up to my collar bone and neck, leaving bright pink marks around my collar and shoulders that would doubtlessly bruise. The pain from the bite marks was exhilarating and when I gasped, "yes sir," yet again, you grabbed my collar and slapped my pussy. You used your grip on my collar to steady me as you struck my swollen pussy again and again.

"Yes, sir," I moaned, "yes, sir, please make me hurt."

"Of course I will, pet. Go to the kitchen and find the larger plug."

You shoved me towards the kitchen and I was barely able to keep my balance. I had a bit of trouble finding the larger plug. You had selected the steel plug, the largest one in our collection and it soaked in a bowl of warm water—not something I was expecting. I stared at it with a mixture of dread and excitement before reaching into the warm liquid.

I was not quick enough, however. You lost patience waiting on me and I found myself forced over the kitchen counter and held there by your strong grip.

"Whore, why are you so slow?" you demanded. But I had no answer and I could only lie pressed into the cold granite and mutter an apology. The frigid countertop sucked the heat from my skin, yet made it more sensitive all at once. From the corner of my eye, I could see that you were only wearing your boxers but your belt was in your other hand. I wanted to reach for you and feel the warmth of your skin next to mine. However, I felt a different warmth as your belt contacted the already burning skin on my ass.

"Mmmm, yes sir, thank you sir."

You continued to strike me with your belt as you asked, "Will you move faster next time, whore?"

"Yes, sir! I will sir!"

"Good. I know how you love your toys. I'd hate to have to take them from you because you move too slowly."

"Please, sir, don't do that!"

"Relax now, I'm going to remove the small plug."

I relaxed as much as possible as you pulled out the plug and replaced it with the larger one. The sensation as you slid in the warm plug after removing the cold one was tantalizing, especially since this one was much bigger. I tried to focus on breathing and relaxing so that the taut, overstretched feeling in my ass would give way to one of pleasurable fullness. But my mind kept switching to how I must look face down on the kitchen counter, shivering in the high heels while you held down my torso and the shiny steel plug peeked out between my red ass cheeks.

Another stroke from your belt brought back my focus...I love the way you physically overpower me even though you have my mind so completely that you needn't take my body by force...knowing I am your whore and your fucktoy, that my body and mind belong only to you was the comfort my mind sought as my body continued to endure the pain of your belt.

Just when I thought I could not take any more and began to resist the pressure and warmth of your hand on my back, I felt the paddle on my already sore and stinging ass cheeks.

"Count down from ten, whore."

"10," I gasped as the paddle hit home. You had so distracted me earlier that I'd not noticed the studs embedded in the wood.

"9"

"8"

"7," was barely audible, I was trying so hard to control myself for you. The thought of disappointing you was more painful than the next stroke, "6," I sobbed, acutely aware of the bruises—deep blue and purple—forming on my ass. My only hope was that my pain was pleasing you. I thought I was ready to endure anything for your pleasure to please, but I could no longer control my sobs or hold my own weight. You caught me as I slid down the cabinets to the floor. You grabbed me by the throat before I hit the cold tiles and pulled me to my feet.

—

Now she grips the flogger's handle as it lies in her lap. She hears the garage door open and knows that he is home. But she finds that she is unable to move.

Her only thought is that she should be making dinner by now.

She hears the back door close and tries to focus on standing up, changing, walking downstairs to the kitchen, cooking dinner. But the way the flogger's leather handle feels against her palm, the way the heavy leather fronds lie across her smoothly shaven legs: she can think of nothing else. Why has his mistress not described a flogging in the letter?

She flips through another page of the heavy cotton stationary.

—

...carried me to the dining room and allowed me a moment of reprieve resting with my head against the warmth of your chest. You placed me gently on the floor against the wall in the strengthening beams of sunlight.

"I'm not done with you yet," you said quietly. "I've not even started, really. Get up."

I tried to pull myself up, but was again too slow for your liking. You forced me up and pressed my face against the wall and then placed my high heels so my feet were spread just enough for your thick cock to slide into my dripping pussy. Your tortured me for a few moments, slipping your cock in and out while your hand gripped the back of my collar. Slowly you built speed and force with each thrust until I was sure I would explode with pleasure.

"Yes, sir! Please, sir! Please pound my pussy, sir," I moaned long and deep.

Soon, you were using my pussy so roughly that I could no longer keep my balance.

You tossed me towards the table and I knew exactly what you wanted: I bent forward with my chest on the table and presented my pussy to you. You wasted no time in resuming the merciless pounding.

"Tell me what you want, slut," you growled at me.

"I want to cum, sir. Please may I cum?"

"Yes. Cum."

You grabbed my hips and within a few powerful strokes, I was screaming in the throes of my orgasm. I squirted from its strength, soaking the carpet until my juices splashed up our legs and those of the table and chairs.

You grabbed a handful of my hair and forced me to kneel in my own wetness and then shoved your cock in my mouth.

It took you only a few strokes to orgasm, but my eyes watered as I gagged on your swollen cock. I could feel your hot cum trickle down my throat, savoring the taste of us both mingled together. I tried to breathe but you held my face over your cock until I struggled against the pressure of your grip. At last you released me and allowed me to sit back.

"Thank you, sir," I gasped, eyes streaming and makeup smeared black down my cheeks. "It is my pleasure to serve you, sir."

—

Her knuckles gripping the handle of the flogger turn white and she involuntarily crumples the page in her other hand. She barely suppresses an involuntary urge to wretch.

She takes a moment to catch her breath and continues flipping through the pages. Finally she sees "flogger" in the elegant—but no longer quite so meticulous—writing.

—

I pulled against the cuffs—oh how I love the feel of the leather, sir—as you strike my back yet again with the flogger. It felt like you moved to my side, though I could only see a slice of light through the side of the blindfold. I knew you were at my side when I felt the flogger across my sore and burning ass cheeks for the last time.

I heard you fumble in the nightstand drawer and wondered how else you could possibly use my body. Again I pulled against the leather cuffs as I felt the low rumble of my favorite vibrator on my clit.

"Don't break my bed, whore."

"No, sir," I cried.

"You are a good girl."

"Thank you, sir. May I cum, sir? Please?" I begged shamelessly.

"So soon? No, absolutely not."

You entered me from behind.

"PLEASE. SIR."

I nearly cried in desperation as I felt your laughter tingle throughout my entire body. The sensation of you fucking me, my whole ass stinging and sore, was overwhelming and I let go of all my dignity yet again to beg for your permission to cum.

"No."

Cruelly, the vibrations became stronger.

"Please, sir! Please may I cum for you?"

"No."

You penetrated me yet more deeply. Your strong hands held my hips as you punished my soaking pussy with ever faster and deeper strokes. I could not hold back my orgasm and bucked against you.

"Please, sir," my voice shook with desperation

"Yes, cum," I could hear the smile in your voice and your pace quickened and there was no stopping our impending orgasms.

"Thank you, sir", was barely intelligible among my animalistic screams as I was again overcome with the force of my orgasm and again squirted, my juices soaking the duvet through to the sheets.

I could feel your cum drip out of my pussy as you pulled away from me and then I felt you pull me towards you and wrap your arms tightly around me...

—-

She stands, her vision clouded with misery and tears, and turns slowly towards the bedroom door—she must go cook dinner, after all—just as he walks into the bedroom, loosening his tie with one hand and typing a text with the other.

He looks up at her and she watches the wheels in his head turn as he takes in the scene and puts together the pieces.

The color drains from his face as she brushes past him, hurrying downstairs to cook dinner.