The Locked Door

I was in Heathrow, just having handed in my immigration forms. All I had was a small backpack. I don't even remember what was in it, but I remember feeling that everything I would ever need was in that bag. I had no money and no plan, so I was just wondering through the thick crowds. So thick I could hardly see anything of the airport. I walked just about straight into you, you looked like you were waiting for me, but you said you were seeing a friend off.

Now that meeting I do remember very clearly: you looked just as you did when I first met you nearly ten years ago. Your fringe was longer, into bangs with one tucked behind your right ear. Dressed all in black: knee-high stiletto boots, corset and a fairly short one-piece dress. You had something red in your hair - a flower or a jewelled hair pin like a flower. I thought your eyes were so very blue; almost luminescent.

I think we talked about some things but I only really remember you telling me to come stay with you. With hardly a quid to my name and in the middle of a part of London I didn't know, I didn't have much of a choice. Now I know I've forgotten a lot over the years, but I could never forget your smile, the way your voice soothed away my worries and fears. A honeyed poison.

We eventually came to your house, nestled deep in the woods on the outskirts of Reading. You showed me the house: there were many richly decorated rooms. I don't remember much...white walls, white floors, black furniture with the occasional slash of red on paintings or curtains. There was the locked door. You said "We don't go in there."

I've forgotten most of what happened next, except that you took my bag promising to look after it. Dinner tasted strange too, and shortly after I felt tired and weak. You told me it was okay, flights drain you, we would talk in the morning.

You let me sleep in the guestroom. The bed was so soft, layered in rich thick furs that smelled of lilies. I haven't lain in a soft bed since. But I couldn't sleep. I kept worrying about my bag. I got up and looked around the house, guided by the pale moonlight that slithered through openings in the curtains. I couldn't find my bag, or you for that matter.

I eventually came to the locked door. I know you told me not to go there, but I had searched the house from top to bottom. I jiggled the handle and with a creak, loud in the midnight silence, it opened up into this dark, damp wooden...hole. My eyes slowly adjust to the darker room. It's small compared to the rooms in the rest of the house. I guessed it to be five by five paces. The walls, floors, everything, were made of old, half rotten lumber. Hands gingerly held out in front of me, I step into the darkness. I suddenly felt vulnerable, dressed in only my boxer shorts. My fingers brush up against something deadly cold. My heart stopped for a moment, but eventually I worked out that it was an old iron frame, the rough patches of rust scraped against my palms as I felt out its dimensions. In my half-asleep sluggishness, I thought "Is she starting a gym?"

You were suddenly behind, saying "I told you we don't go in here."

You were the same as at the airport, except the dress is gone. Just a skimpy g-string down under. The moon shone off your skin like pure ivory. I heard the click of a light switch, and dull yellow bulbs slowly glowed to life along the ceiling. You told me to walk under the frame and kneel down. I was completely off-balance and confused. I did as you commanded, asking stupidly if this is a new kind of exercise.

As I went down to my knees you firmly guided my hands outwards, and made me clutch the frame. In half a heartbeat there was pressure at my wrists, like straps holding them tightly in place. Before I could look to the side to see what's happening, you slid a blindfold over my eyes. You whispered into my ear, close enough for me to feel the heat of your breath. You spoke with a voice as smooth as lacquer crème: "You're mine now, in my den where no-one will find you, no-one will hear you." A draught of cool air snaked up my boxers, sending goosebumps over my flesh.

I heard a sound, a slithering sound, and it took me a few seconds to realise it's a whip being massaged in your hands. I tried to pull free from the restraints, gritting my teeth and flexing every muscle I could rally. But try as I might I couldn't even get the damn rusted iron to shift.

One hot lash landed across my back: "I said you're mine," another lash: "I said we don't go in here." The tip of the whip danced across my calves, my back quivered from both pain and from the strain of my earlier efforts. "I always liked your legs." You said, almost whimsically, "I think I told you that before."

"I-I don't...I can't..." I stutter.

Another lash! "I didn't say speak." There was a short silence, finally broken by the dull thuds of your stilettos on the wood.

"What do you want?" I finally got out. The thuds came right up behind me, and the whip snaked over my shoulder and was looped around my throat. In anticipation, I took a deep breath. You pulled at it, cutting my air.

"I have everything I want." You said, giving a light laugh. You held the whip up for a few moments, I could feel the pressure build in my head. Just as I started seeing spots you released the strangle. I slumped forward, relieved and yet somehow my cock was getting excited. Your hands ran like silk around my back and torso, giving me a gentle embrace. You had gloves on by the feel of it, soft velvet and fur at the elbows. "I have everything I want and you're going to do everything I want. And more." There was silence as you let the words burrow into my mind. You spoke suddenly, the soft lacquer voice having a slightly harsh undertone to it, "Enter."

I heard the squeak of hinges somewhere in front of me and very heavy footfalls approaching. Whoever this was, they were BIG. You released me from your arms and took a few steps back. "Open your mouth." You said softly.

"What?"

A quick lash for it.

I gritted my teeth, took a deep breath, then opened my mouth as wide as I could.

I had never tasted a penis before; I admit I was once curious, but I had never imagined it to be like this. The dick filled my mouth from top to bottom, and nearly side to side. This lad was BIG. I flushed in shame when I realised what was happening. I tried to pull away, but you were right behind me again, whip coiled around my throat and a hand on the back of my head. "Just relax dear, or you won't enjoy it." you said at my ear, then you ran the tip of your tongue ever so lightly into it.

You guided me down the shaft. If I tried to pull away, the whip tightened, I lost my already limited air and your hand pushed me harder. There was a terribly uncomfortable gag reflex. With great difficulty, the sucking eventually got into a smooth rhythm. I lost track of time and detail, as if in a dream, but I remember you ordered me to "service his balls" and "marinate his meat with the tongue."

The big lad spoke in a deep but calm voice that I've never heard before, "I'm going to cum, mistress." The whip and your hand finally left me, and by the pressure of your breasts against my back I guess you pushed him away. "Go back to your cage, I'll call you when I have need." He withdrew from my mouth. Mucus had run down from my nose, that and a mixture of saliva and pre-cum stretched out from my mouth and the tip of his cock. It gave way, swinging back to me and splattering down my heaving chest. After a moment of dry retching, the nausea finally subsided. The heavy footsteps moved away from me, there was that creak again, and then nothing. After a moment you removed the blindfold.

We were alone. You were in front of me, eyes dazzling like sapphires in moonlight, smiling at me. "Have you ever had something up your asshole?"

I was still reeling from choking on that mammoth-sized cock, coughing and spitting out the sharp, salty taste. Strangely, I answered honestly. Lying would have probably been a bad idea. "Once or twice." I felt my cheeks flame with a blush, "It was an old toothbrush...with vaseline."

Swiftly, you stand up and vanish behind me. A minute later I feel your gloved hands massaging my asscheeks. "Firm and muscled." I was a prize dog at a show, "You have been working out since we last met." I didn't want to say anything; it didn't sound like a question and I didn't feel like getting another lash. Then it came. I felt it probing at the rim of my hole, and then it pressed in with sudden aggression. "Don't tense!" You snapped at me, "It will hurt more otherwise. Accept it!" You have probably put much larger things up there since, but for my first time, it felt like something had torn. I squeezed my eyes tight, ground my teeth until my jaw was in flames, and squealed like a pig. When the buttplug finally settled into position I felt tears in my eyes. I blinked them away, I wasn't going to show you any weakness if I could help it. I felt the tips of soft fur brush my calves as I swayed my hips. The plug had a fox's tail.

You came in front of me again, and raised a leg, planting the heel of your stiletto into the flesh just above my collar bone. Your g-string was gone. Your pussy was glistening with juice. "You have ten minutes to make me cum. Fail, and I will whip you until you bleed." After everything, I knew not to consider that an empty threat. I tentatively craned my neck forward and slipped my tongue towards your labia. You pressed your heel into my flesh. The acute pain of a pressure point spread through my chest. I backed off a little and looked up. You looked down at me like I was a smeared earthworm in your path, "Nine minutes, forty seconds. Get licking, bitch." Steeling myself for the pain, I drove forward towards your groin, pushing your leg back despite the pain. I was not able to clench my teeth for my tongue. My asshole still ached from the plug.

Your moans start soft and slow, and the slightest quickening of your breath was an immense reward for me, every time it slowed, a punishment. I teased with my tip, I lapped like a thirsty dog, I gave long, soft strokes, anything to get the heel out of my flesh and a reprieve from the whip. When you finally came to the brink of orgasm, you gripped my hair and shoved me deep into you. I felt the shudder in your thighs and the dribble of your juice. Panting, you said "Twenty seconds to spare. Next time you will do it in nine minutes." I nodded dumbly. Finally the heel came off of me. That spot would ripen to a thick purple bruise. "I think you will sleep with your tail tonight. It rather suits you."

You released me from the frame. I collapsed to the floor, slick with sweat and completely spent. You stood over me, seeming to tower up in your stilettos, whip in hand with the tip caressing my chest. You said to me, "Go to your cage, I'll call you when I desire you."

And in all the years since that night, I have always kneeled, and you have always commanded.