The Look, The Lure, The LongingbyDominaSusan©
She sits watching the crowd pass by, slowly sipping her favorite coffee, clearly lost in her own thoughts. There is nothing remarkable about her. In every way possible, she is ordinary. She is not young or old or thin or fat, but certainly underneath her drab gray dress lurks the outline of what is unmistakably the perfect silhouette of a woman. The only remarkable aspect is perhaps her eyes. These are a strange hue, neither blue nor green but some watery color in between.
He has been watching her for ten minutes or so, not for any particular reason, but because he is bored and he finds her interesting in a bookish sort of way. Finally she stands up and, with her empty coffee cup in hand, walks by him. For one brief instant, all that exists is the two of them, he and she, and as she passes, their eyes meet as if they are one. In that instant and inside this shared look grows a piercing new knowledge that wells inside him. She feels the same, a recognition of understanding, of meeting a similar being. Through this exchange a language is born. It is within these inner folds of humanity that the discussions begin and from this grows an ever present feeling, a hunger.
"I know you," he says, and for him it is more than a statement. It is a question. "Perhaps," she responds in a soft and nearly inaudible voice.
She drops a card on his table. It has an address and a time: 343 South Fifth Avenue, 5:45 pm. With this, she puts her cup in the dish bin and is gone. Had she planned this? What other explanation could there be? It is 5 pm on a warm, autumn Saturday afternoon and he has nothing better to do than to chase this bookworm rabbit down her hole.
He walks the few blocks to the address. An old facade of a brick building with large marble stairs and a large brass door greet him. Inside, the pale yellow light comes more from the windows than from the artificial overhead lights. He walks to the information desk. "What the hell," is racing in his mind. "What am I looking for? Why am I here?"
Before he can say anything, a young, impish girl with strange red-orange hair offers up, "She is expecting you. She's in the stacks downstairs. At the end of the long corridor, go through the door marked office."
It struck him that this is weird. Certainly, nothing like this has ever happened to him before, but clearly she was expecting him. Perhaps any man who enters the library fifteen minutes before it closes is directed to the office. Should he go down there? Would you? For one brief moment, he wonders who is the rabbit and who is the fox.
His curiosity gets the better of him and all he can think of is having sex with this librarian. Nervous and excited, he starts the march down the two flights of steps to the stacks. Here there are rows and rows of old books as if in some slumber-filled warehouse, dusty and unloved. Why has he become so hard at the smell of these relics? He's been in other library stacks plenty of times. Memories from his childhood of rifling through wonderful old law books come flooding back as he walks the long corridor to the far end of the building. The elf-girl was right -- this is quite a hike and likely there is no other living soul down in this dungeon area, now dark and quiet. At last, he sees a brown door with the word OFFICE stenciled on it. This door looks like it's right out of the fifties. As he knocks, he turns the handle and finds the door unlocked.
The room seems equally dark and lit by candlelight. This is no office. The room certainly resembles an office in dimensions, wood paneling and wood floors. It is warm but not necessarily inviting. There are two large unopened cabinets at the far end of the room and some rather unusual pieces of what he thinks may be furniture. She steps from the shadows. It's her alright, but not like he imagined. She is no mousy drab gray-dressed woman. She is just slightly less than his height with light wheat-colored hair now fully upbraided and scattered about her head and down her back in a rather wild way. She is wearing what is probably fetish wear, a dress of sorts with a tight leather bodice that at the waist opens up to a green, silky, lacy. transparent fabric. She is more than just beautiful; she is ethereal. Her large breasts heave in their confinement and her legs are stunning. He can't take his eyes away from their shape.
"So you like my legs," she says. Her voice, though still soft, now has a commanding tone.
"Um, yes," he stammers, immediately returning his eyes to her face, which makes her laugh slightly. He can't believe how stupid he sounds, but it's all he can think to say.
"Well, I like your ass," she says. "Turn around so I can have a better look. Do you get compliments like that from women?"
"Women don't usually say things like this to me." He is flush and slightly embarrassed.
"Stand still for a moment." She walks around him, stops and pinches his butt cheeks.
"Hmm, take off your clothes."
"What," he says, thinking to himself, "well, definitely this is going well and yet this is not at all what I imagined." He can't help being secretly delighted. No woman he has ever met has directed him like this. How did she know this secret desire of his? It's a desire he only allows to creep into his mind late at night, when alone, a secret passion that comes to life as he touches and pleasures himself.
He fumbles with his shirt as she unlocks the dark brown cabinet. Opening both doors, she pulls out a rack where floggers, some crops, paddles and two whips hang. Despite the darkness of the room, he can clearly make out her vast collection. "Oh my god, what is all this," he thinks. He gives himself away by being fully erect, and she knows just what he desires.
His First Spanking
Her hand glides over the floggers, some of which are soft deerskin and others are moose, elk and leather. She glances back towards him with a slight smile on her face. She looks at his reactions, reading his every move as he fumbles with his shirt. He didn't run away, not after he came down into her dungeon, not when she pinched his ass, not even just now as she opened her toy cabinet. Clearly he is interested in what she is offering or he would have left a long time ago. He looked so innocent in his blue cotton gap shirt and jeans. So vanilla.
She touches the paddles -- wooden, metal and rubber. He lowers his head a bit but still keeps his eyes fixed on the paddles. His eyes betray him by fixing upon the one toy in all the cabinet that he most desires. She reaches for it. His revealing gaze tells her what is in his mind and his heart. Her hand stops on the rubber paddle and she draws it from the cabinet. It is smaller than most paddles but the size has no relationship to the intensity or the impact it can produce.
She knows this is his first spanking and she doesn't wish to rush it, not for him or for her. It must be done right, savored and enjoyed. He stands before her completely naked. His skin is darker in hue than hers and, with a slight reddish tone in the candlelight, he is beautiful.
"Do you see that horse off towards the middle of the room? I want you to bend over on it."
"I, I see it, yes, okay." Why is he so unsure of himself? It's not like him to be so thrown off by a woman, and yet this woman is confident and commanding, and in a strange way he is more comfortable with this stranger than with his own girlfriend.
"I could bind you here to my horse, but I sense this is your first time, so I think I would rather leave you free." She walks behind him so closely that he can feel her breath as she speaks and its warmth is as arousing as her words.
He bends over as commanded. Why did he do this? How can she issue commands and he obey? He is larger and stronger than her and could take her if he wanted. Yet there is some sort of indirect signal that she gives him. Perhaps it is the way she carries herself, with confidence and strength. Her voice is strong but not harsh, and her expression is expectant but not severe. She has a commanding presence and all he can do is obey her.
She touches his back with her fingers. Her touch is light and surprisingly sensual. He hadn't noticed before, but now it is clear that in the background, soft music has been playing and a man and women sing of love and desire. Her touch grows stronger as she traces down his spine all the many directions to his ass, inner thighs and even down to his calves. She has longish nails that cut into his skin as if they were dull knives.
She begins by touching his ass with her right hand while placing her left hand on his back, holding him down. She is surprisingly strong. She begins spanking him lightly and slowly, and as she does, she sometimes touches him right under his ass and sometimes on his inner thighs. Her strikes do not hurt so much as they send small ripples through his body and to his cock, making the force of his erection more noticeable. He begins to feel that she is increasing both the intensity and the speed of her impacts, so that when she strikes him there is a definite smacking sound. Once in a while, a strike will be accompanied by a delightful "hmmm" noise.
Her left hand moves from his back and drifts to his balls, which she strokes and holds. The heat of her body infuses the air with her scent. A warm, blue, lilac smell fills his mind as she brings him to the edge of orgasm but does not offer him release. He hadn't noticed that she had picked up her rubber paddle and has been softly spanking him with it. The sting of this small toy on his ass increases until he is acutely aware that she is paddling him intently. Each swat offers a new sting, while her hand firmly grips his balls, holding him in place.
His ass, now a bright red color, is lovely to her. She can't help taking delight in its color, its perfect shape, and the wonderful noise that her paddle is making. Try as she might to focus, she is in something like a trance, a state of extreme arousal, desire, and pleasure. She has lost track of the fact that this is someone who is not used to this level of play and she is only brought back into the real world by his soft whimpering.
"I am Dolora. I own you," she whispers.
Her blue lilac infusion fills his mind. All he can think of is her sweet smell. His ass is sore, but he finds this pain not uncomfortable but extremely arousing. She touches him gently and slowly directs him into her pale, sweet lilac breast for an embrace.
"When you dress, you will leave by the same way that I do. The door will close and lock behind you," she commands.
Longing and Desire
It has been three weeks since he went to the library, down into the stacks and the 'OFFICE.' He sometimes walks by the library thinking of Flora and her spanking, but the courage to go inside evades him until he can no longer resist the lure. Her memory and that of the delightful pain she left on his ass haunts him. She has awakened in him a strange, new desire that must be fulfilled, or at the very least explored.
It's 5:45 pm, a Saturday not unlike that fateful day three weeks before. The red-orange haired girl is at the desk again. She looks up from her book and for a moment he thinks he can see a faint smile on her lips, but she lowers her head and returns to her book. Since she didn't say anything, he takes her silence as permission to go downstairs. The same stacks, the same smells, and those haunting memories fill his mind until he reaches the door, but this time it's locked! The silence of the library fills him.
"The library will be closing at 6 pm," a voice breaks his inner thoughts.
He makes his way back upstairs. The elf-girl is still at work and packing her book bag, a student no doubt.
"I'm looking for Dolora." He meets her green eyes with his, ever hopeful that she will remember him or know 'Dolora,' if that was her real name.
"Ah, yes. I'll let her know you were here. She has a way of finding people who need her. I'm sure she'll find you again."
By DominaSusan Edited by PainPlay