tagBDSMThe Neophyte

The Neophyte


The story that follows is based on my first experience with BDSM; the facts are as accurate as I can recall them some 15 years later, changed only by the fondness of time and the deletion of the boring bits. The names have been changed to protect the privacy of those who nurtured me. I've been active in the lifestyle for over twenty years. While it started before the events recounted here, the time before these events was just wading in the kiddy pool. It was when these events occurred; it was when I joined a small circle of very special people that I learned to accept who I was.

My thanks to Wolfspet and "the unknown editor" who shall remain unidentified at his own request.

I was twenty seven years old when I faced a truth about myself that would shape my identity, my relationships, and my life for decades to come. Before that night in late November I had hoped myself a man of mundane tastes. I had hoped that the fantasies and fixations were a passing fad. That my tastes might run to whips and chains, to women bound submissive to my will, to the infliction of pain on another, was not only out of the question, it was something I was unwilling to consider. It simply wasn't who I had been raised to be. It simply wasn't how I had been taught to view women ... On that night I learned the truth and I haven't turned back since.

I had spent nearly a decade in the Navy, traveled the world, seen more than most people my age. I entered college after the service, a man in a world of children playing at adulthood. While I majored in engineering, I took creative writing classes out of interest and a desire to write. It was through these classes that I meet the woman who would open my eyes to a much larger world than I knew could exist.

Dr. Hall, Linda, was older, in her late forties but still a vibrant, larger than life figure on campus. She wasn't a beautiful woman but she had a beauty and grace about her, a charisma that engaged and attracted people to her. I was no different. On the short side, she had a voluptuous figure, curvaceous though slender with firm breasts that belied her age. She wore her hair short, a tasseled mane of gold that would have looked manly on a lesser woman. A subordinate dean, Linda taught offbeat writing and literature courses, several of which I would take over the years. It was in one of those courses, a directed studies course on Sexuality in Modern Literature, that I caught her attention.

"You read both the texts?" she questioned, sounding very much the educator. She sat across her dining room table from me; the house was dimly lit. She wore a black sweater and jeans and looked very much at home in the elegance of her simple country home. Her pale skin stood in stark contrast to the gaping material of the turtleneck.

"Yes," I answered.

"And you watched the film?" The video tape, unmarked and unremarkable, lay on the table between us. It was almost three hours of amateur bondage; raw, forbidden, enticing, magnetic in its appeal.

"I did." I shifted uncomfortably; the memory of the scenes was enough to spur a response from me.

"Any questions?"

"Several! But I don't even know where to start."

"Did you masturbate while you watched the film?"

"Excuse me?" I sat back, pulling away from her slightly; I knew my eyes were wide and I felt my face flush hot with surprise and embarrassment.

"Did you find the film sufficiently arousing to masturbate while watching it?" Her tone was direct and clinical.

"Yeah," I shrugged out the answer awkwardly, "Yeah I did. Twice, if that matters."

"When you masturbated, where did you picture yourself?"

"I don't understand."

"Top or bottom?" she asked.

I stared at her blankly.

"Did you see yourself as a top or bottom? As dom or sub? As the spanker or as the spanked? Do you wear the handcuffs or do you hold the key?"

"Ah," I felt my blush deepen as I realized how little I truly understood, "Dom, I can't see myself as a sub, for whatever reason."

'Shame," she smiled warmly, looking at me over the top of her glasses, "Such a shame, but I agree. You are very much a dominant."

I wasn't sure if there was a response to that so I let it lie.

"And is it something that you still want to learn more about?" she asked.

"Very much so!"

"Excellent," she stood slowly, "Follow me." She swept past me and moved toward the back door of the small cottage in which she lived.

I did my best to retain my composure, standing slowly and following her to the door. My palms were sweaty and I felt them shaking slightly with anticipation. Slipping into a well worn barn coat, she opened the door and we stepped out into the crisp autumn night; the yard of the small farm on which she lived was lit only by the cloud shaded moon. Crossing the yard amid the skittering leaves we moved to a darkened barn at the back of her little compound.

"Remove your shoes once you're inside, please," she cast a glance to me over her shoulder while digging her keys out of her jacket pocket.

When she opened the door I immediately noticed the scent of jasmine, lavender and wood smoke that escaped with the light from inside. Though the exterior of the structure spoke to a little used, even ignored structure, the inside told a different story. Just inside the door was a large foyer, one larger than the structure merited. Low benches lined the foyer walls and a hallway stretched out toward what I could tell was a large room; I could just make out the muted sounds of a fire. She shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on one of several hooks along the wall; I followed her lead. Our shoes went into little cubbies by the door. The whole experience reminded me of a dojo. With a quick glance my way, Dr. Hall moved up the hallway to the larger room.

"Whoa!" I spoke softly, caught off guard as I rounded the corner into the larger room; I felt myself stutter step.

If the foyer had alluded to a dojo, the décor of the central room declared it openly. It was richly appointed in soft white wood, bamboo, and muted paneling. The fire proved to be in a heavy stone fireplace and painted the room in golden warmth. The rafters of the old barn were exposed and several chain falls and pulleys were rigged from them; hocks, clasps and other rigging waited just within reach. But my eyes didn't linger on them for long; they fell almost instantly to the center of the room. There I saw a woman, naked, which knelt there on the bare floor. Her head was down, her eyes fixed on the floor, knees apart, her hands behind her back to thrust her breasts outward on display.

She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, raven haired with alabaster skin and deep red lips. Her skin had a healthy, soft glow that spoke to the absence of make-up; she was naturally beautiful and saw no reason to blemish that. Her waist was small and blossomed upward into proud, ample but firm breasts that were magnificent by themselves and richer yet for their inclusion in her.

My eyes were fixed on the girl as Dr. Hall swept past a low table opposite the fireplace. In a smooth motion she snatched up a riding crop, moving to stand at the girl's side. She placed the tip of the crop beneath the girl's chin and lifted gently. The girl's face rose, her eyes remained lowered, averted in deference.

"This is Allison," Doctor Hall traced the tip of the crop along the girl's jaw line, "She will be yours for the evening, to learn with."

I was speechless. I didn't know the girl; I was glad of that; it meant I'd not have to see her outside of this place. That I didn't know her, along with her apparent age, lead me to believe that she lived in the local community, rather than attending the university.

"First lesson," Doctor Hall stepped back from the girl, whose head fell in line with her gaze as the crop slipped away, "You should take time to know a sub before you play together. It's your responsibility to understand her; she submits to your will, but she trusts you to enrich her for the experience. Know what she desires, and give it to her. But this is a different sort of occasion, so I will spare you the interviews and discussions and simply relate to you Allison's personal tastes and limits."

"Alright," I tried to sound less blank than I was.

"First, we shall not be using her name here after, she does not deserve it, she is not worthy of such dignity," Doctor Hall moved gracefully to the table, returned the crop to the other toys there; I couldn't make them out just yet. "If you need to address her, refer to her simply as girl; though it is worth noting that she responds ... pleasingly ... to slut or whore as well."

"Understood," I watched the girl kneeling before us, silent.

"Second, the girl is a pain slut."

I cocked a brow in question.

"She is aroused by pain, the more intense the more aroused she becomes."

"To a limit," I added, feeling like it was expected.

"Naturally," Doctor Hall gracefully moved behind me, speaking over my shoulder.

"How do I know the limit?"

"That's what safewords are for; for now, follow your instinct; if you're out of bounds I'll stop you long before she speaks her safeword."


"Third, and last, the girl craves nothing so much as to be used, degraded; show her no respect, allow her no dignity. She is a receptacle here for your use. That is why I chose her for you."

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears; my cock was already hard, fighting against the tight denim of my jeans. I couldn't take my eyes off the girl kneeling before me. And I couldn't move; I had no idea what to do first. My hesitation spurred the good doctor to continue her direction.

"In the movie, you saw a girl tip-toed; everything you need to do so is here, either on the table or already rigged from the rafters." Doctor Hall moved to an overstuffed leather chair in the corner and sat, "Tip-toe the slut."

I eyed the kneeling girl for a moment, and then moved to the table. The array of toys -- tools -- there was daunting; I wasn't sure what to do with any of it. Playing the movie back in my mind I picked up a set of wide leather wrist bands; these would do for a start. Swallowing hard, I pushed Allison into the back of my mind; she couldn't be that person any longer. I turned on her, eyes as cold as I could cast them, and moved to her with a suddenness that I think startled her. Before either of us knew it, my fist was knotted in her hair at the base of her skull; tugging insistently upward I barked at her, falling into the stern persona of my former military life, "On your feet, girl."

I felt her shudder as she scrambled to gain her feet as quickly as I was lifting her scalp. She gasped, swallowing a moan; I couldn't help but notice that her nipples had become rock hard on her ample breasts.

When she was on her feet, even before she had them steady under her, I seized her wrist; it was small in my hand, almost frail. I tried not to fumble with the unfamiliar straps, not wanting to break the spell I knew the moment required. She resisted, tugging back from me; I followed the good doctor's directive and followed my instinct, striking her lightly and with my open hand across her face. She crumbled next to me, falling to her knees. My grip on her wrist hadn't faltered and after a few additional moments of awkwardness, I wrangled it into the strap. The second was secured with far less fanfare.

I seized her wrists firmly, holding them before her as I fastened the quick link between the two straps. The quick link in hand, I yanked her forward and up; she scrambled to her feet. Pulling her to the closest chain fall, I lifted her wrists upward and slipped the hook into the quick link. Stepping back I took the chain fall in hand and worked the hoist loop, shortening the lift chain and dragging her every so slowly skyward.

Behind her, I divided my attention between her feet and her figure. Watching her pulled tight between rafters and bamboo floor I recognized for the first time what is to this day bondage's greatest draw for me, the beauty drawn from a bound and secured girl's form. When she stood on just the balls of her feet I gave the chain one last tug for good measure. Her svelte form was pulled taunt; her breasts heaved with her arousal, and I could smell her heat. She moaned softly.

"Very good," Doctor Hall spoke, still seated, "Now, select something from the table with which to draw her pain from her. The riding crop is a personal favorite, but you should select what speaks to you. In time, you should try them all. For now, just the one will suffice." I looked over the selection once again, settling for a thin leather-wrapped paddle, little more than a heavy yard stick in a leather sheath. Its weight felt good in my hand and I could almost imagine the sound it would make against her flesh.

"A fine selection," Doctor Hall mentored, "It is best applied to the meatier parts of the slut's body; I recommend her shapely little ass. Keep in mind that the gentle curve, the swell, where the upper thigh blossoms into the ass is the sweet spot in this occasion."

Stepping again to the girl's side, I traced the tip of the paddle along the line of her shapely leg, from her ankle, over the swell of her calf, across the hollow of her knee, to her thigh. That line haunts and captivates me to this day. She shook involuntarily. Snapping the paddle into a circular motion I ripped the tip from her flesh and drove the flat of it against the curve of her ass. She screamed and pulled against her wrist restraints. The swell of her ass reddened and her ass and thighs drew tight in goose flesh.

The paddle in my right hand, I traced the flat of the instrument against her ass; I cupped her breast in the palm of my left, rolling the nipple between my thumb and finger. She moaned low in her throat. I took the other breast in hand, rolling the nipple roughly; when she moaned I snapped the paddle again, slapping it harshly against her bare flesh. She jerked, arched her back and pressed her breast into my palm.

"Again," Doctor Hall coached.

I complied, and the paddle smacked sharply against the girl's flesh; she jerked again. I could see her arousal slick on her thighs. I dropped my hand to her sex, rolling my fingertips roughly over her clit; she squirmed and jerked against me. I pressed two fingers into her wet sex; she moaned again.

"You are a slut, aren't you?" I asked in a soft whisper, my lips brushing against her ear as I slowly finger fucked her; her wet heat soaked my hand.

"Yes," she breathed. Her voice was heavy and soft; I wondered what she would sound like in a softer moment, then pushed that aside.

"Yes, what?" I asked, punctuating the question by hooking my fingers in her cunt, lifting violently against her pelvic bone.

"This girl is a slut," she shrieked; I felt her sex clamp around my fingers as they violated her.

"The girl is a slut, what?" I held the pressure against her pelvic bone, mashing her sex, and struck the swell of her ass with the paddle violently.

"The girl is a slut, master!" she screamed.

"I'm going to fuck you," I whispered, "would you like that?"

She nodded as I released the pressure on her sex, replacing it with a steady, insistent manipulation of her clit. It slipped between my fingertips as I worked them in tight circles against her.

"I think I'll fuck you in the ass, would you like that?" I asked softly, working her sex steadily. She nodded.

"Say it." I kept my tone flat and calm, my fingertips maintaining their steady rhythm against her.

"Yes, master."

"Tell me what you want." I worked her clit, tracing the flat of the paddle along the swell of her ass.

"This girl wants your cock in her ass, master!" she cried.

"Cum for me," I coached, "Cum for me and I'll fuck that tight ass of yours."

Her breath quickened and I felt her working herself against my hand; she knew what she needed and I could only guess and clumsily apply the lessons of past lovers to her climax. Her knees buckled, drawn tight against one another, her weight brought to bear on her wrists. I rolled my thumb over her clit as I worked my fingers into her. She fought to keep her weight off her wrists, I did nothing to alleviate her struggle.

"Cum for me, slut!" I barked, the paddle swung awkwardly, smacking with less sharpness than I'd desired but drawing a moan from her nonetheless.

"Cum for me, or I'll stop!" It was the only threat I could imagine; it worked.

Her knees buckled under her; she dropped heavily, just a few inches, but enough to add to her torment. Her body drew tight against itself; her breath caught in her throat. I pulled my hand from the viselike grip of her thighs, stepped back slightly, and drove the paddle into the swell of her ass one final time as she came.

Dropping the paddle to the floor, I took the chain in hand again, working it quickly to drop her to the floor, letting her settle onto her knees. Her body shook, quivered, as her orgasm rippled through her. Oblivious to Doctor Hall just a few feet away, I opened my jeans and quickly shed them along with my boxers; my cock sprang free, rock hard and eager to sample the girl's charms. I kicked my garments to one side and turned my attention back to the girl. She was still recovering, I took the moment to shed my shirt and socks; I was as naked now as she.

Before she fully recovered I removed the hook from the quick link and jerked her to one side, clear of the chain fall. I knotted my hand in her hair again, stroking my cock absently as I manhandled her.

"You're a slut, not worth my cum," I snapped her head back sharply, my cock inches from her lips. Her eyes her fixed on the swollen head that crowned my shaft. "If you want me in your ass, beg my cock, beg it to fuck your ass, slut!"

Her hands found my cock, she gripped it with an eagerness that bordered on painful, rubbing the crown over her cheek, nuzzling it, smearing her face with my pre-cum, "Oh please, master's cock, fuck this girl's ass. She needs you to fill her ass with your cum, master's cock." She brushed her lips along the shaft, her breath hot against my aroused flesh. "This slut needs you in her ass, please, use her ... please ... "

I pulled her to her feet again, my grip on her hair drawing a startled squeal from her; with need I drug her to a bench against the far wall and pushed her over it. I'd never had anal sex before, it had always been out of bounds with my previous lovers; but I'd read more than was sane and I thought I had some idea how to proceed. She spread herself before me, her arms, still bound, pinned beneath her; I saw her fingers working her clit as I shoved myself between her thighs.

"Grab my cock!" I ordered.

She grabbed me by the shaft, stroking me in her excitement.

"Smear my cock with your cunt juices; I don't want to hurt myself when I shove my cock into your tight ass."

She awkwardly smeared my cock head in her fluids, her fingertips dancing over my cock in a lewd, almost overpowering way. I had to take her or I was going to cum outside her. I slapped her hands away and took my cock in my own hand, aiming it at her pink pucker. She was no stranger to anal violation; her ass opened easily for me. I closed my eyes and grabbed her roughly by the hips as my cock slipped into her. The tight grip of her forbidden channel was more than I'd expected; reading can teach a man only so much. I sunk into her until I felt her fingertips on my balls; her ass was hot, almost painfully so, and I needed to cum.

Holding her hips in a death grip, I gave up all pretense of composure and simply fucked her. The raw lust of the moment, the violence of it, would have been unthinkable to me not so very long before. All I knew now was that I needed to use her; that she lusted after this abuse was irrelevant. I hammered into her; her fingernails raked lightly against my balls with each stroke as I took her.

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