Dark Eden

http://www.eroticexcursions.net/

Presents

Dark Eden Copyright 2005 by Rene.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author. This material is presented as adult entertainment and is not intended for any person under the age of eighteen years. While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the author assumes no responsibilities for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of information contained herein. All characters and descriptions are purely fictitious.

FANTASY: THE PLAYER

"Do you trust me?" He asked her.

He was half-hidden in shadows. All she could really see of him was his eyes. Cold, blue, like ice on the water.

"No." She said as she looked at him. "I trust no man in this world, but they said you could help me."

"Who said?" He asked.

She looked down at her hands. Away from him, and not meeting his eyes.

"Lee at the leather shop. Can I smoke?"

He nodded. Her hands trembled as she opened her cigarette case. Pulling one out, and then putting it between her lips. She took a deep drag on it as she was lighting it. Smoke curling around her head in the soft light.

"I wasn't always like this."

He leaned back further in his leather chair, stretching out his legs. His long blonde hair hanging over his eyes.

"What are you like?" He asked and his voice flowed caressingly over her like warm butter.

"I don't take a lot of shit." She said, as her eyes flashed fire.

She laughed shortly, as he asked how this fantasy had started for her.

"It started with a man. One night he doesn't want me to move when he's fucking me, then suddenly he's breaking a riding crop on my ass."

"You liked it." He said simply, smiling at her.

Inexplicable tears welled in her eyes and she stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray before her. Her movements sharp, and impatient. He went to his knees in front of her and put his large hands on her open thighs. She tensed with sudden fear. Eyes going wide as they met his. Heat started coming from her legs and a deep muscle trembling.

"You liked it and you're ashamed of it."

Gently his hands kneaded her thighs.

"Why should you feel guilty for the kind of sex you like?"

"It's not normal."

Her breath was short, fast. Her voice tortured.

"You're very strong, but you can't control this."

His hands moved up her thighs. Her legs tried to jerk closer together. His hands moving under the brightly colored skirt that she wore. Her skin was like an inferno. Fevered heat flowing from the soft pliant flesh under his fingers. Easing up to the apex of her womanhood, just skirting the pleasure place at the woman's core of her.

"What kind of fantasies do you have?" He asked.

He turned his eyes to her lap. Concentrating on what he was doing to her body for a few precious seconds.

"Tell me. I won't tell anybody else."

Running one of his digits up the side of her cotton panties to rub the outside of her damp opening. Her eyes had started to glaze over, her breathing grew ragged.

"I'm blindfolded and spread on a cold surface."

He brushed against her wet opening, touching it with the lightest of strokes.

"He touches me, opening every part of my body."

She took a deep shuddering breath and forced herself to continue around the rising knot of need inside her. Her words coming faster, more urgently, as though a floodgate had been opened inside her.

"He uses every device that he has available to him. Beating me on the inside of my thighs, on my legs."

He understood her driving imperative words. He touched her lips silencing her, pulling his hands away from her hungry orifice.

"That's a start, my dearest."

He was now ready to take her.

"I want to give you what you need and in my service you will know complete satisfaction. The standard rules apply here, as everywhere."

She knew the rules.

"You decide and when you have. Go to that door. Knock and wait on your knees for me to come for you. I'll take you to the dungeon."

He left her then. Going out the oaken door, leaving her in physical torment. Awash with aching blinding deprivation. Her body, so long cold. Burning with excitement. Fervent passion. She did what she wanted to do and knocked on the door.

He opened it, cupping her face from above her. This truly sensual novice that had wandered into his care. He ran his hands over her face and turned from her. She followed him to his dungeon. The room itself was painted black and was meant to frighten. That was its purpose. It's reason for being. His `toys' hung openly on the walls. The whips, paddles and bondage gear that were his passion and his hobby. His life. Exploration of the extreme.

"Take your clothing off for me."

She answered him respectfully, keeping her eyes down. Her hotly blushing face expressionless. The light shirt then flowered skirt, falling to the floor. She looked around discreetly as she removed her underwear. Pulse pounding with trepidation and arousal. Noticing the leather covered bench in the center of the room. The myriad beams and hooks strategically placed for easy usage. The canvas sling in the corner and all the toys hanging around the room. She kept her arms at her sides and her eyes down.

"Climb up on the table and spread your legs."

Immediately she did it. Her feet hanging off the end and her heavy breasts falling to the sides of her torso. He leaned over and took some thick leather cuffs. Tying her to the table, immobilized, helpless. Taking a leather gag and sealing her lips. Bending her knees and tying them flat to the edges.

She burned with lust. Her skin so hot and moist, his hands practically stuck to her muscles. Muscles that flexed helplessly against the bonds. Fear shadowing her eyes for a brief moment. She did not trust him, but she would. Maybe after the fourth or fifth orgasm. When her body was so sore and tired that it responded by reflex alone.

He studied her coldly. Not smiling, deciding the best way to explore her. He weighed her breasts with his hands. Palming them and pinching the nipples until she groaned. No little toys, just his flesh abusing hers. Watching her head roll helplessly on the black leather. Lovely.

Running his hands down her arms to the soft shaved flesh of her armpits making her shiver. Over her ribcage softly, then the gently rounded curve of her belly. Her hips struggling to remain still. Lightly moving to her dripping cleft and leaning over the end of the table to look down at her sex. He opened her folds, massaging the inside of her vagina with slow deliberate movements. Her breath caught in her throat as he rolled the hard kernel of feeling with maddening slowness. The thick moisture coating his fingers. Not enough for what he wanted to do to her, so he lubed up his hand to the wrist. Massaging her slick opening with three of his fingers. Watching her face change color and expression, as he worked inside her tight flesh.

She felt him going into her so softly he could barely be felt. Just a sweet low pressure that filled her deliciously. Easing the tension from every other part of her body and concentrating it into her loins. Her respirations deepened and flowed softly from her lungs. Yes,' she thought. Do me, just like this, then beat me for my pleasure. Hurt me when I dare to release this passion against your hands.' Her eyes closed in helpless response to his ministrations.

He saw and was pleased, adding the fourth finger to her opening. Hearing a low animal moan and feeling her legs start to shake with reaction. He leaned up over her to watch her. Pushing his thumb into his palm, so his hand was smaller. Massaging her stomach and the inside of her thighs. She tensed momentarily, but relaxed when he made low sibilant sounds to ease her fear. Feeling her melt around his hand until it slid home, forming a fist that reached all the way to her uterus. Her hips rose from the table with tension and he simply stayed within her. He whispered as he leaned over her.

"I'm all the way in you. My whole hand. Can you feel me?"

She nodded, shuddering when he rocked his fist by the barest fraction. She pulled on the cuffs holding her arms, and moaned. He looked at her red suffering face.

"Don't come, or let go of any bodily functions on my nice leather table. I can feel the pressure on your insides. Suffer with it. Hold it, feel it grow more uncomfortable. I want to rub your insides raw with this arm, and then fuck the shit out of you until you scream out loud enough to be heard upstairs."

She arched against the table when he started driving his arm inside her with sharp piston-like motions. Motions that felt large to her, impossibly big. Yet was in actuality only the depth of a millimeter or two. She fought against the orgasm, flowing over her. Fought to control her passion and her pain. She went rigid, almost pulse less. He ceased moving and she felt him pull from her gently. She groaned, her whole attitude pleading with him to continue. `Don't stop.' She rolled her hips and tried to pull free.

"Useless, my tender one."

He wiped his hands on a towel and took a large headed riding crop from the wall behind him.

"I want you too orgasm. I'm going to beat your clitoris with this crop until you do."

She shook her head, vigorously. He laughed at the shock blooming in her eyes.

"Like you have a choice?"

He swung the whip softly, using light swings that were both rhythmic and accurately placed. Talking to her as her hips went unbending and fixed in the air. Her breath suspended. Face blood red and rolling helplessly.

"You want to come and you deserve the pain. The agony of the fist and the whip."

He continued to tap her clitoris with deeper, damper strokes. Her juices wetting the head of the instrument of torture, making it sound soaked. Wetter and crueler, than dry leather.

"That's it, baby. Come for me. Hips in the air. Face flushed, body pounding with excitement."

She whimpered and he continued, deftly stroking her passion higher to another level with his words and his hard punishing strokes.

"When you come, I stop hitting your little love button and fuck you. I promise to give you more pleasure with my organ, or my tongue, than you can bear. Just let it go for me and I'll show you."

He could see it working on her and went faster, upping the pace of his strokes. She was about to orgasm. He could see it creeping over her body with a practiced eye. `Here it comes.' He thought and he was right. She boiled over before him. She bucked, eyes closed. Teeth clenching the gag between her hardened jaws as she attained her release. He threw the whip away quickly and rubbed her slick cleft. Hearing the muffled cry of pleasure from behind the gag. Pushing his fingers into her as she writhed in her bonds. Drawing every bit of her orgasm from her until she was a limp twitching wreck on the bench before him. Unable to catch her breath around the tears running freely from her eyes.

He was oblivious to them, as he freed his organ from his pants. Climbing on top of her to get himself off. Pushing seven inches of painfully hard organ into her tender quivering opening. She screamed behind the gag, as her raw cleft rebelled against his intrusion. Trying to free her hands, and thighs. Shaking her head, no. He took her face in his hands and opened the gag. Pumping his organ into her. Feeling his need rising to flood her. Taking her lips in his and kissing her deeply. Her tongue moving to twine with his in little open circles. The moans coming from her in gasps of pain. Wonderful to his ears. Her flesh tightening around his as he expertly stroked the tender places deep inside her. The head of his dick rubbing the g-spot at the top of her vagina with practiced precision.

"You are so good, honey. Even in pain you did as I wanted and now I want something else from you. Come again and I'll let you rest. One more for your Master and I'll oil your sore little honey-mouth. Gently ease your aches and pains."

She shook her head, voice weak and trembling.

"I don't think I can." She whimpered against his throat.

Her voice desperate to please him, but not able too. He stroked her hair and leaned up on his forearms. Hand moving to touch her clitoris.

"I'll help you do it. I want you too. I need you too. I want to come with you. Fill your sweet sex with my man juice and watch it run from your cleft in a steady stream."

She let his words intoxicate her senses. Flow over her thoughtlessly driven flesh. His thick organ a burning punishment that tantalized, moving her inexorably to the brink of completion.

"You'll come for me, baby. Come on. It's okay to do it. I want you too. Need you too."

Soft words and hard flesh. She let it go and while the release was less than the last one. It moved her and him, to total completion. His organ jerking inside her. His body going rigid in ecstasy. His sweaty flesh rubbing against hers. His breath harsh in her ears and his moist kisses rough on her soft throat. His hands clasping her firmly to his body.

The hard twitches of his organ becoming slower and more random. She could feel his penis moving weakly inside her and opened her eyes into his. He smiled down at her and spoke softly. His words heavy with meaning.

"You're a player now and I'm your Master."

She nodded at him. Eyes wide and softly wet with tears.

"You'll come to love this life and I in turn, will love you."

She turned her face into her arm.

"There's time for you to believe me and time for us to learn the cycles of your flesh."

She turned to his voice. Emotions in turmoil.

"You are mine." She spoke, voice heavy with truthful innocence. She smiled.

"Yes, I am."

I liked that one; at least my body did anyways. I didn't bother to close the book, but I did lay the pen in the middle of it carefully. I sat in the library with a silly grin on my face until Adam came in. I went immediately to my knees.

"What were you doing?" He asked and I answered carefully.

"Writing in my journal, Handler."

He went to the desk and sat where I had been sitting. Reading the last few pages. He smiled and shook his head. His fingers moving over the heavy page softly.

"Surrounded by all this erotic potential and you still think of variations on a theme?"

I shrugged negligently. `What could I possibly say?' The mind never truly stops working.

"We've only got a couple of hours before everyone arrives. I have to get ready for tonight's activities." I looked up in curiosity. He laughed, shaking his head.

"Your head just does not stop does it?"

"No, Handler. I'm gifted that way."

He chuckled. Motioning for me to follow him. I did and we spent the next couple of hours getting ready for the big event of the night.

THE PARTY

Nothing like being a naked burnished slave to raise your pulse rate. Put into a nice tight collar and wrist cuffs. A leash to lead you and a master to watch your behavior. A handler to make sure that every part of you was so clean it squeaked. More attention than a normal person gets in a month. Awesome.

The fact that I had performed these same services for Adam didn't seem like anything more than a simple courtesy. He had cleaned me and I him. Afterwards I had buckled him into the training harness, polishing his body with oil. Setting his half-flaccid organ into the pliable leather pouch that he handed me with soft, careful hands.

Not speaking but feeling a trembling in my limbs that was almost excitement. Almost fear. I should have known that he would see it. Trained in powers of observation like he was. "You're frightened, aren't you?" He asked me.

Looking down at my shaking hands as they fumbled with the buckle at his ankle for the fourth or fifth time.

"Yes, Handler." My mouth was dry and my palms were damp.

"I've never been with a crowd before, or seen anybody else..."

My eyebrows knit together over my forehead. Adam touched my face. Looking down at me.

"It's always hard for the intelligent ones. The wide awake ones like you."

I asked if it had been hard for him. He was obviously intelligent and he smiled.

"Yes, but I deserved it. I had an excess of passion that cost me my wife plus a great job. Most of my life went down the drain. I'd been thinking of this, but I still tried to live in `normal' life. It was a mistake, but it was mine to make."

He stood, and then straightened some of the buckles.

"You want to keep this part of you a secret; unfortunately, secrets that have to be kept are generally things that people are ashamed of. I'm stigmatized, but I'm having so much fun I don't really care."

I smiled.

"You like the agony and the humiliation. You come when you are used harshly and just the thought of it, makes you drenched."

I blushed at the veracity in his words. He pulled me to my feet, smoothing my hair. Touching me soothingly.

"Acceptance of yourself is the hardest thing that you will learn here. It was the hardest thing that I learned here. I have my real-life and I also have this intoxicating fantasy. Lucky me."

He said it with a devilish twinkle in his eyes that made me smile.

"Are you ever frightened?" He laughed.

He kissed me. His big hands hard against the small of my back. Pressing me tightly against his body.

"Of course, I am." He grinned.

I breathed deeply of the male smell coming from his warm skin.

"I'm titillated by every aspect of this. I love to punish you. I, also, love to be punished by others. You think that there is something wrong with what you want and what you need to feel good."

His hands cupped the soft flesh of my buttocks, kneading it lightly.

"If there is something wrong with you, then there is also something wrong with me. Let's not worry about it, right now. By the end of this night. We'll both be so sore, so well fucked; it won't matter if we are ashamed or simply unconscious. We just have to do what we're told to do. That's all we have to do." I nodded and let him lead me from the room with the little leather leash.

The party was going when we went downstairs at precisely seven o'clock. The crowd pleasant and hot looking. There was enough leather in this room to redo the whole house full of furniture. All of it black and all of it covering hot skin. Enfolding willing limbs and sensuous attributes. Top or bottom, the pulse of this room could be felt in the air.

Men and women with slaves kneeling at their feet. Belts studded with silver and brass. Collars, cuffs. Whips and crops. Flexible leather paddles. I almost came on the spot where I knelt at the sight of so much S/M gear in one room. I managed to contain myself, just barely. I attracted some attention simply because I was a neoteric face. Someone that the regular players did not know intimately. They assessed my erotic potential the way they would assess anyone fresh. A new player in this game. These people were like anybody else. Excited by a novice. A virgin, if you will.

Adam led me over to Jon, who was standing by the fireplace with Traci and another man. I kept my eyes down and my head close to the floor. Traci saw us coming and unhooked a leash from her own belt. Snapping it unto Adam's collar. He went gracefully to his knees, kissing her boots. She touched his hair softly, still speaking to the man above us. We were ignored. I was almost grateful. I had no desire to draw any attention in this crowd. The only attention I could entice would be negative. There were so many people here, so many slaves. The place practically hummed with suppressed sexuality. A vibratory undertone that buzzed the very air I was breathing. I huddled closer to Jon's leg in useless fear. My eyes wide, heart trying to beat its way out of my breast. The carpet softly abrasive against my skin.

Jon touched my hair making me lean closer against his left leg. Sure that he could feel my pulse through the roots of my hair. Absolutely certain that everyone could see the damp tangle of hair at the apex of my thighs. I tried not to look about me, but it was impossible. There was too much to see. Jon spoke down to me then, his voice low.

"Eyes on me, Anne."

I kissed his shoes and laid my face against the soft leather of his pants. Focusing all my senses on him alone. Terrified of displeasing him, especially in this crowd. A word from him would have me bitted and fitted. Running to please someone I barely knew. My hands curled against his ankle in mute supplication. I kept my face on the floor. Listening to his voice flow over me like warm water from a spigot. I did want to see what was going on around me, yet curbing my curiosity was very difficult.

"Anne, Look up at my friend, Terry."

I raised my eyes, and my head. Keeping my hands flat on the floor, and my gaze below the level of his belt. Jon put his hand under my chin, raising my face all the way up.

"He wants to see your eyes, slave."

I elevated them to the face before me. A wise face. Time had etched lines of subtle tracery around the corners of his eyes. The mouth was firm and the lips slightly thin. His hair was light brown, very short. Steel-rimmed glasses, slightly smoked, covered his eyes. Obscuring the color so I could not see them clearly. His body was solid looking, not soft. His legs were thick but well set on the rug. His balance was good. He wore a suit of heather tweed with elbow patches. Rolex watch and a large diamond pinkie ring. The impeccable accouterments of money and power. I met his eyes and saw him reach out to touch my cheek. His hand moved slowly and I knew that my eyes had widened to twice their normal size. I was all innocent expression and softly trembling limbs. The picture of enslaved uncertainty.

I watched his hands approaching my face. His fingers encased in thin gray gloves that seemed to be very finely made. I felt the softest brush from those limber digits across my cheek. His softly accented British voice floating into my ears.

"Well, Jonathan. What a treasure you've found. She's lovely."

Cupping my chin, he pulled me upright with the deftest of touches. One long finger moving across my collarbone. I remembered the proper position and kept my legs open. My hands on my thighs. Remaining as still as a millpond after sunset. He spoke as though I was not even there, as I expected him to.

"Nice breasts on this one. I see the mark of the cane on the inside of her thighs already."

Wry amusement colored his tone. Jon spoke again, proudly. Taking a handful of my hair.

"She passed the safe-word test by at least five minutes, Terry. Without bleeding, or screaming, more than one would expect her too. Very willing, yet compliant."

The man never removed his hand from my shoulder, but he took his gaze off of me to meet Jon's. I was grateful.

"However did you find her?" Terry asked.

Jon to laughed, explaining that I had practically fallen into his lap. Drawn by one of the discreet ads that he placed in the local Nouveau paper.

"I have never tried advertising. I much prefer to acquire stock from reputable trainers such as you, Jonathan."

I could hear a note of disdain in his voice.

"This modern age has so little finesse."

His attention fell back to me. I shivered.

"When you want me to introduce this little flower to the full passion of the cane, do call me. I love a novice that does not bleed."

The fingers remaining on me were pulled away, leaving an open space on my body.

I felt as if all the air had been pulled from my lungs. I was empty, void. All of this was meaningless unless the hand of the Master touched my flesh. I took deep breaths in reaction. Trying to regain my composure, my peace of mind. I didn't think that I would be able to when suddenly I noticed Traci taking Adam away from us. Leading him from the room on all fours. Terry following behind, watching the smooth play of muscle as Adam crawled in front of him. Where were they going?' I didn't dare ask. I tried to be patient but it was very difficult. Other people kept wandering over to handle my body. Touching my hair and my breasts. Jon seemed to want me to be perpetually titillated by what I saw, yet merely on the fringe of the action. An observer and that was all right by me. I was so overwhelmed by what I was seeing that it was hard to absorb. Others kept wandering off only to return to us. Jon, with one of his hands on me possessively at all times, was talking shop over my head. His deep laugh floated down to me in a comforting wave and I licked the tip of his boots in spontaneous reaction. Feeling warm wetness reaching the tops of my thighs. I was so hot for sex. I felt like I was going to explode. `Where was Traci? What was expected of me?'

"Anne, stand up and follow me. Your knees are too raw to go down the stairs to the playroom."

I obeyed him. Surprised anew to realize how close we were in height. The contrast between how much he scared me and how related we were physically was astounding to me. The sprinkling of salt and pepper in his hair. The fire that lit his eyes when I did something particularly gracefully. I did like him and that was the best thing that could have happened to me. Being topped by someone I respected.

THE PUNISHMENT CROSS

I followed him willingly down the stairs to the same room that we had been in last weekend. Not pulling to hard on the leash. Good posture, easy motions. Proud carriage with my eyes down. We entered the playroom and what I saw stunned me so profoundly, I stopped dead in my tracks. I just could not believe my eyes. Jon gave a short hard jerk on my lead to draw my attention to his needs. His face flooding with anger. I was appalled that I had let my attention be distracted from him. He spoke, harshly.

"No whip for you tonight, slave. You'll have to earn it."

I felt tears in my eyes. There was no softening in his gaze.

"Now, pay attention to me, Anne. I will draw your attention to what I want you to see. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master. This slave begs forgiveness for her curiosity."

He seemed satisfied when I fell to my knees next to him. We walked over to a chair near the front of the crowd. Surprisingly empty or maybe they knew that it was Jon's chair. Either way he had a place to sit to see the show. Jon made full use of it. Putting his hand on the back of my neck under the heavy shaft of my braided hair. Cupping it gently to feel the fever of my skin.

"Take a good look at Adam, Anne. You'll be where he is one day."

I wasn't really looking forward to that, but Adam was suffering so perfect. His face was blazing scarlet. His jaw clenched to iron hardness. Adam's breath exploded from his chest in short bursts of sharp acrid pain. Tears leaking down his face in a soft torrent. The muscles of his thighs were like tight cords with exertion. Beautiful. Terry had mounted him on the Punishment Cross with a black phallus peeking between his spread thighs. The training harness strained across his chest. Clamps decorated his body wherever there was loose skin. Reddened marks from the whip decorated his torso like the fine lines of lead in a stained-glass window. His face was flushed and his jaw was clenched. His well-defined organ strained against the thin leather pouch that my two shaking hands had encased it in. Picture perfect. More dampness seeped from my cleft in unrestrained jealousy. I moaned in sympathy.

The Punishment Cross was not designed for any other purpose but to make the person on it uncomfortable. That was it and that was all. It was as tall as a man, shaped like an X, with four-inch beams. It had quick-release leather bands and slots for hooks to widen the legs, or just to give added support to the body. Supremely humiliating. Others milled around the room. Stopping and watching or giving little suggestions to the man tormenting Adam on the punishment cross. I did as I had been told to do. I merely watched with longing what Adam was suffering. Wishing it was me. My gaze as avid as any Shriner watching a stripper at a weekend convention. I was enthralled. Jon continued touching my neck with a steady palm. I knew that I was boiling with heat and need. A nuclear reaction taking place in my body. Bringing me into harmony with the sexual attitudes of the people around me.

"Would you like that to be you?"

I felt my breath catch in my throat. My head was nodding before the words were even formed in my dry throat.

"Yes, Master."

My voice was low. A low sound grating around the lump in my throat. My eyes becoming bright with suppressed emotion. Honesty had a tendency to do that to me. It seemed that I only felt profound sensations, or experienced deeply held emotions, when they were forced from my breast with a strap or an orgasm. There was no happy medium with me. It was all or nothing.

"Kneel up and present."

I hurried to do it. Turning my back to him and placing myself on all fours. Legs wide, eyes tightly shut. My hands clasped together on the floor with my head resting on them. I quivered violently in front of Jon with fear and desire. The subtle mixing of emotions turning me on even more than I had been this whole weekend.

"Very good, slave."

He put the toe of his boot into the wet nest of hair between my legs, forcing a low submissive sound from my lips. I felt the flesh growing fuller and hotter under the rough ministrations of his boot.

"I see the wetness on your thighs. Your body is more than willing to betray me, isn't it?"

"Only if it should please you, Master."

He laughed at the deep-throated misery in my tone.

"Keep watching the spectacle, Anne."

He practically whispered at me. A low hiss of sound floating hotly into my ears.

"I will have you up there soon, but you will have to be very good to deserve it."

I vowed to be good, but it was so hard to remember all the rules and regulations that were necessary to this life. I wanted so much more. I wanted to be perfect. That was the essence of how I was now reacting. This feeling flowed through my aroused body, but I was so new to this behavior I faltered. I failed at my attempt and knew that I needed instruction. It wouldn't really hit me until later that this was slave thinking. The willingness to humiliate myself to garner favor from the man who was my Master. Truth be told. I would be shocked to realize that this was exactly how I was supposed to be feeling. That every reaction was readily recognized as a phase of training. I was what they considered above `normal' for this stage of my development. My natural responses were more finely tuned than many who had been in their kind of training program.

"My boot needs to be cleaned."

I turned around and licked my salty juices from the highly polished tip. Letting him pull me up afterwards to pet me. My breasts, my throat. The soft skin on my back. I groaned with need and he let me go. Drawing my attention back to Adam and the intense man tormenting him. I saw the man shake out a bullwhip, cracking it expertly over Adams head. Adam pulled against the cross, but said nothing. The man ran the whip softly over his chest and over the leather bag holding his organ. Adam almost lost it. I could see the shudders of his body as he fought to control the spasms threatening to spill over him. Terry growled at him, voice low.

"Do you have any idea what I'll do to you if you come before I'm finished with you, boy?"

His face was hard. The whip handle resting under Adam's chin, forcing his eyes up to the Master's cold countenance.

"Yes, Master." His voice was frantic. "Please." He begged... his whole body begged. "I can't take anymore, Master."

There was gentleness then as Traci spoke into his ear. Leaning into his hot skin, stroking it slowly. Soothing his tears with soft hands. I wished it was me, wanted it to be me. I heard low moans coming from my throat in commiseration with Adam's torment.

"You will take it though, won't you?"

Adam nodded, unable to speak. Swallowing sobs, deep in his chest. The way men do when they really don't want to cry but simply cannot help it. His tears flowing freely now in pain-filled liberation.

"You are a slave. I am your Mistress. Your suffering pleases me. It is pleasing for your Mistress to see and she loves you for it."

More deep sobs, as the sentiment moved the core deep inside of him that I was sure no one ever saw in real life. `Much like me.' I thought suddenly in surprise.

The man shook out the whip, backing up. Adam tensed in the bondage. His neck arched. I saw the man wind up his arm. Flicking the soft skin under a clamp pinching into Adam's flesh. When the whip hit it, it flipped off. I almost orgasmed where I was kneeling from imagining what that felt like to him.

The stinging bite of the whip and the rush of flow to the blood starved tissues. I reeled with him. The hair on the back of my neck coming to immediate shivery attention. The sound was a steady rise and fall of resounding vibration. A sharp cadence in the heated air. There was not one person unaffected by the display before us. It was intoxicating. The proficient artistry of both men before us. The sharp writhing of Adam. The artful prowess of the whip in the hands of Terry. The self-evident desire of the people watching. Increased pressure from Jon's fingers on my skin told me that he wanted something. I looked up and made some small sound that drew his full attention to my plight on the floor. I didn't look in his eyes, but I did let him know that I was more than willing to service his needs. I couldn't care less about the eyes of the others in the room, or the watchful intermittent gaze of the man with Adam. The crowd before us was non-existent to me. I was so focused on the heat between my legs and the pounding of my heart. There was no one else near me that I really truly cared about.

"Take care of me." Jon ordered and I eagerly moved to do as I was bid. Turning quickly to settle my hands on the his thighs. Seeing his organ tauten under his leather pants.

"Open them."

I did so. Hands urgently pulling the tab on the zipper. Reaching into the pants and easing his penis from the confining folds of leather. He took the fat tail of hair from over my shoulder and opened the end. The long mass flowing over my back as he pulled the braid free. Smoothing it in a wave, around my red face. It was concealing and appreciated. Looking down at the stiff organ before me I knew what he wanted from me. What's more, he wanted it now in this crowd of strangers. Jon wanted everybody here to observe my willingness, my compliance to his command. I put those thoughts out of my head, and concentrated on my task. A pleasurably frustrating endeavor as I became immediately hot for him as I contemplated sucking his organ. Taking the tip of his penis into my lips and moistening it with my tongue. I went down to the very root in one smooth motion. Pushing him into my mouth for the last delicious inch. Feeling him tense under me and sigh with voluptuous abandon. I went into action. Motions that would lead to his completion with determined effort and now easy oral skill. Tasting his flesh in my mouth in a sweet burst of salt and heat. I was taking my time with him. Teasing the underside of his organ with quick cat-like licking motions of my tongue. Stroking the big vein underneath lovingly. Nipping gently at the head until I tasted the beginning of his orgasm in slow drops melting in my urgently sucking mouth. I let his body rule mine. The delicate signals that told me what he was feeling, better than any words ever could.

Jon took a firm hold of the hair at my damp temples, gripping me quickly to guide me for the last few moments. Up and down against his organ. Feeling it swell to orgasmic proportions in my tightening throat. Near to the time when his balls pulled closer to his body in preparation for release. When the smell of male animal flowed over my senses in heady perfume and I became caught up in the tension of the moment. Struggling to control the burgeoning rush of urgency in my own body. I wanted to let it go. Let it flow over me in a rush of passion, but knew that I couldn't. I had to learn to control it. Jon drew my attention from my own torment with subtle movements of his hips. They jerked in readiness and suddenly arched a bare inch from the chair he was in with abrupt discharge. His penis impossibly hard. Cum shooting into my throat with each spasm. His groans music to my suffering ears. Hands inflexibly rooted on my head as he pulled me nearer to the dark curls at the top of his thighs. His orgasm seeming to be endlessly punishing to my starved core. I kept moving on him, feeling the gradual lessening of the tempo. The soft jerks of his organ that told me he had no more to give me at this time. The twitching of his body as it remembered the feel of something he particularly liked me to do with my mouth. He released my hair gradually and guided my face up to his.

"Look at me."

He ordered and my eyes were wide when they met his. I leaned over his lap, his damp penis bumping into my waist. Jon pulling my face up to his to kiss my lips softly. Moving his left hand down my body, rubbing my breasts slowly. Traveling down my waist and brushing, just barely, against the moisture between my legs.

"You want me." He stated, bluntly.

"Only if it pleases you, Master." I breathed against his mouth, half-moaning with surging passion.

"Back in your place."

I went back to his left and waited in expectant wetness, once again.

AFTER THE CROSS

"Look at him suffering. Hard as stone. Desire like a flame burning inside him."

Jon's voice was low in my ear, and when I did look at Adam. Jon was so very right about his condition it took my breath away. Adam did look miserable as my kind, yet gentle, Master pointed out to me. Making me watch the complete culmination of the scenario between Terry, Traci and Adam. The edge, now off of his passion. I had taken care of that. I watched the brutal whipping in awe at the amount of punishment that Adam could take. It was amazing. Here was someone who would not balk at the barest taste of bondage that I had given Rob. Adam would have laughed at my lack of ingenuity, my naivety. I wanted to fuck him at that moment more than I had ever wanted to fuck anyone in my entire life. I burned with it. Panted with lust at what I was seeing them do to Adam's willing flesh. The worst thing about this situation was that I was going to have to wait to touch him. I was not the one in control. It was exciting me. Driving my sex-drive to astonishing proportions.

It was only when Terry was visibly exhausted that he released Adam's arms. His compact body covered with sweat. His suit coat lying across an ottoman in the center of the room neatly. I could just bet that not a thing was ever out of place in this man's life if he could help it and woe to anything that disordered his existence. Terry was a perfectionist. It was visible in the way he swung the lash, and in the way he stroked the heated flesh afterwards. He had welted Adam expertly. Exhausting him and taking every once of resistance from his sore body. When Adam's arms were slack, he fell to his knees with the weight of his body. Gravity pulled him that way. Down to the floor. His head hanging with debilitating lassitude between the trembling shafts of his arms. His organ gloriously hard and straining against the thin leather covering it in spite of the torment its owner had been through.

Terry took a couple of minutes to compose himself, and catch his breath. Running a comb through his short hair, and studying the man before him. It was then that he settled his cold eyes on me. I shivered in fear. Terry looked narrowly at Jon, and Jon said,

"Do what you will."

I stiffened, forcing myself to calmness. It was difficult because I had no desire whatsoever to be in Adam's place. I would be just as happy to avoid that part of this long night if I could possibly help it. I didn't think that I would have any choice in the matter at this point, however. I was trapped. I saw Traci move towards Adam and Terry move towards me. The small man coming to stand before me with cool interest blooming in his eyes. He reached for me, suddenly, his right hand tangling in my hair. The lean fingers clenching it close to the scalp and pulling me painfully to my feet. I had no will to resist those insistent digits, and followed them up. My head twisted to the right side. The pain making me gasp.

This was not the playful agony that a skillful lover inflicts on you before making you come in his arms. This was real pain. The kind of pain that a dominant inflicts on a slave loaned to him to torment. The most surprising thing to me was that I was not objecting, strenuously, to this blatant abuse. I was letting him move me to whatever purpose he had for me.

Terry was practically dragging me to the center of the room, where Traci had Adam standing at attention. The collar, harness and cock-sheath gone. His thick organ encased in a condom, glistening in the lamps with lube. His breathing ragged as if he had been running. Traci leaning close to his ear and whispering into it with a low sibilant voice. The words galvanizing him. I looked into his green-eyes and froze solid. The only thought running through my head was. `They've broken him. His mind in gone.' His eyes were inhuman, ferociously animalistic. Almost glowing in the soft light. Terry spoke then, near my left ear. His gloved left hand cupping my breasts to display them for Adam's hungry feral gaze.

"Take her. Right now on the floor."

Adam was almost drooling. I felt my body tightening in preparation for his assault.

"It's the only release you're going to get tonight."

That was all the encouragement Adam needed. One moment he was ten feet from me and the next Terry had pushed me quickly forward into his grasping arms.

Adam was boiling hot as my fingers gripped his flesh. The skin on his body like an inferno. His blazing eyes focused on one thing and that one thing was getting his organ inside me to fuck me. Nothing would stop him. He was beyond turning back. I felt him pushing me down to the carpet and knew that I was no match for him. Resistance was useless. The watching crowd of people panting in sympathetic harmony with Adam. They either wanted to be him or me. At this point I don't think they cared which it was. The scent of sex was in the air so heavily, so pervasively, it was hard to draw breath around it. I felt his weight on me. Heavily subduing me, forcing me to submit to his will. Adam's powerful thighs spreading mine roughly, his organ searching for entrance into my slick opening. I struggled against him to slow him down. Trying to let him know with my body that I was willing, and it was going to be okay. I put my hands on his arms, clutching at him. Catching his fevered excitement. Murmuring gently into his face. My words meaningless. Feeling his organ slide into my sex with a rough thrust of his hips. A low growl coming from his lips when he was in. His eyes closing tightly as he ground his body against mine with strong pounding shoves. Piercing me. Pinning me to the floor with his mindless lust. It was electrifying. My body warming to the activity quickly. The hard screwing arousing me acutely. I wanted him in me. I put my hands on his arms and with a quick twist of his wrists he had my hands held tightly above my head. His face buried in my shoulder. I felt him in me. Fucking me fiercely. I heard myself whispering his name. Half-plea, half-entreaty. `Adam. Adam. Adam, The low noise I was making must have penetrated his erotic fog, because I felt a little nibbling bite against my neck and realized that Adam was with me somewhere. It was no longer a mindless ravening beast using my body for release. It was Adam in me. My Handler.

He pushed downwards. Grinding his hips against my pubis, organ stiffening. The beginning of an orgasm rolling over me inexorably. Unstoppable and copiously moist. My body pinned to the floor and arms held above my head. The swelling of his penis driving me past the point of no return. I cried out with desire, screamed into the air Helpless in the grip of his fingers. I tried to free my own hands to clutch at his buttocks and pull his flesh into mine. Closer to me, a part of me. He held me down, not letting me go. Bruising my wrists with the rough grip of his fingers. Biting at my neck, my shoulders. Sweat slicking his body, and stinging my eyes.

When he came it was an explosion of violent dimensions. Huge, enormous. His sweating face above me twisted with it. The jaw clenched, and lips drawn back from his white teeth. Body arched into a bow. His turgid organ jerking roughly against the walls of my sex. Punishingly delicious. Shatteringly erotic. I erupted again beneath him unable to contain myself once again. It was too much!

The watching people an undertone of lustful spice to the perfect recipe of dominance and submission we were acting out. My hungry release vibrating against his organ. Feeling my sex leaking steaming fluids beneath me. The rhythmic ritual pumping of his hard organ inside me. I followed him up to the heights of orgasm. A sweeping primordial release of heat and need flushing my skin. Burning me with its intense fire. I let him lead me to ecstasy, and damn the consequences. I wanted right now, and I had him right now. I did not feel any remorse or shame or embarrassment. I simply felt with him.

When Adam collapsed on top of me. His body slumped, and his breathing a harsh staccato in my ears. Fingers relaxing their grip on my wrists so that I could run my hands down his body, and whisper against his wet hair.

"It's alright. Alright now."

Meaningless really coming from me. He needed it from Traci. His mistress should be comforting him. I heard a low voice from above us.

"I don't remember telling you to orgasm, bitch."

I looked up sharply into the blue-eyes of Terry. Angry eyes. I shuddered, feeling Adam moving from on top of my quivering body.

"I guess it's your turn now."

I rolled up unto trembling hands and knees. Shaking hard enough to rattle my bones loose. Scurrying to Jon, and gripping his leg in miserable supplication. `Just a small transgression.' Tears slowly making a trail down my face. I hadn't even thought about it. I had just done it. I heard an astonishing sound from beside me. Adam was speaking out of turn.

"I'll take her punishment."

Terry laughed, and pushed him away. Leaning over me to take a handful of my hair.

"How touchingly useless, Adam. I am almost appalled by your lack of manners. As if you could help her now."

He pulled me up, and over to the cross. I hung my head.

"Why will you be punished?"

"Coming without permission, Sir." I said slowly.

He nodded, and called for Jon to help him secure me. I was limp. Allowing them to place me on the device and tightly bind me to it. The thing was surprisingly comfortable. There was no strain in my shoulders. My wrists were not pinched in any way. I even relaxed as I was bound.The creeping lassitude that always came over me when I was in bondage once again stole over me. I surrendered to it.

Seeing Terry and Jon talking with low voices several feet away. Jon shaking his head. Terry gesturing with one hand. Terry said something emphatically, and Jon nodded in agreement. One thing was obvious. The decision was made.

I went home on early Sunday afternoon after hanging for most of the night on the Punishment Cross. I didn't really consider it much of a punishment considering the severity of my offense. Ah, slave thinking again. It was cropping up in the strangest places, like my car. I had orgasmed twice without express permission and didn't even have a bruise to show for it. Not that I didn't have enough leftovers on my body from the weekend. The only thing about it was that I knew by Friday they would have faded to obscurity.

I did not understand why Terry had simply tied me to the cross, put his gloved fingers purposefully on my body and left me there. Hanging in the midst of the party with Adam kneeling in exhaustion at my feet. There had been no pain after that. Just the random explorations of the others around us. The gloved fingers in me and on me. The insistent prodding at my resilient flesh a torture all its own. Whoops, time to kill that train of thought. I had a whole week to go before I could come anywhere near another orgasm and even then I might have blown for the next couple of weekends. That was the worst part about disobedience. The price you had to pay. I stopped thinking about it because I was home with the thick file folder that Jon had handed me as I was leaving. Like I didn't have enough to do. Well, my apartment was glad to see me. Everything the same, well kept. The computer flashing at me with messages. The sunlight slanted through the slats on the windows with soft brilliance. Flashing off the tables.

I loved my apartment. It was detailed my way. Pure white walls and pale cream furniture. The over-stuffed kind that enclosed your body when you sat on it. Bright-colored throws over the backs of just about everything I owned. It was comfortably adequate.

I threw my now empty bag into the closet and shut the door on it. Strange not to have my "toys." They had been with me longer than most of my boyfriends. The odds and ends that I used on myself to create the proper masturbatory mood. Hey, it was almost better than the shower massage. Think about it. I had a feeling that I was going to be disconnecting that fucking thing soon, so the temptation wouldn't overwhelm me with its convenience.

I took a deep breath and dropped my journal on the kitchen table. It was white oak with tall backed chairs. I went to make myself a whole pot of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. As it was brewing, I opened my journal and unclipped the pen that Jon had left in there. The heavy gold pen that I had used at his desk in the Library. I tried to write about what I felt and found it surprisingly difficult. Mostly what I felt was confusion. The conversations of the weekend a jumble of truth that rang like bells in the back of my mind. How? Why? When? The questions were endless really. The product of an active mind and even more tireless sex drive. Was this now part of my reality or simply some moral dilemma that I had to work out someplace other than my mind? That was the crux of the problem right there. Not the morality really. I had always felt that as long as I did not damage anybody else with my antics I could do what I wanted too with my body. It was the head-trip part of it. I had passed from the realm of fantasy into the physical manifestation of my dreams. That was heavy. I was sharing parts of myself that I had never shared before. Hell, I had sex with a married man. What would Sister say? The funny thing was that I knew the truth and couldn't bring myself to admit it. I just kept shaking my head, denying it. The coffee was done and I poured a cup of the fragrant liquid. The heady steam warm against my face. I sat back down at the table, facing the window and my pen just started to move of its own accord. I crafted nothing just let my thoughts drift.

I remembered being a child of twelve. Reading voraciously in my room to escape from the constant bickering of my parents. Wondering, in my childish way, how they had ever ended up a couple. What dysfunction had pulled these two together from all the other people they could have chosen? At that age I didn't really care. All I wanted was to talk on the phone with my girlfriends and eat Pizza. It was about that point in my life that I discovered boys. Only in the capacity that they bugged me of course, but there was something more about them. They made me feel funny. Warm all over, almost hot. The way they smelled and walked. The inexplicable things they did to attract my attention. The wild thoughts that flared into my head when I thought about them. I also discovered romance novels. The hot ones of course.

They had descriptions of that secret thing that tantalized and excited me about the boys I went to school with. These books detailed the act of sex. The mechanics. Not only that but the way they did it! Bound and captive. Beaten and raped by the man she will love further on in the book. Tied up and kidnapped to the Harem of a desert sheik for lessons in forbidden pleasures. Exotic locations and flowery passages. It was always the parts about coercion that I enjoyed. The darker passages that inflamed me. Making the wetness flow from my virgin body easily and driving my fingers into my own tight flesh.

I hid these books from my bible-thumping father in a surfeit of shameful embarrassment. Nobody could know what I thought about. What I truly longed for. I learned very early to hide what I did not think others would understand. It was then that I started writing it down. The fantasies that moved me profoundly. The ones that kept me awake at night. The confidential mysteries that fueled the fires of my lust making me burn with desire. I shared them with one person back then and had her turn on me in repugnance. Avoiding me studiously because of my confidences. I had been abandoned, subjected to the ridicule of my peers. Never, ever, again. Once was enough. I, at no time since, have exposed myself to that kind of derision again. I carried the secret of my sexuality inside me closely. A solitary fire that warmed only me, denied and waning from disuse. My burden until Rob brought it to the surface one night with a simple supremely erotic phrase.

"If you move while I'm fucking you. I'll beat your ass with a riding crop."

His hard velvet voice froze me to the bed. I didn't dare move except to come and, boy, did I ever. Over and over. The entire bed was the wet spot. Ahh, bittersweet memories. Rob had no idea that he was creating the kind of monster that he was. I changed. I was still changing. My body awash with erotic desires. Perusing the books that he kept in a big drawer under the nightstand. I found a copy of something so arousing, so decadent, my sex damn near exploded without being touched. I sat in his big bed and read The Story of O, in one sitting. I didn't even get up to pee. Hell, I was barely breathing. What a rush.

This story was so different from anything that I had ever read before in my life that it stunned me. It contained passages of incredible beauty and unthinkable sadism. A well-blended mix of desire and degradation. It also gave me plenty of fresh ideas and a category to look for in the bookstores. Simple logic told me that they had to have more of this kind of book somewhere. Better yet, it told me that I was not the only person on the planet thinking of this kind of sex. Moral Minority included. I was part of a vast underground network and most of us were afraid to say anything about it for fear of being thought deviant. Right. I did find that amusing. It's no wonder that most of the people in the United States had relationship problems. All of us are afraid to say what we want out of dread that we won't fit the American mold. Duty, honor and fairness. Tough Americans.

Wrong, lonely Americans. I knew plenty of people that got their sex on the Internet. Dutiful wage whores to the places they work for with no exterior life. That's all they have and even if they are lucky enough to have someone to go home too. They don't really talk to them. They treat them like an appliance. Nice country, huh? I've been an appliance, it stinks. The funny thing about the convenience drill is that you can see yourself as the item.

My problem was the only appliance that I could really compare myself too was a Frigidaire. I was cool, durable and I had a nice freezer section for when I got pissed off. No more of that for me, thank God. Which brings us to the deviant part. Let's say that only two percent of the population of the U.S. is into D/S, S/M or B/D, whatever you want to call it. Let's say that further more these people congregate into big cities because it's easier to shop' for others of our kind here. We have support groups and parties. We mingle and swap stories. We just exist the same way that everybody else does. The thing is that I have never met a pervert at one of these things. A real one. Most of the people that I have met are normal the better part of their lives. We work, eat, have get-togethers, have kids that have to be kept out of the toy box.' We have normal lives. It's the narrow-minded judgments of a few cowards that keep us separated from the mainstream, not by fair means, no; they separate us by a wall of silence. Who could I tell? Who in the mainstream of my world would understand that I, as strong as I am, want to be turned inside out when I hit the bedroom? Who will understand that I don't want one of these new sensitive men but a high-handed male savage that knows what he wants? They would think that I was some kind of traitor against the women's movement, when in reality I am one of its finest examples. I crawled out of the muck of an abusive relationship without whining about it. I have earned the right to enjoy the kind of sex that I enjoy and the Hell with anyone that tells me I need `help.' Those people irritate me too. I have on good authority that if you are injured while taking part in an S/M related activity the medical establishment can have you put away for psychiatric evaluation as a danger to yourself. Hello? That's a nice way to keep people from seeking medical care if, God forbid, they are injured while playing. It's probably a good thing that Jon has that Doctor on the staff. I feel anger at this. This being made to feel like there is something wrong with me. That my preferences make me some kind of a freak. I don't hurt anybody else and I'm very considerate of my co-workers. What about what I want? Can't I have a good quality relationship with all my personal specifications or do I have to sell my soul to the normal world to be considered decent? Why should I have to do that? What makes normal the right way to be? What is normal?

There it is, that endless restlessness again. I feel it coming over me in a flooding surge of logical progression. I need what I need and the Hell with anybody that thinks I'm a freak. Screw that! Screw them!

I put down the pen for a moment, realizing that the page was full and I had been sermonizing myself. I didn't need to be convinced, but I felt a deep soul sadness that I had to hide my true nature from most of the world. Sitting in my kitchen, drinking coffee. Trying to decide what parts of my life were truly important at this point. Feeling the pull of my well-fucked body against my clothes. The whirling flow of thoughts in my head. I felt more alive at this point than I had for a long time. I was finally awake. I pulled the file folder that Jon had given me over to the center of the table as I contemplated my life and opened it. It was a full list of instructions with the usual details. Anne, for this week I want you too

1- Write everyday in your journal- Dazzle me 2- Read three books about S/M, B/D or D/S. Your choice. 3- Keep Wednesday evening clear for Adam 4- Doctor on Thursday at 2000 hours.

Remember the rules

Jon

I sat staring at the list and felt my heart hammering in my chest. He wanted me to do these things but I didn't see how I would be able too. It was too much! Adam during the week? Why? I took a deep breath and prioritized. `Okay, break it down into little chunks, Annie.' The same way that I handled multi-plex problems at work. It was Sunday afternoon, almost evening. I would dazzle him alright. I'd start now and work through it one day at a time. Start with the place it all began. The Urban Times. Looking for any thing that would fire my imagination.