TOOLS OF THE TRADE: HARD LESSONS
"Pick one." Jon said, slowly. His eyes watching me closely. Sitting in a blue
velvet wingback chair. His legs were crossed and his hands draped over the
carved armrests loosely. "Pick the one you would like me to use on you, if I
allow it." He motioned for me to stand up. I was as graceful as my rubbery
legs would allow. Striving for some kind of dignity in this new place. The
punishment room.
It was as all the other rooms in this house. Warm enough to be naked in yet
opulent enough to catch your eye. This place was blue. The carpets, the
flowered wallpapered walls and the dark plush leather furniture. It had a
Victorian feel to it. Lace curtains on the walls. A low functional bench in
the heart of the room. Subtly frightening in its covert elegance.
I went to the cabinet that Adam had opened and looked inside. There was every
kind of whip, crop, quirt and paddle, in the neatly ordered recesses. It was
astonishingly awesome. I could practically feel my fingers twitch in
apprehensive anticipation. Something to use on me, well let's see. I
immediately disregarded the crops and quirts. They are only good on one spot
and I couldn't take any more welts on the inside of my thighs. They were sore
enough, in all the right places, just as they were. The paddles were more a
connoisseur type of thing and I was not one of them. If someone was going to
warm my buns I prefer they do it over the knee, using their big hard hands. I
had no idea how to use the bullwhip, so I passed them over as well. It was the
multi-tailed cats that I looked at. They were true works of Art. All black,
but the variety of shapes, hefts and lengths, was astonishing. Every single
shape that I could think of was in that cupboard. I reached for one and turned
around to Jon smiling shyly.
"Can I try it on the pole, Master? It will help with my decision." He nodded,
amused at my eagerness. I reached for one that I knew would be perfect.
Twenty-inch tails of half- inch by quarter-inch black leather. Weighted at the
head end. I held it in my hand, running the tails through my suddenly shaking
fingers. Swinging it over the floor to check the sweep of the cordings. Nice,
easily the finest piece of its kind that I had ever held. Neatly sewn, with no
rough edges so it could be used for penetration.
I kept my eyes on the sway of the straps and wandered leisurely towards the
marble pole in an erotic fog. My eyes blazing with concentration and forbidden
passion. I let it build lazily inside me. Sighting my swing on the thick dark
column. I took a deep breath and let my passions explode from me in sudden
violence. My arm swinging effortlessly. The heavy sound a persuasively powerful
reverberation up my arm, well into my shoulder. It landed with a solid snapping
crack. Nice even heft and fluid motion. Not too stiff, but not too much slack
either. It would sting like a son-of-a-bitch, but not leave real deep marks. I
swung it again and liked the feel of it. I liked it a lot. I came back to
where I had been before and quickly made my decision. I turned back to Jon
falling gracefully to my knees. My entire demeanor respectful. My hands
suddenly quaking with frank intimidation. I held it out to him. Jon took it
from my hands.
"Is this what you've chosen?" I licked my suddenly dry lips. Hoping to
generate some moisture in my mouth so my tongue would move unimpeded against my
teeth. I nodded and spoke.
"Yes, Master." I said easily. His face whimsically inquisitive as he asked me;
`Why?' I blushed with mortification. Surely he already knew, why? Did he have
to hear me say it? He was waiting for my response. "It is heavy enough to hurt
without leaving welts." I felt my voice go soft. Painful to be so exposed
before both of them. "So you can beat me longer, Master." He reached over to
touch my breasts, lightly. Making them swell with craving under his hands.
Heaving with the search for air.
"I could leave welts on you with this, Anne." I listened to his gentle,
confident voice. Cowering near his boots with fear. I answered in a pitifully
small voice.
"If you so wish it, Master." He pulled his hands away from me. I almost
moaned.
"Why did you pass up the other things? The quirts, the crops?" Don't make me
explain that. Not in front of Adam. It would bring to light too much of me,
make me too naked. To visibly exposed. "Explain to me, now." He did want me
too.
"The quirts and crops are for the insides of the thighs, and across the
buttocks. I am sore already on those places, and wished to avoid punishment to
them. The paddles, never feel as good as the Master, or Mistress', hand. The
bullwhips have the potential to do emergency room level damage. They terrify
me, Master." I twisted my hands together in desperation. Miserably aware that
I was showing my true soul openly with my words and it made me very
uncomfortable. "I have no wish to be hurt so severely it will transcend the
pleasure I get from the lash. I do not want to ruin the experience." I fell
into a distressed uneasy silence. Waiting for his response to my words.
"Pick out a quirt, a crop, a paddle, and a bullwhip." No! My heart cried out
inside me, but went I do it slowly. Procrastinating in wretched foreboding.
Looking at the selection in the cabinet. I had no idea what to look for in
those things. I had never really had them used on me. They had always been
picked out by Rob. I went pale and stood before the doors in alarm. Teardrops
forming on my lashes. I did not know what to do. My uncertainty a palpable
feeling in the air. I did not look at either of my tormentors, but I gulped
thickly around the knot of terror in my throat to grab the first things my
fingers fell on. Turning to rest my forehead on the floor before Jon in mute
obedience to his command. Hands above my head, offering him the instruments of
suffering he would use to torture me. His hands removing the items from my
nerveless fingers. "So hard for you to obey me, willingly. You put-off
whatever you find distasteful. Anything that terrifies you, or excites you,
beyond what you consider acceptable. You did not take the same care in choosing
these things as you did the other. You will be corrected for that." I
whimpered, keeping my head near the floor. Crouching near the soft black gloss
of his boots. I felt his toe press on the back of my neck, forcing my head to
the carpet. "I want instant obedience without hesitation. You are not giving
it to me willingly and quite obviously need a lesson in it. Adam put her on the
bench. Legs up." I did not resist Adam's taking me to the bench, nor him tying
my legs almost straight up from my hips. Did not protest the wide belt he
buckled at my waist holding me tight to the bench. I kept my eyes at the level
of his belt or below. Feeling handles at my hips that I clutched for support.
Ignoring the sympathetic noises he was making as he tied me. I was not afraid
really. I had been tied before. All part of the head trip right? Jon bent
over me and laid the things on a table beside me. His eyes were hard.
"There is nothing on this earth that will make me angrier at you, Anne. Than
any show of open reluctance. Procrastination is a form of rebellion and I cannot
allow you, or any other slave I deal with, to consider it respectful or proper."
Across the room I saw Adam taking off his shirt. The well-muscled chest with
its thatch of dark curly hair revealed for viewing as he lay the garment over a
dark blue velvet chair. Adam touched the inside of my thighs. My legs growing
rapidly uncomfortable as they hung over me. "You will learn what it means to
rebel and it is a hard lesson." Grief flooded me, as I realized I was in a lot
of trouble. "I will expect to only have to treat you this way once, Anne." He
stood up and turned to Adam. Voice flinty, imperturbable. "Beat her until she
says her safe-word." I went cold. "If she makes it a least fifteen minutes,
make her come and put her in your bed. Anything less, clean her up and send her
home." Fifteen minutes? I bit my tongue to keep from begging. "Pay
particular attention to the insides of her thighs. I want to see some welts in
the morning." I tried to still the hammering in my chest. Tried to catch some
easy breaths, because I was hyperventilating badly. Beat me until I said my
safe-word? Send me home? I had been that bad?
Rebellion will not be tolerated, that was in the rules for me to see. It was
something I knew by heart and not scrambling to do as he bid was considered
rebellion? I saw Adam swinging the door closed behind Jon and realized that we
were alone. He turned back to me, smiling.
"I knew that you would get the beating. You had to blow it on your first day
here. Balky little Prima Donna. I don't know which I'll like more. If you
make it, or if you fail, so I can go back to being on my knees." That explained
a lot about his hostile attitude. He was jealous of my lowly status. I kept my
mouth shut prudently. "Close your eyes, bitch. Prepare yourself to speak in
less than five minutes." I stiffened and growled. It sounded like words and the
words were `fuck you.' He laughed, picking up the small quirt and tapping his
leather-clad leg suggestively. "Same to you." I clenched my jaw and closed my
eyes as he swung the little quirt at the soft inner part of my thigh. I jumped
at the sudden agony. It had no effect; Adam just continued his work
methodically. Ignoring the little signs of discomfort and the inevitable tears
of remorse. Ignoring even the louder cries that he tore from my burning lungs.
All the things that I had done in the past to stop the pain, tempt a master to
give in and pleasure me. Checking the burgeoning moisture between my open
thighs whenever he changed to the whip, or the paddle, or the cat.
He stood over me, after I did not know how long. Stroking the fiery redness and
pinching the pulsing welts. My face crimson, my legs quivering with submissive
softness. Eyes hot and head aching with unshed tears. Head rolling helplessly
on the bench. My hands holding the bars by my waist so hard my knuckles were
bloodless white with strain.
It was a litany in my head, over and over. A chorus inside me. `I would never,
ever, do what ever I had done to anger Jon again, promise. Just, please, don't
make me say my safe-word. Anything but that.' Adam made sure that I was
watching him and very deliberately picked up the second-to-last thing he had to
use on my insulted, wounded, excited body. He picked up the Bullwhip. I moaned
out loud with terror.
I was in Hell. Adam was the devil and he followed Jon's instructions to the
letter. Ignoring anything I did that was not what he was instructed to respond
too. Giving me bare seconds to catch my breath, before starting in again on
some new horrible punishment. He very deliberately swung the whip. It hit the
already sore flesh of my inner thigh, making me call out. Arching into the
tight bonds. Every single stroke he laid on me with it, made me cry, groan,
moan, or beg him to stop. `Please, stop.' I would not use my safe-word. Not
now, not ever, if I could help it. He kept going until I was so sore that the
lightest touch of his fingers would cause me pain. The slightest brush, much
less continuing blows of the hard braided leather. He stopped suddenly, and
looked down at me.
"You will say it. I have no desire to be in your place and Jon told me to make
you say it." I shook my head and swallowed a sob. He looked down at me for a
long moment, and then walked away. Coming back with a bamboo cane. "Say it."
My chin quivered, but I shook my head. "Last chance." He said, a bead of sweat
falling from his forehead to land on my stomach.
"No, Handler. I will not. I have been rebellious, defiant. Unwilling to
please any but myself, but I will not say it." That was going to be impossible
and he knew it.
"Okay, brace yourself." I felt liquid fire across my buttocks. The whistling
scream of bamboo slashing the air, before the cutting impact on my shrinking
skin. I lasted exactly four strokes without fighting the bonds for release
actively. Ten before screaming out in extremis. Broken by his determination.
His voracious tenacity.
"BLUE! BLUE!" Adam immediately stopped his movement in midswing. I collapsed
in on myself, shattered and sobbing. So very sorry I would be leaving here. I
had failed utterly. Pulling deep shuddering breaths into my lungs to weep them
out brokenheartedly. The sudden quiet stillness of the room painful. Adam
threw the cane, across the room and knelt over me. I turned my face into my
shoulder, not looking at him. Not wanting to see his triumph at my expense. The
warm room was quiet but for the noises I was making. I was absolutely
miserable.
Instead of releasing my body in order to send me home. He knelt between my
spread thighs and dipped his tongue inside my opening. Stunning me. His mouth
bathing my wet stormy cleft. Plunging deeply inside the moist folds and pushing
his nose against my clitoris until a wave of tremors shook me. Assaulting my
senses with sudden heat. Unexpected impetuous need flowing over me. Need made
all the more bitingly tender by the soreness of my inner thighs. His soft dark
hair harsh upon my skin. The rapid flow of scorching inflammation over my body
inexplicably arousing. I clutched his head in desperately shaking hands.
Feeling it curl around my wet fingers as craving gripped the core of my body. A
pinnacle of voluptuous sensuality, like nothing I had ever known before, had
been reached. Its culmination rolled over me. Stretched my taxed body to its
limits and tore a deep-throated cry from my throat. Unable to move. His thick
hair brushing painfully against the sore spots on my legs. His large hands
holding my sweaty hips to the bench with an even relentless efficiency. Neither
my hands, nor my desperate movements, could dislodge him from my trembling
grotto. Panic made me try futilely to do so, but it was hopeless. I felt my
overflowing climax exclusively in the deep valley between my legs. Body taut,
breath held rigidly behind clenched, aching teeth. Fingers in spasm. My heart
trying to beat its way from my chest. Experiencing for the very first time.
The annihilating drama of Le Petit Morte. The Little Death, in my supreme
affliction. Pain rolling through me and over me. Pushing me farther than I had
ever been before in pleasure. I couldn't take it. `It's too much!' I fainted,
falling into blessed, merciful darkness.
The sudden limpness of my body must have alerted Adam to the fact that something
was wrong with the person beneath him. I couldn't see for a couple of moments
and my face was white. Feeling a queer whirling in my head. It was a momentary
thing, but very strange for me. I had never ever in my life done anything even
remotely like it.
"Annie?" I felt hands on my face touching me and knew that my arms moved weakly
to feel them. "Are you okay?" I clutched at his shoulders, wrapping my arms
around him. Realizing that in the few seconds that I had been woozy, my legs had
been quick-released.
There was some comfort in that and in the strong arms wrapped around my weak
body. I started breathing again. Heart-pounding. "Are you okay?" Adam asked
again, insistently.
"Yes, Handler." I said as I took a deep breath. "Thank you for taking the time
to correct me." He hugged me in relief and I could hear him chuckle deep in his
chest. His big hand cradling my head against the thatch of thick dark hair on
his sweaty chest. I closed my eyes and rested against him for a few luscious
moments. When Adam moved away to stand up, he swung me into his well-muscled
arms. I tried to protest, but he silenced me with a small assertive noise.
"You're not going to start arguing with me now, are you?" His voice was warm.
I shook my head and kept my arms around his neck.
"No, Handler." I lay quietly in his arms, wondering at the fact that he did not
strain under my weight. Carrying me as easily as one would a child. I did not
know where we were going, but did not ask. I was amazingly calm. I had made it
through one of the worst ordeals that I had ever encountered. I had not broken
until after the allotted fifteen minutes. There was some twisted pride in that
fact. `How had I done it? Why had I done it?' There was an interesting
question. Why? One of the most fascinating questions I could ask about myself.
I was a responsible businessperson. I did not feel like a freak or anything. I
just felt alive and tingly. Awash with sensuality. Was the only reason I was
here because for so long I had been dead inside, and now I felt alive?
How, was easy. I had picked up a paper, dialed a number and met the most
stimulating people that I had met in a long time. Was it that I simply refused
to be held prisoner by the morality of other people? Was that it? Was it an act
of ultimate rebellion? A safe outlet for the darker side of me that tormented
me so completely?
I was too tired and too sore, to think about these things for very long. They
were questions of personal philosophy that I would have to ponder over an
evening when I had some solitude. Time enough for that later.
Adam came to a door on the third floor and opened it. A bedroom done in deepest
forest green, but it looked lived in. There were books on the shelves and the
spread was ruffled. A desk had paperwork and files on it. A computer, scanner,
printer arrangement beside it on a lower stand. A closet in the corner,
partially open, had suits in it. Nice suits of silk wool blend that shone with
the fine quality of the fabric. How intriguing. He lay me on the bed and
secured my hands above me by one single bond. I looked like I was praying, but
I was comfortable. He tucked the spread around me and went over to the closet.
I watched him taking off his clothes with interest. I had never seen him naked.
Just partially revealed by the open fly of his pants and if what that revealed
was any indication. I was in for a treat.
"Close your eyes, and rest, Anne. You'll see enough of me tomorrow." He smiled
when he said it. The pillow crunched under my head, as I rested on my side. I
felt him crawl into bed next to me. His big warm body against mine. A creeping
lassitude stole over me. Created by his warmth, and the softness of the bed. I
sighed, and let it flow over me. He started speaking quietly into my ear.
Asking me a question so unusual I came almost completely awake.
"Do you hate me?"
