by January Rowe
I felt a delicious wash of anticipation. I was in Sterling Hoyne’s private dungeon. And no one could hear me if I screamed.
“Slip off your clothing.”
His order sent a thrill through me. I pulled my flowy rayon sundress over my head, and dropped it to the floor. I took off my pretty Victoria’s Secret pink bra and panties.
As his dark eyes strafed my naked body, I felt fear. He was an experienced sadist—but I wasn’t an experienced masochist. I was just a sub with some bottom tendencies.
I’d always worn a thick coat when I performed as Sterling’s stunt victim. Now I was naked. I swallowed nervously.
“I won’t cause you any permanent damage, Briony.” He directed me to lie on one of his medical tables.
Reassured by his promise, my curiosity rose sharply. What would a private session with Sterling Hoyne feel like? I hopped on the table and lay down on my back. He gently positioned wide leather straps over my upper chest, pinning my shoulders. Another strap just below my breasts pinned my arms to my sides. He strapped down my waist. My lower body still free, he circled the table to look at his handiwork.
I moaned softly. Bondage of any kind was always sufficient to excite me.
He ran an elegant forefinger over the strap binding my waist. I moaned again.
“Too tight?” he asked.
I was beyond speech, my body flooded with chemicals of pleasure and fear—and the expectation of pain.
“Too tight, Briony?” he asked again.
“No.”
He parted my thighs, setting my nerves dancing.
“Your safeword is ‘enough’.”
“Okay,” I murmured.
He strapped down my thighs individually and then pinned my ankles to the table.
“Say it, darling girl. Say ‘enough’.”
“Enough.”
“Good. You use that word when you can’t take any more.” He ran a hand over my knee. “Hmm. You’re cold.”
He turned away from me and manipulated knobs on the nearby panels. The table beneath me warmed. I had thought the panels were just for show.
Music, soft techno-static with a throbbing background pulse, surrounded me now. The air itself turned warmer. I raised my head, curious where the speakers were.
The lights dimmed. I couldn’t see him anymore. I broke out into a sweat. What would he do to me? I savored that fear, embraced it.
Finally I saw his face and upper body, both bathed in purple light. He held a violet wand.
Passing the electrode over my belly without actually touching it, my skin tingled gently. He moved the wand over my arms and neck. It felt like a sweet tickle. My eyes slowly adjusted to the light, and I could now see Sterling’s expression. His eyes glittering reflected purple, his shoulders set, he was the picture of focus and intensity.
All on me.
I loved being the center of a man’s universe during a scene. And if it gave him satisfaction too, then my world was perfect.
I sighed with pleasure as he circled the wand over my nipples. The sensation was lush, erotic. It felt like soft, sexy bubbles. Ridge didn’t own any equipment as cool as a Tesla coil. Changing the setting, Sterling positioned the wand to hold it between his legs. He grasped the tip of the electrode with one hand and raised his other hand above my breasts. White sparks emanated from his fingertips to my nipples. I felt an amazing gentle sting. A look of profound satisfaction and power settled on his face, and I was afraid again.
He bent down over my pubis and delivered the same sparking sting with his tongue. Had I not been bound, I would have squirmed away from the sensation. Too strong. I whimpered as his tongue unrelentingly transmitted charge to my clit. The pain and pleasure built inside me until I spasmed. Straining against the thick leather straps made the orgasms extremely painful.
I cried, but he didn’t stop his sparking assault. I continued to orgasm. Over and over. And then suddenly, he lifted his head to look at me. Rocking with afterspasms, I could see anger in his eyes. I don’t think he’d intended to give me orgasms at all. Too much like the sex he’d told me he wouldn’t have.
He pulled the wand from his legs and changed the electrode to a Y shaped one. I dreaded what would come next. I had a bad feeling he would punish me for my orgasms.
Enough. I’ll just say enough. And he’ll stop.
He held the wand above my nipple. Tiny white lightnings surged from the electrode, making an evil electrical sound. The sensation on my skin was sharp, not sweet. I took a shallow breath; an ozone tang filled the ionized air.
He raised the electrode, and the shock from the lightning bolt made me scream.
Enough. Say it.
But I couldn’t safeout. When he finally allowed me a moment of respite, I could see his erection straining his jeans. He was having a good time hurting me. I couldn’t use the safeword and deny him pleasure.
He returned to his task. Give and take. Hurt and delight. Push and pull. Despite my pain, the erotic nature of our scene fired up my nerves all the way down to my genitals.
“Fuck me!” I begged him.
“No,” he said, disciplining me with his lightning bolts.
As if cauterizing a wound, he sealed my pulsing, wet libido, burning me to the core. I slipped into subspace, the River, a lovely high created by my endorphins, my body’s natural painkillers. A floaty place of utter serenity, River had no pain, or time. I had no real identity there.
When I drifted back to earth and opened my eyes, I discovered I was still strapped to the table under low lights. Softer, melodious music caressed me. I felt tranquil, relaxed, exhausted. Sterling leaned over me. He smiled.
Joy threatened to bubble up out of my placid contentment. I had served my Top well.
***
From: Entirely
To: sweetsub
Subject: You
Date: 21 May
Howdy!
As an experienced Master of twelve years, I’m looking for a girl to transform into my ultimate sex toy. You’ll be kept naked at home but be forced to dress as a slut in public. You’ll be required to become obedient and skilled at sexually pleasuring men. You must be adventurous and willing to please in any way. You will be subjected to some torture, humiliation and a wide variety of sexual activities, maybe involving other men and/or women.
I am perfectly willing to respect all limits.
Entirely
***
From: Illinois
To: sweetsub
Subject: Introduction
Date: 28 May
I am 44 year old Straight male top from Illinois.
My likes: many and diverse. I’m quite good at rope bondage, enjoy forcing all sorts of things where they don’t fit, and have been known to put lit cigars where most people wouldn’t.
Negotiation: a pointless discussion beginning with the mistaken assumption that I give a shit what you want.
Message me.
***
I flew down to LA to serve Sterling every weekend.
As our play progressed, he pushed me harder. I refused to use the safeword, afraid to disappoint him. I missed the fun and sex of Ridge’s creative scenes, but Sterling’s play offered other compensations. Like the River. Sterling led me to the River during our ever longer and deeper sessions. I craved it. Needed it. The River was Sterling’s gift to me for my sacrifice and suffering.
After my fifth visit to Sterling and the River, I realized Sterling owned me. He didn’t know he owned me, or even want to own me, which made my devotion dangerous.
But I had enough pride not to serve him with a wrecked, beater body. I was pretty much hurting all the time, without benefit of the River. I refused Sterling’s invitation to go down to LA one weekend so I could heal up.
The break gave me a chance to have Pam over for a Moroccan-style lunch. I looked forward to some down-to-earth girl talk.
We laughed over couscous and chicken tajine out on the balcony, making up for lost time.
“You seem happier,
” she said. “Have you gotten Ridge out of your system?”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t figure out why I felt like I’d just lied to my best friend. “Yeah,” I said again with more force. “There’s a new guy in my life. An old friend who lives in LA.”
I told her a little about Sterling, describing his glamour, how he owned a “posh club”. Unexpected psychological pain washed over me. He still hadn’t taken me to the Vault. Would he ever take me there? Was he ashamed of me?
Pam told me about some of her dates—all casual.
“I’m way too picky.” She laughed—without a bit of regret.
I was picky, too. Despite the requests, I still hadn’t met up with any of those whyknot Dominants.
Her freckled face lighting up, Pam talked about the latest joys and stresses of her high school teaching job and the fun she had coaching youth basketball.
“I’ll go get our dessert,” I said.
When I stood and went to open the patio door, Pam gasped. “What’s going on, Bri?”
I turned around. Her soft eyes were wet with tears.
“Oh, I’m just a little stiff from yoga.”
“Yoga? You don’t get marks like that from yoga.”
The back hem of my dress had stuck to one of my little injuries. I jerked down my dress. “What marks?”
“The infected ones.” She stood up. “You could get blood poisoning. I’m taking you to a doctor.”
Oh God, I didn’t want to have this conversation.
We argued about whether my little injuries even needed attention. Pam was really upset. Finally, after fifteen minutes of her pleading, I agreed to go, but only if she took me to a kink-aware doctor.
That started a whole ’nuther bout of Pam’s moaning. “Kink aware? You want a doc who sees patients who get off being tied up and beaten? How are we going to find one of those, Bri?”
“There are hundreds of those kind of doctors. On the internet.”
We found a kink-aware doc with no trouble. Doctor Chris O’Malley was even open on Saturday afternoon and took emergency patients. Pam was probably the only one in the universe who actually thought my little injuries were an emergency.
Pam waited outside in the waiting room while I paced the examining room in my thin, backless gown. I hoped Dr. O’Malley was a motherly type and not too judgmental. Would she cluck softly and murmur something about safe, sane, and consensual?
I used to live by the tenets of SSC. Not anymore. I’d become a painslut. A girl addicted to pleasing a sadist. I sighed and paced some more. The sooner I got healed up, the sooner I could go down and serve Sterling properly.
The door to the examination room opened and the doctor strolled in.
Dr. Chris O’Malley wasn’t a motherly woman. Or even a woman.
Dr. Chris O’Malley was the DM from Hell Mary’s.
Chapter Five
“Sir,” I coughed.
“Briony.” The doctor gave me a gentle handshake with his big hand. “Please call me Chris. What’s the problem?”
I stared into his compassionate eyes, noting for the first time what color they were. Hazel. Earthy. But what would I tell him? My mind flailed, wondering if I should invent some lie like I’d come to see him for a stuffed up nose.
I desperately wanted a different doctor, even a kink unaware doctor. Dr. Chris O’Malley already thought I was a hapless sub with no sense.
But I was stuck. Pam was in the waiting room and wouldn’t leave before she made sure I was treated.
I swallowed nervously, still at gazing at the DM in his white coat. Why couldn’t he have been a consultant?
“I might be infected,” I finally said.
“Mind if I take a look?”
I nodded, and turned slowly and waited. I chewed my lip. I felt him part my gown.
“But you’re terrified of the cane,” he said.
I was angry he knew so much about me and my former limits. It wasn’t fair. “Gets me where I want to go,” I said flippantly.
He grunted and dropped my gown. “I’ll write you a prescription for an antibiotic cream.”
I turned toward him. His kind expression had changed to pity. His sympathy hurt. I wanted him to have a higher opinion of me.
He scribbled out a prescription. “Rub the cream on once a day until your broken skin is fully healed. I want to see you again if it takes longer than five days to heal up.”
“Yes, Sir.” I stared at the prescription paper and his neat handwriting so I wouldn’t have to see how sorry he felt for me.
“Your backside and thighs are off-limits for impact play until you’ve healed.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Chris,” he said gently.
I raised my eyes, finally daring to meet his gaze. In my fantasies he’d had bright blue eyes, not hazel. He also was a genius bridge engineer, not a doctor.
“Briony, you’d be safer in public play. Bring your partner to Hell Mary’s. Perhaps we can teach him proper aftercare.”
Though the doctor’s voice was still soft, his earth-colored eyes clouded up with anger. It was as if he wanted to kill whoever had hurt me.
He left me alone in the examination room. I hurried on my clothing so I could get out of there. Practically every emotion known to woman warred inside me. I felt anger, humiliation, disgust, all drenched in the fog of confusion.
Hey, but on the plus side, I was welcome to return to Hell Mary’s because the DM felt sorry for me.
Clutching my prescription like a lifejacket, I met Pam in the waiting room. She looked scared. “I’m fine, Pam. I got a prescription for some cream.”
Pam sighed. I could see her panic subsiding.
“So was he really kink aware?” she asked in a whisper.
I nodded, miserable. More kink aware than Pam would ever know.
***
From: SternSir
To: sweetsub
Subject:
Date: 4 June
Petly,
I have been a member of this site for sometime now and I was starting to wonder if all I was going to find was gamers and players. It seemed like I wasn’t ever going to find a real sub/slave.
Just when I was about to give up hope, I saw your personal. I hope I’m not the target of another player who is looking for another online fix.
So if you are not a true sub/slave DO NOT WRITE ME!! I am tired of the games and bullshit. But if you seek to someday serve and become # 1 with a true caring Master and wish to be respected honored and trusted then feel free to respond to me.
SternSir
***
From: XtremeM
To: sweetsub
Subject: Owner
Date: 7 June
Your personal caught my eye: simple, to the point. I’ll try to provide you with the same.
I am a handsome, intelligent, late 30’s Dom, very experienced, and very selective. I am located in Northern California, like you. I only engage submissive females at the extreme end of the D/s spectrum.
I seek a canvas, a female slave who will surrender her “normal” life for the intense fear and excitement that only being helpless will bring.
The slave will become an “it.” It will spend almost all the time naked, hooded and locked in chains. The slave will eat from the floor, its meals scraps such as coffee grounds and potato peels.
Speech will be permitted only ten minutes a day. It will kneel facing a wall, and express its concerns to me. This will not be a conversation, and it will not be answered.
By starving, suffering, enduring extreme bondage and sensory deprivation, the slave will be psychologically renovated. It will be rebuilt from the ground up, to become little more than a living collection of pleasing parts for my use.
Applicants must be psychologically sound, of strong character, and needful and craving of the above.
If you think you are a suitable candidate, write back ASAP.
***
My skin healed in a matter of days with the help of the
antibiotic cream. As my wounds mended, I re-examined my life. Whatever happened to my need for sex? Where did SSC and my desire for a responsible owner go? And what happened to love?
I held no resentment toward Sterling. He’d been upfront with me from day one. He was a sadist—not my One. I told Sterling I couldn’t see him anymore. Calm and mature about the breakup, he wished me well and thanked me for the time we’d shared. I knew we’d remain friends.
I relived my encounter with the doctor-DM, trying to make sense of his contempt for Sterling. Was it because Chris was a caring doctor? Or a worried DM?
Or was he simply reacting to my injuries as a man?
During the next few weeks, I worked hard at my job, did lots of yoga, re-read my favorite novels and played the piano. I invited my friends, both kink and vanilla, over for dinner. I satisfied my service impulses by volunteering on the redesign of the website for the Peninsula Habitat for Humanity.
My bitterness over Ridge’s betrayal was gone. I wasn’t in any hurry to resume my search. Sooner or later I figured I’d get a sign I was ready to look for my One again.
I got that sign in the Sunnyvale Home Depot. I was there to buy some annuals for my balcony flowerboxes. I saw Ridge and his girl in the electrical section, poking around the light toggles. He had his hand wound in his slave’s hair, just like he used to do to me.
I expected to feel a flash of sadness or jealousy or anger. But I didn’t. I just felt a bit of curiosity. Good for them, I thought. They seem happy together.
***
From: Fukkmaster
To: sweetsub
Subject: a girl
Date: 1 July
can I pimp you out?
***
From: Monitus
To: sweetsub
Subject: whyknot profile
Date: 13 July
I now find myself ready to seek a very long term 24/7 live in relationship, with 2 female slaves, one would be used as a breeder slave, the other a whore slut slave.
