“You’re so naughty, such a naughty girl. I don’t think you’ll ever learn.” He hauled me up, looking down at me masterfully, then kissed me long and hard so I tasted myself on his lips. He ran his rough hands over my bottom, squeezing and pinching it.
“You’ve already had one spanking tonight. You’re going to be sore.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry I came without permission.”
“I know you’re sorry, but my rules are very clear.”
I loved this man. He hauled me to the armoire and I stood beside him and watched him choose which instrument to punish me with. He chose the thick leather strap that really smarted.
“Over to the wall, Lucy. You know what to do.”
I went to the wall and put my hands on it, and rested my forehead against it. I thrust out my ass just the way he liked me to, and he tapped it lightly with the strap.
“Part your legs.” I did, but not very wide. He popped me then. “More. Don’t fuck around.” With a sharp yelp I parted them wider. “I’m sorry, Matthew!”
“Hush. Just stop dawdling, it annoys me. Spread your legs and stick your lovely little ass out to me. You know by now how this works.”
I did as he asked, my trembling legs spread wide, my ass ready to accept whatever punishment he wanted to mete out. That night, he was in a mood to beat me hard, and he landed some good ones that had me hopping up on my toes.
“Keep your legs spread. Stand still or I’ll add more strokes.” I whined because it was a really hard strapping, but I tried to resume the position he liked, that had me spread wide and open to him. My hands clenched into fists against the wall as I counted each stroke and struggled not to reach back.
“Don’t you dare take your hands off that wall,” he said. “If you cover yourself, you’ll be a very sorry girl.”
“Yes, sir,” I moaned. My ass was on fire. The leather strap was thick and it hurt like hell. I ended up getting an extra five for fidgeting. By the time he finished, I was wailing and tearful, but I was wet too, and ready for him.
Until he told me to do otherwise, I held the position. I wanted to press my legs together to ease the throbbing in my clit, but I didn’t dare, and he chuckled, knowing exactly what I felt.
“You horny little cum whore. You’re supposed to be feeling punished.”
“I do feel punished.”
He smacked my ass with the strap. “Don’t contradict me, Lucy. Watch your tone.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said with all the submissive deference I could muster in my current state of quivering lust.
He stood behind me, close behind me, and I waited for his instructions. I hoped they were the basely sexual kind.
“What do you want?” he asked.
I answered him honestly. “I want to come.”
“You like when I redden your naughty little bottom?”
My clit pulsed with each word he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re such a dirty little slut, aren’t you? I bet you’d like me to plug your ass and then fuck you until you scream.”
All I could do by that point was make a little strangling sound. He crossed to the armoire and returned with some lube and a toy. He lubed my ass while I braced myself against the wall, trying to stand still. He pressed the toy against my tight hole and I felt it invade me. It was a big one, but by then I’d been well trained. I pressed back against it, opening to its girth. I let it slide into me, long and hard and thick. I may have moaned softly when he rubbed the small of my back.
“Good girl. I bet you love how that feels.”
He turned me, his big hands on my waist, and I looked up at him, my eyes glazed over with need. He smiled down at me as he lifted me, braced me against the wall, and settled me down on his cock.
I groaned in my throat from the wicked sensation, his huge cock filling me, rubbing against the toy in my ass. He pressed against me, pressed me right to the wall, and his hard chest and abs were like steel against my skin. I wrapped my legs around his hips and arched against him. He drove in me over and over, all the way to the hilt.
For a while, he held my hands behind my back, but at the end he let them go, and I wrapped them tightly around his neck. I was filled with him, filled with love for him, filled with thankfulness for his care and his mastery.
“Come for me, Lucy,” he urged me.
With a stifled cry of joy, I obeyed.
THE END
Look for this title in a paperback edition on Amazon and other online bookselling outlets starting in December of 2010.
About the Author
Annabel Joseph writes emotionally intense stories about the romance of dominance and submission. You can learn more about her books, read reviews, and find contact information at http://annabeljoseph.wordpress.com.
An Excerpt from
CLUB MEPHISTO by ANNABEL JOSEPH
Copyright 2010 Annabel Joseph
Publisher's Note
This book depicts "total power exchange" relationships that some readers may find objectionable. This work contains acts of objectification, orgasm denial and speech restriction, caging, anal play and double penetration, BDSM punishment and discipline, M/m/f, M/m, orgy and group sexual encounters, voyeurism, and limited circumstances of dubious consent. This work and its contents for the sole purpose of fantasy and enjoyment, and not meant to advance or typify any of the activities therein.
Please exercise caution in entering into or attempting to imitate any extreme BDSM
relationships.
Molly
Molly lay on the cot on a cool vinyl sheet, looking up at the slight, stern-faced woman above her. Ms. Bobo scared her. She felt one freezing cold hand on her thigh and braced herself.
Rrriip.
Owww! Ow! Molly managed not to cry out. She didn't cry out much anymore, not from something so mild as getting her pussy waxed. Ms. Bobo came to her Master's house every two weeks and waxed Molly bare whether she needed it or not. Master was a stickler for personal appearance, and Molly was not permitted to wear clothes, so no part of her appearance could be let go in any way.
Another glob of hot wax was dropped between her legs, spread around perfunctorily by the silent, elderly Asian woman. At one time Molly used to try to converse with her, but she didn't try anymore since Ms. Bobo ignored her soundly and never answered back. Molly thought perhaps Ms. Bobo did not speak English, but it was much more likely that her Master had instructed Ms. Bobo not to speak to her.
Her Master was the type of man who could get people to do anything he asked. Or demanded. Her Master was a very rich and very intelligent man. That was what drew Molly to him in the first place—his wise eyes and the way he seemed to know exactly what to do in any situation. She had fallen deeply in love with her Master nearly from the start, and she believed he loved her. He married her in a very large and ostentatious wedding attended by important Chicago businessmen, congressmen, and people of note. That was their vanilla relationship, the relationship that existed outside the web of daily life they moved in. Their other relationship was more private. Total power exchange. TPE. Her Master had spoken with her about it before they wed, and she had agreed, yes, yes. She loved him. She would do anything to make him happy, because he made her the happiest woman on earth. Their wedding portraits were in the unused study in the east wing, where they often met family. It was one of the vanilla rooms. She was not his slave in that room. She stood beside him and greeted visitors and guests in that and a few other rooms which were designated as "strictly vanilla."
She hated those rooms.
Rrriip.
Molly stared up past Ms. Bobo, remembering her wedding day. She had enjoyed the ceremony, as well as the celebration afterward that had gone on all night. But she'd loved the honeymoon most of all, when he had snapped on her eternity collar. It was the type of metal collar that had to be cut off to be removed.
Those photos from the wedding were strange to her. The fancy white dress instead of
the nakedness she naturally moved in now. And no collar around her neck, not the slim metal seamless collar or any of the thicker leather collars he sometimes used to restrain her. In the wedding photos they stood side by side, a couple. Well, not exactly side by side. He was taller and so she was looking up at him, at his thick, wavy blond hair and golden skin. She was the pale, dark-haired girl beside him, fallen into a dream. Even as the photographer had posed them and taken the photos, Molly knew it was false. Playacting. She ought to have been kneeling, naked and collared, at his feet.
Ms. Bobo made a grunting sound and gesture that Molly knew now meant to turn over.
She got on all fours and spread her legs, arching her back. At one time this had embarrassed her, but now it just meant the bikini wax was nearly over. Ms. Bobo spread her ass cheeks with her gloved hands—quick, businesslike handling. A dab of petroleum jelly on her anus and more hot wax spread between her cheeks. Molly hated the feeling of the hot sticky wax more than the actual pain of the hair removal. That was quickly over, like a massive bandage being ripped off.
But when the wax was hot, being spread on her, she knew the pain was still coming, and she hated waiting for pain.
Rrriip. Ouch.
Ms. Bobo packed up her kit and left with the same scowl she'd arrived with. While Molly showered off, Ms. Bobo would go out to Master's office where Mrs. Jernigan would pay her and schedule her next appointment. Mrs. Jernigan and Ms. Bobo were equally frownish most days.
When Molly saw them together, she would steel herself against laughing at their battle of scowls.
Unlike Ms. Bobo, Mrs. Jernigan spoke to Molly, but it was generally to give directions and relay Master's orders. Mrs. Jernigan was Master's eyes and ears while he was away. She was also his housekeeper and general assistant. There was a chef too, to whom Molly was forbidden to speak, but Molly was never permitted in the kitchen so she couldn't have spoken to him anyway. She didn't even know what he looked like, only that she ate the food he prepared, and that it was very delicious. Well, mostly it was delicious. Sometimes, if Molly was being punished, the chef was asked to make her bland, tasteless things.
"Girl!" Mrs. Jernigan's Irish-inflected voice rose above the noise of the shower. Molly shut off the water and toweled off.
"I'm coming, Mrs. Jernigan!"
Molly was given dinner earlier in the day so that when Master arrived home she could focus all her attention on her service to him. Molly put soothing lotion on her tender, waxed mons, hoping the redness would dissipate before Master arrived and wanted to use her. She was careful not to touch herself in any way Master might find inappropriate. Her sex belonged to him and she was not allowed to touch it on her own. Sometimes it was difficult, because the slightest thoughts of Master could send her slit into overdrive, but there were only a handful of times, mostly in the beginning, that she had been unable to resist the urge to masturbate. Her stolen touches and orgasms had resulted in such agonizing and humiliating whippings she quickly realized the pleasure was simply not worth the pain. But perhaps tonight Master would give her an orgasm...
"Girl!" Mrs. Jernigan yelled again. For a tiny Irish woman, she could really yell loud.
Molly took one last look at her naked figure and her shining collar and hurried to the dining room. She stopped just outside the door and stepped on the scale under Mrs. Jernigan's scrutinizing eye, then raised her arms for Mrs. Jernigan to measure her waist and hips with a tape measure. Master required a certain weight and if she went over it, or her waist or hips exceeded the parameters he set, Molly didn't eat. It was more or less a formality, since Master also controlled how much she ate, what she ate, and how often she exercised. In five years of marriage, Molly had never missed a meal except for behavioral issues. But she enjoyed submitting to the ritual, because it underlined the fact that her body belonged to him.
"Go on, girl." Mrs. Jernigan nodded her into the dining room where Molly found a place set, as usual, for one. She sat and ate slowly, with refinement, the way he preferred, even though he wasn't there to see. She loved being able to follow his many protocols even when he wasn't there, as it made her feel closer to him in his absence. Before Master, she had been so scatterbrained, so reckless. She had lived dangerously and once had almost died. She didn't like to think of those times, and how lost she'd been. She hadn't even realized how much she craved safety and structure until he came into her life. She'd been working at Club Mephisto when they first met. She still remembered the moment like a movie in her mind. She'd put down a coaster in front of him and looked up to ask what he wanted to drink. His pale blue eyes had fixed on her.
Frozen her. He had watched her that night, and she'd begun to preen under his steady regard.
How self-centered she'd been back then.
He'd come back again the following night, and this time he'd asked her to go out on a date. The way he'd asked had startled her. "Would you honor me by accompanying me to dinner?
I'd like to get to know you better." She had stammered out an immediate agreement, impressed by his handsome looks as much as his impeccable manners. Back then, men didn't treat her with much respect, but then, she probably hadn't deserved it.
But Master had made her feel as if she deserved it. He took her out several times before they began to play. She loved the bondage and his creative approach to sex. Soon he was explaining things to her like protocols and total power exchange dynamics. She hadn't realized how much she wanted strict control and limits until he started to impose them on her. She had curled into his increasingly rigid restrictions like a newborn baby into a blanket. She had felt reborn. She still felt reborn each time his gaze fell on her in desire or approval. When dinner hour arrived, she knew it would usually only be a couple more hours before he returned home.
When she was nearly finished eating, Mrs. Jernigan burst into the dining room in alarm.
"He's here! Your Master is home early—"
Before Mrs. Jernigan even finished, Molly was flying. She paused just a millisecond to scan her face in the mirror, checking her teeth for broccoli and scrutinizing her lipstick to be sure none had worn off. With a couple token tugs at her long, dark curls, she flew to the foyer and took up her kneeling stance at the entryway just as the lock turned in the door. She bowed her head, kneeling straight, her hands folded in her lap and her thighs slightly parted.
Master is home. Now I can be who I am.
Master
As always, she saw only his shoes first, his lovely shiny leather loafers, and the bottom of his crisply tailored and starched pants. She always fought not to look up. She had been trained to let him acknowledge her when and if he wished it. He almost always acknowledged her, but she was trained to wait.
Mrs. Jernigan took his briefcase and coat as always and bustled away with them. He reached down then and placed two gentle fingers on the side of her face. She suppressed the sigh of joy, the shiver that threatened to shake her each time he did this. His fingers trailed lower, beneath her chin, and tilted her face up. She stared at her Master—tall, blond, with blue eyes that sparkled with intelligence and challenge. She couldn't suppress an ecstatic grin.
"Lovely girl." His lips twisted into a teasing smile of pleasure. "Did you miss me?"
"Yes, Master! Oh, I missed you so much. Welcome home."
"How was your day?"
Molly told him an abbreviated version—which books she'd read, when she'd exercised, when she'd rested, when Ms. Bobo had come by. He listened with absorption. These were her moments, the moments he unselfishly gave her each day before he demanded she give herself over to his needs. She basked in his full attention, pouring all the appreciation and excitement she felt into her words because she knew it would please him.
When she finished, he lifted her to her feet as always and gave her a deep kiss full of promise. She pressed against his broad, firm chest, breathing in his masculine cologne and the fresh scent of his fine clothing. His fingers twisted in her hair, making her entire body tingle.
Her naked skin felt alive wherever she touched him even though he was still fully dressed. Only then, after the kiss, was she able to focus again on her task of serving him. She peered up into his ice blue eyes silently, awaiting his next command, whether it was sending her for a whiskey, or for a whip.
"My pet, you are in high spirits today," he said fondly. "Come into the living room."
She trailed behind him to the adjacent space, a large, airy room with a huge window-wall that afforded spectacular views of the Chicago city skyline. Molly always found the staid lines and neutral tones of the room soothing, and sat there many hours just looking out at the view.
But not now. Now she was focused completely on her Master. He sat back in one of the club chairs near the fireplace, beckoning her forward with a casual gesture she knew well. She went to him and knelt between his outstretched legs. She loosed his waistband's button with careful, patient attention, not wanting to jostle or jerk at his clothing. She drew down the zipper and released his hardening member from the fly of his silk boxer shorts. He sank back with a sigh, letting her attend him.
Her Master's cock was truly wonderful, and it was no problem for her to worship and service it for hours on end. It was the perfect length and thickness—it choked her a little when he thrust in her mouth, and it stretched her a little whenever he entered her, but it was a thrilling stretch, not the painful kind. More than that, his cock represented, for her, her Master's awesome power and masculinity. She licked up and down the hard, swollen shaft, teasing the bulbous crown before bowing her head to lick around the base. She caressed his balls as she did, taking him deeper, deeper... He made soft lust sounds that thrilled her, his hands roving lazily over her hair, down to her shoulders, then down lower to squeeze and pinch her sensitive breasts. She made sounds too, hums and small moans of pleasure she simply couldn't contain.
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