Off Duty

by Ellie Masters

  She stepped out of view of the camera, then returned with a round-faced paddle in one hand and a quirt in the other. “Get on with it, bitch,” she said, then turned her back to the camera, returned to the camera to aim and zoom it, resumed her position, and started lashing with the quirt, sidearm strokes to wrap around and catch her thighs. She yelped, but lashed again and again, marking beautifully, and lashing admirably hard for the first forty or so strokes, but the pain began to overcome her, and the lashes weakened for the final few. She dropped the quirt on the bed and picked up the paddle, then began smashing it furiously into her ass, ten to the left, ten to the right, and so forth, until each cheek of her ass was bright red at seventy strokes, when she ceased, and knelt, facing the camera, her face red and tear-streaked.

  “I chickened out on the last few strokes of the quirt, and that’s not acceptable, so this paddling is going to worsen for the final fifteen. She knelt and opened a tan bag with orange print, one I recognized as Home Depot. She planted sticky-backed sandpaper on one face of the paddle, then deftly cut the overlap away with scissors. “That will abrade me, and maybe having to peel my panties off the next time I undress will remind me to keep my lead foot to myself, and to take what I have coming. God hates a coward, right?” With that, she took her position again and laid fifteen far harsher swats to her right cheek, repeating it on the left, crying out several times. I could see her ass was abraded, and admired her resolve even as I wished I’d been in her life then to administer this punishment. She knelt again before the camera. “I’m sorry,” she said, then ended the video.

  “Jesus,” I said.

  “I’ve had twelve more punishments since this one, Master, at my own hands,” she said. “A lot of these are me dancing, and many are me playing and masturbating. This isn’t my computer now, Master. It’s yours. But I want to show you some of these to give you a sample. You mentioned learning me as I learn to submit. I can’t have any doors closed to you, Master, none. I need … well, you were the paramedic I mentioned in that video, as if I have to draw you a picture. Anyway, I guess this is your entire four-year major for your degree in Laura Peters.”

  “I’d figured as much,” I said, but was pleased with the confirmation from her.

  “This one is a play session,” she said, starting another video on the enormous television. Again, she was naked, and I got the sense she maybe spent much of her alone time au naturel. I made a mental note to ask her later. On screen, she stepped forth, and I told her to pause the video.

  “Go get lube and choose a plug,” I ordered. “It’s another good reminder of who owns that ass.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Laura said. “Master, I’m a virgin there to anything but the plugs. I … it would honor me if you took that from me, right here in my own home.”

  “I gave you orders,” I said. “Bring the quirt and paddle too.”

  “Yes, Master,” Laura said, crawling into the closet. She crawled back, this time with a book bag in her teeth, then knelt before me. I took the bag and looked inside. She had done as bidden, and I wondered if she was trying to impress me. The plug she’d chosen was a tempered glass one, longer than my cock and thicker at its bulb.

  “Elbows and palms on the bed, legs straight,” I ordered. Laura’s eyes widened, but she obeyed. “I’m going to give you those ten strokes where you weakened, plus ten more to teach you to obey even your own orders, and another ten for … call it accrued interest on what you’ve owed for so long.. After that, I’m going to paddle you for talking rather than obeying, and then you’ll get the plug.”

  “Y … yes, Master,” she said in a fretful tone, but obeyed. My Laura was a fast learner, adaptable and obedient. It wouldn’t get her a discount on lashes, but it would prevent extra ones.

  “You’ll take this unbound, but if you have a gag in your cabinet in there, and request, I can gag you,” I said.

  “I wish I did, but I don’t,” Laura breathed. “Master, that was so humiliating and such a turn on, coated in my own drool. And it was effective at shutting me the fuck up. A request, though, Sir?”

  “Ask,” I said.

  “Punish me extra if I evade or beg mercy, Master. I need these harsh lessons in what I am.”

  “So ordered,” I said.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she breathed. She seemed to tense her lean body, and a second later, the quirt slashed across her thighs, far harder than she had the resolve to do in that video. She shuddered and hissed, but held her place, like a statue, showing me the slave I owned, a slave I guess she hoped was worthy of my ownership.

  I knew mercy would dishonor Laura, so I gave her none, lashing again and again into her thighs as she cried, but held her place, although I could see by the twitching in her feet that she was struggling. The end of the quirt was thick latigo leather, cut to twin points, and left deep and thick welts. I had already resolved that the tee-shirt was to be her standard uniform when outdoors or traveling, unless we were going somewhere public. Maybe the welts on her thighs, showing as she made her way from house to truck, would make her feel I was making an example of her.

  The lashing done with the quirt, I set it aside, but Laura maintained her position. I saw she’d brought me the same paddle from the video, that still had the sandpaper face on it. “Twenty to each side with the paddle, then you go over my lap for twenty more,” I decreed. Without further preamble, I smashed the paddle five times into each side of her ass, using the sandpaper, impressed with the abrasion and with her resolve to hold her place as she yelped. I pondered giving some backhanded to her, but the truth was, my backhand wasn’t at all strong, and really pretty clumsy. So I kept paddling forehand, left-right-left-right, as her delicious ass reddened and chafed at the rough surface. The sandpaper was about 50-grit, I judged, coarse as hell. Finally, she’d taken 20 to each ass cheek, and sobbed uncontrollably. But still, my Laura held her place.

  I sat at the corner of the bed. “Over my lap now,” I ordered. She rose and took her ordered position. “Hands behind your back, slave.” She obeyed and I grasped her thin wrists in one hand, making her more helpless as she moaned. The paddling resumed, a merciless punishment while she was over my lap like a little girl. I laid them in hard, wanting sitting to pain her for the coming week, deciding that when I permitted her to sit, it would only be in hard chairs, so she would feel the throbbing and be reminded of her place and my expectations. No, I corrected myself as I laid down the final swat. Not my expectations, but my outright demands and requirements.

  I lubed the plug then parted her ass cheeks while she was still over my lap, then slowly and gently slid the plug up into her. She moaned and relaxed, then groaned as it seated inside her. She trembled and quivered as I felt wetness escaping her pussy to soak my leg, but she didn’t cum, though it was close. “Lick your mess off my leg, slave,” I ordered. She rolled off my lap and licked her juices off my bared leg, doing a credible job of accepting such abasement.

  “I’ll want to watch each and every movie,” I said. “But for now, I’m in the mood for you to dance on that pole, and then give your owner a lapdance.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” she said, and smiled. “Your slave would love nothing more.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Somewhere along the way, I think I had truly died and gone to heaven, or maybe this was hell. My ass sure had been lit on fire. Keith didn’t disappoint. He laid into me with brazen determination to make me answer for my faults. Showing him my computer may not have been the smartest thing, but I’d decided somewhere between lash ten and I-don’t-know on his St. Andy’s that I was just jumping straight in. He would either surprise me or fail me.

  From the burn in my ass and the welts on my front, I knew I would rue that decision for days to come, perhaps even longer. I didn’t know how long we could keep up this pace. My body could only handle so much, and eventually our off duty time would end and I’d have to get back to work. I had to trust in Keith. He wouldn’t be easy on me, and how I loved him for that, but he wo
uldn’t go too far either. I trusted him to keep us on the edge, and to keep me in line.

  For far too long, I’d tried mastering myself, always knowing I’d only been playing at a game. When things got too hard, or too painful, I always let up. The evidence had been in that video. I simply didn’t have what it took. Keith, on the other hand, had little compassion for my screams. I needed the harshness of his discipline and his conviction to control me.

  “Master?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you give me a moment and meet me downstairs. If it pleases you, I’d like to surprise you?”

  Oh, I hoped he granted me this request. It may be bold of me not to instantly comply, but I knew he would love what I had planned. I cast my gaze down and held my breath.

  I didn’t even know if I could pull off the moves. My body ached from head to toe. It would be torture to twist and contort, but I wanted this. Me and that pole were connected to him. I still didn’t remember him coming into that bar. I didn’t remember him watching me, nor did I remember taking him to the back room for a lap dance. He did. From the heat simmering in his gaze, there was no question it was a memory he visited often. How many times had he jacked off thinking about me dancing on that stage? I bet it was more than a time or two. No wait. That wasn’t true. He’d only recently realized I had been that girl. What a shame.

  But it would have been a sight. There was nothing more erotic than a man comfortable enough with his masculinity who would grab himself and beat off. Technically, that was my job now, but I’d be lying if the thought of watching him pleasure himself didn’t turn my insides to jelly.

  “What is going on in that head of yours?” he asked.

  “Please don’t make me answer,” I said. “I will if I must. I’d never hold anything from you, but please, give me five minutes to...well, set the stage.”

  “You’ve got a glint in your eyes going on,” he said. “And I have a mind to give you a little leeway seeing as how well you took your strikes.”

  Heat flooded my face. “Thank you, Master,” I said. “I should’ve thanked you sooner.”

  “Got any liquor in this place?”

  “I keep wine and whiskey in the cupboard beside the fridge.”

  “Well, I suggest you hurry on up. I’m going to pour a drink and meet you downstairs.”

  “Thank you!”

  I headed to the door, but then stopped and grabbed a flogger. I thrust it at him.

  “What’s this for?”

  “I don’t keep anything downstairs,” I said sheepishly. “Just thought you might need something...in case, well...in case I fail in my task.”

  He took the flogger, then pulled me close. “God damn, but you make my blood boil.”

  After he released me, I skipped down the hall and headed downstairs. He’d kicked the chair over, leaving me to wonder exactly what had been raging in his head. That chair had always been meant for him, even if I hadn’t known it. He’d found my stereo and turned it on. Thick bass thumped out from the walls. A quick glance at my playlist and I changed the tune to something sultry and seductive. Alannah Myles’ Black Velvet would do the trick. I had one closet down here. It was hidden behind the mirrors, so I was confident he hadn’t seen inside. Not that I would hide anything from him, except as a surprise.

  As the seconds ticked down, I shimmied into the outfit I’d chosen, then I flicked on the overhead strobe lighting up the pole. The light was attached to motion sensors and would track my movements. It had limited range, but enough for what I needed.

  Stretching nearly brought tears to my eyes. My master had certainly laid into my body over the past few hours. There was no choice but to dance through the pain. I welcomed it actually, because each bend and bow of my body would be accompanied by a reminder of what I’d become.

  All the walls were mirrored down here. Sleek, slim, and slender, my reflection bounced back at me. I had a mind to seduce him, really drive him wild, and the flowing silks fluttered behind me with each practiced twirl. I headed to the chair, setting it in place, my stomach tingling with the knowledge its rightful owner would finally sit in his place.

  Dance had always been a part of me. Elegance at its finest, it was also pain in its purest form. I was the embodiment of passion when I danced and an admirer of agony as I floated and twisted weightlessly across a room. Poised and balanced, it was as if I were made of the flowing silk covering my form.

  That computer revealed the root of my deepest need. I’d always turned to self-punishment to set my life right, but when that failed I came down here, dancing away the hours until my body collapsed in a heap. It took great strength to make my dancing look as graceful as it was, involving total exertion while I plastered a smile on my face. Dancing the pole truly was an athletic feat, more punishing to my body than the half-assed attempts at self-flagellation upstairs.

  When I danced, I brought all my emotions to the surface, and I would beat at myself until a unity of purpose overcame me. I think I’d never left that girl who stripped for a living in the past. It had paid the bills, but I think even then I’d craved the objectification being on stage brought. I’d always wished to serve a man. Some might think that odd coming from a woman who chose one of the most demanding fields in medicine. Perhaps I was a modern day, female Jekyll and Hyde. One meant to save lives, and the other meant for this?

  Keith’s heavy step down the stairs alerted me to his imminent arrival. I should kneel on the ground, the proper place for a slave when her master entered the room, but I faded to the back of the room, and began my dance.

  I knew what he would see. The grace of angels burst from my soul and flowed into my limbs when music poured into me. Over the years, I’d danced for many reasons, love of performance, to stay fit, to seduce strange men and free them of their hard earned cash. I used dance to punish my body, but tonight I danced only for Keith.

  When he entered the room, I was already moving in the darkness. He would see only the barest outline of my form as I moved slowly toward him. My body was clad in lengths of silk and gauze. With the music and the swaying of my hips, the strips of cloth cast a sense of the forbidden, building tension and a craving for the faster movements which would lift the silks and reveal what lay underneath.

  Keith said nothing, although he did stand by the doorway silent and appraising as I moved for him. Then he came to the center of the room and took the chair which had always been his. My breaths hitched in that moment as I danced for my master. My body flowed with joy and peace, love and grace, emotions spilling out of my heart where I gave them physical form. The bright silks chased my movements, and I grabbed one, pulling it free and passing it before my eyes. Someday, if he allowed, I would show him my harem outfit and give him a true sultan’s dance, but tonight he would have the dance of a hundred silks.

  The silk fluttered to the floor, and I stepped close to the pole. My movements triggered the motion sensor of the light and it locked on to me. As it did, I pulled another silk free, teasing it around my body as I judged the effect I was having on Keith. He shifted in his chair, and leaned back, placing a hand in his lap.

  I continued my dance, every movement precise and filled with the residual pain from his previous discipline. I advanced, retreated, and pirouetted. My arms undulated, mirroring the sultry flow of my hips. As my head swayed, more silk fluttered to the ground as I stripped for him. I held one up as a veil, hiding my features, while enticing with the flash of my eyes from the other side.

  Heading to the pole, I pivoted in a revolving whirl of sharp precision and impeccable grace. I wanted to please him as badly as I wanted to breathe, and threw the entirety of my being into my movement. It took absolute control to work the pole, and I did that now, moving my body against it like it was my lover. Then I smiled, because I would never have a lover. Instead, a master had settled his mantle of authority over me. I danced by his grace and his alone.

  A glance at him revealed his hand moving over the fabric of his shorts
. He was stroking his hard length, moving slowly, but with purpose. My dance had a destination, and I worked my way to him now. Only two lengths of silk still covered me. I peeled them away, first revealing my breasts and then baring myself to him.

  The music thumped all around us, and I lowered to the ground, my eyes feasting on what he gripped beneath his shorts. On all fours, I crawled to him eager to climb into his lap. He stared at me, his eyes hungry and raw. I licked my lips, wondering if he’d prefer my mouth instead and arched a brow in question.

  CHAPTER 32

  Her moves had excited me then, and she’d honed those amazing skills to nothing less than awesomeness in the years that had rolled on. She had moves that would make even a cobra weep with envy, sinuous, graceful, serpentine, and sexy, as my eyes stayed riveted to her every move to the sultry Black Velvet, a song that always put me in the mood. I never could remember who the singer was, but she had that voice that would harden any man, alive or dead. I know, I know, the song is a tribute to Elvis Presley, who died when I was still in diapers, but that voice coupled with this beautiful slithering goddess turned my cock to granite.

  I was a hot mess of want and need as my slave gave me the full show. As the song wound down, she crawled to me, not that crawl with nipples dragging the floor. That was for upstairs, we both knew, not down here, where I learned without being told that so much of her soul lived. I even had a grasp on why. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what stripper name she used on that long-ago stage-and-pole, but I knew they used stage names, much like authors of erotica, wanting the safety of their own lives and privacy, and I didn’t need to be told that before she was Miss High and Mighty, she was certain to have had a wide assortment of people creeping her. Suddenly, from a dusty corner of my mind, her long-ago stage name rose into my mind unbidden. Fiona Flame.