Meeting Her Master

by Hayse, Breanna

  “Excellent idea. In the meantime, we just need to watch her reactions. She hates manual labor, so that is a wonderful punishment.”

  “Those are her chores. She will perform those regardless of how she behaves. We can vary them, though, to keep her flexible.”

  “Once again, you are correct,” Blake acknowledged. “I also know that she protested vehemently against being punished by a woman. That might be an interesting topic to explore.”

  “It depends. Masochists tend to be very manipulative in order to get what they want without directly asking. Has she had any real experience in dungeon play or corporal punishment?” Giada questioned.

  “I don’t think so. I intend to talk with her later about her limits. I am pretty good at assessing the nature of the information I am given. Keep me up to date on everything that happens. Now stand up and remove your panties.”

  “What?”

  Blake frowned as he lifted a heavy Lucite ruler from the desk drawer and tapped it against his palm. Giada paled, reaching under the nondescript gray dress and lowering the white cotton panties to her ankles. She stepped out of them, bent down to pick them up, and placed them in Blake’s outstretched hand.

  He tucked them into his pocket and used the ruler to point to the chair in which Giada had been sitting. She leaned over, grasping the edges of the chair and placed her forehead down on the cushion. Her legs were spread wide, knees straight, and pale gold bottom jutted high into the air. Her dark furred pussy and light brown bottom-hole contracted with the exposure to cool air.

  “When was the last time you were punished?” Blake asked, running the edge of the ruler back and forth over her unmarked skin.

  “Two months ago, Master. Please don’t…”

  “Silence,” Blake ordered, striking the button for the speakerphone. “Hola! ¿Cómo estás?”

  “Blake! Old friend! How have you been?”

  “Good. I apologize for not coming by lately. We have been foaling. Anything new with you?”

  “No,” Humberto chuckled, “unless you count the defiance of my beautiful wife. I have been meaning to send her your way for some reminders.”

  “I am glad you brought that up because she is bent down, bare-assed in front of me right now so that she may be punished. Are you aware that this naughty lady of yours snuck out on her day off in order to avoid you while you took care of your accounts?”

  “So that is where she went to. I am very disappointed,” the other man answered with a chuckle.

  “You don’t sound the least bit disappointed. I wanted to get your permission to mark her.”

  “Permission? You never need that from me. Just make certain that you leave a lasting impression so that I may seek pleasure this evening.”

  “I ask you out of respect, Humberto. You are my friend and she is your wife.”

  “I thank you. May I listen to her chastisement?” the man on the other end of the phone asked eagerly.

  “But, of course. In fact, she will thank you with every stroke and express how much she loves and appreciates you,” Blake said, twirling his finger to make Giada turn her scowling face back to the cushion. “And if you cannot hear her, I will repeat the stroke. She said it has been two months since her last session. Is this a fact?”

  “Si… I have been neglectful,” the other man chuckled without remorse in his voice. “Please make up the time for her. Perhaps one stroke for every day missed?”

  “And they say I am the heartless one!” Blake laughed as Giada again shifted to look at him, this time in panic. “I have my Lucite ruler. Perhaps we compromise? An even thirty?”

  “Must you show such leniency? Ahh, very well. I will let you know if I fail to hear her adoration for me.”

  Blake pulled his arm back and loosed the ruler to fall across the crown of the outstretched posterior. Giada yelled out with a raspy plea.

  “Nooo! Ay Dios mio! Muchas gracias, Humberto. I love and appreciate you, husband.”

  “Did she say something?”

  “Yes, and quite emphatically. Let me increase the volume so you can hear her better. We don’t want to have to repeat any of these strokes, do we?”

  Giada mouthed the words ‘thank you’ through the tears. Blake winked and drew back his arm for the next slap of the thick plastic implement. He touched her skin, looking carefully for damage that would make him stop the session. She was fine…

  * * *

  Blake dropped the very repentant, and very horny, Giada Alonso at her home and then started on his way to pick up Dahlia. He drove to the main entrance of the campus and waited patiently. Six o’clock rolled around and no Dahlia. Another ten, then twenty minutes passed, and Blake became increasingly concerned, which rapidly grew to worried. He had dialed her cell phone several times and left her voice messages to call him immediately.

  Just as he was leaving a fourth message, a red Ferrari screeched into the far side of the parking lot and two women exited. Blake squinted. The pink ombre gave away the identity of one, but the other… Ginger?

  “I’ll be damned,” Blake murmured as Ginger kissed Dahlia, smacked her ass, and then hopped back into her car. With a wave, she was off and Dahlia turned in his direction.

  Dahlia froze when she noticed the truck parked discreetly under a copse of shade trees. Blake stood on the foot ledge and leaned across the roof, watching her.

  “Sorry I’m late, I…”

  “You should have told me you were seeing your therapist today,” Blake stated, curious to see how far she would take the charade.

  “Um… Yeah. She came to pick me up for my visit. I forgot.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how I know her?”

  “No. I really don’t care.”

  “How were classes today?”

  “Blake, listen.” Dahlia turned to look at him as he started the truck. “Put the pleasantries aside. You are not my dad, nor are you anyone to me other than the guy who hired me to assuage his guilt for almost running me over. Don’t put on this act like you give a shit.”

  “Maybe I do give a shit. You are barely nineteen, get tossed out on your drunken keister from a 21-and-over club, and walk into the middle of an unlit road. Thank God it was me who saw you.”

  “The only god is the one inside of us,” Dahlia scoffed.

  “That isn’t what I believe, but no matter. You intrigue me. I want to know what is going on in that beady little brain of yours.”

  “Why are you so nosy?”

  “Not nosy. Just very curious. Do you have a death wish, kid?”

  “No! Why do people immediately assume that just because I like pain, that I don’t love to live? I am not into any life-threatening crap like strangling, electricity, drowning and stuff. Also, no scat or golden showers. Damn!”

  “Calm down, I was just asking. I want to learn your limits. We can make a deal if you cooperate.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “We can start with me giving you a thorough spanking every time you reveal something significant to me,” Blake stated, watching her reaction out of the corner of his eye. Her breath had caught, she stiffened, and her nipples rose against her shirt.

  “What if I don’t want a spanking?” she gulped.

  “I will give it to you anyway, and make sure to leave you with a very red and tender derriere,” Blake responded. He raised his eyebrow, noticing the tiny smile on her face. Without knowing, she revealed her desire for intimacy and a loss of control. But was it submission? He seriously doubted it.

  He sent Dahlia to her room the minute they arrived at the hacienda, and instructed her to wash up for dinner that was to be served at seven. He also instructed her to dress in her pajamas, sans panties. Dahlia narrowed her eyes at him, and then scampered off to obey.

  Blake sat in his office and dialed Ginger’s number.

  “Ginger.”

  “Master? What’s wrong? Are you canceling our playtime?”

  “No. I had a question about one of your clients
. An acquaintance of mine is interested in her and had some questions that I thought you could answer.”

  “I can’t reveal any personal information. You know that!”

  “What I know is that he saw you diddling with this girl in a public place recently. Obviously, you have no issues with crossing the line of professionalism, do you?”

  Ginger was silent for a moment. “What do you want to know and which girl is it?”

  “How many of these girls do you play with? Oh, never mind. I tend to overlook the fact that you are never satisfied. He said her name is Dahlia.”

  “Yeah, she is a different sort. She is a hedonist with strong masochistic qualities. She believes that the more she physically feels, the stronger her hold of reality.”

  “Do you think she is delusional? Or a danger to herself?”

  “No. In fact, she is the most solid and honest client I have. She doesn’t waste time playing guessing games or manipulating like other masos that I know. She will blatantly say what she likes, what she wants, and how much.”

  “Assuming she knows, yes?”

  “Exactly. She is very inexperienced. She has never had sex with a man, nor has she taken anything up the ass yet. She loves the sensation of pinching, especially that moment when the clamp is opened. She pretends to resist restraints but is eager to accept them. As for pain, she says she loathes anything that stings or bites.”

  “Leather for pleasure and…”

  “Cane for pain,” Ginger finished. “I have had very little time to explore her pain limits. She has also told me that she hates being humiliated publicly and that she draws the line on medical play, but she has never defined what constitutes either.”

  “Interesting. Her limits seem very vague. I will communicate this information.”

  “Master? Is it Blake Turner? Dahlia mentioned him.”

  “What did she say?” Blake asked without hesitation.

  “That he had a delicious cruel streak, but that she doubted he could hold her interest for very long. She did think he was cute, for an older man, but felt he lacked the stamina to keep up with her. She claims that she needs it very hard and frequent. Tell whoever it is that he can’t hold anything back.”

  “Interesting that these beliefs are being communicated, given the assumption that she has never explored her limits. As for not holding back, I will not promote abuse, Ginger. You know better.”

  “Abuse is defined by the recipient, not by the distributor. She wants…”

  “You said yourself that she has little experience. I will advise him of her proclaimed needs as well as what I will do to anyone I discover who uses a fist on a woman, bloodies her, or forces himself on her sexually other than as part of a pre-negotiated scene.”

  Ginger held her breath in response to the angry tone in his voice. She stuttered out an apology for angering him, and promised to accept twenty strokes of the loop to pay for her irresponsible comment. Blake grunted and hung up on her, knowing that she would be fearfully anticipating the degree of anger he held for her. It was part of the mind game he played, forcing their imagination to run amuck prior to the actual event.

  He and Dahlia entered the dining room at the same time. He smiled, pleased with the attire the girl had chosen. A plain oversized pink t-shirt, ankle socks, and her hair parted in the middle and hanging over the shoulder in two low ponytails.

  He held the chair out for her and gestured for her to seat herself. With a scowl, Dahlia plopped down and watched as he took his place at the table’s head.

  “I want to know what happened during your therapy session today.”

  “That’s private and…”

  “I already spoke with a friend of hers who asked her about it.”

  “It’s none of yours, or anyone else’s, fucking business and…”

  “Stand up, Dahlia,” Blake commanded, his voice taking on a menacing timbre. Slowly she rose and he stood, pointing to the table. “Bend over and place your hands on either side of your placemat. I am not going to repeat myself.”

  Dahlia’s eyes visibly widened as these words left his mouth. She obeyed, her hands shaking with excitement, causing the silverware to rattle as she braced herself on the edges of the wire mesh mat. Blake plopped something onto her chair before positioning himself to the left side of her body.

  He pressed his left hand to the center of her spine, and drew back with his right. His callused palm thundered loudly against the curve of her lower right mound, causing Dahlia to wheeze as she inhaled.

  “Oh, my…” she sputtered as a second, third, and fourth blow clapped furiously. She danced on her toes, fighting both the urge to crumble and the desire to offer her bottom for more. She had no choice, however, as Blake pushed the dinnerware out of the way and pressed her chest flat against the table.

  He could already see the glistening wetness peak out from between her legs, and a trill of pleasure quivered through his body. He knew that he was the first man to spank that beautiful bottom and demonstrate the carnal strength that she had been longing for. His palm reddened her pale skin quickly, and traveled to the backs of her thighs to test her reaction. Her groaning grew more pronounced and he could see that her wetness seeped down both her thighs. Her pussy opened, inviting penetration, and he knew it was time.

  To stop.

  “Sit,” he commanded, pushing her bare bottom to the chair upon which he had placed a cocofiber mat. “Spread your legs as wide as you can.”

  He quickly lashed both ankles to the back legs of the chair, forcing Dahlia to lean slightly forward. “Do not bulge from that spot until you are dismissed from dinner. If I see even a smidgeon of a fidget, I will tie your wrists behind your back and make you eat from the table like a dog. Do you want that?”

  “No! This is… wow…” Dahlia winced as the rough material pressed against her tender bottom, thighs, and wet pussy.

  Blake returned to his seat and called for dinner to be brought in. Dahlia stared in dismay as her soup bowl was filled.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Eat it.”

  “Menudo makes me sick. I hate this stuff.” Dahlia gagged at the odor. “It smells like sweaty feet. Why aren’t you eating any?”

  “Because I prefer corn chowder. Thank you,” he said to the server, kissing the back of her wrist. “Would you prefer corn chowder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are your manners, Dahlia?”

  “Yes, please. I would rather have corn chowder,” Dahlia said, wrinkling her nose as her stomach released a very loud, unladylike growl.

  “It is very good,” Blake commented, sipping the sweet, creamy broth from his spoon. “What did you have for lunch today? I hear the campus cafeteria is pretty good.”

  “I didn’t eat, okay? I skipped classes and hung out with Ginger.”

  “Now we are getting somewhere. Lock your hands behind your back. Open,” Blake said, depositing himself next to her and lifting a spoonful of chowder to her mouth.

  “Oh, that is good,” Dahlia said, allowing him to feed her. Blake studied her body language, noting that she was relaxed and that her demeanor had softened considerably. He finished feeding her and gently dabbed her mouth clean.

  “Still hungry?” he asked. Once again, her nose crinkled with distaste as the meal was brought to her.

  “Did you ask Ginger what my least favorite foods were? Lima beans? Spinach? Liver?”

  “I have a knack for knowing certain things. I especially know when someone is being dishonest or hiding something from me. Did you spend the entire day with Ginger, and what did you do? Open.”

  “Do you want me to puke?”

  “Take one bite of everything and maybe I will let you off the hook.”

  “No way. eww!” Dahlia made a gagging sound as Blake shrugged and began to eat. “You actually like that shit?”

  “Only when it’s cooked right. The beans and spinach were picked fresh from our garden and basted in white wine, butter, and garlic
. And the liver is simmered in homemade applesauce, which takes away that chalky taste. Sometimes,” he took a bite, “the best way to see if we like something is by pushing aside old beliefs and trying something new. Now and then, we are pleasantly surprised.”

  “Nothing will ever make me like any of that.”

  Blake held the vegetables up to her nose. “Close your eyes and just smell it. If you start to salivate, open your mouth.”

  Blake withheld laughter as Dahlia, indeed, started to drool. Little did she know, but he was instilling trust in her. She kept her eyes closed until he announced that she had cleaned her plate.

  “Good girl,” he praised. “Are you ready for dessert?”

  “Please tell me it isn’t a cheesecake made of tofu,” Dahlia pleaded.

  Blake simply grinned, producing a slab of chocolate cake with red chili-coconut buttercream frosting. This time, Dahlia needed no persuasion.

  After dinner, Blake released the girl’s ankles and had her stand, holding her nightshirt up to expose her red behind speckled with tiny dots from the mat. He escorted her to her room and ordered her across the bed.

  “What are you going to do to me?” Dahlia asked nervously.

  “I am going to reward you for being honest with me about your whereabouts today. Then I am going to punish you for skipping classes and being late for pickup.”

  “I said I was sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  “I am sure it will not. What are your hard limits, Dahlia?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “A hard limit is something you will never consent to, a deal-breaker. It does not have to necessarily be anything severe, just a very strong personal boundary. We talked about it briefly the other night.”

  “Like when I said I don’t do life-threatening stuff?”

  “Exactly. Hard limits vary from person to person, and so do their categories. For example, I told you that I will never draw blood, be involved in a true rape scene, and never slap a woman in the face even in play.”

  “I never really thought about saying no to much of anything. I’m really claustrophobic, so no breath play or locking me in an enclosed space. I also have no interest in those things I mentioned before.”