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Of Canes and Men
by Sacha Lasalle



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The Preparation
by felicia Mansur © 2008

 

The Preparation

The girl made a little sound from outside the office door and watched him carefully. When she'd first met him, so many weeks ago, she didn't know why she was so captivated by him. He was of average build, neither overly muscular nor flabby; neither really tall nor particularly short. He had dark hair, thinning slightly as is common in men of his age and he wore glasses that made him look a bit like a university professor. His eyes though were amazing, a shocking blue, almost neon, that brooked no deception. And his smile, open, playful, intelligent but with an undercurrent of something dark, dangerous and perhaps even cruel that made her blood run cold. There was something more too. He had a highly unusual economy of movement. He never fidgeted and could stay perfectly still for ages. She still didn't know how he did that.

He ignored her for a few moments and then without looking gave her the signal allowing her entry into his presence. She moved as silently as possible to the space beside his desk and gently lowered herself to her knees to wait on his pleasure. She knelt with her knees apart, eyes cast down. Deep even breathing lifted her lovely small breasts slightly. The cool of the room made her nipples pucker and the hair on her thighs and arms stand up. Her long brown hair fell like a waterfall down her back. She held a sheaf of paper in her carefully manicured hands.

"Yes, girl?"

She couldn't say anything. Earlier that morning before assigning her the writing task, he had plugged all her holes, including her mouth, with various latex devices and strapped each in place with tight leather bands. But she knew how to communicate without words. She held up the papers and leaned forward, tilting her head slightly to the left to indicate the fulfillment of a task.

She felt his careful scrutiny through her lowered lashes and tried to adjust her posture. The plugs in her cunt and ass hurt slightly and the tight leather bands chaffed. A twinge of discomfort flittered across her face.

He took the papers from her hands and fanned the pages.

"Tea," he commanded. The girl nodded and rose, a bit unsteadily, to do his bidding. As she was leaving, she saw him leaning back in his chair and start to read. She had tried very hard to make her handwriting pretty and easy to read despite the odd spelling mistake and scratched out word. She imagined those very words, in her graceful looping script, sinking into her Master's mind.

*          *          *


This girl thanks Master for this assignment and hopes these words find favour with Master. They are offered in all humility and gratitude.

This is a story of a needful girl.

It was not her first time at the club. She had come a couple of times still not sure if it was just morbid curiosity or something else. She still couldn't believe people allowed themselves to be tied up, whipped, beaten, and humiliated. What did they get out of it?

The folks were all extremely friendly and welcoming and … well … apparently normal. As she stood watching at the edge of the play area, all sorts of men, and some women, kept asking her if she wanted to play. She smiled at them all and, trying to be polite, refused them all. Sarah made various excuses, but really she doubted she would ever feel safe enough to let any of these people get her into such a vulnerable position. She didn't like to be confined, she didn't like to be hurt, it was all too frightening. But then why couldn't she just stay away? She gripped her wine glass tightly and took another tiny sip as she shifted her weight to the other foot.

"Excuse me."

Sarah turned to see a middle aged woman in a very tight red leather corset, short skirt and shiny steel collar.

"My Master has noticed you watching the play and was wondering if you would like to sit down. There is a spot at his table."

Sarah raised her eyes to where the woman indicated. The man at the table nodded to her and pulled out a chair in invitation. Something fluttered in her belly. Her first instinct was to flee, but that was silly. He was just being kind and it would be rude to refuse. She turned back to the girl.

"Okay, thank you. That's very kind. My name is Sarah. And you are … "

"Apparently not important this evening. But that's ok. Be well." She smiled sweetly and inclined her head before disappearing into the crowd.

The room seemed to quieten as Sarah crossed over to the offered chair. It wasn't until she got there that she noticed the two other girls kneeling quietly on the floor at his feet, the leashes from their collars laying untouched across his lap.

"Welcome. You can watch more comfortably from here."

"Thank you. But I wouldn't want to take someone else's chair." She nodded to the girls on the floor.

"My girls know their place. The chair is for you. And perhaps here you won't attract so much unwanted attention."

The girls smiled silently at Sarah as she slid into the chair. "Ok. Thanks. What do you mean 'unwanted attention'?"

"I've been watching you all evening. You consistently decline offers to play, even though the hunger in your eyes is clear for anyone to see. I've seen you here before doing the same thing. It's almost cruel to those poor fellows."

Sarah felt a tell tale flush of embarrassment flood her cheeks. "I had no idea I was being such a beacon. So thank you again, but perhaps I should just leave."

"If you like. But you are under my protection here. No-one will bother you. And perhaps I can answer some questions for you. Besides, that hunger is not going away on its own. Is it the pain or the violence you crave?"

Sarah almost choked. "I don't want to be hurt. Why would anyone want such a thing?"

"Fair enough. Violence then. But I wouldn't discount the value of pain so quickly. It can be extremely useful."

Sarah felt a bit lightheaded, and confused. "What in the world is pain useful for?"

His smile dimmed slightly and he leaned towards her. Sarah hardly noticed her body mirroring his as she moved closer to him. His voice pitched a bit lower so she had to strain to hear his words.

"Pain cleanses you."

His voice was like honey and smoke.

"Pain frees you of pretence."

His words wound into her soul and burned in her belly.

"And pain prepares you for rape."

Sarah's eyes shot up and looked right into his. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. Her hands trembled. He held her there for a moment or two then sat back and broke eye contact.

"Breathe, girl. You're alright. Nothing bad will happen to you."

Sarah laughed out loud, then quickly lowered her voice as heads turned in her direction. "Nothing bad? You're talking about rape!"

"And I imagine you have always been taught rape is bad. But by the flush on your skin, the quickness of your breath and, most importantly, the strength of your scent, you have fantasized about being taken by force. Overwhelmed by someone strong enough to compel you."

Sarah felt sick with shame. How did he know? "I … "

"No, don't speak. You don't need to try to deny it to me. I've seen it many times before. Just ask yourself this. What would you do to live that fantasy?"

For the next three weeks Sarah burned.

She was constantly irritable, distracted and incredibly horny. She sent many emails to the man from the club. He answered them promptly and gently but never wavering from his sure prediction that she wanted to be raped. Her skin felt like it would crawl off her bones of its own volition. She called up ex-boyfriends and anyone else she could think of who would relieve her need. She had sex. A lot of sex. But none of it satisfied her. Something was always missing. She masturbated often, several times a day. Every time she imagined his dark eyes and his smoky low voice her body would convulse until she was knocking over the furniture.

It was intolerable.

Finally she was back at the club. She looked frantically for him. What if he wasn't there? What if he was there?

She could no longer deny her need, it consumed her, but she was so afraid of what she was becoming. Would she even recognize herself if she let this go any further? Could she stop it now even if she wanted to?

She had been there for an eternity when he finally arrived. Sarah felt her belly tighten and she wiped her hands on her skirt. How could she approach him? How could she get him to give her what she needed? Did she even know what she needed? Yes. She did know. It was just so incredibly difficult to admit it. She needed to be raped. There. She said it, but she could hardly believe it. If she wanted to be raped, then why didn't she just walk into the wrong part of town? But that wasn't it. It had to be done right, by someone who understood. By him.

He was chatting with many old friends as he made his way over to his usual table. His girls were following at his heel. They were beautiful and sensual and practically naked. They wore their nakedness with a shameless pride that made Sarah ache with envy. Why would he be interested in her when he had these glorious slaves?

Finally he saw her and acknowledged her. Her mouth was suddenly dry and she was shaking, but as frightened as she was, she burned for his touch. She knew she would accept anything from him, if only he would slack her need. She moved towards his table.

Gone was the gentle and kind man. Here now was the strong powerful dominant. Her courage almost failed her.

"Yes, girl?"

She felt she should bow or maybe kneel, but wasn't sure. For the first time she desperately wanted to know the details of all the formal protocol she'd witnessed on her previous visits to the club. How did one actually ask for such a thing as she needed? She followed her instincts and found herself on her knees.

"Please, Sir, I need … oh God. I hardly know what I need." She sobbed into her hands, half hoping to move him with her misery. He didn't say a thing, but just waited. She felt foolish and wiped her eyes. She could hardly breathe. Her clothes felt too tight and the club too hot. Suddenly she was angry. "Dammit. You woke this in me, now what am I going to do?"

For the first time he touched her. He reached out and twined his strong fingers in her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat. His face was so close to hers she could feel his breath on her cheek. A pathetic little whimper escaped from her throat. All her anger evaporated in her fear and her longing and she relaxed into his hand.

Still holding her hair, he scratched a long line across her throat and down to her cleavage. His words were low and deep and just for her ears. "You will learn. You will learn your own truth. Starting tonight."

And learn she did.

That very night he taught her about the cane and the flogger. She learned the difference between the slap of the crop and the sting of the whip. He taught her about the ropes and the chains and humiliation. She learned how to kneel, how to serve, how to be pleasing to him. She learned how to speak and not to speak. How to make him proud. And how to be strong in her humility and her submission. He taught her about honesty, trust and obedience. Always obedience.

But still he did not rape her, did not use her sexually at all. When she got up the courage to ask him about it from time to time, he would simply say she wasn't ready yet. She still burned, but now it was manageable. He let her masturbate from time to time and even let her climax occasionally, but she ached for more.

Finally he asked her to write all she had learned and all that had happened to her. So she did and she hopes these words find favour with Master. They are offered with humility and deep gratitude.

Her Master finished the last of his tea as he smoothed the pages and looked at his girl. Her knees ached from holding position for so long, her jaw hurt from the gag and the plugs… well, best not to think about them too much. But all this discomfort was nothing to the anxiety that played on her as she waited to know if her words pleased Master.

"You missed quite a bit of the story. You certainly glossed over some of the more interesting bits of training. But all in all, very well done. Good girl. I'm pleased."

The girl bowed low in the formal acknowledgement with the deep gratitude gesture added.

Swiftly he stood up and grabbed her by the hair, hauling her to her feet. He bent her over at the waist and practically dragged her into the play room. She struggled to keep up with him, panic growing despite her excitement.

Once there he slowed down. The various plugs and straps were removed. The one in her cunt slid out easily with her copious juices. She worked her jaw and clenched her ass trying to get feeling back. She would've liked a moment to relax, but that wasn't to be. She even tried to be co-operative as he bound her, it made it easier. But he didn't speak to her as he usually did. It was as if she didn't exist. She was a thing, a canvas for his art.

It didn't take long until she was wrapped in the binding. Her breasts were squeezed and her arms lashed together behind her. His hands were rough and the binding brutally tight. She submitted to the rope with as much grace as she could muster but her fear grew. Wasn't he pleased with her? Didn't he just say that? What had she done? There was a palpable energy around him. She felt it deep in her belly and knew with a dread certainty that she was nothing.

Several loops of rope over the ceiling beam held her hanging in her cocoon of hemp. Her ankles were lashed to the spreader bar and secured to the floor. His hands were cruel as he claimed every part of her flesh. He pinched and slapped her until she cried and glowed.

He reached for his flogger and worked her hard. She started to dissociate as the pain flooded through her. For all her initial denial, she had turned into quite the pain slut. She knew now all the value of pain and accepted each strike. From the heavy flogger he moved on to the sharp thin cane. It bit deeply leaving dark purple welts across her skin and pulling agonizing screams from her tortured throat. A little more of her disappeared.

He knew her well, modulating the strikes with the cane as she slipped further into her subspace. Soft, soft, hard. Soft, soft, HARD. He stopped for a moment and reached into her cunt roughly and deeply. He wiped her juices across her face then licked them off with a callous intimacy. Finally the crack of the single tail finished her. Each strike of the vicious whip cut into her leaving trails of blood across her skin and driving her fully into her subspace. She hung in her bindings open, accepting the pain and letting it fly her. She was emptiness, a vast hole, waiting for him, ready to be filled.

She was vaguely aware when he stopped whipping her. The ropes slowly lowered her until she was lying face down on the rug. The soft fur soothed her punished flesh, but he was not done. She was still bound, her arms pulled behind her, her ankles still attached to the bar, her breasts burned against the fur. He forced her knees further apart and roughly dug his fingers into her wet dark hole. He slapped her ass with her own wetness and forced his cock deeply into her in one hard thrust. She screamed with the pain of his attack. He held her down securely as he fucked her hard. She wanted to say wait. Just give me a moment. But he held her face into the rug, and took what he wanted.

It was too much. She changed her mind. She couldn't handle it, didn't want it. Something snapped in her. She became a wild thing, an animal, bucking against him and struggling against her bindings, screaming foul words at him. He slapped her hard across her welted flesh and she shrieked again. He rammed into her cunt so hard she felt it all through her body. She was invaded. Literally and figuratively. The shuddering assault continued.

Sarah fought him with all her strength. If she couldn't stop him then she would make it as hard for him as she could. She wasn't going to give anything. He'd have to take it. She cried and pulled against the ropes trying to free an arm or a leg, anything that would let her escape, anything she could use to fight. It was no use. His knots held. She tried to roll over, perhaps use the spreader bar to attack him. It almost worked, she managed to pull away from him for a moment and she was on her back! She swung her legs in a powerful arc towards his head. He laughed as he caught the bar in mid flight and easily used her own legs to pin her again. Her arms were still bound behind her and now her cunt was even more open to him. He pinched her clit sharply and she shrieked as the pain lanced through her. He entered her again and continued to fuck her hard; slapping her in time to his thrusts.

She was crying now, her struggles lessening even as he drove into her harder and more viciously. It was too much. She couldn't fight. She was overwhelmed. His power assaulted her on all levels. She let go.

In that moment she understood. It was as if all of creation became clear in that instant. She was nothing and she was everything. He was the rock and she the water. She was the infinite dark and he the searing brightness. Together they were the fire. Something deep within her soul opened to him.

She never knew how long she floated in this state beyond orgasm. It seemed to go on forever. He continued to fuck her brutally in the cunt then her mouth and finally he turned her back over and fucked her ass.

She accepted every thrust as a gift that filled her vast emptiness and pushed her climax even higher. By the time he emptied his seed into her, she knew beyond all shadow of a doubt what she was. Her need was finally answered. Her burning quenched. She was his.

_______
© 2008 felicia Mansur. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: felicia Mansur wrote her first piece of BDSM erotica at the tender age of 14. Since then she has joyfully explored several interesting careers (short attention span) but really enjoys writing stories designed to induce arousal in those with an inclination towards Domination or submission. More about felicia at: Erotica Readers & Writers Association.


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