something of a pain slut, he would tease her. She could practically orgasm just from a nice whipping with a heavy flogger. He would whip her until she dropped, or his arm was tired, and then fuck her, wherever they happened to be. A few thrusts and Tracy was coming, screaming her pleasure as she bucked and arched against him, pulling him into her with her hips, her hands, her whole self.
But she was afraid of the cane, of the slicing sound as it cut through the air, of what it must do to flesh. She'd seen pictures on the net of women ravaged by the cane, their backs and buttocks covered in dark purple welts and bruises, and it frightened her.
'That's not what we're about, sweetheart,' Paul had assured her. 'That's brutality. It really has nothing to do with what you and I have. Our mutual pleasure in the giving and receiving of erotic pain. I would never cut your flesh. I could never harm my most valued possession. You have to know that, don't you?'
She nodded; she did know that, but she also knew she was still afraid of those canes, and, so far, he hadn't used one on her. Now, bound and gagged, she had nothing to say in the matter. She couldn't protest, or try to edge away, or distract him from his purpose.
On some level, that freed her to relax. She couldn't get away; couldn't resist, so why bother? Already deeply aroused from this bondage, and from being spread and stuffed with dildos, on display for her lover as he watched her edge toward battery-driven orgasm, she was open to whatever came next.
What choice did she have? Reading her mind, as he so often did, Paul remarked, 'You really have no choice. I've decided you're ready for your first caning. You've earned it, if you will. You deserve it. You deserve to feel the bite of the rod against taut flesh. You want to suffer for me; you say it often enough. Well now's your chance.'
His hands were on her ass, smoothing, preparing the flesh. He could feel the dildo, still buried in her pussy, emanating its vibrations from deep inside her. He could see from her flushed skin and the way she was moving that Tracy was near orgasm.
Deliberately, he flicked the switch, turning off the vibrator. Much better to have her right on the edge of release, her sensations heightened, so she could fully appreciate the cutting kiss of the cane.
'I'm going to mark you tonight, my love. Nothing permanent, but it should last a few days. Ready?' Not expecting a response from his gagged slave, Paul brought the cane down on Tracy's right butt cheek, hitting the fleshy mark right across the center.
Tracy gurgled and screamed behind the gag, but very little sound escaped. Paul hit the other cheek, watching in satisfaction as the long thin lines left by each strike were rapidly turning to a dark pink, the skin rising as blood rushed to the injured spot.
He knew just how hard to hit. It hurt, there was no mistake about it, but he wouldn't cut the skin, or create any permanent marks. Tracy lay still, and he walked around to the front of her to better gauge her response.
'You ok, baby? You just got your first caning. Can you take it?'
Tracy nodded, though her eyes were bright with tears.
'Shall I take out the gag?' Tracy nodded. Her jaw was aching from being forced open for so long. Paul obligingly unbuckled the gag and let it fall to the floor. Kneeling in front of her, he smoothed her hair from her face, licking her dry lips, gently biting and kissing her mouth.
His cock was straining painfully in his pants, but he would deny himself a while longer. Tracy looked impossibly sexy and he knew he wouldn't last much longer before he'd have to let her down and fuck her. A few more licks of the cane and he'd move her to the futon, already made and waiting in a corner to receive the lovers.
Moving back around his girl, Paul whipped her with the cane, landing well aimed blows across her bottom and thighs, leaving her flesh marked with fiery lines. Tracy screamed with each strike, and was on the edge of begging him to stop, when Paul could contain himself no longer.
'I have to fuck you!' he cried, unclipping her wrists and ankles from their wooden pillory. Quickly and efficiently he removed the vibrator and butt plug from Tracy's pussy and ass, dropping them in the bowl of soapy water he had prepared earlier.
Gently he helped her from her perch, to her feet. He led her to the soft downy quilts piled on the futon and pressed her down toward it, on her belly. Tracy was breathing deeply, moving slowly, as if in a trance. It was what some called 'submissive head space,' and others called flying. It was that delicious and elusive state that a skilled Dom could bring a sub to, where they no longer experienced pain as pain precisely, but as a perfect extension of pleasure. The two became indistinguishable and equally desirable, both immeasurably heightened.
It had the potential to be dangerous, because at that point the submissive no longer had a clear sense of what was safe; what was appropriate. Paul recalled the scene party he had taken Tracy to, where a woman was bound to a large wooden cross and whipped until she slumped, seemingly unconscious, in her rough rope bonds.
Tracy had watched, fascination and horror doing battle on her face, as the woman was savagely beaten by her husband/Master. 'Oh, Paul,' she had whispered, 'Isn't he going too far? Isn't someone going to stop him?'
'Don't worry, he knows what he's doing. They've been together for years. She needs that kind of whipping, and in a public place, to really get off. Look at her. Look at all those pale and darker lines covering her entire back, ass and thighs. She's beaten like this regularly, and always kept freshly marked. She loves it; she lives for it. It makes her fly.'
'Fly?' Tracy was looking more closely now, seeing the roughened skin and the clear evidence of constant whippings. She found that her mouth was dry and her reaction confused, at once put off, and deeply aroused by what she was watching.
Paul explained in words, what Tracy was now experiencing in fact, for the first time herself. She wasn't in a trance exactly; she was perfectly lucid and aware of her surroundings. She was in something of an altered state – at once deeply at peace and fiercely aroused, ready to do anything, absolutely anything, her master should require of her.
A dominant friend of Paul's once explained, 'When my girl gets like that, you could say, 'I'm going to cut off your arm now, darling,' and she would smile dreamily and say, 'Yes, Master.' The point being that the Dom had the responsibility for both of them, to lead her as far into that little piece of heaven as she could go without endangering her physical safety.
Paul admired Tracy for a moment, her loose easy way of moving, her head back slightly, lips parted, eyes glistening with a soft love directed solely at him. He remembered that scene party, and how Tracy had surprised herself in discovering she was something of an exhibitionist!
Tracy's blouse that evening was a sheer pale pink, and he hadn't permitted her to wear a bra. The blouse was tucked into a very tight and short black leather skirt that revealed the bottoms of her garters and the tops of her silky black stockings. Her nipples had been poking alluringly against the fabric of her blouse all evening.
Paul had ordered her to open her blouse so he could attach her nipple clamps, but that night they weren't hidden in a bathroom; they were right out in the open in the rented ballroom of a hotel, surrounded by people in various states of dress and undress. There were other people there already flashing breasts and asses and even cocks, bound in leather or metal, or just exposed for the slave's humiliation and the master's pleasure.
Testing Tracy's self-proclaimed desire to submit to him, to obey him at this party and do exactly what he told her, Paul gave her this order and waited to see what she would do. He watched her as she bit her lip, resisting her first impulse to refuse, to protest, to keep her modesty.
She looked into his eyes, and, a determined expression on her face, she slowly unbuttoned the blouse, revealing her luscious round breasts with their dark pink tips, all ready to feel the bite of his clamps.
Paul was very pleased with her obedience. He clipped first one and then the other little torture device to her sensitive nipples, as she hissed her acknowledgement of the bite. 'Now go get us some coffee,' he said, sitting back to watch the action.
Tracy did as he said, her face burning, but utterly determined to obey. She slid gracefully from him on her high heels, no longer wobbling as she had done so long ago in that horrible motel room where Guy had had her wear imitation ill-fitting patent leather stilettos. These shoes tonight were of the softest leather and fit her feet perfectly. She and Paul had shopped for quite a while to find just the right shoes.
Her long lean legs looked even longer in those 5' heels, and many pairs of eyes followed her appreciatively, as she made her way to the coffee bar. Leaning forward a little to add the cream, Tracy suddenly found herself in front of a short young man whose eyes were exactly level to her bare and chained breasts.
