Don’t Judge
Judgment Series #1
By Laura & Christopher Cooper
Published by:
Don’t Judge
Copyright © 2014 by Christopher Cooper
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All rights reserved under the international and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book
may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from another publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously, and resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or
locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and
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accessed by minors.
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Introduction
He pushed me face first against the wall, and before I had time to offer the first hint of
resistant his hands were all over me. I felt his thick thigh forced its way between my legs as he
leaned into me, and his excitement was fully evident as it pressed into the small of my back.
For most women it might be terrifying, but personally I think they’re lying not only to
themselves, but everyone else as well. I, on the other hand, was pushed directly towards the
edge and felt absolutely no fear whatsoever. What I did feel was pure excitement, and I just
needed to feel his touch to gain the confidence to let go.
He grabbed my wrists and held them above my head. His breath heavy on my neck, he
roughly scraped his five o’clock shadow down the nape of my neck and sank his lips into my
shoulder. Fire shot through me, and with my hands held down and his weight pressed against me
I was completely under his control. I won’t lie to you, at that particular moment I was hooked.
One
I have to admit that what the rest of the world deems as a ‘normal’ relationship has never
appealed to me. All those late night tweets and texts, updating the facebook relationship status
and plain old goofy, romantic gestures have never been my thing. My roommate Melanie, on the
other hand, relishes in these things and the two carat diamond on her finger is proof positive that
those things work for her and David. They just don’t work for me. Those sorts of things
actually turn my stomach.
I’ve seen the way my parents hold their breath at family functions, as though they’re
waiting for the moment when I come out of the closet and announce that I’m a lesbian. As if I’m
always on the verge of saying, “Mom, pass the mashed potatoes please, and oh yeah… I like
pussy.” They’d probably accept that easier than the real truth. The real truth is something Bob
and Diana Crenshaw would never, ever understand.
I’m not even sure how I got to the point of wanting to be controlled, instructed, and
punished. All I can explain with great certainty is that no man has ever given me what I need in
a ‘normal’ relationship. Eventually they’ve all shrugged their shoulders and called me names
like ‘carpet muncher’ as they stormed out my door. I’ve never taken it to heart because I know
that’s their ego talking; their way of guarding against their own inner voice that tells them they
couldn’t satisfy me. I’m not heartless. In some ways I felt sorry for them, yet I kept rifling
through them as if miraculously one would strike a chord and I could finally change my
facebook status and ease my parent’s nightmares. To date, that hasn’t happened.
When the realization first slapped me in the face I was standing in the local ‘couples’
store –alone and incognito – reading labels on erotically packaged dildos. I knew if I was going
to face the rest of my life as a loner then I needed more power. As I rounded the corner a large
cardboard display caught my eye: Each large box had a picture of a woman blindfolded, tied,
and bound with an excessively large red ball shoved in her mouth. Curiosity got the better of me
and I reached up and pulled my baseball cap further down over my face and scoured my
surroundings as if I was on some covert mission. Finding my efforts to remain anonymous
largely ignored by the rest of the store, I picked up the box and studied it intently.
It doesn’t sound like much of a defining moment, but I’ve come to the conclusion that
these instances are rarely accompanied by fireworks. The woman on the cover of the box had
everything I wanted, and a pang of jealousy shot through me. She was tied, bound and gagged; a
strong masculine hand on her bloodshot ass told me that someone had her under complete
control. I studied the picture carefully as if it contained the almighty answer to the questions that
have plagued me since puberty.
Fifty Shades Starter Kit. It contained a ball gag, five yards of nylon rope, a battery
powered ‘massager’ and instructions. This bargain was only $99. What would I do with it? Tie
myself up? How would I hide a box of that size from Melanie? I sighed and put the box back on
the display, acutely aware that my life was lacking the one key element needed for something
like this to work: A man.
I’d gone home on a mission that afternoon and by the wee hours of the morning I had a
plan. Delving into the mysterious world of true BDSM via the internet, I began to wonder how
long the instructions in that box back at the ‘couples’ store must have been. No wonder the box
was so big. What I did discover to my surprise was that there was a local chapter of a BDSM
club that met the first Thursday of every month at a downtown hotspot. Immediately I signed
their online registration and agreed to attend their Meet and Greet scheduled for tomorrow
evening.
While it may seem that I’m one of those independent souls content to roam about alone I
assure you that isn’t the case - far from it. The thought actually occurred to me to ask Melanie to
go with me, and then I laughed. Somehow this secret seemed too abnormal, too humiliating to
share with anyone. I’d have to face it alone. No one could possibly understand how isolated
from the rest of the population I felt, yet desperation to have my needs fulfilled overcame my
shyness and I was determined to press forward with this no matter what the consequences.
Perhaps it was a last ditch effort to find myself, to finally identify what –if anything- would
quench the sensual side of me. But whatever it was my gut told me I’d find it at this Meet and
Greet.
*-*-*-*-*
I can’t do it.
I decided, and readjusted my grip at ten and two on the steering wheel, gnashing my
brand new fingernails into the sun hardened leather. Honestly I don’t know what I was thinking.
This was a clear byproduct of too much cheap wine, chocolate ice cream and lack of physical
contact. To think that I could ever bring myself to engage in something like this was a ridiculous
concept. I was only waiting for my inner voice to pipe in, chiding me to put a halt to this insane
behavior immediately. She always seems to rear her ugly head when I’m about to make a
terrible decision, and no matter how hard I try I can’t get her to just shut up. Chickening out
once again? Never going to know unless you go in. My subconscious is a total bitch. Couple
that with a healthy dose of anxiety and the desperate need to do something completely out of
character and you have my usual recipe for disaster. Against my better judgment, I pulled the
handle hard on the car door and thrust my feet out.
I’m way past the point of questioning my choice of attire; I spent three hours going
through my entire closet before settling on a simple black dress. Never once did I consider
anything with a heel, but that’s probably because I knew I’d want a solid foot if I chose to flee at
the last minute. Staring at the front door I’m still floored they’re meeting at the local bar. I’d
been in here many times for lunch with my friends from the office, and the fear of running into
one of my coworkers is really what frightened me. As it happened, a single stranger stood in the
bar waiting area to greet and meet me.
She was a cute girl; long straight platinum blonde hair with streaks of bright crimson
dyed into the left side. She waved me over with a forced smile, as if she wasn’t practiced as a
greeter. “Hello, I’m Molly. I’ll be walking you through the rules and shit.”
“Uhh…” I hesitated not because I was almost positive that crimson, purple and teal as
hair colors went out of style in the 90’s, but because she was much too young to teach me about
much of anything, much less sex.
“It’s okay,” she said in her best babysitter’s voice. “The others won’t be here for at least
an hour. Get you a drink?”
“Yeah… I don’t know. Maybe this was…” Of course I was going to say, “One big,
huge, mammoth mistake,” but she cut me off.
“Relax. It’s just you and me. Have a name?”
“Stella.” It wasn’t my name, but then again I doubted hers was Molly either.
“Right. Two Manhattans please,” she said to the waitress. Turning her attention back to
me, she smiled a weak but somewhat reassuring smile, “Relax, just got a little housekeeping to
do before everyone shows up.” She pulled the strap on the oversized bag that hung on the back
of her chair. The bag was filled with what looked like school books, and before I could ask she
produced a thick black two-inch binder and opened it on the small table between us.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” I blurt, already feeling my fleeing instinct taking hold. “I
didn’t expect to be the only one here. I think I’m going to be on display as a newbie and I’m not
comfortable with that, so I’d better just go.”
She stopped her paperwork shuffling and looked over at me with what appeared to be
pity, and then just continued as if I hadn’t voiced my opposition at all. “It’s just a short read, and
then you sign the NDA.”
“NDA?”
“Non-Disclosure Agreement. Everyone has to sign… you know, protect everyone’s
anonymity.”
With furrowed brow I looked down at the binder. I feel like spouting the blatantly
obvious fact that maybe they should have chosen some place other than the most popular bar in
town, but I’ve never been able to grab the nerve to be a bitch to children.
Before I could protest any further she said, “You realize nothing happens here. We’re
not all stripping down to our skivvies and paddling each other on the pool table.” She could
sense my fear and it occurs to me that she’d be a fantastic character for Stephen King. “This is
just a place to meet and hang out. No funny business here, I promise.”
As an afterthought to her mind reading she added, “We just like to get out of the
dungeon’s once in a while like everyone else.”
I’m sure that was supposed to be hilarious because she laughed. I did not.
The waitress appeared with our drinks and with a cheerful smile hands me a small blue,
folded piece of paper. “You’ve got an admirer, and he’s very cute.”
“What?”
“The man over…” she waved her arm at the empty table in the corner. “Well, he was
there a minute ago,” and she turns back to me with a confused grin. “Asked me to give you
that.”
I unfolded the paper and quickly realized it was a prescription pad.
Beautiful. Please stay -
I want to smile, but I suppress it. On the whole I’ve never been one of those mushy,
gushy girls with more beanie babies than good sense. Still, the vague note spurs my confidence
and I’m renewed in my volition to see this through. My new friend Molly seems to sense my
decision to stay and slides the binder under my nose. “Good. You look this over and sign it. I’ll
be back.”
I gulped half the Manhattan in two swallows, hoping to desensitize myself to the situation
and add needed courage. The top of the card was printed and I held it up to the light to read.
Dr. Graham Winters of the East Lake Medical Center, complete with numbers for fax and
phone. I shoved the note into my purse imagining my tall, dark and handsome admirer.
*-*-*-*-*
It’s been over an hour and although I’ve met some interesting people, I’m left with more
questions than answers. Unfortunately, that’s not a good thing. It’s as if they’ve gone out of
their way to show me this lifestyle was not about sex, but trust and service. I’m even more
convinced now that this type of thing isn’t for me. It probably isn’t their fault; the entire
scenario turned me off. The evening held a tinge of creepiness I just couldn’t shake. The right
words came out of their mouths but I had the distinct feeling that they were a bunch of perverts
only after their own satisfaction. If I leave now I can crack a bottle of wine, grab my ice cream
and cuddle up on the couch with a good movie and skip all the torture part and just do it myself.
Here I felt cheap and on display. Somehow I expected these people to have the answer to my
needs, yet it was clear they were still working on their own.
So much for my first adventure into the BDSM lifestyle, I thought as I reached into my
purse and fingered my car keys. The man who’d sent me the note was the bright spot of the
evening and I hadn’t even seen him, though I had asked the waitress to point him out if she saw
him again. I wanted to thank him for the vote of confidence. Before I gave up on this farce, I’d
inquired again about him and the girl told me she hadn’t seen him the rest of the night.
My mind was made up, and there would be nothing from stopping me walk right out that
door and put the awkward situation behind me permanently. Thankfully I was alone and not
with my friends, because the last thing I needed was to share my fall from grace with those I
spend the majority of my time. I don’t know why I was thinking this was something I had to
experience. Quite frankly I found the group amateurish and bordering on the insanely idiotic.
And I’d have made it out of there if it weren’t for him.
His fingers wrapped across my forearm; the grasp firm but gentle. As I spun around I
gazed directly into his bright blue eyes his unspoken request was both intriguing and satisfying.
I froze, and for just a split second wanted to crawl into his eyes and rest. Finally I was face to
face with my ‘admirer.’ His request was simple, and honestly required no effort on my part.
Little did I know I was mere moments away from the most intense experience of my life.
“Wait. I want to show you something.”
I would have normally treated a statement like that a cheesy attempt to gain my
confidence, yet his stare was mesmerizing and I felt myself falling, incapable of standing on my
own. With his other hand he grabbed my elbow, steadying me as I tipped on my heels. The look
in his eye was raw lust, and regardless of my feeble attempts to keep my desires at bay and
maintain my wits I felt my control fading away. He pulled me towards him, and feeling my
nipples ache as they’re now mere inches from his expansive chest, the inside of his thigh touched
the bare skin peeking just below the hem of my skirt. I mumbled incoherently, “I… uh...”
The next few moments were literally a blur as he pulled into the dark hallway that led to
the bathrooms. With skill and precision he had me against the wall, and the heat from his thighs
split my legs as he pushed my wrists apart and above my head. His beard scraped the nape of
my neck, and his warm soft lips were like fire upon my skin as I felt him press against me. I’m
trapped, and the hard lump of flesh cleverly disguised within his pants pressed against the
sensitive skin of my exposed inner thigh. It was hot, and my skin felt alive and open for him.
My nipples hardened with haste, and I felt the sense of urgency throbbing between my thighs.
Take me, I thought to myself. Take me now!
The distinctive smell of Quorum cologne mixed with his personal scent was delicious,
and the hint of it permeated my nostrils as I soaked him up. His curly brown hair brushed my
cheek, and I inhaled deeply as his continued assault on my senses rendered me helpless.
Goosebumps shot down my spine as his tongue flashed out and left a cool trail up my neck and
under my jaw. Instinctively I opened myself to him, both physically and emotionally, and
anxiety gave way to excitement as I wanted to feel him merge with me. Beads of perspiration
formed on my temples, a mere byproduct of fanning the flames of desire I now held for him.
And just as quickly he released me, shoving another small blue card into my hand as he
disappeared back into the crowd. It was at that moment I realized I was panting; rapid shallow
breaths that brought no relief. I held the card to my nose, checking for remnants of his presence.
My eyes closed instinctively as I inhaled him once again.
It took several moments to gather myself before I felt the confidence to cross the bar.
Out the door I made quick steps to my car and slammed the door, making sure to lock it twice
before cranking my car.
Two
I sank my toes into the fuzzy bunny slippers that were well worn and way past their
useful life as I headed to the kitchen for my morning coffee. I can already here Melanie’s stupid
little laugh and knowing she couldn’t see me my eyes instinctively roll back in my head. I know
I should be happy for them, but my jealousy won’t allow it. Their conversation comes to an
abrupt halt as I enter the room, a sure sign that I’m the topic of conversation.
“Who’s Doctor Graham?” Melanie taunts as I round the counter top.
“No one,” I replied, ignoring her attempts to bait me into a session of ‘let’s pick on the
weird girl.’
“C’mon, Elizabeth, give us the dirty details.” Both she and David are doing their best to
control their giggling, but I’m not buying it.
I wouldn’t waste the energy trying to hide my true feelings. “Don’t go through my
things!” I snap at them.
“It fell out of your purse, Elizabeth. Honest.”
Doubtful, but honestly I didn’t care what these two immature idiots thought. I snatched
the card from Melanie’s hand. “Don’t you two have somewhere to be?”
I hated to be a bitch, and most of the time I just didn’t have the courage to be so, but I
feel like I have one nerve left and these two are leaning all over it. I stared them both down,
daring them to say another word.
Sliding her own purse noisily across the counter she let out an audible ‘hmpf,’ but
nothing more. David, on the other hand, was already tiptoeing in full retreat towards the front
door, obviously wanting none of my ire on a Friday morning.
Once the door closed I picked up the card and held it to my nose. I could smell his
cologne, immediately flooding my senses as every hair on my neck seemed to stand up straight.
The memory of last night’s encounter flashed a sense of awareness, and my nipples hardened to
the point of aching.
Flipping the card over I saw his note for the first time.
If you’re really interested, have dinner with me. 1321 Calendar Road. Park and meet
me at the front door at 7:30
P.M
. - Graham
*-*-*-*-*
I’d passed this place a million times, and not once did I realize it was a club. In fact, the
empty parking lot in front of the old wooden building had every appearance of abandonment, at
least during the day. But tonight, well that was a different story. Embarrassment is the best way
to describe the feeling I have as I pull my broken down little Toyota into the parking lot amongst
all the expensive cars there. I found a spot, about three spaces down from the good doctor’s and
quickly exited my car trying to put as much distance between me and my ride. Graham extended
his arm like a gentleman, and escorted me proudly inside.
The owners of the exclusive club have obviously spared no expense, and the elegant
room looks a lot like a five star restaurant. I fully expected to see bodies everywhere, people in
various stages of dress, but I never thought I’d feel woefully underdressed. The soft jazz music
is a far cry from the local bar, and Graham orders a simple appetizer with champagne as he
guides me to an empty table.
“So Elizabeth, what do you think?” he asked proudly.
“Well… it’s not exactly what I expected.”
“How so?”
“You sure this is a BDSM club?” I know I should appreciate the surroundings, but I’m
sure my skepticism is showing through.
With a confident grin he leans back into his chair. “We like to keep our slaves bound and
gagged in the back. After all, appearances must be maintained.”
“Bound and gagged?”
“For some. Really kind of depends on your preference.” I feel like he’s mocking me as
his head shakes slightly. “But the beatings are fairly regular.” Again he chuckles, and I can’t
help but join in his laughter.
His demeanor takes on a more serious look as he sits up straight and lifts his glass of
champagne. “Why are you so interested in this lifestyle?”
“Hmmm, I don’t know. I guess I’m just looking for something, you know, different.”
“And you thought you’d find your answers at the meet and greet?”
Sampling the champagne I feel myself relaxing at the bubbles tickle my nose. “I don’t
know, maybe. But I have to say they seem rather…”
“Amatuerish?”
“Right. But who am I to say? I mean they kept talking about how it wasn’t about sexual
gratification, but let’s face it, isn’t that what it should be about?”
“I think the group spends a lot of time about the pure mechanics of it, not the emotions.
For some of those people, I think they appreciate and celebrate the pain more than the pleasure.”
“And this place is different?”
“Our approach is different.”
He finishes his glass of champagne, and before he can return it to the table a young
woman refills it without being asked. I appreciate the attentive staff, and it doesn’t escape me
the provocative but simple dress she’s wearing: Tight, low cut, and plain. Graham looks as if
he’s sitting on a big surprise, and my inquisitive nature can’t help but want to know more.
“How exactly is it different?”
With a deep breath his eyes cut away from me, and turn towards our waitress. “Let’s just
say this is more about having your needs met. It’s not as much about power and control as it is
about exploring and fulfilling your desires.”
“My desires? I’m not even sure what my desires are?”
“Well, it’s a journey of sorts. Some people know exactly what they want. Others, well
let’s just say they have to be exposed to many things before they get it.”
“What sort of things?”
His thick fingers twist the bottom of the fluted glass in front of me. “Some people want
to serve, some want to be used, some want to be controlled. For some it’s completely about
giving up responsibility for their pleasure.”
“Interesting concept, but I’m not sure I want to be used.”
“Careful, Elizabeth, the one thing that crazy group at the meet and greet really understand
is that you shouldn’t judge. Patience and understanding are just a part of acceptance.”
“And for you?”
“Well, let’s just say I enjoy dominating.”
“So you’re a dom? You spank and tie up your victims, force them to…”
“Hold on!” He says sharply, “Not so fast. I like to think my approach is much different
than that.”
“How so?”
He drains his glass once again, and just like before the young lady steps in and fills his
glass. With a heavy sigh he stares directly into my eyes. I feel I’m open, vulnerable, and my
anxiety is difficult to hide. Yet somewhere in his sparking eyes I feel comfort. His tone is
soothing, but his question is very direct. “Have you ever been bound?”
I laughed audibly in an effort to mask my inexperience. “No.”
“Spanked?”
“No.”
“Forced to bare your true desires?”
“True desires?” I chuckled again.
“Yes. What you really fantasize about.”
“I don’t really fantasize?”
“You don’t? Hmm, odd.”
“You don’t believe me?” I asked, showing the most confident smile I can muster.
“No I don’t. In fact, I believe everyone fantasizes, especially when they masturbate.”
I feel my face flush just hearing the word, and as if my only friend at the table is my glass
of champagne I swallow the last drops, holding the glass to my lips for as long as I can. As I
place my glass on the table in front of me the young woman leans over and refills. Her ample
cleavage is now squarely in my field of view, and I admit openly I stared at them. Her nipples
were straining against the thin fabric, and as I licked my lips I feel the heat rising up my neck.
“Don’t you?”
“What? Fantasize?”
His eyes are locked on mine, and as much as I want to turn away I just can’t. I can’t
avoid it. Inside I want to feel strong, confident, but even as the words escape my lips they seem
shaky at best. “Sometimes.” All of a sudden a rush of joy swells up through my chest, and I’m
proud that I said it.
“So what is it?” he asked coolly.
“What?”
“Your fantasy?”
“I don’t know.”
“I see,” he says as he leans back into his chair. I feel I’ve disappointed him, and I don’t
even know why that would matter anyway.
Perhaps I wanted to feel the experienced hand of guidance. Perhaps I really just don’t
know. I sense he feels bringing me here was a mistake, and the thought of sexual journey flashes
through my head. I perk up, trying once again to gain his attention. “Why did you approach
me?”
“Beg your pardon?” he asked with a quizzical look on his face.
“Why’d you stop me in bar? What is it that you want me to see?”
“I wanted you to know that there is a real choice in this lifestyle, and we’re all not a
bunch of perverts who can’t seem to separate the real world from fantasy.”
“And that’s what they do at the meet and greet?”
He shakes his head no, but I sense he does believe it. “It’s just that the majority of those
people dive into the lifestyle twenty-four/seven, and quite frankly that’s not reality. I believe for
most of them it’s about shock and awe, and diving into something that’s not a temporary escape,
but a true path of avoidance.”
His words seem very clinical, and I suppose from a doctor I should expect that, but he is
beginning to make a lot of sense. I also got the feeling that some of the people at the meet and
greet were not completely in touch with reality. “And your approach is different… how?”
As he places both hands on the table I feel he’s about to let me in on the ‘big secret’ of
this place, and I’m listening intently. “This is a place where people experience their fantasies,
and for some it’s a liberating experience. For a lot of people they simply sit on the sidelines and
enjoy the show, but for some it’s about the power of release.”
“Release?”
“Letting go. Trusting in someone else. Being able to set aside the demands of daily
responsibilities and immerse themselves into a few hours of pleasure.”
“Sounds wonderful, but how does being tied and spanked accomplish that?”
“You’ll have to experience it before you can determine that for yourself.” He stood
abruptly, extending his hand out to me. “Let me show you.” I’m not sure where this is heading,
but without much thought I took his hand, and he once again escorted me to the rear of the
building.
Approaching the door I could hear the faint sounds of cheering and laughter. Graham
pulled me aside and wrapped his hand around my waist. “Before we go in, I simply ask that you
do one thing. Don’t judge.” With that said he opened the door.
The large back room was decorated like some kind of English manor, and fine furniture
was meticulously placed around the room creating several different spaces for people to gather
and chat. Graham seems to be in his element, and several couples greeted us as he paraded me
around the room, all dressed to the nines.
“Elizabeth, this is Don and his lovely wife Amanda.”
Don nodded his head as his wife extended her hand, covered in diamonds, to greet me.
“Nice to meet you, Elizabeth.” Before I could even respond a waitress approached us carrying a
tray with more champagne. She was completely nude, except for a thick leather choker with two
tiny chains that connected the metal ring under her chin to each nipple. It looked somewhat
painful, but from the permanent smile plastered upon her face I gathered she rather enjoyed it. I
was confounded that the couple in front of me didn’t even seem to notice her presence past the
point of supplying fresh drinks. “First time?”
I nodded, still unable to speak as I tore my eyes away from the waitress back to Amanda.
Amanda’s hand drifted to my elbow, and a gentle but reassuring squeeze seems to calm
me immediately. She leans over into me and whispers. “You’re in for a treat tonight. I hope
you enjoy yourself.”
I look around the room and see exactly what I thought I’d see. Couples and groups
engaged in various forms of sex and submission. To the right I saw a woman on her hands and
knees, with a gorgeous young man standing over her with a whip. Her ass was already bright
red, yet the sounds of sweet of satisfaction flowed from her lips as he continued to strike her. On
the couch just behind Amanda was a woman with her wrists and ankles bound and high in the air
while another woman greedily licked between her legs. Behind her was a man buried deep
within her. All the while Amanda, Don and Graham acted as if it wasn’t taking place.
I have that deer in the headlights look plastered upon my face, and I think the three of
them took a tremendous amount of pride in my naivety.
“See something you like?” Graham asked.
Wow. Talk about information overload. I squeezed his arm tightly, and stared into his
eyes searching for some kind of handle to grab hold of. “I…”
“It’s a little overwhelming… right?” He turned to Don and Amanda, “Excuse us,
please.”
I followed him blindly, still scanning the room with amazement as I watched full blown
acts of sex playing out right in front of me as he guided me to a secluded corner of the room.
There he helped me down onto a couch for me to gather my bearings. He took my drink and
placed it on the coffee table with his. “You okay?”
“Yeah… just a lot to process. I can’t believe all these people.”
“Remember, don’t judge. For most it’s about a journey of sexual exploration.”
I laughed, shaking my head from side to side. I could never do all that in front of other
people. I feel like they’re all staring at me.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t we start with something simple.”
“I…”
“Come on. You wanted to know. Trust me. Just say the word ‘stop,’ and that will be the
end of it
Graham waved his hand at one of the waitresses. She, like all the rest, was pretty much
nude for the entire world to see. This young red head, however, was wearing an intricately
woven rope body harness, and to be perfectly honest the knots were amazing. “Sir?”
“Bring me one blindfold.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Wait a minute!” I exclaimed.
“Trust me, Elizabeth. Just try this. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
The waitress promptly returned and handed the blindfold to him, and stood there staring
at me with the slightest grin on her face. “Will that be all, Master?”
“For now. Thank you.” He turned to me. “Lean forward.”
I hesitated, not seeing any possible way this was going to end well. With strong hands he
pulled the leather blindfold over my eyes, and tightly cinched the strap behind my head. His
hands were steady and measured, and I gripped his wrists as he situated the mask.
“Now Elizabeth, the purpose of this blindfold is simple. I am taking away one of your
senses, and now you must rely on the four remaining to enjoy this little experiment.”
I admit that not having to look at people staring at me did give me a sense of privacy, and
I can feel my body tingle all over with anticipation. Will he touch me? Kiss me? I can smell his
cologne now, and in the background the dull murmur of voices seems somewhat louder, but as if
I wasn’t even in the room.
The pads of his fingertips feel like fire against my skin, and although the blindfold is tight
I can see straight down at the tops of my breasts as his hand slowly slides between them.
They’re long, manicured, and thick, and the wisps of jet black hair on the back of his hand
perfectly accent the golden bronze skin. The image is burning through my mind, and the heat of
his palm warms my right breast as he squeezes. His other hand is deeply buried far below, inside
me and I imagine what it must look like there. Trust, he said, over and over, and I’m
concentrating on that word alone as he gently releases me. I feel the five o’clock shadow of his
chin scrape lightly against the nape of my neck, and know he’s leaving a mark. It’s not painful,
but somewhat complimentary to the blaze burning within me. I hadn’t expected this night to go
this far but his fingers inside me, his body pressing me hard against the wall and the scent of his
skin against mine had turned me into a wanton slut. I screamed as a year’s worth of pent up
frustrations released onto his fingers, specks of light floated across my closed lids and my arms
wrapped tightly around his neck. “Oh God,” I moaned.
“Oh God is right!” he whispered as he trailed his kisses over my chin. Instinctively I
open my lips, anticipating his wonderful lips on mine. I push my tongue to the edge as his nose
barely touches mine. Into my open mouth he whispers, “You’re absolutely beautiful.” I felt his
fingers beginning their withdrawal and I clamped down on them in a feeble effort to keep him in
place. He chuckled, “Now, now, Elizabeth, there’ll be plenty of time for more.”
*-*-*-*-*
I felt a tremendous buzz of euphoria, almost as if I were walking on pillows as he led me
out the club and to my car. Like a true gentleman he opened the door and helped me in, and as I
gathered my wits I quickly rolled the window down. “Wait! Is that all?”
“Is what all, my dear?”
My frustration was easy to see, and I wanted – no needed – more. “I thought…”
“I promised to show you, and you want more?”
Sheepishly, but definitely, I wanted more. “Yes. I want more.”
“Fine.” Graham pulled another blue card from his pocket and scribbled on the back. Be
there, 9:00
P.M.
sharp.”
Three
I knocked tentatively on his door the following night, still unsure of what he wanted from
me. I’d spent more time preparing for this ‘date’ than I had my last job interview, but I was a bit
surprised that he hadn’t instructed me on what to wear. ‘A taste.’ That’s what he told me this
night would be. ‘A taste of possibilities.’
His house was a stately affair, too large for one man and manicured to sterility by some
OCD gardener who clearly had strict instructions. Glancing around his doorway I felt myself
become smaller and smaller, as if I was Alice heading into a dark, unknown world. Shrinking
with doubt and preparing to bolt back to my Toyota, I pushed the button again and heard the
chimes barreling off the inside walls behind the iron and glass door.
There was no warmth here, nothing that would indicate softness. I cuffed my hands
around my face and peered through the glass. I could see him sitting in an overstuffed chair at
the far end of the towering foyer. Did he hear the door chimes? Maybe he’s changed his mind?
I should just go. Why is he sitting there ignoring me? He told me to be here, I’m on time right?
I checked my phone; it was three minutes till nine, so I was actually a bit early. Early. Again I
glanced around me, not a single pine needle was out of place in the landscaping, not a wilted leaf
anywhere to be seen. This was a man of clarity. If he told me to be here at nine then that is what
he expected, not a minute earlier or later. I got it now.
That didn’t help the fact that I felt exposed here, standing on the precipice of his luxury
waiting for entry. Everything inside me screamed for him to let me in, yet I dared not ring the
doorbell again. I’m an amateur, no, worse than that, a beginner with wild ideas and fantasies that
probably should be kept within the confines of my own head. It wouldn’t surprise me if he left
me out here all night, what was I thinking? That I’d just waltz into his home and he’d bend me
over and spank me? Sometimes my own immaturity is so blaringly obvious that I just want to
cringe and crawl under the nearest rock.
Movement. The door handle clicked as he unlocked it but it opened only a few inches. I
saw him turn away from it and walk casually into another room. Not the gracious welcome I’d
expected, then again who knows what I’d expected. All that I had in the way of visuals were
either staged internet photos, the cover of a box in a ‘couples’ store, and what I’d seen at his club
last night. I pushed the heavy door open and took care to step inside soundlessly while cursing
the five inch heels I’d bought this morning in an effort to sensualize my wardrobe. The foyer
was even more massive than I’d expected. The entire effect was that of a vault; a catacomb
where one could enter but never leave. A chill ran up my spine and I struggled with my fight or
flight instinct, but finally closed the door behind me. Every click, step and movement echoed
within the hall. My breath sounded like that of a racehorse, and at any moment I expected my
bladder to give up its challenge.
Music so soft and melodic, that at first it blended into the background of the blood
rushing through my veins, seemed to surround me. My heels clicked on the marble floors and
threatened to disrupt the mausoleum quality of his home. I was tempted to take them off but
didn’t want to ruin the look that’d taken me an entire day to achieve. If I could just stop shaking
so damn bad, get control of myself, maybe I could follow him. You can do this I told myself
over and over again until I began to believe it. Just walk right in there and tell him you’re ready.
Yet somehow his marble floors had turned to quicksand and I was stuck here in his foyer, teeth
chattering and knee’s wobbling.
“Are you coming in here or not?” he said brusquely from the other room.
That’s it, I’m outta here. I turned and stared at the door behind me with hope for freedom
but my heels were deeply buried and refused to budge. This is ridiculous, I told myself. I came
here to find out once and for all if this is truly what I need, and I’ll be damned if I’m just going to
make a run for it before I even know. Still I was frozen in place.
He moved in the other room and my body trembled. I felt like a squealing sorority girl at
a haunted house. “I think we’re going to find it hard to discuss things with you standing in my
foyer like a deer in headlights. Won’t you come in?” He leaned against the door jamb wearing a
humored grin that made me want to whack him in the teeth.
“I didn’t come here to be the butt of your jokes. I’m just a little intimidated, that’s all.” I
said in a voice not even remotely my own.
He shuffled a bit in his bare feet, and I didn’t miss the fact that in his surroundings he fit
in perfectly, as though the house itself had been created with him as its centerpiece. While I
seemed to be shrinking miserably in its midst, he rode above the grandeur and somehow made it
seem inconsequential, casual. “Elizabeth, please come into the library. I’ll fix you a cocktail to
calm your nerves.”
He floated towards me with his hand outstretched. I took it more for stability than for the
fact that I wanted to touch him, though that part was true as well. My pale southern hand
disappeared within his dark Arabian fingers, and the magic of their joining drained my fear. He
came to a halt in the doorway, turning to me, “Trust me,” he whispered, staring into my eyes.
I’ve always been a sucker for a man with pretty eyes. The latest Cosmo quiz told me that
I’m a woman looking for substance, not flights of fancy and flowery words. I need a man I can
read, not one anxious to play juvenile games. Give it to me straight or I’m not interested. This
man’s eyes are as dark as coal, and equally as baffling. One minute they beckon me with ‘come
hither’ and the next they reprimand me for each disturbance my heels make in the crypt he calls
home. There are no warm fuzzies here. Yet something behind his eyes tells me that I will trust
him, that I must.
He settled me onto a sofa and I studied each move of his body as he poured a cocktail
from a polished silver decanter. While I hadn’t expected for him to be wearing a suit, I didn’t
expect faded jeans and a black tee shirt. Dark hair curled in thick rivulets over his forehead, and
scruffiness on his cheeks told me that his day had already been a long one. His expression
showed that being kind to me was something he could barely face. My heart ached to delve into
his, drag out his misery and comfort it. But I doubted that kind of behavior would be welcomed.
“Here, this is a concoction of my mothers. She says it’s suitable for a lady,” he shrugged.
“Try it, she swears by it for her nerves.”
I took a small sip from the chilled silver cup he’d handed me and studied the dark liquid
dubiously. It was presented perfectly with a small sprig of jasmine on top; the scent was both
sweet and exotically spicy. I put it to my lips and let it drip between them. “Mmm, it’s very
good!” I said with a surprised smile. “Kind of a spiced, mint julep. I love it.”
He laughed, “I’ll be sure to tell her.”
I drank in earnest now, “Really, it’s amazing. What’s in here? Do you know?”
Lowering himself into the chair across from me he looked weary, “Muddled dates and
orange, cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice over Kentucky bourbon. Then she steeps it slowly and
strains it through ice into the decanter.”
I chuckled, “Sounds like you’ve had instruction.”
He stood abruptly, “We’re not here for a cooking lesson, Elizabeth. Stand up and let me
see what you’ve worn for me.”
My nerves returned with vengeance but I managed to follow his simple order. I’d done
my homework: Rule number one was always follow orders; they’re there for a reason.
Regardless, I felt like a poser, a bad actress portraying an even worse role.
His eyes followed me coarsely, “Take off those clothes. You look like a cheap whore.”
Tears sprang to my eyes and blood rushed to my face. I’d imagined, incorrectly, that this
sort of lifestyle required a bit of ‘smuttiness’. Now he looked at me like a tramp - a prostitute -
and the humiliation rang through me like Baptist church bells. Reaching up I unbuttoned the
remaining four buttons on my silk shirt. I’d chosen it because of its tight fit, but now it disgusted
him and I wanted it off. The coolness of the room struck my skin and my nipples perked beneath
the simple bra I’d chosen. The urge to run was nearly overwhelming, but I stayed my ground
with timid acceptance.
“The rest,” he said plainly.
I concentrated on the sound of his voice and let it ring over and over in my head until it
was the only sound, thought and reality available to me. The short black skirt slid down to my
ankles and I stepped over it, revealing the white boy shorts that matched my plain bra. If I’d
expected some expression from him I’d have been sorely disappointed. He never flinched or
blinked. “I don’t understand your attire, Elizabeth. On the outside you’ve chosen to dress like a
whore, but beneath you’ve let your innocence run amuck. Did you do this intentionally?”
I shook my head, “No.”
With a chuckle he stood and moved towards me; his scent became my sole source of
concentration. He was slightly spiced, as if his cologne was measured daily for the exact
amount. I had the feeling that nothing in his life was left to chance, not even the spray nozzle on
his cologne. And I had displeased him right off the bat by being inconsistent, awkward, and
covered in sheer terror.
His breath was warm next to my chilled throat. I swallowed and stood as solidly as I
could when he began to touch me. Running his fingers tentatively up and down my spine, lifting
my hair from the back of my neck and unhooking my bra, he examined me as carefully as he
would any other object he was thinking of purchasing. It was only then I realized my teeth were
so firmly clinched that I must have the nature of a mannequin. Quickly I relaxed my jaw and
turned my attention to his touch. My bra fell to the floor with a light flick of his fingers.
“Do you like it when I touch you?” His voice was nothing but a deep whisper.
“Yes,” I said with a falter.
He stepped back and studied me from the short distance. “Take those panties off. Never
enter my home again wearing panties, am I clear on that?”
I nodded and I slid my panties down my thighs as gracefully as one can while wearing
five inch heels and nothing else.
“Good, bend over and touch your ankles,” he said, making his way back to his
comfortable chair.
With a gasp I did as I was told. I was trying to concentrate on anything that would keep
my mind from talking to me, and his voice was becoming my hypnotic tool. Part of the comfort
and excitement about him was that I knew he’d done this before. Hell; they probably had classes
on it in his club. But I’d needed a man who knew what he was doing, not one looking to use me
as practice. This isn’t a game for me. It’s an introduction to a new way of life; one that I pray
will release me.
“Very well. Sit down, Elizabeth.”
I did as I was told.
“I’ve had a rough day,” he began. “It would be easy for me to take you now – like I want
to - but that would only free me from my pain.” He seemed deeply troubled. “Why do you want
this?”
My skin was melting into his plush sofa with each word he spoke and I started to worry
that if I was told to stand again a wet spot might be left in my wake. But this was a question I’d
been prepared for, “Because I’m not satisfied during sex.”
“And you believe you’re missing something? Something crucial?”
“Yes,” I said glancing up into the dark pools of his eyes hoping that he would see my
need.
“Have you even had an orgasm before?”
I sat silently, humiliated by the answer, “No.” I said finally.
He stared at me in disbelief, “Never?”
“Never,” I repeated. “Well, not with anyone else.”
Now he cleared his throat and ran his fingers across the stubble on his chin as if
considering what to do with me. I’d never admitted to anyone that orgasms had eluded me; it
wasn’t something that came up during normal conversation and I wasn’t proud of it. But it was
the reason I was here tonight.
“So you came here hoping that I’d give you that experience,” he said, but it wasn’t a
question. “I’m half tempted to do it, not because I think you’ve earned it. Showing up here
looking like a two dollar whore…” I’d disappointed him. “But because I want to wipe that look
off your face. It’s there now as it was the first day I saw you: Raw need, ultimate
disappointment, and a tank of hope that’s running on empty. I couldn’t stand it the day you
walked into the bar, and I can’t stand it now. Oh fuck it, come here.”
Four steps to stand in front of him and each one seemed like eternity. He reached up
abruptly and plucked at my most tender spot. I’d shaven it for the occasion, and he inspected me
with his fingers until they became drenched, then he pushed inside.
Upwards.
Exploring.
Finally he seemed satisfied and withdrew, leaving me breathless and desperately in need.
A harsh ache attacked my belly as my lips below quivered and clamped. Only the humiliation of
standing in front of him naked held me steady.
“On the floor.”
I took two steps back, and knelt on the floor in front of him.
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me how you pleasure yourself.”
“I…” I literally was dumbfounded, embarrassed, but honestly too scared and excited to
actually verbalize anything.
“Now!” he commanded. With a smooth and velvety voice his continued, “Sit back and
spread your legs… show me.”
I didn’t even process anything more than the actual words, yet my desire to please him
took over and I complied without question. Sitting back on the carpet I spread my legs, bending
my knees and balancing my heels of the shoes on his floor. Using my left arm I leaned back, and
with my right hand cupped my breast and squeezed my aching nipple.
“Look at me!”
I stared into his eyes, and found myself once again wanting to crawl inside him; feel his
warm strong arms around my body, holding me safely within him.
Trailing my fingers down across my recently shaved pubic bone I brushed across my clit.
A surge of power seemed to emanate from my fingers, lighting up my world as my juices began
to flow uncontrollably. I slipped my index finger down between the folds, spreading my lips
open for his approval. I hoped he’d at least give me the satisfaction of knowing he enjoyed the
view, but from his stone cold expression I got nothing.
Forging ahead I slipped my finger inside, first the index finger and then my middle
finger, coating them both in the process. I retrieved them, sliding them up and down my
opening, lightly brushing my clit with each stroke before returning them inside once again. I
lowered myself onto my back, staring at the ceiling and wondering if this is what he had in mind.
Nevertheless, with my left hand I pressed into my clit, feeling it throb under the pads of my own
fingertips as I rhythmically stroked the opening with my right hand. I couldn’t believe how
excited I was, and I feared I’d leave a huge wet spot on his floor beneath me.
I can hear him shifting in his chair, and I’m hoping it’s his need to adjust himself, not
sheer boredom at my lack of experience. Still, my need grows, and I sense my orgasm beginning
to mount as I begin to press harder into my clit, making small circles. My back begins to arch,
and the feeling spreads towards my outer extremities as I dig my toes into bottom of my shoes.
“Stop,” he says calmly. I obey, although I feel the frustration of need swell in my core as
I lift my head towards him. “I didn’t give you permission to come.”
“What?”
“Sir!” he corrects me. “I didn’t give you permission to come. Come here and lay across
my lap.”
First I kneeled at his side and then lifted my upper body over his jeaned thighs. Hardness
at my belly told me he wasn’t completely immune to my body as I’d imagined. My head faced
the floor now and my entire weight rested on him, his fingers flowed through my hair directing it
downward so that it cascaded into a river and me in a cavern inside it. I could see little from the
room my hair created; the exotic oriental carpet below was my single focus and I began studying
its pattern intently. My hands pressed against it, but they were outside my field of vision so I
tried to connect the lushness between my fingers to the fibers in the pattern below. I did this as I
waited for his next touch because the fear of what I was doing was in direct conflict with the
destitution of my need. It came without warning, as I was immersed in the monotony of the rug,
and the instant stinging hot pain shot up my spine like a clear, paved road. Then warmth,
massaging, hot hands delving between my thighs to test the reaction to his slap.
Massaging.
Then wham, he spanked me again. This time my behind was fresh with capillaries open
and pink. The sting caused me to shiver uncontrollably until his long fingers began comforting
me again. Each time I calmed, he hit me again. My ass was burning with fire and I realized with
startling reality that I’d not been offered a safe word. Yet his fingers continued to probe around
the opening of my ass and into the depths of me, and then back around again. Between each slap
he marched me closer and closer to the answer I’d come here looking for.
He began a pattern of his own. His fingers delved inside me with five strokes, then
retreated and hiked up my spine to the bare back of my neck. Down again to my ass; to touch it,
explore its rim and then slid forward inside me again to tickle the spot that was becoming my
prominent thought. On and on he went spanking me harder as the onset to his routine.
Pain then pleasure.
Pain then pleasure.
Until my need had grown so loud in my head that I thought I’d scream. Then he reached
inside me; more fingers now, stretching me until I knew I’d burst. Throbbing and pulsing inside
me, his fingers filled all voids except one, and then he slapped the living hell out of me. The
stroke was so strong it jolted my entire body on his thighs. The flame that shot through me as
the weight of his palm struck sent me reeling. I was almost there and somewhere in my mind I
realized I’d never been this far before, but things were foggy now and my goal was just ahead.
His palm didn’t comfort now; he placed it on my lower back and pushed with his entire strength.
I was sure his fingers inside me were touching the ones on my back through my skin and my ass
was chilling from the last sting, then he hit me again. This time the pain wasn’t pain at all, it was
pure pleasure and my body took control. I was floating, so I desperately grabbed his ankles to
keep me grounded. A shrill scream filled my ears and though I could feel my body trembling I
had no control over it. Hot blood flashed through my veins and I could instantly feel every part
of me. I could feel the tips of my toes, the frailest hair on my arm, and each nipple with
astounding clarity, but mainly the frantic throbbing of my inner walls.
I must keep him there, inside me, and it’s my single need, but slowly my mind and body
began to rejoin. The connections weren’t welcomed but inevitable, and I floated back together in
his lap. It was only then that I noticed that my hands had been clutched so tightly into the carpet
that they were now asleep.
“Now get up slowly or you’ll fall,” he said.
Without warning he stood and began walking towards the doorway. “That’ll be all for
now, Elizabeth. Gather your things and show yourself out.”
“But…”
“But what?” he asked. “Is there something else? What about you?”
He turned and leaned against the doorway, and shoved a hand in his pocket. “You want
me? To do what?”
“What about your pleasure, Sir?” I asked timidly.
“You haven’t earned that yet,” he said as he turned and walked down the hall.
Four
The last three days have been pure torture, and my mind wondered if he was just
disappointed with my efforts and I wasn’t cut out for this, or whether this was some kind of test.
All I know for sure is that I had the most incredible experience of my life, and I’d been through
two sets of batteries with my ‘battery operated boyfriend’ that may have produced some results,
but far less intense and enjoyable than his touch. I longed for him, but more than that, I longed
to pleasure him.
With each passing day I became a little bolder, and my recent fascination with the
practice of BDSM is becoming a full blown obsession. I looking at every website I can find,
constantly viewing videos of bondage and reading everything I can find on the subject of
submission. I play with myself to the point that I was falling in love with my own vagina. I love
the way the smooth hairless skin felt under my fingers, and every waking moment alone I find
myself knuckle deep in pleasure. Even at work I feel constantly wet and in need. My boss must
think I have some kind of stomach virus as many times as I excused myself for a quick trip to the
bathroom. Honestly, it’s crazy.
And I thought that this would just be a passing phase that I’d push through, and maybe
that would have happened if I hadn’t found it. As soon as I saw it tucked under the wiper blade
of my Toyota in the parking garage, I immediately felt a warm glow across my ass and my juices
flowing like mad.
Barely in my car when I open the envelope. It’s from him, and my legs spread
instinctively at the mere thought of him. I open the envelope, anxious to read its contents.
I assume you’ve continued to do your homework on the internet. If Saturday night was
not enough for you, be at my house at 7:15
P.M.
tonight. Bring with you, written on a piece of
paper, one fantasy you wish to indulge. Door will be unlocked. Let yourself in, put your written
fantasy on the table by the door, undress and assume position #1. Your complete submission is
required, and your safe word for the night is: Jello.
-G
Subconsciously I’ve already got my left hand in my panties, pressing hard against my clit
as I read his note. Then panic washed across me as I realize it’s almost 5:30. I have very little
time.
I probably broke every speed limit getting home, and quickly I showered and put on a
simple sundress and sandals. I realize I was not going to need anything else, and I pull up a
Google search for bdsm position #1, learning to kneel. Studying it quickly, I pull a piece of
paper and scribble my favorite fantasy: sucking cock.
*-*-*-*-*
Pulling my sorry excuse for a car into his driveway I see his lights are already on. I
check my phone for the time:
7:26 P.M.
I breathe a small sigh of relief that I made it in time, but
I’ll patiently wait until one minute is left before I approach his door. Lesson learned.
At exactly 7:30
P.M.
I push down on the door handle and enter the foyer. Placing my
fantasy on the table, I drop my clutch on the floor and slip off my sandals, pulling the sundress
over my head and kneel on the floor. I’m careful to place the tops of my feet on the floor, and
rest my weight on my calves as I spread my knees a little wider than shoulder width. I then place
both hands, palms up, on my thighs and stare at the floor in front of me. As I understand it, this
is the appropriate position for a submission to assume for her master.
It’s probably been more than ten minutes before I sense him approach me. I dare not
look at him, and eagerly await his instruction. He’s once again barefooted in jeans, a look that
quite frankly he rocks, and he grabs my fantasy and walks into the front room without a word.
Another two or three minutes pass before he returns for me.
“Good evening, Elizabeth.”
“Master,” I reply, paying careful attention to the information I gathered from the internet.
“I see you’ve been doing your internet reading. Interesting fantasy you have, my dear.
Perhaps tonight you will earn the right to fulfill it.”
His words leave me wondering what he has in store for me, but quite frankly I think I’d
do anything for him at this point.
“Hands out in front of you,” he says calmly.
Without hesitation I lift my arms, still staring steadfastly at the floor. I feel the tightness
of nylon rope as he binds my wrists together. It happens so quickly my suspicion is confirmed
on the spot: Experience. I feel the comfort and snugness of the nylon rope against my skin, tight
enough to restrict my movements but loose enough not to cut off any circulation. Once he
finished, he grabbed my wrists and helped me to my feet. With his arm around me he escorts me
into the room.
“You need to understand a few things. While in my company and the confines of
intimacy, you will be referred to by what you are, not your name.”
“And that is what, Sir?”
“Slut, whore, whatever I feel the moment deserves.” He looks at me through the corner
of his eye. “And your mission here is my pleasure, and that is all you need be concerned with
when you are with me. Your pleasure will be provided as I see fit. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“You realize I may subject you to situations that can be at times, uncomfortable. While
in my care you are my property, and you will comply with any and all instructions. Is that
clear?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Fine. Let’s begin. “Tonight, my submissive pet, we will determine exactly what you
want to get out of this. Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, arms above your head.”
I comply, and he walks around behind me, grabbing my bound wrists and pulling it down
behind my head. I feel his hands looping another rope around the knot between my wrists, and
firmly pulling it down and wrapping it around my body. In no time I’m wearing a rope harness
skillfully tied, and the feeling of being confined yet exposed was incredible. He pulled the rope
between my legs, carefully crisscrossing it up the crease of my upper thighs and over my hips,
leaving my lower lips exposed to his touch. Once completely bound, he leaned into me, firmly
squeezing my breasts and breathing into my ear.
“So you want to be my submissive?”
“Yes, Master.” It was true. I wanted to give everything to him to be used as he saw fit. I
just need to have the intense pleasure I was convinced only he could provide.
“And as my submissive you wish to surrender complete control?”
“Yes, Master. Complete control.”
Without warning his right hand slid down my stomach and over my clit, clutching my
mound with his entire hand. “Who’s is this?” he asked.
“Yours, Master.”
“I see. And have you played with it?”
I can feel my face flush with embarrassment. “Yes, Master.”
I’m literally flowing into his palm as he drives his thick fingers past my lips and deep
inside. “Did you orgasm?”
“Yes, Master.”
His finger takes an upward turn, pressing against my g-spot causing my body to react.
Jolts of electricity shoot throughout my body, and his fingers squeeze my nipple hard. But it’s
not pain I feel, but an incredible rush of adrenaline and pleasure. “Did I give you permission to
do that?”
“No, Master.”
“I see. Let’s get something straight right here, right now. IF – and that’s a big if – I
decide to make you my own, you understand that this,” and he presses the butt of his palm into
my sex, “belongs to me. I control your orgasms from here on out. Understood?”
“Yes, Master.”
With that he withdraws his fingers quickly, taking with it the pleasure of his touch.
“You’re soaking wet!” he exclaims. He releases my nipple and grabs my hair. “Open
your mouth.”
Once again without hesitation I open as instructed, and he shoves his fingers into my
mouth. “So you like to suck cock? I wonder… do you like the taste of pussy? Suck! Lick my
fingers clean.”
It’s not the first time I’ve tasted myself, but somehow it’s much more exciting now.
Greedily I lick and suck his fingers, eager to prove my obedience to him.
“That’s a good little slut. You like that, don’t you?”
“Mmm,” I mumble, my mouth filled with his fingers.
“I bet you do. Have you ever been with another woman?”
I shake my head from side to side, unable to speak with his finger in my mouth.
“I see. Have you ever been with two men?” he asked as he withdrew his fingers.
“No, Master.”
“Hmmm. But you’d like to, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Master, if it pleases you.” There was no lie about that one. I may not have ever
thought about being with a woman, but I’ve fantasized many times about two men.
He unties my hands, still leaving the body harness in place. As I rub my wrist I feel not
only my skin swelling, but my pride as well. The imprint of the rope on my wrist is a constant
reminder of my submission, and my new found passion.
“Follow me,” he orders.
Following him out of the room and down the hall he takes a sharp turn to the left. I’m
right on his heels, as I assume he wishes and he ushers me into what looks like a simple office.
The chair in the corner, however, looks anything but simple.
It’s a heavy wooden chair with large seat, tremendous arms that are ornately carved, and
straps already attached. He sits me squarely in the middle and pushes against my chest as I lean
back. With skill and precision he lifts each of my legs over the arms of the chair. “Grab your
ankles,” he commands, and then straps my legs and arms to the chair. “Lean forward and open
your mouth. In a flash he shoves a red ball with little holes in it into my mouth and fastens the
strap behind my head. I’m wide open for him now, and every fiber of my being wants to be
touched and stimulated.
He kneels in front of me, and with both hands pulls my pussy open and drives his face
into me. I’m trying to concentrate on my breathing, but my eyes roll back in my head and
oxygen is a complete after thought. His rough beard against my tender skin nearly pushes me
over the edge, and his nose presses into my clit which I’m sure has hardened like a little pebble.
I feel immersed in pleasure and his tongue snakes out into my depths as he flicks it up
and down my opening. I feel his fingers against the cheeks of my ass, spreading me open past
the point I once thought was humanly possible. He spreads me wider, and runs his tongue down
across my asshole. The warmth spreading through my body is like nothing I’ve experienced
before, and I long to have him back inside me.
He leans back, and slips each index finger inside me; pulling my pussy open and I feel
my moisture literally drip out of me and down my ass.
First one, then two, then three of his thick fingers assault my inner walls, and he leans
forward and sucks my clit into his mouth. It’s like he’s pouring gasoline on my fire, and I strain
against my restraints in order to touch him. The top of his head bobs up and down as he sucks
my clit hard into his mouth and pushes his fingers deep inside.
My toes begin to curl, and he senses my impending orgasm and retreats, pulling his
loving touch from me against my will.
“I didn’t say you could come, slut.”
My breathing is rapid, and I can hear my lungs sucking air through the little holes in the
ball gag as he backs off and reaches down for something on the floor. I hear the click, and then
the buzzing louder than anything I’ve ever heard before. But all the sounds fade away as he
places the bulbous white ball at the end of his stick against my clit. His fingers once again fill
my void, and immediately I’m once again on the precipice of extreme release.
“Don’t even think about it, you fucking slut. Concentrate on my voice. Are you my
slut?”
“Mmm hmm,” I mumble through the gag. My eyes are wide open, and if they could
speak they’d clearly be begging for mercy.
His fingers press deeper, and the upward motion towards my clit from the inside was
absolutely unbearable. It takes all my concentration not to flood his fingers with orgasm, and he
stares directly into my eyes.
He finally pulls he fingers out of me and slides the buzzing monster down towards my
entrance. He takes a moment to press it in, turn it slightly, and the vibrations still have my clit
buzzing. His firm slap against my left ass cheek reminds me that I’m under his control, and the
feeling of orgasm begins to subside.
He slides the vibrator even lower, pressing against my ass. It’s incredible, and the
buzzing now seems to have gone straight down my legs and up my chest. I feel a sensation like
never before, and I’m pretty sure under any other circumstance if you simply breathed your
breath on me I’d probably quiver with ecstasy.
He slides it back up to my clit, and once again fills my pussy with fingers. Slowly,
rhythmically, he drives into me over and over again. My orgasm stops its retreat, and reverses
course as it marches back with a vengeance.
Once again he senses it, and this time pushes the device towards my nipple. Once contact
is made his fingers withdraw, replacing the feeling of fullness with electricity that’s certainly
attached to my breast. His fingers, completely drenched with my juices, now push against my
asshole and I try to squirm to no avail.
His mouth lowers back to my clit as the buzzing monster assaults my breast, and his
fingers push their way inside my ass. I have no strength to offer resistance, and to my surprise
it’s anything but painful. He lifts his head and stares at me. He can sense my lack of control.
“Come for me,” he says as he slides the vibrator back to my clit.
My mind goes blank, but my release is the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. I don’t
even know how long it lasts, but once I slumped into the chair he removed his fingers and
vibrator and stood up.
It’s all I can do to open my eyes, and the phantom buzzing throughout my entire body is
as peaceful and pleasurable as I can imagine.
Instantly I feel his hand grab the ornate Celtic knot between my breasts. His thick fingers
cinch down, tightening the ropes around my torso. My eyes open to see his now naked body
between my legs. I can’t see it, but I certainly feel it as he presses the head against my opening.
Reaching up he pulls the ball gag from my mouth, and strands of excited saliva cling to it as he
drops it around my neck.
With ease he slides into me, sending me on yet another path to orgasm I couldn’t stop if I
had to. His thrust is urgent, deep, and his need seems to match mine as he begins to quicken his
pace. He’s deep, and his thickness fills every void to the point of overflowing. My eyes roll
deep into the back of my head, and I feel his heartbeat match mine.
Once again I struggle against the restraints with my desire to wrap my hands around his
neck. The feeling of helplessness only adds to my excitement, and without warning I crash into
another orgasm against him.
Ignoring my pleas, he pounds into me with fierce abandon, and each thrust feels is
accompanied by the warming slap of his balls on my asshole. I want to pull him deeper, as if it
were even possible. I squeeze with all my might, and feel his throbbing cock swell deep within
my depths.
Then a final push as he empties himself inside me. The sensation of warm liquid
smashes against my walls, and I feel the excess drip down around his shaft.
After a few moments he removes the straps from my arms and legs and helps me to an
upright position. I lean forward into his chest, inhaling his scent which now smells of Quorum
and I think lavender. He releases the strap from my head and removes the ball gag, and without
a word stands up and unties the ropes to my harness.
I wouldn’t dare say the word – Jello – but that’s exactly what I’ve become, and I look at
him carefully. “Have I displeased you, Master?”
“On the contrary. You’ve performed better than expected.”
“But…”
“Shh… Not now,” he says as he walked out of the room.
I sat there, not sure what was going on or what I was expected to do next. Thankfully, he
returned with my sandals, dress, and clutch and set them on the table. “There’s a bathroom right
through that door. Quickly, it’s almost 9,” he said as he looks at his watch. “Get freshened up
and dressed, then meet me in the foyer.”
I peeled the rope harness off my body, somewhat sad to have to take it off. As I turn on
the lights in the bathroom I study my naked body. The imprint from the rope is a tremendous
turn on; the delicate pattern around my body still evident. The orgasm was ‘out of this world,’
but the sinking feeling in my stomach was that I still haven’t ‘earned’ his complete trust. I don’t
get it.
Not wanting to keep him waiting, I touch up my makeup and reapply my lipstick, and
with my fingers brush my hair the best I can. I still couldn’t hide the ‘freshly fucked’ look I was
sporting, but I kind of like it.
Slipping my bare feet into the sandals I flip off the light and head for the foyer where he’s
standing with the door open. “That’ll be all for tonight.”
“But…”
“You were wonderful, Elizabeth. I’ll be in touch.”
Without another word he ushered me out of the door.
*-*-*-*-*
I sank my key into the deadbolt, hoping and praying Melanie and David weren’t sitting in
the living room waiting on me. As I push the door open I see them exactly as I expected: On the
couch watching a movie.
David was first to offer a greeting, smug as it was. “Nine thirty’s pretty early for a date,”
he mused.
“Just shut up, asshole,” I reply as I barrel down the hall to my bedroom.
I can’t get into my room fast enough, and as I run the hot bath I peel my clothes and
admire my fading rope prints. I stare into the mirror and smile. I am definitely hooked.
Five
This morning I was surprised to see that I have no marks left on my body, at least not
which would show. I did, however, realize I just had the best night’s sleep in years. Even
hearing Melanie and David in the other room didn’t seem to carry that same level of annoyance.
Nevertheless, I waited until I heard the door close before I ventured out of my room. The last
thing I wanted to deal with was those two.
As I padded down the hall the front door opened.
“Elizabeth?” Melanie called. “Found this on your car this morning.”
“Thanks,” I said, grabbing the envelope and shoving it in my pocket.
“Is it from Dr. Wonderful?” she said with a tinge of sarcasm.
“I don’t know. Thanks.”
“Aren’t you going to read it?” she asked.
“Later. Thanks, Melanie.”
She finally got the message, and from the stupid look on her face she didn’t approve.
Doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t understand anyway. After the door closed once again I pulled it
from my robe pocket and opened it.
Sorry about last night. Had surgery at six this morning. Be at the food court in the mall
on Saturday at 1:30
P.M.
-G
He didn’t need to explain; in fact I didn’t expect it. Still, it warmed my heart, and
suddenly made all the suspense worthwhile. As I sipped my coffee I realized… I’m wet again.
About the Authors
Laura and Christopher Cooper are a fast rising husband and wife writing duo that share
their love for spinning erotic and romantic stories with a truly southern flair. Hailing from the
‘lowcountry’ of South Carolina, these two are known for downright steamy erotic romances that
will leave you drenched with desire, flushed with excitement, and begging for more. Sprinkle in
a little twisted southern humor and voila – a worthwhile reading experience you’ll want to share
with your friends.
2013 Indie Romance Writer Nominees and International Bestselling Authors of SEMPER
FI, SHADES OF SHAME, BONEYARD BEACH, GOODY TWO SHOES and the popular
SEVEN DEADLY SINS series.
Follow them on Twitter: www.twitter.com/lbcooper123
Follow them on Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Laura-Cooper/279254182092261
Follow them on their blog: laurabcooper.blogspot.com
Other Books
Semper Fi
She wouldn't even be in the predicament if it weren't for Travis. A phone call in the middle of the night to ask for a
"free pass" from her boyfriend of 7 1/2 years was hard to take seriously. When he doesn't get the answer he wanted,
his drunken stupor is all it takes to tell her via text message that it's over. That's enough to irritate Mattie into flying
home to deal with him.
However, bad weather grounds her flight out of Washington leaving her stranded in the airport all night with one
other passenger... Logan McNarry.
Ordinarily, she wouldn't even think of speaking to him, but Travis' unexpected break up was just the opportunity she
needed to seek passion in the arms of another man.
All this leads up to the predicament that Mattie must face. Choosing the safe, steady life already mapped out, or
chasing the love and passion one only stumbles upon once in a lifetime.
Boneyard Beach
‘The Night’ on Boneyard Beach was over fifteen years ago, but for Jenna Sinkler it is replayed each time she closes
her eyes. His hands touching her, the salt marsh taste of his lips and the ultimate “first time” every girl dreams of.
In the real world, she’s a New York City cop who feels like her world is close to tumbling down on her. When she
steps blindly into her apartment for a quick shower and finds her culinary wizard boyfriend enjoying a naked blonde
waitress on her blue sofa, she reacts. It’s her reaction that sends her reeling with her tail between her legs back to the
island in South Carolina where she spent every summer of her youth, including 'The Night' on Boneyard Beach.
Fifteen years ago Nicolas Talbot was an uncomplicated southern boy with dreams and a bright future. Now Jenna’s
making lists of why she and Nick should be as far away from one another as possible. But one question remains:
was ‘The Night’ on Boneyard Beach a fluke, or was it truly as magical as they both believe? There’s only one way
to find out.
As Jenna falls head over heels in love with Nick again, the list of reasons why their relationship will never work
begins to pile up. The fact that she lives in New Jersey and he lives in South Carolina is a major problem. But it
doesn’t take Jenna long to understand that may be the least of the problems. Nick’s meddling Charleston family has
harbored his secret for fifteen years, and she’s beginning to wonder to what extent they would go to protect him.
Since ‘The Night’ on Boneyard Beach, no man has ever been good enough for Jenna, and no woman good enough
for Nick. It seems as though they were meant for each other and no one else. But there had been someone else in
Nick’s life and now she’s been found dead… on Boneyard Beach. Can Jenna overcome her mistrust for men enough
to believe that Nick and his family had nothing to do with the mysterious death?
Shades of Shame
2012’s run away smoking romance of the year, SEMPER FI, continues in this riveting story written by the self
proclaimed belle of the South, Laura Cooper and her devilishly sexy husband Chris. Together they bring Logan
McNarry more clearly into vision in this sexy and gripping prequel SHADES OF SHAME.
We already know that Logan and Mattie are made for each other; from the moment she’d walked into the Airport
that morning she’d belonged to him heart and soul. Together, they are simply smoldering hot. But was there a time
when Logan’s passion melted another heart? Judging from his shyness, emotional devastation in a relationship isn’t
new to him. What kind of woman could make a marine like Logan McNarry completely swear off women for so
long? We back up eight years to find out!
Washington’s newest Senatorial Intern Leila Johnson has an attitude that rivals that of Lindsay Graham on
Benghazi. While most college students would sell themselves for such an opportunity, Leila was handed the job on a
silver platter. Of course she’d been raised since birth to be a politician; she’d been sent away from home at a young
age in an effort to make her cold and calculating. She’d been educated within an inch of her life. As the Senator’s
Chief of Staff, her mother would have nothing less than the best for her daughter. It never would occur to her that
being with her mother may have been the best thing for Leila. You may know of Patricia Johnson; she was most
recently featured in Time Magazine’s list of Top 100 Bitches in the U.S. She came in an honorable 18th.
Leila Johnson isn’t your typical intern, and if she’d been in Washington more than a week she could’ve knocked her
mother right out of that 18th position. She knows what she wants, and knows how to get it. A summer internship in
her mother’s office is perfect for a young woman with aspirations of climbing the political ladder. With the Senator
squarely in her sights, Leila is positioned to add another notch on her bedpost as she pads her resume at the same
time.
The last time she saw Logan McNarry he was a skinny, silver spooned brat. However, dinner at the Senator’s house
was a bigger surprise than she ever imagined. Logan was all grown up now, and definitely not how she remembered
him. He was nice, gentle, and worst of all, a hopeless romantic. None of the things that would further her career. But
Logan brings out something in her that’s not familiar. With him she laughs, she makes love, and dare she think it…
feels loved.
His father, on the other hand, represents all she hopes to achieve: Money, power, and status. And the fact that the
Senator has no problem masterfully using his interns fits absolutely perfectly into her plans. Add in his handsome,
rugged exterior that simply reeks of power, and she was panting and ready to climb any ladder he presented. David
McNarry wastes no time un-wrapping his new intern and teaching her the ropes of Washington, even though he is
all too aware that if Patricia catches him with her daughter he’s road kill.
This vicious Washington political story wraps itself around the McNarry family, showing just how their deceitful
relationships intertwine. And in their midst, Leila struggles to overcome her own stereotypes as she steams with
Senator David McNarry and melts into the arms of his son Logan. Which man should she choose? The one who fills
her heart? Or the one who can put her in the White House?
Seven Deadly Sins
It was a fresh start, and that’s exactly what Liz Martin needed. New York was a long way away from Charleston,
and for a recent graduate from the Charleston School of Law, a high powered New York law firm was the perfect
way to pad her resume. But more importantly, it was away from him.
It’s not that she didn’t love him. No, love was never the problem. Benton Frazier gave her the firm and controlling
hand she’d grown so used to having. The only real problem was that her lover, her master, her best friend just
couldn’t be monogamous.
Liz could have easily taken a local job offer in Charleston. However, since her brother waited for her to graduate, it
was now his time to pursue his fashion career, and what better place than New York City. Now that her parents were
gone, Palmer was all she had. Everything seemed to be falling into place… until she met Carlton. And now, all she
can think about is him.
Carlton was dreamy. Handsome, rugged, and well dressed. Deep brown eyes the color of chocolate, and the silken
voice with a hint of an English accent that simply drove her crazy. Most importantly, Carlton had it all; a partner in a
prestigious law firm, old family money that left nothing out of reach. He was perfect. But even this perfect man
came with baggage.
Follow Liz as she navigates through the Seven Deadly Sins. Is Benton out of her life for good? Can Carlton’s past
not get in the way of their future? Where will her heart take her?
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