I

Standing at the bar was a beautiful woman. It was the intermission of one of my favourite music acts; they played long hypnotic improvised pieces that usually left me in a contemplative mood. Right now, I contemplated the poise and elegance of this woman as she lifted a flute of champagne to her lips, gently tilted it, and savoured a mouthful. I had been watching her for at least half the glass. She seemed to be alone.

My stomach churned with nervous excitement as I tried to pluck up the courage to talk to her. My eyes strayed to her body, seductive curves of pale skin, accentuated by the classic black lines of her dress. The sudden movement of her glass brought my gaze back to her face. She was staring straight back at me as she slowly drained the last of her champagne; her lips curved into a smirk.

She tilted her head to one side and looked at the glass, turning it upside down and pretended to look sad. I moved to her side and offered to buy her another drink.

“I thought you’d never ask” she replied, beaming. She added, “You do know it’s rude to stare”.

I blushed as I paid the barman a small fortune for another glass of champagne. She had a rich, cultivated accent. I couldn’t place it, but I guessed it was the result of education rather than social class. Her beauty was equally difficult to place; dark almond shaped eyes suggested an Arabic heritage, but her skin was pale and translucent.

We made small talk for the longest five minutes of my life. Talking to her was like being a nervous teenager again. As we chatted, it became apparent that her mind was as sharp as a whip, I honestly felt out of my depth. The bell rang signalling our return to the theatre.

She finished her expensive champagne and said:

“I owe you a drink, meet me here after the show”. It was not a question.

We returned to our seats, then the second half of the performance began. It was impossible to concentrate, instead of being lost in the music, my mind turned over this bizarre event.

It’s too good to be true, the first thought to enter my head as my eyes scanned the audience searching for her. She must be mad or evil; a clichéd femme fatale fantasy began forming in my mind. Her outfit was totally femme fatale; black heels, fur stole, plunging neckline. My eyes found her three rows down to my left; I could make out her stockinged leg gently swaying in time to the music.

She was direct, intelligent and domineering; all three qualities that supposedly spell trouble when they are possessed by a beautiful woman. I had to admit that I found this stereotype sexually thrilling but forced myself to be a more ‘rational’. She was a single woman, interested in music looking for men at a concert, no harm in that (no, she’s dangerous, my mind bouncing back to images of con artists and psychosis).

Then came the self-doubt (why on earth was she interested in me?) I tried to banish the usual paranoid inner-dialog and I began to wonder if I would sneak away into the night like a coward (aka a sensible fellow) or if I would obey her directive. Which was more courageous? Which was more cowardly? Which was stupid. It was impossible to make up my mind. The music stopped.

*

“What’s your poison, Mr” she produced a beaming smile that made her seem young, I’d guess 25 at most.

I started to relax and I felt a little ridiculous of my fears, (for god sake man you’re afraid of a girl). I thanked her as she handed me my scotch. She sat close to me, enveloping me with her perfume; it was a lovely scent but every now and again I’m sure I could smell her natural odour, a rich, exciting animal musk.

Half way through my whisky I changed the tack of our conversation from the performance by blurting out how I almost didn’t make it to our rendezvous. I’m not sure why I said it, it just seem to come from nowhere. She laughed and replied,

“Do you believe you really had a choice?”

Dumbfounded I stared into her eyes. She stared back her, her confidence seemingly unbreakable. I began to stammer a halting, laughing, flirtation.

“No really, I’m actually asking the question in a philosophical way, I’m not being rhetorical. Do you believe in free will?” The little girl act dropped again, back to the woman in control.

“Well, actually I’m not sure”, I replied. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it.”

She seemed pleased with that answer.

“There are some that believe that people are asleep; at the mercy of the forces acting upon them, but tragically they dream they are in control”.  I chuckled a little as she told me this.

“For example, I easily manipulated you.”

My chuckle died, I almost choked as I finished my scotch.

“Seriously, think about it. Just by a look and a gesture I made you buy me a drink. Then by your reaction to my teasing I could figure out you are a confident but beta male, and that you would be easily led by your cock”.

It was very strange to have the veil lifted on a previously flirtatious conversation. Again, she had me on the back foot. For some reason I liked this feeling, it was so different to the usual boring conversations I had recently with people I’d met out.

The room was empty, our glasses empty. I felt nervous and excited. 

“Walk me home.” Again it was a directive, and again I felt powerless, unable to refuse. Her smile unnerved me as I held her coat.

“Some seem to have more agency than others.” She said, breaking the silence a block or so from the bar. “Some seem to like surrendering theirs to another.”

I wasn’t really sure what she was talking about.

Then she said, “I know a secret or two, and I know you won’t be able to resist trying to know them.” We had stopped walking outside an apartment building.

She eased her body onto mine, forcing me to hold her or be pushed off balance. Her breath sweet with alcohol on my face as she whispered, “I’ll give you a choice, come up to my flat and do everything I tell you for the next 24 hours or leave and never see me again.” Her hand slid down from my chest to gently squeeze between my legs.

I followed her up the stairs. Did I really have a choice?

II

Her apartment was beautiful and elegant, a lamp in the living room revealed dark art deco wood and chrome. She led me to the middle of the rug, walked several paces away, turned and said, “Take off your clothes.”

At first I was paralysed with embarrassment. I watched her slowly removing her gloves; she teased the ends of each finger; revealing patience, deliberation. She turned and looked at me, her eyes scanning from top to bottom. How on earth had this young woman cultivated so much confidence?

“If I have to tell you something more than twice you must leave.”

I began to undress.

She paced back and forth several times; I watched her legs, her body, as I removed my clothes.

“Not like that, don’t just toss them on the floor. Fold them. Put them on that chair,” I took my trousers and shirt, folded them neatly and piled them on the chair. “Those too.” She said pointing to my underwear.

Naked, I stood with my hands by my side and watched as she picked up my clothes from the chair. She stared down at my penis, it was swollen and felt hot, but was not yet standing to attention.

“If that is not hard as a stone by the time I return, there will be trouble.”

*

She returned swinging a key on a chain, her eyes were fixed on my cock. She had caught me stroking it, I felt embarrassed and let my hands drop to my sides. It was hard, just as she had ordered. Her face was expressionless, cold.

“Clasp your hands behind your back,” I did as she told me. She reached down to take my penis in her hand; squeezing it hard she pulled the skin back forcefully to reveal the head. It glistened with my excitement; a long, drooling droplet was forming. “Still believe in free will?” She ran two fingernails along the underside of my erection, scraping over the most sensitive part; collecting the oozing issue from my penis. She brought her fingers to my lips, “Clean my fingers”.

Her voice was flat, matter of fact; but direct, an order. The thought of my own fluids did not repulse me; actually the thought of being made to lick her fingers excited me more than anything, but I dared to test her.

I remained motionless, staring into her eyes, my mouth firmly closed. She grinned and gently cupped my testicles with the other hand. “Lick”. I did nothing. She began to squeeze, gripping just above the testicles and pulling downwards. “Lick”. Still I waited, but not for long. She began to close her fingers onto the sensitive orbs, digging her fingernails into the soft flesh. I gasped with the pain. I closed my eyes and took her sticky fingers into my mouth; she didn’t stop squeezing me until they were clean.

“Let me tell you, that is the last time you test me. Remember I told you I if I had to tell you something more than twice you were out on the street?” I nodded. “Well get out.” She pointed to the door. “My clothes…” I stammered.

“Get out.” She walked to the door and opened it, a blast of cold, damp air. She threw the key at me “get your clothes and get out.”

I’m not sure what came over me, but I suddenly realised that I couldn’t leave this woman. It was the feeling of displeasing her, of not living up to her directive. I sank to my knees.

“Please, I’m sorry I beg you, please let me stay”. She slammed the door shut and walked to stand directly in front of me.  The source of the musky smell I had caught earlier this evening was now centimetres from my face; heady combinations of sweat, stale urine and sexual arousal.

“I was going to just make this evening an example to you of how weak you are, to show you how easily manipulated a man like you is by a beautiful woman. I was also going to reveal to you a secret, that I could train your mind and teach you strength of will.”

She ran her fingers into my hair and moved towards me, pulling my head back so she could push her fragrant sex onto my face. Through the silk of her dress I could feel her labia upon my lips, “Do not dare to move your lips”. All I could do was inhale; I’d never smelt such a strong, arousing scent. She nudged a foot between my knees.

“Open your legs.” I did as she asked, and she began to grind her heel against my penis, alternating with bouncing my testicles on the tip of her patent leather shoe.

“You’ve managed to annoy me, if you stay I’m going to make this much more painful than I was originally intending too.” She pushed my erect penis up against my thigh, grinding the heel into its flesh. “Do you wish to stay?”

I had no idea it was possible to feel this way. My mind was consumed by the smell of her sex. All I could think about was being able to taste her, to have her. I would do anything for her at this point; submit in a way I never knew was possible. I moaned into her sex and nodded assent.

“You may stop what we are doing at anytime. You have simple to ask and I will give you back your clothes and you may leave. However, if you choose to do this, you will never see me again, ever. Do you understand?”

She was pressing against my face, rubbing up and down; I could feel the material of her dress becoming slick and sticky on my mouth. Later I would marvel at the speed of my decent into submission, and the latent power of sexual arousal.

I closed my eyes, moaned yes into her wetness and nuzzled a nod. I felt as though I had been drugged.

III

“Have you ever heard of an Arab Strap?” I was on my hands and knees on her leather daybed. She was standing behind me, fondling my erection and testicles. Every now and again she would violently bring the palm of her hand down onto them, at the same time furiously pumping my engorged cock. I’d never been in so much pain; I’d never been so aroused.

“It’s a device used for men to sustain an erection. I’m going to put one on you because I find that if I inflict more pain than I am right now, that my subject’s cocks lose their potency.” She grabbed my testicles and squeezed. Hard. Much harder than ever before, a shooting pain speared into my abdomen, and sure enough, my cock shrank. I felt slightly sick and abused, yet said nothing, did nothing. I even forgot that I could end this at any time.

“But it’s easier to get onto a flaccid penis. Stay still.” She moved away and returned with a strange device made of metal rings and leather straps. She pushed my testicles through one of the rings, then my penis. The straps separated and contained my aching testicles.

“Up”. She grabbed my hair, pulling me off my hands. Though I was taller than her, kneeling on the day bed and with her advantage of stiletto hells, I had to look up to meet her eyes. Her whole manner changed, she cooed into my ear, her cold expression was replaced with warm nurturing concern. “How do they feel, are they sore?” She gently cupped my whole sex in her hand, I could feel the warmth from her breath on my face. Very slowly she began to kiss my face, first my earlobe, (then a breath) then my cheek, (the delicious smell of her breath) then slowly, intensely, her lips closed on mine, her tongue eased its way into my mouth, entwining with mine. 

All pain was forgotten, again I was rigid in her hand, the Arab Strap made my penis bulge and throb like it had never before. As she slowly manipulated my cock, her kiss became wet then she spat a mouthful of saliva into my mouth. The drugged feeling returned as I greedily swallowed.

“I’d like to teach you about the power of arousal. I want you to follow my breathing pattern, breath in with me and out. The breath out will be very slow.”

She took a deep breath in, and then let it out slowly through her mouth with a sigh. In, then out. In, then out. I started to feel a tingling in the tips of my fingers. My arousal grew with the breathing and the ministrations of her hands on my genitals.

“I’m going to whip your arse, it will be intensely painful, but if you keep breathing as I have shown you while you touch yourself like this you may be able to withstand the pain”. She kissed me again. “Remember you may leave at any time”.

I simply nodded. I wanted her to hurt me. I wanted to be punished. I couldn’t understand where these feelings came from, but she now had complete control. The thought that I was to suffer for her caused my penis to throb and drip in my hand.

“On your knees again.”

She stood behind me with a long thin cane in one hand and what looked like a miniature ‘cat of nine tails’ in the other. She took the small whip and placed the handle in my mouth.

“It helps to bite on something.” She ran her hand over the curve of my behind, squeezing, and then spanking it. “You really are naturally submissive. I am quite amazed! I’d like you to stop and think for one minute before I put you in the most pain you’ve ever been in in your life, exactly where you are right now and what is happening to you.”

I was breathing deeply as she had taught me. My body tingled with sexual energy. I could hardly think at all.

“You are naked, your cock and balls are trussed up in the most ridiculous way,” she lightly swatted my testicles with the palm of her hand as she went on. “With a complete stranger you just met, about to be viciously whipped with a cane. When I have finished whipping you with this cane, I’m going to take that little flogger in your mouth and proceed to beat your cock and balls with it until they are red, swollen and angry as hell. Now does that sound like something most ordinary normal people would do?”

I mumbled no and hung my head in shame. I felt broken and vulnerable, yet aroused beyond what I believed was humanly possible.

“Do you think you have any choice?” She squeezed the end of my penis.

She laughed as again I signalled the negative, “Why is that? What is it you want?”

She took the flogger from my mouth and held my face up by the chin. Her face so close to mine that I could smell the delicious aroma of her mouth, I swallowed and replied, “Please, I want to do whatever you wish. You’re so beautiful, I want to see your body, to make love to you, to smell you, to taste you.”

“Who said anything about that?” She placed the whip back in my mouth. “Perhaps, you may never see my body or make love to me.”

She swished the cane through the air a few times. “I doubt you will be able to make love for sometime after I’m through with you. Prepare yourself, I am about to begin.”

I began to breath again as she had instructed. One hand to hold myself up; the other on my penis slowly masturbating, I bit down on the whip handle.

“Do not let your breath go when I beat you. It is most important. Allow your breath to ease out slowly as I instructed. I will give you 12 strokes, if you lose your breath, it doesn’t count. Do not stop masturbating”

At the height of my next breath the first blow landed. It was much worse than I had feared, and I lost concentration. My breath shot out with a groan of pain, my face sank into the hard leather of the daybed.

“Come on, you’re going to have to do better than that. That was just a light one.”

She was right, the next blow hurt more but just a little. This time I knew what to expect and I managed to maintain my controlled breathing. I had to concentrate so hard that I forgot to masturbate.

“Better, but still doesn’t count. You forgot your little cock stroking.”

The third blow was excruciating but I managed to perform to her satisfaction, I felt pride as she counted the blow. I’m not sure if it was the increased oxygen from the deep breathing or endorphins from the pain, but I was becoming light headed, yet again on a new sexual plane.

“Increase the tempo of your breathing.” The next blow landing, cutting into my flesh, but I maintained control, my breath eased slowly out of my body. I felt like I was on the edge of orgasm.

“Do not have an orgasm,” I almost lost it, but right at the critical moment she gripped my testicles in her hand and pulled them away from my body, squeezing them. It stopped my orgasm instantly.

She timed the remaining strokes of the cane with my breathing. Each blow was harder, more painful than the last. Yet I discovered that following her instructions to breathe deeply allowed me to find a way of withstanding the pain by deepening my arousal. With each blow my breath became faster, deeper; with each breath I felt a strange tingling sensation build in my body, flowing from my mouth, filling my head out to my fingertips, down to my feet. Every time I almost reached a climax she would abuse my balls in the same manner preventing my orgasm. The blows fell faster.

After the twelfth blow her hand took its place from mine, gently stroking me right to the edge once again but this time as I began to come she pushed her fingers firmly into the flesh between my scrotum and anus. My behind was on fire, the blood surged to my head; my entire body throbbed with the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced. An overwhelming surge of emotions tore through my body and I was wracked with sobs, I could not help but break down and cry. All the guilt, self-hatred and emotional pain that were buried in my psyche seemed to come pouring out of me, decades of it.

“Well done.” She took the whip from my mouth and kissed me.

She sat beside me and pulled my head into her lap, she gently stroked my hair as I nuzzled between her thighs, calmed and aroused by the heavenly scent of her sex. I shuddered as she caressed me; my whole body was now almost painfully sensitive to touch.

She directed me with her hands to lie in the centre of the bed. I could hear the jangling of metal buckles as she moved around; she placed thick leather straps over me, and began to tighten them securing my upper body to the bed. A pillow was placed under the small of my back, lifting my lacerated bottom from the leather. She bound my ankles to my thighs, more straps kept my legs open. My still engorged cock and tormented balls were forcefully exposed. There was no possible way for me to protect myself.

“Once again I will warn you that you are about to experience great pain. It will take you some time to recover from what I am about to do to you. Of course, one word from you and it will stop. You will leave, never to return.” As she spoke her hands reached behind her neck to the zip of her dress. She eased the silk slowly from her body with the same patience and deliberation she used to take off her gloves. “It will however hurt much more later than it will as the torture is being applied, you should keep that in mind.”

Now dressed only in stockings and heels, she paced around the bed her eyes fixed on mine. She began to slowly caress my body with the small, evil looking whip; thin cords of knotted leather on my hot skin.

“At first it will seem as if nothing much is happening. It will take quite sometime but eventually every inch of skin of your genitals will be inflamed and raw, the slightest touch will put you in agony.”

She lent forward, her breasts on my chest. “Would you like me to continue?” she breathed into my mouth, followed by a long, lingering, kiss. She seemed to drink in my whispered yes. I could sense her joy at my assent, this made my cock twitch and she reached down to slowly squeeze and pull at it.

Again she drooled in my mouth; again I felt the deep, drugged sensation flow through my mind as I drank her salvia. She pulled away and stepped onto the daybed. One foot on either side of my head, I stared upwards into what was previously a great secret. I could make out the beautiful pinks folds of her labia through her pubic hair. My heart was pumping fast. She began to squat.

Her thighs must have been very strong; it seemed an age for her to come close. I watched the slow motion of the entirety of her sex and arse being revealed, spread open over my face. She stopped just out of reach of my mouth. I strained against my bonds.

The smell was intense; she could not have possibly bathed for several days. Normally this would have disgusted me, now I was again in the grip of intense arousal, I needed to taste her. I wanted to clean her with my mouth, the filthier the better. I had no idea where these thoughts or feelings came from.

“Do not dare to try and kiss or lick me with out my explicit permission,” she descended slightly lower, her pubic hair enveloping my nose. “If you do, I will get dressed and apply your torture from a much less enjoyable position.”

So close, I knew I could move forward and take her in my mouth. This was more intense torture than the caning. I had to summon every ounce of control to prevent myself from plunging my mouth onto her. She began to slowly swat at my penis with her whip.

I was forced to breath in through my nose, every breath a revelation of musk from her behind, of sweat, piss and arousal from her sex. She would manhandle my cock and balls with talented dexterity giving me pleasure, then lay into them with the whip causing me pain.

A warm sticky drip oozed onto my face. I let out a moan of frustration. I needed to taste her. Her abuse of my genitals was beginning to build momentum. As her body moved, her wet, sticky labia would make contact with my nose, lips or chin. Still I kept my mouth shut, resisting the burning desire to open and devour her.

Heat was building in my sex, I could only wonder at how it must look, red and inflamed. Finally she stopped her whipping, her vaginal lips pushed against my mouth, my nose nudged next to her musky rosebud.

“Do you want to taste me?” She panted. I nodded and moaned.

“Open your mouth,” I did as she instructed, almost fainting with joy as my mouth was engulfed with the taste of her; salty, sweet, pungent, acid all at once, she slowly pushed back onto my face. “Lick.”

I sucked and licked at her, my mind empty of everything except pleasure. After an eternity of oral bliss, I began to notice the pain building between my legs. She lightly stroked the skin of my scrotum. It was unbearable, I bucked against my bonds. She took my engorged, swollen cock in her hand, then slowly into her mouth, again nothing but pain.

She repositioned herself slightly, her rosebud now above my mouth.

“Lick my arse.” She pinched and clawed at my groin. In desperation I did what I had never done for any other woman. My tongue circled her anus. Far from being foul I found it to be quite pleasant to taste this flesh. My nose was already full of this scent.

“Stick your tongue inside,” Her mastery of my mind was complete. I pushed against the skin having to fight the tight seal. “Deeper, harder.”

She was bucking against my face, biting my penis. She was coming. My tongue finally reaching its goal penetrating her as deep as I could. Waves of drugged submission pulsed through my body.  She came, one hand squeezing my testicles, the other my penis. I was wracked with pain drifting on the edge of consciousness; I was still deeply aroused.