The Challenge
Chapter 02: Death and the Resurrection
Part One: The Debt
June 1980
For Alana Peters, life could not get any better this June day. The stock
deal to take the client's company public had hit the street this morning,
and she had made it happen. She had worked for the investment firm on Wall
Street, and this was her first big deal.
All the months of hard work, negotiations, nights spent in New York, all
were paying off now. She had taken an old family firm public, and her
investment firm was issuing the stock. For them and her it meant
commissions, fame, and fortune. Already there was talk of an article about
her in the Wall Street Journal, and she was sure to make partner.
She had spent the night before in NY, and had taken the car, a red Mustang
convertible, into the City. Once the deal went public, let the big boys
get on TV. Alana decided to hit the road and take a few days off. She
would swing by her mother's house in Greenwich, pick up a few clothes, and
then head up the coast, maybe end up in Boston.
She was driving north on the Merritt Parkway and the two lanes and sharp
curves challenged her driving, forcing her to downshift to maintain
control. She enjoyed the sound and feel of the five liter V8 and manual
tranny as she raced, well over the limit, into Connecticut. Her black hair
streamed behind her in the wind, as she had forgotten to wear a scarf.
Driving with the top down was the most exhilarating feeling!
Beep!
She turned to her left, and saw a red Pontiac Firebird. The man behind
the wheel gestured, and floored his gas pedal. Alana, not wanting to be
outdone, responded in kind, and slammed the Mustang into fifth gear. The
speedometer jumped to over a hundred, and she was pushed back into her
seat.
Rounding a curve, the Mustang encountered a puddle of water and oil. It's
rear wheels lost traction, and it began to spin. First the car hit the
center median, then bounced back to the shoulder; it's tires screaming in
protest. The car hit a pole at nearly a hundred, ejecting Alana who had
not worn her seatbelt. Alana screamed as the car disintegrated, her body
buffeted by the forces tearing the car apart. Her body flew through the
air, finally striking the pavement, her bones and flesh breaking on impact.
Police Report: Connecticut State Police PO Richard Parker
While on patrol on the morning of June 16, I observed two vehicles, a
Pontiac and Ford Mustang, racing at a high rate of speed on the Merritt
Parkway. Even before I could turn my lights on and pursue, the Mustang had
spun out of control after sliding on a wet patch of road, and ejected the
driver onto the pavement. Exiting from my patrol car, I called for an
ambulance. The driver, a young woman, was badly injured given the force
with which she hit the pavement. I was surprised that she was still alive
when I reached her.
The driver was very lucky, given that right behind me was a doctor from
Greenwich Hospital who stopped after seeing the accident. She was a trauma
doctor, and kept the woman alive. Else she would have died quickly from
her injuries.
Medical Report: Dr. Stephanie Richards
While driving on the Merritt Parkway to work on June 16, I was witness to
a horrible road accident. Alana Peters was driving a red Ford Mustang
Convertible, and was ejected during an accident.
I stopped to provide emergency medical aid, and was assisted by PO Parker
who was already on the scene.
Her right leg was broken, along with collarbone, skull fracture,
concussion, multiple broken ribs, punctured lung, and massive internal
injuries and bleeding. Luckily, an ambulance was returning empty and heard
the call from PO Parker, and was on the scene in 2 minutes. Even with the
proper equipment, Alana went into cardiac arrest before we got her to the
hospital. It took all of my skill to restart her heart, saving her life.
Alana Peters is lucky to be alive. However, when she awakens, she will be
spending months, maybe a year in the hospital to recover and will require
physical therapy to restore normal use to her body.
Her constant companion now will be pain as her body slowly heals from the
heavy injuries that she has sustained.
She may regret surviving the accident given the long and painful path to
recovery.
End Medical Report
Part Two: The Conscious Choice
July 1981
Alana drove her new BMW into Manhattan and had parked it at a garage not
far from the address that she had been given over the phone. Scared like
hell, she had walked without the cane a couple of blocks to a residential
building. She had pressed the button, and been admitted within.
Her first view of the House of Domination was a letdown. Just an office
where she was asked a few simple questions by a receptionist. Then she was
conducted into another, private office, where she faced another woman. Her
companion was an attractive woman in her early 30s, nicely dressed in a
silk blouse and plaid skirt.
"Take a seat please," she directed, "drink?"
"Diet Coke."
"Sure."
The woman stood up and walked to a refrigerator, and removed 2 cans. One
she handed to Alana then reseated herself in her chair.
"Thank you," said Alana.
"How may we help you?" asked the woman.
"I want to be used by a Dominatrix," bluntly stated Alana.
"No doubt in your mind?" asked the woman as she drank her Coke.
"None."
"Why?"
"I want to know what it feels like to be in submission," Alana replied,
sipping at her soda, her throat suddenly bone dry from fright.
"Have you ever had these fantasies before?" asked the woman.
"Why all of these questions? I'm not a cop."
"No need to worry," the woman laughed, "we have some highly prominent
people amongst our customers. If we were ever shut down, I just have to
make one phone call and the heat would be off. Which is why you never see
a place like ours busted."
"Sounds interesting," Alana replied.
"Why do you want to submit?"
"I want to feel a lash and riding crop, to be used, to be dominated by
another woman."
"All right, we can provide that," said the woman, "and you must learn to
obey all of my orders."
"Are you a Mistress?"
"Yes, Mistress Martine. Before any client goes under the lash, I like to
ask a few questions. You pass. Payment will be in cash, used bills only.
Small ones, please. You will be conducted to one of our Dungeons where my
slave maid will have you undressed and ready for my use. You can still
back out now, if you want."
"No," sighed Alana, "this is what I came here for."
"Good," answered Martine as she stood up, "see you in the Dungeon, then.
Naked."
Another woman then conducted Alana, this time in her early 30s to the
Dungeon. Except that this was the first time that she had seen anything
related to Domination. The Maid was dressed in a form fitting rubber
outfit in black, and she was perched on very high heels. She escorted
Alana to a small anteroom, when she was made to undress. Silently, Alana
removed all of her clothes. Her blouse, skirt, underwear and shoes were
all taken from her. The Maid then produced a box, inside of, which were
leather cuffs, which were locked around her wrists. Then a collar was
placed around her neck, to which a leash was attached. Alana was made to
stand up, and her wrists were locked behind her back. Finally, a fur lined
leather blindfold covered her eyes. She was now naked and helpless, and at
the mercy of others.
"Come," she was instructed, feeling a tug at her collar.
Alana obeyed, and let herself be led a few steps. She had no idea what
room that she was in, except that she was soon made to kneel. Just a few
months before, she would have been incapable of doing that simple action.
Even though the room she was in was quite warm, she still shivered, and
Goosebumps covered her skin.
She heard the unmistakable sound of the click of a woman's heels, and then
her blindfold was suddenly removed. She looked up, and there was Mistress
Martine! Except that now she was dressed in a black leather corset, elbow
length black leather gloves, black stockings, and matching black high
heels.
"Mistress?" asked Alana.
"Silence, slave, you will speak only when you are spoken to," Martine said
in a firm tone of voice.
Alana swallowed from fright. This was what she had sought out, what she
wanted. To submit to someone, and finally to feel the lash.
"Have you ever been whipped before, or spanked?" asked Martine.
"No, Mistress."
"Then we shall have an easy session. I don't want to scare you off, so
that you won't return."
Alana then was pulled to her feet like that of an errant child. Martine
marched her over to a chair, and Alana was then draped across Martine's
knee. She was going to be spanked!
"You will count out each one," ordered Martine, "if you fail to do so,
then I have a paddle waiting. Several, in fact, everything from leather to
wood."
"Yes, Mistress," answered Alana.
Thwack!
"One!"
"Two"
"Three!"
"Four!"
"Five!"
For the first time since childhood, Alana was over someone's knee, being
spanked. Martine delivered each blow so that it struck in a different
place on her bottom. Alana had the unmistakable feeling that she skin was
gradually becoming warm. Also that she was slowly starting to be sexually
aroused by her little punishment.
"Twenty!" cried Alana, who was startled when Martine stopped.
"Thank your Mistress!"
"Thank you, Mistress Martine," cried Alana.
Alana was the pulled to her feet by Martine, who marched her over to a
chain hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists were released, then locked
above her head to the chain. Then Martine locked similar cuffs around her
ankles that were attached to a bar that would keep her legs open. Martine
gestured, and the chain was suddenly pulled taut. Alana strained to keep
her toes on the floor.
Her slave handed Martine a riding crop, and she flexed it in her gloved
hands. Alana remembered how for her 16th birthday, she had been sent to
England for a summer to learn how to ride a horse. She had been given a
crop, but had never used it. Her friends had played around by using them
on each other, but she had not joined in. Plus there were those stories
that she had heard about the crop being used on people!
"Prepare to feel the crop, and you will not have to count, slave," taunted
Martine.
Alana tensed, and she soon felt a stripe of fire run across the outside of
her left thigh. Swallowing, but remaining silent, she felt each stroke of
the crop as it struck her exposed nakedness. Martine was keeping to her
word, as the strokes only stung Alana's flesh. They were quite mild in
reality. Compared with the effort and pain of getting back up and walking
between two parallel bars.
"Stronger," whispered Alana.
"What was that, slave?" asked Martine.
"Stronger, Mistress, please?" begged Alana.
Martine then began to strike Alana with even more force in each stroke.
She drew her arm back and delivered each stroke methodically. Alana felt
the finally she was in the position that she wanted to be. Her breathing
was fast and flushed, her nipples were erect, and she knew that she was wet
between her legs. Just like during therapy. Alana was sexually around by
the pain that she was undergoing once again.
Then she felt the gloved hand of the Mistress probe her between her opened
legs. Alana moaned when she felt as Martine push the gloved fingers into
her sex, happy at the invasion.
"My, you're wet!" exclaimed Martine, surprise on her face.
"Whip me, Mistress?" begged Alana, "Please?"
"Have you ever been used by a Dominatrix before?" asked Martine.
"No, Mistress."
Martine exchanged the crop for a long, sinuous, black leather whip. The
oiled leather gleamed in the light, and Alana wondered just how it would
feel. Suddenly, a lifetime of watching old movies on television came back
to her. She was going to go under the lash!
"Kiss the handle," ordered Martine.
Alana did as she was ordered. Martine then coiled the whip, and drew her
hand back to strike. The whip lashed out, and coiled itself around Alana's
stretched form. When the tip struck, Alana cried out. Not with pain, but
pleasure. For the whip in its first stroke had released the sexual energy
that the spanking and crop had stored within her.
Martine delivered stroke after stroke, each one with increasing severity.
Alana's body pulsed and shook as she was wracked with one orgasm after
another. This was like what she had experienced in therapy, but multiplied
many times.
Finally, Martine ceased. She presented the handle to Alana, who kissed it
again.
"I would like to see you after you've dressed," said Martine.
"Yes, Mistress."
Alana was let down by the Maid. She was escorted to a bathroom, where she
could freshen up and dress. She washed her sweat-covered body off with a
wash rag, and found that her pussy was sopping wet. Her body was covered
by the marks from the crop and whip, but she was happy. Not in any pain at
all. Alana dressed, and was helped by the Maid.
In the same anteroom where she had been questioned, Martine was waiting,
still in her leather outfit. She was drinking another Coke, and smoking a
cigarette.
"Have a seat. I've written you a bill," directed Martine.
"Thank you," said Alana.
Alana looked at the bill, and opened her purse, extracting her wallet.
Nothing had been touched. She removed the fee, plus a generous tip for
Martine, who had earned it.
"You're either a liar about not having been used before, or you're a
natural that's used to pain. I watched your face when I was using you.
You loved it, didn't you?" demanded Martine.
"Yes."
"Serving a Mistress before, or loving the pain?"
"The pain," Alana answered.
"Then you're a painslut," observed Martine.
"A what?" asked Alana.
"Painslut. Were you satisfied by my work?"
"Yes, Mistress. I'll be back again. Thank you."
Alana took her exit, convinced that what she had paid for was worth every
dollar. She had gotten what she wanted. Walking around the neighborhood
she entered the first bar that she passed. She ordered a stiff drink, and
bummed a cigarette from the bartender. Alana inhaled the smoke deep into
her lungs, her skin still smarting from the use that she had taken from the
Dominatrix.
She sat quietly at the bar, watching the daily life of Manhattan pass by
the windows. Just a few miles from here stood Wall Street, and her job,
where she was still on Medical leave. But somehow, that no longer seemed
important.
Alana smoked her cigarette, recalling the weeks-spent in pain after the
accident as her body slowly healed. The days she did nothing but cry in
her hospital bed, begging for painkillers. Her mother Eve, shouting at the
doctors for something to dull her daughter's agony, only to be told that it
wasn't proper medical practice just to give medication for that purpose.
Then slowly she had begun to heal. Her body repaired itself, and she was
taken out of bed. First to sit up, then to stand, next to therapy. Every
step that she took was sheer hell; every time she used her arms to lift
weights was torture.
One day, during an intense session to force her to walk Alana found that
the pain had excited her sexually. Her pussy was wet when the therapist
had exercised her legs to force her to walk. The first time, she had been
ashamed of herself. But each time that she had gone for therapy, Erica
found that she would enjoy the pain. Her sex became wet, her nipples hard
with desire.
When she had been recuperating at home, with a Nurse to take care of her
and a visiting therapist to continue her exercises Alana suddenly
remembered the Voice. She had read the paper while she worked in
Manhattan, and had looked with wry amusement at the ads in the back from
Professional Dominatrixes.
So Alana had resolved that when she was finally able to walk on her own
that she would find a Dominatrix who would provide her with both pain and
pleasure.
Alana had done that, and would go back for many visits to see Mistress
Martine, who would take her a little further along with each session. She
enjoyed being placed under the crop and lash, having a gag between her
teeth. Afterwards, at home she would look and admire the marks on her
skin.
Deciding that she wanted more, she then discovered the S&M clubs in
Manhattan. She learned to disguise herself by using makeup and a wig.
Then she rented an apartment in Rye, and bought an old car and took that
into the city at night instead of the new BMW.
Alana Peters, daughter of wealth, Ivy League University Graduate, and
future Wall Street Partner realized that she was now playing a dangerous
game. That people in her position in society didn't just enter the world
of D/s, without a huge scandal erupting.
So she resolved that she would use the wealth that her position in life
had given her to create another life: where she could become another
person.
* * * * *
Greenwich CT: January 1982
"Don't make this any harder than it has to be," cried Eve Peters, as
mother and daughter sat together on the couch in the library.
"Mother, please! We've already argued about this before. There's
nothing that will change my mind," said Alana, swallowing, as she brushed
her black hair away from her eyes.
"Maybe another doctor or clinic," suggested Eve.
"No, I've had enough doctors," shouted Alana.
"Alana, please! You don't know what you're doing!"
"Yes, I do mom, please!" begged Alana.
The afternoon sun shone through the library windows, and a breeze came
through the open windows. Mother and daughter, arguing, as they had for
months. They sat on the couch together, and tears flowed onto both their
faces.
"I've had you followed, do you know that?" asked Eve, "what's the benefit
of wealth if you can't use it? I know you have an apartment in Rye, just
over the border. That you bought an old car so you wouldn't use the new
BMW I bought for you after you finished therapy. That you dress up on
Friday and Saturday nights in a wig with plenty of makeup and go to those
horrible sex clubs in the city and.....and," Eve buried her face in her
hands, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.
"And what, mother?"
"The first couple of times, the detectives couldn't get in. But then they
bought some leather clothes, and billed me, and followed you. And saw you
getting whipped in public!" cried Eve.
"I'm sorry mother, but it's true."
"You're not going to deny it?"
"No."
"That's even worse!"
"Mom, I've got a confession to make. During therapy, I found that I liked
pain. After I could walk again, I started going into Manhattan and found a
Dominatrix to use me. I enjoyed it!"
"Is that what you like, being beaten?" asked Eve shock on her face.
"It's not like that. Then I wanted more, so I started going to the S&M
Clubs."
"No, no!" cried Eve, aghast at what her daughter was telling her.
"Mother, I just can't explain it, maybe I was just this way all along, and
didn't know it. Until the accident, and the therapy, and all the pain I
underwent, brought it to the surface."
"That you're a sex pervert!" accused Eve.
"No mom. Slave, submissive, bottom. But it's just what I feel."
"You might be discovered. Think of the scandal!"
"I already have. Why do you think that I disguise myself? One night, I
was in a club, and saw a Wall Street lawyer that I once worked with. He
didn't recognize me."
"What happened to the debutante? To the girl we hosted a ball for in
Manhattan? Who went to Radcliffe and Harvard? Who learned horseback
riding in Europe? Is that what you want to be, a sex slave?"
"If that is what it takes to be fulfilled, yes, mother."
Eve broke into tears, sobbing. Alana reached outwards and held her mother
tightly to herself, trying to comfort her. She grabbed a handful of
tissues from a box on the couch, and dried her mother's cheeks.
"No, no, I've already lost one daughter, I won't lose another," cried Eve.
"She left of her own accord, you know that. Just as I must, but I'll
always be nearby. I promise I'll always live near here, in Greenwich,
Darien, or just over the border in New York," consoled Alana.
"But what about the scandal?"
"I'm taking care of that," answered Alana.
"You're planning something, tell me what. Now!" demanded Eve, "I know
that you've been seeing a plastic surgeon in Manhattan, and a lawyer."
"You won't like it," cautioned Alana.
"I don't like the fact that my daughter is going to sex clubs, either.
What are you up to?"
"All right, mother. You said it yourself just now. What is the use of
great wealth if you can't use it? Well, I'm going to use some of it, for
me."
"How?"
"In a few weeks, you won't have to worry about Alana Peters going to sex
clubs, because Alana will no longer exist. I'm having the plastic surgeon
give me a new face. Meantime, the lawyer is creating a new identity for
me. Everything from birth certificate to college degree."
"No!" screamed Eve, "no!"
"Mother, it's the only way that my face won't end up on the Daily News!
The only way to avoid a scandal is to cease being Alana Peters. I've
decided to give up my former life and create a new one, one where I can
explore my sexuality without worry. I'm going to take a normal job, live
in a regular apartment, and cease to be one of the upper class. I gave up
my Wall Street job because I want something else in life! I'm sorry,"
comforted Alana, as she held her mother in her arms, and dried her tears.
"What's going to be your new name then?" asked Eve, disbelief in her
voice.
"Erica Riken," answered Alana.
* * * * *
In February, Alana had gone for plastic surgery. Alana Peters had
disappeared into South America. Erica Riken then suddenly appeared and
rented an apartment. She had gone from working a Finance job on Wall
Street to being a bookkeeper for a liquor distributor in Darien.
When she looked in the mirror, Alana no longer looked back at her.
Instead, there was someone different. Someone new that could explore the
new life that she had chosen.
Gone were the Yacht Races, Horse Shows, Golf (that she had hated anyway),
and summers at Martha's Vineyard. Along with the Gucci gowns, unlimited
expense accounts, and Louis Vuitton handbags that she had liked.
'I've crossed the Rubicon,' Erica said to herself one evening, as she
drove into the city.
Erica was wearing a clingy black dress, heels, and had even made some
friends in the scene. Finally she was free to find a Dom, someone that she
could be serve as a slave.
Part Three: The Wrong Dom
September 1982
Erica drove her seven year old Chevrolet up the driveway to her Master's
house. She had spent the day shopping, doing chores, fully aware that she
wouldn't be returning home until late Sunday. Past the point where she
would be able to get anything done before the workweek again started.
Daniel had been lately asking for her to begin her slavery after work on
Friday night, but Erica had refused.
While it was true that she did want to serve, Erica still needed time to
recreate herself. To let the two women who inhabited the same body to
reconcile themselves into Erica Riken.
Daniel owned a house in Portchester, NY, just over the border in New York.
About a forty-minute drive from her apartment in Darien, CT. He owned a
company, or so he told her. They had met one night at an S&M club in
Manhattan. Erica had found him very attractive. Slim, athletic, well
built, he seemed the very model of a man that she had always been attracted
to. He usually dressed in black, leather of some kind.
For several months now, she had belonged to him. They had started by
going to dinner together, and he had charmed her thoroughly. Since Daniel
was to be her first Master, he had told her that everything that she was
going to learn about submission was to come from him. So he had ordered
her not to read any books about S&M, and she had obeyed.
Erica locked her car, and put her keys in her purse. She walked to the
front door, and opened it with a key that Daniel had given her. Since it
was summer and still quite warm, all she was wearing was a blouse, skirt,
and modest heels.
Locking the door behind her, she quickly stripped herself of all of her
clothes, hanging them in hall closet. On the small table was a collar and
bracelet set, which Erica rushed to lock upon herself. Erica locked the
cuffs around her ankles, then her wrists. Brushing her long black hair
around her neck, she locked the leather collar around her neck. New to her
confinement in recent weeks was a ballgag. Erica picked the object from
the table, opened her mouth wide, and inserted the red rubber ball into her
mouth. She buckled it tight at the back on her neck, breathing through her
nostrils. Finally, she knelt down on the carpet, and locked her collar to
a chain attached to the wall. Then she locked her wrists together. Erica
was now bound and helpless, with a key nowhere in sight to release her.
She leaned herself again the wall to wait.
It took only a short time for the ball between her teeth to become
uncomfortable. Once, she had not closed the leather straps tightly enough,
and Daniel had punished her severely. So afterwards, Erica had always
obeyed his orders.
Bound as she was, Erica didn't know if she was alone in the house, or if
her Master was upstairs. She had been ordered not to enter the house
beyond the foyer. Some weekends Daniel would be in the house, other times
he would be returning home.
Either way, Erica felt vaguely uneasy about her vulnerable position, that
she shouldn't be helpless this in this manner. Resting on her knees, even
though she was on a piece of carpeting, soon became uncomfortable. While
she had told Daniel about her accident, and that her body really wasn't
fully healed, he didn't seem to care.
After what seemed like an eternity, she heard the key turn in the lock.
Erica felt a breeze of outside air brushing against her naked skin, and she
remained rock still, facing into the house. She didn't know who had
entered.
She felt like squealing when her ass cheeks were roughly parted, and a
finger probed her tightly closed anal opening. Erica was glad when she
received a couple of spanks on her behind. That meant her anus was safe.
For now.
Erica was then pulled to her feet, and she quickly took a glance at
Daniel. He was dressed in a summer shirt, shorts, and sandals. He
unlocked the chain from the wall, and led her into the living room. He
made her sit down on the couch, and removed her ballgag.
"Thank you, Master," said Erica as she took several deep breaths.
"You're welcome, slave. Did you wait long?"
"No, sir."
"Good. I made Dinner earlier; all you have to do is reheat it. I'll
unlock your hands, and then you can put everything in the oven. Then we'll
eat."
"Yes, sir."
While Erica considered herself a good cook, and had offered to prepare
Dinner on numerous occasions, Daniel still insisted on cooking himself.
Even though he was a lousy cook, in Erica's opinion.
Still, he had roasted a Chicken, which he had managed to cook without it
being dry or tough. They ate together, him clothed, Erica naked. When
they were done, Erica cleaned up, and washed the dishes.
"Thank you, sir," said Erica.
"You're welcome, slave."
Glancing at the clock, it was now 9 PM. She knew that Daniel would take a
shower, change, and would be ready to use her. Which was what she wanted,
she desired. To be used and wanted by a her Master.
Erica was then pulled over to a chair, and her wrists were locked behind
her back. Her collar chain was then locked to the chair, making her
helpless once again. Daniel's hands touched her breasts, and her nipples
quickly became erect. He touched her stomach, and playfully tickled her,
making her giggle.
"Be back soon, slave. And don't go anywhere!" he admonished.
"Yes, sir," Erica said in response.
Erica waited patiently, indeed, what else could she do, as Daniel prepared
himself. Some weeks, he had blindfolded her. But not this time. Erica
wondered if this was by design, or just what she perceived as erratic
behavior.
Daniel preferred to use her while wearing a black leather vest and
matching leather shorts. Once he had finished bathing & dressing, he
reappeared in his usual outfit.
"Ready, slave?"
"Yes, Master."
Alana was released from the chair. In the basement of the house, Daniel
had built a small playroom. While nothing like the Dungeon that Erica had
been used in by Mistress Martine, it still contained an impressive amount
of D/s toys. Daniel pulled Erica along, down the stairs. Erica was glad
she wasn't hobbled, else she would have had trouble negotiating the steps.
The playroom was one of the basement rooms, and the walls had been painted
black. Small but intense lights shone from the ceiling, which provided
some illumination. Ringbolts were mounted on the walls to secure slaves
to, there was a bondage chair that would allow access to the occupant's
sex, a leather clad bench, and a cabinet to hold various toys.
Erica had been Daniel's slave for months, and she never knew what would be
awaiting her. In recent months though, something had changed. It had
begun when Daniel had told her to stop seeing her friends that she had just
recently made, and that she wasn't supposed to read any books on the scene.
She had uneasily complied with his orders.
She was placed on a rug in the center of the playroom, and made to kneel.
She did so in silence, awaiting Daniel's next move. He got a riding cop
from the wall, where it had been hanging. Then he walked back to her, and
placed its tip under her chin. She shivered, nervous about what would
happen next.
"Do you accept your discipline, slave?" Daniel asked.
"Yes, Sir," Erica quickly answered.
"Prepare to be used then."
Erica soon found herself hanging from a ceiling chain, her legs opened by
a spreader bar. She was now totally vulnerable to whatever Daniel would do
to her. This was what she had waited for, what she had wanted all week.
First striped and then used sexually by her Master Daniel. She didn't have
to even look at herself to know that her nipples were hard.
"Count, slave!" Daniel ordered.
The first stroke with the thin crop was delivered across her exposed sex,
making Erica cringe with pain. Normally, Daniel would work gradually up to
striking her sex. Instead, he had begun there, and Erica suddenly feared
what would happen next.
"One!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
Daniel maintained a steady rhythm of strokes with the crop, each one
landing on a different place on her exposed body. Hanging by the chain,
her legs held open by the bar, and counting each stroke, Erica soon began
to perspire. She could feel the drops running down her exposed flanks, and
she grew ever more excited after each series of strokes.
"Twenty."
"Twenty-five."
"Thirty."
Erica realized that she was now in for a severe session, having been
cropped far longer than usual. In spite of the large numbers of strokes,
and the fact that she felt like her skin was on fire, she had entered the
point where she could "ride the pain." Divorcing her mind from her body,
she went beyond the usual pain/pleasure feeling that she usually felt while
being used.
"Kiss the crop," ordered Daniel.
Erica suddenly came back to Earth, her mind and attention elsewhere as she
again realized where she was. Quickly, she kissed the crop's handle, again
and again.
"Thank you, Sir!" Erica stuttered.
"You were somewhere else."
"Yes, Sir!"
He held her in his arms, which were also covered in sweat from his
exertions, and kissed her. He forced his tongue into her willing mouth,
and she kissed him passionately in return.
"Would you like to be whipped?" he asked.
"Yes, please, Sir!"
Daniel smiled, then walked over to the cabinet. He replaced the crop on
the wall, then withdrew a long sinuous black leather whip from the cabinet.
It was a supple, oiled piece of leather. And it would hurt terribly!
"Ready, slave?" Daniel asked.
"Yes, Sir!"
"No need to count, darling."
With the first stroke of the whip, Erica exploded into a series of
explosive orgasms. The whip would curl itself around her naked body, then
come to rest with an explosive crack. It struck between her breasts, and
legs. She screamed with both pleasure and pain, all at the same time.
Tears fell from her eyes and down her cheeks as she felt the wonderful
release that she had been waiting for all week. The strange inversion of
pain and pleasure that she had craved since the accident and therapy.
Erica didn't know, nor did she care, how long she was whipped, or even how
many strokes. But when it was finished, and she hung limply from the
chain, she was glad. Daniel first released the cuffs on her ankles, then
released her wrists.
"Thank you, Master," breathed Erica.
"You're welcome, slave."
Daniel carried Erica upstairs into his bedroom. He washed her off with a
towel, then he proceeded to strip and clean himself off as well. Then he
jumped onto the bed, and began to kiss her all over. He started at her
feet, and moved up her legs to her sex, then stomach, her breasts, and
finally her mouth. Erica enfolded him in her arms, and opened her legs to
accommodate him.
His cock was already erect and hard, and he entered her wet slit easily.
His cock was long and hard, and he penetrated her, making Erica moan with
desire and want. In no time, he established a rhythm as he drove her into
the bed. Again and again, time after time.
Having already experienced orgasms while being cropped and whipped, Erica
came quickly. Daniel held back, extracting the maximum amount of pleasure
that he could from her.
"Ooooooh!" Erica moaned, "ooooh!"
Finally, they came together, both experiencing orgasms at the same time.
He then lay beside her, tired after his exertions of having used her both
in the playroom and in bed.
"Thank you, Master," said Erica.
"You're welcome, darling. I'd like to ask you something."
"Yes, Sir?"
"You work for a liquor distributor, don't you?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I want you to steal me a case of whiskey," he asked.
"I can't do that. I've never stolen anything from any place that I've
worked," Erica answered, "and liquor is valuable stuff. We have a security
firm keeping an eye on everyone, and tight inventory controls. And liquor
is a controlled substance, too."
"I want you to steal a case of whiskey," Daniel repeated, even louder.
"Sorry, I can't. I'll gladly buy you one, sir, as a gift......."
Enraged, Daniel got up off the bed and removed a cane from the dresser.
With pause or mercy, he delivered ten swift and harsh strokes to Erica.
Cringing from the unexpected and sudden attack, Erica curled into a ball to
shield herself from the cane's impacts. Crying from the sudden change from
pleasure to pain, Erica was then slapped by Daniel.
"Disloyal Bitch!" he roared.
He then turned her onto her stomach, flattening her onto the bed. Before
she realized what was happening, Erica felt her ass cheeks being forced
apart.
"No!" cried Erica in horror, "no, please!" she begged.
Erica had never really liked having her behind invaded; the very thought
had always repelled her. She knew that Daniel's stiff cock would deeply
invade her, opening her anal hole. Daniel didn't bother to use any
lubricant of any kind. His cock was rammed inside her, forcing its way to
her puckered opening.
"Open up, cunt!" roared Daniel.
"No, sir," cried Erica, "please," she cried as tears fell from her eyes.
Even though her bottom hole was closed tight, Daniel managed to force his
cock inside her. Erica resisted, then tried to open herself. But Daniel
pushed himself inside her, and Erica's anus hurt from the unwanted
intrusion. When he finally penetrated her, Erica screamed. Then she felt
his hot come squirt itself into her anus, the final humiliation. She had
not screamed that way since the day she had been ejected from the Mustang,
with death a certainty facing her.
That night, Erica cried herself to sleep, with Daniel totally oblivious to
her, uncaring.
* * * *
The next day, she took a shower in the morning, and was horrified to see
red in the tub's water. Her ass was sore, and hurt! Later, she took some
toilet paper & Vaseline, and cleaned out the blood from her behind. Erica
wanted to cry. What had happened to Daniel? He had been a kind, caring
Master for months. He had fulfilled all of her desires, training her,
disciplining her. But taking her in the rear against her wishes!
Afterwards, they ate breakfast together, which Erica had prepared. She
had made batter, and had heated up a waffle iron, which had gone unused
until she had become his slave. They ate juice, waffles, and coffee
together. The Times was spread on the far end of the table, but neither of
them looked at the paper.
After they had finished, Erica brought the dishes into the kitchen to
clean up. She was washing the dishes in the sink, wearing an apron, when
she suddenly felt Daniel's hands surround her and hug her from behind.
"Erica, I'm sorry," Daniel began, "I don't know what came over me."
"Daniel....."
Daniel turned Erica towards her, and kissed her. He held her tightly,
pressing her apron-clad form against his. He was wearing an old sweatshirt
and pants, and looked slightly mussed.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have used you against your will like that. I'll
never do that again."
"Thank you, Sir," replied Erica.
For the rest of the day they made leisurely love in the bedroom together.
Sometimes, Daniel would strike her with the crop, but it was only for a
mild reminder of Erica's position.
It rained, and seeing the drops on the windows made the day seem even more
dreamlike and lazy. Finally, though, afternoon had come and Erica had to
leave. She again showered, and dressed.
"Erica?" Daniel asked.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Before you leave, I have to tell you something."
"Yes, Sir."
"Next week, I'm taking on a new slave, who will be a companion for you,"
said Daniel.
"Thank you." The thought of sharing Daniel was one that Erica had never
considered!
"Her name is Lauren Singer."
