Chloe gets off the tube where she’s been instructed. At street level she checks directions on her phone. Her heart quickens, she takes a deep calming breath. She must not be late.
Oh my God, am I really doing this? she thinks in slight panic. Yes, keep going, I can’t back out now.
She walks past some suited city workers, standing around quaffing pints, cocktails and prosecco bathed in early evening sunshine, laughing jovially. It adds to her feelings of elation, knowing that they couldn’t possibly guess what she’s about to do.
That’s because she’s about to get a beating. She’s going to get spanked. She’s willingly offering her ass for punishment. Yes, she’s going to pay a visit to a Professional Dom, a BDSM Master.
*
Until a month ago Chloe was in a long-term relationship. However, she’d gradually realised that she was living a lie—so bored of the staid perfunctory sex she had with Charles. Yes, on paper, it seemed perfect. He was handsome, well off and a kind and caring man. But she couldn’t settle. She felt increasingly unfulfilled, yearning for excitement that did not materialise.
She’d begun to have some very specific fantasies—she thought constantly about being tied up, about enduring pain, about her body being used and abused. She came to a startling realisation that she was absolutely desperate to be spanked, hurt. To have her hair pulled and to find out what it was like to submit to someone. These shocking thoughts had filled her waking moments while her dreams became progressively vivid—salacious imagery of ropes, leather, whips, chains, slutty strappy bondage outfits and gags.
Yes, gags—this was what excited her the most. The thought of being physically incapacitated, bound was one thing, but to be silenced too, unable to respond or express herself, forced into holding her screams back.
Oh my God!
These thoughts drove her wild until she’d tried to share them with Charles. He had merely laughed in an embarrassed fashion, shutting her down. She felt the pain of his judgement and was unable to admit to him how fundamentally important this felt to her.
She was surprised by the lurid scintillating detail her brain concocted and for a while, tried to suppress these intense thoughts.
How can she ignore these incredibly visceral scenarios which bubble out of her conscience? This is a calling—it comes from a place deep inside the core of her sexual being.
She can’t recall exactly what awakened her initial seed of desire. But now it’s germinated and grown into these powerful predilections she simply has to act upon. She vividly remembered seeing some images of Shibari, the beautiful art of Japanese rope bondage and was captivated.
She’d begun seeking out alone time with some very specific erotic porn. In secret, of course, stolen moments before Charles got home from work or while he was out with friends. She delved deeper and deeper into a fantasy world of dungeons, latex outfits and threesomes… Her eyes startlingly opened to the existence of an incredible mind-bending array of tools in the BDSM world, things she’d never thought possible.
She’d braved it, and after long deliberations on a kink website, she’d finally clicked and purchased a vibrator with an anal attachment, a small flogger and a ball gag. The days before they arrived were tense with hot anticipation. The innocent-looking, plainly wrapped box finally came. She’d had to sit down as she opened the package. Her hands trembling with overwhelming desire, her lace knickers soaked with her swollen cunt’s juices. She’d lain down on her bed, fully clothed, too impulsive to waste time undressing, her skirt roughly yanked up.
She gasped as she inserted the ball gag. Its chemical silicone taste filled her mouth completely and most unfamiliarly as she tugged her panties to the side. She pressed the thrilling buzz of the vibrator onto her clit. She came almost immediately as the thrum of her toy made contact—hard, long, forceful shudders filled her whole body as she bit down hard into the ball gag and gulped through her suppressed groans.
Oh, My, Fucking, God, this is better than I could have imagined! she thought happily, riding the waves of euphoric bliss.
Later, she was compulsively scrolling websites selling stripper shoes and boots when a small innocuous-looking ad popped onto her screen. She held her breath and stopped in her tracks.
Yes, this is it! Why didn’t I think of this before?
She fired off an email before she could change her mind.
The next day Chloe checked her inbox impatiently several times before it arrived. His email was down to earth, welcoming and straight to the point—yes Master S was available and more importantly had offered her some dates.
*
Her excitement is almost unbearable, she has had these agonising fantasies interminably—months since her first thoughts. Now, today she is taking charge of her own destiny. She is quaking equally with a sense of power and vulnerability with each step she takes closer to her goal.
She finally arrives at the doorway, it looks so innocent—a pale blue door with an entry phone as he’d described. But is she ready for punishment from Master S?
She could be arriving at any kind of appointment, but this is no dentist surgery. She rings the bell, there’s a cheerful “Hello,” and she is buzzed in. The lift ascends. She checks the time, realising with horror that she’s six minutes late. The walk took longer than she’d allowed for in her heels.
The lift door slides open, she steps out nervously into a penthouse apartment which affords stunning views over the city. Master S is unexpected—shorter, plumper than she’s anticipated but he has a gentle demeanour and an attractive face with bright kind eyes which twinkle as he smiles. He steps over and greets her warmly. He’s smart but casually dressed in a crisp white shirt, relaxed and smiling. She is instantly relieved as he seems genuinely pleased to see her. He offers her a drink, a soft one and then suggests heading down to his ‘dungeon room’.
No messing about, straight down to business, she thinks.
Over a few emails, he had gradually put her at ease and reassured her of his professionalism and expertise. His credentials and experience in the kink scene as a both an educator and respected authority gave her confidence that she was in good hands. She bared her soul and admitted her desires. Specifically, about the ball gag fantasy, she’s been having…
The room is bright and well-lit with rich red walls and velvet drapes. He ushers Chloe in and invites her to look at the equipment. Dominating the room is an imposing portable wooden St Andrews Cross. Next to this is a spanking bench he has set up with hand and ankle cuffs waiting suggestively. Chloe’s chest tightens, and her knees weaken.
In the corner is an ornate plush red and gold double seat.
He winks at her. “You’re going to be sitting in that shortly, you have an important task to complete,” he says.
What does he mean? Chloe ponders. But she doesn’t have time to dwell as he brings her focus to the adjacent wall where there is an impressive rack. On it displayed neatly are implements and devices used for impact play—the tools of his trade.
This is a different world indeed—lots of sex toys. There are whips, riding crops, floggers, spanking belts, paddles, canes—thin, and thick, heavy and light, leather, metal, wood, glass. An impressive arsenal.
She looks more closely and spots some metal devices which she guesses are nipple clamps, as well as hoods, dildos of varying sizes and colours, chains and butt-plugs.
Then she sees the row of ball gags. Her gasp is audible.
He has noticed her reaction.
“Are you alright Chloe?” He kindly, knowingly checks in.
She nods, unable to speak, as if already silenced. He talks to her in a relaxed manner, overlooking her obvious twitchiness. He begins to explain how this will work, asking her about safe words and so on.
He looks her in the eye. “Now, I’m going to warm you up a bit first before your special task.”
He begins by demanding that she removes her skirt and blouse.
She is suddenly daunted and intimidated, but she quickly complies—undoing the zipper allowing it to drop to the floor.
“Do it neatly!” he commands.
“Oh, y… yes, of course, sorry!” Stammering, she can hardly articulate.
“Sorry, what? Young lady, I need your respect.”
“Sorry, Y…Yes, Master.”
Her eyes downcast, she flushes with embarrassment. He had explained in his emails that she must show deference and address him as ‘Master’.
He had also checked her clothing preference. She picked out a black lingerie set which complements her lithe shapely body. She glances down at the satisfying curve of her breasts.
Breathe, she commands silently.
She thrills inside, hardly able to believe this is happening.
He first bends her gently over the spanking bench. She is demure, does as bidden. She shudders a little, not from the cold, no—excitement is building, nervous quivers flood her.
Stay calm, Chloe grounds herself.
“I will use a variety of implements on you,” he tells her. “Do you mind being marked?” His voice deepens with a serious tone.
In a quiet wavering voice, stippled with nerves, she answers, “No, no, not all, Master.”
She inhales in deeply. She’s ready.
He expertly ties her hands and ankles onto the bench using leather restraints. Faced down, hot anticipation is swelling in her chest, almost spilling over like an avalanche.
Next, he places a blindfold over her eyes. It’s an amazing one—confusingly, she can still open her eyes fully, yet she is in complete darkness. This sensory deprivation immediately heightens her awareness. She feels his fingers deftly unhooking her bra, her back exposed now.
“Now pick a number between one and five.”
“Two,” she says, feeling cautious.
“Ok,” he continues, “you were six minutes late, so two times six is…?”
“T… twelve, Master.” She pants. Oh my God, I didn’t get away with it! Realisation hits.
“Yes, good girl, that’s how many strikes I’m going to start with. And you are going to count.”
Oh. My. Fucking. Goodness! I’m melting already, this is so hot, he’s so masterful, in control. Her thoughts run away with her.
Chloe loves this power dynamic—she softens, submits, mentally giving in to him as she feels the first whack.
It’s overwhelming—unfamiliar, this relinquishment of control. But it’s more potent, more all-encompassing than she’s foreseen. Her skin stings as she almost forgets to count.
“One!” She breathes.
She assesses. Surely most people would find this utterly terrifying, but I trust him. She’s almost shocked to realise she is ‘in role’ so quickly and comfortably.
Whack, the noise sings out against her ass.
“Two,” she says quietly. The impact really is so hard. I can take this. She breathes inwardly, deeply.
I can say no or stop this at any time…
She is ultimately empowered by choosing to do this. But she is also under his control, giving up her power and her body. It’s such a strange alien, conflicting feeling as she is usually dominant and authoritative in her ‘real life’.
This is so freeing! she thinks.
He begins to whack her with a heavier flogger.
She counts, focusing her mind on the intense sensations, the energy in the room, the sounds and her breath. In between strikes he drags the many soft thick suede fronds across her back, buttocks and legs sensually. This feels intimate and almost caring. He isn’t rushing this process, and bizarrely she feels like a Goddess.
The weight of the flogger on her back is surprising. It knocks her very breath away. Its force reduces her to a mound of flesh, muscles, sinews and bones being subjected to this punishment. It’s humbling but at the same time, it’s exhilarating, so life-affirming, and she’s now breathing into the pain, riding the waves of happy hormones that begin to overcome her—engulf her.
Chloe continues counting dutifully.
“Are you ok?” He checks in with her.
“Yes, Master, I love it! Thank you, Master.” She sighs euphorically and continues to count as the flogger continues its efforts on her skin.
“Louder, keep going.” His masterful voice cuts through her consciousness.
It’s now taking all her concentration to focus on the numbers, as though they don’t make sense at all.
Are we near the end of this or just beginning? She feels confused and entirely discombobulated.
Chloe’s fully immersed now, at the same time sinking and floating. If she stopped to analyse, the strangeness of this it could be too much. But she is totally at one, it comes to her—this is a homecoming, an arrival.
It’s over. He’s stopped.
She hears his voice as she re-joins the present.
“Where am I?”
He gently releases her shackles and helps her stand from her prostrate position. Removing the blindfold, he walks her over to the red and gold chair.
She shivers, awash with emotions and the hot red sting on her surely glowing ass. He holds her by the shoulders and checks in again. She can feel the prick of hot tears stinging her eyes, blinking them back she nods, and he hands her a sheer black top.
“Put this on.” He commands.
She struggles slightly but manages to get it over her head—she is covered, but only just. Her nipples and breasts are clearly visible, pert and provoking.
He bends down to her level and looks into her eyes kindly, causing a dichotomy of feelings to course through her.
He takes a band from his pocket and gently pulls her hair into a ponytail, some stands of her hair left loose, framing her face. Again, there is that intimacy.
Next, from his pocket, he slowly retrieves a black ball gag. Her heart accelerates.
This is it! She quivers with dawning comprehension that he is about to realise her ultimate sexual fantasy.
He places it gently into her mouth, staring into her eyes intently as he secures it behind her head.
“There. Well done, Good Little Slut! You’re ready for your task.”
He walks over to the chair he has pulled over and sits down, facing her.
“Now, you are going to show me how you pleasure yourself.”
Her heart beats almost out of her chest, pounding with the possibilities and excitement of this.
It’s daunting, intimidating. She’s never done this, not for anyone. Faltering, her whole body peppered with nerves, she answers with a shy nod—unable to utter words now her mouth is so obscenely occupied.
Obediently she starts to touch her legs, tentatively trailing her fingers over her thighs.
He sits opposite, drink in hand almost leisurely, nodding slowly with encouragement.
Spurred on, she gasps and glances up at him, looking for reassurance. Although he doesn’t smile, his expression beams approval.
Fuck, this is so hot!
She strokes herself, her fingers dawdling gently across her skin—finding her suspender garter, she pulls it up and then releases it teasingly.
Snap, it’s a satisfying sound. Chloe is really getting into her stride now.
She leans forward in the chair, continuing to caress her legs. Her confidence builds—she is enjoying this, a lot.
Luxuriating, she rests her hands on her knees as she gazes down, feeling suddenly coy again.
Breathe… I can do this. Chloe turns her head slowly to one side, brushing her hands up and down her legs. She focuses on the sensations, pleasure mounting. As her hands delicately stroke her inner thighs, she looks at him and repeats these movements teasingly.
Take your time, you’ve got this, she thinks, composure regained. She leans back, her head supported against the chair. She starts rubbing closer to her groin. Her rhythm builds, and tension bubbles up as she releases audible pants.
She looks him in the eyes as she rubs her breasts, stroking them provocatively, her hands move down, pressing her clit rhythmically through the lace of her pants.
Cheekily she flicks the strap, enjoying the sting of the elastic.
He sits impassively, holding his drink and slowly swirls the liquid in the glass as he watches her little show attentively.
She glances at the table and reaches for a dildo which has somehow materialised. Perfect timing as she’s desperate for penetration. She pulls her knickers aside and teases her moist slit with the cold hard rubber of the toy.
Recently she has enjoyed making herself come in front of a mirror. The sight of her own thigh pulled up, exposing her dripping wet cunt drives her insane with desire. The way it anchors her, but it’s also as if someone else is controlling her. Her limbs are not her own.
She does this now, clenching her thigh tight, knowing that Master S has a maximum view—this thought is a huge turn-on.
When did she become such an exhibitionist? This is so exhilarating. Huge waves of pleasure escalate as she finally thrusts the dildo deeper and deeper into her wet folds. Her pulsating clit throbs under her fingers as she quickens. Her breathing is hitching and rapid.
Oh my God, am I actually going to come? Chloe can’t believe how filthy and wrong this feels, but yet so right. She begins edging herself, feeling the rushes of hot passionate want coursing through every cell. Her gasps are becoming so loud now in spite of the silicone cramming and muzzling her mouth.
She can’t contain her saliva, which drips wantonly and uncontrollably from her lips, hot wet viscous spit slides down her neck.
Fuck! This is unbelievable! She has an out-of-body experience—erotic images of herself in this degrading, defiling position flash through her mind, yet she is owning this.
This is it! Oh. My. Fucking. God….!
She increases pace. Furiously plunging her depths now, rubbing and gyrating as the beautiful crescendos climb higher and impossibly higher. Her heart is thumping with such force it’s virtually exploding out of her body. Her hips undulate uncontrollably with exquisite waves of this all-encompassing, utterly consuming, pure primal desire.
She can’t stop now even if she wanted to.
She unravels. She melts. She retreats within and submits entirely. Her body bucks, her thoughts liquify, she judders and writhes in a frenzy of pure unbridled lust.
She eventually recovers and calmly stands up, in control again. She walks over to him and speaks humbly.
“How did I do Master?”
The End
Read all about the wonderful author: Annabel Bruges
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