Domination Inc. (9 page)

‘As she's dishing up the starter, which I quickly realise is asparagus spears in butter, Richard announces, “This is my slave, Alice. Alice has agreed that she is to be the property of everyone here for the evening. She likes to be treated quite roughly, so don't be shy about how you use her.”

‘I'm sure they can all see the alarm in my face, but when I try to say something Richard asks, “Have I given you permission, Alice?” and I have to bite my lip. “Now,” he orders me, “take your place at my feet.”

‘In front of the others I have to kneel at the side of his chair, my hands still tied behind my back. Everyone begins to eat, but because my hands aren't free, I can do nothing. So Richard feeds me, holding the buttery asparagus out for me to nibble. It's delicious, but the juices are running messily down my chin and onto the tops of my breasts, and I can't wipe them away.

‘As the others eat they chat amongst themselves, and I realise that the other young couple know Richard quite well. From what they say it soon becomes obvious that I'm not the first middle-aged woman Richard has brought here for this treatment. He describes it as “charity work”, and the fact that he's dismissing me and my feelings so contemptuously hurts me, and makes me want to do everything he might ask to his satisfaction, so he can't find fault with me.

‘When the first course has been cleared away, the owner's wife, Marion, serves everyone with rare roast beef, Lyonnaise potatoes and beautifully-prepared vegetables. I wonder if Richard will feed me again, but this time a plate is placed on the floor by me. All the food has been cut up into bite-sized pieces, and it's obvious that I'm intended to eat from the floor, like a pet. It's so humiliating, and I can hear them all commenting on my efforts not to overbalance as I kneel and feed myself.

‘My head is down over my plate as I hear the cottage's owner say, “So, tell me, Richard, what are you letting them wear underneath their dress these days?”

‘Richard is laughing as he replies, “Why don't you find out for yourself, Michael?” The next thing I know the owner is crouching down beside me, and his hand is lifting the hem of my dress.

‘“Hmm,” he says, “a good ample arse there. How does it colour when you punish her?”

‘“I haven't had that pleasure yet,” Richard admits. I want to protest at the way this Michael's hand is now roaming over my bum cheeks and down into the cleft that divides them, as if he, and not Richard, owns me. And then I realise that I've used the word “owns”, even if it's only in my own head, and I know I'm in further over my head than I ever imagined, and I don't have any idea where this is all going to end. I think of Keith, blissfully unaware of what's happening to me. He thinks I'll be sitting in Gillian's lounge, swapping gossip over a glass of white wine, instead of kneeling here, indecently clad, with a man I've never seen until today stroking me between my legs.

‘Suddenly a voice pipes up, “So, what are her tits like, then?” It's the other young man, whose name I believe to be James.

‘“I'll show you them, if you like,” Richard tells them. I look up at him, gaping stupidly. “Hurry up,” he says. “Stand up.”

‘I scramble awkwardly to my feet, and stand there. I can't raise my head to meet the gaze of anyone in that room. I'm so ashamed of having placed myself in this position, where I'm at the mercy of these cruel, thoughtless strangers, and yet I can't deny that part of me is excited by the thought that Richard is about to bare my breasts for them.

‘He tugs at the cups that are built into the dress, and I feel cool air on my suddenly naked breasts, which sag down under their own weight. I realise, too, that Michael hasn't bothered to hike the hem down, and they can see the tangle of hair at the fork of my thighs as well.

‘“So, shall we make the slut play with herself?” the girl who's come with James asks. “I love it when they have to do that. It's so undignified for them.”

‘All the frustrations I've had to endure so far have aroused me to the point where, much as it would humiliate me to do so, I'd rub my clit and stick my fingers inside myself while they watched, if only it would put out the fire that's burning in my sex. Richard shakes his head. “I've got a better idea. Didn't you say it was banana split for dessert, Marion? Would you like to go and get it for us?”

‘She smiles, and hurries out of the room. I wait, dreading to think what might be about to happen. When Marion returns she has with her a can of that cream you can spray on to things, and a banana, thick, green and barely ripe. There's an air of anticipation in the room as she sets them down on the table.

‘Richard asks her if she would like to do the honours while he unties my wrists. The relief I feel at having my hands free at last is tempered by the sight of Marion peeling the skin off the banana, before garnishing it with a coating of cream. Then she hands it to me.

‘“I don't really need to tell you where that's going, do I, Alice?” Richard says. “Quickly now, bring yourself off.”

‘This is the most demeaning thing I've ever been asked to do in my life, and yet I can feel myself getting even wetter, my sex lips peeling apart in readiness. As the other guests watch I guide the banana to the opening of my pussy, and very gently push it home. It's colder than I expected, the cream liquefying slightly in the heat of my channel, but it feels so good to have it inside me. With five pairs of eyes looking on, I start to furiously thrust that banana in and out of myself, and that's the moment that triggers my orgasm – every time.'

Alice stopped, aware that the therapist had put her pen down and was listening intently. She didn't believe she had ever talked for so long, uninterrupted, in her entire life. She shifted on the couch. ‘That's it. That's where the fantasy ends. Tell me – am I abnormal?'

‘Oh no, not at all,' the therapist reassured her. ‘There are lots of women who come to me with submissive fantasies. They're so anxious about them when they arrive, and when they leave they feel nothing but relief.'

‘Now you mention it,' Alice said, ‘I do feel better for having talked to you.'

‘I'm sure you do, but that's only part of it.' The therapist rose to her feet as she spoke. ‘You remember when you first booked this appointment, it was stressed that our techniques here are somewhat unorthodox? Well, we believe in making sure the treatment is tailored exactly to the patient's needs. And it's become clear to me while you've been telling your story exactly what you need, Mrs Marber.'

‘And what is that?' Alice asked, a little alarmed by the growing severity she could detect in the therapist's tone.

The therapist quickly unbuttoned her white coat and shrugged it off her shoulders. Underneath, she was dressed in a high-necked bodysuit of shiny black PVC that clung to the curves of her breasts and hips. A cruel smile flickered across her lips. ‘You need a good hiding.'

‘But...' Alice spluttered. ‘There must be some mistake.'

‘None at all. This way, we will find out whether you secretly crave your desires to be translated into reality. Now, come on, off with that skirt, and your tights.'

Alice, stunned, reached obediently for the waistband of her skirt. She unbuttoned it and pulled down the zip, before dragging down the skirt and her tights in one swift movement. Beneath them she wore a pair of white cotton briefs, comfortable and functional.

The therapist had settled herself back on her chair, one hand behind her back. Alice suspected she was holding something, but could not see what it was. ‘Now, over my knee,' the therapist said.

Alice complied nervously. She had to admit the position she was being placed in was similar to her fantasy in that she was being ordered around by someone half her age. She waited for what seemed an eternity, conscious of her bare toes pressing against the cold, polished floorboards and her breasts hanging heavily, her nipples thrusting unexpectedly against the plain cotton.

‘Now, I think a dozen is necessary in a case like this,' the therapist said.

The first blow came down hard and fast on her right buttock, catching Alice off-guard. The pain was like nothing she had anticipated, and she jerked upright, clutching at her abused flesh.

‘Please, Mrs Marber, it's for your own good.' The therapist made it sound as though she was dealing with a naughty child. ‘And I do have other clients to see. Clients who aren't quite so problematical.'

As Alice was pushed forcibly back into place, she twisted her head just far enough to see that what the therapist was holding was a thick rubber paddle, roughly the size of a table tennis bat. She could not believe that such an innocuous-looking implement could be so painful. Mentally, she steeled herself for another blow. This time her right buttock was the target. She let out a yowl as the rubber seemed to imprint itself deeply on her flesh.

‘Think yourself fortunate, Mrs Marber,' the therapist said. ‘The really severe cases have to be punished with a caning, or maybe a round half-dozen with the birch. I assure you this is nothing in comparison.'

It might have been nothing to the therapist, Alice thought in anguish, as the paddle fell again, but it was everything to her. By the time the sixth of the allotted strokes had been dispensed, her whole bottom felt as though it was ablaze, her nerve-endings shrieking for the punishment to come to an end.

However, it seemed as though the therapist was determined to string the dozen strokes out a little longer. She ran her hand soothingly over Alice's cotton-covered bottom. Alice, lying passively in place, thought for a moment that she felt the lightest of touches down the cleft of her buttocks and over the gusset of her knickers, then dismissed it. Such treatment would be thoroughly unprofessional. But then, she asked herself, what was professional about being made to haul herself over this woman's knee and submit to a paddling? Or was she alarmed that if the therapist did touch her there, she would discover that Alice's underwear was damp from the excitement she had experienced while describing her fantasy, and that the strokes she had already taken had done nothing to diminish this excitement?

‘Halfway there, Mrs Marber,' the therapist said. ‘But I don't think we've quite got to the bottom of your submissive feelings, if you'll pardon the pun. You see, almost anyone could take a dozen strokes of this paddle, and not all of them would derive pleasure from it.'

So she does know I'm wet, Alice thought with a shiver. She barely had time to wonder where the conversation was leading before the therapist continued smoothly, ‘The true test of whether you are submissive – whether you do indeed derive pleasure from pain and humiliation – is if you allow me to continue your punishment after I've done this...'

As she spoke, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of Alice's knickers and began to pull. ‘Oh, no…' Alice murmured, but she did not attempt to stop the other woman from removing the garment. I must be submissive, she thought, feeling a rush of heat to her sex at the thought of taking the remaining six strokes on her naked backside. As in her fantasy, her soft pale buttocks were being bared to the gaze of a stranger, and it was not an unpleasant sensation.

‘Six more on the bare,' the therapist said. ‘Oh, I know it's going to hurt, Alice, but then the truth always does, doesn't it?'

Alice said nothing, waiting for the punishment to resume. This time there was nothing to shield her flesh, however ineffectually, from the force of the blows, and she whimpered and began to sob as the paddle slammed down repeatedly on her reddening cheeks. The therapist spaced the strokes evenly, but each one seemed to mount pain upon pain, until her backside felt swollen to twice its normal size.

When it was over she lay where she was, unable to move. She wanted to soothe the stinging heat away. She wanted a mirror, so she could see how her skin had blotched and reddened. But most of all, she wanted to reach down between her thighs and bring herself to orgasm.

‘Well done, Mrs Marber,' the therapist said, and her hand stroked over Alice's heated skin once more. ‘Very well done indeed.'

This time there was no mistaking it; her finger was skimming along the crease between Alice's bottom cheeks, and into the liquid well of her sex. She had never imagined that another woman might want to touch her there, and touch her so expertly. The finger had settled on her clitoris, flicking it with butterfly lightness, and Alice was conscious that she was wriggling on the therapist's lap, thrusting her hips in little movements that were subtly increasing the pre-orgasmic excitement she was feeling.

Now there was no more pain, only pleasure, as the therapist's finger moved faster, pushing Alice to the very brink. Her sobs were ones of ecstasy as she felt the tension in her loins build until it was almost unbearable, then break in a spiralling rush of sensation.

Embarrassed at having reacted quite so forcefully under the stimulation she had received, she shuffled off the therapist's lap and began to tug her briefs back into place.

‘I think you needed that just as much as you needed to be spanked,' the therapist observed.

Alice said nothing.

‘There's no reason to feel ashamed,' the therapist said. ‘It's quite a normal reaction, I can assure you. I'd be surprised if you didn't feel better for having unburdened yourself like that.'