Tales of Pleasure and Pain (11 page)

Instead of leading me to the back room this time, he led me to the stacks, to a ladder he used to reach books on the top shelves; it leaned against the cases at an angle, comfortable enough to climb . . . and for other things, it was soon made clear.

I stood looking at the ladder imagining all sorts of things, but waiting for Geoffrey's move.

"Hand me the strap," he instructed.

Reaching into the box, I pulled out the leather. It must have been nearly three feet long, what a compelling piece! The rose remained by itself amid the tissue.

"The rose?" I asked.

"For later," he said.

I accepted that, though just looking at his two gifts side by side in the box, I was reminded of the contrast and the similarities between the two. The soft leather, the soft petals. The harsh stings of the strap against flesh, the harsh pricking of the rose thorns. The beauty of the rose, the coarse severity of the strap. . . .

"I want you totally Julia, not just a little part of you," he said.

I'd hoped to hear those words from him, but with that cold steely edge they took on a whole other meaning.

"You are a fine submissive, you have it in your blood, just like I have my dominance in mine."

I listened to him carefully, the commanding energy streaming from his voice and loins was arousing beyond comprehension.

"I want this relationship permanent, I want it complete, and I sense your devotion to that idea is as real as my own."

I didn't know if I should speak. If I should, I wasn't sure what to say. Was this a proposal of some binding contract, of marriage . . . or what?

"I want to punish you when I will, everyday if I choose, or not for weeks, if I choose that. I want to be in every corner of your life - not just these weekly sessions. And I want you to submit because you want to, because you need to. I want you to become my perfect submissive."

"Oh God, I'm never perfect Geoffery," I blurted out. To relieve the tension probably, though it was the truth. I was trembling almost uncontrollably.

"Then I can punish you for your haughty, wanton, feisty ways, if that's what you need. Don't doubt I'll do it."

I looked at him, so stern, so honest. Wasn't this everything I'd been imagining? Wasn't this the bliss my dreams had showed me?

I turned around, without being asked.

I knew what he wanted, he didn't have to say it.

I raised my skirt and tucked it into the waist band. I spread my legs and leaned forward to rest against the leaning ladder. It was his plan.

Another sensation, and another adventure in our altered state of physical passion - the strap - was to me the ultimate in pain, in punishment, in submission.

My heat, my heart and my body were ready waiting to begin.

I heard the sizzle first, the strap snapped, but not against me, against the floor. I cringed before it landed on the bare wood, and was cringing still when I heard it hit, and was cringing seconds later when the second sizzle and snap landed a blow against my ass.

"Oh Gaaaaawd!" I cried, in one long lingering bellow.

"A dozen Julia." I heard him say. "Now count," he demanded.

The idea of concentrating on each blow enough to count, was contrary to my desire, there was no way I could count I thought, so I was silent.

"Count!" he demanded again, and the strap struck my ass with another resounding blow. "I start counting only when you start to count. Twelve! Begin!"

I wondered what dastardly deed had caused such incredible treatment, yet I loved the thought of it, and the sensation that the strap sent through me soared and mingled with all the other arousal so I was raging with desire and need, for more, for sex, for my hands between my legs, fingering my cunt, for his hands.

"One, please," I cried meekly.

Snap!

My body jerked. "Ooooh Gawd!"

"Two please," I cried again.

Snap!

My cry lifted into the air.

"Hush!" he said, not angrily, "you can't cry loudly out here my dear."

"Three please," I announced again.

Snap!

The strap roared through the air, and coming down on my lower rear, it wrapped around me rudely with a biting sting to my side. My cry was acute, as if I hadn't heard his admonishment for quiet. But he said nothing, waiting for me again.

"Four please," I said firmly, knowing that this would not be over until all twelve of the dozen strokes had landed squarely on my ass.

Snap! I jerked. I wondered how I appeared to him, so submissive before him, compliant with his wishes, my ass bared, my body laid out for his complete control.

"Five please," I said, we were half way there.

Snap!

The strap stuck, though I wondered if this time, it were not less vivid that the other blows.

"Six please," I said. The flood of tears that had filled my eyes was disappearing, whatever was happening with Geoffrey or with my body, I knew that this was not the pain I'd had before; it was easing in it's fierce bite, allowing me to feel not just the pain, but pleasure seconds after, as the heat spread throughout my ass and thighs.

"Seven please." Even my voice was less strained, the welcome blow sent tingles through me now, not pain.

I wiggled, feeling the throbbing between my legs. My sex was raw with need, and each blow now seemed only to heighten the feelings in my puss, as if there was some direct line between my ass and my cunt.

"Eight please." Would I be satisfied with twelve, maybe by then I'd want more.

"Nine please."

Sizzle. Snap! This blow struck harder than the last few, as a reminder of the pain. "Yeeeow." I was surprised, expecting another soft stroke. He was reminding me that he was still in command.

"Ten please," I whimpered lightly, the tears were coming back.

I heard him sigh, almost as if he were weary. I wondered what was in his mind, I certainly knew what was in mine.

"Eleven please."

This one was almost light and without saying "twelve", the last blow landed directly after the one before; and this one was almost as sweet as a tender caress.

Where the dozen stripes had descended on my rear, his hands followed. Where the stings were turning to bruises, and the flaming heat was descending into the tender folds and valleys of my private prize, his hands caressed. His deft fingers challenged all the stored power, opening it to release and let go, so it could flood me fully, swim over me, take me and explode.

His hands between my legs played with the moist center, he was preparing me for entry.

I could sense his clothes changing, perhaps his pants lowering though I couldn't see for sure. My eyes closed, it didn't matter what I saw, only what I felt.

When I felt his cock press against me, it was warm and hard, it's own need surging and insistent. His hands grabbed my punished ass on either side, to steady him as he hit the mark with a penetrating thrust.

He groaned deeply, the first real sign of satisfaction that I'd heard from Geoffrey; it was a welcome sound.

He grabbed my waist, and thrust again.

Though I'd not seen his prick before, I could tell it was long and thicker than I was used to; but the full feeling pleased me. Knowing I was to be completely and thoroughly taken, made me squeeze against it eagerly. I bucked back on him, waiting for him to thrust again and again and establish a rhythm that would take flight.

But not yet. He was content to move his prick slowly in and out, allowing the head to push against the door anew each time. The effect was amazing. Those tender folds massaged with a skillful awareness of female need, I churned on him loving it though wanting even more.

His hands massaged my ass, bearing down on it with a delightful zeal, knowing how my gasps and cries were from where he'd just made the flesh so tender with the strap.

"You sweet bitch," I heard him whisper. The vulgar sentiment, was exactly what I loved to hear in the heat of a good screw. He seemed to have all the right tricks up his sleeve, the ones that made me jerk and buck and wiggle against him for more, the ones that made my mind reel with more excitement.

He began to pulse inside me, to move more rapidly, and finally in rhythmic gesture, pulling in and out and in and out with a lusty abandon.

I heard his groans, next to mine, such savage music!

I loved the way he thrust against me, the way his hands controlled my ass, the way he reached underneath and manipulated my swollen lips.

"Oh god!" the cry was strictly pleasure.

He was cumming fast, his thrusts taking over everything. I couldn't wait for the roar, for the explosion; I wanted nothing more that his loins against my sore ass, slapping his thighs where it still burned and his final pleasure as I milked him dry.

"Aaaauggh!" he bellowed. "Aaauggh!"

I moved up and down on him naturally. It was my delight to please him so! I churned against him, pulsing hard, as his orgasm peaked, and then gradually died away.

He held me tightly in my place for a long time, his cock still pulsing in me as the sensations ceased, his hands still firmly hanging on to my well used bottom. I relaxed as best I could against the ladder.

When he finally pulled away, he turned me around. His arms swung around me, holding me as I stood on my feet. He knew my thighs were trembling from the vigorous workout, that I was exhausted and spent, but he wanted one thing more and wouldn't wait until later.

The red rose came out of no where. He used it to tickle the inside of my thighs. It felt cool and tender. With the rose first and then his hand he caressed my own soft places, and as he carefully fondled me in his arms, I came to my release gently and easily, not with the fury that I'd know all those nights of secret bliss alone; but quietly, peacefully, my whole body resting against his, submissively giving into the need that was rushing through me. It was different than I expected, and thoroughly satisfying.

There was a big overstuffed easy chair in the small office at the back of the shop. He led me there and set me down, the rose in my lap, the strap at my side on his desk.

We'll hang it here he said. He was already pounding a nail in the woodwork with a hammer he'd pulled from his desk. He was planning to hang the razor strap in clear view of anyone entering this office.

"But won't people ask what that's for?" I said.

"Of course and I'll tell them it's yours, and your mine, and that's the way we both like it.

I picked up the rose and smelled the pungent fragrance. He was right, I thought, I belonged to him and this little play of harsh and soft belonged to me. And that's the way we both liked it.