CHAPTER TWO
Howard Cole placed his glass of Willamette valley pinot noir on the
desk next to the computer and looked around the expensively furnished
home office to clear his mind. As was his nightly custom, he powered
up his computer to check his email. He grinned slightly as he
recalled his session with Krissy the previous week. He thought
briefly about how much more interesting his life had become in the
years since he had discovered organized BDSM and later, the internet.
"Life certainly has its surprises," he said before taking a sip from
the one glass of wine he allowed himself.
While he waited for the computer to complete the logon and download
procedure, he recalled the unlikely chain of events that led to his
unusual lifestyle.
From his elegant home in a heavily forested suburb of Seattle, Cole
reached out into the shadowy world of those who searched for
satisfaction via the internet. His occupation as a patent broker
allowed him ample time to pursue his true love, the sexual domination
of women.
He enjoyed being his own boss and was usually able to set his own
hours. His clients were major universities and small research
companies that needed to sell their patented ideas to various
industries. They usually met with him at his office in Bellevue where
he shared a receptionist and secretarial staff with four other
businessmen. None of them had the slightest understanding of his
unusual sexual tastes.
Most of the businessmen in his circle of friends brought their wives
or girlfriends to business related functions. Cole usually showed up
alone, which caused some speculation that he might be gay. In
reality, he simply did not want to mix his sex life with his work, for
obvious reasons.
He remembered that on the rare occasions when he brought a woman
friend, his colleagues and their wives would spend the next few days
trying to figure out what gave the woman such a mysterious air of
sexuality. Ill equipped to understand sexual submissiveness, they
usually decided it was something mundane, like her clothing or
perfume.
He had no idea what a strange direction his life would take when he
graduated from a Southern California law school in his late twenties
with a profound distrust of the adversarial legal system. During his
final year of school, he interned at a law firm specializing in
criminal defense and other trial work. The things he saw there
convinced him that he could never participate in the courtroom games
that his classmates loved. That was also when his wife announced that
he wasn't the kind of man she wanted to be married to and demanded a
divorce. Shortly thereafter, he discovered a talent for patent law
and never looked back. According to his estimate, he could retire at
age fifty and live very nicely for the rest of his life.
When the monitor finally displayed the list of incoming email, he
snapped back from his self analysis and quickly focused on the
messages.
Ah, three responses tonight, he noted. They were replies to the
personal ads that he had placed systematically on various websites and
newsgroups. Each of his ads was slightly different, but they all
contained basically the same message.
Cole described himself in the ads as a professional dominant for women
only. Although the ads didn't mention it, his fee was negotiable. It
would usually depend on what the customer could afford. He didn't
need the money, but it helped establish a very important boundary. It
also created an atmosphere that allowed for some intensely hot play
sessions.
When he first considered this idea, he was told by his friends from
the Seattle SM scene that there was no such thing as a professional
male dominant, unless you wanted to dominate men, of course. It was a
simple case of supply and demand in the sex industry. The
conventional wisdom also said that most, if not all, submissive women
were looking for a long term relationship. After some research and
several experiments in advertising, he discovered that there was a
small, but significant market for his services. Not enough to make a
living, which he didn't need anyway, but enough to keep him busy with
interesting new women.
Once he had worked out the system, there was a slow, but steady stream
of women who answered his internet ads. Most of them lived too far
away, didn't have the money to travel or were just too frightened to
meet with a stranger for such an intimate and dangerous activity.
Cole gently discouraged many others who did not meet his personal
standards for physical appearance or intelligence. About two or
three times a year, he would arrange to meet with a new correspondent
who seemed to be a good potential customer. In the back of his mind
was always the possibility that he might meet a woman who could become
his permanent partner.
He discovered that many submissive women didn't feel like they could
really give up control to a man who was going to be a major part of
their lives. A professional dominant, on the other hand, could do his
job and vanish. The woman could carry on safely with her normal life,
keeping only the treasured memories of her submissive sexual
experience.
Many of the women he met were in situations that prevented them from
seeking the kind of relationship they truly desired. Perhaps they
were married and unable to leave. Perhaps their career or public
image was at risk. Others wished to safely learn about their
submissive feelings. It seemed that each woman had her own unique
reason for seeking his services.
He dropped out of the Seattle SM scene when he realized that he wasn't
finding what he needed there. By avoiding public gatherings of the SM
community, it was also less likely that his secret life would become
known to his vanilla friends and colleagues.
He would still occasionally meet his kinky friends at Beyond the Edge
Cafe, the unofficial meeting place of the leather community. Only a
few of his most trusted scene friends knew of his second occupation
and they would occasionally send him a woman who needed his services.
A meeting of the local SM club had to be something special for him to
attend these days. He might go if a nationally known figure was
speaking. Laura Antoniou had been at the last one and Cole had
enjoyed it greatly. He sat in the back and waved politely at old
friends who recognized him. After the meeting, instead of joining the
milling crowd of people eager to meet potential play partners, he
waited only long enough for Laura to autograph a set of her books for
him. Then he quietly disappeared from the room.
Now, staring intently at the computer monitor, he quickly read and
eliminated all three of the responses. Not my type, he sighed. He
sent each of them a polite reply telling them that he was currently
unavailable. Then he answered a two day old email from a previous
customer who wanted to schedule another session. Their first two
sessions had been in her home, but this time she was interested in
being "kidnapped" and taken away to be ravished by Cole.
He quickly typed an email message:
"Dear Victoria,
I would be pleased to provide you with a kidnapping scene on Sunday
the 18th. The usual rules will apply, except that this time I will
not specify a fee. After you have had a few days to think about the
experience, simply send me whatever amount you feel is appropriate.
I will need the full details of your schedule that day. Make certain
that you are available until at least 10 PM."
Cole sent the message and shut down the computer.
He thought about the particular fondness he had for Victoria. It
wasn't just the fact that she had a very sexy, mature body. Under her
too perfect exterior and snobbish attitude was a little girl who
needed to be dominated. He also had a great deal of respect for her.
Victoria wasn't a thrill seeking young SM player like Kristina. She
was the mature female of the species, experienced and formidable.
Too bad her obsession with her looks and her society lifestyle were so
annoying, he thought. Still, she had responded very nicely during
their sessions and he felt like there was potential for more good
play. Unlike some of his customers, she didn't seem to mind marks and
bruises, as long as they could be covered by her clothing. In fact,
she had indicated that she would like it a lot rougher if possible.
Cole grinned at the thought.
***
At that moment, in the elegant ladies' room of a historic hotel in
downtown Seattle, Victoria Windham-Jenkins checked her make up for the
fourth time. She was forty two years old, but looked like she was
thirty. "A young thirty," she said to herself as she reshaped the
outline of her slightly too bright lipstick. It made her feel better
after her exchange of insults with a snobbish couple in the grand
dining room a few minutes earlier.
She was aware that both her mood and her behavior had been gradually
deteriorating in recent weeks. I'm getting to be such a bitch, she
thought, it reminds me of that weird movie I watched last week. What
was that Navajo word for life-out-of-balance? Koyanisqat-something?
She tried to remember exactly how long it had been since her last
session with Howard Cole. Was it four months ago or five, she
wondered? Her secretary had jokingly pointed out one of Cole's
internet ads last year and Victoria had since experienced two
successful sessions with the professional dominant.
Victoria's wealthy husband had died a decade before, leaving her with
a company that controlled two hundred thousand acres of prime timber
land and two world class paper mills. There was more money than she
could possibly spend. She still missed the old bastard, though. He
was so deliciously rough and he always seemed to know when she needed
it. She constantly tested him and she could still remember how his
big hand would bruise her bare bottom when she pushed him too far.
Actually, she thought, I could use a little bit of that right now.
Although she was technically the Chairman of the Board, her presence
was rarely required at company headquarters. A veritable army of
managers and accountants took care of things quite nicely without her.
When she was not attending society functions she spent her time in the
gym and at various health spas being wrapped in odd substances
guaranteed to preserve one's youthful skin tone. As yet, she had
avoided the plastic surgeon. It was a matter of pride, which she had
in abundance.
She paid a small fortune to keep a hairdresser on call at all times to
maintain her elaborate bleached blonde hairstyle. She copied it from
Farrah Fawcett almost twenty years ago, but she thought of it as her
trademark and would never consider changing it. Looking in the mirror
one last time, she admired her bright green eyes, then patted her hair
and smoothed the low cut velvet gown around her womanly curves.
As she left the ladies' room, she cheered herself with the thought
that men were always in plentiful supply. They would compete among
themselves to see who could serve her most sincerely. She remembered
a recent art gallery opening, where she had counted four attractive
men of various ages who swarmed around her offering flutes of
champagne, crab cocktails and radishes that were carved into perfect
little flowers.
To intimidate the other women that night, she had worn a tight red
evening dress that displayed her large breasts and narrow waist. That
sexy Italian artist told me I looked like Marilyn Monroe, she recalled
with a smug little smile. She remembered how she took the lucky
fellow home with her that night and discarded him the next morning as
if he were an empty wine bottle.
Her memories ended as she returned to the party and surveyed the
crowd. Tonight she had her eye on a handsome young doctor. She
watched him show a mouth full of perfect white teeth when he grinned
at a joke. "He'll do nicely," she thought while moving in for the
kill and trying unsuccessfully to suppress a shark-like grin. The
result was never in doubt. They left the party early and her chauffeur
drove them both to her place. The poor doctor was used and sent home
by midnight.
Afterwards lying alone in her gigantic bed, she thought of her late
husband, Eric, and wished that he was there to give her what she
really needed. Fast and easy sex was better than nothing, she
figured, but she could still feel a tension within her that would be
impossible to describe to anyone else. She reflected briefly on her
arrangement with Howard Cole and thought, I guess I do have something
to look forward to, if I can just hold out till next week.
When Victoria awoke the next Sunday morning, she remembered that she
had given the housekeeper the day off. She was alone in her very
large house. It had twenty three rooms, an outdoor swimming pool that
was of little use in Seattle, and a smaller house for the servants.
Cole hadn't told her when she would be kidnapped, but since he had
asked her where she would go and when, she expected it to happen when
she left the house to have lunch at her favorite Sunday restaurant.
She told her driver to take the day off, so she would be free to go
out alone.
After a very light breakfast, she got into the shower and started to
shave. She always shaved her labia and left just a little triangle of
hair above. After shaving, she spent several minutes stroking herself
and thinking about what might happen to her later that day. She was
reasonably certain that Cole had understood her requests for rougher
play. Just as she was on the verge of coming, she stopped the erotic
self stimulation in order to leave herself with a nice edge. "Oooh,
gotta stop now," she said to herself.
Having a hair stylist on call, she normally did not wash her own hair.
Unfortunately, the stylist was not available today and she resigned
herself to being without her perfect hairstyle until tomorrow. It's
going to get messed up anyway, she hoped. Reaching for the shampoo,
she proceeded to wash her long blonde hair. It pleased her to see
that she remembered how.
With her eyes tightly closed, she put her head under the shower stream
and rinsed out the floral scented shampoo. Without warning, a strong
arm reached past the frilly shower curtain and wrapped around her
waist. She was lifted completely out of the tub and a black cloth bag
was placed over her head before she could identify the intruder. She
hoped it was Cole, but she wasn't expecting him for a few more hours.
With her heart pounding, she said meekly, "Howard, is that you?"
The intruder was in the process of pulling her arms behind her back
and snapping a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. A muffled voice said
simply, "Shut up, Bitch!" It didn't sound at all like Howard. She
was completely terror-stricken.
Still damp from the shower, naked, handcuffed and shivering with fear,
she was forced to walk through the house to the garage. The intruder
lifted her into a vehicle that seemed to be a van of some sort and
pushed her down onto the carpeted floor. He strapped her down firmly
to the floor with several wide nylon straps that felt like rough seat
belts, then covered her with a thick, soft quilt. She was unable to
move or see, but she heard someone get into the driver's seat. Then
the garage door opened and the van drove out.
When her panic had subsided a bit, she called out to the driver, "Who
are you, where are you taking me?" He ignored her completely.
Oh God, I've really been kidnapped! she thought in panic. Her
corporate security department had warned her that this was a
possibility and now it had happened. She felt very frightened, but at
least it was warm beneath the quilt, which was apparently filled with
goose down. Maybe they'll just keep me for a few days until the ransom
is paid. I certainly have enough money for that, she mused.
The pressure of the tight straps and the gentle rocking movement of
the vehicle gradually calmed her and created a warm submissive
feeling. Somehow the feeling combined with her fear and produced a
subtle erotic aura. Blinded by the cloth bag and completely immobile,
there wasn't much to do but relax.
After a long time, the van seemed to drive into another garage and she
heard the electric rumbling as the door closed. The unseen driver
opened the side door of the van and released the straps. With upward
pressure on her cuffed wrists behind her back, he forced her to walk
into a house and down a flight of stairs. She thought she was in a
basement, but it was quite warm and the floor felt like smooth
varnished wood. There was a slight smell of perfume, or was it
incense?
Still without a word, the man pushed her face down onto a firm bed and
removed the cloth bag from her head. Before she could turn to look at
him, he placed a padded leather blindfold over her eyes that was held
in place with a strong elastic band. She was surprised when he took a
minute to comb out her damp hair and dry it with a towel. The touch
of the comb felt very intimate. Damn, I'm getting turned on, she
realized.
Then the handcuffs were removed and leather bindings of some sort were
firmly attached around each wrist. He pulled her across the smooth
floor and attached her wrists to something in front of her. A moment
later, her arms were pulled straight up above her head. She was able
to keep the strain off her wrists by holding a leather strap that
crossed the palm of each hand.
She didn't know what to expect next. The kidnapper still hadn't
spoken more than three words, so she had no clue as to why she had
been forced into this humiliating position. Except for the leather
restraints on her wrists, she was totally naked and exposed to
anything the kidnapper wished to do. She could feel that her large
breasts were nicely displayed by her raised arms. She was very proud
to have such attractive breasts at her age. As her ankles were
fastened to the floor about two feet apart, she struggled between fear
and arousal. When she thought about how her shaved cunt was now
exposed, she knew that arousal was going to win.
The man removed her blindfold. He stood behind her so she still
couldn't identify him, but she could tell that she was in a darkened
room with a single spotlight shining down on her. Nearly blinded by
the sudden light, she could just make out the shape of a video camera
on a tripod with a red light blinking. Perhaps the kidnapper was
making a tape to send with a ransom note? Who would be looking at
that tape? The thought made her hold in her stomach and thrust out
her chest to show off her lush figure.
The blindfold was suddenly replaced, but not before she had looked
down at her nude body and noticed how her firm breasts were thrust
forward and her nipples were as hard as little rocks. The feeling of
debasement was strong and it stimulated an increasing wetness between
her legs.
***
The kidnapper decided to enjoy himself a bit and started slowly
caressing her. No kisses, he didn't want her to feel his beard.
Seeing her without her usually perfect hairstyle made her seem more
than naked. The strong spotlight emphasized the fashionable paleness
of her skin. Her milky white breasts were made to be offered in this
position, he thought. He made sure to pinch and twist the erect pink
nipples, then squeezed each breast hard several times. He lifted and
dropped each one repeatedly to appreciate their resilience and weight.
Reaching down between her legs, he started to lightly stroke her
slightly damp cunt. Hmmm, freshly shaved, he noticed. After a few
minutes, he found her clitoris, which was as hard as her nipples. She
jerked when he touched it, betraying its extreme sensitivity. The
ankle restraints made it impossible for her to bring her legs
together, granting him free access to her erotic center.
After several minutes of light touching and teasing, his semi-willing
victim was nearly ready to scream from frustration. Removing his hand
from between her legs, he stepped back and picked up a four foot
single tailed whip that his years of practice allowed him to control
perfectly. To make sure that it was properly flexible he cracked it
in the air a few feet behind Victoria's back. The sound was like a
small caliber gunshot. He enjoyed seeing her jump and fight against
her bonds.
***
The threatening snaps of the whip frightened Victoria and she began to
make sexy whimpering noises as she realized that she did not have the
slightest control over what was going to happen next.
With a series of gentle overhand strokes, the braided nylon cracker on
the end of the whip started to kiss her pale skin. Just a light snap
on her shoulder blade, then a stronger one on her left ass cheek. The
impacts burned like fire for thirty seconds, then left a hot glow
behind. Very light strokes alternated with moderate ones for several
minutes, leaving distinct red welts on her upper back, buttocks and
thighs.
There was a slow, regular rhythm to her punishment that added to her
arousal and her desire to surrender herself to her captor. Every ten
to fifteen strokes, the whip would crack near her helpless body with a
loud report, re-igniting her fear. A few strokes began to creep
around her generous hips leaving more raised red stripes there.
She could feel every one of the burning welts, although she had lost
count after fifty lashes.
***
The thrill of dominating the normally haughty woman was making him
hard and his rapid heartbeat was almost audible. "I feel so alive
when I do this," he thought. There was an almost painful pressure as
his cock tried to find a path for expansion. He would have to remove
his jeans soon if this continued and he decided to pause for a moment
to regain control. To regain his composure, he concentrated on his
technical skills and carefully used a backstroke to place several
lashes between her open thighs, setting fire to her already overheated
labia.
He walked around her, admiring her body and noticing how vulnerable
she looked, blindfolded and hanging there within easy reach. I love
the way this position emphasizes her hipbones and the way her breasts
stand out and beg for attention, he thought. He sensed that it was
time for another hard stroke, this one needed to strike an unmarked
area of white skin just below her well shaped right bottom cheek.
***
By this time, Victoria was sure it was Cole. He was playing her like
a musical instrument. Nobody else understood her responses well
enough to do that to her. Gasping between lashes, she cried out,
"God, you're good Howard. I'm so horny I could die!"
Pulling the blindfold off, he smiled and said, "You are such a slut,
Vicky."
"I am not a slut!"
"Yes you are. Look how wet you get when you're tied and whipped. I'm
not stopping until you admit it. Admit that you're a horny little
tramp who needs to be dominated."
He adjusted the overhead rope to pull her wrists higher, forcing her
up onto her toes. The harsh restraints stretched her voluptuous frame
to its limits.
She turned her head to get a glimpse of Cole standing behind her. The
handsome face with its sinister beard and the studious glasses
reminded her of how hot she was for the man. The pressure of her arms
against the side of her head told her that her damp hair was nearly
dry and must look horrible. It was bad enough being put on display in
such a lewd manner, but she shuddered with humiliation at the thought
of being seen without her usual perfect hairstyle.
Cole didn't mind a bit. He thought that her nicely stretched body
looked quite delicious, especially when forcibly stripped of its
artificial decoration. He moved around in front of her and carefully
aimed the thin whip at her right breast.
"No! Please... not my tits!"
She moaned and watched fearfully as the tip burned a red line into
the inner curve of her sexy cleavage. She tried to shake her chest
from side to side to spoil his aim, but he slowly covered her thrust
out bosom with one stinging welt after another. The delightful
jiggling of her breasts only spurred him on. He saved her engorged,
sensitive nipples for last.
She was biting her lip to keep from saying the one humiliating thing
that would make him stop, when she realized that he was taking aim at
her highly aroused left nipple. She was a strong willed woman, but
her eyes opened wide when the whip lashed her helpless teat. Almost
instantly, before the pain could arrive at her brain, he had done the
same to her other nipple. Throwing her head back she let out a long
scream that echoed off the walls of the large room. Hanging there
whimpering as the pain in her breasts slowly diminished, she said,
"You're right, Howard, I am a slut. I need to be fucked so bad I
can't stand it another second."
"So, you're a horny little slut, are you? You'll have to beg me to
fuck you. Do you want it that bad, Little Vicki Slut?" He slid three
fingers inside her while using his other hand to lightly brush her
abused nipples.
Victoria sucked in a huge breath as she felt her vaginal muscles relax
and invite the invading fingers deeper. A large quantity of her slick
fluid flowed onto Cole's hand. She was terribly embarrassed by her
obvious need, but it didn't stop her from begging.
"Yes, please sir, I really need it now! Fuck me, please fuck me!"
Victoria had never felt so degraded and debased.
***
Cole lowered her until he could unfasten her wrist and ankle
restraints from their attachment points. Then with the leather cuffs
still on, he led her to a low bed in the corner. "Get on your knees
slut, you're going to be fucked like an animal. Get your head down
all the way. Arch your back. Stick that cunt out for me." He
reached beneath her with one hand to roughly fondle her large breasts,
which were hanging straight down in a tantalizing way. His other hand
slapped her welted ass and stroked her cunt to bring her arousal to a
peak. He quickly removed his clothing and touched his aching cock,
which confirmed his extreme horniness.
Cole slipped a thin textured condom onto his thick organ and knelt
behind her. The view of her hips and cunt was intoxicating. He
slipped easily into her wet opening and began long slow thrusts that
gradually increased in speed and power. He always used a condom with
his paying customers, partly to protect himself and partly to help
delay his own orgasm. He was glad for the reduced sensation this
time, since he had become highly aroused by dominating the proud
Victoria.
***
Being fucked from behind was Victoria's favorite position, but she
never allowed her lovers to take her that way. She thought it was
demeaning and didn't want them to see her like that. Being ruthlessly
whipped, then fucked doggy style by someone who really knew how to use
her was something from her hottest and most secret fantasy. Her skin
was still burning from nearly a hundred thin welts, when the pounding
of Cole's cock pushed her over the edge. She came in a long series of
violent internal spasms and a guttural scream that sounded as if she
were dying.
***
Cole was breathing heavily, not from the physical exertion, but from
the intense concentration. He was just a bit disappointed when she
collapsed forward onto her face. "Humph!" he muttered. "You're not
getting off that easily Miss Vicky."
She seemed completely incapacitated as he rolled her over onto her
back. He quickly fastened the wrist cuffs to the head of the bed and
used soft ropes to pull her ankle cuffs to each side, leaving her cunt
gaping and ready for his attention. When she opened her eyes he saw
her look at his face, then at his hard cock. He felt the wave of
total lust that she projected. It was obvious. Even though their
relationship was strictly limited, at that moment she wanted him
inside her more than any man she had ever known.
"Please, please, I need more!" she begged, while trying to thrust her
wanting pussy toward him.
Warming up on a nearby chair was an electric massager with a large
flat head heated to several degrees above body temperature. Grasping
the cylindrical handle, Cole turned it on and began to slide the warm,
flat, vibrating surface up and down the slippery length of her shaved
vulva. He varied the pressure in time with the movement of her hips
creating a symphony of sexual stimulation.
Straining against her soft bonds and panting like she had just run a
marathon, Victoria had two or three more earth shattering orgasms
before Cole decided to give her his own cock again. He released her
legs, then held them up together while he knelt and pushed himself
fully into her warm depths. Her legs folded conveniently over his
shoulder. The extra tightness caused by holding her legs together
helped offset the effect of the condom and the soaking wet cunt.
Seeing her hands still restrained above her head reminded him that he
was in complete control.
He looked down at her breasts, which had flattened considerably in
this position, but now jiggled dramatically with his thrusting. "Nice
tits, my little slut, you should see how they bounce when I fuck you
like this," he said in a humiliating tone. Victoria tried to respond
verbally, but could only manage a series of gasps and grunts.
The physical and emotional stimulation soon had him on the verge of
coming and he slapped her welted ass with his hand just as he started
to spurt. Even though Victoria was exhausted, Cole's loud groan of
pleasure and strenuous thrusting forced her to come once more.
Nearly an hour later, when they had both recovered enough to talk, he
inspected her for any cuts or bleeding. She was covered with thin
welts about four inches long. Fortunately, none of the welts had
broken the skin and they were all in areas that would heal nicely.
"You'd better stay away from the health spa for a while. There's no
way you're going to explain this," he said. "You won't be showing any
cleavage either," he noted, while looking at her striped breasts.
"I know, but it was worth it. I feel so relaxed, so balanced, it's
almost like being high. I can survive the rat race for another few
months now. Thanks, Howard... really."
She grinned and pulled him into a lover's hug. "Don't you worry
about me, I'll heal up OK."
He showed her that the video camera had been a fake. It was all part
of the performance. She took some time attempting to make her hair
look better, then asked for a scarf to cover it. He drove her home
and handed her the garage door opener that he had used to gain
entrance to her house. When she asked how he got it, he simply
grinned and said, "A pro-Dom can't tell all his secrets."
Victoria turned to watch him drive away. In many ways she wanted him
for her own, but she knew that it was best to keep their relationship
just as it was. Turning to go inside, she started to think of her
next social obligation, a party that she was hosting in a week. Her
newfound state of relaxation allowed her to contemplate her duties
without the tension that had been present the day before.
A few days later Cole received a letter from Victoria addressed in her
excellent handwriting. Inside he found a personal check for two
thousand dollars and a one word note that said "Thanks."
