Suburban Bliss

Part II: Julie

Dear master,

The last couple of weeks, two things happened that I think - I hope! - are going to change my life. First I found a book. I was at my favourite bookstore downtown, browsing for nothing in particular, when I picked up a book that didn't ring a bell at all. I don't know why I took it from the shelf. It didn't stand out in any way, its cover entirely black, no picture whatsoever. I started reading the first pages and within minutes my face was all red and my hands were trembling. I couldn't believe it! This book was about me! This was what I've always dreamed of.

The book is called “The Story of O” by a French author called Pauline Reage. You probably know it. After reading a few more pages I went to the till all nervous, the book sandwiched between two other books that I had randomly picked so people wouldn't notice what I was buying. It almost felt illegal, like shoplifting. The girl at the till smiled at me. Was it a knowing smile? I fumbled with my wallet, dropped the coins that I got as change and raced out of the bookstore and back home. I finished the book that same night, in one big gulp. To say I was excited doesn't do justice to what I was feeling. My heart was racing, my throat was dry but I didn't allow myself time to get a drink. The next day I read the book again, and then again. I've read it more than a dozen times already.

Then, just as I was beginning to wonder if there could be a way to make something like this happen to me too, I found your ad yesterday. I'm totally stunned. This cannot be a coincidence. There has to be a reason for this.

So here I am, begging you to make me your slavegirl. I hope you find me atractive enough. You can do anything to me that's in the book, and more I suppose. Please take me, you won't regret it.

Yours in submission,

Julie

***

She had included three photo's of herself; one headshot, one in which she was wearing an evening dress, and one in bikini. She looked like the proverbial girl next door, the hot version. Early to mid twenties. Long blond hair, with a slight wave, blue eyes, nice tan, an athletic body and fantastic tits; big but not too big. Most noticeable however was her smile. She had the biggest, widest, whitest smile he'd ever seen. A generous smile, one that radiated joy and kindness. He imagined her as a caring, happy person.

On Monday he sent her a message asking for her phone number. She replied within minutes. That evening at eight, he called her.

“Hello.”

“Hi, is this Julie?”

“Yes, yes it is!” She sounded excited and nervous. Good, he thought, she should be.

“Julie, you responded to my personal ad, is that correct?”

“Yes! Yes sir. That's right!”

“Julie, I've had lots of replies to that ad. More than I expected, to be honest. I have selected a few respondents that I want to meet in person. You are one of them. Are you free this weekend?”

“Eh, yes, yes sir, of course I am!”

“Good.” He talked slowly and deliberately. “I want us to meet at the cafe in the park, the one with the terrace overlooking the river. Do you know that place?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Good. Be there Saturday at 2 PM, just after lunch. Find a free table on the terrace, order something to drink and wait for me to approach you. Don't sit there looking around for me. Bring a magazine or something to keep you occupied. If I haven't shown up by 3, something unexpected has come up. In that case you go home and wait for my call. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” she answered. “Sir, how will I recognize you?”

“You won't. You don't have to. I will recognize you. All you have to do is wait. When I come to your table you'll know it's me.”

“OK.”

“Any other questions?”, he asked.

“No sir. Oh, yes, actually I do have one: what do you want me to wear?”

“Ah. Good question. If we get along, one we will address many times in future. This first time, I'll leave it up to you though. I don't know your wardrobe yet. But here are my thoughts, for what it's worth. You are going on a date with someone you've never met before, who I assume you will want to impress. But it's coffee on a Saturday afternoon, not the opera or a club or something, so you don't want to overdo it. So dress nicely, but don't overdress. Does that give you enough guidance?”

“Yes sir, I think so, thank you.”

“I'll see you on Saturday then.”

The cafe in the park probably had a name, but everybody knew it simply as the cafe in the park. It had a wonderful terrace on stilts overlooking the river that ran right through the heart of the city. They served simple but very good organic food. He parked himself at a table with a good view of the whole terrace, and had a quiet lunch. The weather was nice, sunny but not too hot. At exactly 2 PM Julie arrived. He saw her from the corner of his eye, making sure not to look up from the newspaper he was pretending to read. She was wearing black jeans and a white, tailored blouse. Judging from the way her figure was accentuated by her clothes he thought she must be wearing a push-up bra. She'd left the tiniest bit of cleavage. To finish it all off she had put on sandals with heels, not too high, 3 or 4 inches he figured. His female friends would tell him that heels on jeans were a fashion nono, but like most men he kind of liked it. He waited until her tea had arrived, glancing at her from behind his paper. She had followed his instruction and opened a fashion magazine, which judging from the way she was flipping through it, she was also not actually reading.

Time to make his move. He picked up his double espresso and strolled over to her, along the way signalling to the waitress he was moving table.

“Hello Julie.”

She looked up and smiled at him. “Hi, ehh...”

“You can call me Michael”, he smiled back.

“Hi Michael, it's so nice to meet you.”

“Same here, Julie, same here.”

He sat down. Softly he said: “Listen, while we are here in public we will chitchat a little until we have finished our tea and coffee. Then we will take a walk in the park and talk about what we are really here for, OK?”

“Of course, anything you say, I am in your hands.”

They talked about how she had only just arrived in this city as well, after graduating from college a few months ago (good thing, he thought, she can't have too many friends here yet), how she'd found a job as a legal assistant at a law firm, about the little appartment she had found, and so on. After finishing their drinks he paid and they slowly walked into the park. They were alone now, no longer within earshot of other people.

“Julie, your letter sounded very promising. But I need to be certain about your expectations. So this afternoon we're going to do a lot of talking. In fact, to be more precise, you will be doing most of the talking. I want you to tell me everything about yourself, your sexual experiences, and most importantly about your dreams and fantasies. We have to see if they match my preferences. I think they will, but I want to be sure. You understand?”

“Of course. I will tell you anything you want to know.”

“Excellent.”

“Will you tell me your fantasies as well?”

“No, I won't. I will keep them to myself for now. You'll have to trust me when I judge whether we're on the same page or not. If I think we're a match, you will find out soon enough what's on my mind. Would be a pity to spoil the surprise, don't you think?“

She smiled and nodded.

“Now there are two places where we can have this long conversation. We can go sit here on a bench somewhere, where there are no other people close by. Or, if you think you can trust me enough already, we can go over to my place.”

She looked at him for a moment. Then she said: “Oh well, I suppose the worst thing that could happen is that you violently rape me.” And then she gave him that big, generous smile: “Which would be fine with me!”

They both laughed. “Well, that settles it, I suppose. My place it will be.”

They walked across the park to his car, and drove to his house. He lived in a free standing villa, not very big but with a nice garden and a swimming pool. Most importantly, it was completely private. The house was situated at the end of a cul-de-sac, on a little hill, with hedges and trees on the edges of the garden.

In the car he instructed her some more about their upcoming conversation.

“I'm going to ask you lots of questions about your sex life and your fantasies. In your answers, I expect you to give me the full version of each story, in all its pornographic detail. So my first question will be about losing your virginity. Don't just tell me his name and how old you were, tell me everything. Where you were, what he did to you, and you to him, how it felt, smelled, and so on. The same with your fantasies. Don't hold back. I need to know everything.” He looked at her with his piercing blue eyes: “Being my slavegirl not only means I own your body, but also, and more importantly, I own your mind. ”

She began to tell him about her first time. His name was Peter, he'd been her boyfriend for almost a year, they were both 16, it was during the afternoon, his parents were away so they were in his room, she sucked him off a little, he fumbled with the condom for what seemed like half an hour, it didn't hurt too much. The rest of her sex life so far had been rather uneventful. She had slept with four men in total, including Peter. With all of them she'd had a more or less serious relationship, but none of these guys had even remotely excited her. On the contrary, they were nice enough guys but sexually they had bored her to death. She'd never had an orgasm with any of them.

“Did you fake?”, he asked.

“Yeah, sometimes. I felt sorry for them.”

“Did you never try to coax them into doing something more exciting?”

“I tried, but they didn't get the message. I was probably too vague about it as well. I didn't dare to ask them to tie me up or something.”

Her fantasies however were rather different.

“You wrote in your letter that you identified with O. You must have lots of naughty fantasies then. Tell me about the first fantasy you've had about being a slavegirl.”

“Well, ever since I was a child, I've dreamed about being kidnapped. By pirates, knights or vikings, later about biker gangs as well. At that age it was all quite innocent of course. They would keep me prisoner in a castle or on their ship or something. Some hero or the other would come and rescue me. As I got older, 15 or 16 I guess, slowly these dreams would become darker and more erotic. They would keep me in a cage or tie me up. Nobody would come and rescue me any more. One of the pirates or vikings would come to the cage at night and rip my shirt off, leaving me topless, roughly handling my breasts. Or the knight would come down to the dungeon, have the door opened and locked again by the guard, and rape me. I wouldn't scream, in my fantasy. I wouldn't even resist much. I would let them have me. They'd be hard men, who wouldn't give a damn about me or whether I liked what they did. Even though I didn't resist, they would hurt me anyway. Slap my face, hold my arms behind my back, choke me. In time, these fantasy rapes would become ever more violent. They would smack my ass and tits, not just a little but really hard. It would turn into a gang rape; first 2 pirates or vikings or bikers, then 3 and then the whole crew. Fucking me in all my holes. The pirates would tie me to the mast, naked, and whip me. I would imagine the welts on my back, my ass, my tits. I'd be screaming, but we'd be out at sea so no one would hear. So this is not only my first, but as it developed also my favourite fantasy. It always gets me off completely.”

“Have you ever been spanked or whipped?”, he asked.

“Not by any boyfriend or something. They were far too boring for any of that. And I've never been raped, either. Not even a pretend rape. But I do have some experience that counts, I think. I grew up in a very strict household. My father was a true disciplinarian. His punishments were always physical. Starting when I was about 12, if I had done something wrong, in his view, he would whip my ass with his belt. I would have to bend over his knee, or the table, he would tell me to pull up the skirt of my school uniform and pull down my panties, and then he'd belt me. Usually a dozen times. It really hurt. When he was finished I would run up the stairs to my room, crying, and hide underneath the sheets. What he didn't know however, was that once I was safely in my bed with the door closed, my hand would go between my legs. I'd always be soaking wet, and I would masturbate until I had an orgasm. The belting made me so horny. This belting happened about once a month, right until I left home and went to college.”

“Do you think it turned your father on as well?”

She looked at him a little shocked, as if the thought had never occurred to her. “I'm not sure, but now that you mention it I do think I noticed him having a bulge in his pants once or twice, when he was punishing me. And he only did this to me, never to my younger brother.” 

“Tell me about your wildest, most extreme fantasy. Something you dreamed about and which excited you, but maybe shocked you a little as well, the perversity of it, and you're not sure if it is something you'd do in real life.”

She thought for a moment. Then she spoke again. “About half a year ago a friend of mine from college, Martha, asked if I wanted to join her on a trip to her folks house. Her parents were on a short vacation or something and she had to take care of the animals. It was about a three hour drive and she'd like some company. I didn't have any plans so I went along. The house was beautiful but very isolated, in the middle of nowhere, the nearest neighbour more than a mile away. When we opened the front door a big, black dog came to greet us. I have no idea what kind of dog it was, but it was almost as high as my hips and it was large, broad, strong and heavy. After greeting Martha the dog came up to me and went straight for my crotch. Its big, wet snout pushed against my pussy. I was glad I was wearing jeans that day. Funny thing was, Martha didn't do anything to stop him. She just said “Julie, this is Boris.” She took me to the living room, sat me on the couch and walked to the kitchen to make some tea. Right away Boris was back, pushing my legs apart with his head. I didn't know what to do, so I just petted Boris' head and mumbled something like “good boy”. He pushed hard against my crotch. Martha's head appeared in the door opening from the kitchen and she said “Mhh, looks like Boris likes you!” I followed her eyes and saw that Boris had an erection. Still Martha didn't come to the rescue. She just smiled at me. A little wicked smile which seemed to say that she knew quite well what can happen when Boris really likes you. She disappeared into the kitchen again, leaving me with a horny dog who was now making preparations to hump me. Only when she came back with the tea she stopped the dog and shooed him outside. He reluctantly obliged. Martha didn't apologize for the dog's behaviour, which most people would do I guess. She just said “Such a naughty dog”, or something. We fed the animals and made our way back, not mentioning the episode with Boris again. That night however, in my bed, I thought about being fucked by Boris. I fingered myself to a splashing orgasm on that fantasy. It felt gross and very exciting at the same time.”

“Do you think Martha ever fucked the dog?”

“I don't know. Her behaviour was a little odd, I think. She didn't seem to think it unusual at all that Boris was pushing his snout against my pussy and having an erection doing so. I think she might have. Fucked him, I mean.”

Michael contemplated Julie's words for a moment. “If Martha ever invites you again, I want you to let me know.”

“OK.” She paused for a moment. Then she smiled: “Does that mean...”

“Yes, it does actually. I've heard enough. For now at least. I am pretty sure that what we both want is compatible. I think we have a match.”

Her eyes became a little moist. “Really? Oh, that would mean so much to me. I swear you won't regret it. I'll do anything...”

He held up his hand to shut her up. She bit her lower lip and looked at him insecurely, not knowing if she had done something wrong. 

“I know you will”, he said. “That's the whole point, isn't it?”

She just nodded.

He grilled her about possible STD's and asked if she was on birth control. She was disease free and she used the pill. “Good, I hate condoms.”

Then he went on to explain the nature of their future relationship. “I expect complete submission and obedience. In other words, you will do anything I want, and I can do with you anything I want. That's the basic rule. Many more will follow as we go along. There will be no taboes. Expect everything you've read in the book, and more. You've already found out from the belting by your father that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin. We will explore that further. Much further. The nice thing is, the possbilities are literally endless. Our only limitation is our imagination.

“In case of emergency, if you think something goes wrong or things go out of control, we will have a safeword. Our safeword will be “Budapest”.  It has no special meaning, which makes it a good safeword. Do not use it lightly however, it's for real emergencies only. In fact, I hope and expect you will never have to use it. Anything else, crying, begging, pleading, I will not respond to. Do not scream. First and foremost because I don't like screaming. But also because, even though this place is prettty private, we still have neighbours. We don't want them or the police knocking on our door asking if anything's wrong. If you make too much noise I will have to gag you, which will make it hard again to say the safeword.

“When we play our master and slave game, you do not speak unless I ask you a specific question. When you answer, you will address me with “master” or “sir”.

“If this develops into a relationship, we will lead some sort of double life. To the outside world, we will continue to live as we do now. Nothing will change. Inside these walls, when it's just us, things will of course be completely different. But nobody will know.”

“Finally, I need you to know that there is a second candidate. We may end up in a threeway. I assume you won't have a problem with that?”

She shook her head vigorously: “No sir, that is entirely your decision.”

He looked into her blue eyes. “With that, Julie, I am now asking you formally: do you want to be my slavegirl?” 

She had a serious expression and nodded: “Yes, yes sir, I do! I do want to be your slavegirl. Please!”

He kept his cool but could hardly hide his excitement. Finally! The long wait was over.

“Excellent! Now I want you to freshen up a little, the bathroom is over on the right. When you're done, come to the master bedroom at the end of the hallway. I'll be waiting for you there. Don't take too long.”

As she got up and walked away from him he admired her figure once more. She was quite tall, he guessed about 5ft10. Golden hair, golden skin. Her ass looked magnificent in the jeans, accentuated by the heels. Ah, they were going to have so much fun together!

Apart from the privacy and the garden, the master bedroom had been one of the main reasons why he had chosen this house. It was big, some 25 by 20 ft, with a 10 ft. high ceiling. Some well known fashion model had lived there before who had constructed a walk-in closet. Big sliding doors opened to a terrace with electric sun awnings where he had placed some comfortable lounge chairs. The pool was a few steps further down into the garden. Like the rest of the house he had sparsely but elegantly furnished the bedroom. A super king size, four poster bed took centre stage. In one corner was a large, comfortable club chair. It was his favourite chair, a gift from his father when he went to university. On the side against the wall an antique chest of drawers. Three abstract paintings covered the walls on one side, the rest was mainly windows overlooking the garden. With a few small alterations he had prepared the room for the fun and games they were going to have. Nothing big, just some rings and hooks in strategic places in the walls and the ceiling, almost invisible if you didn't look for it.

He had quickly changed into a pair of black linnen pants and a black shirt, no shoes or socks. The heavy curtains were closed, just on the one side he had left them open a little to let in some light. He sat in the club chair, facing the door, waiting for her, sipping from a glass of Glenlivet, with a drop of water, no ice. After a few minutes she slowly walked into the room toward him, her eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room. When she was a few yards away from him, he told her to stop right there.

She waited. He took another slow sip from his whisky, observing her. Then he said: “I want you to do a little striptease. Nothing elaborate, no dancing or anything, just take your clothes off, slowly. Make it sexy.”

She did. She took a deep breath and started to unbutton her blouse.  He'd been right; she was wearing a push-up bra. Little by little her blouse opened, until she let it slide from her shoulders. Next she unhooked her bra, looking at him seductively. She held it for a second before letting it drop to the floor. Finally he was getting a look at her magnificent tits. They were even better than he had imagined: big (he guessed a D cup), round, firm, natural. Taking off the bra hardly made a difference, they remained in position, perky and proud. He was glad that her breasts were the same bronze colour as the rest of her body; not these white bikini tits he hated so much. Next off were the shoes. Then she slowly opened her jeans. She allowed him a quick peek at the front of her white panties, then turned around and peeled the jeans slowly, very slowly, off her cute ass. As she continued to push her jeans down her legs, she bent over inch by inch until she had reached her anckles, legs straight, ass high up, and stayed like that for a few seconds. She kicked off the jeans, got up again and repeated the same slow movement with her panties, peeling them off her now naked ass which also had that even, bronze colour. As she bent over he caught a glimpse of her pussy. She got up again, now completely naked, and turned to face him again. Then she waited.

“Put your hands behind your back”, he ordered. It made her push out her gorgeous tits even more.

She looked at him. “Cast your eyes down, girl.” She obeyed quickly.

He took another sip from his whisky and studied her for a long time, taking in every detail. Her skin was beautiful, hardly any birthmarks or other blemishes. She was quite athletic, without showing too much muscle. Her breasts were just about perfect, her aureoles a dark pink and, thankfully, not too big. Her nipples were hard, pointing toward him. She had shaved her pussy, leaving just a little landing strip of blond pubic hair. The only thing that distracted from an otherwise almost perfect picture was a tiny little roll of fat around her waist. She would have to lose a few pounds. He would have to send her to the gym.

Finally he got up and slowly walked up to her. He cupped her left breast in his hand. He had large hands, but her breasts were slightly bigger than that. Exactly the right size, he thought. He massaged her breast gently, squeezing the soft but firm flesh, pinching her hard nipples. She moaned softly. He walked around her, his fingertips trailing from her breast over her shoulders and down her back. Now he cupped her ass, and squeezed again. He murmurred approvingly, it was nice and hard. He patted her ass cheeck gently and moved his hand up to her waist. He found the fat roll and squeezed again, not so gently this time. He could sense her holding her breath.

“What is this?”, he asked sharply.

“I'm sorry sir, I haven't done any sports the past five months, since I moved here. I have put on some weight.”

“Mhhh.” He clearly disapproved. “What sport do you do?”

“Field hockey, sir. I've played it all my life, right through high school and college, at a fairly high level. I wanted to find a team here but haven't got to it yet. I'll do it next week, sir.”

“That might not be possible”, he answered.

“Why not, sir?”, she answered surprised.

“Well, I assume field hockey involves locker rooms, showers and a bunch of young women frolicking around naked after the match. Am I correct?”

“Eh, yes sir, sort of.”

“As appealing as that is as a mental picture, you and a group of equally pretty girls all naked in the shower, you can no longer do that. In future your body will more often than not have marks. Rope marks, whipping marks. You wouldn't be able to hide them. There would be questions.”

She nodded slowly.

“You will have to find another way to get back into shape. Go to a gym or something. I want this ugly fat roll gone as soon as possible, you understand? ”

He pinched it again, harder. She squealed a little. “Yes, sir.”

From the chest of drawers he took four leather bracelets, each with a stainless steel ring attached to it. He put them on her wrists, still positioned behind her back, and her anckles. They looked surprisingly elegant. He reached up and pulled down a spreader bar which was hanging from the ceiling. Each end had a shackle which he attached to the rings on her wrist bracelets, her arms in front of her now. Through a system of blocks, the kind used at sailing yachts, he pulled her up with a rope. He stretched her a little, her arms above her head, and secured the rope. Then he took another spreader bar and attached it to her anckles. Her feet were about 2 ft apart. When he had fixed her feet he took the other rope again and pulled her up some more, stretching her further, forcing her to stand on her toes. He sat back down in his club chair, took another sip of his single malt, and admired his work. It was a view to behold. A stretched female body was one of the most beautiful sights he could think of, especially with a body as stunning as Julie's. The muscles in her arms and legs were showing, her breasts were pulled up a little higher still, her legs apart so he finally had a really good view of her pussy. Her beautiful pussy. Did he see something glistening there? Was she wet already? Oh, the little slut. The little role of fat no longer showed.

He got up. Again he gently caressed her body, slowly sliding his fingertips from her neck down her back, touching her ass ever so lightly, then going around to her stomach and up to her tits. He kissed her softly on her lips. Again a barely audible moan. Then he stepped behind her and took something out of the chest of drawers. It was a thin leather riding crop with a flat, square leather tip. He let the tip slide down her back, just as he had done with his fingers. She shivered. Then he walked around again and followed the same route, the tip of the crop slowly crawling from her stomach toward her rock hard nipples. He could see goosebumps on her skin. She was panting lightly. Her eyes were following the crop, she looked at it as if she expected him to whip her nipple any moment. “Not yet, my dear”, he thought, “not yet.” He stepped behind her again.

He tested the flexibility of the riding crop, bending it at the tip. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he took a practice swing in the air. The whip made a sharp, hissing sound. Swoooshhh. Hearing it, Julie tensed and flexed her muscles, and gasped, expecting the whip to land on her back. It took her a few moments to realize nothing had happened, her mind conditioned to expect impact after the sound. She relaxed her body. She was panting more heavily now. He waited a few more seconds. Then he whipped her for real.

With a loud crack the tip of the riding crop landed on her ass. He watched her body tense again, a sharp intake of breath, her head spinning backwards as if someone pulled her hair hard. This time there was pain. It takes a split second for the brain to connect the sounds, the hiss of the whip and the crack, with the pain upon impact. When the pain did register, Julie squealed again. Not very loud, it sounded more like a surprised “oh!”. He waited for her body to relax, let the sharp pain subside into a more lingering pain. Then he whipped her once more, a little higher on her ass. She went through the same cycle; the hissing sound of the crop slicing through the air, the impact, her body tensing, the pain, sharp at first then slowly easing, and getting ready for the next hit. He took his time, allowing at least half a minute between each blow. He focussed on her glorious ass first, 7 or 8 times, leaving beautiful welts, then moved up her back, each time a little higher. She squealed, wriggled, moaned, cried a little, but she didn't scream. “Good girl,” he thought. He finished with three hits on the back of her thighs, carefully counting 20 hits in total. The red marks showed a nice crisscross pattern on her body.

He stepped in front of her. She was perspiring a little, her legs trembling from the stretched position she was in, still standing on her toes. She was panting heavily now. Her chest was heaving. God, how her chest was heaving beautifully! Those glorious tits rising up and down. He leaned in and kissed her passionately on her mouth, surprising her. She kissed him back with equal passion, their tongues twisting and turning around eachother. His hand moved between her legs. He opened her labia and found that she was dripping wet. “Good girl,” he thought again. With his other hand he pushed a few strands of hair out of her face, kissed her gently on her lips and whispered “Looks like we have a real pain slut here.” She just nodded. Without warning he roughly pushed two fingers inside her pussy, all the way to his knuckles. She moaned loudly, mumbled “Oh God” before he kissed her on the mouth again. He started fucking her with his two fingers, her pussy was nice and tight, he noticed with satisfaction. She moaned with her mouth locked on his, doing her best to follow his instruction not to scream.

He stopped handfucking her as abruptly as he had started. She was close to orgasm. After he pulled out his hand, her hips continued to girate, desperately trying to find something to grind her pussy against. There was nothing, only air. It took her quite a while to calm down. She wanted to come, but he wouldn't let her, and there was nothing she could do about it. He waited patiently in his club chair, watching her, sipping from his drink.

When her breathing was more or less back to normal, he walked over to the chest of drawers once more. This time he took out a blindfold. It had taken him quite a lot of searching to find one that was elegant and effective at the same time. This one was, it was made of lace and cotton, narrow so most of Julie's pretty face was still visible, yet it covered her eyes completely. She couldn't see a thing. After he blindfolded her he waved his hand in front of her face. No response.

Time for the second round. This time he didn't make a practice swing. He positioned himself in front of her, and with another quick flick of his wrist the tip of the riding crop hit her left nipple, the flexible shaft giving it great speed and impact. Her breast bounced, as if in slow motion. This time she did scream. Not from the top of her lungs, but it was a scream allright. “Shhhhh”, he whispered. She nodded, knowing that if she'd scream one more time he would gag her, and probably whip her harder. He took his time again, giving her time to recover after each hit. The next one was on her other breast, just above her nipple. She knew what was coming now, so no more screams. He went back and forth between her breasts two more times, aiming for her nipples. He finished on her legs, four lashes on the inside of her thighs, every time a bit closer to her pussy. Ten hits in total. The whipping had taken her back to the condition she'd been in before, moaning and panting, chest heaving, those wonderful tits now with dark, red marks, moving up and down, not saying a word of course but in her mind begging him to fuck her. “Please, please make me come! Please fuck me.” He could almost hear her. A single tear rolled on her cheek from underneath the blindfold. By now she was more hanging from her arms than standing on her toes.  

But it wasn't time to satisfy her yet. She'd have to wait. She'd have to earn it. So far he had done all the work. Now it was time for her to show some skills. He stood close to her and whispered: “In a moment I am going to take you down. When the shackles are off, I want you to go on your hands and knees and wait. When I tell you to, you can take off the blindfold and come crawling to me. I want you to crawl to me and give me the best blowjob I have ever had. Not the best one you have ever given - that should be easy enough, but the best one I have ever had. I've had a few really good ones. Once I nearly fainted. So you're going to have to exceed by far everything you've ever done before. Understood?”

“Yes master.” She was slowly edging away from the brink of the orgasm she wasn't going to have, hoping in vain he may still allow her to come. He gave the spreader bar at the ceiling some slack, so she could stand on her feet again, a bit unsteadily. He unhooked the shackles from her wrists and anckles, leaving the bracelets. He grabbed her hair and pushed her down. She got on all fours and waited for his signal. He slowly strolled around her, admiring her from all sides. Her body was covered in red marks from the riding crop. She couldn't see him but sensed where he was, her head moving in his direction as he slowly tiptoed around her.

He sat down in his chair again, finished his whisky, and told her to go ahead. She slid off the blindfold and started to crawl towards him, slowly, sexy, looking up at him all the time, hips swaying gently, her big tits hanging between her arms. She made a little circle so he could watch her from all angles, before she arrived at his chair. She bent down and kissed his feet. Next she moved her mouth up his legs. She pulled up his shirt a little and kissed his stomach. He pulled the shirt over his head, exposing his toned torso. Then down again, towards his cock. She kissed it through his pants, opened the button and zipper and together with his boxers slowly pulled it down. His eight inch cock was as hard as steel. Julie started planting gentle kisses all over it, from the base to its head and back again. First it was just her lips, then she started using her tongue as well. Every now and the she looked up at him with her big blue eyes, seeking confirmation or encouragement, before she went back to her task. She licked his balls, then sucked them, taking them in her warm mouth, one by one. It felt great. She went up to its head again and started licking it, holding the base of his cock with her hand, tasting a bit of salty precum. Finally she took his cock in her mouth. He had high hopes, given her big smile, and he wasn't disappointed. She let his cock slide in and out a few times, making rythmic movements, each time a little deeper. Then it slowly disapppeared all the way into her mouth. At the end of that move, her lips touched his pelvis and the tip of his cock was somewhere down her throat. She held it for a second, then withdrew, her lips back at its head, her tongue making circles, and did it again. She continued to suck him off  like this at a slow pace, taking his cock all the way down her throat and equally slowly pulling it out. He tried to make it last, but failed miserably. He was too horny, and this blowjob was just too good. She noticed he was about to come, pulled out slowly once more, opened her mouth wide and finished using her hand. He came like a bomb, his head back, holding on tight to the armrests of the chair, squirting load after generous load all over her face. She'd never seen a guy produce so much sperm before. Most of it landed in her mouth, some of it in her hair, on her forehead and a little bit on her left eye. She tasted it, it was a bit sweet she thought, then swallowed all of it. With her finger she scooped his cum off her face and put it in her mouth as well. She waited a while to let him come to his senses, before she proceeded to carefully clean his cock with her mouth and tongue, very gently because his cock was incredibly sensitive now. When she was finished he looked at her with an expression of intense satisfaction. “That, my dear Julie, probably wàs the best blowjob of my life. If not, then it's certainly in my top three. I am very pleased with you.”

She gave him her generous smile. “That makes me so happy, Master. That's all I want. I want you to always be pleased with me.”

She was still on her knees between his legs. She rested her head on his thigh. He caressed her hair. She gave him little kisses on the inside of his leg. They stayed like that for some time, blissfully content, not speaking, both of them lost in their own thoughts, running the events of the afternoon through their minds.

After they had a shower together he told her about the dress code. “You asked about what to wear the other day on the phone. That was a good question. So here's the next set of rules. As far as your clothing is concerned, there are three possible situations. When it's just the two of us, usually here at this place but basically anywhere where we are together and nobody can disturb us, you will always wear a skirt or a dress, without underwear. No panties, no bra. Except of course when you have your period, we don't want you bleeding all over the furniture. You can decide what kind of dress or skirt you'll wear, long or short, tight or wide. I like a bit of variation, though, so bring a bit of everything. Kimono's and sarongs are also good. So when you enter this house and we have no guests, the first thing you will always do is change. Can you guess why I want this?”

“So you can always have access to my … openings?”

“Exactly.”

She looked pleased with herself.

He continued. “Second, when you're on your own, going to work or to the shops or for a coffee, you'll wear whatever you would be wearing before we met. Don't change a thing. Again with one exception: I don't know if you tend to wear very sexy stuff, but if so from now on you can tone it down a notch. No need to attract the attention of men, now that you've found one.

“The third possibility is when we go out together. Whether it's for dinner or to a concert or to the supermarket or whatever, every time we leave the house together, you will always ask me what to wear. Expect a wide variety in my answers. Sometimes I will give you very detailed instructions, down to your make-up, jewelry, lingerie, all of it. Other times I may tell you to just put on whatever you feel like. And anything in between.”

She got it. “I didn't bring any skirt or dress for this weekend,” she said a little shyly.

“Why don't you pick one of my shirts,” he said.

She came back from the walk-in closet in a blue shirt that matched the colour of her eyes. It was just long enough to cover her ass. She had closed only two buttons, around her navel, leaving a very deep cleavage. Here she was, this beautiful young woman who he had tied and whipped just before and who had then deepthroated his cock to thank him, looking all happy and satisfied, smiling at him while she walked towards him wearing nothing but his shirt. It was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen.

They made dinner together, had it on the terrace with a good glass of wine and talked about all kinds of things, the sort of things people talk about when they are getting to know each other.

At some point she asked: “Is it a 24/7 thing, being your slavegirl? I mean, I'm getting a little confused. I'm not quite sure if I should call you Michael or Master right now.”

“Well, call me Master Michael and you're never wrong,” he laughed.

“Seriously,” he continued, “the answer is yes and no. No in the sense that we will spend a lot of time like this. I'll be Michael and you'll be Julie, and we'll behave like any ordinary couple. I can't have you tied up and be whipping you all the time, can I? Just like other people don't have sex all the time. But the answer is yes in the sense that you have to be always ready for me. At any given time or place I can decide it's time for a game, and when that happens you will instantly change into my slavegirl.”

“How will I know it's time to switch?”

“You'll learn”, he said airily. “You'll make mistakes at first. You'll be punished for them. But as we get to know each other you'll get better at it.”

After dinner he took her to the bedroom again. He joked with her: “You do realize that now you are slavegirl Julie and I am master again, right?”

“Yes master”, she answered, with a twinkle in her eyes.

This time he tied her to the four poster bed, which had some rings screwed into the wood in strategic places so he could attach and secure his ropes and chains. He placed her on her knees, hands tied behind her back and hoisted up so her face was buried in the matress. He whipped her ass some more, this time with a cat o' nine tails. In no time, she was all wet and excited again, taking her once more to where she had been earlier that afternoon: really close to orgasm, but not quite there yet and in dire need of him to do something to take her over the edge. He wondered if he could make her cum without touching her pussy. He decided to reward her. Apart from that single scream, she'd been very good so far. He opened her swollen labia with his fingers and started rubbing her clit. Ten seconds, that was all it took. Then she exploded, her whole body shaking, biting her lip until it almost bled to avoid another scream. She told him later that night it was, by a mile, no by a hundred miles, the best orgasm she had ever had. Then he fucked her. It was a rough, hard, brutal fuck. She loved it. She was still tied, on her knees, face down. He held her by her hair and rammed his cock into her tight pussy, over and over again until he came inside her, pulling her hair so hard her face tilted towards the ceiling. 

***

Religiously, every Sunday morning he played squash, no matter what had happened the Saturday night before. Parties till early morning, lots of alcohol, wild sex, it didn't matter. He'd get up at 8 for his game. He made no exception for Julie. He left at 8.30 telling her he'd be back at about eleven. He instructed her to tidy up the bedroom, and to shave off her landing strip. “I don't like it, it looks cheap, like you're some second rate porn star. Shave it off. Other than that, make yourself comfortable until I'm back.”

On the drive back from his game he had an idea for an addition to his Sunday morning routine. Normally he would take a dive in his swimming pool to cool off, followed by a long shower or bath. Today, and all future Sundays, he decided, she would give him a massage. Pleased with himself, he walked into the garden covered in sweat, his polo shirt fully soaked. She greeted him in the hall, still only wearing his blue shirt.

“Did you have a good game?”, she asked.

He slapped her ass lightly. “I lost, but at least I got to practice my forehand,” he said.

“Oooh, sounds promising,” she purred.

He took off all his clothes right there and dived naked into the pool. When he climbed out after a few laps, all refreshed, she stood ready with a towel. I can really get used to this, he thought. As he dried himself, he asked her: “Do you know how to give a massage?”

“Well, I've not been trained or anything. But I do think I know the basics. I've given a massage once or twice,” she answered.

“How about some practice,” he said. He gave her a little kiss, took her hand and walked her to the bedroom once more. He handed her a bottle of massage oil and told her to get to work. It was good, not great – he would send her on a course or something. But it relaxed him and reinvigorated his muscles. The oil and their naked bodies inspired them to another round of sex, without whips and chains this time, just their oiled bodies merging. They had a bath together and spent the rest of the day by the pool; he was doing some work and she was reading a book she'd found in his bookshelf.

That evening, before he took her back to her apartment, he asked her if she would like to come back. “This wil be the second and last time I ask. I think I know the answer, but I need to be sure. Also, if you do, you need to know you'll be my slavegirl, not my prisoner. You can walk away any time.”

She said she would really, really like to come back. She would beg him on her bare knees if that's what it took. If he was satisfied with her, of course.

“I am, my dear, I am. I can see this developing into something really beautiful.”

When he dropped her off at her flat, he said: “I will call you when I want you to be with me. Next weekend I'll meet with the other candidate, so it might be a more than a week before my call. Just carry on with your life, do what you always do. Do not get in touch with me, understood? Wait for my call.”

“Yes master. Thank you so much. This has been the most amazing weekend of my life. I hope there will be many more.” She gave him a final big white smile and disappeared into her building.

He didn't manage the whole of next week without her, of course. After all these years of longing, the urge was too strong. He called her Wednesday evening just before leaving the office, picked her up on the way home, tied her hands above her head to one of the bedposts, whipped her and fucked her brains out. The next morning he dropped her off early enough for both of them to get to the office in time. It was the master-slave equivalent of a quicky. Then he started preparing for candidate number two.