Reunion She slipped the key card that he'd left her into the slot and smiled as the green light went on. They'd had so many false starts, so many near misses in terms of scheduling, that it was wonderful that they were finally going to have some uninterrupted time together. This was going to be their time, their chance to privately explore what they had started together. And to discover just how much further they could go, now that they had achieved a level of comfort and trust. She checked her watch...12:30pm. He had told her he'd have meetings until at least 3:00pm. So she took her time checking out the room, opening the dresser drawers and closet to see how much space he had left her. She saw his jeans hanging in the closet. They were worn, comfortable, a little faded...a perfect reflection of his laid-back, soft-spoken mannerisms. Even in scene, he rarely raised his voice. But his will was iron and she'd learned early that things would go easier for her if she did what she was told. After drinking a borrowed Coke from the minibar, she started unpacking the few things she'd brought. Mostly shorts and tee-shirts (it was hot out in the desert), but one or two nice dresses for the evenings. As she was hanging them next to his button-down shirts, she heard the door click and spun around to see him standing there, smiling. Her face lit up, unable to mask the happiness she felt at finally seeing him again, alone. "I thought you were in meetings till mid-afternoon," she teased. "I was supposed to be, but I must be coming down with this stomach virus. I told them I wasn't feeling well, and that I should probably spend the rest of the afternoon in bed," he parried back. She walked the ten steps over to him and ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders, then wrapped her arms around his neck, still leaving a foot or so between them. "You should...you absolutely should...hello baby..." she murmured softly, slowly, as she pulled herself against him and started pressing her mouth against his. His lips were exactly as she'd remembered them, as soft and full as hers, and as hungry. Their mouths opened and their tongues danced together as his hands eagerly reaquainted themselves with the sides of her body, her back, her ass. He pressed her cheeks hard so that their crotches touched and she felt how hard he was. Her kisses became more and more urgent then, and he followed suit...and they went at it with an intensity that made it clear they wanted to be under each other's skin. She pulled her face a few inches away, looked into his grey eyes and whispered, "You're overdressed, baby." He smiled again. "I was just thinking the same thing. You've got exactly 60 seconds to lock the door and get naked. For every second over sixty, you earn yourself five strokes." She looked into his eyes, pleased as always with his challenges, since she enjoyed the penalties as much as the rewards. "Sixty seconds...starting when, Sir?" Now his smile became much broader. "About fifteen seconds ago." She took a full five seconds to share a glance with him that in her way, acknowledged his devious turn of scene, as well as to show her appreciation of his choice. He turned his attention from her eyes to his watch, and started studying the second hand, counting down from 40. She got to work, hurriedly unbuttoning her white cotton blouse as she walked to the door to bolt it. Staying there, she slid off her black skirt, kicked off her shoes, pulled off her bra, pushed down her stockings.. "Ta da!!" she said, standing stood before him naked, grinning in triumph as she finished the task as he said, "Three." Without looking up, he asked, "Did you remember to hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of the door, love?" and then he resumed counting, "Two, One, Zero..." Her smiled died quickly as she rushed to pick up the sign, undo the bolt and the chain, hang the sign on the other side of the doorknob, and redo the locks. He was merciful in that he'd counted slowly. But by the time she had completed the task, he had reached negative ten. "Done!" she said, but this time without as much hubris. "Negative ten," he repeated, dead-pan, as he gazed into her green eyes. "That's fifty strokes..." she said, voice trailing off at the end. He nodded. Their eyes spoke volumes to each other. "What will you use?" she asked. "A little of everything, I imagine. I haven't decided yet..." "The cane...how many will be with the cane?" she asked, with a hint of fear in her voice. She'd developed a healthy respect of canes since he had introduced her to them their last time together. She'd asked for just one stroke then, just to satisfy her curiosity. The stinging had radiated for a good two minutes. She'd never felt anything with that kind of burn before. He walked over to her and started stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. "At least five, love..." Her cheek leaned into his caress, their eye contact remaining unbroken. "Five..."she repeated in a whisper. Not protesting, not negotiating. Just repeating the inevitable. "How many would you prefer?" he asked, almost paternally. There were no smiles now. Just low tones and stares of deep probing and understanding of each other's needs and psyches. She shook her head slightly, as if to toss off his question. "How many would you prefer, Sir?" she countered. No world existed for either one of them at this moment, outside of the stares, touches and words they were sharing. He was deep into his space, as she was into hers. They both knew that her question was a gift to him, a chance to challenge her, to demand that she endure for his pleasure, to prove her feelings for him.. His hand continued to slowly stroke her cheek and his eyes squinted slightly, knowing that she'd need some tenderness to let her wrap her mind around the answer he was about to give. "Actually, I'd prefer that all of them were with the cane," he said, in the softest of whispers. She stared into his eyes for a long time, comprehending that his words spoke of her inevitable fate over the next few days. She wouldn't dare contradict or deny him. But he could see in her eyes that she was trying to grasp the realization of what was to come, that he wanted it, and because of that, she wanted it too. "Fifty cane strokes...how will I endure it, Master?" "They don't need to be all at one time, love. It's just over eight a day...not so bad, really. Or we could do one an hour for the next two days or so, and you'd have them out of the way quickly." "When do we start, Sir?" "Now. Five now, to start. Get the cane out of my bag. And the clamps too, please." She walked over to his bag, the location of which she had noted during her earlier exploration of the room, and rummaged through it to find the items he had requested. She knew he had asked her to fetch these items, not just to put her to task, but because it would make her see the other implements of torture he had brought for their weekend together. Some she had never seen before. She didn't waste time, though, because once he had given an order, he expected it to be completed quickly. She picked up the cane and the clamps, another item she had learned to respect during their last session together, and brought them to her Master, who by this time was sitting in the overstuffed armchair in the corner. "Come," he said, beckoning her to join him by sitting on his lap. She complied, handing him the items and then straddling him as he always preferred when they sat this way. She loved nothing more than sitting naked on his clothed body, the juxtaposition so clearly pointing out the difference in their relative statures. He put the cane on the endtable beside him and took her hand in his own, forcing her fist open. He placed the clamps in her palm and closed her fingers over them. "I want you putting them on yourself this time," he told her. "Make them as tight as you think I'd want them to be. Then put the chain in your mouth...you remember how I like it, I'm sure." She knew how aware he was of her feelings about the clamps, and that asking her to put them on herself was as evil a twist as when he'd ask her to beg for a whipping she'd feared last time around. She looked at him, her eyes pleading for a reprieve, but his stare was as it always was at this point in a scene-without emotion-and his resolve irrevocable. She fumbled with the clamps, never having put them on herself, and terrified that she would make them too tight to endure. As she struggled with her left nipple, he helped her by gently running his fingers through the tresses of her hair, indicating his patience with her labors, his appreciation of her compliance. She fitted them and moved the bar up until she felt the familiar sting and then she grimaced as she tried to endure what she had wrought for his pleasure. Once the stinging subsided a little, she worked the right side and once completed, she put the chain in her own mouth. She knew that would be the hardest part, keeping the chain between her lips as he worked her. But she also knew that if it dropped, he would be livid and his anger would be reflected in whatever strokes he was administering at the time. He looked at her handiwork and asked, "Does it hurt terribly?" She nodded yes and he nodded back his approval. "Thank you," he said. "You'll be wearing them through most of the next six days, so it's good that you learned to put them on yourself. Now lift yourself up and come forward so that you're looking and leaning over my shoulder." She complied, giving him full access to her backside as she worked hard to keep the chain between her lips. She felt his fingers exploring her ass, spreading the cheeks, working their way to her asshole. "Relax...it'll go easier for you that way," he instructed. She groaned loudly from behind clenched lips as his fingers began invading her tight space, slowly but deeply. "We're going to spend a lot of time working here this time around, love," he said calmly, as if he were a college professior on the first day of classes, going over the course syllabus. "We'll go slowly at first, as we discussed, but by Wednesday, I intend to rape you here, hard, without mercy, and I want you prepared, so nothing impedes my full pleasure of you. Do you understand?" She grunted "Yes" through her gritted teeth, even as the chills ran down her spine. She knew he meant it, that he'd told her of his plans early in the visit, so she could go over them again and again in her mind as their time together progressed, allowing the fear to slowly build. She imagined that what he was forecasting would be as painful as anything she could endure, and that it would be all the more pleasing to him because of her fear and her pain. She stared at the mirror that was on the wall behind the chair, struck by the beauty she saw in her humiliation and submission. She looked deeply into her own eyes, trying to understand herself, her needs, her desires, as he left one finger in her asshole, working it back and forth, and with the other hand, he reached for the cane. Again, she heard his calm, instructor voice. "The back of the thighs, where the ass meets the legs, is one of your most tender areas. This is going to sting far worse than the last time you and the cane made each other's acquaintance. Beg for it now, angel..." She instantly realized her dilemma. He was asking her to speak, which contradicted his order to keep the chain in her mouth. Either way, whichever way she chose to obey him, she would be disobeying him also. One tear started forming in her left eye, not because she was going to be punished but because there was no way to satisfy both of his commands. With resignation, she let the chain fall and whispered, with a dry throat, the words he had requested. "Please Master...please beat me with your cane. Please enjoy me as you desire...I exist only for your pleasure..." He sighed, acknowledging her disobedience. "Double strokes for dropping the chain. I'm surprised at you. You know better than that..."And as the first stroke hit, he added, almost sweetly, "Welcome home, love."
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