MAKING A MARK
By Fidelis Blue
Anna pressed the keys on her phone, then read the message. For a moment she
went numb. Deep in the pit of her stomach she felt a stab of fear, but deeper
still, below that, something tugged on her cunt. She looked at the message
again. 'Tues 6.30pm cane x 20' No, she thought, it's impossible. I couldn't bear
that. Till now she had never received more than six from the cane, and they had
been the cruellest blows she had yet suffered. She thought back to her last
visit, wondering if she had done something to deserve such severity. Had she
been slow to kneel, had she cried out when she ought not to have done, had she
shown something less than total submission? She could think of no fault that
would incur such a penalty.
The next day, the day of the appointment, her emotions lurched wildly, from
a deep dread to a fierce and reckless lust which eventually seeped out of her
into her knickers. Two hours before she was due to report to the house she had
to go and buy herself fresh underwear. To arrive displaying a physical
manifestation of desire was, as she had found to her cost once before, to invite
extra punishment.
Her hand trembled as she reached out to press the buzzer. As usual, the
door was opened by Maria, the maid, dressed in her customary black uniform, her
greying hair pinned back severely. Maria ushered her into the study and told her
to wait.
There was often a delay, sometimes as long as half an hour. Anna thought it
was deliberate, giving the subject time to anticipate, living their ordeal in
the imagination before suffering it in reality. Instead of thinking about what
was to come, she forced her mind back to the events that had brought her to this
point. She'd come to the city after an unhappy love affair, one that had ended
in heartbreak, and yet which had at last brought her face to face with what had
hitherto lurked in the dark shadows of her mind. She had opened herself to David
as she had never opened herself to any man, and under his careful tutelage she
had discovered the pleasure that lies in pain, the freedom that comes from
bondage, and the pride which is born out of utter abasement.
But then he had left her. She'd moved, taken another job and set about
growing a carapace over her bruised and tender heart. She wanted no more love
affairs, not for a long time, if ever. But she could not deny the cravings that
had been unleashed in her body. She had explored the net, reading stories that
corresponded to her new-found desires, even trying tentatively to write some
herself. And then one day she'd come across a site that invited those so
inclined to a party. It was situated in one of the city's most expensive hotels.
Drawn by curiosity, assuring herself that nothing sinister could happen in such
a respectable location, she joined a group of people, many of them seemingly
like herself, youngish but not too much so, attractive but not intimidatingly
beautiful.
Eventually she found herself talking to a man of about forty, well dressed
in a dark suit. He might have been a lawyer or an accountant. He began to tell
her about a group he belonged to. Everyone was anonymous; none of them knew
anyone else's name nor anything about them. There was a certain house in a
discreet part of the city, at which meetings were arranged. Members of the group
specified in advance what kind of relationship they preferred. Then they were
given a phone message indicating a time at which they were to attend. Additional
information about the activity which would ensue might also be supplied, or it
might be held back. Members were told nothing about who arranged the meetings,
nor anything else about the organisation, which did not even have a name. If
you're interested, said the man, call this number, and he gave her a card.
The next day Anna called. A woman's voice, which she subsequently knew to
be Maria's, told her to attend at a certain address at 8.00pm the following day.
Anna was ushered in and invited to sit at a large wooden desk in an elegantly
furnished room. Maria left the room and returned with a piece of paper and a
glass of wine, which she set before Anna.
'Fill in the form,' she said. 'And enjoy the wine.'
The form was brief. The questions were all multiple-choice. The first asked
that Anna choose between 'top' and 'bottom'. Smiling slightly to herself, she
selected the latter. The next question asked her to choose between 'fem-dom' and
'male-dom'. Again, she chose the latter. The final question offered a choice
between 'one-on-one' and 'group'. Anna chose the former. At the foot of the form
was a space for her phone number. No other information was requested.
After fifteen minutes Maria came back to retrieve the form. She ushered
Anna out. What have I done? Anna thought as she walked down the street. She felt
a sense of danger, but much more powerful was her excitement at this launch into
the unknown. Anyway, she told herself, I can always leave the phone number and
the address in a prominent place in case anything happens.
Three days later came her first call, giving her a time on the day after
next. Anna debated what to wear. In the end she put a blue wool dress over her
very best underwear, a black satin bra and knickers with matching suspender belt
which David had given her. Her black stockings had seams up the back. Once again
the door was opened by Maria, who conducted Anna to the study. On the desk was
another piece of paper.
'Read it,' said Maria, 'and if you agree put your thumb print on the
bottom. No signatures.'
The paper said that the undersigned agreed to attend whenever summoned, and
while present in the house would obey any instructions given and submit to
whatever was imposed upon her. While in the house she was not to speak unless
directly spoken to. The contract would run for a period of six months, after
which it might be extended with the agreement of both parties. She might at any
point bring proceedings to a halt by uttering the single word 'basta', but if
she invoked this safety mechanism on two successive visits the contract would be
declared nul and void.
On the desk was a small tin which when opened proved to contain an inked
pad. Taking a deep breath, Anna pressed her thumb on the pad and applied it to
the paper. Maria shortly returned and picked up the paper, nodding her
satisfaction.
'Please wait for thirty minutes and you will have your first experience,'
she said as she left the room.
Anna walked about, looking at the pictures on the wall, examining the books
on the shelves. They appeared to be mostly on geology and other subjects which
did not interest her. Then the door opened. A middle-aged man entered, dressed
in a grey suit. He sat in an armchair on one side of the fireplace.
'Lift your dress,' he said, speaking in a flat, emotionless voice.
She did as he asked, raising her hem just above her stocking tops. He
gestured with his hand, indicating she should move it higher. She lifted her
skirt to her waist. He sat and looked at her silky white thighs above her
stockings, at the black satin softly encasing her pubis.
'Keep your skirt up while you go and lean forward with your hands on the
desk,' he said.
He pressed her head down till it rested on her hands. Her back was
horizontal, at right angles to her legs, which were slightly apart. She felt the
man pull her knickers down to her knees, then he stroked her bottom. After a
minute or two she heard him unzip his trousers, then felt him prise apart the
lips of her sex with his fingers and place his cock between them. For a moment
nothing happened, then he suddenly thrust forward hard, penetrating her up to
the hilt. He fucked her vigorously for a few minutes before she felt him
ejaculate. Then he withdrew. He handed her a tissue from a box on the desk and
told her to wipe herself.
'You may go now,' he said.
It had not been ten minutes since he had told her to raise her skirt, yet
though the act was so brief it excited her to think about it as she walked away
from the house. She liked the complete anonymity, even the coldness of it. In
her present state of mind, it was so exactly what she needed. When she got home
she stepped into the shower and masturbated as she thought again about the
unnamed man standing behind her, his cock driving into her.
The second appointment came exactly a week later. This time it was a
younger man, in his mid-twenties, casually dressed in jeans and a sweater. He
was good-looking, with dark, curly hair. He made her undress slowly while he
watched. When she was naked he made her stand with her back to him and bend
over. He put his hand between her legs, softly pinching the lips of her sex.
Then he stuck his tongue in her anus, pushing it in as far as it would go. She
wondered if he intended to bugger her, but instead he made her kneel on the
floor in front of him and fellate him. He came in her mouth, but he didn't
expect her to swallow, handing her a tissue in which to spit. Afterwards he made
her sit in his lap while he fondled her breasts. She would have liked him to
make her come with his fingers, but instead he told her to get dressed.
She was not beaten until the third occasion. A bald-headed man of about
fifty told her to remove her knickers, then bend over the desk with skirt
raised. From a cupboard he took a heavy leather strap. He told her he was going
to give her six strokes, quite hard. On no account must she move to protect
herself, though she might cry out if she wished. Anna determined that she would
not. The first blow was fierce, stinging her naked buttocks. She gritted her
teeth. The strap made a loud crack as it landed on her tautly stretched rump,
each blow seemingly aimed at precisely the same spot, increasing the pain. As
the last blow landed Anna felt her bottom was aflame, but the pain had been
transmuted into a strange rapture, as though her flesh were singing.
She was surprised when the man told her to put her knickers back on and
leave. Did he need to conserve himself for a second appointment after she had
gone? Or was the pleasure of beating her sufficient? She could not ask.
The next time she was beaten again, by the young man whom she had
previously fellated. When he put the strap down he reached his hand between her
legs and deftly manipulated her, circling her clitoris with his thumb until she
came in an intense and sudden spasm.
In subsequent encounters she was usually beaten, though sometimes not,
occasionally fucked, in one orifice or another, sometimes allowed the luxury of
orgasm, often not. She liked the uncertainty. Even when the text message on her
phone indicated that she would be disciplined, she was rarely told in what
manner. The implements varied; at times a whip, at others a strap or belt, on
one occasion a paddle. And twice a cane had been used. It was far and away the
most painful. The thin bamboo seemed to cut deep into her flesh, a searing pain
much harder to bear than the more diffused sensation of whip or strap. The marks
it left were more distinct, and lasted longer. On the second occasion it had
been four days before the bruises had subsided.
And now, she thought, awakening from her reverie, I'm to receive twenty
strokes. She really didn't know if she could bear it. She desperately did not
want to invoke the safe word, but if the agony was too great she would have no
choice.
The door opened. A man of about thirty entered, well-dressed, strikingly
good-looking. He told her to approach him. When she drew near he kissed her full
on the mouth, pushing his tongue between her lips. One of his hands grasped her
buttock, pulling her belly towards him. She could feel his cock stiffen. Perhaps
his desire to fuck me will prevail over his intention to beat me, she thought.
She shifted slightly against him, trying to give his cock a little extra
friction. But it was no use. He pulled away and went to the cupboard, coming
back with a cane in his hand. It was the longest one she had seen, at least
three feet, but thin and very flexible. He swished it through the air a couple
of times. Anna's blood ran cold, her knees went weak.
'Come with me,' he said.
To her surprise he led them to the room next door. It was much smaller,
with no windows. When he closed the door she could hear no sound from outside.
In the middle of the floor stood a wooden bench, the top about two feet long and
a foot wide, covered in leather. At each end were two legs in the form of an
inverted V.
'Take your knickers off,' he said.
She put her hands up under her skirt and pulled her white silk knickers
down over her ankles. She looked for somewhere to put them. He reached out and
took them from her, stuffing them into the pocket of his jacket.
'Bend over,' he said.
She bent double over the bench as he fixed her wrists and ankles to the
legs with the leather straps that were attached. He lifted her skirt up to
expose her buttocks. She was trying to breath deeply, trying to keep calm. It
will be all over in ten minutes, she told herself. How bad can it be?
He stood behind her and touched her bottom with his hand, softly stroking
the tender flesh as if taking pity on it. Then she felt the cool touch of the
cane upon her skin as he measured the distance. He raised his arm, and she heard
the sound of the cane through the air as he brought it down with full force. The
pain seemed to shoot right through into her belly.
'Say one,' he instructed her.
'One.'
'Count each stroke after you receive it.'
She intoned the numbers as the cane sliced remorselessly across her
buttocks, trying not to let her voice tremble. She gripped the legs of the bench
with her hands. She was glad she'd been bound, otherwise it would have been
impossible to keep her hands from defending herself. Her whole body was shaking.
The pain seemed to bite deep into her bowels. She wished he would go faster, get
it over with, but he beat her with a slow, regular rhythm, allowing the full
force of each stroke to sink in. She heard herself moaning, felt the tears
welling.
At last it was over. I've survived, she told herself. She felt a fierce
pride in her feat of endurance. Over the last few strokes the pain had produced
an intense heat which spread from her buttocks into her belly, penetrating into
her cunt, which glowed with desire.
He undid her bonds and told her she might rise. She wanted to rub herself,
but dared not. Instead she requested her knickers.
'I'll keep them,' the man said. 'A nice souvenir.'
He took them from his pocket and rubbed them against his cheek, savouring
the softness, then sniffed them. With a shrug, she let her skirt fall and left
the room.
Outside it was raining hard. She opened her umbrella and set off down the
street, her buttocks still burning. It was good to feel the cool air in the
space between her legs, naked under her skirt.
She turned a corner and collided with a man hurrying in the opposite
direction. Her umbrella flew through the air into the road. Just at that moment
a bus went past, crushing the umbrella under its wheels. She cried out in
dismay.
'Oh, dear, I'm so sorry,' the man said.
She looked at the broken umbrella in the gutter. The rain was coming down
even harder.
'I'm going to get soaked,' she said helplessly.
'Where are you going?'
She told him she was on her way to the underground station, about two
hundred yards away.
'Let me accompany you,' he said. 'It's the least I can do.'
His umbrella was easily big enough for both of them. She took his arm. It
seemed the most comfortable thing to do. When they got to the station he looked
at her under the bright light.
'Look,' he said, 'I don't normally do this sort of thing. But would you
have a drink with me?'
'Now?'
He looked at his watch. 'I'm late already. How about tomorrow?'
What can be the harm, she thought. She gave him her number.
'I'm Anna,' she said.
'Henry,' he replied, smiling as he said goodbye.
She didn't think he'd call but he did, the next day. They arranged to meet
that evening. After half an hour she knew she wanted to see him again. All her
resolve about not wanting a relationship seemed to ebb away. He was funny,
affable, and she felt a powerful pull of sexual attraction. They met again the
next night. When they left the bar he kissed her.
'What now?' he said, holding her close.
She smiled sweetly. 'Give me time.'
She didn't like to play the innocent, still less have him think she was a
tease. But this morning she'd looked at her bruises, for the first time
appreciating the aptness of the expression 'black and blue'. It would be a week
before they were gone, a week before any man could see her naked, except the
anonymous men at the house. And then she might get another call, to receive more
bruises.
She could explain none of this to Henry. But if she didn't allow him to
take her to bed after a week, she feared she might lose him. And anyway, she
wanted him. But did she want him so much she was prepared to renounce her weekly
visits?
After six days the bruises had faded enough to take a chance. They made
love in Henry's apartment. It was as good as she had hoped; even better, in
fact. She would have liked to repeat the experience the next day, but there was
a message on her phone. It summoned her for 6.30 that evening; there was no
indication of what would happen to her. Perhaps, she thought, I won't be beaten
this time. She took a chance and arranged to meet Henry later, at 9.00.
It was the younger man again. He made her take off her dress. Underneath
she wore a white silk camisole and tiny briefs embroidered with pink roses. A
matching suspender belt held up her flesh-coloured stockings.
'Take off the knickers,' he said.
She removed them and hung them over a chair.
He made her stand in front of him as he sat. He put his arm behind her and
slowly caressed her naked bottom, his fingers enjoying the softness of the skin.
'I'm going to whip you,' he said. 'How many strokes do you think you
deserve?'
She took a deep breath. 'May I make a request?'
'A request? I'm not sure that's allowed.'
'Naturally I'll accept whatever you decide. But I really need not to be
marked. If possible.'
'Really need?' he said. 'What you really need is to do as you are told.
That's why you are here.'
'Please,' she whispered.
He was silent for a moment. His hand still caressed her bottom, then he
slid it between her legs.
'There's only one place I could whip you where you wouldn't be marked,' he
said. He took the delicate plump lips of her sex between his finger and thumb
and squeezed them.
She shuddered. God, no, oh please not that.
'Do you consent?'
Her knees trembled.
'Is there no other way?'
'No other that I care for.'
'Very well,' she replied in a whisper.
'Wait here,' he said, standing up and leaving the room.
When he came back he was carrying a heavy iron spreader-bar. There were
thick leather straps at each end. He made her kneel on the floor while he
attached her ankles to each end of the bar. He fastened a pair of handcuffs
round her wrists, then told her to lower her head to the ground. Her bottom was
sticking up in the air, her legs forced wide, her sex horribly exposed. He had a
whip in his hand. He stood astride her, facing her rear.
'Eight,' he said. 'Very hard. It's your own fault.'
Oh God, she said under her breath. The whip had long rawhide thongs. He
raised it above his shoulder and brought it down between her legs. She squealed
as the strips of rough leather cut into the tender folds of flesh. He raised the
whip again, brought it down harder than ever, as it seemed. She tried to wriggle
out of the way, but his legs were tight around her hips, pinioning her. It
wasn't just the pain, it was the awful vulnerability. It was a kind of
violation.
At last it was over. When he released her she stood still, one hand between
her legs, holding herself, comforting her lacerated sex.
He didn't fuck her. She was glad. She wanted to save it for Henry. When she
got to his apartment he saw that she had been crying.
'What's the matter?' he asked.
'Nothing. It's all right. Really,' she insisted. 'Just be gentle with me.'
In bed in the dark he kissed her between her legs. It was still burning
there. Her labia tingled. She feared having his lips and tongue on her would be
too much, but it was pure heaven, an ecstasy such as she had never known. Coming
away from her whipping she had wondered if she could ever endure such a thing
again, even if it meant she could keep Henry. Now she had her answer. They could
do their worst. It would only increase her joy.
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