After she left, I had plenty of time to think about what I'd said to her, and wonder about it. My little speech hadn't been planned or thought out but had just come out of me, telling her what she'd feel over the next few days and what she'd do. It had been rude and incredibly arrogant and not like me at all.
And yet, at the time it hadn't seemed that way to me. At the time it had seemed to come from some hidden and unsuspected part of me, less a prediction than some sort of secret knowledge, or not even that: more like a force, a compulsion, as if I knew what would happen, as if I could actually make it happen just by telling her.
It was like I'd sensed that in this part of her life at least, I could control her. It was if I felt her calling for my control and wanting it. I'd felt in her a softness and confusion, a fear and uncertainty that she was working very hard to conceal, and I'd felt like I could somehow reach right in and take a grip on her, almost as if I could feel my fingers fitting into specific slots. It was a weird and uncanny feeling and intensely sexual, unlike anything I'd ever felt before. It was that feeling that had given me the certainty that my words would hit home and resonate, and then come to haunt her no matter what she did.
All I'd said was that she'd become obsessed with thinking about the things we'd done, the acts of love and control that had so deeply affected her. That was hardly a bold prediction. I knew how she'd reacted to our lovemaking. I'd seen her initial eagerness and curiosity turn into alarm and fear as she'd felt herself sliding out of control, and I knew that would leave an impression. I had no doubt that she'd be running those moments over and over in her mind for a long time to come.
But then I'd told her she'd be compelled to masturbate—something I was pretty certain Arianna didn't regularly do, or at least certainly wouldn't admit—and that she'd be unable to climax. And that had been a very bold and presumptuous prediction.
Or had it been a command?
I'd aroused something inside this demure and self-possessed young professional. I'd pried up the lid and awoken the sleeping beast, of that I had no doubt. Nor did I have much doubt that there was a part of her that very much wanted this beast to wake up, and longed for the feel of its fangs and claws and fiery breath. There was a force in Arianna, and I was aware of it even if she wasn't, savage and sexual and intensely alive. And it was this force I was counting on.
Meanwhile, I was possessed by a strange calm and confidence, and an odd and almost annoying sense of certainty that I was in control of her and this relationship. I'm not used to being that certain about anything, especially women, and that's what I found annoying.
I live at the outer fringe of society and pretty much always have. Round peg, square hole; hopeless romantic, non-conformist, grouch, skeptic, social renegade, what have you. My relationships with women have always been kind of iffy and fragile. Things would start out okay, but there'd always come a time when they'd start expecting more from me. More what is hard to say: money, ambition, normalcy, predictability? Less spaciness and involvement with the weird subjects that fascinated me? I admit it: I think too much. I dream, I wonder, I read weird books and have strange friends. In the seven years since my divorce, I hadn't had a relationship last for more than six months.
So this feeling of certainty and confidence I had about Arianna was something new and unexpected. I felt I held her like a baseball in a glove, like a jail holds a prisoner, like rails hold a train. I didn't have to think with her or strategize. I didn't have to work. I didn't have to plan my words or second guess or worry about losing her. The relationship was just that honest, and it was a wonderfully liberating feeling, She'd come to me as a gift, and as a gift I'd received her.
Seen this way, this would be a test for her. If the things I'd said had no effect, then she wasn't the woman I'd thought she was and it's likely I'd likely never see her again. But if they did have an effect, then I'd be hearing from her before too long. So there was no use worrying about it.
But tell that to my heart. The image of Arianna haunted me, as I'd thought it would. Her body, her face, the depth in her eyes; her lips slack in rapture as I touched her, and the way her body yielded and melted and flowed against me as her excitement mounted. Her face in orgasm as she lost all control and surrendered to me, becoming temporarily no more that an instrument of my pleasure, mindless, ecstatic, a vessel to receive my love.
I did some divination regarding the situation. I did a couple of tarot spreads. I don't want to give the impression that I believe in the cards' powers to predict the future, but the tarot comprise a collection of very potent symbols, and the cards' strength is in letting you see things in different contexts, or from different angles. They can help you understand your own feelings and reveal hidden meanings.
Context. It's all about context. It's context that separates rape from passionate love; context that gives a simple touch its power to thrill; context that turns a one-night affair into a lifelong involvement. Context is meaning, and its meaning we're all seeking, the sludgy ambergris of truth.
Arianna's cards changed with every spread, but in all were symbols of the feminine, in all its various manifestations: emotion, receptivity, fertility, change, darkness. I was just doing simple three-card peaks: the first card being her, the second the situation, the third the outcome.
The spread I remember best came up like this: (1) The Moon; (2) Eight of Cups—Indolence; (3) the Blasted Tower, or Tower Hit By Lightning .
The Moon signifies confusion, change, and mutability, the mixing of reason and emotion. The Moon has always been a very feminine images. In this spread it represented Arianna and how she was feeling and perceiving: her state of mind.
The Eight of Cups represents Indolence, the weary languor that often follows sensual excess. It's the trap that follows pleasure, a cushion-strewn sofa that beckons you to rest and give up because there is no more, when actually the journey has just begun. This card represented Arianna's present situation.
The future was in the third card: the Blasted Tower, showing a medieval castle torn asunder by a strike of lightning, two hapless soldiers plummeting to their doom: major change, the destruction of the old, the violent ending of the status quo; crisis, catastrophe, the birth of the new.
I don't think I have to describe what this reading told me, or the kind of context it provided me with
Of even more use in understanding our relationship was the alchemical interpretation. Everyone knows alchemy as a joke, the silly attempt to turn lead into gold, practiced by scientifically illiterate fools and con-men back in the middle ages. Not many understand the hidden meaning of alchemy, which was to turn man's base and earthy nature into spiritual gold. Alchemy was a spiritual art, an attempt to achieve the magnum opus of converting the gross and impure matter of everyday life into something clean, heavenly, and sacred, and by so doing likewise convert our tarnished and polluted souls into into the pure radiance of spirit.
Tarot is temporary. The cards describe a system in flux but temporary. But alchemy is a pattern for life. And seen in this secret and spiritual light, the alchemical principle of solve et coagulum, dissolve and coagulate, takes on a new, deeper meaning. The substance to be changed must be completely dissolved so the impurities can be removed, and then solidified into a purer, more perfect state. This dissolution was to be accomplished by heat8ng the matter with the most foul and base of sunstancesthought to be aided by deliberately adding contaminants and gross impurities, and so the alchemists would heat their substances with urine, dung, and even feces.
And likewise, those carrying out the Magnum Opus of purifying themselves, would often drench themselves in sin and debauchery in order to dissolve themselves in it and emerge as pure and spiritual, uncontaminated.
I could see myself doing that to Arianna, forcing her down and debasing her till she dissolved in her own depravity, and then lifting her from the slag like an ingot of pure gold. I could see her as my receiving flask, a vessel placed to receive the purified vapors of my lust. I could see these desires coagulating and solidifying to create a new core to her being, firm and hard and clear like a diamond. I dreamed about her.
The call came not on Tuesday, but on Thursday. Her voice was soft but intense, as if kept under rigid control.
"I want to see you," she said.
"Oh?" I took the call in the kitchen standing near the sin k. "And what brought that about, Arianna? I thought you'd decided we were a bad idea together."
"I know. I did. A real relationship, I meant. I still don't think it's a good idea. But I need to see you."
"And what for?" I was in no way inclined to make this easy for her. "Something we can't discuss on the phone?"
I could feel her hand tightening on her cell. She was upset. She lowered her voice. "You know what it's about, David. Something you did to me."
"Oh? Something about our former affair, you mean? Or something else?"
"David, don't. It was what you said to me. As I was leaving. You know what it was."
I smiled. I couldn't help it. I smiled, and I felt a rush of exciting and intoxicating power run through my belly.
"Remind me," I said.
She sighed and lowered her voice even further, down to a whisper. "You told me to do certain things. And you told me not to do other things. You got inside my mind somehow, David, and I can't get you out. Whatever you did to me, I need you to stop."
I sat down at the table to enjoy this. "Tell me what happened, Arianna."
"David, please. Is this necessary? It happened like you said. Every bit of it. And it's still going on. Do you understand? "
"Where are you, Arianna?"
"I'm at home. In my room. But I need to see you in person, at your place. Please."
"Tell me what happened, Arianna. I want to know."
"David, how did you do this to me? Is it hypnosis, some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion? David, I need to know. I trusted you."
So it had worked. My words had worked on her better than I'd even hoped for. But how could I tell her what I'd done when I wasn't even sure myself?
"Calm down, Arianna. Now just tell me what happened."
She sighed tightly. "Ethan's been talking about a reconciliation. The legal stuff about the divorce is freaking him out. He's having second thoughts. I... Well, I didn't encourage him, but I didn't say no. We had dinner last Sunday. We went out. In the car he got amorous. He asked if he could kiss me..."
"And you let him."
"David, he's still my husband. You know what I've been going through with this divorce. You know how it's torn me to pieces. And then with you, what we've done together. I'm just totally confused and don't even know what I'm doing any more. Please don't judge me. I just can't stand that right now."
I agreed. "All right. So he asked if he could kiss you. And you said yes."
A silence, then: "It was awful. It was like kissing a dead man. A corpse. He wanted me to come back to his place. I couldn't. David, I can't stand his touch anymore, his hands scrabbling at me, looking for my switches and buttons so he can turn me on. It was horrible. All I could think about was you and the things we did. But still, I didn't want to hurt him..."
My initial feeling of smug satisfaction morphed into a kind of steely jealousy and selfish possessiveness, an anger. "And so what happened?"
"I begged off. I had to. I told him I couldn't, that I wasn't ready. I told him I was all full of confusion and hurt and I just couldn't go with him. And I wasn't lying. That was all absolute truth. I just didn't tell him about us or what we'd done. He took me home. He tried to kiss me goodnight..."
"And that's it?" I asked. "That's what you need to see me about?"
"No, David! Of course not. I just want you to have an idea of my mental state, that I'm very stressed right now and very vulnerable."
"I understand," I said. "Now tell me about Tuesday night."
"David—"
"Tell me."
Tuesday night was when I'd told her she'd go into the shower and masturbate for me and not be able to climax. Whether my words had been a prognostication or a command, the results would be the same. I wanted to know which, but Arianna balked.
"Can't I tell you in person?"
"No, Arianna. Over the phone. What are you wearing?"
"Wearing? Really? I'm wearing my black wool slacks, my bank clothes. We had meetings till 8."
"Open your legs, Arianna. Touch yourself. Slowly, softly—"
"David! I'm at home!"
"Then close your door," I said. "Do you want to see me, Arianna? Then do what I say."
"Oh God. Do I have it to? It's embarrassing."
"Do you want to see me?" I answered. "Then do it. I want to see if you're serious."
"God, what have I gotten myself into?" she said. "Why are you so mean to me? All right. There. I'm doing it. I'm sitting on my bed and I'm doing it."
"Good girl. Now tell me."
Her voice took on a breathy, whiney edge. "It happened just like you said. That's what was so scary. I didn't want to think about the things you'd told me, but I couldn't not think about them, do you know what I mean? I mean, if someone tells you to not think of a pink elephant, you have to think about the pink elephant just so you won't think about it."
I smiled. "You still touching, Arianna?"
"Yes, yes, damn it!" Her voice rose to a harsh whisper, then dropped back down. "Is that all you want from me is sex, David? Is that all I am to you?"
"Hardly, Arianna. Hardly. But I can't explain now. You're not ready. Meanwhile, you were saying—?"
"Yes. Anyhow, I failed miserably at not thinking about what we've been doing, as you knew I would. But I still hadn't followed your orders. I told myself I just wouldn't do them, easy as that. I'd stay away from the shower on Tuesday night. How hard could that be, right? I even showered before dinner so I wouldn't be tempted to shower later on.
"But the same thing happened. The more I told myself I wasn't going to shower, the more I knew I'd have to. God, I can't explain it. It's like I knew you wanted it and I didn't want to disappoint you, but I didn't want to give in to you either, and I went back and forth..."
"Go on, Arianna."
"Oh, God," she breathed. "May I touch harder, David?"
I smiled. "Yes, you may. But you still won't orgasm until I allow it. And finish your story."
A little whining sigh, and then she went on, a bit breathier this time: "So finally I had to shower. I figured I'd shower for you just to show you that I could do it without doing the rest of the things you said. And that was like such a relief, to do what you wanted. It was like you were there with me. I know it's stupid, but I did because I was doing what you wanted."
"Good," I said. "That's very good, Arianna. And then?"
So I was in the shower, and as I was washing, I kept on seeing you and that angry look you get in your eyes when I don't do what you want quickly enough. God, that excited me so much! I had to touch. I tried to do it the way you do, and then I had this feeling like you were watching me. I can't describe it. You were making me do it, and I couldn't stop. I just needed it so much and you were making me."
"Just like I'm making you do it now."
She moaned over the phone. "Yes. Almost. I wanted to do it. I wanted to do it for you. And I wanted to do it for me too, because I so needed it. I was hurting. I was hurting and it was so shameful standing in the shower like that, imagining your hands on me, your kisses, your body against mine."
I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes, picturing her, picturing her in the shower and picturing as she was now, probably sitting on her pink frilly bed—the bed she'd had since girlhood, she'd told me—in her black wool pants with her legs apart, rubbing her concealed pussy with her manicured nails. I could picture that swatch of black woolen fabric over her panties, and beneath those, the dark, mysterious architecture of her pussy, the complex hydraulics of her valves and glands and ducts.
"And did you cum, my little slut?" I whispered.
I felt her shudder as the word hit home. I knew she loved being called names.
"No!" she whined. "No. I came so close. I knew you wanted me to, but you'd told me not to too. I just got so confused. It was agony. And now I can't. I just can't! And I need to. The more I can't, the more I need to. Really really need to, David. You have to let me. I need to hear you say it. I need to see you. Please, David? This isn't fair!"
I let her hang there for a while, enjoying her hunger and discomfort. Then I spoke: "Is this the Arianna who's terrified she might be sexually submissive and hates the idea of being controlled?"
"David, please— Don't tease. You don't know how hard it is for me to even talk about these things."
That was true. Arianna could be perfectly open about sexual matters, but never talked about what she wanted and she desired. This was new. And exciting.
I held the phone close. "Are you wet now, Arianna? Do you need release now?"
"Yes. God, yes! I'm always wet now. I can't turn it off and I can't stop thinking about you and that's why you have to see me. Let me, David. Tell me I can. Please? Say that I can?"
This had turned out even better than I'd imagined in my wildest fantasies: so well I wondered if she was just faking, play acting the part. I'd never heard her talk this way. This wasn't the Arianna I'd known.
But at the same time, her voice was earnest, low and urgent and tightly controlled, and if it was an act, then she was a masterful actress. And hearing her like this, begging and imploring, was not only thrilling, but felt incredibly right, incredibly fitting, as if there was no other way things could have turned out. In the stars, in the heavens, I had an image of two planets falling under the sway of each other's gravity and slowly starting to circle, orbits diminishing and speeds increasing, the attraction getting stronger as the distance between them shrank: F=G(M1 x M2)/r^2
"No," I said calmly. "You may not."
I ignored her long, frustrated groan and sat back up in my chair, tugging at my trousers to give my cock more room.
"But I will see you, Arianna. Not tonight, not tomorrow night. But on Saturday night I'll see you. But there are conditions, Arianna."
She sighed with relief. "Thank you- What conditions?"
"I think it's time, you acknowledge the special bond between us. And not just in words, but in deeds."
Silence on her end, waiting.
"I don't care what you want to call it, but sexually, you'll be my slave, Arianna. You'll be my private slut and sex toy, because I have access to parts of you you can't even imagine yet. You need me for that, to explore you and use you, and uncover all that's hidden away."
Silence on the phone, but I could hear her breathing, listening.
"You're one of those women like the nymphs in my story. Remember? They were too pure and modest for their own good. They felt sexual desire, but didn't know how to express it, or satisfy it. They needed to satyrs for that. I'm going to be your satyr.
"So I will meet you on Saturday, but we'll be meeting in a very different context for a very different kind of relationship."
"David—"
I sat back and closed my eyes and let my imagination go wild. I knew just how I wanted her to dress.
"You'll dress for this meeting. Stockings. Not pantyhose, but stockings. With seams, preferably. You'll wear heels, dress heels, and no underthings, no lingerie. I want you naked under your clothes. You may wear a garter belt, but no panties, no bra. I want you to feel your nakedness against the fabric.
"Also, you'll wear office attire. One of your serious, career-girl outfits, like you wear at the bank. Pencil skirt, jacket, blouse. You know what I mean. Do you understand the symbolism here, Arianna? The nice, proper young woman who hides a secret slut underneath?"
"David, I don't know if I can. I don't have stockings or lingerie like that. I—"
I smiled. "You have Friday and Saturday to get some."
"But why—?"
"Why? Because I said so. Because that's the way I want you to present yourself. Do you think this is a game, Arianna? A date? We're not going bowling or to the movies. You'll make yourself up and perfume yourself. You'll shave and wax. You'll wear jewelry and adorn yourself and make yourself as beautiful and desirable as reasonably possible. And then you'll meet me at the bar at Streeter's at eight eighteen PM so I can inspect you and see if you can follow orders."
"Streeter's? Can't I just come over?"
"No. I want you out in public as my secret slut. I want you to feel eyes on you. I want you to see yourself as an object of lust, sitting at that bar in your nylons with no panties. Now, do you have any questions?"
"God! I don't know if I can do that!"
"If you can't do it, then I'll just wish you happy holidays now, Arianna."
"No! Wait! God, this is so embarrassing! Why are you doing this to me? Haven't you done enough?"
I smiled. "No. I haven't. Not nearly enough. But that's going to change. And oh— I almost forgot. You'd best tell your folks that you're staying over at a girl friend's house and bring an overnight bag, because you won't be going home."
In the next couple of days I readied the place for our Saturday night. I had things to put up, objects to mount: chains, hoists, pulleys, contraptions. Though none of my relationships here had crossed into really hardcore BDSM, I'd turned my fascination with erotic restraint into a kind of perverse hobby, making my own equipment and devices to fulfill my fantasies.
I had no real plan or idea of what I'd do with Arianna. It would be dramatic and impressive enough to shatter her last bits of denial, but beyond that I gave no thoughts to specifics. I was still operating under this strange sense of calm and confidence that, for me, was unfamiliar territory when it came to women.
Then on Saturday it occurred to me: This must be what true dominance feels like, this kind of ease and certainty that never doubts itself. And I realized that it must come from Arianna's submission. If my control of Arianna made her more submissive (and it did), then why shouldn't her submission to me make me feel more dominant?
It made perfect sense. We were in a feedback loop of dominance and submission: the more subby she got, the dommier I got, and the dommier I got, the more subby she got. A beautiful and sublime symmetry.
A cold front had come through and a bitter wind whipped in from the north, making people on the street turn up their collars and hold them closed over their faces. Out of the wind like I was, though, it wasn't so bad.
Streeter's is a popular hangout for the young urban professionals who inhabit the high-rises in this part of the city, close to downtown. It's dead during the day, but after work it fills up with suits and ties and business casual, and on the weekend serves as a meat locker, crowded with people on the make looking to hook up.
I showed up twenty minutes late. I wanted to give Arianna time to stew in this environment and let it eat away at her sense of calm and composure. I knew she'd draw attention and be approached, and I wanted her to be hit on and feel a little threatened. It would make her more dependent on me.
It would also arouse my natural jealousy and possessiveness and make me just a little angry, a little possessive. I knew it was completely irrational to hang her out there like bait and then get angry when the fish started to bite, but I knew it would work too, and I wanted that anger. I needed it in order to treat her the way I intended.
I entered the bar and it didn't disappoint. It was shoulder to shoulder near the door, an instant sea of babbling conversation, music, laughter and noise; the humid heat of a hundred bodies in various states of inebriation wearing a hundred different scents and perfumes, the smell of spilled beer and wet wool.
I made my way through to the bar and looked up and down. There she was, sitting near the far end, a knot of men gathered around her like an arbor, mostly talking or shouting to each other, talking around and above her as she sat primly nursing some red cocktail. I could tell she'd slipped into her bank persona: polite, professional, but distant and nervously guarded
I elbowed my way through and approached.
"Hello, Arianna!" I had to practically yell to be heard over the crowd.
"David!" she shouted, then lowered her voice. "Thank God! I thought maybe you weren't coming!"
She looked absolutely stunning. More make-up than she would have worn to the bank, and of a totally different style, smoky and seductive. She'd put her hair up too, something I hadn't mentioned, but something she must have known I found terribly erotic for the way it showed off a lovely and vulnerable neck. She never would have worn it that way on this chilly night without good reason, and I found it deeply gratifying.
The men eyed me resentfully and stood tall to block what they saw as my attempt to poach on their territory, but Arianna lost no time in introducing me.
"Tyler," she called to the young hunk of beefcake nearest me. "This is my friend David. The man I said I was waiting for? David, this is Tyler. He was kind enough to give me his seat so I didn't have to stand. And this is Zach, Owen, and Christopher."
They gave me resentful nods and I ignored them. I managed to worm my way against the bar to her right.
"What time did you get here?" I asked.
"A little after eight. I didn't want to be late."
"Good girl. And you followed my instructions, I see?"
I could see her blush and my pulse began to race.
I raised my hand to get the bar tender's attention but Arianna grabbed my wrist. She leaned close. "Can we just leave now, David? This place makes me very uncomfortable. These men just won't leave me alone!"
I repressed my smile. I leaned forward and whispered: "Let me see what you're wearing."
She half turned on her stool. She was still wearing her heavy coat, but beneath that I could see a dark jacket and pearl-gray blouse; lower, a black skirt and the faint sheen of nylon on her knees.
"My shoes are in my bag," she whispered. "I just couldn't wear them in here."
I nodded.
The bartender approached but I waved her off. "That's okay. We're leaving. Got a plane to catch."
I took Arianna's hand and helped her down. She said some hasty goodbyes and I led her out into the night.
It was especially cold out after the humid heat of the bar, and I waited while she buttoned up her coat and got her mittens and scarf on. I offered her my arm.
"Where'd you park, Arianna?"
"I didn't," she said. "I took a cab."
That was nervy. Taking a cab meant there'd be no easy way for her to leave if things went sour. It was a kind of commitment to spending the whole night, no matter what.
I smiled. "All right. We'll walk. It's only a few blocks."
We set off, Arianna clinging to my arm.
"God, that was horrible back there. Why'd we have to meet there? There are nicer places."
"I didn't want a nicer place. I wanted a place that would make you feel naked and exposed And vulnerable. I wanted you to feel like a sex object."
"Why?"
"Because tonight I want you to feel naked and corrupted and objectified. I want you to feel like my toy and plaything."
"I don't understand. Why would you want that?"
"I know. Everyone says objectification is evil, treating you as a sex object rather than as a person and human being. I'm going to show you that it's not. That it's incredibly liberating and freeing. Your problem is that you're too tangled up with your ego and your image of yourself. You can't feel a thing without worrying about how it makes you look or feel. That's got to go. That's why we're doing this."
She was silent, head down in thought. So I went on.
I led her on a short cut through an alley where the wind was less and we slowed to a stroll, walking past the recycle bins and fences and boxes left in the trash.
"I still don't know if you're insightful or absolutely crazy," she said. "So why am I here with you? Why am I letting you do these things to me? Why do I feel so connected to you?"
We reached the rear entrance to my place. I turned to her and said: "Come inside and I'll show you."
Inside the lights were low and there were candles burning in saucers. I'd cleaned the place, and the chromed and polished-nickel suspension gear that hung from the ceilings and door frames gave the place almost a party atmosphere, or maybe more like the feeling of a cave or cavern, with hanging stalactites.
Arianna looked around her with an expression of wonder and disbelief as I helped her off with her coat. "Oh my God! You're really into this, aren't you? This is kind of scary, David."
"Yes I am into it. And it's supposed to be a little scary. We're going to some scary places."
I hung up our coats and turned to her. "Your shoes, Arianna. Remember?"
"Oh!" She dug into her bag and pulled out her heels and slipped them on, and the change was remarkable. From the beautiful waif in the stocking cap, she turned into the consummate woman of power, tall and regal. But still enchanted by what she saw.
I led her into the living room and put some music on and lit some more candles. "Dance with me," I said.
"Oh David. I don't really know how to dance."
"Then I'll show you. Come here."
She came to me tentatively and I put my arms around her, and as soon as I had her in my embrace I knew I would have my way. I felt the tension leave her body and she clung to me like a child to a parent. I could feel her make herself small and nestle against me in that way women do when they want to be held.
"Now tell me, Arianna. What did you want to see me about? What's so important?"
I already knew what she wanted but I wanted to hear her say it. I was being cruel to her. I intended to be crueler still.
"I wanted to tell you: I'm sorry about those things I said. About us. I was confused and I wasn't thinking clearly, and that was silly of me, and rude. David, this is all new to me and it's kind of overwhelming, and on top of what's happening with my marriage..." Her voice trailed off.
"And so... What? You want to continue seeing me? You want to take up where we left off?"
She laid her head against my chest. "I don't know. I don't know what I want. But I need you in my life. You're the only solid thing I have, the only good thing in all this mess. Everything's crazy. Everything's spinning. And I need you to release me from those things you said. I don't know how you did that, but it worked, and it's consuming me. Please!"
I stopped dancing and stepped back.
"No," I said. "I won't. The game's changed, Arianna, and so have the rules. I'm not letting you get away with this anymore. I'm not letting you ignore it and pretend that butter doesn't melt in your mouth. You're going to own it, Arianna. You're going to stand up and own what you are, because that's the only way I'm going to be able to reach you."
She stood there uncertainly. "I don't understand," she said. "I don't understand what you're talking about. What do you want me to do?"
"You don't know?" I asked. "You really don't know? I've been protecting you, Arianna, playing along with you. But I won't anymore. If you want to go on with me it'll be on my terms, my rules. And it'll be real, Arianna, not make believe."
She looked at me in confusion and opened her mouth to speak, but I stopped her.
"No. Listen to me. You want to know why you want to come back? You want to know how I managed to take control of you like that and keep you from cumming? It's because I know what you want, and you know it. You won't admit it to yourself but your body knows. Your heart knows. You only know it's something you need, but I know what that something is, and I know that deep inside you're desperate to have it."
She looked at me in bewilderment, and that only angered me further. How dense could she be?
I grabbed her arm and pulled on it.
"Get on your knees, Arianna! Down!"
"David! What are you doing?"
"Just do it!"
Her office clothes excited me; her very proper skirt and jacket. She even had a double strand of pearls around her neck. She just looked so bright and wholesome, so pure.
I kept my grip on her and suddenly she acquiesced. She fell to her knees in front of me, as surprised at the strength of my grip as I was, pulling at my hand trying to free herself. As soon as she hit the ground I released her. She looked up at me with resentment but she stayed down, knees spread so the black skirt stretched tight between her thighs.
I burned with an unholy lust and desire, and seemed to be running on some kind of automatic pilot. I opened my pants and pulled out my cock and held it out for her in an almost strange and dreamlike kind of pantomime. She looked up me, eyes angry, then imploring, and finally acquiescent looking past the hardening cock that hung over her face like the sword of fate. I grabbed her head and pulled her towards me and she opened her mouth and took me inside.
She tried to resist. She mmphed and protested and made a show of trying to pull away, but I grabbed a fistful of her hair and thrust it in, and almost immediately she started sucking as if by instinct, as if her mouth hadn't gotten the message to resist and was acting on its own, hungry for my invading hardness. Her tongue came up snug against the underside and massaged me, taking the measure of this carnal invader and trying to draw him in deeper. Her sudden excitement surprised me, and I relaxed my grip on her hair and took her head in both hands to hold and guide her. She dug her nails into my thighs, trying to maintain some distance, but her mouth was dirty little cock-sucker.
"Oh yes, baby. Good girl..." I caressed her hair as she fell to her work, bobbing and twisting her head to maximize my pleasure. "Tell me this isn't what you want. Tell me you're not this kind of girl."
Arianna only moaned and gave no sign of relinquishing my prick. She'd immediately sucked me to full hardness and had fallen into an oral trance, eyes half-closed, tongue working, moaning in her throat.
"Take off your jacket," I said. "And open your blouse. I want to feel your tits against my legs."
A little squeal of salacious excitement and she peeled off her jacket. I held her hair and pumped my cock into her mouth as she started working on the buttons of her blouse, but before she could get it open a thick strand of saliva dripped from her lip and fell on it, right over her left breast.
"Mmm... ´I looked down on her, kneeling there and slavishly sucking my cock. Her blouse was open now, but still fastened at the sleeves, and I saw the silken fabric swaying and felt the soft weight of her tits slapped against my thighs as she bobbed her head. It was both terribly degrading and insanely arousing at the same time.
What is it about seeing a woman in a business outfit that so excites me? It's shameful, I know. Sexist. It's about seeing her in her power clothes, but reduced to her slutty, sexual essence.
How quickly she'd taken to playing the sub, falling to her knees and opening her mouth, opening her blouse at my command. All the way back to following my orders about masturbation and how to dress for this meeting. She'd done everything I'd said, even seemed to relish it. Just like she relished me forcing her into this cock-sucking.
"Ohhh yes, baby. Yes. That's a good girl. Just like that."
I still had one hand in her hair, which was starting to fall out of its updo and trail around her face, making her look even more demented and dissolute. "I'm going to make you my slut, Arianna, and we'll see if this is what you really want. I'm going to make you my whore and my sex toy for tonight and that's all we're going to think about. I'm going to take everything I want from you, and we'll see if you can really handle it and if this is what you really want. Because that's the only way this is going to work between us, Arianna. Complete surrender."
She moaned as my words hit home, and her sucking got even more intense and abject as she tried to open her throat and fuck herself on my cock. Her need to be penetrated and used excited me tremendously, and seeing her grovel and debase herself drove me to the point where I thought I might lose it myself, so I grabbed her arm pulled her quickly to her feet before I was too far gone to stop. I couldn't afford to lose control right now.
I had to hold her up as she swayed a little, dizzy and disoriented and drunk with cock. Her blouse was open but still concealing the mass of her tits, and with her skirt hiked up and hazy, sensual look in her eyes, she looked incredibly sexy and dissolute, ready for anything I wanted to do to her.
And that's what I wanted to see. I wanted to see that being used like this and ravaged turned her on and made her hot. That's the thing: a sub has to love it even in spite of herself, even if her higher self is telling her, no, no, you're not like this, you don't respond to this. Even then you've got to connect with that other part of her, the part that needs this violent passion. You've got to connect with that part and bring it out where she can see it and feel it and no longer deny it.
"Come here!" I led her unsteadily over to the hoist by the space heater.
I'd put ropes and toys in various places around the room, but always close to a rig, one of the hoists or pulley systems I'd hung from the ceiling: suspension rigs. I led her to the rope hoist I'd hung up by the space heater, one of my favorites, because I'd fitted it to a trailer winch, a crank and gear affair that was not only sturdy, but made a satisfying and dramatic ratcheting sound as the handle was turned and the hook began to rise: the sound of the inevitable.
Arianna stood as if entranced as I buckled the cuffs around her wrists, making no move to resist or try to stop me. She wasn't stupid, and she had to know what the cuffs meant, but she was entirely willing in her passive way. She was ready.
I attached the cuffs together with a carabiner and clipped the carabiner to the snatch hook on the business end of the hoist. I stepped to the winch attached to the wall behind her and put my hand on the crank.
"This satyr welcomes you to his den, Arianna. Instruction's about to begin. Welcome to your first day of school, darling."
I turned the crank and the ropes on the hoist began to tighten. She gave as little squeal of alarm, even though she must have known damned well what was going to happen. Her hands lifted slowly, from waist level to chest, then to her face, then higher, higher, up over her head. The ratchet clicked ominously and Arianna's arms straightened and strained and started to feel the tension. She cried out when the tension got so great that her shoes began to lose purchase on the floor.
At that point I stopped and backed it off enough that she'd have solid footing, but still tight enough that she'd feel stretched and helpless. I came around in front of her.
I fastened a ball gag between her teeth. I knew Arianna could be loud, and I didn't want to take any chances. She refused it at first, but then opened her mouth and slipped it in. She immediately began crying out into the gag and making muffled protests. She was testing it, seeing how well it silenced her. It worked just fine.
I knew she wanted to yell. I knew she wanted to protest. I was violating her body, disrespecting her person, so of course she would yell. But we both knew it would have no effect. It was a formality, a show. We both knew what she was there for.
The gag between her teeth gave her a wild and manic look, like a horse feeling the bridle. She looked at me with fear and trepidation, but the sight of her stretched out like a prisoner in some medieval dungeon absolutely galvanized me with desire. She must have seen it in my look because she quickly dropped her eyes as if they'd touched something hot. I opened her blouse and lifted it aside to expose her breasts.
As per my orders, she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were bare and unusually full and beautiful; heavy and warm when I took them in my hands. I took her arm and slowly turned her around. She yelped and raised up on tiptoe to keep her balance, but I got her turned and facing the wall so I could undo her skirt and open the zipper. I tugged it down over her hips and thighs, made her step out of it and tossed it aside.
She was without panties. A dark lace garter belt held her stockings up, and that was it. That tight, innocent ass presented itself, almost luminous in the dark of the room, and I couldn't keep from running my hands over it, like a fortune teller with his crystal ball. I felt her shudder.
"My God you are gorgeous," I whispered. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, and how much I want you?"
A little whimper. That was all.
I turned her back halfway towards me, so she was in profile.
"You really don't, do you?" I asked. "And you have no idea of why I have to do this to you."
She shook her head timidly, stretched out tight by the winch. I slid my hand up her torso, caressing a swollen breast and tweaking her nipple till I felt it harden between my fingers.
"Possession," I said. "Control. Ownership. Exploitation. Let's just start with those."
There was one more thing to do and I did it quickly, attaching velcro cuffs to her ankles, and clipping her ankles to a wooden spreader bar which kept her feet about eighteen inches apart. Then I turned her back to face me.
At that point she was mine: bound and gagged, spread and open, her body presented to me without reservation. She was my victim and my captive, my goddess and my whore: black stockings and high heels and legs spread, wispy garter belt stretched taut, blouse hanging off her shoulders like a stole, exposing her breasts, and that obscene red ball gag between her teeth. The effect on me was extreme.
Stepping up to her I put my hand on her ass to pull her towards me, towards where my other hand was waiting to caress her pussy and coax it even further awake. I wanted to feel the power I had over Arianna, the power she so willingly gave me. She jumped when I first touched her, but she had nowhere to go and no way to protect herself, and she quickly settled down and yielded to my touch. What else could she do?
I attacked her from both side, gripping her ass cheek in my left hand while I assaulted her from the front with my right, sliding my middle finger between her labia and into her genital groove. She moaned as she was violated, helpless to do anything else. But down below, her body greeted me with a seepage of lubricating fluid that quickly eased the friction and let my finger glide easily up and down her vaginal cleft.
She might lie to herself, but she couldn't lie to her body. She was hugely excited.
And that's what I was looking for: the heat and softness and the wetness that told me her body was aroused whether she'd admit it or not. I was already touching her inside, past her gates of modesty and refusal. I was already in conversation with a deeper and more basic part of her, one that cared nothing about her dignity and self-image and only understood the language of touch and rude sensation.
My cock was still sticking out of my fly, waving around like the boom on some ridiculous crane. Now I pressed it against her, leaning into her so it pushed against the flesh of her hip and she could feel my urgent hardness, as if it already wanted to burrow into her and was ready to make its own hole.
"You're wet, princess," I whispered to her. I rubbed her vulva till she could hear the sticky, viscous sound of her own aroused flesh. "My, darling! How did you ever get so wet? Do you like being tied up like this, Arianna? Do you like being my toy? My little sex doll? Does it excite you?"
All she could do was mmph and moan behind the gag, and pull on the ropes to make the pulleys creak, but that wasn't doing her any good. The hoist held her up like a side of beef and just as exposed. But no side of beef ever looked like this.
I pushed my finger into her, up into her vagina, and she wailed and pulled sharply at the ropes. I hooked my finger inside her pussy and used it to pull her hips toward me until her feet barely touched the floor. Arianna yelled behind the gag.
"Do you want me to stop?" I asked, mocking her. "Do you want me to let you go? You can get your stuff and walk right out that door and I won't stop you. All you have to do is tell me to stop. Just grunt three times. Make any sound three times, and keep repeating. That's your safe word. Three shouts, or taps, or grunts, over and over and I'll let you go and you'll never have to see me again.
I pushed my finger into her even harder."But this is your test, Arianna. This is a test to see if this is what you really want, and to see if you can really handle it. You understand?"
That was the truth but at the same time I was teasing her, rubbing her face in it. She never would have come over here and put herself in my hands like this if she'd had any doubts or objections. Arianna wanted this. She wanted to be invisible. She wanted to be reduced to a sexual body, used and exploited and taught what she was capable of feeling.
I spun her around and she complied clumsily, her shoes scuffling on the floor as she tried to maintain her balance. I grabbed one buttock and squeezed it so hard she squealed. Then I released it and immediately fetched her a sharp slap on her ass. Her sudden cry of shock and alarm was wonderfully gratifying, as was the way her pussy bore down on my finger in a sudden spasm in response to the pain.
That called for another spank, and then another, and then I removed my finger from her and concentrated on spanking her ass, both buttocks, watching it get red in the dim light.
Her moaning was constant now, her little gasps and imprecations. I wanted to hear her. I wanted to hear what she was muttering and crying out behind the gag, so I just pulled it down
Arianna was panting. She was moaning, her voice low and shuddery, but the only words I could make out were, "Oh God! Oh God!" repeated in a breathy whisper over and over.
That was it. That was all I needed. I opened my pants and pushed them down with my shorts and I grabbed Arianna's forearms and pushed her back against the wall. I was taller than her and had to bend my knees to fit my cock to her pussy, but I got it in place, right between those dripping lips. I took her buttocks in my hands and pushed it in.
She was swollen and tight and seemed to want to resist me, but nothing was going to resist that iron erection. I slid up into her, stretching her and filling her, feeling that tight, polite vagina dissolve into a greedy, sucking whore cunt as I pushed. There was a feeling of fluttery excitement inside her, an intense sensation of submission.
"Fuck!" I hissed, and Arianna moaned.
I let go of her arms because the hoist held her tight enough, and I grabbed her ass and lifted her on top of me. My knees were still bent, and I shoved into her hard enough that her shoes lifted from the floor and she hung from me like a rag doll, suspended with her legs dangling on either side, held up only by my hands, my prick, and the ropes fastened to her wrists.
What's the point of this? The thrill, the excitement, the feeling of mastery and rightness from having Arianna spread and tied and helpless? What is it that makes it feel so good, fucking her hard like nature must have intended? I possessed her. I owned her. My prick was plunging into her, my body hammering her clit.
Arianna was losing control and close to orgasm. I could see it in her face, twisted into a grimace of delicious agony, mouth open, eyes closed. I could hear it in the way she whimpered and grunted as I slammed into her, sending my big prick deep inside. Her ass flexed in my hands as she bore down, tightening her pussy.
She cried out then screamed, and her head slammed back against the wall as she came hard, trembling and shaking in my hands, the orgasm hitting her in waves that wouldn't stop.
She was in the grip of serial orgasms, the shocks hitting her again and again as I fucked her furiously, desperate for my own climax.
"Oh yes! Yes! That's my girl!" I gasped. "That's my hot little whore! Give it to me baby! All of it! Every drop!"
Her juices were dripping from her, wetting my thighs. One last thrust. One last push into that open pussy, deep, hard, mean. My cock throbbed inside her and I froze, giving myself over to the ecstasy of orgasm, the explosive release of ejaculation, spewing my hot cum deep inside her open and helpless body.
And it was more than just orgasm, more than just sexual release, It was conquest, it was power. It was a feeling of raw possession that enveloped us both.
Arianna had felt the ropes. She had felt what it was like to be owned and used for a man's pleasure, and the feeling had hit her deep in that place she'd been hiding away. I'd discovered her. I'd revealed to her what she was, and as my cock slipped from her and I eased her to the floor, I felt her shaking and I heard her sob.
"Baby, baby..." I kissed her and tasted tears. I fumbled with her bonds and released her, then took her in my arms and held her as she shook and wept softly. "Are you alright?"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's nothing." She tried to laugh, then put her arms around my neck but I could feel she had no strength. I scooped her up in my arms and carried her to the sofa. I laid her down and covered her body with mine, and covered her face with tender kisses, caressing her, holding her safe.
"David, David. What have you done to me? I can't stop shaking."
"I've made you mine, Arianna. After this, I think there's no doubt. You're the one I've been looking for and you know it. I'm the key to your lock, and we've just opened the door. Now we get to see what's inside."
This story was written by user dr_mabeuse
Header picture by BDSM fetish, Angel Art
