7 comments/ 18106 views/ 7 favorites Seeking Peace Ch. 01 By: Chilcoot "Oh my God, Nancy, what have you gotten yourself into?" I asked myself. Maybe I moved too far, too fast. Let me back up a little. I won't bore you with the details of how I met this guy (the internet) or how I got to know him. I will tell you that I was looking for some BDSM 'action'. I didn't have any experience, except for the time I locked my hands behind my back in cuffs, just to see what it felt like. My BDSM experience was entirely in the world of fantasy. But I wanted more, and being a hard-charging modern woman, I wanted it quickly. So I hooked up with this man, who agreed to be my 'master' for a scene. I really talked up my experience, not because I wanted to deceive him, but because my pride and my desire wouldn't allow me to admit I was a 'newbie'. Eventually we met at his dungeon, really an old store front in the low-rent part of the city. The inside was fixed up quite nicely, filled with a lot of equipment I'd seen only in pictures on the web. I tried to act confident as I looked at spreader bars and ball gags and nipple clamps. He asked if I preferred where we began. I spotted a board sticking out of the wall, with a smooth rounded edge pointing up. I asked him about it. He said it was the Wooden Pony, a fairly advanced device. My woman's intuition told me it was his favorite. "Looks like my kind of action," I said, trying to sound confident, "Let's start there." "Um, okay," he replied, clearly surprised that I wanted to begin with such an advanced 'toy'. He added, "But if you're going to start there, you'll need to be completely naked." I think he was testing me. "All right," I said, but this time my voice betrayed a little nervousness. Trying to regain my confidence, I removed my clothes as smoothly as I could. Off came my blouse, my skirt, my shoes, and my hose. I stood there barefoot in my bra and panties. I clasped my hands behind my back, trying to look submissive. "I told you COMPLETELY naked," he said, a hint of command in his voice. Okay, time to cross a line. I reached behind me and unclasped my bra, took it down my arms and dropped it on the floor. Then I bent over, slid my panties down my legs and stepped out of them. Resisting the temptation to cover myself, I returned my hands to their place behind my back. I was totally nude. His question was unexpected: "You haven't a clue what you've gotten yourself into, do you?" That question brought me up abruptly. "I've been busted!" I thought to myself. "Girl, is your only exposure to this what you've seen and read on the internet?" he asked. I hesitated, wanting to appear experienced but also wanting to be honest. "Being new isn't a crime, but lying about it will bring punishment," he said in a quiet and firm voice. "Now tell me, have you ever submitted to anyone in this way?" I still hesitated, and he firmly instructed: "fetch me the riding crop hanging over there, and have your answer ready by the time you return." Trying very hard to look collected and assured, I brought him the crop. Nothing was working right, my walk looked like I was an awkward action figure and I was suddenly acutely aware of my nakedness. Returning with the riding crop, I handed it to him and hesitated briefly, then stammered about maybe having talked up my experience a bit more than I really had. "Cut the bullshit, girl, and spit it out! Truth or a whipping, you choose." "Okay," I said, "I've never seen the inside of a dungeon or any of these toys except in photographs and videos. I want to experience it it real life, and I will. I thought I would have a better chance if I didn't come on as a newbie." "Thank you for your honesty," he said, then was still and deep in thought for what seemed to be a long time. I started to say something and he raised the riding crop, pointed toward me. "You may speak when you're given permission," he cautioned. After a few more minutes he went on: "I don't think you have any idea that you're setting yourself up to be used, broken, and thrown away with the trash. When it happens, don't expect me to fix you." He went on: "You may leave now or you may become mine for two hours, and I'll put you on the pony for fifteen minutes to give you an idea of how much you're over-reaching." I remembered a line from a story I had read not long ago, and I said: "please, Sir, may I speak?" "You may speak one sentence," was the reply. I thought a minute, then said: "why two hours if we're only going to play for fifteen minutes?" "It's necessary, girl," was his reply. "First comes some basic training, then a short pony ride, then time to emotionally return to this reality. I want you to leave at once or leave in two hours with an idea of what you are asking for. You may speak one sentence when you have reached your decision." Almost immediately I said: "OK, I'm yours for two hours," hoping I sounded confident while inwardly wondering if I should run away, run away fast. Strange, since this is what I've been wanting for a long time now, but that little inner voice seems to be trying to tell me that things are quite different when living them instead of watching or reading about it. He approached me with a leather collar that was positively dripping D rings and loops. I immediately hated the collar because it says in large letters: SLAVE IN TRAINING. He fastened the collar around my neck and walked me to a nearby wall, where he clipped a hook in the wall to a ring in my collar. I try to resign myself to standing here for a while. He then says: "A few basic ground rules to start off with. You are my property, anything you have is because I give it to you. You will speak only when I give you permission and you will at all times remember to address me as Sir." Oh My God! I watched in horror as he cut my clothing into little pieces and threw it all in the trash!! I blurted: "But those are my clothes, what will I wear?" The minute the words escaped my lips I knew I had made a big mistake. He calmly picked up the riding crop and came alongside me. Fastened to the wall and unable to move away I trepidatiously watched him approach. "Nancy, you sure did screw up!" I thought. He swung the crop and struck the front of my left thigh with each of his words: "You are my property, everything you have comes from me. Do you understand? You may answer." "Yes, Sir, I understand. OW." "Believe it or not, girl, I'm being very tolerant and patient with you since you're a novice," he continued. "Now let's do some question and answer, you may answer my questions as long as you do so respectfully. Understand?" "Yes, Sir," I replied. "Who are you?" he queried. "Sir, I am Nancy." With a sharp stinging WHACK his crop hits my thigh. "Wrong answer. You are my property. Who are you?" "I am your property, Sir." "Why are you here?" "I am here to have a scene with you, Sir." Another WHACK, again my thigh burns with pain. "Wrong answer. You are here to obey. Why are you here, girl?" "I am here to obey you, Sir." "When may you speak, girl?" My thigh felt like it was on fire, yet it seemed he was barely flicking his wrist. The SOB was hitting the exact same spot with that damn crop. I decided I'd better start playing along, saying what he wants to hear. I'm not in a really good spot to negotiate, and dammit, my leg HURTS. "I may speak when you give me permission, Sir." "Very good! What do you own, girl?" "Nothing, Sir. I have what you give me," I dutifully replied while holding back any trace of personal opinion I may have. "Very good! Remember this in case I decide to share you, or shave you." I turned my eyes downward toward my recently waxed crotch. He noticed my glance and said: "not just there, girl, but your entire body, including your head. Many slaves begin their life completely shaven and only grow what hair their Master wants." It took a minute to sink in, and then I realized he was also talking about sharing me. My eyes widened and my breath shortened into panting. "Just soaked in, eh, girl? Yes, for the next two hours you are mine to share with whom I wish, or sell, or rent out. Are you beginning to realize what you asked for, what you got yourself into?" "Let's try out that pony now," he said. He buckled steel cuffs on my hands. I noticed the cuffs had rings attached to them. Then he lead me to the pony, adjusted the height of the board and told me I would straddle it with my legs. I thought it was too high for me, but he produced a pair of four inch spike heels to put on my feet. They weren't my size, but they gave me enough lift to straddle the pony. He adjusted the height again, so that the smooth curved edge of the board was just below my pussy and the crack of my butt. He pulled my hands together in front of me, and attached a clip to the rings on my cuffs, locking them together. He pulled a rope down from the ceiling and attached it to the clip. He then went behind me and made some adjustments. My arms were pulled up over my head. When he was done, he told me to slowly and gently pull down on my arms. When I did, the board pushed up between my legs. I now knew what would happen if I didn't hold up my arms. "Two more things to add," he said. With that, he told me to open my mouth, and he inserted a metal ring attached to a leather strap. I expected that I would be gagged, and this ring was it, holding my jaw wide open. He buckled the strap firmly behind my neck. I tried to move the ring with my tongue, but it was tightly held in place. Then he buckled a black blindfold over my eyes. It was disturbing, not being able to see. I wondered what the final point of this was. Would I just stand here until my arms got tired and I pulled that board up between my legs? What would happen next? He soon answered my question. "Two things to take away," he said, with a hint of glee. And with that he carefully removed the heels from my feet. Without the heels, I was forced up on my tiptoes. I knew that if I didn't stay on my toes, the weight of my whole body would rest on the edge of this board between my legs. In panic I pulled down with my arms. Suddenly the board was cruelly jammed into my most sensitive flesh. The sudden blow took my breath away, I sucked in air through the ring in my mouth. Carefully I raised my arms, and the board slid back into place. I stood there, balancing on my toes, wondering how long my legs would hold out. Already the flesh between my legs was bruised and tender from pulling the board up with my arms. I didn't relish pressing my whole weight on that area, with the edge of that board digging in. So I stayed on my tiptoes, and tried to take in my situation. I'm helplessly bound, with tight cuffs around my wrists. A blindfold took away my power of sight, making it even more difficult for me to think about escape. A hard metal ring was strapped between my teeth. Unlike the ball gags I'd seen in pictures, this ring had no give in it, but pried my jaw open in an unforgiving way. A collar was buckled around my throat. And that damn board was resting just below my crotch. The gag was adding to my misery. Drool began to form in my open mouth, and I couldn't stop it as it ran down my chin. Soon I felt it dripping on my bare chest. I couldn't control the flow, and this increased my humiliation. I remembered something I had read on the internet. A safe word, these sessions require a safe word. I tried to tell my new "master" that we forgot a safe word, but through the ring gag it came out, "Hee horhot hay hayherd." He didn't understand, so I kept repeating "hayherd." Finally he said, "Ohhh, a safeword. Kinda late in the game to be thinking of that, isn't it? You will just have to trust that I can tell when you have had enough just by watching you. And fifteen minutes will only *seem* like an eternity." He didn't sound convincing, I thought I sensed a touch of nervousness in his voice. What if he is as inexperienced as I am? Did he really know what he was doing? I thought about all the equipment I had seen earlier in his store-front dungeon. It all looked brand new, like it had never been used. Was I his first sub? Now I really broke out in a sweat. How long would he leave me on this thing? Would he really take me off after fifteen minutes or will he leave me until my will breaks? My legs are already beginning to get shaky. Does he know what this feels like? Should I try to beg him to release me? Through my gag would my words be understood? Would my pleas only amuse him? What had I gotten myself into? Then the sadistic son of a bitch started taking pictures. I couldn't see but I could hear the sound of a camera. Bastard! Am I now going to be seen all over the internet, naked and riding the pony in his fucking dungeon? And I don't think people will be looking much at the dungeon in those photos. Suddenly my trembling legs gave way and I went crashing down onto the board between my legs. A searing wave of pain flooded upward through my body, when it reached my mouth I let out a tremendous wailing cry. Instinctively I tried to reach my crotch with my hands to sooth the pain, this only ground the board into my tender flesh even harder and the wave of pain crested with an incredible peak of agony. In an instant I was back on my tiptoes in a raging fury. He has no right to subject me to this torture! Who does he think he is? Damned sadist, getting his jollies watching my agony. This torture is beyond criminal, he should be castrated and strung up in the public square! What gives him the right to treat people this way? Gradually the small voice within me made itself heard over my fury and my plans to escape bondage and cheerfully dismember this sadistic bastard who put me here. That little voice........the one who reminded me that I have already determined that I cannot escape, I am at his mercy -- if he has any -- and worse yet, that I was the one who chose to be put in this situation. Piss on that voice of reason! Does he have any idea how this feels, how much this hurts, how humiliating it is to have drool running between my breasts from the damn steel ring he jammed in my mouth? Does he know what it's like to be naked and strung up like a side of beef, poised just above the butcher's knife? Does he have any clue how humiliating it is to be photographed while helpless? That little voice, that cursed voice of reason has only a terse reply: 'probably he does.' To prevent another sudden failure of my exhausted legs I lowered myself carefully onto the board, trying to give my legs a short rest. I immediately got back up on tiptoes, my bruised flesh will not tolerate any more damage. Shifting slightly, I lowered myself again on the board, presenting a different part of my tender flesh to be crushed between the board and the weight of my body. The relief to my legs is welcome, but brief. Within seconds I'm back on tiptoes, and when I go back down onto the pony again I discover that this area is now too bruised and tender to hold my weight, so I present yet another piece of myself to be crushed and bruised. Clearly, I'm going to run out of parts to crush soon since I have only a tiny range of motion. What am I going to do then? I try staying on tiptoes as long as I can, hoping that some area of my crotch will recover and can be used again to rest upon. Again my legs catastrophically fail and I crash onto the board, this time on flesh that is already bruised and tender. The wave of pain is beyond belief. For a moment I lose sense of feeling, the room seems to spin behind my blindfold, and I thought I was going to pass out. Sensation returned quickly with mounting agony that ripped a moan from the depths of my soul. Losing control of my bladder, my urine began running over the board, down the insides of my legs and splashing onto the floor, stinging my bruised flesh and making the surface under my feet slippery and treacherous. Returning to my tiptoes I discover that my rage has turned to fear: what is keeping him from leaving the dungeon, leaving me to an endless cycle of tiptoes and bruising myself until I pass out with exhaustion and pain? Why should I believe that he will release me as he has promised -- and hasn't fifteen minutes already passed a long time ago? Will anyone ever be able to hear me and rescue me from this torture? As I lower myself once again, searching for a part of me that I've not already crushed and abused, a calm resignation creeps into my mind. A part of my mind seems to be telling me to accept that things are what they are and that I cannot do anything except what I am doing - waiting and hoping and trusting that this will end as I was told it would. Without trust and acceptance I will lose myself to panic and fear, and God only knows where that will end up. I begin to think I'm hearing voices in my mind, he's not spoken a word since my ordeal began but I could swear that he's talking to me. The voice is talking to me about the meaning of submission, the lessons to be learned and the self-image that I am developing to take away from this experience. I must be going crazy! I feel his hands at my feet putting the heels on so I don't need to be on tiptoes. He speaks for the first time since the scene began: "time's up, girl, your fifteen minutes just finished." I must be crazy, I shake my foot in an attempt to remove the shoe. I also shake my head as much as the harness allows me to move and make a sound that is meant to be "no." It comes out more like "oh, oh" but he gets the idea. "Not ready to quit?" he asks in a puzzled tone. "I'll allow a few more minutes, but I'm not sure why." "Nancy," I thought to myself, "you've really lost it, you've gone completely insane. A minute ago you couldn't wait to get off this thing and rip that slimy bastard into tiny little bloody pieces and now you are saying: wait -- not yet -- I'm not finished. You have really gone round the bend, it's the loony bin for you." I know I'm not going crazy, it makes no sense but something inside me is trying to be born and I know without knowing how I know that this pony is helping the birth of this something, this realization, this whatever-it-is. He takes my blindfold off, for the first time since the pony ride started I can see myself in the mirror mounted on the opposite wall. I look a mess, covered with drool, pee, and sweat. I can see the haggard gray look of exhaustion in my reflection and wonder at the change that only a quarter-hour has made in my appearance. I watch myself sit carefully on the board to rest my legs and toes for a moment and then rise again, and I suddenly realize why this is called a 'pony'. I'm posting up and down just like a rider in her fancy horsy clothes riding her fancy horsy through the fancy countryside. Well, the motion is the same, anyway.....just no horse and no clothes, that's all. I sit again for another short rest moment and I realize that the cycle of sitting and standing is getting shorter and shorter, and I also realize with a jolt that I've stopped moaning and wailing at the pain of sitting on the pony. The agony is mounting every time I rest on the board, but without my noticing it I've stopped complaining about it. Holy Shit! I think I've learned a bit of acceptance. I watched my reflection as this realization hit home, and I swear that I saw a change in my body. I'm more relaxed now than ever before during this ordeal. Sir notices it too, and he is quickly putting the high heels on my feet and begins detaching the rope from my handcuffs. He removes the link that is holding my head harness to the ceiling and leads me off the pony, trembling, to a padded bench where I lie down. He removes the handcuffs and that hated steel ring from my mouth, I flex my jaw for the first time in what seems like years. Seeking Peace Ch. 02 "Nancy, do you really think this crazy idea is going to work?" I asked myself. Let me explain. A few months ago I was fascinated by the idea of submitting to a dominant, and I rashly talked a man into being my 'master' for a scene. He agreed, and I chose a rather advanced toy in his dungeon, the wooden pony. A mistake, but not a fatal one. During that pony ride I experienced a fleeting taste of a separate reality, a place where I have no obligations and am free to experience and enjoy. It was like the first taste of an addictive drug, I can't wait to let go of responsibility and return to that carefree place. I'm now back in his dungeon again, in search of that quiet place that I glimpsed in my pony ride. It is a calm, peaceful place where I haven't a care since I have no choices and only exist for the moment. My life is full of deadlines and stress and contracts and difficult clients and even more difficult investors and CEOs and CFOs ... and that quiet place calls me like the sirens called to Odysseus - alluring, dangerous and potentially deadly. The man I know as 'Sir' is in the process of taking me there in the (relative) safety of his experience and his dungeon. It wasn't that easy, things never are simple with this man. He insisted that I tell him what I am hoping to achieve by submitting to him and him how this would benefit my life and my development as a person. Sheesh! It was as exhaustive as being back in school, and he doesn't grade on the curve, either! Only after my reciting (to his satisfaction) what I wanted was he willing to discuss the 'other reality' he he introduced me to in my first scene. I told him that "this 'other reality' has a fascinating attraction to me, I feel like a bird who is frozen under the steady gaze of a snake - both hypnotized and waiting in fear and trepidation." "Do you think this is what is called 'sub space' by some people?" he asked. "I have only glimpsed it," I replied, "but I get the feeling that it is the calm space that I need and want. How can a person get to a calm space in this crazy world?" "I know of three ways to achieve a calm state of mind," he said after a long silence. "One is to learn from an accomplished shaman, the second is to spend a lifetime practicing meditation, zen or martial arts, and the third is to turn your will and your entire being over to the care of an experienced dominant". Wow! That was a hard one to accept, the idea that it would take years or someone to guide me. As a successful modern woman who is charging to the top of her field it is not easy to think that I cannot do this by myself. "But, but..." I began to reply, then sputtered to a stop. He gave me a rare smile, saying: "I'm in no hurry, come back when you've proven to yourself that you cannot do it alone. You know how to get in touch with me." So here I am, many weeks later, in his dungeon again and under his complete control. "I can live with this man seeming to be able to read my mind," I said to myself, "but does he always have to be so damned RIGHT????" Today seems full of mistakes, I arrived wearing the sweats that I wore away from his dungeon after my pony ride; I didn't fear that he'd wreck another set of my clothes. The sweats also made it quite easy to obey his command to undress; I expected he'd want me naked so I didn't wear anything under the sweats. A lesson here: DO NOT expect this man to do anything the way you think a normal person would. When I took off the sweats and he saw I had nothing on underneath, he put bra and panties on me and then ordered me to undress. They were not my size, and the styles and colors were atrocious. He must have bought them at a garage sale held by insane, blind hoarders, or something. The underwear did, however, appear to be clean. Basically he dressed me so I could fully comply with his order to undress - go figure. My second mistake was something I should have remembered from my first lesson. He asked: "why are you here today?" I answered, "I want to find that calm space you introduced me to." "How quickly they forget," he mused with a sad expression. Pointing to a rack of whips on the far wall he ordered: "girl, crawl over to that rack and return with the black strap hanging next to the long buggy whip. When you return you may NOT allow the strap to touch the floor." I dropped to hands and knees and crawled to the wall, thinking: "Shit! I wasn't thinking! I remember that last time he made me hurt until I started saying what he wanted to hear." I placed the rubber strap on my back for the crawl back to him, checking frequently to make sure it wasn't slipping off. I sure didn't want it to fall and touch the floor, I have an idea painful things would happen if I did. I remained in crawl position in front of him as he picked up the strap from my back. "You may speak one sentence, girl," he said quietly. I knew what I wanted to say: "I am very sorry, Sir, it won't happen again." With a resounding "THWAK" the rubber strap hits my ass cheek. I cry out with the sudden pain. There has never been a pain like this before, it feels like my ass is on fire. "You forgot something, girl," he replies. "You must own your mistake." With that, another strike of the strap and my other ass cheek feels like it's also on fire. "You may have one more chance," he says. "I made a mistake, Sir, I won't make the same mistake again," I reply. "That is an acceptable apology," he says. Then he orders: "stand!" I stand, then at his prompting I recite what he calls a 'contract'. Using my own words, I state that "I am submitting to him voluntarily, I am here of my own free will and there is no coercion, threat, money, or property changing hands." I suspect the whole thing is being video taped and wonder if it's an insurance policy for him or if it's a device to make me realize that I am relinquishing control. He then orders: "stand in the exact center of the room." While I stand there he ties my ankles to a ring set in the floor and my wrists tied to a bar that he lowers from the ceiling. When my legs are tied down and my arms are outstretched and up in the air, he touches my lips and orders: "open!" I obey and open my mouth. He places a ball gag in my mouth; In an odd twist of humor the ball gag is bright blue and has a yellow 'happy face' printed on the part that shows when it's in my mouth. He buckles that hated "slave in training" collar on my neck, it's tall enough I cannot bend my neck to look down, I must face forward and only look around with my eyes. This time I can see, without a blindfold I can watch both him and myself in the mirror that is mounted on the wall in front of me. I watch him return the rubber strap to it's place and approach me with what looks like a medium sized flogger, testing it against his arm. "One little detail before we begin, he says, "I don't expect to get anywhere near where a safe word will be needed, but if we do the safe word for this session is 'budget'. And let's not try to pretend that you can't make yourself understood through a ball gag, OK?". I remained silent, not knowing if I was supposed to try to say something and not wanting to give him the amusement of me making incoherent noises while trying to say something. He begins walking around me slowly, striking my body with slow, stinging strikes of the flogger. It has many 'tails' and each has a sting. They all add up to be painful, not a lot but somehow I get the feeling that it will soon be painful enough. Slowly walking around me he strikes with the flogger in a deliberate pattern, first the front of my shins, then the sides of my knees, then the backs of my thighs, then my waist, then my stomach, then my ribs, then the middle of my back, then my armpit, then my throat...and he moves back down with the same deliberation. Soon the time comes when he is flogging the very essence of my womanhood, my pussy and my breasts do not escape his attention. I feel violated and angered that he would flog the parts of me that make up my sexual self. "How is this helping, whipping my tits?" I inwardly rage. "He's getting his sick pleasure abusing my sex, knowing I'm helpless to avoid his whip and can stop him only by using the safe word, admitting I'm overwhelmed and defeated." I wonder if this is how a rape victim feels. Suddenly he says: "Get over it, your true sexual organ is your mind." Again he seems to read my mind! "Who the hell does he think he is?" I again rage to myself, "If he cannot respect my most private and intimate parts then what does he respect?" I knew the answer, of course. In my first visit to his dungeon he placed me in a position where I had to abuse my private and tenderest flesh myself, this time he's doing it without forcing me to do it to myself. Small difference. With a smothered "AHHH" I realized that sexual parts had nothing to do with his flogging me, he'd equally flog my penis and balls if I were a man. It has to do with forcing me to realize that I have no control, and (I suspect) is intended to lead me toward acceptance of my situation. By accepting my situation I can begin to accept that everything I am and have done up to this point has brought me to right here, right now - being bound and flogged in his dungeon, totally at the will of a person whom I barely know. After some time I am completely flogged, every exposed part of my body has been touched by the whip many times. The only untouched parts of my body are the soles of my feet and my head. I'm secretly glad that my face has been spared, and I wonder what his motivation is. Our agreement was, after all, that he would leave no permanent marks on my body. The flogging is still not hard but the repeated blows leave an increasingly lingering sting that borders on real pain. Now I watch as he puts the flogger away, slowly hanging it on the rack and selecting from the rack a slender bamboo cane about four feet long. He dips it in a bucket of water and carefully wipes it with a cloth. I notice that the end has been split into many fine slivers and wonder why it was made this way - or does this happen when it is used? That gives me shivers, thinking that I'm not the first and only one to have been beaten with his flogger, or peed on his wooden pony, or felt this bamboo cane that he is approaching me with. I find myself wondering why I have a vague feeling of jealousy, certainly this man is much older than I and has had a lot more experience in life, both 'normal' and BDSM. Why wouldn't I appreciate his years of experience instead of feeling somehow like I should be the first and his only person to submit to his attention? Why should I even expect an amateur to know how to do what this man seems to do without even thinking about it? Wasn't this why I rejected all the young, horny men who wanted to be my 'master' for my first experience? I sighed to myself, thinking "I'm such a mixed-up person". He unties my ankles and taps my leg with the cane, ordering me to spread my ankles apart. When I obediently spread my legs he repositions my feet so that each ankle is tied to a separate ring in the floor and my legs are now spread, then he begins striking me with the bamboo came. Where the flogger was many small spots of stinginess, the cane is one large hunk of stinging pain. He doesn't try to cover my entire body with blows from the cane, he focuses on particular areas. My thighs and butt receive many of the blows, while my calves and back and stomach also get a fair share. For the first time the insides of my thighs and calves are exposed to his attention and the cane finds them an attractive target. I watch in the mirror as he canes just below my stomach and upper thigh fronts, red stripes appear that remain for a few moments after he moves on. Gradually he settles into a rhythm, beating the backs of my upper thighs and my butt. My grunts gradually subside as my body gets used to the stinging blows, then guiltily I realize that I am beginning to get into the rhythm of my beating and I'm enjoy the feeling. He continues to cane my thighs and butt while I begin floating along in subspace reality and I barely notice the stinging blows of his cane that take me there and keep me there with a vague sense of pleasure at each blow. A huge calmness descends on me, wrapping me like a warm and comfortable blanket on a cold day. My noises - or lack of - must have tipped him off that I was no longer feeling pain but beginning to enjoy the strokes of his cane, he unexpectedly pounces with a strike that is much harder than any which came before. He hits me on the spot where my ass meets my thighs. The sudden flood of pain brings a gasp, and I realize that he has just made me orgasm! God! I hope he doesn't notice! I am mortified beyond belief, thinking: "what kind of girl would orgasm with pain? Who would orgasm from being hit in the ass?" Certainly the time I had sex up the butt it didn't feel good, certainly didn't stimulate an orgasm, just caused a lot of pain and feelings of being ripped apart. "Only a twisted, slutty, sick and warped personality would even think of getting pleasure out of pain," I think to myself; yet here I am... Of course he notices my orgasm, this man doesn't miss much. He stops stroking me with the cane, comes the front of me and looks at the moisture running down the insides of my thighs, then he rubs the handle of the cane up my inner thighs and into the dripping folds of my pussy, then slowly pulls it from between my legs. Looking at the wet handle he says: "Ahhh, success!" He removes the gag from my mouth. I gratefully close my mouth, feeling relief flow into the jaw muscles as I moved my jaw gently closed. Touching my lips, he orders: "open!". I open my mouth and he places the cane handle right in front of my face, touching my lips, and orders me to "lick it clean." I'm completely blown away that this is something he seems to have expected to happen; does he think I'm such a twisted person that I would become sexually aroused by being beaten? Dutifully I begin to lick my juice from the handle of his cane, thinking that I cannot be more shamed and mortified; but yes, I can! I find I enjoy licking my cum from his whip, I enjoy the taste, and I enjoy the freedom of liking it because I was ordered to do so and I have no choice. Weirdly, I enjoy licking my cum even more because he took away the shame by giving me his orders, even though I'm surprised at liking the taste of my juices I'm even more surprised at the sense of freedom that he gave me. I can't help showing my enjoyment to his sharp eyes. "Now let's see if we can take things to the next level," he says with a gleam in his eye. He brings over an ordinary wooden kitchen chair to where I'm standing, unties my hands, and bends me forward over the back of the chair. The chair is exactly the right height, I bend forward at the waist and fold over the chair. He ties my forearms to the arms of the chair, leaving my legs spread and my ankles tied to the floor. Now the highest part of my body is my butt and the spot where he made me orgasm is very accessible to him, that spot where my ass meets the top of my thighs. He then begins to stripe my butt with strokes of the cane, about the same force as before. I think I know what's coming, I think I am prepared for his manipulative tricks and won't let it happen again, but I find myself lulled into the rhythm of the cane strokes and again begin to enjoy the feeling of his rhythmic strokes. Again I enter into a space of not feeling pain but feeling taken care of, floating in a bubble where I am totally free because I have absolutely no choice and no control. Again without any warning he strikes the spot where my ass meets my thighs, but this time with an angle that is directed upward toward the middle of my body, sort of like he's trying to hit my navel by going through the inside of my body. The chair allows him easy access to this angle and he strikes with sudden power and force that seems to travel in a shock wave throughout my entire body. With a cry my entire body tenses and then shudders with the most intense orgasm I've ever felt in my life. It feels like I'm cumming a gallon, and then I realize that I've squirted ejaculate all over myself and the floor at my feet. The liquid is flowing down the inside of my thighs and my feet are soaked with my own juices. At first I think I've peed with the force of the orgasm, but the smell and feel isn't right. I hear the delight in his voice when he cries: "Bingo! a squirter". He strikes the same spot again forcefully, and again I squirt copious amounts of juice. This time I am more aware; I am certain it is not urine, it is fluid from within my vagina coming out for the first time in my life. Again and again he strikes me with his cane and each time I ejaculate and squirt some more fluid, until I am wracked with exhaustion from so many orgasms and apparently have run dry, for I neither orgasm nor squirt when he strokes me with the cane. He unties my forearms and lets me stand, the blood running back out of my head and chest and again circulating freely throughout my body. My pussy tingles with the sudden flow of blood, I tremble with exhaustion and wonder to myself: "just exactly what the hell has happened here?" I feel betrayed by my own body, it seems that my body revealed a secret to this man that it has never exposed to me in my entire life. This man has just managed to sexually drain my body without so much as touching me sexually, and I loved every minute of it. How could my body side with him, the one with the whip, rather than with me? Why couldn't I have discovered this while enjoying sex with a man in my own comfortable surroundings? What strange power does this man hold over my body, and why is my body cooperating with him? I feel that my body, my best and most loyal companion, has just betrayed me and suddenly sided with this man. Certainly he has all the control and I have absolutely no choice in what happens, is it possible that my body realizes this and takes advantage of the freedom he is offering? Freedom to enjoy without guilt and without judgment - a rare thing, indeed! His dungeon has a bathroom tucked away around the corner, complete with shower. At his command I shower, then draw a bucket of water and begin cleaning the floor where I squirted cum all over. While I'm doing this he's talking quietly, almost lecturing, "Don't blame your body, girl, it's anatomy rather than a twisted personality. You see, there is a nerve that runs right along the bottom of your ass that also connects to your genitals, so if I can hit it just right I stimulate that nerve and cause an orgasm. I expected to bring you to orgasm, but I did not expect to see you squirt." He was silent for a time, then said: "There is a lot of controversy about females who squirt and what it is and where it comes from and so forth, but I know what I see and you know what you feel." He paused a while, watching me work, then went on to say: "I did not set out on an exploratory trip to drain you sexually, but I'm not sorry that's were we ended up. You learned something about yourself today, a thing you may never have known otherwise." He then went on: "Watching the stripes disappear so quickly on your body, I wonder just how hard I'd have to whip you to leave a mark that will last more than a few minutes...Oh, well, we'll leave that for another time." As I dress in clothes from his box he muses: "it is said that the master makes more mistakes than the apprentice has made attempts. In one sense today was a mistake, I allowed myself to get distracted. Still, I think today was a success: we discovered more about you". Seeking Peace Ch. 02 Almost as a parting afterthought he went on to say: "if you wish to explore this with your sex partner, ask him to enter you from behind and aim for a spot about three to four inches inside, on the side of your vagina that faces the front of your body. This should make you squirt during normal sex, proving to you it is a part of your natural body function and not something sick and twisted that only happens when you are in pain." DAMN!! Again I wonder how well he can read my mind.