10 comments/ 7919 views/ 5 favorites FAWC 1: My Lady By: MSTarot (Moderator's Note: This story is a submission to the first Friendly Anonymous Writing Challenge (FAWC). The true author of this story is kept anonymous, but will be revealed on June 22nd, 2013, in the comments section following this story. Each of the stories in this challenge are centered around the common theme of the main character being an author who then experiences the erotic and/or unusual events he or she writes about. There are no prizes given in this challenge; this is simply a friendly competition.) (Author's Note: This story involves the themes of BDSM, a D/s relationship, and May/December relationship.) * * * * "So what do you think?" When my friend Cory's mouth kinda quirks over to the side a bit I feel the sudden knife in the gut. "Well..." he says leafing back a few pages."This part here was...good." He gives a shrug that disembowels me. With a sigh I sit back in the chair and wash my face with my hands. A second sigh gives me the courage to speak. "Okay, what's wrong with it? Give it to me straight I can take it. Not like it's my first bad review." I grab my beer and kill half of it just to wash away a sudden foul taste. Cory takes a deep breath and lets the copy of my BDSM story, 'Birdie on the Ninth Hole', flip back to the front cover. I had asked him to give it a read before I tried to post it. He wipes his fingertips after touching it, not a good sign. The look he gives me is part grimace, part sympathy. Like you would show to a slow child unable to master Patty Cake. "John...have you ever really...I mean really been around the BDSM scene?" At my slow head shake he sighs. "What did you use for research for this?" "Internet," I shrug. "Few porn sites, then a couple of story sites." His hand comes up to rub his eyes then he pinches the bridge of his nose. "John, that's like walking into the kitchen of a French restaurant and trying to cook because you watched Julia Child once or twice." his hand go to his wrist and he rotates the leather cuff on his right arm. "That's why I printed you out a copy! I figured you could tell me where I got it right. What I did wrong." I gesture to the bracelet. "I mean you're into all that leather and bondage stuff!" Again the slow child look. Then a deep sigh. "Okay." He looks at the stapled together copy. "Well to begin with, lets take the main characters. The girl Juliet? She's... well... rather weak." "She's the sub!" "Exactly my point! A sub that weak? Bullshit!" He twists the top off his beer and takes a sip. He skins his lips back off his teeth in a strange half grin. "Nah. Not happening." "Why not? She's a person that needs someone to tell her what to do and how to do it." I shake my head. "I don't see what's wrong with her?" "That's the problem," Cory says with a shake of his head. "You don't see what's wrong with her but anyone in the Lifestyle will take one look at this and want to retch. Then beat the ever living hell out of you! I mean take the Dom...he's a flat out sadistic bastard! He spends half this story all but raping her into submission! Jesus, John! He was a bit on the whacked side even before he got her chained to the wall of his... 'dungeon'...but after that? Holy shit! Honestly now I know I've read some of your stuff that's a bit dark but... you were channeling some serious inner demons into this." "He's the Dom, Cory! He can't be sweetness and flowers. This isn't a story about virgins and unicorns, this is a hard core whip her till she bleeds bondage story!" "No! No, no, no! This is the story of a guy about to do twenty to life for kidnapping, rape and NonConsentual sodomy with a golf club!" Cory stops and just gives me a look. I shrug. "Okay I'll admit the golf club was a bit much." He continues to give me the same look. "Alright, alright I get it," I say reaching for my story. "No you don't." He places his finger in the dead center of the paper and stops me from sliding it. "You don't get... IT. This is exactly the kind of...sorry... 'Crap'... that people living the Lifestyle are trying to get people to stop writing. This makes all of us look like we're the bastard children of the Marquis de Sade and Susan Atkins." I sit back and shrug. "Well I gave it a try." I pick up my beer but find it empty. "You want another?" "Sure. Look, I'm not saying don't write these kind of stories but you are going to have to do some serious research to get it right." his voice follows me out the room. Closing the fridge I walk back and hand him his beer. Sitting down I roll mine across my forehead. "What you recommend? I call a Dominatrix. 'Yes this is James Perl I'm doing research on whipping and flogging can you work me in an interview?' I would like too keep a whole skin on my back." I pop the top and start to take a sip. That's when I notice he's just looking at me with the strangest look. "What?" "You really have no idea..none...about what S&M and Dom and Sub play is about." Cory tilts his head back and looks up at the slow loop of the ceiling fan. "Okay. Look I'll help." "You will? That's great. What do I need to change?" I go to grab the printed copy again. His foot comes up and his boot heel traps the paper to my coffee table. "Change? No, burn and get ready to start over." Cory slides his boot off at the look I'm giving him. He knows how I feel about feet on the table. "Look, Saturday night is Fetish Night down at Sacrament. Now while that's not the same thing as what your writing about, we do get more than a few Subs and Doms. Let me make a phone call and see if one I know is coming. If she is I know she can explain it to you better than I can." "She?" I ask. ""Yes she," he says. "So she's a sub?" I ask. Again that slow child look. "My god do you have a lot to learn." * * * * When I shut off my car's engine I can hear the music as a low drone rising up from the inside of the club. As I open the car door it peeks and rises to a higher tone then sinks back down into the depths just seconds latter. On the whole it does nothing to ease the case of nerves I've been sporting since Wednesday. Looking over I see a row of rather sinister looking motorcycles. Not the nice bright pretty type you see in herds out touring on warm days. More the hunting packs that carry leather and denim clad riders into the blackness. As that thought comes to me I reach into my pocket and pull out my little flip pad. A quick bit of pencil word and I have it recorded. Walking as I write I almost run into Cory. "Put that away notebook boy," he says with a shake of his head. "You're going to have to work on remembering what you hear. Some of the people here tonight might take exception to your jotting down notes in your little book. Plus it makes you look like a total spazz." I let my eyes drop to the black construction boots, then up to the leather pants he's wearing. The sleeveless black shirt with the screen print of the Boyscout rope tying merit badge, printed as big as a dinner plate, across his chest. When my eyes reach his face I quirk an eyebrow. "I look like a spazz? You look like you escaped from the casting couch for Wayne's World." Glancing over at the row of bikes I see Cory's now, tucked away at the end like it's afraid it might get eaten. "So just which Motorcycle gang is visiting tonight?" Cory takes a deep breath through his teeth. "First they are called clubs not gangs. Second they are called the 'Wicked Nights'....and they are all ladies." He glances around quickly, like he's afraid he was overheard. "A women club? That is cool!" I start to look around but he catches my chin and I'm suddenly turned to look in his eyes. "Look John, this is kind of a private thing. Fetish night here. For the most part people that come to the Sacrament keep it a bit hush hushed. Don't...I repeat DON'T act like it's your first time here." A bit puzzled I move my chin back from his fingers. "Okay, but why?" I ask. Cory sighs. "Remember when we went to see Rocky Horror...I gave you the same advice. You didn't listen. Well lets just say this will be a bit worse than that." He glances back at the red doors to the bar. "Now come on." With the misgiving growing by the second I follow him in. There really should be someone from Department of Wildlife here to collect the gorilla at the front door. He looks at my ID like he's about to eat it. Holding it an inch off his nose if not closer. When he gives it back to me there is a look to his beady eyes like he still don't believe my age. I can't help that I don't look twenty two. Then we are through the door and suspicious primates fall from my thoughts. "Holy shit," I say in a soft whisper. Cory's elbow catches my ribs in a soft tap. I do my best to act like nothings nothing as I follow him to a table. But I mean really. Just how often do you see a topless woman having sparks sprayed across her from a leather glad man? The grinder he's holding is making a horrid squealing as he runs it across one of the metal bars of the cage she is in.. A huge fountain of sparks shoots out to pepper her breasts with each pass. The girl gives a little flinch but from what I can see is making no sound. Not that I could tell. The music, a mixture of pure bass and fingernails on a blackboard, is a chest vibrating overtone to the whole place. Only that demon howl from the grinder is louder. Then a sound from the stage to my right goes even louder than the grinder.. The man in the wooden stocks is wearing a leather mask that covers most of his head. Zippers hide his eyes and mouth. What they don't hide is the harsh gasping for air! It a sudden sound he's making every few seconds. Right after the riding crop hits his bare ass! "Cory, so far this isn't convincing me that what I wrote is wrong," I say loudly by his head. I hate that I have to lean so close to his ear to be heard. It looks almost like I'm leaning in to kiss him. "This is fetish. You were trying to write BDSM. That a horse whip of a different color," he says pulling out his chair and sitting down. The music dies down and I hear a deep moan from the girl in the cage. "Not from where I'm sitting," I say looking away from her pain filled face with a sympathetic grimace. He's about to answer me, with maybe a bit of heat, when he looks over my head and a grin appears. Fearing the worst I spin my head, quickly enough to make it pop, but all I see is a rather plain looking woman walk in the door. "That's Clare. She's the woman I told you about," says Cory holding up his hand till she see him. She gives a smile and a nod. "She...she's a Dom?" I do a double take. "She looks like Fran Drescher with short hair!" His eyes snap back to me. "Dear god in heaven don't let her hear you say that!" The panic to his tone brings back the nerves. "To late," says a soft voice behind me. As I glance back my eyes meet hers and are caught. They have to be contacts! No one has eyes that gray. It like a dull steel rimed in white. Frost white, like snow rime on metal. I get a feeling that they can get just as cold, but after a second she tilts her head and a quirk of a grin appears. "You promise not to call me Fran...I'll refrain from calling you Tony Danza." Her eyes flit to Cory "All he need is the yellow shirt that says Taxi." My good friend...my best friend... the guy that knows me better than anyone and knows how much I hate...hate with a damn passion that description... start to laugh his fucking ass off! When I look away from him in disgust and back to her those cold steel eyes are on me. They all but spear me to the chair. "Deal?" she asks. Her voice, thank god, doesn't match the face. More of a throaty purr than a nasally whine. I nod. With a smile she looks to Cory and his laughter dies. She grabs a chair and turns it to the side. She sits down so that her arm rests on the back and her fingers rest under her chin. "So this is the writer that want to write about our little way of life." She looks from him to me. "He told me that you needed a lot of help or that you were going to.. 'muck it up'... is I believe is how you put it." Cory nods. He takes one look at the expression on my face and gets to his feet. "I want a beer. Can I get you anything Clare?". She looks at him with those curious eyes and nods. "Yes you can." Her gaze comes back to me. "What would you like?" He asks then almost flinches back when she turns to look at him. A single lifted eyebrow and he's off to the bar in a scurry. She turns back to me. "Cory is sweet but a bit badly trained. Now he said your name is John. Is that Correct?" she asks. With the sudden feeling that I'm filling out a application for a job interview I nod, wet my lips and try to give a confident smile. "Yes...John Perl. I'm wanting..." "I know what you're wanting John Perl," her voice that soft purr. "You're wanting to know about what it's like to hold a whip and make a Sub beg. Yes? What makes a Dom tick so that you can put all that into your writings. Let me ask you something John Perl...does your choice of trying to write BDSM have anything to do with a certain group of books about...shades and grey?" I look away a bit shame faced. Her chuckle is only half heard as the music start to play again. She leans into towards me. "It's quite alright to want to ride on the coat tails of success John Perl. If your intent is to publish the very best novels you can...but if money is your motive. Well to quote one off my favorite actors. 'Greed is for Amateurs'. Is that what you are John Perl? Or do you make some claim to professionalism?" A slow burn joins the embarrassment in lighting my face. I'm about to stand up and walk out when I look up and her eyes catch me. Those steel points, like arrow heads or daggers, cut through flesh to pierce bone. I can all but feel her gaze in my marrow. "I want to be." I swallow. "A professional writer. I'm trying." She must be able to read my lips. Either that or she's just grinning at my discomfort. Her head turn, the club lights catching the white frosted tips of her dark hair making her look haloed. I see her following the weaving path Cory is taking back to us. She eyes the drink in Cory's hand for a second. The music drops into one of it lulls so I catch her words. "What brought you to the conclusion that I was in a mood for Jägermeister?" She asks the question sweetly but no smiles touches her lips. I see just the hint of her pink tongue come out to lick her black lipstick. Cory swallows. "I asked the Bartender if he knew what you general drink. He said you order this every Saturday." A moment passes without her blinking. Then a slow smile of pleasure just hints around her lips. "Good boy. Thank you. Sit," she says with a gesture towards the empty chair. Like a well trained dog Cory quickly slides back into his chair. Her eyes turn back to me after her first sip of the licorice flavored alcohol. "I don't much care to waste my time with dilettantes. If you truly are serious about this I will put you on the right path. Are you John Perl?" she asks. Talking a deep breath I give a nod. As she is about to speak the music rises again. She shifts an annoyed glance towards the stage. The man being whipped has been replaced by a another man. He is making far more noise than the first. The girl in the cage is still getting peppered with hot sparks, she is really moaning now as new sparks hit older burns. A flash of something crosses her eyes as she takes in the pain being administered to these two people.. When she looks back to me those eyes gouge chunks out the marrow in frozen bits. When she leans in I want to flinch back. "It is too loud in here for the discussion I wish to have. Finish your drink, then you're going to follow me home. I have my Sub coming over for a late supper. You will be joining me. I'll help you with your writing." That pink tongue comes out to lick her lips just as the glass with the dark liquid touches the shiny black. * * * * What I was expecting I don't know but as I shut of the motor to my car in front of a rather ordinary Garden Home I find myself confused. For some reason I was picturing her living in some kind of black painted church or maybe a half run down hotel up on a hill. I must say the roses that flank the door are lovely. The cast iron cauldron filled with glass pebbles and solar lights adds a bit of the proper touch but not so much as to seem out of place. As I walk up Clare's sidewalk she turns the key in the lock then stops and turns to look at me. "Rules. Yes there needs to be a few rules. When my Sub arrives you will direct all questions you might want to ask her to me. In other words I don't want you to speak to her," she smiles at the look on my face. "Yes I said her. Her name is Tosha and she has been my Sub for over two years. She will not speak or answer you unless I direct her to, which I will not. Now can you accept that?" "Yes," I say simply. "Good. Welcome to my home then, John Perl." She opens the door and gestures me to enter. Okay the inside is a bit more what I thought to see but still not over the top. There is a painting of a naked woman in a collar on the main living room wall and I see crossed riding crops under it. But other than that it could be any typical home in the suburbia... with a bit of a dark goth overtone. Slightly..no hell a lot more than slightly... nervous I make my way to the chair she points to. I continue to look around without trying to be nosy. The plants are real I note and even look like the leaves are regularly dusted. The book shelf contains a mixture of many different genres of fiction and reference novels. When Clare folds her legs under her and settle into the couch she could be any Suzy Homemaker. A large cat with a black patch of fur over one eye comes across the room and hops up next to her with a meow. "This is Pirate. Him you can talk to but I don't think his answers would be of much use to you. Although if he could speak English what he could tell you about the goings on here would fill volumes." She gives me a quick grin, then shrugs unapologetic. "Now, you have questions?" "Yes." My hand start to the small notebook in my pocket then I make it stop. "Um...what got you started in the 'Lifestyle? I think that's what Cory called it?" Good a place as any to start I guess. "Yes, that's it's name. At least among most of the people that play. Well I was your typical vanilla late teen. I was enjoying a rather plain sex life with a series of boyfriends. Then I got more than a few too many in me one night and woke up with my wrist tied to a bed. The man sleeping next to me was a Switch. Do you know what that means?" "Someone that is both Dom and Sub?" I say more than ask. There is a little note in my book about them so I remember what that is. "Yes. He untied me at my asking, then proceeded to ask me to tie him up. That left me blinking and my jaw on the floor to say the least." She chuckles a deep dark sound. "So I tied him up. Then fled." I smile picturing that. "When did he get lose?" I ask still smiling. "When I got to feeling bad about it and went back to untie him. Say about four hours." Her gray eyes take on an unfocused look that tell me she's looking more into the past than at me. "I thought he would be mad, that I had left him there that long,but he was rock hard and more turned on than I had ever made any man." "He got excited by being tied up and helpless?" I blink. "So he was really more of a Sub?" Clare smiles. "No. At least no more than everyone else in the world is." Her fingers run through the cat's fur, the deep belly purr from him is loud enough that I can hear it across the room. FAWC 1: My Lady "You think everyone in the world is a Sub?" I ask confused. "Of course." "I'm not a Sub," I say with as much confidence as I'm managed tonight. "Yes you are!" Her tone is amused. "When you work any job for 'pay' your Boss is the Dom. He uses reward, be it praise or monetary, to get you to behave. When that fails he will use threat of termination to make you do more. Sometimes more than you ever thought you would agree to do. We are a society of Subs and Doms, John Perl." "Why do you keep calling me by my full name?" I ask not at all liking the images of all the things that former bosses have made me do when it comes washing though my thoughts. Clare smiles. Maybe the first truly full smile I've see from her tonight. "I like the sound of it." "Should I call you Clare...or is your title Mistress?" I ask then instantly regret the question. "I've been called worse." Her tone goes suddenly cold. "My Dom title is My Lady, but only my Subs may call me that." I nod. "I understand..." I start to say. "NO, you do not. You're simply agreeing without thought. Do you know why I only allow my Subs to use that title? It's a Key." "A Key?" I ask. "Yes. To the dark part of me." her eyes have taken on that icy steel look again. "We all have one. That dark part to our souls that makes us question whether we are good or evil. Most people hide it away in a shadowy corner of their minds. They fear it, fear it might get lose and be dangerous to someone that they care about. Hurt someone...even a stranger." She slides forward and her legs swing out from under her. Her face has taken on a almost harsh look around her eyes. "Sounds a bit like a vicious dog doesn't it? It's a lot like that in fact. Now being a Dom...is learning how to train that dog till it's safe off the leash. Safe around little kids even." I hear the door open behind me. When I turn to look I see a woman in a blue to nearly black business suit come in. She looks at me for a half second then smiles at Clare. "Good evening Tonya. When you're ready see to dinner." Clare gestures towards a closed door. "Yes my Lady." Her voice is soft, respectful. It carries with it though the tone of a person use to talking...well I guess down too others... might be a way of putting it. I watch the woman walk to the door and vanish into the room it conceals. I catch a half look at dark paneled walls and a large bed. When I look back Clare's eyes are much closer and they are hard. "Even with a tame dog," her eyes bore into me. "It isn't safe to mess with it's food." Swallowing I sit back in my chair as far as I can. I see a slow grin touch her lips. "I'm playing with you John Perl." She sits back. "There is nothing in this house you can't look at to your hearts content. A least for tonight's scene." "Scene?" I ask. "Yes. That's what a lot of us call it when we play. A scene...like in a movie. It has a beginning, a middle, then an end." She glances towards the door. "Some like to play 24/7 but I don't." "Why not?" I ask then turn my head when I hear the door open. My yaw drops as Tonya walks back out wearing just a collar. I can see the marks her clothes have left in her bare skin. Imprint lines from bra and panties, mare the otherwise perfection of smooth skin. At a finger snap I look quickly back to Clare. She grins at the look on my face. "Bills have to be payed, jobs have to be gone to. You can't spend all day naked and tied to a bed, John Perl." Clare gets to her feet. "Come, join me in the dining room while Tonya fixes our dinner." The patchy eyed cat leads the way, but I have a hard time keeping my eyes off Tonya as she crosses the room to stand ,head down, in front of Clare. Fran Drescher's stunt double looks over her Sub for a second then nods. I watch the beautiful curves of the nude woman's ass as Tonya walks out the room and I guess into the kitchen. As she pulls out her chair Clare gives me a look that speaks volumes. She knows the affect that her Sub just had on me. There is a tolerant lack of interest from her. "What next?" she ask then. "Most people want to know about the pain, the whips and such." "Yea. Um... why all that? Why not just have normal sex?" "Define normal?" Her nails tap the top of the table. The lace doilies not making the sound any less than a pistol crack. "Man and a woman in bed? Missionary position? Maybe some light oral on her part to get him hard for the big night of pleasure?" I reluctantly nod. "Pain has uses. It's like Alcohol, it removes inhibitions. Some use it to gain tighter control. To me that's always felt a bit crude. After all if you need a whip and a chair your not with a Sub but with a... circus act." Her eyes go to the vase of cut roses in the center of the table. She moves it to the side a bit so we're not talking so much around it. "Pain is for correcting bad behavior. The worse the behavior the worse the pain needed to remind the Sub not to do something. At least that's the general theory that I hear so often spoken." "But doesn't it hurt? I mean not the Sub I know it hurts her..I mean the Dom? To have to inflict...what amounts to torture on someone that's...well kind of a friend. I guess you would have to see your Sub as a friend?" "Not always." Clare takes a deep breath. "What do parents tell their child just before they spank them? This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you." I nod. "It's a similar feeling," she says. I sit silent thinking about that. I can hear pans being moved around and refrigerator doors being opened in the kitchen. That a woman is in there naked still has me half hard just thinking about it. "So a Sub is like a child to you?" Clare grimaces. "I don't like that analogy but I guess I made you think of it with what I said. No and yes. They are like a child in only that they have to be watched for bad behavior and they need to be corrected when it occurs. BUT....!" I sit up a bit startled by her tone. "Make no mistake. No Dom wants a Child! That destruction of innocence is left to the pedophilia freaks. It has no place in the 'Lifestyle'." She glances toward the painting on the wall. "We get enough bad press." Following her gaze I see that this painting, like the one in the living room, has to do with BDSM. The beautiful quality of the art work seems strange given the subject matter. The woman, clearly oriental, is intricately tied up. "That's by Yoji Muku. He was Japaneses artist. I got him to sign that for me just weeks before he died." Looking back at her I see those eyes are again unfocused. "His gallery opening were always controversial here in the U.S." When Tonya walks out the kitchen a carrying a tray my eyes go to her. Naked woman or picture of naked woman? Not a lot of decision there. As I watch she serves first Clare, then with her eyes down cast myself. When the glasses have been filled she kneels down by her Dom's side, her knees on the hardwood floor. Paying her Sub no mind Clare unfold a napkin then take a sip of the wine. When she slowly chews a bite of her dinner she turns and gives a little nod. Tonya bows her head. "Thank you, my Lady." As I watch she get to her feet and hurries back into the room she first went into. "Uh-hum!" Comes the sound across the table. Looking back to Clare I see her smile. "Questions. Remember?" She says with a grin. "Ah... yea. Ah... safe words. I've heard that Subs use them to keep from being really hurt. I want to know if all people in the BDSM community use them?" I lift a fork full of what's in front of me then look down as the wonderful flavors flood my mouth. I have to take a sip of wine as a bit of heat touches my tongue. "This is delicious!" "Yes. She's a good cook. Curried Chicken is one of my favorites that she makes." She slowly chew a second bite to nothing before answering. "Safe words huh?" She places her fork next to her plate. Then sighs. "There are many in the Community that would call me out for this. I don't believe in them. If a Dom is being that unobservant to their Sub, then they probably need some more time as a Sub themselves. You do not hurt your Sub!" she waves off the words I'm about to say. "I'm not talking pain, I mean physical injury. Agony to the point the human body can not enjoy it." "Enjoy the pain?" I ask. She grins. "Ever had a toothache? Couldn't stop touching it with your tongue could you?'"She smiles at the look on my face. "How about when you go to a gym? You hurt when you first get started then the pain fades and it feels good. Then when you're done it really hurts....but you go back for more. Yes?" I nod accepting what she's saying. "Why?" she asks smiling. I sigh. "Because I enjoy a good work out," I answer. "Exactly." Looking up I see Tonya walk back out. She is dressed as she was when she got here. The dark business suit looks far to conservative given that I know what color her nipples are. Clare gets up and walks to her. "My guest says your cooking is delicious. Thank you." With a smile and a nod Tonya steps into the hug that Clare offers. When she goes out the door Clare sits back down and starts to eat. After a moment I have to ask. "Where did she go?" I do a couple of directing glances between Clare and the front door. "Was that it?" "She went home." "But .. but you didn't do anything," I protest. "Yes we did. I know you saw her, your eyes hardly left her." "Yea she got naked but... you didn't... punish her!" I gesture towards the painting. "Tie her up or anything like that!" "Why should I have? She did every thing perfectly. You're enjoying your dinner are you not? Wasn't everything delicious? Did she burn anything...undercooked it? No. If you went into the kitchen you would find it to be sparklingly clean. She didn't even hesitate to get undressed with you here, a total stranger. She was the model Sub. Why should I punish her?" A dozen thoughts conflict for a second. I toss most of them out and go for the most obvious. "For the fun and sexual pleasure of it." I gesture again to the wall painting. Clare shakes her head. "She wasn't in the mood for that." With a grin flirting about her lips she sits back in her chair. Her eyes are traveling about my face taking in far more of the inner thoughts behind my eyes than I would normally tell. The frank evaluation of it angers me a bit. "How could you tell?" I demand. The grin becomes a true smile. "Because she didn't burn your dinner." * * * * Over the next two week I find myself having to do a complete revaluation of what I think of as BDSM. Images of floggings and women tied to posts fall away to a more sophisticated understand of Power and Dominance. That a single lifted eyebrow, a word given with just an ounce more tone can be as shocking as a whip. Clare has me coming over to her place to talk and observe...frequently. Odd calls at even odder hours have me hurrying over there to watch and try to learn. The interplay between her and her Sub at times can get far more intensive than what I saw that first night. They always seem to walk a thin line to my eyes. Like Tonya is a perfectly trained creature but with that hidden urge to run at any second. Images of wild mustangs and great cats pepper my thoughts while watching her...and of course I do watch her. She naked more often than not. Clare handles her 'wildness' with the skills of a falconer. I slowly come to understand that with that skilled touch Clare allows Tonya to fill her need to be subservient. Talking with Clare, either when Tonya is not there or with her there but ignored, I learn about her Sub. Tonya is a rather respected business woman. Runs a SBA loan company that handles large loans to first time business owners. During the day she manages people from every tier of social power. Constantly stressed from telling others how to do and what to do had driven her to a ragged edge. Then she met Clare. Coming here several times a week. Cooking dinner, cleaning house, allowing herself to be all but a plaything to the whims of her Dom. It had given her a relief valve on life. "Being a Sub was cheaper than her therapist." Clare tells me with a soft smile one night at dinner. When I had looked up to the naked woman filling my glass her eyes had dropped quickly to the floor. Then she had half glanced up at me....and winked. Clare made her go kneel in the corner for doing it. Though Tonya never once spoke to me I came to know her, if anything, more than I did Clare. In her I found maybe some part of myself. A need for...well I don't know what. Then, either she got comfortable with me being there or simply horny, I see her do something with all the deliberate planning of a military campaign. She sits a glass down just on the edge of a lace doilies. As she moves away it totters then tips. Her eyes follow it all the way to the floor. So do Clare's. The glass has the luck to strike the thick carpet under the table and not the hardwood that surrounds it. Still the wine, like thinned blood, splatters the floor in a fan like spray. "Excuse me for a moment, John Perl." The tone change in Clare's voice is awesome to hear. I get shivers run across the back of my neck. Rising with a gracefulness like a hunting cat Clare stands. Almost like synchronized swimmers as she rises Tonya sinks. "That was careless. You could have broken my glass. What have you to say for yourself?" Clare demands. "My apologies my Lady. It was an accident," she says from her knees at Clare's feet. Though not the first time I've heard Tonya speak her words carry a undertone I've not heard. Trembling. I take it at first to be fear then I see her eyes...her face. Lust, not fear makes her words shake. "There are no accidents. Come." Clare hooks a finger in Tonya's collar As she starts to lead her towards the bedroom door she glances over her shoulder at me "You as well John Perl." With a rise in both my heart rate and in my pants I scramble to my feet and follow. I stop at the doorway though. Unsure if I'm truly welcome past it...or if I wish to be welcomed. Tonya follows with her total posture changed. Less a tamed animal now she resembles one cringing. As I watch, with a noticeable bulge starting in my pants, Clare moves her to the end of the bed. A simple push and the Sub is face down over the end rail. I see her hands grips the coverlet as Clare runs her fingernails across the curve of her ass. My eyes follow those fingers get stuck as I see the parted lips of Tonya's pussy. Clare's foot moves viper quick and Tonya's ankle is struck. The Sub quickly spreads her legs open even further. The lips part to reveal this woman, nearly a stranger, to my gaze. I feel a rising pant for air in my chest and a nervous stirring my belly as I see Clare walk away from her to a large wooden hutch. When it opens I suck in a deep gasp. She turns at the sound her eyes going to mine. "Is this more like what you had in mind?" she asks. I give a slow nod. The inside of the cabinet is full of brass hooks and hanging from them are every variety of whip, shackle, and device. Some of them so very strange that I have no idea of their purpose. As I watch she takes out two. A long bar with two hooks on it and a pair of leather cuffs. Too large for wrists I quickly pick up that they are for ankles. As I watch Clare works with movements that show a great deal of practice. She has the cuffs attached and then the bar between them in a few simple seconds. She then hooks the bar to the bed frame. That task done she walks to the head of the bed and picks up a set of fur lined manacle that are hanging decoratively on a hook below yet another erotic piece of art work. Unlike the ones in the rest of the house I have seen this one is positively pornographic in it's details. Tonya gives a few whimpering struggles as Clare hooks her hands behind her back. A harsh command though, given in that chilly tone, stills them just as quickly as they started. As I watch Clare reached under her pillows I know my eyebrows rise when I see a metal hook attached to a cable appear in her hand. When the middle ring, I hadn't noticed till then, is attached to this she puts a foot under the bed and I hear a electric motor wine. As I watch Tonya is pulled up onto the bed more till her feet are almost off the floor. Only her toes touch. When the tension looks like it has to be growing horribly painful Clare stops. I feel a sudden sympathy for the girl. The Sub. All she did is drop a glass and here she is stretched out on an almost rack. Her shoulder joints have to be burning. Her most secret parts completely open to the view of a near total stranger. That she planned it comes back to me then. She had to have known that Clare...her Lady...would do something like this to her. Clare looks over to me, her fingernails drifting across taunt skin. Little red marks appear as she passes out of tanned flesh and onto paler skin. "A Dom must be in total control. Of themselves. At all times." Her eyes drop to the bulge in my pants, then come back up to spear me. "No matter how excited they become they must never allow it to grow beyond their discipline. A Dom has the power to inflict terrible harm to their Sub. It would take only a few second more and the winch under the bed could dislocate her shoulders." I see her hand come from by her side. A riding crop that till this second had been hidden by her thigh comes up to point at me with all the terror inspiring power of a nun's ruler. "And yet for all that you can not have too gentle a hand," she says with a soft purr. Crack! Tonya is struck but I swear I feel it! The Sub gives a whimper but then when a lighter pop lands lightning quick...stifles it. "YOU must measure need to Discipline with need to Pleasure. They are equal but you can not let your Sub control which she receives," says Clare. Crack! I watch Tonya squirm herself against the hardwood rail on the end of the bed. Grinding her pubic hair into the glossy wood. Clare's voice calls my eyes back to her. "The Dom has an obligation to their Sub to train them right. Lack of proper Discipline can make a Sub willful. Can make them to where they misbehave simply to receive that gift of pleasure, despite the pain." Clare lays a hand on Tonya's back then lets her fingers brush across the two rising red whelps. Her fingers dip between the cheeks of her ass and then slip between the Sub's shiny neither lips. When Clare removes them her fingers are slimy wet. Hard to the point of pain, I watch Clare bring her fingers to her mouth and suck them clean like a person eating chicken would. She glances over at me then walks with a determined stride to stand in front of me. Her hand catches my chin forcing my eyes to her face. "Are you paying attention to me or to the open cunt before your eyes, John Perl?" she asks. With the smell of sex filling my nose I stare into those steel gray eyes. After a half second I answer. "To you," I stumble out the words, they trip over both my tongue and teeth. "That's good. There will be a quiz after class." As she moves her hand she lets her finger brush my lips. I feel the slick wetness even before my tongue comes out to taste. As my mouth is suddenly awash with that hint of a woman's lust I have an almost over powering desire to cross the room and bury my face between Tonya's wet lips. To drive my tongue as deep into this woman as I can and devour as much of this flavor that now fills my mouth, as I can. I know my breath is coming in a pant as I watch Clare return to her Sub. Crack! Crack! Crack! The blows continue to land across that beautifully upturned ass till Tonya moans. Then Clare punishes her for that. FAWC 1: My Lady In the coming hour I never truly loose my hard on but it rises to greater then fall to lesser degrees of mahogany. The need for release however also grows. Grows till I'm all but in agony myself. Clare works with first the riding crop, then with a slim rubbery paddle. As I watch lust making me sound like a bellows Tonya's ass begins to glow a cherry red. Soon she can no longer hide the whimpers despite the fact that Clare punishes her for then. At some point a trip to the Narnia hutch brings battery toys into play. When Clare crosses to me and hands me a small remote I'm trembling. "Here make yourself useful," she says. Little bigger than a cigarette lighter the thing has only a button and a slide switch. I quickly learn though that's all that is needed. As I vary those two controls Tonya begins to issue deep throaty moans. I learn that the button stops them, something that will bring almost immediate response from the woman. A near demanding sound that brings an equally immediate punishment from Clare. The slide raises the intensity of, I'm guessing, the vibration within Tonya from the toy Clare slide inside. That I have a woman...a Sub on remote control is almost more than my poor steel hard cock can take. I know from the feel that the tip has leaked enough to smear the inside of my underwear. I find myself watching Clare. Like a conductor at work she doesn't make the music she directs it too crescendo. With one hand she frigs Tonya's clit with the other she lands stinging pops from the paddle. At every moan of pleasure there is a sudden screech of pain that follows. In the end is a near thing as to who is going to cum first, Tonya...or myself. Or maybe Clare. I've seen a few shivers from her that could be near orgasmic. Finally the stimulation, pain and fingering are too much. Tonya screams out around the ball gag Clare fitted her with. The near fury of pops that sound brings on drives her to a second, then a third orgasm just that quickly. The stinging blows stop only when she grows silent, though she continues to cum from what I can see. As her Sub shakes and trembles Clare looks at me and smiles. With her hand dripping she lets the paddle drop to the bed next to the whip. When she crosses the room I feel a sudden rise of apprehension. Her hand, fingers glistening, lands palm flat in the middle of my chest. As she pushes I step back then back again. She closes the door behind her then reaches for the remote. She takes it from my nerveless fingers even as pressure from her other hand is guiding me towards her front door. "What..what?" That I'm being directed to leave comes to me in almost a sudden shock. She makes me stop just by her door. "I want you to know that I have never allowed anyone that doesn't call me 'my Lady' to witness what you have just seen. I tell you this John Perl so that you know just how privileged you have been. I have given you a glimpse into the very heart of my soul. I have shown you the dark part of me that only my Subs get to see." Her hand moves from my chest. "We are done, John Perl. You and I. I have nothing left that I will let you learn. I do hope that you put what I have shown you to some good and maybe your writings will be worthy of the effort I have given." She opens the door behind me. Stunned I stand there just looking at her. "Good night John Perl...and goodbye." * * * * The surreal state lasts for days. I wander in a near haze at times through my normal routine. My closest friends begin to worry. Well Cory doesn't. He just watches me with a look and a knowing smile. When I had gotten home from Clare's I had simply collapsed onto my bed exhausted. I laid there for only second through when the sex reek of my shirt rose up to me. Bringing the cloth to my nose I breathed in the deep muskiness that Clare's hand had rubbed in. A mixture of smells... sweat, rubber, and over all a woman's heavy scent. My cock found my hand and I exploded after only a stroke or two. I pulled the shirt off and buried my nose into it even as I uses that cum to stroke myself hard again. I screamed out my second orgasm much later. That I was screaming "Clare!" should be no surprise. For days that shirt and I are one in the night. Then with a painful slowness the smell begins to fade. I nearly cry when after nearly a week I can not detect even a hint of it. Whether I'm wanting to cry in frustration or relief I don't know. I find myself unable to get the images I saw from my mind. They come to me at odd hours. Only the near brutal amounts of masturbation since then has me not springing hard at those odd times. The fire in Clare's eyes as she swung the whip...then the paddle. The cries of Tonya, be they pleasure or pain, both are arousing now in memory. Even the ones that I made her give with that little remote have power now in my memories. * * * * The keyboard before me sits untouched. The blank screen unblemished by even a single pixel. I lift my hands and then let them fall back into my lap. Ideas flash then die like shooting stars, they blaze by too quickly to see. I know if I could capture them that I could alight the page with their holy fire. But I can't. Words come to me begging to be written. Pleading with me to take them and use them to my pleasure and for the pleasure of others. Yet still I sit. Still the screen remains unblemished. Still the keyboard is untouched. My eyes go to the shot glass on my desk. The bottle next to it. More and more this week I seem to be spending my time searching through alcohol fumes for inspiration. All it brings is memories of screams and cracking whips. Lusty grunts, then orgasmic cries. Washing my face with my hands I get to my feet. I cross the room to the window and stand looking out into the world. I watch it passing by in the rain. My hand lifts to touch the glass. The condensation from the cold drizzle beads the surface under my finger. Slowly I trace out two words in the droplets. I stare at them. Images flash through my thoughts then. Not the familiar ones I've been hoarding but the others. The nights of sitting with Clare at dinner or in her living room after as she explained about her lifestyle. The number of nights that it happened were few but I recall ever second of each. The two words I wrote start to cry tears down the glass. I watch them fall unable to decide, unable to write or even to think....no that's a lie. I can think, but only think of the two words. I just can't acknowledge that I want to say them. Wishing I could cry like the window I crawl into my bed and stare at the ceiling fan. There will be no sleep this night either. * * * * The Garden Home looks no different. Still modern suburbia. No hint of the woman's...the Dom's life within it's walls has spilled out to the world. I'm trembling as I walk to the door. I 'm trembling even harder as I lift my hand to the door. Like with the typewriter I can't seem to make it function. So simple a thing. Just knock, yet I can't do it! My hand wont respond. Knock.... knock damn you! Clare opens the door before me. "Hello John Perl," she says her gray eyes on my face. Her voice rolls out to me those throaty tones sparking memories that I start to push away. Then embrace. "Hello...my Lady."