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  Copyright ©2000 Claire Thompson

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  Sarah's Awakening

  By

  Claire Thompson

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  ISBN 1-929670-24-9

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2000 by Claire Thompson

  Previously published as Sarah's Surrender

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information contact:

  [email protected]

  A Sizzler B&D Edition

  Chapter One

  It was always the same. Sarah lay there alone in the dark, the covers pushed down to her knees. Her little nightshirt was scrunched up above her pretty, full breasts. Her eyes were tightly closed as her fingers rubbed and swirled feverishly between her open slender thighs. The scene playing in her mind was one she had imagined so often that it came without any effort. It was as if she were watching a silent movie of her secret fantasy. In this little story, she was invariably tied down, gagged, and was being whipped and tormented by a mysterious, unidentified man. Sarah would watch the scene in her head until her own heat rose to a fever pitch. Then she would allow the second act to unfold, as her “Master"—for that, of course was what he was—gently released her from her bonds and then claimed her passionately with his cock. She would pretend they were reaching a simultaneous and powerful release together as she rocked herself to her own orgasm. Always, the instant she recovered herself, she would pull her nightshirt down, clamp her legs tightly, and fall off to sleep, ashamed and vaguely unsatisfied.

  At twenty-seven, Sarah was still single. No one man had ever been able to capture her heart. Considered beautiful, she had learned to use that beauty to get what she wanted. Her dark, glossy hair was a striking contrast to her big blue eyes and fair complexion. Her breasts were round and full, capped by dark pink nipples. Her waist was long and slender, flaring gently into still-somewhat-girlish hips. Sarah's legs never failed to attract attention; they were slender, shapely, and long. Even her feet were lovely, with perfectly formed toes and delicate ankles that were so admired in Victorian times.

  In truth, Sarah was something of a coquette, using her charms to get her way with the various young men of her acquaintance. She had no serious lover; there was something about her that didn't allow one to get too close. She always seemed to hold something back. She had a secret that she revealed rarely, even to herself.

  Sarah's most private dreams were filled with perfumed women in silks and chains, used and adored by their Masters. These women lived to please and worship their strong, dominating men. Constantly naked, or nearly so, they were ever at the beck and call of their owners. If they dared to displease, they would be beaten and tortured without mercy. But ultimately they were adored and cherished as the love slaves they were.

  Sarah loved this fantasy, and had endlessly embellished it over the years, as she drifted off to sleep, her fingers caressing her pussy. But in the light of day, Sarah could not reconcile these fantasies with what she perceived was proper behavior for a modern woman. How could a strong, capable, independent woman have these denigrating little fantasies of submission and loss of control?

  Because Sarah felt that her secret fantasies were wrong, she would try desperately to deny her feelings. The hidden stash of “dirty” magazines she would buy here and there when feeling very brave would end up in the garbage eventually. Angry at herself for having what she considered antifeminist sentiments, Sarah would promise herself to reform. But invariably, her dreams would sneak back into her psyche, leading her back to the secret stores where she bought the little books and glossy magazines, her face ablaze but her cunt on fire.

  You would never know that Sarah was a secret submissive. Her behavior with her boyfriends reflected the attitude she wished to present to the world. Hence, Sarah called the shots; Sarah often made the first move. She seemed sexually sure of herself and even a little dominating. The facade was so convincing that Sarah could even fool herself—for a while.

  One wan, fall day Sarah was having lunch with Beth, a new friend she had met at exercise class. They were sitting at a small table in a crowded café in Manhattan. Over quiche and fresh fruit, Beth was telling Sarah about her present lover. Sipping her white wine, Beth animatedly continued her description of the man in question. Sarah was only half-listening, really, as she thought about the things she needed to pick up at the store that evening.

  But then Beth said something that made Sarah catch her breath in surprise.

  "And then,” Beth continued her narrative, lowering her voice slightly, “he pulled out the handcuffs and told me to kneel in front of him and hold out my wrists."

  "What?” Sarah was certain she must have misunderstood. Her astonishment must have been reflected on her face, because Beth hurried to respond.

  "Oh, it's all in fun, silly! Ken likes to tie me up and tease me to a frenzy before he fucks me.” Then, as if she hadn't just stepped on Sarah's closest-kept secret dreams, Beth continued to describe a mild, but fun, bondage scene executed by her new beau. As she paused to take another sip of her wine, she looked at Sarah and stopped.

  "Well, what has gotten into you? You look positively sick!"

  Sarah blushed and raised her own glass to hide her confusion. At last she found her tongue and managed to stammer, “I ... I ... I, that is, it's just that, I mean, you really do all those things?"

  "Well sure, silly. It's fun! It doesn't hurt anybody. We both love it. We're just playing.” Beth laughed as she watched Sarah try to hide her obvious discomfort. “I'll change the subject if it makes you so uncomfortable."

  "Oh, no! It's just that I'm not used to anyone actually, that is—you know, I never met anyone who, well...” she stammered to an uncertain halt, feeling the flame of her own embarrassment in her face.

  "What, honey? You can tell me.” Beth was becoming a little concerned at Sarah's strong reaction. She leaned forward and smiled sweetly at her friend. When Sarah still didn't speak, Beth said, “Listen, this isn't the Dark Ages. Women are allowed to express themselves any way they like now. I just have fun with this; it isn't my life or anything. But I really didn't mean to upset you, so let's just change the subject."

  "No, please! It's not that.” Just then the waiter stepped forward to fill their water glasses. Sarah jumped slightly, wondering suddenly how much he had overheard. Once he was well out of earshot, Sarah took a large drink of her wine. Setting the glass down carefully, she looked hard at it, avoiding Beth's eyes.

  Finally she spoke. “All my life,” she said, so quietly that Beth had to lean forward to hear, “ever since I can remember having sexual feelings, I have dreamed of doing the things you've just described. I've never told anyone this before. God, I can't believe I'm even telling you! I've hardly dared to admit it to myself, you see. I could never reconcile my desire to be, um...” She hesitated, blushing.

  "Oh, Sarah, you can tell me. You already know I like this stuff. Go ahead, I want to know.” Beth pressed Sarah's hand reassuringly and looked so earnest that Sarah felt she could trust her.

  She plunged forward. “Well, you see, I have always dreamed of being a ... um ... a sex slave.” When she actually said it out loud for the first ti
me, it sounded so silly that they both burst into laughter. Once they settled down, Sarah's smile fell away and Beth could see she had more to say.

  "I want to submit. I want to be owned. I want to be used as someone's property. I want to know what it feels like to be bound and whipped.” Sarah sputtered to a halt, blushing furiously. She wished at that moment she had never dared to speak. But it was too late. The deed was done. She waited for Beth to run in horror from the table. But instead, Beth was calmly drinking her wine, seemingly unconcerned with the darkest secrets of Sarah's soul.

  In fact, she seemed amused. “Why, Sarah, you little devil! I never dreamed you were into the scene! Where have you been hiding? I never see you at any of the clubs or anything."

  "Clubs? What are you talking about? And what do you mean by ‘scene'?"

  "Scene ... you know. The SM sex scene. The bondage play party scene. All that fun stuff! Ken took me to a great club the other night. It was wild!” As Beth prattled on, Sarah just stared at her, her mouth falling farther and farther open in disbelief.

  "What is it? Do you mean to tell me you are serious about this just being a fantasy? That you've never done anything for real? Oh, you poor baby! We have to fix that, Little Miss Innocent.” Leaning forward conspiratorially, Beth continued, “Say, I've got an idea! Why don't you come with me to the Seven Gables Dungeon this weekend? Maybe you'll get lucky and meet the man of your dreams."

  "The Seven Gables Dungeon? What in the world is that?"

  "Girl, where have you been for the past ten years? It is the premiere kink SM club in New York City. You'll get to see all the excitement your virgin eyes can handle. You'll see naked guys in chains getting whipped and submissive women bound in leather, strapped to walls getting their little butts reddened with a paddle. It's all just a big game, but it is something to see, I can tell you."

  Sarah was astonished. She sat there, mute, in awe of what she had just heard. Chains, whipped, submissive, strapped, paddle ... the words were spinning in her head. All her dirty little dreams were being bandied about so casually by this woman at her table. This club sounded like a secret Garden of Eden.

  Even in the midst of these wild revelations Sarah managed to ask that all-important question, “What do I wear?"

  Beth laughed, glad to see her friend was snapping out of whatever weird place she had been in, and said, “Black. Whatever you want, as long as it's black."

  Saturday arrived at last. Sarah could hardly contain her excitement. Earlier in the week, she had bought a new dress: black lace interwoven with Lycra, so that it clung to her figure as if it were painted onto her lithe curves by the loving hand of an artist. The skirt flared just above the knees, swirling prettily when she walked on her high black heels. Dressing, she decided to skip a bra, since the fabric of her dress held her breasts nicely in place. Then, she pulled on the sheer black stockings she had purchased along with the dress and attached them to her black silk garter belt. They hugged her perfect legs, drawing the eye up from her slender ankles, past her rounded calves to her firm thighs. The contrast of black against her fair skin was striking. Ignoring her own beauty, Sarah dropped her dress down over her garters and pulled on a pair of black lace panties.

  Meticulously, Sarah applied her makeup. Examining herself critically in the mirror, she decided that a pair of dangling rhinestone earrings would make a simple, yet elegant statement. They sparkled against her dark, curly hair. Sarah was ready to break a few hearts.

  Gliding into the small living room of her two-bedroom apartment, Sarah flopped down on the couch, sighing loudly as she realized it was only 7:00. She wasn't due to meet Beth until 10:00 that evening. She flipped through the pages of the novel she was reading, and then watched TV for a while. Several times, she went to her full-length mirror in her bedroom, examining herself critically; striking poses. When she thought about where she was going tonight she felt a gripping in her stomach. An S&M club! God, did she really want to do this?

  Yes. More than anything. Finally, the appointed hour arrived. Sarah grabbed her coat and dashed out of her apartment to meet her friend at the subway station. Beth was already there, waving at her.

  "There you are!” Beth called. “I was afraid maybe you'd chicken out and not show. Let me see what you're wearing.” While Sarah unbuttoned her coat, Beth unzipped her jacket and flashed her outfit at Sarah. She was also wearing a little black dress, though hers was of leather. Her high black boots rose to the thigh and drew one's attention to the tops of her stockings, which were showing below her micro-mini. Sarah found the look rather tacky, but of course refrained from saying so.

  When the two women got off the train, they walked down a block and turned down an alley. Sarah had no idea there was even a club located in what seemed to be a warehouse district. But sure enough, they came eventually to a small sign painted in red letters against a black background. It said simply: Seven Gables.

  A lone individual of indeterminate gender, with close-cropped bleached blond hair, dark glasses, and baggy fatigues, sat perched on a barstool outside the single metal door. Beth and Sarah were gestured down a set of steep concrete stairs to the basement door. After paying a cover charge, they entered a dark, smoky room, with brick walls and a concrete floor. The walls were lined with various instruments of pleasure and torture—a St. Andrew's Cross, hooks and chains, some whipping chairs.

  Sarah stopped, unable to stifle the little gasp as she turned and saw a seminude young woman hooked to the wall by her wrists and ankles. She was dressed in a tight-fitting corset, black stockings, and high heels. Her ass was bare. The woman's face was pressed against the black wall. Her profile was visible. The back of her spread-eagled body was offered up to the small crowd gathered around her. They were watching a man who was whipping her with a long black riding crop.

  Sarah moved closer, hardly daring to breathe. She could hear the loud smacking sound as the leather kissed the unknown woman's tender, naked flesh. Sarah saw that her face looked blissful. Her eyes were closed and her lips were parted. As the man continued to whip the bound woman, she seemed to arch up to meet the strokes—begging silently for more. The crop fell with an especially loud smack upon her flesh. The woman jerked and flinched, but remained silent. Sarah felt her own heart pounding in excitement and disbelief at the scene before her. As the man continued to steadily whip the young woman, she felt her own face flush with sympathy—and with yearning.

  Beth seemed completely unaware of what Sarah was experiencing. Indifferent to the scene before her, she was looking around the room, scanning it for friends. Seeing a little group of people she knew, she grabbed Sarah's arm and said, “Come on, I'll introduce you.” Reluctantly, Sarah pulled herself away from the crowd around the bound woman. Taking a deep breath, she turned and surveyed the place that might hold the key to her fulfillment. There were lots of people, even for this relatively early hour. As Beth had promised, most were in black.

  There was a man in black leather pants, vest and boots, with chains and whips hanging from his belt, like some sort of sadistic repairman. There was a woman clad in a latex bodysuit, with shiny black heels so high that her feet were bent like a Barbie doll's. And skin. There was lots of skin. Breasts were exposed, nipples were clamped, a naked man was being led by some sort of leash tied around his balls. Sarah looked away, blushing and shocked.

  But then she dared to take another peek. As if reading her mind, Beth said, “It's all right. Look all you want. No one minds. Actually, they expect you to look. That is why they are here. To see and be seen. Isn't this something? It's all for show, but what a show!"

  Sarah didn't answer. She was still in awe of all she saw before her. They approached Beth's friends, who introduced themselves. The group continued to talk and laugh with each other. Sarah felt shy around them. She drifted off as soon as it seemed polite. She looked around her at the crowd. Several men were milling about, looking slightly lost and, Sarah thought, rather sad

  Then Sarah noticed a stocky
little man in a corner, sitting in a chair, with his pants around his ankles. He was masturbating furiously, presumably to the scene nearby. There, in his line of vision, a middle-aged woman was being whipped and teased by a rather bored-looking elderly man. Periodically, she would call out, “No, stop. Please, Master,” in a monotone. The man would say, “Shut up, bitch!” or some other rude admonition, and continue the beating. The effect was like some staged piece from a bad German cabaret.

  It was too much for Sarah. The fizz of excitement had turned to confusion tinged with disgust. She turned away. With something close to panic, she pushed through the crowd. This bizarre place may have held the stuff of her dreams, but not at all in the way she had imagined them to be. There was no romance. It didn't even seem real. She would find Beth and tell her it was all a mistake; she didn't want to be here.

  Just then she found her path blocked by a young man of medium height with a sallow complexion and sharp features. There was a certain pinched quality to his face that suggested someone who was perpetually angry.

  "Excuse me,” Sarah mumbled, trying desperately to get by.

  "Well, hello there,” the young man said in a nasal voice, grinning as he spoke. He leaned forward and took Sarah's arm. “Where have you been all my life? I've never seen you here before."

  Here at least, Sarah was on familiar ground. Somehow, this annoying but “normal” attempt at a pickup helped Sarah recover her self-control. The panic eased away. Appraising him coolly, she extricated herself from his grip and stood back. She knew how to deal with this sort of fellow. “Sorry, I'm here with someone."

  "Well, is he your Master? Because if not, I can show you a real good time, baby. How about coming over to my place, and we can get it on. I'll whip that gorgeous ass till you beg me to stop. That's what you need, isn't it? I can see it in your face. Come on, baby.” As he spoke, he pressed forward again. Sarah could smell his sour breath.