Sarah's Awakening Page 3

  Julian regarded his lovely bound slave girl for a moment, studying her features. He saw the shame and confusion mixing so sweetly with the desire, the need.

  Sarah's heart was pounding. So it was true! Just from this little taste of submission, she knew that she was born to this. Her own fierce desire left her almost more frightened than the thought of what was going to happen to her next.

  Julian roused her from her reverie. “See those hooks in the ceiling? And those hooks in the floor? See that whipping post? And this—yes, I see you looking at it. It is called a St. Andrew's Cross.” He gestured to an X-shaped crucifixion device on the wall.

  "When you are ready, when you are better trained, I will chain you there and tease you till you beg for mercy.” Sarah's eyes were wide. A mental image of herself chained there caused a tug in her pussy, almost as if someone had grabbed her there. Sarah's breathing was ragged and she felt her own delicious helplessness keenly. She was on fire.

  "They will be for another day,” Julian promised. “For now I will just whip you a bit.” Sarah began to struggle again. The idea of a whipping was too much for her yet to contemplate. Julian remained placid and continued speaking as if unaware of her efforts, her fear, her soft whimpers through the gag. “For your first whipping I have chosen this lovely little flogger.” Julian brought over a soft black suede whip with about thirty flat, unbraided thongs. “I think you will find it quite, ah, stimulating."

  He stroked her skin with the whip, teasing the flesh with his skillful touch. He smoothed her with the soft leather until he felt her relax. Then, pulling back his arm, Julian let the lash gently fall against the soft flesh of her bottom. Sarah jumped and flinched. The blow had not been hard, but it was her first encounter with the kiss of a lash. Again the thongs fell on her proffered ass cheeks. Over and over he flogged her, slowly but steadily increasing the intensity of the whipping.

  Writhing and moaning, Sarah tried in vain to avoid the lash. But, bound and spread as she was, she couldn't escape its sting. She was helpless before this man. Her confusion mounted as she experienced both the pleasure and the pain of this sweet torture. Her mind was still hanging on to its feeble claim of outrage while her loins were on fire with sexual need. The whip really did hurt, and yet at the same time, it felt perfect. It was so right. It was what she needed; it was what she craved

  Julian delivered one final blow to her ass, harder than the others. She jumped and cried out through her gag. He touched her wetness then, pressing his palm against her. Slowly he began to massage and caress her. This time Sarah did not hold back. She was beyond modesty. Rubbing against his fingers, she moved as best she was able in this bound position. Leaning across her, Julian released her gag and kissed her hair and face. He continued to touch her, his slick fingers finding the hard bud of her clit. She moaned softly and he felt her heat in his hand.

  Sarah edged closer to her own swooning release. She felt a freedom of spirit that until this moment she had only dreamed was possible. Under his relentless touch she cried out in ecstasy as her body arched up into his.

  She had realized her fantasies at last. Or had she?

  Chapter Two

  Sarah began to spend every spare moment at Julian's house. It wasn't long before her shyness was gone—the natural slut in her emerging, flowering, under his constant attentions and obvious delight. They fell into a sort of routine. He would order her to strip, then bind her in various positions. Then he would whip her. Finally, he would make love to her. When it was all over, he would suggest that they go out for pizza or a movie.

  At first it was enough for her. She reveled in the sweet tortures he devised for her. She experienced a sexual awareness and increased passion that would have astonished prior boyfriends. Colleagues and friends noticed her bouncier step and the glow on her cheeks. Sarah had to smile to herself as she thought how shocked they would all be if they only knew that the glow on her cheeks was only a pale copy of the fiery red of her asscheeks after a good beating by her lover. But of course they assumed she had only found herself a steady boyfriend. That in itself was remarkable for the aloof Sarah, who rarely dated anyone more than two or three times. Her friends and coworkers began to tease her that she was in love.

  But, sadly, they were wrong. Sarah wasn't in love. She was in lust for what Julian offered her; but, as much as she hated to admit it, the man himself did not particularly interest her. She felt ungrateful for having these feelings toward the man who was “her Master.” After several weeks, he had abandoned all pretext of having other slave girls.

  She most certainly wasn't just “one of his toys.” She was his one-and-only darling, and he made this abundantly clear. She tried to reciprocate, feeling that she owed him her love since he had given her what she had always felt she needed to be happy. She was surprised at herself that still this wasn't enough. What more did she want?

  The world, she supposed. It must be asking the world, because here she had finally found a man who used her sexually in a way that suited her so well, and it wasn't enough. She wasn't sure precisely what was missing, but knew it had something to do with love. She became restless. She toyed with the idea of leaving him, but didn't have the energy. Things were too comfortable.

  One day, several months after they had been together, Julian asked her to move in with him. Sarah knew she would finally have to make a decision. Julian was kind and sexy and a very good lover. He was dominant, and used her sexually in a way she had always dreamed of. What else did she need?

  Deep down, Sarah was still vaguely unsatisfied. Julian was great, as far as things went. But they didn't go far enough. He wasn't truly her Master. He had claimed her body, but he had never claimed her heart, her soul, her will. In fairness to Julian, he had warned her from the start that this was a game to him, though a delightful one. But a game nonetheless. Was there more out there? Or was she fooling herself, reaching for fantasies that couldn't possibly exist beyond her secret dreams?

  After several days of avoiding the issue, Sarah could no longer evade it. Julian wanted a tangible commitment from her. Something in her gut told her not to do it. Her heart just wasn't in it. Finally, she told him no. When he pressed her, she tried to explain that while he was dear to her, she just wasn't in love with him. She tried to explain that she was looking for something different. She couldn't explain it; she wasn't sure herself. Deeply hurt, he broke off their relationship.

  Without the constant distraction of Julian's dominance, Sarah became despondent. During the days, she threw herself back into her work as a reporter for the Times. With the excitement of exploring all her secret fantasies with Julian, she really had been neglecting her work, turning in assignments that lacked the in-depth research and accuracy that had been her hallmark. At least she had her job, she would tell herself night after night as she stayed late, pretending she was catching up, but knowing inside that she couldn't face her empty apartment and being alone.

  Halfheartedly, Sarah began to go back to the club where she had met Julian. Though she didn't particularly miss him, she did miss the submissive sex-play. She realized that her vanilla boys, as Beth called the non-scene crowd, would never again be enough for her. She had to have a dominant lover.

  Occasionally she would go home with one or another fellow she met at the club. She would usually have an OK time with them; no fireworks, but again, better than vanilla.

  Then, one brisk, cold autumn night, Sarah met James.

  At first, James had seemed quite charming. He had a model's good looks, with even, classic features and a salon-purchased tan. His manner was suave and certain. Over a delicious dinner at a trendy little restaurant in SoHo, he told Sarah she was the most lovely creature he had ever met. She was charmed, and it had been a while since she had “played” with anyone. So, when he asked to come in for a quick drink when he had driven her back to her place, she agreed. While they were sitting on the couch sipping a brandy, James said he wanted to show her a new toy he had bought through
an SM catalog.

  "Sure. Though I bet I've seen them all,” Sarah said, laughing. She was thinking fondly, and slightly wistfully, of Julian's substantial arsenal of “toys."

  "Well, just hold on a sec'; it's in the car. I'll be right back.” Before Sarah could protest that it wasn't that big a deal, she'd see it at another time, he was gone. Within a few minutes, James came puffing back into the apartment. He was carrying a large olive-drab duffel bag, like the kind the army issues to its new recruits.

  Looking at her with a wide grin, James unzipped the bag and pulled out a strange-looking restraint device that consisted of a thick metal collar, with a bar attached at the throat and cuffs at the base of the bar. Sarah was intrigued. It looked like a medieval torture device.

  "Let me try it on you. It's really hot. Let me show you. I'll take it off if you don't like it.” James spoke in a pleading, almost plaintive voice. He seemed so eager to show her. Sarah was a little uncertain, but she was intrigued. Lifting her thick hair to allow him access, Sarah let him attach the device around her neck. It closed with a click. The bar rested vertically between her breasts, with the cuffs at about waist level. James quickly attached the cuffs around her wrists and snapped them shut.

  Though it felt rather sexy, exciting to be chained in this fashion, Sarah felt a moment's unease because she was unable to open the device herself. “OK,” she said, a little nervously. “You can take it off now."

  "Oh, come on, Sarah. You look so sexy like that. Let's leave it on a little longer.” Without waiting for her to reply, James pulled her blouse up from under the bar so that her bra was exposed. Because of the off-the-shoulder blouse she was wearing, the bra was strapless. Without asking her permission, he reached around and unhooked the bra, and pulled it down and off the bound woman, tossing it to the ground.

  "James! Stop it! I didn't say you could do that! Take this damn thing off me! Now!"

  James laughed and leaned over to bite her nipples.

  "Yeah, sure, Sarah. Sure. I'll take it off. When I'm good and ready, that is."

  Sarah's nervousness changed to cold fear. She didn't like this game.

  "James. You let me go now, or I'll call the police!"

  "Oh, you will, huh? And just how will you do that? With your tit?” He laughed again, his pretty features twisted in derision. Sarah started to scream, but his hand clapped her mouth shut with such force she fell back onto the couch. “Shut up, bitch!” he hissed in her ear. “Just shut the fuck up or you're gonna get hurt. Now, I bought you a real nice dinner, and you are gonna give me a real nice dessert. Got it?"

  Sarah lay where she was, bound and helpless, terrified of this man who sat on her couch in her apartment. James leaned back, smiling as he said, “Good girl. Don't worry. I'm not some crazy rapist. I just want a piece of your submissive ass. You should love this—you're a slave, right? This is your dream come true.” Sarah closed her eyes, wishing somehow this was a bad dream that would go away when she opened them.

  But it wasn't. James started to slap her breasts lightly. He spread her legs roughly, causing her skirt to ride up to her waist. With a vicious tug, he pulled her clinging silk panties down her legs and tossed them aside.

  "Beg me for it, bitch. You know you love this. I'm your Master, baby. Your fantasy come true. Beg me! Beg me!"

  "James, please! Please let me go. Please don't hurt me!” Sarah was starting to cry in panting little gulps. She was terrified. James ignored her protests. He stood and dropped his pants; he wore no underwear beneath his nicely tailored khaki slacks. His cock was already rigid. Kneeling in front of the bound woman, he covered her mouth with his hand.

  "Take it, baby. You know you love this.” Then, hoisting himself over her, he pressed his erection against Sarah's opening. She was dry with fear, but he didn't notice; didn't care. As he pushed his way into her, she cried out in pain. After just a few thrusts, James began to moan aloud.

  "Oh, baby, oh, baby! Yes, yes, yes!” After about three minutes, he spurted his unwelcome seed into her and dropped off her. Sarah clasped her legs shut and rolled away from him as best she was able in her chained condition. She was crying into the couch cushions, and still shaking with fear.

  James leaned over and undid the clasp that held the device on her neck. As it fell forward, he unlocked the cuffs with a little key. She was free. Sarah jumped up and ran into her bedroom, locking the door behind her. She heard James scuffling in her living room. Then she heard him speak.

  "G'night darling!” he called. “Thanks for the date. I hope you had as much fun as me!” James burst into derisive laughter as he slammed the door behind him. Sarah ran for her phone to call the police. But as she was dialing, she realized she didn't even know James's last name. She knew next to nothing about the stranger she had allowed into her home. And what would she report? That she met this guy at an SM club and let him lock her into a restraint device after she invited him into her home? The police would think she was just another sicko pervert who had gotten what she deserved. Sick with humiliation and shame, she dropped the receiver back in its cradle and fell onto the bed, sobbing.

  After that, Sarah stopped going to the clubs. She stopped dating men altogether One day, almost despairing, Sarah wondered if the man of her dreams was destined to remain just that—a dream. She was talking to Beth on the phone about it. She hadn't told Beth about the rapist; she was humiliated and ashamed that she had fallen for his ruses. She had decided to wipe the event from her mind forever. But she was talking in general about her overall dissatisfaction with the men she had been meeting. Beth was chiding her for having broken off with Julian.

  Sarah tried to explain. “I want so much more. Julian was a nice guy in his way, but he didn't understand me. He was dominant in the bedroom, but wishy-washy everywhere else. He could flip the switch on and off like that. I can't. But the guys I have found who were always dominant ended up being assholes. They weren't kind. I want a romance with a man who can understand my need to be dominated without himself being a woman-hating, creepy bastard. Do you think that's possible? To find a man who is a loving Dominant? Who actually adores the woman he possesses? Or do you think it's only the stuff of fairy tales?"

  Beth was quiet for a minute. Then she said, “You know, I don't really know. I'm not really into the scene the way you are. I mean, I don't, like, require it the way you seem to. I just play."

  Sarah sighed, feeling somewhat embarrassed that she did seem to “require” it, as Beth had pointed out. She let Beth give her some more advice, only half-listening, and said good-bye.

  Sitting down to her solitary dinner, she wondered for the thousandth time if she had done the right thing in leaving Julian. He wasn't Mr. Perfect, but surely he was better than nothing. But no, she decided, she couldn't have stayed; it was stifling her soul. Sometimes she wondered if she would have been better off with only those dreams of harems and silken bonds. The real world seemed so cold and empty at the moment.

  One day, while she was brooding in just this fashion, Beth happened by. Sarah opened her door to her young friend, who bustled her way into the apartment with an air of importance. “Now, Sarah, I know you've been unhappy since you broke it off with Julian. And I have here just the cure for you.” With a mysterious smile on her face, she drew out a little newspaper from her purse and with exaggerated carefulness, smoothed it out on Sarah's kitchen table.

  "There!” she said triumphantly. “What do you think of that?"

  "What is it?” Sarah asked, stepping over to read the print.

  "What is it?” Beth asked, as if amazed that Sarah didn't know right away. “It is only the most exclusive BDSM want ads in all of New York! You can't buy a copy. You have to move in the most exclusive circles to even get hold of a copy! I used all my influence down at the club, and managed to get you one. No, no, don't thank me. Only doing my duty to save my poor little Sarah from a life of loneliness and misery. Well! Don't show me to the door, sweetie. I'm off to do my shopping. Have fun and
do keep me posted. Ta-ta!"

  Sarah couldn't help laughing at her friend's flamboyance. Want ads, she thought. Forget that! Only the desperate would advertise for a lover. She made herself some lunch. As she sat down at the table to eat, her eyes were again drawn to the little paper open before her. Telling herself that she was only reading it to have a distraction while she ate, Sarah began to peruse the ads.

  Most of them were typical “scene” ads.

  "Submissive worm seeks Mistress to worship."

  "Lady Kathy will be holding auditions for the position of house slave Thursday at 8 P.M. Audition fee $100."

  Her eyes scanned the ads restlessly until they were stopped suddenly by these words:

  Dominant man, age 38, seeks open-minded, courageous woman to explore the romance of erotic submission. I will train you to be the slave you have always dreamed of becoming. I will help you to realize what and who you really are, while fulfilling my own destiny. Write to Lawrence at this P.O. Box, and tell me why you would be worthy of my attentions. All letters will be answered.

  It was the use of the word “courageous” that intrigued her. She had come to realize that sexual submission was not the act of a weak woman with no mind of her own. Rather, it was a conscious delivery of one's heart and body to another. It was an open and courageous exchange of power.

  Sarah kept the want ad in her purse for several days. She would take it out at her lunchtime and reread it, wondering if she dared to answer it. It was on another lonely, quiet Saturday night that Sarah finally decided to give it a go. She found an attractive snapshot of herself and included it with a little essay about her secret dreams and something of her recent experiences. For the next several days, she checked her mailbox eagerly for a response, but each day she was greeted only with bills and junk mail.