Slave Gamble (3 page)

“Either you’re
serious and willing to submit to me for this one night, or you are not. If you
are not, get your clothes and get out. If you are, drop to the ground and
crawl. Now.”

I stared at him,
feeling my ire rise. This didn’t fit in with my fantasy of beautiful princess
ravished and adored by the mysterious enchanter. And yet, somehow it did. I
felt heated, like I was melting inside, and it radiated from my center; from my
sex. I realized I was ridiculously wet, and he hadn’t even touched me.

I dropped to the
ground. I felt ridiculous there on my knees. But even as my face burned in
embarrassment, I knew in the part of me that was most honest and least
defended, that I wanted this. Slowly I crawled to David’s boot-clad feet. When
I got there, he lifted a foot and put it on my head. Pressing down, he forced
my forehead to touch the ground. I closed my eyes, as shocked that I was
allowing this as that it was happening.

“Get used to this
position, darling girl. On your knees before me, with your forehead touching
the ground, and that gorgeous ass raised for whatever I choose to do to it. You
are ravishingly beautiful, and smart. And you are keenly aware of your own
charms. You’re used to getting your way, or what you think is your way. You
have too much pride. You need to be humbled. You need to learn what it is to
give yourself up; to surrender yourself. I know you, even though we’ve just
met. On some level, you already belong to me; you’ve always belonged to me. You
were born with my name under you tongue.”

I was silent,
hearing what he’d just said, trying it out in my brain. Yes, we did know each
other on some basic visceral level that couldn’t be explained or enhanced by
time and familiarity. I didn’t really understand all that he was saying, nor
was I sure I bought into it. But I wanted it.

David continued,
“The best way I know to give you a physical taste of what I’m talking about is
with a nice old-fashioned spanking. Something about a hand across bare skin;
it’s quite humbling, I think you’ll find. So lift that perfect body of yours on
up and lay across my knees.”

I was still
kneeling, my ass in the air, my hair obscuring my face. I felt anger fighting
with desire. The image of the bodice-ripping couple on the romance novel cover
was a far cry from being told to prepare for a bare-assed spanking! Instead of
being artfully seduced, I was going to get a spanking, like some kind of
spoiled brat! But I knew even as I argued in my head that I was going to do it.
My bottom actually tingled in anticipation.

Slowly I sat up
and then stood, draping myself over his strong denim-clad legs. I was still in
my panties and bra, which was something at least. I knew, though, it was only a
matter of time before he made me strip.

I felt his fingers,
cool against my thighs, and then smoothing over the silk of my pretty
cream-colored panties. Slowly he stroked and massaged me through the silk. It
felt very nice actually, and I started to relax.

He put one hand on
the small of my back and said, “I’m going to spank you now, sweet one. Not
because I am punishing you for anything. But because this will be your first
taste of submission. To take a spanking, at the hands of your master. To taste
pain, and feel its power. To take what I give you, and see what you’re made
of.”
Master.
He’d come out and said it. And if there was a master, there
was also a slave. A spasm of fear shot through me, like hot ice filling my
veins.

I could have
gotten up at that moment. I could have said that silly phrase,
red light
,
and put my dress back on, and left. I was sure he wouldn’t hold me there
against my will. That wasn’t what he was about.

But I didn’t get
up. Instead, I held my breath; I didn’t move. I wanted to see what I was made
of too. Would I like it? Would I hate it? Would I feel ridiculous and
humiliated? I didn’t have long to wait, because suddenly I heard a loud
slapping sound. A fraction of a second later I felt a slight sting.

His hand was big,
and it covered one whole cheek. The silky fabric was no protection. Again the
hand came down, on the other cheek. I jerked against him. He smacked my bottom
several more times. It tingled and I could feel the heat, but it wasn’t so bad.
I could take this! It was exciting, to be held down by the hand on my back, and
smacked. My pussy was pressed against his thigh with each stroke, making me
even hotter and wetter, if that was possible.

With one move, he
pulled the panties down, baring my bottom. I squirmed and tried to get up. I
had known it was a matter of time before I would be naked in front of this man,
but when it happened, I wasn’t ready. He held me down, pressing my head behind
his knees, and gripping me between the couch and his body so that I couldn’t
move. I struggled a moment, but he was very strong.

“Stop,” he said,
his voice soft but steely. “Don’t resist me like that. Remember who you are.
This is what you want; what you need. Take it. Take it for me. You are lovely.
Don’t be shy about this perfect body, Zoë. You were born to be naked. I will
always keep you naked, once you belong to me.”

The words
reverberated through me.
Once you belong to me.
This man was laying a
claim to me, and he’d only known me a few hours. And yet, something inside of
me responded, though I didn’t say anything aloud. I was distracted from his
words by his hand.

He began to spank
me again, this time not stopping until my poor bottom was burning. I was
struggling even though I wanted to be still. I couldn’t help it. As I struggled
he flipped me over, so I was balanced now on my lower back against his knees.
Pressing a hand between my legs, he forced them apart.

Laughing in a low
sexy way, he said, “Oh, my little slut. You are so wet. I was right. You need
this. And it’s just the beginning. Just the beginning.” Then his heavenly fingers
parted my cleft, and he slid one finger deep inside of me. I moaned and lifted
myself to take him further into me. He withdrew the finger and slid it up to my
clit, touching me with butterfly-light strokes. I moaned, low and guttural.

My brain tried to
be embarrassed. It tried to get me to close my legs and sit up and demand my
panties back. But my body overrode my brain, and I spread my legs further,
wanting to feel his cock inside of me, his mouth once again on mine.

David stood up,
moving so that he eased me onto the couch. He unclasped my bra, and briefly
cupped my breasts in his hands. Kneeling next to me on the couch, he leaned
over and licked a nipple. It stiffened and distended. He licked the other
nipple, and then bit it, gently. Again I moaned, and my hand slid down to my
pussy.

He grabbed my hand
and said, “No. That’s not yours anymore. You don’t touch it unless I tell you
to.” He stood and pulled me up, naked. I barely came to his chest in my bare
feet.

“How are you,
baby?” he asked now. “Is this want you want? Are you ready for more?”

“Yes,” I
whispered. I usually never even kissed on the first date, but it was as if that
was the ‘old’ Zoë. The ‘fake’ Zoë, even. The one who behaved the way I thought
a ‘good girl’ should behave. Was this the ‘real’ me? Standing naked,
breathless, flushed, longing for this man I had just met to take me, to fuck
me, to, as he said, claim me?

It felt real. More
real than anything in my life to that moment.

David led me to
the center of the room. I noticed now that there were large eyehooks embedded
in the ceiling, like you might hang a plant from. “Stay there; don’t move,” he
ordered.

Going to a
sideboard, he took out several things and came back to me. “Hold out your
wrists.” I did, and he put soft leather cuffs on each wrist, securing the
leather over a little metal ring. He then attached a clip to each ring. Lifting
my hands, he took the clips and attached them to each other. I was effectively
handcuffed, my hands locked together in front of me, but in soft leather
manacles.

My heart was
pounding a little tattoo against my ribcage. David came behind me and caressed
my hair, kissing my neck. I could feel his erection against my back. I twisted
my head back to receive another kiss, and he obliged.

Pulling away from
me, he said, “I’m going to secure your wrists to a chain, and secure the chain
to the ceiling. You are going to let me do this, aren’t you, angel?”

Still recovering
from that last deep kiss, standing naked and shackled, I nodded. He took a long
thin chain and clipped my cuffs to it. Then, taking a little stepladder, he
climbed up, holding the chain, and secured it to one of the eyehooks. He pulled
it taut, forcing my arms up over my head, fully extended.

I felt extremely
vulnerable, and helpless, but also deeply aroused. He went back to the
sideboard and this time he brought over a heavy flogger, dark brown suede, with
a thick bundle of tresses dangling from a long thick handle. I gasped, having
never seen such a thing in real life.

“It’s a whip. A
flogger. It’s a lovely way to initiate a submissive, because its kiss can be
soft and caressing,” as he spoke, he dragged the tresses sensually across my
back and ass, “or,” and now he struck me, not hard, but hard enough to sting,
“or it can bite.” I jerked forward, and he wrapped an arm around my waist from
the back, pulling me against him.

Kissing my hair,
nuzzling my neck he said, “I’m going to whip you, Zoë. Do you think you can
handle it?”

I was breathing
hard, so excited I felt dizzy, almost nauseated. I tried to answer honestly,
“God, David, I don’t know! I never even knew I wanted this until you told me.
Well, that isn’t true exactly. I mean, I’ve had fantasies, but I had no idea I
would feel affected like this! I’m not sure I can handle this! I mean, being
tied up like this, so helpless, so out of control.”

“Ah, but that is
precisely the point, my love. You have no control. I am simply teaching you
that. Showing you what you are capable of. This is but the first taste of many
wonderful adventures I foresee for us. If you’re willing. But you have to be
willing. This has to be what you want.”

I looked at him,
now standing in front of me, his expression serious, his dark eyes like a
summer night, full of promise. Did I want it? Did I want to be whipped? I honestly
couldn’t answer the question. It was beyond my realm of experience, even in
fantasy.

And yet the
spanking wasn’t something I’d fantasized about either. When I did allow myself
to linger over submissive dreams, they were vague unformed ideas, involving harems
of lovely captives, dancing in gauzy silks for their lords and masters, and
then chosen as sex toys, ravished by gorgeous young princes who also pampered
and adored them.

But that spanking
– the physical contact, the feeling of his hard palm against my ass, even
though it hurt, maybe partially
because
it hurt, had aroused me to a
fever pitch.

David, so far, had
been right on target about who I was, and what I needed. Could I trust him
again? Should I? Was that what this was about, as much as anything? Trust?
These thoughts swirling in my head as he dragged the soft suede tresses over my
breasts and belly. It made me shiver, whether with desire or fear, or some
combination, I couldn’t say.

“And if I want to
stop? If I want you to stop?”

“I’ll stop when I
decide it’s time to stop. You can beg all you like, but I should tell you now,
I won’t stop until I’m ready. Of course, how you respond, what I think you can
take, will be a part of what goes into my decision, naturally. But I won’t stop
at your command. Unless, of course, you use your safe word.”

“And then you’ll
stop the whipping?”

“Yes, I’ll stop at
once. I’ll stop everything. And you will get dressed, and I will walk you to
your car, and maybe someday our paths will cross. And hopefully you’ll remember
me as a friend. And that will be that.”

So, there it was.
If I didn’t ‘submit’ to this whipping, I’d lose David altogether. I’d lose
those impassioned kisses, and the amazing way he made me feel – at once
beautiful, wildly powerful, and also captive and under his delicious spell. I
didn’t want to lose all that. Who was he to make all the rules? To set the
parameters of our relationship, if that was what it was, without asking me a
word about it?

As if he were
speaking inside my head, I heard him say that that was precisely the point. If
we were to have a relationship, those would be its parameters. David as master,
and Zoë as slave. David calling the shots, setting the rules, and claiming his
lover. My heart was pounding as I contemplated my situation.

And yet, as he
leaned against me now, murmuring my name, his cock hard and clearly visible in
his pants, it was obvious that I too wielded the power. As he had said, it was
a loving exchange of power. I wasn’t giving myself up to him, I was giving
myself over to his loving control, and he in turn was giving himself to me.

Did I want the
whipping? I honestly didn’t know. But I wanted what he seemed to be offering,
and so I said finally, “I want it.”

“You want what,
Zoë? Say it.”

“I want you to
whip me.”

“Lovely,” he
murmured. Standing in front of me, slowly he unbuttoned that pale yellow silky
shirt. He was long and lean, but well muscled, especially his chest and
shoulders. He was tanned and his stomach was strong. My eyes were drawn down to
his jeans, which he didn’t remove, though I was silently willing him to. I eyed
the still-erect cock pressing against the denim and my mouth actually watered.