Chapter 1

My iPod was playing in the background, as I surfed the net. I had been checking out a few porn sites and came across one dedicated entirely to Femdom stories, videos and pictures. They peaked my interest a little. No, actually they excited me quite a lot. By the time I finished reading one about a young college guy who was tightly strapped over a bondage horse and having his ass brutally whipped, my cock was as hard as a fireplace poker and steadily dripped drops of per-cum. I read on, as he endured a savage beating from a beautiful woman clad in sexy black leather lingerie.

I pushed my jeans and underwear down to my knees and stroked my dick while I continued with the story. She used a long, thick leather strap to redden his ass and leave dozens of dark purple welts crisscrossing his butt. He screamed and yelled from the intense pain, but his cock was as hard as mine. As the intense whipping continued, he fought and struggled against his bonds, trying to escape the agonizing pain, yet wanting more. I imagined that it was me who was locked helplessly over that padded bench. I wanted to feel every stroke of her whip across my ass. I would have changed places with that guy in a heartbeat. My hand rubbed harder and faster, as the tawse painfully bruised and blistered his tender flesh over and over again. As his Mistress finished his brutal torture, my balls rumbled and roared, releasing their load. Gobs of steaming sperm shot from my hard cock. Long ribbons of creamy cum streamed from my long, throbbing shaft. The immense pleasure of my orgasm raged through me. It was far more intense than ever before. At that moment a profound lust for sexual pain and submission was permanently etched within my brain. I finally leaned back in my chair and caught my breath.

“Holy shit… I wonder where I can find a woman like that,” I asked myself.

After putting that story site into my favorites, I came across some pictures of a beautiful dominatrix who was looking for a slave to serve her. She wore a black leather bra and a tiny little thong. Her fishnet stockings were held up by a matching garter belt, and she wore really tall, stiletto-heeled boots. In her gloved hands was a cat o’ nine tails with vicious looking knots along each of its long, braided strands.

I eagerly studied every inch of that picture over and over. My God, she was magnificent. Finally, I printed it out and hung it on the wall next to my bed. She was my Goddess. I was in love. Something came alive in me that night. I reread that story dozens of times and went to bed every night mesmerized by the picture of my perfect Mistress. I fantasized about being totally naked at her feet and feeling the agonizing, but pleasurable pain of her whip. I jerked off to her image and longed for what she had to offer. I wanted her. I dreamed of serving her. I would be her slave forever.

Hour after hour and day after day I read those stories and was drawn in ever deeper. I couldn’t get those thoughts and desires out of my mind. God, it seemed like I was living with a perpetual hard-on. Even dreams at night contained scenes of bondage and torture, and yet I wanted more.

Those thoughts filled my life, but it was going nowhere fast. Mornings were no better than my evenings. I had flunked out of college and was renting an older, furnished studio apartment by the month in downtown Albany. It wasn’t much, but it would do. I didn’t have a job, but I was eagerly looking for one. There was enough money left from my college loans to last for a few months if I was careful.

Every day I picked up the previous day’s newspaper from the convenience store down the street. The manager there saved it for me, so I could check the classifieds and look for a job. He told me he would give me some part time work as soon as a spot opened up.

During the day I went from store to store looking for work. I went to job fairs but never seemed to get a call. I remember someone once said that you should spend as much time looking for a job as you would working at one. I did. Looking for something was my job every day. After all, there was no way I wanted to go home and live off my parents. I couldn’t anyway. We didn’t get along and hadn’t spoken in months. It was constant. I filled out applications and checked on them every few days. I couldn’t understand it. Nothing seemed to work. I realized I had no experience and couldn’t even put together a decent resume. I was going nowhere fast.

I got some part time work at the McDonalds down the street. The manager knew I needed the job and didn’t have any money, so he let me eat some of the stuff that had been sitting around too long. They were going to throw it out anyway. Sometimes I ate well, and other times it was a little slim.

Nights I stayed home and read on my laptop. I didn’t have the money to do anything else. Luckily I was able to get free Wi-Fi from someone in the building.

One night an older woman, who lived on the first floor, stopped me when I came in. She needed some help. She had dropped some clothes over the back of her washer and couldn’t get them out. Of course, I helped her, and she treated me to some homemade chocolate chip cookies and milk. As I ate, she noticed that my clothes were a little dirty and suggested I bring them down so she could wash them for me. I didn’t want to put her out, but she insisted. She knew I was desperate. I went upstairs and got them, and she put in my light colors. We talked for a while, as I emptied the plate of cookies. I was hungry, and I guess she was lonely. The first load was finished, so she threw my darks into the washer. It was a rather pleasant evening, and I had clean clothes without having to go to the laundromat. That costs a lot on money. A few days later I put on a clean pair of jeans and found a twenty dollar bill neatly tucked in the pocket. I knew where it came from. Mrs. Hansen became my guardian angel.