Chapter 3: Nirvana

Eve was something of a night person, and the Friday night before her next date with Roger she didn’t get to sleep until three a.m. It was nearly noon before she got up. She awoke from her long sleep alert and refreshed and sprang out of bed, already in a state of high anticipation. Rushing to the bathroom, she grabbed a tube of toothpaste and squirted it over her toothbrush, and sat on the toilet brushing furiously and peeing at the same time, racing though her morning rituals as if she had five minutes rather than five hours before her date. After flushing the toilet and washing the toothpaste out of her mouth she turned on the shower. Here she lingered. She loved hot showers, loved to gradually turn down the cold water as she adjusted to the heat. When she was done she hurriedly dried herself off with a towel, then walked naked to the kitchen, her wet feet leaving footprints on the wood floor. Next she prepared her usual breakfast of a bowl of dry cereal and skim milk, which she ate standing up. When she was finished she dressed. The weather had turned warm and summery, and she put on a white, sleeveless blouse, a blue miniskirt, and a pair of thick-soled sandals designed for walking. Slinging her leather bag over her arm she went out, locked the door and scurried down the four flights of stairs through the front door and into the street. She strode down the street at a brisk pace. It was windy and she felt a warm breeze blow between her bare legs. Across the street a skinny long-haired youth turned to look at her. She smiled. She felt young and sexy and happy to be alive.

She turned right along Avenue A heading north to Eighth Street then west to the Astor Place subway stop. She had decided to spend the afternoon at the Guggenheim Museum, which by a pleasant coincidence was a few blocks from Roger’s apartment, and which was only a short ride uptown. Once inside the museum, she bought her ticket and began to climb the famous spiral ramp. She loved to stop at each floor and look down at the atrium, with the little fish shaped pool in the corner, before entering the galleries to survey the artistic treasures. After reaching the top she would do the same in reverse, stopping again in each room, taking more time to examine those pictures or sculptures which had particularly engaged her fancy on the first go round. There was a special exhibition which included paintings by Cezanne, early Picasso, Matisse, Kandinsky and various German Expressionists. It was a period that particularly appealed to her.

It was twenty minutes past four when she left the museum. Roger had instructed her to meet him at an Indian restaurant named Nirvana located just south of Central Park. A bus ran along Fifth Avenue, but Eve, who loved to take long walks in the city, had already decided to cover the two mile distance on foot and had timed her departure accordingly. She strolled for several blocks along the tree lined cobblestone sidewalk by the park, then turned into the park itself, making her way along a path that had its outlet on Central Park South, which marked the park’s southern boundary. Walking at a brisk pace as if she could contract time itself in her eagerness, she experienced a rare sense of exhilaration. Once more she was in love with her life. To spend the day in a wonderful museum communing with great art, walking in the city on a beautiful spring afternoon on the way to a tryst with her lover at a restaurant serving the kind of exotic cuisine you could only find in New York, then capping it off, a passionate night of love making—what more could she ever want? She arrived at the restaurant just before five. Peeking inside she saw there were no other customers yet, as the dinner hour was just beginning. A few minutes later she spotted Roger walking towards her, wearing a brown suit of light weight fabric over a light blue dress shirt. He greeted her with a light kiss on the lips.

“I thought you said it was casual,” she protested. “I feel underdressed.”

“I am dressed casual. See, no tie. Don’t worry, you’re fine.”

He opened the door for her and they went in. The sound of sitar music greeted them as they entered the dimly lit interior, its red-draped walls covered with Indian-themed mosaics and tapestries. A tall dark-skinned waiter dressed in Indian garb led them to a corner table and handed them the menus. Eve accepted Roger’s recommendation of the Tandoori chicken, a specialty of the house, while he ordered a lamb biryani for himself. They also ordered Mulligatawny soup and a plate of assorted appetizers. Eve thought it quite the best Indian food she had ever tasted. The fragrant spices, expertly blended to produce flavors delicate yet piquant, produced in her a kind of ecstasy, almost like being high. Everything, the wonderful food, the romantic atmosphere, the mystical music, along with the presence of her lover, and the promise of the night to come, combined to make it a magical moment for her.

Perhaps for this reason she was more animated and less reticent than usual. As he drew her out about herself she talked about her recent life and her difficult relationship with her family, which in her mind invested her life with some of the dignity of heroic struggle. “My big sister calls me the family rebel,” she said with a touch of pride.

This drew a laugh from Roger. “What’s so funny about that?” she asked indignantly.

“Well, if I was looking for a word to describe you, I don’t think it would be ‘rebel’.”

“Oh? What word would you use?”

He paused for a moment, then answered, “Submissive.”

Eve frowned. “I’m not sure I like that.”

Annoyed, she looked down at her plate and spent the next few minutes picking at her food. “Why do you say I’m submissive?” she asked at last.

“Because you like being told what to do.”

“My parents wouldn’t agree with you.”

Roger ignored this and attended to his curry.

“Is it because of how I am in bed?” she went on. “I know I’m passive. I like the guy to take charge. That’s just the way I like it. I guess Gloria Steinem wouldn’t approve. Well, fuck her!” she concluded defiantly.

“I’d like to,” he said with a smirk. “She’s a good looking broad.”

Suddenly the idea of Roger having sex with the founder of Ms. Magazine struck Eve as irresistibly droll. She pictured her on her knees sucking Roger’s cock and began to giggle.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, smiling.

“Oh, nothing,” Eve replied, as she grabbed a piece of Tandoori chicken and attacked it lustily.

A half an hour later they were standing on the street. There was still an hour of daylight, the clocks having just changed, and he suggested a little walk in the park. They crossed over Central Park South and entered the park.

“From here we could walk to your apartment. I did a longer walk on the way here. If you can manage it,” she said saucily.

“Actually, I have to leave you shortly for another engagement.”

“Oh.” Eve felt crushed, her dreams of a night of passion shattered. So this was it, just dinner? She wanted to cry. Who was he meeting? She experienced a sudden pang of jealousy. “Who is your date with,” she asked, trying to control the tremor in her voice. “Is it a woman?”

Roger looked at her with amusement. “It’s a business meeting, of sorts.”

“A business meeting, on a Saturday night?”

He laughed. “My ‘date,’ as you call it, is with a fat, bald, Japanese businessman. Someone I’ve been trying to get to invest some money. He called me this morning and said we should discuss business tonight over a few drinks. He’s a bit eccentric, but when you have five million dollars to invest, you can get away with a bit of eccentricity.”

“Maybe I could come along. If it’s just a few drinks, maybe it won’t take long.”

“No, I’m not taking you along to a business meeting. Besides, he might want to do something afterwards.” He laughed. “He’ll probably want to go to a strip club. It’s the Japanese way of doing business. We don’t have Geisha houses here, unfortunately.”

Eve frowned. She began to walk faster, her eyes fixed on the ground.

“Now don’t pout,” he said teasingly.

“I’m not pouting,” she said irritably.

They continued their walk in silence. Eve felt angry and humiliated. She struggled to put her thoughts in some order.

“You know,” she began, once more trying to control the tremor in her voice, “when you ask a girl out to dinner on a Saturday night, she doesn’t expect to be dropped like a hot potato afterwards. It’s almost like being stood up.”

“When I called to ask you to dinner, I didn’t say anything about afterwards, did I?”

“No,” she admitted resentfully.

She waited for him to say something more but he was silent. Finally she asked, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you look pretty when you’re angry.”

“Don’t patronize me!” The clichéd nature of the expression added to her fury. She began walking very fast now. Roger let her get a few feet ahead of him, then followed her at a steady distance. They continued to walk like this for some time until, having worked off some of her anger, she stopped. She waited for him to catch up, but as he drew abreast of her, instead of stopping he continued on towards the left, heading for a nearby bench. He seated himself and assumed a slouching posture, draping his arms around the back of the bench and stretching his legs out lazily in front of him. She approached and saw he was smiling, with a bland complacency that was almost insulting. For an instant she considered turning around and leaving, probably never to see him again. Instead she sat next to him, leaning forward to avoid his arm. After a brief silence and without looking at him she began speaking, in a quiet, almost humble tone.

“I like you Roger. I like you a lot. I don’t want to be—I can’t think of the right words—I don’t want to be someone you just call anytime you feel like it. I know we haven’t known each other long, but we’ve already had sex twice and I thought, well, that you liked me and...”

Unable to think of what else to say she turned to look at him. He was staring off into the distance with a serious expression.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He turned to her and his face broke into a broad smile. “What am I thinking about? I’m thinking you’re a lot of trouble.” His smile grew broader, with a touch of mockery. “I’m thinking I’d like to take you over my knee right now and give you a good spanking, for being such a little troublemaker.” Then he broke into hearty laughter.

Eve’s face turned red. She stood up and glared at him. “You don’t take me seriously!”

Abruptly his laughter stopped; he stood up and taking her arms in a tight grip said “I do take you seriously. Maybe more seriously than you take yourself.” She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Come on,” he said, “let’s walk.”

They continued their walk, this time with his arm around her shoulder until they came out onto Fifth Avenue. Then he stopped and turned to face her again.

“I have to leave now. Would you like to see me later tonight?”

She hesitated for a few seconds then said “Yes.”

“Ah women. My great weakness. You can wrap me around your little fingers.” He was laughing again in the same mocking way he had on the bench. Then turning serious he said, “I want you to go home now. Take a cab. I’ll call you when I’m done with this Japanese fellow. It might be an hour, it might be several. But I will call. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll pay for this though,” he said, laughing once more. “Remember what I said on the bench.” He hailed a taxi. It stopped; he opened the door, handed her a ten dollar bill, gave her a peck on the forehead, ushered her into the cab and closed the door.

A half an hour later she was back in her apartment. She lay down on her bed and wondered when he would come. She didn’t know how long he would be but suspected it would be a long time. This very moment he must be sitting with that Japanese businessman, drinking, maybe a scotch. (What did businessmen drink?) He had said the guy would probably want to go to a strip club. She pictured the businessman, bald, fat, with piglike features—yes, he would be that type! She had never been to a strip club. She pictured a bunch of naked girls with big hair and big bouncing breasts dancing erotically, advertising their wares in a blatant fashion and surrounding them a crowd of cheering, leering men, young men with short hair and mustaches wearing black tea shirts and jeans and sporting obscene tattoos on bulging biceps, fat middle-aged businessmen in suits, and Roger—how did he fit into this picture? She imagined him sitting there watching with that calm, superior smile of his. He wasn’t the kind to go to strip clubs on his own, no, she couldn’t picture that. He wasn’t the kind of guy who needed to get his kicks in strip clubs. He was tall, handsome and magnetic, the kind who had to fight women off with a stick as the saying goes. He also knew how to find the kind of women he wanted, the kind he could accost in a gallery and who an hour later would invite him to her apartment, the kind who would wait days for him to call and then go out with him on a moment’s notice, the kind who at his command would go down on her knees and suck his cock, the kind who would be stood up and who still would wait for him for hours, those kinds of women, submissive women...

Yes, he must be right, I am submissive. But why did he say that? Say what, what was I thinking? What he said sitting on the park bench. He said he wanted to take me over his knee and spank me. Why did he say that? Was it just a joke? Or did he sense this was something she really would like, which was true, for he had awakened in her an old fantasy, long suppressed, hidden away in the dim recesses of her mind like a locked jewelry box buried away at the bottom of a closet, sufficiently well hidden that one could for long periods forget its very existence. But when and how did it start, this fantasy? She couldn’t recall; was it something she had heard or read, a scene in a movie or on television? If one of her lovers, sharing the fantasy had broached it to her she might have agreed, with fear and trembling, but she could never have suggested it herself. So she suppressed it, but now this man, who seemed to be able to read her thoughts, had awakened it again as if he had secretly rifled her closet and found the jewel box and picked the lock ... He reminded her! Yes, before sending her off in the cab he had said, remember what I said on the bench. It wasn’t a joke!

She broke out into a cold sweat. It was going to be a long wait; she needed something to calm her nerves. She went to the pantry and took out a bottle of whisky, got some lemon juice from the refrigerator and made herself a whisky sour. Eve didn’t drink much as a rule, only when she needed to calm her nerves. Her preferred drug was marijuana. She would have that too. She went back to her bedroom, found a plastic bag containing pot, put some in a pipe and began smoking. It took effect quickly, inducing a quiet state of euphoria. She decided to listen to some music. Thumbing through her record collection she pulled out the album Apocalypse, by the Mahavishnu Orchestra. The subject seemed appropriate to her mood. She sensed that her life was about to undergo a violent change, that some part of her past existence was at an end. The next few hours she spent listening to music, reading poetry and falling into deep reveries.

A little after eleven o’clock the phone rang. It was Roger. He was on his way, it would take him a half an hour or more. As she hung up she felt herself trembling all over. She decided to undress. She would greet him naked. He would like that. She would put on her blue stockings too, like the last time. He would like that too. She took a couple of thick candles from the pantry and placed them on the end table by her bed. After waiting a half an hour, she lit the candles and turned off the light in her bedroom. She went to the bathroom, and when she came out she left the door open and the light on. It was now the only electric light on in the apartment. She waited for the buzzer, then remembered that the lock on the downstairs door was broken. Would he ring the buzzer anyway or just go in? She stood by the door, listening for footsteps. Twice she heard steps, both times stopping short of her floor. The wait seemed endless. Then, when it was nearly midnight, she heard steps, first remote, then ever closer, they lasted longer this time, they grew ever louder, until they stopped. Then she heard a knock on the door. She peered through the peephole. It was him.

* * * *

Eve awoke to the dim gray light of early morning. A glance at the clock by her bed confirmed that she had slept a mere three hours. She didn’t feel like she had slept at all, but she had dreamed—strange, bizarre, troubling dreams. Just now she had dreamt that the building was on fire, that she had ran out the door, and in the miraculous fashion of dreams found herself outside without ever having climbed down the stairs; she stood outside and looked at herself, and she was naked, but her body was on fire. Now she was awake but she still felt like she was on fire. She threw aside the cotton sheet that in the warm weather served as a blanket, uncovering her naked body. The burning sensation was coming from below her waist; she rubbed her buttocks, which felt tender. And then she remembered. She remembered everything.

She remembered standing by the door, naked except for her blue stockings. It was shortly before midnight; he knocked at the door, she glanced through the peephole, then undid the lock and let him in. She stood there in front of him; he was carrying his jacket over his arm and he told her to hang it up, and she took it to the closet and hung it up and returned, looking at him, waiting for him to tell her what to do, ready to obey him, and he told her to go into the bedroom, and she went into the bedroom and she stood before the bed, waiting for him to tell her what to do, and he sat down on the side of the bed, and he told her to lay across his lap, and she obeyed him without asking why for she already knew. She felt the bulge in his pants under her thigh, the sign of his desire that matched her own; she waited for what he would do next but he sat silently and did nothing—not, she was sure, because he hadn’t decided what to do but simply to make her wait. And as she waited, she wondered how much it was going to hurt, was it going to hurt so much that she wouldn’t enjoy it at all, and if it did and she cried out for him to stop, would he do so? It was just for that reason he was making her wait, to give her time to think and worry and fret while in the meantime he was enjoying her fear and her helplessness. Then breaking his silence he again reminded her of what he had said in the park, told her she had been a bad girl for vexing him and causing him to change his plans and that he had to punish her so in the future she would learn to be obedient and not complain. He was not laughing now, he spoke quietly and seriously and in the dim candlelit room his words seemed invested with an awful solemnity. She trembled, and waited for him to do what he had promised.

At that moment a childhood memory flashed through her mind. She was at an amusement park with her big sister, who had bought tickets for the roller coaster, the first time she had ever ridden one. She recalled sitting in the car next to her sister, and the long agonizingly slow climb to the top of that first loop, and her growing terror as the car approached the top. The fear she felt now was like that. And she remembered how as the cars reached the top, time seemed to stand still for a moment but then came that first downward plunge and that sickening feeling of terror, terror which would soon turn into exhilaration. Now as she lay across his lap, her heart pounding like it did then, the tension became unbearable; in another minute she would start to scream—Suddenly fear was succeeded by pain; his hand was striking her buttocks and it hurt, like plunging into a tub of scalding hot water. Her eyes filled with tears; she wanted to escape but was helpless. But then she began to get used to it and pain slowly turned into pleasure. The pleasure became greater and greater; this was what she had dreamed about. The spanking went on and on and on, it seemed to be going on forever but she wanted it never to end. Slowly he increased the intensity of the blows; it reminded her of the hot shower she had taken that morning, and how she liked to turn down the cold water as she got used to the heat. And he seemed always to sense just the right moment to increase the heat, transmitted from his hand to the nerve endings under her buttocks, driving her to ever greater heights of arousal....

Recalling this now, the next morning, she became excited all over again. She reached her hand down between her legs and began rubbing herself. The memory was made all the more vivid by the still burning sensation in her bottom. She tried to recall what came next. As the evening’s events came into focus, she played them through in her mind’s eye like a movie.

He had stopped. He was gently rubbing her cheeks, massaging them as she rested. The picture now became a little blurry. Did she briefly pass out? Then it seemed as if someone had changed the reel. He told her to sit up. She pulled herself up onto her knees next to him. She watched as he stood up, undid the buckle of his belt, pulled it out and doubled it over itself, the inner surface facing out. Then he ordered her to get down on her knees in front of the bed and bend over. He struck the belt against the bed several times, making a terrifyingly loud noise. She began to shake with fear, a fear that was mixed with arousal. She felt all wet inside. She felt she was going to melt with fear and desire. And then she felt the first blow fall across her buttocks. The sharp sting of the leather on her flesh sent a shiver of delight through her. He waited, the sting slowly dying away like the reverberations from a loud stroke of a kettledrum. Then came another blow, lower now, right across the sweet spot. The sting was exquisite. The pain, though real enough, hardly matched the terror of the sound the belt had made striking the mattress. It made a sound too against her ass, a softer sound, and she enjoyed the sound, the sound of herself being whipped and punished. It was as if she were outside herself, experiencing it both as victim and as spectator. As he continued he always varied the blows, never twice in the same spot, now harder, now softer, now faster, now slower. He played her like an instrument, she shook with excitement, she began to moan like he was inside her, until finally and incredibly, with a shuddering climax she came.

And recalling it now, as she rubbed her fingers over her clitoris, she came again! She lay there, breathing heavily, drenched with sweat. She felt an urgent need to pee. She stood up and hurried to the bathroom, and sat down on the toilet. Oh, it hurt to sit! How long would that last, she wondered? She lifted herself up a little and peed, until her bladder was empty. Then she got up, walked back to the bed and flopped down again. She was tired, she needed more sleep, she closed her eyes, but then the film started again...

By now he had stopped whipping her with the belt and she heard him kick off his shoes and unzip his pants, and he told her to climb onto the bed on all fours. She did so, and from the corner of her eye saw him finish undressing himself; she would have liked to turn and gaze at his splendid body, but she didn’t dare, but waited there submissively, dog like, until he climbed onto the bed in back of her and entered her from behind. She had never been fucked in that way before, it had always been missionary style, or whatever they called the reverse of missionary style. What did they call this, doggy style? As he thrust himself back and forth inside her, rubbing against her ass already sore from the spankings, inflicting added pain along with the pleasure, she felt like a pet being brought to heel, a submissive little puppy. He grabbed her breasts, squeezed them, played with her nipples, sometimes squeezing them in a way that was painful, but not too much so, as if he were just giving her a taste of what he might inflict if he wished to. He was inside her a long time, it seemed longer even than on the two previous occasions he had fucked her. She came again, more than once, how many times she didn’t know, she had lost interest in counting. But at last he came himself, discharged his load inside of her, and withdrew.

Now began the strangest part of the evening. He told her to lie down. Obediently she lay down flat on her stomach, her arms by her side. Some of his semen had leaked out of her; she felt it, warm and sticky between her thighs. Now she felt him pull down the stocking on her right leg until it was off, then he did the same with the left. What came next was unexpected. He grabbed her wrists and crossed them across the small of her back. He took one of the stockings and tied one end around her wrists and made a knot. Next he took the other stocking and tied it around her ankles. He grabbed her calves and lifted them up until the toes pointed skyward, and took the ends of the two stockings and tied them together, first pulling her legs forward a bit more, and tying the two stockings together so they were taut. Then he crouched beside her head and whispered he was going to leave her tied up until he got hard again. She was to lay there quietly until he returned. Then he stood up again, leaned over and blew out the candles, leaving her in darkness.

She heard him walk out the room and into the bathroom and heard the shower go on. She lay there in the darkness and the silence, again with that odd mixture of fear and exhilaration. She was thankful for the sound of the shower for without that evidence of his presence she would have been utterly terrified. Being tied up this way was a very different sensation from the way he had tied her to his bed last week in his apartment. This wasn’t a position designed to facilitate lovemaking. Why had he done it? She was to wait this way until he got “hard” again. Was this his way of saying he was here to use her for his pleasure, and when he didn’t need her he would secure her like a piece of machinery, like that phonograph on the floor, closing the lid and snapping the lock? She couldn’t use her arms and legs, she couldn’t leave the bed, but that was all right, she was just his property to use as he saw fit, with no will of her own. And that thought, of being his property, excited her...

Had she actually thought that at the time or did it only occur to her now? She couldn’t recall; what she did remember was the feeling of terror and helplessness, and the strange feeling of excitement it caused. She felt so tired now, but still she couldn’t sleep. It was time to go on to the next reel...

He had returned from his shower and now was seated by her side. He had relit the candles and the smell of sulphur from the matches and the dim yellow light of the flames gave the place an infernal air. Now came a new, unexpected sensation. His hands were on her cheeks spreading them apart, and then she felt him stick his finger into her anus. He plunged in deeply, feeling and probing, playing with her asshole. It was a stunning act of impudence to enter uninvited and with so little ceremony into such a private area, like a customer in a store barging through one of those doors marked “Employees Only.” It was a place even more private than that neighboring portal he had visited now three times. That door had been especially designed for visitors, though admission was only by special invitation and at the discretion of the management. But where she was concerned he was no respecter of law, entering like a thief in the night probing for hidden loot. He stuck another finger in and then a third; it was a new and strange sensation, to be penetrated in this way, in this place. Then abruptly he withdrew his fingers; he released the knot between her two stockings so her calves dropped back onto the bed. But he didn’t undo the knots binding her wrists, instead he took her arms and lifted her up to her knees and pulled her towards him. He told her to suck his cock. Again she obeyed him while he held her arms and rocked her back and forth. But by now her mouth had become very dry, and she started to grunt loudly as if trying to speak. He let her withdraw, and she asked if she could please have a drink of water. He laughed and went to fetch it. He came back with a glass which he held in front of her mouth while she drank. Some of it went down the wrong way and she started coughing. He told her to wait and came back with a bowl; she lapped up the water with her tongue like a dog or a cat. Then he withdrew the bowl and ordered her to resume her task. She licked her lips and began sucking him again. A few minutes later he told her to stop, after which he laid her down again on her stomach.

Then, speaking with deliberate coarseness, he asked her if she had ever been fucked in the ass before. She shook her head no; what she didn’t tell him was that she had been asked twice by guys before and both times had refused; it was something that frightened her. Now when he asked her if she wanted to try it she froze, afraid to say anything, but her frail shoulders shook in a manner he may have taken for assent. He walked out and came back; she felt his palms spreading her cheeks again, then a finger was inserted this time coated with some creamy substance. It felt pleasant but then he removed his finger and in its place his huge cock began penetrating her ass and it hurt, worse than the spanking. She bit her lip, but as he plunged deeper it hurt so much she became afraid, she thought he was going to split her apart. In a panic she screamed for him to stop. He pulled out. His voice became harsh. He said if she didn’t want it she should have said so. And then he reached for the belt and struck her a few times very hard across her ass. She started to cry.

It was the low point of the evening. He had ravaged her and debased her, and then made her feel inadequate, leaving her utterly humiliated. But how was it then that recalling it now she became even more aroused? Could it be she wanted to be brutalized, debased, humiliated? She didn’t know, she was too tired to think, she just lay back and once more reached down between her legs to pleasure herself. She closed her eyes, trying to remember what came next. The man in the projection room changed the reel and the movie started up again....

He had gone into the bathroom, she heard water from the sink; was he washing off his cock? When he returned he finally untied her hands, tossing her stockings to the side, and told her to turn over on her back and spread her legs. She now hurried to obey his commands, like a dog that had been whipped into obedience. She looked up at him as he stood by the bed, at his tall, muscular form, and at his large erect penis, and she felt utterly weak, and she knew then that her destiny would be always to serve and obey him. Once more he climbed on top of her and entered her, to begin another marathon session, only this time it was not copulation alone, but copulation combined with spanking, or rather alternating with it, as he would from time to time withdraw, and turn her over in order to spank her, and when he was done spanking her he would turn her on her back again and enter her, and each time he spanked her it was harder than the last time, and each time he penetrated her he thrust back and forth with greater violence, and his movements caused her bottom to rub painfully against the bed, her ass that was so raw and tender from the spankings, and the painful throbbing of her ass mingled with the sensations in her vagina, a cocktail of pain and pleasure, and she came and came and came and came again, until she grew dizzy and faint with the pleasure and the pain. And when he was inside her he would sometimes squeeze her breasts and shower her face with kisses, her face that was stained with tears, tears of joy and of pain, and where one left off and the other began she didn’t know, she seemed to be transported out of herself. And thus he mixed harshness with tenderness, rewarding her for accepting the pain, and she was so grateful, grateful for the tenderness and the pain. And after orgasms without number he at last exploded inside her, and he wasn’t squeezing her breasts now but he was holding down her arms again, his powerful hands squeezing her tiny wrists reminding her of her weakness and her helplessness. And after he came, he left her go and put his arms around her and squeezed her tight, and she put her arms around him and squeezed him in his turn, and he whispered in her ear that she belonged to him now, that she was his slave, and she felt a great joy, as if he had proposed to her, and she would be with him now until death.

And then he was gone, but before he went he told her he would send for her. She rejoiced in the promise of future bliss. And now as she lay on her stomach reliving those final ecstatic moments, her fingers inhabited the same place where the powerful organ of her lover and Master had lately resided, and her body shook and she came one more time, collapsing at last into a state of utter exhaustion, until she fell into unconsciousness, and drifted once more into the realm of dreams.