Delicious Pain - a BDSM Collection
An Appointment with Her Master
In Sebastian's Hands - introduction
Life, the Universe and Sebastian
Delicious Pain
Copyright 2012 Portia Da Costa.
This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. With exception of quotes used in reviews, this story may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
Please be aware that this story contains sensual content that is only suitable for adult readers who are comfortable with frank language and descriptions of erotic scenarios
Please Note: An Appointment with Her Master, Forbidden Treasures and In Sebastian’s Hands have all appeared as separate ebooks on a variety of platforms
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An Appointment with Her Master
I have an appointment. An appointment with a master. My master. It's real this time. It's really going to happen.
Mary-Anne Green smiled to herself, her grin nervous, her heart in a tizzy as she remembered the very start of her obsession.
It'd all begun when she'd picked up a book in a second hand market several years ago; a fantasy set in an imaginary realm in olden times, when richly dressed princes had taken their beautiful young brides across their knees and administered old fashioned discipline across their vulnerable bare bottoms.
It'd been a shock. What the book did to her. The luridly overwrought descriptions of tingling red bottoms, and the strange sweetness that came with them, had scared her at first. Not the stories themselves, but what they'd done to her. Cries of pain, and cries of pleasure had rung in her mind as she'd read, and at the same time her body had roused. At first she'd been horrified by her own reaction, and tried to ignore her own flesh, the heavy, needy ache and the wetness. But pretty quickly all that had changed, and transformed into a sense of elation, and relief. At last she knew herself, and since that day, it seemed she'd just been waiting for this one.
From books, she'd graduated to magazines, and from magazines to exchanging ideas with people she'd met on message boards and in chat rooms. It had been a delicate foray, not mentioning the pain/pleasure at first, until she'd ascertained as best she could that they were like minded. But still she'd remained circumspect, she'd stayed guarded. She'd relished every crumb of information she'd discovered about those who spanked, and those who were spanked, but always held back from revealing her own experiences, or lack of them. She'd concealed her own goals and remained an enigma.
And then one day, she'd found a new correspondent. A very special one, as enigmatic as she, but irresistible. By then already a writer of some small notoriety herself in BDSM circles, Mary Anne had reached out to a fellow author she admired. Not the one who'd written the fairy tale fantasies of minor royal personages with majestically tanned bottoms, but another writer, with a far greater talent.
When she'd first read his books, Mary Anne had discovered her true home - a dark, seductive world of profound and ritualistic severity. The descriptions of spankings and thrashings had thrilled her, the talk of canings had made her unable to resist touching her sex. Again and again she would read his books, and again and again they gave her pleasure, conjuring up pictures she could place herself within. Scenarios, inner visions, where it was her bottom beneath the strap or the hand. Night after night, day after day, she imagined herself bare bottomed across the great man's lap, with all her intimate secrets exposed. She imagined waiting, almost in a state of near-climax, for his strong hand to fall, and when it did, she dreamed that she loved the pain with all the fervor she might come to love the man. She asked him if he'd send her a photograph, and when he did, it was his inscrutable, pale, seemingly fathomless eyes that looked down on her as she lay in her dreams at his mercy.
As their correspondence opened up and grew more explicit and wide-ranging it was inevitable that she'd be driven to try and flirt with him. To hint, however obliquely, that for him alone, she could really bare her all. That for his sake she could suffer a real beating, and that his blows would be welcome on her flesh. She could hardly believe what she was doing as she typed the provocative words, and she couldn't believe that they were real even after she'd pressed "Send".
Of course, the great man called her bluff, seeing straight through her hints and allusions to her yearning heart. His reply was confident, and knowing, yet beneath it, she read a yearning that matched her own.
You could come to me, and I could make it real for you.
The words were simple, yet so seductive she was lost. Without committing herself at first, without a single word to her Svengali, she was already set on the road that led towards him.
Telling herself it was all crazy, she still experimented. To prepare herself. She stole a ruler from work, an old thing, quite heavy and sturdily made. When she swished it down fiercely on her inner thigh, the pain was sharp but fleeting, and afterwards came a sweet, rosy glow. The heat of it bloomed in her skin, yet spread out, instantly to her pussy, so close. It sizzled as if
he'd
smacked her, as if
he'd
exalted her to a new level of perception. Insanely pleased with herself, and more aroused than ever, she masturbated furiously, embroidering her fantasy, and ready for more, much more. So much more.
The next stage, in fact.
In a bold maneuver, that turned her on as much as the experimental spanking itself, she sent the man himself the same ruler that she'd used on her own thigh. It was accepted with a magnificent, amused arrogance that thrilled her, the perfect answer to her call, exactly what she'd wanted. He described what he would do to her, what she would do to him, and specified the logistics of their meeting. Reading his response, she was a teenager in love again; but this time in love with the right man. With him, it wasn't weird to be submissive, and obedient to his whim... it made her powerful, and right feeling, not an oddity. Lying in her bathroom, on her back, swishing her bottom with the sturdy wooden ruler, she imagined herself miles and miles away, lying on her front, across his knee, and trembling before him. Or, in an exciting variation, he might put her across the back of some beautiful antique chair, and thrash her buttocks with whatever implement he chose.
All the dreams in her mind made her she smile, something she did more and more these days. And all because he did these fantastical things because
she
willed it as much as he did.
But what anguish might the pain, the
real
pain, cause her? What would the stinging, the smarting, the pure fire scorching her untried bottom, do to her? Would the real thing be way beyond her fancies?
And now, oh God, the momentous day was here.
Dressed carefully, according to his exhaustive instructions, Mary-Anne made her way towards his house. She'd been amazed to discover that he actually lived quite close to her. Had she met him, or seen him in a street or shop and never known it was him? What did it mean for her that he lived so near? Did it mean... did it mean there was a future if today went as well as she hoped?
Riding in a taxi, she kept her face straight, amused yet keeping it inside. Nobody would have thought her sexy today, to look at her; but she felt like a goddess, high above them all. Beneath her sober skirt were the exquisitely beautiful black lace panties that her Master would be expecting to see, although, after the thoughts she'd been having for the whole of the journey, certain areas of them weren't nearly as pristine as they'd been when she'd started out. She'd been sticky wet almost before she'd been out of her door.
Arriving at the posh address he'd given her, she reached out with a shaking hand for the doorbell. Its tuneful ringing announced a point of no return, and for a microsecond it scared her. What if it was all a disaster? What if
he
wasn't up to the job, not what she'd wanted or hoped for? What if the subtext of need and yearning she'd sensed in his letters, that so accurately matched her own, was an illusion? It wasn't too late to turn and run for her life, but just as she dithered the door opened.
There stood her Master, just as tall and lean and distinguished as he'd appeared in his photo, but far more handsome in the living, breathing flesh; a wealthy bohemian with dark, wavy hair and a twinkle in his eye. Her heart went "bingo" as he took her shaking hand in his that felt so hard and so strong. She could already imagine its power on her bottom.
"Mary-Anne, at last. How wonderful to finally meet you. Do come in."
His smile was a wonder, and of course she knew him. He was minor local celebrity, a famous and respected scholar, an author in his everyday life, over and above his secret identity. He was slender, and elegant, and she wanted to laugh, to shout with joy at the prospect of being punished by such a beautiful man. He was single too, a widower, unattached.
All this ran through her mind as he conducted her courteously into his home, his manner gentle, yet alight with expectation.
"Would you like a cup of tea first? Or a glass of wine?" He touched her on the arm guiding her forward and her body thrilled. "Or perhaps a moment to yourself? To... to 'freshen up' as they say, after your journey?"
The first she declined; the second, she accepted, yes, please, but in a moment; the third she accepted with gratitude. A moment was essential, to gather her scattered wits.
In his old-fashioned, potpourri scented bathroom, she quaked with a delicious swirling trepidation, almost triumph. Pulling down her panties to answer nature's call, she discovered a truth she'd been pretty much. Her knickers were damp with anticipation.
What would her Master think of her? She knew his real name now, but the title still felt right in her mind. Would he be amused by her uncontrollable horniness? Repelled? Disgusted? She didn't think so... in fact she was absolutely certain he'd be pleased, more than pleased.
Returning to his exquisitely furnished study, she nervously accepted her wine. It was wonderful, absolutely luscious, but she was too strung out to really appreciate its finesse.
"Look, do you think we could start? Sorry to sound so impatient... it's just... well..."
"So eager," he murmured, his enigmatic eyes sparkling.
Mary-Anne's heart skipped. He was already in his role.
"You'd better kneel down now, Mary-Anne. And pay attention. I'm going to tell you now what's going to happen to you. The things that I'm going to do to your bottom."
It took all Mary-Anne's strength not to fall down, much less kneel. The way he said "bottom" was so stern, yet so deliciously sexy. He made the single word sound like poem.
Slowly, meticulously, he outlined the "bill of fare". First it would be long, heavy spanking with his hand, then he'd administer certain other punishments of his own choice, ones which he'd decide on as the session progressed. Her buttocks would be punished to a state of perfect, painful, simmering redness - and only then would satisfaction be provided. But he didn't say if it would hers, or his own.