The Stranger (part 9)

This is an interactive story. I’ll be writing short bits and then asking for input from readers about where it should go next.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8

Most people felt the story should take at least a minor BDSM turn…so…here you go…

“What were you thinking?” she eyed all of the equipment and furniture and implements like someone seeing the world for the first time – awe tinged with confusion and maybe a smattering of distrust.

“First of all, do you think you are submissive or dominant?”

Emily immediately drew back, brow furrowed, shaking her head, “Oh, I don’t suspect I want to be in charge of anything, really. I mean, I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

“Well, then, we could start with something light. Do you trust me?”

That was it, wasn’t it? The real question at the heart of everything. Did she trust him? She was quiet long enough to make him worry, but not long enough to put an end to the momentum.

“I think I do, Charles. Despite everything.”

“Good. Because you need to before I do anything here,” he paused, looking at her deeply, assuring himself that she meant it, giving her time to go back on what she’d said.

“I do,” she pursed her lips and nodded her head to emphasize the simple, powerful statement. Two words she’d said years ago to another man in a very different situation.

Filling her lungs with air, she held her breath briefly, and let it go, along with her inhibitions. Something about Charles made her want to follow him…and so she did. Her hand in his, he took her to the center of the room and then walked over to the wall, where several leather straps and floggers were hung on hooks. Amidst them, he found a blindfold, which he brought to her.

“Put this on.”

She did and found that entering the dark provided her a surprising sense of calm. She felt Charles’s hand wrap around her upper arm, leading her forward. Then, both of his hands on her shoulders, pressing down, an obvious message to kneel, which she slowly did, finding her descent softly broken by padding, likely a stool. She was grateful for it, because she wasn’t all that positive she could’ve gracefully made it to the floor on her own.

Again, she felt Charles’s hand between her shoulder blades. He guided her forward to lean her torso over a padded prop of some sort and then stretched her arms out, securing her wrists to something in front of her. His hand on the back of her head pressed down, and she found that her face now rested in a padded cut-out, probably like the ones found on massage tables.

“Now, Emily,” his voice was soft and controlled, but there was a clarity to it that she hadn’t heard before, “I want you to relax. If at any point, you need me to stop,” his emphasis on the word need made her shiver, “I want you to say the word red.” He paused momentarily, and then continued, “Can you remember that?”

“Yes,” Emily’s abs clenched, and she noticed she was holding her breath. She didn’t even have a chance to let that breath go before hearing a whooshing sound followed by an intense stinging sensation on her backside. It was a shock to her system–already full lungs and no room for the sharp intake of air that came as a result. She nearly choked, but she managed to cough briefly before the whoosh repeated and the sting came again. She could see spots behind her eyelids, moving amoebas of light in the deep blackness. Each time he hit her, those lights moved and brightened, like a lava lamp.

He must have struck her 20 times before she finally resorted to her safe word, her face damp with smudged tears. She felt his hands on her ass, rubbing softly at first across her hot, stinging skin…then more firmly, rubbing the pain deep into the muscles, where it started to dissipate.

She felt the heat of him against her, his flesh on hers, and realized it was his erection, hard between her cheeks.

“This is what it does to me, Emily, watching the raging blush of pain blossom across your skin. I’m so proud of you.”

Inside, the words twisted around. At first, they felt patronizing, and her initial reaction was say that she didn’t need him to be proud of her…what was she? A child? But then she realized that they actually did something to her…something good enough to make her cunt tingle.

“Shall I release you, Emily?” Charles asked. But she could hear the knowing in his voice…the knowing that she did not want to be released, “Because your body is telling me, otherwise…”

“Spread your legs, Emily.”

She did. And she felt cool air against the hot dampness that was there.

“Shall I release you?”

“No…I want you to fuck me,” she couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth.

“Then ask me to fuck you, Emily.”

She felt ridiculous asking, but she followed his instruction, “Will you fuck me…please?”

“Good Christ, yes, Emily….I am dying to fuck you…” This sounded more like the Charles she knew.

She heard the tell-tale unwrapping of a condom and weathered the short wait for him to apply it. But then his hands wrapped around her waist, and he dove into her, pumping against her, thrusting as if his life depended on it. The slapping of his pelvis against her ass was nearly as jarring as the earlier spanking, but it felt so fucking good to her. She hadn’t been fucked like this since…well…possibly ever.

His thrusts slowed, and his breath stopped. She could sense his muscles clenching and knew he was about to cum. Her own body responded by pressing against his, her pussy tightening around his cock, hungrily aiding him in his climax. She smiled into her own darkness.

A door had been opened…and there was no way she was ever going to be able to close it again.

Well, there we have it folks…our first BDSM scene. How was it? And where should we go with this next? I’ve purposefully left Virgil out of this part, but there is obviously and issue to be dealt with. Let me know what you think, and toss out some ideas for me to work with! I appreciate an interactive audience.


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