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From: Jewelie@spam.mindspring.com (Jewelie White)
Subject: The Red that is not Gold
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                      The Red that is Gold

                        by Jewelie White (c) 1998

Introduction

     Sally and I had met on IRC some months ago and it turned out 
to be love at first sight, rather at first chat. A few flights to 
visit each other on the opposite coasts ... that was proof of 
love, putting up with the flights. 

     She visited me first, staying at a local motel to start. I 
took her to dinner that night, a modest place with good food that 
didn't charge for the decore. The right sort of place, not to try 
to overwhelm on the first date but more than good enough to know 
there would be at least pleasure in the food if we did not hit it 
off in person. 

     But we did hit it off.

     At my place the next afternoon we poured over my collection 
of magazines and some videotapes in the background. It was quite 
an unusual first meeting, much like teenagers before the pill was 
invented. 

     There we were, literally pouring over the material that 
stimulated both of us to no end but we had sworn not to do 
anything until we were sure of each other. Both of us 
contributing "I've tried that"s and "She always gets me hot"s and 
all the other comments that let us know we had found something to 
share that we both loved passionately. 

     "What is it you feel when you look at these pictures?" she 
asked ernestly. 

     "Envy. Envy of the woman who is tied or getting spanked. 
Always envy of the passive one in the scene." I knew that was the 
right answer the moment I said it. Her eyes told it all. 

     "Would you like to see my toy collection?"

     "You know what we promised," she reminded me but she had a 
deliciously impish look in her eyes. 

     "Just look, I promise you." And I meant it even though I was 
more than half way aroused. My previous "lives" with women had 
been good five ways from Sunday but never in this sixth way. 

     She went through everything. All of it virgin to anyone but 
what I had used on myself. As virgin as I to all of this. The 
image of being a late-blooming virgin had a certain poignancy to 
it. 

     My toy box was my trouseau. I had tried it all on but never 
worn it for anyone. "This all looks so unused," she commented, 
clearly expecting an explanation. 

     "Mostly unused, yes," I stated clearly, ready to confess, no 
longer really feeling embarrassed. "I did not mislead you. I know 
the theory. I am well read and a quick study. And I love the mind 
set of it all." 

     "But no woman to play with?" It was like a probe into my 
soul that demanded I give to her but she would not take from me. 

     She picked up the leather cuffs and looked at me and licked 
her lips. "Turn around," she ordered. 

     "We promised," I objected but none too seriously. 

     She picked up a ball gag, "Shush and turn around or I'll 
shush you for real." Her eyes were more lust than twinkles, 
certainly mirrors of my own. The velcro closed them snuggly. I 
struggled for her. She leaned me back on the floor and lay a bit 
on top of me. 

     Suddenly her pelvis was grinding into mine. I shot in that 
moment and she quickly followed. Arrgghhh! like teenagers. But 
then maybe that is the way people are meant to discover each 
other when new lives are young. 

     Maybe I will tell the full story of our first few meetings 
some day. But for now it is enough to say that I moved to Florida 
and together we bought a large house with walled grounds for us 
to share as our playground. 

PART I 

     Sally left early that morning. I had barely been awake when 
I got her eggs and toast ready. If the coffee had not made itself 
by the timer I might not have been awake enough to do that. 

     It was turning into quite the life we had hoped for. She had 
a job she enjoyed. I didn't have to work as I had more than 
enough income to carry both of us. And I am certain we would have 
carried the other just to be together. 

     I took care of the house, domestic chores and like although 
that had lead to a few discipline sessions which was also what 
both of us had hoped for. She was teaching, I was learning, we 
agreed with the method. Agreed hell, we loved it. 

     The chores were not much really, we had a twice a week maid 
service for the regular maintenance. It was something I just 
loved doing and that Sally loved having me do. I loved to cook 
and was good at it. I was re-learning french style now that I had 
someone to cook for besides myself. 

     And otherwise I still had time for my contract work, what I 
did to keep my hand in the business should I ever get restless 
enough to get back into it full time. 

     But for me the best part, dressing all day, every day, 
except when I went out to run errands like groceries and dry 
cleaning. Still then I can wear my underwear, panties at least. 
Knee-hi stockings are easy and it was surprising to find just how 
easy it was to find women's tennis shoes that didn't stand out. 

     After we moved in together I started getting together a nice 
collection of exceptionally man-tailored cotton slacks and 
blouses. They were light and airey. By paying a little extra or 
exercising my skills with the sewing machine all my slacks were 
lined giving my legs a delicious feeling. 

     All of this made me conscious of having to be more careful 
of them while wearing them. So not only did I get the physical 
sensations but it worked on my head. It got me into a frame of 
mind that made me so comfortable I was even able to buy my 
cosmetics without pretending the compare the items carefully with 
a written list as cover. 

     When I first did this there was a problem. When everything 
was sharp, neat and spotless people seemed to be able to read me. 
I got knowing looks. I didn't want any looks. I wanted no 
attention. I just wanted to blend in. And hmmm, no eye-contact, 
how, hmmm, feminine.

     So I became adept at ironing in some wrinkles and wearing 
things around the house passed the point where they were in need 
of laundering before wearing them in public. That was what I 
called my grunge camoflauge. 

     The clothes might not be fully masculine but certainly I was 
not trying pass. And it appeared people would get as far as the 
wrinkles or the touch of dirt and look away, not wanting to 
embarass me. 

     Early on, I began to wonder why I had not done it before, on 
my own. Most of it was I had no one to dress for. Sure it is fun 
to dress up, get excited, relieve yourself and get back to 
something I didn't feel I had to be careful about wearing.  

     It is another to have someone to wake up to, know they may 
come home during the work day, be beautiful for in the evening 
and then be bedded. You find you want to look nice for them. 

     Any my fortune beyond all good fortune was finding a woman 
who wanted me to look nice for her in this way. She wished me to 
wear well tailored women's clothes that looked good on me. She 
wished the colors to work together. She wished attention getting 
accessories and jewelry on me. Her wishes were my 
enthusiastically obeyed commands. 

     Sally did her part to get what she wanted. She taught me how 
to dress, how to put outfits together, to mix and match. Once it 
is explained so you get the hang of what you are doing it, it 
really is fun. It is almost a man-type challenge. 

     A real challenge too, like finding the perfect accessory 
that can make many outfits look different with it. Three outfits 
and the perfect scarf is like having three new outfits for the 
price of the scarf. I can't explain it really. I'll see if I can 
get her to write one of these stories some day. 

     I know you are just dying to know ... Yes, I have a french 
maid outfit. I only wear it on special occasions. It is not a 
fetish but a fun thing to wear at times. 

     It is just one costume in a growing collection of costumes. 
And several of them are far from submissive though I have to 
admit being less partial to those. They are all part of the 
variety that spices our life together and keeps it fresh and 
alive. 

     Around the house during the day I dress casual. Usually a 
simple housedress. I only wear slacks when I need to get them 
"grunged" for wearing in public. I am usually in flats, sometimes 
barefoot, rarely more than one inch heels. When I know Sally will 
be stopping by for lunch, something a bit fancier but it still 
daywear. 

     Sometimes I just a hugely oversized teeshirt or that 
football jersey Sally got for me and I love so. I'll have to know 
you better before I tell you about my underwear. :)

     And that was today, a bit of laundry, some writing, 
reviewing a business plan, and studying home decorating catalogs 
for the rec room in our new home. Not only was it bare but still 
unfinished. It was my chance to do something like this from the 
the barebones start. 

     Sally would be home around six and it was time to luxuriate 
a bit. Going into the routine it still felt like a waste of time 
but I was getting to love the long soak in the tub. And she loved 
me fresh and soft and powdered and I wanted to do that for her. 

     I got my hair in the hot rollers, slid my bathcap over them 
and slipped into the water. Everything seemed to melt away in 
this sensation. I had long learned what luxuriating felt like. 
Even if you are still playing macho guy, give it a try. Skip the 
scent. 

     I wasn't much on the bubbles yet but the scented bath oils 
were something to look forward to. After they changed from being 
an irregular private experience into an almost daily experience 
they also stopped being something that caused a raging erection. 
They simply put me in an intensely erotic mood with thoughts of 
Sally's reaction to me this way. 

     And of course the body shaving, still a bit annoying for the 
time it took but it was something to do as the relaxing hot bath 
cooled to just warm. Besides, I loved the look and feel. Even 
short stubs of dark brown hair looked and felt much better than 
dense hair all over. 

     And it wouldn't be forever. The electrolysis treatments were 
working their way up my legs. They were almost to my knees now. 

     As the water got towards cool and I reluctantly left it. I 
patted dry, not really necessary but an affectation. I dusted 
with perfumed talc. Not really a necessity but both of us loved 
the feel and the fragrance. It was like I was marking my 
territory, leaving my scent in the air, on her, everywhere I 
went. And she loved being marked. 

     I wrapped myself in a white satin robe and went to get 
dressed for dinner. This was an anniversary dinner and a Friday. 
I was going to make very special for Sally. 

     Which anniversary? Let her guess ... I had learned that 
trick. If she didn't guess correctly, I got flowers or jewelry or 
more until I stopped being hurt. 

     My underclothing was basic black in lace and satin. And 
there were sheer black stockings to a matching garterbelt. And I 
added a black slip. The outfit I planned didn't need it. 

     But the lace trim and wide lace hem would do wonders for 
Sally's attitude when I moved so she could see it. I loved what I 
could do to Sally, getting her so hot and horny. I loved teasing 
her this way. 

     And it would give her more to unwrap later. I was making 
myself into a little present for her. I love being unwrapped. 

     Makeup, makeup, makeup. Still learning here but practicing 
real hard (big grin.) I had not gotten a bit of style to it until 
meeting Sally. And then she had convinced me to do just one thing 
that had given me motivation, lip collogen. 

     I had objected but she kept at me until she threw me in that 
briar patch and I had gotten lips, really full lips. Before then 
the easiest thing to do had never worked for me, lipstick. I was 
a man with colored lips. I just did everything for the feelings 
not for the looks. 

     Afterwards, even without color there was something feminine 
about my face. That was one huge incentive. I wanted to keep them 
colored just to attract attention to them.  

     And it was passable outside home. Sally was so great at 
supporting me in becoming what I wanted to become and what she 
wanted me to be. 

     And after I was so happy with my new lips she started 
encouraging me to more surgery. I was almost convinced to have my 
eyes widened along with the face lift that was scheduled for next 
month. "This way you won't have to go in twice," she kept saying 
as though it was a foregone conclusion that it was going to 
happen eventually. 

     I still wasn't sure of getting a butt and hips but with 
Sally around they seemed inevitable as well. It was a matter of 
time before she had me comfortable with the idea. And I was 
always looking longingly at the way her skirts draped so loosely 
from her hips. 

     But just with my new like doing my eyes had become a 
compulsion. She still did them much better than I but if I took 
the time I could do something credible almost doing it right. The 
more feminine I looked and acted the more aroused, the happier 
she was. Making her happy was one of the great motivations in my 
life. 

     So I completed my make up -- facial hair I had had 
electrolized on my own years before meeting Sally. Foundation, 
facial color, mimicing Sally's treatment of my cheekbones. 

     I then started on my hair, taking it out of the rollers, 
spraying and brushing as I went. It wasn't that long yet but I 
was able to work up a bouyfant style with curves surrounding my 
face and some modest height on top. 

     It was only a bit lighter than I was born with. Sally had me 
slowly lightening it so that I would not be a shock to me and a 
discouragement for me to ever leave the house. 

     I mean it was not like I was a real woman. Acquaintances 
were not going to come up to me and say they loved my new hair. I 
was not going to have any help gaining public confidence so her 
plan was to take it slow. I felt that it was working. 

     I checked the time and found barely an hour left. 

     Time to get moving. I stepped into a short black chiffon 
skirt. I loved it. It had arrived only last week in the mail 
(mail order is the only way for me to surprise Sally.) I had 
tried it on quickly when it arrived and it was lucsious. 

     Next the metallic gold blouse with princess neckline and 
keyhole closure in back. It draped my D silicones to perfection. 
I was ready to kiss myself. I fastened the self belt with its 
gold buckle and slipped into my black 3 1/2 inch pumps. 

     The heels matching the length of my feet. I happily wore 5 
inch heels on occasion but where Sally wore 3 inch for formal 
occasions, 3 1/2 inch was about in proportion for me. 

     And then the big breath in the full length mirror. I could 
eat me up. I was lovely. I twirled and watch my skirt flare out. 
I moved quickly to watch it swish around my hips. 

     I was a match for the model in the catalog ... well almost. 
:) If I could just lose about a third of my body mass including 
bone structure ... ah, some things are not meant to be. 

     Last little touches.  perfume in all the right places 
including under each ear where she loved to nibble my lobes. And 
some long dangling earings to get her attention to them. What 
else? 

     Ah yes, a thin gold slave chain on my left ankle, one of 
Sally's most treasured gifts to me. It contrasted so well against 
the black nylon. A sparkling cocktail ring, a gift to myself, on 
my right hand, the hand that would move the most as I was right 
handed. 

     The evening was wonderful if I do say so myself. I had 
dinner set to be ready right after we shared cocktails, chilled 
gin with the vermouth cork passed over it lightly and a short 
incantation. And, I may add, my careful control of amount of 
alcohol per male and female intoxication levels so we were about 
equal. 

     Sally was wearing her burgundy business suit when she 
arrived home but when she took off her jacket and adjusted her 
blouse and freshened up she again showed me how much I had to 
learn. Suddenly it was as though she had dressed for dinner. Her 
blouse was loose and open. I was happy for my full skirt as it 
would not allow the nether parts of me to ruin my image. 

     I was attentive. I asked after her day. When she said 
something I found curious, I remembered to open my eyes widely 
instead of narrowing them and wrinkling my forehead. So many 
mannerisms were becoming second nature to me. They seemed to go 
so naturally with my new lifestyle. 

     I timed my drinking to hers so we were finished together. It 
was another way of following her. I gladly refilled our drinks. 
She made me so happy letting me be a good wife to her. 

     Sexually it was even more fun. I had practiced (and 
remembered) how to show the slip lace and to almost give the 
panty-peak. My legs crossed casually but not quite open enough to 
see my panties but just enough to have to adjust my skirt over my 
slip. I regularly drew her eyes to my crossing legs, legs agleam 
with the sheerest black nylons and a hope of a glimpse of my 
pantied crotch. 

     When I walked I turned quickly so my full skirt swirled out 
and showed the lace hem of my narrow slip. I had practiced in the 
mirror and learned it would not work with a slip with a full cut 
skirt. It appeared the only use for the full skirted slip was to 
avoid it being seen. 

     Dinner I hoped was lovely. I did my best. Candlelit, the 
best set table I could do. I tried to be "sparkling." I had an 
obvious objective, that she not remember what she ate that night, 
only that it was good. That she remembered only me. 

     I took every opportunity to get up and serve something new. 
That drew her attention to the sounds of my skirt and stockings, 
to spread my perfume around her, to let her see my long legs 
accentuated by my gait in my heels, to give her another glimpse 
of my slip. And the heels did draw her attention to my ankles and 
that slave bracelet that I loved so. 

     Of course I reserved the right to hold not remembering the 
particulars of the meal over her -- I had slaved so :). Sauce for 
the gander is sauce for the goose. She loved that too. I was 
helping make her my man, my husband, as much as she was helping 
make me her woman, his wife. 

     Some day, some day soon I hoped, we would have that wedding 
ceremony I had dreamed over so many years. I was already mentally 
planning my gown and trouseau. My eyes misted with love then as I 
gazed into her eyes. 

Part II

     After dinner we snuggled to soft music. She held me so 
close, so gently. My hair was carressed lightly and there were 
gentle kisses. I longed for the day my hair was long enough to 
style so I could brush it across her face. Someone had said that 
a lot of being a woman was patience. It applied. 

     We spoke lightly of our future together, plans for tomorrow, 
light things I barely remember under the intense eroticism I 
felt. Her hands were lightly touching me everywhere, appearing 
accidental at times, at other times very purposeful. Soon her 
hand that had rested on my skirted thigh began sliding up under 
my skirt. 

     Never ask my why I love skirts! Here I was completely 
vulnerable and open. It felt so good. It always feels good. And 
with my aggressive Sally I loved being there for her to "agress." 

     If you haven't tried it, it is an oddly satisfying feeling. 
With a skirt you wear stockings to feel less naked. There are a 
magic number of square inches of bare skin to show depending on 
the occasion.  

     But not really ... how do I explain ... let me give you some 
examples. Evening wear? Never without stockings. A plunging 
neckline or a bare back, not both. 

     But a bathing suit or tennis outfit? Never with stockings 
but with the former, everything and more can show. With the 
latter, only the legs and arms. But a skirted bathing suit is not 
much different from a tennis outfit. 

     Cheerleading? Tastes and styles vary on that one. 

     Trust me. It all makes much more sense when you think about 
actually wearing it yourself in public than it will ever make to 
you just thinking about it. 

     But I digress. Her hand was far enough up my skirts that she 
felt my interest in her attentions and forced a gasp from me. "Do 
you want to play, little one?" 

     "Yes," I said breathily, squirming under her touch. Just 
feeling her hand moving from my stocking to my bare upper thigh 
then to my crotch ... I felt so owned. I felt so possessed. 
Whatever she wanted there would never be a no within me. 

     She held me tightly and kissed me deeply. My body squirmed 
under it layers of the acetate and nylon and satin just melting 
in all the feelings. "Fold your hands in your lap, put your legs 
together, close your eyes, be silent, and don't move till I 
return and say you can." 

     I hated this kind of order. Rather she had tied me so 
tightly it hurt instead. But it was to teach me obediance. To 
learn obedience from Sally brought rewards beyond knowing. 

     She was had returned but I was still not given permission to 
move. I knew she was just watching to see if I would move, 
testing me, testing obedience. There were some small sounds and 
then a soft scarf tied over my eyes. 

     "You may open your eyes now." Yes, just barely I could. In 
the low lit room there was not light nor dark nor could I be sure 
of seeing in the least. 

     Sight was the second thing Sally was taking from me tonight 
after the privacy of my body under my clothing. But I wanted to 
give her that privacy and now I wanted to give her my sight. 
Anything she would take I would give willingly. 

     I heard the whispers of her nylons and skirt move in front 
of me. Gently a soft scarf surrounded my wrists and then a cinch 
pulled it snug. 

     I was getting into this then ... feeling my headspace 
overwhelming me with this slow ritual. I nervously played with 
the hem of my skirt as best I could with my bound hands. It was a 
way to let out a bit of the adrenalin coursing through me trying 
to keep it from rising to nervous shaking. 

     Another scarf was wrapped around my ankles and tied loosely 
around one ankle separately. I had worn this hobble tie before, 
just enough to keep my kicking under control. I knew what was 
coming. 

     She took my hands in hers and kissed my lips gently. "Thank 
you so very much. That was a very lovely dinner and the start of 
a wonderful romantic evening." My hands started to tremble in 
hers. 

     She seemed to sense my inner mood. As always she knew what 
to do. She tugged at my ankle scarf, "I guess we don't need this 
just yet." She untied it and helped me to my feet. 

     She raised my bound arms and brought them down behind her so 
I was holding her upper body with her arms under mine. Her hands 
went to my sit spot and pulled me close to her. She moved and I 
followed, then she moved again in time with the music. 

     Bound slow dancing, following her blindfolded, requiring 
total trust in her. Her hands sliding over my bottom, squeezing 
lightly, the layers of my clothing sliding under her hands 
against me. Being teased and reminded of the way I was dressed, 
knowing I had dressed just for these feelings.  

     The sounds of my legs moving, my nylons sirrushing slightly. 
The feel of the lace of my slip catching a bit as it slid over my 
nylons, the feel of the chiffon of my skirt sliding over its 
lining and the lining against my slip. It was so comforting, so 
relaxing. All tension, all concern was slipt from me. 

     Time would have stopped on its own without my blindfold. My 
head rested on her shoulder. She whispered her love for me. 

     Our scents mingled, our lipsticks oddly shaded from our 
kisses. The softness of my blouse slid quietly over the softness 
of hers. Our hair mussed each other's, earrings tickling our 
necks and each other's necks. I was lost in her, lost in the 
delicate physical sensations. 

     A gentle whisper, "It is time now." I quietly nodded my 
head feeling my blindfold caress her hair, my nervousness gone. 
No one need ask why I love her so. 

     She stopped leading and gently freed herself from my arms. 
With a whispersd, "sit," she easied me down to the couch. Again 
my ankles were loosely bound against kicking. 

     I felt Sally sit next to me and gently start guiding me over 
her lap. I used my tethered-in-front "don't rub, don't interfere" 
hands to help ease myself into position. The toes of my pumps 
just touching the floor, my wrists over my head, my right cheek 
resting on the couch cushion surely ruining my makeup. 
Submission, surrender, comfort, security, all replaced the fear 
of the pain. 

     Did I ever tell you I fear a spanking? Yes, very much. Not 
the hero here, more like the big crybaby. I may never sort out 
why I want it so. This time Sally had taken the fear from me. 

     "Are you ready?" Again I nodded. She giggled slightly, "I 
forget to tell you you could talk. Yes, please talk. I want to 
hear your voice." 

     "Thank you, Ma'am. Yes, I am as ready as I will ever be." 

     "Good for you," she encouraged as she raised my skirt to my 
waist and ran her hand over my black satin slip. "Very pretty, 
you really are learning to dress like a lady," she said softly as 
she ran her fingers over the lace at its hem. And then she raised 
it to join my skirt. 

     Her finger tips carressed the seat of my matching full cut 
panties. "I'm getting all wet just uncovering you." I shivered 
from her tounch and her words and moaned a little. "You're so 
cute when you do that," she whispered. 

     My panties slowly, so very slowly, were pulled down. When 
told to "lift a little" I did to let her get them out from under 
me. 

     She left them just at the cleft of my thighs with my butt 
and carressed me. For a while she just touched and complimented 
me on being so soft and white and smooth for her. "You must 
really double over to shave here ... and you do it for me," she 
said in a dreamy voice. 

     Anticipation was starting to build in me as she slid my 
panties down to my knees sliding her fingers up my nylons as she 
returned to my bum. "Hold tight, sweetie," she said in a soft 
voice. 

     A loud whack and a sharp squeal, my squeal. Five more just 
as hard followed rapidly in the same spot right where I have put 
my weight when I sit. I was letting out a continuous screaming 
sound through it, then gulping quick, short gasps of air, trying 
to get my breath back. 

     That must have been the sorority paddle. God that hurt. It 
always hurt. I am never ready for it or the way she wields it. 

     With slight pauses the rest of my bottom and thighs down the 
welts of my stocking tops got the same treatment. Sally had once 
explained, "Why not get the hardest over while I am still fresh? 
Spanking is hard work you know. All you have to do is lay there 
and relax." I was not amused at the time but she did have a point 
considering what more she did for me with every real spanking. 

     By the time she started gently touching my soreness my tears 
had started to flow. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" I sniffed a 
bit and assured her it was not. 

     That was the way I was required to answer, always agreeing 
with her. "Lets get on with it then." Next I think it was the 
hairbrush that started fanning the flames back there. 

     This time she was established a rhythm of medium speed, very 
hard spanks from outside top right to outside right thigh then 
starting again top center and working down. Then the same on the 
left and then starting the pattern over again. 

     I went from crying and yelping to sobbing and wailing and 
quickly to trying to get pleading and begging out between my sobs 
even though they would be useless. 

     "Please stop, please." "It hurts so." "I can't stand any 
more." 

     All the standard entreaties and a few extra creative ones 
that always sprung to mind but I doubt she could understand a one 
of them through all my sobbing. I hope she knew it was the 
thought that counted. 

     By the time she paused I was a blubbering mess. The soft 
folds of my blindfold were soaked with my tears. My nose was 
running. I was actualy wahhh-wahhhing. 

     As I started getting some control of myself I started 
begging, "Please no more. I can't stand any more. Please, please, 
please." I was learning how to sound abject and pitiful. And what 
better teacher than a lap session to practice it. But I had yet 
to be good enough at it for it to work. Maybe I never will be. 

     "You always say things like that, silly. In a few days 
you'll be good as new and think of all the wonderful memories 
you'll have." As I gritted my teeth to keep the pain under 
control she ran her nails roughly over my sore places. "Lets try 
this toy. You said it was only a bracing sting the last time." 

     What had I described like that? Oh, God! The hundreds of 
loops of fine fishing line made into a flogger. "I said that when 
it was the first thing used ... " my voice trailing off trying to 
shut my mind to what was going to happen. 

     The first swipe came and brought a fresh flood of tears. It 
brought the pain back just like it had been at its peak. It 
didn't really hurt on its own it just renewed what had been. She 
worked it down twice over every sore spot I had back there. I was 
freely crying again. 

     "This isn't much work at all. I can go all night like this." 
I knew she was teasing me. At least I was hoping she was teasing 
me. "Stand up now," she said softly as she helped me to my feet. 

     I just stood there and cried, wincing a little as the lace 
of my slip brushed my bum as if fell into place. I was huddled 
over, my shoulders shaking in sobs. She removed the hobbling 
scarf from my ankles and walked my over to the fireplace mantle, 
pausing a moment get my panties back to my knees when they fell. 

     She stood me there facing an antique, loudly ticking mantle 
clock and removed my blindfold. "This is so wet. Looks like you 
had a really good cry. You got it all out of your system. I'm 
happy for you." I could see her in the mirror over the mantle 
looking me up and down, "How are we going to do this?" 

     I was silent not quite wanting to know what she wanted to 
do. I reached around back as far as I could with my bound hands 
trying to rub what little I could. "Now, now, none of that," 
pushing my hands away. 

     "Will you rub then? just a little?" Again that pleading 
voice through crying and tears hoping she would take pity on me. 

     "No, silly, we aren't finished yet." She hobbled my ankles 
again and said, "You just wait right here," as she headed off to 
our bedroom. I squeezed back extra tears from the loss of hope, 
she wasn't just teasing me. 

     I just stood there, collapsing forward, supporting myself 
with my hands on the mantle. I could not get the pain and burning 
out of my head and just kept crying. 

     "Here we go," she said as she draped a long black scarf 
between her spread hands to show me in the mirror. She ran the 
scarf across my back, under my arms and to the back of my neck. I 
was puzzled until she raised my bound wrists high and back down 
behind my head. She tightly tied that scarf to my bound wrists. I 
could not remove them from behind my neck. 

     Next she raised my skirt and slip put their hems in my 
hands. "You hold this real tight and don't let go." I got 
weak-kneed then. Everything that had been spanked and more was 
exposed. 

     "Very good, now lets see ... " Reaching under her skirt she 
pulled off her panties and balled them. "Open wide." I did 
willingly accepting her panties. "Now keep them there so I don't 
have to tie them in place." 

     I just stood there looking at myself in the mirror through 
my tearing eyes. My mascara was all down my face. My eyes and 
cheeks were puffy and red. Bits of jade green panties protruded 
from a terrible frown on my lips. I barely had enough attention 
left to notice the soreness starting in my shoulders. 

     I was startled when the clock began to chime 9pm. Sally 
announced, "It's time," picked up the flail of fishline loops and 
approached me. I tried to scream No! without pushing out my panty 
gag. 

     I yelped into my gag with the first stroke. "My ... it is so 
much easier to swing hard standing up." She relit all my flames 
and renewed my tears then placed it on the mantle. "I have some 
things to get ready. I'll be back when its time" she explained as 
she left the room. 

     I knew it was not over. How will she know when it is time?, 
I asked myself. The regular tick, tick, tick came into my mind. 
Again I tried to scream no. 

     The ticking had never seemed louder. The minute hand clicked 
lightly to the next minute. Every fiber of my being tried to will 
that clock stop. 

     The quarter hour chimed. My tears had finally slowed to a 
trickle. Sally returned. I was in flames and tears again. The 
maddening ticking continued as though nothing had happened. 

     There was nothing but my flaming bottom exposed to the cool 
air of the room, my tears running down my cheeks, the tick, tick, 
tick of a clock sealing my fate as though nothing were happening. 

     My body froze as the whisper quiet mechanism drew back the 
striker for the half hour chime. I felt like I was living a 
lifetime, hearing between the little sounds that made up the 
cocking mechanism. It stopped and must have offered a thousand 
prayers between its release and the chiming strike. 

     "Hi there," she said cheerily, "Still comfy?" She rubbed my 
shoulders a bit and readjusted the hems of my skirt and slip in 
my hands. Picking up the flogger, "You're a big girl, don't look 
so sad." My poor, poor backside was lit up again. 

     I could barely cry this time, just racking heaves. This time 
it was just ticking. Just a sound in the world I became part of. 
Obediance, waiting, pain, an endless cycle, obedience, waiting, 
pain. 

     The quarter hour chime came to repeat the cycle. I was 
there, some place in my head. Images of life, death, rebirth 
passing endlessly back into my past and forward to my future. 
Golden segments of a centipede paraded passed me. 

     The sun arose in golden glory, lit the day, lay to slumber 
in beautious reds and golds, the cold, silent beauty of the 
night, then the sun again. 

     There was love and birth and maturity and love again, the 
endless cycle of life. I saw myself as an infinitely small part 
of it; I saw myself as all of it. 

     My mind was overwhelmed with the images. I barely heard the 
clock strike ten. 

     Sally whispered in my ear, "Are you ready again?" I nodded. 
My nod was part of it all. I was part of the cycle. The cycle was 
part of me. I was just playing my part it in. 

     Though I barely noticed it, the scarf slipped from my 
ankles. In the dream time of the cycle I was turned and the 
panties removed from my mouth. The hems of my clothes were pried 
loose from the grip of my fingers. 

     Arms were around me. My face found its way to Sally's 
shoulder and some place inside me I found a secret reservior of 
tears. I had some strange thought that I was all wet inside as I 
should be. 

     One arm never leaving me, the other loosed my arms and 
unbound my wrists. I felt a terrible ache as I brought them 
forward to clutch Sally. Clutch her so tightly that if I let go 
for a moment, I would fall away from the golden glory of the 
cycle. 

     She moved us to sit on the couch. As I sat I felt and 
watched glory of the cycle flame more brightly from below me. I 
embraced the feeling, no longer anything I could call pain. It 
was something as ineffible and the spaces between the ticks of 
the clock, the nothingness between the red and the gold, and as 
concrete as the paddle strikes that drew it forth from the 
darkness and into the light. 

     I cried for joy as images flowed through my head. I can not 
remember them all. At the end there was a jarring one.  The image 
a necklace came with little bells that were jingling. The tones 
became sharper and louder till I was shaking with them. 

     "Time for bed, honey, it's almost midnight." My shoulder was 
being ever so gently shaken. "Lets go. You were snoring." 

     "I don't snore," I said with a smile and shifted to reach up 
to kiss her. My thigh slid a bit on the couch. I marveled at the 
explosion of gold that came from her eyes. 

                         END



++

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You can't get enough of it.
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