Date: Thu, 13 Apr 2017 07:46:18 +0000 (UTC) From: sfmaster Subject: Challenge CH02 Part 2a WARNING! This story is only for adults over the age of 18 and contains Strong Sexual Content. It is intended as a work of fiction for ADULTS only, and the author does not in any way condone similar behavior. If you are under the age or 18 or reside in a state that prohibits such behavior, stop reading immediately!!! "The Challenge" Chapter Two: Death and the Resurrection By mailto:sfmaster@att.net Archiving permitted, reposting is permitted; but only if you include this statement of limitation of use and notify the author by e-mail. The author forbids you to make, distribute, or sell multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format. However, individual readers may make single copies of the story for their own, non-commercial use. Copyright (c) 1998 by mailto:sfmaster@att.net Revised January 2002 Attn: Readers please feel free to send e-mail to the author. I do want to hear from you! "The Challenge" by mailto:sfmaster@att.net Chapter 02: Death and the Resurrection Part One: The Debt June 1980 For Alana Peters, life could not get any better this June day. The stock deal to take the client's company public had hit the street this morning, and she had made it happen. She had worked for the investment firm on Wall Street, and this was her first big deal. All the months of hard work, negotiations, nights spent in New York, all were paying off now. She had taken an old family firm public, and her investment firm was issuing the stock. For them and her it meant commissions, fame, and fortune. Already there was talk of an article about her in the Wall Street Journal, and she was sure to make partner. She had spent the night before in NY, and had taken the car, a red Mustang convertible, into the City. Once the deal went public, let the big boys get on TV. Alana decided to hit the road and take a few days off. She would swing by her mother's house in Greenwich, pick up a few clothes, and then head up the coast, maybe end up in Boston. She was driving north on the Merritt Parkway and the two lanes and sharp curves challenged her driving, forcing her to downshift to maintain control. She enjoyed the sound and feel of the five liter V8 and manual tranny as she raced, well over the limit, into Connecticut. Her black hair streamed behind her in the wind, as she had forgotten to wear a scarf. Driving with the top down was the most exhilarating feeling! Beep! She turned to her left, and saw a red Pontiac Firebird. The man behind the wheel gestured, and floored his gas pedal. Alana, not wanting to be outdone, responded in kind, and slammed the Mustang into fifth gear. The speedometer jumped to over a hundred, and she was pushed back into her seat. Rounding a curve, the Mustang encountered a puddle of water and oil. It's rear wheels lost traction, and it began to spin. First the car hit the center median, then bounced back to the shoulder; it's tires screaming in protest. The car hit a pole at nearly a hundred, ejecting Alana who had not worn her seatbelt. Alana screamed as the car disintegrated, her body buffeted by the forces tearing the car apart. Her body flew through the air, finally striking the pavement, her bones and flesh breaking on impact. Police Report: Connecticut State Police PO Richard Parker While on patrol on the morning of June 16, I observed two vehicles, a Pontiac and Ford Mustang, racing at a high rate of speed on the Merritt Parkway. Even before I could turn my lights on and pursue, the Mustang had spun out of control after sliding on a wet patch of road, and ejected the driver onto the pavement. Exiting from my patrol car, I called for an ambulance. The driver, a young woman, was badly injured given the force with which she hit the pavement. I was surprised that she was still alive when I reached her. The driver was very lucky, given that right behind me was a doctor from Greenwich Hospital who stopped after seeing the accident. She was a trauma doctor, and kept the woman alive. Else she would have died quickly from her injuries. Medical Report: Dr. Stephanie Richards While driving on the Merritt Parkway to work on June 16, I was witness to a horrible road accident. Alana Peters was driving a red Ford Mustang Convertible, and was ejected during an accident. I stopped to provide emergency medical aid, and was assisted by PO Parker who was already on the scene. Her right leg was broken, along with collarbone, skull fracture, concussion, multiple broken ribs, punctured lung, and massive internal injuries and bleeding. Luckily, an ambulance was returning empty and heard the call from PO Parker, and was on the scene in 2 minutes. Even with the proper equipment, Alana went into cardiac arrest before we got her to the hospital. It took all of my skill to restart her heart, saving her life. Alana Peters is lucky to be alive. However, when she awakens, she will be spending months, maybe a year in the hospital to recover and will require physical therapy to restore normal use to her body. Her constant companion now will be pain as her body slowly heals from the heavy injuries that she has sustained. She may regret surviving the accident given the long and painful path to recovery. End Medical Report Part Two: The Conscious Choice July 1981 Alana drove her new BMW into Manhattan and had parked it at a garage not far from the address that she had been given over the phone. Scared like hell, she had walked without the cane a couple of blocks to a residential building. She had pressed the button, and been admitted within. Her first view of the House of Domination was a letdown. Just an office where she was asked a few simple questions by a receptionist. Then she was conducted into another, private office, where she faced another woman. Her companion was an attractive woman in her early 30s, nicely dressed in a silk blouse and plaid skirt. "Take a seat please," she directed, "drink?" "Diet Coke." "Sure." The woman stood up and walked to a refrigerator, and removed 2 cans. One she handed to Alana then reseated herself in her chair. "Thank you," said Alana. "How may we help you?" asked the woman. "I want to be used by a Dominatrix," bluntly stated Alana. "No doubt in your mind?" asked the woman as she drank her Coke. "None." "Why?" "I want to know what it feels like to be in submission," Alana replied, sipping at her soda, her throat suddenly bone dry from fright. "Have you ever had these fantasies before?" asked the woman. "Why all of these questions? I'm not a cop." "No need to worry," the woman laughed, "we have some highly prominent people amongst our customers. If we were ever shut down, I just have to make one phone call and the heat would be off. Which is why you never see a place like ours busted." "Sounds interesting," Alana replied. "Why do you want to submit?" "I want to feel a lash and riding crop, to be used, to be dominated by another woman." "All right, we can provide that," said the woman, "and you must learn to obey all of my orders." "Are you a Mistress?" "Yes, Mistress Martine. Before any client goes under the lash, I like to ask a few questions. You pass. Payment will be in cash, used bills only. Small ones, please. You will be conducted to one of our Dungeons where my slave maid will have you undressed and ready for my use. You can still back out now, if you want." "No," sighed Alana, "this is what I came here for." "Good," answered Martine as she stood up, "see you in the Dungeon, then. Naked." Another woman then conducted Alana, this time in her early 30s to the Dungeon. Except that this was the first time that she had seen anything related to Domination. The Maid was dressed in a form fitting rubber outfit in black, and she was perched on very high heels. She escorted Alana to a small anteroom, when she was made to undress. Silently, Alana removed all of her clothes. Her blouse, skirt, underwear and shoes were all taken from her. The Maid then produced a box, inside of, which were leather cuffs, which were locked around her wrists. Then a collar was placed around her neck, to which a leash was attached. Alana was made to stand up, and her wrists were locked behind her back. Finally, a fur lined leather blindfold covered her eyes. She was now naked and helpless, and at the mercy of others. "Come," she was instructed, feeling a tug at her collar. Alana obeyed, and let herself be led a few steps. She had no idea what room that she was in, except that she was soon made to kneel. Just a few months before, she would have been incapable of doing that simple action. Even though the room she was in was quite warm, she still shivered, and Goosebumps covered her skin. She heard the unmistakable sound of the click of a woman's heels, and then her blindfold was suddenly removed. She looked up, and there was Mistress Martine! Except that now she was dressed in a black leather corset, elbow length black leather gloves, black stockings, and matching black high heels. "Mistress?" asked Alana. "Silence, slave, you will speak only when you are spoken to," Martine said in a firm tone of voice. Alana swallowed from fright. This was what she had sought out, what she wanted. To submit to someone, and finally to feel the lash. "Have you ever been whipped before, or spanked?" asked Martine. "No, Mistress." "Then we shall have an easy session. I don't want to scare you off, so that you won't return." Alana then was pulled to her feet like that of an errant child. Martine marched her over to a chair, and Alana was then draped across Martine's knee. She was going to be spanked! "You will count out each one," ordered Martine, "if you fail to do so, then I have a paddle waiting. Several, in fact, everything from leather to wood." "Yes, Mistress," answered Alana. Thwack! "One!" "Two" "Three!" "Four!" "Five!" For the first time since childhood, Alana was over someone's knee, being spanked. Martine delivered each blow so that it struck in a different place on her bottom. Alana had the unmistakable feeling that she skin was gradually becoming warm. Also that she was slowly starting to be sexually aroused by her little punishment. "Twenty!" cried Alana, who was startled when Martine stopped. "Thank your Mistress!" "Thank you, Mistress Martine," cried Alana. Alana was the pulled to her feet by Martine, who marched her over to a chain hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists were released, and then locked above her head to the chain. Then Martine locked similar cuffs around her ankles that were attached to a bar that would keep her legs open. Martine gestured, and the chain was suddenly pulled taut. Alana strained to keep her toes on the floor. Her slave handed Martine a riding crop, and she flexed it in her gloved hands. Alana remembered how for her 16th birthday, she had been sent to England for a summer to learn how to ride a horse. She had been given a crop, but had never used it. Her friends had played around by using them on each other, but she had not joined in. Plus there were those stories that she had heard about the crop being used on people! "Prepare to feel the crop, and you will not have to count, slave," taunted Martine. Alana tensed, and she soon felt a stripe of fire run across the outside of her left thigh. Swallowing, but remaining silent, she felt each stroke of the crop as it struck her exposed nakedness. Martine was keeping to her word, as the strokes only stung Alana's flesh. They were quite mild in reality. Compared with the effort and pain of getting back up and walking between two parallel bars. "Stronger," whispered Alana. "What was that, slave?" asked Martine. "Stronger, Mistress, please?" begged Alana. Martine then began to strike Alana with even more force in each stroke. She drew her arm back and delivered each stroke methodically. Alana felt the finally she was in the position that she wanted to be. Her breathing was fast and flushed, her nipples were erect, and she knew that she was wet between her legs. Just like during therapy. Alana was sexually around by the pain that she was undergoing once again. Then she felt the gloved hand of the Mistress probe her between her opened legs. Alana moaned when she felt as Martine push the gloved fingers into her sex, happy at the invasion. "My, you're wet!" exclaimed Martine, surprise on her face. "Whip me, Mistress?" begged Alana, "Please?" "Have you ever been used by a Dominatrix before?" asked Martine. "No, Mistress." Martine exchanged the crop for a long, sinuous, black leather whip. The oiled leather gleamed in the light, and Alana wondered just how it would feel. Suddenly, a lifetime of watching old movies on television came back to her. She was going to go under the lash! "Kiss the handle," ordered Martine. Alana did as she was ordered. Martine then coiled the whip, and drew her hand back to strike. The whip lashed out, and coiled itself around Alana's stretched form. When the tip struck, Alana cried out. Not with pain, but pleasure: for the whip in its first stroke had released the sexual energy that the spanking and crop had stored within her. Martine delivered stroke after stroke, each one with increasing severity. Alana's body pulsed and shook as she was wracked with one orgasm after another. This was like what she had experienced in therapy, but multiplied many times. Finally, Martine ceased. She presented the handle to Alana, who kissed it again. "I would like to see you after you've dressed," said Martine. "Yes, Mistress." Alana was let down by the Maid. She was escorted to a bathroom, where she could freshen up and dress. She washed her sweat-covered body off with a washrag, and found that her pussy was sopping wet. Her body was covered by the marks from the crop and whip, but she was happy. Not in any pain at all. Alana dressed, and was helped by the Maid. In the same anteroom where she had been questioned, Martine was waiting, still in her leather outfit. She was drinking another Coke, and smoking a cigarette. "Have a seat. I've written you a bill," directed Martine. "Thank you," said Alana. Alana looked at the bill, and opened her purse, extracting her wallet. Nothing had been touched. She removed the fee, plus a generous tip for Martine, who had earned it. "You're either a liar about not having been used before, or you're a natural that's used to pain. I watched your face when I was using you. You loved it, didn't you?" demanded Martine. "Yes." "Serving a Mistress before, or loving the pain?" "The pain," Alana answered. "Then you're a Painslut," observed Martine. "A what?" Alana asked. "Painslut. Were you satisfied by my work?" "Yes, Mistress. I'll be back again. Thank you." Alana took her exit, convinced that what she had paid for was worth every dollar. She had gotten what she wanted. Walking around the neighborhood she entered the first bar that she passed. She ordered a stiff drink, and bummed a cigarette from the bartender. Alana inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs, her skin still smarting from the use that she had taken from the Dominatrix. She sat quietly at the bar, watching the daily life of Manhattan pass by the windows. Just a few miles from here stood Wall Street, and her job, where she was still on Medical leave. But somehow, that no longer seemed important. Alana smoked her cigarette, recalling the weeks spent in pain after the accident as her body slowly healed. The days she did nothing but cry in her hospital bed, begging for painkillers. Her mother Eve, shouting at the doctors for something to dull her daughter's agony, only to be told that it wasn't proper medical practice just to give medication for that purpose. Then slowly she had begun to heal. Her body slowly repaired itself, and she was taken out of bed. First she was made to sit up, and then to stand. Then Alana was sent to Physical Therapy. Every step that she took was sheer hell; every time she used her arms to lift weights was torture. One day, during an intense session to force her to walk Alana found that the pain had excited her sexually. Her pussy was wet when the therapist had exercised her legs to force her to walk. The first time, she had been ashamed of herself. But each time that she had gone for therapy, Erica found that she would enjoy the pain. Her sex became wet, her nipples hard with desire. When she had been recuperating at home, with a Nurse to take care of her and a visiting therapist to continue her exercises Alana suddenly remembered the Voice. She had read the paper while she worked in Manhattan, and had looked with wry amusement at the ads in the back from Professional Dommes. So Alana had resolved that when she was finally able to walk on her own that she would find a Dominatrix who would provide her with both pain and pleasure. Alana had done that, and would go back for many visits to see Mistress Martine, who would take her a little further along with each session. She enjoyed being placed under the crop and lash, having a gag between her teeth. Afterwards, at home she would look and admire the marks on her skin. Deciding that she wanted more, she then discovered the S&M clubs in Manhattan. She learned to disguise herself by using makeup and a wig. Then she rented an apartment in Rye, and bought an old car and took that into the city at night instead of the new BMW. Alana Peters, daughter of wealth, Ivy League University Graduate, and future Wall Street Partner realized that she was now playing a dangerous game. That people in her position in society didn't just enter the world of D/s, without a huge scandal erupting. So she resolved that she would use the wealth that her position in life had given her to create another life: where she could become another person. End of Challenge CH02 PT1