Date: Sun, 29 Apr 2007 14:50:31 -0400 (EDT) From: Yuri Kiriakov Subject: A Normal Affair. 5: Secret rituals The sounds of my lover's voice yielding to me began to whisper into my imagination over the roar of the car engine. As I got off the motorway and into the long and winding secondary roads my spirits began to slowly lift out of the anxiety I had been in all week. Once I caught sight of the first road sign it was a fairly simple matter to find the town, and right enough, you couldn't miss the station. I parked in the large yard in front and stopped the engine. A sleepy summery silence descended but the erotic pulse, once started, would not be stilled. Bizarrely, an old man in oil-stained jeans shuffled out of the station doorway, stopped at the edge of the pavement, looked around wildly, and shuffled back in. It became so quiet you could hear time passing. I gripped the steering wheel as I remembered my lover by contrast, dressed in a thin black nightie with those elegant straps over the shoulders, pulling the sheets aside and sliding into bed next to my naked body with a smile on his face. Life returned. One, then two cars stopped in front of the station, engines idling. I heard the distant sound of the roaring diesel of the train, the squealing of brakes, and then suddenly the place was full of people, spilling out, car doors slamming. The cars directly in front had moved off; I moved cautiously forward until I saw his fair head in the crowd, a slim young man in a business suit. I drove in quickly, reaching the edge of the pavement at the same moment as he. He opened the rear door and flung in a holdall, climbed in, and as I gathered speed, slammed the door shut. I doubt if anyone had noticed. Quick check in the rear view mirror. Nobody behind us at any rate, I caught a glimpse of a smile on his face as he caught my eye. My heart did not slow down. Back on the road he leaned forward and put his hand on my shoulder. "Very niftily done, my dear master" he murmured. "It was touch and go if I'd get that train at Victoria, too. Didn't think I ought to change clothes, God knows who else was on it. Drive on a bit, I'll make myself look a little less business-like." I concentrated on driving, heard him slipping out of the man's shirt and tie, rummaging around in the holdall, the hiss of a perfume spray. A silence. "Can you pull in up ahead? I'm as good as I can be until we get to where we're going." A small lay-by for the provincial bus stop. Two old ladies watched as a young woman with curly blond hair, dressed in a black silk t-shirt and baggy silk trousers to match slipped from out of the back of the car and bobbed into the front seat. We kissed briefly and I swung out onto the road again. She settled back. Her painted toenails peeped out of a pair of strappy little sandals. "I hate it when you see me as a man" she said. "I don't feel myself at all when I'm like that." "You're lovely anyway" I replied. "But yes, the transformation is worth it. Hard day?" She grimaced. "How'd you guess? Their weekend starts when they knock off at six and go to the local to drink the beer. Nothing gets done after lunch, anyway, but everyone feels they have to look busy." Hand on my shoulder. "I hope you're going to pulverise your little girl slowly, dear master. Sorry. Please don't be angry. I'm coiled as tight as a spring inside. Tell me to shut up and I'll concentrate on slipping into my subbie mode." "Relax. Remember to start breathing from the top of your chest. It's going to take a while according to the map. Put some music on if you like." She shook her head, curls bouncing. "I love to listen to the little sounds you make when you're driving. Can you talk to me? I bought some interesting little bits and pieces I hope you'll like. You can rip them off my body later. I hope you'll like me in them, anyway. Are you really going to be very severe with me? I'm away all next week, so the bruises will have a chance to settle down before I'm back." "My dear..." It took nearly an hour to get there. After the main roads, the even smaller side roads, and then up a dirt track to the cottage, which stood on its own in the lee of a wooded hill. I parked outside the front door, got out, and opened the passenger door for her. "It's very quiet here" she said, looking around. "I bet nobody could hear a girl screaming for miles." She stood aside as I opened the cottage door and carried the bags in, following me to the bedroom. "There is a bathroom... good. I'm going to be a little while, my Master. Please excuse me..." She picked up her holdall, and shut the bathroom door behind her. I heard the sound of rushing water. I unpacked my bag, slowly, and opened the other bag with all our little toys. Some of them I placed at strategic points in the room. The riding crop went on top of the bed; the wrist and ankle cuffs and associated chains on the chest of drawers. Good, there was an eyelet in the beamed ceiling. Some I left inside the bag for their surprise value. For dinner, I made a light salad and put the already-chilled bottle of Chardonnay into the fridge. A candle on the table, plates, glasses. There was a small vase in a corner into which I placed the red carnations I'd bought that morning and put them by the candle on the table. Napkins. Perfect. Then it was time to wait, but now a mood of serenity had stolen over me completely, tinged with that slight feeling of excited anticipation, like butterflies in the tummy before a first night. I opened the bottle and poured myself a little of the wine. It was fine, if the second bottle was as good as this one we'd be all right. I sipped slowly, remembering that to handle a slave girl required at least as much concentration and co-ordination as driving a fast thoroughbred sports car at speed. You could do it slower, but where's the fun in that? I had deliberately left the door to the kitchen closed, so I could savour the moment as the handle turned, the door swung gently open, and DeeDee walked in, slightly hesitant, checking her appearance against the look on my face. She was heart-stoppingly lovely, with a wanton undertone that gave me a rush of blood to the head. She was wearing a loose creamy gown, under which I could just see her underwear: lacy brassiere, waspie waist clincher, silk stockings, another pair of high heeled strappy sandals. She had made her face up with care, perfect as a little china doll. I motioned her to turn around so I could look her from behind as well. Oh yes... all my fantasies and imaginations rolled into one delicious sweet-smelling bundle. "Will I do, master?" she asked in a murmur. "In an outfit like that, a girl could get into serious difficulties with an old and lecherous goat" I replied. "But you'll be safe with me." She lifted her chin. "Not too safe, I trust." "Did you bring the collar?" She handed me the broad black leather contraption and held her hair up as I stood behind her and tightened the three straps. "Too tight?" "Please, master, do it up as tight as you like." I decided to go as far as the second last notch for the moment. I'd tighten it later. The collar meant she had to keep her head up, which was also good for her posture, but not so good for eating. I fixed a little silvery chain down the front. I sat down on a chair and pulled her to me, gently. "Let's renew your promise" I said to her. "Don't kneel, it's difficult in those high heels. Here, put your hands between mine." She was lovely the way she stood tall and slightly aloof. Her hands twitched a little between my fingers. "Do you promise to submit to me, in mind, body and soul?" "Yes." "Will you obey me immediately and without hesitation?" "Yes." "Do you promise to do your best to look beautiful in my eyes?" "Yes." The training was that she was allowed only one word each time, but I could sense that the questions had a special significance for her that evening. She had been trying very hard, and she had brought it off, magnificently. All she needed now was the extra polish that practice and assurance gave. We ate and drank, but said very little. I poured her half a glass which she hardly touched anyway. She seemed to withdraw into a distance for a while. We both drank a Greek coffee, thick and bitter. I felt the stimulant take hold, and hoped she did to. There was a slight flush to her cheeks that I hope had nothing to do with the blusher she had put on. "Come on, it's time." "Yes, my Master." She rose obediently, and I took her to the bedroom where I slowly took of her gown, and then inserted the callipers into her mouth. Her lips opened as wide as the collar permitted and I fixed them in that position from behind. "Your wrists." She held her wrists out, which I enclosed in cuffs, as tight as possible to ensure she didn't get them bruised when I raised them above her head by a sturdy chain, going through the eyelet in the ceiling. She was pulled tight, scarcely touching the ground with her toes. That would settle in a minute as her back stretched itself. I took the riding crop from the bed and stood in front of her. "I'm going to give you a lashing on your bare backside" I told her. "Not too hard, and softly at first. I don't want to raise heavy bruises that will last for more than a few days. But if I beat you slowly, you can take it for a long time without getting damaged, and the pain will be intense all the way because your bottom won't get its nerve endings numbed. Do you understand?" She nodded slightly. It was difficult having her mouth so wide open with the high collar, and she had to keep her head up to avoid the pressure on the underneath of her jaw. "I think you can easily last out thirty minutes, and that is how long I shall give you. Very well. First let me remove your french knickers." I went round behind her, and pulled the loose material from her elegantly rounded bottom, letting them fall to the floor at her feet. I gently guided her feet out of them so she wouldn't tear them when she was writhing under the crop. She wore her tight little g-string beneath them, which parted in a V over the curve of her bum. It allowed me access to her sex when I wanted it, and enclosed the globes of her buttocks in a frame, pushing them together and out. Her stockings and the bottom of her waspie defined the area exposed to my crop in the horizontal direction. I stroked the creamy smooth skin of her buttocks with my finger (she shuddered at the first contact: she thought I was going to hit her), and then stepped back a little, and gave her a small experimental tap with the crop. I heard her gasp in surprise, and repeated the blow on the other buttock. Being careful to use a slow rhythm, I beat her for a few minutes until the skin began to glow a little. I stopped and stood in front of her again. "You're most probably thinking, this is all right, I can take this, aren't you" I told her. "And you are perhaps a little disappointed that the beating is no harder. Let's see what happens if I increase the pressure just a little." I turned back, and resumed her punishment, this time, a little harder. I could hear her breathing and when I put my hand against her heart, felt it beating fast. "All the time, you feel it's getting slightly more difficult, aren't you. Don't forget to breathe from the top of your lungs, in small shallow sips. That will increase the feeling of panic and make you hyperventilate ever so slightly which will give you extra staying power. Let's continue." It was difficult to restrain myself at times, because she was responding so well to her beating, and I wished I could let her feel the real force of my passion for her, but I kept an eye on the clock, and talked her through her ordeal, sometimes speaking for her, sometimes speaking for myself, until, when the half hour had elapsed, her bottom was deliciously rosy all over, but nowhere had the really serious purple bruising broken out that would have heralded the imminent drawing of blood. That would have to wait for another time. I let her down, and sitting her down on the side of the bed, removed the callipers from her mouth. She lay down on her side, still sobbing slightly, and watched me as I removed my clothes and lay down next to her. My penis was stiff and engorged, but for a while we lay next to each other, she resting her head on my shoulder, shaking from her ordeal. Her bottom was hot to the touch, and every time I even stroked it, she quivered. Eventually, I got behind her, bent her upper leg, to expose her sex, and slid myself inside her. She gave a low thrilling groan as I entered her, the tip of my penis nuzzling against her hole, slowly pressing my way in until with a push I had penetrated her completely... The weekend passed far too quickly. She worked hard to polish her feminine skills: there was room enough in the cottage, and on Sunday afternoon, when she was dressed in a skirt short enough to die for, I took her to the local pub, where the locals ogled her as we stood by the bar, and she drank a very ladylike vodka and tonic. That night, I asked her if she would take six heavy strokes on her bottom without having to be tied or restrained. She looked at me in consternation. "I'll do my best, of course, my master" she said with a small smile. "But I do beg you in advance to forgive me if I weaken." With her bent over the kitchen table, holding onto its edge with both hands (her knuckles were white with strain), and proffering me her rosy cheeks, I stood back and felt my cock rise hard as I contemplated the precious gift she was offering me. "Count them, slave." "Yes my master... "One! Aargh! "Two! Oh no! Owww! "Three! Oh, Master! Ooooh! "Four! My Master, I can't help myself, please, let me off, it's like fire... "Five! Aaargh, aargh, oooh... "Six! Oh my God, Master, please!" Still holding on to the edge of the table she broke down and sobbed large, copious tears, wailing in her distress. I gently took her hands in mine, and arranged them round my neck, holding onto her shivering body, my hands pressing her against my rough tweed jacket, straying down to her inflamed buttocks, where I could feel the weals left by the crop. She was so precious. I walked her gently to the bed. Our lovemaking that night was frenetic. Neither she nor I were satisfied until we noticed dawn breaking outside, and then we had a short fitful slumber in each others' arms, because the alarm rang, and it was time to get her back to the station. She drank a quick cup of coffee in her dressing-gown, and then quickly packed her bag. "I'm leaving our toys with you, master" she said decisively. "It could be embarrassing during the week... we're going to several locations in Scotland for the road-show. And the little fancy bits I bought... they're very light, you'll hardly notice them, I beg you to take them for me... oh, my dear Master... Now I've got to get my suit on, excuse me, Sir..." I had the car running when he emerged in his grey pinstripe three-piece and silk tie, and he sat down coolly in the front seat looking straight ahead of him. I wondered how his bottom felt that morning. We hardly said a word during the journey, and I left him at the station, as I had collected him. He squeezed my fingers tightly as he got out, and then, closing the car door firmly, strode out, back into the station through the doors from which I had seen him emerge on Friday, a determined young man, making his way in the world. I waited until I heard the train come in and then slowly headed back for the cottage, because I didn't need to go until that night. There was the lay-by where we had stopped on our journey out; the small village with the clock tower; there was the pub we went to on Sunday. I drove up the dirt track and opened the cottage door to a place suddenly emptied of life. It was still in a glorious mess, but I made myself another pot of coffee, and sat down on the doorstep, watching the swallows wheel around the tall poplars at the foot of the meadow. "If I ever appear to look uncaring" I could hear your voice again "or disengaged, especially when I've had to change back into my male persona, please don't be angry with me because I no longer appear to love you or need you as my master or am ashamed of us. I do love you, and I do need you, absolutely. Sometimes our hearts are strained to breaking point and it's simply too hard to behave in any other way than the purely mechanical because the only alternative is to howl like animals." And if we were bolder or less caring we'd just run away and never look back, and I would always be your master, and you would always be my slave, my hostess, my partner, if that's what you wanted to be. But our hearts are too big, my love, and you have a golden promise that you need to fulfil, and the world by and large does not understand the path we take, and would pull me down and you with me for good measure. I remembered what Colette had written about `those pleasures... which are lightly dismissed as merely physical.' Meaning they can also shake the soul. My coffee went slowly cold. A flock of geese flapped their wings noisily, heading northwards, following you. The sky grew heavy with clouds as the afternoon wore on and for a while I thought I might have to move back indoors but the threat of rain passed in time as sunset fell golden on the gentle rounded hills and the stars came out in the velvet night.