New Desire_, Part 2 · Part 1 (1/2)
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I was somewhat more subdued the next morning. My breasts were excruciatingly painful and when I examined them in the bathroom mirror, their appearance was shocking. Ugly blue, purple and yellow bruises virtually covered their entire surface, with a random pattern of scratches and cuts. I couldn't bear to wear a bra. Despite selecting my loosest fitting blouse it still hurt every time I moved. My injuries as well as doubts about my safety dissuaded me from ringing the number on Melanie's card straight away. As I slowly recovered though, my new sexual needs made calling her inevitable. I now pissed almost every time I masturbated.
Sometimes I would piss into the thermos flask and then drink my piss while I climaxed. I even did it in the toilets of the library where I worked. Something that disturbed me more than my appetite for urine or the possibility of a lesbian relationship with Melanie, was that I was starting to fantasize about her hurting me. When I masturbated I would imagine her raping me violently. With all these considerations added to my normal extreme shyness it took me two weeks to work up the courage to phone her.
When I had finally breached the barriers of receptionist and private secretary, Melanie brushed aside my apologies for delay. "You have every reason for procrastination Althea. Any reluctance to submit yourself to even worse treatment than you have experienced hitherto, is quite understandable." "E-even worse!" I stuttered. "Of course it will be worse, you silly girl," Melanie laughed. "If I get you where no one can interfere, you will really suffer!" I couldn't speak. A few moments of silence passed. "Well my dear, I have a client to attend to shortly. So if you can't make up your mind what you want – I think I've made my position quite clear.
You had better find some other way of amusing yourself." "No! Please, I'm sorry! I didn't mean… What do you want me to do?" I asked humbly. "That's much better," she replied. "What I want is for you to come to my apartment this weekend. After you have finished work on Saturday that is. Two PM the library closes I believe? And you are finished perhaps, fifteen minutes later?" "Yes Melanie," I agreed. I was hardly surprised that she knew where and when I worked. She was obviously a woman who found out everything she wanted to know. "Hmmmm… I know that I introduced myself as Melanie, but now I think it would be more appropriate if you were to address me as Ms. Wakefield." "Yes Ms.
Wakefield." "You will find a taxi waiting for you when you finish work." Without waiting for a reply Ms Wakefield hung up.
Part of me hoped that the taxi would not be there when I left my work, but of course it was. Surprisingly the driver took me towards the center of town and stopped outside the entrance of an old office block. 'Is this it?" I asked the young man. "This is where I was told to drop you off," he confirmed. I got out of the taxi and stood bemused before the doors. The only nameplates were of companies I had never heard of. "Push the door when you hear the buzz and take the lift to the top floor," the intercom crackled. When the dilapidated lift finally arrived at the fourteenth floor, the view that emerged through the opening doors was quite unexpected. Walls of rough stucco surrounded a small tiled floor lobby. The ceiling was constructed wooden slates set in a simple pattern. A bronze statue of a rather menacing abstract design guarded a heavy wooden door. The effect was vaguely Japanese.
This impression was reinforced when Ms. Wakefield opened the door to reveal a hall way lined with rice paper panels. She was dressed casually in faded jeans, a white T-shirt and brown leather sandals. "Good afternoon Althea," Ms. Wakefield greeted me, motioning me inside. I heard a loud clunk as the door locked behind me. She took me by the hand and led me down the hall way. "We'll sit outside I think. Well it's not really outside, but you will see what I mean." The room we came to was large, maybe fifty feet to a side. The ceiling was higher than in the hall way and illuminated by skylights. The plants, rocks and timber decking did indeed give the impression of outdoors.
There was even a small pond containing water lilies and golden carp. Various doorways gave access to the rest of the apartment. Ms. Wakefield guided me to a seat made of rough cut wood and natural stone. She sat with me, still holding my hand.
I gazed around at the seemingly uncontrived beauty of the indoor garden, occasionally glancing furtively at the beauty of Ms Wakefield too. Except for the sound of water flowing from a bamboo pipe set amongst some rocks in the middle of the pond, the garden was entirely silent. It was almost impossible to imagine that a bustling city was just outside. "Your apartment is wonderful!" Ms. Wakefield smiled, "I am rather fortunate to have this level of peace and solitude without the bother of commuting for an hour. Especially the solitude." I was very conscious of how close she was. I could smell her. I wanted to taste her. Her very large breasts were so much more prominent in her tight thin T- shirt than her previous attire.
I tried to calm myself. "M-Ms. Wakefield, can I ask you a question?" "Certainly Althea. As long as I don't regard it as impertinent I may even answer." With her free hand she stroked the hand she held reassuringly. "The first day, on the train; was that the first time you saw me?" "No. The first time I saw you, you were leaving a cafe on your way back to work." "That must have been…" "Your birthday. Yes, as I subsequently discovered, if I hadn't seen you then I may never have met you. You normally don't leave your work at lunchtime." "Is there anything you don't know about me?" I asked. "Quite possibly.
I only know: your full name, birth date, birth place, blood mother, father unknown, foster parents, academic history, work history, lovers none, friends one, acquaintances three, current address, past addresses and a pet cat by the name of Henry. Besides that, there is probably much I am ignorant of; but all I do know, I knew before you first saw me." I was speechless!
After waiting patiently for some minutes Ms. Wakefield explained, "If my interest in you seems obsessive that's simply because, I'm obsessed. From the first time I saw your… incredible beauty; I needed to have, to possess, to own you." "I'm not so beautiful," I protested, turning my head away self-consciously. "Your lack of vanity, indeed self-knowledge, is a good part of your appeal," she retorted. "In any case, your opinion does not hold sway here. Have you taken note of the elegant whipping posts?" She indicated a structure close to where we were seated.
I had noticed the two thick timber uprights standing unsupported and a few yards apart, but it had not occurred to me that their purpose anything other than aesthetic. Now I noticed the iron rings set the wood. Also, a trunk of dark carved wood beside one of the columns. Ms. Wakefield took hold of my chin and made me look at her. "There is nothing more beautiful than a young woman screaming!" She told me this with such immovable conviction that I could only whisper "Yes," by way of an answer. "We need to prepare. Come with me." She stood up and walked away. I followed.
In a white tile clad bathroom room lit dazzlingly bright with halogen lights, she cleaned me, inside and out. A large enema bag was filled three times with hot soapy water and once with plain warm water. All this liquid entered and evacuated my rectum. It was very embarrassing, especially the evacuation, which Ms. Wakefield watched intently. She admonished me not to piss while I expelled the water. This was difficult as I deliberately hadn't emptied my bladder all day. Ms. Wakefield then shaved my vagina. She used the same cutthroat she had threatened me with at the station. I found the shaving both frightening and incredibly sexual. The blade against my cunt brought me close to orgasm.
We showered together, she scrubbing us both roughly with a stiff brush and soap. She shampooed my hair and rubbed some sort of scented oil into my skin. I experienced a strange feeling of comfort in the way she attended to me. After drying me with a warm fluffy towel she combed my hair and even clipped my nails. As I waited for Ms. Wakefield to finish her own ablutions, I examined my reflection in a large heated mirror. I looked and felt more cleansed than I had ever felt before. All was fresh and tingling with renewal. My perfectly hairless vagina only added to this feeling of rebirth.
"This is going to hurt Althea. It's going to hurt a lot. It is my hope that as well as the pain, you will experience some of the pleasure I feel when I abuse you. That is my hope; but regardless of your needs, I will have my desire fulfilled. Willing or no, you will be my bitch!" We were naked by the whipping posts. Ms. Wakefield held me close while she caressed my back. A strange contrast of feeling safe and warm in her arms, with the fear of the violence about to happen. Had I come to Ms. Wakefield for sex, possibly love, despite the pain I knew I would experience, or did I actually want to be tortured as well?
I hoped I was not so perverse as to desire the latter, but to my shame my doubt continued. "Stand in the center of the posts with your back to me," Ms. Wakefield commanded. "Look only ahead." I obeyed, feeling frightened and excited. I heard her open the trunk. Rummaging around. The squeak of leather. Then a sound of metal. The sound of chains.
My wrists and ankles were fastened to the chains by plastic ties such as mechanics use. Only after I was secured; my arms stretched high and my legs forced wide apart, did she allow me to turn my head so she could show me the whip. A riding crop, perhaps a foot longer than the ones I'd seen the jockeys use. Made of a dark red leather, it appeared not only well used, but from an earlier time. The whip went well with the boots she was now wearing. The same boots she had worn on the train. She supported her large round breasts with a leather half cup bra, but what really completed her outfit, was a moulded leather mask. It only covered from her forehead down to the top of her cheekbones. It was just enough to add a hint of evil. She was now a sex bitch dressed in leather.
"No… please! No!" I begged. With only the balls of my feet in touch with the ground, there was nothing else I could do. I felt stupid to protest at this late stage, but I couldn't help myself. Ms. Wakefield said nothing. She only smiled cruelly, and drew back her arm. "AAAAAAGH!" I screamed at the top of my voice as she brought the whip down across the middle of my back. The pain was shocking. It was as if I was being beaten with a length of barbed wire. Although I had feared the pain, I hadn't imagined it would be quite as terrible. A great tearful sob escaped me. "Please, not so hard!" I pleaded, dreading the next stroke. Nothing happened. After a while I dared to look over my shoulder.
She hadn't stopped, she was just waiting with her eyes closed. Her stance wide as she ever so slowly drew the whip up and down, between the lips of her hairy vagina. Suddenly she snapped her eyes open and raised the whip again. "OOOOOWWWRRRGH!" I shrieked as she whipped me again, tearing the flesh on my shoulders. Again she paused, then quickly beat me twice across my buttocks. Another wait, longer than the first. Then she let me have it on the top of my thighs, lower back and bum again in quick succession.
Each time she whipped me my body jerked in an uncontrollable spasm. I was howling for mercy constantly, only screaming louder when the riding crop bit deep. Vainly I struggled against the chains. I don't know how many times she beat me before she stopped and walked around to face me. Many, many times. I could feel warm blood oozing from the ragged welts in my skin. "Did you enjoy that?" she asked. "It was horrible!" I complained bitterly through my tears. "Really? If that's the case," she put a hand on my vagina and roughly inserted a finger, "how come you're so wet?" I couldn't answer. "See!" she sneered as she held her now dripping finger under my nose. "You beg me not to hurt you, but you deserve everything you get. You deserve it because you want it!"
"No!" I bawled sorrowfully, but I knew I was lying, both to Ms. Wakefield and to myself. Although the pain was horrific, my vagina would not let me conceal my deepest need. My cunt was telling me a fundamental truth; I was a worthless lesbian slut who wanted to be dominated and abused viciously. Ms.
New Desire_, Part 2 · Part 1 (1/2)
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