Date: Thu, 13 Apr 2017 07:46:18 +0000 (UTC)
From: sfmaster <sfmaster@att.net>
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

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Copyright (c) 1998 by mailto:sfmaster@att.net
Revised January 2002

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"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