Date: Sun, 29 Apr 2007 14:50:31 -0400 (EDT)
From: Yuri Kiriakov <yuri.kiriakov@lycos.com>
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.