Painful Beginnings

"You were going to cane me for being such a naughty girl," she said, acting petulantly and putting her thumb in her mouth again.

"Yes, I was. Do you still think I should?"

I wanted to be very sure that she really wanted this; really wanted her smooth, unblemished ass cheeks to be ridged, red and possibly bleeding from the bite of the cane. Did she only want her ass caned? I knew she was on an exploratory journey his weekend, but how far down a one-way track did she really want to go? Where was the tipping point between peak experience and lifelong regret? She made her decision.

"Yes, I really think you should, Daddy. I've been a naughty girl and deserve to be caned. Not only that, but my pussy has been naughty too so I want you to cane her too, just like happens in your stories."

"Yes, but they're fiction, darling, not real. This would be real and it would hurt."

"I want you to hurt me, sweetheart. Do you love me enough to hurt me, honey?" she asked challengingly.

"Yes, darling, I do, so long as you're sure that's what you want."

"Yes, I'm sure, but not right now, tomorrow, so we can make love tonight for a last time without me nursing a sore pussy. Then, after you cane me brutally hard, I can leave with your memory on my damaged ass and pussy."

I realized that she was dead serious; she wanted more lovemaking tonight before she wanted to be punished.

"Ok, if that's what you want, that's what we'll do. What do you want now?"

"I have some more questions for you."

She stood and donned her professional mask again, setting up her recorder and sitting out of the sun as she prepared to begin the next session. I hoped I didn't become too distracted as I admired the view of her naked body from where I lay on my recliner.

"You said your first marriage was living hell yet your second was wonderful. Can you please explain some of the differences."

I thought for a few minutes, wondering where to start. Eloise and Carol were so very different.

"Well, to begin with, Carol rescued me. Quite possibly I'd be dead now if she hadn't. When we met I smoked heavily, was well down the road towards chronic alcoholism and had an extremely low opinion of myself. I had certainly contemplated suicide several times. I was fighting Eloise for visiting rights to my children and for the right to retain a pittance of my salary to live on. Carol rescued me because she would not tolerate me smoking or drinking to excess around her. We went away to the cabin in the woods for a week, taking all our food but no smokes, just lots of sex together. I returned a non-smoker, as well as being sexually very satisfied.

"My drinking took longer to cure. I definitely didn't believe that the Alcoholics Anonymous method was beneficial; stating that you were an alcoholic and could never touch alcohol again seemed to be very wrong from a psychological viewpoint. In my view, people drank to withdraw from reality because their reality was hurtful. If you work at changing that reality, then the need to withdraw will diminish. Then it simply takes a while until the habit of drinking to excess decreases and eventually disappears completely. I can still have a wine or beer sometimes, but whereas before, the more I drank the more I wanted, now after a couple of drinks, I no longer want to drink. It's my choice now rather than some vow I had taken; I'm in charge, not some organization telling me what I must do.

"I think probably the main difference between my two marriages was that communication was better between Carol and I and that I learnt to be more empathic and able to see things from other viewpoints. That is an essential quality in any marriage, I believe. Certainly, I have absolutely no regrets about my present marriage; it just continues to improve."

"So, Carol's Ok with you making love with me, for example?" asked Della.

"Yes, we can each live our own life independently of the other, but it's usually more enjoyable to live our lives together. Basically, we have a pact in which we don't ask each other for details of the other's private life, and we don't feel jealous or hurt by each other's extracurricular activities. These feelings are usually due to a poor self-image, and I think we've overcome that obstacle long ago."

Della changed position a little, then changed the topic.

"So, when you write a story, what is your goal?"

"Well, there are many. Firstly. It depends on the story and its source. If it's a dream, then there really is no ulterior motive except to record the dream. However, many of the other stories do deal with possibly controversial topics, often emotional problems, and put forward alternative viewpoints. An example I mentioned earlier would be polyamory, but there are many other examples including bdsm, fidelity in a relationship, and dealing with jealousy. Then there is also the aim of developing a group of realistic characters, especially important in a series, and, of course, the writing of the story to make it sexually explicit and adventurous, if that is required. Some stories also contain an aspect of spiritualty which readers may or may not agree with or like. 'Dying to be with Sylvie' is a story like that, where an old man passes away in a rest home and returns to his wife. That also came as a dream-type of story when I was contemplating the disservices we do to our elderly, mainly in trying to keep them alive despite their failing health. I try very hard to just let this spiritual aspect lie where it falls rather than preach, and I also ensure that the potentially controversial topics I've mentioned occur in a relevant and often erotic context."

"How long do you think you'll continue writing stories?"

"I don't know; how long is a piece of string? I'll write until I feel all written out. As I've mentioned, I've found that writing is often cathartic. I knew I had a dark side so the first story series I wrote was quite dark and sexually violent. It got rid of a lot of my dark feelings. I've written several more reasonably dark stories and now don't really feel the need for any more, although I'll do one more to complete a series about Sharleen. The stories I do like are ones that are more romantic or maybe have a quirky twist to them. Sometimes the comments I receive suggest new stories, sometimes they seem quite harsh as well, but that's fine, the comment says more about the commenter than about the story."

"So, do you chase ratings?"

"Not really. Two of what I consider to be my best stories have relatively low ratings, those are 'Going Home' and 'Tecumseh Valley'. I think that it is the tragic death of the heroine in each that decreases the ratings. I write for myself and share with others, so I enjoy the stories that please me. I am deeply humbled by scores over 4.5 though. I've never thought of myself as a story writer even though I would often teach by storytelling. I guess they're much the same, maybe. Mmmm, maybe they're not. I don't know, doesn't matter anyway. Ready for a drink before supper?"

"Sounds good to me," smiled Della, turning off her recorder and packing away her notebook. We walked inside and I opened a red, pouring us each a glass. We chatted socially for a while, sharing life experiences, then Della wrapped herself in a light wrap while I pulled on shirt and shorts against the coolness of evening. We sat in the still-warm sunroom and nibbled on snacks as we sipped our drinks. A while later we cooked supper together, loaded the dishwasher, watched an erotic movie as we held hands in the lounge, then we went to bed.

"So, what new position are you going to show me tonight?" asked Della.

"Why do you want a new position?"

"Well, we've made love in a new position each time, so I thought this was part of your education policy."

I chuckled at the thought that this could be construed as education, but then I realized that effectively I was providing her with sexual experiences which she had never had before and which, of course, they never taught in school. Thinking about it, there was a definite oversight in this area. Maybe I should start a sexual education school, I thought, then put the thought into words.

"Well, really, where do you go for sexual education these days?"

"The internet," was Della's instant reply, "You can watch almost anything there."

"But you have to be very careful what you apply in your life. There is some porn that is completely violent and which you certainly wouldn't want to happen to you or someone you loved. Some is completely illegal also, especially the pedophilia that is downloaded by some sick people. I've never looked for nor found that, nor do I want to."

"Yes, I agree. Some of the porn I have watched, and I don't watch much, is quite off-putting. I would never want it to happen to me; would never consent for it to happen. I feel that many of the girls who presumably agree for it to happen have very low self-esteem or else they're doing it for money, and for some activities, there would need to be plenty of that."

"So, what about the slaves you see being tortured?" I asked.

"Well, assuming it's not just acting, and I'm sure some is, I guess to be a slave you'd definitely have to have some psychological problems as well as abysmally low self-esteem." She shuddered at even the thought of being in that situation. "No, sex is beautiful and enjoyable. I don't believe that any woman needs to subjugate herself to a master or mistress just because she, or he for that matter, has low self-esteem. Of course, that's not to say that it wouldn't be a fun game to play," she added, grinning at me, "Just like I played at being your daughter a while ago."

Should I follow her cue or should I leave it, I wondered. She was obviously open to experiencing being a slave, just not actually becoming one with the commitment it entailed. Why not?

"Back in a minute," I told her as I climbed off the bed and left the room.

I collected some soft rope, some paper clips, and wooden stirring stick and a fly swat before returning and donning the persona of a master.

"Right, slave, time for your punishment," I said in a gruff voice.

As I predicted, Della slipped right into the role.

"Oh, yes, Master, please punish me, I've been a bad slave and let you down."

"Turn over onto your front."

She did this immediately, but not before I noticed the grin on her face. I took the pieces of rope and tied one end around each wrist, then tied the other ends to the legs of the bed, holding her spread-eagled and face down. I then spread her legs apart and tied her ankles in a similar manner. She was now helpless with her legs widespread.

"Are you ready for your punishment, slave?"

"Yes, Master, please punish me well."

I brought the wooden stirrer down onto her ass cheeks quite hard, actually, harder than I meant to for a first stroke. I half expected her to rebel and drop out of her role, but she didn't, instead accepting the stroke with barely a flinch.

"Thank you, Master," she replied, her voice muffled by the pillow against her mouth. I removed the pillow and noticed that she was still grinning. Even as a red stripe developed across her ass.

I administered a further nine strokes, of about the same strength, across her ass, reddening it nicely. I looked at her face; she was no longer smiling but was looking a little apprehensive, as though she was beginning to realize just how helpless and vulnerable she was.

"That'll do for this time," I growled, "But treat that as a warning. Now, to turn you over so I can access your other, more sensitive parts."

I untied her from the bed, turned her over and refastened the ropes to the legs again, leaving her spread-eagled on her back. I saw her pussy glistening with her juices. I dipped my finger between her pussy lips and into her entrance, rubbing her fluids over her clit, then placed my finger into her mouth. She sucked it without hesitation, tasting her arousal.

"Now, it's time for those beautiful breasts to be beaten to pulp," I growled, picking up the fly swat.

I struck the breast closest to me and she grinned as she looked me in the eye. It obviously was more arousing than painful and her nipple responded by becoming engorged. I repeated the stroke on her other breast with the same result.

"You seem to like that, do you?"

"Oh, yes, Master, it feels good. Very arousing, thank you Master."

I noticed that there were now girl juices running between her legs onto the sheet, so it was obviously arousing. I began striking her breasts regularly in turn, until each breast had received ten quite hard strokes. She was no longer grinning, but her pussy was flowing copiously.

"That leaves only one area to punish, doesn't it slave; pussy time."

She looked at me unblinkingly as I went to my closet and withdrew my small pussy whip, a light, multi-tailed whip suitable for whipping her labia and clit. I gave it a flick across her stomach, causing her to flinch, but otherwise having no effect.

"Let's see how you like ten strokes of this on your most sensitive place, shall we, slave?"

"Yes, master. Thank you, Master."

I placed the first stroke between her legs in the center. The whip tails covered both her labia and slid between them so they impacted on her vulva and her clit.

"Ouch! Thank you, Master."

Her brow was furrowed with concentration as she dealt with the stinging pain of the whip against her clit and lips. I didn't wait long, but applied a second stroke in the same place. This time she flinched quite strongly.

"Thank you, Master," she finally said, although she was obviously in pain.

The following eight strokes appeared to cause her increasing pain and had I been going to strike more than ten I think she would have rebelled. However, after ten, I came out of role and praised her for her bravery in submitting to the punishment.

"How did it feel?" I asked.

"Well, the first lots were fine. They really didn't hurt and, as you saw, they were quite arousing. The pussy whip is a torment from hell. The strands hit all over with no predictability and with every stroke several struck my clit, which hurt like hell. It's very sensitive you know."

"Yes, I know, just like the head of my cock. So how does it feel now?"

"It feels like it needs some gentle rubbing. I also feel hot as hell and need your cock inside me. I'm sure you can manage to do both those things, can't you?"

I didn't answer but I picked up two paper clips, climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs. I spread her labia and examined her clit, which was very aroused and pouting out of its hood. The whip may have hurt, but it also aroused her wonderfully. I took each paper clip and opened it carefully then reached up was clipped it onto a nipple. I watched her face as I released each one, noting a small grimace as the pain registered. She seemed to be able to bear that pain quite easily.

I leaned forward, placing the head of my hard cock at her opening then sliding it in, easily penetrating her flowing vagina until I was fully inside. I watched her face screw up a little as my crotch pressed against her sore clit, then I began kissing her reddened breasts around her clamped nipples; they seemed to be no worse for their experience.

"How's that feel, darling?"

"Mmmm, how do you think it feels, sweetheart? Wonderful. Just fuck me slowly, no hurry, I want to really feel you inside me. The clips on my nipples feel wonderful too; they seem to send sensations straight to my clit."

We made love together for a long time. Having cum frequently, I had no urgent need to precipitate our climaxes so our movements together could be slow and gentle; long, deep strokes, gentle pressure against her clit, my hands continually roaming on her upper body, seeking new places to stimulate, occasionally giving her nipple clamps a tug. Eventually, the outcome would become inevitable. I noticed her breathing increasing in speed and depth, as her body began responding to my movements. She was still tied down so her movements were limited but she moved as much as she could. I tried to play her to perfection, speeding up, slowing down, then speeding up again as she appeared to lose some of her arousal. I sped up, faster, pushing into her harder, she began moaning, thrusting her hips upwards towards me, seeking more.

I didn't give it to her; instead, I pulled out and lifted myself off her, kneeling between her legs as she moaned and thrust her empty pussy skywards wanting more. My erect rod was glistening with her juices and I moved up her body until I was straddling her chest, then I leant forwards and fed my cock into her mouth as she opened to take me. She sucked her juices from my cock hungrily as her pussy still strove in vain to find solace.

After a few moments, I moved back down and replaced my cock in her tunnel as I tasted her juices in her mouth as we kissed. My body pressed against her nipple clamps and she occasionally made a grimace as I moved, but she made no complaint. I resumed fucking her hard, again pressing into her, squeezing her clit with my pubic bone as the end of my cock pressed close to her cervix. She began panting again as I also approached my climax. Despite an unusually large number of orgasms, the continued erotic stimulation had its effects on me and I felt my cum waiting, ready to be ejected as I approached my next orgasm.

Della was obviously close as well; she was moaning softly and rolling her head from side to side, her breathing reduced to short pants as she thrust her hips upwards towards me, seeking more arousal, always more arousal. We were both ready; I quickly withdrew almost completely, thrust back in hard and simultaneously removed both clips from her nipples. The effect was like uncapping a shaken bottle of soda. Della erupted with a scream as the pain from her nipples sent her over the top and into orgasmic bliss. Her vagina contracted around my cock, milking me as I spurted my hot seed deep inside her, squirt after squirt until I felt it running over my balls.

Della's body was shaking, trembling and writhing beneath me, held in place by her bonds which she unconsciously struggled against in an effort to move even more. Her breathing was fast and deep as her body sought more oxygen to cope with the extreme sexual and physical stress it was experiencing. After my orgasm was complete, I made several more strokes into Della's spasming cunt before I withdrew and sat back on my haunches, watching her body shuddering and her entrance opening and closing as she completed her orgasmic release.

Once she had relaxed, I untied her bonds and we hugged and kissed together on the bed for a long time, enjoying the afterglow of our lovemaking and mild bondage.

"You seemed to enjoy that," I commented.

"Oh yes, darling, that was wonderful. Now I'm exhausted; I need sleep."

I turned off the light and we both fell asleep in each other's arms.

The following morning, we spent several hours pleasuring each other in bed, exploring our likes and dislikes. I gave Della three very satisfying orgasms and she brought me to yet another climax before we prepared brunch in the kitchen and sat in the warm sun room to eat.

"When does Carol return?" asked Della with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Early afternoon, I would expect," I replied, sipping my coffee.

"So, our naughty weekend draws to a close. Honey, it's been wonderful. Not just the lovemaking, but the stories you've told about the stories you write. I'll really enjoy reading about us."

"I'll really enjoy writing about us too, sweetheart. However, there's a couple of things we still have to do, isn't there?"

"Oh, and what might those things be?" she asked with a puzzled look.

"Remember when we spoke about bdsm you said you wouldn't mind experiencing the feel of a cane striking your ass, but that you wanted to finish the love-making first so you could still participate in that without pain? Well, I guess we'd better do that before you leave, if you're still interested, that is."