Sarah sank back into the plush leather of the car seat and relaxed, closing her eyes, drifting into contented contemplation. It had been a long week and she was exhausted, but she was finally free of work, looking forward to two whole days of leisure-time. Her mind began to wander as she sank into a semi-doze, thinking happy thoughts about the weekend ahead.
Her life couldn’t be much better than it was right now. Having completed medical school, she had secured a job as a junior doctor in one of the most respected hospitals in the city. She’d managed to find herself a flat she could afford, had made some good friends, and then she’d met the man of her dreams, the man who was sitting right next to her, driving her to some unknown destination where, she knew, he would have expensive treats and serious pampering arranged.
She had first met him at a fundraiser for the hospital about six months earlier. She was surprised to be invited, but she was bright enough to realise that all the good-looking female staff, no matter what age or position, had been asked to attend – it might be sexist, but it was a fact that most of the potential donors were male, and it never hurt to ‘soften them up’ with some pretty girls to look at!
Sarah was also astute enough to know she was attractive. She was only 5’ 4’’ and around 100lbs, but she had a nice body, curves in all the right places, and breasts not too big or too small. But her biggest asset was her pale, creamy skin, contrasting strikingly with her full red lips and long black hair. She had always turned heads, and she had no problems with that.
When the senior consultant to whom she reported tapped her on the shoulder and she turned around, she had almost dropped the glass she was holding. Her first thought was ‘What a hunk!’, and she immediately blushed, because she never thought that about anyone ! He was tall – maybe 6’ 4’’ – strong, without being muscle-bound, and handsome – neat, short black hair, designer stubble, strong jaw, nice tan. He looked in his mid-thirties, maybe ten years or so her senior, and he was well-dressed in a well-cut and clearly expensive suit. He had a half-smile on his face, and he was looking directly into her eyes so intently that she had to look down, almost coquettishly. In that moment, a message passed between them, all about power and control. Sarah’s heart was racing as she held out her hand and felt him take it in a firm, but not oppressive grip. There seemed to be electricity in the air.
He was introduced to her as Richard Seaton, the owner and CEO of his own company, who was considering a sizeable investment in the hospital, specifically the Radiology department where she worked. They had talked about equipment and advertising opportunities, but they both knew there was an unspoken dialogue going on. After a few minutes they were moved on in different directions, to meet other people, but every time she looked around for him, Sarah saw him looking back at her, even as he continued the conversation in which he was engaged.
At the end of the evening, he had sought her out, and asked her out on a date the next Saturday. She had agreed without any pretence at playing hard to get and, having told her he would pick her up at eight, he left without a backward glance. As she got control of her pulse rate again, Sarah realised he didn’t have her number or her address. Somehow, she didn’t think he would have a problem finding her.
At 8pm on the dot, he buzzed up to her flat, and she hurried down, not wanting him to see her tiny two-room living space. The restaurant was ridiculously expensive, the food sensationally good, the wine dangerously smooth, and the conversation proceeded like a tango, each verbally manoeuvring around the other, looking for any sign of weakness. Sarah drank sparingly, knowing she had to keep her wits about her, thrilling at the intelligence of the man in front of her, intoxicated by the feeling of controlled power exuding from him.
Sarah had never slept with anyone on a first date, and she didn’t intend to start now. But when they got in the taxi and he gave his own address without consulting her, she didn’t demur. As she followed him into a large town house, which she estimated to be worth upwards of a million, she was impressed by the modern art on the walls and the elegant furniture.
“Take off your clothes for me, Sarah.” No more preliminaries, no more small talk. Sarah looked at him, locking her gaze with his, challenging his presumption. There was no wavering, no doubt, no glance away. Time stretched out, the air seeming to thicken as they stood, facing each other, both knowing this was the moment of truth. Sarah’s nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, her liquid-glossed lips parted a fraction of an inch, and the decision was made. Struggling to breathe, she reached behind her back and unzipped her dress, letting it slide off her body onto the floor. She knew she now looked sensational, in her black, lacy bra and pants, suspender belt and stockings, four inch heels. Still their eyes did not waver, and she felt the control that this was exerting over her – the merest flicker to check out her body would have broken the spell, but it never came.
Slowly, inexorably, she shed her clothes, until she stood naked before him, arms loosely at her side, attempting no defence, offering no resistance.
“Come,” he said, turning and walking up the stairs without a backward glance, knowing she would follow. And she did. The four-poster bed was not a surprise, but the ropes in his hands were. Sarah’s eyes widened, but not in fear. She had experienced the feel of rope on her body before, mostly from her own hand, and had enjoyed it. Now, she felt her level of excitement rise as her fantasies of being totally dominated were becoming reality. Now, his eyes roamed her body, taking in the flush of arousal across her chest, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts as she verged on hyperventilating, the tell-tale glint of moisture on the neatly trimmed strip of tight black curls.
He motioned towards the bed, and she climbed on to the mattress, lying on her back, stretching her arms and legs towards the four corners. He took his time, securing her one limb at a time, the ropes tied with professional skill, holding her taut against the crisp white linen, as she pulled and writhed, luxuriating in her complete lack of freedom.
She looked up from the bed and watched, hungrily, as he casually stripped off his own clothes, standing unself-consciously before her, naked. She couldn’t keep her eyes away from his penis, which was a healthy size – it was big enough, but wasn’t going to rip her open – but she was a little surprised to see that it was not yet fully erect. Clearly, having a naked woman tied to the bed in front him just didn’t quite do it for him! Sarah wondered exactly what would.
Over the course of the next few hours, she found out. He started off by teasing and tormenting her with fingers which roamed across her body, making only the lightest of touches. She tried to arch her back and thrust forward her pelvis as they danced around the edge of her pleasures zones, never quite making the kind of contact she wanted, or needed. She moaned quietly in her frantic frustration, but somehow knew that to cry out, beg, or speak in any way would be wrong – he was completely in charge, and would do whatever he wanted to her, and it was not her place to implore him to move faster or touch her more firmly. But soon, she was sweating profusely as her arousal reached new heights, and she had to chew her lip to try and contain the urge to plead for release.
She had severe misgivings when she saw him produce the small, single-tailed whip. She had never experienced much pain, outside of childish bumps and bruises, and the idea of pain being somehow erotic didn’t make sense to her. Her cries became a little louder, a little more desperate, as the leather thong flicked across the soft flesh of her breast, but each short, sharp sequence of blows was followed by such extensive massaging of the wounded area with lips and tongue that she was soon desperate to feel the bite of the whip, so that it could be followed by the kiss of her tormentor.
He worked on each of her breasts in turn, until she could take no more, then switched his attack to the other. Eventually, as tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes and rolled away across her face, he moved down, laying down a lattice pattern of thin red lines on her inner thighs. She was becoming much more vocal now, both in her whimpering at the pain being inflicted, and in her moans responding to his tantalising touch.
Her screams became full-throated as the thin leather strand finally lashed against her vulva. The pain was incredibly intense, but short-lived. Suddenly, her ankles were untied and her legs held up in the air, wide apart. She felt him pressing against her, now fully erect, and she fought the urge to scream “yes!” and entreat him to fill her up. But there was no need for any encouragement – he was ready. He thrust into her, hard and deep, eliciting another scream from her, this time one of pure animal lust. She wanted it, as hard and as rough as he could manage, and he didn’t disappoint. She had never cum before her lover in the past, but she did this time, gloriously abandoning herself to the waves of pleasure which crashed over her body like surf onto rocks.
As she opened her eyes, she saw him towering above her, watching her every move. Then, as he started to grind his hips against hers, she realised he wasn’t done with her yet and, hardly believing that he had managed to stop himself cumming, wrapped her legs around him to cling on as he thrust into her once more. This time, they climaxed together, her body dancing like a rag doll, pulling at the ropes still around her wrists, until her skin was chafed and torn. At last, spent, she lay, motionless, on the sweat-soaked sheet.
“We’re here.”
Sarah came out of her daydream with a start, to the sound of crunching gravel as the car drew to a halt. She realised that, embarrassingly, she was wet between her thighs, so authentic had been her recollection. She got out of the car and stood there, staring at what looked like a National Trust stately home.
“Do you like it?” Richard asked.
“It’s magnificent!” she replied, admiringly. “It’s… not yours, is it?”
“As of this morning, yes,” he smiled, “banker deprived of his bonus, fallen on hard times. Seven reception rooms, eight bedrooms, three bathrooms, extensive, walled grounds. Quite a bargain, actually. Take off your clothes.”
Sarah was quite used to his abrupt changes of direction, and took the peremptory order in her stride. She would have obeyed, even if she hadn’t already got herself all excited – it was that cool, calm, commanding tone, it sent shivers of anticipation through her, knowing where this might lead. She knew she was deeply submissive, sexually, and she had no problem with that at all. She had to be decisive and commanding in her job as a doctor, but in bed, she was hugely turned on by a strong man like Richard. She glanced around, more as a matter of form than to check if they were in private.
“As you wish, sir,” she murmured, slipping out of her summer dress, flat shoes, bra and panties, holding them out to him like some kind of offering. He took them from her and went to the back of the car, placing them in the boot. He returned with four leather cuffs and, as so often before, Sarah took them from him, before buckling them around her wrists and ankles. He passed her four padlocks, and she locked them in place, then stood passively as he buckled and locked a leather collar around her neck. She felt his cool hands on her bare arms as he drew them behind her and joined her wrist cuffs with the soft click of another padlock. Finally, he clipped a chain dog lead to the D-ring on the front of the collar and tugged gently, leading her forward. And so the game begins, she thought.
He led her towards the house, and she winced as the sharp gravel dug into her bare feet, but it was only a few yards before they were climbing the wide stone stairs to the front door. As they entered, Sarah looked into an imposing hall, with its high ceilings, ornate chandeliers, and a tiled floor which seemed to go on forever. She let out an appreciative whistle.
“Welcome to your new home,” Richard said simply.
“You’re kidding me!” Sarah responded enthusiastically. “This place is just incredible!”
“Time to meet the staff,” Richard said, pulling a chord on the wall near the main door. Sarah felt a little uncomfortable now, knowing that she would be completely exposed in front of the people who would, effectively, be working for her. But then, she thought, they’re going to have to get used to it.
One of three inner doors into the hallway opened, and two people entered. As they walked towards the new owners, Sarah got her first inkling that something wasn’t right. The woman was dressed in a black, latex catsuit, with spike heels at least six inches high, and she strutted her stuff like she was entirely comfortable in it. The man, meanwhile, looked like an army PT instructor – muscles, sleeveless vest, camouflage pants, and shaved grey hair. Where was the cook, the maid, the butler, Sarah thought.
“This is my PA, Maria, who will be running the household, as well as performing other, special duties. Fletcher will be our odd-job man, gardener, and personal trainer.”
“I don’t understand,” Sarah said, the confusion and rising fear evident in her voice, “who are these people, where are the real staff, who’s going to keep this place clean?”
“Like I said,” Richard replied calmly, “these are the people who will be in charge. You will be keeping the place clean, as well as performing a host of other tasks.”
“I can’t do that!” Sarah exclaimed, perplexed. “I’m already working up to 70 hours a week at the hospital! In fact, I don’t see how I can even live here – the commute into work would be a nightmare!”
“You won’t be commuting,” Richard explained to the naked woman, “as you no longer work at the hospital.” Sarah looked dumbly at him, not understanding what he was saying – or not wanting to understand.
“You resigned a month ago,” he continued, “today was your last day. Your friends will be hurt that you didn’t say goodbye, but when they get an email from you extolling the wonders of your new life, they’ll understand and forgive you.”
“Why?” was all she could bring herself to say. She was in shock.
“You were my sub,” he said coldly, “but that was never going to be enough. Now you are my slave, 24/7. I own you, body and soul. And I can mould you into the thing I most desire. Fletcher, show my slave to its new quarters, and give it a few hours to think about its new position.”
The muscle-bound bear of a man stepped forward and grabbed the lead, yanking cruelly hard on it, dragging the stunned woman across the hall. At last she came out of her stupor and tried to pull away, but it was useless, the drill sergeant was far too strong.
“Richard! Please! Don’t do this!” she cried desperately, turning back to look pleadingly at her erstwhile boyfriend, but he had already turned away and was deep in conversation with his latex-clad ‘personal assistant’. As they went through one door, she was dragged through another, and down a flight of stone steps.
She was confronted by a number of closed doors in a cold, dark corridor. Fletcher unlocked one of them with a key on the ring at his waist, and forced her inside. He released the padlock holding her wrists together behind her, and shoved her across the bare, cement-walled cell. She stumbled to the floor, then turned to look fearfully at her jailor.
“Welcome to the rest of your life, bitch!” he leered. He walked out of the tiny, windowless room, and slammed the door shut behind him. Cast into complete darkness, Sarah heard the key turn in the lock, followed by footsteps retreating.
She was alone. Utterly alone.