The Story of Emma Page 3

  No, Ben was all right.

  I was attending a reception at ‘The House’ in honour of some visiting dignitary and was engaged in the usual business of pumping all and sundry for signs of splits or policy changes when I felt an arm go round my waist.

  “Let me take you away from all this, my lovely Emma,” a voice breathed in my ear.

  “Ben. You know I’d love you to, but I have work to do,” I said without looking round.

  “I’ve got some really spicy stuff for you, and I’ll spill the beans over dinner - if you see what I mean.”

  I laughed, and it seemed like the first time in months. What the heck, I told myself. Take a night off and enjoy the company.

  “Okay,” I said, and laughed again at the look of surprise on his face. But when it came to adding everything up the next morning, Ben had won hands down on surprises.

  We went to a small Italian place off the Strand where neither of us was likely to be recognised.

  “Now then Emma, what’s up?” It was at the end of what had been a very good meal with some very good wine and now Ben steepled his hands and looked at me seriously. He had given me some useful stuff; he never let me down.

  “Nothing,” I lied.

  “Emma, you know I have lusted after you for years and as ever I was watching you tonight and I can tell you’re not happy. There’s something on your mind, you’re just not as professional and focused as usual. With a beautiful woman that usually means man trouble.”

  He should have been the journalist! A heady mixture of good wine, compliments and well-aimed probes to winkle out the truth.

  I looked at him closely. He wasn’t at all bad looking; distinguished I think you’d call him, and anyway it wasn’t as if I was going to leap into bed with him, I told myself - I just needed to talk to someone. He knew I had always respected his confidences and never quoted him.

  “Strictest confidence? Between friends?” I asked.

  “Of course.” And despite everything that happened subsequently he was as good as his word.

  I told him everything, propelled over the rough bits by some more wine. He listened calmly and silently until I had finished.

  “Well I must say Emma you’re the most surprising and certainly the best looking submissive I’ve ever come across,” he said at last.

  It took a second for the full import to hit me.

  “You’ve come across others? How? Where?” I spluttered.

  “Like you said, you’re not the only one. I’ve been lucky enough to dominate quite a few over the years. Would you like me to take you on?”

  I was to come to learn that he had a habit of coming straight to the point in these matters. But I had to think, he was a lot older than me but then again he wasn’t unattractive. He was a high risk to my career just as a lover; let alone as a lover of the sort I needed. But I trusted him. All these thoughts whirled round my brain while I used the usual female ploy of retiring to the ladies’ room to repair makeup and gather my thoughts. In the end one thing decided me; he had experience of submissive women and I wanted that.

  “Okay,” I said as soon as I sat back down. “Where do we go from here?”

  “My place. And Emma,” he reached over and gripped my upper arm in an unexpectedly strong hand, “understand this. Everything starts from now!”

  And it did.

  The change that came over him was extraordinary. The mischievous, smiling Ben was gone. In his place was a tall and commanding man of experience who was close to the corridors of power and who knew how to wield it. In the silent taxi I felt that tingle in the pit of my stomach and had to shift in my seat a couple of times as my knickers became uncomfortable. When he paid off the taxi he took me to the doorstep of his Kensington house.

  “I suspect that as you did not know you would be coming to me tonight, you are somewhat overdressed under that delightful gown. See to it and then ring the bell.” And he was gone, leaving me staring at my reflection in the highly polished front door. I was so totally shocked that I never even thought of hailing another cab and going home.

  I looked down at my dress. It was a much loved friend, black velvet with a tight and very low-cut bodice, underwired so no need for a bra - thank God! It was under the full skirt that the problem lay. I was going to have to get my knickers off before he would allow me in, and it was entirely up to me how I managed it standing at the top of his front steps in a London street. I turned and faced away from the door. It was quite late but there were still people around, couples returning from pubs - two gay men, arm in arm, even a Kensington nanny taking a wakeful baby out in its pram. In the end it was the very full cut of the skirt which came to my rescue. I backed up to the door and fumbled the back up over my bottom, grabbed the hip straps of my knickers and wrenched them down to my knees. Once they were there it just took a couple of wiggles and a stamp of each foot to coax them the rest of the way. I looked around me and no-one had noticed, so a quick lift of each foot, being careful not to tangle my heels, and they were off. I stuffed them in my bag and rang the bell. My heart was hammering away and I just wanted to get in off the street.

  “Yes?” Ben’s voice was tinny on the intercom.

  “It’s me, Emma. Can I come in now?”

  “Have you taken off what I required you to?” Infuriatingly calm.

  “Yes, yes!”

  “Tights as well?”

  “No! I’ve got stockings on. Please Ben!”

  The buzzer went and I piled into the hall in just the shaken and flustered state he had wanted. He was standing a few feet away and smiling.

  “Stockings! How very sensible for a modern girl, well done!”

  He turned and went into the lounge; I followed.

  “Kneel down here in front of my chair, Emma.” He had settled himself in a big leather armchair, a glass of wine at his side and a cigar burning in the ashtray. I squared my shoulders and did as I was told. I knew I was being tested but was determined to measure up to whatever was required. This was what I had wanted after all, no-one had forced me here.

  I made sure that the skirt spread out round me prettily and that he could get a good view of my cleavage, and even with the underwiring built into the cups and the velvet itself I could feel my nipples pushing out tightly. I glanced down proudly, yes he couldn’t fail to notice the little peaks.

  “Now then. Here are my rules. Whenever you come here, from the moment you enter the door you will be at my command. You will call me ‘Sir’ at all times. You will not speak unless spoken to or unless you ask my permission. Under your clothes you will be properly undressed. I have no time for fumbling with feminine fripperies. Clear?”

  “Yes B… yes, sir.”

  “Good girl.” Even that most patronising of compliments made my heart swell with pride. I was going to be good for him.

  “Whether I require you to be naked or to retain stockings and/or shoes, or restraints you will accept my instructions without demur and at all times keep your eyes modestly cast down. You will leave your name behind you when you enter. I will refer to you simply as ‘K’…”

  I was so startled I looked up quickly from his expensive, handmade brogues at which I had been gazing while trying to absorb these outrageous ‘rules’.

  He met my eyes and smiled again. “That will be added to your first punishment.”

  My stomach lurched and melted all at the same time. I looked down again quickly.

  “My first slave was ‘A’, so from that you may deduce the experience of the master into whose hands you have placed yourself. You will notice that I have a glass of wine, I will not indulge in anything stronger during a session with you, you have my word on that, K. You however, will not be allowed any alcohol at all; it is not fitting that a slave should have her senses dulled in any way. She must be fully aware of what i
s required of her and experience fully whatever her master wishes her to. Especially when she is beaten.”

  I had been kneeling back on my heels with my legs together and had become increasingly aware of the moist heat building down there. But at the word ‘beaten’ something seemed to turn it up another notch and I drew in my breath at the sheer strength of the surge.

  Ben must have known because he leaned forward and cupped a breast in one large hand. I moaned in pleasure at the pressure against the nipple.

  “Now K, stand up and let’s see what you have to offer your master.”

  Proudly I stood up, unzipped the dress and stepped out of it. He allowed me to retain stockings suspenders and shoes. For a man who had, at his own admission been dreaming of having me, Ben had done a hell of a job in keeping cool and in command. Okay, I thought, let’s see how he does when the goods are on display.

  It was no contest.

  If I had been expecting him to crumble before my blatant nudity, take me in his arms and have me there and then. I was sadly disappointed.

  He walked round me slowly while I fixed my eyes on a patch of carpet and tried to control my heartbeat and wildly fluttering vagina. In his suit he seemed to tower over me and made me feel deliciously vulnerable. At last he stopped in front of me and took both breasts in his hands. He stroked them, cupped them, weighed them, rubbed at the nipples till I closed my eyes and nearly lost my balance, at which point he held the nipples hard and twisted them. The sharp pain brought me back to my senses, and then I gasped in shock as he gently slapped the breasts themselves, left and then right; again and again, making them swing across my chest and judder under the blows. It was not an unpleasant feeling, and as I watched those intimate parts of my femininity being so casually treated for a man’s pleasure I felt they made an intensely erotic display and that helped me keep my hands by my sides and let him play with me. Again I moaned as a fresh flood seemed to break loose inside me. Ben laughed.

  “Good, very sensitive. And you are a sensual creature aren’t you? This is what you’ve always wanted isn’t it?”

  “Yes sir,” I breathed.

  “Over to the sofa. Lie down, raise and spread your legs, hold your knees.”

  I went over to the leather ottoman he indicated and did as I was told. The leather was so cold under my back! But I tried to ignore it and instead concentrate on the display I was being asked to make. With my legs doubled up and my hands clasped behind my knees, I knew that from where Ben now sat, just beyond my backside, he could examine my sex and even my anus. All nicely framed by the straps of the suspenders and the dark stockings. And he did, just as a doctor might. I stared at the ceiling and bit my lip when I felt him pull my labia apart so he could see my inner lips, my entrance, my clitoris…

  “Good plump lips. I like that on a girl, and good sized inner ones too, and all very wet.”

  I jerked as I felt a finger go deep inside me and then I cried out when it withdrew to wipe itself on the straining little button of my clitoris. And then something thicker invaded me, I craned my head to look down between my legs and saw his thumb sink in right up to the second knuckle but then I bucked and twisted, nearly letting go of my legs when I felt a finger stab at my anus.

  “Lie still!”

  I tried to and bit my lip harder as I felt it press, and my sphincter tighten, but he pressed again and was in. It was only the second time I had felt that weird urge to move my bowels, and tightened still further, but it was no good. He clenched finger and thumb inside me and I nearly bucked right off the sofa as I felt my rear vaginal wall gripped and squeezed. Then suddenly he withdrew again leaving me gasping and quaking. And I yelped in surprise as he then smacked both buttocks twice, hard.

  “Good,” he said, standing up and smiling down at me. Too late I realised I was looking into his eyes again and he laughed.

  “You’re going to be a delight to punish, K. An excellent body to take it and an excellently adjusted mind to accept it. Now stand up and walk to the far wall.”

  Shakily I got to my feet and again obeyed, turning when I got to the beautiful antique writing desk which stood there. He watched coolly as I approached him, acutely aware of how my breasts moved and swung as I walked. I went close to him and then stopped. He reached out and grasped my pubic hair to pull me closer and I whimpered a little as he yanked at it. I felt the cloth of his suit brush my aching nipples.

  “Now down onto all fours, on your dress.” This time I could hear his voice was throaty. At last I was going to be taken!

  He knelt behind me and I heard him unzip himself, then his hand ran down my bottom crease and into the folds of my sex, prising it open again. And then at last I felt him plunge into me. It wasn’t an exploratory shove, he was aiming for my very core and he got there. His size took me aback; I arched and yelled in abandon as he slid up and up until I felt his pelvis grind against my buttocks. And then he simply battered me into complete surrender, my arms collapsed under me as my orgasm finally exploded and I knelt with my bottom in the air as he drove me mercilessly up to the heights again. I shouted and gabbled mindlessly as the colours blinded me and my whole body whirled out of time. I never even felt him come.

  When I revived I found I was sprawled out on my dress and already Ben’s semen was leaking out onto it. Exactly what he intended of course. Roughly he grabbed my tousled hair and yanked me up to my knees. This time I had no choice but to look him in the eye.

  “Thursday night at eight o’clock you will report here.”

  I nodded as best I could.

  “I will cane you then. For now you may go.”

  Dazed and utterly humiliated I dressed. I had been prodded and poked, tested and screwed brutally, even my best dress had been soiled and now I was being thrown out. But I had passed the test! And even the humiliation of being so carelessly dismissed was made sweet by that realisation. He rang a cab while I tried to compose myself and find a way of holding my dress to hide the semen on it, and when he led me to the front door, he pointed to the coat stand in the hall. In the bottom of it stood three riding crops.

  “They’re one implement of our craft which can be openly displayed K. But it will be the cane for you on Thursday, after that we’ll see. Then he opened the door, took my hand, kissed it, and was gone.

  And so I became simply ‘K’. And I liked it, yes it made me excitingly depersonalised - just a female body with no name - but it still sounded like a name nonetheless. The experience of existing for Ben as just a nameless body for his use and pleasure I found intensely arousing. Even at work or wherever I was I became very aware of my body. I was proud of it, really proud of it for the first time. I stood up straighter, I started wearing smart, tight fitting clothes even when I was just working on my laptop at home. And I even began walking more self-consciously… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

  After that night there were two endless days of combined terror and excitement before the big night came! I put on cream holdup stockings. Why? I just did. I knew he liked suspenders so was I deliberately inviting trouble by not wearing them or was it just that I thought they suited me? There was no question of knickers so I showered as close to the time I had to leave as possible, and gave my bush a quick trim as well as a good squirt of scent, hissing through my teeth at the ferocious stinging that always set up, then a crisp white blouse and my cream linen suit on top. The skirt was just long enough to cover the stocking tops - but only just. Still I wasn’t going to be wearing it for long. I did a twirl in front of the mirror and thought I looked pretty good.

  We women really are creatures of vanity. I was going to get a real caning, and I wanted to look my best for it.

  Again I was flustered and unsure of myself when I rang his bell. There was a pause, then my heart skipped a beat.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Emma… I mean K!… Sir!” Damn! Off
to a good start. The door buzzed and I went in. Ben was waiting for me, dressed in a blue silk dressing gown which he wore like an old fashioned smoking jacket, since under it he had his trousers on, but he was barefooted I noticed as I carefully fixed my eyes downwards. Without a word he turned and went into the lounge. I supposed I was meant to follow and did so. I found him in his chair again. He pointed to the middle of the floor and told me to strip. I could feel his eyes boring into me as I fumbled with jacket, blouse, bra and finally skirt.

  “Hands on top of your head, legs apart … further. That’s right. It’s Position One, K. Learn it.”

  “Yes sir.”

  He walked round me and then stood close behind me. “Look at the sofa.”

  Oh God! There it was. The cane! Lying on the leather cushions, long, smooth and terrifying. I think I moaned when I saw it just lying there waiting for me to bend over. I didn’t think I could last much longer, I just wanted to get it over and done with but Ben wanted to torment me some more. He asked me if I had had a ‘safe word’ with Martin, I told him I didn’t know what one was. He explained the idea and then to my dismay, dismissed it in my case.

  “Firstly I am very experienced, and secondly, I don’t think you want one. I think you want me to take complete charge of you, you want to trust me. You may answer.”

  My mouth was dry and my legs trembled. I didn’t want this! I didn’t want decisions but he was waiting.

  “I want whatever you want, sir,” I managed. ‘Oh just get it over with,’ I was begging him mentally.