The Basement

Alison arrived at my door at 7:30 sharp, exactly as instructed. I could feel the bite of the chilly October air as she brushed past me and slipped out of her jacket. I could tell the lurid email I'd sent her at lunch had had the desired effect: she was wearing a push-up bra and an exceedingly low-cut top--the sort of top she'd never wear if she expected anyone but me to see it. And she was carrying her riding crop, just like I told her to.

I gave her a long kiss, while I guided her backwards, until her back was pressed against the door. I reached over to grab the handcuffs I'd stashed next to the door and slipped them onto her wrists. I slipped a blindfold over her eyes. Taking her hand, I led her across the living room.

The email had hinted that I'd be taking charge tonight, so Alison showed little surprise and offered no resistance. I led her across the dining room and through the kitchen to the stairs. Carefully, I guided her down the stairs to the basement, and led her to the far side of the room. I kissed her urgently, while I slipped off her shirt and her bra. Getting the shirt off required removing the handcuffs, but once the shirt was out of the way, I jerked her arms toward the ceiling, from which was suspended a second pair of handcuffs. She let out a little gasp of surprise as she found herself suddenly exposed and helpless.

I stepped back to admire my handiwork. I'd lit a dozen candles around the periphery of the room to give the basement a dungeon-like atmosphere, and the candlelight accentuated the pale color of her breasts. She looked deliciously vulnerable, her nipples hardening in the cool basement air, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. She knew I would hurt her, and she knew she would enjoy it too much to object.

I began to tease her. Lightly caressing her shoulders and back with my fingertips and my lips. I began planting firmer kisses on her body, working my way down her back, then around to her front and back up again. I nibbled the undersides of her breasts lightly, eliciting a soft moan, but then worked my way up between her breasts without touching her nipples.

When I got to her mouth, she kissed me hungrily. The handcuffs prevented her from clutching at me, but the urgency of her kisses made it clear that she wanted me to get on with it. I indulged her for a few seconds and then drew away, leaving her leaning toward me needily.

I picked up the riding crop, and walked around behind her again, admiring the smooth, pale skin of her back. I began lightly brushing her back with the riding crop, watching as her body jumped slightly with each touch. Then I began striking her lightly with it, eliciting a soft moan with each stroke.

As I gradually increased the force of the blows, Alison's moans became lounder, and I began to hear a note of pain in her cries. She began squirming to evade the blows, but with her hands tethered above her head and her blindfold firmly attached, she could neither predict when the next blow would fall nor evade it.

As I continued to strike her, the moans began to resemble sobs. She began squirming in earnest, her back arched and twisted to one side. Each stroke was leaving an angry red mark on her back now. The smooth, pale skin had been transformed into a patchwork of red lines. Finally, when it seemed like she'd reached the limits of her endurance, I let the riding crop fall to the floor.

I walked around to her front and took her trembling body in my arms. Alison pressed into me, and her knees seemed to buckle--part of her weight was supported by the 2-by-4s on the ceilling, the rest by me. Her lips found mine and she kissed me desperately.

As I held her tight, I whispered into her ear that she was a good girl. Good girls deserve to be rewarded, I said, and I intended to reward her by making her body feel good all over. She moaned her approval as I sank to my knees and took a nipple into my mouth.