Claire Thompson - Tracy in chains

"We meet at last," he said, smiling at her as he drove. He had cute dimples in either cheek that delighted her. They hadn't shown in his picture. Feeling excited, but nervous, Tracy chattered about Houston traffic, the horrible humid weather, where he had to turn, what lane he should be in, and when his return flight was. Underneath her chatter, inside her head, a little voice was chanting, "Oh my god, oh my god, he's here. He's here. I can't believe he's here. Oh my god, he's here."

Paul took a hand off the wheel and put it on her thigh. His hand was large and firm, and Tracy felt a pulse of current run from his fingers to her leg, through the thin fabric of her dress. He pushed the dress up slightly, placing his warm hand on her cool flesh.

"Shh," he whispered, still smiling. "It's me, Tracy. You already know me. Better than anyone ever has. It's just me, and I'm not going anywhere."

Tracy calmed, and the voices stilled. She focused on his beautiful hand on her thigh, and sat back. She recalled something he said recently, during one of their endless phone calls. He told her he had never felt so committed to someone before, and how strange it was, since they hadn't even met yet. "I've always kept my bags packed, figuratively speaking," he told her. "I've always held something back. I've never been able to share of myself the way I can with you. I can tell you anything, and you're still there for me. I've never felt so trusted, so safe with anyone. Tracy, I feel like I could leave my shoes under your bed, if you know what I mean. Unpack the bags and put them away. No getaway plan, no escape routes. All I want is to be where you are."

When they entered the motel room, Paul dropped his duffel, and took Tracy's purse from her shoulder, then took her in his arms. He kissed her, roughly this time, no witnesses. When he let her go, she still had her head back, her eyes closed, her mouth still open like a little bird's, waiting for more of those wonderful kisses.

Instead he said, his voice hard and sexy, "Are you ready, Tracy? Because this isn't a game anymore. I'm here now. This isn't an online fantasy, angel. This is real; just you and me. Are you ready for it?"

Tracy nodded, opening large blue eyes to stare at the man of her dreams.

"Good. Because after this minute, there's no going back. There won't be any, 'no stop, stop, wait I was only kidding, I made a mistake'. There's no coy girl thing of, 'oh, Paul, I just can't do that!' You will not stop until I tell you to stop, and you will not disobey me in any way, shape or form. You belong to me. We both know that. Now's your chance, Tracy, to prove it. I don't demand perfection. I wouldn't expect it. What I do demand is obedience, and honesty.

"You can still back out, Tracy. We can go get a bite to eat and discuss the sights of Houston, or the theory of relativity, or whatever you want to talk about. I'm serious about that, sweet girl. You are under no obligation to stay. But if you stay," he paused and put his hand on the back of her head, pulling her toward him. "If you stay, from this moment on, you are mine." He paused, his dark eyes intent upon her.

"If you wish to stay, kneel down on the floor in front of me."

Tracy knelt, her knees sinking gracefully to the thick carpet. Her heart was clamoring in her chest, but she was breathing deeply, feeling the net of submission fall over her like a bridal veil. It was happening at last. It was happening, and she was ready.

"Raise your arms so I can take that dress off," Paul ordered, and Tracy did as he said. She waited a moment, expecting him, as men always had in the past, to admire her full round breasts, raised up prettily for him in the pink satin. But all he said was, "Take that thing off."

A little flustered, but determined to obey, she did so, and at once her dark pink nipples sprang to attention under his appraising gaze. He knelt in front of her, taking her full breast in his hands, feeling the heft of them, kissing her mouth lightly as he did so. Bending over her, he took one stiff nipple into his mouth and pulled and bit it, leaving it shiny and impossibly pointed from his kiss. He did the same with the other.

He stood and took off his shirt, revealing a muscled chest, with curly dark hair in a Y up his sternum. Tracy devoured him with her eyes, but he didn't seem to notice. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to stay kneeling, but since he hadn't said anything, she stayed put.

Paul went to his duffel and pulled out a small whip with lots of little tresses hanging from what looked like a small billy club wrapped in soft black leather. It was nothing like that frightening single lashed bullwhip Guy had produced those many months ago, but it looked ominous enough, and Tracy involuntarily drew in her breath.

Paul came around to the front of her and without further ado, he unzipped his jeans and pulled aside black bikini underwear to reveal an already erect penis; not huge like Kyle's, or small like Guy's, but just right, Tracy thought with an inward smile.

When he proffered it to his slave girl, she took it willingly, eagerly, into her mouth. The flesh was hot and smooth, and Paul pulled her head toward him, forcing her to take it in deep. She felt the lash of the whip before she realized what was happening. It fell with a thud against her back. Tracy flinched and jerked with Paul's cock still stuffed in her mouth, but he didn't let her move.

Again the whip fell and she jumped, still held impaled against his cock. She was having trouble breathing, both because of his cock lodged so far back in her throat, and because of the the thrill of fear each lash of the whip generated in her. Before she began to struggle in earnest against him, Paul released her, pulling her up onto the bed.

He was on top of her, kissing her mouth, her face, her neck, his hands roaming over her bare flesh, teasing her to a frenzy of desire. His mouth drank her in, his own longing spilling out over her, making them both sigh and moan. She felt herself completely surrendering to his lovely onslaught, when suddenly it was gone.

Opening her eyes, Tracy saw Paul standing up over her, now completely naked, his penis bobbing and glistening, his belly smooth and firm. "Get up, cunt," he ordered her, his voice husky and filled with the promise of something dangerous.

On wobbly legs, Tracy stood, also naked, eyes bright and lips slightly parted. Firmly he took her by the arm and led her to the small open closet, where a single thick rod of metal held a number of wooden hangers. Sweeping them aside, Paul said, "Grab this bar and hold it. Spread your legs as far apart as you can. And don't move."

Tracy obeyed, gripping the cold hard metal bar, which was placed so high, she had to stand on tiptoe to reach it. She spread her legs and closed her eyes, waiting for what she knew must be her first real whipping. She wanted it so badly, she felt faint with a delicious combination of fear and aching desire.

Paul returned to her and slipped black leather cuffs around each wrist, securing them with a clip. They were shiny black, and still a little stiff from being brand new, having been purchased just for Tracy. He slipped a small piece of sturdy chain over the bar and using the clips from each cuff, chained Tracy to the bar.

A flick with his toe at her ankles forced her feet further apart. She felt his hand between her legs, his long fingers tugging gently at her labia. She was so wet her thighs were damp with her own moisture.

"I'm going to whip you now, slave girl. I'm going to start slowly, and take my time. I'm not going to stop when you're ready for me to stop. I'm going to stop when I'm ready to stop. Do you understand?"

Tracy nodded, her eyes closed, her head leaning back so that her dark hair streamed down her back. "Kiss me," he commanded, taking her face in his hand, pulling her head back and gently biting her mouth. Tracy kissed him back, her ardent need for what he was giving her expressed in the passion of that heated, needy kiss.