From anakha@clara.net Sun May 04 11:30:00 1997

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From: anakha@clara.net (anakha)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

Subject: Best Of The Net: REPOST - First Meeting 1/2 (cons, MF, MDom, Fsub, bd, sm)

Date: Sun, 04 May 1997 15:30:00 GMT

Organization: ClaraNet

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************************************************************************************

Hi,



I have been downloading stuff from Usenet for some time and haven't

really been putting an awful lot back so I decided it was time to

repost the stuff I have.



There are a number of reasons for this. Firstly it is for those who

have only started using Usenet since the stories I have were

originally posted, secondly for those who may simply have missed them

first time round and lastly my contribution to fighting the ever

increasing spam which now saturates all of the sex newsgroups.



The vast majority of the stories I post will be plain bondage

orientated with a few subfem & femdom ones thrown in. Anything a

little stronger in terms of s&m isn't really my scene so there won't

be much like that. Also please note I am NOT the author of any of the

stories so the copyright notices of ALL of the original authors still

apply.



I hope you enjoy whatever I do post.



Bye for now. 



Anakha

*************************************************************************************

DISCLAIMERS:

This story is written for an adult audience and contains graphic

language and explicit sexual material.  If you are underage, if it is

illegal for you to possess such material in the jurisdiction in which

you are reading this, or if adult sexuality of this type offends you,

STOP READING NOW!



This story is a work of fiction.  Other than as specifically explained

in the author's notes below, any resemblance to any person, real or

fictitious, living or dead, is purely coincidental and unintended.



COPYRIGHT NOTICE:

Copyright [C-in-a-Circle Copyright Symbol] 1996, by MountainTop

Productions. The material contained herein is intended for the

personal use of the reader.  Permission is hereby granted for

duplication, without additions, changes, or omissions, for personal,

non-profit use, provided that the entire contents of the disclaimers,

copyright notice, and author's notes are included in the duplicated

complete work or, if the work is segmented as part of the duplication,

in each duplicated segment.  All other rights are reserved, and making

copies of this material or any portion thereof in any form for any

purpose other than that for which permission has been granted is a

violation of United States copyright laws.  Permission for other uses

may be granted, particularly if they will result in revenue to the

author.



AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This story is a fictionalized account of the author's initial

cyber-contacts and subsequent first real-time meeting with a

submissive female.  Names, dates, and places have been changed for the

obvious reasons, but most of the first part is historically accurate

and the remainder of the first-meeting scenario, while differing in

details for literary reasons, essentially describes what actually

happened.  Aside from reflecting the author's personal philosophy with

regard to D/s and BDSM, all other aspects of the characters of Robert

and Lisa, and their activities as depicted in this work, are

completely fictitious. 



E-mail comments and feedback to Topspace4@aol.com are welcome,

particularly from submissive female readers who are willing to discuss

their reactions to the story itself and the narrator's point of view

as expressed in the story.

	***** ***** ***** *****

	First Meeting

	by MountainTop

	***** *****

	"Now what?" I thought to myself.  "Am I really ready for this?"

	Emotionally, there was no doubt.  The way I instantly responded to

his e-mail offering to meet made that crystal clear.  But the rational

side of my brain had reservations.

	Despite my fantasies, which had evolved into a need that was at

times almost gut-wrenching in its intensity, was I really ready to

submit to a total stranger, a man I'd never met, never even talked to

except through cyberspace?  Was I ready to take that risk?

	All right, I told my rational self, let's review the bidding.  I

started writing that fantasy about a submissive female, and I posted

the first chapter, and this guy Robert sent me a complimentary message

about it and asked if I would read something he had.  He wanted my

opinion, he said, because his story's narrator, the viewpoint

character, was also a submissive female.  So I said, sure, why not,

and back came the first few chapters of this incredibly erotic story

that punched every sexual fantasy button I've got and made me so hot I

almost couldn't stand it.  It even pushed buttons I hadn't known I

had!

	I picked a grammar nit in the first chapter, but after that I got

so into his story that the only feedback I gave him was how hot it

made me to read it.  I guess I first cracked open the lid to this

Pandora's Box I've created for myself when I told Robert I was

frustrated because I wanted to try some things but my hubby wasn't

interested in BDSM.  All he did was commiserate with me; he never sent

a wanna or anything else to suggest he had any real-life interest in a

meeting.

	I can't honestly say that Robert's story was the driving

influence, but there's no question that it contributed to my having

that first-ever session with a supposed dominant.  What a fiasco!  I

really hadn't known what would happen, and my expectations certainly

weren't very high, but it was so disappointing!  Not only did this

Îdom' not really work me over, it was a totally asexual experience.

There I was, all psyched up for major pleasure, and he didn't even

suck my nipples, much less anything else.

	That session was a real bummer, and I told Robert what had

happened (or, more to the point, what hadn't happened) in my next

message to him.  I pushed the lid open quite a bit more when I told

him again how much I loved his story and that I really wished I could

experience some of what was in it.  His reply arrived while I was

online a couple of days later, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.

"You can," he wrote, "have some of those experiences.  I know what you

want and need . . . so pick a Saturday and state your limits."

	My heart went into adrenaline overdrive.  Yes, I thought, he

probably does know.  He's read what I wrote, and I've certainly told

him how I've reacted to what he sent me.  So I kicked that lid wide

open, kicked it so hard it almost came off its hinges, and my fingers

flew over the keyboard.  "Really???" I shot back.  "That would be

great!  I'll let you know  . . ."

	It was only after I'd sent that response that my rational part got

into it.  "You don't know anything about this guy," it whispered to

me.  "He could be a real nut case.  Are you really going to let him

tie you up and torture you and fuck you six ways from Sunday?  That's

pretty much what you offered, you know."

	"Not really," my emotional side countered.  "I left myself an out,

I only told him I'd let him know about when . . . and besides, I think

I do know some things about him."

	"Like what?"

	"Well, I've read what he's written, and even though it gets me all

cranked up it reads like a sane, responsible approach to domming and

topping.  I guess I'm willing to assume that he's written his own

personal philosophy."

	"What about the sex part?  You're married, remember?"

	"He did say something about limits.  He knows I'm a BDSM novice,

maybe I should just tell him that I don't know what limits to set and

ask him to suggest some.  That might give a clue as to where he's

coming from."

	"There's no guarantee he'll respect any limits once he's got you

tied down and helpless," my rational brain warned.

	"True, but let's see what he says and then decide."

	*****

	So I sent off my request, and he responded the next day.  "I'm

glad you asked," he wrote back.  "There are three kinds of limits.  I

know you're new at this, and I don't mean to be pedantic, and I

certainly don't want to scare you, or turn you off, but we ought to

agree on these things before we get into play time.  I take my Dom/Top

responsibilities seriously, and I want you to enjoy our first session

together."

	"So far, so good," my rational part commented.  "But then again,

he hasn't really said anything yet."

	"There's more to his message," my emotions retorted tartly.  "Let

him finish before you critique, ok?"

	"The first set of limits," Robert's message continued, "controls

the not-directly-sexual bd/ds/sm play.  I know you don't want just a

casual walk in the park, you want a more intense experience, but this

will be our first meeting and I don't know how you'll react to

different things.  So I propose the following limits in this area: (1)

No marks visible at the end of the session; (2) Use of safewords (I

suggest the green-yellow-red-blue color-code scheme); (3) No

blindfolding (to avoid panic and so I can watch your eyes); (4) No

gags (to permit dialog and use of safewords); and (5) All restraints

to be of the quick-release type."

	"Sounds pretty vanilla," my emotional side grumbled.  "How can it

be intense with those limitations?"

	"I'm sure he has that covered," my rational side responded.  "He'd

probably say something about creativity and ingenuity."

	"The reason for having safewords," I read, "is simple.  You will,

believe me, be saying things like ÎPlease don't' and ÎOowww, I can't

take any more' and ÎPlease stop that'.  I have to have an unambiguous

way of knowing when you're just into the play and when you really mean

it.  I don't want to disappoint you by stopping too soon, but I don't

want to push you too far, either."

	That makes sense, I thought to myself.  Robert knows what I want,

but he can't  possibly know how much, and everything he's written

tells me he's more likely to be too cautious than too extreme.

	"The second set of limits," Robert's e-mail went on, "is those on

overt sexual activity.  I assert, but cannot prove, that I have no

STDs, have tested HIV-negative, and had a vasectomy twelve years ago. 

Nevertheless, for our first meeting, I propose to limit myself to

hands, toys, and mouth, which rules out penile penetration of either

vagina or anus.  If I require you to perform oral sex during this

first session, I will leave you the option of not having me cum in

your mouth."

	"That's a relief," my emotional side signaled.  "I guess I was a

little concerned about the sex part after all.  But he's proposed a

no-fuck rule, which I know is right even though I'll probably wish it

were otherwise when I'm with him, and I can accept those other

activities without feeling guilty."

	"Yes," my rational part agreed, "if he'll stick to them.  But

what's the third category of limits?  I can't think of any other areas

to cover."

	It was the final paragraph of Robert's message that finally

convinced the rational me to go ahead and meet him.  "The most

important limit of all is time.  The sine qua non essential ingredient

of any D/s relationship is trust, and that includes the sub not having

to worry about her ultimate safety and well-being.  So set a

reasonable time limit for the session, perhaps three or four hours so

we don't have to rush things. If it will make you more comfortable,

tell someone you know and trust that you'll be calling at a certain

time.  Tell that person what code word or phrase you'll say to let

them know you're ok, and where you are and what to do if you don't

call or don't say that code.  If you decide to set something like this

up, the only thing I want to know about those arrangements is what

time you have to make the call."

	*****

	I sent Robert a return e-mail suggesting the Saturday after

Memorial Day.  I told him I would meet him at seven-thirty and that I

had to make my call by eleven.  He wrote back a couple of days later.

He gave me his last name and told me to come to the local Embassy

Suites hotel and call him on the house phone when I arrived.

	As the date got closer, I was an edgy combination of anticipation

and trepidation.  I really wanted an extraordinary experience, but,

having made it clear I wanted to be abused, I was also a little

nervous about what he might do to me.

	Finally, the day arrived.  I had a pretty good idea from his story

of what he would want me to wear, so I tried to get as close to that

as I could with what I had.  The only thing I had gone out and bought

was a pair of black thigh-hi stockings; my pumps with three-inch heels

and the other clothes I already owned would have to do.  Late in the

afternoon, I took a long, relaxing bubble bath, shaved all the

appropriate places, got dressed, and had a light snack.  The

butterflies were fluttering around in my tummy, so I was careful about

what I ate.  I had told my husband I would be out for the evening with

a friend, and he had agreed to stay home with our daughter without

asking any embarrassing questions.

	I could feel myself getting more and more tense as I drove to the

hotel where Robert was staying.  By the time I had parked the car and

walked into the lobby I could barely keep from visibly shaking.  I

picked up the house phone and asked for his room, and a few seconds

later a deep voice answered, "Hello?"

	"I'm here," I said breathlessly.

	"I'll be right down," he responded, and I hung up the phone.  My

hand really was shaking at that point.  I turned to face the

elevators, and a minute or so later an older man came walking toward

me.  I felt a surge of excitement as I saw he was carrying a single

perfect red rose. He had asked, in one of his e-mail messages, if I

had read far enough in his story to have encountered a specific

character, and now I knew why. 

The physical description of that character in his story matched, as I

had hoped it would, Robert's actual appearance.

	He walked up to me and said, quietly and confidently, "Good

evening, lovely lady.  It's both an honor and a pleasure to meet you

in person."  He handed me the rose, which I took with trembling

fingers.

	"Thank you," I replied, and he immediately sensed my nervousness.

	"There's no hurry," he said casually.  "Would you like something

to help you relax?  A glass of wine, perhaps?  Do you like champagne?"

	"I guess I am a little anxious," I told him.  "That would be very

nice.  And I do like champagne."

	He made a slight bow, then offered me his arm, which I took, and

we walked slowly toward the lounge.  The room was uncrowded, and he

guided me to one of the banquette-style booths along the back wall.

He handed me into one side of the booth, then slid in from the other

side.  He sat close to me, but not touching, and I was unsurprised

when the waitress approached and he simply said, "The Dom, please."

It was perfectly in character, based on his writing, for him to have

made some preliminary advance arrangements, and I felt a warm glow of

relief pass through me. If he was this much like what he had written,

I told myself, I really had no reason to worry.

	*****

	The waitress returned carrying a bottle of Dom Perignon and two

champagne tulips.  She was followed by two other servers, one carrying

an ice bucket for the wine and the other bearing two dessert plates

and a small bowl of plump, ripe strawberries.  The wine was excellent,

and I said so.  He smiled and said that, in addition to the

appropriateness of the name, cheap champagne always gave him a

headache.  The berries were a wonderful accompaniment, sweet and

juicy; more than once I had to grab for a napkin as the juice ran down

my chin.  We laughed, about that and other things, and after a half

hour of small talk I was completely comfortable in his company.

	He brought me back to the purpose of our meeting when he lifted

his glass in my direction and said, "Carpe diem.  Are you ready to go

upstairs?"

	My heart fluttered, but I nodded yes without speaking.  He sipped

his champagne, of which he had drunk only sparingly; I had had more

than he did.  Then he looked closely at me and said, "There are two

more items before we go.  First, I think it might be a good idea for

me to avoid using your real name while you're in sub space.  Is there

a name you would like to be called?  You named the woman in your story

ÎAlison'; would that name suit you?"

	I almost giggled out loud when he used the phrase Îsub space'; I

had flashed immediately to Star Trek.  Then, as he continued, I

understood what he meant, and paused to seriously consider his

question.  It was time to begin turning my fantasies into reality, and

I thought about how I had identified with the female character

narrating his story.  So after a few moments I answered, very quietly,

"It won't bother me if you use my real name.  But, if you insist that

I choose another name, then if it would please you, I would like to be

called ÎKaren'."

	"I don't insist," he responded gravely, "and I know you will

fulfill her destiny.  Now the second matter - do you understand the

safeword system we will be using?"

	"I think so," I told him.  "Green means I want more, or more

intensely, whatever you are doing.  Yellow means no more intensity,

keep it at the current level.  Red means stop whatever you're doing,

at least for a while, and blue means stop the entire session, stop

everything immediately."

	"You've got it exactly right," he said.  "Shall we go find lots of

green?"

	I was truly ready then, all doubts and reservations put to rest. 

"To borrow a phrase from your story," I told him, "what are we waiting

for?"

	*****

	Aside from my arm through his while walking, and his helping me

into and out of the booth, Robert hadn't touched me except for his

eyes. He had watched me appraisingly, and looked me up and down in a

curious, non-leering way, but that was all.  As we stood in the

elevator, though, that started to change.  His gaze became frankly

appreciative, and he took both my hands firmly in his right hand and

slid his left across my leather skirt-covered behind.  I felt a small

tingle of anticipation, and I pushed my backside firmly into his hand.

He smiled again, then dropped his hands to his sides as the elevator

came to a stop.  He had promised me total discretion, and he

apparently meant it; there was no way to know who might

be on the other side of those doors when they opened.  It was another

nail in the coffin of wariness; he was doing a very good job of

gaining my complete trust and confidence.

	As it turned out, the elevator opened onto an empty hallway, and

Robert led me down the corridor to the door to his suite.  He quickly

but calmly unlocked the door and gestured for me to precede him, then

turned and double-locked the door after we were inside.  He took me

over to a chair with wooden arms and an upholstered seat that was

standing in the middle of the suite's living room, had me face the

chair, and said, quietly but with an unmistakable air of authority,

"Bend over and put your hands on the chair arms."

	I complied immediately, and he slid his hand up my nylon-covered

thighs and under the short black leather skirt.  When he reached the

tops of the thigh-hi's, he stopped, said, "Very good, Lisa," and

lifted my skirt up around my waist.  He ran his hand slowly over my

panty-covered ass cheeks, squeezing gently through the black silk

bikini.  When he didn't say anything, I knew he was disappointed, and

I felt badly about that.  I had known he'd prefer a thong, but I

didn't own any.  Then I smiled inwardly as I realized the implications

of that thought.  Here I was, bent over but completely unrestrained

except for his command, and I was feeling badly that I hadn't met his

expectations.  I was entering sub space, that was for sure.

	My attention snapped back to what he was doing when he pulled my

bikini panties down around my ankles.  He had me step out of them and

then spread my legs farther apart, putting about two feet of space

between my feet.  He put his right hand in the small of my back, and

as he lightly caressed my now-naked ass he asked quietly, "Do you

bruise easily, Lisa?"

	Oh, God, I thought frantically, he's going to spank me for not

wearing the right underwear.  "No, Master," I answered, and I could

hear the quaver in my voice.

	"Very well," he said, and his hand slapped down right in the

middle of my left ass cheek.

	"Ohhhh," I squeaked.  He hadn't hit me that hard, but it did sting

a little.  He didn't say anything, he just repeated that action on the

other cheek.  He kept going, alternating sides, gradually increasing

the strength of his swats.  After the fourth or fifth swat, I was

panting out a little "Oooohhhh" after each one, and I could feel my

behind getting warm as the smarting increased from the repeated blows.

By the time he had given me a total of twenty, ten on each side, I was

close to tears, but I noted, in that hidden-away corner of my mind,

that I had kept hold of the chair arms and I was actually thrusting my

butt backwards to meet his spanks.

	After the last swat, he ran his fingertips gently over my ass

cheeks, then slid his hand down along my crack and between my legs to

the bottom of my pussy slit.  He probed gently upward, and I felt his

finger slide through wetness.  Amazing, came the thought from that

hidden corner, and the main part of my brain enthusiastically agreed.

Despite all my fantasizing, I hadn't really known if I would react

that way to the real thing.

	He leaned over next to my ear and whispered, "Do you know why I

punished you, Lisa?"

	"Yes, Master," I replied.  "I was not wearing appropriate

underwear."

	"That's right," he confirmed.  "None at all would have been

better."

	"You won't be happy with my bra, either," I blurted out, then hung

my head in submission.

	"Really?" he replied with a chuckle.  "Let's see.  Stand up and

remove your skirt and blouse."

	He stood back, arms folded across his chest, as I straightened up

and unbuttoned my blouse.  I slipped it off, revealing my best black

push-up bra, then unfastened my skirt, let it drop to the floor, and

stepped out of it to stand directly in front of him.  He looked down

at my chest, raised his eyebrows, and said, quietly but firmly,

"You're right, it's unacceptable.  Take it off."

	"Yes, Master," I responded, and reached behind my back to unhook

it.  I let the straps slide down my arms, then tossed it behind me on

top of the skirt.  I lifted my chest, almost daring him to say

something uncomplimentary about my twin beauties.  I may have had the

wrong bra, I thought defiantly, but I've got the right tits, firm and

round and tipped with wonderfully sensitive nipples.

	As Robert reached into a black rectangular case sitting on the

floor, the kind airline pilots use, he said, "Put your hands out in

front of you."  I raised my arms, and he brought out two black leather

wrist cuffs.  He fastened them around my wrists, then said, "Hands

behind your back."  I complied and he showed me an openable link of

chain that could be screwed shut, then used it to hook the cuffs

closely together.

	After he finished hooking my wrists together he stood silently in

front of me, moving his eyes between my face and my breasts.  As the

silence stretched, I got fidgety, shifting my weight from one leg to

the other.  I knew he was going to do something to my breasts, and I

wanted him to just get on with it.

	"Stand still!" he commanded.  I stopped moving, and he continued,

"What am I going to do, Lisa, and why?"

	"You are going to punish my breasts, Master, because I was wearing

an unacceptable bra."  My response was not just part of a script; by

that point I really was the Karen of his story, and I knew what he

wanted, and I wanted to please him. 

	"Yes, that's right. I can see I'm going to have to take you

shopping."  He reached out and gently stroked the fullness of my right

breast, then slid his thumb back and forth over the nipple.  It had

been semi-erect ever since the spanking; now it stood up to full

attention in response to his touch.  My other nipple popped up without

being touched at all, and I felt another tingle in my loins.

	He reached again into his case, took out a handful of rubber

bands, and slipped them over his wrist.  Then he grasped my breast

firmly and slid the bands, one by one, back over his wrist and hand

and over my breast to the chest wall.  The first one had almost no

effect, in fact it didn't really want to stay in place, but the

cumulative effect of several of them was considerable.  The base of my

breast was compressed to a smaller and smaller diameter as more bands

were added, and the globe itself became harder and more sensitive as

its base was constricted.

	He banded my other breast the same way, and I could feel the

pressure building inside them from the blood trapped by the bands.

They were starting to change color, and I almost jumped when he ran

his fingers over their now highly-sensitive surfaces.

	He captured each engorged nipple between a thumb and the side of a

forefinger, holding them lightly, and asked, "Are you wearing anything

else that you think I'll find unacceptable, Lisa?"

	"Yes, Master, my shoes," I replied.

	"What is unacceptable about your shoes, Lisa?"

	"The heels are too low for your pleasure, Master," I whispered.

 	"Don't scream," he warned me.  "Use your safewords if you have

to."  Then he slowly started squeezing my nipples between his thumbs

and fingers.  At first it was just pressure, steadily increasing, but

in fewer than fifteen seconds the pressure turned to pain.  The hurt

climbed steadily as he kept increasing the pressure, from a mild

discomfort to twin spikes of agony; my wrists tugged at their

restraint and I rose up on my toes in a futile effort to lessen the

pain.  Just as I was trying to decide whether to say Îyellow' or

Îred', he stopped increasing the pressure, and he held the pain at

that barely-tolerable level.

	"Oooowwwww, Master, that really hurts," I moaned.

	"It's supposed to," he replied sardonically.  Then he abruptly

released my nipples, and I almost fell over from the sudden relief.

	His hands shot out instantly to steady me, and I whispered, "Thank

you, Master."

	He didn't answer in words, he just reached down and swiped his

finger through my pussy slit.  It came away glistening with wetness,

and he held it up to show me my own juices.  He sniffed at his finger,

then tasted just a drop.  "Ahhh, delicious," he said warmly.  "Do you

know what you taste like, Lisa?"

	"Not really, Master," I answered, and it was true; I had never

really tasted myself, even when masturbating.

	"Then here, taste," he said, and he moved his finger toward my

mouth.  I opened without hesitation, then closed my lips around his

finger and ran my tongue along its length.  My juices had a musky

flavor; I decided I liked it.

	When I had finished cleaning his finger, he withdrew it and then

bent his head slowly toward my left breast.  He licked lightly all

around the aureole, then took the nipple into his mouth.  He flicked

his tongue back and forth over it, then closed his lips tightly and

sucked.  With the rubber bands still in place, both the nipple and the

surrounding skin were super-sensitive, and I actually felt my clit

rise up out of its sheath as the tingle spread across my body.

	He repeated that treatment on my other breast, and as he sucked he

again ran his finger up my slit.  I groaned when he stopped just short

of my clit; I was really getting turned on.  He was playing me like a

virtuoso with a Strad, and I was starting to get eager for the final

movement of his concerto.  I realized I was trembling again, and this

time it was strictly anticipation.

	*****

Continued in Part 2 . . .







From anakha@clara.net Sun May 04 11:30:10 1997

Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-east.sprintlink.net!news-dc-26.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!feed1.news.erols.com!disgorge.news.demon.net!demon!dispatch.news.demon.net!demon!insnet.net!backpost.satin.net!eros.clara.net!news

From: anakha@clara.net (anakha)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

Subject: Best Of The Net: REPOST - First Meeting 2/2 (cons, MF, MDom, Fsub, bd, sm)

Date: Sun, 04 May 1997 15:30:10 GMT

Organization: ClaraNet

Message-ID: <5ki6md$t12@eros.clara.net>

Reply-To: anakha@cl#ara.net

NNTP-Posting-Host: du-257.clara.net

X-Newsreader: Forte Free Agent 1.0.82

Lines: 401





******************************************************************************

Hi,



I have been downloading stuff from Usenet for some time and haven't

really been putting an awful lot back so I decided it was time to

repost the stuff I have.



There are a number of reasons for this. Firstly it is for those who

have only started using Usenet since the stories I have were

originally posted, secondly for those who may simply have missed them

first time round and lastly my contribution to fighting the ever

increasing spam which now saturates all of the sex newsgroups.



The vast majority of the stories and pictures I post will be plain

bondage orientated with a few subfem & femdom ones thrown in. Anything

which contains stuff a little stronger in terms of s&m isn't really my

scene so there won't be much like that.



I hope you enjoy whatever I do post.



Bye for now. 



Anakha

***********************************************************************************



DISCLAIMERS:

This story is written for an adult audience and contains graphic

language and explicit sexual material.  If you are underage, if it is

illegal for you to possess such material in the jurisdiction in which

you are reading this, or if adult sexuality of this type offends you,

STOP READING NOW!



This story is a work of fiction.  Other than as specifically explained

in the author's notes below, any resemblance to any person, real or

fictitious, living or dead, is purely coincidental and unintended.



COPYRIGHT NOTICE:

Copyright [C-in-a-Circle Copyright Symbol] 1996, by MountainTop

Productions. The material contained herein is intended for the

personal use of the reader.  Permission is hereby granted for

duplication, without additions, changes, or omissions, for personal,

non-profit use, provided that the entire contents of the disclaimers,

copyright notice, and author's notes are included in the duplicated

complete work or, if the work is segmented as part of the duplication,

in each duplicated segment.  All other rights are reserved, and making

copies of this material or any portion thereof in any form for any

purpose other than that for which permission has been granted is a

violation of United States copyright laws.  Permission for other uses

may be granted, particularly if they will result in revenue to the

author.



AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This story is a fictionalized account of the author's initial

cyber-contacts and subsequent first real-time meeting with a

submissive female.  Names, dates, and places have been changed for the

obvious reasons, but most of the first part is historically accurate

and the remainder of the first-meeting scenario, while differing in

details for literary reasons, essentially describes what actually

happened.  Aside from reflecting the author's personal philosophy with

regard to D/s and BDSM, all other aspects of the characters of Robert

and Lisa, and their activities as depicted in this work, are

completely fictitious. 



E-mail comments and feedback to Topspace4@aol.com are welcome,

particularly from submissive female readers who are willing to discuss

their reactions to the story itself and the narrator's point of view

as expressed in the story.

	***** ***** ***** *****

Part 2 . . .

	Robert unhooked my wrists, then sat comfortably on the couch and

smoked a leisurely cigarette while I sat in front of him on the

armchair with a towel under me and removed the rubber bands from my

breasts.  He had sent me into the bathroom to get the towel, and it

was a good thing he had.  I had never before gotten so much

stimulation from touching myself, and my juices were flowing freely.

When I finished, he told me to stand up and move to the center of the

room.  He reconnected my wrists behind my back and then reached into

his case and held something up for me to see. "I assume you know what

this is," he said lightly.

	Did I ever!  It was a butt plug, a big one; what it gave up in

length it more than made up for in thickness.  It was only about five

inches long, but from the rounded end it grew to about two inches in

diameter right before the narrow neck leading to the T-shaped base.

That Robert would have a toy like that with him was absolutely no

surprise.  I had told him in one e-mail that I had a plug up my butt

while reading his story and intended to keep it in me all night, and

in another message I had asked him about dilators and anal fisting.

You wanted intense, I said to myself, well, now you'll have it!

	He reached into the case again and brought out a tube labeled

AnalEse.  "This is a water-soluble lubricant," he told me, "especially

made for this purpose.  It also contains a very mild anesthetic.  Now

bend over and grab your ankles."  I did so, but slowly; that plug was

quite a bit bigger than anything I'd used before, and I was a little

worried about whether I could take it.

	Robert lubed both the plug and his middle finger, set the plug

down, and very lightly touched his fingertip to my anal pucker.  I

made a special effort to relax; I knew his finger wouldn't be any

problem.  He waited patiently until he felt the opening ease a bit,

then thrust his finger into me abruptly.  I gasped, but he held me

steady with his other hand and I relaxed again as he worked his finger

around inside me.  I felt the familiar pleasant sensation of fullness,

and I was disappointed when he pulled his finger out.  But he

immediately picked up the plug and placed it at the point of attack,

so all I could do was try again to relax and accept it.

	He started a firm, steady pressure, and the plug slowly slid up my

ass.  I could feel myself stretching, but nothing came close to

tearing and in just a few seconds it was firmly seated.  My sphincter

closed around its neck, and I knew the plug wouldn't come out without

being pulled.  If I had felt full before, the fat plug produced a much

more stronger sensation.  I sighed softly, then straightened up at his

direction.

	"I'm going to string you up by your wrists now," Robert told me

matter-of-factly.

	I looked around the room and wondered how that was possible.  I

had as much as told him this was one of my favorite fantasies, but I

had put it out of my mind as soon as I knew we would be playing in a

hotel.  There were no ceiling hooks he could use, or anything else

that I could see.

	I followed along as he took me by the arm and led me to the

doorway between the living room and the bedroom.  When we got there, I

saw that he had used two door-stops to hold the door in position

halfway open. He unhooked my wrists, repositioned them in front of me

with the palms together, and rehooked them.  Then he stood me with my

back to the door, facing into the living room, and told me to raise my

arms up over my head.

	I did so, still mystified, and I heard two distinct clicks as he

attached a pair of double-ended snap bolts to the link holding my

wrists together.  Each snap bolt had a length of rope attached, and he

threw the ropes over the top of the door behind me.  Then he walked

around the door and I felt the ropes tighten, pulling my wrists up

until my body was fairly taut.  He wound one rope around the doorknob

on the bedroom side and knotted it, then looped the other around the

center hinge on the other edge of the door and knotted it also.

ÎBrilliant!' my rational mind whispered triumphantly.  ÎWhat did I

tell you about creativity?'

	Robert came back around the door and looked over his handiwork,

then said, "Bend your knees.  Let your arms take your weight."  I did

so, and the ropes stretched a bit, but I didn't move downward very far

at all. "Good," he said approvingly.  "You can stand up now.  I wanted

you to know that you can let yourself go without worrying about

falling and hurting yourself."

	I smiled inside at his phrasing, because I knew he intended to

hurt me himself.  Yet his demonstration of my safety was reassuring;

once again he had given me every reason to trust him.  "Thank you,

Master, for letting me know that," I told him.

	He smiled and said, "Just hang out there for a moment while I get

some things."  This time I smiled outwardly at his play on words, and

he chuckled as he walked back across the living room to his case on

the floor.  He returned carrying two unusual-looking clamps, and my

eyes widened in recognition.  He had sent me a message once in which

he told me that the clamps he had described in a particular chapter of

his story were real.  Now he had proven his statement.  He said, "You

recognize these, don't you?"

	"Yes, Master, You told me to read about them, and I did."

	"Very good," he told me.  "Now you can learn about them for real."

 He manipulated the shaft on one of them, and, just as he had

described in his story, what appeared to be solid metal was really a

series of disks held together magnetically.  He removed several of the

disks, then held the clamp out sideways and brought it to my right

nipple.  I saw the set-screw that could keep the clamp from fully

closing, but it appeared to be all the way out, and I shivered at the

thought of how that clamp was going to feel.

	He slowly allowed the clamp to close at the base of my nipple,

watching me carefully to gauge my reaction.  When I groaned and winced

at the pain, he stopped the clamp and twisted the set-screw to hold it

in that position.  When he let go of the clamp, though, it swung down,

pulled by gravity, again just as he had written, and it twisted my

nipple a quarter-turn as it did so.

	I gasped again at this additional pain, but he merely repeated the

procedure with the second clamp on my other nipple.  This time the

twist was in the opposite direction, but the result was the same.

"How do you feel?" he asked me.

	I had to think about that for a moment.  My nipples hurt, that was

a given, but I felt wetter than ever and my clit was becoming more

insistent about needing attention.  "I think my body is confused," I

finally answered.  "They hurt, but I'm really horny too."

	He reached up and let one of the disks he had removed snap onto

each of the clamps, and the added weight, though slight, was enough to

make me groan again.  "That's confused, Master," he corrected mildly.

	"Yes, Master, of course, I'm very sorry," I babbled.  He reached

down with one hand and stroked up my pussy slit, and without thinking

I thrust my pelvis forward so his finger bumped my stiff clit.

"Aaahhhhh," I moaned as the tingle in my groin intensified with the

contact.

	"Naughty, naughty," he chided, and snapped another weight onto

each clamp.  He alternated sliding his finger up my slit and over my

clit with adding more weights to the clamps, and I alternately moaned

and groaned as he did so.  By the time he got all the weights attached

I was writhing in frustration.  My body really was confused, with the

butt plug, the clamps, and my clit all sending conflicting messages,

but I was so close to cumming I could taste it, and I was sure it

would be an orgasm of monumental proportions if he would only let me

go over the top.  My last shreds of dignity went by the wayside, and I

begged shamelessly for release.

	He stood there and let me run my mouth, and when I finally

realized he wasn't going to respond to my pleading I quieted myself

and hung my head in submissive frustration.  Then he said, very

quietly, "You seem to have forgotten why you are here, so I will

remind you.  You are here for my pleasure, not yours, and you must

learn to be less selfish. Turn around and face the door."

	Oh oh, I thought, now what?  I got the answer soon enough, when he

swung his arm back and I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the tails

of a cat heading for my ass.  The heat from his earlier spanking had

all but disappeared, but even though I somehow knew he wasn't swinging

full force, the sharp stings of the cat landing across my butt made me

cry out briefly.

	"Do you have something to say?" he asked me, and I knew he was

asking if I wanted to safeword out of this predicament.  I hesitated,

mulling it over, and decided not to, not yet.

	"No, Master," I whispered.

	His reply was another swing of the cat, and this time I bit my lip

and kept quiet.  He gave me two more, one across the backs of my upper

thighs between the tops of the stockings and the creases where my

cheeks meet my legs, and the other on my butt again.  Then he told me

to turn back around and face him, and I slowly did so.

	"I will give you an opportunity to restate your request," he told

me.  "If you were to say, for example, that you wanted to present me

with the pleasure of seeing and hearing you cum as a tribute to my

mastery, I might be more inclined to listen."

	I mentally kicked myself for not thinking of that approach before,

then started telling him, very quietly and in slightly different

words, essentially what he had suggested.  As I spoke, he once again

fingered my clit, and I got even closer to cumming, if that was

possible.  I was so hot I would have done just about anything, and my

words sped up and became louder and more graphic as I told him in no

uncertain terms how appreciative I would be to him afterwards if he

would only accept my humble gift.

	"I will accept your offer," he finally told me, "on one condition.

 You must first ask me to release the set-screws and tighten the

clamps completely."

	Oh, shit, I thought to myself.  My nipples are really hurting, and

I don't know if I can take much more.  But I'm so damned horny, and I

can always safeword, so . . .

	"Please, Master, tighten the clamps all the way," I whispered.  He

did, very quickly, and the stabbing pain increased sharply.  But

before I could cry out, or safeword, or anything, his hand was back to

my pussy and he was stroking my clit again.  The pain dimmed as I rose

swiftly toward the mountain-top, and I said hoarsely, "I'm going to

cum for you now, Master, and I don't know if I can keep quiet."

	"That's all right," he told me.  "People will recognize that kind

of noise; you can shake the whole building down for all I care."  He

slid his finger even faster, and I blasted off for heaven.  My eyes

closed, my hips bucked against the door, my knees weakened, and I

wailed and blubbered through the most fantastic orgasm I'd ever had.

Wave after wave of indescribably delicious sensation washed over me,

and it was much more powerful than anything I'd previously known.

	Right at the peak of that glorious feeling he took one of the

clamps off and covered my nipple with his mouth, and I sailed even

higher as his tongue bathed the soreness into oblivion.  As though

from a great distance, I felt him remove the other clamp and shift his

mouth to that breast, prolonging the exquisite ecstasy of my

long-overdue release.

	*****

	When the sensations had faded to a warm glow of contentment Robert

slid his arm around my waist for support and then reached up and

unhooked the snap bolts from my wrist restraint.  I slumped against

him and he half-carried me as I staggered over to the bed.  He laid me

down gently, and I sighed as my weight came off my shaky legs.

	I must have dozed for a few minutes, because when I opened my eyes

again Robert was sitting next to the bed in the chair that had been in

the living room.  He sat comfortably, still completely dressed,

smoking as he watched me, and even though his face was placid there

was a definite gleam in his eyes.  I stretched languorously, raising

my still-connected wrists above my head, then turned to face him and

said, as sincerely as I knew how, "Thank you, Master.  That was an

incredible experience."

	"Your gift gave me great pleasure," he told me seriously.  "Now

roll over and get up on your knees.  It's time to remove your butt

plug."

	"What time is it, Master?" I asked him, suddenly aware of the

impending deadline I had imposed.

	"A few minutes before ten," he replied.

	"You're kidding!"  I was so startled I omitted the honorific, but

he let that pass without comment.  Was it possible?  Had it been less

that two hours since he had brought me to his room?  I was completely

flabbergasted by the idea that he could, knowing so little about me,

have taken me to such heights in only an hour and a half.

	"No, I'm not kidding.  And now it's my turn, so do as I said."

	"Please, Master, may I keep it in?  I really like the feeling of

having it there.  Unless you want to fuck me back there . . ."

	A long series of expressions crossed his face in just a few

seconds.  Then he said, very quietly, "I'm tempted, but I won't do

that. I promised to respect your limits, and I will."

	"I don't care about those limits," I answered forcefully.  "You

gave me what I wanted and needed, and I meant everything I said a few

minutes ago.  I want to feel you inside me, any way you want me, I am

totally and completely yours . . ."

	He was shaking his head slowly from side to side as I spoke, and

then he responded, very soberly, "But I care, Lisa.  It's not that I

don't want you; I do, very much.  But you're on an emotional high

right now, and part of my role is to protect you, even from yourself.

I won't let you do something you may regret in the cold harsh light of

morning."

	"I heard it, but I still can't believe it," my rational side

whispered inside me.  "He's really going to respect the limits."

	"I knew I'd regret setting those limits," my emotions chimed in.

	I hushed the warring factions in my head as Robert continued, "The

definition of success for a first meeting is that both parties enjoyed

themselves and both parties wanted things to go further.  By that

definition, this has already been a raging success."

	"But Master," I protested, "you haven't cum yet.  At least let me

give you that pleasure."

	"Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked me, still serious. 

"It isn't necessary, you know.  Putting you into orbit was an

unbelievable high for me.  I don't want you to feel insulted, but

after that, having sex would be almost anti-climactic."

	That statement didn't really surprise me, and I certainly wasn't

offended by it.  I could well imagine the satisfaction he had felt

when I screamed out the glory of my multiple crashing orgasms.  And he

was right, I was on an emotional binge, pumped on adrenaline and the

afterglow of a truly satisfying experience.  Nevertheless, I was

determined to give him the physical and psychological pleasure of a

sexual release.

	"Yes, I really want to do that," I told him.  Please, Master,

stand up and let me undress you."  So he did, and I did, and he

unhooked my wrists, and he laid down on the bed, and I ran my fingers

lovingly through the grey thatch on his chest.

	"Now you just relax," I whispered in his ear, "and relive, in your

mind's eye, all the terrific things that have happened this evening.

I'll do all the work."  I slid my hand down toward his crotch and felt

his cock rise up to meet it, thick, not too long, the circumcised

glans smooth beneath my fingers.  He slipped one arm around my

shoulder and moved his other hand to my breasts; they were still more

than a little sore, but his gentle caresses felt wonderfully soothing,

almost comforting.

	I started lightly stroking up and down his erection, pausing every

so often to gently cup his balls in my palm.  It didn't take long for

his breathing to start to quicken, and his eyes closed as he continued

to caress my upper body from both directions.  I blew gently into his

ear, then ran my tongue around it, and I felt his body shiver and his

cock twitch.  His breathing became shallow and more rapid as I

whispered how much I had enjoyed everything he had done, telling him

in specific detail how each touch and hurt had affected me.

	His body surged as I started to describe my cumming, and I knew he

was very close to cumming himself.  So I said, "Think about how I

came, and please cum in my mouth," and before he could say or do

anything I had slithered down his torso and slipped my lips over the

engorged knob of his cock.  He moaned in delight as I continued to

stroke him with my hand while taking him deeper and deeper into my

mouth, and when his cock bumped the top of my throat he came in a

pulsing rush of hot, sweet cum-cream.

	I backed my mouth off a little and cupped his balls as his spend

coated my tongue.  His spasms were strong, but there wasn't much

volume, probably because of his vasectomy, so I just let my mouth fill

up.  When he had finished spurting, I raised my head, swung my body

around, held his face tenderly between my hands to be sure he was

watching, and swallowed several times.  He smiled his appreciation and

reached up to stroke my cheek as I licked my lips and grinned down at

him.

	"Thank you, Master.  That was delicious."

	"You're more than welcome, Lisa.  Your additional gifts were most

enjoyable."

	I flushed at his compliments, and I felt a strong sense of pride

and accomplishment.  I had turned some of my most intense fantasies

into marvelous reality, and the only bad part was, I couldn't tell

anybody!

	*****

	I wanted Robert to relax for a while after cumming, but after a

few minutes of snuggling and cuddling he turned to me and said, very

gently, "It's time, Lisa."

	"I was afraid of that," I replied.  "Do you mind if I make my call

from here?"

	"That kind of defeats the purpose," he said, grinning, "but if you

feel safe enough to do it, sure, go ahead."

	"Believe me when I say this, Robert, I have never felt safer in my

entire life.  Is it all right if I make two calls?"

	"You can make as many calls as you want.  Who besides your

safe-friend do you want to call?"

	"I want to call home, Robert, to say I won't be there until

morning.  I want to sleep with you."

	Again the gamut of expressions across his face, and again he shook

his head negatively.  "There's nothing I'd like more," he told me,

but, for the same reasons I gave you earlier, I won't let you do it.

When you're alone, after you've had a chance to sort through

everything we've done, you can define different limits for the next

time we're together. You do want me to visit again, don't you?"

	"Of course I do," I answered, and I was completely unsurprised to

find myself wiping away a tear from the corner of my eye.  "You're an

incredible person, Robert, and I want you to visit as often as you

can. Are you really going to take me shopping?"

	"That wouldn't be very discreet.  But I will send you out

shopping, and pay for whatever you buy.  Now make your call, Lisa,

before the cops come to break down the door."

	So I did.  I dialed the phone, listened to it ring, and when my

friend answered I said, "Hi, it's me . . . yes, everything's fine,

wonderful, in fact . . . yes, Saskatoon . . . yes, and thanks for

helping me out with this . . . see ya, bye."

	While I was on the phone, Robert had gotten up and slipped into

his shirt and slacks.  Now he helped me round up my clothes and get

back into them, his hands lightly touching me all over as though

reluctant to see me leave.  He again offered to take out the butt

plug, and I again insisted on keeping it in; it reminded me, I told

him, of the wonderful time we had together.  I kissed him good night,

the first time we had really kissed, a long, lingering farewell with

more than a hint of promise for the future.  When I left his room, I

had a glow on my face, a twinkle in my eyes, and a spring in my step I

hadn't felt in years.  I sang and hummed happily to myself all the way

home.

	***** *****