Cornucopia Eroticana

Chapter One-4

“Thank you; from now on I’m your Slave.”

We spent the rest of the evening making love; conventionally, unspectacularly but with an inspired purpose; she taking most of the initiative and slipping me from t**s-to-mouth-to-p***y-to-ass; wherever she took me, a trail of lubricant was sprayed over her breasts; deposited in her gullet, her womb and left in her bowels; thence to the shower and back again, our stamina rampant and our s****l congress unrestrained. It ended with me sucking her n*****s; manipulating her coned-mounds with tongue, lips, palms and fingers and raising her aureole to a deep-red; elongating her buds, all-the-while squirting my stuff into her quim until sleep overtook us and we slipped-away, clinging to one-another like apes in a tree.

The next day we went to a local Clinic where Tanya was pierced; she invited, and the practitioner agreed to admit, me into the Studio and it was interesting to note the scrutiny, the attention, the levels-of-hygiene and the preparation that goes into body-piercing.

Equally, it was an erotic experience to see Tanya mount the examination couch, lie back, open her blouse, expose her breasts to another person and see them manipulated, albeit, by a young woman. The Clinician examined her carefully; lifting, feeling, cupping and teasing-out her n*****s; then, after dousing the area with antiseptic, and saying, in a low voice; “Now, there’ll be a slight, sharp pain but there’ll be no blood; so, don’t react because it will only be mammary-and-momentary: there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Then, breast-by-breast, she inserted a needle followed by a Bar with tiny-screw-on-balls at each end, rather like a micro-dumbbell, explaining these needed to stay-in-place for at least six-months to allow the interventions to heal, after which the n****e Rings could be fitted. Finally, she administered protective, adhesive-plasters, and it was all over: Tanya had been given the Mark-of-Ownership.

There was more to come when we got home, after, first, celebrating, in a local Mews-Pub, with a couple of stiff Gins-and-Tonic. “Are you ready?”

‘Yes: yes; yes, yes, yes…I want you to flog me!”

According to my training, ‘no plan survives first contact with the enemy’ but preparation remains the key to successful outcomes; so, I instructed Tanya, on entering the hallway, that she was to ‘take-her-time-from-me’: to follow my instructions; remain silent; then, she was to strip: blouse first, to expose her breasts; skirt next, to expose her mound; she was to keep-on her stockings and high-heeled shoes; go ahead of me up the stairs to the en-suite bathroom and touch-up her make-up, perfume, lipstick and hair and, on returning, was to stand while she was blindfolded: then she was to mount the bed and kneel; legs-splayed, her head-up, breasts standing-proud, ass towards the bottom-end of the bed and then, and only then, to utter the words; “I’m ready, Sir.”

Tanya was to do this cold: there would be no ball-gag; just her, me and the Rod; and, although she didn’t know it, I wasn’t about to hold back; but I did give her a Safe Word; which was ‘Baccarat’, chosen, for no reason other-than it slipped easily off the tongue.

Like her, I’d stripped and was standing ‘At-ease’ when she came out of the bathroom; my face was emotionless and the horse-whip I’d chosen was a Bat; a wand slightly shorter than a Crop but heavier; with less ability to cut the flesh but with more potential to induce bruising.

True to form, Tanya was blindfolded, took station; and then: “I’m ready, Sir.”

Waiting is the worst part of any punishment; anticipation induces a debilitating combination of uncertainty and terror: this is enhanced by sightlessness; so, allowing her emotions to build was a form of mental discomfort in itself; yet, on the other hand, it has the effect of lessening the perception of the eventual impact and rendering it more likely to come as a relief.

‘Wham’; pause: ‘Wham’; pause: ‘Wham’; pause: silence from Tanya, not even a whimper: ‘Wham’; pause: ‘Wham’; pause: ‘Wham’; pause: still, nothing; ‘Wham’; pause: ‘Wham’; pause: ‘Wham’; pause: then, on closer examination, there was a steady-stream of fluid oozing from her p***y and glistening its way down the insides of her thighs; but she stayed-put; not a sound, barely a muscle moved; ‘Wham’; pause: all the way up to twenty-one strokes; seven times three phases of ‘Batting’ and she was still poised.

It was the thirtieth that did it; ten phases of flogging caused her to collapse, face-down on the bed but, still, without the Safe Word; without twisting or turning or any vocal emissions.

“Now, turn over.”; she responded by rolling onto her back; eyes still masked: “Open your thighs.” and she knew what to expect; so, she lay back, cupped her breasts, bent her legs and splayed her knees: ‘Thwack’; pause: ‘Thwack’; pause: ‘Thwack’; pause: the Bat slapped onto her seeping p***y, exacerbating the noise and the pain between flesh-and-leather, but still, no Safe Word. Three phases did it for her pudendum.

Yet, still, it wasn’t over: “Place your hands behind your head.” At which point the first signs of anxiety appeared as her face-muscles twitched; but she obeyed. ‘Splash’; pause: ‘Splash’; pause: ‘Splash’; pause. The Bat rose and fell on her breasts, her newly pierced n*****s, another six-times; one trio above her n*****s; one below and, yes, one across her recently punctured mammaries, brought things to a close.

In all, Tanya had endured forty-eight strokes of the Bat on her fleshy-parts and she’d withheld the Safe Word, throughout.

Then, as the blindfold was removed, Tanya uttered these words: “Thank you; I love you and I’m in love with you. I will serve you as my Master; your lover or in any way you want me and, in any way, you’ll accept me.” Then she opened her arms, raised her legs into a wide-V, beckoned me with those azure-blue eyes and induced-me-on.

Laying on top of her beaten- and bruised-body was a new experience for me but, apparently, not for her, which, at first, raised more questions than answers until it dawned on me; the whipping had given Tanya an erotic-high; there was a psychological explanation for this: vigorous activity, such as that experienced by soldiers in combat, leads to an increase in blood-flow and an adrenaline-rush where the endorphins, oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin are secreted to induce something akin to a s****l stimulus that blocks the pain and impels feelings of exhilaration and happiness: athletes get this all the time; so, my suspicions were assuaged and the love-making was exquisite: smooth, tender, well-lubricated; passionate, tight and intense with nothing held-back; neither retarded nor inhibited by the physical trials of her ordeal.

Now, for many-a-man, this might sound like a ‘dream-come-true’ or a prime example of ‘looking-a-gift-horse-in-the-mouth’ but, I didn’t want a slave; slaves are dependent, they’re not there to show initiative and the job of driving any relationship is an unwelcome-burden. What I wanted was a vibrant initiator; a free-thinker, not a respondent: of course, we could do this kind of stuff in ‘Role-Play’ but not as a matter-of-course: so, this circle had to be squared.

Tanya needed to know I wasn’t going to inherit the place of her previous Master and, if there was to be any richness in our relationship, she had to raise her sights to match my own; she had to be resourceful, creative, innovative and bring her own contributions to the table; she had to understand she was free to accept the terrible burden of thinking for herself, making her own decisions and accepting the responsibility for the outcome.

On hearing this, her eyes clouded-over and the tears began to flow.

However, these drops were not the product of anguish; they were the product of the dawning of realisation that she was unbounded by anyone and anything other than the law. Her purpose in life was ‘to her own-self be true’.

Tanya realised she was being encouraged to live; she was at liberty to overcome her conditioning; express her talents and reap the benefits; she was no-longer subjugated, there was no-one to obey; she was no-longer dependent but independent; no longer did she to have to ‘perform-to-please’; rather, she had acquired the right to enjoy; the right to be pleased to perform and this woman’s talents had barely been tapped.

The effect was akin to lighting a fuse: Tanya grew exponentially; she ‘floated like a butterfly and continued to sting like a bee’; she encouraged and co-hosted Dinner Parties; accompanied me to Soirees, Formal Business and Regimental Dinners; attended Presentations and Meetings with Clients and prospective Clients; always impressing, intellectually and socially, along with her natural beauty and elegance, in an unavoidable, but self-effacing, way and, gradually, word got around there was a new face on the block; something that did not go unnoticed by her prospective, new employers.

Now, in all of this, we have to remember Tanya wasn’t earning but she still had to be kitted-out; exquisite social- and professional-clobber is de rigueur; thus, knowing nothing was lacking in her sense of style and taste, rather than inhibit her by ‘looking over her shoulder’, apart from a few times when she invited me to come along and ‘tell her what I thought’, I arranged a Credit Card, in her name, on my account, and gave her free-reign to go shopping.

This was amply-rewarded when the bill fell just short of £250 000; a quarter of a million, Sterling! Yet, after seeing her, it was clear I’d gotten-off lightly; she’d spent wisely and shrewdly, there was no hint of extravagance: yet, even though such an investment in such a character promised a significant pay-back, none was expected.

None was expected but, Tanya-being-Tanya, delivered: because, amongst her clothing was a box containing black-leather, chromed-steel and rubber apparel that wasn’t for public witness. Then, during our evening cocktails, she opened-up and explained, as if I didn’t already know, that she was, naturally, a ‘s****l-submissive who welcomed Domination and Rough-s*x’; so, she’d taken the initiative to cater for our needs: beginning tonight!

By being explicit, and bringing it into the open, she’d clarified matters because, otherwise, she was as bright-as-a-button and in no way backward-when-coming-forward. Tanya wasn’t one to hide-her-light-under-a-bushel nor was she reticent in any professional or social settings we’d enjoyed: so, this boiled-down-to knowing a ‘Wolf-in-Sheep’s-clothing’ inhabited my house.

Some wolf she turned-out to be: after a light supper Tanya excused herself to one of the en-suite bathrooms while I prepared in the other and, on exiting, found her standing, legs-apart, kitted-out in leather: high-heeled, belted-waist, crotch-free, thigh-high-chaps-c*m-boots, soft-leather gauntlets and a harness engulfed her torso. Of course, she was depilated and her n*****s retained the holding-bars but what startled me was the black, leather hood: she looked like ‘Batman’; only openings for her eyes, nose and mouth remained; her ears were encapsulated and the hood was tethered to fit snugly under her chin where a broad-leather, studded-dog-collar, with leash, acted as a choker.

This time, she was holding the Bat.

“Have you ever been whipped?” emerged from under the mask.

It would have been inappropriate to tell her about my brief capture; so, I shook my head and mumbled, “No!”

“Well; there’s a first-time for everything. Kneel on the bed.”

Now, on the surface, this was role-play, but it triggered embedded notions of ‘fight-or-flight-or-die’; even-so, I complied, but it was impossible to do so without scheming counter-moves, including escape.

After the first thirty lashes, Tanya made the mistake of leaning-in to engage: she was asking ‘How was I enjoying the pain…?’ when, all-of-a-sudden, she found herself, face-down, the Bat under her throat with me on top of her, my right knee between her shoulder-blades, her left arm over my left thigh and her gasping for breath. It was an auto-response I’d never sought to control and it didn’t stop there.

Tanya had expressed a wish for ‘rough-s*x’: and, since she was already flooding, her p***y had become an easy port-of-call and, brutal, old-emotions had just been triggered, so it was axiomatic to do the maths; but not gently.