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Message-ID: <27373asstr$973894204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Tiramisu <tiramixu@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Anniv-Party: <*> Annes Wedding Night (Patricia's Story) by
Date: Fri, 10 Nov 2000 17:10:04 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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CONTENT WARNING: This story has an adult theme and may include graphic
descriptions of sexual acts.  If it is either illegal where you are, or you
are not of legal age to view such material, please stop now.

{ASSM} {Aniv - Party) <*>"Anne's Wedding Night (Patricia's Story)"
by
Tiramisu.  F-solo, F-dom, BDSM, MF rom.

Copyright Nov.  2000 by Tiramisu.  All rights reserved.  Please do not
repost without explicit permission of the author.  Permission is granted
for posting in ass and assm.

Comments are welcome.  Email Tiramixu@yahoo.com.  Or, preferably, post
comments to assd for all to see

This is the third story in the trilogy which began with "Anne's
Punishment" and continued with "Anne's Revenge".

Links:

"Anne's Punishment" MF BD M-dom
http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/22728

"Anne's Revenge" F/F/M, F-dom, Rom. 
http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/22898

Reviews:

CR 335 "Anne's Punishment" 10,8,5 (Celeste doesn't like many bdsm
stories, but I'm happy with the 10,8)
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Celestial_Reviews/1999/335-Aug_07.txt

Review-lite What David Thinks 18 "Anne's Punishment"
http://x40.deja.com/getdoc.xp?AN=498974379.1

CR 358 "Anne's Revenge" (Myers, no numerical rating)
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Celestial_Reviews/2000/358-Mar_05.txt



Anne's Wedding Night
(Patricia's Story)

   Patricia listened intently as the minister intoned: "Anne, do you take
Jack to be your lawful wedded husband, to love and to obey."

   Anne looked at Jack, and said, "I do."

   "And Jack, do you take Anne to be your lawful wedded wife, to love and
to obey."

   Jack turned to face Anne, their eyes burning onto each other.  "I do,"
he said softly.

   "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

   A tear rolled down Patricia's cheek as Jack lifted the veil and gently
kissed Anne's lips.  A tear of mixed joy and sorrow.

   Moments later, Patricia took the arm of the best man and followed the
newlyweds down the aisle and out to the waiting limousine.

   * * *

   The bathroom was lit by soft candlelight; steam rose from the vanilla
scented bubble bath.  A full moon lit the secluded yard beyond the bay
window which framed the oversized tub.

   Patricia poured a glass of Merlot.  Sipped.

   She loved this room, loved the feeling of being exposed to the great
outdoors while enjoying complete privacy.  Yes, the special services she
provided to a select group of clients at her little pet supplies shop had
provided many rewards, and this beautiful house in the hills outside of
Boston was just one of them.  And this was her favorite room, with the
sunken Jacuzzi tub big enough for three people, and the shower, complete
with benches at different levels, making it comfortable for two people to
do delicious things to each other as they played with the portable shower
heads.  A large expanse of marble.  Thick carpet surrounding the sunken
tub.

   And then there was the gym.

   Oh, the things she had done in this room.  But tonight, it was Anne's
and Jack's wedding night, and Patricia felt very alone.  She sank into the
suds and sighed.

   The wedding had been perfect.  She had been thrilled when Anne asked her
to be maid of honor, especially since she had only known Anne for six
weeks. And she'd been thrilled with Jack's best man, Allan.  Older men
always were more appreciative and more patient, if not always more
submissive

   Allan was Jack's boss and closest friend, other than herself.  He was
fifty two, gray and distinguished.  At six foot three, Allan was a little
taller than she was.  Beautiful blue eyes.  Trim and fit.  He wasn't the
oldest lover she'd ever had, but he was the first one who used those
wonderful little blue pills.  Wonderful indeed!  It had been very nice
while they waited for the pill to kick in, when he was content to kiss and
lick and make love to her that way.  It was sweet and gentle, a rare
experience for Patricia.

   Oh, he was aroused from the start, but after about 40 minutes, he was
rock hard like a twenty year old, but so much more patient.  And able to
last forever.

   Of course, once his passion was fully aroused, she easily made him
submit.  When she ordered him to kneel, he did.  When she told him to put
his wrists behind his back, he did.  When she bound them, it became clear
he had never done this before, but was very, very excited.

   She came when he fucked her from behind with his hands still bound, his
cock stroking her G-spot while her fingers teased her clit.  She came again
when she sat on his face, then slid down, straddling him, fucking him,
finally ordering him to come as she did.

   And then she sent him away.

   Oh, she was nice about it when she sent Allan away, sweet even, but he
didn't understand, and she could see the pain on his face.  She couldn't
help it.  She still loved Jack, and now, with her help, Anne had won him.

   Depressed, she tried to lose herself in the steam and suds.  She poured
a second glass of wine.

   Actually, she loved Anne, too.  Anne was perfect for Jack and Patricia
knew it from the first.  And so, she had helped them both.

   Patricia knew that she could have had Jack years ago, if only she had
been able to give him what he needed.  He loved to submit, but sometimes he
needed to dominate, too.  He needed both, but she could never submit, never
surrender.  She envied Anne her ability to do that.  Oh, Anne wasn't just a
submissive little slut like some of the others he had brought to her.  Anne
was capable of much more, and with Patricia's help, Anne had reduced Jack
to a whimpering sex toy, and so had captured him, heart and soul.  Of
course, when Anne wanted to surrender, she, too, could be reduced to a
whimpering sex toy, and she would love every minute of it.

   Patricia remembered when she had first met Jack.  His divorce was nasty,
but he was so much better for it.  He'd been faithful to the cold bitch for
nineteen years even though she never gave him what he needed.  Then she
dumped him and grabbed a big chunk of his money.  And so, one night, he
came to Patricia's Pets.

   At first he didn't know what he wanted, except that he wanted to explore
the things he'd never done.  So she kept it simple that first night.  She
explained that he would have to obey her completely and without hesitation,
or else the session would be over and there would not be another.  She told
him he may or may not be permitted to come.  She promised there would be no
pain this time, but they could explore that in future sessions if he
wished. He agreed.

   She ordered him to strip.  Then she blindfolded him and led him
downstairs.  She lit a few candles in the dungeon to heighten the effect.
Then she placed him face up on the bench, tying his wrists and ankles to
the to the legs of the bench: not too uncomfortable, but just enough.  As
she tied him, she saw he was beginning to get aroused.

   She removed the blindfold, knowing that the whips and crops hanging on
the wall, the shackles and chains hanging from the ceiling, would all be
frightening in the flickering candlelight.  She took one of the crops and
ran it over his body, lingering under his testicles, but not touching his
quickly stiffening penis.  "Lots of toys here we can play with, Jack, but
first things first."

   She tilted the bench so his head was lowered to just the right height,
sending blood rushing to his head.  She replaced his blindfold and drew his
cock into her mouth.  He gasped as she swirled her tongue around it, and
groaned when she withdrew.

   Patricia took her time as she quietly prepared for what was next.  Make
him think; make him wonder.  And whenever his erection would begin to fade,
she would bring it back to life with a tongue or a fingertip.  Keep him
hard and on edge all night, after all, he was paying for this.  Only later
would she decide whether to let him come.

   When she had changed into her black vinyl domme outfit and was ready,
she removed his blindfold once again, and positioned herself in her chair,
above his face.

   As Patricia lounged in her tub, remembering what had happened next, her
hands began to wander over her soapy breasts.  She'd been drained when she
sent Allan away, but remembering that first night with Jack brought her
senses back to life.

   She had commanded Jack to kiss her pussy, telling him exactly what to
do. He followed her instructions perfectly, kissing all around the area,
nibbling her inner thighs, then softly kissing her lips.  Then he gently
licked her lips as they began to swell, finally slipping just the tip of
his tongue inside.  "Lower," she commanded and his tongue moved to the
entrance to her cunt.  "Lower," she commanded again, and his tongue teased
her perineum.

   "Higher." His tongue moved up between her lips, finally lightly touching
her clitoris, circling it.

   God, he did that well, she remembered.  Her right hand slid beneath the
water, two slippery fingers making light circles on her clit.

   Ever so lightly, the tip of his tongue had fluttered over her clit. 
Gradually, imperceptibly, he increased the pressure, finally sucking her
clit and her lips, producing sensations that surprised her, driving her to
two hard orgasms in succession.

   That had been very good, but it was the way he looked into her eyes that
was so special.  He took real pleasure in pleasing her.  Oh, sure, most men
liked to make a woman come, but it always seemed to be a selfish thing,
either to feel power, or to prove their manhood, or maybe to get something
in return.  But with Jack, it was different.  He truly loved to give her
pleasure, and took pleasure in it.  The look in his eyes went beyond lust,
even beyond ecstasy.  Adoration, she had thought, but he hardly knew her.
Only much later did she understand.

   In then end, she had decided not to let him come that first night.  She
had even thought about ordering him not to masturbate when he left, but the
next session wasn't until a week later, and she thought that would be too
much for a novice.  But whether he masturbated or not, sending him home in
such a state of extreme arousal would produce the desired effect for next
time.

   She didn't let him come until the fourth session.

   She didn't whip him until the sixth session.  Her fingers moved faster
over her clit as she remembered.

   It was a Sunday, the day after their fifth session.  They had walked for
hours through the streets of Boston, talking, and she really began to know
him.  Then, later that night, in the gym here in her house in Andover, she
whipped him.  Twice that night she had been rocked by intense orgasms as
she whipped him and he cried.  As she thought about that night, she slipped
two fingers into her cunt and came, trembling quietly in the bath.

   Her orgasm subsided and she felt cold and empty.  She added hot water to
the tub, but it didn't help.  She drained the second glass of wine; poured
a third.  Trying to remember.  Trying to forget.

   She remembered that Sunday in Boston as if it were yesterday.  Jack had
called and asked her to meet him for coffee.  No client had ever done that
before, and she never would have accepted but there was something different
about Jack.  And so, she had agreed to meet him at a small coffee shop on
Newberry Street.

   It had been a warm spring day, she remembered.  As she drove into Boston
she realized how little she knew about him.  She knew he was around 40 and
was a successful sales vice president with some big corporation and
traveled all over the world.  He'd been divorced, and was bitter about it.
The money.  His life.  Everything.  His sex life with his wife had been
disappointing, but he'd been faithful even though there had been plenty of
opportunities.  Now he was free, and he wanted to explore; that was all she
knew.  That was about as much as she knew about any of her clients.

   Over cappuccino, he talked mostly about the places he'd been to. 
Europe. Hong Kong.  Singapore.  Australia.  They agreed that Italy was
their favorite country, though he preferred Florence and she preferred
Venice.  And they agreed that La Scala was wonderful, even though neither
of them truly loved opera.  They much preferred The Pops, and thought
Lockhart was great, though they missed Williams.  And he was old enough to
remember Fiedler, too.

   But she knew there was more on his mind, and finally, after they had
finished their cappuccino and were walking toward the Commons, she asked,
"Tell me about your wife, Jack."

   "Not much to tell."

   "Maybe.  But it hurt you, and I know there is something you wanted to
talk about today."

   "Yes."

   "Well?"

   "It's hard to talk about."

   "I'm sure.  But I can be a good listener.  When I'm not..."

   "Yeah, when you're not torturing me."

   "Hmm.  So tell me about your wife.  Did you love her?  Do you still love
her?"

   "Yes.  And no.  I mean, I did love her, but it was so empty.  And I know
I'm better off without her."

   "But you're bitter.  Your divorce must have been expensive.  Jack, do
you have any kids?"

   "No kids, thank God.  Well, I say that because if I had kids, losing
them would kill me.  But I wanted them.  She was the one who didn't." He
paused.  "I guess I'm bitter because I wasted so many years out of some
sense of obligation or doing what's right.  I had my job, so I guess I was
able to just ignore the things that were missing."

   "Yes," Patricia said encouragingly.

   "And after all that, she dumps me!  And grabs the house and half the
money.  But now, life is better."

   "Good.  Tell me how it's better."

   "Well, for one thing, I'm finally free to be me.  I mean, the things you
and I have done.  With her, it was just so dead.  She never...  never
really participated when we had sex.  Never initiated it.  Never responded.
Never wanted to talk about what I wanted or even what she wanted.  Do it
and get it over with."

   "She just lay there?  Did she ever have an orgasm?"

   "It wasn't quite like I made it sound.  I mean, not slam bam thank you
ma'am.  I really did try to turn her on.  Not that it was any great effort
- I did love doing it.  I love worshipping a woman's body." He turned to
look at her.  "I love worshipping your body.  But I wanted her to
appreciate it.  I needed her to let me know I was making her feel good. 
And, too, I wanted to feel like she cared about making me feel good."

   "So she never had an orgasm?"

   "Actually, she usually did.  She said she did, and I think she did. 
She'd shake a bit, breathe heavily, and close her eyes.  Afterwards she'd
shudder once or twice, like aftershocks.  No one fakes aftershocks, do
they? "

   At that, Patricia had laughed.  "No, I don't suppose."

   "But it was like she didn't care if she had sex or not, if she had an
orgasm or not.  She certainly never seemed to care at all about pleasing
me. A lot of the time, I felt like I'd rather do it by myself." He paused.
"I know this is silly, because you are, uh, professional, but with you it's
so different.  You really know how to turn me on, and I really get off on
it when you use me and take what you want, or tell me what to do.  And it
drives me nuts when you moan, or scream when you come..."

   Patricia remembered how she had smiled at that.  She sipped her wine.

   "Please don't be offended," he had said, "but I'm not totally naive.  I
know that prostitutes put on an act for their johns, but with you, it just
doesn't seem like that."

   They crossed the street at Arlington and turned left, following the
Public Garden toward Beacon Street.

   "First of all, Jack, I'm not offended.  And I understand.  If it will
put your mind at ease, I do not act.  I don't consider myself a prostitute,
though I guess, technically I am.  Of course, surrogates in sex therapy
technically are, too.  Anyway, what I do is help people, mostly men, but
some women, explore the darker side of their sexuality.  I have to connect
with my partners, though, and it has to be real."

   "So it's real for you."

   "Yes."

   "And you really get off on the things you do?"

   "Yes.  Is that surprising?"

   "No, no.  It's always seemed real.  And that's what's made it so good
for me.  No matter how much I tried to pleasure my wife, it just didn't
have any effect.  So, over the years, I tried harder.  Read erotic
literature.  Read sex manuals.  Brought some home, but she wouldn't read
them."

   "I see.  But, I can promise you Jack, you learned well."

   Patricia remembered how they had wandered through Beacon Hill, up and
down the narrow cobbled streets, as Jack explained the effect she had on
him, how much it thrilled him to be the source of her pleasure, how sexy it
made him feel, how fulfilled.  Even when she didn't let him come, he was
satisfied on some deeper level, more satisfied than he had ever been with
his unresponsive wife, even when they both climaxed.

   After strolling through Beacon Hill for hours, they made their way to
the Union Oyster House and stopped for a beer.  And Patricia had begun to
understand him, understand what she saw whenever he looked into her eyes as
she erupted in orgasm.  Not love.  Not just lust, either.  The deep
satisfaction of a great void being filled.  No more, no less.  Well, maybe
lust, too.  And maybe, someday, she had thought, it could even be love.

   Love?  She had never experienced love.  Her mother had been weak, hiding
in a bottle most of the time.  And her father was controlling.  All her
achievements in sports and in the classroom were for his glory.  It was all
about him, never about her.  No love there.  A few boyfriends in college.
Selfish, immature idiots who did all their thinking with their dicks. 
Then, a relationship that ended badly when she was 22.  Again, it was all
about their needs, not hers.  Again, no love there.  Patricia's Pets came
soon after that.  Oh, for sure, her voracious sexual appetites were sated,
but it was about the clients' needs not hers.  Was it really any different?

   She poured another glass of wine, draining the bottle.

   They had finished their beer and gone out into the Boston afternoon,
meandering back toward Quincy Market, wandering through the various shops
and galleries.  The walked, and talked.  And she learned about Jack.

   Afternoon gave way to dusk, and they left Quincy Market behind, heading
into the North End.  They found themselves in front of Mamma Maria, and
discovered it was Jack's favorite restaurant in Boston as well as her own.
They went in.

   Somewhere between capellini and tiramisu, Jack had asked her about the
whips.

   "Do you actually use them on clients?"

   "Yes."

   "And they get off on it?"

   "Yes.  They do come to me willingly."

   "The whole idea of S and M has always fascinated me.  I've read about
it. Articles and essays, as well as erotic stories.  I don't really
understand why, but S and M stories do turn me on.  Either way it turns me
on, whether the man whips the woman, or the woman whips the man." Jack
paused.  "Or two women."

   Patricia nodded.

   "But I don't understand it.  I mean, I don't think I could ever bring
myself to actually hurt someone.  And I don't have some deep dark desire to
be hurt, either.  So am I warped because I like these stories?  Are your
clients sick because they like to be whipped?"

   Patricia had hesitated, not sure how to answer.  Finally, she decided to
be as honest as possible.  "I'm not into 'the scene'.  I've heard about
play sessions with other doms and subs, but I've never gone to them, and
never talked to any others who do what I do.  I prefer to keep my
activities pretty private, and so I can only speak from my own limited
experience with my own clients.  And, no, Jack, I don't think you're
warped, and I don't think most of my clients are sick.  I must admit,
though, I do think some people who are into the scene are - not sick - but,
well...  Let me put it this way.  I have had some clients whose self esteem
was so low that they needed to be abused, degraded, made to suffer.  Or
they felt so much guilt about sex that they needed to be punished in order
to be able to let go.  But understand, clients like this were a small
minority, and when I had clients like this I tried to help them and usually
suggested counseling.  I had one client for several years who had some real
self esteem problems.  In the beginning, he could only enjoy sex if he was
punished and humiliated, but through counseling was able to make some real
progress with his self esteem."

   "Ahh.  So you're a therapist!"

   Patricia laughed.  "No not hardly.  But, even if I do have sexual
appetites which are on the edge, I am basically a pretty nice person.  And
I don't want to harm anyone."

   "And what about the others?  The, uh, normal ones?"

   "What about them?"

   "Why do they do it?"

   "Please remember, Jack, most of my clients do not come to me because
they have psychological problems.  And even many of those that did have
problems found erotic pleasure in a healthy way, too.  A good example is
the client I just mentioned.  Through counseling he recovered his self
esteem, was able to function on a number of levels which had been
impossible before, and had what most would call some normal sexual
relationships, but he still came to see me occasionally, especially when he
was between relationships.

   "You know, Jack, it's all very erotic, very sensual.  Ropes, whips,
leather.  Candles and hot wax.  Pain and pleasure are linked.  So, within a
certain range, which is different for everyone, pain adds to the intensity
of the pleasure.  And I'm sure you've read about endorphins, and how they
work to intensify the sensations and increase the pleasure."

   "Of course, but I still can't get my mind around it."

   "Nevertheless, the idea turns you on."

   "Yes."

   "Are you excited now?"

   Jack hesitated, then quietly said, "Yes."

   "That's all the sense it needs to make, Jack."

   She had looked at him then, looked into his eyes, studying him.  Jack
asked, "Have you ever done it?  I mean, experienced it from the other
side?"

   "No.  I have no desire to."

   "Ah hah.  Then you really don't understand, either."

   "No.  I mean yes, I do understand.  I just don't want to experience it
myself."

   "So, you don't want to be whipped.  Nothing wrong with that.  But,
what's wrong with me?  Why does the idea excite me?"

   "There's nothing wrong with you Jack.  When you first came to me you
said you wanted to explore.  For many people, there can be some intense
pleasure in it.  But as you know, there is more.  The psychology of dom/sub
is very powerful, as you have already experienced.  And if the surrender,
the submission, is more complete, it is even more powerful."

   "You know it thrills me to please you, thrills me when you order me to
pleasure you, or just use me, taking what you want.  Not just because you
drive me crazy, and not just because I was starved for response from my
wife all those years.  I truly do take pleasure from a woman's pleasure,
from your pleasure, on some very deep level."

   Jack paused, then continued in a whisper, "Do you get pleasure from it?"

   Patricia thought for awhile before replying.  "From having someone
submit to me, to give themself to my pleasure, to be willing to take the
whip, to give their pain for my pleasure?  Honestly, yes, I do."

   "Then," Jack said softy, "I want to do it."

   She remembered how it had made her wet when he said that.  God, it made
her wet now, too.  She took a quick sip of wine.  Her hands began to move
again under the water.

   Dessert was almost finished, and she had started the scene immediately.
"Very well, Jack," she had said.  "You will sit with your hands in your
lap. You will not look at me and you will not eat or drink or speak without
permission."

   The rest of the meal was in silence, except foe the occasional command;
she wanted to let the tension build.  Fruit was served after dessert, and
she made him feed her.  She let her tongue lightly touch his fingertips: a
subtle suggestion.

   They had taken separate cars into Boston, so, rather than try to hold
the mood through the hassle of getting back to their cars, then heading up
to Andover, much better he should go alone.

   And wait.

   And think.

   She gave him the key to her front door, gave him directions to the
house, told him go now while she finished her espresso, to wait there, in
the foyer, naked on his knees, blindfolded.  She figured she'd make him
wait about 20 minutes, giving her enough time to stop at Patricia's Pets to
pick up a few things.

   She had come in through the garage, come up behind him quietly, and
silently watched him for a moment.  He hadn't worn a tie or scarf, so he
had to improvise a blindfold.  He'd used his undershirt.  She noticed that
anticipation was having some effect: his cock was semi-hard.

   She grabbed his hair, pulled his head back.  He gasped in surprise, and
she silenced him with a rough kiss, biting his lip, shoving her tongue hard
into his mouth.  Then she snapped a collar onto his neck, clipped a chain
to the collar and led him on hands and knees to the gym.  His body
responded as she knew it would.

   She commanded him to stand, hooked the chain to an eyebolt in the
ceiling.  She ordered him to raise his arms, attached cuffs to his wrists,
and chained them to the ceiling as well.  She ran her fingertips down the
inside of his arms and down his sides.  She watched him shiver.

   Patricia chose a flogger with rubber strands with knots on the ends.  It
would sting, but not cut.  She let the flogger tease his shoulders and his
chest.  Then his belly.  Again, a subtle suggestion, nothing more.  No
direct contact with his cock.  She wanted him to react to her whip, not her
caresses.  She let the strands of the flogger drift over his ass.

   His cock was nearly fully erect.

   He was ready.

   She struck.  Hard.  He gasped in surprise.  She struck again.  Again. 
Again.  Again.  Five strokes.  His cock was now fully erect.  He was
responding to her whip.  It made her knees weak.

   She switched to the riding crop.  His gasps became sighs, then moans,
then sobs.  His ass was on fire; her cunt was on fire.  She needed to see
his face.  She ripped the blindfold away and saw it all in his eyes.  His
passion.  His exquisite pleasure in giving all this to her.  And his
hunger, the hunger that gripped him when he looked at her in her black
leather miniskirt, matching boots, matching vest which revealed as much of
her breasts as it concealed.

   That was the moment when she had first realized she loved him.  When she
saw that look in his eyes.  She sighed, remembering that moment, her hands
moving under the water, fingers lightly caressing her labia.

   She knew he needed to feel her pleasure, see it in her eyes, hear it in
her sighs and her words.  She began to talk to him as she whipped him.  She
told him how beautiful he was, how beautiful his hard cock was, how
beautiful it was that her pleasure made him hard.  When tears flowed from
his eyes, she told him how his tears made her pussy wet.  He moaned with
desire as she spoke to him.  She needed to come, needed to give him her
orgasm.

   Patricia sighed, leaning back in the tub as she remembered.  Her fingers
caressed her clit, lightly, gently.

   She had masturbated for him, slipping one hand under the leather
miniskirt, rubbing her pussy.  Again, the look in his eyes was everything.
She had stroked his ass with the crop as she stroked her clit with her
fingers.  She had begun to moan loudly and his moans had mingled with hers.
Soon she was ready, stroking her clit, moaning, fucking herself with the
crop.  Screaming.  Coming.

   His eyes told her that he shared her orgasm, that he had felt it in his
brain, that his brain had achieved some sort of climax, even though his
body had not been relieved of its exquisite tension and his cock was still
hard.

   His eyes.  His cock.  She had needed another orgasm then.  She loosened
his chains, ordered him to kneel, grabbed his head and pulled him to her,
grinding against his face.  When his tongue penetrated her, she struck
again and again with the flogger as his cries dissolved into her cunt and
she came a second time, hard and fast.

   Remembering, she lay back in the tub, moaning, fingers on her clit,
fingers in her cunt, stroking, fucking, as the orgasm washed over her.

   She had kissed him then, and he had thanked her.  She left him there,
alone with his imagination as she went to shower.  She had let him sleep
with her that night, naked and erect at the foot of her bed.  In the
morning they made love.

   And then, they talked.

   The intensity had been awesome, he said.  The thoughts that flooded his
brain when she came the first time were overwhelming.  Yes, in his mind he
had felt her orgasm.  And later, when she fucked his face as she whipped
him, he had felt complete surrender.

   Yes, he wanted to submit to her, needed to submit to her.  Her orgasms
were precious to him.  He wasn't sure, but maybe one day she could whip him
again.  The feeling of existing totally for her pleasure, of being totally
at her mercy, had been sublime.  The pain, though, he really hadn't liked.
He'd have to think about it.

   And, he wanted more.  He wanted her to submit to him, too.  No whips; he
didn't think he could do to her what she had done to him, but he did want
to create a scene for her.  Ropes.  Silk scarves.  Candles.  Perhaps hot
oil and ice cubes.  Keep her wondering what would come next.  He would
focus on her pleasure, teasing mercilessly, then making her come for him
again and again.  Or, he might order her to serve him with her hands and
her mouth, and deny her orgasms.  He'd keep her wondering.

   For the first time in her life, she was in love.  But she didn't think
she could do it, and she was scared.  Two weeks later, after much soul
searching and indecision, and a very unsatisfying session at Patricia's
Pets, she made a decision.

   She had waited for him that night, wearing a silk robe instead of one of
her domme outfits.  She greeted him with a soft kiss.  "Jack, I have a
present for you," she had said, handing him the box wrapped in silk
scarves. As he took it, she slipped the robe from her shoulders, letting it
fall to the floor as she got down on her knees, naked in front of him.

   Her heart pounded as she watched him open the box.  One by one, he
examined the nipple clips, the handcuffs, the dildos, the flogger which she
had placed in the box.  The last item was a collar and chain.  "I am
yours," she said.  She looked into his eyes and thought she saw a tear.

   "Thank you, Patricia," he said simply, taking the collar in his hand. 
She bowed her head and he placed the collar on her neck.

   He blindfolded her with one of the silk scarves, bound her wrists behind
her with another.  He chained her collar to one of the many eyebolts in the
ceiling.

   She had been filled with emotion.  Excitement, yes.  But arousal, no. 
Her fear that she would not please him, or that this would simply not work
for her, had been too much to overcome.  When he placed the clips on her
nipples, she had yelped in surprise, even though she had selected clips
that wouldn't bite too much.  When he kissed her, sucking her tongue, she
moaned.  When he licked her nipples it felt good, very good, and finally,
she began to get wet.  When his fingers probed her wetness, she squirmed
against him, trying to let go.

   But it just wasn't working.  She couldn't get her head into the right
place.

   When he placed the dildo in her, she faked an orgasm.  When he fucked
her from behind, biting her neck as his fingers massaged her clit, she
faked a second orgasm.

   And soon, it was over.

   They never tried again.  And she never whipped him again.

   They had remained friends, and she still loved him, which was probably
why she continued to see him, and continued to let him bring his slutty
little subs to her.  And through the years she had coached him, helped him
grow as a dom.  And through the years, he had needed more, and so from time
to time they would do a scene together, and he would submit to her.

   But it was never enough.  His subs could never gave him everything he
needed, and neither could she.

   And then, there was Anne.  Six weeks ago he had brought Anne to
Patricia's Pets, naked and blindfolded.  It was pretty simple: he needed
Patricia to push him to greater heights, and he loved seeing two women
together.  And Patricia gave Jack everything he needed.  Almost everything.

   Somehow, Patricia had known right away that Anne was different, and as
Jack was taking Anne home, Patricia had slipped Anne a note.  A week had
gone by, and she thought she'd made a mistake, but a few days later Anne
called, and with Patricia's help, Jack had surrendered to Anne.  Totally.
So totally that today, only a few short weeks later, Patricia lost Jack for
good.

   She drank the last of the wine.  The water had grown cold; the suds were
gone; the wine was gone.  She got out of the tub, and wrapped herself in a
towel, and wandered through the large empty house, through the bedroom into
the gym, wandering, wondering.  Somewhere, in the islands, Jack was with
Anne.  She wondered if he had Anne bound, teasing her, making her beg him
to let her come.  Or maybe it was the other way around. . .

   * * *

   Gentle waves lapped at the shore as Anne rode Jack's cock, his hands
lovingly caressing her face, her breasts, her nipples.  She could see his
face, see his joy, see his love as she rode him, squeezed him.

   "I'm going to come now," she said softly, and his hands moved down to
her ass, pulling her to him.  Anne came, and as she did, her spasms
triggered his and she felt him empty himself into her.

   "Hmm," Anne purred as she collapsed on top of him.  "That was just so
good, darling."

   "Uh huh," he said as he nuzzled her neck, kissing, nibbling.

   They lay there on their private beach in the moonlight, naked and spent,
their clothes strewn on the beach nearby.  They'd arrived late, and their
moonlight walk on the beach had led to deep kisses, then wandering hands,
then clothes being ripped off, and finally two bodies tumbling to the sand,
locked together.  Anne lay on top of Jack, enjoying the moment, enjoying
him, his semi-hard cock still inside her, the essence of the lovemaking
flowing out of her and onto him.  Finally, she said, "You know, Jack, I
wonder how Allan and Patricia got along."

   "I'm sure they got along fine.  Did you see the way they were dancing?"

   "Oh, sure.  But do you think she got him back to her place, tied him up
and all?"

   "Honey, I have no idea if Allan is into that sort of thing.  He's a
pretty sophisticated guy, self assured, used to getting what he wants.  But
then we both know Patricia, and she usually gets what she wants too, and I
have no doubt she wanted him."

   "And from the way he was looking at her, practically drooling, I'll bet
she could have made him do anything she wanted."

   Jack thought for a moment, and said, "Yes, I suppose she could.  I just
hope she can get past that.  She needs more, and I think she's finally
beginning to understand that."

   "Yes, darling, I know.  She wanted you, you know.  She's been in love
with you for a long time."

   "Oh, no.  We're good friends, and we did like to, uh, play together from
time to time.  But there was never more than that."

   Anne kissed him.  "Perhaps not for you, darling, but for Patricia, well,
she was, probably still is, in love with you."

   Jack moved under Anne, rubbed against her playfully, his cock soft now,
but still inside her.  "Hmm, then the three of us will have to play
together as soon as we get back."

   Anne grabbed Jack's hands, pinning him on the sand.  "Oh no you don't.
And you're going to be punished for even thinking such a thing on your
wedding night."

   "Exactly what I was hoping you'd say, my Mistress."

   Anne laughed.  "Yes, I suppose so," she said as she got off Jack and
stood over him, letting their combined juices flow down her thigh, drip
onto his chest.  She found her pantyhose nearby and bound his hands.  "Now,
prepare to serve me.  I think your Mistress needs more than one orgasm on
her wedding night."

   Jack grinned.  Anne was just perfect, sweet and sexy one minute,
dominant and demanding the next.  He never new what to expect, except of
course when she was submissive and he controlled the scene.  But tonight,
their delicious vanilla lovemaking was a prelude to his submission to her.
Wonderful.  "Yes Mistress."

   Anne thought for a moment, then said, "All kidding aside Jack, this has
been a difficult day for Patricia, and I hope she finds something good with
Allan.  From what she told me, if she and Allan got together tonight, it
would be the first time in years she had been with anyone other than a
client.  Besides you, that is."

   "Yes, honey, I think you're right."

   Anne positioned herself above Jack's face.  "Now, all kidding aside,
wipe that grin off your face and lick me clean, slave."

   Jack lifted his head, his tongue reaching for her glistening pussy, his
cock beginning to reawaken as the scene began.

   "No!" Anne demanded.  "Start with my thigh.  You have to earn the right
to taste my pussy.  Now, remember your vows: love and obey."

   Jack smiled.  It was going to be a long night.

   * * *

   In a large white Victorian on a hill above the harbor in Marblehead, a
phone rang.  Allan rolled over in bed and sleepily reached for the phone.

   "Unngh."

   "Allan, it's Patricia.  Look I'm sorry. . ."

   END

   COPYRIGHT NOV 2000 Tiramisu

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