A Master and His Mistress

"When will you stop pushing me away?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?" Her anger, which had been subsiding into lust, burned up again. "I don't need to push you, you're gone. So get off me."

She made a fairly ineffectual punch at his chest as she tried to rise. He reared up onto his knees and, grabbing both her wrists, he pushed her arms up behind her head. Her breasts popped out of her nightie and he smiled down at them and then at her face.

"You really do have the most beautiful breasts."

"Well, say hello and goodbye and fuck off, because you aren't seeing them again. Get off and leave me alone."

"You don't mean it. You were completely shameless on that bench tonight. You loved every minute of it. I obviously wasn't hard enough with you. I should have beaten you harder. Letting that boy lick you and bury his nose in your pussy, as if you were a dog on heat. You know how embarrassing that was for me?"

"For you? We haven't been together for months. It's nobody's business what you or I get up to now, we aren't an item anymore. If I want someone to lick me in public, I can bloody well do it. "

"Not in my club, you can't."

"Is that what this is about? You being embarrassed in front of your cronies? Fuck 'em. I'll do it again too."

He let go of her arms and sat back on his haunches.

"The reason I beat you and, admittedly, I did get carried away, I was enjoying myself immensely, was not to punish you per se, but to remind you of how good it was with us. You aren't really a mistress, you need a man with a strong hand, a master. Marti, we had it so good, why did you think it was all bad?"

She lied. "I was bored. So what if the sex is amazing, I was sick of doing the same things week after week and you were obsessed with that two bit club. It's better now we're apart. I could even enjoy you more now if you didn't feel the need to be cold with me whenever you see me."

She pushed herself back up onto the pillows, putting both arms under her head. She wished she had a cigarette, she was in the mood for a chat and a fag, especially as she had his full attention and they hadn't really talked much since they split up, or even during it. "Anyway, what would the whores you hang around with do if you weren't free? You think that's always been a blast for me? Sam, Sammy, when they're being all cutesy, Samuel when they pretend they could easily dominate you. Pathetic. I'm glad to be out of it."

"And you think I am going to be able to see you with men all over you, tricked up little boys who look like a whipping would do them the world of good, turn them into men? I'm surprised you didn't take the kid to bed tonight, although you'd have been shocked if you thought you could make anything out of him."

"Ooooh, Sammy, are you saying that you wanted to play voyeur tonight? If I'd known that, I'd have got the kid to stay back."

"God, you can be such a child."

He didn't see the fist coming at him, but he certainly felt it. Right on his mouth. He fell to the side of the bed, putting his hand up to his mouth. She jumped off the bed, ran out of the room, and came back a few seconds later with a cold flannel.

"Sam, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to get your mouth." She knew that didn't sound like she meant it and maybe she didn't.

"Where were you aiming for then?" he mumbled through the wet flannel.

"I don't know but I didn't aim for the mouth. I think you moved."

"So it's my fault then?"

"It's always your fault," she said, but now a little smile crept into the corners of her lips.

"It's my fault you hit me?"

"No, that's all my doing. The rest of it's yours."

Outside a dog barked, a woman's heels clipped heavily down the street. Sam sighed deeply.

"What do you want to do then?"

"Right now? I'd like to whip your arse actually till you scream for mercy."

He looked at her, his mouth slightly curved in the beginnings of a sarcastic grin and then he realised she meant it. A frown began to furrow his forehead. She laughed at his expression -- he clearly couldn't make up his mind whether to laugh or be worried.

And then he said, surprisingly, "Ok. I'll let you do it. On the proviso that afterwards you let me make you cum until you're unconscious."

"Well, it's never happened before but if you want to spend two days killing yourself to make me happy, knock yourself out. Now, get off the bed, take off your boots, kneel on the floor and spread your arms wide on the covers."

He did so, trying to find a comfortable spot on the floor and realising quickly that he'd just have to put up with the pain in his knees as well as on his backside. For the first time in a long while, he felt both very curious and very excited.

Marti walked around to the opposite side of the bed and, pulling a long silken scarf from the drawer of the cabinet beside her bed, she bent over and tied his wrists together. He could see the fall of her breasts inside her nightie which was the same colour as the PVC outfit she'd worn to the club. He remembered the way in which the low cut top had showed them to their full potential but had also allowed them to move gently. He usually preferred black or red on women but he had to admit the hot pink was the right colour for Marti. He didn't have a chance to think anymore on this because his eyesight was taken from him by a scarf blindfolding him, and suddenly he was forced to reconsider whether this was what he wanted. He'd never been tied up before, never been in a submissive role. He pictured himself trussed up now. It wasn't a pretty sight as far as he was concerned and he began to say so, but he only got two words out before a ball of material was thrust into his mouth and he had no choice if he was going to be minimally comfortable but to work his lips around the material to hold it in place. He did have time though to wonder if she'd used her knickers and he felt a rush of excitement at the thought. He felt her hands reach around his hips to the buttons on his leather trousers and felt them being pulled down over his hips and thighs down to his knees. He was beginning to feel embarrassed but at the same time his situation was turning him on.

Marti brought the thin black leather cane down onto his backside. Like him with her, she didn't prepare him. She alternated in the first minute or so with a cut and tickle of the cane and then she began to thrash him. Even if she couldn't hit him as hard as he hit her, she'd give him something to remember her by. She heard him moan, she watched his body flinch, she saw the sweat break out on his body. Her whole body concentrated, her arm felt again as though it was disconnected from her. She felt her lips purse and the sweat begin to run down from her hairline to her eyebrows.

She stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow, to stop it running into her eyes. Sam moved as if to push himself up from the floor with his feet. She put a knee against his butt and pushed him back down. She lifted the cane again and whipped his bare cheeks, again and again. Sam was wriggling and squirming beneath the cane. The sweat ran down between her breasts, the inside of her thighs became more and more slippery. Her arm was so tired but she didn't want to stop. She didn't want to give in. She knew he was in pain and she knew he wouldn't let her know -- he was a stubborn bugger.

So when he called out, raspingly, chokingly, " Red, red", she stopped immediately, gratefully.

He was gasping, red in the face, and now she realised too that his arse was bright red and a little blood was oozing out of a couple of welts. She went to touch him, to soothe his agony because she knew he was in real pain. She stopped herself though -- she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Knowing him, he'd grab her wrist and give her a burn. She untied him and sat down on the bed, to watch him. Sam pulled himself together, slowly, painfully. Marti pushed his exhausted head back so he had to look her in the face. His eyes were closed and she waited patiently for him to open them. When his eyes cracked open a little she smiled.

"In future," she said, "this is an equal partnership. I don't mind if you want to beat me, but don't do it as punishment, do it because you and I both get off on it. Don't treat me like your whipping post and I will respect you equally. We can keep playing together as long as you understand the rules are flexible and you aren't my master except when I want you to be."

She stood up, slipped off the nightie, and climbed into bed. Sam remained kneeling. She turned off the bedside lamp. The room fell into a soft darkness. She lay quietly, listening for him; she felt incredibly adult.

She felt the bed move a little as Sam pushed himself wearily off the bed and stood up. She could see his legs' pale flesh in the dark and knew his trousers were still down around his ankles. She held a giggle in. He bent down and she heard the creak of the leather as he pulled the trousers off. He climbed into bed beside her and putting his arm under her neck he pulled her over to him. She rested her head on his shoulder. She was really going to make the most of his promise to lick her pussy into unconsciousness. Ah, the Master and his Mistress, she thought. What a perfect scenario.