Understanding

It's exciting when you find parts of yourself in someone else ~Annaka Silvia

A sincere and deep thanks to NYCDOM for both his inspiration, and help with this story.

*****

My head pounds as if the bass has been beating me with a small mallet, and relief is slow-coming even as I close the heavy doors and enter the lounge, leaving the pulsing lights of the dance floor. The music in here is soft, chant-like, but primal, held together by a deep pulling drum-line that, instead of pounding at my head, reverberates in my chest. The sort of slow steady rhythm that makes one feel as if they are being drawn toward something.

My eyes dart around the room looking for her. Susan brought me here, "Let's try something new," she had said while telling me about a club she had found. She thought it would be "hilarious" to go to. "It's for weirdos who are into spanking and chains," she had giggled over coffee. 

"It's called BDSM," I had corrected her, looking at the article and taking a sip of my latte. I stopped there, not wanting to her to know I had heard of it too, and not from some magazine touting it as one of the "100 strangest places in the city," but after hours of pouring over websites cluttered with articles bearing titles like "finding out if the lifestyle is right for you".

I giggled, "Well, we've tried just about every other club this city had to offer," trying not to seem too excited by the prospect. Two days later we followed the directions to an unmarked staircase in a well-lit alleyway. Now she has disappeared in a club that seems to have endless rooms.

This particular room smells of disinfectant, but the furniture breaths sex. Benches, tables, and sofas covered in soft leather, some with straps, others with cuffs dangling from them. Racks on the walls covered in paddles, whips, and canes.

Resigning myself to sitting and waiting for her, I pour a drink from the bar. A vodka and cranberry from a long wooden table covered in bottles. Apparently selling alcohol isn't allowed in a place like this, but bringing and pouring your own is okay. That explains the appalling cover charge we paid at the door. "We've spent more than this on dinner and a movie," Susan had argued as we each handed the bouncer fifty dollars. The charge for men was twice that, and the policy seemed to be paying off, judging by the gender balance on the dance floor.

In the corner a series of dark brown leather-clad sofas face one another, and I move toward them. I settle on the only one with less than two occupants, a few feet from a man whose back is turned to me whilst he speaks with another man opposite him.

My phone buzzes.

*Sorry Kate. Met friends. At bar on the corner, Mc-something's. Come meet us.* The message reads.


I close the phone and slip it back into the left side of my bra. Crossing my right leg over my left I lean forward, my drink in my left hand, and fumble with the strap of my right shoe, pulling it open and refastening it at a looser setting. When I lean back again I see the man to my right tracing his eyes up my leg, past the hem of my tight black dress, and quickly up to meet my eyes, holding there, unblinking.

The awkwardness of having a stranger look into my eyes this way is unspeakable. I look down to my drink, taking a long slow sip. When I glance back his eyes are sill locked on mine.

"May I help you?" a tinge of irritation in my voice.

"That's yet to be determined," he answers.

"Excuse me?" My tone and my stare are cold. For the first time I notice the actual man. He's wearing worn jeans and a grey t-shirt tucked only in the front below a matte black belt. His hair is a dark brown peppered with grey, his eyes only visible as deep black pools in the dim lighting. He's quite handsome, the t-shirt seems to fit in all the right places. While I would normally say he's underdressed for a nightclub somehow it suits him.

His eyes blink, his scowl softens into a soft smile, making him even more handsome. I feel a small rush as he grins at me, "Tell me why you're here tonight."

My eyes settle on the drink in my hand, I tug at the hem of my dress which has made it's way up my leg since adjusting my shoe, "I was curious..".

He interrupts "Look at me when you speak."

The command is brazen. I feel myself fight against conceding, but decide to meet his eyes instead. "Yes Sir!" I reply, seething with sarcasm. The softness in his eyes fades as he returns my gaze. Silence stretching between us like a rope drawing me toward him, the quiet tugging at me, demanding deference. "Yes Sir," I repeat this time in a flat tone, the words catching as they come up from my throat.

He leans is in, placing his lips so they barely graze my earlobe, "How did that feel?"

I swallow hard, like someone who has surfaced from beneath the water my steady inhalations turn to long pulls of air. Goosebumps rise along my arms. As shiver runs through me when his warm breath hits me. I hesitate.

"Good," I admit.

He chuckles. My eyes meet his again as he sits back, picking his rocks glass up from the side-table. "Continue."

Taking a deep breath I try to explain my curiosity. I tell him about my Ex, who first brought his hand to my throat while we made love, about the way I swooned when he called me a slut, how I find myself constantly drawn to stories and videos of women being objectified. I ramble, telling him the draw that a dominant/submissive relationship has for me. He only stares back at me, the lack of reply drawing more and more out of me as I attempt to fill the silence.

"So what is it you want? What did you come here hoping to find?" he asks finally.

I notice beads of sweat forming on my low back despite the chill in the room, and I struggle to form an answer, my eyes searching the room, hoping to pull it from the air around me.

"I want to find out if I can submit. If I have it in me. If I will enjoy it. If I can..." I pause for a moment "handle the punishments. The spankings." I clarify, my eyes finding my knees again.

Tugging my chin, bringing my eyes back to his, "Spanking is not a punishment dear. It's a show of surrender, an act of ownership, the fulfillment of a need. A need you haven't admitted you have yet."

My teeth bite into my bottom lip, and I cross my legs together more tightly as I feel the rush of blood between them. "I do want it, how does he know that?" I ask myself silently.

"Would you like me to show you?" He offers me his hand, standing over me, waiting for me to take it, eyes looking right through me.

Palms sweaty, cheeks flushed, knees shaky as I uncross them, curiosity takes hold and I place my hand in his, rising to my feet.

Moving me beside him, his left hand wrapped around mine, his right on the small of my back, he leads me down a well lit hallway and opens a frosted glass door. The room is bare save for a leather-clad bench and a wooden cabinet hung on the wall.

He leads me to the bench, and releases me, his eyes looking straight through me, "Are you ready?"

I hesitate. Seeing my nervousness he runs his knuckles down my back. "Don't be scared darling, I'm not going to spank that beautiful ass until you beg me to."

His hand presses against the small of my back as I step up onto the small wooden platform. Electricity emanates from his hand, finding the space between my legs. I glance down at the restraints, then back at him, feeling suddenly feverish at the prospect of being helpless, and at the mercy of a stranger.

"See this?" he says stepping to show me a button a few inches from the wrist cuff. It sits beneath a clear plastic cover to keep it from being pushed. "This will set off an alarm in this room and call security. You're safe here," his voice tender for the first time. "But you won't need it," he adds with as small shake of his hear, "If you wish me to stop you need only say the word red. If you wish me to slow down, say yellow. Do you understand?"

I nod.

"Say the words. I need to know you understand."

"Yellow to slow down. Red to stop."

"Good. I'm going to touch you now. You have your words, otherwise I will ignore all outbursts."

I swallow, my heart threatening to leap form my chest with every beat. His first touch is both tender and firm. A hand that runs up from the top of my dress to my hairline, gathering a handful of my blonde waves in his fingers, using them to lead me forward against the bench. Walking around the bench he clasps the nylon straps around each wrist followed by those at my ankles, tugging my feet apart to reach. After the last one he trails a single finger up the back of my leg, pressing firmly, his nail scratching from my achilles tendon up my calf, over the crease of my knee, and to my thigh, stopping short at the hem of my dress.

"You do look lovely this way," he snickers.

"Thank you... I don't even know your name," I add, giggling uncomfortably, waiting for him to provide it.

He responds by walking around the bench, grabbing my chin in his fingers, bending so his eyes meet mine. His voice is firm. "You may call me Sir, or Master if you prefer, but if you wish me to acknowledge you deference is required. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good Girl." Walking behind me again he pulls the stretchy fabric of my dress up over my bottom, exposing the white lace hipsters that barely covering half of my cheeks. His eyes bore into me and I squirm uncomfortably as he stands behind me. Unable to see him my body tingles, anticipating his next touch.

I find myself panting and I close my mouth, shaking my head discreetly. "Relax," I tell myself, but my body ignores my instruction. My mouth grows dry, my breathing remains heavy, and my insides tighten, trying to close the gap inside me, but there is nothing to clench and the spasms leave me unfulfilled.

His hands run over the waistband of my panties, a finger slipping into the fabric at either hip. Tugging them down barely an inch before pausing, "Tell me what you want."

Silence fills the room as I search for an answer. "What do you want?" my inner voice echoes. "Release," it answers itself. I draw a long breath, "I want you to spank me Sir".

He responds with a laugh. Tugging my panties down to my knees. "You're going to have to do better than that. Tell me what you really want right now, right at this moment."

I gasp as I feel him blowing on my wet slit, making me clench tightly, my moist lips trying to retreat from the cool breeze blowing across my hot skin. "I want you to touch me."

"Where?"

"On my pussy," I blush, thankful he can't see my face as he stand behind me.

"Ask again."

"Please touch my pussy Sir."

"Again."

"I want to feel your hand on my pussy please Sir."

"This doesn't look like a pussy to me," he chuckles, "it looks like a needy little cunt". "You Look like a needy little cunt," he corrects as he trails a finger along my slit, following the crease from just above my clit down to the soft skin leading to my ass. "Looks like you're waiting to be used too," he laughs again.

I pull myself back, trying to push his finger more firmly against me, as I feel it run over my hot moist skin. I'm too late. Before I'm able to process the way my need draws me to him his finger is gone.

"Tell me what you are."

"A needy little cunt," I echo his words aloud.

"And what do you want little cunt?"

"Too be used Sir," I offer, my body shaking, like a sobbing child unable to draw breath through their tears, as I say the words softly.

"This is your mantra little cunt, and you will say it for me when you want my touch. Say it now; I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used."

"I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used" I repeat and my whole body chills in contrast to the heat between my legs. The beads of sweat covering me draw the warmth from my skin as my inner voice echoes. "Yes a needy little cunt who wants to be used. That's exactly right".

"Indeed you are," his voice not giving away any reaction as he pushes a finger through my nearly dripping wetness and straight into me.

I moan, and he stills with his finger half inside me. "Have you forgotten something?" he prompts me.

"I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used," I answer, and his finger moves at my words before stilling again. I repeat "I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used," trying to push myself back against him, but held in place by my restraints and the force of his hand pressing against me. Again, as he slips another finger into me, I repeat my chant, "I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used". Again... the words become the baseline for his rhythmic use of my hole. Over and over, until I can no longer to manage to form the words as his fingers draw me to the precipice of release, only to slide out of me entirely.

"You will cum only when I allow it," he tells me matter of factly. "I'm going to spank this beautiful bottom red now, and you are going to repeat your mantra for me every time you want my hand on you." His hand rubs my right cheek. "You will set the pace for now. When you want me to touch you, you need only say your mantra. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," I answer. Once again the space between my legs throbs with emptiness, my pussy begging to be filled. Adrenaline and the need for release flow through my body, my pulse pounds in my ears, and my need makes me brave. "I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used," I say my mantra, begging with both words and the need in my voice.

I was once in a car accident and the seconds between when I braced for impact and when it finally came seemed an eternity. Every nerve stood at attention that day, and until this moment I had never felt so connected with my own body. The same anxious anticipation floods me in the time between the words leaving my mouth and the THWACK of his hand meeting my skin.

My body is flooded with excitement and there is no pain with the first hit, only the satisfaction of surrender followed by a plea for another. "I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used," the words spill out easily this time.

For the second time his hand makes contact with the same spot on my bottom, the thud reverberating through me, my skin growing hot beneath his hand, which lingers to squeeze at me.

"I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used," I beg again.

Immediately he raises his hand and brings it down once again, this time with a sharp sting. He has obviously been holding back and this hit pushes me against the bench, making my skin burn with heat, and keeping me from immediately begging for another.

Sensing my hesitance his fingers glide over my ass down to my lips. He pushes a finger through my wetness. "You're loving this aren't you?" he teases, before I hear the unmistakable pop of a moist finger being pulled from his mouth. Lowering his voice, barely above a whisper, "delicious," he tells me.

The touch of his finger to my heated skin, and the mental image of him tasting me off of it, pulls the words from throat. "I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used," I cry out as my body twitches, pulling away from a hit that doesn't come.

I turn my head, my mind recognizes the feeling as disappointment, but as I relax against the bench it finds me.

"You needed that. You wanted that. Ask again." my inner voice commands. "I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used," I say aloud.

Over and over again his hand finds my skin, my words drawing out into a chant once again, but his hand no longer follows their rhythm. His desire, and not my need, sets the pace. His hand finds my cheeks, my thighs, and finally my moist slit with a loud, wet smack before he stops.

I see him enter the sideline of my vision as he opens the wooden cabinet on the wall, an array of paddles, crops and canes within. He selects a deep brown leather strap attached to a varnished wooden handle with shiny metal studs. My insides clench again as I watch him move behind me again, the empty feeling between my legs returns with vengeance. My efforts to fill it by squeezing are devastatingly inadequate.

I breathe deeply, waiting for him to bring the new toy down on my burning skin, my knuckles white as I grab at the legs of the bench. My anticipation isn't met with strap, but instead by the pushing of two fingers into my wet folds, into the aching void at my center.

My moan is half hum, half purr, all pleasure as he enters me. I forget the burning of my skin, in this moment my universe consists only of two fingers and the slick smooth walls tightening around them. Orgasm threatens to carry me away but just as it begins his fingers withdraw. When I open my eyes, whimpering for my lost orgasm, he is standing before me, fingers held out.

I answer his silent command with my mouth, meeting his eyes, and sucking his fingers into my mouth, my tongue licking the remnants of my need from him. His fingers pull back and breaking his gaze he brings his mouth to my ear. "Find a spot on the wall little pet," he pauses, waiting for me, "Do you have one?"

"Yes Sir," I answer, bringing my focus to a small hole in the wall before me, a place where something once hung that has been painted over, perhaps more than once.

"Good girl. That spot is your home. You will find it to focus yourself. When you feel you yourself slipping away you will find it and take a deep breath. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand Sir."

"Good girl," he tells me before dragging my earlobe through his teeth as he pulls away.

Behind me once again a hand runs over my cheeks, rubbing the warm skin gently. "So hot," he comments. I don't know if he is referring to the view, or to the burning heat emanating from my skin. "Say it," he commands.

"I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used," I answer without pause or hesitation.

The first blow is shockingly painful and I gasp, my face scrunching, my eyes closing, my focus gone.

"That's as hard as this toy will get. I want you to know what to expect. Take a deep breath, find your spot, and we'll try again," he encourages me.

I sniffle, "Try harder, you know you want this, think of the disappointment you would feel were he to release you from this bench," my inner voice encourages me as I find the spot. Taking a deep breath I open my mouth to repeat my plea but the strap does not wait.

"You will say it," he commands as the strap finds my other cheek, "but only because it pleases me, this beautiful ass is mine now. If you want me to stop you will say red, but know that if you do we are done here."

Focusing on my spot, willing my eyes to stay open, aiming my breath at the dimple in the paint, "I'm a needy little cunt, and I want to be used," I repeat.

The strap finds the same spot again, and I flinch. My eyes shift for a moment, but I correct them, bringing them home, as the paddle continues to fall. My mantra flows from me again and again as I focus on the wall, feeling every shocking hit heat the tender skin of my bottom as the strap comes down. Before long my face is wet with tears, my body and voice shaking as I repeat myself.

His hand is strong, the snap of the strap fierce, the pace relentless as the strap finds me. It draws surrender from me like a string from a sweater, slowly unraveling me, as it pulls back and forth.

The words still flow from my lips as the strap hits the floor and his fingers begin to run over the marks on my cheeks. I grow quiet as I feel them rise and fall over the rounded welts before trailing down to my pussy, pushing inside me once again.

The contrast between this touch and the bite of the strap is stark. I find myself unprepared as he slides a third finger in beside the other two, his other hand rests reassuringly on the small of my back. His fingers filling the aching void inside me.