A few days after the first spanking, he gave me a book to read. It was The Story of O, by Pauline Réage. I read it almost at a single sitting. The measured pace of its spare, elegant prose was hypnotic. I found myself transported into a world in which at last my own fantasies did not seem out of place. I loved the ritualistic nature of the things that are done to O. I was fascinated by such details as the front-fastening bras she was obliged to wear, or the fact that she must never sit with her legs crossed. I thrilled to the arbitrary cruelties inflicted on her; the beatings by men she does not know or cannot even see. Most of all I identified with her deep, all-consuming desire to please her Master, even to the point of being given away by him to the sadistic Sir Stephen.
In bed, while he slowly stroked my naked body, Roland cross-questioned me about my responses.
“Is that what you want from me?” I asked. “You want me to be like her?”
“Don’t worry about what I want,” he said. “How did you feel reading it?”
I thought for a moment. “In some ways, it’s ridiculous,” I said. “No one would ever let themselves be treated like that in real life. But it’s exciting all the same. To be completely helpless, to willingly renounce control, to be used for pleasure, I can see how that appeals to some people.”
“To you?” Roland asked.
“In a certain mood, maybe,” I said. “But I’m such a coward about pain. I can’t imagine being whipped for pleasure. I can read about it happening to others, but I can’t really imagine it happening to me. And as for being branded…” I shuddered.
“And yet,” said Roland, his hand moving meditatively across my rump, “you didn’t mind a little spanking.”
I rolled over onto my back, not looking for a repeat performance just at that moment. I wasn’t quite in the mood.
“I admire her single-mindedness, the way she’s prepared to go the whole hog, even to the extent of being given away to another man.”
“You like that idea?”
I suddenly felt a fear of losing him and held him close. “Not in real life,” I said. “It’s just an idea.”
Roland put his hand between my legs, fondling my cunt. I loved it when he did that, such an intimate and affectionate gesture. I spread my legs luxuriously, wantonly.
“There’s something I want to do,” he said.
He ran his fingers through my pubic hair. At the time, I had a strong, thick bush of dark hair, only slightly trimmed round the sides for modesty when I went swimming.
“I want to shave you.”
“Shave me? There?”
“I don’t know exactly,” he said. “I think it’s to do with setting my mark on your body. A kind of proof of ownership.”
“You feel you own my body?”
“Not yet. But I’d like to,” he said. His hand was still between my legs, insidiously working.
“Very well,” I said. No one had ever done such a thing; no one had ever wanted to. I liked it that he was interested enough in my body to want to fashion it to his liking. It crossed my mind there might be other things he’d want to do. Plenty of time for that later, I thought. One thing at a time.
He took me into the bathroom and shave me…
Then, I stood up and went to look in the mirror.
“What do you think?” Roland asked.
I wasn’t sure I liked it. I wasn’t used to seeing my cunt so naked, the lips so clearly visible, like a fleshy mouth. But it did make me feel very sexual.
“It’s very in your face,” I said.
“That’s where I’d like it to be,” said Roland. He was sitting down. He pulled me towards him and bent low to thrust his face between my legs, kissing me firmly on the cunt. Then he lifted his face up.
“I like it,” he said. “I want you to keep it that way. When we go about it public, I’ll be the only one who knows just how naked you are under your clothes.”
He put his hand between my legs and touched the smooth skin.
“Mmm,” he said. “That feels so good.”
He led me into the bedroom, laid me on the bed, and began to fuck me. I could feel his groin right up against mine; I felt exposed to him, more naked, with more sensation. It excited me, and I came before he ejaculated.
The first thing Roland wanted to do when we next met was put his hand between my legs. Since we were in a pub at the time, that wasn’t too easy, but when we left, he pulled me into an alleyway and put his hand up my skirt, feeling under my knickers.
“It’s lovely,” he said. “It makes me just crazy to fuck you.”
“Not here,” I said firmly.
We got back to my place and went straight into the bedroom. Roland stripped off my skirt and knickers and practically threw me on the bed before burying his face between my legs. He kissed my cunt then licked it and began to circle my clit with his tongue, the way I’d shown him how. I was beginning to see just how fierce was his desire for me, and how much pleasure I got from pleasing him. And also how much power it gave me. It was a new kind of sex I was experiencing, not the simple animal pleasures I had been restricted to up until then, but a far more dynamic kind of sex, one which involved my mind at least as much, if not more than, my body. Roland was getting inside my head, changing the way I felt about sex, in ways that were exciting and, at times, a little scary.
Roland suggested that I keep my cunt smooth for him by regular shaving, and this I was happy to do. It turned him on so much that it was slick and silky for him, and that, in turn, excited me. But I was still shy about myself ‘down there’, and he seemed determined to cure me of any embarrassment concerning my sexual parts. One Sunday afternoon we were at his place reading the newspapers when he looked up at me. I felt his gaze on me and put my paper down.
“Come here,” he said.
I got up and crossed towards him. I was barefoot, wearing only a skirt and t-shirt.
“Take off your skirt,” he said.
Blushing a little, I did so.
“Now the knickers,” he said.
He put out his hand for them, and I gave them to him. He pressed them to his nose and sniffed.
“Come closer,” he said.
He put his hand between my legs and fondled me. Then he pushed two fingers up inside me as far as they would go. I couldn’t look at him for shame. He moved the fingers around a little and took them out. He put them to his nose and sniffed once more.
“I love your smell,” he said. “It’s a distinctive fragrance all your own.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say that would not make my embarrassment worse. He put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them.
“You taste good too. Slightly sharp.”
I was silent.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Put two fingers in your cunt,” he said.
“Please,” I said, “I don’t –“
“Just do it,” he said. “Don’t think about it, just do as I say.”
I pushed two fingers up inside, moving them around a little as he had done.
“Take them out and smell them,” he said.
I did as he said, blushing furiously. The smell was not strong, yet powerfully redolent of sex. Yet could it be true that he really liked it?
“Now taste,” he said.
I put the fingers in my mouth, sucking the juice off them. It didn’t taste of much, to be honest. Certainly not unpleasant.
“I want to debauch you,” he said suddenly.
I smiled. “I think you may have already done so.”
“No,” he said in earnest. “I’ve hardly started. I sense depths in you, depths of depravity.”
I blushed again. Surely he couldn’t know what lurked in those depths?
“I’m right, aren’t I? Won’t you tell me what’s going on down there?”
I shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. I felt very exposed, my cunt bare and now my mind being plumbed. Roland put his hand between my legs and began to fondle me again. I was excited by what he was doing, yet I couldn’t bear to catch his eye. I was afraid of what he might think of my lust, afraid he might judge me for it, even though he was the one responsible for arousing it. Such are the contradictions of the woman I was then, before Roland resolved all my paradoxes and oxymorons and dilemmas.
“Look at me,” he said suddenly, his hand still working on me.
Reluctantly, I raised my eyes to his.
“I love you when you’re slutty,” he said. I felt my face going red once more.
“You are slutty, aren’t you?”
I was silent. He slowly ran his finger around the side of my clit, and I gasped.
“You are slutty, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I whispered. He kept stroking my clit. My knees were trembling.
“What are you?” he demanded.
I couldn’t say the words. He pushed two fingers into my cunt and began to move them in and out, fucking me with his hand. I moaned with pleasure.
“What are you?” he asked again.
“I’m a slut,” I said. It was the second time he’d made me say it. Is it true? I wondered. If I wasn’t already, I was well on the way to being so.
He took his fingers out and began to stroke my clit again.
“You want to come, don’t you?” he asked.
“Ask nicely,” he said, “and perhaps I’ll let you.” He kept stroking.
“Please,” I said.
“Ask very, very nicely,” he said.
“Please, oh pretty please, be kind.”
I put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself. His fingers were still caressing my cunt. I was getting closer and closer, and my legs felt weak. I couldn’t remember ever coming standing up before, but I didn’t think I’d find it hard, not now.
“If I let you come,” he said, “you’ve got to let me do something to you that no one has ever done.”
“What?” I asked.
“We’ll talk about that when you’ve had the ‘petite mort’,” he said. “You must just agree now without further discussion.”
Just then he began to stroke my clit a tiny bit faster. I couldn’t let him stop now.
“Yes,” I said. “Anything. Anything you like.” And I came with a cry; my thighs gripping his hand as I shook with the transports of delight.
When I’d stopped shaking, he took me on his lap and kissed me.
“So what do I have to do?” I asked.
“I’m not going to tell you in advance,” he said. “You just have to let me do as I please for the next hour. No questions, no resistance, no strings. No names, no pack drill.”
“I just put myself completely in your hands? Whatever happens?”
“What if it hurts?”
“I promise it won’t hurt,” he said. “I’ll stop if it does.”
“Very well,” I said, wrapping my arms round his neck and kissing him on the mouth.
He took me into the bedroom and laid me face down on the bed. He took off my t-shirt and bra, so that now I was naked. I thought for a moment I was in for another spanking, but he went in the bathroom and came out with some massage oil and two large towels. He put the towels underneath me. Then he dripped some oil into the small of my back and began to smooth it into my skin. He had a wonderful touch, firm yet gentle, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. I surrendered to his stroking, kneading fingers, smoothing the tension from my muscles yet arousing me anew.
He worked his way down my back, paying special attention to the thick rope of muscle either side of my spine. Once or twice I grunted when his fingers dug really deep, but it felt good. My body was coming alive.
He took my buttocks in his hands, rolling them from side to side, pushing his fingers deep into them then spreading them. I felt exposed then and was glad he couldn’t see my face as I imagined his eyes peering at my anus. After a while, he moved further down, smoothing oil down the back of my thighs before coming up on the inside. His fingers were getting nearer and nearer to the top, and I held my breath, waiting for the magic moment when they should encounter my cunt which I could feel was oozing juice now. But the expected touch never came. Instead, he returned to working on my buttocks, pulling them this way and that. He held them open, and then I felt, unmistakeably, his lips on my anus, kissing the tiny, quivering little opening. No one had ever done such a thing to me before. Instinctively, I closed up, but he put his tongue into me, trying to push me open. Then he started circling with his tongue. I knew this was called rimming. When I’d read about the practice, it always sounded distasteful to me, literally so. But there was no doubt Roland was doing it with enjoyment, and I was amazed at how sensitive I was there and how good it felt.
He reached over to the drawer of the little bedside table and took out a tube of lubricant. I looked anxiously over my shoulder.
“Don’t say a word,” Roland said. “Remember what you said. Anything I like.”
I felt the lubricant cold upon my anus, and his finger pushed into me, moving the slippery stuff around, greasing me. I didn’t know exactly how far he was going with this, but I had promised, and I had no choice but to let him have his way. He worked more lubricant up inside me until I could feel I was slick and loose. His finger felt quite tight after a while, and I guessed that he had put two of them into me, maybe more, for all I could tell.
He put a couple of pillows underneath me so that my bottom was raised. He pulled my legs wide apart. I felt open and vulnerable and a little fearful, like a shy virgin with her first lover. He got behind me, half up on his knees, and pressed his cock to my ass. At first it wouldn’t go in.
“Open for me,” he whispered. “Press down like you’re trying to push out.”
Nervous of the consequences but willing to trust him, I did as he said, relaxing my sphincter muscle. Roland’s cock eased into me part of the way.
“Good girl,” he breathed.
I pushed again and more of him entered me. It felt strange. It wasn’t like being fucked in the cunt. I felt very full. But it was more than that. There was something perverse about it. I thought of all the words for it: buggery, sodomy, being butt-fucked, taking it up the ass. I was doing it; I was being a whore who let men do anything they wanted. It felt good.
He began to move inside me, not right in and out, not rubbing the skin of his cock against the inside of my ass, but instead moving his cock inside its skin so that I felt its hardness filling me, penetrating me, but there was no uncomfortable friction. I could tell from the way he did this that he had fucked women in the ass before. I didn’t mind that too much. I prided myself on not being a jealous person; at least, I saw no point in being jealous of women who were in the past. But I was glad that he was my first, that he had taken my anal virginity.
He came quickly; afterwards he told me because it was so tight it was hard to hold back. I imagined I could feel his cock pumping the hot semen into my bowels though I know there are no nerves that far up. But when he slipped out of me, I could feel the semen begin to seep out of me, and that felt good too.
We went in the shower together, and he let me wash his cock, kneeling before him and soaping under the foreskin. Then we got some food and wine from his kitchen and spent the evening watching TV, touching each other languorously and sometimes lasciviously.