House of Pain Ch. 07-08

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Chapter 7

The stage is different this time; it is better lit; there’s no music playing.

“Gentlemen — in today’s demonstration we are going to talk about how you can whip your submissive in such a way so she is in plenty of pain, but can still be available for play the next day.”

I keep my eyes lowered. Somewhere in the audience is Doug, and because I know that, I can’t tune the audience out.

I’m wearing black panties, a black bra. Nothing fancy; there’s no theatre to this event.

“First, up, the flogger…”

John pushes my panties down my hips efficiently; removes my bra, and loads me into a St. Andrews Cross. I consider the position I’m in. I’m facing the audience; my arms and legs are spread apart and tied. I’m completely immobile.

John’s saying something to the audience, something about the virtues of a submissive that can’t move. On that ominous note, he pulls out a pair of nipple clamps.

“Nipple clamps don’t always have to be stainless steel,” he says conversationally to the audience. “We’ve received a line of handcrafted nipple clamps that really resemble jewelry — they’ll make a perfect Christmas present for your sub…”

The nipple clamps pinch at my nipples painfully. The pain throbs through me; I can’t focus on anything else. I squirm a little.

The flogging starts. At first, the strokes are light, sending more heat than pain through me. My skin reddens; I feel the familiar arousal run through me, but it doesn’t give me the same satisfaction it’s given me in the past. I can’t imagine Doug’s going to be pleased with me.

Now, the strokes are harder, and red lines appear on my skin. John’s saying something about wrist movement and distance, but I am not listening. I focus on the sensation of the flogger striking me, but inside me, there’s dread as well, and it isn’t because of the pain of the flogger.

Now the flogger rains its blows on my breasts, setting them jiggling. Each jiggle causes the nipple clamp to move, and I hiss and squirm in pain. John notices my squirm; laughs and points it out to the audience. “No damage,” he says, “but plenty of pain. My favourite combination.”

He moves in front of me, changes the angle of the flogger. Now the strokes are striking my pussy, from beneath my parted legs. I squirm, yet again. This feels good; the warmth of the flogger heats my already wet pussy.

John switches tools, picks up the crop. He says something to the audience, something I miss, because I’m now wondering if Doug is going to be so angry with me that he won’t want to have sex again. “He doesn’t control me,” I say to myself, defiantly, but my defiance is only skin-deep. I do want to see him again, I realize. Sigh.

The blows of the crop start. Short, stinging strokes, all over my body. I can’t predict where the next stroke will fall. I’m dancing, flailing. The last time I was here at the House of Pain, I was able to open my mind to the pain, to let it flow through me. But I’m off balance because Doug is in the audience, and I can’t find the same peace. I writhe in pain as my body reacts to the crop.

John unbuckles me; turns me around, cuffs in into the St. Andrews Cross, with my ass now facing the audience. He says something, I hear the word “cane.” I instantly stiffen. Everything I’ve read about caning online suggests that it will be intensely painful.

It is and it isn’t; it’s a sensation I can’t really describe. There’s dimension to this pain, it hurts when the cane descends on my unprotected ass, but it also hurts after. John is, as promised, not hitting me very hard; but the cane still stings a fair bit. I’m squirming in my bindings, hissing in pain.

And finally, I decide I don’t care. I can’t do anything about the Doug situation, not right now. I decide to put it out of my mind. Either Doug will be angry, or he won’t be. There’s nothing I can do about it in this moment.

With that, I’m able to appreciate the feelings coursing through me, the sharp sting of the cane, the warmth radiating from my ass, the wetness in my pussy. Each stroke has me squirming, but as the strokes continue, I find that I’m pushing my ass outward, towards the cane. Once again, I’m dancing at that oh-so-small line between pleasure and pain, and once again, I don’t know whether it is pleasure I’m feeling, or pain.

The intensity increases. John’s saying something to the audience, and he finally brings the cane down hard, in one searing stroke across my skin. I shriek, as a flaming line of pain appears on my ass.

I’m being unbuckled from the cross; I am done.


I’m standing in the antechamber, wearing a robe. My eyes are closed. I have a knot in my stomach that has nothing to do with being whipped. There’s a moment of reckoning coming; and I am filled with nerves.

There’s a knock on the door; it is John.

“Sara,” he says, hesitation in his voice; his eyes slightly troubled. “There’s a customer here who would like to talk to you. Normally, I wouldn’t even bother cihangir escort you, but he says you know him. His name is Doug Patterson.”

I square my shoulders. I can avoid this moment now, but I can’t avoid it for ever.

“Yeah, that’s fine, I know Doug…” I say, my voice purposefully light.

“I’ll send him in then…” John says, relief in his voice.

I close my eyes again, try to calm myself. I hear another knock, someone enter the room. I look — it is Doug, and he is furious. I can feel the anger blazing off of him, but he holds it in check.

He eyes me expressionlessly. I have backed into a corner; he notices. “You don’t need to fear me, Sara…” he says, his voice flat. He shows me the tub of cream in his hand. “Take off your robe,” he says, “lie on the table.”

Every muscle in my body is clenched; I am on the point of fleeing. But I force myself to obey. Somewhere, there’s a little part of me that tells me that I can trust Doug; and I sense that this part of me is right.

His hands are gentle on my body as he massages the cream into my ass; soothing it. John has done this with me before, but here, now, with Doug’s hands roaming over my body, there is heat; there is intimacy; there is comfort. I feel desire rise in me; but first, we have to talk.

“You are angry with me,” I start. I’m lying face down on the massage table, I can’t see his face, and he can’t see mine. It’s probably better this way. His hands roam over my body, part my legs, and rub cream on my inner thighs.

“Tell me why I’m angry, Sara.” His voice is level.

“Because I was naked in front of an audience?” I ask.

“Ok. Why else?”

“Because I should have asked you for permission?” I ask, though I don’t like the idea of having to ask permission to do anything.

“Nope. Wrong. Try again.” His hands now massage of my back and my shoulders; they feel like heaven. I hold back the rising desire; try to focus on our conversation.

“I don’t know.” I’m confused. I’m assuming this is some kind of control thing; but he’s denied it. What then?

“See, Sara, I get the sense that you think this is a Dominant-Submissive conversation, where I tell you off for breaking a rule.” Doug’s voice is hard. “But it isn’t. When I sleep with someone on Sunday, and I make plans to see her again on Saturday, I’m old-fashioned enough to expect that in between those timeframes, she’s not sleeping with someone else. And Sara, in my opinion, the House of Pain is tantamount to cheating.”

He’s right; I can’t dispute it even if I want to. After all, I broke up with Colin because I didn’t think it was fair to him for me to be doing shows at the House of Pain. I can’t see myself performing at the House of Pain, and sustaining a relationship at the same time.

“I should have told you,” I say.

“Yes, I think it was relevant information that you had a show scheduled mid-week.” His voice is level again.

“Are you going to punish me?” My voice is now wary.

Doug laughs, but there’s no humour in the sound. “You think I’m going to punish you because I’m angry, Sara? It doesn’t work like that, not for me. To me, that’s the same thing as beating you, and Sara, I don’t lay hands on a woman in anger.”

“What happens now?” I ask, and I’m glad my face is buried in the table. There’s too much potential for hurt in his answer; if he rejects me here, it will matter, and I will not be able to hide it.

“If you want to come over Saturday, there are rules…” he says.

Aah. Here it comes. The rules. I expect to be told the rules governing my submission. What to wear; what to call him; how to behave.

But that isn’t what he says. “I don’t share…” he says, quietly, instead. “I’m monogamous in my relationships… I expect my partner to be the same. If you want to sleep with someone else, you need to tell me; to end this before you do that. And that applies here, Sara, to the House of Pain.”

Oh. I wish I could argue; but I can’t. It’s a fair request. “You won’t sleep with anyone else either?” I ask, just to be sure. I’m not going to buy into a double standard.

“Of course not…” he says automatically, surprise etched in his voice.

“Get dressed, Sara,” he says, something in his voice signalling that this conversation is at an end. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

“I can catch a cab,” I say. It is late; we both have to work the next day.

“I’ll drive you home.” His voice is flat. There’s a warning in it for me; and I heed it. I don’t argue; I get dressed.


We don’t talk much on the way back; I give him my address; he nods; and we are on our way. I keep quiet too. He doesn’t seem angry any more, but I can’t read his mood. When he pulls up in front of my building, I eye him hesitantly.

“Doug… I’m sorry about tonight.” And I am. He’s being a lot nicer about this that I had expected. He hasn’t yelled at me; he’s instead massaged cream into my body, and given mecidiyeköy escort me a ride home. I don’t deserve his kindness.

He doesn’t say anything; but he leans forward, kisses me gently on my lips. “See you Saturday, baby,” he says.

There’s still desire in me; a tightly coiled desire that begs for release. “Want to come up for a drink?” I ask hopefully.

Doug grins at me. “Normally, that’s a very tempting offer,” he says, “but I’ve an early morning meeting. Can I take a rain check?”

“Sure.” There’s disappointment in my voice; I try to hide it, but I’m not sure I succeed. “Thanks for the ride…” I say, preparing to get out of the car.

“Sara…” His hand is now on mine, jolting me to stillness. “Are you turned on now, Sara?” There’s a peculiar note in his voice.

Honest communication. “Yes…” I confess.

He laughs. “In that case…” he says, and now, there’s a note of command in his voice, “it would please me greatly, Sara, if you don’t masturbate tonight. In fact, if you want to be really, really good, you won’t masturbate till Saturday evening.”

Whoa. There’s no ‘or else’ in his statement. He’s made his request, or is it an order he’s given me? In any case, I’m not sure what the consequences are to disobeying him, and I find I don’t care. I will do as he’s asked me to do. I owe it to him; I need to make up for the House of Pain tonight.

“Okay.” My voice is quiet, compliant.

Is this how it starts, my submission? Chapter 8

I run into Doug at the elevator on Friday. I’m heading to lunch with my friend Toni, when the elevator doors open, and Doug and the COO walk in. We both have been giggling about something she’s said about one of our coworkers, but we both grow still as we notice the new entrants; stop our giggling. The COO nods at us politely; continues his conversation with Doug.

Doug looks relaxed; unintimidated. And utterly hot, I decide, surveying him from the corner of my eyes. I have done as he’s asked; I haven’t masturbated, and as a result, I can’t tear my mind away from sex; from the way Doug had me tied up on the sawhorse, as he licked me from behind.

The elevator doors open; we all get out. Doug catches my eye; winks at me. “Have a nice weekend, Sara,” he says, politely, as we walk away.

“You know Doug Patterson?” Toni asks me. She’s surprised.

“We met at last month’s meet-and-greet,” I say. I change the topic; we chat about Toni’s weekend plans.


Friday evening, after work, I head to a bar around the street with my coworkers. They are a good bunch; I’m going to miss working with them. My boss Jason. There’s my friend Toni, who’s always good for a giggle. Adam, a dreamer, who always has pictures of his vacations in his cubicle, and spends a lot of time dreaming about the next trip; Paul, quiet and efficient. Sandra, the only one I dislike; she’s a complainer — she has no life outside work; comes in early, leaves late, but doesn’t manage to get anything done in her hours at her desk, because she’s too busy gossiping and complaining. Ok, I won’t miss Sandra. But I’ll definitely miss the rest.

Our department has been through ups and downs as we’ve struggled to define ourselves; prove to our management that we indeed add value. And from the rumours of layoffs, it doesn’t look like the struggles are over either. But they are for me; I’ve worked my last day; I have a week off, and then I start a new chapter in my life.

We giggle a lot; consume an inordinate amount of wine; and get rather drunk.


It is 5.55pm Saturday afternoon, and I am at Doug’s door. I take a deep breath to still my nerves, and ring the doorbell.

I hear Alia’s typical volley of barks, and then the door opens. As before, Alia tries to bowl me over. I pet her, laughing. It’s hard to remain nervous or serious in the face of Alia’s enthusiasm.

Doug smiles at me. “Hey Sara,” he says. His eyes are warm, friendly. “Come on in…”

I follow him into the kitchen. “Want a drink?” he asks me.

“Please,” I say.

He hands me a beer; grabs one for himself. And then, he gives me my first order.

“Sara, I’d like you to go downstairs, please.” His voice is firm today. “Take off your clothes; keep your underwear on. Wait for me.”

He hasn’t touched me. I’m not sure if he’s still angry with me about Wednesday night. I nod. I obey.

It’s a rainy Saturday; wet and chilly; a harbinger of the coming autumn. The basement is thankfully warm though; Doug has the fireplace going; it fills the room with warmth. I’ve dressed casually; I’m wearing jeans, a t-shirt, sneakers. I take off my clothes; and perch at the end of the bed. I sip my beer quietly. My thoughts are scattered; nervousness and anticipation are warring inside me.

I hear Doug’s footsteps on the stairs; he walks in.

“Come here…” he says, gesturing to the middle of the room. I walk over, still holding my beer. Doug reaches forward, takes the beer from my hand, kurtuluş escort and sets it down on a side-table next to the bed.

“So, Sara, did you masturbate?” His voice is relaxed. He is standing really close to me; I can feel the heat emanate from him; smell his smell; a combination of soap and aftershave and hot man; my breathing quickens, ever so slightly, as my body reacts to his nearness.

“No,” I whisper.

“Good girl,” he says, approvingly. He walks around me, eying my body. I flush under his examination.

“Take your underwear off, please.”

I gulp. I remind myself I’ve been naked in front of Doug before; but he’s always taken my clothes off. To take my clothes off in front of him; when the room is in light, and he’s watching me, his eyes thick with lust; his nostrils flared; this is difficult.

“Sara.” Impatience in his voice.

I quickly obey. Perhaps it’s easiest this way, to obey whatever he asks me to do, without thinking about how it makes me feel.

But his eyes are on me, slowly examining my body, and I am blushing at his inspection. “Turn around,” he says. I obey.

His hands are caressing my ass. “No trace of welts…” he says. “Are you up to getting spanked today?”

Wetness floods my pussy at his words; my nipples are erect. He notices my body’s reaction, and laughs. “I think the answer to that is yes, isn’t it Sara?”

“Yes…” I whisper.

He pulls my face towards him; kisses me. His lips are strong, he’s nibbling my lips with his, his tongue dances with mine, and I’m panting in utter arousal when he’s done. I mutely turn my head so my neck is visible. I love being kissed there; there’s something about that spot that is so very erotic to me.

“Here?” Doug asks, brushing my neck with his fingers, in response to my mute invitation. I nod silently. My brain is already a haze. He bends his head, his lips find that spot. I moan, wrap my arms around his waist; pull him closer to me. I need to feel his body, his strength pressed up against my body.

For a change, he does not tell me to hold still; his mouth is raining hot kisses on my neck; his hands are tracing idle circles on the sides of my breasts, and I am in heaven.

Doug is still fully clothed, and I groan in slight frustration. I want to run my hands and my mouth all the way up and down his body; I want to kiss his nipples, and bury my face in his perfect chest. I want to feel the raw steel of his arms as they hold me down; I want to lower my mouth on his perfect cock, and feel him erupt in my mouth.

But for a start, I want him to take off his clothes.

I’m not sure if this is allowed; if I’m permitted to make a request about what I want. “How will you find out what the rules are, if you don’t ask?” I ask myself.

“Doug…” I start hesitantly.

“Mmm?” Doug has lowered a mouth on my right breast, and I feel his teeth graze my nipple. Lust shoots through me, potent and burning.

“Am I allowed to talk in your dungeon?” My question is tentative. Instantly, his mouth stops, he pulls away from me. I look at him; he is looking utterly exasperated.

“What are the rules we’ve set down so far, Sara?” I can hear the mild irritation in his voice.

“Umm.” My mind is a blank, I’m still in a haze of lust, but I’m mindful of the irritation in his voice. I struggle to focus. Have there been rules?

“Umm, honest communication?” He’d said that the first time.

“Good. What else?” His voice is level; he looks slightly less irritated.

I search the memories of our conversations. What else? Oh right. Wednesday’s discussion about monogamy.

“No sleeping with other people.” I sound relieved at remembering the rules. His lips twitch.

“And was there anything else?” he asks, amusement warring with exasperation in his voice.

“I don’t think so.” I’m now slightly sheepish; I feel utterly foolish.

“Excellent.” His voice is amused now. “But I think this is a lesson that best needs to be taught a different way. Come on.” He tugs me to the bed; settles himself against the headboard, and pulls me onto him. I am face-down on his lap, my butt in the air and one of his hands is wrapped around my waist, holding me in place. I sense I’m about to be very thoroughly spanked.

“So, Sara…” he says conversationally. “What’s the standard convention here? You count the spanks? I don’t want you to do that. Instead, I’d like you to repeat what I say after me. Understood?”

I nod into the mattress.

Whap. Whap. His hand comes down hard on my ass; I nearly jump off the bed as the heat radiates through me. He has spanked me hard; I bite my lips to hold back my squeak.

“Silly Sara.” His voice is relaxed; he sounds almost indulgent as he rains blows on my tender, unprotected ass. “You have all these ridiculous preconceived notions about us, what we are doing here. Let it all go. The rules are what we make them. Understand?” A couple of hard swats to emphasize his point. I jump and writhe again. My ass is already throbbing. Perhaps because of the warmth of his house; perhaps because he’s only spanked me gently so far; I didn’t think I’d be in much pain being spanked by Doug. I’m forced to reassess. His hands are raining blows down on me, and my flesh feels like it is on fire.

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