“I hope the room meets with your approval Ma’am,” Missy said unlocking the door.
She lit the candle. It took only a moment to adjust to the twilight. The highly polished wood floor, grey brick walls and two hanging pegboards adorned with what Missy referred to as “toys” came into view. In the middle of the room was the bench. Rich brown leather, heavily cushioned atop dark wood with 0 rings built in for wrists and ankles, the bench was the showpiece. The minute she saw it she knew what she would do.
He was led into the room with hands clasped behind his back. Barefoot and nude from the waist up, he barely glanced at the furnishings. His eyes were on her. The candlelight bounced off the silver ring he wore around his neck. She could see the desire on his face. He had been waiting so long. So had she.
With barely a nod from her, Missy reached around his waist and undid the drawstring. She gently urged the back of his thighs forward using her knees to unbalance him. He had no choice but to fall into the bench; his face down, the pants he had worn now at his ankles and his ass at the perfect height.
There was music. He didn’t recognize the song but he felt a beat so insistent and so rhythmic he could feel himself getting lost in the sound. He barely realized that her girl was pushing his legs down onto the lower levels of the bench.
Now his face was cradled in the cushioned leather and his arms were brought up to his sides. The cuffs were buckled, the music played and his ankles were immobile. He was helpless. Restrained, head down with the smell of leather and the music thumping he was aware that the door had closed. He knew he was alone with her.
Her voice would tell him what was to come.
“So we meet again my dear boy.”
“Yes,” he acknowledged.
“Yes? Is that all?”
“Yes Ma’am,” he answered, “Yes my Master, my Mistress, my Owner. Thank you.”
“Oh, much better,” she told him,” much better.” All the while her hands on his body, teasingly sweet and brief at first began to linger on his back, his tightly held arms and his legs. He tensed not sure where she was going. Then, relaxed somewhat, he felt her fingers pressuring his thighs, softly at first then more pressure as her hands pressed into the flesh of his legs from his calves up to the back of his thighs. She stopped there. He shivered.
“I should take a picture of you like this,” she told him, “so you remember what a lucky boy you are.”
“I’ll remember Ma’am,” he said, “I will remember.”
“Good,” she answered him, “but let me help you.” Her hand swiftly came down in a slap across the fullness of his asscheek, his body shook with the unexpectedness of it, with the surprise of the sting. Again she slapped first the right then the left cheek of his ass and surprised him once more with the strength of the sting. He was breathing hard now, getting used to the slaps, sometimes hard and sometimes ending in a caress across the back of the thigh.
He knew better than to say a word, but a half moaned “please” escaped his lips. She didn’t stop. He said it again, “please.”
“Please what?” she asked him. “Please stop? Please, more? Please what?”
“Please. Anything you want.” He answered.
“Well of course. Now that goes without saying, doesn't it?” Another slap, this time harder. Strangely, it didn’t hurt. It was as if his ass rose to meet her hand. He was giving in to it, giving in to the feel of her hand, her touch, her voice, the pain and the promise of what was to come.
Part Three – Next Time