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“Now now, what do we have here?” he taunted me.
I didn’t say a word. I decided to let him touch me for another half-minute or so, and then leave. But he was relentless with his teasing of my clit, and I was approaching the point of no return.
“You want to cum, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer. But I didn’t pull away either. Perhaps I’d let him quickly bring me off, and then get on my way. “Yes…yes please, I’d like to cum.”
“Since I touched you, we’re back to even. If you want to cum, you’ll have to offer something in exchange.”
What?? Are you nuts, dude? You’re lucky I’m even here! I don’t want to cum that bad. Least of all with you! “Off…offer something in…in return?” Why did I just say that? I should just leave; this is my chance.
“If you want to cum, you’ll have to stay and suck my cock again. One more time. But it might take me twenty minutes to rebound, so you can spend that time licking my balls.”
I wanted to say fuck you. But those weren’t the words that seemed to escape my mouth. Instead I found myself saying: “I will. Please let me cum. Please let me cum and stay and suck your cock again.”
“And to get me prepped, you’re gonna give my balls a nice long tongue-bath, right?”
“Yes, yes I will. I’ll lick your balls. Oh God. I want to cum sooo bad.”
His fingers brought me over the edge. I had an incredible orgasm. My legs trembled and almost buckled. I gasped and bit my lip. Then, I hung my head in shame. I knew I had enough time to stay another hour and still be home to call Lewis as scheduled.
So I stayed. I licked the guy’s hairy balls just like I’d promised. He rebounded. Then I swallowed his cum for a second time, while my own fingers brought me off a second time as well.
At exactly 8:00 pm I phoned Lewis from the sanctuary of my living room. We talked. Mostly he wanted to know how I approached the men. I told him the story I concocted, and how it seemed to work. My heart sank when he told me there were at least three lesbian bars in the city, and it will be interesting to see if my tactic works just as well with the other gender. Thankfully, it was evident he meant someday in the future.
For now, we had another matter to tend to: “You will meet my network colleagues tomorrow,” Lewis said.
The network? “Yes Sir. I’ll be ready Sir.”
CHAPTER 11: THE NETWORK
The very next morning…
I was in the midst of a crazy dream: I had been kidnapped by a Mexican drug cartel, with my body offered up as a reward for whatever foot soldier had performed well that day. The leader offered the end of my leash to a street dealer who had just sold a nice amount of blow. Rather than take the leash, the lucky recipient grabbed hold of my hair and dragged me onto a dirty mattress...
The ringing of the phone on my nightstand awakened me from the reverie.
“H..hello,” I said, my voice groggy. It was Lewis.
"You will have an interview of a different sort today. The network would like to meet you, for a direct conversation."
"Yes of course Sir, but did I do something wrong?"
"Not at all. You've completed your fifth assignment, so it's customary that the network meet you in person. Basically, they want to ensure you do not feel coerced, or trapped, or pressured to continue under my command. Interviews like this are actually for the protection and benefit of the sub. Accordingly, I will not be present until the end of the session.”
“Is there anything I should do to prepare?”
“No, but let’s meet for coffee and I can give you more background.”
What a wonderful morning surprise! I was thrilled to be seeing Lewis in person. From his tone of voice I inferred our conversation would be casual and friendlier than our usual Q&A where I’m essentially interrogated. We arranged to meet at the upstairs lounge of a Starbucks, half-way between our homes.
I jumped into the shower to get ready. In part to kill some time, in part to fully wake up, and in part to make myself look as pretty as possible for Lewis. With the hot water running over my body, I reached up and unfastened the shower head. As I slid it down along my skin, my mind began to wander. I closed my eyes, and remembered my dream. I began to fantasize, picking up where it left off. The greasy Mexican dealer pulling me aggressively by my hair, and throwing me onto that dirty smelly mattress. His body was heavily tattooed, but not the work one might see on those television shows such as Miami Ink. These were spontaneous prison-style tattoos, amateur looking, randomly placed, and sloppily made. His breath was rank as he descended onto me. I tasted Tequila and cigars when he kissed me. Just as I imagined his long skinny cock pushing into my defenseless cunt; the shower head in my hand found my clit. I pressed the hot and pulsating metal against my mound. Soon I was cumming with the fantasy still playing out in my mind’s eye.
Twenty minutes later, while blow drying my hair I was tempted to rub out another one, but for the sake of time I decided against it. I looked at myself in the mirror. I look pretty good today, if I say so myself. All my life I had been complimented on my looks. At 5’ 6” I’m perhaps a tad short, but with super high heels I’m okay. My weight rarely fluctuates, never less than 120 lbs, never more than 125. My boobs are a large B/small C. My nipples are well defined as the color leans toward brown versus pink. They respond well to treatment or sensation of any kind, which has been both a blessing and a curse. On cold days or in an air conditioned room they perk right up, poking through any type of material, bra or not. The slightest touch by a man or woman, and they protrude immediately as if inviting further use. My ass is firm and round. Indeed I’ve been blessed with a nice figure, but I work at it too with a mix of cardio, stretching, yoga, and resistance training. I’m cleanly shaved which I maintain attentively. My hair is light brown, with blonde highlights. While I’ve been approached about modeling (sometimes randomly in a restaurant or at the beach) I never had any interest in pursuing that. I’ve always been adamant about maintaining my anonymity. Perhaps I was foreshadowing my role as a whipping bitch where being anonymous is an asset. Models draw too much attention to fly under the radar.
I didn’t want to overdress for our coffee, so I picked out a vibrant new outfit I’d recently purchased at Banana Republic. Like many women I have an unnecessarily extensive wardrobe, including of course, a ridiculous assortment of shoes. I like looking my best whenever I can, and I must admit I do enjoy turning a few heads. With just a hint of mascara meticulously applied, I was good to go.
Over a latte Lewis told me more about the network, including its history and evolution. It was quite interesting. The group was initially formed in the late 1990s, with a dozen or so founding members. Those original members now form the steering committee that collectively makes all decisions. There are 48 (secretly) registered clients who are not themselves members, but rather are considered affiliates. Every client is thoroughly pre-screened. These screenings include checking police records, reviewing medical records, verifying financial stability and employment, conducting reference checks, and last but not least - all prospective clients are interviewed in person by two of the network's founding members. Even then, each new client has a probationary period during which he or she cannot use a submissive privately until they’ve been observed in action on at least a few occasions. All of this due diligence has resulted in a flawless record to date. While many of the discipline sessions are quite extreme, no submissive has ever been abused against her will, or permanently harmed in any way.
In terms of the submissives, there are five subs currently active, myself included. Four are female, and Kevin Dailey is the sole male.
Similar to the clients, we submissives are not considered official members. Since we pose no danger, we don’t go through an extensive screening process. Instead for our own benefit and safety, we are regularly interviewed by our sponsor (obviously Lewis in my case), and annually by the network steering committee, as was being scheduled for me today.
The mo
re Lewis told me, the more intrigued I became. I was going to meet and be interviewed by a few of his contemporaries. How cool is that? I had mixed feelings about Lewis being absent for much of the interview. In a way, I wanted him there. I did not have a single negative word to say about Lewis, and I wished he was there to hear me tell the others how much I adored him. On the other hand, I was unwittingly falling in love with Lewis, and I was worried this might not be looked upon favorably. Perhaps it was best he not be there.
Lewis scribbled a name onto a napkin and told me I was expected at the Four Seasons at 2:00.
Once in my car, I regretted my casual Banana Republic clothing selection. I assumed the interview would take place in the evening, which would have allowed me time to change. I would have worn something sexier, and perhaps more formal. Damn. I hope they don’t think I’m disrespectful by not dressing up more.
Arriving at the Four Seasons, I glanced at the napkin and then asked for ‘Mr. Niap’ at the front desk. What an odd name? Then I let out a giggle. Of course, it was a concocted name: ‘pain’ spelled backwards.
The clerk at the front desk rang up to the room, and then directed he me to Penthouse Suite 2208. I was greeted warmly and welcomed inside. I was offered a drink but chose water. Three people were present, two older gentlemen both smartly dressed, and an equally stylish woman who looked about 30ish.
My instinct was to kneel, and I glanced around with the hopes of seeing a kneeling cushion, indicating my expected spot. Instead, I was directed to sit comfortably on the couch, as if I was the equal of everyone present.
The woman started things off: “Hello Abigail. Let me set you at ease by saying you will not be whipped or disciplined in any way today. Nothing sexual will happen here. Today isn’t about that. We are only here to talk with you. A series of questions and honest answers, nothing more.”
As she spoke I was in part relieved, and yet in part, disappointed. My God, what a slut I’ve become. I was calmed to know nothing was expected of me, and my clothing would remain on, yet – my needy pussy was eager for anything, as usual.
“How long have you been prostituting under Lewis’ command?”
“About four months, Ma’am,” I answered, lowering my eyes.
“How would you characterize your role?”
“I’ve thought about that very question, and Lewis and I have interchangeably used a variety of descriptors, although we did not converge on one. In our preliminary conversations, Lewis called me his ‘whipping bitch’. I’m clearly a pain slut or a masochist – but I’m also paid for what I do – which makes me a whore. I obey his every order, which makes me feel like his submissive or slave. All I know is I happily do whatever he says, money or not.”
“Any regrets so far?”
“None, whatsoever,” I answered. “I’ve never felt more alive, more excited. I’ve never felt more fulfilled. The sex itself is unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I have powerful orgasms now that leave me breathless.”
“Do you ever feel at risk, or in danger?”
“Perhaps surprisingly, no. Of course, I know full well the whippings will bring me blinding pain. But deep down I trust no real harm will come to me. Perhaps I’m naive, but I never fear for my life, or any lasting injury.”
“How did you meet Lewis in the first place?”
I sat back and told the story. How it was me who sought Lewis out. How I’d heard of him from a friend of a friend, and saw him at a few social gatherings. He fascinated me, this mysterious Dom who everybody seemed to know, yet nobody seemed to know well. Lewis was wealthy, but didn’t flaunt it. He was always polite to everyone. I was always attracted to that understated confidence in a dominant. He was very sure of himself, yet void of arrogance.
I spoke as eloquently as I could: “He was also gregarious and in demand. Girls wanted him. When I’d first introduced myself to Lewis, he graciously discarded me. I felt like a stalker as I kept at it, finding my way into another party I knew he was planning to attend. I made sure he was aware I was a willing submissive. Eventually he must have noticed potential in me, and that lead to our first interview.”
