Archive-name: Control/dinasday.txt

Archive-author: Eldersign

Archive-title: Dina's Day





    She was tired...eyes burning from cigarette smoke...neck sore

from the continuous propping of an insistant phone.

She guided the big car through the rush hour traffic like an

automaton...thoughts whirling with the events and decisions of

the day.

    As she entered the beachhouse she noticed an envelope on the

floor under the seldom used mail slot, and as she picked it up

all thoughts of her day disappeared like smoke from a chimney.

She drew a nail across the seal and withdrew a single sheet of

expensive bond...unsigned, but it never was. That was part of

the excitement...never being totally sure that it was him.

She began reading...and a familiar shiver went through her.

    She put a bottle of wine to chill...an excellent year, for

she knew the consequences for failure to please.

    She drew a bath...and luxuriated in mountains of bubbles,

taking endless care in cleaning every inch of silken skin to

a lovely transparent flush. She styled her hair...each curl

placed with exceptional care. She added makeup...just a hint

in places, for her skin was very good...and she needed no more

color....as she was blushing almost constantly.

She dressed...a brief task...panties...a short pleated skirt...

white nylon blouse...nylons and black heels. She added jewelry

and did her nails.

    All these things took but half an hour...which was well, for

no more had she finished than she heard the door open.

She smiled bravely...and tried to look as appealing as possible.

He stalked in...looking for all the world like a gladiator now

returned from combat. He wore jeans...and a simple pullover shirt,

which failed to conceal the muscles beneath. He closed the door,

and studied her appearance.

He walked a circle around her...she stood frozen...like a bird

captured by the gaze of a viper. He raised her skirt casually, and

examined the exposed places with easy familiarity. She made no

objection to this intrusion. He cupped a breast roughly, and waited

to pounce at any reaction.

She remained impassive...at what cost only she knew.

He went to a closet...and withdrew several lengths of soft nylon

rope, which he tucked under an arm. He also found a short, wide

leather belt and swished it casually through the air as he closed

the closet door and returned to her side.

   He tied a length of rope around her waist...not tightly, but

firm enough to prevent excessive movement. He tied each wrist to

another piece of rope...then to the rope at her waist. The slightly

bent position of her arms was not painful, but drew the nylon

blouse into sharp relief across her breasts...a motion which rubbed

her nipples like sandpaper.

He took an arm...and led her to the front of the beachhouse. The

sands before it were empty...it was November and the crowds had gone

south to warmer climes. The sunporch was simply furnished...a

studio couch, a small table upon which the wine sat in an ice

bucket...accompanied by a glass...and two straight backed chairs

or old, solid oak construction.

He placed her in front of one of the chairs, back to it....and sat.

He poured the wine, and drank appreciatively, a long swallow.

He raised her skirt and placed the bunched material in her hands,

still restrained at her waist.

She was shivering in spite of the warmth of the room. She was

frightened...a little...and it was delicious.

Once he had whipped her here...just like this...daring her to move

or cry out...repeated strokes with that same wide belt across her

defenseless bottom...at least a dozen. She had not given in to the

tears then...she had remained still and in place...taunting him with

her control. The pain had been severe...more than any before or since,

but she had won...and he had given her a release which she would

remember forever as a prize.

   He finished the wine...and patted her directly on her cute lacy,

panties. He led her to the couch and laid her on her back, tossing her

skirt up casually as he did so. Her thighs were lovely...rounded and

firm...with a sweet hint of virginality in her pose. He looked for a

long moment...then raised the belt.

   She watched him...trusting but apprehensive...and excited beyond

anything she had ever felt. Surely he wouldn't...please God...let him.

He brought the belt down in a moderate arc...the stroke landing

across the front of her thighs with a sharp sting. He placed two

more there...both dangerously near the junction of her thighs...and

watched her face.

She closed her eyes...and in doing so admitted defeat. The sensations

and possibilities were too strong...he would win this time. She

would give in...she always did eventually, but he had won quickly

because of this different approach. She opened her legs wide...and

felt his hands gently slip her panties down her legs.

His weight was a welcome sensation...and he made love to her as he

always did...generously and thoroughly, spending extra time with

every place he knew would stimulate her. When the release finally

came she knew that whatever unknown costs there were in it, she was

right in letting it go on.

Later, as they sipped wine together, he spoke.

"I'm getting out of the mail room next week...I got the junior account

exec's job..."

She would never tell him.



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