The Dancer and the Dom (2 page)

“Ye-yes.”

He
nodded. “I own this cunt. I will do with you as I please. I do not care if you
are embarrassed or uncomfortable. This is how things will be from here on out,
do you understand?”

The
heel of his palm pressed into her clit and she gasped. “Yes.”

“Yes,
Master.” He pressed her nub harder to the point of pain and she squirmed.

“Yes.
Master!”

Bartoli
studied her for a moment as he watched her pained expression before he nodded
and withdrew his hand, wandering towards the piano whilst licking his fingers.
She inhaled sharply as the blood and sensation returned to her mound. What had
she let herself in for?

With
an ease and strength only a retired dancer could muster, he picked up Gile’s
stool with one hand and carried it into the centre of the studio. He sat down,
legs wide and looked her dead in the eyes.

“Place
yourself over my knee now.”

Slowly
she walked over, sure that at some point that she would wake up or find that
this had been some elaborate hoax.

She
almost hoped not.

She
had read about BDSM in magazines and had been mildly amused by the idea of
people turned on by pain. She felt pretty certain that pain was definitely not
sexy and something to avoid at all costs but it was impossible to deny that her
pussy had very different ideas right now, pulsing languorously, moisture
gathering between her legs. The adrenaline was coursing through her. She felt
scared, that was true, but she felt invigorated, alive. She approached him
slowly and started to lean over him, savouring another waft of the mingled
scent of his aftershave and his skin that drifted upwards from him.

Suddenly
he grasped her by the back of the neck with his left hand and pulled her down
onto his knee with a thud before placing his arm down the middle of her back,
elbow between her shoulder blades. Her hard nipples rubbed along the coarse
wool of his trousers. She yelped and tried to look up at him but couldn’t. His
right hand squeezed her bottom, kneading and stroking the smooth pale cool
skin.

“You
will receive six blows, during which you will remain silent. Should you fail to
remain silent, I will continue until I have received my six silent blows.”

He
lifted her hand away and her breathing hitched, trying to take in what he had
just said.

Crack.

She
heard the thunder crack of his hand against her flesh far before she felt it
but in her shock, she bellowed across the room. Then the bloom of pain began. A
flash of angry white lacerating pain that brought tears to her eyes and her
shriek gave way to a mewling cry as the heat and pain flashed across her
buttock. Bartoli said nothing, merely resting his large hand on her buttock,
allowing the heat of his hand and the heat of her buttocks to mingle.

Crack.

It
was somehow worse knowing that it was coming. She stiffened and the blow came,
making her squeal and every nerve in her backside sting. When his hand arose
again, she steadied herself, tightening every muscle in readiness for the
assault.

“Not
good enough, slave,” he growled. “I have not had a single silent stroke.”

Crack.

Fire
flew through her buttocks with all the speed and vividness of a thunderbolt.
Each blow was so powerful that it brought tears to her eyes as her skin burned.
She started to become aware of a neediness, deeper than she had known or
acknowledged for many years. Her pussy twitched and convulsed, slick with
juices.

Crack.

She
didn’t know how much she could take before she cried out again. Her buttocks
were flaring and she could feel their fiery glow. Bartoli flexed his hand
whilst staring intently at her flamed and bruised buttocks. Animalistic pants
came from her and her need scented the air around them. He gently parted her
cheeks whilst pushing her down just a little further, exposing her cunt
further. The cool air rushed against her wet lips, so hot and full and begging
for attention.

“What
do we have here.”

Bartoli
paused, taking his index finger and delicately stroking her lips, collecting
strings of honey from her but studiously avoiding her clit. Emmeline moaned with
barely controlled need.

“It
would appear that you are not entirely impervious to discipline, Ms Blanc.”

She
could hear him sucking his finger clean, carefully and deliberately. Her legs
trembled against his and she fought the urge to buck into him. His finger had
been such soft and exquisite sensation on her already throbbing sex. She could
think of nothing but his tongue sliding along her folds and flicking over her
clit over and over and she whimpered as her body clenched in delight at the
thought. Squirming on his lap, she became very aware that his cock was hard and
growing, pressing into her side.
Impervious indeed, Mssr Bartoli...

“Pain
and pleasure. Not as straightforward as some people would have you imagine. But
discipline in its essence is the control, to enable one to postpone taking
one's pleasure immediately for a greater reward later. To train now when one
does not wish to train. To labour past the point of comfort and into outright
pain in the search for the greater achievement.”

Crack.

His
hand landed directly onto her pussy and it took all her control not to scream.
She keened quietly, the pleasure and the pain bubbling within her, becoming
ever more difficult to separate.

Crack.

A
sharp inhalation and a slower exhalation. Was this what she had always needed,
or maybe never needed? All her adult life, she had felt at a loss, was unsure
if she was doing the right thing, if she wanted what she thought she wanted.  A
flood of emotion overwhelmed her and unbidden tears flooded her eyes.

Crack
.

She
bounced on his knee from the impact of the blow on her pussy and she flung her
head back against his elbow. She knew now. She knew that she needed this. She
needed the pain that cleansed her of so many years of worry and disappointment
and expectation. She needed his direction. She needed his sexual attention,
needed the physical sensation, whether it be a finger pressing her g spot or
the glorious thundering pain of his blows upon her flesh.

Crack.

Her
thighs were now wet with juice and his damp hand slapped with ever increasing
volume across her flesh. She gave a cry, not of pain or even pleasure but of
release, a primal cry of hurt relinquished.

“Tsk,
slave, that should have been your last one.”

Emmeline
let her head down towards the floor, tear drops flowing up her heated face and
into her hair.

“Forgive
me, Master. You must continue with my punishment. I accept an additional blow,”
she stuttered.

He
snorted. “Such an arrogant slave to tell me what I will and won’t do. You
imagine you will control what I do?”

“No,
no, Mssr Bartoli! I’m sorry!”

“Sorry,
Master!” he bellowed.

“Ye
—
Sorry, Master.”

In
a frenzy, he picked her up, marched to the piano and threw her onto the piano
lid, her sweaty limbs leaving streaks across the polished surface. Quick as a
viper, he pinned her down on her back, arms held reached out from her body
before he bit down firmly on her nipple, twisting his head like a puppy with a
chew toy. She howled and grunted, the action sending an electric current
between her nipples and her clit that made her insides clench.

He
raised his head and claimed her mouth with his, with a fury that crushed the
breath from her body before he released her with a gasp.

“Turn
over,” he barked and she rolled over immediately, laid on her belly with her
hands by her sides. He took hold of each buttock and smoothed them, brushing
his palms across the skin. His expression was impassive but she could see from
his reflection that his eyes glowed with excitement and the flush and sweat on
his cheeks made it quite clear that he was finding this as much of a turn on as
she did.

His
thumbs had slipped between her buttocks and were pulling her cheeks apart. The
cool air rushed again against her wetness and bruised skin, a deep chill that
only emphasised her heat. He leaned in and smelled the air, her arousal
blending with his aftershave before he leaned in and pressed his face into her
crevice.

The
mingling of her smell with the scent of his aftershave was magical and she
wished she could afford a bottle of whatever he was wearing. She could scent
her pillow... add a tiny drop to her vibrator.

Bristle
rubbed against her tender skin and she shrieked at the sensation as his tongue
snaked into her folds, caressing her deeply. Lapping deeply at her core, she
felt the tell-tale tremors that she was about to explode on a scale she had
never experienced before. His tongue was unrelenting, alternating between
flicking at her nub and stabbing deeply into her. She was swimming in pleasure,
waves of warmth and need and tension flooding over her.

His
thumbs started to run up and down her juicy slit, massaging her, lubing her,
adding to her intense pleasure and he yanked her by the buttocks closer to him.
The pressure on her aching buttocks was intense and a flush of blood ran to her
groin. He positioned both of his thumbs at her anus and a sudden, fearful
realisation came to her.

“Master,
please don’t put anything there! I’ve never done anything there! No, it’ll
hurt!”

With
no further hesitation, he rammed both wet thumbs into her anus. She came with a
thundering cry that reverberated around every mirror in the room. Her anus,
already much too full and tight, clenched and tried to force out the intruding
thumbs whilst her sex spasmed frantically, trying desperately to hold onto the
tongue that gave such pleasure. She gripped onto the piano to steady herself
whilst her orgasm swept through her, trying not to kick her legs. Her skin
flushed and sweated as her body became soft and pliant, all tension released.
Rolling onto her back, she felt as though she had been remade from soft fresh
clay and she glowed with happiness as she gazed at her master. He looked at her
gently, his member standing very much to attention, crushed in his trousers.

“Kneel
on the piano stool and face away from me.”

Still
dazed, Emmeline obeyed unthinkingly. She scrambled off the piano as fast as she
could, wincing as she put pressure onto her reddened skin and skipped across
the room to the stool. She assumed the position, wondering at herself and her
reactions. She had only known the comforts of her toys, had never orgasmed with
another person
—
male or female
—
and
yet here she was, naked but for her ballet shoes strapped to her ankles, prone
over a piano stool waiting for a man she referred to as master. She was almost
embarrassed at just how aroused she was; her thighs were now slick and wet with
her juices.

He
advanced slowly, entranced by her body and the contrast between the red and
white skin, her muscular, elegant, athletic, feminine, graceful body, so
powerful and yet now prone and submitting to his whims. Her breasts swung
beneath her, plump and pert. There was no mistaking the need in his eyes and
she delighted in it, her grin pushing against her ears. She shuffled, peeling
her sweaty knees from the slippery plastic coated piano stool and wiggling at
him with a “come hither” look in her eyes. He raised an arch eyebrow and smiled
wryly.

“The
miracles of even a little discipline on an errant child, no?”

With
a suddenness that caught her unaware, he smacked her bruised arse hard with his
open hand and she threw her head back into a wail. In an instant, his left hand
was twisted into her hair and she could hear the purr of a zip and the soft
flumpf
of falling trousers. His grip was firm and her scalp burned at the
tightness of his grip.

“Ask
me for permission to receive my cock.”

She
needed no encouragement.
“Master,
please master, dear master, please may I receive your cock?”

He
leaned over, his shaft brushing against her back. “Where do you want my cock,
slut?”

“Master,
please put it in my... in me.”

“Into
your what, slut?”

Emmeline
cringed. How was she supposed to say what she meant? She could barely think
straight, panting with need for Bartoli and yet how could she bring herself to
say it.

“Into
my down there....” she whispered meekly.

“Into
where? I cannot hear you, little slave,” he growled, pulling her head back
farther and making her cry out. “Shall I put it into your whore’s cunt? Your
slutty little mouth? Your wanton little arsehole?”

“No!
Master, please, fuck me in my slutty cunt! I beg you, please I need you to fuck
my cheap whorey cunt. I need it so much.”

Evidently
pleased, he released his grip slightly on her hair and she felt the smooth head
of his cock sliding up and down her folds. Emmeline gave a sweet little cry of
appreciation. Up and down, grazing her clit, drawing ever throatier cries from
her.