Opening night - sexually explicit

[mistermarkham]

Opening night
Part 2 of a short story by Penman

There was something particularly satisfying about being able to shut out the cold, wet weather that had gripped the country for the previous 3 days and to sit down at the kitchen table together, enjoying Helen's personal variation on Hungarian goulash, the perfect antidote to searching cold winds and drenching rain. Washed down with a very palatable red wine of the same nationality, the meal was enjoyed in an unhurried and relaxed manner, which was quite unusual for people with lives as busy as those led by Mike and Helen.
Admittedly, Helen was still reminded every time she sat down of recent experiences in this very room, a thought that flashed through her mind several times a day and that had ignited a new curiosity in her. She had always wondered about the physical side of receiving a real punishment, but, despite the fact that Mike had delivered the caning neatly, firmly and very efficiently, there was still a question mark in Helen's mind. Her closeness to Mike and her enjoyment of their lives together were not up for debate. Their social lives were good, full and rewarding whilst their professional lives were both challenging and satisfying. Yet there was still something niggling in the back of Helen's mind and, try as she may, she could not fathom it out. It was almost as if there was a component missing, yet its absence did not interfere noticeably with the quality of her life.
With the crockery, cutlery and glassware stowed safely in the dishwasher and with the reassuring hum that told them that they could safely leave the mundane chores to automation, Helen and Mike moved through to the lounge, Helen carrying two mugs of freshly-made Italian coffee. Mike poured two brandies and the pair sat down on the elegant leather sofa to spend a couple of hours relaxing before resting in preparation for a repeat of the day's working cycle.
They had only been in their lounge for a few minutes when the opening bars of Also Sprach Zarathustra announced the arrival of a text message from John on Mike's mobile 'phone. He put his 'paper down, looked at Helen in surprise, then picked up the 'phone to open the message. Helen watched as his expression turned from one of curiosity to mouth-gaping astonishment!
"I'm just going to the 'office' to ring John", he announced, the 'office' being his ingeniously-designed retreat beyond the utility room, with full en-suite facilities, that enabled him to work late into the night, when necessary without disturbing his partner.
Helen smiled and nodded, but decided not to ask as she was confident that she would soon be put in the picture. Not even Helen had imagined what was already in that picture and little did she know of the chain of events that this would trigger.
It was nearly an hour later, with Helen seriously considering investigating Mike's disappearance, when his footsteps announced his return through the kitchen. Helen smiled at him and, anticipating that this might be quite a long conversation, went to make fresh coffee, despite the relative lateness of the hour. However, it would not be the coffee - or memories of the previous weekend that would keep her awake late into the night.
Helen must have dozed off, for she suddenly realised that Mike, lying peacefully at her side, was now making what was almost a purring sound as sleep had overtaken him. Her mind drifted back to their very recent conversation, recalling how he had returned to her like someone who has just won the Lottery - except that he and John might well make even lottery prizes look relatively insignificant now that Oldbridge Chemicals Inc. had picked up on details of the Aranide® fibre that Glover & Hanwell Technology plc had filed with the British Patent Office 4 months previously.
Basically, the upshot of this rapid sequence of developments was that Mike was to travel to Portland, Oregon, on Wednesday in the following week, with the Company Accountant, a scientific advisor and a production manager, to meet Oldbridge at their headquarters and to discuss the possibility of a joint manufacturing venture that had the potential to earn vast rewards, as Mike's invention had excited considerable interest around the world, following publication of his research paper in the Textile Chemical Review. The figures that Oldbridge were discussing were almost unbelievable and both Mike and, in particular, hard-nosed John, knew only too well that if those were the figures that Oldbridge had in mind, the true figure was probably somewhere up in the stratosphere.
Surprisingly, Helen did fall asleep again quite quickly, but this time her thoughts were drifting in a different direction altogether. There was that 'missing link' question again, both tantalising and engaging.
Unsurprisingly, Mike arrived at Glover & Hanwell the following day to find full details of flights, transport, accommodation and, most important of all, meetings with Oldbridge's business and scientific managers and, inevitably, their legal team. Mike had thought that Club class might well be an option, but Senator Class was not quite what he had dared to hope for. As for the accommodation, the quality of the hotel that Oldbridge had chosen said it all. They meant business.
Less focused people would probably have found it very difficult to concentrate on their work for the remainder of the week. Not so for Mike who, having assimilated all the new information, dropped quickly back into his own world, managing and processing the endless chain of ideas and innovations that buzzed around in his mind throughout his working day. As for Helen, whilst she fully shared Mike's delight at this very tangible reward for all his efforts, she, too, had the ability simply to switch extraneous thoughts off and to get on with life when the need arose.
This was, nonetheless, a momentous occasion, not only for Helen and Mike and for John and Julie, but also for the company in which they had invested their skills and resources. Thus it was that, in recognition of this great achievement, they met on the Friday evening at Chez l'Auvergnat, a very expensive French restaurant that combined the full range of skills of the very best of French restaurateurs and chefs de cuisine. The evening passed slowly, in a remarkably relaxed fashion and with gastronomic delight that few people get to experience in such delightful surroundings. By 1 o'clock on Saturday morning, the four of them were ready for their chauffeur-driven limousines, all thankful that none of them had needed to drive! Little was said as Helen and Mike arrived at home, for the menu and the wine-list, combined with convivial conversation over an undercurrent of almost schoolboy-like excitement, meant that they were soon fast asleep and that they would not wake up until well into the morning, when they were astonished to see the room flooded with bright sunlight - a most welcome change from the events of the previous days.
Helen and Mike enjoyed a light breakfast and a revitalising cup of coffee before Mike set off on his customary walk to the newsagents to collect the weekend newspaper. Helen returned to their bedroom to tidy up and to sort the laundry out. Soon, the washing machine was purring away quietly in its secluded corner and Mike was back from the newsagents, armed with the bulky reading material that is the norm for weekend broadsheets.
"I'm going to the office for a while, Ree, give me a shout if you need anything." Helen smiled as she always did when he spoke her very special name, that only he was ever allowed to use when addressing Helen Marie Carling. "OK, I'll be tidying up", she replied, "but won't be doing anything major today. I'll leave all that for Mrs. Donovan."
As Helen was preparing to shower, a muffled musical alert drew her attention to an incoming text message. She walked over to the dressing table, where she had left her silvery silk handbag that had accompanied her the previous evening. She looked at the message cover: 'Message from Julie G'. She clicked on it and read, with growing curiosity. 'Hi H, did you find the note in your bag?'. Helen frowned and picked up the bag again. There was no sign of the note inside. She unzipped the pocket at the side of the bag and there was a folded sheet of very expensive notepaper. She opened it and read carefully through the message written in beautiful handwriting that she had always envied:
'Hi H, I'm going to be away at my parents' place next weekend. Mum wants to talk to me about Dad and I think it's going to take a while. I know Mike is going away next week and that he won't be back until Tuesday of the following week, so John was wondering if you would like to get together at some time over the weekend. Send him a text on his number. He would love to see you. I'll be leaving after work on Friday and won't be back until Sunday morning. Thanks H. Julie xx'.
Helen suddenly experienced another shiver down her spine, just like the ones that she had felt before Mike had brought his 'gift' home. She wasn't sure why, but she felt her butterflies waking up in her tummy again and she wondered if it was just guilt at being asked to meet another man, even a trusted close friend. She knew she had no reason to feel guilty, as Mike would welcome the idea that she would not be alone and that John would be keeping an eye on her. Still, she felt a strange cocktail of emotions, in which a degree of guilt was just one of the many ingredients. She folded Julie's note and put it back in her bag, then picked up her mobile 'phone again and clicked on 'Reply'.
'Hi, J. Thanks for the message. I'll be in touch with John. Love H. x'
For some reason, there was a slight tremor in her fingers, normally speedy and efficient in typing text messages. This she put down to the after-effects from a very good evening out and from the pace of dramatic events that had preceded the celebration. As previously, Helen's conscious mind was not quite keeping pace with a very astute sub-conscious thought process.
The next few hours were spent in dealing with the mundane activities that pile up in the lives of busy people during the working week, but by 4 o'clock, Helen had everything just about how she wanted it to be. Mike finally emerged from the 'office' and announced that he was going to go down to the gym for a couple of hours, to empty his head. Helen declined his invitation to join him but promised him a tasty supper when he returned. Mike smiled, ran upstairs for his sports bag, then gave Helen a quick kiss before setting off for the gym.
Helen returned to the handwritten note from Julie and read it again. There was more to this message than met the eye and this left her in something of a quandary, since she was essentially a cautious woman, albeit with a fairly healthy sense of adventure, but something about this situation tantalised her with its unknown properties, the uncertainties. She responded powerfully inside as her spine responded to yet another of 'those' shivers.
'When in doubt, keep busy' was a maxim that had served Helen well over the years, on the principle that the subconscious processes usually started to communicate with her conscious thoughts spontaneously after a while, but on this occasion, Helen was one impatient woman. Something she had never experienced before was beckoning her on, but was this all a trap? Or was it just a figment of her imagination, and would it all end up innocently over a long lunch at The Green Man, where the four of them had met from time to time for Sunday lunch? For some reason, the latter thought comforted her, re-assured her, but did not succeed in muting the beckoning voice completely.
By the end of the afternoon, Helen had had enough of guessing and speculation, so she decided to take up the invitation and to see what was happening. She opened the Address Book function in her mobile and carefully entered John's number. Her fingers were trembling again as she compiled the text message, but eventually, it was there on her screen. "Hi, John. Julie asked me to text you about next weekend. What did you have in mind? Helen x". She paused for a moment and debated whether or not to remove the 'x', but the decision was taken from her by a further shiver down her spine.... before she realised what had happened, she had already pressed the 'Send' key.
Within seconds, her 'phone announced the arrival of a text. Helen hesitated, absolutely sure it couldn't possibly be John. Wrong! The reply was short, to the point of appearing curt, but Helen knew him to be a man with little time for small talk or wordiness. "Bella's or here?"
Helen could not believe her eyes. She was being invited to the CEO's, to be with him and with nobody else around. Part of her, the business-minded intelligent woman, thought it would be a really good opportunity to find out more about this somewhat distant man, whom she had met but a few times. She was also reassured by the knowledge that Julie was fully aware of the options. At this point, a new Helen, one about whom the businesswoman knew even less than she did about John, began to clamour for her attention. This Helen had a wild streak, but a streak that sought only to bring her into the presence of somebody who could tame it. A moment's reflection brought Helen back to reality and to the choice that she had to make. Surely they would only be chatting as friends. That, at least, was the compromise on which Helen settled before informing John that she would prefer his place to Bella's.
The almost instant reply triggered every alarm bell in her mind. "Bring a bag. If you are not happy with that, text 'white'. If you are, text 'black'. JG"
Helen was half way through composing an epic tome of a reply, justifying her thinking, when her wilder sider whispered in her ear: "He only gave you two choices". She shivered again and her lower abdomen suddenly felt incredibly hollow. Carefully, she deleted the numerous lines of text and started to type. Her finger hovered over the 'w' key, but the wild side had other ideas. She froze in total bewilderment as she realised that she had just sent a single-word text message back: "Black". She had surrendered to a woman inside her of whom she had little or no experience. That gap was soon to be plugged most effectively.
There was something of the 'phoney war' syndrome about the days between this rapid exchange of e-mails and the following Tuesday, when, in a slight change of schedule, Helen had flown to Amsterdam-Schiphol, where she spent the night with Mike, enjoying the unique atmosphere of the Dutch metropolis, before waving him off on his flight to Portland, Oregon, on the next day. Shortly after that, Helen boarded a high-speed train from Schiphol to Brussels-Midi, having decided that it would be good to see some scenery rather than the back of a seat and the tops of clouds. Her journey back to London delivered her punctually to Ebbsfleet, in mid-afternoon, after a very palatable lunch provided by Eurostar. Within 15 minutes, she was re-tracing her railway steps aboard a Javelin high-speed train bound for Ashford. By sunset, she was back at home, sitting down with her thoughts, her recollections and the mysteries that lay ahead. An hour and a half later, she received the welcome news, in a text message, of Mike's safe arrival in Portland.
Helen's mind wandered back to other texts that had shaken up her life and had awoken this stranger within her. She wondered if she should be showing initiative by asking for directions, but the wild side was having none of it and whispered in her mind's ear that all she had to do was wait.
It was rather disconcerting for Helen to find that this new being had a far clearer appreciation of what was going on than she did, but her inner eye was beginning to make out shapes in this dark and unfamiliar scenario. Shivers were almost becoming a way of life and the gnawing sensation - far from unpleasant - that was making the inside of her knickers feel somewhat unusual in more than one place, was growing by the hour. Her reverie was again interrupted by news of an incoming text:
"Be here 16:30 Saturday. Don't drive. Take the 612 'bus from the station at 15:52. "
Helen looked at the clock. Her train would leave at 14:49, if memory served, so that meant she only had to wait just over 40 hours... her butterflies were on a spree.
She typed a single word: 'Understood', then signed herself simply as 'H' and clicked the 'send' button. She found that she was suddenly far more conscious of the clock now that the countdown had started.

The rest of the week was something of a blur, partly because the pace of life at work had picked up quite dramatically, but also because her wild side was not making life easy for Helen, sapping away thought energy to feed curiosity and imagination, but she rose above it and, by Friday evening, had the satisfaction of a highly complimentary remark from her Senior Manager just before she left for home. The Manager also sounded a cautionary note in Helen's ear - quite unintentionally - by asking her if she had something on her mind. Helen had just managed to override a reflex over-reaction and to maintain her calm demeanour. "Nothing a relaxing weekend won't put right, Alex!" - a reply that succeeded in deflecting the line of enquiry but that bore no resemblance whatsoever to the actual state of her thoughts. At least she knew that Mike and his team were settled and were forging ahead with the negotiations, but......... the clock was still ticking!
By the time she went to bed, Helen had assembled a few personal items that she thought she would need and put them in an attractive shoulder bag that had caught her eye during a shopping visit to Covent Garden with Julie. As she lay in bed, she ran the inventory carefully through her mind: change of clothes, smart but not fancy; a pair of flat-heeled shoes; underwear - white this time; toiletries. Had she missed anything?
As always when Mike was away, she kept her mobile 'phone switched on all the time, but this time it was not just the possibility of a call or text from her partner that provided the reason for so doing. She tossed and turned in bed, then went to make herself a hot brandy and honey. As she sipped the soothing drink, her mind focused on the weekend, but all that she could see in her mind's eye was an empty space. Her fantasy function just wasn't working at all, not least because she had come to the conclusion that the ultimate reality of this unknown experience would far outstrip anything she could dream up in her mind.
The insistent bleeping of her alarm assured Helen that she had slept. She rose from her bed and folded the covers back. The day looked good, judging by the light trying to penetrate the curtains. She walked slowly towards the window and peered out through a narrow gap in those curtains to the quiet suburban scene outside. Leaves were moving quite energetically through the air, but there was no hint of storm or drama ahead - at least where the weather was concerned. She turned round and, as she did, she saw her reflection in the full-length mirror. She instinctively ran her hands down over her hips and round to her bottom, turning to face away from the mirror as she did so. She turned her head towards the mirror again and felt a shiver that dislodged any remaining cobwebs from her mind. Even to her, the image that she saw was pleasing. Her exercise regime and fairly tight control on her diet had paid dividends, yet she was by no means skinny. She ran her hands slowly up and down her French knickers, before untying the silk waistband and allowing them to fall to the carpet. She bent forward slightly and shivered again. Then she turned and looked at herself in a full frontal pose. What would John think, she wondered.
As the faint sound of the church clock struck out the mid-day hour, Helen's thoughts came into focus more sharply and she went through a preparatory routine that she had been rehearsing in her mind for a few days. She showered, but avoided any obvious fragrance. She manicured her hands, but something told her that any adornment would be superfluous. She felt strongly that John would not appreciate fuss.
Helen looked at her shoulder bag and felt that hollowness and hunger again in her pelvis. She was still totally unable to imagine how the weekend would progress, how she would feel if they actually ended up in bed together?
By one o'clock, Helen was dressed and ready, her shoulder bag left on a chair in the hallway, all the final checks having been carried out. She had fetched the weekend newspaper and had really felt the benefit of quite a biting easterly wind under a cloudless dazzling blue sky. She had thought of taking a taxi to the station, but in the end she decided that a walk, even though it was over a mile, would probably serve her better and give her a chance to think things through before she actually set off on the journey into the unknown and untried.
Saturday afternoons were never particularly busy at the station and it took little time for Helen to purchase her single ticket from the machine in the waiting room by the ticket office, now closed for the weekend. She had been intending to buy a return, but the wild side had cautioned her that it would be better, in all probability, to let John decide how she was going to return home.
The train departures board showed the 13:17 from London Bridge to be running on time. Helen took a deep breath and walked out onto the southbound platform. A few passengers were already there and all of them looked up as a voice from nowhere warned anyone on the northbound platform to stand well back, as the next train was not due to stop at that station. Helen peered down the line, beyond a signal - the aspect of which changed rapidly from red to yellow, then to double yellow and finally to green - and focused on a very bright light that seemed to be miles away. Forty seconds later, the source of that light sped through the station at what seemed to be an alarming speed. As Helen followed the speeding train's passage through the station, she saw her own train approaching. This, fortunately, was about to stop! Her butterflies went briefly on the rampage.
 
Helen's mind was actually on the West coast of the United States when a female voice that she had always associated with department stores and stations, announced that her destination was the next stop and that she should take care to take all her belongings with her and to mind the gap between the train and the platform edge when alighting.
As the doors hissed again and the train glided almost noiselessly onwards towards its ultimate destination, Helen looked out across the small town from the footbridge and made her way slowly through the booking hall and out of the station exit. She looked at her watch. 15:41. Helen thought about returning to the warmth of the booking hall, but was surprised to see a 'bus approaching the stand. She checked the number and destination and then the advertised departure time. Once the 'bus had come to a stand and half a dozen passengers had alighted, she boarded and tendered the necessary coins to cover the fare for her journey, her tummy really churning by now. The driver smiled at her and thanked her and told her, as if she did not already know, that he would be leaving at 15:52.
Eleven minutes are a remarkably long time in certain situations. Helen looked at the elderly couple who had boarded behind her and smiled as the giggles of two teenage girls over-rode the sound of the vehicle's idling engine. Helen went through her plan again, as she had done so many times. The butterflies were getting a lot of exercise and she didn't even notice as the doors closed and the 'bus moved off the stand.
Country 'buses can be an interesting experience and Helen took in what was, in fact, familiar scenery, but from a somewhat different perspective. However, whilst her eyes took in everything, her mind was a few miles on down the road.
As the 'bus left her standing at the end of Haxwell Lane, a feeling of irreversibility had settled into Helen's mind. She could have cancelled the train journey, even taken the first train back to her home station. Somehow, out here in the country, at the end of a narrow lane, it all seemed very 'one-way' from here onwards.
Helen walked slowly along the lane, glancing from time to time at her watch. Her planning skills served her well, for it was exactly 4.21 p.m. when she walked up to the electrically powered wrought iron security gates. She was about to press the buzzer when a click, followed by a whirring sound, told her that the gates were already opening. She looked around to see if she could spot the security camera, but her attention really wasn't focused all that well. Her mind and her butterflies were fully occupied and the gnawing sensation had become almost exquisite. She followed the final bend in the drive round a copse of deciduous trees and walked up to the heavy oak door set into expensively dressed stone, flanked by two leaded windows that would not have looked out of place in a cathedral. As had happened with the gates, the door opened in an apparently spontaneous fashion, but there was nothing spontaneous about Helen's reaction when she saw John waiting to admit her, a faint smile adorning his features, which now looked more masculine than Helen had ever seen. She summoned every ounce of her reserve of courage and smiled somewhat nervously. She heard the door close behind her as she stepped into the spacious hallway and she turned to John, who had yet to say a word. He looked straight at her.
"I've set the olive room up as your changing room, Helen. You know where it is. You will find one or two items there. I am sure I don't need to give you any instructions. When you are ready, come down here and wait by the Study door. I shall expect you here at 5 o'clock sharp."
Helen listened intently to every word, then nodded, with a confirmatory acknowledgment that almost took her by surprise:
"Yes Sir!", she said quietly, as parts of an intriguing and complex jigsaw in her mind began to fall of their own accord into their rightful places.
John smiled fleetingly, then watched Helen as she climbed the broad staircase and moved round to the right half way up and on to the landing. Never once did she look down - just forward. Her heart was pounding, her breath quite shallow, but she was now vividly aware of a sensation to which she had never previously been accustomed. Helen knew that she was about to be taught something by a teacher exceptionally well-versed in his subject.
As she turned to the left at the top of the second flight of stairs, she saw the open door to the olive room beckoning her with a golden evening light. She walked in and closed the door behind her.
Helen put her shoulder bag down and looked at the bed, where a bath towel and a hand towel had been laid out for her. It was then that she looked around and noticed a simple white linen smock hanging at the back of the door. To the right of the door was a simple pair of flip-flops. Helen seemed to be operating to a programme that had been installed without her knowledge. She undressed quickly and showered. There was only the faintest of rather utilitarian fragrances from the soap, but she had no time to ponder the niceties of the toiletries that she found. She blow-dried her hair quickly, but left it perfectly straight, then she discarded her towel and hung it over the rail in the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, naked with no make-up and no hairstyle, yet she was not dissatisfied with what she saw. She walked to the door and lifted the smock down. Over the cross bar of the hanger a pair of simple white cotton knickers in exactly her size had been folded carefully. Helen put them on slowly and was surprised at how remarkably comfortable they were. Next, she slid the tunic over her head and allowed it to fall to her shoulders. She returned to the mirror. She hardly recognised the woman looking back at her. Fresh-faced, but totally unadorned. Firm thighs emerging from below the hem of the tunic, equally firm young breasts creating a very simple picture of desirable womanhood. She half smiled to herself, then walked back to the bedside table. 16:54. Impulsively, Helen reached for a hairband in her sponge bag and tied her hair back. She heard that now familiar voice of wild Helen inside her head.. 'don't do it, just use what was provided'. She removed the band and returned it to the bag.
16:55. Helen slipped the flip-flops under her feet and made sure they were securely in place before one last check in the mirror. She walked to the door and opened it. Slowly she walked out and closed the door behind her. Carefully, she made her way downstairs and approached the heavy dark oak door leading into a study she had never seen before.
A voice from within barked out a single word: "Enter!" just as the grandfather clock in the hallway struck 5 o'clock.
Helen had often heard speak of moments described as 'watershed events' in people's lives, but had never understood fully what the term meant. Now, standing just across the threshold, having closed the door quietly behind her, she found herself in the extremely masculine environment of a Gentleman's study. This, she sensed, would be a 'watershed' experience for her.
Despite an almost overwhelming urge to stand and, for want of a better verb, gawp at her surroundings, an instinct wisely steered her away from 'overawed tourist mode', guiding her gaze instead to the tall, somewhat lean figure of a man dressed in elegantly tailored trousers, a crisp white shirt - unbuttoned to the third button, and a close fitting leather waistcoat, with what appeared to be a solid gold Albert watch chain leading into the pocket on the wearer's right side. Helen found it difficult to make out the detail of his facial features, or even to read his expression, as he looked from an area of semi-darkness, carefully created by the lighting, straight towards her. He took a solid-looking pocket watch from his waistcoat, glanced down at the time, then returned it to its place, all without a word.
"Approach the desk", came the command, neither harsh nor aggressive, but spoken quietly in a manner that established - as if it needed so to do - the hierarchy in the room. Helen walked forward, drawn both by fascination and by an experience with which she was completely unfamiliar in her real life, but of which she was sure she had read in some of the darker novels that had found their way into her bedtime reading when Mike was away.
Gradually, Helen's eyes adapted to the light conditions and she could make out clearly the clean but sharp lines of John's face. As with his nature, which loathed waste and inefficiency, his physique carried nothing redundant or superfluous - but he also was far from being skeletal. What surprised Helen was that she could make his eyes out almost as if they were generating a light of their own, a steely blue set against the surrounding white of the sclera, overshadowed by a strong brow.
John's arms were folded and Helen now realised, generating a shiver that she was not entirely able to conceal, that he was holding a riding crop, the tip of which was resting on his left shoulder. Very gently he tapped the leather tag at the end of the crop on his shoulder as he scanned Helen from head to toe, absorbing every detail of her countenance, body and demeanour.
"Did you find everything to be in order in your room girl?" John enquired.
Helen had never been addressed in that manner by John before, but she suppressed the reflex response that would have greeted any ordinary male, no matter how well she was acquainted with him, who had the temerity to speak to her in that way.
"Yes, Sir." came the quiet reply, as Helen now felt almost unable to look straight at this mysterious and far from ordinary man whom she thought she knew relatively well.
"Good, girl, now follow me!"
As John turned to his left and headed towards a very heavy dark green velvet ceiling-to-carpet curtain that stretched across the full width of the study, Helen felt her knees trembling, but she was still in control and, in any case, John had not noticed - so she thought. She followed him towards the corner, observing the well-honed physique of a man who was not accustomed to idleness, a man who walked with a confident gait that matched his manner to a 'T'. John pulled the end of the curtain, revealing a door leading out into what Helen took to be an adjoining room. He opened the door and ushered Helen through.
Helen was, therefore, completely disoriented when she realised that she was now standing in a passageway, the only option in which was to turn right and go down what seemed to be a long flight of stairs... Reflected muted lighting added to the sense of mystery, revealing only enough to prevent a person from falling down the stairs.
The door at the end of a very short passage at the bottom of the stairs was open and led into a room that was surprisingly large. Helen walked slowly enough to reflect very real caution, but not so slowly as to betray any sign of hesitancy or fear, this despite a very real gnawing in the pit of her stomach and just a hint of what she took for panic. The thing that prevented her from walking away from this scene - and she knew full well that John would make no effort to stop her if that was what she truly wanted to do - was an equally powerful gnawing sensation in her pelvic region and, to a degree, in her mind, where the tensions were evenly balanced.
Helen looked straight ahead of her at an unusually-shaped item of furniture covered with a dark green velvet drape, identical to the colour of the curtains in the Study. Her heart missed a beat and her butterflies were in total anarchy, but her mind retained sufficient self-control to allow her to think remarkably clearly.
"Stop!", came the hushed command from John, who was standing behind her.
Helen stopped immediately, in a way that would have impressed the most hardened drill sergeant. She knew not to look around, but she did take in the calming pale olive green décor on the walls, with the ceiling decorated in a dark cream colour.
To the side of the mysterious structure, there was a table and on that table Helen saw a heavy-looking two-tailed tawse, a leather carpet slipper and, to her astonishment, a dark brown cane identical to that which Mike had used on her. Beyond the draped frame, there was an open door, that led into another room.
"Is there anything that you need to do before we progress, girl? If so, everything you need is through that door."
Helen did not look around, but simply shook her head slowly and whispered:
"No, Sir. Thank-you, Sir."
Had she looked round she would have seen John walking silently up behind her, holding a length of black silk fabric, folded several times. The first she knew of this was when she suddenly felt John's warm breath on her shoulder and the fabric sliding across her brow and down over her eyes. She felt her hair being lifted at the back of her head, then the knot being tied, neither too tightly nor too slack. She felt John's fingers testing to ensure that it was comfortable, but not a word was spoken. Helen stood perfectly still and just made out the sound of John walking past her towards the draped frame. She heard the faint sounds of fabric sliding off the frame, then one or two unfamiliar sounds that she could not interpret.
A hand took hold of Helen's left hand and drew her gently forwards. Simple clear commands were uttered, which she obeyed instantly and trustingly, until she felt her knees just touching what felt like very soft leather. She stopped.
"Feel your way forward carefully, girl, and kneel on the two leather pads in front of you, then move slowly forwards until you feel the leather in front of you."
John held Helen's hand firmly, but not painfully or even uncomfortably, to steady her while she positioned herself as instructed. She tried to make out the shape of this object, but her thoughts were interrupted by a hand pressing gently on her smock, between her shoulder-blades.
"Lean forward, girl!"
Helen leant forward cautiously, until she felt her chest come into contact with a broad soft leather pad. She lowered her arms with equal caution until they were hanging vertically from her shoulders. She shuddered perceptibly as she felt something closing over her left wrist and this time she was unable to prevent a reflex action that prompted her to resist. There was a sharp 'crack' as the riding crop landed across her smock, over her upper thighs, just below her buttocks. She gasped as the sting followed, a nanosecond later. Helen froze, half from terror from this unfamiliar situation, half from a growing sense of something unbelievably powerful that was allowing her to overcome her natural instincts, in the trust that there was a far better experience to be had from trust and obedience.
The three remaining restraints were closed in turn, leaving Helen virtually immobile but pain-free, apart from a deepening sting from the weal that had formed where the crop had landed. Finally, Helen felt a wide piece of what felt like leather being laid across her back, followed by two faint clicks as the end was locked into place.
Now, there was nothing virtual about Helen's immobility, for whilst her breathing was not compromised in any way, she could not turn her trunk to either side without considerable exertion. She listened, desperate for a clue as to what was going to happen, but even she had not anticipated how her thighs would start to move slowly apart on the frame, not stopping until her lower legs were about a foot apart. She felt the soft fabric of the smock sliding slowly over the backs of her thighs and she felt the comforting tightness of the strip of white fabric that covered her womanly parts in a comforting, erotic manner. Intently, she listened for audible clues as to what was happening, but not a sound could be heard. All she could hear were her wild thoughts and all that she could feel was leather and silk denying her movement and sight. If anything, her surroundings now felt almost darker. That was because they were - for the lighting had now dimmed to a mere glow and the door behind her had closed silently, leaving nothing but a very gently flow of air around her face.
Helen longed for some evidence as to where John was, but nothing happened. This seemed to last for an age and again it appeared that a very rational sense of panic would gain the upper hand over the totally irrational sense of terrified apprehension and longing anticipation that held sway in her mind.
Helen had no idea of the time that passed before she felt her smock being lifted at the rear. She shuddered slightly, then tensed as she felt a hand caressing her bottom gently through her knickers. Partial sensory deprivation was beginning to have its effect as the reassuring presence of another human being with her restored a proper balance of emotions. She shuddered again as the caressing hand slid down her buttock and down the back of her left thigh, returning at a tantalisingly slow pace up the inside of her thigh. She gasped as she felt the hand fold over her sex, remaining there almost motionless for a few moments. A comforting pressure from John's other hand, just above the waistband of Helen's knickers, gave way to further gasps as two sharps smacks from John's probing hand on each buttock echoed round the room. Again the hand slid slowly between her thighs and caressed her intimately.
Gentle eroticism from the caressing hand was now changing into something far more raw and powerful in nature as Helen's natural womanly responses began to work. She felt herself trying to press against the hand, only to feel it move back slightly, allowing a finger to trace the line along the middle of the camel-toe shape where her filling lips were encased.
There was a brief pause before she felt something cool and leathery resting gently on the outer flank of the fleshiest part of her left buttock. Her assumption that this was the slipper soon proved to be correct, as, over a period of five minutes, 24 increasingly sharp swats were applied to the outsides of her firm young cheeks. The potent blend of pain and sexual arousal created a warm mist in her mind, her thoughts paradoxically falling into a new pattern, almost as if she were assembling a jigsaw puzzle, but finding that the picture created by the pieces as they slotted into place was not the one that she had been expecting.
By the time the first part of the event drew to a close, Helen's bottom was bright red on both sides, but remarkably clear and pale in the area on either side of her cleft and below the points at which her buttocks met her thigh tops. Her thoughts were racing and her heart was pounding and it was only after a few minutes that she realised that, again, she seemed to be completely alone. By now, she was not only disoriented and in considerable discomfort from the spanking, but she was also ravenously hungry for attention to her womanly desires, which the restraints prevented her from servicing from her own resources. Her body, however, was nearly as responsive to mental stimulation as it was to direct contact, which meant that the visiting hand was greeted by a definite sense of moistness in Helen's knickers as it explored her intimate parts again through the fabric, after an interval the length of which Helen could not even begin to guess.
First, Helen felt both of the visiting hands slip inside the knickers on her right side, over her hip. A sudden tightness in the fabric and a ripping sound gave way to two loosely hanging ends of the cotton material whilst John moved around to her left side and a further sudden ripping sound left her buttocks and sex completely exposed. She could almost feel the gaze upon the marks left by the slipper and she guessed almost precisely the moment when the hand folded again over her sex. Again, she felt a finger sliding along the line where her lips met and she smiled to herself as she heard sounds that confirmed that she had responded healthily to direct and mental sexual stimulation. Fingers caressed her mound on either side and slid backwards and forwards whilst a third finger pressed down over her swelling clitoris. She ground her hips against the frame and felt her head filling with deep longing of a very primitive nature.
The first of the twelve swats from the tawse caught her completely by surprise and elicited a high pitched yelp and a powerful contortion of her body as she attempted to alleviate the pain. By the time all twelve swats had been given, her bottom was a red and glowing frame surrounding a pale rectangle of curved skin extending down over the top two thirds of her buttocks and out over a distance of a few inches to either side of her cleft. The visiting fingers were now massaging her vulva very effectively and were gradually becoming lubricated to the point where they slipped effortlessly and unchallenged into Helen's vagina, creating a wet and highly erotic sound that had Helen's hips once more grinding against the frame. By now, she was aching for relief from the agonising gnawing in her pelvis, but this was still a way off.
The next period of inactivity, following the end of the second phase, seemed, if anything, to be even longer than the first. Helen struggled to keep on top of her thoughts and to maintain a hold on her situation and surroundings. She listened even more intently for a sign of John's return, but for ages nothing happened and all she could do was to lie there, her bottom glowing deeply now in the flanks, the lower third smarting still from the tawsing. Now her mind moved on to the cane, to how she had felt when she first experienced it at Mike's hand. Again her desire surged, again her hips ground against the frame. Helen's mind was filled with the reminders of how it had felt, of how exquisite the excruciating pain had been and how she had felt so proud at having endured it to the end before being able to express herself sexually in so powerful a way. Time and time again she ran that scene through her mind. Suddenly, she stopped, her thought processes in 'pause' mode and every sense in acute 'anticipation' mode, but this time with no reaction that spoke of any hesitancy or fear, purely of desire, as the hand again brushed, stroked, probed and caressed her sex.
The hand was now no longer there, a tense quietness surrounded Helen. Her mind was in an acutely alert state and her breathing was shallow and fast. She could feel the blood coursing through her head and body, she could feel the tension in every muscle, great and small.
The almost imperceptible presence of the cane across the base of the pale area of skin temporarily suspended Helen's breathing, giving way to a long slow sigh as she let her breath out; she waited for the next tap, but what she experienced was two extremely sharp cracks and livid flashes of pain as it seared through her bottom and her mind following the first two cane strokes. She gasped and made deep guttural noises as she caught her breath. Her head was swimming with a heady mixture of physical and emotional sensations as the next pair of strokes landed just above the equator of her bottom, sending the great muscles into violent alternating contraction and relaxation as she struggled to find some relief from the intense pain, etched into her face as the strokes fell. Her body jerked slightly and took a long time to return to a steady, motionless state, apart from breathing, which was now deeper and noisier.
The fifth stroke elicited the most powerful reaction of all, landing right across the Equator, but the sixth stroke was the one that took Helen to that place beyond the extreme, where the normal laws of physics and physiology appear to be reversed.
Helen's bottom blazed like a furnace, but her mind was now experiencing a tranquillity that transported her to a place she had never visited before, a place where but one thought filled her entire being. To please. Thus it was that when the visiting hand returned to between her thighs, it was greeted by total submission, free to explore the anatomy and responses of this strong woman as she experienced her first-ever taste of submission. She heard John move to her head and tasted her desire as his visiting fingertips brushed along the lips of her mouth, which were full and moist, lips of a woman approaching the peak of her desire and fulfilment. She licked and sucked the sweet-tasting aromatic fingers sensuously until they were moved slowly away. The next time her lips were touched, she knew instantly that she had pleased John, as she parted those lips to take him inside her mouth, to suck and caress his rigid manhood, firm and velvety between her lips and on her tongue. She tasted his saltiness and sensed his bodily responses to her attention, watching for any sign of anything less than pleasure. Then his rod was there no more and Helen just lay, aching with longing, her bottom blazing with heat and pain.
Helen's body responded in total giving as she felt John's hands spread her second lips and his tongue flick the tip of her clitoris several times before the hands squeezed the sides of her engorged clitoris again and his mouth sucked it firmly. For several minutes the tongue explored and caressed every square millimetre, every fragrant recess in the natural anatomical folds between her thighs. The next sensation of which she was aware was of the tip of John's manhood massaging her clitoris before sliding several times, backwards and forwards, along the line of her lips. Teasingly, the head of his manhood circled the entrance to the portals of female paradise then slid back towards Helen's clitoris, for further tantalising contact that raised the pressure of her sexual energy to an even higher plateau. Now her hips ground slowly, pressing against the soft leather, her mind totally focused on giving pleasure to the man who had brought her to this point.
The fingertips that had primed Helen's sexuality so skilfully now brushed lightly up and down the insides of her full and firm buttocks. Helen's body ached to receive him inside her, but she knew that she must bide her time. The sensations on her skin in its heightened state of sensitivity to touch were unbearably exquisite, but nothing compared with her feeling of giving and submission as the rock-hard member slid slowly and deeply inside her. She surrendered her body, her inhibitions and her will to the owner of the hand that had played her body as if it were a Stradivarius violin. She longed to arch her back as the spine-tingling sensations of raw sex added to the throbbing inside her vagina, in her bottom and in her head. She now felt John's hands gripping her hips firmly as he pumped her in a measured and powerful way, with a metronomic perfection that harmonised effortlessly with the waves of womanly urges that were welling up higher and higher inside her.
His deep growl and the way in which he grasped her hips as their orgasms mingled was something that she was never to forget. She felt the flood of warmth released in his gift to her and he found himself drenched in her orgasmic outpourings, the air heady with the blend of sexual scents. For several moments, he remained with his body folded over hers, his rod still rigid inside her. Helen felt tears running down her face as she lay limp over the frame, taken and delighted in, used and pleasured, finally brought to the point of submission.
So tired was Helen by the time that John had withdrawn from her that she must have lost all awareness of space and time as she lay over the frame. When she awoke, she realised first that she was alone, then that she could see, that the leg rests were now back together and that all the restraints had been released. The smell of recent lust and mutual satisfaction filled the air and Helen purred. Her bottom was ablaze, but so was her entire female persona. Her clothes were on a chair that had appeared in the room and the light from the doorway opposite the entrance beckoned her to a warm shower and to a time to attend to her needs.
When she returned to the main room, John was there, facing her. Without a second thought, she went down on her knees and looked down at the floor, in an expression of total surrender.
"Look at me, girl!", came the whispered command. She raised her gaze and saw him staring straight at her. In his hand, he was holding his pocket watch, which was dangling on the Albert chain and swinging gently from side to side.
"You have been there, girl. Now you know!"
Helen could not take her eyes off the gleaming golden glow of the watch and became mesmerised by the oscillating movement and a perfectly synchronous ticking sound in the background. Her head became heavy and tilted forward. She relaxed on her legs and entered a state of mind that was arguably one of the deepest and most refreshingly peaceful experiences of her life. The light began to fade and all that Helen hear now was the slow ticking sound in the background.
When she awoke, Helen yawned and rubbed her eyes. She felt as if she had been asleep for several hours. She had. She looked around her and frowned. This was so familiar. The room, the décor, the furnishings, she felt almost as if she was at home. She was just beginning to wonder if it had all been the most amazing dream when she turned over and was greeted by a sharp reminder of the reality of the events of the previous day. She sat up and looked in front of her, her jaw dropping open in surprise.
"Julie! What's been happening? I thought you were at your parents until Sunday evening!"
The smiling woman curled up on the chaise longue by the wardrobe stretched herself out and stood up. She moved to the side of Helen's bed and sat down. Gently she took hold of Helen's hand and kissed it. Helen's heart missed a beat and she smiled in even greater confusion but feeling amazingly alert and relaxed. She looked towards the window and yawned.
"Helen, it's half past eleven, Monday morning! Apart from a couple of trips to the bathroom on auto-pilot, you have been sleeping for 31 hours. Come on, you must be ready for something to eat and drink. I've made you some breakfast."
Over coffee and toast, Julie explained how John had brought her home in a hypnotic state at around 4 a.m. on Sunday morning, put her to bed and then stayed with her, watching, until she had been fast asleep. He had then slept on the sofa downstairs and had stayed with Helen all day, whilst she had slept, until Julie arrived from visiting her parents. She and John had enjoyed a light meal together and had kept watch over Helen with a baby alarm that had alerted them whenever she stirred.
Late on Sunday afternoon, John had returned home and Julie had remained with Helen to make sure she would be alright until she awoke.
The two women looked at each other, then Helen suddenly blushed deeply. "But that means......"
"Yes, it means that I knew all along. I was the one who suggested it to John. I don't think he will ever regret that I did. What I will never regret is helping you to find something I think you've been looking for since we first knew you. You are the only woman on the planet that I would allow to have sex with my husband. You are the only woman on the planet - apart from me.." Julie smiled warmly and winked at Helen - "..who deserves him."
Helen blushed even more deeply, but felt no guilt, just the mental and physical feelings of a woman who has been given a totally new experience of what lies within her own body and mind.
Julie went on: "I know you love Mike, but I also know you will never fully submit to him. Not only that, but I also know that you have now experienced raw and pure sex for its own sake.... for the spanking and caning is all part of it ... with no emotional inter-personal entanglement, just your own personal emotional release and experience."
Helen was blushing continuously, but listened intently to Julie's every word. "But how does John feel about it?"
Julie smiled. "John doesn't really do 'feelings', he just sees things that need to be done and things that he needs to do. But don't worry, you made your mark, that I do know!"
"Hmmph..." Helen retorted, "... so did he!" She grinned as she stood and turned away from Julie and lowered her silk pyjama bottoms."
Julie's face lit up as she admired her husband's handiwork, then she looked Helen straight in the eye. "Not bad for starters!" She winked and got up to make some more coffee.
Julie drove slowly along the side-road, heading towards the main road and home. At the side of the road, a debate was in full swing between two Community Police Officers and an irate motorist who was trying, unconvincingly, to bluster his way out of having been nabbed with an out-of-date tax disc on his car. The look of sheer contempt on the face of the Jack Russell terrier that was observing disinterestedly from the opposite side of the road, where he had brought his owner to a temporary stand to allow him to decorate a conveniently placed tree, was totally convincing. Julie smiled to herself and reflected on the weekend's events...

[freudianchick]

MisterM, to use an American metaphor with all of it's double entendre-ish innuendo... I'd say you hit a home run with this. In particular, the way you got inside Helen's head and were able to so descriptively articulate the slow build up ~ to that moment where a line is crossed ~ the tipping point between pleasure and pain. and complete wanton submission, and even more than that, being somehow completed as a woman, physically and emotionally. This is a lovely example of the power of the written word to be so much more stimulating and erotic than anything you could ever attempt to put on film. Look forward to reading more of you!

[silvas]

I think this has a great build up and reveals so much about the emotions Helen must have experienced.
Thanks Penman