I sat waiting, watching the clock. I closed my eyes and thought about the library, the feelings and sensations affecting me like a powerful narcotic. I savored the memories conjured up. A quiet tapping on the door aroused me from my reverie. I stood up and walked to the door, opened it, and there she stood, like a timid fawn. She walked in without saying a word, without even looking around. She stopped and stood there, transfixed, silent, her face tense with anticipation. She was wearing her black, curly hair pulled back and and fastened with a hair tie, a large curl of hair protruding from the tie like a handle. Made her look like she was wearing a steel wool helmet. Not a good look for a woman as attractive as she was. But she tended to dress frumpily.  It was as if she deliberately wanted to obscured her beauty. One of those things about her I wanted to work on. But I had more immediate tasks at hand, so I focused on those. I knew what was needed, what she needed. 

"Straighten up," the words coming out of my mouth hard and with an edge. She lifted her head and dropped her arms down at her sides. I saw her face relax.

"You know why you're here. Time to get started." She nodded. Her right hand went to the top button on her blouse and undid it. I stood watching as her hand made its way down the row of buttons, When she had unfastened the last one, she paused.

"Take it off," I said firmly. As she started to remove her blouse I heard her mutter in her high pitched, quiet voice, "I'm sorry." Then she slipped the blouse off and I saw why. 

"I told you not to wear a bra, didn't I?"

"Yes, sir," she said in a half whisper.  She reached behind with her left hand and unclasped the bra, slipping it from her shoulders. Her breasts were small, like those of a young girl, her nipples hard and erect. She unzipped her skirt and it feel noiselessly to the floor. Except for the shoes she was wearing, she was perfectly naked.

"Now the shoes." She stepped out of her shoes, first the left, then the right. I walked around her, studying her body, looking her up and down. I stopped in front of her and examined her face carefully.

"Open your mouth." She opened her mouth and I placed my right hand under her jaw, grasping it, and turned her head from one side to the other, inspecting her. I let go and then reached up and grabbed a hand full of her hair, gripping it firmly. I saw her face wince, but she made no sound. I tugged at her hair several times and let go. My hand slid down the back of her head, slightly stroking her long hair as it did so, brushed across her shoulder and came to rest cupping her left breast. With my thumb and forefinger I then took hold of her nipple, feeling its dimpled texture. I looked intently into her eyes and began to squeeze her nipple, harder and harder, rolling it slowly as I did so between my thumb and forefinger. Her face crumpled in pain, her body leaning slightly forward, her eyes closing tightly.

"Open your eyes!" She straightened up, her eyes opening wide. Releasing her nipple, I reached down and picked up a crop I had deliberately placed handily near by. I walked around behind her, the crop firmed held in my hand. I swung the crop sharply, delivering a painful stroke to her exposed butt cheek. Her body flinched from the pain, but not a sound escaped her lips. I paused for a second to admire the reddening patch of skin. I swung and struck the other butt cheek, this time harder. Her body rocked slightly from the blow. I saw her hands clinching into fists, her nails digging into her palms.

"It is appropriate that this session start off with punishment. Not the way I normally start, but its how this session will begin."

She hesitated, biting her lip for a brief instant. I could tell it was all she could do to contain her ire as she slowly spit out the words, "Yes sir." Her disrespect was obvious.

I wanted to respond to her reproach, but stopped short. She was baiting me. I was in control, here, not her. And it was time she realized that. "Get dressed. I'm sending you home." And I turned to walk away.

"No….," I heard her expostulate. "No, sir, please, " her voice softening, pleading. I knew those words came hard for her. I couldn't help but smile to myself.

I turned, furrowed my brow, and fixed a hard stare upon her. "Did you want to saying something to me, slut?"

"Please, sir," I heard her begin again, she voice even softer this time. "Please, sir, I need to be punished." 

I stood watching her, not moving, just watching intently to see what she would do. She slowly looked around the room. She stopped when she saw the small display of whips I had laid out for use during the session. She walked over to the display, hesitate for an instant and then reached out and picked up the quirt. The quirt was a whip reserved for punishment. It can only be described as nasty, mean, something one wouldn't normally choose to be whipped with. The quirt can leave nasty welts. She held it in her hands as if it was something she didn't even want to touch. She turned and walked over to me, knelt at my feet, and held the quirt out in both hands, presenting it to me.

"Please, Sir, please punish me." Her voice was delicate, submissive. I reached down and took the quirt out of her hands. Then I slid my right foot forward and raised it slightly.

"You ask me the proper way."

She hesitated for a second, then she reached down and and untied the laces and removed the shoe from my foot. She rolled my sock down and pulled it off. She paused momentarily, then placed both of her hands on the floor, one on either side of my foot. She lowered her body until her head was poised just above my foot. Her lips pursed and she kissed my foot, once, then twice. At that point she stuck her tongue out and began to lick my foot, with gently affection, caressing it with her tongue. Once she had completely licked the entire upper suffice of my foot, she again kissed my foot twice and began paying homage to my foot with her tongue a second time. I waited for her to complete the task, savoring each exquisite, sweet caress of her tongue.

"Stand up." I watched as she rose back to a standing position.

"Attention." Her body became instantly erect, she hands at her side.

"Present yourself for punishment." She lifted her hands and placed them behind her head, fingers interlaced, her elbows out sharply at a 90 degree angle. Then she lifted her left foot and moved it about twelve inches away from her body, planting it firmly on the floor. She repeated the action with her right foot.

I looked her squarely in the eyes. "You're being punished for bad attitude. That is totally unacceptable in a submissive. When you come to work with me, you come with the proper attitude. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir," she responded crisply without emotion.

I walked about behind her in a slow, deliberate manner, banishing the quirt in my right hand where she was sure to see it. I stopped directly behind her. I stroked the two tails of the quirt with my left hand. The quirt made a sickening whistling sound as it flew through the air, then made contact with her exposed buttocks. She let out a small wince of pain. I struck again, a little harder, letting the quirt make still more contact with her. I heard a slight hissing sound as she sucked in air sharply through her tightly clinched lips as I struck. I took my time, carefully aiming the blows, covering her butt with red, twin-tailed tracks, the hissing sound getting louder and longer with each stroke. When I was satisfied I walked back around and faced her again. I could see tears had welled up in her eyes, but she wasn't crying yet.

"This will not happen again, will it?" With those words she lost her composure, her body trembled, the tears began to course down her checks, and small sobs escaped her lips. My heart melted as I looked into those eyes of hers. I dropped the quirt and put my arms around her, telling her it was all right. She remained stiff, her arms still at her sides, crying harder now. I guided her over to a chair and sat her down. She put her head in her hands and just cried for several minutes, tears flowing copiously. Then she looked up, wiped away tears with her hands, and let out a sigh.

"You son of a bitch!" She didn't so much pronounce the words, she spit them out, one by one. Her words were abrupt and piercing. I was surprised and momentarily taken aback and I knew I had made a mistake in giving into my emotions and letting go of control.

"Good bye, " I said quietly.

"Don't you dare send me away!" Her voice was shrill and loud, and she rose from the chair to confront me.

"I just did. Good bye." I stood up and started walking to the door.

"I'm not leaving." She stomped her foot for added emphasis.

"Fine. Stay if you like. But we're done."

"No we're not. I'll tell you when we're done." Her words dripped with venom.

I turned on a dime and tried my best to stay calm, but my blood was rapidly heating up. I was doing my best not to lose my composure. I knew I needed to do something to defuse the situation before things got out of control without provoking her further.

She marched right up to me, her hands clenching and unclenching, looking every bit as if she was about to strike me.

"How could you even THINK of treating me that way, you bastard!"

I looked her right in the eye, my voice as steady as I could make it. "Its time for you to get dressed and to leave."

Her eyes widened as I spoke the words, her hands came up above her head, and she began to pummel me, her arms flailing like mad, her hands now fists, striking me repeatedly. I used my arms to ward off her blows, listening to the words of rage that exploded out of her mouth. When she slowed down, I twisted my arms and grasped her wrists with my hands, holding them tight. She continued to struggle for a bit before she finally grew tired of the unequal contest and quieted down. We stood there, glaring at one another, her wrists locked firmly in my grasp. I forced her arms to her sides and then spun her around so she was facing away from me, her back pressed up against me, moving my hands as I did so they were firmly planted on her shoulders. I slipped my right hand from her shoulder and grabbed a hand full of her hair and twisted it in my hand until I had a secure grip on her. I let her struggle for a few seconds before I brought my left hand sharply against her bare butt, making a loud slapping noise. There was a pause during which I could hear her breathing heavily from the exertion from our brief struggle. I let go of her hair.

"I want you to get dressed. Get dressed and go home. Or where ever you want to go."

She turned to face me, an odd expression on her face. There was a pregnant pause before she answered. "I don't want to leave."

"If you can't obey, then there is no reason for you to be here. Its as simply as that."

She lowered her head and was silent for a while. I could imagine what was going through her mind, the decision she was weighing.

"I want to stay. I will obey and maintain a good attitude. Sir."

Now I had a decision to make. I did want her to stay. Why I had arranged for her to come over to begin with. But things were not working out as I had intended. How to handle this situation. I couldn't just give in, that would simply reward her for being such a bitch. She needed to pay a price, a high price, for being allowed to remain with me.

"There is only one position open for you." I wasn't going to make this easy for her.

"I'll accept any position you have for me, sir," she said quietly.

"Toilet slut. My personal urinal." I watched her face closely, looking for her reaction. I knew this would push her, push one of her limits. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if in contemplation, then opened them wide.

"I am available completely to you, Master", her voice a quiet whisper. It was the first time she had referred to me as Master. I savored a small measure of triumph.

"That's the the attitude I expect from you, slut,"  my voice quiet but firm.

She brought herself to attention, lowered her head slightly, and said, "yes, sir. Thank you, Master, for the honor of serving you."

For the first time I felt in control of this woman, this wild force of nature I felt so passionately about. I was determined to use that control. I went over and sat down on the couch, motioning as I did so for her to follow. She came up and stood in front of me, at the position of attention. I ordered her to kneel and present herself, which she did correctly. I needed a minute to think. She had such a strange, polarizing effect on my emotions, appealing to both my best and my worst impulses simultaneously. What was it about this woman, who was capable of infiltrating into the most remote and best protected part of my imagination. I wanted to hold her and kiss her tenderly and tell her how much I cared for her, how luck I loved her. And I also wanted to humiliate you, hurt her, make her suffer as she had made me suffer, watch the tears course down her cheeks. I certainly couldn't do both. One definitely precluded the other. Earlier events showed I had to take the second course. Or there would be another eruption, another appearance of that malevolent being that waited inside of her. She responded to weakness like a predator would, using it, exploiting it for her own ends. My divine bitch! I had to exert control, had to keep her in a submissive role, keep the bitch on a leash. I knew what I had to do. 

I turned my attention back to my kneeling slave. Her eyes were lowered respectfully, her butt resting on the heels of her feet, hands positioned on the upper part of her knees, palms up, hands cupped. Just as she had been trained.

"Go get dressed, Danielle", my voice calm and cool. Her faced seemed to shrivel slightly, a frown pursed her lips.

"I don't want to go home, Master," she said petulantly.

"You're not. I'm taking you out to lunch." In an instant her face brightened, her eyes lit up and a smile replaced the frown. She was up in a flash, dressing in a what seemed like a matter of seconds. I took careful note of the fact she did not put on the bra. Her attitude had totally altered from what it had been not five minutes ago. I located my sock and shoe and sat down to put them back on.

"Allow me, Master, " she said rushing over and kneeling at my feet, her face aglow with delight. She positioned the rolled sock at my toes and slowly spread its material up my foot and ankle, carefully straightening the sock and smoothing out the wrinkles when she finished. Then she picked up my shoe, and slowly slid it on my foot, then careful pulling the laces tight and tying them. She stopped for a second to admire her handiwork. She looked up at me, a smile of satisfaction in her face.

During the ride over to the restaurant, she sat quietly, legs spread, her skirt rolled up to the waist, her bare pubic region available to me if I so desired, proper car etiquette. I was content to let the car be filled with our silence, each of us with our own, separate thoughts. I chose a small, trendy spot that I had heard of but had never been to; Luna Si. The decor was spartan, but bright. The food was supposed to be good, but the portions served small. It would be the perfect stage for Danielle's performance.

I chose a table as near to the middle of the room as I could. Danielle seemed genuinely pleased at my choice of establishments. I ordered for both of us, a simple pasta, iced tea as our beverages, and a bowl of lemons on the side. Danielle laughed at my penchant for lots of lemon in my tea. She took particular delight in squeezing the lemons into my iced tea. The small portions made the actual meal of short duration. The food was good, but the portions were miniscule. We lingered over a second, and then a third glass of iced tea, Danielle happily telling me about her latest art project, describing in detail how the piece was progressing, how she hoped to complete it. There was already a client very interested in the work, she told me, and might even be sold before its completion, how she needed the money. I waited for her to finish, then told her it was time to leave, and for her to finish her iced tea. She turned the glass up to her lips and the last bit of tea disappeared from the glass.

"Now, Danielle, you're going to pay for the meal." She gave me a quizzical look, turning her head slightly, the way a dog does it when you speak to it.

"Master, I have no money. I didn't even bring my purse." 

"Its me you're paying for the meal, and it isn't with money." l placed special emphasis on the word money. A slow look of understanding crossed her face, then disappeared almost immediately.

"Pee," I ordered firmly, "right here, this instant." She looked at me for a second and then closed her eyes and lowered her head slightly, to think this over I assumed. "I'll count to ten. One… two" I heard a very slight splash, as if a glass had been spilled and the contents were hitting the floor. She sat there, eyes closed, as if she were concentrating. I leaned slightly to in her direction, glancing at the floor. Urine was flowing from the seat of her chair unto the floor, puddling up as it fell. I sat and watched as the flow continued. She had drank a great deal of liquid, obviously more than I had realized. After about 50 seconds, maybe a minute, it stopped. I looked round the room. Conversation had ceased and every eye was on Danielle and her puddle. She opened her eyes, looked at me in pleading manner and said, "I'm ready to go now, sir."

I reached in my pocket, pulled out my car keys and handed them to her. "Go wait in the car." After she walked out the door, I found our waiter, apologized and explain the young lady had a bladder problem, settled the bill, a nice tip, and left an extra 20 dollars for good measure. I went out and sat in the car for a minute before Danielle handed me the keys. The silence was palpable. She sat there, impassive, her head turned, staring out the window.

"I'm very pleased," I told her, sounding as Dom like as I could; "and you did it under very adverse conditions, too. You please me greatly." I knew I hadn't convinced her, wasn't sure I was convinced myself. In my desire to maintain control over her, I had overplayed my hand. Only thing to do was regain control, or at least attempt to regain control. I decided to play an ace.

I turned and fixed my gaze upon her. "Car etiquette is in force, " I said in the most authoritative voice I could muster. Her head turned, her eyes glaring at me. Without a word she lifted slightly, slid her skirt out from under her butt and thighs, then rolled the hem up to her belly. She then spread her legs, placed her hands on her knees, palms up, and faced forward. At least she was obeying, and that in itself was a good sign. At least I hadn't lost total control. Now to continue on with my agenda. I knew that sensual pain was one of the keys to her sexual pleasure, her sensuality. That was the approach I was determined to pursue.

"Pull your lips all the way open, now," I ordered sharply. She immediately moved her hands to her pubic mound, placed an index finger on each of her bare lips, and spread them wide. She glanced down at herself, made a small adjustment of her fingers, then returned to looking straight ahead. I flattened my right hand, pulled my fingers in firmly, reached over and positioned my hand about 8 inches from her exposed pink, then gave her a sharp spank. She jumped slightly and let out a short cry of pain. I brought my hand down again, and then again. I gave her a total of fifteen hard, sharp spanks in quick succession. I lowered my hand down until it was in contact with her open lips, curled my middle finger around, and inserted it into her rapidly moistening vagina. I was rough, sliding my finger in and out quickly. I saw her eyes close, her head tilt back slightly. She was responding just the way I hoped her would. I pulled my finger out, flattened my hand again, and gave her fifteen more sharp, hard spanks, harder than the first, then, without pausing, went back to finger fucking her hard. Her body was jerking spasmodically in rhythm with my finger thrusts, her head now resting on the back of the seat. I kept thrusting further into her, harder and harder. Her lips started moving, trying to form words. I knew what she wanted to say, but I wasn't ready for the question. Again I pulled my finger out. "Wider," I barked. She pulled herself wide open again, and this time she pulled her hood back, exposing her bare clit. "You are such a good little whore," I told her with exaggerated praise. I brought my hand down sharply again on that rapidly redding area between her legs, her mouth opening wider with each spank. With the last slap of my hand, my finger again disappeared inside of her, my thumb pressed against her exposed clit. "You know how to be a good whore, I know you do. You're showing me, right now. I expect no less from you, slut. No less." 

"Yes, sir," she said hoarsely, her breathing labored and loud. 

"Open you mouth," I hissed into her ear. Her mouth opened eagerly, her tongue extending slightly. I withdrew my finger from her vagina and quickly inserted it into her waiting mouth. "Suck it!" I ordered. Her mouth closed hungrily, sucking at my finger like a young calf at it's mother's teat. I withdrew my finger, slowly, and lowered it back down to her wet vagina. As I did so, she lifted herself up in the seat, making the entrance to her vagina more accessible. She was all but purring with contentment. As I re-inserted my finger, I heard her let out her first moan of pleasure.

"Master, please, may I cum? Please, sir." Her voice was tortured, her plea urgent, her breathing heavy and rasping.

"No, you may not! I have other plans for you, my slut." To add emphasis to my denying her, I quickly pulled my finger from its warm, wet refuge. I held it under her nose, allowing her to inhale her own erotic bouquet. She opened her mouth expectantly,  without any direction from me. I was filled with ardor, satisfaction. I moved the tip of my finger to her upper lip, making just enough contact so she knew it was there. Her tongue gently reached out and began caressing my finger. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the subtle pleasure this brought me, savoring my triumph over this wild child. The feeling of control was truly delicious.

On the drive back to my home, Danielle was content to sit there, quietly lost in her own thoughts. Gave me time to consider something I had been avoiding. What was it, exactly, that I wanted from this woman? My original idea of simply getting to know her, of being with her, was gone. Now what was my goal? This woman aroused me in ways I wouldn't have thought possibly just a short time before. She excited parts of my mind that I didn't even know existed, fueled desires that came from deep down inside of me, from the dark recesses of my mind. I knew I needed to have control over her, complete control, that much was obviously. But what else? I knew there was more. Dark longings, primal hungers welling up from down deep inside of me. That first encounter at the library has started a chain reaction that was still continuing, still progressing, still growing. I didn't want to just control this woman, I wanted to possess her, make her mine, use her in any way that I desired. I wanted to do vile things to her, and have her thank me and ask for more. I sat up with a start. Was this me thinking these thoughts, the quiet scholar? Yes. And not only was I thinking them, I was actually activated by them, invigorated.

As I stopped the car in the driveway, I couldn't help but wonder how Danielle would react to my thoughts and plans for her. At that moment in time, what I was most interested in was just how far I could push her. I wanted to find out, see just how far I could go with her. In the mood she was currently in, this seemed the perfect time. I unlocked the door and we went inside. Danielle immediately started to undress but I instructed her to wait.

"Danielle," I said as I placed my hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes, "do you trust me? I mean really trust me?" She gave a strange quizzical look, lowered her eyes for a few seconds, then looked me with a look that can only be described as devoted.

"Yes, Master, I trust you."

"Follow me," I said quietly, took my hands from her shoulders, turned, and began walking the short distance to my bedroom, Danielle following obediently three paces behind, walking as silently as a phantom's shadow.

As we entered my bedroom, I indicated to Danielle where I wanted her to stand. I then went to a chest where I keep my  "tools", opened it, and took out a large survival knife in a sheath. I walked back over to Danielle, held the knife up, unsnapped the strap holding the knife in the sheath, and slowly withdrew it from its protective leather case. I could see that Danielle's eyes were following my every move, her eyes glued to the large, intimidating blade. Holding the blade on my right hand, I threw the sheath over onto the bed.

"Spread you legs, wide!" I commanded. Danielle stepped left and then right, her legs now forming a 90 degree angle. I reached around and took hold of a hand full of her hair, grasping it tightly. I moved my head until my lips were just barely touching her ear, then traced the contours of her ear with my tongue as delicately as I could, then kissed her ear. "Don't move, don't even twitch," I whispered. I brought the point of the knife up and began tracing patterns on her blouse, her eyes following every move. Then I slid the knife blade into the gap between the buttons on her blouse, so that the tip just grazed her skin. With a sudden jerk of my hand, I popped off one of the buttons. I now had a larger opening to work with, and I immediately took advantage of the situation. I gripped her hair tighter, exerting more control over her. I pressed the tip of the blade against Danielle's left nipple, watching as she shivered slightly then closed her eyes. I knew instinctively that I was eliciting a strong response from her, thought I wasn't entire sure which response it was, fear or excitement, or a combination of the two. Whichever it was, I was enjoying myself immensely. I pressed the point of the blade a little harder into her flesh and her trembling increased. I withdrew the knife slightly, then brought it up and with another quick movement of my hand the top button on her blouse popped off and hit the floor. There was a pregnant silent in the room. I listened to Danielle's labored breathing, her eyes closed tightly. I used the tip of the knife to open the part of her blouse that had been held closed by the now missing buttons. I watched her breasts rhythmically rising and falling with each breath she took. This is what I longed for, what I needed to feel. That I had my wild child under control, even if that control was only of short duration. I slid the knife along her breast until the tip of the blade was resting on her erect nipple. I then pulled the blade outward, cause the blouse to bulge, then for the tip of the knife to pierce the fabric. With a firm pull, the fabric parted and her left breast was fully exposed. I pulled on her hair, causing her head to tilt back, then I leaned in and kissed her exposed nipple. I looked at Danielle, seeing her eyes still closed tightly, a pained expression on her face. I took the knife and used it to pull her blouse free from where it has been tucked into her skirt. I slid the knife under her blouse and up to the top of remaining buttons. With one slow, measured tug of the knife, all the buttons were scattered on the floor and her blouse parted. I took the knife and lowered it until it was even with the hem of her skirt. After pausing for a moment, I brought the knife up under her skirt until it just grazed her tiny vertical lips. I felt her body shiver. I used the tip of the blade to delicately part her small lips, pressing the cold metal against her clit and hood. I could feel every muscle in her body tense.