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The 14th Anniversary

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The 14th Anniversary

A Valentine’s Day Story

She was kneeling on the hard surface of their sturdy couch table. It had been repositioned to face the entrance of their apartment; so she would be the first thing her Mistress would see when she came home from work. By then, she knew her knees and shins would be hurting, her breasts would be throbbing with every heartbeat, her nipples would have gone numb and her lips dry — and there was nothing she could do about it.

More to the point: there was nothing she wanted to do about it. She had spent a lot of effort in coming up with first the general idea and then every single detail of her surprise. No, her position was exactly how she wanted to be found by her beloved wife and Mistress in about an hour and a half, with her body bearing clear signs that she had been suffering for her for some time already, and frankly, some discomfort was an inconsequential price to pay for surprising her Mistress. Their daughter would spend the night at a slumber party with some friends from elementary school. They would have the whole night for themselves, undisturbed, the whole night and the whole morning the next day.

She tried to shift her weight a bit, but their friend Ava who had helped her to prepare had done too thorough a job. Ava had first put her in a crotch harness; a waistband held the crotch rope that ran from behind her back through the crack of her ass and bisected her labia, pushing out her clitoris; pulled through the front of the waistband and led back down and back again an ornate knot pressed down on her external pleasure centre. She was used to wearing what the Japanese masters called a Sukaranbo. Her Mistress often made her wear it to work in anticipation of an evening or night of play and fun or of discipline and obedience.

In a second step Ava had bound her lower legs to her thighs and put her on the couch table, making it impossible to do anything but kneel. She had lashed her ankles together which had made her close her legs, but a length of rope running from her right knee under the table and having been fixed to the left knee held them open. To make it even more impossible for her to move her lower extremities Ava had bound the ends of the rope from the Sukaranbo to her big toes, pulling the rope taut and thus putting pressure on her clitoris.

A simple chest harness had been the base for a more elaborate breast bondage that pressed her ample tits forward and out, making them bulge. Her hands had been bound in a reverse prayer position, forcing back her shoulders and thus putting more emphasis on her breasts. Her hard nipples sported alligator clamps biting their teeth in her sensitive flesh. A length of thin hemp rope had been threaded through their eyelets and also bound to her big toes. It made it impossible to bend forwards even a tiny bit without sending bolts of pain through her nipples. To top off the presentation a bright red ball gad had been forced into her mouth and pulled taut, stretching her to the max.

She felt a bit of spittle trickling down from the left corner of her mouth. When she had planned her surprise she had long debated with herself about using a gag at all. She hated being gagged as much as she loved being bound and helpless. Bondage of any kind usually made her feel owned and secure in her Mistress’ power. There was a certain dignity about being bound. Gags, however, inevitably made her drool and that not only let her feel helplessness, it also was extremely humiliating. There was nothing dignifying about drooling.

But the whole point of her kneeling on their couch table, waiting for her Mistress to end her shift at the hospital was to give her a pleasant anniversary gift, and her Mistress loved to see her lips stretched around a gag. She loved to see the pleading expression in her eyes and the resignation when her Mistress took a wipe to clean her up. That’s why she had decided on including the gag, but even after only a few minutes she was already looking forward to have it removed.

She imagined her Mistress’ loving gaze taking in the picture she presented and smiling at her. She imagined her Mistress coming closer and taking in every detail, the way her winter-pale skin contrasted with the hemp rope that had been dyed black, the way her pulse would begin to beat faster under the scrutiny, the way her Mistress would tuck at the thin rope threaded through the alligator clamps sending fire and lightning from her nipples directly to her already throbbing clit. She imagined her Mistress’ fingers first retracing the ropes and then the flesh close to it. She imagined how she would try to push out her chest for more contact and how the crotch rope would be pulled taut and nudge her arousal up even further.

Gods, she could have come from anticipation alone, but she wouldn’t and not only because she didn’t have her Mistress’ permission. No, she was determined to control herself because that was part of her anniversary gift for her wife and Mistress, the gift for the anniversary of their first not quite accidental meeting, fourteen years ago to the day, on Valentine’s Day. To pass the time and distract herself she allowed her mind to stroll down memory lane.


Sarah Garber was bored. As the CEO and majority share holder of a prestigious publishing house she had done her social duty by coming to the Valentine’s Day charity event and signing over a sizable check to the Children’s Hospital. As customary with events of this kind the overpriced dinner had been unimaginative to the point of being boring and bland, the champagne they had served later had been of mediocre quality and the company of the other guests left a lot to be desired. Sarah was only waiting for the first chance to excuse herself and go home…


Sarah inadvertently moved and pulled her crotch rope. She shock her head at her memories. Had she really been such a snob? Probably. Well, her Mistress had surely cured her of her WASPness. She also was sure that she probably would not accept a novel that started like she just had. A first person narrative might be more appropriate to relate what had happened. It at least would offer a better insight in the main character’s psyche.

“Even naked and bound to my couch table I’m thinking like an editor,” Sarah told herself. “That’s absurd, completely absurd.”

That insight, however, didn’t keep her mind from starting to compose said first person narrative.


When I first saw the woman who would soon become my Mistress she was kneeling with one knee on the marble floor and dried the tears of a young boy who had scraped his elbow running through the crowd. She looked up and if not for someone bumping me from behind I would have fallen right there and then in the deep brown pool of her eyes. I had to turn around to accept the apologies of the man who had run into me. He began a conversation and offered me another drink. I declined but he didn’t want to take no for an answer. It took me almost ten minutes to get rid of him without causing a scene though it had been a close call.

I’m the first person to admit that sometimes I can have a rather volatile temper though the years and my Mistress’ firm hand have mostly cured me of this particular penchant.

The few drops of champagne that had spilled on my dress, however, gave me the excuse I needed to leave the Valentine’s Day Charity Dinner and Ball early and thus ending my boredom. I only got a few steps towards the entrance when my Mistress stopped me and exchanged the almost empty glass of champagne I was still holding with orange juice.

She looked at me and said, “You wanted to slap him, didn’t you, Miss Garber?”

I should have been outraged by this stranger simply stopping me and asking such an impolite question. Instead I told her that as a rule I didn’t like men who do not understand the meaning of the word ‘no’, and then I asked for her name.

“Rebecca Marie Eriksson, M. D., at your service. My apologies for not having introduced myself properly,” she said and added, “As a rule you don’t like men, Miss Garber, isn’t that right?”

I almost dropped the glass I was holding. I had never openly talked about my sexual preferences. The club I occasionally frequented, the Earheart, catered to women like me, women in the public spotlight who for one reason or the other valued their privacy above all else. I looked at her to deny her allegations. I had to look up because she was half a head taller than I was, and I was wearing high heels.

Her left eyebrow rose, coupled with a quirky smiles, “I saw you at the Earheart, Miss Garber. So, don’t bother denying.”

I was instantly alarmed. I absurdly feared that she wanted to blackmail me or something, but she seemed to read my mind.

“Don’t worry, Miss Garber, I’ll not use that knowledge against you, but I intend to seduce you. I intend to make you mine. Have dinner with me, tomorrow evening, eight o’clock at Joker’s. Don’t be late.”

She inclined her head and was gone before I could even think of saying anything. Stunned as I was I gulped down the orange juice and left the charity event. I spent the night and most of the next day alternately being angry at the arrogant woman, curious, fascinated and aroused. Even already sitting the cab that brought me to the restaurant I was not sure if I would go in. I even ordered the cabby to circle the block a couple of times.

When I finally passed the threshold I was a few minutes late. The Maitre’d escorted me to a corner table, private, intimate and romantic. She was already waiting. I smiled at her but she didn’t return the smile. I was seated and greeted her. I asked her about her day but she only said, “You’re five minutes late, Miss Garber.”

“Five minutes don’t count, Doctor Eriksson.”

“In my line of work five minutes make the difference between life and death, Miss Garber.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t decide what to wear,” I said defensively.

Her eyes narrowed at that but she refrained from saying anything because at that moment the waiter brought a cooler and a bottle of champagne. He showed it to her. It opened with an almost inaudible plop and he poured the sparkling liquid in two crystal flutes. He left and I reached for the glass to toast her but she stilled my hand.

“First you are late and now you are lying to me. I’m disappointed, Miss Garber. Isn’t it right that you spent those five minutes driving around the block, deciding if you should come in or not?”

It wasn’t really a question and I blushed to the tip of my ears at being found out. My eyes instinctively found the stark white table cloth and I whispered, “I’m sorry, Doctor Eriksson.”

“That’s better, young lady. You may call me Rebecca, Sarah.”

She raised her glass and I raised mine. She looked into my eyes and I slowly repeated her name. We sipped and I was surprised to find sparkling cider instead of champagne. I had really looked forward to a sip of alcohol to calm my nerves but it would not have been polite to say anything. She, however, once again seemed to read my mind.

“I don’t drink alcohol and as long as you are with me you won’t either, Sarah.”

Her tone of voice stirred my temper, “Who do you think you are that you have the nerve to order me around? No one tells me what to do or not to do.”

My voice was soft and cold, despite the content of my words. I didn’t want our conversation to be carried beyond our table.

She laughed, and had I not inhaled my manners with my mother’s milk I would have chucked the content of my flute right in her face and left the restaurant.

“Look at me, Sarah.”

I didn’t want to, but there was something in her voice I could not resist. I looked up and into her brown eyes.

“You know who I am, Sarah. You simply have to allow yourself to see it.”

The waiter brought a cold water melon soup as entrée which irked me further, “Don’t I get to order for myself?”

“Not this time, Sarah. That’s a privilege you’ll have to earn.”

All my hackles rose at those quietly spoken words. I had been raised to give orders, not to receive them, to make decisions, not to have them made for me.

“And if I don’t like what you chose for me, Rebecca?” My words came out flirtatious but that was not what I had wanted to say. I wanted to call her on her arrogance.

“You will like it because I ordered it especially for you, Sarah.”

That remark left me open mouthed and gasping but she totally threw me with her next words, “Do you like the soup, Sarah?”

“Yes, it’s delicious. I thought it would be…, well, watery, but it isn’t. It was an excellent choice. Thank you, Rebecca.”

I surprised myself with my answer, but it was true. Joker’s water melon soup was one of my favourites, as was pike-perch on kohlrabi, our second course that evening for as long as Joker’s was in business. We had raspberry sorbet for dessert, and instead of an after-dinner coffee she took me for a walk.

A block from the restaurant we came to a fenced-in private park. She opened a small door and led me inside. Then she kissed me, right next to a wooden and iron park bench under an oak tree without leaves. The kiss took me by surprise. It was demanding and gentle, loving and dominating. I was breathless when she finally broke the kiss. I could have drowned in her deep brown eyes but I didn’t allow myself to.

Instead I forced myself to ask, “Where do we go from here, Rebecca?”

“That will be up to you, Sarah. I had ample opportunity to observe you at the Earheart. You’re searching for something none of the other women can give you. You need someone to take charge of you. No, Sarah, don’t protest. You and I know better. I don’t want an answer tonight. For tonight I only want you to know that I desire you. I want you in my life.”

“How can you be sure about that after looking at me for only a couple of hours? What makes you sure, Rebecca?”

Rebecca, my Mistress, she smiled at me and I saw more than lust or desire in her eyes. I saw longing and love, “I knew that you were the one when I first laid eyes on you. Your eyes told me what you try to hide from everyone else. That’s why I searched you out yesterday. It wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. I had been looking for you. But I ask for more than you just becoming my lover. I want you to be mine, body, heart, and soul, from sunrise to sunset and from sunset to sunrise, every day of the year.

“You are the first person ever who made me feel this way. I can’t explain it; it just is. I want you in my life and I do not only want you as my lover. I want more. I want to control you, not only in our bed but in everyday life with only one exception, your work. The publishing house is a part of who you are just as the hospital is to me. I will always respect that.”

I didn’t know what to say but I also didn’t get the chance. She put her index finger on my lips, “I know you’ll need more information before you decide one way or the other. So, we will talk, for as long as you need. We have to get to know each other better.”

My Mistress once again kissed me deeply and then added, “I’ll bring you back to your car and we’ll meet at Joker’s the day after tomorrow for breakfast, eight o’clock sharp.”

“I didn’t know that Joker’s also does breakfast,” I said.

“They do not, but the Chef is a friend of mine. She will make sure that we have all the privacy we need.”


The restaurant seemed to be deserted when I came in two days later, five minutes early this time. The room was empty but our corner table had been set up for two.

I had not been able to get the enigmatic woman out of my mind since she had given me a chaste good night kiss on the forehead. Apprehension and arousal were warring in my mind. Her words haunted me.

“I want you in my life.”

“Your eyes told me what you try to hide from everyone else.”

“I want to control you.”

I had been raised to be in charge, the alpha bitch of my pack. And for the most part I enjoyed being in charge, I still do. Over the time with my Mistress, however, I learned that it is not so much the part of ordering other people around I delight in, it’s the thrill of getting things done, of making things possible. At the time I had learned to relegate my fantasies about bondage and submission to a dark part of my mind, on the rare occasions I acknowledged them to myself, but meeting my Mistress, meeting Rebecca had brought it all back — and I was tempted.

I was jostled out of my musings by her voice, “I’m glad that you’re on time, Sarah. Please have a seat. We have a lot to talk about.”

“Hello Rebecca. Don’t I get a welcome kiss?”

She smiled, “Do you think you deserve one?”

“I think I’d like to get one,” I answered.

My future Mistress stepped closer. She hugged me and kissed me on the forehead.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, but that was not what I had in mind, Rebecca,” I tried to sound innocent.

“Good things come to those who wait, Sarah. Sit down, please! I’ll be back with our breakfast tray in a moment.”

Rebecca wheeled a small table in. I smelled coffee and fresh cut fruits. There was toast and jelly butter, jam and honey. All in all it was pretty much your basic breakfast fare, made special by the fact that my Mistress insisted on feeding me every single bite.

During dinner our conversation had been about music, literature, politics, places we had been to, places we wanted to see one day, just mundane things. This time we talked about sexual preferences and former lovers, about sexual fantasies and things we always had wanted to try. I confessed that I had always dreamed about being taken anally and my Mistress answered that with proper preparation it would be something I could really enjoy. She then asked me if I had ever been spanked by a partner or whipped or caned, but my sexual encounters with men and women alike had always been perfectly vanilla.

“There’s more, isn’t it?” Rebecca asked.

“My father once whipped me with his belt,” I answered with a blush.

“Tell me, Sarah.”

“I was sixteen. My father had bought me a small car, nothing fancy but with all the security money could buy. It was cherry red and really cute. One Saturday there was this big party on the beach and I wanted to impress my classmates. They were older than I was, and I was tired of being treated like a child. I took one of my Dad’s cars, and old Mercedes 190 C in mint condition. I was going too fast and lost control of the car. The car ended in a ditch, totalled, but I didn’t even have a scratch. The police brought me home and Dad sent me to my room without a single word of reprimand. A few hours later he called me down to the garage to the wreck of his car.

“He told me to walk around it and have a good look. He told me how disappointed he was, not only because I had taken the car without permission but because I had been driving recklessly. He said that I could have died in the accident. There was so much pain in his voice that I didn’t even hesitate when Dad ordered me to bend over the trunk of the Mercedes. He pulled my sweat pants and panties down and beat me with his leather belt.

“Dad had never before raised his hands against me and during the first few strokes I was too stunned to feel the pain. That quickly changed. It soon felt as if his belt would not only hit my buttocks but my whole body. Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, what he said during the punishment began to get to me. He said that he had been sick with worry and that he had already seen me sick or seriously injured. He said that he had already seen himself rushing in an ER, waiting to be told that his daughter would never again come home.

“From this moment on I did no longer mind the belt hitting me. I knew I deserved it for frightening him and disappointing him. When he finally stopped I thanked him, and he took me in his arms. Dad told me that I was forgiven and that everything would be alright.”

“But that wasn’t the only time, right?” Rebecca asked.

“No. It was the only time he really hit me a couple of years later I wanted him to do it again but he refused. In College I was arrested in a bar brawl. He had to come and bail me out. Instead of yelling at me he only looked at me. There was so much sadness and disappointment in his eyes. It hurt to see it. I asked him to use his belt on me but he refused. It took me weeks before I could again look into his eyes without feeling guilty.”

“Did he tell you why he refused to punish you that way?” My Mistress asked.

“Dad told me that it had been wrong to take his anger and fear out on me like that and that he would never allow himself to lose control like that again.” I answered.

“Do you think that he lost control?”

“No, I think that I got what I deserved,” I said.

“Did it arouse you, Sarah, having had to bend over and being whipped by your father?”

I looked down on the table. I knew that I had blushed.

“Tell me, Sarah,” Rebecca ordered.

“I was not aroused when it happened. I was not really interested in sex at that time and I was too ashamed having disappointed and worried my father. But later I started to fantasise about it and masturbated — only it was not my father holding the belt. And before you ask, no, I don’t know who it was. I never saw a face. I only know that the person was tall with big hands caressing my behind between strokes. The gentleness made the fierce pain of the belt go away and it made me feel safe.”

My face was burning in embarrassment but Rebecca smiled encouragingly, “Thank you for being so honest with me, Sarah.”

Rebecca bent over the table and kissed me, another breathtaking kiss that left me longing for more, “I have a surprise for you, Sarah. Close your eyes and put your hands behind your back.”

Subconsciously I knew that this was a test but it didn’t even occur to me not to obey. I heard her leaving and for a second I was tempted to disobey and follow her with my gaze. It was hard, probably the hardest thing ever asked of me. It took ages for her to come back but when she did she gave me another kiss on the forehead and caressed my cheek with the back of her fingers. She asked me if I had really kept my eyes closed and I told her that I had.

“Why?” My Mistress asked.

I didn’t know what to say. I felt her slide behind me. She grabbed my wrists and held them tight.

“Tell me, Sarah. You know the answer,” Rebecca whispered in my ear.

I knew she expected an answer. I was pretty sure that I knew what she wanted me to say, but I just couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

“Tell me, Sarah,” she repeated.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you by disobeying your order,” I finally said.

“Good answer. Now, for your surprise. Open your mouth.”

I obeyed, once again without thinking. It were strawberries, fresh strawberries in February, juicy and full-flavoured as if fresh from the field. I thanked her and she allowed me to open my eyes but told me to keep my hands where they were. We shared a small plate of the fresh fruit but the best part were the kisses she gave me between every other bite.

Finally she asked, “Would you like to spend the rest of the day with me, Sarah?”

“I would love to, Rebecca, but I have an appointment at two o’clock, something that would be hard to rearrange but I can try.”

“No, Sarah. I don’t want you to neglect your work because of me. Do you have any idea how long your meeting will take?”

“An hour, maybe an hour and a half. Perhaps we could meet afterwards,” I proposed. “I have a drawer full of take-out menus at my penthouse apartment.”

“I have a better idea. Let me do the cooking. I’m a pretty decent cook if I put my mind to it. We can go and do some grocery shopping and I’ll cook while you go to your meeting. Would you like that?”

I answered her with a kiss.


My Mistress turned out to be more than just a decent cook. As one of the country’s leading trauma surgeons she had to be a perfectionist and she strived for perfection in everything, even in cooking. She was really good and her vegetable lasagne was the best I ever ate. It still counts among my favourites.

I managed to cut down my meeting to forty-five minutes. Less than five minutes later I was back at my apartment. Living a few floors above one’s workplace does have its undeniable advantages. It also has its downsides, of course, because you’re just too conveniently at hand if there’s trouble during your time off. Sorry, I’m getting off-topic here.

We ate at the kitchen table and I wanted to just leave the dirty dishes, but Rebecca insisted on tidying up. I wanted to pout but she struck me a deal I could not refuse. She rewarded me with a kiss for every cleaned and dried piece of cutlery and tableware, and not with a kiss on the forehead.

My nipples were hard with arousal and I knew that my panties were already soaked through by the time we adjourned to the living room and snuggled on the couch. We kissed and caressed each other. Suddenly our clothes were gone. I felt the wetness between my thighs and I could smell Rebecca’s arousal. I longed to taste her and began to kiss her way downwards but before I could reach her silky curls she stopped me.

“I’m sorry, Sarah, but I can’t do this, not this way. If I let you continue it would only be sex and I want so much more from you. We have to talk first, set some ground rules,” she said.

“I want to make love to you first, Rebecca, please. Talking can wait.”

“That’s what I also want, Sarah, but to make love I need to be able to trust you, and that’s what we have to talk about. Trusting someone is not something I do easily.”

What she left unsaid was that by my actions the other night I had lost or at least jeopardised that trust, but I still understood. That’s why her words hit me like a sledgehammer. I instinctively knew that she had to forgive me before we could go further. So, I took a deep breath, surprised by the calm I felt, and looked into her brown eyes. I wanted to make sure that she knew how serious I was, “I know I lied to you and I was late the other night. I know I have to earn your forgiveness and your trust. Would you please punish me?”

“Are you sure that this is what you really want, Sarah?” Rebecca asked.

“I don’t have an explanation, Rebecca, it just feels like the right thing to do. Please, punish me.” I said.

“How would you like to be punished, Sarah?” My Mistress asked.

“I… I don’t know. I never even thought about something like this, not in real life, and my fantasies, well, they just don’t compare to what even the possibility of being punished makes me feel now.”

“That’s very encouraging, Sarah. It’s not the way I wanted to introduce you to the world of dominance and submission, but we have to start somewhere. Would you consent to a spanking?”

I was afraid but I nodded.

“Good. You’ll get extenuating circumstances concerning your tardiness. It was our first meeting and you didn’t know how important that is for me.”

“Still, I should not have been late without a good reason. It was disrespectful. Earlier that day I was meeting with an important literary agent and he was six minutes late. I seriously considered cancelling the meeting. When I am late, however, I don’t think twice about it. You’re right to punish me for being late, Mistress.”

“I’m not your Mistress, Sarah, not yet. We’re on the way there but that’s not something that can be hurried. I’m going to spank your with my bare hand for being late and use a hairbrush or a ruler to punish your lie,” Rebecca said.

“I have both but I know something even better. Let me get it.”

I went to my bedroom and returned with a long, dark brown leather belt. I presented it to my Mistress.

“Is this the belt your father used when you were sixteen, Sarah?”

“Yes Rebecca. Will it do?”

“It will more than do. It’s perfect. It has a nice weight, enough to have an impact but not enough to tax its wielder. It’s also wide enough not to leave too many pronounced marks. And then there’s also the psychological value. Did you ever use it on yourself?”

“I tried it once, after my father’s death but it was so awkward and I felt completely ridiculous.” I answered.

“Good. Come here and drape yourself over my knees.”

Rebecca, my Mistress started to systematically spank my buttocks. She concentrated on the right butt cheek and only stopped when it felt like it was on fire and I was squirming and kicking my legs. She held me tight and my other cheek was marked the same way.

Today I know that they were nothing but love-taps. Nowadays my warm-up spankings for play sessions are harder. Then it basically served my Mistress to gauge the sensitivity of my skin and give her an impression on my willingness to obey and hold still. Months later my Mistress told me that she even had reduced the number and force of her spanks.

She caressed my burning behind and began to speak, “Tell me, Sarah, why are you being punished?”

“Because I was late without a good reason and because I lied to you, Rebecca,” I answered with a slight tremble in my voice, not because I was afraid of the rest of the punishment. At the time I didn’t know enough about the pain an expertly wielded belt can cause. No, I trembled because I finally understood how much I needed this, how much I needed someone to take charge and show me my boundaries.

“And now for your punishment for lying to me. And for future reference, there never will be any extenuating circumstances for lying. If you cannot tell the truth, say nothing at all, but do not lie to me. Should there ever be a next time you will not get off this easily. Now, I want you to focus on keeping your legs still. You don’t need to count.”

My Mistress’ left hand was firmly planted on the small of my back to keep me still. I felt her warm, naked thighs under my belly and somehow the skin contact grounded me.

“This will be harder to take than the first part. So, should you come to a point where you are sure that you can’t take anymore I want you to use a safeword. It should be a word you don’t usually use. Do you want to choose it yourself?”

“Elephant. My safeword will be Elephant. Thank you, Rebecca.” I said.

“Do not thank me just yet, Sarah. I know it’s hard but try to relax.”

The first stroke of the doubled belt hit me mid-thigh and Mistress slowly worked her way upwards. I nearly jumped off her lap when the belt hit the already punished areas for the first time but her other hand held me down. I cried hot tears and was convinced that I would die with the next stroke but I didn’t use my safeword.

Finally it was over and my Mistress pulled me to my feet. I still don’t know how many strokes I received that day. My legs were shaky and I had to rely on her support to keep standing. She held me and kissed my tears away.

Her soulful brown eyes found mine, “You are forgiven, Sarah. I’m very proud of you.”

“I knew I would be safe with you, Rebecca. I knew that you would not really hurt me.”

Her smile would have lit up a whole palace.

“Come,” she said, “let’s go to your bedroom. Your butt cheeks need some healing lotion.”

“I have some body lotion with aloe but aside from some light painkillers my medicine cabinet is rather bare. I promise to do better next time,” I answered.

“It’s alright. The body lotion will have to do. I’ll have a look and make you a list of needed supplies later. Come, I don’t want your muscles to tense up too much.”

My Mistress was very gentle when applying the lotion but I still flinched a couple of times. I was such a wuss then.

“Rest now, Sarah. You deserve it.” She said.

“Please, make love to me. I need your touch, Rebecca. I know I don’t deserve it, but please take me, make love to me, please, make me yours.”

And she did, the whole evening and during most of the night. She licked me; she entered me with her fingers. She used my own vibrator on me, and she allowed me to do the same for her.


That had been the beginning of a long journey of learning and discovery, a journey of love and doubt, of trust and fears, a journey of individual growth and family. Fourteen years ago she never would have thought that down the line they still would be together or that they still would not only love each other but also be in love with each other or that they would have a daughter who brightened both of their lives.

She heard the distinctive sound of the digital lock being undone and tried to smile around her gag when the door opened, suddenly unsure if her Mistress would appreciate the surprise. She lowered her eyes to the edge of the couch table and though she tried to stay calm her heartbeat increased and she felt goose bumps erupt on her skin.

She heard the muffled thud of something landing on their carpeted floor, a second louder thud and booted steps rushing over to her — and then her head was lifted and she looked into her Mistress’ deep brown orbs, her aching knees forgotten, renewed arousal letting her nipples strain against the alligator clamps, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Rebecca was kneeling in front of her. She smiled, that brilliant smile that could light up a whole palace and was reserved only for Sarah and their daughter. She removed the ball gag and kissed her submissive wife, claiming her with her lips and tongue and teeth until they had to stop to breathe.

“I love you, Sarah Eriksson-Garber.”


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