The Professional: Master for Hire

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

‘Am I getting through to you?’ Marcus raised the leather tawse to shoulder height and brought it sharply down across the girl’s bare bottom.

She squealed. ‘Yes, yes, please sir!’

‘Please what?’ he demanded and lashed her again.

‘Please sir, don’t smack me any more, it’s hurting!’

‘It’s supposed to hurt,’ he said, and laid the tawse across her bottom again, slightly harder than the previous time. He pulled her skirt higher up over her waist. Her knickers were down to her knees. She tried to wriggle free, but he pushed her firmly down onto the desk with his left hand before once again whacking her across the rump.

‘I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget,’ said Marcus.

‘No, please, no more, sir. I’ll be good,’ the girl cried.

‘Dirty little slut,’ said Marcus. ‘I’ll teach you to keep your fingers out of your knickers.’

He hit her again. Her bottom was bright red now. She had stopped wriggling. He thought she might have reached the stage where the warmth caused by the stinging leather strap was spreading into her loins. He smacked her with several more carefully measured blows. She moaned each time. Her breath was coming in short gasps. He paused again, then thought, six more strokes, hard ones, would just about do it. Best to err on the side of caution with a novice.

When he finally laid the tawse down she was trembling. He put one hand on the back of her neck, a firm but gentle pressure. With his other hand he softly stroked her bottom. It felt hot to the touch.

‘Well done,’ he said. ‘Are you going to be a good little girl now?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Excellent,’ said Marcus.

He crossed the room and put the tawse back in the drawer.

‘I’ll give you ten minutes to get your breath back and get dressed,’ he said. ‘Then perhaps you’ll join me in a glass of wine?’

‘Yes, okay,’ she answered.

He went out, closing the door behind him. He took out his phone and made a couple of calls. Then he went to the kitchen and took a bottle of wine from the rack. Picking up a corkscrew and a couple of glasses, he walked back to his study. She was seated on a chair, applying lipstick with the aid of a small mirror.

‘Red wine okay?’ he asked.

‘Mmm, yes,’ she said. ‘Something full-bodied.’

She gave him a knowing smile. was a well-built girl with large breasts and a well-proportioned bottom. He found her comely rather than beautiful but she was undeniably attractive. And he liked her. She had a sense of fun, and she spoke her mind.

Marcus raised his glass to her. ‘I always find it helpful to have a bit of a de-briefing afterwards. It helps to get some feedback for next time. If there is to be a next time.’

‘Oh, yes please,’ she said. ‘It was good.’

‘You weren’t tempted to use the safe word?’

‘No, not at all. We could go further. But I wanted to ask you about that.’

‘Yes?’

‘There’s a contradiction. I’m not sure how to resolve it.’

He thought he knew what was coming, but he let her continue.

‘The real buzz, the real excitement, comes from the feeling of losing control, of being totally in another’s power. Of course there’s pleasure in the pain too, after a while, when the endorphins kick in. But what gave the whole thing its edge was the fact that however much I resisted it made no difference. I knew that you would deal with me as you saw fit. And that was very arousing.’

Marcus smiled. ‘So, what’s the problem?’

‘At the same time I had a safe word. You insisted on it. And I think I see the necessity. I needed to feel safe, to be sure that things would not get out of hand. But this means I’m trying to have it both ways, to be safe and yet to be powerless.’

Marcus was thoughtful. She had put it very clearly, what he liked to call ‘the paradox of the submissive’.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘there is a dilemma. How can you be really taken out of yourself if you know you only have to say one little word and everything returns to normal? But this is not the only situation in which such contradictions occur.’

She sipped her wine, looking at him quizzically, waiting for him to elaborate.

‘Take reading a novel,’ he said. ‘You know it’s all made up, from beginning to end. It doesn’t have any basis in reality. But during the time that you read it, you suspend your disbelief. You pretend it is real. If it’s a well-told story.’

‘Yes, I see,’ she said. ‘So it’s like we are enacting a little story?’

‘Something like that. You can if you wish bring reality crashing back. But it’s fun if you pretend. Now here’s where the skill comes in, if I may be immodest for a moment.’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s up to the Dom to create a convincing scenario, one which will appeal to the submissive’s particular needs. That way, she can lose herself in the fantasy. Every submissive is different, responds to different stimuli. Some like to be treated rough, some like to be humiliated, some like to be forced to admit their slutty nature, others like a lot of pain. The skilled Dom will know each one’s peculiarities. And also, as the scenario develops, he will be alert to the responses he is getting, and modify his behaviour accordingly. Furthermore, and here we get to the nub of your question, he will know exactly how far to push things. Often this means going just that bit further than she thinks she can bear, pushing her limits. But it’s fatal to go too far too fast, because then you will destroy trust.’

She sipped her wine again, considering what he had said. ‘I see what you are saying,’ she said. ‘Yet I still wonder if the ultimate thrill wouldn’t be for me to say, there are no limits, do your worst.’

‘We’d have to know each other much better before we could approach that point,’ he said.

She smiled. ‘Perhaps we shall. Can I make another appointment?’

He consulted the large desk diary on the table nearby. They chose the same day next week. He showed her out. She kissed him on the cheek.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

***

Marcus worked in his garden for an hour, planting bulbs for the spring. While he worked he thought about the girl who had just left. Though she called herself , he knew it wasn’t her real name. Hardly anyone wanted to use their real names, although they all knew his. He felt they needed to know it, for reassurance. He admired the women who came to him. They were all taking a risk, some of them risking almost everything. It was an indication of their deep need, that they were prepared to take a chance.

The procedure, though not invariable, was usually the same. They contacted him through his web site, which they had discovered from one of the many informational b**m websites that now existed. They would ask him questions about what he could offer, and in return he got them to tell him about their situations. was thirty years old, a fashion buyer, ‘between boyfriends’, as she described it. She told him that she’d had fantasies as long as she could remember about being a naughty girl and being spanked for it. Once or twice she had tried to tell a boyfriend about these, but she was met with either blank incomprehension or ridicule. She told Marcus the fantasies were getting stronger. In the beginning she had tried to repress them. Now she had become convinced they were important to her, so important that she wanted to act on them.

He suggested, as he usually did, an initial meeting in a public place. They had talked for a couple of hours over a bottle of wine, and she had grown more confidential. She told him that she m*********d once or twice a day, almost always while thinking of herself powerless, being beaten by a man in authority, older than herself. He asked her if she had ever actually been beaten. No, she said, not as a child, not ever. But I can’t stop thinking about it. Do you think I’m a pervert?

‘No,’ he said. ‘Well, yes, actually,’ he added, and they both burst out laughing. ‘But what’s wrong with that? You aren’t harming anyone, not even yourself. And as perversions go, it’s pretty normal. If that’s not an oxymoron.’

She laughed again. It was clear she felt relief at his acceptance of her. They chatted some more, then he asked her if she wanted him to beat her. She fell silent, then blushed.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I do, very much.’

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘but there are conditions.’

He explained to her the rules. It was by appointment only, decided several days in advance.

‘I don’t do sudden impulses,’ he said. ‘I have to have a schedule.’

‘Because you have other clients?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘partly that. Next thing, time limits are strictly observed. If it’s a one-hour session, that’s it. No overtime. I ask that you don’t tell anyone else about it, or at least not in such a way that my name is revealed. Only you are to know that. You must have a safe word. I have to know that you feel able to stop any time you want. You have to know that, too. Finally, we will never have intercourse. I mean, I will never penetrate you with my c**k. You probably won’t even get to see it. If you want, I will masturbate you or do other things like that, but there won’t be any fucking.’

‘What’s the reason for that?’ she asked.

‘It’s because there must always be a distance between us. We aren’t going all the way. I’m not going to be your lover. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ she replied.

He told her what his fees were. Usually they were surprised it was so much. He kept them high because he wanted to scare off those who weren’t serious, who just wanted to try it for a laugh. He figured if they were prepared to pay what he demanded, they must really want to go through with it.

He’d talked through the scenario with in advance. Today had been their first encounter. He thought it had gone well. Next time he’d take it further. He could tell that she’d be willing.

He went inside, washed and had a drink. Then he cooked himself some halibut and a few green beans for dinner, reading a book at the table while he ate. He’d become pretty used to living on his own now, ever since his wife died. It would be eight years next week. He still missed her, but he’d managed to set up a routine that kept him busy and happy.

After dinner he went to his study, carrying a glass of wine. He had an appointment online with an American client. Megan lived in the mid-west, in , where it was still early afternoon. Her husband would be at work, her two children both away at university. She’d booked a couple of hours of his time. They hooked up via Instant Messaging. Each had a camera and a microphone, so they could see each other and speak.

When Megan came on he chatted to her for a while. He always liked to ease into things, not bounce the clients into submissive mode, though with some, it seemed that the mere sound of his voice was enough to set them off. After a while he asked Megan if she had been a good little girl. She knew what this meant.

‘Yes, sir,’ she said in a low voice, not looking at him.

Almost from the start with Megan he had instituted a regime of strict orgasm control. She wasn’t allowed to masturbate unless she had permission in advance. He would normally send an email every day stipulating if it was allowed. Yesterday he had denied her any orgasms at all. He knew this was hard for her. She was a woman of strong s****l urges; it was nothing to her to come four or five times a day.

‘And are you wanting to now?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, still not looking up.

‘Take off your top,’ he said.

She was informally dressed, in a pink t-shirt and a knee-length light blue cotton skirt. She took off the t-shirt. Underneath was a white cotton bra.

‘Take the bra off, too,’ he said.

He let her sit there a while, saying nothing, looking at her naked breasts. He knew she was shy. He knew also that she wanted him to make her do things that she was shy about.