Sophie & The Society

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

When Sophie got to Roberto’s apartment he was sitting on the sofa waiting for her. As she came in the room he looked at his watch.

“You’re late. I said seven, on the dot.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied. “But I encountered a Member on the way home. He wanted to use me.”

“A Member?” Roberto sounded sceptical. “Which Member? Where did you meet him?”

“On the tube. I know it doesn’t sound very likely, but he must have had some sixth sense about me, or maybe he just recognised me from the database.”

“There are three hundred women on that,” Robert countered.

“Don’t you believe me?”

“Turn around,” he said. “Now lift up your skirt.”

He bent forward and pulled her knickers down to her knees. Delicately he traced the thin red weals across her buttocks.

“Poor Sophie,” he whispered. He kissed her behind tenderly, then pulled her knickers back up. She turned around to face him. She could see that he was aroused, as always when he found that another Member had used her. He put his hand between her legs and squeezed her softly through the thin satin as he asked her more questions. She was wet already, and she knew that he could feel it. What had she been beaten with? Had she been penetrated? In which orifice? She became increasingly excited as he continued to manipulate her while questioning her. She wanted him to punish her for her lateness or because she’d let herself be used, and then she wanted him to take her, as he usually did at such times. But somehow there was a different mood on him this evening, whether he had been genuinely irritated by her lateness, or whether there was some other reason, she couldn’t be sure. He didn’t offer to beat her, nor did he lay her back on the sofa to f**k her, or bend her across one of its arms to penetrate her from the rear, as he often did. Instead, he made her kneel beside him and required her to satisfy him with her mouth. This she was not at all reluctant to do, on the contrary, but when she had finished he stood up, adjusted his clothing and left the room. There was apparently to be no complementary relief of her own pent-up desires.

He came back a moment later. “I’m going to take a shower and dress for dinner,” he said. “You remember we’re going out. I said we’d be there at 8.30. You must hurry.”

While he showered she went into the bedroom and chose her clothes from a selection she kept in the apartment. They were meeting two of Roberto’s business acquaintances at a new restaurant in Knightsbridge. It would be quite smart. She laid out a black velvet cocktail dress she had bought only two weeks ago. It was cut tight across the bust and the hips, with a low neckline. From her underwear drawer she selected a basque in black satin. It was boned to give firm support to her breasts while squeezing in her waist. It came with a little matching pair of black knickers, a thong which would leave no visible panty line.

She went into the bathroom. Roberto stood naked, dripping water onto the bath mat. She gazed at him openly. It still gave her such pleasure to see his body, firm and smooth except for the few curls of dark hair between his n*****s and the thick triangle around his c**k. He pretended he didn’t notice her looking, though she knew he did. When he was dry he went back into the bedroom to dress and Sophie stepped into the shower. She let the warm water cascade over her body. She rubbed her n*****s, feeling them grow hard under her touch. She put her fingers between her legs and felt how slippery desire had made her. She wanted to spread the lubrication upwards and over her c******s, to stroke it gently as it swelled. But there wasn’t time. Quickly she rinsed herself clean. By the time she was toweling herself Roberto was already back in the bathroom, shaving in front of the mirror. As he did so, she could see his eyes flicker back and forth as he watched her, and she deliberately stretched her arms upwards, slowly patting herself dry under her arms, then under her breasts.

She knew the power of her body. At the age of thirteen her bosom had begun to swell; by fifteen she had breasts that were the envy of her schoolfellows, and a fixation for the boys in her class. Now, in her mid-twenties, they had lost none of their shape and firmness. Her n*****s were dark brown, almost black. When erect they stuck out nearly an inch long, hard as hazelnuts. Her belly was taut and flat, and below was a growth of jet-black pubic hair, so luxuriant that before she met Roberto she had to trim it weekly to preserve the sharply defined delta she preferred. But Roberto did not like it trimmed; had forbidden her to curtail it in any way, so that now it was a thick unruly bush. Her legs were long and perfectly tapered, and the extremely short skirts currently in fashion allowed her to show them to advantage. Her bottom was well-proportioned in a womanly way, not the tight little boy’s bum of the models, but, as Roberto put it, a real woman’s ass, round and ripe and juicy, though sleek and firm with no hint of fat on it. She had naturally glossy black hair, which when young, she had worn as a long mane down her back, but which now was cut in a simple but sophisticated bob. Her face, she knew, was not that of the conventional beauty. Probably her mouth was too wide and her nose too long. But her eyes were huge and dark, and men stared at her in the street. She knew they longed to kiss her lips, so full and red and succulent. Even after three years, Roberto couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Nor his hands.

Back in the bedroom she dressed quickly. She put on a new pair of sheer black stockings; then she drew on the basque, taking a deep breath as she fastened its little metal catches up the back. It was tight, almost too tight, but it gave her a wonderful feeling, combining a masochistic sensation of being constricted, regulated, and the pleasure of exhibitionism. The garment thrust her breasts upwards and outwards while accentuating the contrast between her waist and her hips. The little thong covered her pubic triangle, but little else. The dress slipped on over the underwear, a perfect fit. She stepped into strappy black patent-leather heels and went into the bathroom to fix her make-up.

Roberto’s dinner guests were, like most of his social acquaintances, business associates. Bruce was an investment banker from New Zealand. His companion was a blonde called Sharon. She giggled a lot, especially when Bruce made remarks about her bosom, which it had to be admitted, was spectacular, and generously exposed above a clinging low-cut gown. Sophie had thought her own dress a bit on the daring side, but she was demureness itself compared to Sharon. Clearly she was not Bruce’s wife, and Sophie assumed she was an escort Bruce had hired for the occasion.

The other guest was Anthony, a young analyst with an American stockbrokers. He had no companion. Over dinner the conversation was chiefly of money matters, a subject in which Sophie could more than hold her own. Anthony listened intently to whatever she had to say. Bruce, on the other hand, seemed more interested in looking at her than speaking to her. As they were leaving the restaurant Anthony whispered in her ear. “I’ll call you next week so we can meet.”

Back at the apartment, Roberto poured them each a nightcap.

“You didn’t tell me Anthony was a Member,” she said. “He is, isn’t he?”

“Yes. Do you like him?”

“I’ll let you know. He wants to see me next week. I was a bit surprised. He didn’t try to come on to me.”

“If he’s a Member he doesn’t have to,” Roberto replied. “What about Bruce?”

“He kept trying to put his hand up my skirt. Didn’t you notice? And right in front of that woman. I suppose she’s used to it, though. I take it she was a hooker.”

“I don’t know if I’d put it quite like that. She works for the bank.”

“Doing what?” Sophie demanded. “Does she dress like that at the office?”

“You seem very censorious.”

“I’m not sure I care to be taken to dinner with prostitutes. I don’t think it’s very respectful.”

“I expect if she knew what you were she might think you’re not too respectable yourself. At least she’s getting paid to be a whore.”

“I’m not a w***e,” Sophie replied indignantly.

He looked at her silently. She knew that look. It sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine.

“You’ll be a w***e if I say so,” he said slowly. “Or are you going to argue?”

She said nothing. She stared at him defiantly. A muscle twitched at the corner of her mouth.

“We haven’t yet resolved this afternoon’s disobedience,” he said, “and yet here you are being difficult again.”

“I thought we did resolve that. I took a vow to obey every Member of the Society. If that man wanted me this afternoon I had no power to refuse.”

“But I told you to be here at seven.”

“Yes but surely that Member’s command took precedence.”

“Did it? Who says so?”

“Well, I can’t obey two contradictory orders,” she said indignantly. “I can’t be in two places at once.”

“That is true,” Roberto conceded. “But I’m afraid that does not absolve you of the consequences of being late.”

“But that’s not fair!”

“Fairness has nothing to do with it. The lesson you must learn is that disobedience leads to punishment. If at times the punishment seems arbitrary or unjust, then there is another lesson to be learned; that you are punished not only because you have done wrong or have displeased me, but sometimes because I choose to punish you. Punishment is ultimately a consequence of your subjection. Do I take myself clear?”

Sophie was silent. Inside she was seething, but she knew he was deliberately provoking her, and that defiance would make it worse.

“I’m going to punish you now for three reasons,” he said. “One, you were late. Two, I don’t care for your tone in discussing my choice of dinner guests. Three, as I have just said, I shall punish you because I can. You are a Subject. You have no say in the matter. Now follow me into the bedroom.”

In a cupboard in a corner of the room he kept a wooden bench, about a foot high and four feet long. At each corner was a leather strap. Roberto took the bench and laid it across the bed.

“Take off your dress and kneel over the bench.”

She did as she was told. He fastened each of her wrists to a strap, then pulled her legs apart and buckled the remaining straps around her thighs, just above her stocking tops. He went to a drawer and took from it a leather tawse, about two feet long. She felt it swish in the air then heard the crack as it smacked against her buttocks, landing with precision straight across the middle. Before the pain had properly sunk in she felt it smack again. The noise was disconcertingly loud. She herself made no sound; she still felt some resentment at his unjust and arbitrary treatment of her, and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out. He raised his hand again and brought the tawse back down, this time a little harder. After a few more blows she ceased to be aware of the sound it made. Her consciousness was confined to the searing pain across her rump. The bruising from this afternoon redoubled the effects of the blows. And at each blow now she whimpered, despite herself.

After perhaps a dozen blows he relented, just at the moment the endorphins began to kick in and the pain was becoming more bearable. It wasn’t to be a real beating then, she thought, just enough to make a point. He untied her.

“Undress and get into bed,” he said quietly. “But keep your stockings and knickers on.”

Quickly he threw off his clothes and took her in his arms. He lay on top of her and pushed his c**k inside her, not bothering to remove the tiny thong. He began to f**k her, just the way she liked, pulling himself almost out of her with each thrust, then pausing slightly before thrusting back in as deep as he could go. She didn’t always come during intercourse but she knew she would tonight. The memory of being used that afternoon, then of fellating Roberto, the thought of the s*x she would have later that week with Anthony, and most of all, the excitement first of defying Roberto and then being subjugated by him, all conspired to sharpen her desire. Since he had already ejaculated but a few hours ago, Roberto had no difficulty restraining his own orgasm until he felt Sophie move under him and heard her familiar little cry as she came. After he ejaculated, he fell quickly asleep with his arms around her.