The Leather Mask

Chapter Four-1

Chapter Four

Erratic Beginnings

Dawn Flynn

If someone had told me this morning...

The burn faded and transformed into a warm, hazy glow, but the whip marks remained. Funny, they didn’t seem that red, at least, not the ones I could see. But after Chelsea poured down my fill of water, she circled around and her fingertips brushed over my ass.

My breath hissed through clenched teeth. f**k, that was sore!

“Told you it hurt,” she said, then disappeared back inside. The ladle and bucket remained near my left foot.

I hung there, naked, amidst the bright flowers, green leaves and the occasional, buzzing insect. The sun’s strengthening rays bathed me and I surprised myself when I hoped that this wouldn’t be my last visit outside, without any clothes. But first I needed to get used to not wearing any, especially in front of strangers. There weren’t any around now, thank goodness. Through strands of lank hair, I gazed up at the neighboring buildings. No one had popped out to watch. I twisted my head around to the brownstone behind me. All the windows were dark there too. Were they all gone? Someone still had to be around, even if it was a late Monday morning. I had screamed my head off and in spite of the water my throat still felt raw. They all couldn’t be at work.

Unless they already were. Unless a whipped, shrieking woman was nothing new to them.

Crap! Mrs. Smith’s business owned all four buildings that surrounded this garden? Just what kind of world of s**t had I gotten myself into?

The kind that lit up my p***y. Even as the pain, and then the soft glow, from the whip marks faded, another heat started between my legs. It enflamed my crotch, turned it wet, which only spread the fire up past my stomach, into my t**s and hardened n*****s. What was happening to me? I should have told Mrs. Smith to stop, to let me go, but each harder stroke from the whip drove away that urge. Women shouldn’t willingly allow this kind of thing done to themselves. But they did.

And now so did I.

I hung my head. A light, swirling breeze chilled my skin, but did nothing for the fire inside. No! When Mrs. Smith came back out I would tell her: Sorry, but not my cup of tea. Sorry to have wasted your time. Sorry about the whole f*****g thing, so would you just please UNTIE ME NOW!

Someone did. Yet only partway. And it wasn’t Mrs. Smith. Through my narrow slit of exhausted vision Chelsea’s hands removed the leather thongs from the ankle cuffs, then she scampered away again, but not through Mrs. Smith’s office. She ran between a couple of thick, tall bushes and disappeared through a narrow, steel door that closed by itself with a thud. So, what was with letting only my legs loose but not my arms? I stared at the door as if it could talk. And when it slowly swung wide, I got my answer.

I saw him in total, all the way from his bare feet, strong, pale legs, slim, taut waist, wide, hairless chest to his black, spandex hood covered head. But it was that c**k on which I fixed. His steps were slow as he wound about the garden paths, like a tiger stalking its prey, his feet silent, and his arms lazily swung from front to back. And with each step that c**k swelled bigger and bigger until, when he at last stood just a couple feet away, it pointed right at me, the helmet purple while behind it jagged blue veins ran all along the shaft.

I licked my lips. “Who...Who are you?”

In answer he hoisted my feet off the ground. My knees bent. He rammed home.

Fuck! That’s the only word for it. My legs wrapped around his waist and I hung on for all I could while pure, raw animal screw took over my whole existence. His c**k inside me was so hard, and went so deep, that I lost it in one long outburst of incoherent noise. He just pounded away against my hips, swung me back and forth like some human swing while that wonderful c**k made me scream again and again when suddenly, my whole body spasmed. My eyes snapped fully open, almost bugged out of my head, and the sky took me, brought me up on a tight spiral then threw me back down to him, on to that shaft that nearly tore me apart. My scream reached a higher pitch as an orgasm ripped through me, then his too almost at the same time. He grunted and hot c*m seared my p***y. My hips bucked, I tossed my head. Oh, god, why wasn’t it always like this!!??

Why? I knew why.

Another orgasm. And another! At last, I couldn’t hold it any more. My body turned limp. My legs slid down his ass, and I hung there, ankles turned sideways on the bricks, arms taut, head hung forward, gasping for breath. But he stretched out on a nearby wooden bench, like some cat with yellow eyes. And when he was rested, when that c**k sprang again to life, he circled in back, lifted my legs like a horse and attacked me from behind. Strong arms encircled my sore thighs and his c**k impaled me, sliding in and out slick, so slick in my juices. My breasts, pointed at the ground, swung just a half measure behind the rest of my body. My vision jarred with each slam of his hips against my ass, then froze as in a still life painting when he came again—this time not caring one whit if I joined him in ecstasy. Like a metronome he released one leg, then another, and oh so casually sauntered back to the bench. He took me once more this time with the thongs loosed but still encircling my wrists. I knelt before him and his c*m ran down my chin, dried on my breasts. And while the sun rode high overhead, through the hood’s narrow eye slits, yellow, languid eyes took pleasure at my devastation.

***

My legs reattached to the poles, I hung there the rest of the day. Chelsea returned to water me and offered a light, hand fed lunch of fruit and cheese. Mrs. Smith didn’t reappear. As for the hooded man, he went away for a while, returned in mid-afternoon, and took me twice with his fist. My groans and cries echoed in the garden while my feet jumped off the ground with each shove. At last, after what seemed my umpteenth orgasm, he left for good, exiting the garden through the narrow, steel door.

I trembled all over and I locked my knees to stave off total collapse. I had to, because my arms were useless after all day bearing so much of the strain. The shadows lengthened and I fell into half-consciousness. Dimly I was aware of two anonymous pairs of hands, one rough, the other soft, released me. My leather collar and cuffs were removed and between them I was half-dragged through the steel door along a narrow dark hallway to a small room with an old-fashioned claw foot bathtub. Gently they lay me in warm water with a little inflated doughnut underneath my tender ass.

Mixed feelings churned within me. f**k, I was right. Those orgasms were more real than any others I had experienced. But that didn’t compare to my intense reaction of Mrs. Smith’s orders. I still couldn’t believe how fast she had turned from kindly big sister to all out b***h, and how fast I had fallen under her commanding spell. When she ordered me to strip, then to go outside, I almost lost it. But the sky didn’t fall, and when the whip met my flesh...

My hand slipped between doughnut and butt cheek. Oh, yep. Still sore, but better. As for my p***y, that was still warm too which had nothing to do with the bath’s temp. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how I would react to my next punishment.

My next punishment. The way I thought about it made it all so certain, that it was inevitable I would deserve another because...

Because I would still be here, in this place, to receive it.

I slumped down in the water, allowed it to flow over my shoulders. The realization that I wouldn’t walk out, that I would mess up somewhere along the way and that I would deserve punishment, either by the whip or some other way, brought a certain comfort. I would err, suffer the punishment, and improve. I would be trained, refined, brought to a level that would make dominant men (and women too, probably) take notice, stand up or sit straighter whenever I entered their presence.

But for now I was the one who sat up when Mrs. Smith walked into the room.

“Do you want your clothes back?” she asked, in a neutral tone.

A brief second of thought. “No,” I said.

“That’s ‘No, ma’am,’ she said. “And ‘Sir’ to a gentleman.”

A pause. Oh, crap, she wanted me too—

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “‘Ma’am’ to a lady, ‘Sir’ to a gentleman.”

“Don’t forget it.”

The way she spoke, confident, assured, told me that this was Lesson Number One, or maybe Number Two, as I was reminded when I shifted my weight on my sore butt. I must have reacted because Mrs. Smith grabbed a sponge and carefully sat on the edge of the tub. “Just lean forward and sit still, Dawn,” she said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Dipping the sponge in the warm water she squeezed it over my back. Her other hand gently on my shoulder she tenderly dabbed at my whip marks and washed away the hurt. She held up my arms and her long, delicate fingers cleaned them of all grime, then massaged my sore shoulders. A small jar twisted open and cold cream swirled on my cheeks, across the forehead, over closed eyelids. A brief moment, then a soft, wet terry cloth removed all my make up and last traces of my former life. Fingers massaged my scalp and I sighed.

“Your hair is nice,” Mrs. Smith said. “Soft as down. And by the look of it, it’s your own color. Blonde with dark eyebrows, a lot of people like that combination. But it’s too short. We need to get it shoulder length, at least, so it can be swept up and have little wisps dangle over your beautiful neck.”

She ordered me out of the tub and I shivered, but not so much from the sudden cold. A large, soft white towel wrapped and dried me off, Mrs. Smith swiftly rubbing it over my skin. Finished, she draped it over the tub, then quickly brought my chin up and wrapped a wide leather collar around my neck. Large, silver rings dangled in front and on both sides. It locked on also, like the other one, but this time with a click of finality.

“This is your training collar,” Mrs. Smith said. “You will never touch it with your hands, or make any other comment about it. It is part of you, like any other part of your body. The only time you won’t wear it is when you bathe. Then someone else or I will remove it.” She held up a small, ornate key on a light chain that she placed around her neck and said, “Follow me.”

We went through several hallways, twisted around many corners, and I guessed she was taking me to one of the other buildings. We also climbed up numerous flights of stairs and I arrived at my new home.

“Home” may have been correct, but ‘new’ certainly didn’t fit the bill. New to me, but I’m sure this tiny place with no windows, little more than closet size with peeling paint and a single, bare, light bulb above, had housed its share of nervous women, and held close its secrets. A cot with a thin sheet, dark blanket, and flat pillow was shoved up against the back wall. Over to the left was a toilet, a lot lower to the floor than usual with the seat portion permanently screwed down. Closer to the door was a single, wooden chair with a large round hole cut in the middle of the seat.

I hung back at the threshold. “What is this place?”

“Your cell,” Mrs. Smith said, matter-of-factly. “Until you prove your worthy of a better one.” She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me inside, partly spinning me around so that I faced her at the door. “This weekend is our monthly mixer and I have to plan for it, so I won’t have much time to personally devote to you, but I’ll know how you progress. And if you backtrack, I’ll know that too.” She backed out, started to close the door and paused. The big sister disappeared, again replaced by the b***h. “You may think this is some kind of game, but not for me. Don’t disappoint me, Dawn. Not ever.”