Nick's Dilemma

Some of you may be familiar with various stories I have written. With the exception of Kara, which was (very) loosely based on a real event, the other stories were entirely made up. Fantasies. But not this one. This one is all too real. Threatening to upset, possibly even shatter the nice and comfortable life have always lived, a true story concerning events unfolding even as I describe them.

My name is Nick. Part time author, 54 years old. Medium height, medium build. Brown eyes. Sandy, grey tinged hair. Work fairly hard to stay in shape, slowly losing the battle. Once imagined that women found me attractive, these days have few illusions.

Married. Twenty-seven years. Love my wife Sandra. Always have. One grown child. No grandkids as yet. Proprietor of a small business lately showing belated signs of expansion. Perhaps it will bring me wealth. To ease the old-age that is rushing to crush me like a freight train.

I am now and always have been one seriously twisted guy. S&M, dominance/submission, tease and denial, humiliation fetishes of all sorts. Regular sex is ok, especially the snuggling and affection part, but the twisted stuff adds a spice I can hardly do without.

In the beginning Sandra was happy to indulge my kinky sexual tastes. Later, as our marriage matured, dominance/submission play - that is fooling with power - became more difficult, perhaps because the real power issues between us had become so fraught with significance.

As the kinky play with Sandra receded I found outlets with other women. Some submissive, some dominant, some into playing both ways. OK with my wife who also found lovers. One wealthy admirer in particular who, several times a year, over the course of many years, flew her to exotic locations round the world for a week or a weekend of fun. None of our affairs, either hers or mine, were ever too serious and none, far as I know, were hidden. We spoke openly of them and for a long time we both enjoyed the arrangement, well worth the bouts of jealous anger that would occasionally flare-up between us.

Alas. Alas. Some years past my wife, having finally split with her wealthy, globe-trotting lover, decided she no longer cared to play the game, didn't want to go out in the world as a middle-aged woman to look for a replacement. So, by that twisted logic women of all ages and stripes often use, I should not fool around anymore either.

To keep the peace I reluctantly agreed. And immediately started to spend time in gentlemen's clubs. It wasn't as much fun as real-world lovers, but it was better than nothing with the added satisfaction, still pissed at my wife, of spending our family money on my sexual exploits. My wife knew nothing of these exploits, far as I know is still in the dark. But the events of the past few months have threatened to expose me in the most humiliating of fashions, with consequences unknown.

************************************

Of the various clubs have frequented my favorite is Club Fantastique. A standard format lap-dance kind of place, reasonably priced, usually busy, slightly upscale, certainly not seedy. It's special attraction for me is its rather benign indulgence towards twisted play. Over the past few years have done some intense s&m scenes at Club Fantastique, both as a dominant and as a submissive.

Three months ago I met Sophie at Club Fantastique. Thirtyish. Long, leggy, fair skinned Nordic beauty with a spectacular mane of honey blonde hair, fine natural breasts, large, intensely blue eyes and a steady, confident gaze to unlock the secrets of your soul.

Sophie claims (with women in her profession, you take everything they say about their outside lives with a grain of salt) to have spent much of her life working in the accounting office of a modest sized company. Good for maybe thirty thousand dollars a year, searching for a wealthy galahad to rescue her from this dreary existence. Now she has rescued herself, making $1500 a nite (a totally unheard of sum for Club Fantastique) , having the time of her life. When I met her she said she had been dancing only six months and seemed drunk on the power and the money. She seduces me without a word and in not much more time than it takes to write the words, am back in the couch room, paying twenty dollars a song to do the lap dance thing with Sophie.

After the first song or two I find my tongue. "Wow - you got me here without saying a word. No one has ever managed that feat." a true statement and she simply smiles a little and continues to very slowly rub her g-stringed pussy against my in my pants, middle aged but still rather randy cock, having understood in an instant that slow is the way with me.

"And I never asked you if you are into anything kinky - I ask everyone before I come back here."

"Kinky?" her very first word to me, in a soft, sultry voice sugared by a hint of the south, "what do you mean by kinky?"

"Well," I say after thinking for a moment, not wanting to scare her, "I could take you over my knee and spank you. Or, if you want to be adventurous, I could tie your hands and then spank you. Or, you could spank me, or have me worship your feet or, well lots of things." my cock getting harder just saying these words.

"Hmm, perhaps I might like kinky, not sure about doing it here"

"It's ok - have done it with lots of ladies - done some quite intense scenes here from time to time."

"Does sound hot - let's give it a try."

So Sophie gets over my knee and I spank her gently, then seeing that she doesn't mind, a little harder. She twists her head to peer at me, her lips curled slightly with what seems arousal, her liquid blue eyes attempting to bore directly into my brain. "Turns you on to inflict pain?" They seem to say. "Just know that I know who you are," I imagine her thinking.

"You can tie me up if you want." she really does say, which I do, hands behind her back, loosely, then continue the spanking, a bit harder and she doesn't seem to mind, always watching my eyes, always seeming to know what this is about on a deeper level than the little playful scene on the surface.

Um hmm, what an exquisite turn-on to spank the beautiful and so very knowing Sophie. When we are up to six or seven songs, usually my limit, when her luscious, perfect, creamy white ass is starting to turn an ever so delicious shade of pink, she says, softly, but firmly nonetheless "I think you should be the slave, untie me."

Which I do with a smile and she pulls up a chair, sits down facing the couch were I am still sitting, lifts up her leg and tells me, again softly yet firmly, to remove her shoes. I comply and soon am worshipping her feet like nobodies business. She uses her free foot to gently tease my cock and I swear am almost ready to cum in my pants when I realize we have been in the room forever and call a halt, hoping I have enough cash to pay. The tab is $300 dollars, more, I think, than have ever spent on one girl for one session in the couchroom of Club Fantastique.

We go back to the bar where Sophie graciously spends time speaking with me. I feel a powerful connection. Not sure if she feels it or is just so good at her job that she is able to project it at me. But we talk about our lives and I learn some of her story and how excited she is to be making all this money and then we part after exchanging e-mail addresses.

We write each other a little, telling more of our stories and agree to meet again at the club. I refrain from sex or masturbation for a few days, very difficult for me, but more possible at 54 than at 34 for sure.

When I get to the club a week or so later, I experience first hand Sophie's rather awesome popularity. Yes indeed, $1500 a nite is no bullshit, as I fidget, watching guys line up for her attentions, myself not remotely interested in anyone else.

It is almost two hours til my number comes up. When Sophie finally eases herself onto my lap, me sitting at the bar, popular or not she evinces not an iota of hurry. More than willing to chat for a bit and again I feel that connection. Either a strong mutual liking, or how good she is at her job, and I still cannot tell. One moment I think we are ready to have some insanely intense affair, the next order myself to get a grip, that this babe has no interest in me other than the money I am giving her, and is simply more skillful than most of her co-workers.

After awhile, when I start to feel guilty about wasting her valuable time in unpaid conversation, we repair to the couch room where she gently slips into a mistress role, commanding me to worship her feet, eventually (at my suggestion) putting clothespins on my nipples and beating the bottoms of my feet (no visible marks allowed, I say) with a hairbrush. Not all that hard, but hard enough to sting.

It is another three hundred dollars. And afterwards she is again generous with her time and we talk, having drinks at the bar not touching, trying to see how to proceed with our play, me feeling relaxed and comfortable with this beautiful woman, totally connected and at this time cannot imagine she doesn't feel the same way about me.

We agree that we are going to play more, have a Club Fantastique relationship. One thing that comes up is the honest way to do such a relationship. Never should a customer ask a dancer out. It isn't right. It is like asking a lawyer to take your case for nothing, merely because it is interesting. This is their business, how they support themselves, and it is truly bad manners to ask for a freebie. I know about this, having once had a real-world lover in the business who schooled me quite specifically on this point. At the same time it is even worse for a dancer to lead a customer on. To pretend that she will go out with him if only he spends just a little more money on her. Many of the women think this is the worst kind of shady business practice. But many do it on a regular basis anyway. Sophie understands all this at once and we make a pact. I agree never to ask her out, she agrees never to lead me on. If this ever goes outside the club it will be her that initiates, but only when she is committed, no maybes allowed, and it will always be, in some way, about money.

After a bit we get back to sex and I gently nudge her about this chastity fantasy that has been growing in my mind over the last few years. Right up her alley.

"You mean you have this little spank monkey room that your wife never goes to and you look at porn on the computer and masturbate?"

"Yes, I must admit that it is so."

"Nick, I don't think you should do that. In fact, as long as you keep playing with me, I must insist you NEVER do that, not even once."

Gentle readers, you cannot know how I have longed for someone to say these words to me. How I have hinted and prodded. But until this day no one has ever taken the bait, or if they understood, known how to proceed.

"How about my wife. Am I allowed to have sex with her?"

"Of course you are. Just no masturbating."

"I think you just passed a serious test Sophie. You are one awesome lady."

"Nick, stuff the flattery. I want to know if you agree about the masturbating."

"Yes Sophie, I agree. It will be very difficult, but I agree."

"It won't be difficult, you will just have more sex with your wife." spoken like a lifetime single.

"Only a little, I think. We have been married a very long time."

"Well, that is your business. But promise me about the masturbation."

"I promise."

And we part.

At the start I comply, even though I am totally horny, totally into a complete sexual frame of mind that is not really normal for a man my age. Two or three days after this encounter with Sophie, my wife and I have what is easily the best sex we have managed in forever. I thank Sophie in my head. My wife should thank her too but of course she has no idea. A day or two later I find out that business is calling me to the other coast and it will be several weeks till I can see Sophie. I send her the following email:

Right. What a joke. Giving Sophie domination lessons. As you will soon see, like explaining to Tiger Woods how to play golf.

A few weeks later am back at the club. I have managed to be chaste for six days previously, almost certainly a lifetime record. I am buzzing with lust. Sophie comes right up to me, sits in my lap, slowly rubbing her thonged butt against my enpantzed cock, nuzzling my ear, telling me how much she has missed me, how much she has looked forward to playing again, how much she loved my email. I tell her about the past few weeks, how hard I tried about the masturbating, how impossible when I knew it would be several weeks.

"So, against my express orders, you masturbated?"

"Yes, I am sorry."

"This will have to stop. How much money do you have?"

"Three hundred dollars and change."

"Not enough. Today I want to take you to the Champaign room, where I can punish you properly."

The "Champagne Room" is 300 dollars for thirty minutes while the couch room, at twenty dollars a song gets you around seventy-five minutes for the 300 dollars. I have never been to the Champagne room.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any more than the 300 and I really want to play with you for more than thirty minutes."

"There is a cash machine right over there" she says pointing. "I would quite enjoy watching you withdraw another seven hundred. I think it would make my pussy quite wet indeed."

My budget, the money I have that is outside my family's money, easily allows a hundred or so two or three times a month for these pay-for-play adventures. Three hundred, a couple of times a month, is a serious stretch. One thousand at a shot is way, way off the scale. Nothing ever imagined I might spend - especially for 90 minutes with no real sex allowed. Besides, the 700 extra will have to come from my family's account and I have no explanation. It is completely out of the question.

I explain this to Sophie.

"This is excellent. It is a big deal for you. I wasn't sure. Painful. Perfect. I love the fact that you will be paying me money you can barely afford, that you will have to shuffle around to explain to your wife. It is a total turn on for me."

God, and for me too, I understand as she speaks to me. For me too. It makes it real, no play game. Exactly as I said I wanted, but totally and entirely on Sophie's terms, rather than my own.

"Please Sophie, don't make me do this. It will cause problems with Sandra. It is way too much money."

"Now slave."

And I do it, cock stiff as a pole like I was twenty, barely able to breath from arousal. Can you understand it? Can you understand why being forced to spend so much money is a turn on?

Sophie stands behind me, running her hand under my shirt, tweaking my nipples, pressing herself against my back whispering in my ear "Do it very slowly - I want you to remember this moment for the rest of your life." My palms are sweating, my hands shaky as I slowly put the machine thru its paces, finally withdrawing seven hundred dollars that I will have difficulty explaining to my wife.

"Three sessions and a hundred extra for me. Nice. Now get on your knees and crawl."

Frightening out in the club - never - but I comply, crawling all the way across the big main room of Club Fantastique to the entrance of the Champagne room, face red with humiliation, trembling with desire and fear.

The Champagne Room is the same as the couch room. Almost. Nicer couches. And no bouncer to watch the proceedings and prevent things from getting out of hand. Also, at this moment, no other couples. I wonder what we can do here that we cannot do in the couch room but am totally cowed by Sophie's power over me and say nothing.

The session lasts more than two hours. The club, liberal with time at these prices, Sophie in no hurry for things to end. I get absolutely zero pleasure. My cock is not touched. I lick her all over, though am not allowed to pull aside her g-string to give her real pleasure. She gets a whole bag of very strict old style clothespins and puts them on various sensitive parts. Nipples, tongue, underarms. I am made to do exercises like this. It is agony. Then to rapidly crawl and fetch little things she throws. By this time there are two other couples one girl who knows me well, and everyone finds my degradation hysterical. I am totally, completely aroused.

All the while Sophie keeps talking to me, never raises her voice or says anything harsh. I speak to her as well, sometimes as a slave, sometimes just as me, what seems a friendly sidebar to the proceedings.

About two thirds of the way thru she takes out a hairbrush. Orders me to pull down my pants. This is weird. In other types of clubs you get naked, sometimes masturbating, sometimes having an almost real sexual encounter. I don't like those clubs. In Club Fantastique, no way. Or so I thought. I drop out of role and caution Sophie about bruising me.

"You have been very bad. I want you to be very, very clear that masturbation is not allowed. I will bruise you if I choose. In fact the idea of it is very much a turn on. How you deal with your wife is your problem."

At this point am close to resisting. Visible bruises are not part of the game. For a married fellow such as me. But I find my will is weak, I have slipped deeply under Sophie's control. I assume the position she commands, on the couch, bent over the arm, ass up in the air.

And she beats me severely. No pity-pat like the last time. Far from it. Slowly without anger, but very, very hard. It hurts. Really hurts, almost beyond my tolerance. I am not allowed to move, cautioned to maintain my position. At some point she hands the hairbrush to another girl (several, hearing me scream at one particularly nasty blow, have come to enjoy the show) who lays it on just as hard. After maybe a hundred strokes, after I have started to cry and plead for mercy, am allowed to pull up my pants. I know my ass will be covered with bruises, maybe blistered, and that it will be several weeks before I can allow my wife to see me naked.

After this I spend the rest of the session doing all I can to give Sophie pleasure without actually touching or licking her naked pussy which remains safely protected by her thick at the crotch lap-dancer thong. It is difficult but she seems truly aroused, which is gratifying and which, at the moment, seems more than adequate compensation for the money and the hassle coming up. We spend a bit of time talking after it is all over, first about the scene, my submission, her growing love of domination, but, almost miraculously, we eventually drop our roles entirely and begin talking of our lives as if we were acquaintances, meeting at a party, exploring the potential of a deeper friendship. Again I feel that connection that seems to cut right past the games we are playing and again I cannot really tell what she feels. Just before I leave Sophie reminds me that I must find another thousand dollars before I can play with her again.

It is not until I am halfway home that I realize the utter sadism of the bind Sophie has put me in. It has already been longer than have ever gone without orgasm. I have just spent two of the most erotic hours can ever recall. Not only can't I masturbate, but I can't have sex with my wife either because of my bruised state. Even worse, I can't imagine how I can get a thousand dollars to play with Sophie again.

When I get home I go right to bed. My wife is away on a business trip for a few days, thank god, but I cannot sleep, tossing and turning, wanting to rub my cock, knowing that I am not allowed, which makes me hornier, thinking that finally I have found a woman to control me.

A few days later I write Sophie the following email:

I will not bore you with the details of the next two and a half weeks. How I had to engineer an awful fight with my wife to get myself exiled to the spare bedroom. How I had to basically embezzle the money from my own company to get Sophie's thousand. How my wife and I had another screaming fight when the bank statement arrived, just when my butt was healed enough to have sex with her and ease the impossible ache in my balls. Sandra is now suspicious in a way she has not been in many years.

And I did not masturbate. Glory be. I am strong, stronger than would have imagined. Amazing the positive effect of a spectacular woman. Including the six days prior to our last encounter, more than three full weeks. I am crazy with lust but it feels great. To see the world thru these lustful eyes again. To conquer, even if it is only for awhile, that awful, life degrading, time-wasting habit. Despite all the hassle, I am grateful to Sophie for all of this and now it is time to see her again. I write her an email asking her schedule.

She writes back:

So it is Thursday night, wife away, thousand dollars I have embezzled from my own business, probably hell to pay later, in hand, cock and balls tied tightly with nautical rope, pink ribbon tied around the shaft. Maybe when I was seventeen and had a date with my virginal high school heart throb and thought that maybe, just maybe this would be the night, was I ever so excited. Careful, careful in the car, my balls on fire with agony, then into the club and oh my god! Did I ever think any of these women plain? They are all gorgeous, unbelievably sexy. The music is so hot, throbbing, the girls dancing on stage the essence of sexual heat. I literally, truly, honestly almost pass out before I am five steps inside the club. But I am not supposed to look at them. Sophie has commanded me.

I get a seat. And a drink. The pain in my gonads is fierce, making me sweat. The bartender is someone have known for years. She asks if I am ok. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do with myself as I am not allowed to watch the dancers. Usually it takes some time for a girl to approach but of course on this night someone comes up to me immediately and before I can stop her rubs her ass into my crotch.

"Umm hmm" - she says looking up at me, seeing how old I am "that is one nice stiffy - lets go back to the couch room and see if we can do something about it."

I don't know if I am allowed to push her away, if that would constitute "touching" but am afraid to find out.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I am Sophie's slave and am not supposed to even look at anyone else." Fumbling to hand her 3 singles as she disengages, laughing.

I try to look like I don't want to play with anyone. But I know too many of these girls. Cassandra, with her all-natural earth-goddess body, who I have played master to her slavegirl in the not too distant past comes up to me. I try to tell her to go away. She seems to know my predicament seems to enjoy tormenting, pushing her almost naked boobs into my face as I try to turn away from her advances. She tells me she knows what is in store for me in awhile and that maybe she is going to help. I give her a twenty to make her go away.

For maybe an hour like this. Then I see Sophie. She is flirting with another guy. I am jealous. Jealous? Of a Club Fantastique dancer doing her job? But it is true. She breaks off and comes up to me. She asks about the state of my genitals. She grinds lightly on my lap, feels the randy, teenager-like state of my cock, nuzzles my ear. Then tells me to be good and patient and goes off with the other guy to the couch room.

It is almost an hour till she is done. Raking in more money. Thank god she comes right up to me. We get drinks. And talk. I try to get off the lust trip and focus on her. It is not easy but she doesn't touch me or act flirtatious as we recount the past few weeks of our lives and talk a bit about our tastes and our history. It is weird how she can do this with me. How we can do this with each other. Despite everything. Despite her beauty. Despite her skimpy outfit. Despite the context and the extreme chastity test I have endured. She makes me treat her like a person, not a sex object. I wonder if she wants to marry me.

But then a subtle shift. She moves closer, starts to rub her hand up under my shirt.

"How much money have you brought me?"

"A thousand, like you requested."

"Oh, but is has been so long. Don't you want to spend more time with me? You must get me more money. Another 400 - one more session and another hundred for me, I will make a thousand altogether for myself. It is only fair, don't you think?"

Yes I do, actually and I don't bother to argue as she leads me back to the cash machine. Will worry about consequences later.

So it is $1400 real american dollars to spend maybe three hours with Sophie and worth every penny.

As soon as the session starts, me on my knees at her feet, I tell her about my chastity marathon and how difficult it has been.

"Sophie, do you think, like, well, maybe I could cum during this session. It wouldn't take much. I've been so good for so long. Please?"

"Nick, I want you to be very clear about this. No matter what might ever happen between us you will never get to cum in my presence. Not once. Not ever. I am completely set on this point. Do you understand?"

"Yes mistress." I say, hanging my head, focusing on the "what might ever happen between us" phrase. Is that breaking our rule? I don't really care. But it makes me feel like maybe she really likes me. Pathetic.

"Excellent, so we agree."

"Yes mistress."

"Now I want you to take off all of your clothes. I want to see your naked body, you have pretty much seen all of me. I want to see how your cock is tied, how your bruises have faired."

Really? Could not have imagined that this was allowed. But it is her job, she that will get in trouble if things go too far, and I comply, more than a little embarrassed displaying my middle aged body to this buff, beautiful woman.

She notes my hard cock and how it is adorned. Pats my little pot, which no amount of diet and exercise seems able to shrink. Walks around me making no comment. Then looks carefully at the way my cock and balls are tied, as if wanting to remember it for future use. Sees that my ass has healed, returns me to my knees, produces handcuffs and uses them to bind my hands tightly behind my back.

"Nick you have been very good. You have earned a reward. You will be allowed some pleasure."

"Thank you mistress."

"I will not let any part of my actual body touch your naked cock. That is usually what goes on back here. Handjobs for $600 an hour. But I don't do that. Point of honor for me. However I will, just for you, just because our thing is so hot, use my shoes to play with your naked cock." Dangling one of her black, patent leather spike heals out near my cock, causing me to squirm up to it, but she moves it away.

"Now, now, you wouldn't want me to touch your cock with these dirty shoes, the shoes I have been walking around in all night? Would you?"

"Please mistress. I am aching for any touch from you. Can't you see?"

"Yes, but I think we need to get my shoes cleaned first. Don't you?"

So it has come to this. Three plus weeks of chastity. Three thousand dollars total spent on her. And now I have to clean her shoes. I look up at her, quizzically, but I know what is coming.

"Well, I can only think of one solution. You must lick them clean, Nick."

"Please mistress. That is pretty disgusting. You just said you have been walking around in them all night."

"Well, if you don't want any pleasure, of course you don't have to."

Yes, dear readers, this is the woman I imagined I was giving domination lessons to, not that very long ago.

I shake my head, more in admiration than anything else. And move to begin cleaning her shoes. She moves them away.

"Patience patience. you must do it right Nick. First, I think it will be totally hot to listen to you beg to do it. Second, you must clean the entire shoe. Do not leave any dirt, anywhere. Third, I want you to do it with the fat part of your tongue. And fourth, and most important, I want you to do it very slowly, so you can taste every bit of the dirt you are paying me to lick from the bottoms of my shoes." And here, at this last phrase, she allows, for the first time since we met, her delicious sultry voice with that hint of a southern accent, to rise just a bit for force and for emphasis."

"Yes mistress. Please, please allow me, your slave, the divine privilege of cleaning your shoes with my tongue."

"Louder slave."

"Please let me clean your shoes, mistress. With my tongue."

"My pleasure."

And I do. Lick her shoes clean. The tops, the heels, the disgusting bottoms that are filled with dirt. She stops me from time to time to examine them. Pointing out spots that are still dirty, exhorting me to lick harder to get them clean. Five or ten minutes into this Cassandra shows up to watch.

When Sophie's shoes are cleaned to her demanding satisfaction, I am ordered to clean Cassandra's shoes. Cassandra laughs and taunts me in a far nastier tone of voice than Sophie would ever use. I can sense how being my slave must have gotten to Cassandra, how it wasn't as much fun and games for her as I might have thought and now she is getting her own back. It's only a few minutes until she is satisfied, some psychological balance restored, but somehow doubt if will ever dominate that girl again.

"Are you ready for your reward?"

" Are you kidding? Look."

My cock is so hard it is "bent". Honestly cannot remember the last time that happened.

Sophie smiles at me with great pleasure, perhaps proud of her effect on this middle-aged guy.

She begins playing with my cock with those cleaned up shoes. Of course she teases and goes slow. Touching with the tip. Gently giving me a bit of an up and down rub. Electric, incandescent pleasure. To ordinary sex what ordinary sex is to watching TV. A rub, a touch. I beg. She rubs but misses the sweet spot. Again and again. Then a few up and downs touching the pleasure center.

She tells me she doesn't want me to get too close to orgasm cause the pre-cum would relieve the pressure. She likes the pressure. It turns her on. That pressure on my tightly tied balls and cock. She wants to increase it. And she does. Sophie has a perfect, delicate skill at this, an exquisite sense of timing and a rare ability to tune directly into my sexual state. She gives me so, so much pleasure. Yet not a drop of pre-cum escapes the tip of my cock and the pressure on my tightly bound balls builds almost beyond endurance.

It goes on for over an hour. My teasing. My pleasure. My reward for being a good slaveboy.

When she is done with teasing me Sophie produces more bondage equipment. My hands are released, my wrists and shoulders massaged. Then she rebinds my hands in front of me with rope, gets on a chair and ties the rope off to a fixture in the ceiling so my arms are forced above my head. Next she attaches a spreader bar to my ankles putting me in the "statue of liberty" position. Not too tight, I am too old for really tight, but tight enough.

The room is empty. Just me and her. I am completely helpless, completely at my mistress' mercy, but not afraid. Sophie, much taller than me in her heels, bends down to kiss me. Lightly. Then she takes my head in her hands and gives me a serious kiss, our first, that goes on for awhile, our eyes open, locking. When she releases me I begin to cry. I can't stop. She turns and walks away.

She comes back in a few minutes holding a ruler in one hand and a flexible leather paddle in the other. Uh oh. I know about this paddle. Nasty. The handle and the first couple of inches of the paddle part are stiff. But the rest of the business end is thin, flexible leather. The arrangement allows the torturer to whip the victim with some major force. A lot harder than with a hairbrush.

"So here is the thing, Nick. I can use this ruler on your balls. Or this paddle on your ass. Your choice. It is around midnight, the club closes at 2:00, no one will bother us till then. Expect some major pain during that time."

Yes, as much as the paddle will hurt, even a tiny light smack to my balls will hurt more. But the paddle will bruise me again. Some choice.

"You are totally evil, Mistress Sophie."

"Only doing my job, being the girl you want me to be."

"Somehow, don't think that is all there is to it."

"How might you have guessed? I do love playing with you Nick. You are one great guy and this is one awesome game I am learning. Shame you are married."

"Are you breaking our pact?"

"No Nick, I am not. You are married. I can't have you. As my real slave. Or as anything I might want. This stays here. You are my customer. End of story."

"Life sucks."

"And then you die. But in-between you have as much fun as possible."

And it begins. At first I think long-term and have her use the ruler on my balls. I mean I can't afford to go home bruised again. What would I do? How would I keep my wife from finding out? And how would I get any sex? But my balls are just too sore, even a light smack of the ruler totally unbearable, so I ask her to beat my ass instead. Which she does with great relish. Brutally. After not too long she has me shamelessly screaming with ever lash. Various girls wander in to watch, to applaud, to laugh at me, to egg Sophie on but this time she does not allow anyone else to partake. It is the worst beating I have ever endured. I plead with her for mercy. She is deeply into her sadistic role. Teasing me with the possibility that she might relent if I beg harder. But she doesn't relent, whipping me with the flexible leather paddle as hard as she can.

She lets me down around 1:30, don't even think about the shape my ass is in. She allows me to untie my balls, a serious relief. We spend the time till closing, talking. Holding hands even. I am blissfully happy and completely, totally anxious and frightened at the same time. It is very hard to bid Sophie goodnight and this time am pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

*******************

I manage the thirty minute drive to my house and quickly fall into an exhausted sleep. The next day go to the city to see about my business, trying not to think about the situation. Sandra will be home Tuesday night, am supposed to pick her up at the airport. Looked at my backside in the mirror before I left could see the blisters forming, puckering out of the empurpled mass of meat. A long, long time til it heels. I still have not masturbated and I don't know what the fuck am going to do. Confess? To Sandra? Where will that lead? Masturbate and tell Sophie to fuck off? I don't think so. And what good would that do with Sandra anyway. Get a divorce? Hey Nick get a grip, look in the mirror for godsakes - you've spent maybe ten hours with Sophie, 99% probability she wouldn't really have you if you were free anyway and no way do you want to leave Sandra, no matter what. And do I really want to be anyone's actual slave. Not a chance. Am I sure? Has anything ever been hotter than these scenes with Sophie? And what about Sandra. All these years, never let any outside thing interfere with our thing. Till now. This is way, way unfair to her. I am being a total jerk. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The next day is Saturday, supposed to go to a ballgame with some friends. Can't deal with it and beg off, spend the afternoon pacing about my house and yard in a state of buzzing, mind numbing anxiety. The wages of sin. The wages of sin. The only thing I can think of is to fly somewhere for a few weeks. Claim business. Sandra will never buy it. Especially with another $400 mysteriously withdrawn from an ATM at some mysterious location in a part of the world I have no excuse whatsoever for frequenting.

To ease my brain and to collect my thoughts I spend Saturday nite writing this story that you are reading. All it does is make me more confused. Make me want Sophie even more, but feel even more guilty towards Sandra at the same time. I am still not sure what I can do, what I want to do, which way things will turn regardless of what I do. But I have a fantasy. Can you guess? What this fantasy might entail? No? Well here is a hint. Way, way back at the beginning of my relationship to Sandra she enjoyed being submissive to me, being my slave for an afternoon, an evening or a weekend. But as much as she enjoyed being submissive, she just LOVED doing it the other way, dominating me, ordering me around, hurting me, denying me. Just loved it.

Do you think? That maybe if I play this exactly right, do exactly the right thing in this situation, I can get Sandra to "punish" me in a way that simply intensifies the insane situation I am in. Maybe even get Sandra and Sophie in cahoots?

Here is what I have in mind.

Allow Sandra to find out about Sophie. But in a way that tweaks her sexual interest. Promise to never "cheat" again. How can she be sure I keep that promise?

Well, they do make these devices, I might suggest.

That keep a male from having sex. Unless the person with the key allows. Wouldn't it be just so hot, my dear wife Sandra, to have me under that kind of control?

This seems possible. Difficult. But possible. Hey, Sandra was once kinky. And it wasn't all that long ago that she was very into sex and a non-standard lifestyle.

Now the question is how can I get Sandra and Sophie to be in this together. I imagine a chastity belt with two keys. One held by Sandra. One held by Sophie. I could not be released unless they both consent. They wouldn't ever have to meet. Sophie would certainly be game. Especially if there was money in it for her. But would Sandra really share me with someone else like this? A paid someone else? Not at all like the discrete, far from the center of our marriage affairs we did in our younger days. But maybe. Just maybe. And the more I think about it the more it seems that the prize, for me, might be well worth the chase.

Will keep you posted. That is if I am allowed.

Comments welcome: nikinemesis@yahoo.com

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