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Dina's Day by Eldersign
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
dinasday.txt
Dina's Day by Eldersign
She was tired...eyes burning from cigarette smoke...neck sore
from the continuous propping of an insistant phone.
She guided the big car through the rush hour traffic like an
automaton...thoughts whirling with the events and decisions of
the day.
As she entered the beachhouse she noticed an envelope on the
floor under the seldom used mail slot, and as she picked it up
all thoughts of her day disappeared like smoke from a chimney.
She drew a nail across the seal and withdrew a single sheet of
expensive bond...unsigned, but it never was. That was part of
the excitement...never being totally sure that it was him.
She began reading...and a familiar shiver went through her.
She put a bottle of wine to chill...an excellent year, for
she knew the consequences for failure to please.
She drew a bath...and luxuriated in mountains of bubbles,
taking endless care in cleaning every inch of silken skin to
a lovely transparent flush. She styled her hair...each curl
placed with exceptional care. She added makeup...just a hint
in places, for her skin was very good...and she needed no more
color....as she was blushing almost constantly.
She dressed...a brief task...panties...a short pleated skirt...
white nylon blouse...nylons and black heels. She added jewelry
and did her nails.
All these things took but half an hour...which was well, for
no more had she finished than she heard the door open.
She smiled bravely...and tried to look as appealing as possible.
He stalked in...looking for all the world like a gladiator now
returned from combat. He wore jeans...and a simple pullover shirt,
which failed to conceal the muscles beneath. He closed the door,
and studied her appearance.
He walked a circle around her...she stood frozen...like a bird
captured by the gaze of a viper. He raised her skirt casually, and
examined the exposed places with easy familiarity. She made no
objection to this intrusion. He cupped a breast roughly, and waited
to pounce at any reaction.
She remained impassive...at what cost only she knew.
He went to a closet...and withdrew several lengths of soft nylon
rope, which he tucked under an arm. He also found a short, wide
leather belt and swished it casually through the air as he closed
the closet door and returned to her side.
He tied a length of rope around her waist...not tightly, but
firm enough to prevent excessive movement. He tied each wrist to
another piece of rope...then to the rope at her waist. The slightly
bent position of her arms was not painful, but drew the nylon
blouse into sharp relief across her breasts...a motion which rubbed
her nipples like sandpaper.
He took an arm...and led her to the front of the beachhouse. The
sands before it were empty...it was November and the crowds had gone
south to warmer climes. The sunporch was simply furnished...a
studio couch, a small table upon which the wine sat in an ice
bucket...accompanied by a glass...and two straight backed chairs
or old, solid oak construction.
He placed her in front of one of the chairs, back to it....and sat.
He poured the wine, and drank appreciatively, a long swallow.
He raised her skirt and placed the bunched material in her hands,
still restrained at her waist.
She was shivering in spite of the warmth of the room. She was
frightened...a little...and it was delicious.
Once he had whipped her here...just like this...daring her to move
or cry out...repeated strokes with that same wide belt across her
defenseless bottom...at least a dozen. She had not given in to the
tears then...she had remained still and in place...taunting him with
her control. The pain had been severe...more than any before or since,
but she had won...and he had given her a release which she would
remember forever as a prize.
He finished the wine...and patted her directly on her cute lacy,
panties. He led her to the couch and laid her on her back, tossing her
skirt up casually as he did so. Her thighs were lovely...rounded and
firm...with a sweet hint of virginality in her pose. He looked for a
long moment...then raised the belt.
She watched him...trusting but apprehensive...and excited beyond
anything she had ever felt. Surely he wouldn't...please God...let him.
He brought the belt down in a moderate arc...the stroke landing
across the front of her thighs with a sharp sting. He placed two
more there...both dangerously near the junction of her thighs...and
watched her face.
She closed her eyes...and in doing so admitted defeat. The sensations
and possibilities were too strong...he would win this time. She
would give in...she always did eventually, but he had won quickly
because of this different approach. She opened her legs wide...and
felt his hands gently slip her panties down her legs.
His weight was a welcome sensation...and he made love to her as he
always did...generously and thoroughly, spending extra time with
every place he knew would stimulate her. When the release finally
came she knew that whatever unknown costs there were in it, she was
right in letting it go on.
Later, as they sipped wine together, he spoke.
"I'm getting out of the mail room next week...I got the junior account
exec's job..."
She would never tell him.
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