Innocence is everywhere, but the honest enjoyment of perversion is
rare.

On a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon, platoons of harried women in
expensive cars shuttled their well dressed children along the streets
of an upper class neighborhood near Seattle, Washington. Each house
concealed its unique story behind a screen of tall evergreen trees and
fashionable forest landscaping. One home on a particular suburban
lane had its own special energy. This energy was provided by the
women who passed beyond the heavy black door into the residence of
Howard Cole.

There was nothing outwardly unusual about the one story contemporary
home. Three young children from nearby families played noisily
within fifty feet of the conservative gray painted exterior. The
pleasant open space between the large houses was shaded from the late
afternoon summer sun by a canopy of eighty foot Douglas Firs.
Predictably, one of the children launched a piercing, repetitive
scream in response to some injustice perpetrated by a sibling.

The occupants of the gray house, as if in another world, were
blissfully unaware of the commotion outside. Insulated in the
soundproof basement of his large home, Howard Cole stepped back to
appraise his work. As a talented photographer, he appreciated the
finer points of composition, color and lighting. He stroked his short
beard for a moment, then adjusted the rolled up sleeves of his open
necked black silk dress shirt. He stretched his solid, six foot frame
to loosen up his shoulders and straightened his round metal framed
glasses.

The warm, spacious, high ceilinged room resembled a photographer’s
studio. It had been, until he discovered a more compelling hobby.
Unusual electronic music played from a sophisticated sound system,
creating an air of mystery and erotic ritual.

Around the edges of the hardwood floor, in semi-darkness, oddly shaped
pieces of furniture rested under black sheets. In the center of the
room a massage table with a well padded, brown leather top rested in a
pool of light. It was quite heavily constructed, with brass fittings
where its thick wooden beams joined together.

Cole didn’t appreciate the room as much as he did the girl. Kristina
was one of his latest favorites; a true masochist who dreamed of being
a slave girl. This was her fourth visit to the intimate basement
dungeon. He had yet to find one girl to steal his heart forever, but
he enjoyed them all for their individual qualities and varied physical
attributes. The one trait they all had in common was the need for
submission. To Cole, it was a priceless treasure and extremely
beautiful.

Every submissive girl he met captured his attention, at least for a
while. Kristina was a gifted young software designer who happened to
work part time as a nude dancer. He could see it in her dancer’s legs
and perfect little ass. She was exhibited quite nicely at the moment,
he thought. He had a talent for posing the girls in the most
flattering and erotic positions. A result, he was sure, of his
photographic experience.
***
Kristina noticed his admiring gaze, then wiggled her well curved
bottom to let him know she was ready. She displayed her slender nude
body and fragile youth while seductively bent over the top of the
waist high table. The overhead spot lights illuminated her perfectly,
and she knew it. She grinned as she thought, “Krissy, you’ve been
wanting this for weeks. Trust Master Cole, he knows what you need.”

She felt the tension in her arms from the soft leather cuffs that
pulled her wrists toward the far end of the table. Another pair of
restraints held her ankles to the sturdy, polished table legs, making
her struggle a bit to touch the floor with her toes. It was another
one of Cole’s subtle touches that reminded Kristina of her delicious
vulnerability. “Looks like I’m going to get my money’s worth
tonight,” she predicted silently to herself.

She listened receptively as Cole spoke in a low, hypnotic tone that
penetrated deeply into her mind, “Krissy, it’s time for me to enjoy
you now. If you need to stop, you know how to communicate that to me.
However, if you stop, that will be all for today, and you will go home
knowing you didn’t satisfy me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Cole,” she said in a dreamy voice. She looked up at him
and saw a handsome forty one year old man with short dark hair. His
precisely trimmed dark beard and mustache somehow made him look
sophisticated and sinister at the same time. The piercing gray eyes
were almost hypnotic. When she was in this delightfully submissive
and sensual state, his attractiveness was very compelling. She wanted
nothing more than to be close to him and give herself to him in every
possible way. She closed her eyes for a minute to concentrate on the
hypnotic music and she felt herself slipping into the trance-like
state that she so treasured. The stresses of her high pressure life
fell away bit by bit.

Kristina stretched her muscles sensuously as Cole placed his hands on
her well formed back and began to massage away her tension. His
knowing fingers traced the firm muscles that were hidden beneath her
tan skin. The bright halogen studio light made the barely visible
fuzz of tiny blonde hairs sparkle and caused a languid warmth to
penetrate her body. When her muscles were nicely relaxed she felt him
shift his touch to the provocative curves of her ass. The first few
swats of his heavy right hand were delicate, as if to judge the range
and check the sensitivity of her flesh. Kristina pushed her bottom
out a little farther to signal her need.

As Cole gradually stepped up the spanking she could feel the stinging
impact of his big hands driving her against the table. Her face was
forced closer to the padded tabletop and she inhaled the sweet aroma
of tanned leather that added to her arousal.

“Do you like this, Krissy?”

“Yes, Master Cole, may I please have it harder?” She tossed her head
to spread out her glorious, shoulder length blonde hair, which she
knew he liked.

He smiled, “Of course you can. Your pretty bottom is getting very red,
little girl, and you know that turns me on.”

“I know, I know,” she whimpered and she continued to take the force of
his hands on her bottom cheeks. She could tell that the intensity was
carefully measured, being increased in precise intervals that must
have taken him years to perfect.

Slowly, a growing sexual tingle made itself felt in her clitoris.
“It’s starting,” she thought with an audible groan. Kristina was no
stranger to the SM scene. She loved pain play, when it was done
right, but she also loved to submit. I have plenty of friends who’ll
give me a good spanking, she thought, but why is Howard Cole the only
one I can submit to? I usually play because I enjoy it, but with him
I seem to do it because he enjoys it!

A more intense wave of arousal interrupted her thoughts, reminding her
of the helpless position she had gotten herself into. She was
restrained with her legs apart and she knew that he must have a
perfect view of her cunt. He had ignored it completely and it was
driving her crazy waiting for the first touch.

The wonderful sensation of bare skin striking bare skin helped form an
almost spiritual connection between them. Cole’s strong hands were
ideal spanking instruments and each solid blow landed with a loud
crack. Krissy swore that she could hear the sharp sounds echoing off
the walls. He changed hands frequently, using the off hand to stroke
smoothly up and down her back to enhance the emotional bond.

“Oooh, mmmm, ouch,” Krissy whispered. The pain suddenly became more
intense, and she had a brief moment of fear as she realized that he
was striking the backs of her long, lean thighs.
***
Cole could feel himself perspiring lightly after several minutes of
hard spanking. When her breathing became heavier and the blood was
circulating furiously in her inflamed asscheeks, Cole dragged his
fingernails lightly across her hot red skin. Kristina’s sharp intake
of breath indicated that she was properly warmed up.

He noticed how her small hips widened from the pressure of the table
edge and the soft outer curves of her breasts swelled where they were
pressed against the leather. Cole leaned back a little to look
carefully between her parted legs, where her pouting nether lips were
outlined in a most enchanting way by a well groomed thatch of fine
blonde hair. Knowing that he could penetrate her later if he wished,
he began to grow erect, but stopped himself so he could concentrate on
the scene.

Moving quietly around to the head of the table, he bent down to speak
with her in a soft voice. “Open your mouth, Krissy. You’ll need this
rubber bit.” To protect her teeth and tongue, Cole placed a rubber
bar in her mouth like a horse’s bit that buckled behind her head. To
demonstrate his complete control, he reached down to gently open her
sex with his fingers and softly stroke her sensitive inner labia.
***
Kristina’s muscles contracted involuntarily with the surprising new
stimulation. She was embarrassed by her sudden straining against her
bonds and moaned as she felt an overwhelming sense of submission and
inevitability. Her heart beat faster and the excitement grew within
her. She could feel the first trickle of wetness between her legs.

She watched as Cole picked up a long, straight rattan cane and showed
it to her. It was a quarter inch thick and one end had been covered
with thin black leather to form a handle. As she studied it, her
breathing became difficult and irregular.

Holding the cane reverently, Cole walked around behind her into an
area reflected by a large wall mirror. Kristina could see the full
reflection of her helpless form strapped to the heavy table and she
realized that she would be able to see exactly what was happening to
her lovely bottom. Her own wide eyed expression in the mirror
reminded her of the way a deer looks when caught in the headlights of
an oncoming vehicle.
***
Cole noticed it too. Slowly drawing his arm back for a full stroke,
he aimed the cane directly at the center of her perfect ass and drove
it with full force into her taut gluteal globes. The skin was deeply
indented for a hundredth of a second. A heartbeat later Kristina’s
head jerked, causing her hair to fly up and descend in a pretty golden
shower that sparkled as it caught the light. It was as if she had
been struck by lightning and her eyes widened at the astonishing
impact. She grunted around the rubber bit, which had just saved her
tongue from a serious injury.

Looking carefully at his watch, Cole said calmly, “I like to allow
about thirty seconds between strokes so that you can fully appreciate
the pain.”
***
Kristina heard the music change from an erotic electronic piece to a
Gregorian chant. Then she heard the hiss of the cane through the air.
It struck before she could even tighten her buttocks in anticipation.
The pain was extreme, and Kristina didn’t know if she could continue
to take it at this intensity. She contemplated ending the scene, but
knew that if she did she would regret it later when she was longing to
be in his bed. “Continue to breathe,” she told herself, “concentrate
and you can take this for him.”

Five minutes and ten loud strokes into the ritual, Kristina’s ass was
a perfect example of the double track signature of the cane. Each
raised red welt was placed parallel to the others. Kristina, her skin
flushed and damp with sweat, moaned and pulled hard at the leather
cuffs. She forced herself to breathe very rapidly, almost panting with
the pain. It seemed to help, somehow. The fire in her hindquarters
slowly penetrated into her brain and fulfilled the mysterious need
that only Cole understood. She knew that she had now reached that
familiar plateau that was like the moment when an orgasm becomes
inevitable. The scene would now continue to its conclusion. There
was no other option.

There was a brief pause and she was afraid he might stop. Then she
looked at Cole in the mirror and listened to him speak. Her vision
was slightly blurry with sweat or arousal, she couldn’t tell which.

“I want to hurt you some more, Krissy. You’ve only had ten strokes so
far. I’d like you to take twenty five. The last girl I used this big
cane on was barely conscious after 20 strokes, but I think you can do
better.”

Kristina was both exhilarated and frightened, but continued to look at
her own reflection in the mirror as if she were observing a dream.
She watched in fascination, as the heavy rattan cane cut into her
outraged bottom. She tried to scream into the rubber bit as he
continued to dispense the severe blows, “Oh God… No, oooh, YES!” Her
endorphins began to flow and the pain was slowly transformed into
pleasure.

It took six more of the slashing strokes before she was truly flying
high on a trip induced by a cocktail of fantasy, emotions and natural
biochemicals released by her bruised flesh. The powerful strokes
slowly continued as she moaned and thrashed against the table. She
was not struggling to free herself. She was writhing in ecstasy.

As on previous visits, she was allowed to spend the night. Her
submission was absolute. This time, after satisfying his perverted
sexual urges, she was forced to sleep on the floor next to his bed.
She loved every minute of it and was happy to hand him a slim envelope
as she left the next morning.

Kristina knew that she was just one woman among many in the unusual
life of Howard Cole, but she didn’t mind. Her world felt complete.
She was deliciously satisfied and quite proud at having taken twenty
five strokes of the terrible cane. She left his house smiling,
feeling the sexy soreness in her buttocks and vagina. With any luck,
she thought, she would be reminded of her caning for two or three days
as she sat in her boring office cubicle. Her breasts bounced a bit
as she got behind the wheel and her sore nipples peaked, reminding her
of other pleasures.

She drove along the conservative Sunday morning streets, observing the
ordinary people living their ordinary lives. “If they only knew…”
she speculated. She grinned at the thought of the secret she carried
inside and wondered how long it would be until she needed to contact
him again.
***
As he watched her go, Cole felt strangely alone. He was pleased that
Krissy believed she had taken the full twenty five strokes, when he
had actually stopped at nineteen. The little psychological games were
all part of the service. It had taken him years of trial and error to
learn how to weave a woman’s fantasy into a practical reality. He
played the role well, very well, but he knew there must be more.

CHAPTER TWO

Howard Cole placed his glass of Willamette valley pinot noir on the
desk next to the computer and looked around the expensively furnished
home office to clear his mind. As was his nightly custom, he powered
up his computer to check his email. He grinned slightly as he
recalled his session with Krissy the previous week. He thought
briefly about how much more interesting his life had become in the
years since he had discovered organized BDSM and later, the internet.

“Life certainly has its surprises,” he said before taking a sip from
the one glass of wine he allowed himself.

While he waited for the computer to complete the logon and download
procedure, he recalled the unlikely chain of events that led to his
unusual lifestyle.

From his elegant home in a heavily forested suburb of Seattle, Cole
reached out into the shadowy world of those who searched for
satisfaction via the internet. His occupation as a patent broker
allowed him ample time to pursue his true love, the sexual domination
of women.

He enjoyed being his own boss and was usually able to set his own
hours. His clients were major universities and small research
companies that needed to sell their patented ideas to various
industries. They usually met with him at his office in Bellevue where
he shared a receptionist and secretarial staff with four other
businessmen. None of them had the slightest understanding of his
unusual sexual tastes.

Most of the businessmen in his circle of friends brought their wives
or girlfriends to business related functions. Cole usually showed up
alone, which caused some speculation that he might be gay. In
reality, he simply did not want to mix his sex life with his work, for
obvious reasons.

He remembered that on the rare occasions when he brought a woman
friend, his colleagues and their wives would spend the next few days
trying to figure out what gave the woman such a mysterious air of
sexuality. Ill equipped to understand sexual submissiveness, they
usually decided it was something mundane, like her clothing or
perfume.

He had no idea what a strange direction his life would take when he
graduated from a Southern California law school in his late twenties
with a profound distrust of the adversarial legal system. During his
final year of school, he interned at a law firm specializing in
criminal defense and other trial work. The things he saw there
convinced him that he could never participate in the courtroom games
that his classmates loved. That was also when his wife announced that
he wasn’t the kind of man she wanted to be married to and demanded a
divorce. Shortly thereafter, he discovered a talent for patent law
and never looked back. According to his estimate, he could retire at
age fifty and live very nicely for the rest of his life.

When the monitor finally displayed the list of incoming email, he
snapped back from his self analysis and quickly focused on the
messages.

Ah, three responses tonight, he noted. They were replies to the
personal ads that he had placed systematically on various websites and
newsgroups. Each of his ads was slightly different, but they all
contained basically the same message.

Cole described himself in the ads as a professional dominant for women
only. Although the ads didn’t mention it, his fee was negotiable. It
would usually depend on what the customer could afford. He didn’t
need the money, but it helped establish a very important boundary. It
also created an atmosphere that allowed for some intensely hot play
sessions.

When he first considered this idea, he was told by his friends from
the Seattle SM scene that there was no such thing as a professional
male dominant, unless you wanted to dominate men, of course. It was a
simple case of supply and demand in the sex industry. The
conventional wisdom also said that most, if not all, submissive women
were looking for a long term relationship. After some research and
several experiments in advertising, he discovered that there was a
small, but significant market for his services. Not enough to make a
living, which he didn’t need anyway, but enough to keep him busy with
interesting new women.

Once he had worked out the system, there was a slow, but steady stream
of women who answered his internet ads. Most of them lived too far
away, didn’t have the money to travel or were just too frightened to
meet with a stranger for such an intimate and dangerous activity.
Cole gently discouraged many others who did not meet his personal
standards for physical appearance or intelligence. About two or
three times a year, he would arrange to meet with a new correspondent
who seemed to be a good potential customer. In the back of his mind
was always the possibility that he might meet a woman who could become
his permanent partner.

He discovered that many submissive women didn’t feel like they could
really give up control to a man who was going to be a major part of
their lives. A professional dominant, on the other hand, could do his
job and vanish. The woman could carry on safely with her normal life,
keeping only the treasured memories of her submissive sexual
experience.

Many of the women he met were in situations that prevented them from
seeking the kind of relationship they truly desired. Perhaps they
were married and unable to leave. Perhaps their career or public
image was at risk. Others wished to safely learn about their
submissive feelings. It seemed that each woman had her own unique
reason for seeking his services.