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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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03 December 2005



My doorbell rang at 10:10.

I padded over, barefoot, and squeezed the childproof doorknob cover, turning it and standing behind the door as I pulled it open. He stood in the glaring sunlight holding a duffel bag and smiling.

He walked in and I turned the deadbolt. I offered him a drink. He took the glass of water and drank it, walking into the kitchen.

I stood in the living room in my robe, my hair still damp from the shower.

He took my hands.

“I’m excited to be here, Madeline.”

“I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh, I like that you are.”

“I know you do,” I blushed and looked down.

He stood in front of me, my hands on his hips, his fingers brushing my hair.

“Do you have any questions? Any requests?”

I thought for a moment, “I don’t want any bruises…okay?”

“I know you bruise easily. I’ll be very careful. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You and marcus play with different safewords, right?”


“With me, it’s a little different. Red and Yellow: ‘Stop’ and ‘Ease Up.’ Okay?”


His fingers raked through my hair as we stood there, quietly, lulling me into a relaxed state.

He took a handful of my hair at the nape of my neck, bending my head to the left. His mouth found my stretched-taut muscles and I felt the easy, steady pressure of his teeth on my neck.

I sucked my breath.


His grip shifted and my head was turned and twisted and pulled to the other side.

As he bit and kissed my neck and the top of my shoulder my breathing deepened, and I sighed.

He pulled back and took my hand, leading me to a closet door. He whipped my body around to face the door and pulled my hands up.

“I thought you said you usually walk around your house naked.”

“I do.”

“Why the robe?”

“You could have been my creepy landlord.”

“But I wasn’t, and you knew that, didn’t you?”


“No? You didn’t know I was coming?”

“Yes, I knew.”

“Then you knew it was me. Didn’t you.”


“So this clothing is really an unnecessary barrier, isn’t it?”


He pulled the robe down past my shoulders and untied the front. He stepped back to lay it across the futon and I stood, half-turned, looking over my shoulder at him.

“God, that’s beautiful.”

I smiled.

He came back to me, his finger tracing my spine.

“Was that a compliment, Madeline?”


He slapped my ass.

“What do you say when someone pays you a compliment?”

“Thank you.”

Another slap.

“Thank you, what?”

His hand reached around and started slapping my labia; light little stinging slaps. My breath caught in my throat.

“Thank you WHAT?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“That’s better.”

He slapped me some more, his body bent over mine. My body shuddered. I felt his cotton sweater on my back. I felt his cock through his pants. His finger went to my clit. My back arched as I pushed toward him.

He took my hair and spun me around, catching me with his kiss. He led me to the table, set up in the middle of the room.

“Bend over. Spread your legs. Oh, that’s good.” He moved my legs apart and walked around the table to his bag. I watched him slowly walk back, holding a long, thin switch. I smiled.

He bent down, getting a close view of my raised ass and chose a spot, holding the switch against the backs of my legs where ass and thigh meet.



I closed my eyes and let the warmth spread.

“You like that, don’t you?”


He crossed my bottom with the switch as I squirmed, grabbing the sheet and moaning.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw his hand reach for something else. I felt the tails of a suede flogger smack across my back and move down to my ass. He swatted one cheek and then the other and just when I thought I was drifting away he switched targets and my pussy was being flogged from below with a satisfying “thwack.”

With every swish and smack I got redder, more swollen, and wetter. This was a very good buildup.

“Get onto the table.”

He helped me up and I slid toward the top, glad I’d thought to put on my favorite polar fleece sheets.

“Spread your legs,” He took my left hand above my head and put my right hand on my cunt, “show me how you touch yourself.”

I grinned and switched hands.

I licked two fingers, rolling them around my clit, playing. He moved behind me and rummaged in his bag, returned with a purple cuff and wrapped it around my right wrist. He took a length of rope and tied it to the table leg. He looked down at my body and saw my left hand cupping my pussy.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

I continued petting myself.

He cuffed my ankles in black leather and pulled my legs down, spreading them to the corners, lashing them to the table. As he stepped toward my face I saw a gleam in his eyes.

He pulled up a roll of duct tape and tore off a short piece.


“Yes, please.”

I swallowed and tried to moisten my mouth before it was covered.

He laid the tape across my lips and smoothed it with his fingers. A wicked, wicked smile on his lips, he let out an involuntary sigh.

“That is so lovely.”

I nodded my agreement and continued to masturbate as he sat beside me on the edge of the table and took a nipple in his mouth. Between his teeth. Pulling, biting. He did the same with the other nipple and I turned my head, the pain searing through me, flooding me. I was moaning from behind the tape.

“Let me hear your sounds. That’s right. I want to hear you.”

The suede flogger circled around in the air, striking my nipples on its downturn. It was a good rhythm; a good intensity. I wanted to close my eyes, but the sight of his wrist twisting in time was too compelling.

He slapped my breasts with a short sandpaper-tipped crop. He moved my hand away and tapped at my clit. I was so wet.

He reached between my legs and felt the slickness he’d created. Again, he smiled. He removed the duct tape and kissed me, his fingers circling my clit and pressing inside.

He took off his sweater. He held my left hand down on the mattress and rolled his hand around the entrance to my pussy. I thought to myself, he is not going to fist me, is he?

But he was. Two fingers, then three and four and I could feel his knuckles and the widest part of his hand pressing against my opening. I tried to relax, not to strain against the ankle cuffs. I was breathing deeply, but forgetting to exhale occasionally. I started to hyperventilate as he was pushing, pushing…

I gasped, my head jerked up and I must have looked wild-eyed at him because he said, “breathe…breathe…”

I was groaning, yowling, trying to let go, head turned and then he was in. Tears were running into my ears and he was pumping his fist inside me as I writhed on the table. He moaned as I came into his hand. My wrist broke free from the cuff.

And then it was enough; it was too much.

“That’s it, that’s far. Please stop…”

“Last I heard, ‘please stop’ is not an agreed-upon safeword.”

“Red. Red. I can’t do anymore.”

He pulled his hand out of my cunt quickly. I howled. His hand went to my head, resting on my right temple. I could smell the sweet, slightly metallic scent of my cum from his wrist.

I was stroked and coddled, brought back down.

He helped me up to sitting and released my ankles. Stood me up at the foot of the table.

“Bend over on your elbows,” he said, unbuckling his belt and removing it from his pants.

I was shaking on my toes, ass raised as the doubled-over strap smacked my bottom, first one side and then the other.

“Look up!”

The strap stung and I wriggled against it, bending my knees, moving my hips downward and backward.

“You can do this. Hold your position…very good. See?”

Whap! Whap! Whap!

He tore open a condom, grabbed some lube and started stroking his cock.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“God, yes.”

“Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me, sir.”

“Good. Get on the floor and show me how you want to be fucked.”

I knelt and positioned myself on all fours with my ass facing him. He knelt behind me, one knee on the floor, the other leg bent up. He held my hips and caught a rhythm. I tried to push back to match it, but as soon as I did, I fucked it up. This is still about your submission, I reminded myself, just let him toss you around.

He pushed me onto my stomach and I straightened my legs. He picked up speed and I could feel his cock stiffen suddenly, ready to shoot. He fucked through his orgasm, finally collapsing beside me on the floor.

He pulled the blanket off the table and covered our bodies with it. After a while we moved onto the futon, talking about our kids, movies, books and bdsm. He and his wife have been polyamorous for ten years. He knows about Jefferson and marcus and Jordan. I was nice to not have those kinds of secrets, nice that everything is out in the open.

He got up to look at the clock. Time to go.

As he collected his supplies and began packing his bag I showed him a couple of my favorite toys, including the penis whip that marcus and I had each bought on my trip to DC. He pulled out some other, more intimidating items “for some other time, perhaps,” and got dressed after teasing me with a couple good smacks with a bendy rubber stick. Ouch!

He said he enjoys the way I sound when I gasp. He said he wants to hear it some more. As I’ve said before, I’m not a screamer in these scenes. But I agree that those gasps are pretty hot.

It’s not hard for me to imagine him in his Dom Space, hearing my cries and sighs and moans and seeing my ass raised into the air in front of him, red from the switch… Just that visual, and knowing it’s all there for him is powerful.

He took me into the kitchen to examine my body by the window.

“You have a few nice red marks, but nothing that’s in danger of bruising, I don’t think.”

“Thank you for taking care of me!”

And then he was gone, holding his bag, looking like a guy on his way to the gym. I had 25 minutes before the arrival of my client. I changed the sheets, Febreezed the room and went to shower. I looked into the mirror and checked out the marks across my bottom. I squinted to see what the hell was in my hair. Pale. Dried. Ginger strands crusted together into strings along my right temple.

For the rest of that day and into the next I was reminded of him with every step I took, at the end of each stride when the backs of my legs pressed upward into the space below my bottom and I felt the line of rosy heat left by his switch.


Blogger Dacia said...

That story was the perfect motivation for me to step away from the computer for the evening. I, uh, have something I need to take care of. I'll give you a hint: its wet and pulsing a little harder than usual. Ahem.

Blogger ThreeOliveMartini said...

have i ever told you i have a Jefferson of my own?.. this post reminds me jsut how much i need to see Him ..

Blogger Jay said...

very hot

Blogger Jefferson said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

Blogger Jefferson said...

A splendid first encounter with the local talent. Well done in finding him!

What's up, though, with all the "Thank you WHAT?" stuff? Is it just me, or does that approach seem a little textbook?

"Unh! Yes!"


"Yes, WHAT?"

"Yes, keep hitting me, moron. I didn't invite you over for conversation."

Blogger figleaf said...

Nice story, Maddie. Nice event too, no doubt, but I didn't get to experience that. I appreciate the way you can say it. Thanks.

Take care,


Blogger chelsea girl said...

That was hot with multiple "t's.



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