The Librarian
It was 4:38 on a Tuesday afternoon, that was the first time I saw her. I looked up to check the time on a wall clock behind the counter. At the exact moment that I turned my head to look at the clock, she rose from her seat behind the counter. She grabbed a stack of books an old woman had just placed beside the pencil cups and sat back down with them. There was something about her that caught, and held, my attention. I couldn’t figure out what it was. She wasn’t exceptionally beautiful, though she was attractive with long, curly black hair and glasses. I guessed her to be in her late 30s or early 40s. She wasn’t wearing anything revealing, just a simple white blouse. Her position behind the counter prevented me from seeing the lower half of her body.
Just as I was about to shift my eyes, and attention, back to the words I was reading, she looked directly at me. Rather, it would be more accurate to say she looked directly inside me, as that is how it felt. I returned her gaze, staring into her bespectacled eyes until the unsettling feeling her gaze aroused became too much and I quickly looked down at my book. I waited a few minutes, pretending to read the words, disturbed and unable to find my place. I attempted to sneak a subtle glance and was caught. The woman was still staring at me. I scratched my head where it didn’t itch and looked back down at my book.
My palms were sweaty. My right leg bounced up and down incessantly. Realizing that my convulsing leg under the table was visible to the librarian, I struggled to further suppress my anxiety and keep still. I hoped she wasn’t looking at me. I feigned a glance at the clock, so I could try to sneak another look at her. She was still staring at me. I took a deep breath, regained my composure and stared back at her. I thought I saw a slight grin at the corner of her mouth, then she turned to her computer.
I asked myself, “Why was she staring at me? Was she attracted to me? She didn’t seem like the kind of woman that was normally attracted to my type.” I thought, “She probably is just watching me, thinking I’m going to steal something. Fuck that bitch!” My peripheral vision alerted me to movement to my right. The librarian stood up and came out from behind the counter. My eyes followed the curves concealed beneath her long brown skirt, then fixed themselves on her black leather boots and the 3 inches of flesh exposed between the hem of her skirt and the top of her boot.
She passed by my table and didn’t even look at me. I watched the motion of her buttocks as she walked away. I thought to myself, “Look how she carries herself. She’s just a librarian. She doesn’t own the goddamn library. Fuck that stuck up bitch!”
The librarian disappeared down an aisle, I sat staring at its entrance. When she reappeared carrying an armload of books, I averted my eyes. My heart started pounding as I squirmed in my seat. I thought, “What is it with this woman? Her presence is ruining my afternoon.” I fantasized about going to whoever was in charge and demanding that they fire that creepy librarian immediately. My thoughts were interrupted when she plopped the stack of books down on the table where I was seated and walked away without an explanation, or even an acknowledgement. The part of me that would have protested was silenced by the part that said, “She’s the Librarian. She must have put those there for a good reason.” I looked around at the empty tables that surrounded me. “Why didn’t she put the books on one of those tables?” I thought. Then I knew, it wasn’t in my head or a perception malfunction. She was fucking with me. “Why?” I asked myself.
I tried to go on reading, but to no avail. Even though the books took up only a small portion of the table, they were taking over an increasingly larger portion of my mind. I whispered to myself, “Fuck it!” I got up and went to grab the stack of books, planning to move them to an empty table. Before I did, I looked over at the librarian. She was looking directly into me again, she slowly shook her head. I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. I sat back down thinking, “What the fuck?!?” The librarian smiled and turned her attention to her computer screen.
Fuming at the fact that this woman had bewildered me, struggling to not accept the fact that she had essentially just “put me in my place” and fascinated at how she did it so effortlessly and with such finesse; I found myself in a place I thought that I’d become adept at avoiding. I didn’t know what to do.
Ashamed at my uncertainty, I felt the best course of action would be to leave and sort out what happened in retrospect. I closed my book and placed it in my bag. The librarian turned her head toward me. She looked me in the eyes and held one forefinger in the air. Then she got up and disappeared into an office behind her. I slipped on my jacket but remained in my chair. “What does she want?” I asked myself. A mixture of fear and excitement twirled round inside me like a cyclone. Rarely did I ever get nervous. At that moment, I quivered in my chair.
The librarian came out of the office followed by a short red-head. The red-head sat down in the librarian’s chair. The librarian came out from behind the counter. She walked around my table and stopped right behind me. I flinched when her hand touched my shoulder. I felt her breath on the soft flesh just under my ear. She whispered, “Follow me.”
I followed her down the “World History” aisle. She stopped abruptly in the middle of the aisle and turned around. Her energy was overwhelming, I took a step back. She took a step forward, abolishing my comfort zone. There was no mistaking where I was or who I was with. I asked her, “What do you want?”
Without hesitation, she replied, “I want to take you in the bathroom and smack you in the face. Hard.”
It took a moment for me to process those words. Once I understood what was stated, with an incredulous look I said, “No. That’s definitely not what I was expecting you to ask me.”
She placed a gentle hand on my chest and said, “First of all, lower your voice. I know, you were hoping I was going to say that I want sex. Right? Maybe next time, that’s not what I need right now. Right now, I need someone who will let me hurt them, someone who will let me slap him in the face as hard as I can. Look, I don’t have a lot of time to do this. I need your answer right now.”
Looking into her brown eyes, I saw sincerity and a lack of malice. I shifted back and forth. She said, “Ok. Never mind. I made a mistake. Sorry I disturbed you.”
“Let me just ask you one thing. Why me? Do you just pick out random guys and…”
She interrupted, “No. I didn’t pick you at random.”
“Well I’ve never let anyone just smack me in the face. Why me? Did I do something to make you…”
“No, it’s not even like that. You should take it as a compliment, I wouldn’t want to hurt you if I wasn’t attracted to you. I took you for a person who can understand my need. Am I mistaken?”
“No. You just caught me off guard.”
“Will you do this for me?”
I looked her in the eyes and nodded my head. She turned and led me through the rows of books to the area set aside for payphones, drinking fountains and restrooms. Few people were in the library that day, none were in our vicinity at the time. She whispered in my ear, “Wait here. I’m going to make sure no one is in there.”
She went in the door marked Ladies. Seconds later, the door opened and she motioned for me to come in. I entered the Ladies restroom. She stood in front of the sinks and mirrors. She demanded, “Come here.”
I willed away my apprehension, summoned a bold recklessness and stepped toward her. She stared into my eyes. Other than the buzz of the fluorescent bulbs, there was no sound; just an invigorating and intense silence. The smell of disinfectant burned my nostrils. Her eyes narrowed, I took a deep breath. “SHWAACK!” My head jerked to the right. I tasted blood in my mouth. I clenched my eyes shut to keep in the hot tears. After stifling my instinctive urge to strike back, I opened my eyes and spit a mouthful of blood in the sink.
She placed her hand on my neck, kissed me on the cheek and said, “I want you to come back tomorrow.”
2
After a sleepless night, endless anxiety and a shame-ridden debate with the man looking back at me in the mirror, I decided to return to the library. I must have told myself 1000 times that I wouldn’t go back and see her again. Honestly, I was terrified to go back and see her again. In my mind, that ordinary-looking librarian had become a wicked witch who threatened not only my well-being, but my sense of manhood and even my existence.
Looking back, I can see that there never was any question as to whether I would return. The agonizing hours of self-torture were just my way of killing time until I got to see her again. Though I was determined to ‘lay down the law’ by informing her that in the future she would not be allowed to just smack me in the face without giving me something in return.
At 4:30 sharp, I was back at the library. I found her seated behind the counter dealing with a group of people checking out books. Her hair was pulled back in a pony-tail and she wore a purple blouse. She seemed to glow in a way she hadn’t the day before. I hung around at the edge of the crowd, waiting for the people to disperse. The librarian interrupted a grey-haired man who wanted to bicker over the $1.67 he was charged for his overdue book. The librarian said, “Excuse me,” as she raised a palm in the man’s direction. Then she pointed at me and said, “You! Come to the desk!”
The half-dozen people standing at the counter all turned to look at me. My face burned. I wanted to go backwards in time to my day of birth, crawl back into the womb I originated in, wrap the cord around my neck and spare myself the shame I felt at that moment. I approached the desk and waited for her to speak. She pulled out a set of car keys, “These are the keys to my car. It’s the white Caprice in the lot behind the building. Pull it up front for me. I’ll be out in 10 minutes.”
I took the keys and stormed out the building. As I stormed, I mumbled to myself, “We’re gonna have words when she gets to the car. I can tell you that right now.” When I pulled her car to the front, she was already standing on the edge curb waiting. To my surprise, she got in the backseat. I turned around and asked, “What are you doing?”
“There is a coffee shop down the street. Take me there.”
I turned back toward the steering wheel shaking my head, “Look lady, I don’t know who you think I am but…”
“Are you saying that you don’t want to have coffee with me? I’m inviting you to coffee because I want to talk to you. Since you showed up, I assume you’re interested in what I have to say.”
“Don’t hit me or anything while I’m driving, okay?”
“Have I ever hit you without forewarning before?”
“No, but I have no idea what to expect from you.”
“Drive and you’ll find out.”
I pulled away from the curb and headed toward the coffee shop. When stopped at a red-light, I looked in the rearview and asked, “Do you have a name?”
She smiled, “My name is Eva.”
The coffee shop was empty with an open parking spot right in front. After I parked and turned the car off, I turned in my seat and asked, “Don’t you want to know mine?”
“Your what?”
“MY NAME! Don’t you even want to know my name?”
“I want to know everything about you. Your name doesn‘t tell me anything about who you are as a person. Does it make you feel better to tell me your name?”
“Well, it makes it seem like you care.”
“I’m not in the ‘making it seem’ business.”
Without knowing how the hell to respond, I simply said, “Ok,” and got out of the car. I went to the sidewalk and stood waiting for Eva. She didn’t get out of the car. After a few moments, I realized that she expected me to open the door for her. After living my life with a firm belief that women shouldn’t be treated as if they don’t understand how doors function, I’d grown accustomed to not opening doors for anyone but myself. She appeared to sense that was the case as she only glared at me for a few seconds. As she made her way toward the cafĂ© entrance, I quickly shut the door and hurried to cut her off in order to open the door before she got there. It was then that I found out that Eva wanted certain doors opened for her, while others she preferred to open on her own. When I went to put my hand on the door handle she snarled, “Don’t touch that fucking door!”
I backed away. She opened the door, looked me in the eyes for an uncomfortable moment and instructed, “I get into the car myself. You open the door for me when I get out. I enter a building on my own, you follow. When we leave the building, you exit first and hold the door for me as I walk out. When we get inside, pull out my chair. Then remove my jacket and place it on the back of the chair. DO NOT push my chair in behind me. Wait for me to sit down, then you sit. Do you understand?”
I looked at her but didn’t speak.
She said, “Good.”
In the cafe, I followed all of her instructions in regard to the chair and sitting down. I couldn’t understand why I responded to her the way I did. I would have left anyone else sitting in the car waiting for me to open the door while I went in and enjoyed my coffee by myself. To say that I was disturbed by my own actions, and reactions, would have been a gross understatement. There was confusion and a strange, but strong, attraction I had never felt before. The woman didn’t scare me. My feelings did. But back then, I thought I knew myself. “Nobody can tell me what do, not for long anyway.” I repeated my lifelong mantra silently in my head.
Of course, Eva sent me to order and wait for the coffee. To my surprise, she pulled out a $10 bill, instructed me to use it for the coffee and leave the change in the tip cup. By the time I returned with the coffee, a dangerous anger had begun shifting around inside me. I placed the cups on the table, sat down and stared out the window in silence.
Eva sipped her coffee, raised her eyebrows and asked, “Disillusioned already?”
In a flat tone of voice I replied, “No,” without even looking at her.
“Look at me,” she said. “You’re angry. Why?”
“This is bullshit. I don’t know why I’m here.”
“You’re here because you want to be. Isn’t that true? Or do you even know?”
“What I know, is that there has been some sort of mistake here and this situation has the potential to go very bad.”
“I already know this situation has the potential to go bad. Are you saying that you are not confident in my ability to handle this situation?”
“I don’t know you.”
“From what you do know of me, do you feel confident in my ability to handle this situation? More specifically, do you feel confident in my ability to handle YOU?”
The only answer that came to mind was ‘Yes’, but I didn’t say it. Instead, I asked, “Do you?”
Without hesitation or the bat of an eye, she replied, “Absolutely.”
“Where do we go from here?”
“I want to meet with you tonight.”
“Where?”
“My place.”
Fear set in, from the inside out, my whole body felt electrified. I envisioned myself walking into a dark house, where 15 satanic Nazis lurked in the shadows lying in wait. There was no way to express my concern, without making my fear an issue. Being enthralled by her exceptional boldness, I was reluctant to express my fear. It seemed to be an emotion to which she was immune. But I didn’t have to express it, she sensed it.
“If you don’t feel comfortable going to my place, we can go somewhere else.”
“Can we go to my place?” It wasn’t my preference, it was my ploy. If she was willing to go to my place, it was less likely there was a trap waiting for me at hers.
She calmly replied, “Sure.”
With some sense of security, and a determination not to expose her to my messy apartment, I backtracked, “Well, my house is a mess. Maybe we should just go to yours.”
Eva sighed and said, “That’s fine. Whichever you’re more comfortable with.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We’ll get know each other some more over dinner. Then I want to tie you down and beat you.”
I cleared my throat, “When you say that you want to ‘beat’ me, what exactly do you mean by that?”
“You will be naked, face-down on the bed; bound and blindfolded. I’m going beat you on the buttocks with my hand, a paddle, a leather strap and if I‘m in the mood, a cane.”
“A cane? Do I get a safeword…”
“Your safe word can be whatever you want. If you’re going to use it, please use it now. You’ll have my panties shoved in your mouth later. You won’t be able to talk.”
“Really Eva, you probably need someone else. I don’t think I can handle…”
“If that was true, you wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
“So, after you start hitting me, I’ll have no way to stop it?”
“Do you really think I’m going to scourge you to death in my own bed? But to answer your question, no. As I said before, if you want to stop things. Do it now.”
“What happens after you beat me?”
“I’ll be very aroused at that point. I will want sex, but I‘m not promising it.”
“Well, I want to get my ass beat but I’m not promising it.”
“This isn’t a tradeoff like that and it’s improper for you to imply that it is. If you can’t come to my house knowing that you will get beat, without expecting anything in return, then I don’t want you there. However, you should keep in mind that the happier you make me, the more I will want to invest in your happiness.”
“If I don’t have a way to stop things, I won’t be able to handle a cane.”
“Okay. We’ll wait on the cane. Is there anything else?”
“I don’t want anyone else involved and no pictures.”
“It will just be us and I don’t take pictures.”
I nodded my head, “I’ll do this with you.”
“Take me back to the library. I’m off at 7. I want you to be standing by my car at 6:55. Standing by my car, NOT leaning on it.”
“What if something comes up?”
“If you think something is going to come up, either cancel now or wait at the library for me to get off.”
“You can’t expect me…”
“Yes I can. If someone was going to be out there with a million dollars to give you at 6:55, you would be out there on time. 6:55!”
“Okay…I’ll be there.”
3
At 6:55 I was standing by Eva’s car, at 7:07 she came out. Smiling she said, “Very good.” She tossed me the keys and waited for me to unlock the doors. She told me her address and we drove away. Stealing glances in the rearview whenever I could, she’d catch my eyes in the mirror every time. I noticed that she’d put on lipstick since I’d seen her last. I solemnly remarked, “You look very nice.”
Her eyes brightened for a fraction of a second before they narrowed. She said, “Thank you. You looked handsome standing there waiting for me by my car.” In the darkness of the back seat, I could make out a devious grin on her lips. She asserted, “I know you have an urge to make small-talk. Save it. Just turn on the radio, relax and stop being insidious.”
“I’m sorry, but how am I being insidious?” I let out a nervous chuckle. She didn’t find humor in my question.
Her eyes dimmed, “Imagine a tall brick wall. In front of that wall is a wooden chair. You naturally have the urge to climb over that wall. Your urge to climb over will sometimes be pronounced, sometimes it will lay dormant, plotting and conspiring with itself, in the depths of your subconscious. There are many walls out there for you to climb, and I’ve no doubt that you’ve already scaled many. But this particular wall that’s in front of you right now, it isn’t an obstacle. It’s not there to hinder you and you cannot scale it. What you need to do is sit down in the chair. Stop being so scared and nervous, and yes you are scared; your balls won’t fall off in the morning.”
My eyes must have shown concern. She laughed, “That was a figure of speech. Your balls won’t fall off in the literal sense either. Unless, of course, you have some sort of pre-existing condition. Is there anything wrong with your dick and balls?”
I bit my lip and shook my head. She assured me, “Don’t worry. I don’t want you to be so worried about what’s going to happen to your dick, that you become distracted from the pain I’m inflicting on you. We’ll talk about CBT another time.”
“I’m glad you’re looking out for my best…”
“I told you to shut up. Do you like little smart-ass condescending remarks? DO NOT OPEN YOUR MOUTH TO ANSWER! Do you want to know how I react to someone who enjoys being witty at my expense? I take that as their consent to do as much mental and emotional damage to them as I possibly can. Think about it for a minute. Do you want me to be thinking about little things I can do to reward you and make you feel good? Or would you rather that I spend that time devising ways to emotionally devastate you?”
I looked at her in the rearview. She sat upright and still. I couldn’t help but be awed by her calm self-assurance. Instinct told me it was best to take the lady at her word and keep my mouth shut until I was told otherwise.
Several minutes passed in silence before she spoke again, “I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer it. What did I tell you to do a little while ago, after I told you to ‘save it’?”
I replied, “You told me told me to turn on the radio, relax and stop being insidious.” Anger and shame simmered in my stomach. I turned on the radio and squeezed the steering wheel till my fingers felt like they would pop off at the knuckles. The radio played smooth jazz. Instead of soothing, it infuriated me.
She said, “I’m impressed.”
Perplexed, I looked at her in the rearview. She smiled, both with her mouth and with her eyes.
I smiled with my heart and wanted to cry. I bit back my tears and stifled my smile. She had me stop for take-out. Chinese. She said, “Two House Specials.” She handed me a twenty and told me to put the change in the jar. I offered to pay. She raised her eyebrows and exclaimed, “GO DO WHAT I TOLD YOU TO DO!”
When I got back with the food she asked, “Did you get two pairs of chopsticks?”
“I don’t know how to eat with chopsticks.”
“Well you’re not going to eat with your hands!”
I went back for a second pair of chopsticks. At that point, I wanted to be beaten. And I hoped she was going to beat me hard. I wanted her to beat me until I was too broken and exhausted to feel, or remember, my frustration, anxiety and anger.
She directed me to her house and told me to pull into the driveway. It was a modest single-story home with manicured lawn and immaculate gardens. I followed her inside carrying the food. She turned on lamps as we passed through living room. Her house was spotless with no ornamentation and little furniture. It was almost bare. I got the impression from the energy in the house, that the lack of decorations, electronics and excess furniture was a sign of a devotion to a Spartan simplicity, as opposed to a lack of resources.
She led me to the dining-room and pointed to small square table in the center of the room. I placed the food on the table. She stood by her chair. I pulled out her chair and removed her gray wool coat. She sat down and said, “Put it on the coat rack in the corner. The kitchen is through that door over there. Go get two glasses of water. Put three ice cubes and a slice of lemon in each. Clean up after yourself.”
I mocked her in the kitchen, “Clean up after yourself. Put that here. Go there.” The door swung open. I dropped the lemon on the floor. “What are you doing?” she inquired.
“I-I’m getting the drinks.” I picked up the lemon, turned to the cutting board on the counter, grabbed a knife from the block and started slicing.
“Do you know how to cook?” she asked.
“No,” I answered.
A few seconds later, I felt her presence by my side. She inspected the sliced lemon on the cutting board. Then she looked at me, tilted her head, grinned and asked, “Do you cook better than you lie?”
I took a deep breath and shook my head.
Her grin widened. “Did you work in a restaurant?”
“Yes. Several.”
“Did you like it?”
“No. I hated it.”
“Were you good at it?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m beginning to learn your language now. ‘I don’t know’ means ‘yes’. Hurry up with those drinks. I‘m hungry.”
We ate in awkward silence until Eva pointed her chopsticks at me and insisted, “From now on, you leave your deception outside when you come here. It’s not that I don’t have an appreciation for your survival mechanisms, or that I’m a person who would be unable to empathize with what you had to go through to acquire them. But you need to turn that shit off when you walk in the front door. In my house a question elicits an honest response.”
“Does that go for you as well?”
“If you ask me a question that I don’t want to answer, I won’t lie. I’ll tell you it’s none of your business.”
“What if I…”
“Don’t start. The questions you ask me are not the same as the questions I ask you. You’re over thinking something that is very basic. Your heart already has it figured out.”
I shook my head in confusion.
“Anyway, that’s enough philosophy for this evening. Clean this up and meet me upstairs.”
4
The smell of sandalwood incense met me at the door. I entered the room as she lit a row of burgundy candles. A full-sized bed filled up the room. The candles cast a flickering glow across her thick crimson comforter. Disembodied, I hovered above my reality. Looking down, I saw myself standing at the edge of a blood-red river, watching a wildfire ravage the forests on the other side.
The calm, deliberate tone of her voice pulled my soul back to the ground. “Take off your clothes!” she demanded. I quickly complied, focusing on every movement. Repeating to myself, “Don’t fumble with your buttons. Don’t stumble when you step out of your pants.” In my mind, Eva’s room had an aura of the transcendental and divine. I felt the heat of her stare on my naked flesh as I disrobed. In a sweet, melodic whisper, she commanded, “Lay facedown on the bed.”
In my ears, I could feel my heartbeat. I laid down on the bed and closed my eyes. I felt nothing but the slightest caress of her fingertips, as she lowered the blindfold over my eyes. Her gentle touch seemed ominous, like I was a sacrifice being pampered before the slaughter. Either that, or it was my emotional reaction to the feeling of the rope tightening around my right wrist, then my left. Less than a minute later, my ankles were secured to the bedposts. I had to remind myself that I agreed to be put in that position. A hysterical wench climbed from the depths of my subconscious. She began beating on a drum and wailing over the helpless state to which my ego had been reduced.
It was my panicked ego that prompted me to question her, hoping to regain some control over the situation. I summoned my sweetest tone and asked, “Eva, could you please loosen the ropes a little. They’re too tight.” Since I didn’t hear an immediate “No”, I anticipated the loosening of my binds and silently rejoiced as I wasn’t completely helpless. Apparently, Eva was removing her undergarments during those moments of silence. She answered my question by shoving her panties in my mouth till they tickled my throat. She didn‘t loosen my binds.
At that moment, as I began to fully appreciate the situation I was in, the words “Oh shit” echoed off the insides of my mind. I took slow, deep breaths; hoping to calm myself down. I gripped the edge of the comforter with my fingers, bracing myself for the pain. As eager as I was fearful, covered in goose-bumps and trembling; every nerve in my body seemed to stand at attention. My body flinched at blows that had yet to be thrown.
Without sight, I was threatened by the silence. The ‘Doubting Thomas’ in my consciousness asked uninvited and alarming questions: “Where is she? Why hasn’t she hit me yet?” Then the hysterical wench joined in with, “OH MY GOD! THIS WOMAN IS GOING TO KILL ME!”
My mind went calm, all the voices disappeared when she gave me a hard SMACK on the ass. Then another one, SMACK, followed by two more on the other cheek. Then she squeezed my ass hard with both hands, digging her nails into my flesh. I bit down on the panties and clenched my toes. I felt the head of my rock-hard erection, throbbing against my lower abdominals.
It was enough to convince me that I was on the path to bliss. Then she hit me with something wooden, polished and heavy. It came down with a meaty SCHMAT. My whole body tensed and the previous moments erotic comfort, gave way to terror and pain. SCHMAT SCHMAT SCHMAT. I panicked, worried that I’d partly inhale, then choke on, Eva’s panties. I stopped counting the blows at 17. Then I just locked myself in a sort of mental box, my long lost comfort zone. Once again I was a helpless child, hiding under my big, soft blanket.
I felt the paddle land on the bed beside me; followed by a long, thick, stiff and cold leather strap pressed against my battered ass. The beating with the strap was fast and ferocious. The blows came down too quickly to count. At some point, my ability to perceive was reduced the basest of levels. There was no history to be remembered and no future that mattered. My birth, death and resurrection passed in less than two minutes.
When she stopped, I laid there breathing heavily; lost in an unknown zone where the only sound was the buzz of high-voltage power lines. It was a rare moment where a state of ‘bliss’ seemed within my grasp. Then I heard Eva sob. I wondered and worried about why she was crying. Had I done something wrong? Desperately, I wanted to hold her. When she rubbed my back and whispered, “It’s okay,” the shame fell hard and fast on the heels of the realization; it wasn’t Eva who was sobbing. It was me.
She let me out of my binds and removed the blindfold. I sat up on the bed and stared at the floor. She stood in front of me, over me. Her hand lifted my chin, then she pulled my head toward her body and held it tight against her bare breasts. I wrapped my arms around her waist and melted into her warm embrace.
In a motherly tone, soothing but firm, she said, “Sit on the floor with your back against the bed.” Without thinking, I slid down to the floor. She lifted her right leg in the air and placed her foot on the bed. My eyes fixed on the point where her smooth, plump thighs came together. She grabbed the back of my head, and shoved her hot, wet pussy in my face. She exclaimed: “Lick my pussy! Lick it, yeah…lick and suck on my clit. Fuck me with your fingers while you lick my clit. Yes. Yes! Yessss!”
I followed her every instruction. My devotion to her pleasure grew with every command; with every movement of her hips. Her sweet juices soaked my chin. She threw her head back, her body tensed and she let out a high-pitched shriek. Then she lowered her leg and backed away, her voluptuous breasts heaving up and down on her chest.
She said, “Get yourself off.”
I looked at her confused.
She continued, “We’re not going to have sex yet. But I don’t want you suffering with swollen nuts all night. Jack off.”
“I’m okay. I’ll just…”
“What? You don’t want to do it front of me?”
I shook my head.
She smiled, “Jack off…NOW! Go on. Don‘t be shy. Stroke that thing. Make it squirt all over your stomach.”
Once I started masturbating in front of her, it didn’t take long for me get into it. I focused on her. Not her tits, her pussy or her thick sexy body; I focused on her sadistic smile and the gleam of delight in her seductive eyes. Her voice was all it took, “Cum for me, cum for me now” and I exploded, shooting hot, thick cum all over my chest and stomach.
“Feel good?” she asked.
I nodded my head.
“Good. Now take your finger and wipe up some of the cum.”
I scooped up a small amount of semen with the tip of my finger.
“Now lick it off. Don’t look at me like that. Lick it off!”
I did it quick, then I told myself that I didn’t really do it. And if I did do it, it wasn’t that much.
She smirked and asked, “How does it taste?”
“I-I don’t like it.”
“That’s not the answer I want. How did your cum taste?”
I hesitated, unable to respond.
“Are you ashamed because you tasted your own cum? You shouldn’t be. It came out of your body. If you’re willing to taste my fluids, you should be willing to taste your own. How many times have you pulled your cock out of a woman’s pussy, then had her suck it? Your shame won’t do here. You need to leave it outside with your deceit. Now, let’s try this again. How did your cum taste?”
“Good. It tasted good.”
“Good. Have you enjoyed your evening?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“Good. There is a pillow and blanket in the closet, on the top shelf. After you get those, I want you to lay down on the floor at the foot of my bed. You haven’t earned a place in my bed yet.”
Just as I was about to shift my eyes, and attention, back to the words I was reading, she looked directly at me. Rather, it would be more accurate to say she looked directly inside me, as that is how it felt. I returned her gaze, staring into her bespectacled eyes until the unsettling feeling her gaze aroused became too much and I quickly looked down at my book. I waited a few minutes, pretending to read the words, disturbed and unable to find my place. I attempted to sneak a subtle glance and was caught. The woman was still staring at me. I scratched my head where it didn’t itch and looked back down at my book.
My palms were sweaty. My right leg bounced up and down incessantly. Realizing that my convulsing leg under the table was visible to the librarian, I struggled to further suppress my anxiety and keep still. I hoped she wasn’t looking at me. I feigned a glance at the clock, so I could try to sneak another look at her. She was still staring at me. I took a deep breath, regained my composure and stared back at her. I thought I saw a slight grin at the corner of her mouth, then she turned to her computer.
I asked myself, “Why was she staring at me? Was she attracted to me? She didn’t seem like the kind of woman that was normally attracted to my type.” I thought, “She probably is just watching me, thinking I’m going to steal something. Fuck that bitch!” My peripheral vision alerted me to movement to my right. The librarian stood up and came out from behind the counter. My eyes followed the curves concealed beneath her long brown skirt, then fixed themselves on her black leather boots and the 3 inches of flesh exposed between the hem of her skirt and the top of her boot.
She passed by my table and didn’t even look at me. I watched the motion of her buttocks as she walked away. I thought to myself, “Look how she carries herself. She’s just a librarian. She doesn’t own the goddamn library. Fuck that stuck up bitch!”
The librarian disappeared down an aisle, I sat staring at its entrance. When she reappeared carrying an armload of books, I averted my eyes. My heart started pounding as I squirmed in my seat. I thought, “What is it with this woman? Her presence is ruining my afternoon.” I fantasized about going to whoever was in charge and demanding that they fire that creepy librarian immediately. My thoughts were interrupted when she plopped the stack of books down on the table where I was seated and walked away without an explanation, or even an acknowledgement. The part of me that would have protested was silenced by the part that said, “She’s the Librarian. She must have put those there for a good reason.” I looked around at the empty tables that surrounded me. “Why didn’t she put the books on one of those tables?” I thought. Then I knew, it wasn’t in my head or a perception malfunction. She was fucking with me. “Why?” I asked myself.
I tried to go on reading, but to no avail. Even though the books took up only a small portion of the table, they were taking over an increasingly larger portion of my mind. I whispered to myself, “Fuck it!” I got up and went to grab the stack of books, planning to move them to an empty table. Before I did, I looked over at the librarian. She was looking directly into me again, she slowly shook her head. I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. I sat back down thinking, “What the fuck?!?” The librarian smiled and turned her attention to her computer screen.
Fuming at the fact that this woman had bewildered me, struggling to not accept the fact that she had essentially just “put me in my place” and fascinated at how she did it so effortlessly and with such finesse; I found myself in a place I thought that I’d become adept at avoiding. I didn’t know what to do.
Ashamed at my uncertainty, I felt the best course of action would be to leave and sort out what happened in retrospect. I closed my book and placed it in my bag. The librarian turned her head toward me. She looked me in the eyes and held one forefinger in the air. Then she got up and disappeared into an office behind her. I slipped on my jacket but remained in my chair. “What does she want?” I asked myself. A mixture of fear and excitement twirled round inside me like a cyclone. Rarely did I ever get nervous. At that moment, I quivered in my chair.
The librarian came out of the office followed by a short red-head. The red-head sat down in the librarian’s chair. The librarian came out from behind the counter. She walked around my table and stopped right behind me. I flinched when her hand touched my shoulder. I felt her breath on the soft flesh just under my ear. She whispered, “Follow me.”
I followed her down the “World History” aisle. She stopped abruptly in the middle of the aisle and turned around. Her energy was overwhelming, I took a step back. She took a step forward, abolishing my comfort zone. There was no mistaking where I was or who I was with. I asked her, “What do you want?”
Without hesitation, she replied, “I want to take you in the bathroom and smack you in the face. Hard.”
It took a moment for me to process those words. Once I understood what was stated, with an incredulous look I said, “No. That’s definitely not what I was expecting you to ask me.”
She placed a gentle hand on my chest and said, “First of all, lower your voice. I know, you were hoping I was going to say that I want sex. Right? Maybe next time, that’s not what I need right now. Right now, I need someone who will let me hurt them, someone who will let me slap him in the face as hard as I can. Look, I don’t have a lot of time to do this. I need your answer right now.”
Looking into her brown eyes, I saw sincerity and a lack of malice. I shifted back and forth. She said, “Ok. Never mind. I made a mistake. Sorry I disturbed you.”
“Let me just ask you one thing. Why me? Do you just pick out random guys and…”
She interrupted, “No. I didn’t pick you at random.”
“Well I’ve never let anyone just smack me in the face. Why me? Did I do something to make you…”
“No, it’s not even like that. You should take it as a compliment, I wouldn’t want to hurt you if I wasn’t attracted to you. I took you for a person who can understand my need. Am I mistaken?”
“No. You just caught me off guard.”
“Will you do this for me?”
I looked her in the eyes and nodded my head. She turned and led me through the rows of books to the area set aside for payphones, drinking fountains and restrooms. Few people were in the library that day, none were in our vicinity at the time. She whispered in my ear, “Wait here. I’m going to make sure no one is in there.”
She went in the door marked Ladies. Seconds later, the door opened and she motioned for me to come in. I entered the Ladies restroom. She stood in front of the sinks and mirrors. She demanded, “Come here.”
I willed away my apprehension, summoned a bold recklessness and stepped toward her. She stared into my eyes. Other than the buzz of the fluorescent bulbs, there was no sound; just an invigorating and intense silence. The smell of disinfectant burned my nostrils. Her eyes narrowed, I took a deep breath. “SHWAACK!” My head jerked to the right. I tasted blood in my mouth. I clenched my eyes shut to keep in the hot tears. After stifling my instinctive urge to strike back, I opened my eyes and spit a mouthful of blood in the sink.
She placed her hand on my neck, kissed me on the cheek and said, “I want you to come back tomorrow.”
2
After a sleepless night, endless anxiety and a shame-ridden debate with the man looking back at me in the mirror, I decided to return to the library. I must have told myself 1000 times that I wouldn’t go back and see her again. Honestly, I was terrified to go back and see her again. In my mind, that ordinary-looking librarian had become a wicked witch who threatened not only my well-being, but my sense of manhood and even my existence.
Looking back, I can see that there never was any question as to whether I would return. The agonizing hours of self-torture were just my way of killing time until I got to see her again. Though I was determined to ‘lay down the law’ by informing her that in the future she would not be allowed to just smack me in the face without giving me something in return.
At 4:30 sharp, I was back at the library. I found her seated behind the counter dealing with a group of people checking out books. Her hair was pulled back in a pony-tail and she wore a purple blouse. She seemed to glow in a way she hadn’t the day before. I hung around at the edge of the crowd, waiting for the people to disperse. The librarian interrupted a grey-haired man who wanted to bicker over the $1.67 he was charged for his overdue book. The librarian said, “Excuse me,” as she raised a palm in the man’s direction. Then she pointed at me and said, “You! Come to the desk!”
The half-dozen people standing at the counter all turned to look at me. My face burned. I wanted to go backwards in time to my day of birth, crawl back into the womb I originated in, wrap the cord around my neck and spare myself the shame I felt at that moment. I approached the desk and waited for her to speak. She pulled out a set of car keys, “These are the keys to my car. It’s the white Caprice in the lot behind the building. Pull it up front for me. I’ll be out in 10 minutes.”
I took the keys and stormed out the building. As I stormed, I mumbled to myself, “We’re gonna have words when she gets to the car. I can tell you that right now.” When I pulled her car to the front, she was already standing on the edge curb waiting. To my surprise, she got in the backseat. I turned around and asked, “What are you doing?”
“There is a coffee shop down the street. Take me there.”
I turned back toward the steering wheel shaking my head, “Look lady, I don’t know who you think I am but…”
“Are you saying that you don’t want to have coffee with me? I’m inviting you to coffee because I want to talk to you. Since you showed up, I assume you’re interested in what I have to say.”
“Don’t hit me or anything while I’m driving, okay?”
“Have I ever hit you without forewarning before?”
“No, but I have no idea what to expect from you.”
“Drive and you’ll find out.”
I pulled away from the curb and headed toward the coffee shop. When stopped at a red-light, I looked in the rearview and asked, “Do you have a name?”
She smiled, “My name is Eva.”
The coffee shop was empty with an open parking spot right in front. After I parked and turned the car off, I turned in my seat and asked, “Don’t you want to know mine?”
“Your what?”
“MY NAME! Don’t you even want to know my name?”
“I want to know everything about you. Your name doesn‘t tell me anything about who you are as a person. Does it make you feel better to tell me your name?”
“Well, it makes it seem like you care.”
“I’m not in the ‘making it seem’ business.”
Without knowing how the hell to respond, I simply said, “Ok,” and got out of the car. I went to the sidewalk and stood waiting for Eva. She didn’t get out of the car. After a few moments, I realized that she expected me to open the door for her. After living my life with a firm belief that women shouldn’t be treated as if they don’t understand how doors function, I’d grown accustomed to not opening doors for anyone but myself. She appeared to sense that was the case as she only glared at me for a few seconds. As she made her way toward the cafĂ© entrance, I quickly shut the door and hurried to cut her off in order to open the door before she got there. It was then that I found out that Eva wanted certain doors opened for her, while others she preferred to open on her own. When I went to put my hand on the door handle she snarled, “Don’t touch that fucking door!”
I backed away. She opened the door, looked me in the eyes for an uncomfortable moment and instructed, “I get into the car myself. You open the door for me when I get out. I enter a building on my own, you follow. When we leave the building, you exit first and hold the door for me as I walk out. When we get inside, pull out my chair. Then remove my jacket and place it on the back of the chair. DO NOT push my chair in behind me. Wait for me to sit down, then you sit. Do you understand?”
I looked at her but didn’t speak.
She said, “Good.”
In the cafe, I followed all of her instructions in regard to the chair and sitting down. I couldn’t understand why I responded to her the way I did. I would have left anyone else sitting in the car waiting for me to open the door while I went in and enjoyed my coffee by myself. To say that I was disturbed by my own actions, and reactions, would have been a gross understatement. There was confusion and a strange, but strong, attraction I had never felt before. The woman didn’t scare me. My feelings did. But back then, I thought I knew myself. “Nobody can tell me what do, not for long anyway.” I repeated my lifelong mantra silently in my head.
Of course, Eva sent me to order and wait for the coffee. To my surprise, she pulled out a $10 bill, instructed me to use it for the coffee and leave the change in the tip cup. By the time I returned with the coffee, a dangerous anger had begun shifting around inside me. I placed the cups on the table, sat down and stared out the window in silence.
Eva sipped her coffee, raised her eyebrows and asked, “Disillusioned already?”
In a flat tone of voice I replied, “No,” without even looking at her.
“Look at me,” she said. “You’re angry. Why?”
“This is bullshit. I don’t know why I’m here.”
“You’re here because you want to be. Isn’t that true? Or do you even know?”
“What I know, is that there has been some sort of mistake here and this situation has the potential to go very bad.”
“I already know this situation has the potential to go bad. Are you saying that you are not confident in my ability to handle this situation?”
“I don’t know you.”
“From what you do know of me, do you feel confident in my ability to handle this situation? More specifically, do you feel confident in my ability to handle YOU?”
The only answer that came to mind was ‘Yes’, but I didn’t say it. Instead, I asked, “Do you?”
Without hesitation or the bat of an eye, she replied, “Absolutely.”
“Where do we go from here?”
“I want to meet with you tonight.”
“Where?”
“My place.”
Fear set in, from the inside out, my whole body felt electrified. I envisioned myself walking into a dark house, where 15 satanic Nazis lurked in the shadows lying in wait. There was no way to express my concern, without making my fear an issue. Being enthralled by her exceptional boldness, I was reluctant to express my fear. It seemed to be an emotion to which she was immune. But I didn’t have to express it, she sensed it.
“If you don’t feel comfortable going to my place, we can go somewhere else.”
“Can we go to my place?” It wasn’t my preference, it was my ploy. If she was willing to go to my place, it was less likely there was a trap waiting for me at hers.
She calmly replied, “Sure.”
With some sense of security, and a determination not to expose her to my messy apartment, I backtracked, “Well, my house is a mess. Maybe we should just go to yours.”
Eva sighed and said, “That’s fine. Whichever you’re more comfortable with.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We’ll get know each other some more over dinner. Then I want to tie you down and beat you.”
I cleared my throat, “When you say that you want to ‘beat’ me, what exactly do you mean by that?”
“You will be naked, face-down on the bed; bound and blindfolded. I’m going beat you on the buttocks with my hand, a paddle, a leather strap and if I‘m in the mood, a cane.”
“A cane? Do I get a safeword…”
“Your safe word can be whatever you want. If you’re going to use it, please use it now. You’ll have my panties shoved in your mouth later. You won’t be able to talk.”
“Really Eva, you probably need someone else. I don’t think I can handle…”
“If that was true, you wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
“So, after you start hitting me, I’ll have no way to stop it?”
“Do you really think I’m going to scourge you to death in my own bed? But to answer your question, no. As I said before, if you want to stop things. Do it now.”
“What happens after you beat me?”
“I’ll be very aroused at that point. I will want sex, but I‘m not promising it.”
“Well, I want to get my ass beat but I’m not promising it.”
“This isn’t a tradeoff like that and it’s improper for you to imply that it is. If you can’t come to my house knowing that you will get beat, without expecting anything in return, then I don’t want you there. However, you should keep in mind that the happier you make me, the more I will want to invest in your happiness.”
“If I don’t have a way to stop things, I won’t be able to handle a cane.”
“Okay. We’ll wait on the cane. Is there anything else?”
“I don’t want anyone else involved and no pictures.”
“It will just be us and I don’t take pictures.”
I nodded my head, “I’ll do this with you.”
“Take me back to the library. I’m off at 7. I want you to be standing by my car at 6:55. Standing by my car, NOT leaning on it.”
“What if something comes up?”
“If you think something is going to come up, either cancel now or wait at the library for me to get off.”
“You can’t expect me…”
“Yes I can. If someone was going to be out there with a million dollars to give you at 6:55, you would be out there on time. 6:55!”
“Okay…I’ll be there.”
3
At 6:55 I was standing by Eva’s car, at 7:07 she came out. Smiling she said, “Very good.” She tossed me the keys and waited for me to unlock the doors. She told me her address and we drove away. Stealing glances in the rearview whenever I could, she’d catch my eyes in the mirror every time. I noticed that she’d put on lipstick since I’d seen her last. I solemnly remarked, “You look very nice.”
Her eyes brightened for a fraction of a second before they narrowed. She said, “Thank you. You looked handsome standing there waiting for me by my car.” In the darkness of the back seat, I could make out a devious grin on her lips. She asserted, “I know you have an urge to make small-talk. Save it. Just turn on the radio, relax and stop being insidious.”
“I’m sorry, but how am I being insidious?” I let out a nervous chuckle. She didn’t find humor in my question.
Her eyes dimmed, “Imagine a tall brick wall. In front of that wall is a wooden chair. You naturally have the urge to climb over that wall. Your urge to climb over will sometimes be pronounced, sometimes it will lay dormant, plotting and conspiring with itself, in the depths of your subconscious. There are many walls out there for you to climb, and I’ve no doubt that you’ve already scaled many. But this particular wall that’s in front of you right now, it isn’t an obstacle. It’s not there to hinder you and you cannot scale it. What you need to do is sit down in the chair. Stop being so scared and nervous, and yes you are scared; your balls won’t fall off in the morning.”
My eyes must have shown concern. She laughed, “That was a figure of speech. Your balls won’t fall off in the literal sense either. Unless, of course, you have some sort of pre-existing condition. Is there anything wrong with your dick and balls?”
I bit my lip and shook my head. She assured me, “Don’t worry. I don’t want you to be so worried about what’s going to happen to your dick, that you become distracted from the pain I’m inflicting on you. We’ll talk about CBT another time.”
“I’m glad you’re looking out for my best…”
“I told you to shut up. Do you like little smart-ass condescending remarks? DO NOT OPEN YOUR MOUTH TO ANSWER! Do you want to know how I react to someone who enjoys being witty at my expense? I take that as their consent to do as much mental and emotional damage to them as I possibly can. Think about it for a minute. Do you want me to be thinking about little things I can do to reward you and make you feel good? Or would you rather that I spend that time devising ways to emotionally devastate you?”
I looked at her in the rearview. She sat upright and still. I couldn’t help but be awed by her calm self-assurance. Instinct told me it was best to take the lady at her word and keep my mouth shut until I was told otherwise.
Several minutes passed in silence before she spoke again, “I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer it. What did I tell you to do a little while ago, after I told you to ‘save it’?”
I replied, “You told me told me to turn on the radio, relax and stop being insidious.” Anger and shame simmered in my stomach. I turned on the radio and squeezed the steering wheel till my fingers felt like they would pop off at the knuckles. The radio played smooth jazz. Instead of soothing, it infuriated me.
She said, “I’m impressed.”
Perplexed, I looked at her in the rearview. She smiled, both with her mouth and with her eyes.
I smiled with my heart and wanted to cry. I bit back my tears and stifled my smile. She had me stop for take-out. Chinese. She said, “Two House Specials.” She handed me a twenty and told me to put the change in the jar. I offered to pay. She raised her eyebrows and exclaimed, “GO DO WHAT I TOLD YOU TO DO!”
When I got back with the food she asked, “Did you get two pairs of chopsticks?”
“I don’t know how to eat with chopsticks.”
“Well you’re not going to eat with your hands!”
I went back for a second pair of chopsticks. At that point, I wanted to be beaten. And I hoped she was going to beat me hard. I wanted her to beat me until I was too broken and exhausted to feel, or remember, my frustration, anxiety and anger.
She directed me to her house and told me to pull into the driveway. It was a modest single-story home with manicured lawn and immaculate gardens. I followed her inside carrying the food. She turned on lamps as we passed through living room. Her house was spotless with no ornamentation and little furniture. It was almost bare. I got the impression from the energy in the house, that the lack of decorations, electronics and excess furniture was a sign of a devotion to a Spartan simplicity, as opposed to a lack of resources.
She led me to the dining-room and pointed to small square table in the center of the room. I placed the food on the table. She stood by her chair. I pulled out her chair and removed her gray wool coat. She sat down and said, “Put it on the coat rack in the corner. The kitchen is through that door over there. Go get two glasses of water. Put three ice cubes and a slice of lemon in each. Clean up after yourself.”
I mocked her in the kitchen, “Clean up after yourself. Put that here. Go there.” The door swung open. I dropped the lemon on the floor. “What are you doing?” she inquired.
“I-I’m getting the drinks.” I picked up the lemon, turned to the cutting board on the counter, grabbed a knife from the block and started slicing.
“Do you know how to cook?” she asked.
“No,” I answered.
A few seconds later, I felt her presence by my side. She inspected the sliced lemon on the cutting board. Then she looked at me, tilted her head, grinned and asked, “Do you cook better than you lie?”
I took a deep breath and shook my head.
Her grin widened. “Did you work in a restaurant?”
“Yes. Several.”
“Did you like it?”
“No. I hated it.”
“Were you good at it?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m beginning to learn your language now. ‘I don’t know’ means ‘yes’. Hurry up with those drinks. I‘m hungry.”
We ate in awkward silence until Eva pointed her chopsticks at me and insisted, “From now on, you leave your deception outside when you come here. It’s not that I don’t have an appreciation for your survival mechanisms, or that I’m a person who would be unable to empathize with what you had to go through to acquire them. But you need to turn that shit off when you walk in the front door. In my house a question elicits an honest response.”
“Does that go for you as well?”
“If you ask me a question that I don’t want to answer, I won’t lie. I’ll tell you it’s none of your business.”
“What if I…”
“Don’t start. The questions you ask me are not the same as the questions I ask you. You’re over thinking something that is very basic. Your heart already has it figured out.”
I shook my head in confusion.
“Anyway, that’s enough philosophy for this evening. Clean this up and meet me upstairs.”
4
The smell of sandalwood incense met me at the door. I entered the room as she lit a row of burgundy candles. A full-sized bed filled up the room. The candles cast a flickering glow across her thick crimson comforter. Disembodied, I hovered above my reality. Looking down, I saw myself standing at the edge of a blood-red river, watching a wildfire ravage the forests on the other side.
The calm, deliberate tone of her voice pulled my soul back to the ground. “Take off your clothes!” she demanded. I quickly complied, focusing on every movement. Repeating to myself, “Don’t fumble with your buttons. Don’t stumble when you step out of your pants.” In my mind, Eva’s room had an aura of the transcendental and divine. I felt the heat of her stare on my naked flesh as I disrobed. In a sweet, melodic whisper, she commanded, “Lay facedown on the bed.”
In my ears, I could feel my heartbeat. I laid down on the bed and closed my eyes. I felt nothing but the slightest caress of her fingertips, as she lowered the blindfold over my eyes. Her gentle touch seemed ominous, like I was a sacrifice being pampered before the slaughter. Either that, or it was my emotional reaction to the feeling of the rope tightening around my right wrist, then my left. Less than a minute later, my ankles were secured to the bedposts. I had to remind myself that I agreed to be put in that position. A hysterical wench climbed from the depths of my subconscious. She began beating on a drum and wailing over the helpless state to which my ego had been reduced.
It was my panicked ego that prompted me to question her, hoping to regain some control over the situation. I summoned my sweetest tone and asked, “Eva, could you please loosen the ropes a little. They’re too tight.” Since I didn’t hear an immediate “No”, I anticipated the loosening of my binds and silently rejoiced as I wasn’t completely helpless. Apparently, Eva was removing her undergarments during those moments of silence. She answered my question by shoving her panties in my mouth till they tickled my throat. She didn‘t loosen my binds.
At that moment, as I began to fully appreciate the situation I was in, the words “Oh shit” echoed off the insides of my mind. I took slow, deep breaths; hoping to calm myself down. I gripped the edge of the comforter with my fingers, bracing myself for the pain. As eager as I was fearful, covered in goose-bumps and trembling; every nerve in my body seemed to stand at attention. My body flinched at blows that had yet to be thrown.
Without sight, I was threatened by the silence. The ‘Doubting Thomas’ in my consciousness asked uninvited and alarming questions: “Where is she? Why hasn’t she hit me yet?” Then the hysterical wench joined in with, “OH MY GOD! THIS WOMAN IS GOING TO KILL ME!”
My mind went calm, all the voices disappeared when she gave me a hard SMACK on the ass. Then another one, SMACK, followed by two more on the other cheek. Then she squeezed my ass hard with both hands, digging her nails into my flesh. I bit down on the panties and clenched my toes. I felt the head of my rock-hard erection, throbbing against my lower abdominals.
It was enough to convince me that I was on the path to bliss. Then she hit me with something wooden, polished and heavy. It came down with a meaty SCHMAT. My whole body tensed and the previous moments erotic comfort, gave way to terror and pain. SCHMAT SCHMAT SCHMAT. I panicked, worried that I’d partly inhale, then choke on, Eva’s panties. I stopped counting the blows at 17. Then I just locked myself in a sort of mental box, my long lost comfort zone. Once again I was a helpless child, hiding under my big, soft blanket.
I felt the paddle land on the bed beside me; followed by a long, thick, stiff and cold leather strap pressed against my battered ass. The beating with the strap was fast and ferocious. The blows came down too quickly to count. At some point, my ability to perceive was reduced the basest of levels. There was no history to be remembered and no future that mattered. My birth, death and resurrection passed in less than two minutes.
When she stopped, I laid there breathing heavily; lost in an unknown zone where the only sound was the buzz of high-voltage power lines. It was a rare moment where a state of ‘bliss’ seemed within my grasp. Then I heard Eva sob. I wondered and worried about why she was crying. Had I done something wrong? Desperately, I wanted to hold her. When she rubbed my back and whispered, “It’s okay,” the shame fell hard and fast on the heels of the realization; it wasn’t Eva who was sobbing. It was me.
She let me out of my binds and removed the blindfold. I sat up on the bed and stared at the floor. She stood in front of me, over me. Her hand lifted my chin, then she pulled my head toward her body and held it tight against her bare breasts. I wrapped my arms around her waist and melted into her warm embrace.
In a motherly tone, soothing but firm, she said, “Sit on the floor with your back against the bed.” Without thinking, I slid down to the floor. She lifted her right leg in the air and placed her foot on the bed. My eyes fixed on the point where her smooth, plump thighs came together. She grabbed the back of my head, and shoved her hot, wet pussy in my face. She exclaimed: “Lick my pussy! Lick it, yeah…lick and suck on my clit. Fuck me with your fingers while you lick my clit. Yes. Yes! Yessss!”
I followed her every instruction. My devotion to her pleasure grew with every command; with every movement of her hips. Her sweet juices soaked my chin. She threw her head back, her body tensed and she let out a high-pitched shriek. Then she lowered her leg and backed away, her voluptuous breasts heaving up and down on her chest.
She said, “Get yourself off.”
I looked at her confused.
She continued, “We’re not going to have sex yet. But I don’t want you suffering with swollen nuts all night. Jack off.”
“I’m okay. I’ll just…”
“What? You don’t want to do it front of me?”
I shook my head.
She smiled, “Jack off…NOW! Go on. Don‘t be shy. Stroke that thing. Make it squirt all over your stomach.”
Once I started masturbating in front of her, it didn’t take long for me get into it. I focused on her. Not her tits, her pussy or her thick sexy body; I focused on her sadistic smile and the gleam of delight in her seductive eyes. Her voice was all it took, “Cum for me, cum for me now” and I exploded, shooting hot, thick cum all over my chest and stomach.
“Feel good?” she asked.
I nodded my head.
“Good. Now take your finger and wipe up some of the cum.”
I scooped up a small amount of semen with the tip of my finger.
“Now lick it off. Don’t look at me like that. Lick it off!”
I did it quick, then I told myself that I didn’t really do it. And if I did do it, it wasn’t that much.
She smirked and asked, “How does it taste?”
“I-I don’t like it.”
“That’s not the answer I want. How did your cum taste?”
I hesitated, unable to respond.
“Are you ashamed because you tasted your own cum? You shouldn’t be. It came out of your body. If you’re willing to taste my fluids, you should be willing to taste your own. How many times have you pulled your cock out of a woman’s pussy, then had her suck it? Your shame won’t do here. You need to leave it outside with your deceit. Now, let’s try this again. How did your cum taste?”
“Good. It tasted good.”
“Good. Have you enjoyed your evening?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“Good. There is a pillow and blanket in the closet, on the top shelf. After you get those, I want you to lay down on the floor at the foot of my bed. You haven’t earned a place in my bed yet.”
