The Story of S - two early scenes
Sketches of an attempt at a version of the Story of O - without the coercion.
1 - One Saturday:
After a languorous afternoon spent on the terrace of a very pretty country hotel he’d taken her to, Sophia had asked him, over dinner, what she might be able to do for him.
“You do everything! Pay for everything, think of everything, plan everything, say all the funny things, read all the interesting books, choose what things we go to. And .. And I’m grateful. I .. I’m .. happy with it that way, but .. but.. “
“I don’t know - there .. there must be something I can do for you!”
He laughs at her, leans back, drinking in her fresh young beauty. He’s 40 and fairly ugly, she’s 22 and gorgeous. He’s richer than her, but she’s by no means penniless, with a decent job and a wealthy, well-connected family behind her. She’s obsessed with him.
“Well, pretty, there are many who would say that it is you who have the bad bargain, having to take a gruesome old lump like me to bed.”
Her eyes open wide at this bluntness, and then she blushes, whispers, giggling;
“But what they don’t know is just .. just how fucking good you are at .. at ..“
“Fucking?” he suggests, laughing. She blushes and giggles some more, shrugging her shoulders eloquently, accepting;
“Yes! So that’s somewhere else where you do everything; I - I just .. do what you say..”
She giggles more, because they both know that this is true in a special way. He’s utterly dominant in sex matters, certain what he wants at each moment, and she has had to be convinced, a few times, that this is the way it will be. And they both know that, having been convinced (some spanking was involved), that she is in fact, ecstatic about the arrangement. In bed now, she is eagerly, blissfully his sex slave, taking her reward in ecstatic climaxes and almost as much in the pleasure of serving his pleasure.
Even after this digression, she comes back to her worry, wanting him to tell her something, anything that she can do for him;
“ .. because .. because ..” her voice is soft, frightened; “..because otherwise I know I’ll lose you - lose you to someone who can do something for you.”
There are tears in her eyes, which are large and round as she looks at him, still grinning;
“I’m serious! Please! Otherwise I start thinking you’re tired of me already.”
He stops grinning, looks at her steadily. She holds his gaze, also serious, a little flushed.
“Why .. why are you looking at me like that?”
“Just a little test. There is something you can do for me. Something really - valuable. But it’s not a little thing, and it has a cost - a significant, heavy cost. Before I ask you, I need to be sure that I want to ask it of you, and equally, that I think you’ll want to give it.”
She’s all smiles, “Oh but I do! I do! Anything!”
But his mood has become serious, and he refuses to say any more.
That night, in bed, he says he wants to try something on her.
“Is this it? What I can do for you?”
He smiles - “No, this is just something I think you’re ready for - let’s see if I’m right.”
“Okay” she’s already naked, apart from the lacy waspie garter belt and white stockings he likes her to wear sometimes.
“Very well. I’ll start by tying your wrists.” He’s done this before, and although it frightens her, and makes her heart thump, she knows it also heightens the sex, and so she shimmies sexily and turns, wiggling her butt at him as she crosses her wrists behind her back.
“Not there - up; behind your neck”
“Oh! OK. Ha! Makes my tits stand out for you, anyway. Dirty old man.” she laughs, cheeky.
He plays with her nipples, roughly, a little, to let her feel how it is to be helpless, and she makes some small, pretty cries of mingled delight and discomfort, deliberately encouraging him, until he really hurts her, and tears come to her eyes, and she holds herself still.
“Go on… I .. I know you like to hurt me, sometimes. So .. So I like it, too..”
He laughs, then is serious again, kisses her softly.
“Time enough for that, later.”
He stares at her beauty, thinking about later… But ‘softly, softly’, he reminds himself. You want this one to last. She has seen the look in his eyes before, doesn’t know what it means, but it always makes her catch her breath.
“So, now we come to it.”
And he pulls a pillowcase off of one of the pillows on the bed, turns the open end in on itself a few times, then slowly puts the resulting cotton bag, with its rolled rim, over her head. She holds herself still, but she’s trembling a little, and now he brings the loose ends of the dressing gown cord that ties her wrists round her head, stuffs the rolled edge of the pillowcase into her mouth and ties the ends, tight, across her mouth. She is gagged, cuffed, naked, hooded; kneeling on the bed, thighs splayed, breasts swaying gently, suddenly breathing rather hard, finding it difficult with the cloth in her mouth, over her nose, and has to breathe even harder. She knows, dimly, what effect this is having on her firm breasts, feels them move, knows that he must be enjoying the sight, but really, she’s too busy stopping herself from tipping into hysteria.
He takes her slowly, but relentlessly, building and building the intensity, from soft kisses to her breasts at the start, to a finale of violent rutting, with her on the low side table, face pressed against the table top, head still in the bag, wrists cuffed, buttocks high up, thighs lewdly spread, grunting with the effort of his deep, hard, full penetration strokes, until he comes inside her with a low snarl, that she knows only appears when he is highly aroused.
Sophia hasn’t come herself, although she too is very aroused. But she’s not sure she wants to experience an orgasm like this - as an anonymous sex toy, without a head, arms restrained.
But its not her choice, and his blunt, coarse fingers are soon at her hot, sloppy sex, vigorously playing with her clit, her labia, semi-penetrating her wetness. Although he often seems careless and selfish in the way he plays with her sex, she has grown to respond to him almost as powerfully as she does to her own, infinitely more subtle, masturbation technique, and in the end, feeling as if she must suffocate in the hot, stuffy confines of the pillowcase, she has no choice but to come, screaming her outrageous pleasure into the horrid gag, her hips thrashing and bucking with the devastating intensity of it, nostrils flaring with the attempt to get enough air, heart thumping.
He removes the gag and cuffs almost immediately, to her relief, and she hugs him, still quivering and trembling.
“Jesus! Thank you! Thank you! Best yet, you clever bastard, Oh Christ I can’t believe that you keep making it better, harder, more fucking intense! I thought I was going to die!”
And then, like a light swtch has been pulled, she’s asleep in his arms.
In the morning, she is languid and dreamy, all soft hands and wet kisses, but he resists all temptations, insists they get up and ready for their planned walk in the woods.
He refuses to re-open their discussion over dinner, simply smiling a small, almost sad smile and shaking his head.
But on the way home, he stops at a large bookshop, and presents her with a copy of a book she’s heard of, but never read; ‘The Story of O’.
“Read this before Wednesday. I want to hear what you think while we’re at dinner.”
And he drops her at her flat.
2 - The following Wednesday:
Sophia is ecstatic to see him, as always, but he feels that there’s something a little intense about her. Has she been crying? He’s interested, finds it highly charming and arousing; he decides to change the plan - tells her;
“I think I’d like to fuck you now, rather roughly, and go for dinner later - somewhere small that stays open late - perhaps my club. It’s Ladies night.”
She’s breathless, even more hyper, but she says;
“OK, fine, sure!”
If anything, it is she who is rough; desperate, almost frenzied, screaming her orgasms, encouraging him to bite and slap her ‘harder! harder!’, until they are both drained, exhausted. They sleep in each other’s arms for an hour or so, and then he rouses her.
“Time to shower, beautiful”.
In the cab, she says; ‘About that book’, but he shushes her, a finger on her lips.
“Strange as it may seem, pretty. I don’t want to hear what you thought of it. Tonight, I’m going to be doing the talking, and then we’ll see.”
And he won’t say anything else serious, until finally their meal is finished (both ravenous, they had ordered a second steak each).
He orders two large brandies for himself, and a white wine spritzer for her;
“I want you sober, hussy. I have something to ask of you. Yes. Yes; this is it. Yes, it is to do with the book. You read it? Good. No, I don’t want to know what you thought of it. It’s enough that you know the story.”
In a rush, panicked, she says;
“You .. you want me to go there - you want to train me - turn me into a slave, don’t you? Is it real, can you still go? Do they really do that?”
She’s flushed, breathing wildly. He laughs, despite his sombre mood.
“Let me see; no, no, no, no, no and -er, no; I believe that answers all of your questions. But please now, I need you to be silent, to hear me out.”
She’s deflated by this, some bubble burst, looking as if she can’t decide between relief and disappointment.
“So; you read ‘The Story of O’; and quite obviously, it had a powerful, sexual impact on you. No doubt you connected some of my preferences with some of the themes in the book - hence your too-fast assumptions.
“What I have to ask of you, though, is nothing like as crude as the dungeons and chains of Roissy. Not only does the place not exist, but I wouldn’t care to share you - not in that way, at least, and certainly not yet.”
“What I have in mind is far more subtle, far more consensual, and I hope, far deeper - for you at least. I can say it quite simply, although it will need a longer explanation, and no doubt there will be detail at some point. But the simple version is: I want you to transform yourself, Sophia, by slow degrees, into O - or rather, into S.”
Her smile at this is determined, sketchy; her chest rises and falls, in a distracting way. He wonders to himself, for the thousandth time, whether this is strictly necessary, then rallies. Necessary, of course not. Desirous, important - certainly. A life left unlived is a crime.
“I’m glad you’re managing to hold your tongue. That will be one of the first steps - to speak less. To realise that, with S, it is not the contents of her mind that are of value to me, but the attributes, the uses, of her body. Most straightforwardly, since that is what is my intention here - her holes.
“But in fact, I’m not going to dictate steps. You are. Every now and then, you’re going to propose to me what you will aim for, the steps along the road, and the tests that will determine success. You will explain to me how the step will take you towards my goal - the absolute possession of a creature called S. I will comment, but not impose, except in one simple way - I will approve or disapprove of your proposal, and I will declare, on the basis of the tests you propose, when each step has been achieved.
“It is permissible to undertake several steps at once, if you so propose. Of course, it is also imaginable that there will be times when no progress is under way. These periods ought to be short.
“To be clear why, I need to explain the risks to both of us of undertaking this project, before you consider your response.
“Firstly, the greatest risk has already been taken, in that I have made this proposition. It alone could destroy what we have. I want it to be absolutely clear that there is no threat hanging over your head - no ultimatum. The choice is yours, and if you say no, we will carry on as we were - I hope. Of course, this may prove impossible…
