{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"be1a0571-17af-4d5e-a339-fc4c8a37fb4f","seriesId":null,"seriesName":null,"currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2018-09-07T19:01:24.143Z","title":"The Appointment","slug":"the-appointment","shortId":"vAbe5HzG","authorNote":null,"disclaimer":null,"type":"Novella","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"A young, beautiful submissive is sent by her master to an appointment with a literate master with highly sophisticated tastes. Will she be lashed or cropped?","partCount":4,"parts":[{"partId":"1d1109c4-418a-41e2-9fb5-af3fcc511203","title":null,"summary":"\n\n\n\nCh1: Appointment day\n\n\n\nIt is a sunny cold day in March. The snowstorm that covered\nthe st","wordCount":1599,"readTime":8,"number":1,"state":"Published"},{"partId":"2ac13f57-2e99-4247-bef6-3100f2a0b34d","title":null,"summary":"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCh 2: A punishment\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIn his hands, the crop.\n\n\n\n“Forty today” He says; his on","wordCount":940,"readTime":5,"number":2,"state":"Published"},{"partId":"a9cf93ad-34c7-4413-80c1-639500bb235e","title":null,"summary":"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCh 3: Night\n\n\n\nHe takes me down. I can barely move. My pussy is on fire.\nSwollen fro","wordCount":940,"readTime":5,"number":3,"state":"Published"},{"partId":"51ca8eb8-189a-4ba4-bd35-7332b4a4f2b9","title":null,"summary":"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCh 4: The punishment.\n\n\n\n\n\nWhen Parker whips me however, there is no one to enjoy it.\nHe d","wordCount":1648,"readTime":8,"number":4,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Chapter 1","content":"\n\n

\n\n

Ch1: Appointment day

\n\n

It is a sunny cold day in March. The snowstorm that covered\nthe streets with snow is gone, leaving a clear, frosty day, with temperatures\nin the 20s. I walk down the street, dressed only in my black sable coat, black\nvelvet choker, and stylish 5 inch pumps, also black, of course.

\n\n

As I walk, the cold air seeps under my coat, up my legs and\ninto my bare pussy. I am going to Mr. Marshall’s mansion. I am afraid of what\nwill happen there. I know I will be beaten, but not how, or how much. Where, I\ndo know; all over. It’s always on a Thursday, though not on all of them, that I\ngo to Mr. Marshall’s, always alone, and always nude under my one allowed piece\nof clothing.

\n\n

I never know when I will go. Sometimes Paul, my master, will\ntell me in the morning, after I’ve showered and shaved him, as he dresses,\nmaybe as he does his tie:

\n\n

“Today you have an appointment with Mr. Marshall”

\n\n

And I answer softly “Yes Paul” He lets me use his first\nname, most of the time.

\n\n

Other times, he tells me the night before, maybe after he’s\nused me, as I lie in his arms, coming down from subspace. “Tomorrow you have an\nappointment with Mr. Marshall” and my answer is always the same; soft,\nsubmissive; “Yes Paul”

\n\n

Some days he may phone me at work to tell me, so my anticipation\nand fear, is prolonged. Rarely, he may even tell me four or five days in\nadvance, so my fear can build up more.

\n\n

Paul rarely beats me. He exerts his dominance in other ways.\nHe knows that beating is not the only way to cause pain, sometimes unbearable\npain. Pain limited only by his imagination, and he has a wide and varied\nimagination. But he rarely beats me.

\n\n

When I go to Mr. Marshall’s I know I will be beaten. That is\nthe one common denominator in all my visits. And I will be beaten hard, way beyond\nany pleasure, way beyond any limit. That is my fear.

\n\n

Mr. Marshall’s palatial mansion is only three blocks from my\nmaster’s spacious home. It is far to walk, in the cold winter air, clad as I\nam. A passerby sees only an attractive young woman, 5 foot nine inches,\nstylishly dressed in patent leather pumps and an expensive sable coat. My\nshoulder length, dark brown hair is carefully coiffed in an up do. My makeup is\nperfectly done, my eyes are very light blue, surrounded by my naturally long eyelashes,\nenhanced with water proof mascara, so it won’t run with my tears. My lipstick\nis the deepest shade of red, custom made by Paul’s parfumer in . I have applied two layers and gloss\nover it. My lips, naturally thick, resemble ripe cherries after this.

\n\n

He does not notice my size B breasts, hidden by the bulky\nsable coat. In the spring, he would stare at them, covered only by a thin\nsundress, but it is winter, and he cannot see that I am nude, under the coat.\nHe does notice my shoes, and perhaps wonders where I am going, with these\nclassy shoes, on the snow covered sidewalk.

\n\n

I arrive, climb up three steps and knock on the door. The\nknocker is bronze, shaped like a lion’s head, with a large ball on its mouth.

\n\n

Parker, Mr. Marshall’s butler opens the door. Unbidden, I\nenter, remove my coat and hang it on the hanger. I remove my pumps and put on\nblack sandals, with even higher heels. The sandals tie on my ankle. Parker\ndoesn’t even glance at my nude body. Women do not interest him. He climbs up\nthe stairs and I follow him. The house is kept rather cold, on purpose I am\nsure, and my pink nipples stand up proudly on my breasts.

\n\n

As is always the case, I follow Parker to Mr. Marshall’s\nstudy. He opens the French doors for me, and I enter the study. The aroma of\nfine cigars is always the first thing I notice; it endures in this room, even\nthough I seldom see him smoke. It is a large, airy room, with bay windows that\nopen to the park across the street. The walls are lined with book cases, filled\nto the brim with books in all kinds of bindings, from leather, to cloth,\nhardcover and paperbacks. I do not know in how many languages. I recognized\nEnglish, French, Spanish and German. A Persian carpet covers most of the\nhardwood floor.

\n\n

Mr. Marshall sits at his desk, writing. He does not look up.\nI move to his right side and sit on the desk. The dark wood is covered by a\nsheet of glass. The glass is cold on my ass cheeks. I gather my right thigh\nunder me, and bend my left knee. My shaved pussy is wide open, exposed for him\nto see, or touch. I hear the French doors close as Parker leaves. Mr. Marshall\nkeeps on writing, occasionally consulting one of the books or journals he’s got\non his desk. The tick-tock of the pendulum in the grandfather clock on the\ncorner provides the only sound, aside from his fountain pen, scratching notes\nin a yellow pad. The ink is blue.

\n\n

Time passes; every so often he lifts his head, looking at\nme, but he doesn’t otherwise acknowledge me in any other way. Sometimes, he touches one of my nipples with\nhis finger; rarely does he touch my pussy, exploring it with his index. When\nthis happens, I am always embarrassed that he finds it so wet. At times, he\npinches my clitoris slightly, between his thumb and index. I can never contain\na gasp of pleasure-pain at this; but it happens so rarely…

\n\n

He always wears a smoking jacket when he writes. It is deep\ncrimson, and ties at the waist with a black silk band. He also wears a white\nshirt and an tie. Sometimes he asks me\nto get him a drink. When he does so, I walk to the cupboard and pour him Glenlivet with a single ice cube. Sometimes he looks at me\nwhile I do so.

\n\n

As the evening passes, I feel more and more afraid, as the\nunavoidable time gets closer and closer. Eventually he rings a bell. I am\nalways startled by the sound of it. The French doors open and I follow Parker\nup the stairs to the next floor. He always stops at the powder room at the\nlanding; he opens the door and watches me as I empty my bladder. Even after all\nthese times, I cannot avoid blushing with embarrassment. I must pee, in front\nof him, with my legs wide open. After I am done, I follow him, trembling and\nunsteady to the next room. The room is very plain. It is painted light green,\nwith white crown molding. There is a large window, looking out on the backyard.\nIt is triple-paned and the whole room is soundproof. No one will hear my\nscreams.

\n\n

I remove my sandals and walk to the center of the room.\nThere are leather ankle bracelets that I put on. A thick wooden beam hangs from\nthe center of the roof, where a chandelier would normally hang. It is suspended\nby two thick white manila ropes attached to the ends of it. On the bottom of\nit, two iron manacles, lined in leather hang open. I place my wrists in the\nmanacles which then close automatically. Parker then presses a button, and the\nbeam rises, until I am standing on tip toes. He then attaches my ankle\nbracelets with lengths of rope to rings on the floor, and pulls my legs wide\nopen. I now hang, spread-eagled, with all of my body exposed for punishment.

\n\n

Parker leaves the room to get the instrument he will use on\nme today. He takes his time. I wait. What will it be? The\nlash or the crop?

\n\n

If it is the crop, I\nwill only get thirty or forty slashes, and then I will go to Mr. Marshall’s\nroom, where I will serve his pleasure during the night. If it is the lash, I\nknow I will hang here for hours, until I receive a hundred lashes, well paced,\nso I can feel all of them. Parker is an expert in this. He takes his time. He\nlets me feel each lash, entirely, and then gives me the next. He will pause\noften, to rest his arm, and to let me recover. He gives me sugared water, to\nkeep my energy up. It wouldn’t do to have me pass out, of course.

\n\n

If it is the lash, after he is done with me, he will take my\nbody down, carry me to a nearby room, and put me to bed, in a small bed with\ncrimson satin sheets, where blood stains will not show. I will sleep there,\nundisturbed, until the morning. He will bring me breakfast, always coffee and\ntwo croissants, and then, I will walk back home.

\n\n

I never know where Mr. Marshall is when I am being beaten.\nHe is never in the room, and, as far as I can tell, there are no cameras, not\neven hidden ones, in the room. The walls are bare; there is no place to hide a\ncamera. I prefer the cane. At least, when I am caned, Mr. Marshall will see the\nwheals of the crop on my body, and will then enjoy using me. I feel that my\nsuffering serves a purpose.

\n\n

When Parker whips me however, there is no one to enjoy it.\nHe definitely does not. I know that he does not get erect during a session. Mr.\nMarshall is not there either, and neither is Paul. I have asked Paul if he sees\nthe sessions, or if they are taped and he said no. He does know what happens in\nthem, although, when he sends me, he does not know if Mr. Marshall will use me\nor not. It is so frustrating. If at least Paul could see me being whipped, it\nwould at least count for something. I strangle a sob. I lift my eyes and Parker\nstands in front of me.

\n\n

\n\n","authorName":"Polecat","authorUserId":"ebd7020d-b966-4c46-acc3-dbc2cb36583d","rating":4.3,"ratingCount":6,"reviewCount":0,"quoteCount":0,"storyCodes":["Heavy","Real Life","Bondage","Domination","Masochism","Sadism","Spanking","Submission","Consensual"],"language":"English","readTime":26,"recommendations":[]}}},"actionData":null,"errors":null}