The world of BDSM; free fiction for you from Martin ….

bdsm #5Hi, friends and readers:

Several years ago Noble Romance Publishing (now defunct) published a short fiction anthology titled Spank Me Once. My story, titled Serving Lisa, was included in the anthology, and it was a huge hit with readers.

It has been a while since I’ve posted a new piece of free fiction on this site, and so I’ve decided to post Serving Lisa in installments over the next few days. I’m giving my readers fair warning. This is not a story for the squeamish. If  descriptions of BDSM distrub you, or if you are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual encounters, then Serving Lisa is not for you. Having said that, here you are ….

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Serving Lisa, copyright Martin Delacroix, 2010

I’m Lane, age nineteen. My owners are Lisa and Andreas; I met them on a website called Cruel Mistress toward the end of my freshman year at college.

This is a special day for me, my thirtieth and final day of training, and I’ve performed well I think. If my owners agree (Please, God, make it so.) then I’ll stay on; I’ll continue serving.

Right now I stand in a corner, alone in their bedroom. I’m naked and sweaty and my ass is freshly whipped. Downstairs, my owners discuss my fate. Will I stay or will I go?

I await their judgment.

***

Okay, let me explain.

I’m not a fag or a pussy-boy. During high school I lettered in two sports: wrestling and soccer. And while I’m not a big guy (five-ten, one hundred fifty-five pounds), I’m sinewy and quick and I don’t take shit off anyone. If you met me on the street you’d think I was tough—and I am—but I have this submissive streak, one I hide from people.

I crave discipline. I need a woman’s control.

bdsm #3My parents didn’t believe in corporal punishment, but I had a boyhood friend, Andy MacShane, who wasn’t so lucky. His mom was a tall, large-boned woman, and she was strict. If Andy came home late or got into trouble at school, she’d whip his ass with a belt. I got to watch once, when Andy and I were both twelve. I spent the night at Andy’s and Mrs. McShane caught us stealing cigarettes from her pack. Right there in the den she made Andy drop his pants and boxers. Then she bent him over a chair and lashed his bottom till it was red as a stop sign. She shoved blubbering Andy into a corner with his pants still down; then she turned to me and gestured with the belt. “Be glad you’re not my kid,” she declared, “or I’d roast your fanny too.”

Her remark gave me a raging erection. My cheeks burned and my heart galloped and I wanted to tell her, “Go ahead and do it. Pull down my pants and whip my butt so I can’t sit for a week.”

I dated girls in high school, of course, but I never told them about my peculiar tastes. Instead I haunted Internet sites, ones where folks posted pictures and stories featuring dominant females and groveling guys. I studied profiles on these sites—I even contacting a few women through them—but once they learned I was underage it was always, “Sayonara, kiddo.”

I became terribly frustrated. Would I ever find what I longed for? A woman who’d understand my needs? And assuming I did could I handle the discipline she’d choose to administer? Would my desire to serve trump my fear of pain? I pondered these questions, over and over, feeling lonely and sad.

Then I found Lisa and Andreas.

Meeting them was sheer luck. One night, I studied Cruel Mistress profiles when I came across this one:

Are you a young man who craves naked discipline? Attractive couple, early thirties, seeks a live-in slave to service the lady of the house. Serious inquiries only. One year commitment a must.

I sent a message with my photo attached. (“I’m Lane. We live in the same town. If you like what you see, please let me know.”)

Two days later, I received a reply:

“Lane, you’re a handsome boy. My name is Lisa. Attached is a photo of myself and my husband, Andreas. If you have further interest, tell us and we’ll schedule an interview.”

In their picture, Lisa wore knee boots, a leather skirt and a push-up corset. She held a riding crop and she wasn’t smiling. Her auburn hair grew past her shoulders, mascara adorned her dark eyes and her tits looked like D-cups.

I thought, Ma-ma.

Andreas was a head taller than his wife, broad-shouldered but slender. His black hair grew in curls; it covered the tops of his ears. He wore a dress shirt and slacks and he stood with his arms crossed at his chest and his chin elevated. Stubble dusted his chin and cheeks and he wasn’t smiling either.

Three days later, I stood on the doorstep of a Mediterranean-style dwelling, clutching a supermarket bouquet. Lisa answered the doorbell dressed in a wool suit, silk blouse, stockings and heels. She smelled like lemons and gardenia blossoms. Her grip was firm, her speech flavored with a German accent.

“Hello, Lane,” she said. “Welcome to our home.”

When she led me down a hallway her heels clicked against the tile floor. Her legs were long, tapering to slim ankles. We entered a room with a vaulted ceiling, stucco walls and a fireplace. Andreas rose from a sofa as a smile crossed his face. Dressed in slacks and a pullover shirt, he looked just like his picture. His voice was deep and he, too, spoke with an accent.

I shook his hand and accepted his offer of a soda.

“We are Berliners,” he told me while Lisa fetched my drink. “I’m on sabbatical from Humboldt University. Right now I teach courses at your school, in the College of Architecture.”

When Lisa returned, she took a seat by Andreas on the sofa.

“Your house is nice,” I said, glancing here and there.

Lisa said, “It belonged to a law professor who recently died. We are leasing.”

I wasn’t sure what to say next. Was small talk necessary?

Lisa resolved the issue.

“I want to see you naked, Lane. Will you remove your clothing?”

Her tone was blase, as though she’d asked me to pass the salt, but I felt blood rush to my cheeks. I glanced at the floor and gulped.

I’m supposed to strip? Right here?

When I looked at Andreas his face bore a serene expression. He raised his eyebrows and bobbed his chin. “Please do as she asks.”

I let out my breath and nodded. I removed my shoes and socks, then my shirt and pants. All the while my hands trembled. The room temperature was cool and it made me shiver. Standing in my boxer briefs, I looked at Andreas, then Lisa.

“How’s that?” I said.

A frown crossed Lisa’s face. “If you want to serve us, Lane, you must follow instructions to the letter.”

I nodded as I lowered my gaze and my cheeks blushed anew. My penis stiffened and I told myself, go on, give them what they want.

I peeled off my briefs and tossed them aside, and then my penis bobbed before me, as firm as a green banana. I faced Lisa and Andreas with my chin nearly touching my sternum and my face aflame.

“Look at me,” Lisa said.

I lifted my gaze.

“Why did you respond to our listing?”

Looking away, I rubbed my chin with a knuckle.

“Speak honestly, Lane.”

My voice cracked like a thirteen year-old’s. “I need a dominant woman, one who’ll give me discipline. I don’t know why.”

“You’re quite young. Have you experience in these matters?”

I told her no.

After Lisa turned to Andreas, she frowned and shook her head. In response, Andreas pursed his lips.

Lisa looked back at me. “We need someone who’s familiar with…service. Andreas is teaching and I’m in sales at Siemens. We have no time to train an untouched boy.”

Shit, speak up. Say something.

“I’m a fast learner, and I’ll do as I’m told.”

Lisa studied my face while rubbing the tip of her index finger against her thumb. She said, “Turn around and place your hands behind your neck.”

I did.

“Your buttocks are unmarked. Have you never been beaten?”

“No, ma’am, I haven’t.”

“You might not like it.”

I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. “I think I would.”

Behind me, sofa cushions creaked. Lisa told Andreas, “He’s nice-looking; perhaps we should give him a chance. A thirty-day trial?”

My scalp prickled.

Andreas said, “Why not?”

****

All right, folks, that’s the first installment of Serving Lisa. I will post another tomorrow, for your reading pleasure.

I’m attending a Super Bowl party at my neighbors’ home in just a couple of hours, but before that I’m taking a three-mile walk, here on the island. It’s a pretty day outside: sunny and still and about 74 degrees F, lovely winter weather for Florida.

Have a nice Sunday, all.