The One

I was surprised that my novella "Crime and Punishment" has remained popular for several weeks and received a modest score. I also got a few personal messages from readers curious about how this story began.

This new novella is intended to be placed before "Crime and Punishment". Some parts of it were previously published as separate stories, but I thought it would be more convenient for readers to combine them into a single novella. If you would like to see the central punishment scene also through the Dom's eyes, you may want to read my story "Slave initiation".

There is no cruelty in this story. All actions are performed by consenting adults.

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Part 1. The contract

The interior of his car is simple, even old-fashioned--real wood, genuine leather. I can barely hear the engine. The car moves so smoothly, as if gliding over water. I close my eyes and imagine that I'm in a cabin of a sailing ship. Setting out for unknown shores...

The huge gates open. The car stops in front of a large house. I look in the mirror and catch myself thinking that I'm dreading the moment they close. They'll slam shut like the door of a mousetrap, behind me. Forever! I feel scared, now truly scared. And suddenly some force rises up inside me: it tightens my lower belly and ignites a flame of desire.

He looks intently into my eyes for a long time and addresses me by my full name:

"Eliana! Some formalities need to be completed."

"Yes, the agreement, the contract..." I manage to squeeze out with difficulty.

No! Not that! Please, not now! I've prepared myself. I'm waiting with trepidation for him to touch me. Surely he's not going to pull out that stupid contract now, like in the book?

"I read out the agreement at the table. If you want, I can repeat the text again," he says in an icy voice.

"No need, I remember," I reply, barely audible. Everything inside me freezes with fear.

Nevertheless, he clearly repeats the phrase he said in the restaurant, and adds:

"There are two important additions. First: the agreement is for seven days, but it is automatically extended if neither party wishes to terminate it.

Second: you must clearly understand that you are entering my home voluntarily. You are free to leave at any time. No one will detain you. In that case, our contract is annulled. We will owe each other nothing, and we will part forever. Is that clear?"

I'm so agitated I can't say anything, and only nod in agreement. God, what a relief! It's all so simple, and really--what's the point of all this legal wrangling if there's no mutual trust? I understand the added clauses too.

He takes a flat box from his inside pocket and opens it in front of me. Inside, on a black velvet lining, lies an elegant choker necklace--a soft, shiny band about a centimetre wide.

"This is a collar--a symbol of your complete submission. Made of pure platinum. It is very durable and hypoallergenic. You can wear it all the time. If you wish to leave, you don't need to explain anything. Just return the collar, and our agreement will be considered terminated. Now kiss it and hand it to me with both hands."

I take the silvery band in my hands. It is fluid like mercury, but unexpectedly heavy. I carefully examine the intricate weave of flat links. They are made so skilfully that the band can stretch a little and even spring slightly.

Platinum! I've never held this metal in my hands before. A symbol! I linger for a second: how beautiful and romantic! This isn't some crude leather collar!

I hand the band back to him with both hands. His fingers gently touch my neck. The metal cools my skin. I hear the click of the clasp and hold my breath: it has happened! I see in the mirror the black gates closing slowly. Now I am his slave! I belong to him!

As if reading my thoughts, he announces, somewhat solemnly and even theatrically:

"From this moment, our agreement comes into force. You must address me as 'Sir' or 'Master'. After every reply or request, you must also add 'Sir'. The words I expect to hear from you most often are: 'Yes, Sir', 'I obey, Master'. Is that clear to you?"

"Yes," I force out, "Sir."

We enter the house. My eyes are dazzled by the bright light from the many light bulbs on the ceiling. Before me, there is a hall larger than my entire flat. An elegantly curved staircase leads to the second floor.

And now what? All the way here, I imagined how it would be. What will he do? Will he grab me? Start tearing off my clothes? Drag me down to his basement, where he's got a torture room? Put me in a cage? At these thoughts, something clenched inside me and pulsed hot.

But everything turned out to be very simple and even ordinary. He just stands in silence, watching. I need to do something. But what? To start with, take off my coat and shoes, because the floors are gleaming with cleanliness. But there's no coat rack.

In response to my question, he silently opens the door to a large, spacious room. I see shelves, wardrobes with nice wooden hangers, shoe racks.

I feel that I need the toilet. How can I ask more politely?

"Where can I wash my hands?"

He shows me the door to the guest toilet.

I note to myself how well the house is laid out: a small but stylish toilet right by the entrance. It has a large window. On the wide marble windowsill stands a splendid orchid. I touch it with my finger--it's real, of course! Everything is luxurious, and at the same time so homelike.

I calm down, the heat inside starts to settle. I go out. He's still standing there in silence, watching me. The pause drags on. I timidly ask:

"What do I need to do?"

He doesn't answer for a long time. Finally, he calmly asks:

"Do you have a problem with your memory or your hearing?"

"No, why..."

He doesn't let me finish:

"You've only been in my house for a few minutes, and you've already broken one of the most important rules. Tell me, which one?"

His words hit me like a slap! What an idiot I am! How could I forget! I was too busy admiring the beautiful house and completely forgot who I am and why he brought me here!

"I'm sorry! I forgot, I got flustered! I was supposed to add 'Sir', wasn't I?"

"Slave, you have once again shown disrespect to your Sir. You are rude and ill-mannered. Follow me--you will be punished." He turns and heads towards the stairs.

"Slave... You will be punished!"

At these words, the heat blazed up again, stronger. Where is he taking me? What's going to happen now? I feel frightened, and at the same time something aches sweetly deep inside. Blood rushes to my face. Is this really going to happen to me now? This isn't in a book--this is real!

Part 2. Punishment

God, I'm so scared! Somewhere inside I do believe he won't hurt me--he promised. But I'm still shaking with fear.

We're going upstairs, not to the basement. Maybe his torture chamber is on the second floor? Such a massive door... And what's behind it?

Various descriptions of such places from books and films come into my head. It opens, and... behind it is just an ordinary hallway. Absolutely ordinary. Though I do notice several more doors there.

He opens one and orders me to enter first. I can't see anything--it's dark. In the distance I can make out the vague outline of something huge and white.

The light comes on slowly, and I find myself in the centre of a bright pool of light. Under my feet is a floor of dark red wood. I can feel through my socks that it's warm.

In the soft light, I see a big room. I notice an elegant leather sofa and a sideboard with glass doors. The white patch in front of me is a gigantic bed. There is nothing frightening or aggressive here.

Little by little, the fear goes away. I turn around and freeze: he's standing behind me, and his eyes--still, angry, with a yellowish glint--the eyes of a wild beast!

Slowly, the Beast circles me. In his hand is a leather-tipped riding crop retrieved from the chest of drawers.

"Back straight. Heels together. Hands tight against your sides. Eyes on the floor." The commands come crisp and sharp, each like the crack of the crop itself.

I hesitate--only briefly--and receive a swift flick across my backside. It is not a strike, more a sharp tap, but I cry out, taken by surprise.

"This is how you present yourself before your Master. Who are you? Answer me!"

"A slave..."--after another slap, I quickly add--"Master."

"When you answer your Master's question, you look him in the eye."

He lifts my chin with the tip of the whip, fixing my gaze.

"And what should you say now?"

"I obey, Master..."

"Now back to the floor. You do not look up again until I speak to you. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Why are you in this room right now?"

I freeze, then gathering all my courage, whisper:

"To be punished, Sir."

"On your knees!"

I feel that I blush with shame, but I slowly sink down.

"This is the position for awaiting punishment," he growls, his voice rough with command. "Back straight. Hands behind your back--palms resting on your bottom facing outwards. Eyes on the floor. Spread your knees."

He administers a few sharp taps to the insides of my thighs.

"Have you memorised this position?"

"Yes, Master," I reply, much faster now.

"What was your offence? Speak!"

"Sir... I didn't address you as 'Sir', Sir..." I stumble.

"Now look me in the eyes and beg me to punish you."

It is so hard to say these words, but I manage it awkwardly and haltingly:

"Sir... please... punish me."

He orders me to take off my socks. I obey, uncertain what to do with them. He commands me to take them to the mirror.

I turn and freeze again: the entire wall behind me is a mirror!

I see myself in it: my flushed face, my tousled hair, the stupid socks trembling in my hands. I look small, almost comical--like a schoolgirl caught out!

He's standing there, tall, motionless, holding something that looks like a riding crop or a delicate little whip--long and narrow.

The mirror has a slightly antique haze, giving the whole room a sense of age and mystery. I imagine that I'm standing in some ancient castle where something forbidden is about to happen!

He orders me to take off my jeans.

It's so hard--my chest tightens with burning shame, my hands are trembling. Somehow, awkwardly, I manage to peel them off and carry them over to where my socks lie.

I'm just about to turn back when, to my horror, I catch sight of myself in the mirror--standing there in those pathetic, faded panties! I hadn't thought I'd be undressing--I'd just thrown on whatever came to hand, maybe even grabbed a pair of Mum's by mistake.

And now a stain! I'm wet like a slut!

I yank the disgraceful thing off and stuff it deeper under the jeans, hoping desperately he won't notice. But of course--as if he wouldn't!

I freeze when I hear him:

"I didn't give permission to take off your panties. Put them back on!"

What?! No... no, please, not that! But his shout lashes at me like a whip. I go rigid--like a monkey caught in the hypnotic gaze of the boa constrictor.

With shaking fingers, I pull the loathsome underwear back on. The wet patch has already cooled and clings to my crotch nastily.

As if in a dream, I repeat the debasing ritual three times. Each time I catch sight of my reflection: a half-naked pitiful slave girl!

My heart's about to leap out of my chest. Cold sweat chills my skin, but lower down the heat is growing! With horror, I realise that I want this. I want to feel this humiliation again and again! What is happening to me?

Stripping off the rest is almost a relief. Being naked somehow feels less humiliating than wearing that awful underwear!

The bra is next. It is hideous--with frayed edges, greyed with age. And of course he sees it. Of course he's amused!

A flick of leather tip grazes my skin. My whole body jerks. My womb clenches. Then he lifts my chin with it and, for a second, I meet his eyes. The look I find there knocks the breath from my lungs: wild, full of rage and lust--the gaze of a predator!

It's like a trance. My ears roar with rushing blood. This isn't real--this isn't me! I've fallen through the looking glass, into some strange dream. In the foggy antique mirror, I see not myself, but a frightened slave girl. She is naked and defenceless. She was bought by a cruel pirate at the slave market. Taken aboard his ship. And now she is completely at his mercy.

The Pirate barks another command, forcing the slave girl to raise her hands. He inspects his purchase, feels it. He wants to make sure he didn't overpay! The Pirate squeezes her breasts, tweaks her nipples, and presses his new toy against himself. She is an object, having no voice, no will. No self!

Everything goes black. I vanish. I dissolve into that blackness--I am nothing. I never was.

"On your knees!"

The words seem to come from far away. Slowly, the world returns. My heart, still hammering, begins to slow. I become aware of my body again.

I kneel. My hands move behind me on their own, wrists together--and as soon as they touch my backside, a thought lightning-flashes through my brain: "Punishment! It's going to happen now!"

The blackness turns out to be a blindfold. I focus on my hearing, straining to catch the smallest sound, like a frightened deer sensing a predator lurking in the darkness.

Footsteps. Water. A familiar sound--he's washing his hands.

The water stops. Footsteps again. He's coming towards me... closer... closer...

In my mind's eye, I see a massive black belt and the yellow eyes of a ferocious beast. A spasm rips through my body, clenching my loins painfully. I want to curl up, hide--but I can't! It's hot and wet. How shameful!

I willingly obey the command to stand and squeeze my thighs together with all my strength. But the arousal only grows stronger. I've never felt anything like this in my life! What is this?

A strong and dominant hand grips the back of my neck and takes me by the scruff like a kitten. With terrifying confidence, he pulls me down and lays me across his lap, pressing me down firmly.

I bump into something hard as stone--and realise he's aroused too! Despite myself, I try to press against that longed-for hardness.

"You will now receive ten strokes. You must count them aloud and say, 'Thank you, Sir,' after each one. What do you say now?"

"Yes, Sir," I whisper.

So I am sentenced to ten strokes. With what? I don't know yet. But I'm ordered to count--and even to thank him each time. How humiliating!

A deafeningly loud slap--and searing pain. I sob, choke, but still force myself to say:

"One... Thank you... Sir!"

Another slap, harder.

"Two! Thank you, Sir!"

"Don't hold back! Shout! No one can hear you." He roars.

I forget the count--my head is spinning with arousal and fear:

"Tha-a-nk you, Sir!"--more of a scream now.

He stops. His hand slides over my bottom; his palm moves gently lower and lower... Stroking, then parting, and slowly entering inside. A finger!

I freeze in shock and only whimper. Is that all? No! Deeper, deeper! A little more!

I try to help him find that treasured spot, but he pulls his hand away, and I start crying again--this time from frustration.

"Slave, what are you being punished for? Answer!"

I mumble something incoherent:

"Didn't... ca-all... you... Sir..."

The slaps rain down again, though there's no pain--just fiery flashes in the darkness and waves of pleasant heat. I drift in this dark sea and no longer understand where I am, who I am, or whether there will be a shore...

I sob and scream out loud from two quick slaps so powerful that sharp pain shoots through me--real pain! I arch my back and try to break free, and then his finger quickly enters me again and immediately finds that spot.

Explosion!

The dam blocking the flood of arousal shatters. I thrash as if in agony and, as if from outside myself, hear a hoarse, inhuman howl... Could that be me?

Consciousness returns. I'm falling slowly, spinning like a leaf. No, it's my head spinning. I'm lying on a soft cloud. Someone's hand gently strokes my back, moves lower, tenderly squeezes and caresses my burning bottom. How pleasant!

The hand is gone. Somewhere nearby, I hear the sound of rain. But where did rain come from in here?

Water! I'm so thirsty. I lick my dry lips.

"I want you to wash me..."--is he talking to me?

Part 3. LED Shower

Strong, warm hands lift me into the air, and I'm flying through the darkness again. My feet touch something warm--like a sun-heated stone on the seashore. The sound of rain grows louder. A real downpour! Where am I?

The blindfold falls away--I gasp in surprise and delight. In the twilight, a fairy-tale waterfall gleams with all the colours of the rainbow!

His hand gently pushes me forward, and now I'm standing in that shimmering stream.

His hands slide over me, lingering and circling around my nipples, moving lower, lower... The fire of desire blazes up again, growing with every touch. My heartbeat quickens. I breathe fast and greedily catch the life-giving moisture with my dry lips.

The rain roars, and its steady rhythm lulls my mind--I'm slipping into a dream again.

Above me towers a rocky cliff. Multi-coloured, shimmering fireflies of dripping water flicker across the moss in the cracks and hollows of the stone.

I run my palms along the wet surface of the rock. But no--it isn't stone. It's living flesh: the relief swell of muscles, the hair on his chest.

I look up--he is gazing down at me. Sparks of light reflect in his eyes, but his gaze is no longer piercing; it seems almost soft. Glittering streams of water roll down our faces like tears.

I want to caress him too, stroke him, learn his body. I run my palms over his chest and feel the unevenness--scars. I explore every part of his torso, move lower. Beneath my hands--fabric: boxer briefs tightly hugging his buttocks.

"Take them off," he says quietly.

I kneel and slowly begin to pull them down. It's not easy--the powerful, hard bulge in front gets in the way. At last I succeed, and I cry out in surprise: freed from its prison, the fabulous Serpent dashes forward like a coiled spring and presses against my chin!

I freeze in involuntary awe--how beautiful he is, in the mysterious twilight, showered with rainbow glints of rain!

"Wash him," he says softly, and not at all sternly.

He takes my hand and pours some gel into my palm--scentless, like a baby shampoo. Slowly and carefully, I begin to wash his groin and the soft, almost velvety scrotum.

I run my hands along his cock. I feel it grow even harder, pulsing in response to my careful touch. It listens to me!

Again and again, I stroke it, wrap around it, explore and caress it from every angle. I run a fingertip over the head--the skin is so delicate and velvety, like a baby's. I am overcome with the urge to feel that softness with my lips.

At the touch of my lips, his cock jerks and rises even higher! Suddenly, some dark force surges inside, rising from the depths.

"He's in my power!" flashes through my mind. At this thought, a new wave of arousal crashes over me.

I desperately want to subdue this Beast, make him tremble in my hands! I clutch his steel-hard buttocks, dig my nails into them. Greedily, I take his length into my mouth, run my tongue over it, gently pull it in, as if I want to suck out all his life force. Now faster, faster, deeper, deeper! I help with my hands.

Drunk on the feeling of power, I dig harder into his buttocks. A sound like a growl escapes my throat--and he responds, resonating like the body of a musical instrument!

This drives me wilder. I do it over and over, growling. I devour my prey!

He tenses, stretches out, and lets out a long, stifled moan. My mouth fills with something thick and warm, but I hardly have time to realise that it's his seed.