The One

This chapter continues "Day out with Master". For better reading experience it is advised to read the chapters in this order: "My First Punishment", "Crime and Punishment", "Day out with Master".

Please note that this is "erotic fiction", focusing on feelings and emotions, written from the submissive's perspective (female). This may not be for you if you're looking for something more straightforward and graphic.

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

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Part 1. Shere Khan

"We'll have lunch here," Master announces, turning into a restaurant car park.

Master lingers to chat with the chef -- apparently they know each other well. I take the moment to slip into the ladies' to gather my thoughts. I come back and we sit in silence for a while.

The waiter appears with the order. He places a dish with a huge piece of meat in front of Master -- and an empty plate in front of me... then leaves.

"Enjoy your meal," Master says with a smirk, and starts eating.

I look at the empty plate in confusion while he slowly chews the first piece, pauses as if thinking, then cuts off a good third of the steak and transfers it to my plate.

"You were very brave today," he says seriously. "I am proud of you. As a reward, I let you be a 'Mistress' for the rest of the day. Speak freely and call me by name. We are on par for the moment."

For a few seconds, I stare at the piece of steak oozing reddish juice -- I've always thought it repulsive. But I'm a different person now, so I start eating. The meat is wonderfully tender and tasty. Finished with it, I cast a sly glance at Master, and slowly and sensually lick the remaining red juice from my lips.

"Mas... Sorry... George," -- it is so hard and unusual to call him by name! -- "May I ask a question?"

"Yes. Go on."

"Why did you say to Sylvie 'The one' when speaking about me?"

He does not reply for a long while, studying my face.

"This you will have to figure out yourself," he answers calmly.

I feel that I blush and desperately try to change the subject. There is so much I would like to know, but nothing comes to mind.

"Why do you always use a blindfold?"

"Because our main sexual organ is right here," he taps his temple. "That's where fantasies are born. Reality often lets us down. Imagine you're chained up -- and suddenly your nose itches. Or your leg cramps. Or a fly buzzes past. Poof -- the magic's gone. That's why it's better to build an illusion than chase realism."

"Why do people even fantasise about all this? About sex -- and this kind of sex, too?"

"Well, I think... deep down, we all have a beast living inside us. It just shows up differently in each of us. Some want to dominate. Others want to submit. And sometimes... both."

I am intrigued.

"Tell me about your beast, please."

"You see, I lost my parents young. I was raised by distant relatives, but we didn't get along. Finally I ran away. It was tough. I had to survive. That's when my little tiger woke up... and helped me stay alive. But it came at a price -- he grew strong. Too strong. He took over. Finally I managed to take control of him -- learned to lock the beast in a cage. It wasn't easy -- it took years. But he is still inside me. And sometimes, he tries to break free... I even gave him a name -- 'Shere Khan'."

"So you've got two people inside you? Good and evil?"

"No, no -- not like that," -- he laughs, but it sounds somewhat sad. "I'm not a psycho. My shrink called it a behavioural model. Or, as he once put it, 'a composite image representing a cluster of repressed super-ego-driven subconscious aggression.' It's easier for me to manage it that way -- sort of a therapeutic tool."

"So that time... with the whip... the yellow, angry eyes -- that was Shere Khan?"

"Yes. I let the chain loosen a bit then -- but I was still holding it tight. Sometimes I have to feed him. Otherwise... he starts gnawing at my heart..."

"Do I have a beast in me too?"

"Oh, yes! You certainly do. I do not yet know what, but it has sharp claws. I still have the marks on my arse," he laughs.

Part 2. Bagheera

He's already waiting for me in bed. I slip under the blanket and press my whole body to his, curling up in my favourite spot. The soft light from the night lamp doesn't reach the walls -- it feels like we're lying on a tiny island in the middle of an ocean of darkness.

His hand gently strokes me, gliding from my neck to my hips. Neither of us speaks. George holds me gently and kisses me. I slowly trail kisses down his body. He's ready. I want to pleasure him, not to dominate or be rough -- I just want to give him joy.

I start to get aroused too... but something's missing. He can't quite reach the peak and I do not feel the full hardness. It's too slow. Too drawn out. I'm getting desperate.

Sensing this, he suddenly grabs me -- I'm lifted for a second, then land sprawled across his stomach like a frog. I'm in his power. My breasts press against his abs, his breath hot behind me. His cock is mine again.

Then something warm and soft enters me -- his tongue! I cry out in surprise and can't hold back my moans -- it feels so good!

I feel that his cock grows in response, tensing, vibrating.

He moans too -- louder, deeper. Every sound pushes us higher -- like a ping-pong rally of pleasure! No, it's more like we're on a magical swing -- up, up! And then -- together -- we soar to a dizzying height, hang there... and plummet down!

What bliss!

He flips me around in one swift motion, and we lock in an incredible kiss -- his nectar in my mouth mixing with my own juices on his lips. A moment of unity, of unspeakable closeness.

For a few seconds, we lie still. My heart races. I can feel his heartbeat through my body -- our hearts are beating as one.

How is that even possible? I'll have to ask him someday. But not now -- there's something more important.

I whisper in his ear:

"I want to meet Shere Khan tomorrow. Show him to me. I need to learn to deal with him."

He seems stunned. Doesn't know what to say. Then finally asks:

"Aren't you afraid?"

"No. You'll be there, right? You won't let him tear me apart?"

"I won't. Besides, Shere Khan is not that stupid -- he understands the safeword," he pauses and, with a faint smile, adds:

"Just keep in mind -- you didn't sign any contract with him. Shere Khan is neither your Sir... nor your Master."

***

Next morning I wake to the sound of water running in the bathroom -- Master is already up and in the shower. I leap out of bed and dash to my room -- I need to get ready before he comes out!

I return and freeze in the "warrior pose" by the bed -- but today it's not just a yoga asana name. Today, I am a warrior -- I'm lying in ambush. I'm tracking Shere Khan!

I pretend to wait patiently, but my heart pounds -- from fear or anticipation, I'm not sure.

At last, Shere Khan emerges. He's wearing his favourite robe with the dragons. He stares at me in silence. I'm supposed to keep my eyes lowered, so I can only see him from the edge of my peripheral vision. I hear the sound of a drawer sliding open. Of course -- that's where he keeps his favourite crop whip.

He steps in front of me. I can see only his legs. I steel myself inwardly, ready to fight back -- but then his sharp command rings out:

"Look at me!"

It's so commanding, so threatening that my resolve instantly vanishes. I can't resist that voice! Low, rough, commanding -- it paralyses my will like it did the first time we met.

Obediently, I lift my gaze -- and there it is: the familiar crop whip in his hand. Shere Khan swings his arm and throws it across the room, into the far corner -- right in front of the mirror.

"Fetch it!" comes the harsh order. "I didn't tell you to stand!" he adds when I try to rise.

I don't want to obey. I shouldn't obey. But I can't resist him. There's a magnetic force emanating from Shere Khan, dragging me into something like a hypnotic trance. I crawl across the floor on my knees, shame churning inside me -- and something else -- no! It can't be, it mustn't be -- that flash of arousal.

"In your teeth."

No! That's not me in the mirror. That's not me picking up the whip in my mouth! I would never do such a thing! But the woman I see there, face crimson with shame, is already on all fours, the whip clenched in her teeth. She turns and crawls towards Shere Khan, belly low to the floor in abject humiliation. He lounges on the couch with a predator's smirk.

"Obedient slut," Shere Khan growls between his teeth, snatching the whip from my mouth as I reach his feet.

"Now show me what you've learnt of yoga. Down dog! Up dog! Again! Again! Dancing dog! Face down! Face up! Now, camel pose -- face me!"

As if enchanted, I follow every order, settling finally on my knees before him: legs spread, chest arched forward, shoulders back, shoulder blades drawn tight, hands resting on my heels.

"Lift your boobs higher! Higher, I said!" Shere Khan snarls -- and then he strikes!

A sharp snap. A burning sting across my nipple.

The pain slices through me like lightning -- and suddenly I wake up from the trance. A feral rage explodes inside me! I surge like a coiled spring, snatch the whip from his hand, and leap to my feet.

Shere Khan rises too, staring at me in astonishment, growling:

"Give it back now, bitch! On your knees!"

He extends his arm -- and the whip whistles through the air and lands across his wrist. A red welt swells instantly. Something wild possesses me. I slash the air again, then again -- right in front of his face!

Shere Khan jerks his hand back and stumbles a step away -- and I see real fear in his eyes!

"Never, never lay a hand on me again, Shere Khan!" I snarl. "Only Master has that right! And you -- you are nothing! You're as much a slave as I am. Worse! At least Master doesn't keep me in a cage on a chain like you!"

I don't recognise my own voice -- it's not a voice, it's a hiss, a venomous, spitting snarl. Someone else is speaking through me.

Shere Khan backs off. The fear in his eyes has turned to cold fury.

"Bagheera..." he breathes at last. "I see you now. Clever of you to hide so well. Very clever. You win -- for now. But don't flatter yourself... We're not finished."

I freeze. Bagheera? Me?

The rage drains out of me as quickly as it came, and now I stare in horror at the red mark on his wrist. How could I do that? What have I done? With trembling hands, I hold out the whip to him.

"No," Shere Khan growls. "I don't want your scraps. You won it in battle. It's yours now."

He pauses, smirks darkly, and adds:

"I've got plenty more. And something else besides. For now -- truce. I'm going to the gym. If you're not afraid, come find me. The door's open."

He turns and walks out with deliberate grandeur, trying -- and failing -- to hide his limp.

And I just stand there, mouth open, that ridiculous whip still in my hand.

Slowly I calm down and check in with myself. My body still tingles with the sweet poison of arousal. Bagheera? Yes, the black panther in that Disney film. Why not? Right now I like being a sleek, sharp, dangerous huntress.

With feline grace, I pad back to my room, slip into a sports bra and short bike shorts, tie my hair back tightly, and head down the stairs towards the open door in the hall.

I saw fear in Shere Khan's eyes.

I'm not afraid of him.

And yes -- I've brought the whip with me.

Part 3. Shere Khan and Bagheera

I descend slowly, barefoot -- and my feet remember these steps. And that smell! I recognise it too -- that distinct, slightly acrid scent of gyms, mixed with the warm, damp air of the pool.

And there he is -- Shere Khan. Yes, I'm certain now it's still him -- I recognise that piercing, prickly gaze as he lounges half-reclined on the slanted Olympic bench, casually curling dumbbells.

I am Bagheera, so naturally, I pretend I couldn't care less about him -- though secretly, I admire the mesmerising ripple of his chest muscles. He's already warmed up, and even from across the room I catch the heady, intoxicating scent of his sweat.

It's a real gym -- fully equipped: machines, racks neatly stacked with dumbbells of all sizes, pull-up bars and other gear. A large mirrored wall and a wide cushioned mat -- everything perfect for a workout.

I'm not into weight training -- it's not my thing. I prefer agility and fluidity. I start warming up and flow into my favourite personal routine, a blend I long ago created from yoga, aerobics, and gymnastic poses. I just hope I don't overdo it -- it's been over a month since I last set foot in a gym.

Shere Khan works in silence, stone-faced, pretending to be focused on his reps. But his motions seem slow, off-beat. He's watching me, unblinking. And beyond that bristling look, I catch a glint of something else -- raw desire. Shere Khan is clearly aroused! I can just imagine what's going on in his boxers -- and at that thought, a warm wave of languid longing washes over me.

My top slips off by itself -- I'm not even sure how! Shere Khan freezes instantly, devouring me with his eyes. Oh, how his jaw clenches! I think he's grinding his teeth. Good -- take this too. With a quick, practised motion, I slide out of my bike shorts.

His face darkens, and that gaze -- oh, he is furious! Starts approaching slowly, warily eyeing the whip still within my easy reach.

But no -- this beast is too big for the little, flexible Bagheera. That one time worked because it was an ambush -- the element of surprise. But now... now it's better to retreat gracefully, disappear into the river.

Bagheera bursts into motion and dives into the rushing stream. The cool water soothes her flushed, overheated body. Behind her -- a loud splash. Shere Khan is in pursuit.

He swims beautifully, powerfully -- but Bagheera is already across the river, emerging gracefully onto the soft sandbank. She knows she should disappear into the jungle... but the burning venom of desire has already seeped into her brain and dulled her will.

Bagheera pauses, pretending to shake water from her ears -- and immediately senses the heat of the approaching predator, his hot breath on the back of her neck.

Fine. So Shere Khan won today. But she isn't some helpless, pitiful prey -- in a match with a worthy opponent, she is the prize. And that changes everything!

Shere Khan pounces, pins his quarry down, his powerful arms wrapping around her and pressing her into the warm sand. Bagheera, still on her knees, tries to resist -- but several sharp, ringing slaps leave her limp. Shere Khan pins her wrists and, in one hard motion, thrusts into her. He moves with power and rhythm, growling deep from his chest each time -- and Bagheera submits.

He doesn't care what she feels -- if she feels anything at all. Shere Khan is consumed entirely by his savage passion, and soon he arches back, releasing with a long, drawn-out, victorious roar. He lingers for a few seconds, savouring the pulsing aftershocks inside his vanquished prize -- then slowly withdraws.

The spell lifts. And now it's me again -- I sink down onto the mat, still damp with spray from the pool, completely spent.

"You'll clean this up and make breakfast -- eggs and bacon. You'll find everything you need in the fridge. And don't expect me to pamper you like Master does," Shere Khan growls, vanishing into the shower.

I want to snap back with something sharp -- but I wisely hold my tongue. Let him revel in his triumph for now. I'll settle the score later.

I glance around, searching for something to mop up the mat and the puddles near the pool. A roll of paper towels -- that'll do.

Crawling around naked with a red bottom is extremely humiliating, but at least he can't see me -- he's off under the spray, and sounds like he's even purring contentedly. I finish cleaning in haste, gather my scattered clothes, and dash off to my "kennel" to collect myself.

There's soreness deep inside, but also a gentle throbbing heat. Turns out, that wild, untamed sex gave me pleasure too.

And what pleasure it was!

(To be continued)