Kajira Sharon's Gorean Awakening
Dublin's Hueston Station was dealing with its usual Friday evening hustle and bustle as Sharon Kane nervously took her seat on the train.
Her loose, just above the knee Summer dress revealed a nice amount of flesh and she was pleased that the males in the carriage took more than passing notice of her 40 year old curves.
Though she had the comfort of her cool black shades and a nice pair of sandals, Sharon felt more than a little undressed. By order of a Master she had yet to meet she was wearing no panties!
Every step from the taxi to the train had been an excruciating yet oh so exciting experience, the throbbing between her legs betraying an sexual alertness that had lain dormant for years. Indeed NEVER had she felt so sexually aroused!
Sharon raised her hand to feel the little black choker around her neck. Her collar! To the other passengers it was a choker, maybe a little out of place worn with a summer dress but a harmless choker. To the female herself, though, it was representative of a Gorean collar and a symbol of her first steps into bondage.
It had arrived in the post that morning, accompanied by a terse note which ordered her to wear it on her train journey to Kilkenny. The same terse letter that told her to wear no panties. The same terse letter that instructed her to bring absolutely no baggage. The same terse message that suggested she need not bother getting on the train if she had not left her mobile phone in her Dublin City apartment.
As the train pulled out Sharon shuffled in her seat. If she wasn't careful she would orgasm! She was on her way to meet her Master! On her way to a new life. On her way to slavery!
Luckily she had taken up the window seat of a two-seater which ensured there were no witnesses to her struggle with the constant throbbing in her nether regions. Trying to distract herself Sharon picked up her white cardigan and took from its pocket an envelope she was told not to open until she arrived in the station in Kilkenny.
She held it in her hand, wondering what it contained, then left it down on the little table. As the train made its first stop she picked up the envelope again, fingered the seal.
"Is this seat taken" a middle aged man asked. Sharon nodded no. The last order on the terse note had been underlined in red. 'Talk to no one on the train'!
Eying her legs, taking in the nice hint of cleavage the balding newcomer immediately tried to shorten his journey by chatting up the sexy bird.
"You going far" he asked. She nodded Yes. She wasn't sure to tell the truth, she didn't know how far Kilkenny was. But it was beyond Newland's Cross so it must be far!
In the hope that it would put him off talking and also because she was curious as to what it contained, Sharon tore open the envelope. Before she could unfold the page it contained she was rocked by the words of her neighbour.
"Curiosity is not becoming in a Kajira!"
With that he put his left hand on her right knee and with his dexterous fingers inched up the material of her summer dress.
Excited but afraid Sharon froze for a second, then her usual independent spirit exerting itself she hissed 'get your hands off of me you pervert'.
"You have spoken without permission" he exclaimed before the left hand that had been grappling with her garment came thundering down on Sharon's right knee.
'Ouch' she cried, the 'ahhh, ooohhhh' followed as her neighbours left hand strayed from her right knee and drifted into the cleft between her legs, pressing the material of the dress into her womanhood.
Looking ahead as if viewing the scenery, the male firmly twiggled the fingers of his hand into her sensitive sex and whispered a question.
"What have we here Kajira" he asked. She nodded she didn't know.
"We have here Kajira, your clitoris, the property of Laurence the Lash; your clitoris is no longer yours, it belongs, in all its glory, to your new Master, it is he who will decide if you are ever again to enjoy a ‘pleasure cruise’
With his fingers continuing to probe the balding man, still looking straight ahead informed his passenger of her new station in life.
"This, Kajira Sharon, we call a ‘simmer session’! The female is sexually aroused in mind and body but she is not permitted orgasm! Your crude Earth males might refer to a female such as you as 'a bitch in heat'!
Sharon was about to launch a withering reply when a loudly whispered 'SILENCE' from her male neighbour stilled her lips. Her other lips, though, were far from still and the middle finger of the males left hand was now pressing firmly on the doorway to the Promised Land!
"Now I require a little snooze, I suggest you do likewise" said the male. Though he closed his eyes, he didn't still his fingers and by the time the train announcer called out 'Next stop Kilkenny' the woman who left her city apartment as a respectable citizen of Dublin was but now a quivering slut who, this minute, would have done anything to be allowed bring herself to a shuddering orgasm!
Her neighbouring passenger removed his hand from its comfortable resting place and stood up to get out as the train eased into Kilkenny..
"Heel" he ordered with nonchalant ease, "two steps behind your Master" and with that he opted to proceed down the length of the carriage rather than alight at the door nearest to him. Heeling him all the way, two steps behind was a sexy 45 year old female in a summer dress and a choker around her neck.
Arriving on the platform the male took off at a brisk pace until he arrived to the carpark. Heeling him all the way was a female with tears in her eyes. Tears of fear? Perhaps! Tears of joy? Yes, most definitely!
For the first time in her life Sharon had met a man who would brook no disobedience, a man who was completely disinterested in sexual ethics, a man who was not only going to keep her in line but who was going to have her toeing a very definite line.
His march from the station led her to a Taxi driven by a stern looking woman and barely were they sitting in the backseat together when Sharon found herself blindfolded. Then the infuriating yet exciting hand returned to the gateway to the Promised Land!
The deprivation of sensory vision meant that Sharon was even more aware of the throbbing between her legs. Then she felt her summer dress shifted even further up as the males left hand clamped the furry bunch, the middle finger probing into the juicy cavern..
Ooohss and aaahs began to emit from the newly arrived slave and abandoning all pretence of normality Sharon began to move her arse in the seat so to speed the process of edging her herself over the top!
His finger probed, pressed and moved faster, then faster again! Sharon's arse rose and fell with rapidity against the leather seat, then rose and fell faster again.
OOohhh, ahhhhh, ooeeeee, ee oooh ... croaked Sharon as the female taxi-driver, taking a glimpse in the rear view mirror, smiled, remembering her own initiation ceremony, bitter sweet memories?!
OOohhh, ahhhhh, ooeeee, oooooohhhhh ... croaked Sharon .... then the finger stilled! The hand was gone!
"And so a female can be denied" cooed the man opening the door and getting out leaving a stunned Sharon overwhelmed with desire.
"Drop the Kajira off at the slave pens" he instructed the female taxi-driver "and if on the journey she touches herself downstairs you have my permission to introduce her to the whip"
Thus did a blindfolded, frustrated female arrive to her new 'home'
Goodbye Dublin, hello 'Gor'!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As the taxi steered by the female driver turned into the farm yard the stunned lady in the back seat kept her lip buttoned. She did so because that is what she had been told to do by the driver when the newly arrived slave started to whinge!
'Button it Slave or have it buttoned for you' the driver had barked with such venom that Sharon Kane was virtually afraid to breath not to mind have words trip from her now quivering lip!
The taxi pulled up outside the barnyard door and the driver ordered her 'OUT', then pulled away quickly leaving the frightened 45 year old Dublin woman standing blindfolded in the open air, the throbbing downstairs just about abated.
It was silent, very silent. Sharon raised her hands to remove her blindfold but just as she touched the bow at the back of her head she felt a firm grip on her wrists. She was then steered up against what she was later to find out was the wall of the barn.
She felt steel on her wrists. Then a click. Her hands were raised above her head. And attached to a hook that kept them raised. The height was such that she was just a little up off her toes. She felt the strain in her calves.
She licked her lips. The silence was deafening. Then she heard a rip. Felt a tug. Her summer dress fell from her right shoulder. Another rip. Another tug. Her left shoulder was bare. Then as she moved about to try and set into a more comfortable stance, she felt the dress ease to the ground.
Now all she wore in front of her unseen assailant was a black bra, her sandals. And, of course, the black choker sent to her that morning, a choker representative of the Gorean collar.
She had read about John Norman’s Gor. She had fantasised about John Norman’s Gor. Now, it appeared she was on John Norman’s Gor!
She felt her breasts been fondled through the lacy bra, then the hands roamed around to her back and opened the clasp. Now her breasts were being fondled in the open air. Now she felt a tongue circle her right nipple. then her left.
The fires below which had not long since calmed down were reignited.
Then the attentions ceased. It was quiet, deathly quiet. Sharon Kane, the former independent, very much her own boss, Sharon Kane the independent Dublin woman stood blindfolded, her hands cuffed above her head. Her only item of apparel her strappy sandals.
She felt the gentle breeze on her naked body. Felt the fires within.
And waited …
And waited …
And waited …
Left dangling in the open air Kajira Sharon, despite her discomfort snoozed off into dreamland where wishful thinking had her back in the bosom of her Dublin city community, living a normal life!
She was awoken by a searing pain across the front of her right thigh; then heard a swishing sound before the front of her left thigh felt the same searing pain!
Now she had a throbbing sensation on both legs as well as between the legs!
She felt the clasp of her choker being opened, the choker removed. For the first time since she collected her post early that morning her neck was bare.
But not for long! She felt cold steel on her neck. Then a click. She knew in her heart that she had been collared! Sharon Kane of Dublin City, Ireland was now a collared Gorean slave!
She licked her lips. Afraid to speak she awaited his next move. She felt hands at the back of her neck and suddenly she was blinded by the light. Her blindfold had been removed. When her eyes adjusted to the glare she focused in on the man in front of her.
It was the same bald man as on the train. In his right hand he carried a short handled whip. With it he lifted her chin so that her eyes looked into his.
"What is your name?" he asked gently.
Swish … her right thigh felt the lash of the whip.
"What is your name?" he asked again
She shook her head … then mumbled 'Kajira'.
Swish ...her left thigh felt the lash of the whip.
"A new slave has no name until her Master bestows one on her" he informed.
Trailing the whip down along her neck, across her right breast, into the cleft, then across her left breast, her Master queried himself out loud.
"And what shall we call this fine specimen of female meat, hhmmm?"
The whip trailed down her stomach, coming to a halt at her belly button, then brushing against the furry bush before quickly returning to her chin, lifting it again.
"We could call you Karen, that is a lovely name and suits you well but then again we could call you Fido and immediately condemn you to the modality of the she-quadruple!" he informed the new slave who was quickly finding out that even something as basic as her name was at the whim of her master.
She hoped that there was sufficient levels of begging in her eyes to avoid the life of the she-quadruple. In the early stages of her introduction to the Gorean lifestyle she had, as homework, conducted research as to what she could expect should she ever live it.
On all fours, deprived of human speech and being used for sexual pleasure in the manner of an animal did not appeal to her. But she knew that should her Master ordain it, the life of the she-quadruple would be hers.
"For the moment you can continue to answer to the name Sharon, Sharon Kajira of Kilkenny" he informed her.
"What is your name?" he asked.
Swish ... her right thigh left the lash of the whip.
"What is your name?" he asked again.
"S ... S ... Sh .... Sharon.. K … Ka .. Kajira of Kilkenny" she answered, fervently hoping this was the right answer.
"Yes, indeed, the former Lady Liffeyside of Dublin, an independent female who could do as she pleased is now Sharon, Kajira of Kilkenny and must do as she is told" cooed her Master as he again lifted her chin with his whip.
He then moved the tip of the whip in front of her lips.
"Kiss" he ordered.
"Tongue" he ordered.
She tongued the whip.
Again the abject servitude the act stirred something in her loins. As if reading the signals of her body, her Master stood back a bit and the tip of the whip lodged between her legs, being gently pressed up against the entrance to the Promised Land.
"What have we here Sharon, Kajira of Kilkenny" he asked.
"M .... my ... ... my clitoris" she answered.
Swish ... her left thigh felt the lash of the whip.
"What have we here Sharon, Kajira of Kilkenny" he asked again.
Remembering their 'conversation' on the train, a little tear loosening from her eye the former Lady Liffeyside whispered.
"The property of My Master!!"
"Yes, Kajira, your Master now owns your clitoris, his to do with as he will" he informed the new slave.
With that he turned and walked away. The new slave, with longing and desire, watched the retreating arse. It was a sight she would get used to. For it was that male arse she would heel for the rest of her life!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Master I beg to speak?”
Sharon Kane, the former Dublin Personal Assistant, naked, her hands cuffed above her head, dared to ask the returning male the question though she feared, as before it would result in her thigh being scorched by the whip he carried in his right hand
“Permission granted. First though … what is your name?!”
“Thank you Master! My name is Sharon Kajira of Kilkenny, your humbled slave and servant! What is going to happen to me? You have me gripped with both fear and excitement! Please Master I am not used to any of this!”
“Just as I thought! The former Lady Liffeyside, now a humble Kajira is both fascinated and fearful?”
He lifts up her chin with the whip, looks her in the eyes.
“Tell me Kajira what excites you so?”
“Master everything you have done to me so far, EVERYTHING!” It is all so erotic, the collar, the no wearing of panties, the introduction of your hand to my private parts, the blind folding, the binding!!! EVERYTHING My Master! What’s next?!”
“Excuse me Kajira … the introduction of my hand to who's parts?”
SWISH ... her thigh again feels the sting of the whip!
“Rephrase that sentence and quickly!”
“My Masters hand, to My Masters parts! … Sorry Master, Sorry!!”
“Yes Kajira, your Master's hand, your Master's parts! As of now my dear you own ABSOLUTELY nothing! Even your name, at my whim, can be altered! You ask what happens next?! You say you are gripped by fear and excitement? Speak to me of your fears?”
“Master, my fears are I won't be able to serve you as you desire! My fears are I might like it all too much! My fears are it might be worse than any drug and change my life forever!! Master may I ask, do you have any fears taking on a new Kajira?”
“A Master always has fears taking on a new Kajra! That is why he must be strict with her from the very start! Earth women thrive on the weaknesses of the men of their world! They wrap them around their little fingers, using their feminine wiles to cripple' the male! Bend them to their bidding! Here it is females such as you who are bent to the bidding! Thus your fears of being unable to serve me as I desire are unfounded - you will have no choice but to serve your Master as he desires! The whip, the collar, the cuffs will help in your training!
“But already two other weapons are working in your Masters favour! Kajira Sharon of Kilkenny has a creative, imaginative brain and a responsive clitoris! Is that not correct my dear?”
“Oh yes Master!”
“Now Sharon, Kajira of Kilkenny, we come to a little naming ceremony!”
The tip of his whip caresses the engorged nipple of her curvy right breast.
“This mammary gland young lady is henceforth named Lita!”
The tip of his whip caresses the engorged nipple of her left breast,
“And this luscious appendage is henceforth named Lana!
“What do you say to your Master?!!
“Thank you Master, what pretty names you have chosen!” May I ask if My Master likes his nipples?!”
“Oh yes Kajira your Master is an avid breast boy!”
“Now we come to anther naming ceremony!”
The tip of his whip returns to the entrance to the ‘Promised Land’ of her downstairs charms, the whip is lifted up into the still juicy cavern.”
“Now Kajira of Kilkenny, Laurence the Lash grants you the honour a naming his latest acquisition .... this here responsive clitoris! Think carefully, imaginatively, we require a sexy, evocative name, one that will set you a tingle by its mere mention! I await your deliberations with interest …!”
“Master the very first name that enters my feeble mind....is Kilkenny … thought since we we’re to be in Kilkenny for a while? But if Master is not pleased by this unimaginative name I promise to do better!”
SWISH ... the front right thigh feels the lash of the whip!
“Master, May I ask what I did I do to deserve that last lash of your stinging whip?”
SWISH … the front left thigh feels the lash of the whip!
“Was the slave not asked to put her imaginative mind to good use, to come up with a name the mere mention of which would make her all a tingle?! Instead what is the Master treated to? A lazy answer! Laziness is not becoming in a Kajira! A Kajira must WORK at all times to be pleasing to her Master! You have not been pleasing! Your right to name your Master's latest acquisition has been withdrawn!”
“Yes Master, sorry Master.”
“Now, speak to me of your feelings, do you, a former independent woman of earth, one who frequented niteclubs and played blueball with the innocent country men, do you want to break free of these new binds, return to your own world ... OR ....
“Do you want to explore further the depths of your sexuality?!”
“Explore deeper Master... much, much deeper!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The handcuffs are gently taken down from the hook and removed from Kajira's Sharon’'s wrists. The same wrist by which she is led into the barn and led over to a slave mat in the corner, a slave mat just about the size of a mat in front of a couch in a house on earth.
Sharon is laid gently down on the mat.
"These are your sleeping quarters, do not leave the mat without permission'
Laurence puts his fingers to her lips, stilling her attempts to talk.
Often on earth a woman will turn her back to a man, plead a headache, leave him longing!
On Gor, when a woman is told 'turn your back to your Master', she is lying on the slave mat, Back turned, he bids her goodnight with a stinging lash of his belt across her highest buttock.
That is the last sound a female slave hears before sleep!
The lash of her Master’s whip is also the first thing a Kajira feels and hears each morning, a gentle ‘love tap’ with the belt which startled Sharon awake. Immediately the former independent New Zealand woman wondered what the new day would bring.
She was surprised – even a little disappointed - when her Master ordered her to a small room at the far side of the big barn. She found it to be what on earth would have been called a bed-sit with all the accompanying trappings of earth.
Two rooms plus a bathroom, the kitchen was lit by a skylight while the living-room/bedroom was brightened by a window in which a net curtain blew gently in the breeze.
On the bed was laid out clothes with which she would have been familiar with in her former life in Meath. A light blue jeans, a pink top as well as a sexy black bra and panties. Beside the bed was a confortable pair of white runners/shoes.
'Dress' was the monosyllable order of her Master.
Her attempts to talk were again stilled by his finger going to his lips.
She dressed in silence, putting on clothes she thought she would never ever wear again. She could not shake the disappointment. She had resigned herself to a live of nudity or, if she was lucky, sexy slave tunics.
Now she was just like any other earth woman.
"Now Lady Tara, females lucky enough to have their eyes opened to the strictures of Gor, females lucky enough to have had their deep sexual feelings stirred by the strictness of Gor, must, per force, live a double life?
"You will continue to live as an earthling for much of the time, continue to work, continue to socialise as per normal but with one click of my fingers you could be summoned to Gor and reduced again to a mere female slave, a slave who will beg to pleasure her Master, a slave who will beg to be pleasured.
"We will shortly, as a normal 'couple', take a stroll around Kilkenny. No one here knows us, we are visitors taking in the Music festival. Yet, you can be sure, there are other ‘Goreans’, males and females, walking the streets.
"We will go into the lounge of that hotel you once frequented. Study that good looking girl who served your partner. Could she have kneeled to her Master last night? Was she awoken by the lash this morning? Was she permitted to wear a knickers beneath that tight black pants?
"The woman sitting on her own in the seat in the corner. Is it your imagination or is she rubbing the choker on her neck with a faraway look in her eye? Could it be that the constant shuffling she is doing is because her buttocks are on fire from the whipping she got the
"That woman with the white blouse revealing a glorious amount of cleavage? The same girl who has her hands behind her back, almost in the bracelet position. Look at the way her boyfriend is looking at her, taking in her every nuance. Could it be that Master and Slave are
conducting a Gorean scene on earth. Has she been made wear clothes that will best display her assets? Made keep her hands behind her back, bound by his will. In public.
"A public display of obesiance to those in the know. You, Lady Tara, are now one of those people in the know. You. Lady Tara, might soon be giving a public display of your subservience."
With that the Master sat on the two seater couch and beckoned the now fully clothed Sharon over. Just as she neared the seated figure he caught her by the wrist and quickly put the surprised female over his knee.
“Now, young lady, you have learned a little of what life on Gor is like” he informed her as his right hand gently stroked her beautifully sculpted denim clad arse.
“Gor, however, will be reserved as a special treat, a treat perhaps that you will experience during your annual summer vacation and then only if in your day-to-day living you have been a good girl” he told the surprised female as he continued to teasingly fondle her sexy curves.
“As and from this minute you will be subject to a disciplinary regime of which apparently your life has been sadly lacking, a regime in which naughtiness leads to a spanked bottom” he cooed as he commenced to apply his right hand to her pert posterior, first one buttock, then the other.
After a brisk six of the best on each cheek, he paused and again began to caress the denim clad bottom, a denim clad bottom that now radiated a little extra heat.
The shocked Sharon began to speak but the words were stillborn as a barked ‘SILENCE’ was accompanied by two stinging spanks to the back of each thigh.
“Now my dear, you may have believed, still believe, that the only man capable of taming you is a Gorean male, that the men of earth haven’t got the balls to put you in your place! Well think again young lady, think again!
“Yes Gor has its appeal, yes there is an alluring attraction to a Master/Slave relationship but that soon dissolves, as I’ve said, into an unsustainable fantasy. However a female taken to task for her every act of disobedience by being put over a man’s knee and having her bottom spanked is a reality as old as time itself” he declared.
And with that he recommenced spanking the blonde female who began to squirm as the pain started to build up on her bottom, a female who attempted to deflect his hand by reaching her own hand back.
“Clasp your hands in front of you as if in prayer” he ordered as he applied two more stinging spanks to the backs of her thighs.
She quickly did as she was told.
“Now, young lady, that was the warm up, we now come to your first real spanking! Stand up, take down your jeans, then return yourself over my knee.”
She slowly did as she was told.
“Quickly, quickly” he commanded.
She quickly did as she was told.
“Ah very nice, very nice indeed” cooed the appreciative male, again caressing those glorious callipygian curves through the sexy black panties while also admiring his handiwork in the red palm prints on the exposed parts of her cheeks.
“Now Sharon Tier-Quin, the once independent New Zealand accountant, you are to receive six hand spanks, three on each cheek, you will count each spank and say thank-you as in ‘one Sir, thank-you Sir’. Do I make myself clear?
“Yes Sir” the 45 year-old whispered, shocked by the feelings evoked by the use of the word ‘Sir’. She wouldn’t have believed it, but uttering those words while over a man’s knee, her pantied bottom about to be spanked, made her feel far more subservient than had the handcuffs and whip of Gor!
It was as if he was inculcating into her the knowledge that no chains and whips were required to keep her in line, nor indeed was such bondage needed to excite her sexually! A good old fashioned over the knee spanking was sufficient to set fires lighting fore and aft!
“Ouch! One Sir, thank-you Sir” she almost roared when his hand landed with unmerciful force on her right buttock
“Ahhh, Two, Sir, thank-you Sir” accompanied another stinger, this time to the left buttock.
When the six-of-the-best was complete Sir again gently caressed a now very warm female bottom.
“Now young lady, we come to the highlight of the morning! The unveiling of your naughty bottom!”
And with that he briskly pulled her panties down to the back of her thighs. He sighed with pleasure at the sight before him. A well reddened female rear!
“No spanking is complete with an application of male hand to bare female bottom! Don’t you agree my dear?”
“Yes Sir, if you say so Sir!”
“Oh I do say so!”
However he was in no rush to administer those bare bottom strokes. Instead he again caressed those glorious curves, this time freed of their bondage of denim and silk!
“Now young lady, this time you will accompany each of the six spanks with the words ‘Sharon must learn to do abide by Sir’s ruling hand!’ What must Sharon accompany each spank with?”
“Sharon must learn to abide by Sir’s ruling hand!”
“Indeed she must!”
And with that Sir’s ruling hand gave the 45 year-old New Zealand accountant her first ever bare bottom spanking.
Goodbye Gor, Hello Reality!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Shocked by the stinging the spanking to her recently bared bottom caused Sharon Kane, the former independent Dublin PA, a woman who had a brief flirtation with the rigours of a Kajira on Gor was in for another shock.
The man who had had made her lower her jeans, put her across his knee, took down her panties and spanked her bare bottom, the man who made her recite ‘Sharon must learn to abide by Sir’s ruling hand’ each time his strong hand landed on her reddened rear, was now issuing further instructions.
“Now young lady,” he began as he helped the female to her feet. “Toddle off into that corner”.
Sharon reached down to pull up her panties and jeans but quickly loosened her hands from the garments when his authoritive voice ordered her to “leave your clothes where they are”, then applied another searing spank to her already sore bottom before pointing to the corner to at the far wall from the two seater couch.
With her face blushing to the same colour as her buttocks Sharon Kane did as she was told, ‘the walk of shame’ as she was to come to know the trip to the punishment corner made all the more difficult when her panties joined her jeans down around her ankles.
As she waddled towards the corner a plethora of emotions ran through her blonde head but as with her brief Gorean experience she realised that she was sexually aroused by both the spanking and the prospect of being forced to endure corner-time.
Sharon had read of corner-time during her childhood years when stories of Girls Boarding Schools were popular among her peers. But never, at home or in school, had she ever been made to stand in the corner. Now, at 40 years of age, a mature female, she was being sent to a corner by a man who brooked no disobedience.
“Hands on your head” he ordered as she shuffled from foot to foot in the corner in an effort to still the burning on her bum.
She put her hands on her head.
“Legs together, stand up straight, don’t move a muscle!”
She put her legs together, stood up straight, tries very hard not to move a muscle.
“Now young lady, with your well punished posterior on view, you have ten minutes to contemplate your experiences of the last couple of days, ten minutes to compare Gor to your new spanking world on earth, ten minutes to decide whether you crave the chains of Gorean bondage and an unyielding Master or whether you would prefer to savour the sensuous spanking discipline provided by a strict no nonsense male, a man you must call Sir, a man who knows how to remind you of your proper station without having to resort to chains and whips”
She heard his words with tears beginning to leak from her eyes. Never before had Sharon Kane felt so emotionally charged. Never before had the Dublin PA felt the thrill of being ordered about by a man who exuded power and authority.
As the silent minutes ticked by – she could hear the clock in the kitchen so quiet was it in the bedsit – she continued to weep but they were not tears of pain, they were, she realised, tears of thanksgiving.
For 40 years she, an only daughter, had lived the life of a spoilt bitch. For 25 of those years she was aware the deep down she wished someone would take her in hand, that that someone would set boundaries, show her that actions had consequences. But no one ever did. Not her parents, not her teachers and as for her boyfriends, such was her beauty it was she, if she so wished, who could bring them to their knees with a click of her fingers.
As if reading her mind, the man who had just spanked her bare bottom spoke for the first time in five minutes.
“On your knees!”
She dropped to her knees.
“Fold your hands behind your back!”
She folded her hands behind her back.
“Now my dear, you have read and heard of a Gorean female, naked, on her knees, being made to assume the ‘bracelet’ position which is, as you are aware, very similar to the position you now adopt, your hands bound behind your by the will of a dominant male. You do not need to be on Gor to experience the subservience attached to such a position. You do not need to be on Gor to for intimate juices to flow as a male puts you through your paces!”
She nodded her head in agreement and secretly thought that if she were allowed to ‘unbracelet’ her hands and address herself to her intimate pleasures it would not take too long at all to come to a shuddering orgasm!
Again the male fell silent. Again Sharon heard the tick-tocking of the clock as she studied the yellow paint of the corner wall though her view was blurred by the tears of joy which continued to flow. At long, long last she had met a man who was willing to set boundaries, call the shots.
On her knees, her hands folded behind her, her naked, well spanked bottom exposed, Sharon Kane was never ever happier.
She had believed that to experience the thrills of the complete and utter dominance she had read of in John Norman’s Gor novels she would have to make huge sacrifices. She was willing to make those sacrifices and that is why when she started exchanging e-mails with a man she had met on-line on a website dedicated to the Gorean concept that she agreed to meet him, to sample the lifestyle, maybe even to dedicate herself to the lifestyle. God she craved discipline, craved punishment and she really, really thought the only place she could get it was on a virtual Gor provided by an imaginative Master.
Now it was dawning on her that the ‘master’ was far, far more imaginative than even John Norman himself! Indeed this crafty male had the best of both worlds!
He could condemn a helpless, besotted female to a life of tunic, chains and whips though she realised now that the novelty would soon wear off.
Or he could keep the same helpless, besotted female under his thumb by strategic use of a scolding tongue, a spanking hand and strict implementation of rules and regulations with both of them able to continue living a ‘normal life’.
Even before he declared her corner-time over and asked her for her answer she knew what it would be.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dublin's Hueston Station was dealing with its usual Friday evening hustle and bustle as Sharon Kane nervously took her seat on the train.
Her tight, just above the knee black skirt accentuated her callipygian curves beautifully, the thick black tights adding a touch of modesty while the thin, low coat white blouse displayed gave admiring males a glimpse of narrow bra strap from the back and a nice hint of cleavage at the front . She was pleased that the males in the carriage took more than passing notice of her 41 year old curves.
She had the comfort of her cool black shades and a nice pair of high heeled shoes, Sharon too,.by order of her Top, who she had met for the first time a year ago to the day, was wearing a sexy black panties.
She was no longer allowed wear skimpy thongs. “When I put a female over my knee, lift up her skirt I do not want to see the full cheeks straight away; Sir loves the thrill of further unveiling, takes pleasure in lowering the females full knickers” he had told her when laying down the law twelve months ago.
Every step from the taxi to the train had been an excruciating yet oh so exciting experience, the throbbing between her legs replicating the sexual alertness she had felt as she made a similar trek one full exciting year ago. Indeed NEVER had she felt so sexually aroused!
Sharon raised her hand to feel the tidy silver necklace hanging from which was a cryptic O. “O is for Obedience” he told her as he placed it around her neck that first Christmas. “You will wear this on special occasions as a symbol of the life of obedience you now live” he ordered.
“You will hang it on the mirror in your bedroom as a constant reminder of that life of obedience, the first thing you see when you open your eyes in the morning, the last thing you look at before your lights-out that night.”
A tremor of excitement coursed through her entire body at his words, the picture he painted causing her, as he would put it, “to juice at my command!”
To the other passengers it was a necklace, maybe the woman’s name was Olivia. To the female herself, though, it was representative of, or more pertinently, a replacement for the Gorean collar she once craved.
It was a year since she had taken her first steps into bondage. The subsequent steps appeared to be taking a definite line; her ‘Master’ quickly immersed her in a Gorean lifestyle, stripping her of her clothes, her name, made free with her intimate parts, introduced her to the collar and whip. She was destined for the life of a Kajira.
But as quickly as he had transported the 40 year-old Dublin PA to a virtual ‘Gor’, the crafty dominant male brought her back to Earth. With a bang! Or, to be more precise, a spank!
How she treasured the memory of that first spanking! He had put her over his knee, spanked her on the blue denim jeans, a jeans he made her take down before resuming the administrations of his punishing hand on her black panties. Then, oh the thrill, he took down her knickers and spanked her bare bottom! And as he did she had to recite the mantra ‘Sharon must learn to abide by Sir’s ruling hand!”
It was the first time she had called him ‘Sir’. It wasn’t the last! And by God did she learn to abide by that ruling hand!
Never in her life had she to adhere to so many rules and regulations. Indeed one of the reasons she had sought out the discipline of Gor was that no one – parents, teachers, boyfriends – had ever set boundaries, held her accountable for her actions.
Sir, from day one, ruled with an iron hand!
After her first spanking she had, like a naughty schoolgirl, go stand in the punishment corner, hands on head, her jeans and panties in a pool around her ankles, her well spanked bottom exposed.
After five minutes she was made kneel in the corner, fold her hands behind her back, a stance similar to the Gorean ‘bracelet’ position.
During her time in the corner she was to ponder whether she wished to pursue a Gorean lifestyle with its attendant whips, chains and, if she was lucky, a slave tunic or did she now crave to continue in the ‘normal world’ where that discipline would be enforced by a strict male with scolding tongue and spanking hand?!
He bid her rise from her knees, remain ‘braceleted’, turn, look him in the eye, an eye which stood right in front of the once independent Dublin female.
“Is to be ‘Master’ he asked, roughly man-handling the gateway to the ‘Promised Land’ of her clitoris.
“Or is it to be ‘Sir’” he queried, gently, through the fabric of blouse and bra, stroking her excited nipples with his thumbs.
“What say you” had said, raising his voice an octave or two as he echoed a question asked everyday on Fetlife.
She bowed her head, whispered: “I would prefer Sir”
He lifted her chin. “Speak clearly”
“I would prefer Sir’ she said loudly, the tears of thanksgiving, which had just recently dried up, beginning to flow again.
“That’s better” be cooed, drying her tears with his fingers.
“Who would prefer ‘Sir’”?
He nodded his head ‘no’
He nodded his assent.
“Now, full sentence, ‘What say you?”
“Sharon would prefer ‘Sir’”
“Better, much better, but we are not there yet!” he scolded.
“Sharon would prefer ‘Sir’, Sir!” he scolded holding her chin, staring into her eyes.
“Sharon would prefer ‘Sir’, Sir!” she repeated.
Once more Dublin PA was made feel like a naughty schoolgirl. Once more thrilling tremors of excitement coursed through her body.
“So, Sharon would prefer ‘Sir’ would she? Very well them, ‘Sir’ it shall be!”
“Thank-you Sir, thank-you!”
She was surprised at the fervency of her thanks but the juices flowing below made her certain she had made the right decision!
Mind you, there were times in the 12 months since when she regretted that choice! Had she ‘remained on Gor’ she would have had her independent spirit completely broken, forced as a mere slave to do exactly as her Master pleases, forced to please her Master.
On Earth, Sir had many times put her to the test. Yes, there were rules and regulations, yes she was ‘under his thumb’ but there were occasions when he ‘let her off the leash’, allowed his lenient side life!
Invariably, she took advantage, some of the old independent, ‘I’ll do as I please’ demeanour returned as the 41 year-old Dublin PA reasserted her female prerogative!
It was then a new phrase entered her life?
“Give the girl and inch and she takes a mile!” Sir would admonish as he made her bend over the punishment chair in his kitchen.
“I’m sorry Sir, I … ”
And there was silence.
The first ‘give and inch and take a mile’ punishment still sends shivers down Sharon’s spine. And other places besides!
It was about three months after her first spanking, her first corner-time. She had endured a few in between but mainly on their week-ends together which worked out at about every fortnight.
She was at his beck and call. He would send a terse text ‘The Nest, Saturday, 2pm’, she would reply ‘Yes Sir’. And woe be tide should she be a minute late! She would be made lift up her skirt in his hallway, bend over and there she would remain, the front door open as he pottered about in the kitchen.
“What have you to say for yourself” he would ask as he returned to the hall and ceremoniously, as if unveiling a prize jewel - “It is Sir” she would chime when allowed speak her mind in Sir’s bed later! – take down her full knickers.
“The traffic was horrendous in Dublin, there were roadworks in Naas” she would whine, hoping this would be sufficient excuse to save her bottom.
“When Sir says 2pm, he means 2pm, not 2.01 not to mention 2.23” he responds unbuckling his black belt from the hoops of his pants as he walks around the bent over female.
“Yes Sir,” she whimpers, “sorry Sir”
“Who is sorry?”
“Sharon is sorry, sorry Sir!”
“Oh you will be sorry, very sorry.”
“You will leave your house in such time that traffic, road-works nor even a Garda roadblock will prevent you from being on time for your appointments with Sir! Do I make myself clear?!
“I should hope so and to help make it clearer you will receive one stroke of the belt for each minute late” he declared, bringing the said belt back
“Please Sir, could you close the front door” she begged that first time!
“Silence! You will speak when spoken to! Or when reciting mantra!”
The bent over female hung her head in silence, her bare bottom exposed just inside an open front door that opened on to a busy town street!
“Now young lady, one stroke for each minute late, which is how many?”
“23! And 10 for failing to use the third person when addressing Sir! Which brings the total to how what?
“33 Sir” she groaned.
“33! And a further 15 for speaking without permission! Now our total is … ?
“48 Sir” she moaned, biting her lip so as not to beg leniency, realising now that would only add to the ever mounting total!
“48! And Sir loves round figures ending in naught, so we will round up to the nearest naught. What then is our total young lady?
“50 Sir” she cried, as tears of anticipation began to leak down her cheeks.
“50! Very good, your additional skills are admirable! Now you shall count each stroke, and as there are far too many transgressions to list singly with a dinner cooking in the oven, you will add ‘Sharon is sorry for such wilful disobedience’.
“Right, we shall commence … “
The bent over female, her skirt on her back, her knickers at her thighs, braced herself.
A searing pain ripped across her glorious globes.
“One Sir, Thank-you Sir, Sharon is sorry for such wilful disobedience”
And so it went, all the way to 50, each set of ten broken up by Sharon having to waddle to the bottom of the stairs and assume her position on the ‘Naughty Step’, her hands on her head, her reddened bottom facing towards the open doorway.
Those five minute breaks with the fear of public humiliation were almost as severe a punishment as the belt itself. But once more the juices below betrayed just how much the once independent Dublin female enjoyed her new strict regime!
She was never again late. But she was always doing something wrong to incur his spanking wrath, so strict were his rules and even when she was, by her own standards, ‘as good as gold’, there was the maintenance spankings which always made her homeward journey uncomfortable.
Then came that ‘give an inch and take a mile’ punishment!
She had been forbidden to wear jeans. Not since she removed the blue demin after her first spanking had she worn any such item of clothing again.
“I will wear the trousers in this relationship,” he declared. “Every jeans, trousers-suit, shorts is to be brought to a charity job, no such garment will be part of your wardrobe.
She had done as she was told, even though all her colleagues at the work office wondered at her change of attire. A power-dresser, whilst she often wore skirts, she was fond too of the ladies pin-stripe suit, especially when dealing with a troublesome client who needed to be put in his place!
Oops, that was a bit of the old Sharon manifesting herself! Trouble was some of the old Sharon, the stubborn I’ll do as I please Sharon had remained underneath the veil of obedience she conveyed to Sir!
That was why she had kept the pin-stripe suit! She hid it in the top drawer of a chest of drawers in her spare bedroom as Sir has insisted on occasional ‘spot-checks’ of her own bedroom wardrobe.
“Just to make sure you are being a good little girl” he would say, flicking each hanger, then rifling through her underway drawer for any sightings of forbidden thongs.
“I should really search the whole house” he would say absently as he examined each and every one of her sexy bras, all of which by his order, had to have front openings!
On one occasion he found one with a latch at the back. After an immediate over the knee spanking, Sharon’s hands were tied with said bra, the bra tied to the bannister at the top of the stairs as the errant female, naked kneeled looking down the steps at her retreating Top who gleefully opened the front door before tipping into town for the newspaper.
A bra with a back-opening was never again seen in the females lingerie collection!
The hidden pin-stripe suit remained her one act of defiance. She worried for a while that he would conduct a thorough search but when even his spot-checks of her wardrobe and underwear drawer became less and less she relaxed entirely.
Relaxed to such an extent that one Friday she dared put it on, wear it in to work! She had been having trouble with a client over the phone, an obnoxious sounding character who, she mused, with venom in her veins could do with being brought down a peg or two.
She scheduled a meeting with him for 12 noon Friday and decided that that pin-stripe trouser suit would be perfect armour for her task of ‘eating up and spitting out’ this jumped up male with his ‘honeys’ and ‘pets’ and ‘is there no man in that office I can talk to?”
She felt a long-forgotten ‘power’ ooze through her body as she pulled the pin-stripe trousers over her shapely legs, buckled the black belt.
As she sat into her car, buckled another belt, she felt like the Sharon of old!
Arriving to her work-place she was aware she had broken a number of rules, apart altogether from her apparel?!
On his first drive with her he had put in place new ‘rules of the road’ for her! She was to drive 10k below the speed limit, not 10k over! She was to desist being an ‘amber gambler’! And for a female whose ‘road-rage’ was high on the Richter scale, ‘being polite to other road-users’ was a major culture shock!
Even when he wasn’t in the passenger seat she had abided by these new strictures but to-day, the pin-striped, trouser female whizzed over the speed limit, broke a red light not to mind amber-gamble and gave a piece of her mind to any driver or pedestrian who, in words, she hadn’t used since Sir spanked her for it, then soaped out her mouth, ‘pissed me off!”
There was a strut in Sharon’s step as she walked in the front door of the Law Office. Just wait until she put this troublesome male client through his paces! Almost all thoughts of Sir had vanished from her mind.
‘What he won’t know, won’t hurt him she mused’ and with that she removed the bracelet he had made her buy on their first shopping expedition. It was one of two, the first, the one she put in the pocket of her pin-stripe jacket was an ornate silver piece, to be worn everyday as a symbol of her obedience.
The other, also silver but with a design of a crop visible along the length was her ‘punishment bracelet’, to be worn to signify that she had broken rules and that when next she met Sir she would be in for a severe bottom warming!
She had to take photo’ of the ‘punishment bracelet’ on her wrist, lying over that’s day’s morning paper and e-mail it to Sir as proof of her obedience!
A slave on Gor would not have to endure such a tough rule to comply with! Sharon hated wearing the punishment bracelet, not only because of the connotations of what lay down the line but because she would have to buy a morning paper and take incriminating photos, then send embarrassing e-mails, praying fervently that none of her work colleagues, not to mention her male boss, would discover the evidence of submission!
Oh Christ! What public humiliation that would be!
Now, though, it was humiliation of the male kind she had in mind. This troublesome client was going to get a glimpse of her cleavage, a piece of her mind and by the time she was finished with him he would be virtually willing to go down on his knees and lick the black shoes beneath the pin-striped trouser!
“Your Noon appointment is here” said the secretary, interrupting a reverie of female dominance to which Sharon’s surprise was causing a slight reaction in the downstairs department!
Walking stridently out to the hallway to ‘greet’ her client before bringing him back to the office for a ‘dressing down’ Sharon stopped in her tracks!
Standing there was Sir! Yes, ‘her Sir’!
“Black pin-stripe pants?! Oh if there is one outfit Sir loves to see a woman in, it is black pin-stripe pants!” he whispered, shaking her hand as if they were strangers.
“Correction, if there is one outfit Sir would love to spank a woman in, it is black pin-stripe pants!” he added, continuing to hold her hand.
He let go and she silently, nervously walked ahead of him to her office, well aware he was ogling her arse in the pin-stripe!
She heaved a sigh of relief when she closed the door of her office. At least whatever happened now would happen in private!
Her boss was gone golfing, his adjacent office was locked. Maybe, though, she thought, that is not such a good thing after all, Sir would surely not have done anything to her with someone in the other office?!
Sir walked past her, sat into her black leather swivel chair behind the desk! With a nod of the head he indicated she should stand before the desk.
“Hands by your sides, stand up straight!”
Once more he made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl. And in her own office! The one place in this world she had been free from a life of discipline, obedience and punishment! Until now!
Putting his two feet up on the desk, clasping his hands together, Sir told the pin-striped female standing obediently in front of him a story ….
“A female in pin-stripe denotes, to my mind, a power dresser! A lady with an air of authority, a bossy boots who is used to getting her own way!” commenced Sir putting his two feet up on the desk, clasping his hands together as he prepared to deliver a story.
“What a pleasure it would be to put that power dresser over my knee! Catching her by the hand in the corridor, walking to the office and leading her into the empty conference room where a chair is briskly pulled from beneath the table!
“Over Sir's knee goes Miss Power Dresser and soon her pin-striped bottom is echoing to a heartfelt hand spanking! Her pleas for leniency are met with deaf ears!
"Up you get" Miss Power-dresser finally hears with relief, relief that turns to a mixture of fear and excitement, shock and desire when the follow up words are;
"Lower your pin-stripes, then back down over Sir's knee!"
“Slowly, as if in a trance, the Ms Power-dresser does as she is told!
"Very nice, very nice indeed" coos Sit, an admirer of female bottoms since puberty and maybe even a bit before!
He takes his time, gently caressing the pantied bottom, aware that for its owner the gentleness is a contrast to the scorching that preceded it not to mention the bottom warming that will follow!
Oh and boy does a bottom warming follow! Miss Pin-stripes-now-at-the-back-of-her-knees feels Sir's hand ricocheting off each alternate cheek, leaving a sting that is just about to abate when it is fired up again!
Finally he stops! Once more the power-dressers relief is of short duration!
"A proper spanking is never complete without the naughty female experiencing a punishing hand on the bare bottom" declares Sir with authority!
And scarcely have the words left his pursed lips but the naughty female feels the male hand slowly lower her panties to the back of her knees!
Her screeches of protest are met with two stinging spanks to back of each thigh!
"Silence, young lady" declares Sir in a stern voice the brooks no disobedience!
There is silence!
But not for long! Soon Sir's hand is beating out a nice rhythm on Sharon’s callipygian curves (a lovely Greek term for the posterior!), a rhythm accompanied by the naughty females oohs, ahs and ouches!
Eventually Sharon feels her panties being returned to cover her well reddened rear.
"Stand up. pull up your pants" orders Sir.
She does as she is told!
"Hands on your head, go stand in the corner for five minutes to compose yourself" says Sir.
She does as she is told!
However she is hardly 30 seconds into her corner-time when she hears that stern voice again!
"What's this?! A hole?! You come to work with a hole in your pants?!" queries Sir.
"What have I told you about dressing to impress, about looking your best, about keeping your garments in top class shape?" he asks standing right behind her, fingering the errant hole.
"I'm sorry Sir, I meant to get it darned, its just I was busy on the Spanking Library last night, didn't get a ch .... "
"The Spanking Library! That den of perversity!" declared Sir, slowly removing his belt from their loops!
"Place yourself over the conference table" he ordered, "you girls must be taught to adhere to the dress code!"
We must leave it there but rest assured dear woman that the punishment session took a similar path to that of the over the knee episode, the naughty girl feeling the belt on pinstripe first, then panties and finally on the bare!
Yes, Sir was a firm believer in those three distinct phases of punishment and Miss Power-dresser bent over the conference desk could vouch for the three-phase effectiveness!
“Now, Miss Pin-stripe, did you like Sir’s story?”
“Yyess Sir” whispered the 40 year-old PA afraid someone in the hall would hear.
“Speak up, young lady, I ‘can’t hear you!”
“Yes Sir” she said slightly louder.
Sir put his hand to his ear, swiveled is head, as if he hadn’t heard her answer!
“Yes Sir” she said in a normal voice, reminded that he would brook no disobedience!
“Yes, well the story is about to become true! With a few little change! Instead of the conference room table you will bend over your desk! Instead of my belt we will be introducing the naughty Dublin female to the joys of the cane!
“A courier is due shortly with a package containing the disciplinary tool to beat all disciplinary tools!” he informed.
“When you go out to reception to collect it, send the secretary on an early lunch, inform your other work colleagues that you are in an important meeting and are not to be disturbed! Then return here, unpack the cane, hang it on the back of the door!”
She did as she was told!
The cane remained hanging on the back of the office door until Sir had completed her over the knee spanking in the prescribed three phases: on the pin-striped suit, on the panties and on the bare.
Returned to full clothing for her third corner-time of the morning, this stint was brought to an abrupt end with the fateful words.
“Bring me the cane!”
Now, as she sat on the train, every single searing stroke of that virgin caning came back to her as if she was going through it all again.
During it she confessed to speeding that morning, to breaking red lights, to giving in to obnoxious road rage! Confessed also to taking off her bracelet of obedience!
Each confession added to the quantity and quality of the cane strokes!
There was a break while she went to her drawer and returned the bracelet of obedience to around her right wrist.
There was a break during which time she went to her handbag on the chair near the door, took out her car keys, handed them to Sir.
“Your car keys are confiscated forthwith, the privilege of driving is no longer yours,” he informed the shocked but silent female.
There was one last break when she loosened Sirs belt, took down his trousers and, as would a female of Gor, addressed herself to a dominant male’s pleasure!
A shudder of excitement accompanied the memory. It was the first time she had kneeled to a man. Just as she read of on Gor long ago!
Her journey was complete, she had Gor on Earth!