Charlie and Megan Wilson

"Who's that," I said, as we walked down the hall.

"Her? You can't afford her," said Marissa. "Besides you've got a date with a switch. So, let's try to focus shall we?" she said.

"Yes, yes of course ma'am," I said. For the price of $100 an hour, once a month for the past year, I had had the extreme pleasure of having my hide tanned real good by Marissa. Indeed, during that time, Marissa had been my exclusive date at The Chateau where she worked as a dominatrix.

Nevertheless, knew all of the women that worked at The Chateau or thought I did. But, in that time, I had never seen the new mistress that had just passed us in the hall. She had to be new; like I said, I knew all of the other girls. Still, Marissa had always been my woman of choice to discipline me. Typically, up to two dozen hard ones was the norm and that usually with the strap. At any rate, I had decided that tonight I would move up in class; she was going to do me with the switch: a nasty little instrument with which to take the measure of a sub's courage.

She led me into the room and switched on the light; it, the room, had an appropriately red decor. I stood in the middle of the room and waited for instructions.

She picked up the ball gag from the table across from me and brought it to me. "This will mute some of your screams as we get into the meat of your punishment, Charles. There will be no whining or begging for mercy today. You asked for the real thing, and now you're going to get it. Get yourself up on the gallows, Charlie, and drop your pants down around your ankles," she said. I did as she commanded.

The gallows was actually a raised wooden base maybe two-foot square and eighteen inches off the floor. Above it, a noose of inch-and-a-half hemp hung down about waist high, a noose whose other end ran through a heavy hook in the ceiling and over to another hook in the wall where it was loosely tied off.

"Hands behind your back," she said. She immediately bound my hands tightly behind me with one of three strands of quarter-inch rope she'd gotten while I was mounting the place of my punishment.

Done securing my hands, she did the same with my knees and ankles. I was helpless and gagged. Whatever she was going to do, and I'd asked for no limits this time around, I would be helpless to do anything about it. I saw her go to the narrow supply closet across from me and take out two wicked looking switches. They were going to sting big time. Oddly, I wasn't afraid. In fact, all I could think of was the beauty I'd seen in the hall when we'd come in: the one I couldn't afford. My four-inch cock stuck straight out in front of me.

"Well, Charlie, last night some of the girls and I talked over what your sentence should be after you called and made the appointment. Glenda suggested fifty slow ones with the strap. But the others opted for a far worse sentence. That, after I explained to them that you'd requested a really harsher punishment. You're getting the switch today, Charlie, and you're getting one hundred not fifty. They will be slow ones so that you'll have time to really regret your choice," she said. I think I was shaking my head, but she was just smiling at me.

"Frightened, Charlie? You should be. It's too late for you to back out." She came close. She laid the switches down on the base I was standing on and wrapped my neck in a silken cloth, presumably to prevent me getting rope burns on my neck: I did have to work on Monday. Done, she slipped the noose over my head and around my neck, tightening it. Going over to the wall, where the other end of the rope was fastened, she took up the slack enough to force me up on my toes so that my head was bent slightly forward. I turned to see her walking toward me.

Picking up one of the switches, she walked around me wordlessly taunting me. I saw her raise her arm high. The switch cracked as it impacted by naked buttock eliciting a muted scream from the depths of me. Jesus it stung, and I had ninety-nine to go! My cock, which had been hard as a rock and sticking straight out in front of me, wilted like a flower in the desert heat.

My punishment continued. I was crying and doing my best to beg for mercy after the first twenty. She completely ignored me. I was going to get it this time and there was nothing that was going to save me. I was up on my toes and squirming like crazy. Each time I saw her raise her hand I tried to maneuver to reduce the impact; I was mostly unsuccessful. It was hell.

I couldn't be sure, but I think after about number seventy-five she started to slack off on the cruelty of the blows. But even so, it stung like mad.

My chest hair was soaked from the tears I was shedding. Then, she was done. My punishment had taken forty-five minutes. She casually walked over to the utility closet and put away the switches. Turning and looking at me she smiled.

"Well, now we know what a wimp you really are don't we stud," she said, mocking me. She went over to the wall and loosed the rope allowing me to stand flatfooted once more. God was that a relief. I hadn't cramped up, but almost.

Removing the gag first, she appraised me. My butt was black and blue and bleeding in a couple of spots. I'd be a week minimum getting over this one.

She came to me and played absently with my cock. "Hmm," she said. "It's coming back to life. Too bad you're such a candy ass, or I might be tempted to suck your cock." She was teasing me, but it was working. Even amidst the searing pain of my ass I was becoming almost hard once again.

She untied me, and told me to make myself presentable, and then she left the room. Getting down from the gallows, I pulled up my pants, and went into the adjacent bathroom to clean up my face and hair, the latter of which was soaked with perspiration. My gait was not steady, nor would it be for a while. But, at least I was able to control my urge to bawl.

Marissa met me in the lobby. "So, how was it stud? Sorry you asked for it?" she said.

"No, no. I needed it, but I won't kid you. If you hadn't gagged me, I would have begged you to stop. I mean it; that was really bad for a while," I said.

"Yes, well that's what punishment is supposed to be, stud. Remember that next time you ask for special treatment."

"I will," I said.

******

My butt was still plenty sore from my once a month session at the Chateau. But, apart from that I was fine. In fact fine wasn't the word: I felt good, satisfied, and kind of giddy. Marissa really knew how to push my buttons. In any event, that had been Saturday last; this was Monday; I had a job aching butt or not.

Class over, I headed for the cafeteria a good little distance across the quad. But wait...

I guess this is the point in this write where I should introduce myself. My name is Charlie Wilson. I'm a Ph.D. and an assistant professor of History at Hickory State College. At my current age of thirty-six, I find myself in good shape, and still five-five and one-fifty: same as I was in high school all those years ago. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a face that is so average it really is actually forgettable. Regardless, I was hungry: the usual result when I don't eat breakfast.

"Whatcha thinkin' about Charlie?" said a voice behind me as I strolled along the walkway.

"Raine, I didn't see you," I said. Raine Morgan was my counterpart in the English department.

"I kinda figured that when you jumped like you did," she said. She was giggling.

"Nothing just daydreaming I guess," I said. "I'm heading over the caf. I'm starving."

"Okay, see you later," she said, and she headed off. And, as she did, I saw her. No, not Raine, but the stunner I'd spotted at the Chateau two days before. She was standing in the student line looking to get breakfast. I stared for the briefest of moments, but apparently not brief enough; she caught me looking. She smiled; I looked down and moved to the adjacent side counter where the teaching staff got their grub.

I took my tray and meandered among the tables to the far side of the cafeteria. I tried not to look back, but I did anyway. That I was embarrassed would not begin to tell the tale. There was a big black guy sitting with her. Probably an athlete by the look of him: tall, well built, and smiling to beat the band. Well, and well he might, he was with the prettiest female in the place. I wondered if he knew where she worked on weekends.

A horrible thought hit me! What if she were telling him that one of the teachers here was a client! I kept my eyes, not too obviously, focused on them. He never looked my way. I guessed she'd not said anything to him.

I got up, dabbing at my lips with my napkin, and took my tray to the dump window and pushed it through. She literally bumped into me trying to do the same thing as me. She smiled. "Hi," she said. I nodded and tried not to seem embarrassed.

"Hi," I said. Well, it was a short syllable, and I was able to get it out without betraying the turmoil overwhelming my psyche.

"You needn't be concerned, doctor Wilson. I'm not outing you. Just relax," she said. I just swallowed—hard. She knew me. I nodded.

"Oh, okay," I said. I turned and headed away, not wanting to get into a conversation. No, that's isn't right. I did want to get into a conversation with her, I was just too damn chicken to do so.

I had two more morning classes before I would be office bound for the rest of the day. The school was the academic home to eighteen thousand students. I figured that I might not be seeing her again, at least not so up close and personal, as had been the case today; and I was relieved at the thought. Well, that was my thought at the moment.

I hadn't exactly thought about her all morning, as I had kinda pushed thoughts of her to the back of my mind. I plied my trade diligently during my 8:30 to 10:00 and 10:30 to noon classes. Lee's strategy versus McClellan had its uses quite apart from its academic ones.

Noon found me once again on my way to the cafeteria. As I entered, I immediately saw her and she me. So much for my optimistic musings; she was smack in my path as I headed for the coffee urn. If I turned and ran, she'd undoubtedly deduce the reason why. I decided to just brazen it out. I went right by her table trying to not pay her any note. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the smirk: she knew.

My coffee poured, I had a decision to make. I made it. I pulled up in front of her table. "Excuse me miss, may I join you?" I said. She nodded in the affirmative and gestured with her hand for me to take a seat.

"Hi, I'm doctor Wilson, but you already know that, don't you," I said.

"Hi back atcha doctor, and I'm Megan Troyes; and yes, I know who you are, doctor. And, I know why you seem to be a bit nervous. But as I told you this morning, stop worrying. Everything's cool."

"Well, thank you for that. I was, I admit, a little nervous. I mean my position..."

"Doctor, you'd be amazed at how many others also have—fantasies," she said.

"I guess," I said. "You're a student here then, miss Troyes?"

"Yes, part time. The out of state tuition is high. It kinda limits my options," she said.

"How far along are you?" I said.

"I guess I'm a senior in terms of credits. Hah! twenty-eight years old and still trying to finish my B.A." she said. I smiled.

We talked for some minutes. She kept giving me looks that were hard to read. I made a snap decision. "Miss Troyes..."

"Call me Megan," she said. I looked at her.

"Okay, Megan, you can call me Charles or Charlie," I said. She nodded. "Can I ask you, would you be interested in having dinner with me this weekend?" She started to laugh.

"With you? A professor?" she said. "I don't know..."

"Oh, okay. I thought I'd take my shot," I said. "But it's okay. I don't want to seem a boor."

She studied me for a moment. "Sure, I'll go out with you, professor," she said, finally.

"Well—good," said a very surprised me. She was already writing down her particulars.

We talked for some little time. I learned she'd essentially been an orphan from about age six. She'd been poor, and that more or less recently, but her part time job at the Chateau paid well enough for her to be getting along now.

As she talked I appraised her physical being. Tall, maybe five nine, and slim. Her hair was longish and light brown. Her features were delicate and marked by very large brown eyes. She had a bubble butt and small A-cup breasts—well, one can't always have everything. In a word, she was beautiful.

What got me about her, though, was her personality. On weekends she was a strong willed mistress, but here, in the cafeteria, she was almost gentleness incarnate. I was forced to assume that her weekend persona was an act—interesting.

Regardless of anything else, I had a date with her. I wondered how it might go. I mean I was really wondering.

******

I was on time and she was ready. Weren't women supposed to always keep their men waiting. Well, I wasn't exactly her man, but I was her date. At any rate, I appreciated her consideration.

"You're on time," she said, "a good sign. Let's go."

"I'd thought to take her to a fancy dancy foodery and impress the hell out of her. But, she nixed that in favor of fun! We ended up at The inferno. And the owner's name was fittingly Dante Bartolo, go figure.

The inferno was a piano bar and grill, with a sweet singing black girl who reminded me of nothing so much as Aretha Franklin when she was young.

We ate, we danced, and we talked, a lot. The elephant in the room never got a mention. I found out about her stepfamily as she phrased it. I told her about my brothers who lived back east. She had a hobby, watercolors; she loved to paint. She found out about my career in Education. Like I said, we talked. Then it was time to go home.

Walking her to the door, I actually wondered if I would get a goodnight kiss. Gauging the tenor of the evening, I was of a mind to doubt it. But, I was wrong. The kiss was a scorcher.

"Goodnight, Charlie. I had a good time. See you at school," she said.

I'd been about to ask her for a second date just as she opened the door. But, in the background, I caught sight of the black man that I'd seen her with in the caf. It deflated me. "For sure," I said. "Sleep tight." She looked me askance.

******

I couldn't get her out of my mind. My dreams had never been so kinky. And she wasn't the only one I was dreaming about: her black lover got a lot of mention in there as well. Did I hate him? Probably. Jealousy will do that to a man. At any rate, I made the decision to try and get her out of my mind. I had no intention of competing with another man for the hand of even a woman like Megan, especially a man who was clearly a jock. No indeed, I had my pride.

I didn't see her the next week, nor the next. And, no I wasn't hiding from her. I just didn't try and see her. I was sure she was around, and I guess I had changed my meal habits a bit, avoiding the caf where it had all begun. But then something happened that would be the catalyst for a whole lot of other things.

It was a Saturday morning, seven freakin' o'clock Saturday morning! The doorbell from Hell rang and I reached for the gun I wish I had. Not finding one, probably a good thing, I got up, slipped into my robe, and headed for the front door.

I opened the door, and then my mouth—wide. "What the...!" I started.

"Name's Daryl Radcliff," said the tall well-built black man. "Got a minute?" I looked him up and down.

"I know you. You're the guy who hangs with Megan Troyes," I said.

"Hangs with her? No, not exactly, I'm her regular bull," he said.

"Whatever," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"She's wondering why you haven't seen fit to talk to her after your date a couple of weeks ago," he said. I gave him a look that should have indicated that he was out of bounds, but he ignored it, he clearly didn't care.

Gathering myself, "She wants to see me?" I said.

"Yep, that's about the size of it," he said.

"But, if you're her guy, why would she want to be seeing me?" I said.

"Her guy? Again, not exactly. I'm her bull, like I said. I get to fuck her, often in front of her boy toys; she enjoys watching them squirm. What can I say; it's her thing," he said. I mean you might have figured that; she does work part time at the Chateau.

"Hmm, Daryl," I said, "do I look like I'm interested in being one of her boy toys?" I said.

"Actually, yes, you do," he said. I stood back and gave him the hardest look I could. We were still standing in the doorway.

"Well, forget you, Daryl," I said, exaggerating his name. Get off my property!"

"Whoa, whoa up there cowboy. I wasn't trying to insult you. I'm just here to let you know, that if you might be interested in talking to our girl, that she is more than interested in talking to you with emphasis on the 'more'," he said.

"I'm no boy toy," I said. "Yeah, she's darn pretty and all. But, I'm the kind of guy that expects his girlfriends to be one man women, not toy collectors if you get my drift."

"Hey, hey, you hardly know the lady if my info's straight. Give her a chance. Who knows, maybe you can turn her into a one man woman or something close to it," he said. I eye'd him.

"Close to it? What the hell is that, close to it?" I said.

"Hey, just call her. You can always walk if you're really not into the stuff she thinks you're into," he said. He'd said them, the unmagic words; but what he'd said, or more, how he'd said them, was not tinged with arrogance or contempt. He was just delivering a factual message. I was still a little miffed by his boy toy comments, but take those away and the guy wasn't doing anything all that reprehensible.

Was I hypocritical enough to deny what he was implying if not actually saying outright? No, no one could accuse me of being a hypocrite. Other things maybe but not that. I nodded.

"Okay, I'll call her," I said. He smiled.

"Good. Hope to see you again," he said. He stuck out his hand, and we shook. Then, he was gone.

I had a lot to think about, consider. How much had she told him? Who was he exactly to her—a bull? Was I willing to be one among many just to have her sometimes, even special sometimes? No, she was mine or not mine, no in between. And, exactly what did she do at the Chateau. It occurred to me that I really didn't know.

I'd thought about her all morning. It was almost lunch time. I gave her a call.

******

I was tapping the table top—nervously. She was late: twelve minutes late. I was about to take another sip of my drink when she startled me. "Charlie," she said. Her drink was already poured and sitting on the table in front of me; I'd seen to that: I learned what she drank on our first date. I took the first sip of mine now as she took her seat.

"Hello, Megan. You startled me," I said.

She smiled. "Yes, I can see that I did. I didn't mean to. Sorry 'bout that, really," she said.

"So how have you been?" she said.

"Okay," I said. I decided to get to it. "Look, Megan, we had a nice time on our date. And, Daryl, your messenger, got me to thinking. But, I'm not sure..."

"Charlie, I know Daryl talked to you. I sent him to talk to you as you say. So, before you go off on me, give me a chance to say my piece. It'll save time. Okay?" she said. I spread my hands in a reluctant 'okay' gesture, and she went on.

"Thank you.

"The Chateau? I work there part time. I'm not a dominatrix like your Marissa—and yes, she told me about your last visit there: kind of impressive, I mean one hundred!" I said nothing. "She likes you by the way. Anyway, I'm into dominating men and humiliating them and having them worship me: it's a kick, but normally I'm not all into that 'with a whip' stuff . I do it, whip my clients once in a great while, but it's not really my thing. Usually, at the Chateau, I get men that are purely desperate. Men who often are outright begging me to somehow get their wives to come and witness a session with me. I never do it. If they want their wives there; they have to bring them in themselves with no help from me."