During the first hour of our drive back from Philadelphia to my home on the Jersey shore, Beth was totally silent. She wore a blue denim skirt, no stockings, a bright red pull-over with a gold Seton Hall University emblem on the front, and sneakers without socks. From the way her nipples protruded nicely into the pull-over, I knew she wasn't wearing a bra. Perhaps 15 minutes into the trip, without a word, she threw the sneakers into the back seat. Ignoring me totally, she curled her feet under her buttocks and put on the same, sullen look she had started out with. I sensed her mind was buzzing like a bee in a bottle. I also knew she would have to come out of this on her own. Finally, after almost an hour, she quietly spoke. "David, can I ask you a question?" "Of course." "Why did I like being dominated this weekend?" "Did you really like it, or are you saying that because you feel guilty about what you did?" She turned pensive for a moment. "No, I really did get into it, David. It's like nothing I would have ever imagined. Especially of myself. It's like a light bulb went off in my head and, bang, I'm a different person. How do you explain wanting to be dominated? I was really into it. And when I came," she continued with a deep red blush, "it was like a fucking explosion. I was turned on so completely by the experience that it's just unbelievable." "I guess there has always been a part of me that wanted to dominate someone, to control them completely. So it was a turn-on for me, as well," I said. Beth smiled. "Great minds think alike," she laughed. "Do you think we both changed this weekend?" Her mind searched for an answer to my question. "Yes, David, I do. Can you live with the woman you created?" It was my turn to smile. "How can I live without her?" "Don't answer a question with a question, you cad!" We both laughed. She was finally out of her mood. The rest of the trip was spent in small talk. A few times, she let her skirt ride pretty well up her fleshy thighs, but being shy about a trucker looking into the car, she quickly rearranged it, offering me only maddeningly quick but delightfully sexy "beaver shots" of her panty-clad crotch, being sure to look at my eyes whenever she did to insure that her little "accidents" did not go unnoticed. We arrived at my condo around 7:00 p.m. and carried the bags in. When I carried the last bag through the door, I tossed it to the floor. I felt tired, but not exhausted. Beth was in the kitchen, fetching lemonades for us. I moved to the living and sat down on my reclining chair. She came into the room carrying the drinks, smiling sweetly, and handed me one. She turned her back and prepared to sit on the sofa. "Where do you think you're going?" I asked. "Just to sit down," she said, a quizzical look on her face. "Put the drink down and turn around," I said in a firm tone of voice. She looked at me again, with that knowing look and sexy smile on her face. She placed the drink on the coffee table and turned to face me. Her mouth was opened slightly. Her hair was slightly disheveled from the windy ride in my car. The dark blue sweater was much too loose to do anything for her breasts. Her legs were pale, almost white, but pleasantly slender and graceful. She carried herself well for "older" woman of 28. I looked straight into her eyes and said, "Take off your sweater," in a soft but commanding voice. She looked back at me for a quick moment, somewhat startled, searching my eyes for the sincerity of my command. When she realized I was perfectly serious, her visage changed completely. She seemed to turn from a friendly, happy-go-lucky young woman into one who wants nothing more than to be dominated completely by her Master. "You mean, here, in front of you, just like that?" Her questioning voice belied her deepest desires to do exactly what I had commanded, to do anything that I commanded. "Just like that...." I replied softly, gesturing with an upturned palm in the direction of the bulky sweater. She shrugged her shoulders, as if my request was no big deal, grasped the bottom of the sweater, and drew it up, over her head, catching it slightly in her hair before tossing it nonchalantly on a vacant chair. Her white cotton bra was too plain for my tastes, though the tenseness of her nipples was already apparent through the thin gauze. Later, we would go shopping and I would buy her the sexiest underthings I could find. Once done, she looked at me, not straight on, but sort of out of the corner of her eye with her head slightly cocked. "I'll hold your bra for you," I said matter-of-factly. She blinked her eyes once, then, still eyeing me from the side, reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She made no attempt to cover herself up as her girlish breasts sprung free from their confinement and the bra straps glided silently down her arms. She took two steps forward and, bending slightly at the waist, handed me the cotton garment, her face blushing just slightly. I took the bra from her with my left hand while I grasped her wrist with my right hand, preventing her from straightening up. "There is nothing that you won't do for me--nothing at all," I said, gripping her wrist tightly, looking straight into her soft, brown, delightfully expressive eyes. Her eyes searched mine for a brief moment. "I know," she whispered, ending her words with her mouth open in an inviting 'O'. She was mine so completely it almost unnerved me. "Go to the corner of the room and raise your skirt up to your waist," I commanded, letting go of her wrist. She strolled, half-naked, to the corner I had pointed to and did as I had told her, gathering the blue denim in her hands and exposing the silky-white panties I had told her to wear that morning. I let her stay like that, facing the corner, for a good five minutes while I studied the smooth curves of her ass, the tightly clinging undies, and long, sleek, creamy-smooth whiteness of her subtly parted legs. Without my telling her, she seemed to understand that she must remain thus, without speaking, without a word of protest, until I deemed it differently. To imbed this unspoken requirement in her mind, I moved about the room as if she weren't there, leaving her standing there like a little schoolgirl being punished. Finally, I moved behind her, close enough to kiss her soft, brown hair, but didn't touch her. "Have you been a bad little girl?" I whispered into her ear. "Yes," she whimpered. "What have you done, Beth?" "I let Bill take me while you were shopping," she replied with an obvious shiver from head to toe. "You let him put his cock in something that was rightfully mine, didn't you?" "Yes," she said, half-sobbing. "Would you have let him shove his cock in your ass if he had asked you to?" "Please... don't make me answer." "Would you have sucked his cock?" I persisted. "Please, David.... I...." Wanting to hurt her just enough to make my point, I reached around and grasped her left breast with one hand, flattening it against her chest as she gasped out loud. I then located the turgid nipple with my thumb and index finger, squeezed the protuberance until Beth cried in pain, then pulled it outward from her breast, stretching it to its limit as she cocked her head back into the cradle of my neck and moaned in agony and pleasure. "Bad girls must be punished!" I exclaimed, still holding the nipple tightly, while I palmed her panty-clad ass with my free hand as she continued to hold her skirt up all the way to her waist. I ran my hand all over the back of her silky-white undies, squeezing the firm fleshiness beneath. Her buns were warm and tight and felt glorious to the touch. She gasped when I shoved my hand inside the garment and grabbed a solid hunk of her behind. She pressed her ass back toward me, saying, without words, how much she desired to be punished for her transgressions of the weekend. I released her nipple from its confinement, letting it snap back into place, withdrew my hand from inside her panties, then knelt behind her, my face only inches from her delectable buns. I planted a kiss on each sweet cheek, over the soft panty-tops, then eased my fingers into the elastic top of the undies and slowly drew them down, exposing the perfectly divided split pumpkin, creamy smooth in texture and alabaster-white in appearance, full and rounded, seeming to be begging for release by whip or strap. Her flimsy panties remained encircled around her thighs as I returned to her luscious cheeks, this time with two hands, and kneaded the soon to be defiled flesh with my fingertips. Beth's moans conceded her state of arousal. She was putty in my hands now, and I shaped the halves of the twin spheres to my liking, pushing the flesh outward, upward, side to side, prying the cheeks apart from time to time to expose the pink rosebud, so tiny and hidden that I remained awed by my earlier penetration of it. I took my time and examined every inch of the fleshy globes, studied the anal button until its vision became locked in my mind. As I stared at her behind, I said, "Your ass was made to be whipped! It's perfect, you know. Would you like that, Beth?" "YES!" she blurted, pushing the buns back toward me in an open invitation to have at them. "Oh, David, I need to be whipped! I need it so bad! I've been such a bad girl." "Don't move--I'll be right back." In the dim light of the early evening I went into the woods behind my condo and found what I believed to be the perfect pacifier--a long, thin freshly cut birch rod, about three feet long and a quarter-inch thick. I wanted something that would sting like the devil and remain etched in her memory from this time forward. I didn't intend to cut or mark her in any way, but I knew I could wield the birch in such a manner as to make her remember this evening forever. "Thin is cruel," I had once read in a book about flagellation, "but only if it is done with malice." Returning to the condo, I found Beth exactly where I had left her, standing in the corner, skirt raised to her waist, panties lowered to her thighs, completely naked from the waist up. She was smart enough not to turn her head and look at me. Later, when our relationship deepened, I would learn to soak the birch rods in oil before using them on her, intensifying their sting tenfold. Tonight, I would lead her slowly down paths she had never dreamed of. "I want all of your clothes off. When I whip you from now on you will always be naked. Do you understand?" "Yes, Master." It sounded odd to hear her call me "Master," but that's exactly what I was--her MASTER. She was my little slave! I have never asked her where she picked up the term. I surmise in a book somewhere and it stuck with her. It didn't matter, I watched her stand in the corner, shed her skirt, lower her panties the rest of the way down her legs, and dutifully clasp her hands behind her back. Having finished, she put her cute pug nose back into the corner and waited for my next move. "Open your legs more!" I ordered. "It's more becoming of your nudity." The parted legs revealed the brown curls of her bush near the top of her legs, just below the crack of her ass. She looked so vulnerable, so sexy! I made her stay like that for the better part of half an hour while I did nothing but stare at her fragility from the serenity of my easy chair. She seemed almost too fragile to apply the cruel birch rod to. Finally, it was she who broke the icy silence. "David, are you going to whip me?" she asked, her tone revealing a little impatience with me. "In time," I said softly, moving closer to her and running the lower half of the birch rod between the supple cheeks of her ass, splitting the halves of the pumpkin with it. "Oh!" she cried softly, startled by the thinness of the wood. "Shhh, it's a birch rod," I whispered in her ear. "Are you sure you want to be whipped?" "It will hurt?" she asked. "More than you might imagine," I replied in all honesty. "You will stop if I ask?" "You know I will. But I don't think you'll ask." I continued running the birch rod up and down, inside the dividing crevice of her ass cheeks. She pressed her behind into the rod, invitingly. "I think you're right, David. I really want to be whipped. I can't explain it. There's something inside me..." "We shall see," I interrupted. "Open your mouth." "Why?" I touched the top of her shoulder with my fingertips and whispered into her ear. "I am going to have to gag you for this. I don't want the neighbors calling the cops." "How do I tell you to stop if it hurts too much?" "Just shake your head back and forth. I'll stop. Do you trust me?" She turned her head back in my direction, looked at me for a moment, and then, instead of answering, she merely closed her eyes and opened her mouth to accept the gag. I had nothing to use save the panties she had just shed, but they served the purpose well. I stuffed them well into her mouth, crotch first, so she might taste her own juices on the silky material. I then brought her to the edge of the sofa, her hands still clasped behind her back, and had her place her tummy over it. The position offered her ass to me in all its glory. Beth was a true submissive, every man's dream. She had complete trust in me and I knew I could never leave her permanently marked or scarred. I was capable of playing mind-games with her, but her body, outwardly, would remain inviolate. It was too beautiful to mark--her firm, full buttocks were twin spheres of gorgeous, alabaster flesh, perfectly rounded in just the right places, a pleasure to touch or view. Her breasts were not large by any means, but they were capped by coral-colored, thick, pointed nipples that extended outward in their hardened state and were, I would find out soon enough, wonderfully sensitive to pain stimuli, so much so, in fact, that she would often place nipple-clips on them before one of our "sessions" so as to enhance their sensitivity. I drew the birch rod over Beth's proffered buns and ran it back and forth, like a violin bow, for several moments, toying with her nerve endings and building her anticipation of what was about to happen. Her forehead was buried in the sofa cushion, with the silky-white panties sticking out of the corners of her mouth. I lifted the rod several inches away from the globes and held it there, watching Beth clench her ass cheeks in anticipation of my first lash. Instead, I laid the rod back across her behind and, as I pressed it slightly into the pale skin, began moving it slowly in a path from the top of her ass to the middle of her thighs, teasing the nerve endings while delegating without words the boundaries the rod might enjoy. "Open your legs more!" I ordered, then watched her labia part stickily between them. Her delicately hued, pink-colored vaginal entrance was filled with transparent juices, with a few of the hairs that had been surrounding the opening sporting tiny gobs of off-white "cum-drops". Her toes barely touched the carpet. Her legs were sleek and well-proportioned. Her back was already warm with a thin veneer of glistening perspiration. Her breathing was slightly tremulous, a sign of her anticipation. I merely flicked my wrist for the first stroke which landed right in the middle of her buttocks with a louder-than-it-hurt crack of the thin wood against the supple flesh, rippling the skin only slightly and bringing but a quietly muffled "MMMFFFFF" from behind Beth's panty-gag. A thin, slightly pink line appeared almost immediately where the bow had stuck the violin. Her toes were curled now as they pressed harder into the carpet. Buoyed by Beth's stoic acceptance of her first taste of the rod, I reached back and flicked the pain-giver three times in rapid succession, each of them with the same intensity, but all of them just a bit harder than the first. I was careful to apply each stroke one below the other. Having offered the last little cut, I stopped to take in Beth's reaction. This time she made absolutely no sound, to my surprise, but with each lovely ripple of her ass cheeks she drove her curled toes into the carpet in quick, staccato movements, her little way of trying to fend off the increasing pain in her snow-capped buttocks. I ran my fingertips over the light-colored stripes that I had just placed on her voluptuous backside. Her skin was warm to the touch; she shivered slightly at the tinge of gentleness. "Oh how your ass was made to be whipped!" I exclaimed as I traced one thin line from side to side with my index finger. Her breathing was becoming a bit more labored now, with pronounced exhalations through her chest and nostrils. I pried the lower half of the cheeks apart, exposing the anal ring, and touched the crinkled opening lightly with the tip of the birch rod. "MMM.....MMM!" whimpered Beth behind the gag, afraid that I might penetrate the tiny orifice with the thin wood. Instead, I let the cheeks bounce back to normalcy, as I withdrew the rod from the doorway, making a mental note that I would once again test the unbelievable resiliency of the opening with my cock later in the evening. With my left palm resting right at the crest of her buttocks, just over the top of the crack of her ass, I drove the birch rod across the tender flesh with a loud crack, followed immediately by an agonizing, softly muffled shriek from deep within Beth's throat. At the same time, she raised both feet off the floor and flailed them in the air for several seconds. It was obvious that this stroke had been a real "stinger." When she shook her head from side to side, in consonance with her toes, I thought she was telling me to stop. "Too hard?" I asked as I reached back and pulled the panties out of her mouth so I could hear her reply. "NO!" she blurted as she panted loudly. "Oh, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts!" she cried, still flailing her legs. "But please don't stop. I can feel it building deep inside me, David." She breathed heavily. I sought to return the panties to her mouth. "No, please," she begged, "I want you to hear me after you whip me. Can you do it a bit harder?" "Suit yourself. Just remember the neighbors." I reached further back this time, goaded by her desire to feel even more pain, and drove the birch rod smartly into the area where her lower ass cheeks met the top of her thighs, an area I knew to be more sensitive to pain stimuli. I was right. She let out a long, agonizing howl, fortunately into the sofa cushion, and flailed her legs again, her heels actually kicking her own buttocks in the process. Beth's scream lasted a good ten seconds, punctuated by gasps for breath, followed (incredibly!) by, "Oh, YES! That's good. It hurts so good! Give me more, Master!" The thin, red streak that covered each side of her lower buttocks looked as painful as it must have felt. It welted almost immediately, testifying to the intensity of the stroke. How could she want more? Where was her limit? Was there a limit? If there was, I needed to test it, and she was begging me to do so. So, without warning, I gave her four well-aimed lashes, all of them bitingly harsh, in quick succession, without pausing, each being delivered to a different area of her upturned ass. To my amazement, she made absolutely no sound until the last stroke was delivered, with an extra fierceness. To the contrary, with each lash she seemed to raise her behind higher in an effort to accept the searing pain. With the final lash, she let out with a long "AHHHHHHHH!" that I knew at once was a mixture of pain and pleasure. Her orgasm was unmistakable. Her entire body spasmed, her wide-spread legs quivered uncontrollably, and her hips undulated up and down on top of the soft arm of the sofa as wave after wave of agony and joy coursed through her ravaged body.