This is part of a four part story that really needs to be read from the start in order to understand the plot. I hope you bear with me and enjoy what’s to come.

The path to the cottage was overgrown, to the point where ducking to avoid the brambles that swung down from the branches of overhead trees was essential. I was caught more than once by the sharp barbs but with only the mild unpleasantness of pulling at the fabric of my light summer dress. The air smelt fresh and brightly coloured wild flowers kept the smile firmly on my face as I crept along, uncertain and unknowing.

A feeling of insecurity suddenly hit me as I rounded a tree and entered the clearing; the old dilapidated shack facing me. It looked empty; it looked like it would fall down with the slightest breeze. I could feel myself become anxious. I don’t know why? I wanted to be here. Well, I thought I did.

I looked at the paint peeling off every facet of the shack, the door was bare; a hint of faded red paint clung to the edges, trying its best to reveal its former glory. The rest of the wooden structure was decrepit and I was left wondering whether the act of opening the door would pull it clean away from its hinges.

ooOoo

I wondered lots of things in those moments leading up to the door. I wondered who I had contacted on that internet site that suggested I come here; all in the name of erotica, excitement and adventure. It wasn’t so much as to what he suggested he would do to me; I could get that anywhere. It was more of how he suggested what he would do; even going as far as to tell me how I would feel. I thought that was a little arrogant but I still got excited at the thought of his descriptions. I tried to imagine how I would respond; often making myself wet in the process, on several occasions.

By the time I had agreed to meet him, I had worked myself up into a frenzy of sexual excitement that I could not ignore. I only knew him by the letter ‘M’. That was it.

‘M’ caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand to attention every time we used the chat window. It wasn’t sexual; it was controlled erotica.

ooOoo

As my hand reached out for the handle, I found myself becoming highly aroused. A moist feeling spread down below and I could smell it. My nipples reacted as if it were a cold November night. I smiled as they poked through the thin fabric. In all honesty, the dress was an excuse for what I would ordinarily call, clothing.

I twisted the handle and to my surprise the door creaked open. I stepped inside; pushing the door close as I let my bum lean into it. I let my eyes adjust to the room’s lighting and I took in its contents.

A soft virgin-white glow filled the room. The house smelt musty.

In the room was a chair, neatly placed next to the window; facing inwards towards the room. Two white curtains hung loosely over the poles while sunlight poured in through the gap between them. A picture frame hung on the wall, black in colour and empty; the cardboard backing curling away from the frame and showing signs of neglect. A small rectangular table ran the length of the metal framed bed; rust was bubbling through the white painted frame. The mattress didn’t look like much; cream coloured with brown patches. I wondered who? or what? had made the stains and how long ago? It felt seedy. It was seedy.

At the far end of the other wall lay a table with a candle on it. I instinctively looked upwards for a sign of an electric light but there was none. It was a period shack, dating back to God knows when.

There was a door, opposite and to the right of me; ajar and inviting exploration, but I resisted the temptation.

I took a few more steps into the room and stood before the table. At that moment, my rapid breathing told me I wanted to run. Run out of the shack and down the path to safety, but I couldn’t. My chest heaved and my breathing became more laboured. I was both excited and scared.

I was riveted to the five envelopes on the table; pristine and white, numbered one to five and resting on the dust covered oak table. A small brass bell rested silently to the side of them.

I closed my eyes and remembered all those words he used to seduce me. The words that made me come here. On my own. I felt Vulnerable and yet – safe. Scared and yet – calm. And when I heard his voice in my mind – excited.

ooOoo

Over the last four months, the erotic tension I found myself generating from his words was unbelievable. I kept wishing he would tell me how hard he would fuck me and how big his cock was, but he didn’t. Everything was suggestive, hints and tips of what was to come. Over the first month he got bolder, and eventually I got it out of him, and believe me when I tell you, nine inches made me shiver with glee.

Once I knew his size, I knew I wanted him. But he never made a move to suggest that we meet. He kept telling me how dark his mind was.

He was taking my mind with him down the tunnel of blackness and depravity and he hadn’t even touched a hair on my head.

Over the following two months the conversation got a little darker and then even more darker. It surprised me, because instead of turning me off, I became even more curious and excited. Curious about him and excited about what would happen if we met.

I never found out his name or age or what he looked like. Somehow, his words were all I needed to hear.

I would often masturbate at night. I even bought a nine inch dildo to see what it was like; though I was guessing on the girth. I would often play back his words or read an email or a message from him even though most of his suggestions were firmly committed to memory.

I worked myself up into a sexual frenzy of need.

Then he suggested we meet!

ooOoo

So this is it, I thought as I stared down at the five envelopes. Our first meeting and all the build-up and sexual tension contained in five letters.

I bit my lip, hard. I had two choices, go through with it letter by letter or leave.

I was scared. It’s all fun and games when you just talk about it but when you actually get to meet someone, face-to-face, then the reality may be a world apart from the picture you have in your head.

I didn’t have a clue as to how he would treat me. Yet his words suggested that he was a nice person. From the language he used and the way he used it, I would have put him at late middle age; about twenty years older than me. Perhaps! But then again, perhaps not.

I looked around the room for evidence that someone had been here, but there weren’t even any footprints on the dusty floor. It was as if the envelopes drifted in on the breeze all by themselves.

A creepy silence filled the room; it had been there all the while, but only now I started to notice it.

Not a sound.
Not a breath.
Even the breeze was afraid to make a sound as it fluttered the curtains from side to side.

I suddenly became aware of my breath; hard and searching for answers as I picked up the first letter. I fingered the letter with the number one on it; twisting it over and over in my hand. Up and down and side to side. I even smelt it. There were no hints at all about who had left it there. How would he know that I had read it?

I ripped the corner off and immediately kept still before slipping my finger into the hole and ripping down the seam. I pulled the letter from the envelope and let the latter fall to the table. I opened it and read his words.

I remember the words repeating continuously through my head, ‘Oh! Fuck’.

I also remember my eyes closing and a smile stretching across my face. I half opened my eyes; eyelids heavy with determination. A tingling sensation rippled through my loins and my nipples fiercely attacked the fabric of my dress. Every breath I took made them worse. The touch of nipple on cotton just made my desires far, far worse.

I placed the letter on the table and rang the bell. I walked with it to the chair and placed the bell down on it. My eyes caught sight of the black cotton scarf draped over the back of chair. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed it when I first walked into the room; it created a stark contrast to the white flaking paintwork.

Picking it up, I wrapped it around my eyes and tied it tight at the back of my head.

The words in the letter burst from every part of my mind. I could see the words and the actions they portrayed, but I was not allowed to see him.

‘Ring the bell once, when you’re ready and put it back on the chair. You can stop at any time by ringing the bell again.’

I picked up my dress and draped it around my waist as I leant forward on the chair. My hands grasped the back of the chair and I waited. I could turn around and leave, I told myself, but it was the weakest argument that I would ever have with myself. I was temporarily soothed by the smell of freshness from the meadow as a whiff of air crept into the room.

Suddenly, I felt a tumultuous storm build in my soul, clench at my stomach and cause ripples through my sex at the sound of footsteps behind me. Soft footsteps like he was floating on air. Well, I presumed it was him.

My hands tightened around the wooden chair. I twisted and struggled to see behind me, but the black scarf’s thick cotton fabric let in no light at all.

I nearly died when I felt a cold touch on both cheeks of my bottom at the same time. A little tap caused me to jerk forwards in expectation and open my mouth but I instinctively closed it again. I stood still for the second tap and relished in the thought of it teasing my bottom.

He was right, he did know what I was thinking, he told me how I would feel at this moment and he was right. I felt like I had been waiting for this all my life. I felt happy, needy, excited and hungry for what was about to come.  

In my head, I was urging him on, but the letter forbade me to say anything. Anything at all. His teasing was scandalous. I could feel every brush, every touch and every tap and it excited me. At one point I pushed my body back towards him as the hard material came forward but he was very clever; adjusting the strength so that it just tickled me.

I felt his hand stroke over my bottom and I let out a long sigh. In the few seconds it brushed over my skin I had collected all the information I needed.

It was rough and hardy.
Controlled with softness.
Long fingertips yet smooth pads.
Tantalising caresses.

I opened my eyes for what good it did. I sighed heavily at his touch. I shook my head from side to side; more in frustration than anything. I wanted to cry out and tell him to either spank me or thrust his fingers into my pussy.

I was more than pissed off when he stopped doing everything. He must have been watching me from behind; watching my torment. Watching me squirm and pant to his tune.

I finally let my martial art training kick in and I relaxed and started to breathe; circular breathing at a controlled rate. I pushed my soul out to try and reach him. Watch him from above. Circle around him without him knowing, but it was all fruitless effort.

I felt his hand once more shift the fabric of my dress up my back. Shivers ripped through me when he scraped his nails down my spine.

No sooner as the shivers shuddered their way down through my body – the cane struck me firmly across my bottom.

The shriek would have woken the dead and my arms flung backwards and my body rocked. I quickly grabbed the chair for balance and no sooner had I done so – the next strike caught me. I let out another verbal outburst; outbursts that I needed to control. The third strike was associated with a whimper as I desperately tried to hold in the shock and pain of being caned.

I knew where the bell was. I thought hard about it but the caning stopped as I stopped myself reaching for it. The next touch was the cane sliding over the welts on my bottom. With the shock element removed from my senses I felt the shear heat spread outwards from my bum. My pussy felt it too. And then –

‘Oh my God.’

I thought as the tip of his cane slipped over my wet pussy.

He told me in the letter this would happen. The way he eloquently phrased the words was beyond belief, but he told me I would feel overwhelmed and need more. In that instance, as my pussy tingled from being stroked, I wanted more. Far more!

Without warning I felt three more lashings of the cane on my bottom followed once more by the cane burying itself between my wet lips. I never cried out this time. I was not shocked. I knew they were coming and I wanted his cane to fall on my bottom.

I nodded. It was his sign for six more. He had told me, in the letter, that there would only be six but that if I wanted more, I had to nod three times. I nodded too enthusiastically for my own liking. I held on to the back of the chair and waited. I was clenching my stomach as fast as I could and hoped that every strike would coincide with the pressure on my pussy. I so much wanted to bring myself off.

The caning was everything I had always wanted.

Delicious.
Painful.
Pleasant.
Sudden.
Warm.
Erotic.
Satisfying.
Pure pussy clenching excitement.

As I got used to them, I could tell from the sound of the swoosh of the cane when it was about to strike and I anticipated the moment of contact. I felt it to be reassuring and the heat of the exchange soothing in its afterburn.

Heaven is not a strong enough word to explain how I felt.

I nodded three more times and sighed expectantly.

I felt his cane slip across my bottom and then he patted me with the palm of his hand.

I heard the bell ring. It was the sign for me to stop the caning but I hadn’t touched it. I started thinking ‘Fuck, no, don’t stop.’

I felt his hand stroke me for a while and he did indeed slip a finger into me from behind before I heard footsteps recede into the distance, I heard the bell being placed on the table.

I must have stayed in that position for ages. It was probably only a minute, but it felt like a very long time; savouring the heat that spread along my nether regions. I was so close to coming that it hurt. I swear, a few more strikes of the cane and I would have been gushing. It would have added more stains to the room, to the carpet and washed the dust from the floor.

I slowly straightened my body and lifted the blindfold; squinting at the bright light that invaded my senses. I walked over to the table and there were four letters left.

He said in the first letter, I could give up at any time by ringing the bell. How little he must have thought about my resolve. I stared at letter number two and slipped a finger across my wet lips as I imaged what it may contain.