Fallen Too Far Read online

  After a few minutes, there was a light tap and the Major entered. “Your patron, Gerald is here to see you Madame.”

  Gerald stepped into the room and Annik silently appraised him. He stood about six feet tall, in fair shape, sandy colored hair, eyeglasses and strong jaw line. He wasn't handsome in the conventional sense, but he wasn't unattractive either. He stood looking at Annik seeking direction. His eyes were bright with excitement, and he had a broad smile on his face.

  “Gerald, come here.” She commanded. “Kneel down in front of me. I will tell you what you are to do.”

  “Oh yes, Miss Annik. As you wish.” exclaimed Gerald. “I’ve just had the most wonderful day.” He approached Annik and stood before her. Newly minted multi-multi-millionaire, his excitement at his business success today overwhelmed his submissive desires.

  Annik stood up as he approached her. What the hell was this man doing? She gave him an instruction, and he was standing there blathering some crap about his day?

  “My company invented this wonderful device. We call it ‘Crystal’. Now I can’t tell you the details of what it does, but-”

  Alright buster. We’re going to get you with the program. Watching his mouth, she saw how his teeth were working with his lips. Okay, right there, and just about so hard…

  Her hand flashed up and across Gerald’s face without warning with a sharp crack, hard enough to jerk his head around. He backed up a step from the blow. The sudden, out of nowhere shock silenced him.

  Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes as he stared at Miss Annik. His tongue flicked out and at a droplet of blood on his lip.

  “Did I give you LEAVE TO SPEAK young man?”

  “Nnn..” Annik raised her hand again, and Gerald just shook his head no.

  “Did I TELL YOU to do something, little boy?”

  Wide eyed, Gerald nodded furiously.

  She crossed her arms under her breasts, forcing them upward even more than her bra already had. “WELL? I’m waiting.”

  He dropped to his knees and leaned forward without a word.

  Annik bent over and grasped his hair. “Do not try me, young man. You will do as bidden—as TOLD—or I shall end this immediately.” She released his head. “Do you understand me?”

  ****

  Oh God this was good. Oh God she’s good. A shot in the mouth, and yanking his hair and he hadn’t been there for a minute yet. Charlie, you got your fuckin’ steak bro. Gerald silently nodded, and let the tear in his eye drip onto her shoe. A glistening promise of what was to come.

  “That’s better.” Annik stepped back to the chair and sat again. “Approach, Gerald.”

  He approached her chair with eyes downcast, hands clasped in front of him, on hands and knees. He knelt before her, close, but not touching. He raised his eyes in sorrow and hope.

  “Gerald from what I have read, you deserve to be punished. You are a bad boy. You’ve already proved that to me. Are you a bad boy Gerald?”

  “Yes. I’m a bad boy.”

  “I’m going to punish you Gerald, but before I do, I want to make sure you know your colors. Tell me your colors Gerald.”

  “Red means stop. Orange means I'm not sure I like it.”

  “Good. And I want you to tell me if any medical issues have come up that I should know about since you completed the questionnaire.”

  “No ma'am. I'm healthy.”

  Annik raised her hand and again slapped Gerald across his face forcing it sideways. Turning back, Gerald looked at Annik with surprise and pleasure. Charlie, I’m buying you a cow was Gerald Smither’s last adult thought as he let go into his role of a bad, insolent boy being given his comeuppance

  ****

  “I am not Ma'am. Don't call me that. I am Mistress, do you understand?”

  “Yes Mistress.” Gerald bowed his head.

  “Stand up Gerald. Let me look at you.”

  Gerald got to his feet, eyes downcast.

  “Take your clothes off.”

  Gerald removed his sports jacket, letting it fall to the floor. His fingers trembled slightly as he unbuttoned his shirt. His hands moved to his belt buckle and fly. He reached over and removed his shoes and socks, before stepping out of his pants. He stood before her wearing a pair of black briefs.

  “Gerald, did I not tell you to wear a thong?”

  “Ah…I don’t remember.” He answered.

  “Gerald, get those briefs off and kneel before me. That wasn't a good thing to do, to forget what I ordered.” she said.

  Annik stood up and selected the medium stiff, whip. She raised her arms and cracked the whip across his back. She gave him three more cracks, again, across his back.

  “Get up and stand before me.”

  He rose to his feet and stole a glance before casting his gaze downward again. In that fleeting glance, she noticed pleasure.

  She strode to the bed, and picked up the leather thong. Returning to him, she tossed it in his face. “It’s a damn good thing I’m so thoughtful, you shithead. Look at that.”

  ****

  Gerald held the leather thong up in the candlelight. He breathed in the musky scent of the soft leather. But not pure leather; there was another scent—he knew that scent. Looking at it, he saw embroidered on the waistband the phrase ‘Boy of Annik’.

  He was touched in a place he didn’t have a name for. His jaw dropped in surprise. Sure, he had been to Pro Dommes a couple of times before, and yes, he’d paid a hefty fee for their services. Not near the amount he’d sent to this woman. But still, they never so much as gave him a facial tissue, let alone a thong. A leather thong. With her scent on it. In awe he gazed at her. At Mistress Annik. At HIS Mistress.

  For a moment of forever, Domme and sub gazed at each other. With the raw exchange of need and want. He was lost within his Mistress. He was safe.

  “Lie on the floor, and put those on, Gerald.” He lay on his back. His cock was thick and growing thicker as he slid the leather on. Feeling his shaft swathed in the front panel, his mind called out with joy in the realization that his dick was touching the same material that had been around his Mistress’s body. Oh God…

  “Rise and go to the cross, boy.” She stood before him, her arms akimbo at her waist, tapping her foot. He wanted to kiss her foot, wash her feet with his tongue. Whatever she would permit him to do. He leaped up and trotted to the cross, putting his feet and hands by the restraints.

  She secured him to the cross and went to the bed for her floggers. She draped the soft doeskin over his shoulder, dragging it across his flesh. He moaned as she began.

  Lightly at first, she struck with a rhythm, warming him up to the pain. Across his shoulders, his back, his ass and thighs the flogger struck, causing his middle aged flesh to turn pink. She stopped for a moment, caressed him, kneaded his skin through her gloved hands. He ached for her bare hands to touch him. At the same time he prayed it wouldn’t happen.

  She switched to the harder flogger, and began again, beating him. He gasped at the new pain, his mind shouting and then screaming YES to each blow delivered. He arched away, and flexed back in for the next strike.

  Again she paused. Her gloved hand rubbed his inflamed flesh.

  “What color, boy?”

  “Y- ye-yellow, my Mistress,” was the sighed response.

  Annik changed to the rattan cane and began to punish him again. The light slenderness of the cane’s appearance belied its power to hurt. Up and down in a random pattern, Annik laid into this bad, bad boy.

  “You have been bad, haven’t you, Gerald?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Laying into him again and again, Annik repeated “Bad, bad bad boy!” with each series of blows. His back aflame now, his arms on fire, the cane whistled agony to his legs. First the outside, and then the inside. Being careful of his genitals, she lashed at his thighs, starting above his knees, higher and higher to the soft, white skin just below his balls.

  “Can you be good, Gerald? Can you ever learn to be
a good boy?” She called to him as she brought the pain to its peak.

  “I’ll be good, Mistress. I’ll be good. I’m… I’m… I’m so sorry!” He shrieked as Annik crushed the badness out of him, wringing his guilt away.

  He was crying now. Honking sobs, escaped from his mouth. His body trembled from the release as he stood lashed to the cross at the mercy of his Domme. He sagged into the cross, chest heaving.

  ****

  She gave him a moment, letting the silence of the room be broken only by his healing. It was the mystery of the power exchange—with each sob and gasp there was a thread of healing.

  She stepped to the table and took the cloth from the bowl of water. She wrung it out and bathed his bruises in the cool water. At first touch he started, and then settled into her care. In silence, she bathed him. In silence he was washed. She went back and forth to the bowl several times, caressing each welt and bruise with water. Finished, she returned the cloth to the bowl.

  She leaned over him. “Don’t move until you’re told, Gerald,” she said as she undid the restraints—first his feet, then his arms. When she was done, she returned to her chair and sat down.

  She eyed her handiwork, watching him until his breathing evened out from the ragged gasping.

  “Gerald, get me an hors d'oeuvre from that tray over there.”

  He hurried over to the tray, selected an oyster in a pastry and brought it back to her on a napkin. She leaned forward and scowled.

  “Not that one Gerald. I wanted something with cheese. Turn around.”

  He turned so that his bottom was at her eye level. She reached back with her gloved hand and slapped him hard, on both cheeks.

  “Now get me another hors d'oeuvre.” She ordered.

  He scampered to the table and selected one with cheese. He returned and held it out to her.

  “Feed it to me Gerald.”

  He reached forward with the tidbit and placed it against her lips, his hand trembling slightly. She kept her mouth closed and looked him straight in the eye. There was puzzlement on his face. A dribble of black caviar on the hors d'oeuvre fell off, landing on her chest.

  “Gerald, how could you be so clumsy. Take that away.”

  He went back to the table and placed the food on it. When he returned to her, he looked furtively at her.

  “Gerald, lick this off my chest; clean me off.”

  His mouth edged closer to her chest and he licked the caviar from her, while his cock throbbed.

  She noticed the effect that his actions and touching her body had on him. His penis was straining against the thong.

  “Gerald, are you having naughty thoughts about me?” she asked. “Look at the state you’re in, you dirty boy.”

  He glanced down at his crotch and blushed.

  “You are a dirty boy, aren’t you, Gerald?”

  Silently, he nodded.

  “You have leave to speak, Gerald. Are you a dirty boy?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m a dirty boy, Mistress. I’m a filthy minded worm, Mistress Annik.”

  “Get on that spanking bench. I’m not done with you yet, young man. You were bad, and now you’re a good boy. But now we have to stop you being a dirty boy. You understand don’t you?”

  “Yes, Mistress, I understand, Mistress.” His voice was faint. “I want to be good, and I don’t want to be a dirty boy.”

  He walked to the spanking bench, which was much like a gymnast's pommel horse, and climbed on. She followed him to the bench and secured his hands and legs. On the bed was a flat wooden paddle. She picked it up and lightly tapped his buttocks with it. She stopped and held the paddle firmly against one cheek for a few seconds then raised her hand and hit the spot she selected. He jerked, arching his back. She repeated this procedure of holding the paddle in one spot for a few seconds and then pummeling it. After the third blow, he moaned. She continued to beat him until he again began to sob. It didn’t take long this time. Not long at all.

  Again, she did the after care; his welts were now accompanied by a multitude of bruises. Again she waited until he calmed down.

  She untied him and told him to get up. He stood before her, swaying slightly.

  “Kiss my foot.” She demanded.

  He bent to his knees and lowered his head to kiss the foot she extended to him. He held it in his hands, as he prolonged the kiss.

  “Get up.” She ordered. “Are you still a naughty boy? Show me your penis.”

  He slid the pouch away from his cock. It had been become limp again.

  “Get me a dessert and a glass of water.”

  He slipped the thong back in place and hurried to the table. He returned with a pastry and ice water. In his haste, water spilled over the rim of the glass.

  “Stop.” She ordered when she saw the spill. She approached him, holding the cane. “You stupid boy. Good lord, there’s so much work I’ll have to do with you. Look at the mess you have made, spilling water and crumbs all over the floor. Put that stuff back on the table and clean up this mess.”

  He went back to the table and left the water and pastry. He returned with a napkin wiped up the water and threw it away.

  “Lie on your face, on the floor.”

  He laid face down, apprehensive, yet looking forward to what she would do next.

  She stepped onto his back, steadying herself, holding the footboard bedpost. She walked across his back, over his buttocks and onto his thighs and stepped off. He lay panting and moaning.

  “Get up. I need a massage. Do you think you can manage that?”

  He nodded.

  “Undress me.”

  He undid the strap of her shoes and she stepped out of them. He hooked his fingers into the elastic tops of her stockings and slid them down her legs. He unzipped her dress and pulled it down reverently as he watched her body appear from the fabric. She stepped out of it and stood before him.

  “My arms.” she directed.

  He slid the vinyl gloves from her arms.

  Naked, she strode to the bed and moved the toys to one side. She laid, face down.

  “Rub my back.”

  He stood next to her and began rubbing and kneading her back.

  “Now my ass.”

  He cupped her round cheeks and squeezed her repeatedly, rotating his hands over her flesh.

  “Stop. Do my front now.” She rolled onto her side and then onto her back.

  “Rub my shoulders and arms.”

  He did as he was told. She looked him squarely in the eye, daring him to just try and check out her tits.

  “Now my chest and stomach.” She directed, still holding her gaze.

  Gerald's breathing had quickened and a gleam of sweat showed on his face. Hands shaking, with his fingertips, he massaged the muscles.

  “Lower.”

  He grasped the flesh of her breasts with both of his hands, kneading and rolling them.

  “Lower.”

  His hands massaged the taut muscles of her abdomen. His eyes moved to her breasts.

  “Oh oh, no peeking. Look at your hands.” She admonished.

  “Now, my thighs.” She said, catching his slightly disappointed look at being deprived of massaging her pussy.

  He dug in with his fingers and massaged her muscles.

  “Enough now. You may go Gerald.”

  ****

  He looked into her eyes with respect and awe. He had been treated like the naughty schoolboy he fantasized being—punished and serving a strong, beautiful woman. The last part, making him massage her, touch her sexy body was pure genius. He was so horny his balls hurt.

  “Go.” She commanded.

  Gerald picked his clothing from the floor and dressed. He looked once more at Annik before he opened the door to leave. She lay naked in bed like a lazy big cat, one foot slowly flexing like a big kitty’s tail. Gerald left and wondered if he would make it back to his hotel before jerking off. Who was he kidding—he’d be whacking
off in the back of the limo in just a few moments. It was a perfect scene.

  He was going to buy Charlie a fucking cattle farm.

  Chapter 10

  The following week brought pressures, and changes that Annik did not anticipate at all.

  It began on Monday evening. She had an assignation with Charles Bridges. As with his buddy Gerald Smithers, it had taken place at Pandora’s. At its conclusion, Charles was sent home while she collected herself. When she was leaving, The Major stopped her and asked her to have a drink with him. When the drinks were placed at the bar, he turned to her with an arched eyebrow.

  “I’m going to come right to the point, Annik. It might be none of my business, but you and I have talked about your dream of owning Pandora’s.”

  “Yes we have. What’s going on, Major?”

  “It’s for sale. Now. And the owners want to sell as soon as possible.”

  “What? Are you joking? Since when?” Oh my God! Could this be true? Sure the owners were getting on. There’d been buzz through the grapevine that they were thinking of selling the club… but that was going to be down the road.

  “Since today. Or at least, that’s when I found out about it. The general manager, Mrs. Byrd, told me that the owners were coming by in the next day or so. They’ve rarely been here, you know. Anyway, they’re bringing a real estate broker with them so he can give them a ballpark on what the place is worth.”

  “As a business?”

  “No.” The Major’s face fell, “they’re considering closing Pandora’s and just selling off the building.”