Confidante
by Beverly Langland

Danielle isn’t as bad as everyone makes out. I’m not as good. Appearances, as they say, can be deceptive. To look at me you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. Yet, I allow men to do despicable things to me. I often find myself in degrading situations. Unbelievably, I actually thrive on the humiliation. Yes, I’m every woman’s nightmare – the submissive slut who perpetuates the myth of women as sexual objects. Yet, I am not a person confused by my sexuality or my position in society. I am well educated, culturally refined, and feel at ease among the higher echelons with whom Danielle and I spend most of our time socialising. I have the confidence to understand that within reason I can be whatever I like. I’m also discreet. I like to think that is why Danielle chose me as a companion. It isn’t. It’s because I allow him to ill-treat me. You can call me whatever names you like. I already know exactly what I am. Just don’t ask me to explain why.

I met Danielle at an Embassy ball. He was with a young redheaded girl so timid she clung to his arm as if fearful of falling off her ridiculously high heels. I realised exactly what she was as soon as I drew close enough to look into her eyes. There was an instant spark of recognition between us and she gripped Danielle’s arm tighter. She could see beneath my polished exterior and considered me a threat. I soon understood why. Danielle, an Italian living in London, explained that he was looking for a new ‘confidante’. The coded message wasn’t particularly subtle and later he slipped his business card into my hand. Danielle has a way with words and as soon as we spoke more privately on the telephone and I heard his sexy accent, he had me hooked.

As always, when I first meet someone new I introduce him to my friends. You can never be too careful. I like nasty men, but I don’t want to end up in a black bin liner somewhere. My friends gave Danielle the thumbs-up though understandably they found him disagreeable and somewhat presumptuous in the way he openly fondled me. I actually liked his candid display of confidence, so we agreed on a second meeting. Again somewhere in public. He asked about my fantasies, so I told all. Not as you tell a loved one – only revealing what you think they want to hear. I told the truth. Of past men, my brief flirtation with women, my love of exposure, I even revealed details of my young masochistic dabbling. Most of all we talked of my submissive desires. The last was of course obvious to us both. We had been playing the game of cat and mouse since our first meeting, but this had been the first time I had admitted my feelings outright. It felt good to say the words out loud. I felt free. Maybe this sounds strange to those who do not understand, but I was free to be a slave. His slave. This would be my choice. However, we never talked in such terms. Danielle doesn’t like the idea of having a slave. He prefers to call me his confidante. It makes no difference to me what he calls me as long as I am his. People have called me far worse in the past. I have been someone else’s ‘pet’, another’s ‘bitch’. The last relationship didn’t work out for my master broke the bond of trust. Once broken it can never be regained and everything crumbles. Therefore, I’m alone and for someone like me that is truly unbearable.

We arranged a third meeting, a sort of interview to test our compatibility. Danielle told me exactly what I should wear. A short black leather skirt with cotton blouse, the material to be ivory – not cream or white – with four small buttons. Lemon underwear, silk, but not overly decorative. Black shoes with one strap and three-inch spiked heels. So here I am. I have spent the past week shopping to make certain I look just right. Now, standing in front of him in the unfamiliar surroundings of his apartment while he checks my attire, I feel irrationally nervous. He notices. ‘Why, Hannah, you’re trembling ...’

Danielle continues where we left off at the pub, asking more questions, listening carefully, taking note of my answers. I tell him my darkest desires, tell him I want to realise those fantasies. If anyone can make them happen, I feel certain it will be Danielle. It isn’t just a case of logistics or opportunity; I need someone forceful enough to make me do the depraved things running through my head. That is an integral part of the fantasy for me. Just as I hope it will arouse Danielle to force me to do them. I sense he wants to corrupt me and I am ripe for corruption.

‘Promising. Would you like to belong to me, Hannah?’ He makes it sound as if I am his little puppy. In truth I am. To him I am little more than his pet to use and play with as he pleases. A love-doll. Barbie, he noted on our first meeting, because of my oversized breasts and petite frame. So Barbie I become. I’ll let him dress and play with me. When I no longer please him, he will discard me like last year’s Christmas present in favour of someone new. It is the way of my world. I feel a pang of regret for young Sarah, the girl I hope to usurp. She so desperately wants to please, but as far as Danielle is concerned, Sarah is old hat. I am the vogue. However, I am in no doubt that one day I too will suffer the same fate as Sarah. I can only trust that that day is a long way off.

‘Yes,’ I whisper. Danielle tells me to speak up so I answer again. Louder this time.

He leads me into a bedroom and opens one side of a double wardrobe. Inside is a multitude of rubber costumes. ‘Will these fit?’

I inspect the costumes; decide that at a pinch I should be able to squeeze into them. They may be a little restrictive on top but I have never minded a tight fit. ‘Yes.’

He waves an arm in the general direction of the clothes. ‘When you are in my presence you will always be suitably attired – or naked. Now, let me see your underwear.’

I try to calm myself by taking deep breaths. My fingers visibly shake as I try to unbutton my blouse. I consciously have to steady them before they will function. I shudder slightly as the smooth material slides along my skin, dropping at my feet. Then I hook my fingers into the waistband of my skirt and shake it free until it too pools at my feet. I nimbly step out of the circle of material. Danielle makes me do a circuit of the room before telling me to remove my underwear.

I hesitate slightly as I reach behind to unclip my bra, aware of what I am about to do, the line I am about to cross. The brassiere falls to join the rest of my clothing. Danielle lets out an audible sigh as my breasts swing free, his eyes opening wide with pleasure. I am delighted I have pleased him. I feel the slightly chill air against my bare breasts; I have always loved that initial feeling of freedom. My nipples harden. I’m not sure if it is the cool air or Danielle’s appreciation that caused them to stand erect. Either way, it is difficult to hide my reaction. With trepidation, I slowly slip my panties down my legs and lightly flick them to one side with my foot. I am acutely aware of my nakedness so I lightly cross my hands in front of my crotch. My body feels so alive! Every nerve end vies for attention. I can feel the gentle movement of air on my nipples, the tickle of pubic hair against the palm of my hand. Finally, I make to kick off my shoes but Danielle stops me.

I stand naked and trembling in the centre of the room while Danielle slowly circles me, examining every detail of my body with exaggerated interest. I know he intends to humiliate me with his inspection, but reason and knowing don’t lessen the effect of his roaming eyes. A flush creeps on to my cheeks as he has me open my mouth to show my teeth, and then stick out my tongue for inspection. He even gives each of my bottom cheeks a tentative slap as if to measure their responsiveness. I take all this in my stride, though my heartbeat quickens as Danielle cups both my breasts, weighing them in his hands, measuring the girth of my nipples with his nimble fingers. They grow instantly with his touch. Finally, he runs his fingers into my bush. I feel warm digits on my slick folds, delving into my pussy, gently brushing my clit. ‘You need a shave.’ I blush beetroot deep with embarrassment. It is the bane of my life that I am hirsute. The thought of letting Danielle shave me makes me tremble. ‘Or we could try plucking?’

My stomach lurches. I am appalled. He can’t mean it. My heart races in a confused beat of fear and excitement. I feel the familiar tingle of anticipation. Or is it anxiety? The moistness in my pussy confuses the issue. I want to say something, to protest! In the end, I stand mouth agape, eyes wide in disbelief. Danielle smiles, pushes my jaw closed with his finger. ‘Don’t worry, Barbie. I’m not that cruel. Maybe just one or two if you’re a good girl! Of course, at some point we will have to discuss your capacity for receiving pain.’ He opens the other side of the wardrobe to reveal the instruments of his trade. ‘Do you prefer the paddle, whip or crop?’ He selects a crop from a range hanging on the door, slices the distance between us. I am not shocked. Pain is my friend. I feel confident I can surprise him should he decide to test me.

‘OK, Hannah, you’re doing fine. You have a safe word?’ He smiles warmly and I try to smile back as best I can, moving to relax the stiffness in my shoulders. I have already begun to distinguish when Danielle is in character and when he isn’t, like now. He is offering me another opportunity to back out if I don’t want to go further. I can’t beg off now that things are starting to get interesting. I want to go on. I need to go on. ‘Rosebud,’ I whisper. He doesn’t ask why I chose that particular word and I offer no explanation. It was my grandmother’s name and as a child she always made me feel safe and secure. It didn’t dawn on me that in the current context it may be inappropriate.

‘On my next command you will squat on your haunches with your hands behind your back. Do you understand?’ I nod my head in assent. The position is a ‘standard’. I don’t have time to consider further. ‘Barbie. Sit!’ To squat naked in front of someone is harder than the simple act implies. It is humiliating, yet somehow never feels wrong, at least that’s what I tell myself. I feel the familiar tingling in my midriff as I slowly sink to rest on my haunches. It is almost impossible for my legs not to open and I catch the aroma of my excitement. Danielle steps closer and lifts my chin with the end of the crop. I allow him to position me; back erect, head up, my breasts jutting out in front. It is difficult to maintain balance in the heels with my back straight so I have to part my legs further. Danielle considers me for a moment and then taps the crop between my knees, indicating that I should open wider still. My legs begin to shake, partly from their stretched position, but mainly from the reaction to my lewd display.

I would be lying if I say I have never exposed myself like this before. Yet, no matter how often, the sensation never diminishes. I rest open and exposed. My labia feel huge, bloated with the rush of blood to my genitals. I am acutely aware that the lips have separated. I can feel cool air dancing on my uncovered flesh vainly trying to dissipate the furnace burning between my legs. Danielle can see all. He denies me any modesty. I try to focus on something other than my sex, but my mind refuses to be distracted. At this moment, my pussy is the core of my being, the centre of my universe. Danielle isn’t slow to spot my arousal. ‘Are you wet and aroused, Barbie?’

I know better than to lie. ‘Yes.’

‘Why? Out with the truth. I want to hear you say it.’

‘I like showing you my pussy.’

‘Only nice girls have pussies.’ 

He wants me to use depraved language. All men get excited when they force me to utter foul words. Danielle is no different. He concentrates on my pretty mouth as I say, ‘I like to show off my cunt!’

‘That’s better. And such a pretty cunt it is too.’ Danielle manoeuvres the crop between my legs, pushes the end firmly against my wetness. The coarse leather swatch scratches against my clitoris, coaxing it from the safety of its hiding place. My nubbin is hypersensitive. I can feel the minute texture of the hide. I press back against it, hoping the movement is subtle enough that Danielle won’t notice. His smile indicates otherwise. He removes the source of pleasure and my mind screams in protest. How long will he expect me to wait? I watch as he lifts the tip of the crop to his nose, breathes in my scent, his nostrils flaring wildly. All sense of dignity crumbles. ‘Please ...’

‘Would you like to touch yourself?’ I want Danielle to touch me but failing that, I will settle for the opportunity to thrust my hand between my legs, to ram fingers deep into the burning flesh. My clitoris is nagging like a bad tooth and I need to ease the throbbing. I know he won’t let me off that easy. Danielle will have me work for the right to climax and I can tell from his expression that I haven’t earned that privilege yet. Still, I nod eagerly, hopeful that he will let me masturbate in front of him, expecting him to thwart me further. Danielle surprises me. ‘As you wish. Spread yourself.’

I am thrilled that Danielle would demand such a thing. It is degrading. Horrible! Nasty! Dirty! Disgusting! By the time my mind has sorted through the list of admonishments my hands are already at my pussy, grabbing my bloated lips and spreading myself wide. Yet, rather than mollify my frustration the gentle pull only serves to stoke the fire within. It shouldn’t be stimulating; clinically holding myself wide for examination, but the debauchery of the act is making me excited. Danielle leaves me exposed while he rummages in the wardrobe. When he returns, he brings with him two metal objects on chains, shaped almost like giant teardrops. It isn’t until he bends between my legs and I see the metal clips that I fathom their function. For a man who has already told me that he gains little pleasure from inflicting unnecessary pain, the clamps look decidedly fierce. I hope their bark is worse than their bite.

As Danielle crouches close it takes all of my resolve not to shy away. I steel myself for the inevitable, so nervous I almost pee myself. Danielle sees the dread in my eyes. He hesitates with one clamp open and hovering dangerously close to my sensitive lips. ‘OK, Hannah?’ Again, he is asking for my permission to continue, giving me another opportunity to stop, maybe my last before the game goes too far and I run out of options. I look into his beautiful hazel eyes. It is impossible for him to hide his own arousal. How can I disappoint him? For reasons that I can’t or don’t want to comprehend, I trust him completely. I force a wry smile and nod my assent. It is too late to back out now; besides, the perverse masochist within me wants to know what the clamps will feel like. 

I hold my breath as he attaches the first clip, biting down on my lip as the clamp squashes onto my sensitive flesh. The clamp itself is not as fierce as I had imagined, but I can feel the cold metal against my blazing flesh. Tentatively Danielle releases his hold and I feel the skin around my pussy stretch under the full weight of the teardrop. I will not deny that it is painful and tears well to my eyes. After a moment’s respite Danielle repeats the procedure with the other weight. He kneels and produces two miniature weights of similar design to the larger teardrops. I know what they are immediately. I thrust my breasts forward with a keen sense of anticipation. I know from previous experimentation that I can easily withstand the pressure of the clamps on my nipples. Danielle laughs aloud at my eagerness to have my body abused. The only surprise is the tinkle of each as he attaches them. They are tiny bells! When he has finished, I can’t resist jiggling my breasts to make the bells tinkle for his amusement. After all, I am his jester. His pet. My sole purpose to entertain. I feel more relaxed with the idea now. He laughs a second time, then reaches in and kisses me tenderly. I want more, want at least to feel his tongue explore my mouth, but he stands and walks away into the lounge.

He leaves me to get used to the feel of my new jewellery. Although the clamps are uncomfortable – painful even – I cannot bring myself to think of them as punishment. I have long ago come to terms with my perverse addiction to pain. Somewhere along the way, I blurred the boundary between pain and pleasure in my sex life. I can’t find adequate words to describe how I feel. None adequately describe the emotions running through me. All I can be certain about is that I am fulfilling a need that lives constantly within me. A need that I have never before had the opportunity to fully acknowledge, let alone appease. Whatever else I am feeling, I am aroused beyond all reason.

It is a bizarre sensation as I crouch, exposed, clamped and stretched while Danielle busies himself with the mundane act of mixing a gin and tonic. On his return he sits in the chair opposite me, crosses his legs, which only serves to remind me of the ache in my own. I have been in the same position for a long time and my legs are already numb. All the while he had been in the lounge I had dutifully not moved. Danielle hadn’t told me that I couldn’t, yet I second-guessed that was his intention. After all, he hadn’t told me that I could move either. I ponder if the pain I feel is therefore technically self-inflicted. It’s at times like this that I have too much time to think. If only to take my mind away from the burning heat between my legs.

‘OK, Barbie, on my next commands you will get down on all fours and wait. Then when I give you the instruction you will crawl to the other side of the room, retrieve your panties in your mouth and bring them back here. Do you understand?’ I nod. It is clear that he wishes to humiliate me further. ‘Barbie. Down!’ I lean forward to the sound of tinkling bells until I am on all fours, glad to move my legs at last. Pins and needles burst through my thighs as the blood rushes back into my legs. I can feel the hard wooden floor beneath me, pressing back against my bare knees, harsh and unfeeling. The weights attached to my pussy lips swing with me, pulling insistently on my flesh, stretching me. Surely, my labia must be touching the floor. I realise how I must look to Danielle and cringe inwardly. A naked slut about to crawl for her master. I shiver in anticipation of the next command like a parent at the start of a sack race. Knowing that I am likely to make a fool of myself.

‘Barbie. Fetch!’ I will myself to move my hands and knees in a crawling motion. As I shift, the weights swing around, knocking together, tugging and jerking on my pussy. It is a most curious sensation. The bells attached to my nipples tinkle in a sort of complimentary tune. As I crawl away from Danielle I am aware that from behind I will be fully exposed. I can feel the cool air ruffling the hair between my legs. The harsh cold floor beneath my knees, my hands. My bare breasts swinging as I crawl, each movement accompanied by the tinkling of the bells. My humiliation rises but I keep going until I reach my pile of clothes. Then I lower my head to take my panties between my teeth. They aren’t heavily soiled but the scent of my earlier excitement permeates the soft material.

The return journey is easier to bear. Danielle’s smiling eyes encouraging me as he follows my approach. I can see he is pleased! I kneel beside his chair without further instruction and wait. A smile plays across Danielle’s soft lips and he leans over and ruffles my hair. ‘Good girl!’ He pulls me against him and kisses the top of my head in a gesture that is so full of caring – so wonderfully domestic – that I nearly weep. ‘Enough for one evening I think.’

No! I want more. I need to come, for one thing. Desperately! I look up at Danielle with pleading eyes. With puppy dog eyes. He doesn’t have to be psychic to recognise my need. Thankfully, he offers me the promise of further humiliation. ‘Time to give you that shave. Then we’ll see where that leads.’ It is the carrot to keep me faithful. Danielle gathers the long strands of my hair and guides me, naked and on all fours, towards the bathroom. He uses my hair as a lead, keeping me close to heel. I can’t wait to feel his touch between my legs. I am so excited now. Coiled like a spring, so close to coming I am ready to rupture. As I crawl, I start to moan in anticipation. Danielle looks down on my quivering body, an amused expression on his face. He uses the crop to stop my dallying, leaving a nasty stripe across my buttocks. Please God, any further stimuli and I am sure to explode.

In the end all it takes is the gentle tug of Danielle’s guiding hand entangled in my hair.