At Maggie Sexton’s apartment in a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, New York, Friday night, New Year’s Eve, December 31, 1999
Mikaela Camille Sexton, a sophomore at Wellesley College, was excited and having fun. The women’s college, located on a beautiful, old campus in Wellesley, Massachusetts, provided a first-class education, but was a bit lacking in male companionship and fun. Her parents, whom she thought were monumentally overprotective, had insisted that if she wanted to go away to school, she would have to attend a primarily women’s college and live on campus. Mikaela was visiting her cousin, Maggie Sexton, who was having a New Year’s Eve party at the apartment she shared with her boyfriend, Jim Mariano, in a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. Maggie was a senior at Columbia University, and Mikaela was frankly in awe of her. Maggie had been the older, more mature teenager she had followed around. She knew that Maggie had always thought of her as the pest.
The apartment, decorated in college-student chic, was packed with partygoers. Mikaela felt so grown up and sexy with a martini in her hand. Mikaela was nineteen. She had started college a year ahead of schedule, and she thought her superior intelligence equated to maturity. She knew she looked sexy in the short, tight, red knit dress with the low-scooped neckline that Maggie had encouraged her to buy for the party. Her long, brown hair was cascading over her shoulders in wild waves, and she had worn her contact lenses instead of her usual wire-rimmed glasses. The contacts made her blue eyes water a little, so she saved them for social occasions. She had to admit that the martini was strong. She thought it tasted weird, but she was not a big drinker and wasn’t sure about that. She knew she really shouldn’t be drinking since she was only nineteen, but she was in her cousin’s apartment after all and not out in a club so she thought it would be okay.
Suddenly, she found herself a little woozy and slightly nauseous. She was headed for a sofa to sit down when someone took her arm and whispered, “Let’s get you to the bedroom where you can lie down for a few minutes.” She wasn’t sure, but she thought it was Maggie and went along docilely. The coats had been swept off the bed, and she found herself lying next to someone else who had apparently also had a bit too much to drink.
When she woke up the next morning, she felt unaccountably sore in all her muscles and between her legs, but she put it down to having had too much to drink. She didn’t remember the rest of the evening after lying down next to the stranger. She didn’t remember the countdown to midnight or the ball coming down in Times Square on the television. It was really a very strange feeling. She rolled over and went back to sleep. When she finally got up, showered, and had some brunch, she felt better. Maggie and Jim were sitting in the living room that appeared to have been totally trashed the night before.
“Hi, sleepyhead. How are you feeling? You pooped out early last night.” Maggie had a worried look on her face.
“I’m okay—a little sore. I think I must be coming down with something.”
“Well, take it easy today then. What time is your flight back to Boston?”
“Then you have plenty of time to just relax.”
* * * *
Maggie Sexton had always thought that Mikaela, also an only child, was a spoiled pain in the ass. She’d had to suck it up and put up with the little pain in the ass because her aunt and uncle helped to subsidize her education. Maggie’s dad was not a ball of fire. In fact, he was the black sheep of the stellar Sexton family. Uncle Mike and Aunt Betty had stepped in more than once to take up the slack.
Well, it had been hysterical when Mikaela had gotten a little tipsy last night. They’d thought it would be funny to drop a little something something in her drink, but they hadn’t expected the reaction they had gotten from the roofie. They’d stripped her out of her clothes and posed her on top of some guy who was asleep on the bed. Jim had gotten his video camera, and they’d made two little movies—one with a frontal view, showing her face, and one from the back, showing the little heart-and-roses tattoo on her butt Mikaela had been so proud of. The funniest part was that Mikaela didn’t remember a thing that had happened. They had encouraged her to ride the guy like a pony, and the poor bastard probably didn’t remember it either. They had laughed themselves sick. Oh well. Mikaela had had a more exciting New Year’s Eve than she knew.
While she hastened to comply, he untied his bow tie, stripped off his tuxedo jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and rolled his sleeves up his muscular forearms. Mikaela dropped her short, black dress to the floor. She was naked. He’d known she hadn’t worn a bra or thong. The high, black fuck-me pumps enhanced the shape of her already fantastic butt and legs. He stood back to enjoy the view before he ordered, “Put on your cuffs and mount the cross.” When she was ready he fastened her wrist and ankle cuffs and checked them for fit. He adjusted the hydraulic step of the cross to a comfortable height. “I think you need a punishment tonight, sub. You have doubted your Master all day.”
“Yes, Master.” He always waited for her assent before beginning any impact play. He took the wicked little short-handled quirt from his toy bag. It was made of braided calfskin and was an intimidating short whip that easily fit in the bag. Just the sight of it was guaranteed to up her anxiety level. Mikaela loved the sharp viper’s bite of the quirt, but he used it with caution as it could do some real damage to her skin. He stepped up close behind her so that she would feel the heat of his body along her back and thighs. “I’m going to redden this beautiful ass of yours, Mikaela. What do you say to that?”
“Yes please, Master. I know I disappointed you today.”
“Now you really have earned a punishment. You did not disappoint me. You could never disappoint me.” Dillon ran his hands down her back and over her butt. He massaged her tight shoulder muscles before he gave each cheek of her nicely rounded ass a sharply cracking slap with his open palm. He stepped into position and lightly ran the business end of the quirt over her silky skin. “Listen to your Master, sub. This ass belongs to me. It’s mine to discipline as I see fit.” He dipped his hand down between her spread thighs and tested her pussy, which was slick with anticipation. “You have earned a correction because you doubted my commitment to you and our relationship. We will work this problem out together.”
“Yes, Master. I’m sorry.”
“You may not be sorry now, but you will be shortly.” He brought the quirt down on her butt twice, and two red lines appeared across her white ass. When Mikaela gasped at the red-hot pain, he checked to be sure he hadn’t broken the skin. Then he turned his attention to her ass again. The strikes were meant to be hot and painful without permanently marking the skin. He striped her bottom twice more before dropping the quirt and switching to a silicone paddle with a dildo handle. It gave a sharp stinging impact without leaving welts on the skin. Soon her whole ass was cherry red. When he stopped she pushed her ass out in invitation for him to continue. He wondered if she was just enjoying the sensations, or if she was genuinely feeling guilty about something. “Do you have something you want to confess to your Master, sub?”
He flipped the paddle around in his hand and began to tease her pouting pussy with the silicone dildo handle. She tried to back up into the instrument, but he wouldn’t allow it. He administered another sharp slap on her already reddened ass. “That’s topping from the bottom, sub. Don’t make me tell you again. Hold your position. As always, you may not come until I give my permission, or you won’t be sitting down tomorrow.” He continued to play with her quivering pussy, stroking in and out with the dildo as she moaned her enjoyment, which was now tempered with a note of desperation.
“Please, Master. Don’t make me wait.”
“You have just guaranteed yourself more torture. You will learn to accept the pleasure I give you and not try to rush the moment.” This was part of their usual pattern, and he did his best to make her wait for her orgasm. They frequently played orgasm denial games, and while she moaned pitifully, he knew she loved every minute of the intimate torture. When he could stand it no longer himself, he slid down the zipper of his trousers and stepped up behind her. He mounted her from behind as she poked her red bottom out to accommodate his entry. When he was fully sheathed in her hot center, he stilled and made her wait. Her tight, hot pussy pulsed around him, but he refused to stroke. He would draw this out as long as humanly possible. Dillon kissed the back of her neck and then lightly nipped it. He felt the quiver of nerves coast down her back all the way to her pussy as goose bumps broke out on her skin. He began to stroke slow and easy, taking his time.
This time she obviously knew better than to say anything. He took hold of her waist with both hands and started the faster, harder rhythm he knew she craved.