a Dariarotica ficlet

by Mr. Bigglesworth


She tugged reflexively against the restraints that held her arms above her head as the tip of the riding crop -- a real one, obviously from a tack store: longer, stiffer and heavier than the toys sold at most fetish shops -- traced lightly, ticklingly, carressingly over her skin, causing her to flinch and shiver. Her mistress drew the tip of the crop slowly up her ribcage, then along the side of a breast and, with an expertise that seemed to bespeak long practice -- or serious talent -- pressed and, with a subtle twirl of the wrist, used the crop to roll her nipple, which responded with a wholly involuntary enthusiasm that brought an outraged groan through the ball gag. The groan suddenly turned to a squeal as the crop's wielder flicked her wrist and brought the small whip's broad, flat tip down just hard enough to sting on the traitorous little protrusion.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Helen relaxed into the scene -- into the exercise in total submission that was the only effective way she'd found to relieve the otherwise unbearable stress that'd come with being made a full partner at the firm. She'd had her misgivings about this dominatrix she'd been offered a session with in lieu of her temporarily unavailable favorite when she'd seen -- and recognized -- who she was, but professionals could be trusted to be discreet and her mistress for tonight was obviously a pro.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm her own racing heart, the dominatrix traced the tip of her crop down the center of Helen's torso to her navel, then abruptly pulled it away, leaving the bottom to, at least momentarily, try and guess what would be coming next, and from where. Slowly, very deliberately, the dom walked around her slave as Helen's eyes followed her warily. Suddenly, with a sharp backhand flick, she smacked the underside of one of Helen's buttocks. Helen cried out sharply -- or would've if it hadn't been muffled by the ball gag -- as her ass jerked away from the sting. The tip of the riding crop came to rest again, this time softly, and began tracing along the contour...slowly...inwards...Helen tensed and shivered, suddenly very acutely aware of how far apart the frame she was shackled to held her ankles. Just as she started to shiver, the riding crop suddenly left her skin again as the dom stopped, directly behind her. Helen drew her breath in sharply in what would've been a gasp if she'd been able to use her mouth for it. A pause, then the tip of the crop set down gently on the other cheek, triggering another, harder shiver, and slid slowly, lightly across it as her mistress continued walking in a slow circle around her.

Damn, she's good, Helen thought. I wonder how she got into this...

Damn, she's good, thought her mistress. So responsive, so into it...

The dominatrix had originally taken the job because it helped pay her way through college -- it was way more lucrative than anything else she'd found -- besides, it sortof...called to certain secret fantasies of hers. And in fact she did find the playacting involved was fun and came easily. She'd been surprised to find it becoming a little more than just playacting with certain find that, when the chemistry was right, she could get powerfully turned-on.

Tonight was one of those times, with a vengeance. She found herself glad she was in the habit of wearing her normal underwear beneath the expensive leather because, well, tonight she found she had a regular puddle know, down there...

Sauntering, the mistress completed her circuit and made eye contact with her slave. The corners of her soft, full lips turned upward in a little smile. As Helen Morgendorffer gazed into Stacy Rowe's doe eyes, the same thought passed through both their minds:

Oh, yes. Tonight's session is going to be something special...


the disclaimers: Daria (even though she doesn't appear in this story, I mention her anyway) and all ancillary characters are the property of MTV/Viacom, not me. I'm not making a dime off this story and suing me would probably be bad PR (to say nothing of Karma) anyway.