Madame Olanski

Some things you can only dream about. They are so private you dare not trust a soul with them. At least not any soul you have to meet in the bright light of your normal life. The experiences of your life that can be blamed on youthful exuberance are much harder to dismiss when you hit 40.

The man on the subway pondered the unfairness of this as he listened to the scratchy intercom system whisk him closer and closer to salvation. How could he ever begin to explain to his upper middle class wife, to his partners in the firm?

While these people in his real life spoke of longing of golf vacations in the islands, his private paradise could only be found at Madam Olanski's. Once a week, like a well trained seal, he got on the same train and headed to the world of this diminutive feline creature.

She had an apartment on the third floor of a four floor walk up. She could have easily afforded any prime piece of real estate on the island. If the truth was to be known, she had the attention of some of the wealthiest people in the city, and any one of her pets would have given up a suite of penthouse rooms if it had meant gaining her favor.

But Madame Olanski had no such desires. She genuinely liked the atmosphere in her older building. The ceilings where high, and the walls were thick. These were simply two necessities in the world that she existed.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door of her building and entered another century. She had paid for all the renovations herself, from the intricate mosaic tile work on the foyer floor, to the deep mahogany banister the made the stairwell seem like a work of art, rather than a long trek at the end of the day. As he took each step, he felt his heart beat heavier in his chest. He couldn't control it, even though she had promised him that someday, when she had finished training him, he would be able to control everything that had to do with his physical and mental existence.

On the second flight, he tried to concentrate on the worn spots on the white marble she had installed for each step. He no longer used the banister, afraid that the sweat on his palms would damage the lovely patina on the aged wood. By the time he had gotten to the third floor, his knees were filled with Jell-O. He hadn't even seen her yet and already he was helpless.

He paused at her door for a moment, letting himself get into the scene. Once he rang the bell, he would be nothing but her tool. No he corrected himself, he would be less than that, he would be the raw material she crafted her tools from. A manicured finger reached out, caressed the small button, finally depressing it. Somewhere inside a soft chime resounded. Moments passed and the door opened.

He entered, eyes down cast. He knew better than to look at her without permission. His mind tried to picture her, the fullness of her hips, the paleness of flesh. Her large breasts would be encased in some delightful creation of satin, or velvet. Long black hair, braided, would fall in a plum line down the indentation of her spine. If he was very lucky, she might have on the burgundy corset, she laced it so tight that at times he feared she would not be able to breathe.

His kept his eyes rivited to the back of the dark red heels of her shoes. Even with the four inch spikes she was still only five foot six. The contrast of bleeding leather and pale ankles almost made him break training, but he stopped himself before he looked up. They entered the white room. How he hated this room. It meant serious unpleasant punishment. Her heels made stabbing click noises on the white tile.

She walked to the far wall, and began to peruse the myriad of paddles, crops, quirts and whips she found there. He knew this without looking, just as he knew he wouldn't sit comfortably for days.

He had no idea what he had done to displease her so, but it must have been something major. He had only been brought to this room once before, when he had disobeyed a direct order. After that experience he had to pretend he had hemorrhoids to explain the donut cushion he had carried every where for several days.

"Strip and assume the position on the wall"

He obeyed her instantly, thinking to somehow lessen the punishment she was about to inflict. He disrobed and faced the wall pressing his whole body against the cold white tile. His cock shriveled up as the frigid ceramics caressed it. He spread his legs and his arms out, and leaned completely into the wall. It was as if he was tied spread eagle, held by some invisible bonds she had placed him in.

The heels clicked there way from the far side of the room to him, slowly, as if she were counting each step. He felt the edge of the leather oval paddle scrape over his ass, barely there, like a whisper as she posed a question for him.

"What was the first rule I gave you?"

He answered without hesitation,

"What goes on here, stays here. There is only us, there are no tales to tell."

He felt her nails scratching the skin of his lower back,

"Well, I am glad to see you know the rule. It's to bad you had to break it. Don't bother to deny it. Lying will only make the punishment more severe."

His reaction to her statement was all encompassing. His bowels tightened as he realized that somehow she had found out about the list serve he had posted her exploits to. She had discovered his betrayal and now there would be hell to pay. The first blow caught him unawares, it came with such suddenness. It was followed immediately by another and then yet another. These were not simple strikes, rather it was as if she would beat the betrayal out of his ass. He ears flinched every time he sensed the leather hiss through the air. Again the evil leather struck his skin, never had the blows been this hard, never had so much of his ass been assaulted. By twenty his fingers were trying to dig themselves into the tile, by thirty tears fell free from his eyes, by forty he was breathing with his mouth open trying not to scream hysterically, at fifty his efforts failed and he wailed like a child.

Fire could not even begin to describe the sensation that was encompassing the muscles and skin that had just been attacked. The pain was so intense, so hot, it felt as if drops of hot blood were running down the cheeks of his ass. His rigid cock was squished between his body and the unforgiving wall. Her fingers laced themselves through his hair and he was pulled away from the support and tossed to the floor.

Madame Olanski

By as always

(c) as always copyright 1999 all rights reserved. Permission to distribute granted to Oceania Ltd.,