Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The Warehouse, by Medea F.K.  (medeafk@hotmail.com)

   He's waiting on the top floor of a warehouse, alone, in the dark.  He
showed up at 8, as scheduled, but it's been an hour now and still she isn't
here.  Sometimes Katrina makes him wait.  So he watches the sun setting
over the industrial district.  The clouds and haze create vibrant colors on
the horizon, warming the room, then leaving it dim.  There's probably a
lightswitch somewhere, but she wouldn't want him to turn it on, he thinks.

   Sometime around 9:15 he hears her footsteps, hard heels hitting the
floor.  He squints in the direction of the noise, but can't see anything,
until she's right in front of him.

   "Ready to play?" she asks, smiling.

   "Always, Kat.  I'm yours."

   "Good." She sets a black gym bag on the floor, and takes off her coat.
Underneath, she's wearing a knee-length black PVC dress that hugs her
curves, and matching spike-heeled boots.  She's a striking woman, tall (at
least in the shoes she likes to wear), dark brown hair pinned up with
chopsticks, a womanly but fit body.  She's probably in her early thirties,
but he's never asked.  It doesn't seem important.

   She hangs the coat from a hook on a nearby pillar, and turns on a light
that illuminates a ten-foot wide circle on the floor.  Then she sets a
wooden chair in the center and beckons him to sit in it.

   He moves without hesitation, following her gesture.  They've played this
game before, and though it changes, he's without any real fear, only
anticipation.

   Kat walks around him, as though examining every detail.  Her hand
brushes his shoulders as she passes, sending shivers down his spine.  She
stops in front of him, and hikes up her skirt to sit on his lap,
face-to-face.  Her fingers trace a line, forehead to cheek to chin, and
come to rest on his neck.

   "Have you been good this week?"

   "Yes...  I think so.  I've tried."

   "I see.  Keeping up your exercises?"

   "I'm up to the third plug now.  It's not uncomfortable at all."

   "Good boy.  What else?"

   "I masturbated once, on Tuesday.  I wanted to last night, but then I
thought you might want me to wait."

   "That was very thoughtful of you." She gets up, and removes a pair of
leather cuffs and a collar from her bag.  "Kneel." As soon as he is on the
ground, she buckles the collar around his neck and cuffs his wrists
together in front.

   He looks up, expectantly.

   Katrina points to her boots.  "Kiss them."

   He eagerly plants a kiss on each toe, then continues up her feet, until
she tells him to stop.

   "Later I'll let you suck on the heels, if you've pleased me.  Do you
understand?"

   "Yes, Katrina."

   "Good.  Stay where you are." She moves her bag to the left side of the
chair.  Returning, she leans forward and unbuttons his shirt, letting it
fall around his elbows.  She scrapes her nails across his chest, flicking
his nipples.  Then nipple clamps go on.  They adjust with screws, and for
the moment she sets them snug enough to stay on when she tugs at the chain,
but not so that they bite.

   Kat sits in the chair, now, and as soon as she indicates her permission,
he follows to kneel at her feet, walking on knees to get there, though it's
awkward.  She unbuttons his pants, pulling them down, along with his
boxers, and looks into his eyes.

   "Now you're going to answer a few questions.  Chest across my lap."

   Obediently, he moves into position.

   "On Tuesday, when you masturbated, what did you think about?"

   "I thought--" He gasps, interrupted by her hand smacking his buttocks.

   "Keep talking." She spanks him again.

   "I thought about feet.  About toes--" Smack.  "--painted red."

   "And what else?"

   "Licking them.  Kissing them.  Being allowed to suck on them."

   Katrina continues to spank him as he speaks, occasionally pausing to rub
the reddened skin.  His sounds make her squirm a little, against the seat.
A submissive in pain always turns her on, and she can feel how hard he's
getting, too.  He's taken to her training well enough now that he stops
himself from rubbing against her in response, knowing that there will be a
real punishment if she notices.

   She continues her questions.  "And did you have the plug inside you?"

   "Yes, I put it in every night, I've been using the same size all week."

   "Then I think you're ready to move up to the next one."

   She puts a latex glove on her hand, and adds lube until it's slick.  She
spreads his flushed butt cheeks to expose his asshole, probing at it with a
finger.  It slides in easily, evidence that he's telling the truth.

   When the first finger is all the way in, she adds a second, sliding them
in and out until he seems well-lubricated.  Then comes a third, slowly
stroking his opening, making sure he's ready for the next part.  Her
fingers are replaced by a plug, about 2" wide.  There's enough lube, and
he's well enough prepared, that it's only a slight strain to fit.  He
breathes deeply and pushes out to help her, without needing to be told.

   "There we go." Katrina removes the glove and runs her nails along his
ass, then taps the end of the butt-plug lightly.  He moans, causing her to
smile.  After letting him cool down a moment, she pulls him upright again
and stands.

   "Hands above your head."

   He obeys, and she walks him over to a chain with a ring on the end,
hanging from the ceiling.  It's a stretch, but he can reach it, and as he
grabs on, she clips the joint between his cuffs to the ring, to keep him in
place.

   A moment later she's standing before him with a cane and a small weight
on a hook in her hand.

   "Look at me," she commands.  Keeping eye contact, she attaches the
weight to the chain connecting his nipples.

   "I'm going to strike you ten times.  You will keep count, out loud.  You
will thank me for each one.  You may ask for more or beg for leniency if
you wish, but I'm going to do whatever I want.  Understand?"

   He nods, starting to feel nervous for the first time.  Katrina doesn't
go easy with the cane.

   With a swish through the air it hits him and he gasps, "One, thank you."
The first strike stings his butt, but not too much.  It's light enough that
he tenses in anticipation of what will follow.

   Kat laughs when she sees this.  "Relax, keep breathing.  I never give
you more than you can handle."

   And the next strike is only mildly harder, making him feel silly for
worrying.  Strike three, however, has a much sharper edge to it.  By strike
five, he's grunting with the impact, both from the cane and the way the
weight on the nipple clamps swings forward when he moves, which is
impossible to avoid, the way he's hanging in place.

   On the next few she backs off again, but from strike eight on, it hurts
like hell and only his sense of dignity and desire to please her keeps him
from begging.  The shock of each stroke transfers to the plug in his ass,
keeping him turned on even through the pain.

   "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

   He moans in response.

   "In fact, I think you could take a little more in a moment." Next
Katrina brings out a disk of leather with chains attached, and snaps it
around his balls.  She adds a weight similar to the one hanging from his
nipples.  "Five more strokes.  Count from where we left off."

   Counting the last five is almost trance-like for him, but being forced
to speak keeps him from drifting too far.  The endorphins triggered by her
strikes soothe him, softening the pain.  The tugging at his nipples and
balls, the plug, all contribute to his arousal.

   Katrina steps back to admire her work.  The red stripes on his skin
please her very much, and she tells him that.

   "Thank you," he says.

   Kat unhooks his hands, removes the weights and clamps and chains, and
they walk back to the chair.  She sits, placing her submissive at her feet
once again.

   "You did well today," she tells him.  "You earned your reward.  I'd like
you to lie down."

   He rests his head on the floor, face up, waiting.  Katrina lowers her
foot to his face, pressing her toe to his cheek.

   "May I masturbate and suck on your boot heel?" he asks.

   "Yes, but don't come."

   As she presses her heel to his lips, he begins to stroke himself,
slowly, drawing out the pleasure.

   Kat smiles, enjoying the feeling of power as she fucks his mouth with
her shoe.  In a few minutes she will stop and send him home to finish,
maybe add a writing assignment on the proper way to worship her boots, so
she has interesting email to read tomorrow.

   Then she will go home, have a glass of wine, and think about his face,
beautiful, in pain.