The Story of Owen: One Man's Submissive Journey Read Online Free

shiny black and large O-rings were embedded at varying heights along the sides of the X.
    Mistress Sylvie directed Owen to stand with his back against the cross. “I want you facing me so I can be sure you’re paying proper attention,” she instructed. “Wait here while I select your cuffs.”
    Owen leaned against the cool, smooth wood of the cross while Mistress Sylvie went to the table of toys. She returned with two sets of leather cuffs wrapped in clear plastic. “These should fit you,” she said, slipping the first set from their protective sleeves. “Hold out your wrists.”
    Owen did as he was told, aware there was no going back now, not that he wanted to. “These cuffs will be yours and yours alone,” Mistress Sylvie said. She wrapped the first cuff around his right wrist and pressed the small metal D-ring through the second of four slits cut into the leather. She attached one end of a double-sided clip to the D-ring to keep the cuff in place, and then did the same thing with the second cuff on his left wrist.
    She nodded in approval as she looked at his cuffed wrists before sweeping his naked body with her penetrating gaze. “That suits you, Owen. Black leather and nothing else.” Her smile was cruel, her eyes glittering. “Extend your arms high against the cross,” she ordered, and again Owen did as he was told, aware his cock was rising as well. Standing on tiptoe, Mistress Sylvie reached up and clipped Owen’s cuffed wrists into place against the top O-rings on either side of the cross, stretching his arms taut. Owen bit his lip to keep the moan of pure lust that threatened to erupt from being audible.
    “Lift your foot and place it on my knee,” Mistress Sylvie ordered, the second pair of cuffs now out of their plastic sleeve.
    “Yes, Mistress.”
    Mistress Sylvie wrapped a cuff around each ankle and then directed Owen to spread his legs against either side of the cross. Kneeling, she clipped the ankle cuffs into place, one at a time.  His cock was throbbing by the time she was done shackling his ankles to the base of the cross.
    Standing again, Mistress Sylvie leaned close to Owen, so close he could smell her perfume, something spicy and exotic. He was keenly aware of his nakedness as her leather-covered breasts brushed against his bare chest. She put her mouth close to his ear and whispered, “Are you ready to suffer for me, slave Owen?”
    An involuntary shudder moved through Owen’s frame. “Yes, Mistress Sylvie ,” he said, though it came out only as a whisper.
    Mistress Sylvie stepped away, this time going to the whip rack, from which she extracted a long-handled riding crop dyed the same color as her ruby-painted lips. Returning to Owen, she lifted the crop as if to strike him and he winced involuntarily, his heart suddenly leaping into his throat.
    But instead of smacking him with the leather flap, she drew it teasingly over his bare chest, dragging it down his torso and stopping just above his bobbing cock. “I’m going to begin with the crop. I will start lightly and keep going while I learn about your body and your reactions. If at any point the pain becomes too much or you just need me to slow down, or even stop, you tell me, okay?”
    “You mean like a safeword?”
    Mistress Sylvie nodded. “I don’t really go in for what you Americans call the safeword, because in my experience, more often than not when one is really at the point where a safeword is needed, one doesn’t always have the presence of mind to recall pickle or lemon drop or whatever other cute little term one has chosen.” She began to tap his skin lightly with the crop, moving it over his chest and abdomen in a steady smacking rhythm. 
    “I should tell you,” she continued, shifting her focus to his thighs, “it’s very rare that anyone gets to that point with me in a session where they feel the need of a safeword, because I pay attention. I’m as aware of what you’re experiencing as you are, in some