Lenore

To understand why I am the woman I have become, you would have to know how I was early on.

I was a "late bloomer". As the youngest of five girls, I watched my sisters grow into beautiful women, eagerly awaiting my turn. Around age 12, each of my sisters had suddenly started to develop breasts, gotten their period, and grown the long, lean athletic bodies that were a hallmark of my father's family and the staple of every fashion runway in the world. When I turned 12, I waited for all the magic moments to arrive as they had for my sisters, but there seemed to be something wrong with me. I remained the same little girl, and began to experience a shyness about myself that grew around me like a second skin. It was bad enough growing up with such pretty sisters and being left behind, but I was also afflicted with one more thing I'd been teased about for years. I had a head of naturally wavy hair that was very, very red.

As the year went on, I became more aware of my awkwardness. The only "magic moment" I did have in common with my sisters was that I got my period. I was less than enthused about that part of it all. I would look at myself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door every night, trying to see some change that would mean I was following their lead, things never seemed to happen as they should. As I approached 13, I began to wonder why I was being left as I was. I spent more time trying to understand the world around me, and how I might make a way to fit myself in. I became a good student, figuring on perhaps someday finding myself a man who would appreciate me for my mind instead of my body. I did find the one thing about my body that I did enjoy.

My sisters had secretly confided in me about orgasms, and I found that I was perfectly capable of that just as well as anyone. That became my one solace during that year. Just before my 13th birthday, I was sitting on the porch wrapped in a warm quilt one gray afternoon, miserable in my childlike body. My mother came out to me and pressed a small photo into my hand. "Look at it, Lenore." I looked down at the photo, and saw an unremarkable little girl in a party dress, sitting on a swing. She looked sad, but had a brave smile on her face as if she was trying to please the photographer. It took me a moment to recognize that every scraped knee, every supposed slight, every minor failure in the lives of my sisters and myself had been met with that smile.

"Lenore, this was taken on my 13th birthday." I looked up into her brightest smile then, and she said something to me that I will never forget as long as I live. "Don't worry about growing up, it will come soon enough. You just take after my side of the family instead of your father's." With that, she retrieved her photo and, still smiling, walked back into the house. I remember saying a prayer right then and there that what she said was true.

To understand that, you would have to have seen my mother. Mom was 5'8'', the high end of the scale for the average American female. She had the classic hourglass figure, with long, shapely legs topped by a heart-shaped derriere that turned many a man's head wherever she went. To top it all off, Her breasts were full, firm, and quite obvious even under her flowered blue apron with the ruffles meant to disguise a woman's figure in the kitchen. Don't get me wrong, my sisters are beautiful, and the four of them together could stop traffic on any given day. But my mother in her prime could have brought airplanes out of the sky and stopped time itself with the bat of an eye and swish of her hips if she had wanted to. At least that was what my father said, and I believed every word of it.

That night, looking at myself in the mirror once again, I prayed that what she said was true. It would take a little time, but I was convinced that my mother would never lie to me. So I decided to bide my time and hope.

In the summer before I turned 18, Mother Nature made up for lost time. My fried egg bustline became tender in the spring, and I found myself looking for a larger bra nearly every month that year. My nipples went from just a suggestion to two sometimes maddening points of desire that would become firm at the least provocation. The little bit of baby fat I had retained since childhood vanished from around my waist to settle itself around my hips, forming what I considered to be a very alluring behind. The thin legs that had walked me to the library quite suitably for years filled out and became curvaceous. I was overjoyed with the changes, and my mother was so proud of me herself that she quit dying her long brunette hair and let her own magnificent red grow out so that I wouldn't feel alone in the house.

Other changes were slower to come, though. My shyness had been such a part of my life that I still didn't quite fit in. On top of that, the changes that took place in my appearance seemed to be a rather daunting thing for my male classmates. So, I remained the good student, and didn't try to call attention to myself while it all sorted itself out. I still felt something wasn't quite right, but I had learned to trust that things would unfold as they should. The one thing that I continued to take comfort in was my private little indulgences with my new body. Through experimentation, I found that there was more than one type of orgasm, and I tried to find as many as I could before I entered out into the world on my own. It was one August afternoon before I turned 18 that I found out a secret quite literally by accident.

I was alone for the weekend, my parents having left for a trip to celebrate their anniversary. I was in the poolhouse, indulging my fantasies. I sat on the chaise, my legs spread as wide as I could, using a rather wide handled hair brush that had become one of my early favorite masturbatory tools. My nipples were hard, and seemed to be connected directly to my clitoris as I stroked the handle of the brush in and out of my increasingly wet sex. I had orgasmed several times already, and I could smell the salty freshness of the thin film of perspiration that covered my body. I was nearly there again, when I slipped off the edge of the chaise.

What happened was indescribable. As I nearly landed on my ass in the floor, the thick handle of the brush slammed into me, the bristles ramming home against my clit and the tender flesh of my inner labia. My nipples came alive like never before, electric impulses arcing across them and firing straight downward to my sex. The pain was harsh, but the orgasm that came with it was like nothing I had ever experienced before. Wetness flowed onto the floor as I fell onto my side, my senses totally overwhelmed with the continuing waves of pleasure that radiated throughout my entire body. Right then, I couldn't care about anything but the wonder of what was happening to me.

It took nearly 20 minutes for it all to subside. I laid on the floor the whole time, feeling the warm juices of my body trickling down the back of my thighs and my ass. The throbbing waves of pleasure flowed through my nipples and my clit like a slowly ebbing tide on a sun-covered beach. The thought occurred to me that I might be bleeding, but I dismissed it. I didn't even care. The hint about my secret was revealed to me, and I had to know more. Much more.

In the aftermath of the incident in the poolhouse, I found I wasn't cut, only bruised at the opening of my vagina and just inside. I decided to find out what I had experienced while my body healed. I looked around in the library on campus at the community college I was attending, but I didn't find much. I knew I would be more successful with the help of a librarian, but I didn't have the courage to ask any of the student librarians for help, let alone Mrs. Baxter, the head librarian. She had always seemed friendly enough, and she even knew me by name, but I didn't want to get anyone involved that might possibly question me about my research and approach my parents with concerns.

So, I once again turned to the main library downtown. It had served me quite well over the years, and I felt at home there. When I walked among the stacks, I had alway felt I was communing with the characters of every book I had read there. It was a familiar place for me, and I knew there would be a better chance of finding my answers there than on campus, anyway.

For three weeks each afternoon after class, I would go there and pull books about everything related to my search. Anatomy, physiology, psychiatry and psychology, even physical therapy and hygiene. I would take them back to a reading table in the farthest reaches of the library where I knew I wouldn't be disturbed, or discovered. One Saturday, I arrived at the library early. I knew they would be open until 10:00 p.m. and I would have a good chance to find something related to my search with the extra time. I had gone through books in piles of 5 and 10, only finding hints at what I was looking for, although I was able to find quite a bit of helpful knowledge about my body. By early afternoon that day, I had already gone through a couple of stacks of books and had just finished returning them to the shelves and gone back to my reading table. When I got back for the last stack to return to the shelves, I found someone had rearranged the table.

The books I had left stacked on the corner of the table were now arranged in a circle surrounding a book I had never seen before. I glanced around quickly, hoping to catch sight of whoever had intruded on my reading space, to no avail. I sat down and looked at the interloper, then pulled it towards me with some trepidation.

It was an old book, bound in dark brown leather. While I had seen bindings like that in a few antique book stores, I had never seen one like this in a library. I also noticed that it didn't have any library label or markings on it. Someone had obviously brought it there. I felt a moment of panic, thinking someone was intruding on my secret, pushing me towards something I didn't understand myself. The panic subsided as quickly as it came as I realized someone was privately trying to help me. If I had indeed been discovered, whoever it was obviously held no threat for me. Whoever it was had figured out what I was doing, and I decided to accept whatever assistance they were offering with this book. I turned it to look at the spine, and found only the letters "M d S" adorning the spine at the very bottom, in very stylish gilt lettering. I opened the book and was immediately spellbound by an elaborate illustration that adorned the inside cover.

It was a dark-haired woman, her hands bound together and drawn above her head with a chain. Her breasts were full and lush, standing out even more by ropes that encircled them, forcing them to jut straight out from her chest. Her legs were spread wide and held in place with chains, exposing her sex. She appeared to be impaled on a wooden shaft that reached from the floor to her vagina, and there were lines on her flesh that appeared to be the marks of a whip. But what captured my attention was the expression on her face. She was in the throes of an ecstasy that I felt I recognzed. I felt sure it was the same expression that had been on my face in the poolhouse that afternoon. Beneath the illustration, in an elaborate flowing script, was the title of the book: Justine, by the Marquis de Sade. I looked around the room again, wondering if I was being watched by whoever had left the book. Deciding I was alone, I began to read.

Hours passed. I was engrossed in every word, building pictures in my mind of what he described. I was at turns repulsed , shocked, and thrilled by it all. I read well into the evening. I was not yet finished when the gentle bell sounded that signalled the library was soon to close. I picked up the book and walked absently towards the front exit. My mind was swimming as I said goodnight to the girl at the front desk. She looked down at the book, and I held it up to show her the book was not library property. She smiled sweetly and said, "I know, I was told to put it there for you. Please take good care of it, it's a very rare copy." My eyes must gave gone quite wide, because she giggled and went on, "Don't worry about it. When you're ready to return it, just bring it back here any Saturday afternoon. I'll see it gets back home." I started to speak, but she placed her fingers to her lips, politely waving me towards the door.

I finished the book in the wee hours of the morning. At the end, I found myself in a state of arousal I could hardly understand. While parts of what I had read were repulsive, I found other parts of it highly arousing. In fact, upon finishing the book, I found I was quite wet with the results of my reading. That week, I began hunting down everything I could find about de Sade, his writings, and the subject of domination and submission. I found images in graphic art and photography that excited me in ways I was only beginning to understand.

On Friday, I found an image I couldn't get out of my mind.

She was tall, with long red hair and skin with just a hint of freckles. She was tied to a large "X" shaped frame that I had learned was a St. Andrew's cross, spread eagle. Her breasts were tied in a manner similar to the illustration from 'Justine'. I could tell from the extreme hardening of her nipples that she was in a state of orgasmic frenzy at the hands of a man who held a large vibrating wand against her pussy while she strained against her bonds. I immediately began to imagine myself in her place. Closing my eyes, I imagined myself bound on that cross. I laid back on my bed, stretching my legs out as straight as I could, mimicking the image of the girl on the cross. I began to stroke myself, imagining how she must have felt. The pressure of an orgasm built and built, but I wasn't quite able to get there. Then, I thought how I would feel myself. The feeling of not being able to control my own orgasm, and being under the control of someone else. The hardness of my nipples, and not being able to touch myself as my excitement rose.

That did it...my hips rose unbidden as I strummed my fingertips faster and faster across my clit and labia, the juices drenching my thighs as I came over and over.

As I collapsed onto the drenched sheets, my breasts felt like they were on fire and my nipples were so hard they nearly ached. As I began to relax, I reached up and squeezed them. The feeling was electric, and I began to squeeze harder. Without warning, I was coming again, the waves of desire washing over me as if I was laying in some violent surf. As I fell asleep, the picture of myself as the girl on the cross became a part of some secret reality for me.

When I woke the next morning, I couldn't wait to get to the library to see the clerk who had introduced me to the marvel that is Justine. I could only hope she had answers for the thousand questions that now swam in my mind.

Saturday was almost unbearable when it arrived. I drove downtown and parked in one of the municipal lots near the library. I wnadered along the sidewalk towards the small shops across the street from the library to waste time. As I browsed the little shops, I ran across a place that sold handmade clothing, accessories, and handbags made by local artisans. I found a linen scarf, about three feet long, with tasseled ends. Even though I had a similar one at home in blue, I was captivated by the deep emerald green of this one. I ran it through my hands over and over, enjoying the feel of it against my skin. I closed my eyes for a moment, and the image of the girl on the cross immediately came to mind. I imagined how she would look with that scarf wrapped around her waist, or draped over her shoulders with the ends falling across her breasts. I found myself getting aroused with the thought of how the scarf would feel against my own breasts. I took it back to a mirror in the corner and wrapped it around my neck. Making sure no one was watching, I then dropped one of the tassels into my bra against my left nipple. The feeling was indescribable, and I rushed to take the scarf from around my neck and took it to the register. As I left the store, I tossed it loosely around my neck to indulge myself in its soft caress.

As I walked down to the coffee shop, I felt a new confidence in myself. Several people smiled as I walked by and met their eyes. As I approached the door to the coffee shop, I caught my reflection in the glass door. I was pleased and surprised at the image there. The green scarf was a perfect complement to my bright red hair and the tan coat I was wearing. I found my mind wandering to how the scarf might feel against the rest of my skin. I decided I'd better go inside and get some coffee.

I ordered capuccino and a small sandwich, taking them to a table by the front window where I could keep an eye on the front door of the library. I was hoping to catch sight of the clerk as she arrived for work. I checked the clock and saw that it shouldn't be too much longer until the came in for the evening.

I had just finished my sandwich and coffee, and was thinking about something sweet to finish with when a limousine pulled up across the street at the library. Lo and behold, the girl I was waiting for stepped out of the back of the car, and turned to speak to someone who remained inside. She smiled brightly and bid them goodbye then turned to go inside. I decided against dessert and smiled at the girl behind the counter as she complimented me on the new scarf. I hurried across the street to the library.

I was greeted with the familiar scent of books as I entered, and I went directly to the front desk. The girl who had brought me 'Justine' was sitting on a tall stool, her long legs crossed at the ankles. She looked up as I approached and smiled as I walked up to the counter. I drew the book out of my purse and set it on the counter in front of her. She took it, placing it discreetly in her own bag that was hanging on a hook by her knee. She leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin, "What did you think?" I took a moment, wondering how best to engage her in a more private conversation. She took the initiative and motioned me to the far end of the counter where we would be out of earshot of the head librarian. She went to speak with her a moment and then joined me there. "I told Madeline I am helping you with some research so that we can go someplace private to talk. Why don't you head back to your table, and I'll meet you there." She then went back over to grab her purse and followed me to the back. As we got there, I turned to face her and she said, "I like the scarf, it's beautiful. I have one almost exactly like it. Doesn't it feel nice?" I nodded, not sure what to say. She went on almost immediately, getting down to business, "There's not a lot of information on what you were looking for here, but there are private libraries that have the most wonderful collections on this subject matter. One of them is right here in town. As a matter of fact, that's why I came here originally." Her eyes widened for a moment, and she thrust her hand towards me, "I'm sorry, I just realized we haven't even been introduced. My name is Justine." A little shock must have registered on my face as we shook hands and she went on "At least, that's the name I've taken." She sat down on the table, and I leaned against it beside her, waiting to hear more. She went on right away.

"Just like you, I was looking for something. I noticed the books you were looking through for the last few weeks, and I remembered going through the same process myself. I had found a reference to the Marquis de Sade in some of my reading, and started looking for copies of his work. Most libraries don't keep them because they're considered very controversial. But I found references to a few private collections. The one here was the closest to where I used to live, so I decided to come here and try to get permission from the owners to view the collection. They were so nice about it, and were very straight forward about what it would cost me." She squirmed a little and looked around to make sure we were alone. "They told me that they would let me read one book from the collection, and then we would talk. They loaned me 'Justine'. Once I read it, I knew I had to see more. When I returned the book to them, I asked them what it would cost me to see the rest of the collection. We made...an arrangement." She blushed, looking around once again. "I've never regretted a moment of it."

It wasn't what I'd expected to hear. "What was the arrangement?" I asked quietly. She smiled at that, replying, "I took the name Justine for a reason." At that, she took hold of her skirt, pulling the hem up to expose her right thigh. There, just below her panties was a mark. It was a scar, but much more than that. It was a pair of wings in a circle, and appeared to have been placed there over a period of time. She then showed me her left thigh, exposing a very elaborately designed "J" applied in a similar fashion.

She settled her skirt back down over her thighs before she went on. "Once I heard their conditions, I thought about it for nearly a week before I spoke to them again. I knew I had to know what I was missing, so I agreed. I moved to an apartment here, and arranged with some friends to check on me from time to time, just to be sure." She closed her eyes and began to smile broadly as she went on, "At first, I thought I might be ashamed of myself, but I'm not. What I experienced at their home is something I can't describe in words. But I have access to the collection now, and my life is everything I want it to be." I had watched her become more and more animated, and could see clearly through her thin blouse that she was getting excited just talking about it. I knew I was on the cusp of something important, and I knew I couldn't turn my back on this.

"So how did you get their permission to bring the book to me?" She said quietly, "I told them someone was here looking for answers, and they asked me to tell them about you. I told them what I could, and they gave me the book to bring to you." She shrugged playfully, "And here we are." A sudden clarity came to me, and I knew I had to see more. I reached out and took Justine's hand in mine and leaned close enough to whisper in her ear, "How do I do this?" The thought of opening Pandora's Box crossed my mind as she whispered back, "Let me make a call, wait here." With that, she slipped off the table and went to the front of the library.

I sat down at the reading table and closed my eyes. The pictures of the red haired woman on the cross came unbidden to my mind. I could almost feel the bindings on my own wrists and ankles, and I grew wet picturing myself in the throes of an orgasm there on that cross. My nipples were hard, and I slipped my hand into my blouse, pushing my fingers under my bra. As I squeezed my right nipple between my fingers, I grew suddenly wet. I began squeezing harder and almost immediately an orgasm rolled through me like a breaking wave. I found myself wishing I could pull my clothes off and stretch myself out on the table to be bound tightly. A second orgasm hit me, and I opened my eyes to see Justine standing at the edge of the table, staring at me, her eyes wide. As our eyes met, she looked around us to make sure we were alone while I composed myself. When she looked back, I could feet the heat in my face as I blushed uncontrollably. I started fussing with my hair, unable to meet her eyes. She sat on the table beside me and put her hand on my shoulder. She leaned close, "Don't worry, no one saw. Except me, of course." I looked at her, embarassed, but she smiled at me. "If I had a body like yours, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off myself, so don't worry about that." We both began giggling as quietly as we could manage. It felt good to have someone who obviously had no judgement in her heart.

When our laughter finally subsided, she took my hand in hers and whispered, "They would like to meet you. I have a feeling that you need to meet them, just like I did." She stood up and pulled me to my feet. We gathered our things, and went back through the stacks toward the front doors. Madeline looked up at us and smiled as we passed the front desk, "Have a good weekend, Justine." and with a little smile, she went back to her work.

As we exited the library, the limousine was pulling up to the curb. Justine opened the back door, and I slid into the back seat of the car. It was darker than I'd expected it to be. I stepped carefully in and sat on the satin finish leather seat and Justine slid in beside me, pulling the door shut behind her. As the door closed, we were plunged into total darkness. Justine slid her hand to my thigh, searching for my hand. She took it and interlaced her fingers with mine. "Don't be afraid, it's always like this. Hold on." She shifted in her seat and a dim light came on overhead. "There, that's better. I guess I'd better fill you in on a couple of details. When we arrive, we'll be in a garage. The collection is very valuable, as you'll be able to see when we get inside, so security is a prime consideration for them. Please don't worry. It's just something you'll need to get used to." She sat back, relaxing in the plush seat. For some reason, I knew I trusted her, and decided to just go with the flow. While we drove, I asked her about the markings she'd shown me. She explained they'd been done with a tattoo needle without the ink. They had been applied over a period of several weeks, to carefully build up a slight scar in the design that had been chosen. She then told me there was one more marking. She leaned forward, pulling her blouse up and lowering the waistband of her skirt at the same time. There, on her left hip, was a circular symbol that resembled the yin-yang, except that it was three equal portions instead of two. It was white, and was not a scar like the other two. When I asked her about it, she told me it was placed there with a branding iron that had been prepared with liquid nitrogen. The cold burn it created destroyed the melanin in the skin cells, leaving behing a white pattern instead of the burned scar of a hot brand.

I thought about her markings carefully. I had never seen anything like them. I had seen plenty of tattoos, good ones, bad ones, funny ones and sad ones, but I'd never seen one that I liked enough to look at every day for the rest of my life. If this was part of the price, I wasn't sure I could pay it. But my curiosity spurred me onward and I decided to hold my tongue. She rearranged her clothing, covering the brand, and sat back, leaning slightly against me. "I wasn't sure about the cold brand, but now that I have it, it's something I'm very proud of. Just thinking about it turns me on a little." It was then that I told her about my misgivings, and that I wasn't sure about getting marked just to know more. She turned to face me quickly, her eyes wide, "Oh, no, no, no...they didn't ask this of me. I asked it of them." She becam pensive, looking down towards my chest. "I chose this for myself. I'm glad I found someone like them to give myself to." She looked up into my eyes and went on, "I'm not a slave, but I am kept, and I know I am cherished. It's something that's become so big for me....." Her voice trailed off, and she turned back again to sit back and laid her head on my shoulder. I took her hand in mine once again, and we rode the rest of the way in silence.

I could tell by the motion of the limo that we were going up the road into the mountains, no doubt towards a group of large houses that had been built over the years to take advantage of the view and the privacy. When we came to a stop, Justine opened the door and helped me out of the car. We were indeed inside a three stall garage. The other two stalls were taken up by a large white pickup truck and a blue Cadillac sedan. The garage was spotless, with a workbench along the back wall. There were doors on either side of the bench, and a set of stairs on the wall to the right in an alcove. Justine told me to stand by the bench and wait for her as she entered the right hand door. As I stood there waiting, I looked back at the limousine. It sat there, dark and quiet. I couldn't make out the driver's face, and he made no move to exit the car. As I was thinking about who he might be, Justine came out of the door and I turned to see her.

I could only think of it as a transformation. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail high on the back of her head. She was wearing a tight-fitting royal blue dress short enough to expose the bottom edge of her thigh marks, and a pair of blue high heels that accentuated the shape of her legs and exactly matched the color of the dress. Her excitement was palpable, as evidenced by her hardened nipples that seemed to be trying to jump through the fabric. I was taken aback for a moment, but she took my hand and pulled me along toward the stairs, climbing them to the top. I followed her without hesitation. As we stepped through the door, we were greeted with the smell of books and a familiar smell I couldn't quite place. It reminded me of the stables where I'd taken riding lessons when I was 15. The thought of it made me smile. The room itself seemed to have been built on the pattern of a church, its vaulted ceiling rising nearly 20 feet above us. It was lit with elaborate fixtures that reminded me of large diamonds. But what really captivated me were the books.

Three of the walls were lined with bookshelves well over 12 feet tall, and equipped with those rolling ladders that moved along the front of each set of bookcases. The shelves were filled with books of every description, with every kind of binding. Old ornate bindings with heavy cord reinforcements under leather intermingled with modern canvas-bound works. One of the bookshelves was filled with the catalog boxes usually reserved for periodicals in the library downtown. As I took it all in, Justine led me to the center of the room where there were four overstuffed chairs sitting around a large round table. The dark wood looked like mahogany, or a stained teak, but the legs were what made the table. They were carved in the images of four kneeling nude women, their arms tied to posts behind them. I noticed each woman was unique, and the table appeared to be quite old. Justine beckoned me to take a seat, and she sat down to my right, both of us with our backs to the door where we had entered.

Moments later, the door behind us opened and closed, and I heard the unmistakable clicking of a woman's high heels approaching us. She stopped a few feet behind us, and I could feel her watching me closely. I knew instinctively I shouldn't turn, so I looked straight ahead at the far wall. Presently, a tall, athletic looking man seemed to just slide out from behind the bookcases there and walked towards the table. It was hard to determine his age, but I estimated him to be in his mid-40's. His head was shaved completely, and he wore a dark gray wool sweater over a black shirt and black pants. I thought he was rather handsome, without being overly so, and he looked very comfortable in his own skin. As he sat down across from us, I noticed he was wearing a pendant about 2 inches in diameter. It was the same symbol that Justine had shown me on her left hip. He sat back in the chair and rested his elbows on the arms, steepling his fingers in front of his face. He smiled gently, "Justine tells me that you may be seeking what she was when she first came here. Is that correct?" I looked at him levelly and said simply, "Yes, I believe I am."

He looked beyond me to the woman standing behind us, and motioned her forward. I looked at her as she walked past. Her auburn hair hung down to her shoulders, and she was wearing the tightest leather pants I had ever seen. Her legs were very shapely, as was her ass. She was wearing a bright turquoise blouse carefully tailored to accentuate her full breasts, and I couldn't wait for her to turn around. As she turned and sat down across from us, I couldn't stifle the gasp that escaped my lips. "Hello, Lenore. I'm so glad you're here."

Her sultry voice sounded so different that what I had heard in the past, but I couldn't help notice what a lovely body Ms. Baxter actually had.

I would have never imagined this scenario. Ms. Baxter, whom I had been so afraid of mentioning my search to, turned out to be the person I would turn to for answers. She sat across from Justine and me, her legs crossed in those ridiculously tight pants, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. I wasn't quite sure how to proceed, and decided to let her and the gentleman speak first. She was the first to break the silence.

"Justine told us about someone who she felt had a need to learn about desires that might not be for everyone. Just as we did for her, we are willing to do for you. Tell me Lenore, what first gave you the idea that this was something you needed to explore?" I described the incident in the poolhouse, and how excited I had become reading 'Justine' and some of the other stories I had been able to find on my own. I also told her about some of the photos I had found in my search, as well as some of the graphic art. She seemed to be particularly attentive as I described the picture of the red-haired girl on the cross. She asked me about my sexual experience, and I had to admit that I was a virgin. When she appeared to be surprised, I told her quickly that it hadn't been for lack of interest, but lack of opportunity. She smiled and said, "That is something we must remedy before you continue here." I must have frowned for a moment, unsure of how I would go about dealing with that. Ms. Baxter's companion spoke up when he saw my expression, "Just as there are women who sell sexual favors, there are men who do the same. The only secret is finding someone safe to deal with. I know someone I feel would be just right to take care of this for you. Would you like me to arrange it?" I could only nod. He stood and came around the table and stood directly in front of me. He was not threatening, or bullying, yet I felt intimidated for a moment. He leaned over, his face mere inches from mine and went on, "You will have to speak, Lenore. You will need to be specific in your answer to me about this." I looked into his eyes and said, "I would like you to arrange for a man to take my virginity so that I may learn." He stood up and began to turn away when I cleared my throat and spoke one final word, "Sir."

He turned back and smiled, "I will be glad to do so. In the meantime, Eileen will let you know some of the rules of this house." He then walked back towards the wall where he had entered, sliding once again between the bookshelves of the library and vanishing from sight. I looked at Ms. Baxter and she told me about the first rules of the house. "His name is Richard, and he is the master of this house. As he said, I am Eileen and I am the mistress of this house. Lenore, we will discuss many things over the next few days, not the least of which is how and when you will come here to learn. The first thing you must know and agree to is that we will be obeyed without pause, and without question. Do you understand?" There was something about her strict tone that strummed some secret string inside me. I looked into her eyes and said, "Yes, ma'am." She smile and corrected me, "It's 'yes, mistress' in the future." Remembering something I'd read recently, I turned my eyes downward for a moment and replied, "Yes, Mistress." When I looked back up, her expression was one of delight, "Oh, Lenore, I think you will learn quickly here." She went on to tell me that I would be given a number to call to come to the house. The limousine would pick me up and enter the garage. Once inside, I would go to the door to the right of the workbench and prepare myself in whatever clothing that would be there for me. While the clothing might change from time to time, I would be expected to be wearing whatever had been provided when I entered the house, and never my own clothing. I agreed, but asked timidly what I was to do if there was nothing there. "Then that means you will enter the house naked." She waited, seeming to expect some protest, but I simply agreed by saying, "Very well. Thank you, Mistress." It was a small price to pay.

After a few moments, Richard returned to join us and handed me a card before he took his seat. On the card was an address just south of downtown in a rather expensive neighborhood. "If you can be there tomorrow night at 8:30, Alexander will provide you with a night you will not regret, and which will serve our purposes. But, I do ask one thing from you, Lenore." I looked at him expectantly, then realized he was awaiting my response. "Sir, what would you have me do?" He smiled, then went on, "If you decide that what you experience with him could be enough for you, please just say so. No one will be offended." I thought for a moment, and realized just what he meant. I couldn't help but appreciate his giving me a way to back out if I felt I didn't need to know what I would learn from the two of them. I merely said, "Thank you, Sir. I will be honest with both of you, and with myself." Justine didn't accompany me back to town, and the limousine dropped me off at the library. On the way home, I looked forward to the next night, and fantasized about it all the way home.

I will never forget the next night. Alexander turned out to be a very handsome man, about 30 years old. We talked for just a few minutes, then he took me back into the master bedroom. He very carefully undressed me, taking the time to pay attention to my body in ways I hadn't even thought about. He kissed my nipples, exciting me no end. Then he sucked on them, each in turn. It was wonderful, and I was truly so wet I thought I'd come before we could go any further. I remember a loud moan escaping my lips when he took his mouth off my nipple, leaving it wet, and sucked air around it into his mouth. The brisk, cold feeling was like a small electric shock, and my nipple responded by instantly becoming amazingly hard. I nearly jumped out of my skin and begged him to do it again. He repeated it with the other nipple, and I could feel the wetness between my legs begin to coat my labia. I squirmed as he placed himself between my legs and began running his tongue in circles along my skin, moving ever downwards towards my vagina. When he got there, he circled my clit with his tongue slowly, then slid his arms under my thighs. His fingers played along my ribs and my belly until he reached down and spread the hood of my clit upwards and outwards, exposing it to his tongue. My hips began to rise and fall as he licked me, frst across my clit, then around the opening of my vagina, then back across my clit again. I wasn't sure how many time I climaxed, but I soon found myself begging him to fuck me. I wanted him on top of me, inside me, sliding in and out of me as I came around him. He pulled his hands away to put on a condom, then I felt his hard cock at the entrance to my vagina. He pulled my knees up alongside his chest, and I turned my ankles inward to embrace him as he began to push slowly into me. I felt my vagina expand around him, my wetness increasing as he slid deep inside me. It was a delicious feeling, having him stroking in and out of me slowly. As I urged him on, he began to increase the pace, gently pushing my legs up a little higher towards my shoulders. His cock began stroking in and out against my G-spot, starting a rhythm that spread from the top of my thighs to my rock-hard nipples. I reached down between us, strumming my fingers across my clit and asking him to fuck me. I was so close, I thought I would cry if I didn't orgasm.

Then I pictured the girl on the cross. I straightened my legs upwards, spreading myself wider as he slammed into me. The muscles in my thighs began to spasm along with my clitoris as the orgasm hit me full force. My pussy clenched around him, and my juices squirted against our joined bellies as the waves rolled over me again and again.

I'm not sure how many time I came that night, but I was exhausted on Monday, and I was more than a little sore. But I revelled in that feeling without regret. I skipped my morning classes, and couldn't help but think about it during the afternoon lecture. That night, I called the house, and Richard answered on the third ring. He asked me how it had felt, and I was honest when I told him how fantastic it had been. I described what Alexander had done, and told him how wet I had been as I climaxed, surprised at my own willingness to talk about it to this near stranger. Richard had fallen silent on the other end of the line as I considered what I had experienced. A silence grew between us, but I was the first to break it, "Sir, I cannot say it wasn't wonderful. It was better than I imagined it would be. But I also know there is much more I want." I dropped my eyes as I knew I would if he had been there in front of me, "So very much more."

He told me to call for the limousine on Saturday morning after advising me to eat a good dinner on Friday and get to sleep early. I assured him I would, and he told me that Eileen would be so pleased. All I could say was "Thank you, Sir." At that, we hung up, and I went to my evening class. I was tempted to drop by the library as I walked past, but I decided against it. I wanted to make sure I knew whatever protocols to follow before having any public contact with Ms. Baxter. I didn't want to do anything that might make either of them have doubts about teaching me what I wanted to know.

In the beginning, it was all discussion. Frank discussion. We sat and talked about the things that excited me, the things that frightened me, and the things that scared me too much to even think about, let alone discuss. On the first several visits to the house I had found a simple white linen dress waiting for me in the dressing room. The hemline was a little higher than I was used to wearing, rising to just a couple of inches below my crotch. It was there with a matching pair of high heels and nothing else. The way it felt against my skin was surprising. My nipples ribbed against the fabric tantalizingly when I walked, especially in the heels. We would sit around that stunning table for hours, just talking. I accepted these discussions as a part of my learning experience, but was beginning to get frustrated. I was allowed three hours each visit to look through the library, but I was forbidden to approach the back wall any closer than 15 feet. That was easily enforced by a blue line that marked off the forbidden territory, but curiosity about that set of shelves couldn't help but be nearly overwhelming.

The back shelves were populated with very large hand bound books that seemed to be arranged by their age. Those on the top left appeared to be probably 100 years old, if not older, while the last on the bottom right were nearly new. Each volume was about 18 inches tall, just a little narrower in width, and probably 3 inches thick. I knew they must be filled with illustrations of things I could only begin to imagine, and I wanted very badly to step across that line. But I didn't want to risk losing the opportunity I was being given, so I kept my place on the proper side of the line.

When I grew tired on these visits, Eileen or Richard would take me to a room just off the library. It had a very comfortable queen size bed, a high-backed blue leather chair with a matching ottoman, and a dark wooden cube table with a simple brass lamp beside the bed. Usually, I would go straight to bed and sleep, but sometimes I would sit there in that chair letting my imagination run wild about the contents of the huge volumes on the back wall. It was on one such evening, sitting in the blue chair, that I got the first inkling of what lay in store for me. I was sitting there imagining those massive books when I heard voices out in the library. There was some light conversation and a little quiet laughter. I couldn't make out what was being said, but I recognized Eileen and Richard's voices right away. I also heard a third voice, a girl's voice, very low. I was sitting there as still as I could, straining to make out what was being said, when the voices stopped for several minutes and were replaced by other sounds I didn't quite recognize. I was intrigued.

As I listened, it sounded like something was being rolled across the floor towards the back of the library. It sounded a bit like the metal casters on the ladders in front of the shelves but much, much heavier. Then I heard a light giggle from the third person, and realized it was Justine. Whatever it was they were moving came to a stop, and I heard Justine speaking once again in that very low voice. She seemed to be asking a question of Eileen and Richard, but they weren't answering. The silence stretched out, making me wonder what was going on. I stood and moved very quietly across the room, intending to slip out and spy on the three of them, but when I tried to open the door the handle wouldn't turn. After trying several times, I realized that the door had been locked, and there was no way to unlock it from my side. My imagination began to get the best of me about what was going on out there in the library as I heard the different noises barely muffled by the door. The sound of rope being dragged across a hard surface. The metal clinks of belt buckles, just like the one on my jeans down in the dressing room in the garage. I sat down to listen carefully to everything I could hear. I found that if I sat very still and leaned over in the chair to place my head against the door, I could hear a little better. I had just figured that out when I heard Justine's voice rising out in the library.

I could tell from her voice that she was under some kind of duress. I could imagine her physically straining as she began to plead with them, "Please, please, please...don't make me wait any more...please. I can't stand it, please...PLEASE!" Then I heard the unmistakeable sound of something heavy and flexible striking flesh. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine what might make such a sound when it came again. This time, the thud was immediately followed by a sharp whine from Justine, "Yes, please...again...please." The sound began to enter into a slow rhythm, each blow being followed by Justine's whimper, and sometimes by her pleading voice, begging for more. I pictured in my mind the red-haired girl on the cross, this time with her face to the wall. I imagined a heavy whip raising welts on her ass, her back, and her thighs as I listened to Justine's cries. I reached down to touch myself and found I was very wet. I began to masturbate as I listened to the blows fall on Justine's skin, trying to picture in my mind's eye the welts that were being raised by whatever she was being beaten with. The tempo began to speed up, and Justine's wails began in earnest. My fingers moved faster and faster across my clit as she began to get louder and louder, begging for more and more. Suddenly, I realized Justine had all but fallen silent, but the rhythm of the blows continued. I realized I was so close to climax that my legs were beginning to flex, raising my ass off the seat of the chair. Then I heard an almost animal sound tear through the air. Justine's high pitched wails were not pleas anymore, but the unmistakeable sounds of release. I could hear the creak of wood and leather straining against one another as orgasm after orgasm stormed over her. I could only imagine what was happening as I began to come myself, the hot wet juices flowing out of my cunt and onto the seat of the chair. I could hear a loud wail ringing in the air as I climaxed over and over.

As I arched my back, squeezing one nipple with my left hand, I plunged two fingers deep into my pussy, revelling in that wet, clenching channel that enveloped my fingers so greedily. It was at that final moment, my juices flowing down my straining thighs as I came again, that I realized the keening wail I heard was my own voice, adding my harmony to the chorus of Justine's cries as she herself came over and over again. I could not remember having an orgasm so intense. As it struck me again, my eyes rolled back in my head as I strained for just one more orgasm, and as it racked my body the world seemed to fall away as I slid off the chair and into darkness.