Karen was something of a strange girl right from the beginning. I met her in the creative writing class I run one night a week. I teach English in the university and I guess I like the work so much I even do it in my spare time. OK, then, because I like my work and also because it's a chance to meet some interesting ladies. And Karen was more interesting than most. Young, tall, blonde and with a showgirl's figure. It was a pity she never seemed to warm to me -- oh well, win the plain janes, lose he stunners, that's how it goes.

There were ten to fifteen regular pupils who'd come along every week and others who'd only turn up perhaps once a month. Karen was one of the irregular visitors and rather withdrawn when she did show up, but from what I saw of her work I thought she had genuine talent. Eventually she confided to me she was already well into writing her first novel, a torrid bodice ripper type story. Which seemed a very good idea -- if you're going to do all that work you may as well try to produce something there's a market for.

Then, after two or three weeks away she came again one night, on her own as usual. She sat in while we workshopped some stories that other members of the class had written and afterwards I asked her how her novel was going. Karen said she'd struck a snag with it and wanted some advice from me when the meeting was over.

So, after everybody else had gone, I made coffee for both of us and I invited her to tell me what the problem was.

"Professor, I've reached the first really dramatic scene in the story and I just can't handle it because I can't put myself into the situation my heroine is in. I don't know how I'd react to the things that are happening to her so I can't write with any honesty about her feelings."

"What sort of situation is it?" I asked her.

"She's been chained up in a dungeon by a man she's frightened of and yet infatuated with at the same time. And he's threatening to whip her and then take advantage of her situation to ravish her helpless body."

OK, she was clearly talking in the overblown style she was using for the story but even so, having a tall and very attractive blonde girl saying it -- well, I suddenly sat up and moved closer to my desk, otherwise Karen would have seen that her plot outline was responsible for an outline in my pants which betrayed more than academic interest in the subject under discussion. I was realizing for the first time that Karen might be withdrawn but she was nowhere near as shy as I'd first thought.

"Yes, well, it sounds like an enthralling plot," I said. "Perhaps you could get some help by reading another author who's already handled a similar scene."

Karen had shaken her head at that.

"I don't want to use anybody else's words, I want to use my own. But how can I do that without having a real feeling for the situation?"

There's not a man alive who'd believe me if I said I hadn't seen interesting possibilities in this conversation, but I had to be careful -- very careful.

"Perhaps you could find somebody to talk to about it, Karen. Somebody perhaps who chooses to put themselves in that kind of situation by choice."

"A submissive, you mean, Professor. Yes, I did think of that, but it would still only be a second hand experience, which isn't good enough. I have to do it myself if I'm to write honestly about the experience. But that's only half the problem. I need a man I can feel about the way my heroine feels about her man. Overawed by him and yet wanting him to take charge of her."

"I see . . . " I answered slowly. This was turning into a surprising conversation: "And do you know a man like that?"

"Yes, Professor, I do. I feel that way about you. That's why I've kept away from your classes as much as I can, because I knew that sooner or later I'd have to confront the situation and I wasn't sure how to deal with it. But now I've realized I can use my emotions to help me in my writing."

I almost made my move there and then but I hesitated. Karen was telling me all this without a flicker of animation on her face. She'd always been like that, a slightly smiling enigmatic sphinx. I wanted to see something under that mask that matched her words before I trusted them, so I chose my own carefully.

"Well, Karen, the thing about being a dedicated writer is that sometimes you let yourself get into unpleasant situations in the search for truth. But if you're going to get yourself involved in some kind of experimental bondage situation, I'd far rather it was with somebody of a responsible character rather than a total stranger who might lose control and seriously hurt you. You do appreciate that danger, Karen, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Professor," she answered a little indignantly, almost as if I'd doubted her intelligence. "That's why I thought it would be better for all sorts of reasons to ask you for your help. Look, I've already bought some of the things I need."

She opened a cloth shoulder bag she was carrying and produced a big black neck stock with silver studs and a large silver ring in the front of it. I goggled at it and the two matching wrist cuffs Karen also laid down on my desk. Then she delved in her bag again and brought out a cat o' nine tails whip.

"There, do you think this will be enough? Or should I buy some chains as well?"

"Huh . . . no, Karen." I took a deep breath. "I have some chains that will do -- in my garage."

"Your garage, Professor? Is that where you're going to take me?"

Lucifer's knuckles, I had to be dreaming all of this!

"No, no. Not here -- there's too many busybodies. My cousin is renovating a house about ten miles west of the town, just off the state highway. It's called Mountsorrel Farm, there's a sign on the verge that shows the turnoff. Could you come over there this weekend?"

"What about your cousin?"

"He's away -- there won't be anybody there."

"That sounds fine, Professor." She picked the whip up from my desk and ran her fingers through the thongs. "If I leave these with you, will you bring the chains as well?"

Which was a strange question to be asked by any girl when I was hunched up over an erection as hard as steel bar at the mere idea of locking and loading her. No, the whole deal had to be a weird joke, or maybe some entrapment scheme. Well, if anybody challenged me I'd say the whole proposition was so bizarre that I was treating it purely as a joke.

"There is one thing more, Professor," Karen said. "Would you help me by playing the male character in my story? Speaking his dialogue, I mean."

"Excuse me?"

She gave me a folder she'd been carrying.

"This is the chapter as far as I've written it until now. I think it would help me very much if we could role play the characters as we go into the scene."

"Uh, sure," I stuttered, trying to stop my hand from shaking as I took the folder.

"What time shall I come out to the farm on Saturday, Professor?"

"Ten o'clock," I suggested.

"OK. I'll see you then. You won't forget to bring everything we'll need, will you?

Karen smiled and walked out of the room without a backwards glance while I was left wondering how many drinks I'd need to swallow before I could believe that she'd turn up at the farm. Not that I wasn't waiting there on Saturday morning anyway. What sort of a man wouldn't have been? And precisely at ten a new model VW sedan, a yellow one, turned in off the road. I waved at it and the driver headed for the barn. Yes, it was Karen behind the wheel. My heart skipped a beat and maybe even a bar.

When the VW stopped I walked towards it. Well, my eyes were pulled towards it like magnets and the rest of my body got dragged along by them. I say that because I could clearly see Karen's nipples through the thin silk chemise which was all she seemed to be wearing on the upper part of her body. The door opened, she threw aside a blanket which had apparently been lying on her lap, swung a pair of long bare legs out of the car, then stood up. The chemise was all she was wearing, apart from a pair of high heeled shoes. Whatever speed my heart had been beating at before, it was twice as fast now.

"I came as you ordered me to, Sir Rodger," she said loudly.

Sir Rodger? I was so turned on by the sight of Karen's virtually naked body that my mind had gone into orbit.

Then I realized she was quoting from the story she'd given me. Apparently she was taking that part of the deal seriously, so it was a good thing I'd read her manuscript. I was supposed to be Sir Roger De Champlain, a dashing but dastardly Victorian era villain who was set on throwing Karen's family off their small farm for not paying their rent. Meanwhile Karen's character was to be one of those fictional heroines always ready to sacrifice their maidenly honor to keep the old folks safe at home, so here she was to do her filial duty of submitting herself to Sir Rodger's foul lusts. Which seemed to suggest we'd least we'd have some fun before I tied her to the railroad tracks or whatever happened next.

I twirled my invisible mustache and put on a leer. "So I see, my dear. And now we can to know each other better, my little beauty."

Than God I had the whip ready in my hand. I slashed it through the air and then tapped her on the thigh with it. Karen nearly jumped out of her sexy shoes and I had a suddenly exhilarating sense of power.

"Into the basement with you, wench," I growled.

It sounded like a pretty lame performance to me, about as good as you'd expect from an university English professor playing at bad melodrama. But Karen obeyed me, tottering through the doorway on her high heels and showing off the delightful contours of her swaying bottom, totally bare except for a wispy covering of silk. I snorted and almost twisted the whip handle apart as I followed her with itching palms. No yet though, not yet, not until she was secured as tightly as strong padlocks could make her. Then we could renegotiate the teacher/student relationship in a whole new way.

We came to the back of the room, to where I'd hung up the chains. Karen stopped moving, turned around, looked at me, her face as frozen as the top layer of a Bombe Alaska. If there was something hot simmering away underneath that outer layer of ice it still hadn't broken through to the surface. With all the distractions on view it was difficult to remember what the female character's name was but I finally made the connection.

"Put your hands behind your back, Miss Rawlinson. Or shall I call you Clarissa?"

"Only my friends call me Clarissa."

"And what do your lovers call you?"

She stared ahead, not looking at me: "I have no lovers, Sir Rodger."

I tried to laugh in the right kind of degenerate aristocrat manner, then used the whip to lift up the bottom of her chemise. First at the back and then at the front. Karen quivered but kept her eyes straight ahead, standing as stiffly as a soldier on duty.

"Are you trying to tell me, Miss Rawlinson, that no man has ever poached on these preserves? That no young man has ever opened up this neat little valley with his fingers and his tongue?"

"No, Sir Rodger, no." Karen delivered the line with quiet defiance. She was a pretty good actor, I realized.

"And what about these?"

I tugged at the shoulder supports of Karen's only garment, feeling her hot smooth skin against the tips of my fingers as I slid the silk cords down her arms, down to her elbows, until the thin veil of the chemise was drawn tight below a pair of perky breasts.

"What about these little beauties, Miss Rawlinson? Surely you must have let some lucky boy gaze his fill upon such an attractive bosom? Is that not so?"

Karen shook her head quickly: "No, Sir Rodger. I have allowed no liberties to be taken with my person. Not by anybody."

I tried to put a sneer in my voice as I spoke the lines she'd written for my character: "You don't like men, then, Miss Rawlinson? You never lie awake on a hot summer night hoping for a handsome young prince to knock on your window, begging to be admitted to your bed?"

"My dreams are not your concern, Sir Rodger."

"No, but your bed, your bedroom and your house are very much my business, are they not, Miss Rawlinson? Until the question of the rent is settled to my satisfaction. Have you come to give me that satisfaction, my sweet young lady?"

"I have obeyed your summons in order to do whatever you ask of me, Sir Rodger. I have not come anticipating any pleasure from the meeting."

"Ah, a touch of defiance. I like that in my girls. Tis all the sweeter when I teach them who's the master on this estate. Kneel down by that chair, Miss Rawlinson, and we'll begin your education."

Karen did as she was told, not quickly, but not slowly either, her lips compressed together in a sullen pout. Was I the disappointment or was she just sticking with the script?

I sat down on the chair and draped my leg across her back. It was the way she'd written the scene. Then I stroked the back of her head with the whip handle, which was my own improvisation.

"You make a fine footstool, Miss Rawlinson. Perhaps I should use you for that task in my home when some of my sporting friends attend one of my special entertainments. I'm sure you would solicit more admiration in their eyes than any of my more expensive furniture."

Karen gave a slight shudder but said nothing.

"No comment on that notion, my dear young lady who's never been kissed? Are you really so innocent that you know nothing of the fun and games that go on at the Hall in the hunt season? If that's so I've some interesting stories to tell you."

Karen turned her head away from me, as if to deny any interest in what she was hearing.

"Come, come, Miss Rawlinson, don't tell me you've never heard about our after dinner games of bringing in wild young fillies to be bent across the table and tamed before they're galloped by one an all. Capital fun, I do assure you."

"You are evil, sir, evil and God will punish you for your wickedness."

"Well, if introducing you to the pleasures of the flesh is to be part of my punishment, Miss Rawlinson, then I stand ready to make a full confession of all my sins. Do you want to hear about how we know when our mares are ready to be mounted?"

Karen shook her head: "No! No more of such wicked talk, I beg you, sir!" I was staring at the sweeping movement of her blonde hair across the back of her neck and literally licking my lips as the tension inside my balls tightened.

"Oh, I wouldn't call it wickedness, only some sporting fun, Miss Rawlinson. Only a little spanking and some careful but thorough handling until we have them snorting on the bit and rolling their eyes in anticipation. And then we tell them to get down on their hands and knees and lick the shoes of every gentleman in the room. Which is what you're going to do for me now. Or, Miss Rawlinson, I'll show you some true wickedness."

I heard her gulp like a rising fish.

"Must I?"

"You must, indeed you must, and instantly. If you don't want your parents turned out to make their home in the fields."

Karen made another half strangled sound, her first real sign of emotion. Then she bent her head forward over my feet and began to lick the tops of my shoes. To say it was a turn on is like saying that being hit by lightning is a shock. I did some gulping of my own, I can tell you.

I also wondered how much all of this was going to help Karen in writing her novel, but I have to say it wasn't the most important thing on my mind. Literature could wait while I got on with enjoying this fantastic slice of reality. And credit where it was due, the lines she'd written for her male character were a pleasure to speak.

"Now that's a better use for that cheeky tongue of yours than having to listen to your whining," I told her. "Lots of lessons for you yet, Miss Rawlinson but by and by you'll learn what's expected of you. Now stand up and put on those wrist and neck bands I've bought along to aid in your education."

Karen stood up, slowly and gracefully, keeping her eyes downcast as she put the wrist restraints on.

"No damned dawdling, Miss Rawlinson, no damned dawdling or I'll have the bailiffs into your parent's house before noon tomorrow. Put them all on."

I was going quietly desperate as I waited my chance to get her under lock and key. It a case of speaking the lines she wanted me to without frightening her off at the last step, because, by God, the play acting would take a more serious turn afterwards.

I wondered how much of what was going through my mind Karen was aware of as she lifted up the neck strap and hesitated before placing it underneath her chin.

"I crave your assistance, Sir Rodger," Karen said in a strong yet subdued voice.

I moved around behind her and buckled up the neck strap. Not that really mattered, it was the wrist straps that counted. I grabbed the chain, took the clip hook at the end of it and pulled her left wrist backwards.

"Ouch! Careful, Professor!"

That certainly wasn't in the script but it didn't matter because now there was only one other wrist band to capture and Karen was mine. I let the wrist go, caught the other one and pulled it forward as I edged around her body, pulling on the chain at the same time.

"That's right, Miss Rawlinson, both hands together in front of you and held together, just like you do in Church. For all the sins you are about to commit, may the Good Lord forgive you. I know I certainly will."

"You unmitigated villain!"

That was a nice line but one that got totally ignored as I snapped the other wrist onto the chain. All I had to do now was to finish off the job. I grabbed the chain again and hauled on it, pulling several feet of it over the pulley hanging from an overhead hook. Which left my favorite writing pupil standing helplessly trying to look behind her as I locked the other end of the chain to a ring bolt I'd installed in the wall only a hour before, never really believing it was ever going to be used.

"What was that you called me just now, Miss Rawlinson. A very unkind expression, I do believe."

"Sir Rodger, perhaps I spoke too hastily."

"Do you know what I'm doing now, Miss Rawlinson? I'm picking up my favorite whip and I'm selecting the place on your body where you're first going to feel its bite."

"Sir Rodger . . . "

"I think we can dispense with the formalities from now on. You can address me as master and you will answer to whatever I call you, whore. Now, only a very gentle chastisement for the first stroke, I think."

Yes, only a gentle stroke yet sharp enough to make Karen gasp and wriggle her backside around in a very intriguing way as she felt it. I didn't know what kind of experience she was getting out of all this but it was sure a new one for me and I was totally enjoying it.

So much so in fact that the next stroke was much, much harder, making the whip tails crack and curl around Karen's trim body.

"Please, please, master, don't be so cruel," she begged me. "You know you have me at your mercy."

Well, if my pupil wanted to stay in character, even with a stinging bottom, that was fine with me. As long as I got to screw her I didn't care whether she thought of herself as Karen or Clarissa while it was happening.

"If you thought that was cruel, taste this," I told her and this time I put some real effort into the swing.

The result more than met my expectations, I wouldn't have thought a light cheap whip could have caused such a reaction but Karen yelped as if she'd been stung and then stamped her feet in pain like a tango dancer warming up.

"Oh, you swine, you devil, you monster," she yelped at me.

The thing was though that there was much more excitement in her voice than pain or distress. I realized I was finally proving what I'd already suspected. Karen needed this sort of treatment to get herself fired up for love making. Which was probably why she wanted to write about it as well. Which left some interesting questions to be answered.

"Spread your legs apart you bitch, and keep them open. And if you call me one more name I'll give you a whipping between your thighs that'll leave you feeling as if you've been put to stud with a stallion."

I was delighted to see Karen obey me without wasting a second. I was even more pleased to hear her response: "Yes, master, yes! Whatever you want of me."

As a reward I gave her another stroke, not as hard as the one before but still brisk enough to make sure she knew it had landed. She gasped and twisted around underneath the chains, turning far enough for me to catch a glimpse of one of her tits bouncing around as a result of the whipping. Which promptly earned her another stroke, as I was sure she wanted. But maybe she wouldn't want what was going to happen next.

I walked over to a table, threw back a piece of sacking on it and picked up the riding crop I'd bought with me in the fond hope that I might get a chance to use it. Not a toy whip but the genuine thing, strong and supple enough to slice a raw steak. I slapped the end of the crop down as hard as I could on the table and Karen's eyes flickered in fear.

END OF PART ONE

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