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An older man teaches a boy to forget his girlfriend.

The Goth girl at the counter didn't turn a hair when she parcelled them up for me. I found an erotic lingerie shop, and bought two sheer, hip-length white nightgowns with fur trim at neckline and hem, a matching long negligee, and, on a whim, a black lace body-suit. A jewellery shop provided me with a stainless steel collar, set with little stones, and bearing a discreet ring to which, I thought, a leash might be attached. Pleased with my purchases, I stopped off for a relaxed lunch, then went home to await Giselle's arrival, more than a little nervous in case she had second thoughts. I busied myself making some preparations, fixing a ring-bolt in the beam which crossed my lounge, then going down to the hardware shop for a metre of heavy chain and a snap-link to hang from it.

Eight o'clock came and went, and my anxiety increased, until, at about half past eight, my mobile phone rang.

'I'm just around the corner,' came Giselle's voice, sounding more nervous than I felt.

I ran downstairs, and was waiting when the taxi drew up, and the driver unloaded a big suitcase and two boxes from the boot. I paid him, and managed the suitcase and a box, Giselle carrying the other box upstairs to my apartment. Once inside, we set down our burdens and I turned to look at her. She was breathtakingly beautiful, in a green and white printed silk dress, with a short flared skirt. Her hair was shining, thick and loose, cascading down to beyond her waist, and her feet were in silver-heeled stiletto sandals.

I took her in my arms and kissed her, but she pulled away.

'I'm sorry I'm late, master,' she said, her eyes cast downward, hands clasped together. Instinctively I knew she was asking me to punish her, there and then.

'So you should be, you little slut,' I said, when, for the moment, all I really wanted was to make love to her. I showed her the collar I had bought, and she looked up at me when I clipped it into place around her slender neck.

'It's lovely, master - I shall wear it all the time.'

'Yes, it is a symbol of your submission. Now take off your dress.'

She reached behind her and pulled down the zipper, shrugged the dress off her shoulders, so that it feel with a whisper to the floor around her feet. She stood, proud and slim, her young, firm breasts jutting as if in challenge, long nipples hard with excitement.

I kissed her, long and hard, inviting the studded tongue into my mouth, then, when I drew away, I said, 'You would like me to whip you, wouldn't you?'

'Oh yes, master.'

'You know I'm going to hurt you, don't you?'

'Yes.'

I let my hand stray downwards, and she parted her legs obediently as I found her crack. She was dripping-wet. I kissed her again, briefly this time, then fetched two of the restraints I had bought, and buckled them around her wrists. I led her to point beneath the ring-bolt, and soon had her wrists clipped onto the hanging chain, high enough so that she could just stand in her heels. I thought how lovely and vulnerable she looked, but knew that it was going to be difficult - my only experience of whipping came from fictional sources, and some stuff I had seen on the Internet. She sensed, I thought, my nervousness as I took the riding crop from her suitcase, and swept her heavy mane of hair over her shoulder, leaving her pale back, pristine and unmarked, available to me.

She looked over her shoulder at me, lips slightly apart, an unreadable expression on her lovely face, then, quite deliberately, she slowly said, 'Please hurt me, master.'

I swished the crop against her back without much force, and she looked over her shoulder at me with something akin to scorn.

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