A Touch of S and M

By Maureen Wilkinson

Steve scanned the personal ads. He had done this since puberty; removed thoughts of sport and replaced them with women in all stages of undress. He acquired a large selection of top-shelf magazines and did what boys do under bedclothes and in bathrooms. He did it with such enthusiasm his wrist ached and he was exhausted. Lately he'd become bored with the procedure and his imaginings took on a slightly more sophisticated twist. While his peers were fumbling and groping their way into various girlfriends' knickers, Steve felt he was above these mundane beginnings. Having had a good education from his well-thumbed magazines, he felt ready to start at the top. Determined his first taste of sex was to be memorable, he scrutinized the personal column in Girls Galore. Outlined in thick black double lines, one advert stood out from the rest.

                 OUR SATISFACTION IS SEEING TO YOURS

                 Madame Medusa, Lolita Submit and Scarlet Clause.

                 We cater for male or female clients

                 Satisfaction guaranteed.

                 Group discount

                 Appointment only.

Steve's heart was thudding against his ribs as he dialed the number.

A husky voice came over the line  'Hallo, Madame Medusa, how can I service you?

''Hallo.' Steve squeaked. He coughed, deepened his voice to a mature drawl and made an appointment.

***

Steve was in the pub with the lads and on his second pint of the evening, when the talk got round to women and sex.

''Had your leg over lately, Steve?' One of the boys said slyly. Knowing that at eighteen, Steve's bad case of acne put his attractiveness to the opposite sex at zero.

''Piss off, Rob. I can't be bothered messing about like you lot. I'm paying a professional, someone who knows what she's doing,' he said. There were plenty of jeers, but Steve ignored them. He would have the last laugh when he described real sex to the boys.

***

A light film of sweat coated Steve's brow as he pressed his finger to the bell. He rubbed dust from his well-polished shoes onto the backs of his trouser legs and straightened his tie. He heard bolts sliding and the metallic chink of chain. The door opened an inch and just visible in the crack, appeared an eye.

''Yes?' said a male voice from below the eye.

''Er, good evening, my name's Steven.'

''Congratulations.' The door closed.

''Excuse me,' Steven rapped lightly on the door panel, pushed open the letterbox and shouted through the space. 'I was invited. I read your advert in Girls Galore and phoned.'

The letterbox remained open and the eye squinted though it. 'Who did you speak to?'

Steven gave a nervous cough. 'Ahem, she said her name was Madame Medusa.'

The eye disappeared and a muffled voice reverberated back through the door. 'ere, Trace, there's some bloke called Steve at the door, saying he's got an appointment with Madam Medusa - What? - I thought you were Miss Whiplash? - Bloody hell; make up your mind. You'd better answer this, then'

The sweat from Steve's brow dripped off  his nose. He wiped it with the back of his hand and eyed the windows across the street. He fancied he saw eyes scrutinizing him from behind net curtains. To his relief the door opened and he slipped through.

The woman in the hall was tall. She fingered a fake diamond choker at her neck and looked at him as if he had a bogy hanging from his nose. 'You're late,' she barked.

''No, I was here on time, your friend wouldn't let me in.'

''Don't argue with me, you scumbag. I said you were late.'

He looked at her out of the side of his eye. Madame Medusa's hair was fashioned into tight ringlets resembling long black snakes hanging from her scalp. Her greeting and a slight stir in his jockeys, took Steve aback. Wow, it's starting already.

A red leather corselet pushed her full bosom up towards her chin. She'll never get crumbs in her lap, he thought as he struggled to raise his eyes above her shoulders.

Madame Medusa grabbed him by the tie. Her patent-leather sling-backs clicked on the tiles as she pulled him along the hallway. 'Come on, scumbag, this way.'

''Er, my name's Steven, Madame Medusa,' he said, thinking she might have misheard his name over the phone.

Her full, wide lips were painted bright red and as she ran her tongue across them, Steve saw the gleam of studs. He closed his eyes for a moment and his knees went weak at the thought of the added pleasure those tongue studs were going to give him.

''You're all scumbags to me,' she said shortly as she pushed him through a doorway at the end of the hall.

The room was in semi-darkness. Two red lamps threw a rosy glow across a satin quilted bed. Attached to the iron bed-head was a pair of handcuffs. Steven felt his heart pumping blood down into essential areas and he knew a moment of pride. His hand slid down to his trouser front and he adjusted himself for more comfort.

''Money first, you moron.' Madame Medusa's green eyes narrowed to slits.

''Yes - of course, er how much? You didn't put a price in the advert.'

''Oh, God give me strength. A wunner,' she said, putting her hands on her hips and spreading her legs slightly. Sheer, black seamed stocking contrasted with the creamy whiteness of her thighs.

Steven could see a few curly hairs peeking from the side of her thong. His breath left his body like he'd been kicked in the chest. Turning his eyes away, he gasped, 'How much is a wunner?'

Madame Medusa frowned. 'You're a virgin ain’t you? How old are you?'

Panic in case she threw him out, gave Steven a moment of bravado. 'Old enough, I've done it loads of times - I thought I'd try a professional - just for a change.'

She stared at him for a minute. 'Ok, if you say so. It's a hundred for the full works,' she said, holding out a scarlet nailed hand.

Steven's appendage drooped along with his spirits. 'I've only got fifty pounds on me.'

Her laugh was a short bark of contempt. 'What are you expecting for that sort of money?'

''A blow job, perhaps?' he said carefully.

Madame Medusa sighed. 'Put the money on the table and take your clothes off, you insipid, unimaginative little toad.'

Steven unbuckled his belt with trembling fingers. He wished she wouldn't keep calling him names. It was a bit off putting. She could at least pretend that she fancied him, he thought. He turned to face her. 'Shall I take my jockeys off, now?'

''What - are you expecting me to play hunt the thimble as well?'

Steven's dropped his shorts and his face flushed, somehow his manhood had slipped away during the exchange and it hung limp against his thigh.

''What's that?' Madame Medusa said leaning down and pointing at his unenthusiastic penis. 'If you think I'm going to give that a blowjob. Think again, needle dick.'

A choking sensation rose to the back of Steven's throat and he knew he was near to tears. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

''Shut up, and get on the bed - and pull back the quilt first, I don't want you messing it up.'

He climbed awkwardly onto the bed, lay on his back and closed his eyes. 'Is this all right?' he murmured.

''On your stomach first.' She said and dug a pointed nail into his side. She leaned over him and slipped the handcuffs on his wrists.

Steven heard them click as they locked and wondered how she was going to give him a blowjob if he was on his stomach. Of course, he thought- this was some sophisticated lead up, to help me rise to the occasion. A wave of gratitude overcame him. The bed sank under her weight and he held his breath waiting for her touch. Nothing happened, he turned his head and looked over his shoulder. She had removed her thong and was standing astride him. He tingled all over as the blood rushed like a tidal wave through his veins. Such was his preoccupation with the view Steven didn't notice she was holding a leather thronged whip.  He pulled his knees up under him and lifted his hips off the bed to allow his engorged member to spring into an upward position and heaved a sigh of relief that it had decided to co-operate.

There was a soft swish as the whip swung through the air and cut across his buttocks. 'Ffffuckin' hell,' he screamed as the leather bit into his skin. 'What're you doing? That frigging hurt.'

''No, you sniveling little worm, what you say is - that frigging hurt, thank you so much, Madame Medusa. Let's try again, shall we?'

Pain shot through Steven's body as stinging blows reddened his skin. 'Stop it, you cow.'

''Tsk, tsk, Needle Dick, that's not very submissive, now is it? I think the leather mask will quieten you down.'

The soft leather enveloped Steven's head and he felt Madame Medusa's breasts on his naked back as she tightened the straps under his chin. There was only one small air hole at the mouth and he struggled to breath. The material clung to his sweating face and he was choking on the tightly drawn strap. A wave of fear overtook him and his feet beat a panicky tattoo on the sheets.

''Like it on your feet do you?' Madame Medusa lashed at the upturned soles.

A whole new concept of pain opened up for Steve. His lower body was on fire and the only tingle he felt now was in his head as darkness swept in.

''Get the wassy out of here.' Steven heard a feminine voice hiss as he floated out of swirling mists. Someone dressed him while he had been unconscious. The mask had gone and he was on his feet.

''What happened?' he said faintly.

''You fainted with pleasure,' Madame Medusa said as she ushered him towards the bedroom door.

''I did?'

''Of course.'

''What about the blowjob I paid for?'

''You had it.'

Despite burning pain in his buttocks and feet, a small smile creased the corners of Steve's mouth. 'I did?'

''Of course you did. That's when you fainted.'

''Did I - er - you know?'

Madame Medusa held up the wet cloth she used to bring Steve back to consciousness. 'Of course,' she said with an ironic smile. 'Our motto is - your satisfaction is our satisfaction.'

Steven hobbled painfully to the door and took a last look at the few drops of water dripping slowly from the cloth. His chest swelled with pride. Wait till I tell the boys, he thought.