Nomally Abnormal

He hadn't actually said he would do anything to her. He'd only said he knew Walt and knew she'd been to the group meetings, and he'd only said his wife and he would like to help her. If his wife was a psychologist, were they just going to sit her down and talk to her? No, he'd said they both liked the things in the book, so it probably wouldn't be just talk.

Ellen wished she had someone she could talk to, but she could never ask her mother about something like this, and the group wouldn't meet again until the next semester in the fall. She was taking a couple summer classes, but the rest of the group had gone home either for summer jobs or to just recharge.

After a lot of thought and hand wringing, Ellen decided she had wanted a way to find out and this was the only way that was going to happen. She was still a little fearful, but rationalized that Mr. Allen would never jeopardize his position with the university by hurting her.

That Friday afternoon, Ellen took a shower, fixed her hair, and dressed in shorts and a frilly blouse, then drove to the address on the slip of paper.

406 Guidry Road wasn't where Ellen thought a professor would live, but that's where the map had taken her. Instead of being on another street full of houses near campus, it was out in the country. It was a big house and looked relatively new because the shrubs were still pretty small. She drove up the long, concrete driveway and parked in front of the garage, then took a deep breath and walked up to the front door.

Before pressing the doorbell button, Ellen asked herself if she was really ready for this. She'd asked herself that same question all the way from the dorm to the house, and the answer had always been that she was. Ellen pressed the doorbell button one time and then heard the chimes inside the house ringing.

Mr. Allen opened the door a few moments later and smiled when he saw her.

"Ellen, come on in. Angie and I were hoping you'd drop by tonight. She has a fresh pot of coffee ready and we were just going to sit down and take in a movie if you didn't show. Can I get you a cup?"

Angie wasn't what Ellen had anticipated. She'd assumed a woman who had a degree in psychology would be like the students she knew who had that major and the professors who taught the classes. Most of them seemed to want to look like they were very professional and always wore business type clothing.

Mr. Allen always dressed in a suit and tie, and even that night, he still wore a dress shirt and his suit pants. Angie was a lot more causally dressed. She wore jeans and a top, and both accented her very feminine figure. She wore her long, brown hair like Ellen did. The brown tresses streamed down over her back and shoulders, and two hair clips with rhinestones pulled it away from her face.

Ellen hadn't thought much about what type of wife Mr. Allen might have. She figured a psychologist probably would look very intelligent but also pretty plain. That's how most of the female professors of any discipline looked.

Angie wasn't that way at all. She did look intelligent, but there was a sparkle in her eyes and her wide mouth tinted pink by her lipstick seemed to light up her face with the smile she beamed at Ellen.

"Ellen, I'm so happy you came. Arnie has told me so much about you. Can I get you a cup of coffee or maybe a soda?"

Ellen said a cup of coffee would be fine, and said she preferred cream with no sugar when Angie asked. Angie came back into the room a few minutes later holding a tray with three cups, and sat the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Here we go. Arnie, here's yours. Ellen, I hope I got enough creamer in yours. If I didn't just let me know. Now, lets all sit down."

Ellen took the chair at one end of the coffee table, and Mr. Allen and Angie sat on the couch. Angie sipped her coffee, then sat the cup on the table and smiled at Ellen.

"Ellen, Arnie tells me you are curious about some things. I was like you once, so I understand what's going through your mind. That's why I became a psychologist. I wanted to understand myself. I do now, and I like helping others understand too.

"We don't want to push you into anything, Ellen, but I know how confusing things can be when you're young and what you think seems to be outside what people consider normal. I would bet you have the same thoughts, don't you?"

Ellen looked at her coffee cup.

"Sometimes I do."

"And you wonder if you have some sort of mental issue?"

"I used to before I went to the group meetings. Now, I don't think I do. I'm just different."

"Of course you are. We're all different in one way of another. You're probably wondering why you're different the way you are though, aren't you?"

Ellen looked at Angie. Angie was smiling and the words just came out of Ellen's mouth without her even thinking about what she was saying.

"Yes, I am. I don't know why I want to be dominated. I mean, women are supposed to be submissive, but not like I am. I don't want to just have a man lead. I want him to make me do things and I don't know why."

Angie patted the couch cushion beside her.

"Come sit over here, Ellen. We can talk better if we're closer."

Ellen stood up and moved to the couch. When she sat down, Angie touched Ellen's arm.

"Ellen, the way you feel isn't wrong, but you're a little wrong in what that means. It isn't a need to have a man do things to you that you're feeling. It's a need for a man to do things for you. Does that make any sense?"

Ellen shook her head.

"I think that just makes me more confused."

"Ellen, a BDSM relationship isn't about the dominant doing what he or she wants to do to the submissive. That would be abuse. It's about the dominant doing what the submissive wants the dominant to do to him or her.

"The reward for the dominant is the feeling of power over the submissive, but that power only extends as far as the submissive allows it to extend. The reward for the submissive is a little more complicated, but basically, it's the ability to stretch the boundaries while still being in control.

"That's not to say the dominant won't try to stretch those boundaries on his or her own, because they will once they begin to understand what the submissive wants and needs. Part of the reward for the submissive is letting that happen. It's still the submissive who determines when to stop though. In reality, it's the submissive who is in real control, not the dominant."

Ellen shook her head again.

"Now I'm really confused. I thought the dominant decided what to do and the submissive got aroused by him doing it?"

Angie chuckled.

"I sounds like you think BDSM is only about sex. It isn't, not for some people. Have you heard about master/slave relationships? No? Well, in a master/slave relationship, the dominant controls most of the things about the submissive's life. The dominant will assign tasks for the submissive to do, determine when the submissive should do anything, and pick out their clothing. There really isn't any sex involved. Well, there is, but it's not the point of the master/slave relationship."

Ellen smiled.

"I don't think I'd like that."

Angie grinned.

"Some people love it, but that doesn't mean you have to. You can be however you want, and the right partner will be happy to let you do that. That's part of the rules of BDSM."

"There are rules?"

"Sure there are, just like there are rules for most things we do. They're different for different people, but rules are what keep things exciting as well as keep things from getting out of hand. The first rule is safety and consent, and is mandatory in any BDSM relationship.

"The rule is the dominant must never do anything to the submissive that will cause permanent harm, even if the submissive wants that, and never do anything without the consent of the submissive. Some people don't follow this rule and they're the ones you sometimes see on the news when one is injured or even dies.

"The other rules you have to make up as you go along. One of our rules is when I want to play, I kneel in front of Arnie. That's what tells him I'm ready. Another of our rules is that he will stop whatever he's doing if I say his name. He will not stop what he's doing if I don't, and I won't say his name unless I want him to stop.

"Can't you just tell him to stop", asked Ellen.

"Ellen, for some submissives, saying the word stop is part of the attraction. Sometimes I'll tell him to stop, but I don't want him to. Telling him to stop is how he knows I'm so into what he's doing I can't think straight and I still want more. That's how it is with us, anyway. Somebody else would probably be different, but the rule is the same for almost all. If the submissive thinks things are going to far, he or she will say a word or make a gesture both have agreed to before they begin.

"Ellen, that's the second main part of BDSM -- trust. The submissive has to trust the dominant to follow their rules, and the dominant has to trust the submissive to say when they're uncomfortable with where they're going."

Ellen frowned.

"So I have to find a guy I trust first? I don't know how I'd do that. I mean, trusting a guy not to lie to me or something like is a lot different than what you're describing."

"No. It doesn't work like that. You wouldn't dive into a swimming pool without checking the depth first, and you shouldn't just tell some guy your don't know really well about what you want him to do. A submissive only trusts a dominant after the dominant has earned that trust. You have to find a dominant you first of all like, and then work up to trust over time.

"How would I do that?"

Angie stroked Ellen's cheek.

"You need to start with someone who understands so you'll understand what I mean about trust. That's why you're here, isn't it? Arnie told you we understand and would help you."

Ellen smiled.

"I guess so."

"Well, that's the first step. The second step is to make your list."

"My list?"

"Yes, a list of things you're interested in. Remember, it's the dominant doing things for you, not to you. Arnie can't just start doing what he wants. He has to know what you want. Now, I know you've thought about a lot of things because I used to and I still do. Tell me three of them."

Ellen said the only things she knew about were being tied up, being hit with a swatter, and having clamps on her nipples.

Angie smiled.

"That's good, and it's where a lot of people start. We can do that tonight, or you can think about it for a while. It's your choice, not ours, and if it's too much, all you have to do is say Arnie's name."

Ellen did think about it, but for only a few seconds. She'd come to Mr. Allen's house to learn, and leaving would be running away from what she so needed to experience. She smiled at Angie.

"I think I'll stay. I'm afraid, but I have to know."

Angie put her arm around Ellen and hugged her.

"You don't need to be afraid. I promise you'll be a different woman tomorrow."

Angie led Ellen through their house to a room with a locked door.

"We have to keep this door locked. We have guests sometimes who wouldn't understand and we don't want them nosing around."

She opened the door and turned on the room lights, though they weren't very bright.

"Go on in. Arnie and I will be with you in a couple of minutes."

Ellen walked into the room and stopped as soon as she was inside. She stopped because she was amazed at what the room contained.

In the very center was a large, padded table with a steel ring bolted to each corner, but that wasn't what stopped her. What did was the aluminum frame, sort of like a door frame, but taller and wider. There were rings on each upright, top and bottom, and more rings across the top. On the floor beneath it was a mat much like the gym mats she remembered from high school.

Along one wall was a rack containing what she knew were whips, some things that looked like fly swatters except the swatting end was made of leather, and several things with a thick bundle of long leather strings attached to a handle. Against another wall was a cabinet with the doors closed. Ellen thought about looking inside, but Angie came back just then.

"This is our play room, Ellen. We don't use everything here every time, but we've used everything at least once. You can look all you want, but only Arnie can touch anything. That's another rule we have.

Ellen turned and then caught her breath. Angie was dressed in a tight, black teddy with little black panties and black stockings. She grinned at Ellen.

"Ellen, this is what we call a protocol. It's just something we do to enhance everything. I wear something like this because Arnie wants me to, and I do it to please him. You can get ready to please him too. All you need to do is take off everything except your bra and panties."

Ellen reached for the buttons on her blouse but then stopped.

"I think I'm too embarrassed to do that."

Angie smiled.

"If you don't want to, Arnie can do it. Would you like that better, if he was in charge and did it for you?"

Ellen nodded.

"OK. You'll have to tell him that's what you want. Just kneel in front of him and he'll understand. Now, I'm sure you already know what we use the table for. The tall frame is used like the table, except the submissive stands with her legs spread out instead of laying down. It's possible to suspend the submissive by her arms as well, and I've been tied like that, but not for very long. It's too dangerous.

"The whips, bats and floggers are things we use at different times. The cabinet holds some of our smaller toys. You'll find out what those are in time, assuming you enjoy tonight and want to come back. Oh, here comes Arnie now. Remember to kneel."

Ellen was surprised at what Mr. Allen wore. He had on tight jeans and no shirt, and he had muscles she'd never even imagined because he'd always worn a suit to class. After one look, she dropped to her knees and looked at the floor.

She was both terrified and excited. It was going to happen and it was going to happen because she was going to let it happen. She was shaking a little when Mr. Allen lifted her chin, and she shook even more at the difference in his voice. It wasn't a request he voiced. It was a command.

"Stand up, girl. You have too many clothes on and I'm going to fix that."

Ellen stood and Mr. Allen moved closer. She saw the muscles in his arms working as he undid the first button on her blouse. As he undid each button, she felt something she couldn't have described. It was like every sense was more alert than she'd ever experienced. Her whole body was alert, alert and tingling with excitement.

When Mr. Allen had undone all the buttons, Mr. Allen pulled first one of her arms from the sleeve and then the other, and they tossed her blouse aside. Ellen felt him undo the button on her shorts and then pull down the zipper. Her shorts fell to her knees and stopped until Mr. Allen pushed gently to separate her legs. Her shorts fell to the floor.

"Take of your shoes", Mr. Allen commanded.

Ellen slipped them off without untying the laces. When she stood in front of Mr. Allen in her bare feet, he looked at her.

"What is your word? Say it."

"Ar...Arnie?

Mr. Allen's voice grew softer then.

"Ellen, remember that if something doesn't feel right, all you have to do is say my name and I'll stop. I will stop several times tonight because it's your first time. Be honest with me and with yourself about how you feel. If you are, this will be much better for us both. Are you ready to begin?"

Ellen's nod was answered by the commanding voice.

"Up on the table and lay on your back."

As Ellen was climbing up on the table, she saw Mr. Allen walk to the cabinet and take out some leather straps. When he came back, he took her left arm and pulled it over her head. Ellen felt soft fur against her wrists and then a tightening as Mr. Allen pulled the strap tight. Then, she felt her left arm being stretched over her head and to the side. The tingle of fear she felt was mixed with the alert feeling of excitement, and made that excitement even stronger. It was the same with her other arm.

Ellen unconsciously tried to keep her legs together when Mr. Allen fastened a strap to her right ankle. He pulled gently and when she didn't move, he slapped her thigh.

"Obey or you will be punished."

The slap hadn't really hurt, but it still set her mind reeling with the other feelings it caused. For the first time, she was in his control, his to do with as he pleased, well, as long as she allowed it. It was a feeling of being submissive and yet of power. Ellen let him pull her right leg far to the side and fasten the strap to the table.

She didn't try to stop him from pulling her left leg to the other side of the table. She was still enjoying the feeling of not being able to resist. When he finished, Mr. Allen stepped back and looked at Ellen, then came closer and his voice was again soft and gentle.

"Are you OK? Nothing's too tight or cutting into you is it?"

Ellen shook her head.

"I'm fine. Nothing hurts."

"Good."

Mr. Allen then stroked his hand from her belly to her breasts, and Ellen shivered at his touch. He smiled and did it again, then hooked his fingers under her bra cups and pulled them over her breasts. Ellen looked down to see what he was going to do.

He didn't slap her breasts like Mr. Witherspoon had in the book. He just stroked her nipples until they stood stiff and erect, then went to the cabinet again. When he returned, he showed Ellen what he had in his hand, and said "OK?" in his soft voice. Ellen took a deep breath and then nodded.

When the cold metal jaws of the clamp closed around Ellen's left nipple she gasped at both the cold and the knowledge of what was going to happen. Mr. Allen let the spring loaded jaws close and then began using the adjusting screw to tighten them.

At first, the sensation was much like when Ellen lightly pinched her nipples, a little tingle or twinge and ended up in her belly. As Mr. Allen tightened the clamp, that tingle became firm pressure and then a pain that shot to her core and left her panting, "hah-ah-hah-ah-hah". She was still panting when Mr. Allen tightened the clamp on her right nipple, and once he stopped, Ellen groaned. It hurt but there was something else, the same feeling she'd had when she put the hair clips on her nipples. The pain was becoming arousal.

Mr. Allen again asked if she was OK, and Ellen nodded because she couldn't speak. He smiled and left for a moment. When he came back, he had one of the handles with leather strings.

"Ellen, this is a flogger. It can deliver a kiss or a bite. If the bite becomes too harsh, remember to say my name."

Ellen felt the soft leather strings brushing her breasts as Mr. Allen dragged them over her body. It was like a thousand fingers caressing her and she shivered. She felt the strings moving down over he flat belly, and then being dragged between her legs. The strings brushed her inner thighs and sent little shocks to her belly.

Twice, Mr. Allen did this, and Ellen felt the signs of arousal grow stronger. Then, Mr. Allen raised the flogger and brought it down over her right breast with force. Ellen cried out and tried to move, but the leather straps held her firmly in place. The second slashing blow was to her left breast and Ellen gasped. She cried out again when the flogger slashed between her thighs and tapped her clit. Through the fog of pain and the tingle of excitement, Ellen felt the wet crotch of her panties being forced against her lips when the flogger hit her again.

After that, Mr. Allen began brushing the leather strings over her breasts again and then down to her mound. He pushed one finger under the wedge of material that covered her mound and entrance and then pulled that wedge to the side. Ellan's cry was a scream when the small leather lashes whipped her soft lips and clit.