She was small. She was pretty. She seemed somehow inconspicuous. In the row of more or less clothed young women who had lined up along the country road. She caught my eye because she somehow didn’t fit in with the others. While you could tell at first glance that most of them were hookers offering their scantily clad bodies to some pimp, she looked more like a schoolgirl who just happened to be standing here.
I knew that the pimps weren’t far away. If you looked closely, you could see a spick and span SUV with deeply tinted windows in almost every parking bay and forest path that turned off the road, and it certainly wasn’t there by chance. Behind the wheel, you could see sinister figures with whom you would rather not get into an argument. I assumed that each of the girls on offer here was the property of one of the guys who were suspiciously making sure she was doing her job nicely.
The little girl had taken a shine to me. I stopped right in front of her and rolled down the right-hand side window. Hesitantly, she came closer and opened her skimpy jacket, revealing two sizeable breasts. Her movements seemed shy and she seemed uncomfortable showing herself to me like this. No question, she hadn’t been standing here for long and it certainly wasn’t voluntary. Of course she had noticed that I was German. Here, just after the border, there was a conspicuous number of cars with German license plates. Unlike the locals, their drivers weren’t in a hurry and were crawling along the road at a crawling pace to check out what was on offer.
Communication was difficult. She didn’t speak German, of course, but she could express herself with a passable vocabulary in English. However, our conversation was limited to the question of whether she should suck me off or whether I wanted to have real sex. „Sex,“ I replied curtly and pressed the door opener. She got in and said, „You see the sign?“ I nodded casually as my eyes scanned the scene. Please park there.“
Kidnapping
A black BMW was parked on the other side, I couldn’t recognize the driver, but I had the impression that I was being watched. I hesitated for a moment and looked in the rear-view mirror. Perhaps 200 meters away, a truck was approaching. I recognized my chance, waited until it had come closer and drove off just in front of it with screeching tires. The truck protested with a loud honk. It was close, but it was exactly what I needed. I needed a head start and he was going to give it to me.
I had familiarized myself with the area and had a plan. I ignored the „sign“ where I was supposed to park and accelerated. I knew that a sports car was superior to any SUV. So I stepped on the gas to gain some distance. It was an advantage that there was a lot of oncoming traffic at this time of day. That would make it more difficult for the unknown pursuer to get onto the road. The truck would block his view and I could pursue my plan. The little girl looked behind with anxious eyes. So I was right that we had been watched.
The road was winding. This also gave a light and flat sports car a significant advantage over a heavy and tall SUV. Twice I riskily overtook a car driving at 80 km/h, which gave me a further advantage. The little girl on my right didn’t know what to make of the action and alternately looked forwards and backwards.
About a kilometer ahead of us, there was a turn-off to an obviously disused factory. I braked sharply there, turned in and a few seconds later the country road disappeared from my rear-view mirror. I drove along the narrow, bumpy road until I came to a crossroads. „Don’t worry,“ I told my passenger. „You are safe,“ I added. I turned right and followed a third-class road which, after several dozen bends, crossed an apparently unguarded border before ending in a small village. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the young girl kept casting curious glances in my direction. I began to engage her in a relaxed conversation, asking her where she was from, how old she was, whether she had any siblings, the sort of things you ask a young stranger to relax the situation and give her a sense of security.
We drove for a good three hours until we reached my house. On the way, I had invited her for a quick snack at McDonald’s and she devoured a Big Mac as if she hadn’t eaten for ages. She would sleep in the guest room for the time being and I familiarized her with everything she needed to know.
Familiarization
When I had the impression that all the bad feelings such as fear and mistrust had gradually subsided, I told her that we would go shopping together tomorrow. I wanted her to take off the rather slutty clothes and appear to be a normal girl. I lived a bit outside the community, so contact with outsiders would be rare. But the more everything looked normal, the better.
She had only been working on the street for four weeks. Before that, she had been beaten up and made submissive by her pimp. But she had probably been used to beatings since childhood. In her home country of Romania, a daughter was not treated gently. There it was either obey or be made naked and feel your father’s leather straps. At school, the good old cane still reigned supreme and the men also treated their wives in a rather bossy manner.
Somehow she still seemed like an innocent girl, but her behavior showed me that she was no longer afraid to undress in front of men and therefore also in front of me. On her second night in my house, we had sex and she was quite practiced. Just as you would expect from a hooker. I even got the impression that she liked me. At least she kissed me a lot, even if she couldn’t know what she was doing with me and what I was up to with her. And then there were those long, thoughtful looks, where you could only guess what was going on in her head.
Among pimps, she still ranked as fresh meat. She didn’t yet have that routine, bored demeanor that all girls on the side of the road eventually adopt. And she didn’t look as used up and drugged as is typical of young girls who are forced to take in a dozen dicks a day, no matter how nasty the guy who’s part of it is. Her hair was black, long and reasonably well-groomed. Her breasts weren’t ample, but they certainly filled two large men’s hands. Her jewel, however, was her ass, and it was this that had attracted my attention as she stood on the side of the highway, impassively waiting for customers.
I love girls with feminine shaped hips and a pronounced butt. Two rounded buttocks that split provocatively when she bent her knees or bent over are exactly what my libido goes for. And that’s exactly what the little girl had to offer, who I now regarded as my girl with skin and hair. To me, she was a young woman that I would have unrestricted control over and that I would raise the way I wanted. She didn’t seem to have a problem with this, because at least she no longer had to serve countless men.
Rules
I set her rules, commandments and prohibitions. In my experience, women needed that. They like to talk about freedom and independence. But if you take a closer look, they feel most comfortable with the guy who simply doesn’t take this façade seriously. Because in reality, they don’t want to be free. They want to feel safe. They don’t want to make their own decisions. They want a man who decides for them and gives them the feeling that he has taken them into account. They are like young dogs that you lead on a lead because otherwise they would follow their nose until they realize they have lost their way.
Some of my rules were set in stone like a law. Others were more like expectations. Things that I liked to see and that I appreciated in my girl, even if there was neither a concrete commandment nor a strict prohibition. And then there were my unspoken wishes that I expected her to fulfill, even if I had never expressed them in concrete terms. Things that a clever girl would never disregard and which she fulfilled simply because she was praised, kissed and caressed in return. So it was kind of a carrot and stick thing. A game between wanting to, being allowed to and having to.
I loved it when she slept naked next to me, when my hand could feel her soft skin at all times and her femininity was always accessible to me. I had only expressed this as a wish and she willingly fulfilled it. Perhaps in gratitude for my care. Perhaps also out of respect for my preferences and expectations. But not because I demanded it of her, because I had never done that.
I expected her to get up at eight o’clock every morning so that she was nicely dressed and breakfast was on the table when I was ready to start the day myself an hour later. That was a firm rule. It was a law that she had to abide by and she was punished if she overslept. Because laws are only effective if their disregard entailed some form of punishment.
There were also specific dress codes that expressed how I wanted the new woman in my life to look. There was no room for sloppiness and the usual home wear was only desirable if it emphasized her femininity and was not simply baggy and comfortable. The woman in my life should be a sexy focal point and make an effort in every situation to please the man to whom she owed everything. So I had no problem if she went into a shopping frenzy when it came to clothes and the wall-sized closet in the bedroom gradually overflowed.
Alcohol was still allowed and a slightly tipsy woman can certainly be a pleasure. But there was a difference between tipsy and drunk and in her case it was between one and two glasses of wine. I never monitored her alcohol consumption, but left it up to her not to get into an embarrassing situation. If it happened anyway, she knew what to expect.
A woman needs to be constantly busy so that she doesn’t get any ideas. And she needs to keep moving to stay fit and not put on fat. I therefore expected her to go jogging every day and to go to the gym twice a week to maintain her figure. There was also a weight check once a month, the result of which determined whether she could expect a small gift or would be stripped bare to receive a dozen firm strokes from my stern hand.
Freedom
I had freed her from the clutches of her pimp, who had certainly not been gentle with her. But I hadn’t given her freedom. She no longer had to stand on the side of the road and wear her skin to market. She also no longer had to take every foul-smelling cock in her mouth whose owner paid for it. And she no longer had to spread her legs for everyone who wanted to cum inside her.
But that didn’t mean she was free. Because even if I wasn’t a pimp, she was still mine now. She was a pretty thing that I always enjoyed looking at. And she was my very own personal hooker who was there solely for my cock. I loved her in my own special way. But I kept her on an invisible leash that tied her tightly to me. If she wanted to break free, I would jerk the leash until it hurt her. If she rebelled, I spoke harsh words to her, took away her privileges and hit her.
My idea was that a woman should be with her husband. She had to be within his sight or at least within earshot at all times. Her passport had been taken from her and I didn’t have access to it either. So she was well advised not to be picked up by the police and expelled from the country. After all, it wasn’t just a miserable freedom that awaited her at home. There she would also meet the people who had sold her far away again. And they would certainly take her back to the side of the road.
So she was at my mercy. And I knew that she was secretly happy about it. She wasn’t free in the absolute sense. But I treated her fairly and she wanted for nothing. For a girl of her background, that’s a lot and I could rely on her not giving up this privileged life recklessly. However, I always kept an eye on her to make sure that everything stayed as it was. If she left the house, she had to ask my permission. Then I set her a fixed time when I expected her back. And I wanted to know exactly where she was and why. That was a fixed rule that knew no exceptions.
Monitoring
Many a man has only himself to blame if his wife cheats or runs away from him. Most men don’t realize that you have to keep a woman on a tight leash. And that there must not be a minute in her life when she is unobserved and can give in to an urge for freedom that she is not entitled to. She must therefore know that her husband can demand an account of everything she does in his absence at any time. And that he can impose prohibitions on her that restrict her freedom.
She had a cell phone, but even that didn’t set her free. I had set it up so that she could only call my number. And I had installed an invisible app that told me where she was at all times. I could even switch on the sound remotely to eavesdrop on her without her noticing. Her freedom only extended as far as I wanted it to and as far as her invisible leash would allow.
Penalties
She received her first punishment at my hands when she overslept in the morning and I turned up in the dining room to find no breakfast table set. This naturally made me angry and I decided to teach her a lesson that would become deeply embedded in her consciousness. I unfastened the leather belt from my trousers and entered the bedroom. She blinked sleepily into the light of the sunny morning, looked at the clock and looked at me with an apologetic smile. But if she had hoped for my indulgence, she was wrong.
I suddenly tore the comforter from her body and looked for a few moments at the body that had caused me to pick her up from the side of the road. Then I told her briefly and succinctly what her offense was and how I would punish her for it. There was a sharp hiss and the belt landed on her bottom with an ominous sound. She shrieked and made a move to come to me and hug me. But I struck again, this time hitting her thigh. Then I pushed her back into the bed and gave her a good dozen sharp blows. All without saying another word to her and without reacting in any way to her shrieking.
It then took months before she once again made the mistake of not getting up before me and preparing the expected breakfast.
The reason for the next spanking was a shopping trip that got a little out of hand. The clothes she enthusiastically showed me afterwards were very tasteful and emphasized her femininity. But she should have been back by five o’clock and it was already seven when she finally arrived home.
When she presented herself in her last newly purchased dress and wanted to leave the living room, I brought her euphoric mood to an abrupt end. I drew her attention to the facts, reminded her that she was late and asked her to undress and wait for me in the bedroom.
When I followed her after a while, I had two leather handcuffs and an impressive-looking flogger with me. I asked her to put the cuffs on, which she did hesitantly but eventually obediently. Meanwhile, I took a thick, fabric-covered foam roller from under the bed and laid it across the double bed. I wordlessly gestured for her to drape her body over it. There were two hidden snap hooks at the head of the bed, which I pulled out and hooked into her handcuffs. I refrained from securing her legs because I loved to see her thrashing wildly while the whip worked its magic.
She whimpered and begged, but a man has to show consistency. She had broken a rule and had to be punished. So I got into position, lunged and struck. A dozen leather straps rained down on her rather impressively shaped ass. Twelve welts flared up and her moans instantly turned to shrieks as she reared up and kicked her legs wildly.
Twelve strokes was the minimum, so I waited a while until she had gradually calmed down and repeated the process. A woman’s ass has to be spanked from time to time to show who’s the boss in the house and sets the rules.
The next two strokes followed shortly after, demonstrating that a flogger is a highly effective instrument of punishment that quickly creates a dense network of thin welts that swell instantly, showing that the skin of a woman’s bottom is ideally suited to absorbing punishment without permanent damage. In movies, floggings are often carried out on the back, where the skin is thin and barely padded. But the only real punishment for a woman should be on her bottom, which is made for it.
Every strict gentleman knows that and that was also one of my principles.
I counted out the full number of a dozen blows to my girl. Then I wordlessly untied her and left her alone. There is no point in trying to comfort a woman immediately after her punishment. It’s the moment when she hates your guts and it takes her a while to get her emotions back under control and realize that she was punished for a good reason.
Because if you don’t want to hear, you have to feel.