Some things you can only dream about

Madame Olanski part 1

Some things you can only dream about. They are so private you dare not

trust a soul with them. At least not any soul you have to meet in the

bright light of your normal life. The experiences of your life that can

be blamed on youthful exuberance are much harder to dismiss when you hit

40.

The man on the subway pondered the unfairness of this as he listened to

the scratchy intercom system whisk him closer and closer to salvation.

How could he ever begin to explain to his upper middle class wife, to

his partners in the firm… While these people in his real life spoke of

longing of golf vacations in the islands, his private paradise could

only be found at Madam Olanski's. Once a week, like a well trained

seal, he got on the same train and headed to the world of this

diminutive feline creature.

She had an apartment on the third floor of a four floor walk up. She

could have easily afforded any prime piece of real estate on the

island. If the truth was to be known, she had the attention of some of

the wealthiest people in the city, and any one of her pets would have

given up a suite of penthouse rooms if it had meant gaining her favor.

But Madame Olanski had no such desires. She genuinely liked the

atmosphere in her older building. The ceilings where high, and the

walls were thick. These were simply two necessities in the world that

she existed.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door of her building and entered another

century. She had paid for all the renovations herself, from the

intricate mosaic tile work on the foyer floor, to the deep mahogany

banister the made the stairwell seem like a work of art, rather than a

long trek at the end of the day. As he took each step, he felt his

heart beat heavier in his chest. He couldn't control it, even though

she had promised him that someday, when she had finished training him,

he would be able to control everything that had to do with his physical

and mental existence.

On the second flight, he tried to concentrate on the worn spots on the

white marble she had installed for each step. He no longer used the

banister, afraid that the sweat on his palms would damage the lovely

patina on the aged wood. By the time he had gotten to the third floor,

his knees were filled with Jell-O. He hadn't even seen her yet and

already he was helpless.

He paused at her door for a moment, letting himself get into the scene.

Once he rang the bell, he would be nothing but her tool. No he

corrected himself, he would be less than that, he would be the raw

material she crafted her tools from. A manicured finger reached out,

caressed the small button, finally depressing it. Somewhere inside a

soft chime resounded. Moments passed and the door opened.

He entered, eyes down cast. He knew better than to look at her without

permission. His mind tried to picture her, the fullness of her hips,

the paleness of flesh. Her large breasts would be encased in some

delightful creation of satin, or velvet. Long black hair, braided,

would fall in a plum line down the indentation of her spine. If he was

very lucky, she might have on the burgundy corset, she laced it so tight

that at times he feared she would not be able to breathe.

His kept his eyes rivited to the back of the dark red heels of her

shoes. Even with the four inch spikes she was still only five foot

six. The contrast of bleeding leather and pale ankles almost made him

break training… but he stopped himself before he looked up. They

entered the white room. How he hated this room. It meant serious

unpleasant punishment. Her heels made stabbing click noises on the

white tile. She walked to the far wall, and began to peruse the myriad

of paddles, crops, quirts and whips she found there. He knew this

without looking, just as he knew he wouldn't sit comfortably for days.

He had no idea what he had done to displease her so, but it must have

been something major. He had only been brought to this room once

before, when he had disobeyed a direct order. After that experience he

had to pretend he had hemorrhoids to explain the donut cushion he had

carried every where for several day.

"Strip and assume the position on the wall"

He obeyed her instantly, thinking to somehow lessen the punishment she

was about to inflict. He disrobed and faced the wall pressing his whole

body against the cold white tile. His cock shriveled up as the frigid

ceramics caressed it. He spread his legs and his arms out, and leaned

completely into the wall. It was as if he was tied spread eagle, held by

some invisible bonds she had placed him in.

The heels clicked there way from the far side of the room to him,

slowly, as if she were counting each step. He felt the edge of the

leather oval paddle scrape over his ass, barely there, like a whisper as

she posed a question for him.

"What was the first rule I gave you?"

He answered without hesitation,

"What goes on here, stays here. There is only us, there are no tales to

tell."

He felt her nails scratching the skin of his lower back,

"Well, I am glad to see you know the rule. It's to bad you had to break

it. Don't bother to deny it. Lying will only make the punishment more

severe."

His reaction to her statement was all encompassing. His bowels

tightened as he realized that somehow she had found out about the list

serve he had posted her exploits to. She had discovered his betrayal

and now there would be hell to pay. The first blow caught him unawares,

it came with such suddenness. It was followed immediately by another and

then yet another. These were not simple strikes, rather it was as if

she would beat the betrayal out of his ass. He ears flinched every time

the sensed the leather hiss through the air. Again the evil leather

struck his skin, never had the blows been this hard, never had so much

of his ass been assaulted. By twenty his fingers were trying to dig

themselves into the tile, by thirty tears fell free from his eyes, by

forty he was breathing with his mouth open trying not to scream

hysterically, at fifty his efforts failed and he wailed like a child.

Madame Olanski part 1

By as always