Out of the Darkness Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  EBook Offer

  Out of the Darkness

  Juliette Banks

  Blushing Books

  ©2017 by Blushing Books® and Juliette Banks

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books®,

  a subsidiary of

  ABCD Graphics and Design

  977 Seminole Trail #233

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  The trademark Blushing Books®

  is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Juliette Banks

  Out of the Darkness

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-357-0

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  Contents

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  Look Inside

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Juliette Banks

  EBook Offer

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  Look Inside

  The room was almost dark, with just flickers of light coming from the logs burning in the hearth. As I stood at the door I could just see his shape, sitting in the leather, wing-backed chair, silhouetted by the fire.

  "Come here."

  His voice was quiet, but with the firmness I had come to expect from him. I moved closer and knelt down in front of him, my naked bottom facing the warmth of the fire. I bent my head downwards and looked at the floor as I had been taught, but he surprised me by lifting up my chin with his hand.

  "You look so beautiful."

  He bent and kissed me softly on the lips, and I shivered in anticipation. Was it to be pleasure or pain this time? Or perhaps a combination of both, delivered the way that only he could. Producing a dark, silk scarf from the arm of the chair, he tied it around my eyes so that the gloom of the room was reduced to complete darkness. I could feel his breath on my bare shoulders as he tied it tightly at the back of my head. He stood and pulled me up with him.

  "Hands behind your back."

  I obeyed immediately. He turned me around to face away from him and I felt the click as he connected the wristbands together so that my hands were firmly connected.

  "Stay."

  I heard him move away for just a few seconds, returning swiftly to stand in front of me. I trembled, not knowing what was in his mind or what was probably now in his hand. I felt something soft and ticklish brush against my breasts.

  "What is this?"

  I racked my brain to put a name to the sensation. The soft tickle moved to the inside of my thigh as it brushed slowly up my leg from my knee, almost to... he stopped, waiting for me to answer his question.

  "It’s a feather, Sir."

  "Very good. It’s a soft, white feather." He was silent a moment. "Now, what is this?"

  I was jolted out of my reverie by a sudden swishing noise and a sharp sting on my breast. "It’s a crop, Sir."

  "Yes, you’re correct." He reached forward and his lips grazed my left ear lobe, sending a shiver straight to my sex. He whispered into my ear. "Now which one should I use first, do you think?"

  He knew that the blindfold added greatly to the anticipation. If I couldn't see what was coming, I couldn’t ready myself for whichever sensation to expect. He walked around me, the occasional feel of his clothes as they caught against my arm or leg were all that reminded me he was still there. I couldn’t see him but I knew he was watching me intently. Several seconds passed and nothing happened. My senses were on edge, trying to anticipate when and where he would strike first. I shivered as the feather stroked down the middle of my back, the first touch. Would it be the feather again?

  I felt the same sensation on the back of my calf. I was sure that the crop would come next, but he was lulling me into a sense of relaxed bliss and used the feather yet again, this time drawing it between my legs, barely touching the lips of my sex, yet setting off a yearning deep within me.

  One second later I felt a fiery burning from my bottom as the crop was lashed across it. Even though I kn
ew that it was coming, it seemed to have come from nowhere. My cheek was still burning when a fresh sting came from the front of my thigh. My breath caught in my throat.

  "Breathe, my darling. Don't forget to breathe."

  He kissed me softly on the shoulder and I felt the feather touch my belly and slide downwards. I breathed quickly several times, totally lost in the sensations that were pulsing through my mind and my body as I struggled to cope with the intensity of what he was doing. He was controlling me completely, body and soul. I gave myself totally to this man. I trusted him completely. I adored him.

  He stopped for a moment and I felt his warm fingers slide down my body and between my thighs, where the dampness revealed the depth of my pleasure. He pushed two fingers into me and used his thumb to rub my clit until I couldn’t stop from groaning.

  He laughed gently. "No, my darling, you haven't earned your pleasures yet."

  Chapter 1

  The room was almost dark, with just flickers of light coming from the logs burning in the hearth. As I stood at the door I could just see his shape, sitting in the leather, wing-backed chair, silhouetted by the fire.

  "Come here."

  His voice was quiet, but with the firmness I had come to expect from him. I moved closer and knelt down in front of him, my naked bottom facing the warmth of the fire. I bent my head downwards and looked at the floor as I had been taught, but he surprised me by lifting up my chin with his hand.

  "You look so beautiful."

  He bent and kissed me softly on the lips, and I shivered in anticipation. Was it to be pleasure or pain this time? Or perhaps a combination of both, delivered the way that only he could. Producing a dark silk scarf from the arm of the chair, he tied it around my eyes so that the gloom of the room was reduced to complete darkness. I could feel his breath on my bare shoulders as he tied it tightly at the back of my head. He stood and pulled me up with him.

  "Hands behind your back."

  I obeyed immediately. He turned me around to face away from him and I felt the click as he connected the wristbands together so that my hands were firmly joined.

  "Stay."

  I heard him move away for just a few seconds, returning swiftly to stand in front of me. I trembled, not knowing what was in his mind or what was probably now in his hand. I felt something soft and ticklish brush against my breasts.

  "What is this?"

  I racked my brain to put a name to the sensation. The soft tickle moved to the inside of my thigh as it brushed slowly up my leg from my knee, almost to… He stopped, waiting for me to answer his question.

  "It’s a feather, Sir."

  "Very good. It’s a soft, white feather." He was silent a moment. "Now, what is this?"

  I was jolted out of my reverie by a sudden swishing noise and a sharp sting on my breast. "It’s a crop, Sir."

  "Yes, you’re correct." He reached forward and his lips grazed my left ear lobe, sending a shiver straight to my sex. He whispered into my ear. "Now, which one should I use first, do you think?" He knew that the blindfold added greatly to the anticipation. If I couldn't see what was coming, I couldn’t ready myself for whichever sensation to expect. He walked around me, the occasional feel of his clothes as they caught against my arm or leg were all that reminded me he was still there. I couldn’t see him but I knew he was watching me intently. Several seconds passed and nothing happened. My senses were on edge, trying to anticipate when and where he would strike first. I shivered as the feather stroked down the middle of my back, the first touch. Would it be the feather again?

  I felt the same sensation on the back of my calf. I was sure that the crop would come next, but he was lulling me into a sense of relaxed bliss and used the feather yet again, this time drawing it between my legs, barely touching the lips of my sex, yet setting off a yearning deep within me.

  One second later, I felt a fiery burning from my bottom as the crop was lashed across it. Even though I knew that it was coming, it seemed to have come from nowhere. My cheek was still burning when a fresh sting came from the front of my thigh. My breath caught in my throat.

  "Breathe, my darling. Don't forget to breathe."

  He kissed me softly on my shoulder and I felt the feather touch my belly and slide downwards. I breathed quickly several times, totally lost in the sensations that were pulsing through my mind and my body as I struggled to cope with the intensity of what he was doing. He was controlling me completely, body and soul. I gave myself totally to this man. I trusted him completely. I adored him.

  He stopped for a moment and I felt his warm fingers slide down my body and between my thighs, where the dampness revealed the depth of my pleasure. He pushed two fingers into me and used his thumb to rub my clit until I couldn’t stop from groaning.

  He laughed gently. "No, my darling, you haven't earned your pleasures yet. Move over here and rest your hands on the chair."

  He moved me gently towards the leather armchair in which he had been sitting, and pressed my body downwards until my hands were flat on the chair seat. I could feel the warmth of the fire on my bottom as I arched my back and spread my legs apart in the way he had taught me. I was ready for him and I knew that he was watching me for any little deviation from the rules. If I moved from that position the strokes would be increased, so I stood absolutely still—waiting for him.

  Without warning he began to use the crop across my bottom, but this time there was no soft feather between the strokes. This time, the strokes were hard and quick. The teasing and the waiting between each stroke were gone. Again and again he brought the crop down until my cheeks were stinging. It was painful, but it was also intensely pleasurable as I absorbed the impact of each stroke and gloried in the fact that I was loved and desired by my Master, the most exciting man I had ever known.

  He stopped and I heard the crop drop to the floor. I heard the zip on his trousers and felt the hardness of his erection as it pressed up against me before thrusting into me in one swift movement. He filled me like no one had filled me before and I gloried in his length and girth as I thrust back hard against him.

  He slowed his pace and reached around me, rubbing my clitoris until I knew that I was ready to explode. My Master was unlike many others, not wanting to deny my pleasure. He gloried in the way I shrieked and groaned with the ecstasy that only he could give me. He only ever denied my completion when I was being punished.

  "Come for me, precious. Let me hear your pleasure."

  I did not need further encouragement as I came apart. My Master continued to thrust deep and hard, until he, too, groaned out his pleasure and collapsed down onto my back. I supported us both for a few moments until he stood and, moving me sideways, he sank down onto the chair and pulled me down onto his lap, where I curled into his body.

  He stroked my breasts for a while and we sat in silence, watching the dying embers of the fire. Words were not necessary. His strong arms around me were sufficient. I was home, within his arms, the only place I wanted to be.

  My Master, William Northcroft, and I had been together for five years. We met at London's Heathrow Airport in the first-class departure lounge, waiting to board a British Airways flight for New York. I was sitting quietly, reading a book, but had the feeling I was being watched. I looked up, straight into the eyes of a man seated opposite. I gave a half-smile, but he didn’t respond immediately, which struck me as odd. He continued to look at me in quite an intense way for several seconds before he, too, smiled. I returned to my book, not particularly wanting to start a conversation with a stranger.

  In the few seconds that we had eye contact, a very strange sensation passed through me. I knew I hadn’t met this man before but I felt comfortable, as though we were old friends. He seemed about twelve years older than my twenty-five, and he had the appearance of a successful businessman, with a well-made, hand-tailored suit, and expensive looking briefcase and small leather carry-on bag. However, as a successful model, I had never been short of admirers and lovers. I wasn't
about to be bowled over by yet another man who was probably more attracted to the kudos of being seen with a beautiful woman on his arm than on getting to know the real me.

  I'm not sure that even I know the real me. My life had changed so often since I'd been 'discovered' at the tender age of fifteen, while walking down the King's Road in Chelsea, and within two years I was pictured on the covers of all the glossy magazines. It all happened so quickly. One day I was a fairly ordinary London schoolgirl, and the next I was travelling the world and being wined and dined by the world's glitterati. Then there were the men. Mostly, they were older, successful and wealthy men who bought me champagne and dinner and then thought they owned me. Some of them were very powerful, men you would not want to cross for fear of the consequences. A few were kind, but many were not. I sometimes wondered if the fault lay with me. Did I do or say things to attract the wrong type of man? Did I give off the wrong vibes, or was I simply unlucky? I had no idea.

  The working life of most models is quite short; youth and beauty being such transient states. Make the most of it was the advice I often received, especially from older models who knew that there were always younger and prettier women to take their place. Many of the girls, if they didn't make it right to the top where the serious money was made, adopted the other route of marrying wealthy men. It wasn’t always a guaranteed success. I knew of several older models who had given up the catwalk and married such men, some of whom turned out to be serial philanderers. They became second or third wives, and probably realized with a sinking heart that they were destined eventually to be replaced, as their predecessors had been.