He sat, somewhat nervously, in the small, dimly lit booth toward the back of the
restaurant, his elbows planted firmly on the table, his fingers clasped
together, his chin resting on his conjoined thumbs, waiting. Within just a very
few moments, he realized, she would be entering the establishment and their eyes
were about to lock for the first time. It had been a playful relationship, in
the most innocent sense of that term. Oddly, their very first true contact had
virtually been by phone, when he was seeking information about a "play party"
she had attended. He had encountered her in the room, and immediately (and
somewhat boldly, he had thought at the time) offered her telephone number. He
had called, and instantly, upon the mingling of their voices, had experienced a
kind of affinity for her... a level of comfort and perhaps even admiration for
her cool, commanding tone and the lyrical sound of her words. Gradually, as the
conversation progressed, and he learned that she was Domme, he felt a deep,
distant stirring of his own long neglected sub past. He had first made his way,
stumbling somewhat blindly, into the realm of the lifestyle, by offering himself
to the service of a woman, and had been stunned by how fulfilling it had been,
to be available and helpless in the face of a woman utilizing his body and
spirit for her own pleasure. But that had long ago faded, and when he had taken
the opposite position, as the one giving the direction, conducting the music of
a concert of lust instead of being merely an instrument of it, he had discovered
his true element at last. Still, the sound of her voice did beckon to that long
buried sweetness somewhere within him, and he knew that, were anything at all to
develop between them, it would be she who would look down on his helpless form,
and not the reverse. Over the next weeks, they would encounter each other
occasionally, and there was always a welling of warmth and comfort upon first
contact, which rode along with every line that passed between them. And, too,
there was the flirting... subtle, delicate and all the more exciting and pointed
because of what was implied than any bold statement could have been. Finally, he
could endure the current conditions no longer, and realized that they must now
either take a further step, or the warmth would ebb, like an ember growing cold
with consumption of it's own inner fuel. So, he had mailed her a letter and
asked that they set a firm date to meet. The reply was given, possibilities
discussed, and a mutual time and place obtained. And so, here he sat, waiting
for her. There was anticipation and the delicate churning of butterflies deep
within him, and the thousand, thousand questions erupting through his mind. What
would happen? Would the spark that had flickered between them explode to a flame
when they looked upon each other, or would it shoot off into the darkness and
fade.... would they be pleasant and kindly, or would the heat of their subtle
games blister the air between them... He did not have to wait long to find out.
They spotted each other immediately, as she strolled, confident and
self-assured, down the lane between the booths, and the instant their eyes
touched, they both knew.... there was fire here. She slid into the booth
opposite him and they exchanged pleasantries, but still, their eyes remained
linked, as if studying each other. And then, after the usual, expected round of
politeness, a silence fell between them, cut only by their deep mutual gaze. And
then she saw it, and slowly a smile spread upon her lips. "Mmmmm" she breathed,
warming deeply. "What" he said, curious and attentive. Her look was now pierced
with some inner reserve that stabbed into him and impaled his spirit. "You've
surrendered to me. Haven't you." And her smile was now Cheshire and playful. He
felt his breath catch deep in his chest, and it took some effort to force it
out, steadying himself. "Yes" he said, as coolly as he could manage "I suppose I
have." She nodded slowly, confirming what she'd seen... what she'd felt. "Good"
she said quietly. The rest of the meal was a whirlwind mix of pleasant talk and
explosive, deep, capturing gazes. Every time he looked into her eyes, he could
feel himself falling into her, giving up a bit more of his reserve... his
control... and he could see that it pleased her and the glow around her
brightened. By the time the end of the meal at which he had only picked arrived,
he knew that a part of him, that long forgotten part, had floated fully up and
he was now, for the moment, a captive to her desires, and the central fixture in
his mind was that he ached to please her. "Well" she said, as he signed for the
meal and they began the tiny ritual of gathering themselves together "perhaps
it's time you saw what all the fuss about the club is based on." "Oh, yes" he
sighed, feeling a leap of anticipation and anxiety inside himself "I am dying of
curiosity." "Well, my sweet man" she cooed, the corners of her mouth turned up
in a slightly wicked grin "let's see if we can satisfy the curiosity... and kill
you some other way." Her words struck him like a blow to the chest and he felt
his entire body begin, lightly, to tremble. The club was in a deep, long
basement, and as she ushered him inside it was as if he had stepped into another
world. It was dimly lit, and the crush of people made it seem more like a
catacomb... close and mysterious. Rather than settle into chairs, he felt her
loop her arm through his and begin to move through it's spaces, as if silently
conducting a tour for his benefit. Here and there she paused to greet someone
and introduce him, but his mind was a thousand miles away, part of it roaming
into the corners of the gloomy space, capturing visions and sights that mirrored
his fantasies, or some fond memory, while the rest of it pressed against her,
focused on her feelings and searching for her desires, that he might fulfill
them. Turning away from some couple to which she had granted a smile and a fond
greeting, she moved him deeper into the clubs' recesses, and there he saw it....
It appeared to him to be a tall post of some kind, thick and dark... And affixed
to it, his back turned, was a man, totally naked, his arms raised up, hands
holding the chains, the ends of which were looped through the restraints around
his wrists. There was a band of some sort around the back of his head, though
whether this was attached to a blindfold or gag he could not tell. The mans legs
were spread wide, and held there by the spreader bar that was attached to the
thick leather straps around his ankles. Behind this helpless figure stood a
woman, tall and stately, dressed in a flowing gown that shimmered with a sort of
silver ripple whenever she moved. But what most caught his attention what the
long, evil looking flogger that dangled from her hand as she slowly swept it
back and forth at her side. Then, suddenly, her arm arched and there was a loud
crack as the dozens of long fingers of leather slapped against the naked skin of
the mans buttocks, causing him to moan and shudder deeply. Observing this scene
with a dread fascination, he suddenly felt her hand, lightly settling on his own
backside beneath his tight jeans, and could hear the sound of her voice, softly
muttered into his ear. "Would you like to be hanging there, sweet man" she said,
and he could feel his body draw in a deep breath that fanned his blistering
sense of anticipation and desire. When she noticed this and chuckled wickedly,
he could feel his cheeks suddenly burn with the blush. She looped her arm
through his once more and with a gentle tug drew him away from this scene,
continuing her introduction of him to this realm of marvels, and it to him.
There were many devices scattered about the club he quickly came to realize as
they slowly circulated its depths, and every one of them was in use, in some
form or another. On a chilly looking leather covered medical type table, a young
woman was lashed down into the stirrups, her arms secured to the top corners of
the device, and two men slowly and deliberately applied a variety of clamps and
clothespins to every conceivable part of her exposed flesh, until they bristled
upwards and shook as she trembled beneath their bite. Had it not been for the
huge, red ball gag lodged firmly in her mouth, he was sure she would have been
screaming, for her entire body shuddered as each new tiny set of jaws bit into
her flesh and muffled sobs escaped her throat. Against a back wall was a large
"x" shaped cross, to which a woman was attached, her limbs spread so wide that
she was virtually standing on tiptoe. Although she too was clamped on the
nipples and labia, she must have been much more focused on the fact that just
before her, kneeling between her legs, was a tiny woman, who reached up with one
hand to hold this captive as best she could at that join of her hips, while her
other slowly, methodically, worked its way into her, sinking just out of sight
and engulfed within her up to the wrist. The captive let out a moan so deep it
was as if the invading fist might have been pressing against her diaphragm so to
expel the air. But when the petite woman before her slowly began to rotate her
wrist, back and forth, the captive let out a howl and began to shudder and sob
in the unmistakable signs of a nerve-shattering orgasm. His escort had to
virtually pull him away from this sight, and as he turned he found himself face
to face with a stunning tableau... Two figures, one male, one female, were lying
on the carpet close to each other, their bodies separately bound with what must
have been countless yards of rope. The man was on his back, his wrists tightly
lashed together behind his shoulders, an additional rope running from the
closely secured wrists through the cleft of his backside by a piece of cord far
too short to allow enough play to his genitals, which were tightly held at its
other end. He might have been kneeling when this procedure began, because his
legs were bent back under him and widely splayed, the ankles tied with long
cords that ran up to the wide band around his head, just above his eyes, forcing
him to bow over, the top of his head planted on the carpeting, his torso arcing
upwards, totally open to each drop of candle wax that the slender woman above
him delicately let fall onto his skin, causing him to flinch and groan. Next to
him was a young woman, also naked, who must have been sitting when her ordeal
was begun, but now it appeared that her body had been folded neatly down, until
her breasts were pressed firmly against her thighs and a stout series of rope
coils wound around her, pinning her there. Her arms were drawn up behind her
almost to the center of her back, the wrists crossing so that the hands lay flat
against one another, and the end of the coils of rope that secured them trailed
upwards, like a taut bowstring, its terminus looped through a rather heavy hook
in the ceiling and running down to surround her ankles and hold them pointed
almost straight up in the air. She looked absurdly like a closed pocket knife,
standing on end, except that this knife was gagged, blindfolded and quivering
from the effects of whatever was planted deep inside her sex, the control on the
other end of the long wire that ran from that part of her anatomy in the casual
grip of the tiny, slender oriental woman who stood, watching the Domme
delicately dripping the wax on the bound male and pointing at patterns the drops
made upon his flesh, quietly commenting. Every so often she would casually flick
the switch on the control and send her own captive into another torrent of
shudders and muffled moaning. Observing this scene, he suddenly felt
light-headed and giddy, as if the overload of these fantastic sights were
inducing a kind of trance within him. It was several moments before he realized
that she was tugging at his arm, and then he felt a sudden slap against his
backside as her flat palm connected with it and he jolted heavily, turning to
her, shocked. She smiled up at him. "Behave yourself" she said, an edge of
amusement in her voice, and he was surprised to find himself beginning to melt
into a welling need to make up for his poor behavior. He started to speak, to
whisper those long unspoken words..."Yes, Mistress", but he knew that was not
what she sought, so he simply muttered, his face warming with the blush. "Yes...
yes, of course. Sorry." They spent several hours in the club, where she
introduced him to several people, and then sat as she chatted with a particular
couple whom she apparently knew quite well. The woman was clearly in charge of
the relationship, for she chatted away, smiling and relaxed, while the man sat
quietly by, his attention focused on her like a hawk. He watched, fascinated as,
once, in the midst of some light gesture, the woman's hand turned and extended
two fingers upwards, and instantly the man was extracting a cigarette from the
pack on the table, scooping up the lighter, igniting and slipping the cigarette
between her fingers with a rapidity that startled him. A few moments later, he
watched as her eyes merely flicked down to the dreg-laden drink before her and
the man was already out of his seat, moving toward the bar to order another for
her. While he was gone, the conversation between the two women trailed off as
some topic or other became exhausted, and the woman across the table turned and
fixed him with a probing, critical gaze. "He's a nice one" she said, a touch of
admiration in her voice. "Yes" his companion said smoothly, reaching casually
out as if to pat his cheek. But to his amazement, she instead gathered the beard
on the side of his face firmly between her fingers and pulled, turning his head
so that he faced her. Their eyes locked and he could see approval deep within
her gaze, and perhaps the stirrings of a heat beginning there. Then she pulled
firmly on the beard, drawing his head close and when their lips met, for the
very first time, he felt hers open slightly and her teeth rake lightly over his
lips. Before he could adjust to the rush of sensations, she was pushing his head
away, her fingers releasing him, leaving him unbalanced, and were it not for the
table before him, he might have tumbled out of his chair. Across the table the
other woman sighed, her eyes fixed on him, drinking in his reaction to this
rough and loving little assault. "Ooohhh" she sighed, admiringly. "I want one of
those." Both women laughed, and the discussion turned to other matters. He sat,
steadying himself, struggling to slow and deepen his shallow breathing, get some
sort of grip upon himself. The other man returned bearing the new drink and as
he slid into his seat, he placed it before the woman, his eyes searching
desperately for some hint of approval from her. For the first time, she turned
her attention to him fully, looping one arm over the back of his chair and
gathering up his hair in her hands, she pulled his face down, roughly enveloping
his lips with her own. Her hand slid off the table, disappearing out of sight
into the mans' lap and in a few moments he began to whimper. Suddenly he
shuddered as if in pain and one of his hands jerked up slightly, as if grasping
at something far out of reach, while the woman continued whatever it was she was
doing out of sight below the covering surface of the table. He sat, staring at
this, his mind reeling, and suddenly felt her fingertip against the point of his
jaw, pushing it gently upwards, until his mouth closed. He turned to her and the
look in her eyes was appraising and now decidedly hungry. He sighed, feeling
himself beginning to float out, drifting across the small space between them and
fall, like smoke, into her gaze. She sighed, and suddenly was reaching to gather
her things from the table before them. "I think it's time we were going" she
said, casually, already beginning to rise. He tried to leap up, hoping to be
attentive, but found his legs were weak and he almost stumbled, reaching quickly
out to grip the table, bracing himself for a moment before drawing in a deep,
steadying breath and pushing himself to his full height. She observed this,
amusement and pride on her face, knowing full well the effect she was having on
him, and turned, moving toward the door. He fell into step beside her, longing
to sweep an arm around her, draw her close, feel her warmth... and not daring to
without her specific permission. Outside, the night was cool and quiet, as they
emerged up the steps and stopped on the sidewalk. She turned to face him and
once more their eyes locked for a long, questioning moment. She seemed to be
calculating something, turning over possibilities in her mind, and he didn't
dare to interrupt whatever speculations she might be considering. At last, she
sighed. "Oh hell" she said, as if resigning herself to something. "I hadn't
planned on doing this... not tonight, anyway.... but..... come with me." The
looped her arm through his once move and stepped off, down the sidewalk, drawing
him along, his mind reeling. The room was dark, lit only enough for shadows to
play upon the walls, and on the bed that occupied one wall. He preceded her into
the chamber, and as he stepped gingerly into it, he heard the door close behind
her and the click of the lock being slipped into place. Through the dim shadows
of the room, he couldn't really make out much, his eyes taking a long time to
adjust to the gloom. He blinked and squinted, letting his gaze sweep slowly
around the area, when suddenly he heard her, quietly and somewhat forcefully
behind him. "Undress. Now." He hesitated, feeling a rush of fear, mingled with
anticipation at the base of his mind, but then he felt the firm swat on his
backside from the palm of her hand and her quite, calm voice. "Do it." He
reached up, taking the lapels of his jacket in his hands and beginning to pull
it down and back... He knelt, at the foot of the bed, totally naked, his arms
drawn out, wrists secured to the corners, his cheek pressed against the softness
of the covers, feeling the rain of blows from the flogger against his back and
upturned buttocks, his mind drifting, his cock throbbing beneath him... feeling
and hearing the sound of his whipping, like a relentless tune playing on his
soul... He stood at the foot of the bed, his wrists bound behind his back,
feeling her pressing against him from behind, her fingernail plowing furrows on
the skin of his chest and stomach... He lay, naked and blindfolded, upon the
bed, his arms and legs secured to its corners, awash with the sensations of the
plug that rooting into his bowels, and the clamps that held his nipples tightly.
With each drop of blazing liquid fire that fell upon his skin from the candle
she held in one hand, and the slash of the whip that glanced over him from her
other, his body jerked and moans spilled from him.... until he felt the large,
spherical gag slipping between his lips, and she began her work in earnest,
slowly, methodically ravaging his flesh and shredding his soul so that the
pieces slipped from him to where she could scoop them from the air and absorb
them... At long last, he felt the gag being removed, and the weight of her above
him, the press of her calves upon his pinioned arms and the heady scent of her
sex before him... instinctively, his lips opened and his tongue brushed against
her opening, slipping between her now moist and throbbing lips, and finding the
pinpoint of her lust... beginning, gently, to caress it. He felt as she scoop up
the chain on the clamps and gently tugged on it, stretching his nipples and
quickening the rhythm of his tongue upon her, his entire being now a beast of
burden whose only purpose was to carry her on a frantic ride to ecstasy as she
rode on the saddle of his tongue and lips... And when she erupted with a cry, he
drank down her lust, savoring it, absorbing it, and quickening his rhythm yet
again, striving to carry her off those known paths to the wilderness of heat and
unfulfilled lusts. But she quickly dismounted, and he felt the press of the gag
against his lips once more, and he knew, as he knew that she now possessed a
piece of his soul that would never be his again but belong to her as a tender
keepsake of this moment, that their flight together had only just begun...
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