by Red Phoenix
She closed her eyes, reminding herself of that the next day, when she was naked and bound in chains before Rytsar.
The broad-chested Russian removed his shirt and smiled down at her. “I am thrilled to introduce you to my ‘nines’, radost moya.” He held up his multi-tailed whip reverently so she could admire it. The baldheaded Dom walked around her slowly. She remembered the ferociousness of the dragon tattooed on his muscle-bound shoulder. Like the dragon, Rytsar was beautiful—but dangerous.
Goosebumps rose on her skin as he caressed her with the tails, her body anticipating the violent sensations the knots were about to provoke. He pressed the handle to her lips. “Hold it, while I prepare you.”
Brie opened her mouth. The leather tasted of the salt from his hands. He proceeded to twist her hair, pulling her head back. The chains clanked in reaction to the sudden movement. “We shall see how deep your dark fantasies lie, my willing sub.” He deftly tied her long hair into a knot with a leather string.
Rytsar had already placed a Magic Wand between her legs and bound her to it so that the vibrator was firmly pressed against her clit. Once her arms were pulled taut above her head, he turned the wicked toy on. She squirmed, her pussy instantly responding to the vibration.
“I use this tool on submissives new to the dungeon. It helps acclimate them to the ecstasy of pain.”
She moaned, a quiet panic setting in. The dark oppression of the dungeon, along with the lonely silence of the great room, made her anxious. However, it was the nagging sense of fear that had her entire body on alert.
Rytsar ran his hands over her naked skin. “I can feel your fear, radost moya. It…turns me on.”
It was disconcerting to think her genuine fear was an aphrodisiac for the Russian Dom.
“Subjecting a submissive to intense pain is much like deflowering a virgin. I enjoy the journey of penetrating a sub’s will with my desire.”
Brie realized she was breathing erratically and forced herself to calm down, afraid of fainting before they even began. Rytsar walked away from her and towards the wall of instruments. With growing dread, she watched as he thoughtfully chose a malicious-looking flogger from the wall.
Rytsar did not explain himself. He simply walked back to her, cutting the air with the whip to warm up his muscles.
Brie closed her eyes, readying herself for the initial stroke, but nothing could prepare her for the fire he evoked. She salivated against the tangy leather of his cat o’ nines, trying to keep her cries at bay as Rytsar lashed her back with solid, unyielding strokes. She whimpered loudly, the chains dancing around her as she rocked against the force of his blows. This was no gentle warm-up.
The sound of her lashing echoed throughout the dungeon, filling her ears. She did not drop the handle from her mouth to call out her safe word, but tears ran down her face as she forced herself to accept the onslaught.
When Rytsar finally stopped, the air seemed to still reverberate with the echoes of her surrender. He came up behind her, caressing her cheek. “The tenseness of your muscles, the whimpers against the leather, your sweet, sweet tears…they call to me.” He caressed her fiery back and then patted her ass lightly before giving the Wand a small adjustment. Brie moaned as she focused on the intense vibration, which helped to cut through the wall of pain.
“Your body must grow used to my pleasure. Much like a child learning to walk, it requires guidance.” His hot breath caressed her ear as he whispered, “You’re quite desirable right now, radost moya. So vulnerable and scared. It takes strength not to ravish you.”
He laid the flogger down and took the cat o’ nines from her lips. He slowly wiped her saliva from his instrument, dragging out the anticipation. “This will hurt. I make no excuses. I want it to hurt. I want you to react to the pain.” He abruptly threw the towel down and moved into position behind her.
This scene was unlike any experience she’d ever had. He wasn’t trying to ‘carry’ her into subspace; he was taking her there kicking and screaming. I want this, she reminded herself as fresh tears ran down her cheeks. Brie was determined to face this fear, to embrace the experience despite the fact she was terrified.
“Focus on your clit as I strip your back,” he commanded, just before the first lash of the tails came into contact with her skin. All illusions of bravery evaporated as she released an all-out scream. There was no controlling this pain. It was sharp, cruel, and more terrible than she’d ever imagined.
A second stroke immediately followed, not allowing her even a breath between. She shrieked, pulling against the chains, her back feeling as if it had been laid open and raw.
Then she felt his hot breath against her cheek. “Color?”
Brie gasped, “Red…ish yellow.” There was a part of Brie that desired to know if she could defeat the pain, overcome its fierce power and enter subspace.
“Good,” he replied. He reached between her legs and turned up the vibrator.
Brie threw her head back, her whole body shaking. Maybe the next hit would be enlightening or stimulating on a level she hadn’t experienced before. Fear will not control me!
She heard each step magnified as he repositioned himself. She felt the swing of the cat o’ nines before it came anywhere close to her. Her scream erupted when the evil knots impacted on her skin. Hot lava radiated from each point the cat o’ nines made contact with her back. Rytsar followed it up with a second, equally forceful stroke.
Brie screamed and then sobbed uncontrollably. This was not pleasurable or enlightening. It simply hurt beyond anything she had ever experienced—and she couldn’t handle it any longer. “No more,” she begged between sobs, “no more…”
“So soon, radost moya?” Rytsar stroked the back of her neck lightly several times and then grasped it possessively, making her knees weak. She swayed back and forth in the chains, while the vibrator between her legs continued its relentless teasing.
“I have so much more I wish you to experience.”
There was an urging in her spirit to acquiesce to his need, but her lessons at the Submissive Training Center had prepared her for moments such as this. She shook her head and called out clearly, “Red.”
He chuckled. She felt his sharp teeth as he bit the back of her neck, wrapping his arm around her tightly. A deep and startling orgasm shook through her body. Brie twitched in her bonds until it had passed, completely stunned by it.
Rytsar kissed the bite marks he’d left before releasing her from the chains and removing the toy from between her legs. He had to support her as she stumbled to a padded table nearby. The Dom directed her to lie on her stomach.
She jumped when she first felt the icy salve. Rytsar smoothed it onto her wounds as he spoke in a low, calming voice. He shared his memories of their first encounter, recalling details that brought the scene back to life.
“My American captive…beautiful, passionate, frightened but willing. It is a good memory for me.”
She smiled, nodding her agreement. Brie vividly recalled that day. She’d been inexperienced when he’d won her at the auction, yet he had managed to fulfill her fantasy in every sense of the word while making her feel worthy of his attentions.
As Rytsar continued to reminisce, his masculine hands gently tended to the wounds he had inflicted. His aftercare was so tender, so kind; it almost made up for the pain she’d endured under his hands.
When he had finished, Rytsar helped her off the table and gathered her into his arms, albeit carefully. “You did well, radost moya. Your Master will be pleased.”
She shook her head against his chest, not buying it.
He murmured seductively, “I can help you learn to enjoy the pain.”
She had no doubt he had the ability, but it was not what she desired. Brie worried Sir would be disappointed as she walked behind Rytsar back to her Master.
Sir immediately put down his work and stood up when they entered the room. “How was the experience?” he asked Brie.
Her bottom lip tr
embled in answer.
He turned to Rytsar with a look of concern. “How did she fare, Durov?”
“It was a decent beginning.”
Sir looked her over again, his eyes unreadable.
Rytsar kissed the back of Brie’s hand before returning her to Sir’s care. She dropped to the floor and bowed stiffly before the Russian Dom. “Thank you, Rytsar Durov.”
He nodded his acknowledgement and slapped Sir on the shoulder. “Trainable, but no masochist.”
“I suspected as much,” Sir replied evenly.
Rytsar bade them goodbye and left them to their own devices.
Sir helped Brie off the floor and smoothed her worried brow with his fingers. “That is fortunate news, téa, for I am no sadist.”
Performance
Rytsar spent the daylight hours while they were there taking the two all over Moscow, introducing them to the cuisine, the culture, and national treasures like St. Basil’s Cathedral in Red Square, and the quiet grandeur of the Novodevichy Cemetery. Brie was amazed by the history represented all around her and the many riches to be found in the numerous museums. However, it was the smiles of the Russian people she treasured most. She had expected stoic faces greeting her on the crowded streets, but she was met by grins and snatches of English wherever she went.
Sir had specifically instructed her to act vanilla outside the confines of Rytsar’s home. “I want you to interact with the culture. It will serve you well in your career. Experience the nuances of every culture you encounter.”
That freedom allowed Brie to fully drink in the foreign environment. She smelled, touched and tasted everything she could, and interacted with anyone who gave her a sideways glance.
When they weren’t sightseeing, they were enjoying the unique entertainment provided by their host. Rytsar spared no expense showing his good friends all that Russia had to offer, including a private performance of a well-known Russian opera. However, there was a condition to admission to this particular performance.
As Sir zipped up her sleek, crystal-studded gown, he casually mentioned to Brie, “Durov has asked you and me to entertain his guests this evening.”
She waited until he’d finished to turn around and ask him, “I thought we were going to an opera, Sir?”
“We are. Our performance takes place after the show.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What kind of performance?”
He turned her back towards the mirror, looking at her in the reflection. “Durov has asked us to scene together. He wishes his comrades to observe a different type of power play. Durov was greatly influenced by what he observed visiting America as a college student.”
Sir had insisted she wear her hair up for the evening, giving him free access to her neck. He kissed the nape of it tenderly. “It changed the flavor of Durov’s sadism, so to speak.”
“May I ask how, Sir?”
Sir looked at her thoughtfully. “Suffice to say, his partner’s satisfaction is of consequence to him now. It was not always the case.”
Brie lowered her gaze, a shudder going through her. She had watched Rytsar scene several times since her session with him. He was hard on his submissives, sometimes frighteningly so, but he knew how to please them and he was affectionate afterwards. What he had been like before, she could only imagine.
It made her think, though… All of Rytsar’s friends were sadists. The submissives they played with were experienced masochists.
“Is something wrong?” Sir asked.
She forced herself to reply, even though she was reluctant to voice her inadequacy to him. “Sir, I am but a child compared to the submissives these men are used to.”
“Do you put down my sub so easily, téa?”
Brie bowed her head, smiling to herself. How easy Sir made it to be his. “No, Master.”
“Tonight we will play out a short scene of my choosing. Nothing elaborate. Just a Master playing with his sub for the pleasure of others.”
She nodded, still looking at the floor.
“Téa.”
She looked up, gazing into his warm, confident eyes as he turned her back around. “All that is required is that you please me. No one else in the room matters.”
Brie breathed in his truth. No one else matters…
Sir escorted her down to the front row of the mini-theatre in Rytsar’s mansion, so that all the men in attendance could admire her. Brie’s nipples instantly became erect in response to their intense stares. Everyone knew they were the entertainment for the evening—after the opera.
Brie sat down with practiced poise in between Rytsar and Sir. The Russian nodded to her pleasantly, but said nothing. He lifted his finger and the lights dimmed just before the curtains opened.
Sir leaned towards her and whispered, “This is the Russian opera Ruslan and Lyudmila. It’s one of the few Russian operas that are more…fanciful in nature.” He kissed her cheek. “I think you will enjoy it, téa.”
He was acting as if they were simply there to enjoy the performance, so she followed his example and focused solely on the opera. Brie was enthralled by the lavish costumes and extravagant sets that graced the stage. The actors must have been true performers because their voices were exceptional, ringing strong and true. The same could be said of the talented musicians. Rytsar had not provided a simple home performance; this was on par with any Broadway show.
Brie held her breath when the flying dragon appeared on the stage. The huge creature was made of billowing bolts of gold silk. It was enchanting and otherworldly. But she was horrified when the opera took a brutal turn, making her question Sir’s assurance she would enjoy it. It wasn’t until the final act that all was made right. The ending was wonderful and sweet, the way only fairytales can be.
Brie clapped her hands zealously when the curtains finally closed.
“I see that you enjoyed yourself,” Rytsar commented with satisfaction.
“Very much, Rytsar Durov. It was…magnificent.”
“I would have to agree,” Sir interjected. “You surpassed my expectations.”
“Not an easy thing to do, peasant,” the Russian replied, laughing. “But I was determined.”
“It’s an experience I will never forget,” Brie exclaimed. “Never!”
“I hope to say the same of your performance.”
Brie suddenly felt lightheaded. She was about to scene in front of the prominent Doms of Moscow.
“Without the expensive costumes and sets, all eyes will be on you,” Rytsar continued. “Not exactly fair, is it?”
“None of it is necessary,” Sir replied matter-of-factly. “In fact, I would go as far as to say it is not the action itself, but the intention behind it, that truly carries a scene.”
Sir tilted Brie’s chin up with his finger, giving her a lingering look that said clearly, I lead, you follow. She nodded in understanding and then proceeded to melt when his firm lips met hers. She stood up with renewed confidence when Sir offered his hand.
Rytsar led them out of the theater and across the hall. Servants on either side of two massive wooden doors opened them as the group approached. Brie swallowed nervously as she passed through the doorway into the unusual room. The floor was made of dark wood a shade just shy of midnight and glossed to a perfect sheen. A long, red carpet made a path to a small, low-lying table made of gold in the center of the large room.
The table itself was encircled by unlit candles lining the floor. As she walked towards it, she noted the single line of chairs had been set six feet back, surrounding the table in a horseshoe pattern. The unusual seating allowed not only for the unobstructed view of the table, but also of a huge mirror on the opposite wall.
Brie began trembling as Sir guided her to the table. She had to step over the barrier of candles that separated them from the audience. Sir placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her towards the mirror. “Look at me, téa.” She looked into the reflection as the men gathered and sat down. She understood now—the mirror was the
re to enhance the experience for both the participants and the observers.
He whispered in her ear, “Focus on your Master.”
As she looked at Sir in the mirror, her confidence returned. When all of the gentlemen were seated, the doors closed and Brie heard the distinct sound of a large metal bar sliding into place. It added a thrill of fear, knowing they were locked in. For better or worse, she was to remain until the scene was complete. Thankfully, she was in Sir’s trusted hands.
Rytsar spoke to the group in Russian. After his speech, he repeated it in English for their benefit. “We have come tonight to enjoy the unique performance of Sir Davis and his submissive, téa. They have witnessed our brand of dominance and have consented to share a scene of their own. Sit back and enjoy their unique dynamic.”
Rytsar nodded to Sir before he sat down. The circle of Doms was so near that she could hear their subtle movements and even smell their various colognes. It was unsettling to have the audience so close. Brie looked into the mirror again. Sir…
She watched as he slowly unzipped her gown. Then he kissed her neck as he eased the material off her shoulders. The dress fell and pooled at her feet. Suddenly she was naked except for her garters, fishnet stockings and six-inch heels. Exactly the way Sir preferred her.
His hands roved over her breasts, and then he began pinching and squeezing her nipples as he lowered his lips onto her bare shoulder. His eyes did not leave her as he looked at her reflection. She was mesmerized by his hungry gaze.
Brie tilted her chin upwards and pressed the back of her head against his chest, giving in to the magic of his caress. She tapped into the sexual energy of those around her and ground her body against her Master.
He lifted her right arm above her head and ran his fingers down the side of her breast, the concave of her waist and the swell of her hips, tickling her skin with his light caress. Then he turned to a servant, who handed him a long red cord. Sir doubled up the rope and then began to tie it around her right forearm, starting at the wrist, creating an intricate, braided pattern as he went.