He’d sleep with her. After all, he was the hottest stud in the club on any night. The best dancer, he wooed women with easy self-assurance, and he made love like Casanova.
He found her provocative smirk amusing; her body making his dick hard. What a tease this chick could be. She’d be a hellion in bed, fuck for hours, suck cock, maybe even take it in between her sweet ass cheeks. “Yes, that’s what I want,” he thought to himself, “that tight little ass, Oh man, what a score he’d make tonight.”
Her hips seemed to confound physics the way they moved. With a hand on the edge of her of her mini skirt, she teased his voyeuring eyes, pretending to pull it up. ‘Gawd, yes, do it babe, show me that cunt,’ he whispered to himself. His eyes were ready to explode from their sockets, as little by little the skirt rose higher on her hips, until he could see a little flesh at the bottom of her smooth, shaved pussy. ’Gawd, she’d shaved!’ He reached in-between her legs and felt the moist wet skin. Planting his lips on hers, he pushed his tongue between them, mimicking what he wanted to do with his cock.
She backed away, her lips glistening from the wet kiss. She was showing him more. ’My god! The little slut’s gonna show me her puss right there on the dance floor!’ She raised the center of her skirt. ‘Goddam! she’s pierced!’ he exclaimed silently. A little more and her pussy was practically bared for his eyes, ‘What the hell, there’s a bar pierced into her pubic mounds, holding her pussy lips wide open! Damn what a slut!’” His cock was erect, pre-cum seeping all over his jockeys.
She flashed him a wickedly, amused smile; her nostrils flared. Then, she lowered her skirt just enough so she was decent again, though he could still catch peeks at her naked flesh when she danced in front of him. Moving on his crotch with hers, they danced groin to groin mimicking the act of sex.
He thought he’d died and was jetting to heaven . . . though heaven would soon vanish, even more quickly than it had appeared.
As music played and the slut writhed in front of him, Young Casanova caught a glimpse of a man from the corner of his eye. Behind the blonde, his figure loomed darkly—a man of means and some years. His slicked back black hair was tied into a ponytail, and wearing a black shirt, black jeans and black cowboy boots, he looked like some creature from hell, a fashionable hell perhaps, but with a nasty accompanying expression on his face. He was no one to tangle with.
Her boyfriend perhaps. “Damn just my luck,” he groaned to himself.
Moving in behind the blonde, the dark man whispered in the woman’s ear. She answered and he grabbed her by the arm. Young Casanova watched his gorgeous temptress disappear into the crowd, only a brief wave of her hand and the wink of an eye to remain in his memory as a memento of what he might have had that night.
His limousine was waiting for them.
The sudden change happened so fast, her head was spinning with confusion.
She’d heard his voice in her ear, just as she was showing off her lusty jewelry to a peach of guy, with tight buns and a terrific sense of rhythm. She was having fun. “And why not?” she thought to herself. Hibernating in her apartment for three days, nursing the agony of the bar in her cunt made her pent up and restless. Getting out was the best thing she could do for herself. She couldn’t wait around forever. When the fourth night came, Martine was out the door in a flash, off to see Miles Tessa presumed.
Damn, if she was going to stay home another night alone; so she dressed like a lusty whore and planned to act like one. Yet, even when he spoke to her on the crowded dance floor, his unexpected voice rattled her like an earthquake.
“You have plans to exhibit your finery to the entire place?” He spoke as if he thought her some immoral harlot, his judgmental tone wreaking havoc on her brain. He was furious with her, she could tell by the passion emanating from his calm reserve. It made her body titter, aroused and afraid.
“How did you find me?” she whispered, still dancing to the perplexed glances of her impromptu lover.
“I know your habitat, I know your weakness.”
He made her feel promiscuous, as if dancing was a sin. But her body liked that feeling too—naughty, like a little girl breaking rules. Maybe he’d spank her for the offense.
“You’re leaving now,” he’d said. She wouldn’t fight him; his voice grabbed her as surely as if she was tethered on a leash.
She’d smiled to her gentleman fellow. Poor man would have to spend his evening in fantasy.
Outside the club, Miles pushed her into the waiting limousine. “On the floor,” he ordered.
She was too shocked to react right off, sitting down on the seat. Her faux pas was greeted with an instantaneous response from Miles as he pushed her roughly to the floor where she belonged. Tessa was immediately in tears, though she moved to a submissive pose at his feet.
“You have forty eight hours of unquestioned obedience to survive. Let’s just hope you can live up to your own expectations.”
It must be Damien’s Ball, she thought.
“You weren’t at your apartment when I arrived tonight,” Miles said.
“You expected I’d be there?” Tessa questioned, trying not to be testy. “You gave me no orders after our last meeting.”
“You still have problems anticipating your dominant’s will. I thought you more intuitive than that.”
“I thought my deportment was so unacceptable, you’d left forever.”
“Don’t be melodramatic, Tessa. Your behavior is as transparent as glass. You’re damned impatient and defiant. Those are not virtues in a submissive. In fact, they could be your undoing, especially when you defy all previous assumptions with the stunt you pulled tonight.”
“But your nights with Martine,” she protested, “isn’t that some kind of clue to your intentions?”
“Yes, I wouldn’t be screwing Martine, if I’d left you.”
“Oh, so that’s suppose to be some sign of your affection for me? She’s just a way to get to me? She means that little to you?” Her voice was high pitched, quite unlike herself.
He jerked her head with his hand, her chin held fast, so she was looking directly into his face.
“Hush!” he said icily. “My relationship with Martine is no business of yours. For a woman in your position, you’re making blunders you will regret.” He let go of her chin. “Put you face on the floor,” he ordered.
Tessa bent down with her head resting on the floor, her face pressed against the plush blue carpeting. Her fingers played with the tufts of fuzz. His hand pushed her down even more, so her breasts were pressed against the carpet. He smacked her ass until she was sure it was bright red.
“I’m sorry, Miles,” she said meekly when he stopped.
“You don’t know what sorry is, not yet.” He sat back in silence, content to watch her grovel before him.
She finally lifted her head slightly, thinking it was safe. “This is Damien’s ball, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice quiet and inoffensive.
“Could be Damien’s hell for you!” He leaned forward and smacked her again, until she groaned from the pain.
He stared at her tear-stained face and smudged make-up. She was beautiful, even like this, and his mood softened.
“Perhaps you are ready, after what I saw earlier.”
“You mean at the club?”
“Blatantly tawdry. I don’t excuse your willfulness, but you did capture the essence of a good exhibitionist,” he commented.
“It was my mood,” she said.
“Well don’t forget the mood, you’re going to have to marshal all your forces tonight.”
This was not the beginning that Tessa hoped for. She’d always imagined a heady wine, a lush dinner, and a seductive eroticism between the two. He’d help her dress. She’d pant with delicious expectation. By the time they arrived at Damien’s vulgar ball, they’d both be ready for the night, in the mood for the mystery.
On the floor at his feet, with an angered Miles looming over her, the trip to the ball took on a consi
derably different aspect, one that Miles seemed unready to change.
In Damien’s house, Miles escorted Tessa to a room she’d not seen on her previous trip there. It was a simple living room, furnished with leather couches, and a softer palette of colors than those that decorated Damien’s masculine study. With a vase of fresh cut flowers on the coffee table, it was clear that this room had had a woman’s touch.
Neither Tessa nor Miles spoke. Their earlier discussions in the limo had failed to restore the tender bond they’d shared in the past. Tessa assumed this was the way he wanted things to remain, for he did nothing to thaw his icy demeanor. As Tessa waited beside the door, Miles strolled about the room gazing at paintings Tessa realized were likely his work.
Their wait was brief. Minutes after their arrival, Damien and two valets came through a door at the other end of the room.
“She’s yours, Damien,” Miles said, “I have places to go.”
Damien nodded first at Miles, then at Tessa, his own impeccable cool intact.
“I wouldn’t suggest you hold back on her, she’s been insolent and shamelessly indiscreet. I’d have already flogged her if I hadn’t known I’d be bringing her here tonight.”
“It isn’t my job to discipline your recalcitrant concubine, Miles,” Damien returned, “This is a night of pleasure.”
“Then pleasure yourselves with her. You have free reign. I’ll return—tomorrow at this time?” he asked.
“If she’s finished. You know we don’t interrupt anything.”
“Of course not.” Miles started to leave. “And Damien,” he turned back, “I trust you’ll find her gold rod to your liking.” He didn’t give Tessa the satisfaction of even a single glance, leaving her with the feeling that she was simply so much dust on his feet to be wiped away.
Tessa had no reprieve with Damiena, he was as brusque with her as Miles had been. Turning to his two valets, one male, one female, he ordered, “Get her ready,” then he abruptly left the room.
Tessa was quickly led back through the main French doors, through the foyer into the back of the house. Up two flights of stairs, she was brought into an attic room on the third floor. The room was unfinished, like attics in her imagination, except for a wild variety of leather hanging on the walls, an old fashioned wardrobe like the one in Miles’ garret, and a professional make-up table with bright lights surrounding a mirror.
The valets were silent, shoving her to one side of the room, while they took their places with other valets on the other side. There were two other submissive women standing with her; and they were soon joined by three men, looking like dutiful slaves with the collars fixed around their necks.
A woman of obvious dominant inclinations stood between the two groups.
“You,” she directed her comments to the six submissives, “are sex slaves, nothing more than baubles for the pleasure of the guests at this ball. You are here because you have expressed the will and the desire to be of service in this most humbling way.”
Tessa stared at the woman. Her remarkable garb was the first clue of what to expect. The woman was clothed in black leather, exactly as Tessa imagined the most severe dominatrix. She was statuesque, especially so in thigh-high leather boots with stiletto heels and a waist cinching corset that pushed her generous tits into two jiggling mountains above the leather. To finish her attire, she wore black leather gloves up to her elbows. Her voluminous black hair was teased to an extraordinary height, befitting the kind of character she was striving to portray. She continued her speech in smooth, even tones, thankfully, without the hint of disgust and rancor that Tessa noted in both Miles and Damien.
“From this moment on, you have no will of your own, your needs and desires are of no concern to anyone here—to the valets,” she nodded to the several men and women on the opposite side of the room, “to me, or Damien’s guests. Your sole purpose is to serve in whatever way you’re required. You will be lavishly whipped, fucked and made to perform all manner of acts that you might find hideous in other situations. In this place, however, whatever base and immoral acts are required of you, you will do without question, knowing they will provide great pleasure to your masters.
If you are not gagged, you will not speak. There will be no protests of any kind. The valets may give you a safe word—that is required for certain safety reasons. However,” she deliberately raised her voice so that her message was not missed, “you were chosen to be trinkets, because Damien knows you’ll have few, if any, limits. You will be expected to act accordingly. The Domme paused to let her message register, then continued, “We are not completely without compassion; you can trust the dominants at this party. That in mind, safe words should be unnecessary.
“Your valet will be with you the entire night. You are in their charge between your excursions with the guests of this house. They are there to assist any way they can, to make this a most satisfying evening. As your valet prepares you, put yourself into a mood of surrender; let go and you’ll find the pleasure you seek.” The dominatrix nodded to them haughtily, then clicked her boots together at the heels, and walked briskly out of the room.
Tessa was taken to a corner of the attic by a man only a little taller than herself. He was young, perhaps her age; but what he might have lacked in years, he certainly made up for in his carriage. Tessa imagined a youthful Miles, with eyes as piercing as her own dominant’s, and a jaw that was set as firmly as Miles’ often was. His lean muscled body was clothed in a pair of baggy pajama style pants. He had a leather band around his left arm, and a gold earring through his nipple. His feet were bare.
Quickly, he undressed her, the skirt and top hastily thrown to the floor. Once he gazed at her naked body, he let out a brief gasp, seeing her piercings. He was taken aback by the rod that spread her cunt, but after the initial shock, he proceeded about his business, placing a three-inch leather collar about her neck, a wide leather belt with a half dozen heavy rings about her waist, and wide leather cuffs fixed with rings around her wrists and ankles. She would remain barefoot.
Moving her to the make-up table, he ordered her to sit. Then with efficient, skillful motions, as if he were a make-up artist in his other life, the valet applied heavy rouge, eyeliner and shadows in a palette of color, and a thick coating of red lipstick. There was some pride in his work, for he pushed her chair around so that she could look in the mirror. The results were stunning in a bizarre sort of way. The face looking back at her was Tessa, but so much more. Toying with her long blonde locks, he styled her hair in an inspired work of art, twisting it into a beautifully braided bun that suited her submissive status. The total effect, the leather, the hair and the make-up, transformed her into a seductive creature of the night, half sensuous woman, half seductive animal.
After the meticulous preparations, Tessa and the other trinkets were led on leashes downstairs to Damien’s grand ballroom. At the door, a tag with the number four was clamped to Tessa’s collar. For the remainder of Damien’s ball she would be known as Trinket Four.
With their valets leading them, the six trinkets were taken into a lavish room with gleaming chandeliers, violin music, and the sounds of happily chattering guests.
There were several hundred people inside, dressed, not expressly for sex or for sadomasochistic games, but for a fine dress ball: some in long sequined gowns, others with daring cleavage and skirts slit nearly to the hip. There were some garbed in the finery of sexual domination, leather, chains and lace.
As Tessa was marched through the throng of people, she and the other trinkets were stared at with wide-eyed looks of haughty arrogance. For a moment, Tessa relived the bizarre day at Miles’ luncheon, thinking these men and women were clones of those other horrid people, if not the very same ones. But the further she moved into the room, the more apparent it became that the night was for sex. A glimpse of tit, a pussy flashed, a hand fondling ass cheeks, lust permeated the room with a cloud of sexual expectation.
Each trinket in turn was position
ed at a particular point in the ballroom where there was a pedestal waiting for them. When Tessa reached the two-foot high granite column, her valet pulled her up short on her leash. Helping her up the awkward step, she stood heads above Damien’s guests, exhibited in all her seductive splendor. Trinket Four.
Her valet joined her on the pedestal, long enough to secure her hands above her with her wrists attached to a sturdy hook hanging over her head.
Bound, Trinket Four remained stock-still, as the first rustle of excitement rippled through the crowd and died away. She and her fellow trinkets were left ignored until their services were required, their valets standing patiently beside them.
Chapter Eighteen
“This one,” the woman said.
“She’s a fine one,” the man at her side replied.
“I love blondes, you know that,” the woman said. “They do show their marks much more quickly than brunettes with darker skins.”
The man nodded to the valet and Trinket Four was slowly released from a “hands over head” agony that had gone on for nearly two hours.
“We’ll whip her here to begin with,” the woman said. She herself was a brunette, with hair pulled back from her face and fixed in a bun at the base of her neck. She wore a gown that draped deeply in front and back, the inside of her breasts bobbing into view with each move she made. Her rear cleft was visible as she walked with a sexy swish to her hips.
“Grab your legs,” the woman ordered, looking up at the slave on the pedestal.
Trinket Four strained to comply. Her arms and legs ached, but she was nonetheless determined not to falter, especially when this was the first demand that had been made of her.
She bent down, grabbed her ankles and locked her knees, afraid the lash might cause her to lose her balance. Her muscles clenched, waiting for the first blow to strike.
The brunette bitch was in front of her, admiring the line of her body and the fine pose she’d managed to strike. Her effort was commendable. She pulled the trinket’s hair and looked into the silent face of submission.
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