Silence hung heavy in the air. He thought to make a run for it, but couldn't move. He had to know if she felt the same way. His heart hammered. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a smile formed on her nearly perfect face. Her eyes sparkled and danced. Suddenly, she pounced on him. Faster than he could react, she pressed him back into the soft cushions of the loveseat and took possession of his mouth. The passion of her kiss overwhelmed him, almost scaring him with its intensity. His response kept pace with hers.
She broke the kiss, her breath coming in short gasps. Her hair made a tent over his face, but he could still see her eyes clearly. They were searching, as if she wasn't sure about the kiss. Nicolas rose up and kissed her again. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, rubbing his fingertips where he guessed her tattoo would be. Closing his eyes, he imagined he could feel the raised texture of her inked flesh.
As if his touch brought her to her senses, she pulled back and sat astride his thighs. She gazed at him with a look of shock mixed with hope. Her voice came out in a barely audible whisper, “You know about the symbol?"
He knew she meant the symbol. “Yes, Ma'am. I wrote a research paper about the lifestyle."
Rolling off him, she sank into the cushions and asked, “I have to know what class that was."
"Psychology 101. We could pick a topic from any chapter. I chose Human Sexuality."
She pursed her lips in an obvious attempt to fight back the urge to smile.
He couldn't stop himself from revealing more. “I did more than write a paper, Ms. Barrett. I discovered something about myself.” He paused trying to find the right words. “I'm a switch. I'm both dominant and submissive, but I'm more submissive."
She stared into his eyes. “Yes, I know what that is.” He saw a connection he never knew could exist. The suddenness and depth of it excited and frightened him equally.
"For you, I'll be whatever you desire,” he said, without thought. The declaration felt as natural as breathing. Nicolas slid off the loveseat and knelt on the floor beside her feet. He didn't know her preferences, but he knew it was a common position for a submissive and he guessed it would be a signal to her that he was serious.
She panted, her eyes filling with unshed tears. Reaching out with a trembling hand, she touched the side of his face. He turned and kissed her palm—another sign of his submission. The air from her sigh brushed the top of his head and she seemed to calm.
"You must know I have many rules. I'm not easy to please.” Her voice had taken on an edge. Nicolas loved the sound. “I'm not just dabbling in the lifestyle—I'm the Grand Mistress of a dungeon club. I have standards and a reputation to uphold, for both my would-be pet and me.
"Yes, Ma'am,” he said as much steadily as he could. The revelation struck Nicolas as yet another surprising aspect of Ms. Barrett. He quickly realized it made more sense that she would be in charge. The way she'd always carried herself in class was the picture of control. She never accepted anything less than his best when he was in her class.
Suddenly, she stood and said, “Come. I have something to show you."
He went to stand, but thought better of it. She hadn't told him to stand, just follow her. Moving on all fours, he crawled after her, keeping his gaze on her metal-tipped heels.
She stopped and he watched her feet turn toward him. He didn't look up until her hand under his chin forced his head back. “Good boy. You passed the first small test. You may stand, but remain behind me and to my left. It's my preferred heel position."
He got to his feet and complied as quickly as he could.
Still looking in his eyes, she continued, “It's not my way to degrade or treat submissives with disrespect—unless that is your desire.” She chuckled softly. “If you should become my pet, I promise to respect you, as I demand in return."
"Yes, Ma'am.” He didn't look up.
"Let's set some ground rules. Unless you're being punished or otherwise unable to look me in the eyes, you are to make eye contact when speaking to me."
He gazed into the deep hazel of her eyes and answered, “Yes, Ma'am."
"That's another thing. You may address me as Ms. Barrett, but I prefer Teacher when we are alone. In public, Ma'am works fine.” She paused, but didn't break eye contact.
He knew she wasn't done.
"There's one exception, I am to be addressed as Lady Stephanie during special occasions. If you're lucky, you'll learn those soon enough."
He absorbed the information and said, “Yes. Teacher."
She nodded, “Yes, I love the way that sounds with your voice.” She stroked his cheek and for a moment, he thought she might kiss him again. Instead, she backed away and turned toward the hallway that led to the kitchen.
He followed close behind and to her left as he'd been instructed. Even without her commanding him to follow, he knew it was expected. Halfway down the hall, she turned and opened a door. She flicked on a light switch, bathing the top of a stairway in fluorescent light. Nicolas glanced down the stairs, but it turned at a landing and he couldn't see the end. She moved down the steps.
At the landing, she reached back and pressed her palm against his chest. She looked up at him and said, “Once you enter this last portal, you will be trusted to keep what you see to yourself."
The finality of the statement struck him with a hint of fear, but it flew away when he looked into her eyes. He fed off her calm demeanor. He found he could trust her, and that he'd obey her every wish and command. “Yes, Teacher."
Her smile brought a myriad of questions to mind. Foremost was, what did she have in mind for him? He suddenly remembered why she brought him to her house. He was to make amends for all that he'd done, and what he hadn't.
She entered a code into a keypad next to the door. It beeped three times and the lock clicked free. She reached in, and flicked on the lights. Nicolas strained to catch a glimpse of the room, but could only see the cold gray of the concrete floor.
She glanced back and said, “Welcome to my sanctuary, my private dungeon. Few people have laid eyes on this inner sanctum.” Pushing the door open, she stepped through.
The sense of honor he felt was replaced with total shock. He'd seen BDSM dungeons before, but nothing compared to Ms. Barrett's sanctuary. The walls were lined with several sconces in the shape of flames. Under the lights were countless D-rings set in the walls at equal distances and varying heights. The room was filled with all manner of padded benches, tables, a rack, a St. Andrew's Cross, and cabinets along the base of the walls.
What struck him deepest was the large machine at the far end of the room. It had two long metal arms with wide paddle-like disks attached to the ends, one above the other. The machine was mounted on a frame with locking wheels. It took him a moment to identify the machine as a mechanical spanker. Beside the machine sat a padded bench—a punishment bench—often used for securing a submissive for a severe spanking. It had a kneeling pad on one end and sleeves to slip a person's arms into, on the other.
Ms. Barrett's soft, but demanding voice broke into his thoughts. “I see you've made your selection. Good choice. That should do nicely for what you owe me."
He gazed at her blankly.
Pointing to the door at one side of the room, she said, “That's your dressing room. There's a leather harness in there, waiting for you.” She stepped closer, bringing her lips an inch from his. “You know what to do with a harness, right?"
He nodded and managed, “Yes, Teacher."
"Good boy.” She stepped away and said, “I'll signal you when I'm ready."
Not wanting to waste any time or worse yet, risk raising the ire of his Teacher any further, he made for the door. As he stepped into the room and turned to shut the door, he saw her entering another door on the opposite side of the room.
Inside, he pulled the string hanging from the ceiling and light bathed the room. He was in a small room, barely larger than a walk-in closet. What made it even m
ore claustrophobic were the two racks of bondage gear lining either side of the room. He wondered how he'd find the right harness in time.
He turned and glanced at the far wall of the dressing room and saw a leather studded harness on a hanger. He quickly stripped off his clothes. He didn't know how much time he had, so he moved as fast as he could. It wasn't until he slipped the crotch strap up to his balls and the thong between his butt cheeks that he even considered what he was doing.
He'd dreamed of seeing Ms. Barrett in leather gear, but now that the fantasy was about to become reality, a sudden wave of nervousness struck. It was one thing to have a masturbation fantasy. It was an entirely different beast in reality. Fears raced through his mind. Was he ready for this—for her? Would she change her mind once she saw him in the harness? He shook the thoughts away. It was too late to stop now. He couldn't turn back even if he wanted to. He'd already wasted four years.
He glanced in the mirror to see how the leather fit. It looked as if it were custom made for him. He didn't have to adjust the straps across his chest or even those between his legs. He realized how much thought she'd put in the selection of the harness. Maybe she'd wanted him as long as he'd wanted her.
Before that string of thoughts ran very long, a bell chimed three times. It had to be the signal. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he opened the door and stepped into the dungeon. At first, he thought he was alone, but her husky voice reached him from the far end of the room. “Nice fit."
He turned and his legs nearly buckled. Sitting on the spanking bench was his Teacher. His fantasy-vision come to life. She was dressed in a leather bustier, thigh-high spike-heeled boots, and matching gloves. Her posture was rigid, straight-backed as if a board was strapped to her spine. She was the perfect picture of female dominance.
He somehow managed to look up to her face and got another jolt. She'd put on makeup. How did she find the time? He barely had time to strip off his clothes and slip into the harness. The only thing that made sense was she'd had to have help. Was someone watching them?
He watched her eyes move over his body. Any coherent thought vanished when she pursed her bright, red lips. She crooked an eyebrow and said, “You're definitely enjoying that harness."
He followed her gaze down and saw the head of his cock, poking out through the waistband of his thong briefs. He momentarily thought to cover himself. Instead, he slipped his hands behind his back, lacing the fingers together.
She smiled, looking up to his face. “You'll make someone a fine bottom. Time will tell if we fit."
He wanted to profess his devotion, to beg her to give him a chance to prove himself, but her piercing stare had him frozen.
"I've never trained a switch before,” she continued. “I can't help but wonder how strong your will is.” She stopped and looked to the side as if organizing her thoughts. She looked back at him, “A challenge could be fun."
She uncrossed her legs and stood. A flash of pink caught his attention and when he glanced down at her crotch, he saw black leather panties, but something more. Her panties were crotch-less. He didn't get a chance to consider the implications, for she moved toward him. Her stare held him fast. He stood as rigid as possible; he sensed that was expected.
She circled him. After pausing for a moment in front of him, she stepped around behind him again. As she went, she trailed two fingers across his shoulders, then down his spine. She stopped at the waistband of his thong. “Nice fit. You've kept your body in great shape.” Her fingers hooked in the elastic and pulled it away only to let it snap back against his skin. “The fit is almost enough to make me want to reduce your punishment. Almost."
She was already tormenting him and he loved it. He wanted to say thanks, but he remembered his place and kept the thought to himself.
"As much as I like how this fits, it must go.” She moved back a step and waited.
Not wasting time, he hooked his thumbs in the elastic and slid the thong down to his ankles, bending over at the waist. Before he could straighten and step out of the garment pooled at his feet, he felt her hand on his back. She scraped her nails across his flesh.
She swatted a cheek and whispered huskily, “Take your place on the bench."
He knelt on the padded lower portion of the bench. Lying on his stomach, he noticed the end of the bench stopped at the top of his chest. It was another perfect fit. Settling on the cushion, he pressed his chest against the padded top, and closed his eyes, praying that he was doing what she wanted. A soft stroke of her hand against his butt cheek told him he'd guessed correctly.
She trailed her fingers down the back of his thigh and hummed, “Very nice.” Her hand moved away and he heard the jingle of a buckle. “You let me know if this is too tight.” He didn't have to look to know what was coming next.
Leather straps surrounded one ankle, then the other, buckling firmly. Being restrained was freeing for him. He could let himself go and simply enjoy those things he never felt safe doing if he were free to escape. A second set of buckles encircled his legs just below his knees. He was immobilized, and had to bite his upper lip to keep from moaning. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on remaining calm. The attempt only made him aware of the throb in his cock.
He tried to ignore the hard, heaviness of his engorged prick, now free of the leather thong. Just as he thought he'd managed to gain some small measure of control the scrape of her fingernails down the length of his cock proved too much. A deep, guttural moan escaped.
Her touch disappeared even before his moan had finished. A moment later, a sharp smack on his butt cheek stung his flesh. “It seems self control is a weakness of yours.” She paused, as if waiting for him to respond. When he didn't, she chuckled and caressed his cheek. “But you have potential. Maybe what I've been looking for is a challenge."
He nearly jerked his head around to look at her. He'd never heard a Domme reveal their thoughts so freely. Without looking, he knew she was struggling with her own self control. The thought fed his dominate side. He knew he'd be able to be a switch with her. He just had to earn her trust.
Her heels, clicking on the concrete floor, echoed off the walls. He fought to control the urge to turn and watch her. The desire to see her ass sway as she moved pulled on him, but he squeezed his eyes closed and gripped the sides of the bench.
A door hinge creaked. There was the jangle of buckles and chains, then a creak and thud. He closed his eyes, using the internal images of her movements instead of chancing a glance.
He snapped his eyes opened as she slapped something down on the bench. He saw a box with a picture of a penis pump on the outside. His name was handwritten in black across the top.
"Yes, that's what's in the box. Rest assured it's never been used. It's yours."
Despite himself, he looked up at her and asked, “Teacher, I'm supposed to use it now?"
Her smile disappeared, and she folded her arms across her chest. “Are you refusing my gift?"
"N-no, Ma'am. I mean, Teacher,” he stammered.
"Then what are you saying?"
"I just ... I might come."
She shook her head and stared at him sternly, “Not if I don't allow it."
"Yes, Teacher.” He shivered. That was exactly what he needed to hear. He had to know that everything, even his climax, was under her orders.
She watched him for a moment, then her face softened and she said, “I'm definitely going to enjoy your spirit.” As if shaking herself back into reality, she glanced down at the box. “I think it would be best if I attached the pump.” Moving closer to the bench, she said, “But first, we need to finish your prep."
She put her hand between his shoulders, “Arms."
He slid both arms into the leather sleeves. As his hands came out the open ends, he gripped the handles. She leaned to buckle his far wrist, her breasts pressed into the padded bench a few short inches from his face. He couldn't help but stare at the tiny freckles sprinkled down her cleavage. Her chuckle snapped his at
tention up to her face. She'd caught him staring.
"Such a bad boy,” She murmured, then sighed. Hooking her fingers under his chin, she asked, “Are you testing me?"
He jerked. How did she know?
"You must know I can read your eyes."
He didn't say a word. The idea of the challenge made his spirit soar. He had to prove to her that they were meant for each other.
Finally, she looked away. She buckled the other wrist and grabbed the box. Without a word, she moved behind him and he heard the crinkle of plastic. He gripped the handles tight, trying to ready himself for the feel of the pump sliding up his prick. When he felt the kneepad shift under her additional weight, he closed his eyes and chewed on the inside of his mouth. The slick coldness of plastic was what he was prepared to feel. That didn't happen. Warm wetness engulfed his cock head. He bucked, and when he heard and felt the vibrations of her moan, he knew he was in her mouth.
Pulling her mouth away, she smacked her lips and said, “Why didn't you warn me that you'd taste so good?” She was teasing him. It wasn't a question she wanted answered. He couldn't speak anyway.
She smacked her lips again, and then slid her mouth over the crown of his prick. Her tongue flicked across the opening, taking more of his seeping pre-come. She moaned again, but didn't release him. Instead, she sank his full length into her mouth. His cock head wedged in the back of her throat. When she swallowed, the muscles milked his sweet spot. He couldn't stop himself from groaning as the first tendrils of his climax gripped him.
Again, she backed off, leaving his cock wet and twitching. Her breath fanned out across his crotch as she exhaled. The cold plastic he'd expected moments earlier suddenly surrounded his cock. The inside was squishy with lube and before he could get accustomed to the new sensation, suction pulled it close to his body. The inner walls of the pump squeezed his shaft tighter than any pussy could. It wasn't warm or the same kind of wet, but the pump milked him to the brink in seconds. He concentrated on fighting the urge to give in and come.
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI Page 22