Svetlana nodded, “You probably remember the videos that were created for Agent Provocateur that featured Kate Moss..."
"Wasn't that “The Four Dreams of Miss X"?” prompted Pauline Trent.
"Ze Four Zilly Dreams of Mizz X more like,” murmured Madam Durst. “Zey ver zuch a disappointment. Ze ambience, ze style, ze cinematography unt ze story ver first-rate, but ze content ... vimpish. Zey lost zhere nerve unt produced zomething only for teenage boys to vack off on. Zat Kate Mozz has a gut ass zough, but mine, ven I vos young, vos better."
Svetlana nodded her agreement, “You're right, they were much too coy, but the fact remains that despite the faux-erotic content, these videos created a media frenzy. I wish to go further and to produce videos with real erotic intent, featuring the use of “I Submit". The aim would be to release them through the internet, with no publicity, just word-of-mouth to sustain them."
"Unt no Kate Mozz, I hope. Ve couldn't afford her!"
"How erotic?” asked a nervous Pauline Trent.
"Very. The target customer we have identified has been subjected to a bombardment of products and fashions that have borrowed ideas and concepts from the netherworld of BDSM. My own feeling is that this audience is ready to take a step further and a step deeper. I propose that that step is taken whilst they are wearing “I Submit."
"Dangerous."
"And that's the very essence of “I Submit". We have infused “I Submit's image with Dada philosophy. “I Submit” says to its audience: reject the refined sensibility of love and embrace carnality and promiscuity. And it says to us,” and here Svetlana looked around the room, “if the erotic is to be freed from the soft-focus, back-lit imagery of the boudoir, then it must feel the full fury of the whip and the lash."
Svetlana waited for a response, but for several seconds the room was silent. “Ze greatest danger here, Zvetlana, iz zat you lose your nerve. Zere will be many counselling you zat a campaign like zis iz repugnant to both ze industry unt to ze establishment, unt zey vill seek to neuter your vision. Zhere can be no half-measures here. You must remain strong."
"I'll try."
"Zen I look forward to meeting with you again next week unt seeing your video ... unt seeing vezer your imagination leads us vere I hope it might."
* * * *
Svetlana had thought long and hard about how to meet the Master's demand that on her next visit to So-UnReal-Ism she show him that she had it in her to become different. Finally she knew what she wanted to do; she just didn't know whether it was possible. So she'd returned to “Rage” and asked the advice of the girl who had been so helpful regarding the piercing of her nipple. The girl had been equally accommodating regarding this new question and had directed Svetlana to a tattoo parlour a couple of blocks down from the boutique. Though the tattoo parlour was small it was scrupulously clean, and the tattoo artist certainly knew his stuff. He'd whistled appreciatively when Svetlana had handed over a picture of the design she wanted tattooed on her body.
"Complicated,” he admitted, “all those weaving snakes. It'll take time and a lot of care. It's gonna be expensive,” he warned, “and painful."
"But you can do it?"
Pete, the tattoo man, studied the picture again. It showed ten snakes emerging from a single point, then writhing around one-another to form an upside-down triangle of serpents. “Sure, but as I said it'll take time and it'll be painful. Where do you want it done?"
"On my mons,” answered Svetlana in a matter-of-fact way, and then inched up her black pencil-skirt to display her naked sex, a naked sex that she had fastidiously shaved only an hour or so before.
A goggle-eyed Pete blew out a long breath, “Well, honey, I sure ain't done one of them before. But, if you'll pardon the expression, I'm certainly up for it. It'll look great in my catalogue."
* * * *
A week later Bob Wilson stood, as he usually did on a Tuesday night, cold and bored guarding the entrance to So-UnReal-Ism. The only thing that alleviated the tedium was the prospect of seeing the girl who'd given Paul the blow-job a couple of weeks ago. Word of what she'd done had certainly gotten around: there seemed to be a lot more paparazzi than usual hanging around, waiting for something to happen.
And when Bob saw her striding across the road towards him he realised that the paparazzi certainly wouldn't be going home empty handed: her outfit was outrageous, and after the sights Bob had seen during his time working for the club, that was quite some compliment.
It was the skirt which created the skirmish amongst the gathered photographers as they fought for the best positions to take their shots. It was made from ankle-length black leather that was split from waist to hem straight down the front. By itself this would have been disquieting enough. But the thing that created the stir was the fact that the bottom corners of the skirt had been drawn back and clipped in place so that they parted like a pair of drapes around the girl's legs, and in doing so revealed that the girl was naked underneath the skirt.
Naked but different.
The girl's sex was shorn of pubic hair, and this had been replaced by a tattooed representation of what appeared to be a writhing, swirling confusion of snakes rising out of the girl's slit. The snakes coiled and slithered up over her lower stomach and around her navel. It was a prurient, unsettling depiction of depravity. It was Eve not only welcoming her Fall, but relishing it.
And if the skirt wasn't enough, there was also the girl's top to consider, a top which consisted of a small, beaded and very transparent shrug of lascivious inconsequence. It simultaneously framed and decorated her loose and very visible breasts.
Indeed the girl's only concession to modesty was the black leather mask she was wearing, that and the hand she held over her eyes to shield herself from the blizzard of flashlights that announced her arrival at the club's entrance.
"I was invited to the club by the Master,” she purred to a bemused Bob Wilson, who had difficulty dragging his eyes away from the study of the delta of snakes that decorated her mons.
"Yeah ... yeah I know,” stuttered Bob Wilson as he pushed open the door, and watched as that delectable ass shimmied past him into the darkness that was So-UnReal-Ism.
* * * *
It is impossible, her Master had explained, for a submissive to fully appreciate the subtleties of pain without having had the responsibility for inflicting it. Moreover, he continued, Svetlana had, as a woman, an instinctive empathy with a woman's tolerance of pain but no such reciprocal appreciation of how far a man might be driven. Therefore, it was an important part of her education that she should learn how to torture a man.
And the first lesson, as enunciated by the Master, was to forget all the stereotypes she had seen portrayed in a delinquent, neo-con media of a masculine, super-powerful dominatrix, grunting away as she slashed at her emasculated victim with a bullwhip. To torture a man, the Master told Svetlana, was a thing of cunning and guile, not of frenzy and sweat. The true expert, the true virtuoso, would first bring the man to erection, and then torture him in such a way that the erection was not only sustained, but was actually augmented by the pain of the torture. This, he observed, was a delicate balancing act on the part of the dominatrix, and more so when it was remembered that, for the majority of men, an erection is a fragile thing. Skilful BDSM play could, the Master declared, be compared to a performance by a bravura musician, each sensation evoked from the Bottom's body melding to create a wonderful melody, which leads, in turn, to the crescendo of climax.
"Tonight,” explained the Master, “you must take this man,” and here he nodded in the direction of a young man chained in the centre of the stage, just as the blonde girl had been two weeks ago, “on an erotic journey that neither he, nor the audience, will ever forget."
Standing in the wings to the side of the stage, Svetlana took several deep breaths trying to settle her nerves. It was exciting in an odd sort of way to be performing for the crowd, to demonstrate to them just what she was capable of, just what she w
as willing to do. It added a piquancy to the proceedings that she found very arousing.
The Master gave her a light tap on the shoulder, cuing her that she should begin, and without a moment's hesitation she strode out across the stage to stand beside the tethered man. She received a rapturous and quite embarrassing ovation from the audience when she appeared.
She took the opportunity, whilst she waited for the cheers greeting her arrival on-stage to die away, to decide how to commence. Her first task was, of course, to bring the man to erection but, alive to the fact that by evolutionary intent a man's tumescence was a sudden and transient event, she knew she would have to provide his body with incentives to remain erect and alert. To do that she would need to involve all of the man's senses to ensure that his entire body and being was being aroused and excited. That said, it would not be a trial to torture this man. He was handsome, well-formed, and his body was tight and hard. Of perhaps more interest to Svetlana in her role as Dominatrix was that the man's prick which lay contentedly flaccid in its nest of black pubic hair was of admirable size. This, she decided, was a scene she would enjoy.
Svetlana was a tall woman, and as she stood before the bound man, she was able to stare directly into his eyes, which twinkled with an impish confidence. He might be chained, he might be helpless but he obviously reckoned that his will, his resolve was stronger than any woman's. Svetlana was delighted by his attitude: she loved a challenge. “First, I think I had better ensure that you are safely shackled, we don't want you escaping now, do we?” She stepped forward and pressed her body hard against the man's, stretching against him as she made a show of testing the manacles that held his wrists high above his head. Satisfied, she lissomed down his body, undulating her stiff nipples against him as she passed. Finally, crouched at his feet, she tested his ankle manacles, shaking them to demonstrate how securely they were fastened, and also giving the audience an opportunity to admire her delicious, leather-sheathed arse.
Svetlana rose back to the feet, and taking a black silk scarf from around her neck she tied it over the man's mask, moving her lips close to his ear as she did so. “All our senses are governed by our brain,” she began, imbuing her whispering voice with a sultry longing, “which processes them into imaginings. Your imagination is the key to your arousal, and it is obviously better to allow your imagination untrammelled freedom by the use of a blindfold.” Careful to nudge her hard nipples against his chest, she edged seductively closer, “Of the senses, perhaps the one most often overlooked in love-making is that of smell, and yet it is key to our sexual excitement. Surprisingly, it was the Romans who managed to produce a technique that amplified aromatic arousal. They achieved this by massaging oils into the body and then scraping it off using a tool called a strigil."
She wafted a small glass bottle containing a red oil under the man's nose. He flinched back from the almost overwhelming intensity of the oil's perfume. “This is a new perfume, one called “I Submit", which, you must concede, is a perfectly apt name for our little drama.” She laughed, “You should feel honoured to be one of the first people to wear “I Submit” in public.” Raising the bottle a little above the man's left shoulder Svetlana tilted it to pour the thick unguent onto his skin. The blindfolded man flinched in surprise as the cool oil glanced over his body. He flinched again as Svetlana repeated the application of the oil on his right shoulder. Like thick red blood, the oil trickled over the man's chest and meandered onto his hard stomach. Svetlana placed the finger-tips of her left hand into the red trails of oil and began the gentle massaging of the unguent into the stomach's taut flesh. Content with her progress here, she used her right hand to caress the oil into the man's back, rolling her slick fingertips around in a slowly widening circular motion. It would have taken a statue or the most pious of holy men to have remained immune to the mute entreaties of Svetlana's fingers, especially when those of her left hand began the delicate exploration of his pubis and those of her right began to nudge the oil into the crevice between his buttocks. It became obvious that the man was neither a statue nor a devout as, sure enough, Svetlana saw the first tentative swelling of the man's penis. Alive to the fact that she wanted him to come to tumescence slowly, and certainly not yet, Svetlana quickly moved her massaging fingers away from his genitalia and onto his calves and thighs. Her ploy worked: although this penis remained thicker than normal, it didn't flare into full erection.
"Now to use the strigil,” she whispered, “this is a curved piece of antique ivory that I'm going to use to scour the residual oil from your body,” and for the next five minutes that was what she did. Dextrously she scraped the strigil over the man's oil slick flesh, pressing hard to ensure that all the oil was removed. As she progressed, she wiped the strigil and her oil drenched hands on her shrug, which became clotted with the oil. And as the Romans had found, it wasn't just the oil that the strigil removed: along with the oil came the sweat and detritus of everyday living, leaving the flesh clean, blushed and very, very sensitive to the touch. When Svetlana finally stood away from the man's gleaming body, all that was left of the oil was the latent smell of perfume wafting around the man like an aromatic cloud. He shivered as the draft of the air-conditioner ghosted over his freshly scraped pink skin.
"Your skin is so taut and so sensitive now, so delightful to the touch. You know that touch is a vital part of arousal...” Like some large cat she began to undulate her body against his, running her stiff nipples against his back and over his stomach, entwining her long, long legs around his, wrapping her arms about him like two lascivious snakes and trickling her fingers into the dark crevices of his body. And his body reacted to her entreaties, his prick growing as her fingers caressed its length. “Yes, touch is such an important part of our enjoyment of sex,” she murmured, her lips only an inch from his, “as is taste.” With that, she leant forward and butterflied her black varnished lips against his, darting her tongue into his mouth and trailing it along his snow-white teeth. Then slowly, she began to snake down along his body, trailing her tongue along his neck, over his chest and his stomach until it reached his now fully erect penis. After a theatrical pause she opened her mouth, took the tip of his tool between her lips, and replicated the kiss she had just visited on his lips. She felt him tremble, his penis flicking against her tongue, and, encouraged, she sucked him in deeper to her warm, succulent mouth.
But only for a moment. Before he had an opportunity to enjoy the sultry pleasure of her mouth, she was gone. She must be careful not to excite him to too high a pitch.
"The final sense we must explore is sight,” and with a flourish she removed the blindfold. “To appreciate the pleasures in store for you, you must see them.” Standing perhaps a yard or so in front of the man, Svetlana began to undress, slowly unbuttoning her shrug and then easing it artfully away from her oiled breasts, revealing the full glory of her black varnished nipples. She began to toy with them, tweaking her nipples until they became even harder, and rolling her piece of nipple jewellery between her fingers. Her reward was to see the man's tool flick upwards with mounting excitement. She edged a little closer, and then unzipped her skirt to roil it to a heap on the floor. Drifting a hand down to her naked, tattooed sex, she began to caress her clitoris, smiling as she did so, “All this is yours. Can you imagine being able to use my body in any way you wish, being able to fuck me here,” she pushed the forefinger of her right hand deep into her mouth, “and here,” she stabbed the full length of the finger between the reddening lips of her sex, “and here,” she turned sideways to allow him to see that the finger was now snaking in and out of her anus.
Naked, she once again began to roll her body against that of the man, delighting in the feel of his scented flesh. But this time her fingers were much more impish. A sharp fingernail wandered questingly around the man's anus—triggering a grunt and a shuffle against his chains—before dawdling between his legs to linger lasciviously on his tight and heavy scrotum. “Yes,” she crooned, “there are parts o
f your body not often tested by love.” With those words, she knelt down behind him and began to kiss and lick his arse. The man moaned in pleasure, a moan that grew in intensity as Svetlana pushed her long tongue between his cheeks and began to delicately torment his most secret place.
"Please...” she heard the muttered plea.
"Please what? Please more? Please further? Well, I am delighted to take you further.” And on cue, Little Su trotted out across the stage and presented Svetlana with a wooden box, from which Svetlana withdrew a small vibrator shaped out of slick, hard chrome. The man's eyes widened and, it seemed, some of his confidence drained out of him. “But to take you further I need assistance,” and she twisted the dial at the blunt end of the phallus. Immediately the vibrator began to hum and shimmy in her hands. “Let's see if this will help.” Gently, almost tenderly, she brought the humming tip up between the man's spread legs, touching it against the man's frenulum, making it hover in that nether place between his balls and his anus. The impact of the touch was dramatic: his body twanged like a bow, arching against the chains that bound him. “My, my,” crooned Svetlana, “such a reaction. And if that is what I achieve by just a touch, imagine what would happen if I..."
The oscillating tip of the vibrator flicked against the entrance of the man's anus. The man jerked away as if stung by a bee, screaming against his fetters, revolting not against what had been done, but what he knew was to come. Disgusted by the man's cowardice, Svetlana pushed the vibrator upward, shoving it negligently past the man's protesting sphincter, thrusting it deep into his reluctant anus. The scream of violation echoed thorough the club, and the club cheered back, applauding his dissolute seduction. Deeper and deeper Svetlana pushed the vibrator until almost all its full, pulsating length disappeared into the man's body.
She left it there, buzzing contentedly inside him.
This done, Svetlana twisted herself around him. Ducking her head, she took one of his balls carefully into her mouth, kneading it with her lips, and flicking at the sparse hairs that covered the scrotum with her tongue. For several long, intense moments she knelt sucking the testicle, rolling it around in her mouth, all the while feeling the distant hum of the vibrator lodged deep in the man's arse.
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI Page 29