by Stasia Black
“Answer me, slave,” she says in a tone both calm and menacing. “What happens if you disappoint Mistress?”
My breaths are slightly uneven as I watch. This is insanely fucking hot. She masters him so completely. He has no choice but to submit to her will. Suddenly I’m aware of the leathery fabric of the catsuit against my skin. The way the seam rubs between the cleft of my pussy. The slickness that’s gathering there.
“I— I—” the slave-boy stutters, “I get put in chastity,” he finally manages to say even while he thrusts his constrained hips toward his Mistress’ palm.
She won’t like that. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
“Ah ah ah,” she tuts at him and pulls her hand away, just like I anticipated she would. “Stop pushing, slave. I give and you receive. You know that’s how this works.” She turns her back to him and walks toward the back of the room.
He whines, sounding absolutely pitiful as he turns his head toward her, begging with his eyes and then his mouth when he realizes she’s not looking at him. “Please, please Mistress. I’ll do anything. Anything. I’ll worship your pussy for hours with my mouth. I’ll cook your every meal. I’ll make up your bath and give you the most glorious deep-body massage you’ve ever received.” Words pour out of his mouth, one after the other. “Oh God, just come punish me some more. I’m a naughty, bad, bad little cunt boy. Just give me what I need and I’ll give you anything. Everything.”
His body goes taut with excitement when Mistress Nightblood comes back toward him, closer and closer. Then she detours and picks up something from a table set up along the wall opposite us.
I bite my lip and can’t help leaning in. What’d she pick up? It’s hard to tell in the dimly-lit space outside the spotlight.
I narrow my eyes and look closer as she brings it into the light in front of the man’s face.
“It’s a ball gag,” Jackson whispers in my ear.
I jerk at his voice, having almost forgotten that he was standing beside me.
“Watch,” he says.
“No,” whines the man. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know you don’t like it when I beg. I’m bad. Bad slave. I just want to make you feel good. Mistress, if you would just let me—”
“What’s your safe word once the gag is in place?”
“Mistress please—”
“Safe word or it’s chastity now, slave,” she demands, looking like she’s on the edge of getting pissed off. The man must realize it too because he starts to snap both fingers.
“Good,” she lowers the gag. “Open wide.” He looks like he’s going to complain again but she gives him a sharp glare and his mouth pops open. She inserts the large ball into his mouth, then buckles the straps into place behind his head.
“Snap once if it’s comfortable and you are not in any pain.”
The man snaps once.
“Good. From now on only snap if you want the scene to pause or stop.”
The man nods.
The woman smiles. “That’s better, my little naughty cunt-sucker. You know I don’t put up with any fucking brattish behavior from my subs.” She picks up the flogger she laid down earlier and moves back around his bent-over body to where his ass sticks out, spotlight right on it. “I don’t know how your former Mistresses operated,” she raises an eyebrow and drops her voice, “but I will be breaking that habit.”
She brings down the flogger on his ass, working her way down with smacks on alternate cheeks until the whole thing is bright red. She keeps up a running commentary about what a slutty little slave he is, how she wants to fuck him with a giant strap on, what a fucking clit-tease he is, and most of all, how she expects her slave to obey her in thought, word, and action.
Jackson whispers in my ear that this is more than just a one-night encounter like some of the other scenes I saw in the club. Mistress Nightblood likes to make what she calls ‘arrangements’ with a submissive man to be her weekend slave. Slave, that’s the word that keeps being used, I shit you not. She has exclusive relationships with these men that last anywhere from two months to several years.
Not even the word slave turns me off, though. Kinda the opposite, in fact. I watch in abject fascination, my hands clasped together so I’m not tempted to fidget. It’s hard enough fighting the impulse to squirm in my leather catsuit. I’m getting more and more turned on the longer Mistress Nightblood keeps up her sensual assault.
She’s not just flogging him, she’s constantly stopping to touch him, to give a tug to the ball weights, to rub his hip, to caress down his spine. Or to move around and look him in the face to check on how he’s doing. Which from what I can see, is generally looking blissed out as fuck.
She’s mastering him and yet, like the men with the other woman we saw out in the main club, I feel an odd sort of caretaking feeling coming from her.
I don’t know how long the whole scene has been going on—fifteen minutes? Twenty?—when everything suddenly comes to a full stop.
“Stop that.” Mistress Nightblood’s voice is like a bucket of ice water. She’s moved in front of us so I can’t see exactly what’s happening. “Don’t you dare—” she says in a deadly warning tone.
She drops the flogger and jumps back.
“Slave!” she barks furiously. Before now, her voice was calm. Dominant, yes, but there was an undercurrent of, I’d almost call it… affection.
That’s completely gone now. She just sounds pissed. “Acknowledge your action.” Her movements are stiff as she goes around to his head and unbuckles the ball gag.
“Acknowledge. Your. Action.”
Silence.
“Acknowledge your action or find another Mistress.” She doesn’t shout or even raise her voice, even though it’s obvious something’s happened to make her absolutely furious. On the outside, she’s projecting totally calm, but damn.
“I— I came,” the guy finally says in a contrite whisper.
It does not move Mistress Nightblood. “Tell the truth.” Her voice is like a whip.
The whine is back in his voice. “I—it’s just, you’re so beautiful and you were making me feel so wonderful for so long and I just couldn’t help it—”
Mistress Nightblood walks to him and quietly starts to undo his ankles from the cuffs keeping him spread eagle.
“What are you doing, Mistress? I swear, it won’t happen again. Mistress, if you just let me explain…” His words fade off at her continued silence.
She walks around to where his hands are cuffed on the other side of the bench. Without a word she undoes the straps binding him.
“You know your way out, Samuel.”
He recoils at the name as if she struck him. It’s a response much more violent than any when the actual flogger was coming down on him.
She stands and goes to turn when he cries out. “Mistress.” For the first time throughout the entire session, the whine is gone from his voice and it sounds like a genuine plea. He looks absolutely devastated. “Forgive me.” Tears stream down his face.
I’m still so confused about what the hell went down that’s made her so pissed in the first place. If it was just him coming…well, isn’t that the point of all this? Getting off? Did something else happened that I missed?
She stands still as a statue, staring at him impassively as he falls to pieces in front of her. He peels himself off of the pommel bench and drops into a heap at her feet.
She stands there straight as an arrow, but for the first time since I’ve met her, I see a look of indecision cross her face. If like Jackson says she’s been considering a longer relationship with this guy, it’s a big deal for it all to be breaking down right in front of us.
My eyes stay glued to her and finally, she looks down at him, her expression gentling. “Acknowledge your actions. This is your last chance.” Her voice is only the tiniest bit softer, but still hard as nails.
The man looks up at her like she’s just offered him the sun and the moon and the whole wide world. “I made my
self come by rubbing myself against the spanking bench. And I did not ask Mistress if I could come.”
Mistress Nightblood lets out the smallest breath of relief. If I wasn’t watching her close as a hawk, I would’ve missed it. She wants control, yes, but I also get the feeling she really wants him to succeed.
Then I frown. Because all those things he offered—worshiping her and giving her all the orgasms on demand she could want, cooking for her, giving her massages, it’s the kind of thing you’d envision when you think master and slave.
But it’s like, that’s not even what the Mistress is interested in. She’s pushing for something way deeper. My fingers go to my temple and start massaging as I try to work my way through all the information I’ve been getting tonight.
Meanwhile, Mistress isn’t done. “On your knees.” She snaps her fingers and points to the floor in front of her. Her demeanor is all business again. She retreats and gathers something else from the table and then returns.
Are those… baby wipes? Okay, now what the hell kind of kink is this going to turn out to be?
Turns out, none at all. She uses the baby wipes to clean up his dick from where he jizzed himself. She’s all clinical about it, lifting his member from underneath to clean all around his balls almost exactly like a nurse might. Of course, slave guy starts getting hard again anyway.
“I’m sorry, Mistress. I can’t help it.” It’s less of a whine now and sounds like he does feel genuinely miserable about it.
Mistress continues her task. “That’s why you’re in training, slave.”
He perks up again when she calls him slave. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Only speak if I ask you a direct question.”
“Yes, Miss—” He cuts himself off, gives Mistress a worried glance and then looks at the floor.
“Good slave.” She rubs him on the back of his neck and he leans into her touch. “Now. Your punishment for your disobedience tonight is two weeks in chastity.”
The man makes a noise that sounds something like a protest but clamps his mouth shut before any words come out.
Mistress’ head quirks sharply to the left. “Are you going to disagree with your Mistress again, slave?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“I’m asking you a direct question. Answer me, slave.”
“No, Mistress. Whatever Mistress says is best.”
She nods and looks satisfied. Then, without another word, she walks to the table and comes back, opening a Ziploc bag as she does. She pulls out a small clear-plastic device that’s shaped like a banana holder. Or is it a… ohhhhhh. Right.
She slips the end of the plastic device over his half-erect cock, then slides it up and secures a ring underneath and around his balls. Then she tightens it all up and locks it in place with a little key. Whoa. Dude chastity belt.
“There we are.” The key is on a tiny keyring. She produces a necklace chain from another small bag that she loops through the keyring and then secures the necklace around her throat. The necklace is long enough that the key hangs right in the cradle between her ample breasts.
The man stares at her breasts with hungry intensity. Or maybe he’s looking at the key that way. Maybe both, and that’s the Mistress’ wicked intention. He shifts uncomfortably on his knees and one glance down shows that his cock has already filled up the length of the plastic device and is constrained from growing any more.
Jackson nudges my shoulder and nods toward the door. I’m a little reluctant to go. I want to see what happens next. But Jackson starts walking, so grudgingly, I follow. Besides, Mistress looks like she’s just cleaning up now that the scene is done.
But what happens afterward? It’s a Monday so… Slave guy just… has to live with that thing on his dick all week? Well, two weeks was what she said. There was a hole at the end he can pee through, I guess. But will they get together next weekend? And what exactly would they do if they did? What fun is it for the mistress if her slave’s cock is all locked up like that?
I start making a mental list of the million and one things I want to ask Jackson on the ride home. When we get in the hallway, I expect us to head back toward the main club and out to where the valet will bring the car around for us.
But Jackson doesn’t turn to the left to take us that way. Instead, he turns right, leading us further down the hall of private rooms. We pass by a few more windows, some with patrons outside watching the scenes unfolding with interest, others just idly chatting. We go past all of them without stopping.
“I wanted to show you Mistress Nightblood at work because she’s one of the best,” Jackson says. “The most important thing between a Dominant and their Submissive is the bond of trust between them. When you started watching the scene, you might’ve thought that she had all the power. But that’s deceptive.” He pauses in the corridor and looks down at me, those intense dark blue eyes of his. “Her sub truly holds the power.”
I scoff. “He was tied up and gagged.”
Jackson raises an eyebrow. “Really? You saw in the galleria earlier—one snap of a finger and it all stops. A Dominant can only take a Sub as far as they are willing to go. I know at first it all just seems like ball gags and whips and paddles, but the really good Doms, Dommes, and Subs know how to take it to another level.” His gaze gets a faraway look. “They know how to help you discover parts of yourself you never even knew were there. It’s always a learning process. You learn from one another.”
I shift uncomfortably on my heels. I’m sure as hell not looking to find anything within myself. As far as I’m concerned, the shit that’s in there can stay good and fucking buried.
“Are you a good Dom?” I try to lighten the mood with teasing.
He swivels his head to look back at me, his face far too serious for my offhanded question.
“We’ll see, Callie. We’ll see.” He starts walking again.
It’s not until we come to several solid doors that Jackson slows down. These doors are numbered with fancy Victorian script. Jackson pulls out his wallet and slips out a credit card. I frown at it until he swipes it in front of the door and it flashes green, like a hotel door. Of course. Not a credit card. A key card.
He pushes open the door and I follow him, my heart starting to beat even faster. In anticipation or anxiety, I’m not quite sure. So far tonight I’ve witnessed a girl strung up from the ceiling and double-teamed, then a dominatrix flogging her slave’s ass.
What the hell am I going to find behind door number three? Still, I follow Jackson inside. This room is better lit than Mistress Nightblood’s but it’s still like stepping into another century. Burnished wood floors, brick walls, and lights tucked away in wall sconces that imitate torches.
Oh yeah, and in the back? A naked dude shackled to the furthermost brick wall, face to the brick. His arms are stretched in a Y up above his head by chains that attach to anchor points farther up the walls. There are other anchor points all along the wall that I imagine can be used to dangle people in all kinds of ways. This guy only has on the wrist cuffs. Even his feet are free, but it still looks uncomfortable as hell. He’s not some wimpy guy either—he’s got big shoulders and the muscles in his back flex as he shifts in his cuffs. My eyes drop to his narrow hips and...
Yep. He’s totally naked. I jerk my gaze away. Well, those are certainly some buns. I stare at the floor, feeling my cheeks start to burn. God, after watching everything with Mistress Nighblood, this is what makes me blush to the roots of my hair? Maybe because it’s better lit in here? I mean, do they really have to have the lights on at full blast? Don’t they know about mood lighting?
My eyes flicker back to the naked and chained dude. How long has he been waiting here, strung up like that? There’s no one else in the room.
Jackson walks forward as if nothing’s amiss. On another wall, there are all kinds of implements hanging. Floggers and paddles and other devices I can’t even begin to identify.
Jackson plucks a wooden paddle off the wall
and seems to be testing its weight. He swings it through the air a few times with a quick whip of his wrist, creating a low whistle of air in its wake. His mouth purses and he nods in satisfaction. Then he looks back at the wall and picks up another paddle. He repeats the same action and then finally looks up at me.
He holds the paddle toward me, handle out.
“Your turn.”
Chapter 5
I ignore the paddle and instead grab the fabric of Jackson’s shirt, dragging him over to the corner farthest away from the dude that’s chained to the wall. “What the hell?”
Jackson studies me with a dark intensity glinting in his eyes—like he’s been soaking up the energy of this place and getting his Dom on more and more the longer we stay. “The hell,” he emphasizes the word as he steps directly into my personal space and firmly places the paddle in my hand, “is that you are going to take this paddle and spank that man’s ass.” He jerks his head in the direction of Chained-Up Guy. Jackson comes closer till his chest is pressed up against mine and his voice is a growl in my ear. “I’ll show you how. The best way to learn is through hands-on experience.” Sexual energy sparks off him.
“But—” I scoff at the ridiculousness of his suggestion. It’s difficult to think with him standing so close. Why does he always have to smell so damn good? And why the hell am I focusing on the way he smells? There are way bigger things to be focusing on here. Like the chained up guy in the corner and the paddle in my hand. Yeah. Holy shit.
“You what?” Jackson asks calmly.
“I don’t know how to spank anybody!” I finally manage to whisper, taking a step back and tossing my hands slightly up in the air. There. With a little more distance between us, it’s easier to focus.
“Which is why I said I’ll teach you.”
I look back and forth between Chained-Up Guy and Jackson. Of all the—I can’t believe the—I make my voice even quieter but say with no less vehemence, “I’m not having sex with some dude who’s chained up!” Though, even as I say it the already-moist area between the legs of my suit seems to get even more slick. I look down so Jackson can’t read it in my eyes.