“But I can’t, Billy!” she cried.
“Well then, maybe you need some help.” He turned his head and called out to someone off stage in this little drama. “Lower the yoke!”
From above them both, the crude confinement yoke descended, swaying much like the hook that held Jewel up by the collar. Trading the hook for the yoke, Billy enclosed his sub’s neck between the wooden slats and secured her wrists to either side of her head, well out of the way of further punishment.
“A spreader bar!” Billy called out next and one appeared like magic from the cloaking shadows of the room. While her feet were secured widely apart, Jewel was mercifully lowered enough so that she didn’t choke. But that was small consolation, as the beating began in earnest; blows laid against her pussy as if—being the most offense part of her body—it deserved the vile punishment.
I was so in tune with her torture that I could feel each striking lash as if it were striking me. I could feel the tears that flooded from my eyes and imagine myself in her place—I’d been yoked and whipped once. But Jewel was special, so capable of turning pain into pleasure that I had no doubt that within minutes, her being would skyrocket beyond the building to places unknown, to a realm the world can’t see or feel in any other way but through the lashing of a whip expertly laid against defenseless flesh. The unity of vision between Jewel and Billy held a sizable crowd enthralled, until the transformation began. Before it was over, there would be a euphoric look on Jewel’s face; her heart would come shining through and someone in the crowd would utter the obvious truth, “What a goddam angel!”
Damned by God! But still an angel, that’s Jewel.
If I could have known that feeling myself, I might have gone through the same rough machinations. But that was not me, that was not my labyrinth.
I’m basically just a slut, who loves sex and being fucked into oblivion.
I saw the arriving couple before anyone else gazed in that direction. Thayer and I just happened to be near the front entrance when the new girl walked in on Alec West’s arm.
First, though, I should tell you about Alec West. The man’s a real rake—not the garden tool—but as in lecher, libertine, womanizer, a basically profligate male slut. Inside the labyrinth the man demonstrates a beguiling charm that is difficult to resist. His blue eyes crackle with amusement in the company of women he’s trying to impress…or woo…or manipulate, and his smile is so evocative of a man with obvious motives. He’s the kind that starts with subtleties then moves on with force as necessary. He’d rather bring a woman to her knees because she wants to be there, although he has no problem getting her there with the back of his hand against her face—if that’s what it takes.
You don’t want to cross him for any reason. He’s ruthless about everything from wooing women to business transactions, something I’m an expert about myself, and why I happen to know the man outside the labyrinth. I’ve crawled on my knees to suck his cock and he’s gotten off with a sigh of supreme satisfaction. But that first time in the labyrinth, I nearly panicked and ran from the Spanish hacienda when my eyes came to rest on a face that was all too familiar—although we’d not yet had any business dealings amongst ourselves. As soon as Thayer saw the horrified look on my face, he had to jerk me back to reality, sensing why what I’d seen was so disturbing. “If this is to work at all, Kathryn,” he said, “you can’t panic when you see someone you recognize. Trust me, he will never mention what happens here outside these walls.” Thayer was right. Two days after our first labyrinth weekend was over, I found myself in a corporate boardroom with Alec West. Not one expression of recognition appeared on his lips, in his eyes, or across his brow. Although if there had been an acknowledgement of our past association – with me on my knees and his cock in my mouth – I think I would have had the upper hand. Why? Sex is power. And I consider myself pretty damned powerful when on my knees. I may give satisfaction on demand, but it remains mine to give or take, and you can’t tell me that a man given to subtleties like Alec West won’t be able to tell what kind of mood I’m in by the subtleties of my blowjob. If anything, it was a positive experience to face him two days after my first wild weekend of illicit sex. I could feel the power rising up in me as we sat staring eye to eye, negotiating a deal with far-reaching ramifications that had nothing to do with where or why we first met. But oh, what a shrewd bargaining chip my weekend’s experience had given me! I certainly wasn’t going to be turned into a spineless ninny taking orders from horny sadists. Neither he nor any man who frequents the labyrinth could slay me.
But I digress here…getting back to my point…
Alec West is ruthlessly disarming, and so charismatic that his powerful presence will draw the attention of everyone in the room before a single word has leapt from his mouth. It’s no surprise that he’s the man in charge, or at least he appears to be in charge of these arcane sexual rites. I know there are others, but he’s the face I see, the voice that always resonates with me most, the man who dares to put his mug-shot in the line-up of likely suspects for the title of ‘man in charge’.
Perhaps he’s just a front for more powerful men. That would be fitting.
I will say, though, while West couldn’t interest me less outside the labyrinth, inside it he makes me quake from my toes to my shivering shoulders to my quivering cunt. His voice will cut me with a knife; his derisive barbs go straight to my heart. He plays the game better than any man, and when it is his cock that I’m told to service, I become more slavish in spirit than I could ever be with any man—including Thayer.
I worried about this the first time, when at his feet, I felt an utterly devastating swoop of submission overtake my cheeky insolence. He looked down on me like I was filth he could walk on. Fact was, I wanted him to walk, hike, traipse, tramp all over me, until I was smashed to smithereens.
I’d never felt so small as when he ‘suggested’ that I lick his boots—boots with a tux; made quite a statement. I laved them like they were his cock; in fact, I was thinking of that organ the entire time, forgetting there was grease and dust and god knows what kind of real filth clinging to the leather. Finally, he jerked me up by the chain leash and looked me in the eye, sneering with great meaning.
“Oh, I’m going to have fun with you, pet.”
The bastard called me pet.
My gut may have recoiled in anger, but my tummy turned hot and my crotch wet. He couldn’t have demeaned me more.
And there was Thayer watching like a supreme God, taking instructions from a master. Not that Thayer actually needed instructions; he did pretty well with his natural ability. Thayer did the ‘God-like, critically observing thing’ very capably, making me feel like dirt in the most amazingly erotic way. How could that be erotic, you ask? What a paradox for the modern woman. I just ate it up like the grand joke it was and followed the script to its natural conclusion.
He called me pet and I wanted to spit in his face. But of course he was just getting started with the taunting barbs. “You ever had your cunt reamed with a man’s fist?” he asked.
The question exploded in me like a rifle shot. “No!” I looked at him horrified.
“How about your ass?” he drove his questioning deeper still.
“No!” I shook my head, fear clutching strong inside my belly.
“Well, I’m going to do both to you,” he informed me without batting an eye. His tone like ice dragged up my spine.
My mouth gaped open, a response that prompted him to laugh at me with brilliant scorn. Then he turned to Thayer. “Ass or cunt first? Your choice.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, my husband replied, “Her ass.”
“The ass it is.” The man was pleased.
Realizing what was about to take place, my entire body filled with terror and excitement, and my ass end began to throb as if it had been waiting through eternity for that very moment.
He dragged me to a nearby bench, where I was forced to kneel on the kneel on the lower bar with my torso bent over a
nd resting easily enough on the padded bench—the only easy thing about the ordeal.
My mind worked with mantras left and right. Relax Kathryn. Go deep, Kathryn. Surrender, Kathryn. Go deep, let go, Kathryn. And finally, simply, Submit, Kathryn, submit.
West worked fast, as if he had places to go and things to do and more worthless females to abuse. He bathed my anal cleft with a warming cream that grew hotter the more he worked his fingers along that great divide. Finally, he began to ease his way inside my ass, talking as he worked. Leaning in, he whispered nasty things in a not so quiet voice. “I know you, pet. Ball-busting broads like you are all alike.”
Jab! Suddenly, the entire inside of my ass felt as if it had been invaded by a beehive; the sting hot and unrelenting.
Again and again, the jarring fingers of his right hand plunged into my backdoor while I loudly bellowed, “God nooooooooooo!”
He abruptly grabbed my hair and pulled my head up, staring into my face. “Shut the fuck up, pet!” The way he tersely bit off the word pet, he must have known how much I hated even the vaguest reference to a subservient beast.
But wasn’t that exactly what I was?
I snapped my mouth shut fast. My eyes burned with tears. My heart beat violently, and my poor pussy just lapped up the energy as if it were fuel for the damnedest orgasm I’d ever have.
Once West shoved my torso back against the bench, he took a position at my behind, fingers jabbing their way into my entrails, widening me far beyond what was reasonable or safe. Obviously he didn’t care if he left me damaged—although I was not left permanently scarred, I was sure I would be. He kept on drilling me with fervent and unending jabs of his invading fingers, adding comments as he went along.
“Once I start I never stop. You get the whole fuckin’ fist…the whole fucking fist. You hear that, pet?”
Thinking the question was just rhetorical, I didn’t answer, which turned out to be the wrong thing to do.
With his free left hand he grabbed for my hair again and pulled up, though this time I couldn’t see his face. “I spoke to you, slut. When I speak, you answer. Do you understand…you get what I’m after?”
“Yes, I get it!” I called out.
“What was that?”
“Yes, I get it!” I repeated.
He shook my head again. “How about one more time. And do it right.”
Do it right? Do it right? What the hell did he mean?
“I got it. I did. I swear,” I tried again. “What the hell else do you want me to say?”
Suddenly, his hand pulled out of my ass and he grabbed for whatever was lying around that would get his point across. Hard-smacking wood—could have been slat or a railroad tie for all I knew—whatever, the weapon came down on my behind again and again and again, maybe a dozen times until not just the inside of my ass was burning but the outside was scorched to a crisp.
“To me you’re a slut, a trashy pet, a cheap whore. To you, I’m SIR. That’s getting it. Now tell me again.”
I’d swallowed so much pride by then that I was choking on it. But strangely enough, my voice lowered as my psyche took another nosedive. “Yes, sir, I got it,” placing special emphasis on the significant word.
Damn him! I didn’t get a single compliment for finally spitting out the words he wanted to hear. Instead, he went right back to fisting my ass.
Whether it was the words, the attitude, or just a physical adjustment between the first drilling and the second, when his fisting hand resumed its work, he dove deeper into my body as if he were blazing a trail with machete and hatchet. Whatever mantra I’d been reciting seemed to pave the way for my inner body to ease its staunch grip and allow the man inside. When he finally slipped the whole of his fist inside, I grunted unhappily, but as I had a hundred times in the process I eased into the remarkable feeling of submission that engulfed me. The time for subtleties had long since past; West fucked me hard, so determined, so focused that it felt as if he were reaching for some particular end. Despite my cries to the effect that he back off, punctuated with an appropriate, ‘please, sir,’ he refused to stop, until at last, the savage sensations became orgasmic, and I was coming out of my ass end. Totally freaky. I was flying beyond myself to God knows where, pleasure bounding through my body in waves. Whatever I was screaming communicated my hard-earned bliss and the obvious fact that I didn’t want it to end, even though I fell limply exhausted when West finally withdrew his hand.
Next thing I knew, I looked up to see that he had disappeared and my beloved Thayer was standing in his place, gently massaging my ass.
I groaned, greedy with a lust still fresh and very much focused on my ass, urging him on with every gyration and enthusiastic sound I knew, save directly asking him to fist me too.
“You want my fist inside you, is that it?” he finally asked—likely so he could hear me beg.
My behind was squirming like an excited pup. “Yes, sir.”
“Deep, like West’s fist?”
“Yes, sir.” I would not forget a ‘sir’ this time and risk distracting him from what I wanted.
He massaged my fleshy cheeks more aggressively and toyed with my anus until I wanted to scream for him to just get on with it! But alas, he didn’t enter me; he just kept goading me with his teasing fingers.
“You don’t want to stop this, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“And you want this fist inside you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All that hurt, all that pain?”
“Yes, yes, please, sir!”
“No stopping?
“No, sir, no stopping. Thayer, please, I’m begging you!”
“Yeah, well, maybe another time,” he finally said. “But in my time, not yours,” as if he was filled with spite.
I suffered the letdown in tears, my heart still begging, even though my disappointment was abruptly mitigated by the next best thing: Thayer’s hard cock. He pulled in behind me and thrust to the far reaches of my insides with a raging erection that banged away inside my ass until I was screaming and he was grunting in the throes of a powerful orgasm. I couldn’t argue with how that scene turned out. In fact, I could actually feel my body coming down from its delirious high, and in the bleary aftermath of our climax, I looked up to see a crowd of watching faces.
Initially, I was embarrassed to be the center of attention. But there was a smug, self-satisfied feeling too. I scanned the crowd looking carefully through the foggy smoke of the labyrinth seeking out one particular visage. No, I’m sad to say; West’s face was not among those in the crowd and I slumped back, closed my eyes and let myself recover.
Why was it so important that the man be watching, I’m still not certain.
That was my first experience with the great and powerful West. It was pretty easy to conclude that no man had ever had such a profound effect on me, or had been able to control me so thoroughly. When it comes to getting me sexually charged up, West is a real wizard.
But, I must repeat, NONE of that subservient, submissively groveling feeling remained when the spell of the labyrinth was broken. I’ll be damned if I know how that happens, but it does. I don’t ask questions. I don’t go that deep. I see what I see, observe what I feel, but beyond that I don’t let myself brood or try to make any sense of it. I’m quite sure that whatever magic the place evokes for me would be shattered with too much insight.
When I saw Alec West two days later in that stuffy boardroom, there was not a tickle of desire, a submissive feeling, not even the smallest flutter of arousal.
I had reason to rejoice, but I couldn’t take the time. I got down to business fast, started off with a bang and didn’t stop until I had all the cards I wanted from the man’s deck and could walk out of the room with a smile on my face, and a deal that put money in my bank account.
In the outside world, we are equals in power, in that other world I am just another woman for him to use at will, and I can be content with that.
Again, I
have digressed…and must return to that night several years down the road, when we were in the converted warehouse, and West arrived with the new girl on his arm…
What was odd from the start was that they’d come through the entrance at all, given the hour. By that time of the evening, the doors of the labyrinth are locked. No admittance, no exceptions for the tardy—at least that was what I had always been told. Apparently West was powerful enough in the hierarchy to warrant this exception.
Soon as I figured that out, I turned my attention to the girl.
She was exceptional, yes, although she looked nothing like the girls I’d normally seen with West. His preference leaned toward aggressively slutty types with fake blonde hair, long polished nails and tits that were manufactured on the operating table—firm as grapefruits and hard to squeeze.
This girl was pretty as a sonnet, lithe as an aria, like a breath of air—you know, the one you feel against your cheek that makes you turn in wonder, only to see that nothing’s there.
I watched her stunned face and instinctively grimaced. She looked at me, in fact, she watched me carefully for several seconds. Me: naked, crawling and no doubt looking a little savage after all that furious fucking. Awe? Fear? Revulsion, maybe? It’s hard to describe the exact expression on her face, but when she whispered in West’s ear, I had the feeling it was something like, “Please, get me out of here! Please!”
If that was what she said, West ignored her plea. He whispered something back, likely something reassuring, and then barged right into the room with a smile on his face and the trembling female still on his arm. He wasn’t about to let go his arm—maybe she thought she’d be eaten by wolves, or taken captive by a gang of horny males. (I remind you I do, sometimes, make up stories when real facts are lacking. I know nothing about what actually was discussed between the two, so what I suggested above is just a guess).
Timid but poised, the girl walked with some assurance, even if she was clinging a bit obviously to West’s arm. I studied her, trying to figure her out. She wore clothes only a small girl like her could wear—ones that made me think she was a fashion model, she had that kind of sultry air about her, so it made sense. The smooth leather skirt was quite short, rising to mid thigh, while her silver tank top clung to her body, showing small, rounded breasts and tiny button nipples. She had the kind of trim figure any young woman would die for. Although she tried hard not to look self-conscious, several times she tugged at the hem of her skimpy skirt, unhappy with the way it continued to ride up nearly to her crotch. I found her uneasiness sweetly charming.
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