But who was this vision? And what the hell was she doing here?
Thayer and I watched the two long enough to see that West was giving her a brief tour of the kinky warehouse where a lot of sleazy sex and sadomasochistic sex acts were continuing with such unabashed exuberance that the girl must have been wondering if she’d just landed on another planet. Thayer, following his own agenda, moved me with him into what would probably be considered the labyrinth’s main room, where after sidling up to the bar, he ordered up a drink for himself and a meager water for me. While lowly old me sat back in chained silence, Thayer sat on a barstool and discussed with another man a loud-mouthed redhead named Kylie, who at that moment was bound and gagged at the man’s feet. Kylie was generally considered one of the bitchiest females to ever come through the door, but she was a heavy player, which made the men of the labyrinth suffer through her obnoxious behavior—just another excuse to give her the punishment she deserved they would derisively gripe.
On hearing the conversation between the two men, I got the feeling that Thayer would be whipping her soon enough; at least if he were acting according to his usual plan. Nearly every season at the labyrinth, after he’d tasted the night in various ways with me, he’d get to the meat, the heart of his own lust. With all the stimulation around him, the sadistic Thayer would have to emerge. And because Thayer’s sadist was particularly brutal, it would be rare for him to wield his whip against my ‘delicate’ flesh. As for me, I’d rather be fucking than getting my poor body bruised. I don’t care what kind of spiritual high the masochists report, I go to the labyrinth to experience pleasure, not pain, and there’s nothing spiritual about it.
As usual during such a lull in my own activity, my mind drifted a while, then all of a sudden a commotion broke out above me. I looked up, and as I expected, Thayer was hauling the knee-kicking Kylie by the scuff of her neck to a brick wall. In a flurry of efficient movements, he bound her face forward so her body was spread out like a five-pointed star; feet wide apart and her arms reaching toward the heavens. Her face remained smashed to the brick; she didn’t dare move.
I crawled forward, as far as the tethering chain would allow and peered through the legs of the gathered audience, watching as my husband picked up a whip and began laying it on the grunting redhead’s exposed backside. She was a plump, voluptuous woman whose flesh jiggled each time the whip struck. She groaned rather than cried, and despite the serious depth of pain she must have been enduring, she began writhing against the scratchy brick, as her body responded erotically to each cut of that dangerous whip. A rash of red stripes began to appear on her back, buttocks and upper thighs, producing a picture of pain and cruelty that held the avid audience captive.
But while the crowd was content to focus on Thayer and Kylie, my back row seat on the floor didn’t afford me but small glimpses of the scene, so I turned my attention elsewhere. It just so happened that West had returned to the main room with his waifish date still clinging to his arm. As they studiously watched Thayer and the whipping scene, I watched them. West’s hand strayed purposefully over her backside, causing the beauty to quiver noticeably, then that wandering hand drifted to her small rounded ass and squeezed it enough so that I could see his knuckles whiten. In response, the girl’s body appeared to seize up, with her discomfort obvious, and yet, she didn’t once try to wrest herself from the man’s grasp. He continued to grope her body intermittently, producing a similar nervous and yet pleasured response. Although she became more aroused as West’s groping continued, she was clearly self-conscious about her own physical response. With her pretty face now a bewildered muddle of dread and embarrassment, she kept furtively gazing around to see if anyone noticed.
Her conflict played through me in familiar ways. After all, I’d been in her position plenty of times: frightened, careful, self-absorbed and painfully aware that the display was going on where dozens of people could see. Not easy for a woman who had been taught to be discreet and demure. Yes. I could have once described myself as discreet and demure. But I had the strange suspicion that this svelte beauty would not relinquish those parts of her character as easily as I finally did, if at all. She was naturally timid, I was not. I’d simply stuffed myself into a common gender role, and have since then credited Thayer and the labyrinth for releasing me from that dreary prison of rules. If the girl came back…IF the girl came back, would her demure façade prove to be a fake—something easily dispensed with? I doubt it. There seemed nothing fake or misleading about her behavior.
I watched as she suffered through moments that were as painful for her as what Thayer was doing to Kylie was painful for our little masochist. Finally, and just when I thought the girl was about to flee in panic, West turned away from Thayer and Kylie’s scene, and with all his attention once again focused on his date, he moved her toward an adjacent wall directly across from where I was crouched on the floor and chained to the bar.
When Alec West wants something from a woman, he is as smooth as any man I know. He must have had all his suave charm engaged to have the frightened girl so clearly within his grasp, so easily conquered. With a command that makes me cream my panties just to think of it, he had her pressed to the brick, facing out, looking up at him willingly. If she expected a rash of tender kisses, then she was in for a rude awakening.
Although West’s large body was in front of hers, the angle from which I looked on allowed me to see that he was moving on her with some force. The tender touching was quickly over. He held the girl at the back of her neck, clutching her head in his hand, while the other hand began to move adroitly from breasts to belly, to under the silver shirt, then under the leather skirt. Alarmed, she quivered nervously, trying to pull away, but West’s hold on her was fierce.
When she closed her eyes and bit her lip, he snapped angrily, “Look at me, slut!” and then shook her head with his commanding hand, forcing her scared eyes to open on him.
It was amazing that I could actually hear him over the other sounds in the room, that I could see so clearly from fifteen feet away. I might as well have been under his feet gazing up at them; it seemed that real and that close, the intensity of the pair so engaging that I didn’t dare turn my head.
As he moved on her crotch, his hand fished its way inside a pair of pale pink panties, squeezing forcefully enough to have her gasping for breath, her head attempting to roll back and forth, while she spoke a lot of nonsense I couldn’t make out. Just moments later, the rough foreplay was over and West’s fingers, the same fingers that had at one time been lodged deeply inside my ass, were ramming their way inside this China doll of a girl, who not more than an hour before had entered this realm of furtive dreams with no clue what she faced.
She looked as if she was barely hanging on—a fact that had me terribly excited, and kept my eyes riveted on their scene.
West looked for all the world as if he were hurting the girl, as if he’d split her tiny body in two. But as he continued to drill her with that magical hand, her body seemed to give way, much as mine had done on previous occasions. A wounded bird-like whimper suddenly stung the air, although I doubt if many in the room bothered to listen since most stood with their eyes and ears glued to Thayer and his brat. But West and his novice were of more interest to me. I lusted for them both. I could almost feel myself directing their scene with my mind. I wanted him to take her hard, abuse her with force that would bring tears to those lovely eyes, a grimace to her brow and mouth. Where had such sadistic feelings in me come from? I had no idea. This was a first.
Perhaps it was the girl, so wispy and delicate, coupled with West, huge and powerful in comparison. I saw him overtake her with the passion of a despot, the cunning of a Machiavellian God, the savagery of a brutal war lord intent on ravaging the innocent. I wanted to see him lay waste the spoils of war, this girl the prize he would pillage, plunder and soil beyond redemption. When he was done with her, when she lay wasted, no more than a used up pile of skin and bones left in a heap o
n the hardwood floor, I’d be there to fist her ass, just as mine had been fisted. All her virginity would be stripped away; me, yes me, Kathryn, executing the final indignity. If I could have crawled that fifteen feet I would have offered my services to the master.
I was so caught up in the scene that I failed to sense the presence of a man standing above me and directly to my left. As men go, he was the most enigmatic of those I’d been subject to inside the labyrinth. In fact, I cannot recall the man’s face at all. I know only that he had powerful hands, a wonderfully deep voice and a hard body, highlighted by a prick that seemed to go on forever—like being fucked by some mysterious entity capable of invading a woman deeper than any mere human. Common sense would tell me that he is as flesh and blood as anyone inside this place of secrets, but a fertile imagination tells me otherwise. Too many times has he invaded my space, taken up residence in my body with startling command and after using it for his own satisfaction, walked away as if he’d just drifted out on a gust of air. I’d stare around to find no one. No trace of the man. Not even his scent—which is a heady aroma that should linger long after he is gone. But all attempts to recall that distinctive perfume have been annoyingly ineffective. I’m left with no more than an insubstantial memory that fades from my mind all too quickly.
As I was waiting for my own night to proceed, that distinctive scent should have tipped me off immediately, but I was held so spellbound by the couple on the far wall that any other thoughts that might have come knocking on my mind’s door were summarily turned away. The first and only clue that I was to be assaulted came as a brilliant flash. A searing red scarf was slipped over my eyes and tightened around my head. I panicked first, then breathed deeply, only then catching the subtle hints I’d ignored.
A red scarf over the eyes is an instantaneous call for submission from any labyrinth female finding her eyes so blinded. Once West used the device on me, but just once. He’s been less theatrical since that time, preferring the direct approach when using me for his sexual pleasure. In that regard, I think we have an unspoken understanding: as long as I consent to Thayer bringing me to these events, as long as I want to play in West’s world, I don’t dare balk. Frankly, I wouldn’t want to. But I’m also not swayed by a red scarf—at least one tied by his hand.
However, this unseen lover was another matter all together. I knew his scent, the feel of his hands, the strength and urgency of his cock, though I’d never seen his face.
And then, his deep voice invaded my thoughts, as soon as the red sash was secured over my eyes. “It would seem you have far too little to do with your hours here, Thayer’s female.”
I found his awkward reference to me quaint, but effective.
Calling me Thayer’s female—my body shuddered. Does this suggest that he thinks very little of me? That is his right. In fact, it is common in this venue, although I’m not so sure he falls into lock step with those who find demeaning females their favorite sport. I do suspect he likes my uncluttered style of fucking cock, straight forward, enthusiastic, nothing fancy. I never hesitate when a hard cock meets my lips—or for that matter, my ass or my pussy.
With my tethering chain finally unhooked, I was lifted to my feet, and in a move I did not expect, my captor lifted me up with his enormous arms, put me over his shoulder and carried me away through the maze of rooms, on and on we traveled through the labyrinth finally arriving at a place of quiet where I was plopped down on a mattress. I lay sprawled out waiting, with the red sash as secure as ever.
Moments later, his body descended on mine with all his familiar aspects as welcome as ever: his large lips and the sexy hips, the strength of that heady fragrance, and the rising pulse of his erection beating against my inner thigh.
May I suck it? I lifted up my prayer only to have it answered. Maybe I’d actually said it out loud, although before he presented the thick organ to my salivating mouth, I would have expected a slap across my cheek for speaking without being properly addressed. I erred once in that regard, expecting that the strange intimacy the mystery man evoked would allow me to fudge on the rules and speak plainly. Wrong! His slap stung worse than most. And that stinging crack was followed by a hard hand-spanking on my upturned behind that at first I thought was just a continuation of the reprimand. However, he kept on for far longer than I expected, the passion behind his slaps as nasty as the passion behind his raging cock. When he finally fucked me, it was up the ass, so quickly and so violently that it seemed I’d been taken by a demon not a human. Afterwards, I was discarded like a worn out toy. I learned there were no exceptions to house rules, not even with a man who I’d incorrectly assumed was a little more genteel than most.
That night in the warehouse, he was about as genteel as a freight train as I lay sprawled out on the mattress. He came down on me like thunder and swept through me like a storm, his hard body lunging into my cunt for a little ferocious foreplay, then he pulled out, rose up on me and stuffed his organ into my mouth all the way to my gagging throat. He coached me through a rough space, where my throat would not give in. I knew I wouldn’t win the war with his prick—but this kind of sex is tough for me, no matter how far gone I am. Again and again, he stuffed his organ back into my mouth, demanding that I deep-throat him all the way to kingdom come.
“That’s it, girl, suck my dick like you mean it.”
From past experience with me, he knew this was a sticking point, which I suppose was why he always made me suffer through the mouth fuck first. Put her in the mood of surrender—that’s the way a dominant man thinks. And sure enough, as soon as he was ready to come, I was finally yielding to his demand.
At that point, he wanted to finish off in my cunt. Often it is my backdoor that gets the attention from this master, but on that particular night his organ slipped neatly into my pussy. Then while holding me fiercely to his chest, his lips working my mouth with a steady stream of wet, invasive kisses, he carried me from one side of the mattress to the other, across rumpled sheets and valleys of pillows and the rough terrain around the dangerous edges of the bed, until I began to come without stopping in one sharply cresting wave of sensation building to the next. Exhaustion finally forced me to pull away.
Instead of grabbing me back, my mystery lover rose up on my body, forcing my mouth to open one more time, and spilled his copious seed inside my mouth. The taste was sweet, the scent of him pouring over me in such a way that I wanted to start all over again, but as so often happens with this man, he was gone too quickly to initiate anything new. He whispered in my ear before he left the room, “Crawl back to where you were before; your master will be wondering where you are.” His large hand grazed my cheek, affectionately, I like to think, setting off another wave of pleasure. The longing, the grief in me was palpable. Come back to me please! I tried to call him to me, but by then he was gone.
You would have thought that the red sash would have finally been dislodged in the melee of our groping bodies and the identity of my lover revealed. But maybe the sash was magic too. It never once budged from my eyes, the knot never loosened, and I finally had to fling it away once I knew the man had left. I knew because his scent no longer lingered in the air, not a single trace.
I left the sash on the disheveled mattress and did as I’d been told, crawling the labyrinth on hands and knees until I finally found myself back where I had started. The journey was not nearly as meandering as I thought it would be, in fact, it was a pretty straight shot through one playroom, a short hall and there I was, staring at the bar in front of me, and the crowd dispersing from Thayer’s scene—at last.
I scrambled to get back to where he left me, feeling a little guilty as if I’d done something wrong. Fact was, with the chain unhooked, Thayer would have known right off that I’d not stayed around the entire time. However, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the assault on me had been prearranged.
I watched for several minutes while Kylie’s master and Thayer conferred. The poor girl was wrapped up i
n a blanket, leaning into a woman who was there to soothe her back to life. For once there was no ballgag, no strip of duct tape across her lips, or a pair of wadded up panties roped inside her mouth. The redhead was surprisingly pretty in her state of disarray, her face as fresh and soft as a young child’s, her innocence making her seem like the girl she must have been in her teens before whatever made her so obnoxious took over.
Although Kylie and Thayer had drawn my immediate attention, I did look for West and his little blonde, but that far brick wall now hosted a gathering of players drinking beer and waiting for more action. West and the girl were no where around…or so I thought.
“Aw! Kathryn.” Hearing West’s voice, I turned to find him crouched beside me. “You know, if you’re a good slut, I might just let you have the girl.” He grinned. All the sarcasm, jubilation and arrogance was meant to taunt me, but just looking into his eyes, my inner body started to spasm again. Had I no shame?
I wanted to say something, but I held my tongue, besides, before I could think of a terse comeback, he was half way across the room and Thayer had arrived. I looked up at my husband’s face. He seemed reasonably serene, although I could see a glint of lust in his russet brown eyes. Something in me swelled large and happy at that moment, knowing that he could have had most any woman in the labyrinth that night, including the now compliant Kylie, but still, he wanted me.
My reaction was instantaneous. This was turning into a six panties night—the number I would have needed had I been wearing them—to soak up the juices that were leaking from my turned on, cock-happy crotch.
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