DARK BLISS (Dangerous Games,)

by Smart, Madison

  He turned to the audience. “I know you can all see us on the overhead screen but there’s really nothing like seeing things for yourself, so if any of you want to observe this more closely, come on up.” Many did just that, standing behind him and Rory so the rest of the audience could see.

  The blindfold made the world blacker than night and sharpened my other senses. I had no idea how many spectators had come on stage but I heard several of those near me exchange whispers. My sense of touch and smell were keener too. I was grateful for the leather padding on the bench, cool and soft on my cheek. It must have been polished recently since I could smell the oil.

  I was anxious but not fearful since I knew Rock wouldn’t take me past my pain threshold. Mostly I was worried that I would screech my safe word early in the scene, ending it too soon. I had no idea how a hard spanking would feel. The truth was I had been an obedient child and hardly ever punished. When he did spank me, my gentle father did it more for form than effect. His blows never made me cry, though I did anyway from sheer mortification. I knew that many women found being spanked erotic. I’d read several books with such scenes on my iPad and found them titillating. Whether that would transfer to the real thing was another matter.

  Rock’s voice, low and intimate, broke into my thoughts. His mouth must have been next to my ear. “Bella criatura,” he whispered, nothing more. “Beautiful creature,” he’d said, making me feel warm and, strangely enough, protected.

  Then he spoke in loud formal tones for the crowd’s benefit. “Roxy, are you ready?”

  “Yes, Master,” I answered. On the page, girls who called their lovers “Master” seemed silly. Doing it myself, in front of a crowd, I found it arousing. I was surprised that the public spectacle part of this didn’t bother me. In fact, I rather enjoyed it. If you liked watching someone have sex you were a “voyeur.” But what were you if you enjoyed it when others watched—

  WHAP!

  He’d hit me! I gave a small cry, more from surprise than pain. There was a mild burning sensation on my right cheek. I heard Rock’s voice. “It’s common to tell a sub how many blows she’ll get and have her count them out. I’m not doing that this time because I don’t know how much Roxy can take. As I’m sure you noticed, that first slap wasn’t too hard, just something to let her know we’d begun. This one will be harder.”

  Uh-oh. I tensed, waiting for the next blow, which landed on the left cheek. It was harder than the first, though nothing I couldn’t bear. This time I managed not to cry out.

  The next two were harder still. My discomfort was growing and I realized it wasn’t just because the blows were harder but because the pain was cumulative. Rock also had a way of pulling his hand away just as he struck that made his fingers sting like small whips.

  I kept mental count of the blows and by the time we’d reached ten my cheeks burned like they were on fire. I gave up trying to keep silent and screeched with each swat. I was of mixed minds about being bound hand and foot. On the one hand, I wouldn’t ruin the scene by running away. On the other, that’s exactly what I wanted to do. Despite my resolve to catch Oberon, I twisted my wrists against the tight leather straps and pulled at the chain that held my arms high and yanked my legs uselessly against the straps that held me in place.

  More blows. And I had no idea whether the most recent was the twelfth or fifteenth or twenty-first. I’d lost count. I’d also begun to sob as well as screech, which added another sensation to those amplified by my blindfold: taste. Salty tears ran down my face and into my moaning mouth.

  More blows. They came faster now, harder too. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Please stop!” I begged. “It hurts! It hurts too much!”

  The blows stopped and I heard Rock’s calm voice. “Roxy?”

  “Y… yes” I croaked between sobs.

  “Do you remember your safe word?”

  “Y… yes.”

  “You can use it anytime, but I won’t stop until you do use it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Master,” I whimpered. That of course was the whole point of a safe word. Sometimes you begged for mercy but didn’t want it. Right now I did, but I also wanted the scene to go on. That was why we were here. I’d volunteered for this. Nobody had made me do it. And maybe, just maybe Oberon or his agent was in the crowd. I had to go on, for the sake of the two sweet, redheaded girls that the bastard had taken. For the sake of those he would take unless he was stopped.

  Another blow landed on my searing cheeks. I screeched with the pain and resumed my weeping, but I said nothing. Not a word, and certainly not my safe word.

  Rock wondered how red Rory’s ass was underneath her panties. Some redness had spread to her upper thighs. It was common in demonstrations like this to expose the sub’s bottom. After all, viewing the color and blush of a submissive’s bottom was part of the pleasure of spanking. He’d always done that the times he’d done other spanking demonstrations. Why not this time?

  Because this sub was different. The decision to keep her underwear on had been his. If he’d wanted to fully expose her, she likely would have gone along. Motivated as she was, she was ready to endure any indignity and discomfort. How much pain she would take was another matter.

  The reason he didn’t want Rory’s rear exposed didn’t stem from a concern for her privacy. It was because he felt possessive. This woman, to whom he had not yet even made love, was his and he didn’t want strangers’ eyes on her most intimate parts.

  He continued to strike her, though not as hard as before. She continued to wail, though not as loudly as before. He was about ready to end the scene when a man in the crowd spoke up. “Dom Miguel?”

  He turned around until he found the speaker, a short silver-haired man who looked respectable enough to be a minister. The woman beside him had the warm, solicitous look of a minister’s wife.

  “Yes, sir?” he said.

  “I want to see her ass. I think the rest do too.”

  He felt like snapping, “Over my dead body” but as a matter of fact, the request wasn’t out of line. After all, they were in a B&D club. “Roxy,” he said, “a gentleman has just asked to see your rear end. I’m leaving that decision to you. Do you want me to pull down your panties?”

  They had to wait so long for her answer that he was about to repeat the question when she said in a trembling voice, “Yes, Master.”

  He bent over and took hold of her panties, then pulled them slowly down to join her shorts. He straightened and stepped to one side so the audience could fully inspect her.

  “Ohhhhhh,” the crowd went, just like they were marveling at fireworks on the Fourth of July. He didn’t blame them. Her round, perfect ass was splendidly crimson, each cheek shiny as a polished apple with raised areas where his hand had fallen hardest. Below his belt, Jones stiffened in approval.

  “Roxy, I’m going to hit you three more times and that will be all. They’re going to be especially hard. If it’s too much, use your safe word. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, so quietly he barely heard her.

  The entire crowd was now on stage, surrounding him from every side. People were smiling and nudging each other. Some stepped forward to snap close-ups of her blistered bottom.

  “This time I’m going to count,” he told the crowd. “And I’d like you to count with me. Will you?”

  “Yes!” said the audience as one.

  He positioned himself next to Rory again and raised his hand high, above his head for dramatic effect. Someone snapped a shot of it. “One!”

  “One!” said the crowd.

  He swung downwards, not with full force but harder than any of his earlier blows. It landed with an audible smack. Rory shrieked and bucked on the bench. The blow brightened her bottom, turning it a shade redder.

  He raised his hand again. “Two!”

  “Two!” said the crowd.

  Another loud smack. This time she actually screamed, struggling violently. The imprint of his hand was act
ually visible.

  He raised his hand one last time. “Three!”

  “Three!”

  Smack! She screamed and then yelled, “Goddamn you, Master!”

  The crowd roared with laugher. He waited for the noise to die, then smiled and said. “Normally that sort of disrespect would mean more thrashing, but I think you’ll agree that Roxy has given a hundred percent and more tonight, so I’m going to break protocol and give the last word to her. She’s earned it, don’t you think?”

  The crowd laughed and burst into applause. He pulled Rory’s panties and shorts back up and then unstrapped her and helped her to her feet. She was limp and wobbly, trembling a little, tear stains showing below her blindfold. He was afraid she might actually collapse so once he had her standing, he asked an older woman if she would steady Rory while he removed her blindfold. The woman put both hands on both sides of her waist and murmured comforting words, like a mother to a whimpering child.

  He took off the blindfold and she blinked several times at the light. Her trickle of tears indeed gave her a childlike look, especially with her tousled hair. She looked at him with big, hurt eyes and he had to fight the urge to pull her to his chest and stroke her while he whispered Spanish endearments.

  But that wouldn’t do. They weren’t supposed to be a couple. She was supposed to be an unattached woman, available to approach, to buy a drink, to ask for a date, to seize in the parking lot and drag into a van.

  So instead of embracing her, he took her hand and raised it with his own and they both bowed to applause. He spoke a few words of thanks to her and to the audience and made a point of giving her a comradely peck on the cheek. Then she left the stage, more steady now and accompanied by a small host of admirers.

  Magic Wand

  Most of the crowd, however stayed with Rock. After shows like this it was customary to answer questions and expand on various points. “Does anyone have a question or comment?” he asked.

  “I have a comment,” said a thin woman in a tight black leather outfit. Despite her provocative attire, she wore modest make-up and had a sharp, professional woman’s haircut. Rock guessed she was a marketing manager or lobbyist. The balding man standing beside her was dressed in slacks and a polo shirt but wore a leather vest adorned with spikes. The two of them were typical of a type increasingly common in clubs these days. Both had demanding day jobs and a committed marriage. They used B&D to keep the spark in their relationship. They were players and not tourists.

  “Yes ma’am?”

  “That was a very entertaining show and I appreciate you were dealing with a newbie. However, we paid a babysitter hard money and forewent a night at Kennedy Center because we’d heard that the famous Dom Miguel was going to give a demonstration. We came to learn something, not watch you play patty-cake with a kid barely older than our babysitter.”

  There was a tone in her voice as if she was chewing out a subordinate and Rock could see that many thought she was out of line. He’d be within his rights to shrug and ignore her, but she had a point. His demo was basically B&D 101 and most people here had long gone beyond that. Maybe this was an opportunity. The better his appearance tonight went over, the easier it would be to get bookings at top clubs across the country. The Satyricon would give him a copy of tonight’s video. Someone in DARC could edit the tape into a two minute clip to attach to a promotional email. Besides, thought Rock with a smile, it would be a pleasure to make the bitch squirm.

  “You have a point, ma’am,” he said politely. “May I ask if you’re familiar with the violet wand?”

  “I know what it is,” she said crisply. “We’ve never used it.”

  Rock looked over the crowd at the two owners, Harvey and Theo. “Guys?”

  “Fine with us,” Harvey called.

  Rock turned back to the woman. “With the permission of your husband, I’d like to invite you to join me in a demonstration of its many uses.”

  The woman broke into an unexpected smile. “You mean on stage? Tonight? As your sub?”

  “Yes ma’am. I’m not foolish enough to ask you to be my domme.”

  That got a laugh, especially from the man next to her. Rock wondered if she was always the dominant when they played or they traded roles. The two hastily conferred and she turned back to Rock. “Yes!”

  “Excellent. We’ll need a few minutes to get things ready. Take a break, everyone, and I’ll see you back here in ten minutes.”

  The crowd dispersed. Rock walked to the bar to join the owners, on his way passing Jaime, who never gave him a glance, seemingly engrossed in a conversation with a couple of young people college age. Rock didn’t much care for McQueen but the guy was a pro. If Oberon’s scout was here tonight, Jaime was as likely to spot him as anyone.

  He sat at Harvey and Theo’s table and they congratulated him on an excellent demo.

  “Thanks. I think the next one is going to be really interesting. Harvey, that wand kit that I gave you two years ago, do you still have it?”

  “Sure do. It’s here. Do you want to use it?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  Ten minutes later, Rock returned to the stage. He’d instructed the Satyricon’s stage crew to remove the spanking bench and set up a St. Andrew’s cross, two long boards in an X shape with leather straps at the ends. The woman, now wearing only a strapless black bra and black silk panties, was already spread-eagled to the cross. She stared at him coolly, a slight smile on her face, clearly no stranger to a St. Andrew’s. Her husband stood onstage about a dozen feet from the play area.

  Rock asked that the lights be dimmed, then shook hands with the husband. They conversed quietly for half a minute, then he turned to the woman, who had short dark brown hair, tonight gelled into spikes.

  “Good evening, Claudia,” he said quietly.

  “Good evening, Master,” she replied. Her voice was polite but not deferential. The message was clear: if Rock wanted her to speak submissively, he’d have to prove himself a true top. Good, he thought; he liked a challenging sub. “What is your safe word, Claudia?”

  “Fire, Master.”

  “Very good.” He turned to the audience, now swollen to almost twice its previous size. Apparently, word had gotten around and many in the private dungeons a floor below had trooped up to see the show. “I’m sure most of you have heard of the violet wand but how many have actually used it? Let’s have a show of hands.”

  Two dozen or so hands were raised. “Pretty good. Those of you who haven’t, well…” He grinned. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  There was a murmur of laughter. He picked up a wand from the stand. It was an odd-looking thing, a glass globe attached to a short wooden stem attached to an electric cord that was connected to an outlet. Holding the stem, he flicked a small switch and placed his finger so that it almost touched the glass. A small swirl of purple light appeared inside the nearest part of the glass and a tendril of electricity jumped to his finger. Rock gestured for a member of the stage crew to come close with a microphone and a fizzing, crackling sound came over the speakers.

  “Wand play is electric play,” Rock told the audience. “It’s perfectly safe so long as you use common sense and observe all the safety rules that come with it. There are a lot of them, so many that I’m only going to mention a few as I go along. I can’t say this enough, however. Never, never use a wand until you know how to use it safely.”

  He dismissed the mike man and smiled to himself. This wand had cost him nearly two thousand dollars. He pulled his finger away from the globe and it went dark. “The violet wand gets its name because when it’s active, it glows with a violet or purple light. Not the entire globe, only a small part of it, but it’s pretty and looks mysterious. The light comes from argon gas. If it had neon gas, we’d get an orange glow.”

  He held his finger close again and it glowed. “The wand I’m holding now is more than a hundred years old, an antique dating to sometime in
the early nineteen hundreds. Modern ones have all kinds of improvements but I like the sense of history that comes with this. Wands are basically a version of the Tesla coil, which was the invention of Nikola Tesla, the genius who was Edison’s bane and, yes, the same guy the Tesla car is named for. What the wand does is turn ordinary household current into static electricity. For several decades in the early Twentieth Century wands were sold as a medical cure-all. Doctors used them. People had them in their homes. A popular psychic named Edgar Cayce promoted them for treating arthritis, balding, digestion, constipation, female disorders, even schizophrenia. It turned out the wand was useless for all of these. Eventually the fad fell out of fashion and by the 1950s, they’d all but disappeared.

  “Then something strange happened. Though Edgar Cayce was long dead, he had a revival in the 1970s and young people started buying wands from the few companies that still made them. Like before, they found out the wands were medically useless but, oh my God, they were great sex toys!

  “So if after tonight, you get a violet wand, I suggest that when you and your partner start to play, you light a candle for Nikola Tesla and another for Edgar Cayce, surely one of the weirder duos in the history of kink.”

  The audience laughed. “Enough background,” Rock said. “Claudia has been waiting here very patiently and I’m sure she’s as eager as you for a demonstration. It would intensify the sensation if I had her blindfolded, but part of the excitement of the wand is watching it: the glow and the little lightning bolts. I want her to be able to see that.

  “Now you can use the wand three different ways: direct application, indirect application and reverse application. Pretty technical terms for something that, as you’ll see, is really very simple. Let’s start with direct application, which is how most people play. ‘Direct’ just means that I hold the electrode—that’s what this glass globe is called—almost on Claudia’s skin.”