by Livia Grant
Derek paused nervously, perhaps forgetting what comes next.
“We begin with your verbal commitments,” he went on. Turning to look directly at Master Michael, Derek asked a round of questions, similar to vows in a wedding. “Master Michael. Do you vow to protect, discipline, guide, provide for, and love your slave, Miranda?”
Master Michael’s response was strong and sure. “I do.”
“Do you promise to ensure that she is cared for as your most cherished possession, forsaking all others while reminding her daily of her submissive place at your side?”
Michael glanced down at his kneeling sex slave before answering with a simple, “I do.”
Derek turned his attention to Miranda. “Slave Miranda, do you willingly enter into servitude, understanding that Michael will now be Master of every aspect of your life? You will submit to his every desire and decision, and will be corrected should you fail to live up to his expectations. In exchange, he will love and cherish you, protect and provide for you every day for the rest of your life. Do you enter into this relationship willingly?”
Tiffany held her breath as Miranda’s answer did not come immediately. It was soft, but she did hear her clear, “I do.”
Derek nodded in Michael’s direction, who turned to face his wife before assisting her to her feet. He was a full six inches taller than his slave. Tiffany’s heart contracted at the romantic gesture of his gentle finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his own. It was easy to see on their faces the love they felt for each other. Without breaking their visual connection, Michael unfastened the single large button holding the sheer robe closed, guiding the delicate fabric across his wife’s shoulders to the floor, leaving her naked.
With a tap to her shoulder, she dropped to her knees before her Master. Michael reached into his pocket to retrieve what looked like a gold one-inch–wide choker that sparkled in the dancing torchlight.
Derek directed the couple. “Michael, do you offer this collar willingly as a token of your commitment to your submissive slave?”
“I do.”
“Slave Miranda, by accepting your Master’s collar, do you willingly turn over your mind, body, and soul to his care?”
Miranda’s voice quavered, but she didn’t hesitate this time. “I do, Sir.”
Lukus hugged Tiffany closer. They observed Master Michael placing the heavy gold collar on his slave’s neck. There was no chance Miranda would ever forget her commitment considering she now wore a constant reminder against her skin. The new slave had a look of sheer joy as she peered up at her Master from her position on her knees.
Derek moved them to the next phase of the ceremony. “Now that you’ve exchanged your vows and your collar of commitment, you may consummate your union. Master Michael has chosen to complete this important rite of passage in their union in front of the invited witnesses. Every hole of his submissive will be christened by her master. The consummation may begin.”
When Miranda waivered, Michael reassured and calmed her with a simple kiss and embrace. Cradling her in his arms, he laid her on the padded, leather-covered table. The table was just long enough to fit her body. Both her head and legs extended off the tabletop. Tiff was transfixed as Miranda bent her knees, placing her feet flat on the table. Without support, she struggled to hold her neck and head up. Within seconds, it was a moot point as her husband guided her head all the way back. Master Michael exposed his raging hard-on from within his suit pants. His cock protruded from his body for all to see its impressive girth.
Michael stroked his slave’s cheek as he leaned down to whisper something only they could hear. Within seconds, Miranda’s mouth opened wide and her Dom slid his penis inside her waiting warmth. He mastered her mouth slowly, relishing the feel of his first blowjob as a married man. With each stroke by the Master on stage, Tiff felt Lukus’s erection growing beneath her. She stifled a giggle. It was a good thing she loved giving him head, because she’d learned how fired up he always got ogling or participating in one of his favorite kinks.
On stage, the Master increased the pace and depth of his thrusts until frequent gagging sounds were heard as Miranda struggled to accommodate him deep down her throat. Tiffany looked on, transfixed. Only the similar sounds nearby diverted her attention from the center attraction.
Tiff found the source of the moaning was provided by two Doms having relegated their subs to their knees, mimicking the salacious act of the newly married couple. Sounds of wet slurping and gagging filled the air, and Tiff longed for Lukus to weave his hand under her short skirt to touch her.
Returning her attention to the dais, Michael aborted his assault on his wife’s throat, stepping away to allow her to gasp for precious air to fill her lungs. Tiff was surprised when Derek stepped up to take his place. She was even more surprised when Rachel crawled forward from her pillow to kneel at her husband’s feet. Rachel unzipped her husband’s pants and pulled his cock free, stroking it several times before leaning in to kiss it gently, paying homage to it. Tiff noticed Master Michael had moved to the other end of the platform. He slid his fingers through his slave’s private folds as Rachel placed her husband’s cock to the lips of the slave laid out before them. Her delivery of her husband’s tool to the waiting mouth of another woman seemed a symbolic gesture of her approval.
The two men on stage surged forward, simultaneously filling both ends of Miranda’s body instantly with their forceful thrusts. Michael grabbed her ankles and pushed Miranda’s legs up and over her body to enhance the angle of his strokes. The dominant men set a hard pace. When Miranda lifted her hands in an attempt to push Derek off, her Dom smacked her right hip, allowing the power play to continue.
Derek pulled out to allow Miranda to catch her breath as Michael removed a bottle of lube from his pocket and dribbled several drops near her puckering private hole, massaging it into her anus before adding a liberal amount to his own cock, distributing it along his length.
The men once again synced up. Just as Derek filled Miranda’s throat and Michael filled her bowels, Lukus assaulted Tiffany’s pussy through her thin panties. The graze against her clit made her shudder. The sights and sounds in the room had Tiffany desperate to take Lukus inside her, but he held her steady on his lap. The fast and furious initiation of the sex slave’s body continued for several long minutes, until almost every couple in attendance was having sex as they watched the spectacle.
Tiffany didn’t understand why Lukus continued to tease her idly as they focused on the ménage onstage. As she witnessed Derek participating in the ceremony, she couldn’t help but obsess that, were she not dating Lukus, it would have been his cock shoved down Miranda’s throat. It was an unwelcome reminder of how many women he had been intimate with over the years. She worked hard to suppress her insecurities, focusing on the fact he was not center stage tonight. Instead, he was sitting here as a witness. That had to be good enough.
As the public consummation continued, Tiff noticed that the tattoo artist from earlier had joined them on stage, approaching with his tackle box, and stooping to take unseen items from the box.
Miranda took a full five minutes of relentless, hard pounding before Master Michael and Derek were simultaneously erupting into orgasms, each depositing their cum into the slave center stage, in full view of the invited guests. When completed, they stepped away, leaving the sweaty and well-used sex slave to recover.
Miranda’s eyes were closed, her head still hanging back. Tiff was close enough to see copious amounts of spittle and cum dribbling down her face towards the floor. Miranda flinched when the tattoo artist tweaked her nipples, squeezing her nips until they swelled to twice the size.
He had made quick work of the tattoos prior to the ceremony. He did the same now. Tiff observed the slave’s trepidation as he first swabbed a disinfectant across the exposed nubs before bringing the piercing tool to Miranda’s swollen nipples, quickly lining it up, and pulling the trigger to pierce a heavy gauge loop into the slave’s
tit. She remained stoic, accepting the pain that was surely part of the process. The tattooist repeated his steps on her other nipple, giving Miranda no time to regroup. By the time the second heavy loop was inserted into her body, she was whimpering, as if struggling to absorb the pain.
Master Michael had moved to the end of the table near his slave’s head. She propped her head on her husband, like a pillow, which allowed her to see what was happening to her body. Tiff heard a quiet command and Miranda lifted her legs up higher, giving her Master control. He latched onto her ankles and pulled her legs back, doubling her body in half and leaving her ass and pussy completely exposed at the other end of the table.
Tiff watched the tattoo artist taking up residence at that end of the table. Rachel provided a stool, allowing him to sit comfortably in his temporary workspace. He began by thoroughly cleaning the slave’s well-fucked pussy. It was hard for the witnesses to see exactly what was happening, but the piercing gun remained present.
Despite the stage holding two dozen occupants, it was surprisingly quiet as they observed the artist at work. When Miranda seemed unsettled, her Master comforted her. Miranda squeezed Michael’s hand as the moment of the next needle insertion arrived. The tattooist held a thick needle up for Michael’s inspection. With his nod, the gun was positioned. The burst of power required to pierce through Miranda’s labia made a startling crack, followed by a whimper from the dais.
Tiffany flinched, looking away until she steeled herself to return her attention to the hard-core ceremony. Her pulse raced as she held her breath waiting with the newlywed slave for what came next.
Miranda had only a few minutes to recover before the next needle was inserted in her pussy lips. In all, it took twenty long minutes and six more holes before the piercing gun was set aside. Miranda had not flinched, but her whimpers turned to sobs when the artist began to replace the needles with large gage rings. Michael kept watch stoically, comforting his slave as she struggled to accept the pain.
The entire room heaved a sigh of relief when the eighth—and last—ring was inserted, but they were premature. The tattoo artist reached into his bag to extract a final, larger ring. Despite her sympathy for the pain the woman was in, Tiffany’s own pussy was throbbing with need as she witnessed the large ring being used to link all eight rings tightly together, effectively morphing into a chastity device. To prove the supposition, the artist used a small key to lock the rings in place, before handing the key to Master Michael in a flourish of formality.
Tiffany had assumed insertion of permanent chastity rings would be the final act in the strange ceremony, so when the tattoo artist remained seated on the stool and began to swab a large patch of skin on Miranda’s hip facing the witnesses, Tiffany was curious. A hush blanketed the room.
Derek’s sober gaze caught Tiffany’s attention as he stared at her and Lukus expectantly. Just as Tiff turned to ask Lukus why Derek had stopped the action, she saw Lukus nod, signaling approval to proceed to his number two.
She was formulating her question about what was going on when, without warning, Lukus stood, cradling Tiff in his arms. He sped them towards the stairs leading down into the audience pit. He stopped long enough to put her on her own feet before pulling her along behind him.
“Lukus, what are you doing? The ceremony isn’t over yet!”
“We’ve seen enough,” he said curtly.
“That’s crazy. I thought you wanted me to see the ceremony. Why are we leaving before it’s over?”
She almost had to jog to keep up with him. Tiff slowed him down by turning to catch snippets of the action onstage. An older man, dressed entirely in black leather, moved to the dais. Lukus just about had Tiffany dragged into the back-of-house hallway when the man in leather turned, exposing the implement he held.
“Holy shit. That’s a branding iron! Lukus! Stop!” She was digging her heels in, trying valiantly to get him to stop.
“Keep moving, Tiff. I don’t want you to see this part.”
“You think?” Her words still hung when a blood-curdling scream pierced the space. The pained sound filled her with dread. Tiff’s final glimpse was of a struggling Miranda being subdued by her Master while the branding iron burned her flesh.
All rational thought left Tiffany’s brain. She overloaded with conflicting emotions. She moved on autopilot behind Lukus. Her heart raced as she remembered all she’d seen and heard. Miranda’s desperate scream still filled her ears long after they were out of range.
Tiff didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the wetness dripping from her chin to the bare skin of her barely contained breasts, pushed into the constricting bodice of her corset dress.
They were all the way to the small elevator in Lukus’s office by the time she snapped out of her trance. As the doors to the elevator closed, he propelled her against the back wall of the elevator, pressing in on her with his hard body, placing his hands on the wall on either side of her head. He trapped her, their eyes locked.
“Tiff. Are you okay? I should have left earlier. I had no idea they were going to move that fast with the branding,” he said.
She was too shocked to say a word. Lukus moved to kiss her, but she turned her head. He landed a kiss on her cheek.
“Dammit, you’re upset.”
That was the understatement of the week. Her raised voice contained a hint of her sarcasm. “Upset? Me? Hell, no. I watch people purposefully get their body burned with a hot poker every day after having their own pussy sewn shut.”
“Tiffany, this was not a surprise to Miranda. She signed a consent form before the ceremony. She knew it was all coming.”
“Oh well, why didn’t you say that? That makes it oh so much better.” Her sarcasm was thick. She tried to push him away from her. She needed space to think.
He was having none of it. “That’s enough. Calm down.”
“Sure. Calm down. I mean, we just saw a poor woman being tortured by the man she loves, and no one helped her. What’s to be upset about?” Tiff hated the manic quality to her shaky voice.
The elevator dinged its arrival at the loft. Lukus’s eyes betrayed his growing frustration at her reaction. He barely moved away, yet she took her chance to brush past him, rushing towards the kitchen. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do, but she knew she needed a few minutes to process tonight’s ceremony.
Tiff made a straight line to the wine rack in the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle, not bothering to read the label, and yanked the drawer open, spilling utensils to the floor as she clutched the corkscrew. As irrational as her burst of anger might be, her hands were shaking, making it difficult to open the bottle.
Lukus stepped close. She tried to push away, not wanting to be near him until she figured out how she felt about what she’d witnessed. To his credit, he didn’t reach for her, but the bottle. He made quick work of opening the wine, crossing over to the glassware rack under the upper cabinets, and pouring two full glasses.
He carried the long-stemmed glasses in his left hand, capturing her elbow with his right, and silently lead her to the great room. There was one small lamp on in the corner. Most of the room was lit by the city lights pouring in through the wall of windows. Lukus sat in a plush chair, not unlike the chair they’d been in downstairs. He handed her one glass before insistently pulling her to sit.
Tiffany’s spike of adrenaline had dissipated, leaving a weariness in its wake. She went to his lap without a fight. They snuggled in silence, each sipping their wine until the atmosphere started to tense.
Lukus broke the silence first. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you ahead of time. I thought I could get us out of there before you knew what was happening.”
She sat up to look at him incredulously. “That’s what you’re sorry for? Not that you let it happen in the first place? I saw Derek. He asked for your permission to proceed. I didn’t get it at the time, but I do now. You could have said no, Lukus. Nothing happens at The Pit that you don’t approve of. I�
�m learning that. So, the fact that this happened means it happened with your approval. How could you?”
He had been looking out the window at the city until her insulting accusation. He turned to pin her with an angered gaze.
“I don’t judge other people’s kinks, Tiffany. This was important to them. They’re both consenting adults. It’s not my place to put limits on their relationship.”
She was ready to argue back, but his defense made her pause. Did she have the right to judge them? Was that what she was doing?
“So, where does it end? If burning someone’s flesh doesn’t cross the line, what does? We talked about blood play, and fire. What about knives? How about breath play? People can get hurt—they could die! Where is the line?”
He looked frustrated. “Tiff, safety is our number-one concern. Safety and consent. I would never have allowed the piercings or branding tonight if Derek hadn’t talked with Miranda and made sure she was completely on board. If I thought for one minute it wasn’t safe, I would have pulled the plug. You have to know that, baby.”
He looked sincere. She wanted him to be telling her the truth, but even the hint that branding was an activity he might enjoy freaked her out. She took a couple of big, deep-cleansing breaths before turning in his lap to face him.
“You have to tell me now, Lukus. Is this something you’d be looking for from me? I need to know what a Lukus Mitchell collaring ceremony looks like.”
She was relieved to see tenderness in his eyes as he gently brushed her long hair back from her face, grazing her cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers.