THE USUAL WARNINGS:
This is a work of fiction by a twisted mind. If you
are offended by graphic descriptions of natural and/or
unnatural sexual acts, if you are underage, or if this
type of material is illegal where you are, don't read
any further.
This is a fantasy. You will have to loosen your clench
on reality a little when you read it. This is a in
which physical acts and human responses are not limited
to, nor necessarily based in, reality. Some of the
actions and responses in this may be physically
impossible and/or physiologically improbable.
Also, as is the case with most of the in this
newsgroup, all the women in this are beautiful -
gorgeous, even. Gravity has not caused to
droop nor have wrinkles creased unblemished faces. The
men (the leading men, at least) are hung like bulls.
They can get it up and keep it up often and at will.
In this special little fantasyland, there are no STDs,
morals, or unwanted pregnancies. Guilt is a four-
letter word. Most important of all, neither strength
of character, courage of convictions, nor moral belief
stand a chance against even the slightest erotic
stimulus. This can be as benign as an accidental
glimpse of a bared ankle or as stimulating as a
whipping on the genitals.
This is intended for the salacious entertainment
of consenting adults. Do not try to do any of the
things described in this story. You could injure
yourself or your partner, be arrested, or shot by her
father....
For those who didn't understand the preceding
statements, GO AWAY!
If you are under 18 years of age, GO AWAY! This will burn your eyeballs and fry your brain.
If material of a strong sexual nature is prohibited
where you are, GO AWAY!
By continuing to read this story, the reader accepts
all responsibility for any disgust, revulsion, jail
sentence, or pleasure that results from reading it. If
you don't, GO AWAY!
You have been warned!
If you enjoy this and feel the irresistible urge
to post it on a <free> site, at least give me
(NightShade) credit for it.
So, stick your tongue firmly in your cheek and enjoy
the story! <g>
NightShade
Petunia
Part 1of 4
by Nightshade
September, 2002
Chapter 1
Mrs. Alex Wilson wasn't a stupid woman, but right now
she was having serious doubts about the exact level of
her intelligence. She had been walking down this trash-
strewn deserted street in a rundown part of the city
for more than 20 minutes and the building numbers just
weren't changing very fast. What she had assumed was
only going to be a walk of a block or two had been four
blocks so far and now looked like it would be another
four or five blocks at least before she found the
specific number she was seeking. The longer she
walked, the further she was getting from the relative
safety and security of the main thoroughfare. She
hadn't had much of a chance to start any closer,
however, as the city buses stuck to the main roads.
It was a testament to her determination that she kept
on walking, despite her misgivings and growing
uneasiness. It was 10:00 on a weekday morning and Alex
stuck out like a sore thumb in this seedier industrial
part of town. She was wearing her Sunday best, not
knowing exactly who she was going to meet, if anybody.
Her silky print dress, the bright one with the tiny
little blue and yellow "Forget-Me-Not" flowers on a
white field reflected the bright sunlight. The
reflecting light gave her an angelic glow as she walked
down the gloomy street, though she seemed unaware of
her striking appearance. Her sensible shoes, her
nicest flats, clicked loudly on the concrete, echoing
off the solid stone walls of the buildings that lined
the sidewalks. Twice so far she had turned around to
see if anyone was following her as she heard her own
echo. She had not seen anyone behind her, in fact, she
had seen no one at all, but Alex couldn't shake the
growing feeling she was being watched.
White cloth gloves with a lace ruffle clutched her
white leatherette purse to her chest. It wasn't
clutched to her in fear, but in embarrassment, sort of.
She had decided, at the last minute, to wear her
combination slip and bra with the dress, rather than
her usual sturdier undergarment. She hadn't worn this
slip since her honeymoon, and it really did look better
under the dress. It didn't support her like her other
heavier bras did and the subtle bouncing of her embarrassed her to no end. Only Harold had ever seen
her bounce around and that was when he had her
do a `hootchie' dance for him one night last month.
Secretly she had been pleased he had gotten so excited
watching her boobies bounce, but their unrestrained
motion still bothered her. This morning her nipples
were clearly visible, too, and that was another reason
she was carrying her purse like a shield. Her other
bras were enough to prevent them from showing so
obviously, but what she was wearing now just wasn't up
to the task.
A white pill-box hat with a blue rim set at jaunty
angle completed her outfit. The white hat set off her
red hair nicely, though it wasn't really necessary.
Her lustrous hair was her best feature, she thought,
and she spent hours every day brushing it. It wasn't
Lucile Ball red, that orangey color that looked like it
came from a bottle. It wasn't a dark or with highlights, either, but somewhere in between.
It was definitely but not the hue typically
associated with a hot temper. Hot sex, maybe, though
that suggestion would have made Alex blush fiercely.
She still wasn't used to all the attention the in
this new city gave her. Those lucky enough to have
caught a glimpse of her wouldn't have disagreed that
her hair was a nice feature. But her best one? To a
man they would have said it was her body. When
pressed, however, there would have not been any
agreement on specifically why they thought that. There
wasn't any one part of her body that was more
outstanding than the others, but none of them were
anything to sneeze at. Her were normal sized
or maybe a bit larger and very firm, but nothing
outstanding, like the whoppers on the women had that
Harold was always staring at in his magazines. For the
casual observer, it was hard to tell what their shape
and size truly was, as Alex tended to "dress down" to
de-emphasize that part of her body.
Her ass was well rounded and pert, but again, nothing
to draw attention away from anything else. Those from her high school who had seen her in a bathing suit
would have argued perfection or nearly so, but Alex
avoided tight-fitting clothes so not many people had a
chance to see for themselves. Like a fine wine, Alex
had improved with age.
Her legs were long and shapely, but not exaggerated.
Her waist was thin and her tummy flat, but still, just
about what you would expect. All in all, she was very
well put together, but seemed neither ashamed nor aware
of her attributes.
To her and the few friends she had, her bright
green eyes captivated your attention, you to
her with dancing amusement. Her intelligence and
curiosity were evident in those expressive eyes. She
always seemed to be laughing inside, too, and when she
wasn't hiding her mouth and nose with her hand, you
could see a persistent smile, sometimes impishly
teasing the corners of her lips. Her face was usually
devoid of makeup, part of the reason the women in her
new neighborhood tended to be jealous of her. She had
a naturally striking beauty without any artificial
coloring or enhancements.
Alisson `Alex' Wilson had been for only 9
months. Her husband, Harold - not Harry! - was an
accountant for a local Accounting firm and was several
years than she was. Actually, he wasn't
certified yet, so most of his jobs were more
bookkeeping than accounting, but Alex knew that one day
he would make it. It was just a matter of finishing
his degree -- well, actually, he had to start first,
but that was going to happen as soon as he could get
his next promotion -- and then he could get certified.
Which Harold said was almost automatic. Harold had
such big plans!
She had graduated from the county high school last
June, ranked third in a class of 27 when Harold had
come into her little town. She had dated a little in
high school, but most of the there were more like
her brothers or cousins and it didn't feel right.
Besides, with all of the chores everybody had after
school and during the summer, there wasn't much time
for socializing. These days, the survival of their
farms and their families depended on everybody pitching
in and working hard. Alex had not been looking for an
escape from her life, but what with graduation and
falling madly in love with a mysterious man,
Harold, her life had been turned upside down.
Harold had proposed to her on their third date and they
were in a small ceremony before the local
Justice of the Peace. Only her and two of her
best friends had been able to attend. Everyone else
had had to help with the first harvest, but they sent
their best wishes. Alex wasn't disappointed, but
Harold was surprised at all the produce they received
for wedding gifts. It was as if he had expected money
or something. Folks in these parts had big farms and
were considered millionaires because of the property
values, but money was always tight.
Alex had been a virgin on her wedding night, a fact
that Harold had not expected nor appreciated. Alex had
known what to expect as her and aunt had
prepared her, but even then she was disappointed. It
was over so fast and really, she couldn't see now what
all the fuss was about. Harold had got on, grunted,
rolled over and snored. Big deal. She didn't let her
disappointment show, however.
Daddy was thrilled when Harold agreed to help on the
farm. There was sort of a mix-up, because Harold had
thought he would just handle Daddy's money. He wasn't
prepared to handle the pitchfork Daddy handed him.
Harold didn't last an hour.
Harold was also surprised to learn that the wasn't
going to be broken up between Alex and her brother. Farmers had learned that lesson the hard way
a long time ago. The land stayed intact and in the
family. Alex' brother, away at getting his Ag
Degree, was getting the farm. Alex wasn't getting
anything and didn't expect it.
Two weeks later Harold had decided to get 'a real job,'
as he put it and moved his new out of state to a
small apartment in a big city. There was no question
that Alex would move with him, even though she was
needed on the farm, as wives were supposed to support
their husbands. Since the move, Alex had been trying
to make the small two room apartment a home for them,
but time was beginning to weigh heavily on her hands.
She was not used to having so much idle time and Harold
didn't want her to work.
In his newest job, the third new job since they had
moved, Harold traveled across a 5 county area doing the
books and payroll for several small businesses. His
travels kept him away from home four nights a week, two
nights to the north, home on Wednesdays, then two
nights to the south and home for the weekend. In a
way, his schedule was what brought Alex to this part of
town. She was looking for one of businesses Harold
visited on Wednesdays when he was in town.
Blushing even now as she thought about why she was
here, Alex couldn't suppress a soft sigh. She knew she
was not experienced sexually, having had no experience
prior to Harold but watching the on the farm.
Watching copulation was different than
actually doing it herself and she had been a bit
disappointed in the experience. However, she had
noticed that recently, about once a month, Harold would
come home on Wednesday evening and, well, the best way
she could describe it was that he `ravished' her.
He would be more forceful and demanding than usual,
asking her to do new and, for her, imaginative things.
He had even had her touch and stroke him with her hand
one time. She had felt so naughty and tingly doing it
that she wasn't even that disappointed when he rolled
over after he had messed in her hand and started
snoring softly. Alex had lain there for a long time
that night rolling the sticky residue between the tips
of her fingers, reveling in its texture and smell. It
never crossed her mind to taste it.
The anomaly of her new husband's Wednesday night
behavior had been quickly apparent the following
Saturday night. It was back to normal with Harold and
when it came to sex, Harold was clearly uninventive,
unimaginative and uncaring in his love making. Not
that Alex would ever dream of complaining or of
discussing anything so personal with anyone for
comparison -- not ever her mother! -- but even as
inexperienced as Alex was, she could tell that Harold
was, well, pretty dull in the bedroom. Downright
boring, in fact. He was so predictable, that with only
a couple months' experience Alex had noticed the
pattern of the odd Wednesday nights.
Alex had been raised since birth to please her husband
to the point of suppressing her own needs and desires.
She had come to assume that that meant sexually, too,
as it never seemed there was anything for her when he
was pounding away on top of her. She didn't mind when
he was forceful. In fact, that was what had drawn her
to him in the first place. He had been so forceful on
their first date, touching her titties and stroking her
behind. She hadn't been as shocked as she had
pretended and when she went to bed that night, she
found her were still soaked.
She had no idea if her was ever satisfied by her
father, but hearing them in their bedroom late at night
or on Sunday afternoons hadn't been difficult. Her
mother had, from the sound of it enjoyed it more than
Alex was, but apparently, it wasn't important enough to
discuss with her daughter. Her mother's upbringing had
been terribly fashioned, she knew, so it was hard
for her to talk about breeding cows, much less human
sexuality.
Even Alex, raised in the '90s, but in a rural area,
often felt at odds with the often prurient topics of
discussion when she watched talk shows or when she
talked with the other women in her apartment
complex. So she kept the off most the time and kept
to herself rather than gossiping with the neighborhood
women. It was how she had been raised.
What was important to her was to please Harold. This
was becoming her sole objective and so far, she felt
she was failing. They were still newlyweds and he was
losing interest in her. And she wasn't pregnant yet,
either, a fact that her had not failed to
mention. Alex was willing to try anything to please
Harold, and besides, except for the first time when he
frightened her with his aggressiveness and those
strange demands, she found she liked being `ravished.'
It made her feel tingly, almost like it was leading to
something bigger, but never quite got there.
Not being stupid, Alex had soon realized that ravishing
her was clearly out of character for Harold. So she
began keeping track of where Harold went, trying to
discover what was prompting him to act in this
aggressive manner. In the back of her mind was the
unconscious idea to see if she couldn't somehow find a
way to encourage this behavior. It obviously pleased
him, so, in her mind, she was justified in her actions.
That she liked him to be forceful was just an extra
benefit.
In typical female fashion she didn't ask him what she
wanted to know directly. No, that would make him too
suspicious. Instead, she questioned him everyday about
how work went, pretending more interest than she felt
in what he was doing. She wanted to know what happened
in the offices he was in, what he had for lunch, where
he ate, who he talked to, and so on. Two months of sly
investigation had given her a lot of information, but
not the answers she was looking for.
That called for more drastic measures, so Alex began
snooping. Each evening he was home, Harold would
shower immediately after walking in the door, recently,
even before he kissed her. Every night, like
clockwork, he would drop his overnighter for her to re-
pack, drop his coat, pants, shirt, socks and dirty
underwear for her to pick up and headed for the shower.
So each evening, while Harold was in the shower, Alex
would go through his pockets. She had to pick up his
pants anyway. When that failed to yield anything but
lint, she turned to his briefcase.
The second week of snooping she got her first big
break. It was in the bottom of his briefcase that she
found a corner of a matchbook cover. There was a name
"George" scribbled in pencil on the back. And on the
front were the letters "DUNGE." The rest of the
letters were torn off.
That night, Harold had ravished her. Twice. The next
week as she did her snooping, the torn matchbook cover
was gone. It was her only clue. Those five letters,
the name "George" and the place where Harold had said
he had had lunch that day. He said he had eaten lunch
in a dilapidated diner, a greasy spoon. It was the
kind of place Harold seemed to favor, and it was
located down on Main Street, about a block from the bus
stop where she had just gotten off.
Searching the telephone directory for that part of town
yielded only one business with the letters "DUNGE." in
their name. Only one business that would have a
matchbook cover, too. But Harold had never mentioned
to her that he was doing any work for a nightclub. It
was his complete silence on the subject that convinced
her she was on the right track. Why wouldn't he have
told her about working at The Dungeon unless he was
secretly excited about what he saw while he was working
there? Especially if he was secretly ashamed of being
excited about it, too.
So, undaunted in the midmorning sunshine, Alex walked
on until she reached the nondescript door of the club.
There wasn't even a lighted sign to advertise the
business, just a small bronze plaque above a bell. She
tried the door and found it locked. Chagrined, she
suddenly realized that it was a nightclub and probably
closed during the day. After mentally kicking herself
for missing something so obvious, she almost headed
home.
But first, what the Hell, she pushed the buzzer. She
had come this far and it was a long walk back. With a
solid click, the electronic lock of the door buzzed.
Giddy with her surprising success, she pulled open the
heavy door.
The cool stale air assaulted her senses, confusing
odors of smoke, incense, sweat, beer and something else
captivated her, luring her onward to the second door.
It was a heady, seductive aroma to the na‹ve country
girl. This second door was an elegant door, shining
darkly in the dim interior. It was covered in black
leather with polished brass fittings, very ornate.
There seemed to be a lot more fittings than were
necessary, so Alex assumed they were for show, as well.
Overall, it gave the door a rather medieval look,
somehow befitting the name of the place, The Dungeon,
without being blatant.
A small but powerful halogen light overhead created a
small spot of light on the wall, highlighting an
electronic keypad. Alex had only seen one like it
before and that was on the vault at the local bank back
home. She was impressed and depressed at the same
time. Without an entry code, she had no hope of
getting inside. Then her hopes soared. The cleaning
crew must have been expecting someone to come in later
as the door was propped open with the deadbolt
extended.
She frowned. The extended bolt was marring the perfect
finish of the doorframe. It was a careless act, but it
would explain the buzzing of the lock on the outside
door, if they were trying to get someone inside.
Regardless, she had come this far. Alex dug her
fingernails into the edge of the door and pried it
open, opening the door to a new world
Chapter 2
"Hello?" she called out. "Hello? Is anyone here?"
Her light soprano voice seemed to disappear into the
cavernous space before her. In the dimness she could
make out tables with chairs stacked on top of them,
like they did at the pool hall back home when they put
down fresh sawdust. Over on the left was a bar with a
single glowing neon sign advertising the product of an
upscale local brewery. In the light of that sign she
could see the diamond-like reflections of hundred of
glasses of all shapes and sizes. Row upon row of them,
shining and spotless.
Alex had taken about three steps into the darkened room
when she was stopped short.
"May I help you?"
Even before she whirled around, surprised by the sudden
sound of his deep voice, Alex knew what the owner of
that voice would look like. He would be tall. He
would be and dark. And he would be handsome.
Very handsome. Turning, she gasped audibly as she
realized she had been both right and wrong in her
prescience.
The standing before was dark. Wuthering Heights
dark. Heathcliff in the flesh. Wet your dark
and handsome. He was young, too, she saw. She
estimated by the lack of grey and the smooth unlined
skin on his face that he was only a couple of years
older than she was, but he could have been older, too.
What took her aback, what surprised her was just how
tall he was. He was well over six feet tall, maybe
even two inches over. Alex had thought Harold was big
at five feet, seven inches, as tall as Daddy. But now,
Alex had to tip her head back to just to look at this
man's face. His beautiful face. His gorgeous face,
looking at her with a curious expression, as if waiting
for an answer..
Alex jerked herself out of her reverie, blushing as she
felt the unfamiliar moistness between her thighs.
"George?" she queried, hopefully.
"I prefer Mr. Smith," he replied.
Alex nodded, trying to place his accent. Or maybe it
was just his pronunciation of the word `mister.' It
had almost sounded like he had said `Master Smith.'
She shook that thought from her mind and, having found
what she assumed was her quarry, launched into a
complete explanation, minus the ravishing, of course,
of how she had come to be here. She didn't notice in
her rush to get out her explanation just how
comfortable he made her feel. Nor did she find it
strange that she was telling him much more about her
life than she had intended. All she knew was that when
she looked in his eyes, she felt like she belonged
here. She wanted to belong here.
The man's name was not George. Or Mr. Smith. His name
was Damon Arquette, though few, if any people in this
country were aware of his real name. He answered to
`Mr. Smith.' He had no idea who George was, nor did he
care beyond the fact that there was no one named George
who worked here. That made him suspicious of the
pretty woman standing in front of him.
Damon was, by nature and by necessity, suspicious. It
was how he had survived in this business and how he had
been as successful as he was. His immediate reaction
upon seeing this pretty woman standing in his
club was that the Feds had sent in yet another
undercover agent. True, he had been expecting a new
dancer this morning, but this innocent thing in
front of him was obviously not her. No makeup, no
attitude, no piercings, no leather, no whip marks or
scars. This was definitely not a from one of the
other clubs owned by the syndicate. And the dancer he
was expecting, was, by the way, two hours overdue, and
therefore, was not coming. She had probably not
survived her last dance. It wasn't unusual, in this
business.
Damon kept a pleasant smile on his face, nodding
occasionally at the babbling woman, pretending to
listen. He could listen to the tape later, if he had
to learn anything from the she was telling. She
was good, he had to admit. But was she Narcotics, ATF,
IRS or from some RICO-type committee? He had found the
best way to find out what the bastards were after was
to let them think he was cooperating. But not quite
fully. He had learned the hard way, as several dead
agents could have told you, that if he kept them
thinking that if they only looked a little harder or
let him get a little closer, the evidence they needed
would be found. By digging more than they intended,
they inevitably tipped their hand and let him know what
they were after, and, thus, what to hide. None had
survived.
Damon ran a straight club. On the surface. No drugs,
no minors, no prostitution. That still left a lot of
opportunities to profit from the weaknesses in others.
It was his club, by its very existence, however, that
grated most often on the moral self-image of the
community. Sanctimonious hypocrites. No one wanted to
admit out loud that there was a market for his kind of
club, the kind of club that let and even some women
explore their darker sides. The self-righteous bitches
that squeezed their legs shut after the honeymoon and
one kid couldn't stand the fact that it was their
husbands' money that kept him in business. And highly
profitable.
Hell, he just provided a service. They provided the
demand. Supply and demand, that was true market forces
at work. Somehow, in the tiny little minds of those
frigid bitches, because he supplied the services they
wouldn't or couldn't, that made him the `bad guy.'
Well, they weren't far off, but it wasn't for any of
those reasons.
The woman, 'Alex' she said her name was, was still
yapping away. He wondered what 'Alex' was short for,
but he suspected it wasn't for brevity. It didn't look
like she was winding up anytime soon, either. Damon
allowed himself an assessing glance of her body, taking
a calculated risk that her eyes would still be held by
his when he looked back. He effected some women that
way, and she seemed to be susceptible.
His eyes drifted down over her chest, noting the
generous swells capped by the obvious protrusions of
her nipples. Her waist was slender, her hips flared
nicely. What he could see of her legs showed a shapely
calf and ankle, even with the flat shoes. Already
Damon was imaging her legs in stiletto heels and the
wonderful effect they would have on the shape of her
legs and buttocks.
Looking back at her green eyes, Damon was surprised to
see the flush of pleased embarrassment that colored her
neck and cheeks. She had noticed him checking her out
and it pleased her. Odd. He gave her his most
disarming smile, as if was only natural for him to
inspect her bodily attributes. He gave no sign of
noticing her subtle shift in posture, as she moved her
cheap purse behind her back and thrust her out
at him, as if in invitation for a greater inspection.
Had it not been for the unconscious blush, that move
would have convinced she was an agent. As it was, he
wasn't sure what he thought she was.
"So. How can I help you, Alex?" he asked her when she
finally wound down her lengthy explanation.
She looked up at him in dismay. She couldn't just come
out and ask this stranger that she needed to know what
made her husband horny and how to turn him on.
"I -- I -- Uh, I guess I want to learn, to know...."
she stumbled badly and ended weakly. This part of the
conversation had gone so much easier when she had had
it in her mind. George, Mr. Smith, was supposed to
know what she needed.
"You want to learn what? How to tend bar? How to
serve drinks?"
Alex shook her head. She felt hot. She knew she was
blushing and it wasn't all from embarrassment. She was
strongly attracted to this man. It must have been the
long walk to get here, she rationalized.
"What? Do you want to learn what we do here?"
The look of relief on her face as she nodded almost
made him laugh. That, however, would have been a
mistake, and Damon didn't make many of those. Not when
it came to women.
Damon pursed his lips, thinking. For the Feds, this
was a novel approach, but he wouldn't put it past them.
Still, the girl's reactions seemed to be genuine. She
looked to be too to be that good of an actress,
but even that wasn't outside the realm of possibility.
It had been a while since he had had the opportunity to
break in a new girl, and he had never tried to train
one that was this na‹ve. It might be fun. The thought
of having total control over this diminutive redhead
was extremely tempting to him, and that set the hairs
on the back of his neck on end.
"Well, I think I can give you an idea of what goes on
here. But tell me this, Alex: Are you interested in
learning about it or experiencing it for yourself?"
She looked up at him, her green eyes dancing in
excitement. "Is there a difference?" she asked him.
Damon gave a short laugh. Na‹ve and beautiful. This
girl, agent or not, had just delivered herself into his
hands. At least until he could find out who she worked
for. Regardless, he was sure he could turn this into a
profit somehow. It was an opportunity he couldn't
resist.
Taking the gently by the arm he led her from the
bar area down a long dark hallway to his office. The
soundproofed door closed behind them and he led Alex
over to a large wooden chair. He turned it so that it
faced a bank of nine screens set in the wall.
Normally, these screens were set up for viewing
security and the observation of all key points in the
club. It wasn't unheard of that the occasional
blackmail tape was produced here, as well. But with
the club now empty, this would make a good educational
center until he could get the other room set up with
the special 'training' equipment he had designed. It
hadn't been used for a while, but it wouldn't take
much.
"OK, Alex. If you would please sit here."
Alex sat in the chair. She was obviously nervous but
she was unaccountably excited, too.
"I don't know what your level of experience is and I'm
not going to be able to sit and watch you while you
watch these tapes. In addition, some of the things you
see or hear may disturb you. If they didn't, though,
you wouldn't learn anything, would you?"
Alex shook her head silently. She had been captivated
by this man, his actions, his voice. She was trying
hard to get a hold of her feelings, to control her
heart rate. It felt as if it was fluttering and racing
in her chest. Her breathing was erratic, as well, and
she didn't trust herself to speak. So she dumbly
nodded her assent.
"Not only that, but this is my private office. I have
things in here that I wouldn't want any stranger to
look through, contracts and things, you understand.
So, we're going to play a little game." He produced a
roll of masking tape. "Place your arms on the arms of
the chair if you would, please."
He said it so nicely, she didn't object. She laid her
arms, palms down, on the arms of the chair. She
watched silently as he took a length of the masking
tape and wrapped it around her wrist. Another went
just below her elbow. The other arm was taped in the
same manner. Each loop was just a single band, easily
broken.
She giggled a little when he did her ankles and knees,
taping them to the front legs of the chair, as the tape
tickled her. Damon grinned up at her conspiratorially
and gave her a friendly wink. He could smell her
arousal and it amused him. Her dress, normally below
her knees, had ridden up above them. Her upper legs,
however, were still modestly covered, so she wasn't
threatened by this minor exposure.
Damon pulled off a long strip of tape and centered it
across her chest above her breasts. A second long
strip was centered across her stomach below those
swells. With delicate firmness, Damon slipped the ends
of the two lengths of tape under her arms and taped
them to the back of the chair. He did this without
copping a feel, and Alex was almost disappointed. It
was getting more difficult for him to keep a straight
face, she was so obvious.
"There. That should do it. If at any time you wish to
stop watching the tapes, all you have to do is stand up
and walk out. However, if I come back in and any of
the tapes are broken, you must leave and not come back.
Do you understand? This is, of course, only to protect
myself and my business. Do you have any questions?"
He had spoken with authority, forcefully.
Her heart was racing. She could feel the pulse
pounding in her throat. Alex shook her head. She had
a thousand questions, but couldn't ask them. She could
barely manage a nod.
Damon went to his desk and began setting knobs and
punching buttons. It was a simple multi-media
presentation he was setting up, a mixture of still
photos and clips. He had some difficulty
filtering out the harder core folders. On the off
chance this was genuine, he didn't want to scare
her away by exposing her to too much the first time
out. As it was, he had a feeling she would be shocked
by what she would see.
The center screen came to life. The images that
changed every 5 seconds or so showed a beautiful smiling at the camera, lying by a pristine
swimming pool. There were a series of poses, gradually
more daring as she removed her bikini top, coyly
covering her naked with her hands. Damon liked
this because she exuded a joyfulness and
impishness that came across on film.
The next was posing in a kitchen with an apron
and heels and little else. Again, her playfulness was
obvious and even after the apron had disappeared, there
was nothing of her nudity to see. The pictures were
risqu‚, but not pornographic.
The first showed the first dancing. The
music was haunting and there was no playfulness in the
dance. It was, however, sensuous and sexual. The
girl's hands slowly caressed her body as she writhed in
time to the strong beat of the music. Damon watched
the closely and as she began removing her dress,
he moved to another set of still pictures.
Having set a bookmark in the digital video, Damon
created a loop of the dancing up to the point of
her shedding the top part of the slinky dress she was
wearing. He put that loop in one of the other
monitors and let the loop play continuously. The
sensuality of the music added to the 'educational'
value of the total experience.
From the first glimmer of light on the screen, Alex had
sat as if paralyzed, her eyes riveted to the screen.
She had never seen such beautiful women before. It was
obvious to her they enjoyed what they were doing, and
that they were comfortable with removing their clothing
for the camera. Their bodies were perfect, they were
young and beautiful. Why shouldn't they take off their
clothes and let someone else appreciate their beauty?
Her breath caught in her throat when the started.
The moved so gracefully, so easily. She imagined
herself moving like that for Harold and what his
reaction would be and began, within the limits imposed
by the weak tape, to move her body in harmony with the
dancing girl. She noticed the first shoulder strap
slip off of that smooth shoulder and felt a pang of
disappointment when the was interrupted at that
point. When the dancing appeared in another screen,
she was torn between watching the swaying graceful
movements and the vivid images in the center screen.
After setting up the first couple of loops for the
mesmerized girl, Damon sat back and observed the effect
of the images on the girl. She was flushed and
aroused. The tape strips above and below her had pulled the fabric of the dress tight against her
undergarments. There was now no doubt that her nipples
were standing erect. Already he could see the track of
sweat as it trickled down between her heaving tits.
Her breathing was erratic, especially when she focused
on the of the dancing. She was
rhythmically squirming her bottom on the hard seat of
the chair, as if she were clenching and unclenching her
thighs and groin. He worried about the weak tape and
hoped she wouldn't squirm too much and break it. But
she appeared to be in control of herself, for now,
anyway.
Damon smiled, remembering. The first dancer had been
one of his favorite pupils. She had come to him not
much more experienced than Alex and had been an eager
and willing student. It was only later, when she had
acquired a jaded edge that she had betrayed him. She
was gone now. Only her pictures remained.
He quickly set up other series, some in
sequence of the photo sessions with one or two pretty
models gradually disrobing and showing tasteful nudity.
For later, he prepared some individual random photos to
be interspersed with the others of a mildly sexual
nature. Mostly these were pictures of two women
together, touching, kissing, fondling each other.
Then, for near the end, some random pictures of a
stronger sexual nature. Sapphic erotic poses, with and
without sexual appliances.
There was an audio track that he pulled up, mostly
groaning and grunting of exuberant sexual acts, but
also some narration of some of the pictures, the models
describing exactly what they were doing to one another.
There were a pair of small speakers directly behind the
girl's head and the volume was set low. She would have
to strain to hear it. He could also talk to her
through a microphone, but he would see how it went. It
was a crude system, but in the short time he had it was
the best he could do. He hoped it was enough.
The random shots were sprinkled throughout the
presentation, hopefully just enough to titillate and
tease, to whet the appetite for more but not enough to
scare the tender away.
She remained enraptured, absorbing the images like a
dry sponge soaking up water. He waited until the first
couple of racy random images had been screened. Seeing
her total concentration on the screens, Damon silently
slipped out a door into the next room where he
could monitor her education unobserved while carefully
reviewing the tape he had made of their initial
meeting. The would either leave soon or would be
there for hours.
Alex presented him with an interesting situation. He
hadn't had a sub in a long time and the need for that
special release was building. That she was was
not a problem to him, but an opportunity. He could
think of several scenarios that would resolve the
situation, all profitable. It depended to a large
degree on the husband. What he needed now was
information. Most important, was she for real or was
she a government agent?
He picked up the telephone and after a moment's
thought, dialed a number. The scrambler device was
activated and he gave his lengthy instructions to the
silent person on the other end of the connection.
Having set the wheels in motion, he took the
opportunity to considered the irresistibility of Alex'
offer. It frightened him more than a little to think
that someone out there might know him well enough to
bait him with this girl. It was the most damning
evidence against her and, if not for the genuineness of
her reactions, would have been immediately fatal for
her. To his mind, however, her reactions couldn't have
been faked. He would have to watch this closely.
Chapter 3
Alex hardly remembered the walk back to the bus stop
that evening. It had not seemed possible that she had
sat for seven hours without breaking the tape. Not one
strand had been broken. Mr. Smith had seemed surprised
and, she thought, somehow pleased with her. Alex
couldn't explain the rush of pride and those other
strange emotions that that thought caused her to have.
It was almost sexual.
She had seen so much today! The dresses those wore seemed to be designed to show off more than they
covered up. They were so beautiful, too. And happy.
What she really liked, however, were those other
pictures, the ones that popped up so suddenly and then
disappeared. The ones that showed the women together,
or alone and touching themselves. She had never done
that, or even thought about doing it by herself or with
a girlfriend, but it looked so natural.
Her head was buzzing with new words and ideas. Words
like 'cunt' and 'fuck' and 'pussy'. What was that
thing they used on each other? Oh, yeah, a dildo. It
had been enormous, eight inches long, at least! She
couldn't believe that such a thing existed much less
that it would fit up inside a woman. Sure, Daddy's
stud bull was bigger, but that plastic thing had been
so much bigger than Harold. The women had enjoyed it,
even when one of them wore it strapped around their
waist and fucked the other one. Alex blushed crimson
as that naughty word came effortlessly to her mind.
The best word though, the best thing that she had seen
was cunt-licking. She had completely soiled the back
of her dress with her fluids when that had popped up.
She had never been so wet, so excited, so unfulfilled.
It was like she was striving for something, needing
something, stretching, yearning to get some release,
but couldn't quite reach it.
It was going to be another day before Harold came home.
A very long day and it wasn't time for him to ravish
her. She wished there was some way she could excite
him to make him take her more forcefully.
Her mind on other things, Alex didn't notice the quiet
little who followed her at a distance from the club
to the bus stop, then copied her transfer at the
downtown station and got off with her at her stop. It
would have been odd for her to notice him, as he made
his living by going unnoticed. Even the neighbors he
talked to over the next three days wouldn't remember
him. If they did, no two would be able to give the
same description of him, should anyone have asked. No
one would ask, however, as nothing had happened. Yet.
Harold was surprised when he came in the door late
Saturday morning. His had taken one of his undershirts and slit it up the sides almost to her
armpits. When he came out of the shower, she was
standing there wearing that and a big smile. He
supposed she was trying to be sexy, but all he could
see was straw coming out of her ears. Not really, but
her fucking were just a bunch of ignorant hicks.
But, if she wanted to try to be sexy, he was willing to
let her jump around.
She had found a radio station that had some dancy-type
music and she was swishing around. It was pretty bad
and Harold had a flashback to the stripper he has
fucked last night. Shit, the bazoombas on that bitch
had been fucking huge, and could she shake them. Not
like Alex. Oh, they were jiggling around, but he liked
them to flop around, slapping him in the face. You'd
need a vice to titty-fuck Alex and that was just too
much fucking work. He laughed out loud at his own pun
Still, she seemed to get the hang of it a bit, and
Harold felt that familiar urge. Standing up suddenly,
he ripped the fragment of cloth from her body, leaving
her barefoot and naked. She squealed in pleasure,
smiling up at him, inviting him to do more. He did,
and ten seconds later he, rolled off her and started
snoring.
The buildup and planning for her dance had been
exciting for Alex. More than the actual event, but
still, he had responded to it. They had never fucked
in the morning and never on the living room floor. The
tingling between her legs, though not as intense as
when she had been with Mr. Smith, lingered for a long
time.
Later that evening, Alex had danced for her husband
again, only this time, she stripped off his more quickly. It had been ripped that morning and she
had simply tied it together in back. With a hard tug,
it had come off in her hand. She had been so excited,
as had Harold, at her dancing around naked, that she
had touched herself. That seemed to excite him,
especially seeing her pinch and pull on her nipples.
When she did it hard, it took her breath away, a
feeling she didn't understand but loved.
Harold had pitched her over the end of the couch in the
middle of her dance and pumped her for a long time.
Well, a long time for Harold. Ten, fifteen strokes, at
least. Then he grunted, as if he was in pain, and
headed for the bedroom.
As she lay in bed next to her snoring spouse later that
night, Alex allowed her hand to steal down to that
aching place between her thighs. She was still sticky
from Harold's cum, another word she had learned, and
the slippery fluid aided her fumbling fingers. She had
never done this before, had never thought of it until
she had seen those pictures, and just touching it
lightly felt so good. There was another reason for the
dampness, though, and the secret she had discovered
about herself tonight had extended her pleasure far
longer than the pain in her nipples had lasted. It
wasn't Harold's face she was thinking of as she
tenderly massaged her vaginal lips and squeezed her
breasts.
Touching herself as she had seen those other women
touch themselves and each other, Alex felt the tensions
within her body building. If something didn't happen
soon, she would snap. Gently at first, then with
increasing urgency she struggled towards that void in
her mind, her fingers stroking and plunging, torturing
the newly discovered nubbin of sensitive flesh that had
been throbbing non-stop for the past two days. Pushing
it back and forth, pinching it, trapping and rolling it
between her thumb and forefinger.
Not to be ignored, her other hand joined the first,
abandoning her chest, burying first one then two
fingers in her throbbing cunt. Her thumbnail grazed
across the sensitive area around her anus and she
moaned in frustration. It was almost enough, but for
what?
Faster and faster her fingers moved. She was lying on
next to her husband doing what her had always
taught her was dirty, naughty and nasty. She didn't
care. She needed this. She needed something.
Alex was never sure if she reached her decision
immediately before she discovered what all the fuss was
about, or immediately after. Either way, whether the
thought of going back to the club and seeing the
mysterious Mr. Smith sent her over the edge, or whether
the thundering experience of her very first orgasm
convinced her to go back, it didn't matter. All that
mattered right then was how she felt. Like she had
never felt.
Later, sitting alone on the tattered sofa in the living
area of the tiny apartment, Alex thought what Mr. Smith
had told her, those delicious words he whispered in her
ear as she had watched those beautiful women. He had
told her what she was supposed to wear the next time.
He had instructed her to practice those moves of the
dance she had watched over and over. She grinned to
herself as she thought how proud he would be that she
had done that. She was even more thrilled that he
wanted her to come back. He said he would teach her.
He said he would train her to please him. Of course,
he had meant to say to please Harold. She was married.
Alex didn't like to admit it, even to herself, but that
had been when she had really soiled her dress. The
thought of pleasing him made her really wet down there.
When she thought of him she tingled. If anything, Alex
was a practical girl. She knew she was attracted to
Mr. Smith, but it was just sexual. She was to
Harold, and that meant a commitment. They were a team.
She was only trying to please him, her husband.
Harold watched football all day Sunday starting as soon
as they came back from Mass. Uncharacteristically he
splurged on a six-pack on the way home from the
neighborhood church and got a little drunk. Alex was
disappointed. Sunday afternoon was always such a
special time for her parents. During the two weeks
they had lived with her parents, Harold had even
commented, if somewhat crudely, on the amorous sounds
coming from her parent's bedroom on Sunday afternoon.
Nothing she did that day, however, could pry his
interest from the ball games. He didn't even look
twice when she served his beer topless. Or bottomless.
She finally felt silly throwing herself at him like
that, so she just went to bed. He came to bed late and
was gone by the time she got up.
Monday and Tuesday dragged by for Alex. She found if
she spent time practicing for Mr. Smith she would
become so aroused that she would have to touch herself.
If she thought about Harold, she would usually end up
sad and cry uncontrollably. She knew she was avoiding
the truth about her marriage, even with the interest he
had shown in her on Saturday. She was just not
pleasing him as she ought to. It had to be her fault.
Wednesday Harold didn't touch her. In fact, she
smelled a strange perfume on his when she picked
it up off the floor. There was a smudge of red, too.
Despite the in her stomach, Alex tried to excite
him. She had fashioned a new outfit, two pieces that
didn't hide hardly anything, but Harold wasn't buying.
Worse, he wouldn't even talk to her.
Not one to be so easily discouraged, Alex decided she
would simply have to learn more from Mr. Smith about
how to be exciting for Harold. Thursday morning,
bright and early she prepared for her next visit to the
club, to the handsome Mr. Smith. She reviewed what he
had told her to wear when she came back. She didn't
have many clothes, but the ones he had requested she
did have. A simple white blouse and a pleated skirt.
They were clean and pressed to a fault. The white
blouse she had was and a little tight through the
bustline, but it buttoned down the front like he
wanted.
She didn't have to wonder why he had requested those
items of clothing. She didn't have to imagine because
he had told her what he was going to do to her. In
lascivious detail, whispering in her ear, describing
the touching, the stroking, the pain and pleasure he
would give her if she returned. The whisper had stayed
with her all week, teasing her, arousing her in her
dreams, making her toss and turn all night in restless
slumber.
She had been driven to masturbation several more times
since that first time. Her hunger for gratification
was increasing, becoming an obsession. She was
constantly wet between her thighs, her clit proudly and
prominently erect. At times, the slightest pressure on
that sensitive tissue would set her off, the electric
shocks coursing from her groin to her to her
brain, overwhelming her senses.
With giddy schoolgirl excitement she boarded the cross-
town bus to the central terminal, then waited
impatiently for the next departure on the Main Street
bus. After an interminable delay to change a tire, she
was headed for the industrial part of town and the
club. Alex couldn't recall ever being so happy or
excited in her life. She arrived at the club and
was buzzed in.
The second door was locked this time, but Mr. Smith had
given her a special code. As she punched in the
numbers she blushed. He was teasing her with the code,
making fun of her innocence. She suddenly understood
why he had said it was an easy one to remember. "6-9-6-
9" she entered and the door popped open like magic.
Alex gave a little squeal of delight and went in.
Damon was not displeased to see Alex' code show up on
the security alert. After the reports he had gotten
back about Harold's activities of the last week, he was
a little surprised she had shown up, but not totally.
Damon knew a lot more about Mrs. Alisson Wilson and her
deadbeat husband now. He knew about her and
that Harold didn't have any living relatives. He knew
Harold was on his last chance at his job, having cost
the company more money than he could hope to repay.
And, if things went as planned, he also knew Harold's
luck was going to turn for the better. For a while,
anyway. He knew Alex had stripped for Harold and that
he had fucked her. He knew she had masturbated
afterwards and then several times after that. He even
knew what brand of beer Harold had had and the name of
the stripper he had screwed on Wednesday. The same one
he screwed every Wednesday before he came home to his
little wife.
In fact, there was very little of significance that
Damon didn't know about these two or their families.
He wondered what Alex would say if she knew there had
been four other Mrs. Wilsons before her, all destitute
now and all glad to be rid of the SOB, even without the
alimony. 'Life was too short to live it with a big
prick with a little dick,' one of them had told his
agent.
"Come in," he answered to the soft knocking at his
office door.
Alex barely opened the door enough to slip through,
then closed it quietly behind her. Following Mr.
Smith's pointing finger that directed her to his side,
she shyly stood, waiting for him.
He started inspecting her from the top down. His first
touch was on her cheek, turning her head to see the
unblemished purity of her face into the glaring light
of his desk lamp. She wore no make up and he was
surprised at her ability to arouse him. Normally he
like painted ladies, tastefully and artfully made up.
It was something about the artificiality that attracted
him, he supposed. This girl, beguiling as she was,
would be devastating when she learned the cosmetic
arts.
Apparently satisfied she was pretty, he continued his
inspection. At least, that's what if felt like to her.
"I see you're wearing the blouse and the skirt I
suggested," he stated.
"Yes." She didn't know what else to say.
"And you're wearing pantyhose and a brassiere?" he
continued.
"Yes." Somehow, it seemed she should be saying
something more.
"And just exactly what was it I suggested you wear
today?" he asked, his voice suddenly menacing.
"A- a blouse that buttoned down the front and a pleated
skirt," Alex responded.
"Did I say anything about pantyhose and a bra?" he
queried her.
"No. But I thought --"
His hand moved so fast she didn't even have time to
flinch. After a couple of seconds she wondered why she
hadn't felt the pain from his slap. Or heard the sound
of it echoing off the walls of the spacious room. Then
she realized that his hand had stopped so that just the
barest touch of his fingertips on her lips halted her
words. Just that barest touch excited her, yet she
wasn't embarrassed.
"I don't' need you to think, my Pet. You are here to
learn, right?"
Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded.
"You may take them off."
"Here?" she asked. "But I'd be naked and you'd see
me."
"Does the thought of me seeing you naked bother you,
Alex?"
"No. I mean, Yes. Oh, No. Yes. I don't know!" she
answered.
Grinning at her obvious discomfort, Damon pushed button
on the bottom of his desk and a door in the wall hissed
open. Behind it was a bathroom. "You may change in
there, Alex, if you wish to stay."
Grateful for the privacy, Alex slipped off her heavy
duty bra and her new pantyhose. She had been saving
this pair for a special occasion and now Mr. Smith was
upset with her. It seemed nothing was going right for
her today. Carrying her clothing she stepped back into
the room barefoot. He hadn't said anything about
shoes, either, and she just wanted to be safe.
Damon noticed the shoes in her hands. A very good
sign. He hadn't told her to wear them, but she looked
good barefoot. Primitive and innocent. Unspoiled.
Well, that was about to change.
He was pretty sure this woman was what she
claimed to be. Either that or the Feds had gotten a
lot better very fast. Still, he liked the challenge
Alex Wilson presented him. She was intelligent and
able to think, even when she thought he was upset with
her. Which he wasn't. In fact, he was extremely
pleased with her at the moment, but she would probably
never know that. He had found that it was best to keep
them guessing. That way he could stay in control. And
control was what it was all about.
He took the clothing she had removed and her shoes and,
folding the clothes neatly, placed them in a drawer in
his desk. The shoes were on the bottom, thoughtfully
placed there so as not to get the other cloths dirty.
Alex watched him handle her undergarments, still warm
from her body heat. He didn't show any of the usual
male phobias for touching the delicate garments, like
her and Harold did. Like most she knew, in
fact.
When he stood up and moved to her, her breath caught in
her throat. With only the slightest touch on her
elbow, he guided her over to the chair in front of the
screens.
"Dance for me, my Pet. Show me what you have learned."
This was what Alex had been dreading and hoping for all
at the same time. He had told her, whispering in her
ear, to watch the carefully and to practice them
at home. He had told her to stand in front of the
mirror, naked, and to move a sexily as she could, as
she would for him.
Her first awkward attempts in front of the bathroom
mirror had ended in tears. Her arms didn't move right
and her hips wouldn't wiggle that way. Besides, the
jiggling and bouncing of the other parts of her anatomy
aroused her too much and she usually ended up jerking
off on the cold tiles. But the dance for Harold had
been OK. At first, anyway, then he had lost interest.
Now Mr. Smith was waiting. Waiting to see her move.
Waiting for her sexy dance. Closing her eyes she tried
to imagine the in the videos. She managed to get
one hand motion sort of, but the other just flopped
around on the end of her arm. It wasn't a bad attempt,
but nothing like what she could see in her mind. Even
with all her practicing she felt clumsy
Suddenly, she felt him behind her, guiding her
movements. A touch here, a tug there and her arms and
hips were moving in a semi-coordinated manner. He was
whispering naughty things in her ear and she was wet
between her thighs.
When he moved away, she continued to dance for several
minutes, gently swaying with her eyes closed. She
could still smell his scent, hear his whisper, feel his
touch. Her heart pounding, she slowed and stopped
dancing, sweat beading up on her skin. When he had her
sit down, he made her lift her skirt up and sit bare-
assed on the hard chair. It was uncomfortable only in
that if felt funny, but she was glad he had suggested
it. She couldn't afford to dry clean her good dress
yet, much less this skirt, too.
This time he didn't use masking tape to tie her to the
chair. He used a light twine, almost a string. He had
her test it first to show her she could break it, but
again reminded her that if any of them broke she would
have to leave and not come back. He was doing this
protect himself and his business, he said.
Alex nodded her agreement, even though she didn't
follow his logic. She was impatient for the pictures
and the videos. She wanted to see more, to learn more.
She wasn't disappointed.
Damon had spent the last week preparing for her
continued education. Last week had been a slapdash
affair, thrown together at a moment's notice. He was
surprised at how effective that presentation apparently
had been, judging from her eagerness today. But from
now on, nothing would be left to chance. Every slide
had been reviewed and the insidiously progressive level
of debauchery was so gradual as to not be noticed. The
videos had been prepared, each step of the intricate
striptease dance routine presented in segments, easy to
learn, easy to practice on her own.
Alex didn't notice the room lights dimming,
accentuating the contrast of the screens. She couldn't
look away now. Her eyes were riveted to the glowing
images on the screen, one after another after another.
They were different this time, hardly in sequence at
all. Beautiful girls, hundreds of them, possibly.
The pictures of them touching each other came earlier
this time. There were more of them, too. And the
costumes they were wearing were more exotic. More
leather and shiny latex. More chrome chains and
buckles. More dildos and penetrations, once or twice
of the anus. It was just a tease. There were corseted
ladies and even a gag or two. Ropes and whips were
introduced towards the end, but just as a playful hint.
The first penis made its appearance in this session,
too. Damon grinned as he heard the audible gasp coming
from his mesmerized pupil as she viewed the model's
proud and hard cock. She would see many erections in
the coming weeks, all of them sizable, particularly
when compared with her husband's equipment. Soon she
would come to think of anything less than ten inches as
small. Harold's four inches would seem totally
inadequate.
The played continuously to one side, constantly
coaching her, teaching her. The dancing seemed simpler
this time, the movement clearer, the theme more erotic.
She could see now where one movement would flow into
the next or a different move could be inserted. The
help Mr. Smith had given her earlier had gotten her
started and she imagined in her mind the subtle and
graceful movement of her body. She could be sexy.
The now were not just dancing. Couples were in
them and doing things she had never imagined possible.
Nor had Harold suggested them. Exciting things,
arousing her. Soon she wasn't concerned with Harold
anymore, but only with the building need within her
loins.
Helping to boost her confidence and undermine any
resistance she might have later, Damon had carefully
planted messages. It was not just the
progressive nature of the photos and videos, but he
used subliminal messages as well. He had found that
simple commands worked best, mostly to obey her master,
but also commands defining her view of herself in a
subservient role, playing off the theme in an
increasing number of the pictures and videos. He had
picked up on her need to please her man. He was simply
instructing her that she was there to please him, a
message not far from the way she had been raised. It
just needed to be twisted a little. It wasn't hard.
At the end of six hours, Alex sat with glazed eyes,
watching a blank screen. Her mind still re-played the
vivid and exciting images she had seen. The chair was
soaked, even some of it running along her thighs and
dripping onto the floor. She was puzzled later that
she hadn't been more embarrassed with the mess she had
made.
The quiet little followed her home again, though
this time he stayed a little closer to her. Before, he
had been there to gather information. This time, he
was there to watch out for her, to make sure she got
home unmolested. She was rather vulnerable after these
sessions and would be until she had an identifiable
Master. She never noticed the quiet man, even though
he sat beside her twice.
Chapter 4
The next week was agony for Alex. All night Thursday
and all day Friday and Friday evening she had practiced
the moves she had learned. Over and over, stopping
only to frig herself off, which was happening with
increasing frequency. It was harder for her to make
herself come, too, as if she was building up a
tolerance to the feelings. She was still horny as
Hell, her nipples and clit sticking out even in sleep.
It amused her, sort of, but it was distracting.
Still, she worked hard. For Harold. Shit, who was she
kidding? She was only working this hard because of Mr.
Smith. She would have quit days ago if it was just
Harold.
When Harold came out of the shower Saturday morning, he
found he had no clothes to wear. She had taken them
all and them. Playfully, she sat him in one of
the kitchen table chairs and proceeded to give him what
she had learned was called a 'lap dance.' With her on
top, a first for her, and Harold, too, apparently, she
was more in control and he lasted for several minutes
before spraying his all over the inside of her
thighs. As he was still semi-erect, Alex tried to re-
insert him, but Harold pushed her off of him, dumping
her unceremoniously on the floor. Almost. She had
almost managed to come. She was elated. She was on
the right track.
Harold went out early Sunday morning, foregoing the
early Mass they had been attending together at the
neighborhood church. He didn't come back for Sunday
lunch and Alex carefully wrapped the expensive roast
she had prepared. When he came in he threw down some
betting slips and cursed her, as if it were her fault.
He had gone to the race track and had lost heavily.
The rent was due this week and Harold left Monday
morning without leaving any money for that or for
groceries.
Harold was in a poor mood when he came home on
Wednesday night. He had been passed over for the new
position. In fact, Jeremy Hobbs, the son-of-a-bitch,
had managed to take away his best clients as well as
snatching the job he had wanted. He was either going
to have to find more clients on his own for this
fucking company or go on part-time. The Goddamn
fucking ass-holes. Then, to top it off, Jeremy fucking
Hobbs had shown up in his favorite bar to celebrate, so
the bartender knew Harold hadn't gotten the new job he
had been bragging about. The jerk couldn't even find
his own bar, but had to take that away from him, too.
Then the fucking bartender had made him settle up his
tab, taking most of his fucking paycheck.
The final straw was his fucking wife, wanting to
fucking do it. Again. Well, he had showed her. He
had slapped the bitch a couple of times to shut her up,
then ripped off her fucking and thrown
her over the back of the couch. He was so drunk he was
going to last a long time tonight, he knew it.
Her sopping was so loose and sloppy he couldn't
get a good grip. her tiny asshole winking up at
him he pulled out and positioned his mighty cudgel at
the virgin entrance. It only took a thrust or two in
her dried orifice and he was finished, leaving her
sobbing on the hardwood floor. Best fuck he'd had out
of her yet. More than the bitch deserved. She hadn't
even made him his fucking dinner on time.
Alex had lain on the floor until she heard Harold
snoring. He had come home two hours late and drunk.
She had tried to keep his dinner warm, but had finally
given up. Excited to finally see him, she had been
playful, hoping to excite him. He had rebuffed her
advances at first, then had suddenly struck out and
slapped her. Hard, across the face.
On the one hand it had hurt, terribly, and the bruises
on her face would show for weeks. Mostly she had been
surprised by his violent reaction. On the other hand,
his roughness had sent a thrill through her, at first.
Even after he hit her and tossed her carelessly over
the couch, it hadn't been that bad. The anal intrusion
had burned a little, but when he had emptied himself in
her bowels she had with him. For the first time,
ever, with him. It that it was in anger.
What had more had been the words he had tossed at
her this morning. When he was sober. He didn't love
her. She was a burden to him. He was going to leave
her. In one ugly moment, her beautiful dreams of the
life she thought they were making together were
shattered. There could be no more delusions. There
was also no money on the table. The rent was due
tomorrow.
She lay there weeping after he had gone. It was as if
that part of her life was over. Dead. Just like Aunt
Shirley's and Uncle Roger's marriage. said they
only stayed together because no one else would fight
with them. It was a loveless relationship and painful
to watch, especially at Thanksgiving. It filled her
with dread to imagine her life like that.
It never entered her mind not to go to the club today.
To go to Mr. Smith. She would not have understood if
someone would have tried to explain to her that she was
simply replacing one for another. All she knew was
that she needed to see him. Mr. Smith.
Alex dressed in her blouse and skirt and went to the
club. The reassuring click of the ornate door as it
opened to welcome her almost made her cry. She
belonged here. She had her own code.
Silently she walked down the hall to the office. The
building was empty, but his deep voice called her into
his presence. She closed the door behind her. She was
trembling.
Damon wasn't surprise to see Alex show up. He would
have bet money on it and he hated to lose a bet. He
had a complete report from last night's activities. He
should have. He had arranged the whole thing, except
what happened in their shabby apartment. And thanks to
Harold, that had been predictable, as well.
It didn't surprise him that she was trembling. If he
wanted, he knew could fuck her right now. That wasn't
what he wanted. No, he wanted to control her, totally,
with her consent, then squeeze the life out of her, one
day at time, to use her up. Then toss away the empty
carcass. It wasn't anything personal. It was what
drove him, his internal demon. Some got off on
cars, or skydiving, or other thrills. He got off on
control. Life and death control.
He pushed the button to the bathroom and Alex went in
without being told and removed her undergarments and
shoes. She brought them back to him and he again took
obvious pleasure in touching her still warm clothing.
She didn't know it, but she was surrendering herself,
her will to him. Even her body heat and the fresh
moisture on her panties. Bit by bit, he would take
control from her.
She stood before him, her head bowed. Touching a
finger to her chin, he tilted her face to the harsh
light from his desk lamp as he had before. This time
her face wasn't perfect. The swelling had gone down a
bit, but the discoloration had started. Without makeup
the bruises were very visible. Harold had backhanded
her across the cheekbone and most of the damage was
from that. Damon was sorry she had been hurt, but it
had been one of the risks he had to take to break her
emotional bond with her husband.
He had learned a lot about this woman. Divorce didn't
seem to be an option in her family. He couldn't find
one dissolved marriage ever, and he had looked a long
way back. Loveless marriages, yes, but no divorces.
So she was used to total and irrevocable commitment in
relationships, exactly the kind of commitment he wanted
from her, but in a slightly different type of
relationship.
What would surprise him would be if Alex asked him for
money today. He knew about the rent being due and that
Harold didn't leave any money. Harold didn't have any
money to leave and was already borrowing at the race
track. Yes, he had learned a lot about this intriguing
woman in the last few weeks. Other women would have
prostituted themselves for the money in a heartbeat,
but he didn't think she would even have considered it.
When she danced for him today, he stood close behind
her and let her feel his excitement. She cried as he
pressed himself against her moving buttocks, but she
kept up the dance. She was doing much better and in
the next couple of weeks would proceed to actually
removing her clothing. Damon found he was looking
forward to that.
He tied her into the chair this time with wide Velco
straps. There was no pretense of her getting loose on
her own. The game was now serious and they both knew
it. When he tightened the last strap around her chest
she looked up and him.
"Thank you," she said simply, a final tear falling down
her cheek.
Nodding understandingly he took a small rubber ball
from his pocket.
"Open your mouth please, Alex."
She did. He pressed the ball behind her teeth. It was
not a tight fit, but it was large enough so that she
would not be in danger of swallowing the ball. It was
also large enough to show the material of the ball
between her teeth and the bright color leapt out at
him.
"You look pretty tied up and gagged, Alex. Do you
enjoy it as much as I do?" he asked her. He had knelt
down beside her.
Her green eyes were shining brightly as she vigorously
nodded her assent. He leaned over to her and she
tilted her head towards him. He kissed her forehead
and felt the tremors passing through the bound girl.
"If you wish to quit today, simply spit out the ball.
I know you are in pain, but I would really like you to
get through this for me." God, he was good. She
wouldn't leave now if he pulled out her fingernails.
He knew. He'd done that once.
The pictures started, and with no fear of breaking the
bonds, Alex let herself go. She worked her butt on the
chair as much as she could and forced her nipples up
and down against the rough cloth of her blouse,
straining for even the slightest amount of stimulation.
She grunted and groaned, the sweat soon soaking her
blouse and making it transparent.
Damon sat where she could see him, perched on the edge
of the console. Her attention was riveted to the
screens for the most part, but when her breathing would
turn ragged and her body would shudder, she would focus
on him.
She was progressing nicely, he thought.
Alex found the envelope on her kitchen table when she
got home that evening. The rent money was inside and
even a little extra. Harold must have felt guilty,
come back and left if for her. She felt a twinge of
guilt, too, about visiting the club today, but not
enough to change her mind about going back again. And
again.
Harold had made his decision, too. Alex could still
see the evidence of it every time she looked in the
mirror.
Being called into the boss's office on a Friday night
had never been a happy experience for Harold. He
already had his cubicle cleaned out and packed into
boxes, the stolen office supplies at the bottom
of the cartons, before he stepped into the fucking
asshole's office at five minutes before 5:00. He
walked out two minutes later in a daze.
A promotion! A temporary transfer to a company
and in another state. But a Goddamn, shit-eating
promotion. Finally, those fucking assholes had
recognized his talent, if not his genius.
Harold celebrated heavily before arriving home that
night. Alex sat quietly at the dinner table waiting
for him to come back out from the bedroom and his
shower, but Harold had fallen asleep cross-wise on the
bed not leaving any room for her. Alex slept on the
couch.
The next two days were a whirlwind of packing and
buying new clothes for Harold on credit. Credit they
didn't have, as near as Alex could tell. Harold kept
referring to a new promotion or something, so Alex
finally quit asking. She didn't quit worrying. Sunday
night Harold packed all his belongings into the back of
his Chevy and left for his temporary assignment. He
would be gone a month, then he would be back for a
brief meeting, then he would be gone another month.
He never made arrangements to send her any money.
Worse, he seemed to have forgotten about their
anniversary coming up. Their first.
In the silence of their now half-empty apartment, the
only sounds were those of tears falling onto the
cracked linoleum floor. Alex wept bitterly at the loss
of her hopes and her dreams. She had been abandoned.
But she was not alone nor was she defeated.
Tuesday morning, Alex dried her tears and never looked
back. Harold was gone. She had to survive. She
needed money. She needed a job.
In a very organized and systematic fashion Alex began
to canvas the local merchants. First in the immediate
neighborhood, then in increasingly greater distances
from her apartment. Amazingly, she found nothing. She
would probably have not been so amazed if she had
noticed the quiet little who followed her into each
store and had a few quiet words with the management.
No one called her with a job.
Two weeks later, on a Friday afternoon, exhausted from
her fruitless job search, she discovered an envelope
shoved under the door of her apartment on her return.
There was no postage on the envelope and no return
address. Just her name. Inside was a wad of cash with
a note from a stranger to the effect that this was
Harold's per diem money that he had forgotten to pick
up. It was enough to pay the rent for several months
and to pay off all the credit charges Harold had run
up. First, she cried. The she went out and
immediately paid off all the stores where they owed
money. She felt no need to tell Harold about the
money.
Back in her apartment, freed from the immediate
necessity to earn money, Alex realized she had not gone
to the club for a long time. She had not seen Mr.
Smith this week or last and she felt a pang of regret.
More than that. She felt a pang lower down, between
her thighs. With a sudden start, it dawned on her that
thinking of the mysterious Mr. Smith made her horny and
happy! She laughed for the first time in two weeks.
It felt good. Better, she decided to go to the club.
She needed to see him. Desperately.
Without stopping to plan what she was going to do, she
grabbed her coat and headed for the bus stop. She
caught the bus, transferred downtown and in the
gathering gloom of twilight arrived at the deserted
doorway of the club.
Damon had set the security system to notify him
whenever Alex' code was entered. The pager went off
just as he was finishing a telephone call. He was very
satisfied with the way things were working out, and
Alex' arrival couldn't have been timed more perfectly.
She entered his office at his brusque command.
"I missed you this last two weeks, Alex," he stated.
"Were you too busy for me?"
"Yes. Uhm, no."
"Alex?"
"Yes?"
"Say 'Sir.' For now, you should always address me as
'Sir.' Do you understand?"
She looked at him, her eyes wide, brimming with tears.
"Yes. Uh, Sir."
"Does that upset you, Alex?"
"Oh, no, Sir!"
"Then why the tears?"
"I'm so happy, Sir. And a little afraid, too, I guess.
Sir."
"That's good, my Pet. You should always be a little
afraid," he said with a sad smile. He looked at her
clothing. She had not thought about coming here for a
session, only to be with him, but she was still wearing
the blouse and skirt. And undergarments.
"You may change in the bathroom, Alex," he said
dismissively. He pressed the button under his desk and
the door hissed open.
"But --," she began, then stopped as he looked up at
her sharply, daring her to continue. She headed for
the bathroom.
"And Alex?"
She turned just at the door. "Yes, Sir?"
"You may leave your blouse unbuttoned when you return."
He turned to some papers on his desk, leaving the wide-
eyed to make her own decision.
It was several minutes later when a trembling figure
stood beside his desk, her head down. She was
frightened, but there were no tears. Damon finished
reading the memo, signed the appropriate line on a
contract, signed off his computer and cleaned up his
desk, putting all the sensitive material in a locked
drawer. Standing, he perched himself on one butt cheek
on the edge of his desk in front of the silent girl.
Silently he took the clothing and shoes from her hands
and went through the ritual they had established in the
sessions prior. The neatly folded garments were put
away in the drawer. The silence weighed heavily in the
room.
"I missed you, Alex."
"Yather." Her head was so far down she was mumbling.
Damon took a finger and placed it under her chin and
raised it up until her eyes met his. She hadn't
flinched when he touched her. Her bruises were faded,
a memory. She didn't look away now.
"What did you say?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Were you busy?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Too busy to see me?" He let a note of exasperation
creep into his voice. Actually, he was very pleased
she had not rushed to him, begging for money or a job.
And he enjoyed making her squirm. She did it so
nicely.
"I was looking for work, Sir."
"Oh." He was silent for several seconds, as if he was
thinking. "Did you find a job?"
"No, Sir."
"So, is that why you're here? You need work? Money?"
He threw the accusation at her, knowing it was false.
A horrified look crossed Alex' face. "Oh, NO, Sir!"
She looked at him, pleading with her eyes for him to
understand that that was never her intention. Her near
nudity was forgotten. "I should go, Sir," she said
finally.
He let her get almost to the door.
"How will you get home?"
"Sir?" she asked, turning back to him.
"The last bus left ten minutes ago. There won't be
another one until 5:30 tomorrow morning."
It didn't surprise her that he knew she took the bus.
She just stood there, defeated. It wasn't too far to
walk. She had grown up in the country and had walked
farther than that many times. But not through a dark
and dangerous city. Not a pretty alone.
"Should I call you a taxi, Alex?" His hand was on the
telephone.
"No, Sir. I can't afford a taxi. Sir." She didn't
even think of asking him for cab fare. Damon smiled.
"Well, then. I guess I could take you home after work
if you like. You did want to see what we did here,
right?" Tonight a special group had reserved the club.
It would be an eye-opener for the innocent as well
as establish some other precedents. "What do you say
to that?"
Alex' eyes were wide with excitement. Her feelings
were reeling from the emotional whiplash Mr. Smith had
just put her through, but right now she was elated.
"Oh, yes, Sir. That would be wonderful. Sir."
"Well, then. Let's get you ready, shall we?" He
pulled the questioning into the bathroom. With
practiced skill he gathered her luxurious hair into
several bundles behind her head. In short order, he
had plaited her hair into an attractive braid that
fell, perfectly centered down the back of her neck.
After the first moments of uncertainty, Alex relaxed as
she felt his knowing hands working on her hair. More
than anything that had happened between them before,
this quiet moment cemented her trust in this strange
and wonderful man. This who was perfectly
comfortable with women's undergarments and had the
skill of a hairdresser. Yet there was no doubt at all
in Alex' mind that this was all man, especially if
that was what she thought it was pressing into her
back.
She shifted slightly, edging back into Mr. Smith and
watched him smile briefly at her in the mirror.
Blushing, she saw she had been caught. But she didn't
pull away. Neither did he.
"Tonight is a special party," he said as he finished
her hair. "There will be some women there, but it
wouldn't be safe for you to be out there on your own.
Sometimes the people at these parties get a little
carried away and it gets a little rough. So, what
we'll do is make sure that everyone knows you are
spoken for, OK?"
Alex nodded. She hadn't moved from her spot in front
of him, her back was pressed against his abdomen. She
could feel his swelling. It took her breath away. Mr.
Smith let her stand there until she began to grind her
hips against his groin. He pulled back just a bit and
she let out an unintended moan.
Taking both her shoulders in his strong hands he guided
her back into the office. From a drawer in his desk he
took several items and laid them out for her
inspection. She tentatively reached out her hand and
traced their gleaming surfaces with the tips of her
fingers.
"For me, Sir?" she asked him.
"Yes. Do they frighten you?"
"Will you be with me while I am wearing them, Sir?"
"Yes."
"It will please you for me to wear them, Sir?"
"Yes."
"Then I will wear them. But, Sir?
"Yes?"
"They do frighten me. Sir."
Damon laughed a deep booming laugh. He enjoyed this
woman. She surprised him and pleased him. That was
rare. He saw her looking up at him, a worried look on
her face. "Don't be alarmed, my Pet. You will never
leave my side tonight. You will be perfectly safe."
Taking the heavy steel handcuffs off the desk he
stepped behind Alex. She gave him her hands without
hesitation.
"Are they too tight?" he asked.
Alex stood there, working her shoulders and arms,
testing the strength of her bonds. She wasn't
struggling, trying to escape, but simply pulling her
arms this way and that. Her face was a study in
concentration. He watched her for a while.
"Alex? Are they too tight?"
The expression on her face was priceless as she looked
up at him.
"I - uh, I'm - " She started, then stopped. She just
looked perplexed.
"Are they too tight? Do they hurt?" Damon was
beginning to get worried and stepped behind her to
check.
"No, Sir," she answered. "They don't hurt. But I
don't know if they are too tight. I'm sorry, Sir, but
I have never worn them before. I don't know how they
are supposed to fit. But, no, they don't hurt."
He gave a short guffaw, followed by a longer laugh. He
laughed so hard that he had to sit down in his chair.
"Did I say something wrong, Sir?"
Drying his eyes with his fingers he looked up at her
and gave her a warm smile. "No, my Pet. But thank you
for reminding me just how much I have to take care of
you. I will try to explain everything that happens
tonight so that you will know what is going on. Some
things that I take for granted will seem very strange
to you. I don't want you to be frightened."
He picked up a collar. Stepping behind her he
fastened it snuggly behind her neck. It locked on and
he pocketed the key. He attached a chrome leash to the
D-ring in the front and let it hang down between her
breasts. The cold metal raised goose bumps on the bare
flesh.
That left one piece of equipment left on the table. He
picked it up and held it for her to see.
"Do you know what this is?"
She looked at it closely. "Do you whip me with it?"
He grinned. "No. But if you forget to call me 'Sir'
again, I will whip you, Alex."
"Yes, Sir. No, Sir. I don't know what it is for."
He stood up and held it up to her mouth. "The ball
goes in your mouth. The straps are tied behind your
head to keep it in. At some point tonight you will
wear it."
"Yes, Sir." Alex continued to look at the ballgag.
"It is very large, Sir. Why must I wear it? Have I
displeased you, Sir?"
Damon smiled down at his nubile pupil affectionately.
"You will wear it because it pleases me to see you
wearing it. I told you that you are beautiful when you
are bound and gagged, remember? Do you need another
reason?"
"Oh, no, Sir! Would you like me to wear it now?
Please, Sir?"
"No, not now. Don't be too eager, my Pet. There will
be a certain discomfort involved. It is a big ball."
He slipped the ballgag into his jacket pocket.
He stood looking at her. She met his gaze, not
wavering from his eyes even as his hands reached
towards her and opened her unbuttoned blouse. The
spread halves of the exposed her naked to
his gaze for the first time. Tearing his eyes from her
sparkling green ones he allowed his dark ones to feast
on the unblemished vista. Alex closed her eyes, her
breathing rapid and shallow.
She moaned and shook with a small climax as his thumbs
lightly caressed her twin nipples.
"Perfect," he said to no one in particular.
Then, with just that simple caress, he took the tails
of her and knotted them firmly under her tits.
The cut of her with her arms bound behind her and
the adequate size and firmness of her made the
opening gap widely, leaving ready visual access to her
charms.
He stood and studied her for a moment.
"I like it," he said. "It's a good look for you."
"You'll get a good look, too, Sir, as will everyone
else," she quipped back. She had to look down her nose
to see what everyone else would be able to see.
"Does that bother you, Alex?"
"No, Sir. The question is, Does it bother you, Sir?"
He laughed happily this time at her remark and, in
answer, picked up her leash and slipped it over his
wrist.
With a gentle tug he led her out into the club.
Chapter 5
The first person Alex saw when they entered the club
was a huge standing by the door. True, there were
only the various staff people in the bar areas getting
ready for the evening shift, but this would have
stood out in a crowded room. He almost seven feet tall
and stood solidly on his feet as if he was a part of
the building, yet Alex got the impression he was
capable of explosive and lethal speed. As they got
closer to him, she could see the reflections of the
various spotlights in the smooth and shiny skin that
covered his head. His upper arms were the size of
trees, thicker than Alex' thighs. He seemed to be
naked, but she realized that his skin color was so
black that in the dim light of the bar, she could only
make out the transition between the black leather
clothing he was wearing and his bare skin when she was
almost standing right next to him. He was wearing a
black leather vest and black leather pants that seemed
to be painted on his lower extremities. His broad
chest was smooth, hairless and gleaming in the dim
light.
Mr. Smith was leading her directly toward this mountain
of Nubian muscle. The solemnly observed their
progress across the club, his eyes flicking between the
two of them and the various activities around the club.
There was a hands-free communications device in his ear
and he spoke softly into the mike as they approached.
Alex' eyes widened continuously as they neared, her
head tilting further and further back to be able to
look into his handsome face.
"Alvin, I'd like to introduce Alex to you. She will be
with me this evening. I want you to keep an eye out
for her. Alex, Alvin," said Mr. Smith, completing the
brief introduction.
"Hello, Alvin," said Alex, grinning up at the face
towering above her.
"Hello," came a deep growl in return. He flashed her
an ear-to-ear grin, his white teeth dazzling against
his dark skin.
Alex gave a spontaneous and hearty laugh when she saw
his smile. Alvin had a gleaming gold front tooth. A
sudden flash of brilliant rainbow colors indicated that
he had a diamond set in the gold. It stuck her that
this huge bouncer had done that as a joke, something so
clich‚ as to be beyond stereotypical. His laughing
eyes caught hers and a look of silent understanding
passed between them. They had said three words to each
other, yet there was a connection.
Mr. Smith frowned at her, stifling her sudden outburst,
and began going over the myriad details necessary to
run a successful bar. It was soon obvious to Alex that
Alvin was more than a bouncer who watched the door. He
controlled the whole club for Mr. Smith. The
professional respect they had for each was obvious.
Alex didn't understand very much of what they were
saying, but she could follow the tenor of the
conversation. She thought it was interesting that they
respected each other, but didn't seem to like each
other very much.
As they parted, Alex looked up at him and said, "It was
nice to meet you, Alvin."
"The pleasure was mine, Miss Alex," rumbled from the
smiling man.
Turning to follow Mr. Smith, who had tugged gently on
her leash to remind her of it, she waved 'Good-bye'
with her hands that were cuffed behind her back. A
quick smile over shoulder and she followed Mr. Smith
into the bowels of the club. She didn't see the smile
fade on Alvin's face to be replaced by a look of
thoughtful refection. It was a dangerous look on
someone as potentially menacing as Alvin was. Then the
first of the guests began arriving and the big turned to his tasks.
Mr. Smith led her around the club. It was bigger than
she had imagined at first, with several areas that
could be closed off for smaller private affairs.
Tonight, they were all open, each area with its own bar
and staff. In the main part of the bar was a dance
floor. The edge of a stage was visible behind a heavy
black curtain, closed for the evening. A four-foot
wide section in the center could be extended out into
the crowd area creating a short runway. A dancer at
the end of the extended runway would be in the center
of the bar area, surrounded by the crowd.
There were smaller stages in most of the other sections
of the club and odd looking equipment being assembled
on them. Mr. Smith explained what each piece of
equipment did and demonstrated some of them for her.
She put her head in the neck of a set of stocks
and he lowered the top bar. She was totally restrained
by the device and a thrilling shiver ran through her
body.
Next Mr. Smith showed her a simple hook hanging from
the ceiling. He slipped the hook over the short link
of her handcuffs and pressed a button on the floor with
his foot. The hook rose up slowly, forcing her arms up
and her body down. He left her dancing on her bare
feet, walking around her wiggling form. She followed
him with her eyes, watching his face as he looked at
her in this awkward position. His obvious satisfaction
with her sent yet another thrill through her body.
Mr. Smith uncuffed her and introduced her to the St.
Andrew's cross, the Swedish and several other
mind-boggling devices of restraint. Mr. Smith strapped
her onto a large wheel and spun her around a couple of
times. They laughed as her fell out of her wide
open blouse that had come untied as she whirled around.
Although she was not handcuffed when he released her
from the wheel, she didn't try to cover herself. Mr.
Smith replaced her handcuffs first, then re-tied the
blouse. Each new device sent shivers of excitement
through Alex until she was literally quivering. Had
Mr. Smith touched her in the slightest, she knew she
would have swooned. After screaming in a tremendous
sexual climax.
There were other devices, not so much for restraining,
but for inflicting pain. Mr. Smith seemed to take
particular pleasure in detailing the effects of each of
these implements. There were large needles he said
were used not only for piercing holes for jewelry, but
also for inserting into various parts of the body, such
as breasts, cheeks, lips (both upper and lower), the
penis and large muscles. There was a generous supply
of disinfectant, and the needles were all gleaming and
new.
Another section had a sturdy wooden device and a
brazier that was glowing with hot coals. Mr. Smith
leaned Alex backwards over the wooden bars and used two
thick leather straps across her stomach and chest to
hold her down tight. Two more straps at her widely
spread feet completed her restraint. He explained that
this was where slaves were branded, where they received
their Master's marks. It wasn't allowed to disfigure
the slave, at least, here in the club. He told her
that several slaves had consented to be marked tonight.
With her still strapped to the wooden trellis, he stood
there looking at her silently, the only noise in the
room the white-hot hiss of the coals. Alex' breath
caught in her throat and a series of shudders convulsed
through her. A low moan escaped her throat. Mr.
Smith, watching her, smiled.
"Did you like Alvin, my Pet?" he asked her innocently.
Even in the aroused state she was in, Alex knew a
loaded question when she heard one. She decided the
only answer was the truth.
"Yes, Sir. He is very big."
"Why did you laugh?"
He didn't need to tell her what he was referring to.
He had noticed the instant bond between them and it had
bothered him. She stuck with the truth.
"He has a gold tooth with a diamond. It makes him look
evil. But he's not. Sir"
Damon had moved up between her wide spread legs. She
was breathing hard through her nose, her eyes wide. He
ran a finger up under her skirt and touched her patch of pubic hair.
"You got all that, did you? Well, I suppose woman's
intuition can be wrong on occasion. I happen to know
Alvin is a very bad man. I'm not sure I trust him
completely, but for now you will do everything he tells
you, do you understand? Or you could be very
badly."
"Yes, Sir."
He let his finger slip down along her moist furrow.
"You're married, aren't you Alex?" he asked, suddenly
changing the subject.
She groaned from his touch. She squirmed in the
bondage, trying to make more contact with his roaming
finger.
"Yyyyeesss, Ssssir," she hissed.
"So I suppose you're not a virgin here anymore, right?"
His finger slipped in to the second knuckle and she
shrieked and shuddered in a hard and fast orgasm.
"N-n-nnnno, Sir ---- OH God!" she shouted, as his slick
finger slid down and probed her nether hole.
"What about here, Alex?"
"N-n-no, Sir. Oh, please don't take it out, Sir."
"So your husband managed to take you ass, yes?"
"Ooooohhh, Yes, Sir. Once. Only once. Oh, more,
please. Sir!"
"And you liked it when he butt-fucked you?"
"Uhhhhhh. No, Sir. It me a lot. Sir."
"I think you did like it, Pet. Tell me, did you when he was in your ass?"
Lost in the wonderful feelings of his huge finger in
her ass and shamed beyond answering as she remembered
that fateful day, she was silent.
"Alex?" Damon jammed the finger completely up inside
her ass. She grunted, but didn't cry out.
"Yyess, Sir. I came. Sir.
"So, you have no more virginities to give to me,
right?"
"Yes, Sir. I mean, No, Sir."
"Well, which is it?"
"My mouth, Sir. He never used my mouth."
Damon's eyebrows rose in sudden interest. Now this was
news.
"But, surely, your boyfriends in high school...?"
"No, Sir. Never, Sir."
Pulling his finger from her rectum, he held it up to
her mouth. Without hesitation she opened her mouth and
sucked in his stinking finger, cleaning her fluids and
her feces from his finger.
"Well, then. I want your mouth first, Alex," he said
quietly, more to himself than to her.
He took the ballgag out of his pocket and held it up to
her mouth. She opened it and accepted the large ball.
It forced her mouth wide open and then kept it there.
He tied the two ends behind her neck. Screaming into
the gag, she orgasmed.
Alex didn't remember much of the rest of the tour. She
walked obediently behind him on her leash through the
growing crowd as he continued to demonstrate to her
some of the implements of torture and pain throughout
the rest of the extensive labyrinth. Each device that
was strapped on her head, fitted to her bared breasts,
or otherwise demonstrated simply increased the
throbbing need she was feeling. Being this close to
this powerful man, being teased by the handcuffs and
the leash and teased even more by the carefully
orchestrated demonstrations was like torturing a
starving with the odor of fresh-baked bread.
Everything she saw, everything Mr. Smith did aroused
her as she had never been aroused before. At some
point she stopped being aware of anything but her body
and its sexual needs.
As the rooms started filling up with more and more
people, Damon withdrew to a quiet section of the club,
his own private table. From here he could observe the
crowd of outlandishly dressed people. Some he
recognized as regulars. Some were even serious about
the bondage scene and were known to him not only by
name and sight, but by their level of skill. These
were all Doms. He didn't waste his time getting to
know Subs. They didn't last long enough, as a general
rule.
Those who knew him smiled knowingly and nodded to him
as they saw Alex kneeling next to him. They recognized
the hyper-aroused state she was in, a novice
overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and feelings of the
scene. No one who saw the state she was in would
approach him, not if they wanted to live. They knew
the sensitive nature of training a new sub, and this
one was obviously brand new. They also knew the club
owner as vicious and ruthless when crossed. His hand
caressing the neck of this sub was an obvious sign of
his possession of the sub. Discretion being the better
part of valor, they stayed away tonight.
One of the bar staff approached his table and quietly
whispered in Damon's ear. A telephone call for him.
Urgent. He had left instructions.
Cursing to himself, Damon urged the to her feet.
She had been rocking back and forth, shudders passing
through her body continuously now. She wouldn't notice
his short absence, and he could park her over in the
holding area where Alvin could keep an eye on her.
Alex stumbled after him on rubbery legs. It felt good
to get up off her knees, but the fluids running from
her core were now dripping down below the level of her
skirt. Mr. Smith took her over to a better lighted
area near the entrance. At eye-level in the wall there
were several hooks spaced about every three feet where
Doms could safely park their Subs and get a drink or go
to the restrooms or whatever. It was a safe area, well
lit and everyone knew that if it wasn't yours you
didn't take it.
He looped her leash through one of them of the hooks.
He allowed enough slack for her to get back on her
knees. He whispered in her ear that he would be right
back and that Alvin would watch her until he returned.
He wasn't sure she had understood him. He spoke to
Alvin, who had seen him coming, and hurried to his
office.
Alvin saw the state Alex was in and smiled. It wasn't
a sad or sadistic smile, but one of recognition of what
she was feeling. He had seen it before. As he watched
her kneeing and rocking, he moved the other slaves
parked there away from her. It was a sign of his
respect and admiration of her ability to achieve this
level of arousal and he didn't want anything to
infringe upon her experience.
The telephone call lasted longer than expected and soon
Alex was kneeling alone in the holding pen. She was
still oblivious to most of what was going on around
her.
A sudden beep in the earpiece Alvin was wearing,
followed by a terse message alerted him to an over-
riding danger to the club and its patrons. A slave had
broken free in the marking room and accidentally kicked
over the brazier with the hot coals. Without a second
thought, Alvin was racing towards the area, a fire
extinguisher and First Aid kit in his mammoth hands.
The crisis over, he returned to his post a few minutes
later. No damage to the club and only a few minor
burns. The bartender was handing out free drinks for
the next ten minutes. Everything should be fine.
A glance at the telephone showed the line for the
boss's office was still lit. He was still on that
important call. Alvin turned to check on the holding
pen and froze. It was empty.
Miss Alex was gone!
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I hope you enjoyed it.... <g>
All my published works are archived and can be
read or downloaded free. The archive is located
at:
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/NightShade
Comments to: i_m_nightshade@hotmail.com
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