Tuesday, June 24, 2008


The feel of her nipple between his teeth, throbbing and swollen, the way which his mouth fastened around the pale areola and the soft sweet suckling made his prick ache. Her skin was so incredibly soft, silky yet warm and alive beneath the tight prison of his mouth, while the soft warm weight of her other breast in his right hand provided an almost unbearable overload of sensory input. Reflectively, he squeezed the small, plump handful and his prick quivered as he heard her small intake of breath. His eyes glazed, he released the nipple, and rolled back slightly to look at her.

She lay, green eyes slitted, full of a heat which promised and made things deep within him, tighten. Her arms were raised above her head, cuffs secured to a long chain attached to a hook in the ceiling, her long pale body open to his gaze. The deep red of her hair tumbled on the pillows behind her, curling in wild abandon, sparking crimson in the muted light, one long curl lying against the straining neck, its deep rich colour shimmering against the pale white skin. Her breasts gleamed, the nipples swollen and erect, a deep ruby, glistening from his mouth. The swell of rib swept down to the narrow hips, the sweet, mouth watering plumpness of her mons veneris, skin as soft and silky as elsewhere. The long shapely legs were spread sluttily and his eyes grew hot as he saw the sweet pouting lips, a duskier, pinker hue than the pale flesh surrounding them, the silver rings gleaming. Her eyes widened and moaning, she spread her legs wider and thrust her groin at him. Even from this angle, he could see her arousal, the inside of the firm thighs wet with her excitement. Unable to resist, he reached between the straining thighs and pushed one finger, slowly, carefully, up the swollen, glistening cunt, sighing as she seemed to suck him in, her warm engorged folds enfolding and tightening around the invading digit.

Pushing against her, he watched her face as he thrust his engorged prick against the skin of her hip, trailing viscous transparent fluid which left a glistening trail along the jut of her pelvis while he pushed a second finger deep inside her. She groaned and tried to move against him, her arms trembling.

Sighing, he pulled out his fingers and watching her, brought them to his mouth. He took a deep breath, drinking in the tart, piquant scent of her and then slowly, luxuriously, licked the glistening thickness of her arousal, his tongue curling around each digit and pulling in the hot, earthy taste of swollen cunt.

Rolling to his knees, he suddenly pushed between the straddled legs and braced himself over her, causing her to jump, her breath coming fast. His eyes bored into hers, heat meeting heat, searching the green of her eyes until her face flushed and her body quivered between his arms. Moving slightly, he wiggled his hips and smiled as she tore her gaze from his and looked down between their bodies, her eyes widening and frantic as she took in the red swollen cock trembling between her spread thighs.

Her long, supple legs swept around his calves and while her upper body twisted between his quivering arms on either side of her, she thrust her groin up, trying to push herself onto the delicious, swollen cock, climbing his calves, then his hips until he could feel the hot wetness of her open against him.

He flexed his legs slightly, making her lose her grip and laughed below his breath at her moan of frustration as her legs fell back against the mattress. Arching her back, she mutely offered him her quivering breasts, nipples engorged and swollen.

His eyes bored into hers, his hot green gaze searing lust into her eyes. Bracing himself, he teasingly lowered his hips, pushing the slippery rounded tip of himself against the opening. Mewling, she tried to push onto the long, thick hardness throbbing so frustratingly close between her spread thighs but her range of motion was severely restricted by the rope.

Slowly, almost painfully so, his hips flexed and began to push into her swollen, deep crimson folds and she sighed … her eyes closing as the hot hard length being to sink into her, pushing aside the clinging, moist flesh, her inner muscles tightening and pulling, her stomach tightening as deep inside her she felt the pulse of him as if her very skin could take him in.

Suddenly he was gone, the rich hot full feeling empty, and her eyes snapped open at the loss. Her shoulders flexed as she pulled herself up, her gaze going to him where he sat back against his heels. His prick rose turgid and swollen against his belly, a throbbing column of pale flesh, flushed with blood, its purple tip glistening with her own secretions. Beneath its heavy length, his balls, smooth and tight against his groin hung like succulent fruit.

She watched him mutely, only her eyes begging; smiling, he pushed himself up and crawling, began to move towards her, his body hot over the feverish flesh of her legs and belly. Eyes glued to the bobbing prick between his spread legs, she held her breath, anticipation suddenly making her groin tighten and pulse, and a sudden gush of moisture trickled from her swollen cunt to run glistening down her pale thighs.

Then he was there, right in front of her face. His knees straddled her against the jut of rib, pressing tight against the stretched underarm, his chest rising above her as he braced himself against the headboard, his prick trembling, its smooth shaft engorged and throbbing, right in front of her lips. Straining her neck, ignoring the ache in her suspend shoulders, she extended her pink tongue, trying to lick his cock.

His prick was long and thick, its normally pale delicate skin, engorged with his arousal, flushing pink while the rounded, purplish tip strained from the foreskin which had retracted to form a collar of scrumptious flesh just below its swollen, winking tip. She watched as a droplet of clear fluid welled up at the opening of his cock, the slit gaping slightly and then slowly trickled out, forming a glistening rivulet down the pulsing member.

Her mouth literally watered; she wanted that hard length in her mouth. She craved the thick cock pushing down her throat, the hot, tart taste of him, slippery and damp, the hard muscle beneath that incredibly delicate skin.

Her nostrils flared as she breathed in his scent, her eyes fluttering as unconsciously she made small sounds of want.

Leaning slightly, he steadied himself against the headboard and looking down, slowly pushed his cock toward the eager mouth until, sighing, he sank deep into the moist prison. The slight, almost imperceptible scrape of her teeth against the sensitive skin of his prick only added to his arousal and his breath hitched as he watched his cock stretch the small lips, finding it unbelievably erotic to see her expression, pained as her mouth widened to the point of pain as she fought to accommodate the swollen member, her lips curling under as she tried to cover her teeth.

He felt the spongy tip of his cock push against the back of her throat and grinned as he heard her gag then take in deep breaths through her nose, swallowing the reflex, forcing herself to relax, to push the urge to vomit back.

For a moment, he paused then his hips moved and there was a slight popping sound as he pulled his prick out, trailing a glistening string of saliva. She gulped a great breath of air, her eyes watering but glued to his throbbing prick. Before she could expel her breath he thrust back in, but she was prepared and breathing through her nose, her mouth fastened over him and welcomed the intrusion.

Keeping his eyes glued to the unbelievably erotic sight of his cock appearing and disappearing in that delicious mouth, he fucked her methodically and thoroughly. Reaching down with one hand, keeping the other braced for balance, he tangled his fingers in the tumbled hair, tightening his grip until the roots were knotted around his fingers.

Rhythmically, as he fucked the straining mouth, he pulled and her tears wetted and then spilled over as she felt the sting of her scalp. The feel of him, the smell of him, the hot wicked pain in her scalp all combined and she felt herself throbbing and swollen and open and moaned around her delicious mouthful of velvet prick.

Suddenly, he pulled back and she cried out, ignoring the sharp sting as she pulled away from his tangled fingers and tried to capture the glistening cock yet again in her mouth.

Sitting back slightly on his haunches, he watched her as she fought to contain herself, patient until her eyes, glazed and hot, had quietened, until the body imprisoned between his legs was still. She looked up at him, silent but her eyes begging. Smiling, he watched her as he reached between his legs and cupped the tight balls, cupping his palm and rolling them slightly, his prick bobbing, wet from a combination of her saliva and his own secretions which now dribbled in a sticky, slippery trail of pre-cum, coating the spongy, swollen head of his prick.

Then fastening his hand around his cock, he began to methodically masturbate, pulling the skin up and down the velvet muscled thickness, the sound of liquid squishing up as the foreskin covered the head loud in the silent room. Her eyes left his as if compelled and fastened on the sight of his working hand. Unaware of it, her pink tongue flicked out and licked her lips which were dry.

He sat back and liked the feel of her soft breasts against his buttocks and the feel of her against his dangling swollen balls.

Periodically, he would pause, and reaching back, thrust his fingers into the swollen cunt, throbbing and needy and wiggling, enjoyed the wet, slippery feel of her lust. He would push them in and out for a couple of seconds, then raising his glistening fingers to his nose would breathe her in and then take his cock in hand and begin pulling himself yet again.
Her eyes, glazed now with need and hot with a desire that left her tight and hot and wanting deep inside, were glued to his bobbing groin. She watched as his balls seemed to swell even further, the delicate skin tightening and then were pulled up tight between his legs.

He moved forward now, his hand more frantic, his breath harsh and unable to stop, her hips undulated and pushed against his spread legs, desperate for touch, her clit feeling almost painfully swollen, as if it would explode if even breathed upon.

His cock was deep crimson now, glistening in the muted light and the sound of the squishing, wet slithering of his hand pulling at it was unbelievably arousing. His hips moved in rhythm to his hand and he was there, right in front of her, close up. She made small mewling sounds unconsciously as she watched him pull and tug at his cock, knowing, wanting, needing what was coming, loving the hot swollen look of the head, purple and engorged.

Suddenly she heard his breath expel in a moan. Time seemed suspended as she watched his cock swell even further, the winking slit suddenly gaping and a hot stream of ejaculate erupted in a pale stream to drop onto her cheek, a hot glob trailing down the pale surface. Before she could react, a second rope of hot cum smacked against her face, dribbling tantalizing into the corner of her mouth. She opened her mouth wide and he directed the next stream onto her eager tongue, moaning as he saw the sticky string of cum pool in her mouth. Leaning back, he pumped his cock, moaning as each pulse sent another stream arching out to ooze on her face.

Unaware of it, his other hand reached out and he rubbed the hot pale cum into her face, then, cupping his own hand in front of his spasming prick, he watched as a pool of ejaculate was caught in his cupped palm. Leaning, he tilted his hand and moaned as the oozing cum dripped into her straining mouth.

His jerking prick began to calm as thrusting his fingers in her mouth, he allowed her to lick and suckle every drop of his essence. Pulling his fingers out, he pushed his hips forward, dangling his still dribbling cock above her tongue. Her lips fastened over it, pulling the still swollen cock into her mouth, her tongue sweeping up and around, licking up each droplet, then burrowing into the small slit and sipping delicately.

As he felt her suckle rhythmically, he leaned back slightly, his hand going between her legs, working at the swollen nub of her pleasure, relishing the feel of her mouth cleaning his cock, her hips thrusting against his busy hand until suddenly her back bowed and her groin pushed against his hand and he felt the first pulse of her orgasm shake and she cried out around the cock which was still deep within her mouth, deep down her throat, dribbling the last remnants of his cum down the eager throat.

For a few more seconds, his fingers worked around the nub of her clit, without touching it directly, until he felt her pull away and knew that her intense sensitivity was kicking in and straightening, he looked down, feeling her body jerking beneath his straddled legs, her face flushed and perspiring, her small mouth still working frantically at the now deflating prick between her lips.

A string of cum oozed down one cheek, while the deep silk of her hair was sticky near the hairline with another deposit. Her lips were swollen and red around his cock and a pool of cum had collected in the hollow of her throat. She looked deliciously used.

Gently, he reached up, pulling his shrinking cock out of her mouth in the process, and undid the catch and her arms, shaking, lowered to her chest. Carefully undoing the clasp that fastened her wrists with their cuffs together, her arms fell apart and he massaged her shoulders and the upper arm until sighing, she lay back, languid and satisfied, the green eyes blinkly sleepily up at him, sated and replete.

Rolling to one side, he gathered her in his arms, and kissed her sticky, flushed face gently, then his lips met hers and clung and his tongue tangled with hers and savoured the hot earthy taste of himself in her mouth.

Grinning, he pulled her close as he heard her breath grow even and then pause and smiling, allowed her to doze.

Monday, June 9, 2008

Debut .... cont'd

Ignoring Bree, Damian strode to where the middle eastern girl was being led to the right hand cross. She was tiny, barely 5 foot yet with a luscious full figure. Heavy drooping breasts with large fleshy nipples, a tiny waist and full supple hips complemented the dark flashing eyes and heavy oiled black hair. As long as Bree's, Fazila's hair when loose swung straight and heavy to mid-thigh. Now, piled in an intricate knot upon her small aristocratic head, its heavy mass emphasized the delicacy of the long slender neck and sloping shoulders.

Her café-au-lait cream coloured skin was dense and thick and quite beautiful. Intricate henna tattoos decorated the long slender hands up to the wrist and down her swelling shapely calves.

Leading her to the cross, her keeper paused as he went to place her up against its polished surface. For the 6 ft Loki, the cross height had been perfect, for diminutive Fazila it was not going to work.

Striding to the cross, Damian bent and began to adjust the joists. When he designed the crosses, he had taken into account that the various individuals who would be tethered to their joints would be of varying heights and body types. After several false starts and a lot of thought he had come up with a very workable solution. The joist at the center of the large X could be tightened and loosened. Loosening it, Damian then bent to the foot of the X. Here he again loosened some bolts, and with only a whisper of sound, the one arm of the cross slid into its intricately carved foot. Carefully adjusting the other side, Damian slid that into its deceivingly innocuous foot and then, after ensuring they were even, tightened the bolts.

The entire alcove was in fact built on a raised dais which to most onlookers was not obvious. The intricate mosaic of the floor tangled the eye and few were aware that the crosses were in fact some distance above the main floor. This slight elevation allowed not only for the crosses to be adjusted to various heights, but also gave onlookers an unimpeded view of the floggings.

Leading the girl to the X, her keeper pulled her arms up, one by one, restraining them at both the elbow and the wrist. Carefully, he cupped one heavy breast which was slightly squashed against the wood surface and squeezing it, pulled it slightly to the side. He then did the same with the other. Now her pretty face was framed in the upper V while her drooping fleshy breasts were easily accessed. They looked quite delectable, their dark fleshy tips already stiff and elongated in the coolness of the conservatory. Fondly, he pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezed.

Then bending, Fazila's keeper pulled her legs apart, winding the rubber cuffs around her slender ankles. Her fleshy buttocks were thrown into relief as her arms and legs were pulled apart and from the back the crimson slit of her cunt was visible as her stance pulled her heavily dark furred nether lips apart. Running an exploratory finger between her legs, her keeper pushed up into the swollen hole. Pulling out his finger, he turned and showed Damian its glistening surface. Fazila was already aroused.

Damian contemplated the little beauty for a moment. For such a small, delicate appearing young girl she had been remarkably resilient and he had already reported to her owner that she had definite masochist tendencies. A sadistic master would get much enjoyment from this slave but would have to exercise the greatest restraint in order not to permanently damage her. Fazila, Damian had reported, would most assuredly never use a safe word.


The voice was so slight and tentative, Damian almost missed it. Then he realized it was Fazila.

"What?" he said harshly, impatient to get on with it.

"I need to urinate," she said apologetically.

Damian frowned. His orders had been quite specific; the slaves were to be watered lightly in order to avoid this while enemas were administered just before their debut. Fazila's keeper blanched; he knew that his punishment would be harsh and severe. He wasn't quite sure where or when she had found the opportunity to find something to drink, but the little vixen had somehow done so.

Her eyes downcast, Fazila looked the epitome of submissiveness, embarrassed, sorrowful and frightened. Then with a quick upward glance which Damian just caught, he saw the gleam in her eye and knew she had done this deliberately, to ensure her punishment would be severe.

He stood, spare and dark, his leather gloved hand absently snapping a heavy flogger against his thigh while he contemplated his options.

Turning to the crowd, he explained his dilemma.

"Either I flog her at which point she will most likely piss all over the floor. Release her and allow her access to a bathroom or provide her with a receptacle."

There was some murmuring from the crowd, then a young man stepped forward. Slightly red-faced with excitement, he said tentatively.

"I could take care of it for her," he offered.

"Be the receptacle, that is." he said to clarify.

Damian looked coldly at him with his navy blue eyes, then nodded. Stumbling slightly, the boy hurried to the cross, and kneeling in front contemplated the luscious cunt which gaped in front of his bulging eyes.

Leaning forward, he opened his mouth and angling carefully, fastened his lips at the crux of Fazila's thighs. She squeaked as she felt his warm lips envelop her, and then sighed as his fleshy tongue probed between the thick lips, flicking at the already distended clit but concentrating on her urethra.

He waited.

Damian stood, a pulse jumping in his throat, then impatiently.

"If you need to piss, then DO IT."

Fazila ducked her head and closing her eyes, concentrated. Onlookers crowded around eagerly, their eyes fastened to where the boy had his mouth. Fazila's flat smooth stomach clenched, then relaxed and sighing, she allowed her urine to flow.

A stream of hot yellow piss flooded the boys mouth, and swallowing eagerly he drank the thick stream of golden nectar as fast as he could, eager to miss none of it. As the hot piss flooded down his throat, he fumbled at this fly. Unzipping, he fumbled inside while keeping his lips glued to Fazila's hairy grotto. Pulling out a long thin prick, already engorged and stiff, he began to rub its shaft harshly.

The boy choked slightly as Fazila pushed her streaming cunt harder upon his mouth, her restraints curtailing the range of motion of which she was capable. A spurt of piss hissed out of the side of the boy's mouth as she moved.

Moving his mouth quickly, the boy covered the hot liquid stream quickly. His hand worked quickly and suddenly, around his bulging lips he managed a wet groan. Thrusting his hips forward, his prick jerked and a thin stream of cum arched out to splash against the rich burnished limb of the cross. Rubbing his spasming prick and gulping as Fazila's hot piss faltered, then trailed off, he emptied his cock.

Fazila sighed and squeezing her muscles, expelled the last drop of hot urine against the boy's mouth. Rubbing her streaming slit against his tongue, she pushed her clit against his teeth. Replete, a thin yellow stream trailing down the side of his mouth, the boy moved back, rubbing his softening prick which trailed a sticky line of clear sperm along the floor.

Watching, Damian restrained a look of disgust. Motioning to a house slave, he indicated that she was to clean up the mess. Quickly, she did as she was instructed, using a damp cloth to mop up both the drops of urine and the sticky patches of sperm which spotted the floor and the leg of the cross. Taking a dry cloth from her apron, she quickly rubbed the shine back into the rich burnished wood.

Damian stood in front of Fazila and contemplated her impassively. Her doe like brown eyes captured his innocently before she modestly and most assuredly, falsely, dipped them and the wide, mobile mouth struggled to suppress a smile. The small tongue flickered out of the lush lips, as she anticipated the punishment to come.

Damian was quite aware that she expected and anticipated being treated harshly for her indiscretions, and he saw her avid glance at the tooled leather crop he slapped absently against his leather clad thigh.

Deciding, he called the keeper to his side and in a low voice issued instructions.

Nodding, the keeper scurried back to his charge and to her surprise, began to undo the restraints.

"What are you doing?" she asked anxiously.

"I have been extremely naughty. I am ready to take my punishment."

"Exactly." Damian said coldly.

"I do not allow bottoms to top nor slaves to dictate. You will be put in a cage until and when I decide. No whipping. No spanking. Nothing except extreme boredom and the opportunity to recognize who is Master here."

Pouting, Fazila was lead out of the alcove to the center of the room. There, the keeper pressed a button and a large, steel cage slowly lowered from the ceiling. Opening the door, he pushed his angry charge in. Because of her small stature, she could almost but not quite, stand. Kneeling, the keeper forced her to her knees against the hard iron bars of the floor, then taking her wrists with their leather cuffs, attached them to the ring at her wide leather collar. Her hands curled helplessly against her throat and without their support she was unable to push herself to stand but had to remain kneeling.

Clanging the door shut, the keeper locked it and then turning, pushed the bottom. Slowly, the cage rose to its position close to the ceiling. Above, Fazila could look and see all that was going on in the room but apart, she could not participate. Nor could she provide herself with any form of relief, as her awkward position prevented her from touching herself in any way. As the evening wore on, even her greedy capacity for pain would be challenged as her knees abraded, her muscles cramped and solitude (more agonizing because it was technically among so many) gripped her.

From where Bree stood, she could just see the bottom of the cage. Guests below were pointing and laughing at the sight of the full fleshy buttocks and the bunched knees. Then as if physically touched, Bree felt Damian's gaze capture and abrade her. Turning, she met his cold blue eyes and shivered. Within those frozen depths she sensed a flicker of madness, a flame of insanity which her sensitive spirit felt could be coaxed into a conflagration with very little effort.

Turning, her eyes sought through the crowd for her beloved, but he was nowhere to be seen.


Fiachra was at this moment in the library. He knew Damian's debut parties and knew too that the slaves would now be in the process of being whipped for the enjoyment of spectators. This final "introduction" not only underlined their position as creatures to be used but provided Damian with an opportunity to display his aptitude at this craft. Fiachra did not want to see his darling Bree abused any more. He had found it increasingly difficult over the past two weeks to see anyone else touch her with the intimacy he would rather have reserved for himself. He more than many knew the bond which could form between a top and bottom – the deep intensity of the experience reaching into one's soul and touching a part of the individual only hinted at in more mundane relationships.

Fiachra had thought himself impervious to the full intensity which could be engendered by such a relationship. While he had felt great tenderness and even become attached to a degree to some of his submissives, until Bree he had never really grasped the magnitude of the powerful relationship which could exist between a Master and his slave. With her, he had found himself plumbing a depth of emotion hitherto foreign to his taciturn nature. When she hung before him, that long beautiful back scored and marked with his sweet ministrations, the long legs parted, sweet nectar drooling down those taut thighs, the great eyes glazed and intense, capturing his gaze, naked in their adoration, he found himself swelling with a powerful, almost frightening emotional intensity that focused on this girl, his girl, his property, his slave. The awareness that this girl would allow him to do anything and everything he desired, in a moment, without hesitation and with no recourse or desire to desist or refuse was unbelievably powerful – elating him at the same time as it frightened.

Leaning forward, he absently thrust another log on the fire, his gaze inward as he contemplated newfound knowledge about his own motivations and desires. The past few weeks had been intense, almost painful but ultimately illuminating. He had, on the one hand, accepted the reality that Bree was his and his alone. That his former polymorous lifestyle was a thing of the past. Certainly, watching as she was used by others had not provided the usual fillip of pride in providing an admired candidate, but rather, it had engendered a possessiveness and jealousy he had never suspected existed within his solitary soul.

Fiachra started as someone cleared their throat.


A house slave stood quietly, small breasts bare, nipples rouged and stiff above the leather corset which cinched an impossibly tiny waist.

Fiachra searched his memory, then remembering, asked "Yes, Charlotte, what is it?"

"Sir, Bree is to be flogged."

The girl stood passively, eyes downcast in the approved fashion but Fiachra could sense anxiety rolling of her. (Unlike Bree, Fiachra thought fondly, who though compliant in many respects, refused to lower to eyes).


"Sir," the girl hesitated, and remarkably for one of the impeccably trained House slaves, raised her eyes. "Sir, Damian...."

She stopped, agonized.

Fiachra's attention sharpened .... "Damian, what?"

It came out with a rush.

"He doesn't know I'm here – I'll probably get punished. But I like Bree She is kind and sweet and quite wonderful and I'm afraid for her."

"Afraid? How?"

"Sir, I've been a House slave here for several years. I have seen many come and go and even admired Damian's methods – he trained me as well – and he is harsh, yes, but always fair, always in control. I don't think he IS with Bree"

She raised her eyes to his again.

"I think he is going to seriously hurt her. Sir, you need to be there, you need to watch and protect her."

Fiachra was shocked. Although he had never particularly warmed to Damian, he had always admired the man's excellent methods and undeniable skills. He ran the House efficiently and professionally and on Fiachra's many visits here, he had only admiration for the manner in which Damian controlled every aspect of this fanciful haven.


"Because she is yours," Charlotte said simply.

"And because it is the first time he, any of us, has seen you totally enthralled, involved. He has always been jealous of you – he knows that we all want to be with you when you come – that we'll go happily, gladly, if you call but he knows too that he merely has to motion and we will return to him – we are ultimately his property.

"But Bree" the girl paused.

"Bree She is different – I've never seen such a submissive as she – I mean she does everything she is told, her pain tolerance is extremely high, her stoicism remarkable -outwardly, she is all that she should be."

Fiachra motioned for her to continue.

Licking dry lips, the girl continued.

"S is different. We all sensed that – and most of all Damian – even while she did what he demanded she was resisting – nothing overt , nothing obvious – but you could see him..." she faltered, then swallowing, continued.

"It drove him mad – we watched him physically try to hold onto his control – and I've never seen that – not ever".

"Tonight, well, tonight, in front of everyone – she was watching him, your Bree – she knows, she knows that it is going to be bad, maybe too bad, maybe too harsh ..."

Fiachra's mind churned. He thought back to the morning when he had lain beside Bree cupping her long firm body, her slender arms stretched up and attached with cuffs to the headboard. Sunlight drifted in lazy swirls though the casement window, dappling the pale white skin, glowing on the golden freckles and sparking fire in the shining, sherry coloured hair which spilled along his arm.

Turning, her sweet honest gaze met his, filled with love, the great green depths shining and glistening as tears welled up. Leaning, he had delicately licked the salty tribute with a gentle tongue, trailing butterfly kisses along the sweet line of jaw and meeting the clinging lips with a tenderness he had never thought to feel.

"What is it, my love," he asked gently, sensing in his beloved a deep despair.

"My dearest love."

Fiachra had had to lean closer to hear the whispered words.

"Tell me, sweet pet." he said gently.

Bree looked up into Fiachra's concerned eyes. Her heart literally felt as if it would burst. He was her all. As hard as the past few weeks had been, she would not wish away one single second, one moment because each of those moments meant she was showing Fiachra that she would absolutely do anything, suffer any indignity, tolerate any pain to convince him of her single hearted fidelity and adoration. Each welt, each bruise, each time she was invaded, plundered, raped and literally brought to her knees, she was bringing him her complete and utter submission.

Fiachra reached up and gently unlocked the cuffs. Bree winced then schooled her face as her muscles protested at their long inaction. Gently, Fiachra massaged her arms and shoulders.

"What is bothering you, my dearest heart?" Fiachra asked as he ran strong fingers along the back of her shoulders.

Bree was silent. She had almost confessed to her beloved Fiachra that she was frightened, that she wanted to stop this all now. The past several sessions with Damian had convinced her beyond any doubt that he was quiet simply, losing his mind. Sensitive in the true manner of the ultimate submissive, Bree could intuitively discern what a dominant's soul was saying – so much so that Fiachra often called her his sorceress as she would quite often anticipate his desires even before he realized he wanted something.

With Damian, she sensed a strain so intense that she could almost physically feel the battle within him as his rational mind fought with his insanity. Tonight's debut would, she felt strongly, see the culmination of that battle, and her Irish soul and uncanny ability to sense the outcome told her clearly how that would play out – and for her, it meant disaster.

But looking into her beloved's eyes, his strong hands rubbing feeling back into her sore limbs, she realized that she couldn't tell him that. He trusted her, her judgment, her ability to know her limits – but to pull out now, when it was almost over ... she could not, would not, do that to her Fiachra

Resolved, Bree smiled up into his eyes, her arms sliding up around his shoulders.

"Nothing, darling Master, just nerves about my debut."

Fiachra had accepted her answer, preoccupied with planning their departure first thing in the morning. Distracted, he hadn't pursued what he had sensed was not being said.

Now, as he stood in the library, he cursed himself.

Turning to Charlotte, he motioned for her to lead. He had sensed how disturbed his beloved Bree had been this morning and done nothing; that was going to change.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

The Debut

First http://boundselkie.blogspot.com/2008/04/highway-exposure.html, then http://boundselkie.blogspot.com/2008/05/debut-another-chapter.html

Finally - Debut the Next

The crowd parted as Lydia led the now leashed Bree through their ranks. Her great eyes met no-one's but turned inward as Bree hugged to herself Fiachra's parting kiss, his unspoken promise which she believed with every fibre of her being. Unconsciously, she straightened her strong shoulders, the small breasts lifting, their tips crimson and stiff. Oblivious to the admiring comments which drifted around her, she glided with long shapely legs after her diminutive keeper, her gait measured and strong.

Across the room, Damian watched her progression with narrowed eyes; impassive, his face did not betray the hot acid which roiled in his stomach. Even from his vantage point, he could see the marks of his art upon the long curved back of the slave – what was not obvious was the fact that despite his best efforts last night she had refused to submit. Oh, not physically – no, in the flesh Bree had done as she was told – stood where she was placed, spread those beautiful legs when commanded, even held those pretty breasts in her own palms when he chose to whip them. But those eyes .... not once did he see real submission in their defiant gaze.

Yet, with a simple kiss, he had just watched her capitulate ... happily, completely, wholly – and to a man who had placed her in this position in the first place. A man who had handed her over to be used at will and without recourse. A man who through his long association with The House knew exactly what he was exposing her too – knew too that Damian's own particular brand of sadism could elicit submission from even the most defiant of individuals – knew that Damian had been known to break spirits, crush and destroy autonomy and at the same time elicit the most exquisite of surrenders. A graduate of The House (who inextricably bore Damian's signature) was treasured and sought after world-wide – but what they were not known for was an ability to retain any semblance of individuality or personal choice.

And now, two weeks after being handed over to his ministrations, Damian was almost ready for the first time in his long and most illustrious career to admit to failure.

Even watching Bree as she passively allowed herself to be handled and abused, he could sense that strong inner spirit standing firm and untouched.

Taking a deep breath, Damian tightened his grip on the leather handle of the flogger. Nodding to the slave who watched his face attentively, he strode through the crowd towards his trainees as the slave ran to get the rest of the implements.

Lydia had reached the St. Andrews Crosses which were placed in a large alcove at the back of the room. Built specifically to accommodate their impressive size, the alcove was almost entirely composed of glass. Octangular in shape, the three crosses were placed equidistant from each other in a semicircle. Thus, when fully utilized, the slaves tethered to their strong arms had a full and unimpeded view of what was awaiting them as each was clearly visible to the other. Above, the dark sky pressed against the glass ceiling, stars blinking frostily in a tapestry of madness in the muted light. Gas flames flickered in the sconces lining the walls, lending an eerie light to the scene.

The crosses were not standard fare but had been crafted and built by Damian himself. Unlike the workaday models in the basement, whose utilitarian nature were obvious, the ones in the drawing room were built as working showpieces. Damian had chosen mahogany and lovingly and carefully cut and polished each piece until the dark red wood had blazed with depth and richness. At the center joist he had chosen burnished steel, worked carefully in the smithy which lay in the quadrangle at the back of The House, using his in-depth knowledge of ironwork to form his own distinct pattern. The iron tethers were riveted at various intervals on the arms and legs of the great cross to allow for the greatest leeway as well as the most creativity in how the bottoms were to be restrained. These also bore Damian's unique signature – the leather of the cuffs attached to the rings was supple and incredibly, deceivingly soft, masking the steel which lay at the center. Damian did not believe in permanently marking slaves (with the exception of administering a brand) but saw no point in etching permanent scars when smooth lovely skin could so pleasingly be marked time and again.

Unlike many of his ilk, Damian eschewed the more brutal and outward manifestations of his trade, preferring finesse and subtle, psychological coercion to brute force. But he understood the psychology of his lifestyle and did not discount the theatrical elements which often provided a fillip of excitement to many participants. And, because he was a perfectionist, Damian had to give his very best to whatever task he undertook. In the end, he had entered into the creation of the crosses with enthusiasm and been pleased with the end result.

Now, in the cavernous glittering expanse of the alcove, the crosses gleamed with a rich glow, reflecting the flickering flames in the sconces. A small red leather cushion was placed at the foot of each.

The keepers led their three charges, one to each cross. There were three tonight. A very handsome male slave brought in by a very experienced domme from San Francisco, a young coffee coloured submissive provided by a epicurean from the Middle East and Bree

The male sub brought in by Mistress Lau just a week earlier, was the first to be cuffed. A noted and respected historian, Mistress Lau had a penchant for gladiators, as the Ancient Roman Empire was her chosen field. Like Roman matrons of old, she made excellent use of her "gladiators" – remaining true to historical accuracy as gladiators were indeed slaves and in order to achieve any measure of happiness in life were devoted to their aristocratic mistresses. Gladiatorial sweat and sperm was at one point highly prized as an antidote to infertility and ancient roman aristocratics would often bribe the centurions guarding the gladiators to allow them unfettered access to their favourites.

In a charming nod to this tradition, all of Mistress Lau's subjects were garbed in historically accurate (but slightly altered) versions of ancient dress. Loki, the slave now being cuffed to the left-hand cross, was no exception. His slender feet were encased in flat sandals, with strings which crisscrossed the muscular calves to his knees. Around his chest a stylized leather harness enhanced the flat, rippling stomach and strong shaven chest and allowed his muscular arms freedom of movement. A thick leather belt encircled the taut waist and emphasized the sweet firm sweep of buttock. Below, the heavy prick and full balls swung free.

Loki's waving blond hair was worn longer than would have been the norm during that time period in the Roman empire, but Mistress Lau preferred to have something to tangle her fingers in and tug. Around the strong column of his neck, a heavy studded leather collar with a small silver tag clearly proclaimed his status.

Loki's keeper pulled up and out the slave's muscular arms, securing them at the wrist to the cross. Kicking the slave's legs apart, his keeper bent to wind the leather thongs around the slave's ankles.

Spread-eagled, pressed against the cross, Loki's head was positioned between the V at the top while his heavy prick dangled just beneath the crux. Stepping back, his keeper admired the luscious sight of his charge completely and utterly helpless. He had tied the wrists securely and a slight trembling in the shoulder blades showed that the strain on Loki's joints was very real. The spread of cross at the bottom meant onlookers had an excellent view not just of the firm buttocks, their tight sweet flesh taut and pulled slightly apart but of the heavy prick which dangled enticingly between the spread legs, drooping below the heavy bag.

Loki trembled slightly, his eyes beneath the blindfold moving frantically. He recognized the feel of his restraint, having been cuffed to similar crosses many times before, but the past week had left him nervous and ill prepared for any more surprises.

He had agreed to further training in The House at the command of his Mistress who he adored but She had chosen (unlike Fiachra) to absent Herself from The House during his training and he was feeling Her absence cruelly. Also, while he enjoyed pain when inflicted by Her beloved hand, what he had undergone in the past week was beyond anything in his experience.

Now, restrained, still aching from the previous evening's rigorous training, he understood that this, his debut, would require the greatest effort on his part to maintain decorum and make his Mistress proud. But, hanging here, helpless, sore and afraid, he felt horribly bereft.

Loki jumped as a soft hand caressed his buttocks, trailing fingers over the slightly raised welts which marred the otherwise smooth surface. Flinching, Loki fought to remain still. A finger probed firmly between the slightly gaping cheeks, pushing gently but insistently into the tight furled rose of his ass, which already ached from several days of being spread with a plug to increase comfortable access. Against his back, Loki felt the warmth of soft breasts press against his sensitive skin and relaxed slightly. Although he had participated in male on male play before, it was only at his Mistress's insistence, his own preference being unequivocally heterosexual.

Warm breath trailed along his knotted shoulder blade and a beloved, remembered scent filled his senses.

"Mistress!" he cried joyously.

"My lovely boy," She purred into his ear.

"Damian tells me you have been a very good and obedient boy. I am very pleased."

Loki shivered with delight, his bruises forgotten, the travails of the past week dismissed. She was happy! His goddess was pleased with him and he glowed. Now, whatever happened was irrelevant, his beloved Lady was in charity with him, She was close to him and if the gods allowed, he would be with Her tonight.

Although difficult, Loki stood taller, his muscles flexing, the firm buttocks clenching. Leaning his head back, he allowed his tousled blond hair to trail along his shoulder blades. Happily, he felt his Mistress tangle Her beloved fingers in its abundance and tug. Like a puppy, Loki wiggled.

"Damian will administer the flogging, but because you have been such an excellent student, I shall provide the reward myself." His Mistress said into his ear.

Loki was beside himself. Had the earth moved and swallowed him at this moment, he would be happy. He felt the warmth of his beloved leave his back but his senses, intensified by loss of sight, sensed Her moving around the cross. Turning sightless eyes down, he felt Her beloved presence directly in front.

Loki's heavy penis thickened and began to stiffen at the thought of his Mistress watching him. Then he felt Her firm hand cupping his balls and groaned as She rolled them expertly in long fingers. Pinching the soft globular flesh, feeling the firm egg shaped matter at the centre, Mistress Lau squeezed. Loki whimpered, his prick jerking and thickening as She released them and then began to slap his balls rhythmically and firmly.

Because he was concentrating on the feel of his Mistress cupping and abusing his most delicate flesh, Loki jumped at the first blow of the leather thong. Light as a whisper, the supple tongues of the tooled leather flogger flittered along the flesh of his back, barely touching, hinting a promise of what was to come. Again it came, a sweet supple caress of flesh, the steel tipped fronds barely stinging. Below, his Mistress caressed the heavy drooping balls, then ran expert fingers along the pale thickening shaft of her slave.

Damian stood tall and dark around 4 feet from his victim. In his hand the leather tooled flogger was a an art form as he expertly plied it against the sensitive skin of the slave's back, trailing sweet trails of heat from the shoulder blades down to the firm buttocks. Almost imperceptibly, he began to stroke harder, patterning an intricate quilting of colour and texture along the human canvas.

Keeping in rhythm with Damian, Mistress Lau manipulated and deliciously tortured the now throbbing member of her slave, pausing to admire the thick pale shaft, the purple head and to cup the balls which now began to tighten.

Loki, his eyes useless behind the blindfold calmed as the familiar feel of the whip caressed him. His mind flitted and then quietened as sensation flooded through the nerves of his body from the tip of his neck to the sweet, intense ache in his prick. Onlookers murmured appreciatively as the straining arms quietened, then drooped, the slave now held up almost entirely by the restraints which bound him to the cross. Sweetly, his body a mass of sensation, Loki slipped into sub-space.

Sensing his capitulation, Damian tightened his grip. A whistle and suddenly sensation flamed along Loki's back as Damian snapped the flogger, its long tongues flicking hard and quick just beneath the shoulder blades. Loki gasped, as even deep within his quiet mind he felt the leather tongues licking at his already abraded flesh with abandon, nerve endings waking and protesting. Deep within his psyche, endorphins began to pump, flooding his body and subtly exerting their siren call to his soul. Pain became pleasure and sighing, the slave sank deeper.

Again, Damian's strong hand wielded the flogger expertly, this time striking the fleshy buttocks, raising a lovely welt which bloomed pink as the sibilant whisper of the tongues fed at Loki's flesh.

Loki groaned, exquisite pain flaring along his spine as Damian brought the flogger down on the fleshy pads just below his shoulders. Needle play the night before had left that area extremely sensitive. Gasping, he felt a soft mouth envelop his stiffening penis. Unbelievably, he realized his Mistress was herself sucking his lowly prick!

For a moment, pulled from his special deep reverie, Loki almost panicked. Although Mistress had occasionally been inclined to suckle his very unworthy cock, the occasions were far and few between and often did not include him actually coming. But the combination of the harsh flogging against his back and buttocks, the feel of his Mistress's tongue against the aching shaft of his penis and the knowledge that onlookers were taking this all in served to create an unbearable excitement within him.

His cock was throbbing and felt as stiff as the iron bar which lay cold against his belly. Unconsciously, he flexed his back, clenching the muscles as he heard the whistle of the flogger cut the air behind him.

Loki's breath stopped for a moment as Mistress deep throated him, the spongy tip of his prick tickling the back of Her beloved throat. Helplessly, he felt precum oozing from the purpled tip to drip upon Her tongue while deep within his testicles he felt an explosion simmering.

He waited, his attention torn between waiting for the next blow to strike his back and the unbelievably erotic feel of his Mistress' mouth now moving up and down his engorged shaft.

Suddenly, ,without warning, a sharp, stinging pain exploded down his spine and he realized that Damian had changed tactics. He wasn't sure what he was being whipped with, but the pain was immediate and dramatic and quite wonderful and Loki's entire body stiffened as his brain signalled its distress and exploded endorphins into his body.

A collective sigh arose from the onlookers who crowded around the first of the slaves to be whipped. The skin of the boy's back bloomed a deep pink, criss crossed by minute slender threads of crimson. In front, the boy's domme sat on the small footstool, her lips enveloping the long thick white shaft of his penis, Her fingers cupping and squeezing the heavy, tight balls.

Damian stood, straight and dark at the boy's back, approximately 3 feet behind him. In his leather gloved hand was a dressage riding crop, deceivingly simple, the stock long and slender and the actual whip a mere 6 inches. With an experienced hand, Damian brought the crop down on the boy's buttocks yet again, a thin red line blossomed, then slowly, deepened as ruby red blood welled up slowly. Again he brought the whip down and then again, a pattern slowly emerging, a criss-cross of diamonds, equidistant and equal in size.

Turning slightly, adjusting his angle, he swept the crop up between the outstretched legs, barely stinging the sensitive delicate skin of the perineum.

Loki groaned as he felt the kiss of the whip between his thighs. Helplessly, he felt his balls pull deep into his groin. His back and buttocks flamed hot, the cool air of the alcove intensifying the sensation of heat. His prick throbbed and ached, its long thick shaft first cool then unbelievably warm as his beloved Mistress slid Her luscious lips down its throbbing length.

"Mistress," he gasped, "I don't know if I can control myself!"

Loki's Mistress controlled when he was allowed to cum and now, when She was so pleased with him, he was miserably afraid he was going to anger Her.

"You may cum," she said, purring.

Hearing those beloved words, at the same moment Loki felt Damian's expert hand wield the crop yet again and along his inner thighs he felt the sweet drip of blood. Yelling, he felt the cum boil up and surge through the thick heavy shaft of his cock to explode in a long salty stream into his Mistress' mouth. Expertly, Mistress Lau drank Her slave's essence, Her tongue teasing at the slit of the spongy tip as his throbbing prick jerked and spat its load into Her willing mouth.

A collective gasp rose from the crowd as they watched Loki's prick jerk and spurt while the crimson pattern on his back and buttocks bloomed and bled minute drips, creating a canvass both captivating and frightening.

From her vantage point, to the right of Loki, standing beside the center cross, Bree could see his mouth working and his body writhing. She had watched as Damian whipped him savagely and marvelled at how Loki seemed to drink it in; not just tolerating but accepting and desiring it. She had watched as his Mistress enveloped the thick prick in Her mouth and recognized the expert manipulation of this experienced domme as She forever linked in Her slave's mind, pain and unbelievable pleasure.

Outwardly calm, Bree felt her insides twist as she wondered if she was next. Swallowing, she closed her eyes and sought comfort in deep within, summoning her beloved's face, conjuring up the feel of his sweet hands and the touch of his lips. Calmer, she opened her eyes and met Damian's burning gaze.

He stood directly in front of her, the whip hanging loosely from his leather clad hand, his long spare figure gaunt and yet strangely compelling. His eyes were a deep almost navy blue, cold and intense and Bree felt as if her own green orbs were being cut with needles as she silently fought to keep calm. Outwardly successful, forcing her gaze to remain unwavering and calm, inside her chest she felt her heart thumping wildly and knew that a telltale pulse jumped at her throat.

His eyes still locked on hers, Damian motioned to the waiting house slaves to remove Loki, who exhausted and depleted, sagged against his restraints. Carefully, the two men gently untethered the almost unconscious slave, supporting the dead weight and then carefully placing him face down on the waiting gurney.

Mistress Lau stood, a red tongue flicking out to sip at the drops of cum which had escaped from between the red lips. Like a cat, her tongue lapped and stretching with feline grace, she yawned, showing tiny straight teeth and a pink throat, shiny with the remnants of sperm.

Striding to the gurney, she ran long crimson tipped fingers along her slave's leaking back, flicking blood droplets and purring as she gently felt the welts. A conscientious Mistress, she motioned to the slaves to follow as she preferred to do all after-care herself.
Despite her agitation, Bree managed to remain still, the telltale pulse the only sign that she was disturbed. Passively, she awaited a sign that she was to be tethered next.

Instead, Damian allowed his gaze to falter and turning, commanded the pretty middle-eastern girl to be restrained against the cross to the right.

Bree swallowed, at once relieved and anguished. Her turn was yet to come and a part of her was ready and she would have it done and over with. She had no illusions. A perceptive and insightful woman (a trait common to the rarest and most prized of submissives), she knew that somehow Damian had developed an obsession with her. Over the past two weeks, she had had ample opportunity to watch his obsession take root and grow and knew with a certainty which bordered on fright, that he was very close to stepping beyond the line of what was acceptable, even in their very distinctive lifestyle.

Watching the savagery with which he had disciplined Loki, she sensed a dangerous imbalance in his usual stoic mien and marvelled that only she seemed to sense the scent of madness.

Regardless, her course was set. Sighing and closing her eyes, she garnered the inner reserves which had served her well during that past two weeks and straightening, prepared to meet her fate.