Spice Box: Sixteen Steamy Stories

by Raine Miller

  “Now that Latin phrase on the wall makes sense. I found the translation of In Hoc Signo Vinces. It means, ‘By this sign thou shalt conquer.’” She looked at Jason. “Were those men coming downstairs Masons heading to this room for a meeting or to the dungeon room for sex?”

  Jason looked straight ahead. “This is your street here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, park in back.”

  He found a free parking space for visitors. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

  Zoe groaned. “It’s almost one. It’s too far of a drive for you. Stay here, and you can explain what’s going on.”

  ***

  Wearing her decorative mask and Domme outfit, Melissa slowly stalked into the Red Tape Room, pleased to see her target’s eyes widen. The first lady introduced her to the delegate. Melissa held her stance—tall, chin up—and locked her gaze with his.

  “My pleasure, Mistress,” President Kasim Rutu from Somalia said as he smiled and nodded in a polite gesture. Although he requested to be her submissive for the scene, his intense brown eyes held an element of power, and his stocky shoulders didn’t cower in the slightest. He would be pushed and submit only as far as he derived pleasure from it. The handsome man had short, dark hair and looked to be in his mid-forties.

  Retrieving the other mask from her bag, she walked over to First Lady Faith Bryson and handed it to her. The next thing she did was select music from the iPhone seated in a docking station. Seductive music with an exotic beat filled the room, something that might have been played at an upscale strip club. There was a reason for the music. Like there was a reason for everything.

  The first lady put on her mask, a signal to the audiovisual room to begin recording, and backed off to the side of the room. Melissa instructed him to stand, eyes down, hands behind his back, legs slightly parted in a parade rest stance. Her first test to see how receptive he would be to her commands. He obeyed without hesitation. She relaxed a little. Usually, when it came to sex, Melissa had men in the palm of her hand. But she was always ready for the unexpected with these men.

  “Good.” Melissa strutted straight over to the table that held floggers, canes, clamps, vibrators, dildos, ball gags, an electrical wand and a few other items. She didn’t expect to need most of them. One item they would never have in one of these sessions was a hood. It was very important that the subject’s face be clearly seen at all times. Even a blindfold was permitted only briefly.

  Ignoring him, another test for her subs, also put her in a position of authority. Considering this man’s high level of authority, she knew that was quite a feat. Talk about a power exchange. Glancing down at her hands, she noticed they still shook. She tightened them into fists while she scanned the items on the table, planning her scene.

  During their time together, she would not think of this man as a leader of a nation with connections to terrorists, one who was resisting the current peace negotiations, making him a major threat to global security. He was her submissive, like any other client. Her only role was to satisfy his needs. She selected a leather collar from the table and walked back to her sub.

  “Take off your clothes and put this collar on,” Melissa ordered in a firm but casual voice. “You may put your clothes on the bed.”

  He hesitated for only a fraction of a second then began to unbutton his shirt. His eyes met hers for an instant, testing her authority.

  “Eyes down,” she ordered. “I didn’t give you permission to look at me.” With her heels, he was about her height of five-foot-ten, and his dark hair framed his wide face, giving him an innocent appearance. “When I give you an order, I expect a ‘Yes, Mistress’ in return. If you don’t understand something, you may ask.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” He lowered his gaze and moved faster with his undressing. Melissa noticed he had a hard-on. Good sign, thank God.

  Walking back to the table, she examined the various tools of torture. She already had a plan, but wanted to give him time to think and worry a bit. So she picked up different ones and tested them. She smacked a cane across the table, testing its flexibility, then placed it back on the table. Then she selected a flogger, smoothed the cool leather through her hand. The smell of new leather could get her turned on. Stretching the thongs out in her other hand, she took a few practice swings. The leather cut through the air with a whoosh followed by an exploding crack. This was her meditation, her way to calm her nerves, get her worked up, even aroused. Surprisingly, she was getting turned on by this. Besides being a Domme, Melissa was a sadist. She enjoyed inflicting pain. Normally, she gave pain or humiliation only to those who desired it. She was careful and respected limits.

  In this situation, the subject desired pain and humiliation, but he had no idea the true pain would begin after the scene, after he left. Whether her part in this manipulation scheme was honorable depended upon which side of the political arena one sat.

  Holding her hands out above the table, Melissa smiled to herself. Her hands no longer shook. Behind her, the rustle of clothing and sound of a buckle being hooked caught her attention. She picked up a cane and spun around. Faith was helping him put on the collar. His eyes locked on the cane and widened. He quickly lowered his gaze then folded his hands over his semi-erect penis and bowed his head.

  A cruel master of a country was now in a subservient pose to her. Wow, what a rush. This would be a piece of cake. She hoped.

  Behind the floor-to-ceiling wall hangings was the hidden video equipment. The canvases were translucent enough to record the events in the room.

  Melissa strolled over to the man. He didn’t look up.

  “Do you like the feel of the collar?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Yes, what?” she asked with a warning tone. He was pushing her, wanting to get punished.

  He hesitated for a moment. “Yes, Mistress?”

  “Did you forget so quickly?” She swatted him on his ass, and he jumped.

  “Sorry, Mistress.” He wasn’t sorry. He liked pain. Good, she liked giving it.

  “I will call you Romeo tonight. And if you trust me, I can take you to places of pleasure and pain you’ve never experienced before. But the pain is only to intensify the pleasure, never to harm and never to go beyond what you can handle.” He nodded. Not using his real name helped to keep him in the fantasy. “I’ll give you a safe word to let me know when we’ve gone too far. Jupiter is your safe word. Repeat it to me, Romeo.”

  “My safe word is Jupiter, Mistress.”

  “Good. If you need me to slow down or ask me a question because you’re unsure of something, you’ll say yellow. Understand?”

  He nodded.

  “What is your caution word?” she demanded.

  “Yellow, Mistress. May I ask a question?”

  “Yes, Romeo.”

  “How long do I have with you?”

  She hooked her fingers under his chin and raised his head. “Our time together will be over when I say it’s over. Or when you call your safe word.”

  He nodded, eyes wide.

  “I don’t want you to come too soon, because then our session would be over too soon. So I have something I’d like you to wear.” She released his chin and walked over to the table and picked up the device. Test number one. This would tell her how much he was willing to trust her.

  As she approached him with the device in her hand, she watched for his response. He stared at it and cringed.

  “Ever wear one of these before?” She held up a contraption called the Gates of Hell for him to see. He knew what it was by his expression. Behind him, the first lady had a slight smile.

  He shook his head. “No, Mistress. It looks painful.”

  “Not as painful as you may think. But you will have to concentrate on keeping yourself from getting too hard, or it will become painful.”

  A series of five metal rings were evenly spaced and held together by a strip of leather. “Hands at your side.”

  He complied. She took h
is cock in hand and slid the rings down his semi-hard shaft. The first ring pressed at the base, and the top ring encircled the crown of his cock. “Doesn’t that look hot,” Faith said with a seductive tone. “Turn him toward me so I can get a good look.”

  Melissa placed her hands on her sub’s shoulders and guided him slowly around. Now Faith could see, and those who were watching could, too. “He does look hot, doesn’t he?”

  Romeo’s cock twitched and swelled against the rings.

  “Don’t get too excited. If it does become painful, let me know. I won’t promise to remove it, but I want to know.” Melissa walked him toward a piece of furniture, a spanking bench. “Kneel for me.”

  He did. She stretched his arms out on the armrests while stroking his shoulders and back. “Comfortable?”

  “Yes, Mistress.” She picked up a bottle of scented oil from the table, poured a few drops into her hand and rubbed her hands together.

  “When Faith had you to tea, you said you wanted to experience the feel of a flogger on your skin.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” His body vibrated on the bench, and he gripped the armrest.

  “How about a cane?”

  He didn’t answer for a long time.

  “Romeo, when I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

  “I don’t know about the cane, Mistress. But if it pleases you.” He lowered his head and voice, which told her a lot about how he felt about the cane. Part of being a good Domme was being able to read body language.

  “We’ll use the cane as punishment.”

  “Yes, Mistress. I’ll try to please you so I won’t need to be punished.”

  She massaged the oil into his shoulders. He trembled beneath her touch. Slowly, she moved down to his back, buttocks and thighs. He sighed, and she could feel the muscles relaxing, his breathing slow. When she used the flogger on him, she’d have less of a chance of breaking the skin.

  Melissa put the oil down, then stood in front of her sub. “You like the boots, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Mistress.” She noticed him moving his ass when he answered.

  “What would you like to do to these boots?”

  “Mistress, I would like to lick them or kiss them if it would please you.”

  She waved over the first lady. “And what about my assistant’s shoes? Aren’t they pretty? Would you like to lick her toes, too?”

  Faith wore a pair of red five-inch platform peek-toed heels.

  “Yes, Mistress.” He breathed heavy now and groaned.

  “Is your cock getting too hard?”

  “I’m trying to be good, Mistress.”

  She put her hand under his chin. “The cane will be punishment. Licking boots and toes will be a reward, later. For now, you must look straight ahead at that mural of Niagara Falls.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  She chose a flogger with knotted thongs. This would be especially painful and guaranteed a response and marks. Quite a few bruises. She needed a number of marks to show. She worked across his shoulders, watching him flinch with each strike but not making a sound. As the skin became rosy, she moved down to his buttocks and then his thighs. He cried out when she struck his ass and thighs. She stopped and stroked his back, gently running her nails over his skin until he shivered.

  “How are you doing, Romeo? Is it too hard?”

  “Not yet. I like it. I like pleasing you, Mistress.”

  “Good answer.” She increased the intensity, and Romeo whimpered and moaned with each strike.

  She continued to strike him over and over, not hitting the same place twice but working up into a fevered rhythm. Red marks rose on his skin, but she was careful not to break the skin. He was a bit of a masochist. If she kept the rhythm up, he might drift into subspace. In this altered state, a submissive reached a level of extreme comfort and acceptance, physically and emotionally. If she wasn’t careful, she could go beyond his limits, even harm him, while in this state. That would please her audience.

  “Hmmm. Ahhh,” he moaned and slumped on the bench but kept his head up. His eyes looked a bit glazed. He was getting close.

  She stopped for a moment, checking him and admiring the network of red lines across his back, buttocks and thighs. “Want me to stop?” she asked.

  He hesitated.

  “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

  “If I say yes, will you punish me?”

  “I will punish you for not answering or lying to me. Have you had enough?” she asked, raising her voice.

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “I don’t think so. I think we’re just getting started.” She picked up a paddle and held it against his ass. “Do you think you could handle a few whacks?”

  He breathed rapidly again. “Oh yes.” She whacked him hard, but not too hard, on one buttock. She didn’t want to finish him off too soon. He cried out and sounded angry.

  Then she smacked the other side. He mumbled something under his breath but kept looking at the mural.

  “Did you say something?”

  “No, Mistress.” The purpose wasn’t to hurt him as much as she could. Well, in a way it was. She wanted to push him to surrender to her. Right now, he was enjoying the pain and showing off his ability to withstand it. That was defiance, not what she was going for. She wanted an exchange of power, respect.

  “Get up. Over to the cross.” She stood alongside him, making sure he was steady on his feet. If he was going into subspace, he might stagger like a drunk. He was a little wobbly but okay. She purposely walked him around, displaying him in clear view for their hidden audience. Faith gave her a slight nod of approval.

  When she brought him up to the St. Andrew’s Cross positioned in the center of the room, he immediately leaned, face-forward, without instruction, arms wrapped around the juncture and legs stretched out, resting against the thick wooden planks.

  Melissa didn’t even need to strap his wrists and legs to the cross with leather restraints. He was quite a willing participant. This time, she took two floggers, one in each hand, and rapidly struck him in a Florentine fashion like a pinwheel.

  After several minutes, Romeo moaned, pleaded for more, then begged her to stop, but didn’t call out the safe word. He slumped against the cross, knees buckling. Moaning and mumbling to himself, he was gone, far into subspace. Melissa felt she couldn’t and shouldn’t go any further. She glanced back at Faith.

  The first lady drew a slow slashing motion across her neck, making an inconspicuous “cut” motion. The signal that the session was done.

  “Okay, Romeo. I’m going to get you down now.” The first lady pushed a chair over while Melissa helped him step away from the cross. The two women guided their sub into the chair. He stumbled and swayed, barely able to hold himself up. “Here, let me get this off.” Melissa slid the Gates of Hell off his cock. Romeo sucked in a breath as if in pain for a moment. Then she took off the collar.

  “Did I come?” he asked.

  Melissa giggled. She saw no sign that he had and found it interesting that he was so far into subspace that he didn’t know himself. “Yes, you were wonderful. Here, have some water, and we’ll help you get dressed. Someone will take you back to your hotel.”

  Unlike Alana, who liked to see their victim’s reaction, Melissa didn’t want to be anywhere around Rutu when he heard the news.

  CHAPTER 7

  Zoe’s old townhouse in Georgetown felt more like home than his own place. She lived on a quiet street, had nice neighbors she actually knew and had a backyard. The only thing missing was the picket fence and a man mowing the lawn.

  “Mrs. Snyder won’t complain about you waking her up this late?” Jason yawned as she rang Mrs. Snyder’s doorbell. A mixture of exhaustion and guilt weighed him down. As much as he wanted to tell her about how she got the job and what she was in for, it was late and they were both exhausted.

  “How long have you been up?” she asked him.

  He checked his watch. “About thirty hours
. Even my hair is exhausted.” He yawned again. Damn, he still wanted her bad.

  Zoe knocked on the door. “Mrs. Snyder? Beth? It’s Zoe.”

  The door swung open, and an attractive woman in her seventies blinked up at the two of them. She eyed Jason suspiciously. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, this is my coworker, Jason. I’m so sorry to wake you, but we got involved in a late project, and my keys are at the White House. Can I have my spare?”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” She studied Jason again.

  “Yes.” Zoe laughed a little. “Jason’s an old friend.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Snyder smiled and nodded as if she got the inside joke. “I’ve got it right here. I let Dexter out around six and gave him his food.” She retrieved the key on a table by the door and handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” Zoe said. “Sorry to wake you.”

  “Enjoy your evening,” the woman said with a smirk as she closed the door.

  “My way of breaking in,” Zoe said.

  “Nice neighbor. Guess I’ll be going.” The lack of sleep was quickly catching up to him.

  “No, you’re staying here. You’re not driving across town at this hour. I don’t want to hear about you falling asleep and getting into an accident.”

  “Hmmm. You want me to stay? I think I’m getting my second wind.” He grinned as she unlocked the door.

  She play-punched him in the arm. The moment she opened the door, Dexter was there to greet her and Jason. He jumped up on her, offering licks to her hands and face, then looked at Jason cautiously for a few seconds then, deciding he was a friend, leaped onto him as well.

  “Dexter, down,” Zoe ordered. The pooch half-listened. “Push him down if he keeps jumping, I haven’t been home much to work with him.”

  “Down, Dexter,” Jason said with a firm tone, and the dog sat instantly and looked up at him, anticipating the next order.

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “Terrific. My dog takes orders from a stranger. He’ll make a great watchdog.”

  Jason laughed. “He’ll be fine. He’s still a puppy. Once he has a hundred pounds behind him, no stranger will come into his domain without facing consequences.”