by Selena Kitt
If anyone had told him that morning that the afternoon would find him doing this—standing buck-naked, playing slave in Julie Parson’s house — he would have laughed in their face. Had the person mentioned the fact that he would have an erection while pouring Julie her small brandy, he might have asked them to step outside.
But he did. And—loathe as he was to admit it to himself—he had had another, even larger erection that morning, when he had found Mistress Domino’s web-site. He had run into an acquaintance from his Seattle years in a bar; the guy had been a bore in the old days, and hadn’t much improved now, but his chance remark about a web-page with “some dominatrix who looks a hell of a lot like Julie” had immediately gotten Steve’s attention. He was in town on business; the idea of hooking up with Weird Julie was itself perversely appealing, but the idea that she might be a practicing dominatrix had gotten him — there was no other word for it — hot as hell.
That his body would respond so emphatically to the knowledge that Julie had taken up the profession had surprised him; he had odd fantasies of submission from time to time, but more often he laughed at the idea of women in black leather ordering guys around. There were one or two photos on the sight of naked male “submissives,” but nothing overly exploitive or in outstandingly bad taste. Steve rolled his eyes determinedly at the list of peculiar services on offer, but he found himself unable to come up with much to really laugh at. Instead, he found himself horny as hell.
He had finally called the number on the page, expecting to get voicemail that might help him confirm if that was really his Julie. He had been surprised when the woman herself answered. She hadn’t seemed at all surprised to hear from him, and responded to his offer of a drink with a counter-offer for him to drop by her place. Steve had thought he had heard a dare in her voice, and that, he told himself, was why he had accepted. Perhaps it was also the reason he had gone immediately into his hotel room’s bathroom and jerked himself off into a handful of toilet-paper.
Would they end up fucking tonight? Would she come in behind him in a moment, grab his wrists and handcuff him before he could react? Beat his ass? Or slide those long, strong fingers over the cheeks of his ass, fingering his sphincter while pulling at his cock with her free hand? She might bite his shoulders or his nipples. Slap his face…
He began playing with his exposed cock; at first just an idle stroke or two while he stood waiting for her to join him (he might have sat down, but he found he didn’t like the idea). After another moment he had his shaft gripped firmly in his hand, squeezing it rhythmically, staring defiantly at the doorway.
He stopped abruptly, realizing that he was not alone in the room. A shadow in one of the corners had moved slightly. When nearly a full minute had elapsed, with Steve feeling increasingly stupid as he stood frozen in place, cock in hand, the shadow coughed, a small, almost apologetic sound.
A tangle of emotions, ranging from a totally irrational surge of jealousy to an equally irrational tingle of fear, took control of Steve. He felt incredibly vulnerable, sublimely embarrassed—then angry.
“Who the hell?” he whispered. He wasn’t sure who the shadow was; some associate of Julie’s, presumably. Another dominatrix? Julie’s boyfriend? Her lesbian lover?
The shadow stepped forward to meet him, changing into a tall, slender young man about five years Steve’s junior.
“Hey,” the guy said.
“Hey,” Steve said, working hard for the proper tone. The fact that the other was also naked did nothing to put him at ease. He was uncomfortably aware that his eyes kept shifting downward to the guy’s crotch. He forced them up, trying to take this potential rival’s measure.
Whoever he was, he was taller than Steve, with better muscles, though he was no gym-bunny; his shoulders were narrow and his whole look sleek and slender rather than buff. Didn’t they call that a “swimmer’s build”? He was tan, with a strange, jagged tattoo like a collar around his neckbone. His hair was lush and long, hanging to the middle of his back. He could have just been some kid on some latter-day hippie trip…the thing was, though, he had on eye-shadow. When he lifted a hand to nervously smooth down his hair, his nails flashed red. Steve looked reflexively down to the guy’s feet; his long toes had been polished as well.
This was what Julie was into now? A more unsettling question: was this what she’d expect of him this afternoon? Makeup and nail-polish for a little “girl-on-girl” action? His reference to Julie’s “pussy-boys” had just been a joke—or so he had thought.
Oh no. No, fuck no. Fuck this.
Smiling tightly, Steve turned and made for the door.
“Leaving so soon?”
The voice was surprisingly deep; it had a smoker’s roughness, but you could hear the kid trying to make it softer, lighter. More like a girl’s voice. Steve all but shuddered. He didn’t turn around.
The voice tsked. “Aw, but you didn’t get to finish your drink…or cum.”
Steve stopped in his tracks. He could hear a faint taunt in that voice, something like a challenge. Oh yeah. Like I’m going to step to some drag-queen.
“Not my game, man. Alright?”
“Alright. But how are you going to leave without your clothes?”
Steve stopped again.
“Julie has them,” he said carefully, resisting the urge to add, “Doesn’t she?”
“Mmn-hmn. And if you ask her nicely, I’m sure she’ll give them to you.” The guy stood with his hands behind his back, smiling with his head tilted. For the first time Steve looked at him dead-on and saw his cock; it was more than half-erect.
Alright. Ignoring that…
There was a good chance the guy was right. He remembered Julie saying she had something to attend to. Might that something perchance involve gathering up Steve’s clothes and shoes and hiding them somewhere? Somewhere he wouldn’t be likely to find even if he ransacked the house, which of course he could not—at least not without the danger of being kicked in the balls.
It would be just like Julie to pull a stunt like that; it would force him to either play by her rules or to throw a tantrum. Neither prospect appealed to him. He went to the table and got his wine.
“Can I have one?” The guy seemed determined to push his luck, but Steve poured him a glass. The quickest way to get through this was not to resist…at least not anything that didn’t involve the application of mascara.
So here I am drinking wine with some guy who’d probably be in drag if he weren’t naked, right before hooking up with a chick I balled in college…who’s now a dominatrix. How the hell do I get myself into this shit?
After the first few swallows the silence got to Steve. “So how do you know Julie…?” He didn’t really want to know, but it was something to say.
The guy’s eyes widened, his eyebrows lifting comically.
“I mean, is this like a regular thing with you…what she does? Or…”
The guy coughed into his fist.
Steve frowned; he was being shushed. Suddenly he smelled perfume; he started as cold fingers slid around his waist.
“I really should have started doing sessions barefoot more often. It’s wonderful to be able sneak up on naughty subs.”
Steve forced a smile. “I smelled you coming.”
“Ohhh,” the guy laughed, swirling his wine. “Gonna pay for that…”
Julie smiled and snapped her fingers, at the last minute converting the motion to a sharp downward jab. “On the floor,” she said.
“Oh, but he’s the one who said it…”
“And you were the one who laughed. Steve, have you met naughty slavegirl Daniela yet? Well, she’s very naughty. If you think I smell, naughty girl, I think you should get a really good whiff.”
Pouting, occasionally breaking into a grin, “Daniela” got down on the floor, stretching himself out so his head rested near Julie’s bare feet. He began lapping at her toes, like small, starving dog, occasionally turning his eyes up in reproach.
Julie smiled. “Oh, you love it,” she told him. Turning to Steve, she glared, first at him, then at the untouched snifter on the table.
“I believe I told you to get me a drink at some point. I didn’t just say pour me a drink, I meant get it for me. Hand it to me nicely.”
“Yeah…listen, I think I’m gonna go.”
“Are you? I’m sorry to hear that.” He hadn’t exactly expected tears, but Steve was nonplussed by the impassive response.
“Yeah. So if you’ll just…” He gestured. “My clothes,” he finished weakly.
“What about them? I’m still waiting for my brandy, by the way.”
“Come on, Julie…”
She laughed suddenly, startling him into silence. “Tickling!” she said, mock-sternly, rapping Daniela’s head with her knuckles. “We don’t tickle Mistress when we’re worshipping her toes, do we?” Daniela smirked like a naughty child.
“Where are my clothes?” Steve demanded, as calmly as he could manage. “You said before I could put my clothes on and leave if I wanted to. And doesn’t your web-site say ‘All Limits Respected?’ Well, I’ve reached my limit.”
Julie shrugged off the comment. “I put your clothes away, since you weren’t wearing them.”
“Gee, thanks. Look, I’m not going to let you do to me whatever it is you do to your slaves. Or your slavegirls, or whatever he is.” Daniela, on the floor, continued tongue-washing Julie’s feet with no sign of having heard Steve’s remark.
“You stripped for me readily enough. I certainly didn’t force you.”
“That doesn’t…just give me my clothes back, alright?”
“Alright, I will. After we have our drink. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
She seated herself and picked up the brandy. “There. I didn’t even order you to hand it to me. Got it myself. Like a big girl. Sit with me, Steve. Drink. How have you been? How are the kids?”
“I don’t…”
“How’s the wife?”
“I’m not married…”
“How’s the job? Hoo boy, bet the Old Man’s really busting your chops on that Henderson account.”
Steve felt his cheeks growing warm. “You don’t know anything about me! Where the hell do you get off treating me like some…”
“Some yuppie asswipe?” Her voice and face both were hard, emotionless. “Some corporate drone?”
“Fuck you. Give me my clothes and I’ll leave. If you don’t give them to me, I’ll go find them myself. But I’m not going to sit here while you fucking insult me.”
“Me insult you? You come here all eaten up with curiosity about my lifestyle. You thought I was a nothing in college, but I was available, and I was skinny enough to be fuckable in your eyes. So it was one night and goodbye, so you could get your ass to business school and get rich. Now you find out I’m a lifestyle dominant and you couldn’t get here fast enough to check out the freakshow. But now the playing-field has changed, and you want to take your balls and go home. Just like…”
“Like what? Like your tricks?”
She got up and left the room, moving quickly, not looking at him. Daniela—who had not once stopped licking her feet during the exchange, folded his arms on the floor, and, sighing, lay his chin on them.
“You know,” he said, “I’m not getting in your business or anything, but you might not want to call the other subs ‘tricks.’ I mean, first of all, they’re not prostitutes, man. They’re really not. And she really has a thing about that. I mean, more than most dommes.”
Steve said nothing.
Daniela shut his eyes. “I shouldn’t have come today, you know? She said it was alright, but I knew it was a bad idea. I knew.”
Still silent, Steve stood glaring at the empty doorway until Julie appeared in it again. His clothes and shoes had been folded neatly and lay across her arms. Her eyes were fixed on a point over his shoulder.
He took the stack of clothes from her, the trousers and shirt that now seemed so vital to his identity. The heat of his anger had faded enough to let him realize how relieved he was to have them back. Somewhere lurking in the back of his mind had been a dim fear that he would be prevented from leaving, that he would be made a prisoner. No, not a prisoner, but a slave. He saw himself naked in eye-shadow and nail-polish, crouched on the floor at Julie’s feet like an animal. He buttoned his shirt up quickly, as though afraid it would suddenly be stripped from his back.
“Do one thing for me,” Julie said suddenly.
“What is it?” Steve wasn’t quite ready to apologize, but he was feeling bad now; an opportunity to make amends appealed to him.
“Come with me for a moment. Daniela, stay.”
Steve followed her, carrying his shoes. She led him to a large, high-ceilinged room. There was a thing in there like an enormous padded table, and Gothic-looking candle-stands, and hooks on the wall for a vast assortment of paddles and pointed metal things that Steve didn’t like looking at too closely. If he had still been naked, he would have been seriously freaked out.
Julie spoke quietly. Steve noticed she still wasn’t looking at him. “Help me with Daniela.”
“What do you mean help you with him?”
“Relax. I owe him a session. If you’re not sticking around, you might as well give me a hand. It won’t take long. All I want you to do is light these candles and put on some music when I give the signal. Then stand nearby, close enough so he can see you during the session.”
Steve frowned. “Why? Are you afraid he’ll try something?”
“Daniela? God no. I’ve known him for years. He made most of my equipment—he’s a carpenter. He made the bondage table over there. He did it in exchange for free sessions with me. But he likes having a man watch him submit. He’s bi. It turns him on. Starting to get the picture?”
Steve wasn’t sure whether he was or not. The idea of being part of another man’s sexual excitement wasn’t anything that felt natural to him. He thought about asking if the whole thing were legal, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t go over particularly well.
“Are you…I mean, what’s going to happen exactly?”
“No way of knowing until the session gets underway. Daniela isn’t into extreme scenes, so don’t worry about that. There won’t be any screaming or blood…or other bodily fluids,” she added. She finally turned to look at him, one eyebrow arched.
“Alright,” Steve said finally. “I’ll do it, what the hell.”
“Good. There’s a lighter over on that shelf. Get started lighting candles and then just hang out by that little boom-box thingie. I’ll give you the signal to turn it on.” With that she turned her back on him, padding briskly back to Daniela.
“You’re welcome,” Steve said sourly, and got to work on the candles. Most of them were in tall glass jars, some imprinted with religious iconography—a Virgin Mary, a Christ weeping tears of blood. Once he lit them Steve did his best to ignore them. He stationed himself next to the boom-box and waited.
A moment later Daniela entered the room. He was blindfolded with a black cloth and his hands had been bound behind his back. He walked slowly, taking firm, measured steps.
Julie followed on his heels. She had put on a pair of spike-heeled pumps and a black leather jacket. She caught his eye and lifted her hand. Steve nodded and hit PLAY on the cassette-player. Deep voices filled the room, droning and chanting. It sounded medieval, like monks at a mass.
What the fuck is all this Catholic stuff? he wondered. As far as he could remember, Julie had never been particularly religious.
Julie had Daniela kneel to her and pressed her high-heeled foot onto his naked thigh. It looked to Steve like the heel’s point was pressing dangerously close to his groin area.
Daniela whispered something. Steve couldn’t make out exactly what he said, but his voice was soft and urgent…he didn’t sound much like a woman now, but in the candle-lit room he looked very like one.
“You can kiss them later,” Julie said, her voice sh
arp. She sounded theatrical, as though she wanted to be heard a long distance away. She leaned forward and caressed his chest, running her nails over Daniela’s nipples. “There’s someone here,” she told him. Now she sounded teasing, almost unpleasantly so. “Did you know that, slave Daniela? Someone is watching you.”
“A man?” Daniela asked. He had raised his voice, and Steve had an idea that this was for his benefit. It had to be; Daniela had to know that he hadn’t left the house yet.
“Yes, a man. Little slut. You love that, don’t you? You love that a man is in here watching you flash your wet pussy. I should have brought girls in, you know. Nasty slutty girls like you. They could have played with these big firm, swelling titties of yours.” She fingered his chest again—there was nothing either firm or swelling about it, but Steve noticed that Daniela had very large, almost gumdrop-sized nipples. He hadn’t noticed them before—possibly, he thought, because before they hadn’t been erect, as they were now.
“Oh God, no,” Daniela whimpered, arching his back. It didn’t sound as though he were just being theatrical; he sounded on the verge of tears. “Not that, please not that…” Steve had no idea why the idea of being seen by girls should have such an effect on the guy, but it very clearly did. His cock was at least as hard as his tits, and like them it was considerably larger than Steve remembered from his initial glimpse.
It occurred to Steve that he had never actually seen another guy’s cock before, let alone one in such a state of obvious excitement. He looked away, but his eyes kept coming back to it. It looked strange to him.
“Don’t worry, I’m in a good mood today. Next time, maybe, I won’t be so nice. But today you’ve got a very nice gentleman here.” She lifted her head, flashing Steve an unreadable look.
“Does he…like me?” Daniela was smiling—or at least the corners of his mouth were stretched upward. He looked as though he were facing something he feared at least as much as the girls Julie had threatened him with.
“Yes, he does. He thinks you’re a very pretty girl. Very hot. He told me so.” Julie looked at Steve, and he wondered if he were supposed to chime in with a comment. He hoped not; he had no idea what he’d say. Fortunately, Julie went on with the show.
