Tate's Tale

by Lilith Darville

  “Basically speaking, kink covers any nonconventional sexual or intimate desires, practices or fantasies, so, for example, that particular gentleman may want to live out a fantasy about public humiliation, or he may consider the act punishment for some infraction we are unaware of,” Francis says. “Many acts other than sex provide a sense of reward for the participants. Similar to how sexual activity without orgasm can still be fulfilling.”

  His explanation sprinkles drops of hope on the huge sense of dread I’m trying to ignore.

  “So, they won’t make me have sex?” I try to keep my tone professional as if I can face anything. I fail miserably.

  Bob drops his arm around my shoulder and squeezes while he drops a quick kiss on my temple. “They can’t make you do anything you don’t choose to do. If you don’t want to have sex, you won’t have sex.”

  Nameless says, “You know damned well that if Hades wants her, he’ll get her. He’s a master of finding a human’s sexual Achilles’s heel, and we don’t even know hers yet. If we know she has some appetite for kink, so will he. Any bets on how long it’ll take him to have her spreading her legs and begging him to fuck her? I give it ten minutes tops, fifteen if he adds a flogging.”

  I shudder in horror, and that warm desire flushing through my system surges.

  “We will have no idea when you’re on the schedule, but I suspect the gods will save you for the finale,” Francis says.

  Great. “Any last words of advice?

  “Tell the truth, and you will be fine,” Francis says. “That is your superpower. It shines from you like light from a beacon.”

  I have to give it to him, when Francis relaxes and lets loose his natural charisma, it’s very appealing. “That’s got to be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.” I’m sure my smile looks like a beacon right now.

  “Don’t mouth off. Hades will use any excuse to punish you, although it might be fun to see a few bruises on that perfect skin of yours,” Nameless says.

  “Thank you, Nameless. I’m going to take the high road and take that as a compliment. Sounds like the basis for one of your songs, you know, you could call it ‘Don’t Bruise the Bitch’ or something like that.” I stick my tongue out at Nameless.

  Francis, Caleb, and I stare in stunned silence as he laughs and pulls his guitar into his lap, strumming a few chords. “Don’t bruise the bitch, bruise the bitch, warm up her ass, but don’t bruise the bitch.” Nameless sings in a melodious bass that seems incongruous coming from a guy his size. Could I be finding a way through the wall that surrounds his heart?

  I clap my hands and bounce in my chair. “Again.” I add a simple harmony line to the chorus. “We’ve so got to finish this.”

  “It’s a date,” Nameless says. Three sets of shocked eyes continue to stare at us.

  “Don’t you worry one bit,” Caleb says. “We think you’re awesome and so will he.” He gives me a thumbs up.

  “You’re sweet.” I blow him a kiss that firmly fixes the grin on his face.

  “Nothing from you, Bob?” I laugh, and my nerves seem to have dissipated. I’ve never walked away from a good challenge. And I love the sense of accomplishment I get from overcoming a hurdle.

  “This was Aphrodite’s punishment. Try not to say anything to piss her off.”

  And who’s fault is that?

  He looks as if he wants to kick himself as soon as the words leave his mouth and rushes to recover. “You’ve got this, sprite.”

  I lean over and grab his cheeks, gently kissing his lips. “Don’t worry, babe. Like Francis says, the truth will set me free, right?”

  Prince’s “1999” is blaring through the speakers as we’re shown to our seats in the Tribunal’s private dungeon. The room is rectangular with a black rubber floor. Spaced throughout it are pieces of equipment: a St. Andrew’s cross, a spanking bench, a regular wooden chair with no arms, and a padded table much like a massage table save for the fact that it’s adjustable like a hospital gurney and has a groping hole in the middle. Play gear—floggers, restraints, and anything else you could need are all hung from the far, shorter wall of the rectangle. The Tribunal sits in their viewing area on one long side of the dungeon space, while we sit with the supplicants and other attendees on the other.

  Tate is a knockout, smoking hot in a black leather and lace bodysuit, black leather boots, and black fingerless elbow gloves that she’s pushed down to the wrist. Her logic—“If I show them enough skin, they won’t need to see me nude.”

  I can feel the tension vibrating off of her. A sheen of sweat glistens between her breasts, but the set of her mouth tells me she’s in no distress. In fact, Tate watches and listens avidly as the first of several supplicants asks to present a scene idea to the gods. Knowing her, she’s probably memorizing every movement and cataloging it for future reference.

  A woman who aced her classes at the academy and only awaits her destined mate asks to address Poseidon. She’s in a cage bra and black PVC pants with a zipper at the crotch.

  “You may approach,” says Poseidon.

  She kneels in front of him, head bowed. “Sir, I’d like to explore breath play. With how attuned you are to all creatures’ needs for oxygen when in your water realms, I think you would be the best god for me to explore this new kink with.

  “Breath play?” Tate says, her brow furrowing.

  Nameless, who so far has looked nothing better than stuck sitting beside her, whispers in her ear, “Restricting a sub’s breathing for a short period of time while stimulating them sexually can heighten arousal. It can be very dangerous. Neck structures can easily be damaged, and too much time without oxygen can be deadly. But a hand over the mouth and a clear safety gesture for the sub can make it very hot.”

  The fucker’s lips must have tickled Tate’s ear because she shivers and squeezes her legs together.

  The next supplicant asks to be edged by Aphrodite—masturbated but not allowed to come. He’s an enormous man, bigger than Caleb, and wearing clothing that tells me he was a biker on earth.

  The final supplicant, a woman with hair twirled into horns and a leather bustier, hot pants, and stiletto boots asks to dominate Hermes.

  The gods speak quietly among themselves while the small crowd on the other side of the room speculates.

  Aphrodite clears her throat, and a male sub, lying prone while she allowed him to worship her feet by rubbing them on his face and licking her toes, wriggles from under her as she stands.

  “Tonight’s first scene will be mine. Dag,” she says to the huge man, “strip and lie on the table. You know where to put that cock of yours. Safe word?”

  “Red,” Dag says over his shoulder.

  I watch Tate’s reaction. Her eyes widen as Aphrodite gracefully slips under the groping hole and teasingly runs her finger along Dag’s already purple cock.

  “Oh, look,” Aphrodite says mockingly, catching precum on her finger. “He’s already dripping.” She rubs it onto his cock head and takes her hand away. Dag’s ass trembles on the table. She blows on the wet tip of his cock, and he groans. She pauses again and gives his crown a hard suck that pops when she lets go.

  Dag’s cock starts to twitch as if it’s looking for its next touch. But she doesn’t touch it, making him groan again. Instead, she winks at the audience.

  For several more minutes, she teases him before announcing, “Flip over. Let everyone see how needy your cock is.” Her tone remains mocking but playful.

  Panting, Dag pulls back on his knees to extract his cock.

  “Faster!” Aphrodite says. “We didn’t negotiate a spank, but he needs one, doesn’t he?”

  Dag swiftly repositions himself on his back, and instantly, Aphrodite cranks the head of the table up, so he’s sitting, legs out front.

  “I want you to see everyone watching me ruin your orgasm.” Aphrodite circles him, looking at his bobbing cock. Then she restrains his hands and feet at the sides of the table.

  The expectant l
ook on Dag’s face has me gritting my teeth as if I’m experiencing the scene. Tate’s mouth is hanging open, and her eyes are glassy. Nameless, a switch, so the sub in him must like this scene, can’t hide the hard-on under his tight-fitting jeans. Caleb doesn’t look as if he’d even try, legs manspread and cock tenting proudly. And then there’s Francis who looks as if he’s seen everything and nothing impresses him anymore.

  Aphrodite gives the purple cock a long lick. Dag’s breaths trip over each other. She wraps her hand around his girth, giving it a few pumps, and Dag’s hips thrust up into her hand, which she instantly snatches away to a very disappointed groan.

  Walking to the back wall, she takes a moment to choose two toys. A leather crop and a vibrator. Back at the table, she holds up both, tilting her head. “Which to torture you with, beautiful Dag?”

  His eyes are wide.

  She gives his cock a slap with the crop, and it bounces off his stomach and back up. His groan is shakier. She does this a few times, then pumps his shaft again before snatching her hand away. Dag gasps and moans as if his orgasm is imminent. But Aphrodite stands back and calmly observes his twitching cock.

  “Look at him, everyone. He wants to come so badly. Poor, poor Dag.”

  Two painful minutes later, once his breathing has slowed down, she waggles the vibrator at him and holds it at the base of his cock where it meets his balls. She turns it on.

  Dag’s breath comes fast between grunts, his cock twitching, his body shaking, and then just as his hips rise off the table and it’s obvious he’s about to orgasm, Aphrodite laughs and removes the vibrator.

  “Arrgh.” Dag thuds the back of his head against the table. Semen weeps from his cock in weak little jets. No full-force release of an orgasm for this boy.

  “Now stay there so everyone can watch how long it takes you to go soft,” she says. “We’ll undo your restraints after Tate Anya Spencer has completed her Tribunal questioning.

  Tate jerks in surprise, and I feel it against our thighs, which touch, but I doubt it was visible to anyone else.

  I wink, “You’re on. You’ve got this.”

  Caleb gives her a thumbs-up.

  Tate stands, squares her shoulders, and descends the two steps from our seating area and crosses the dungeon as if she owns it. Everyone in the room chatters excitedly with those near them. Everyone but Hades. He examines her as if he can see inside of her, and I don’t like it. When she arrives in front of tonight’s seated Tribunal members—Hades, Hermes, Poseidon, Hera, Aphrodite, Artemis, and Eros—Tate clasps her hands together, and head only very slightly bowed, looks at each in turn and waits.

  Hades addresses her first. “Tate Anya Spencer,” he rolls her name around in his mouth as if it tastes delicious. “Your honest thoughts about that scene. Did it appeal to you or turn you off, or both, and how?”

  Tate, as a true headmistress, would teach a student, considers the question for a moment. “I am new to Bardo and only learning to be honest with myself, but I found that scene to be very appealing. It turned me on because Dag gave his trust to Aphrodite to bring him to a challenging physical state, providing him with an experience that is a reward for him for psychological or physical reasons that are his own.”

  That’s my Tate. Hades actually looks annoyed, confirming our theory that he wanted any excuse to punish her and claim her for the Inferno. Hera and Aphrodite’s expressions are unreadable, but Poseidon looks thrilled.

  “And if this were a kink of yours,” asks Hera, “which role would you prefer to play? Aphrodite’s, Dag’s, or both?”

  “Dag’s,” Tate replies without hesitation. “As long as the Dom understood that I would like only teasing taunting and not humiliation.”

  Several of the gods mumble, “She tells the truth.”

  Eros stands, his eyes unfocused, and I know he’s reviewing Tate’s sex life on earth. He occasionally helps us at the academy. “Tate, do you enjoy being spanked?”

  I can’t see Tate’s cheeks, but I bet they just reddened. She loved the spanking workshop at that conference. But she couldn’t admit it to the clan. She has to tell the truth here.

  Her hands ball into fists at her sides, and after an excruciatingly long pause, she admits, “Yes.”

  Eros continues, “And would you ever enjoy spanking another person for your pleasure?”

  The beginning of a laugh bursts out of Tate before she claps her hand over her mouth.

  Hades launches out of his seat. “She is a submissive. Wonderful, then your scene for us will be a spanking scene, and I will be your—”

  The Tribunal erupts into debate among themselves about who will perform the scene with my wife. Our whole clan is on edge, bodies tense, faces strained.

  Tate raises her hand in the way a student with a question would.

  If steam could come out of Hades’s ears, it would. He hates interruptions, but he’ll hate more if the Tribunal chooses someone else to Dom Tate when he was determined to do it himself.

  “Speak, child,” Hera says.

  “I respectfully ask for your respect. You brought me here before I have even died to be the headmistress of your Sexy Sins Academy. I understand it’s under attack. I also understand that, beyond my considerable experience as a headmistress, I have the talents of an empath that’ll help me in ridding the incubus infestation. My request is that you respect me as the head of an institution key to the functioning of Bardo, key to the movement of souls through your realm. How much longer can you have unprocessed apprentices piling up before Bardo becomes chaotic?”

  “You have my respect,” says Poseidon.

  “You have the confidence of a warrior. You have my respect,” says Artemis.

  “You have my respect,” says Hera.

  The rest echo the chorus. Hades doesn’t appear to join in.

  “Or allow me to choose my own scene partner. The choice of a dominant should be a personal decision made by a submissive.”

  Hades’s lips are a thin, hard line. Eros grins. Poseidon nods as if Tate is a badass. Hermes looks as if a dark cloud has settled over his head. Artemis is nodding. Hera’s mouth is open, though she no doubt doesn’t realize it. And Aphrodite looks very amused.. It’s hard to tell Hera’s feelings, but if she’s in agreement, then Eros is the tiebreaker.

  Tate doesn’t even fidget.

  “Granted,” says Eros, after a brief nod from Hera.

  “I choose Nameless as my Dom for this scene.” Tate turns to look at him.

  Aphrodite’s eyes widen.

  Three heads snap toward Nameless, who looks more shocked than we are. The gods eye him appraisingly as if, in his demotion to demon, they missed something.

  He rises slowly, giving one of his tight little smiles, the one where you’re not sure if he would like to drive a knife through your heart or fuck you. I look at Francis, who gives me a what-the-fuck gesture. Caleb shrugs but looks intrigued.

  Tate stares at him as he descends the few stairs leading to the dungeon floor. His easy gait in dark jeans and a tight-fitting black T-shirt make him look the role. He picks up the armless wooden chair and places it in the center of a clear space, angled very slightly so we’ll get a decent view even though the chair faces the gods. Standing in front of it, he crooks his finger at her. And my Tate shivers.

  “We’re negotiating a spanking scene,” he says, and she nods. “Hard limit?”

  Tate seems to consider this for a moment. “Hands only. No canes or anything.”

  Nameless nods. “Is sexual touching permitted?”

  Tate’s breath comes out in a shudder. Her eyes flit to me, but I give her an encouraging nod. This is her experience. Even if I’ll want to kill him afterward.

  “Yes,” she lets out in a rush of breath.

  “Safe word?”

  “Red,” she says.

  “If I’m getting close to your limit, please use the word yellow. Anything else?”

  “Uh, nope.” Tate squirms.

  “Then strip.�
��

  Tate’s eyes widen into saucers. Nameless crosses his arms and cocks his head, expecting my Tate will stop and renegotiate. She was adamant that she would not play nude in front of the gods. But godsdamn if she doesn’t start taking off her gloves. The boots are next. And finally the tiny bodysuit.

  The crowd’s appreciative murmurs and looks seem to turn her shyness into ease.

  “Good girl,” says Nameless and pats his lap. “Now, come here.”

  Her lithe, beautiful body walks to him as if it’s truly where she wants to go.

  We can’t see his eyes, but his head turns and clearly gives Tate a thorough once-over. In response, she blushes and bites her lip.

  He spreads his thighs apart. “Now lie across my lap. Ass up.”

  Tate does as he commands, and Nameless hooks his right arm under her collarbone to cradle her, sliding his other hand up her thighs and over the swell of her perfect ass. He does this for a minute. Caressing, kneading her soft globes. And then, smack. He brings his hand down low on her ass, his hand spanning both cheeks, and then immediately smooths the spot tenderly.

  Tate doesn’t make a sound. What is she thinking?

  Nameless taps one ass cheek five times, each time a little harder. Her perfect breasts jiggle seductively with every spank. The final one makes her jump in his lap, one leg bending at the knee before straightening back out. He evens her out by doing the same on the other side, but this time, Tate lets out a moan.

  If I could see Nameless’s face, a wicked grin would be plastered all over it. He runs his hand gently up her back and down the length of her body, using his nails to gently scrape her on the way up, making goosebumps break out across her skin. I wish I could see her whole ass, but what I can see is rosy.

  He gives her another thudding slap right where her ass meets the crease of her leg. That thump would vibrate right through her clit. And I'm right because Tate moans without volume control and seems to grind her cunt against Nameless’s thigh. Bastard.

  Every so often, Nameless’s fingers graze Tate’s entrance as if he’s gauging her arousal.