by Amy Valenti
That was when she saw him for the first time.
In his tux and neat bow-tie he stood out from the crowd immediately. Blond hair slicked back, he wore a Venetian carnival mask. Julie recognized it immediately because it was so similar to one Nathan had worn. It made her start for a moment, before she reminded herself that Nathan was a thousand miles away, and he had black hair not blond, and he had never held himself and moved with that kind of athletic grace...
The mask was a Medico della peste. It was white, with a long down-turned beak and round eyeholes that were covered with dark glass, giving them a bug-like appearance.
Reflexively, she reached up and touched her own simple mask. In that moment, the man’s head turned slowly, surveying the dance-floor and those watching, then he turned and left.
That was it. A moment. No more than a second or two, and then gone.
§
“Was that all? If he was just a face in a crowd – not even that, with the mask – then what’s so significant? That you were both wearing masks: did that make it seem pre-ordained in some way? Or was it that double-take? The brief instant when you thought he might be Nathan?”
“Masks aren’t that unusual at the Club,” Julie said. “And I don’t think it was because of any resemblance to Nathan. But there was something about him. Something compelling. Magnetic.”
How do you explain that all it took was a glimpse and you were drawn? It was an alpha-male thing, she knew: some guys just had that instant appeal, something in their manner and their look.
“So was that it? Just a glimpse across a crowded room.”
Julie looked down into her drink, then up at her sister again. She shook her head.
“I followed.”
§
Or at least she tried to, but by the time she had worked her way across the dance-floor and out into the chill-out area, there was no sign of him.
So she drifted, again.
Flesh in all shades and shapes. Tattoos, body paint and piercings. Bodies that were shaved and waxed smooth; bodies coarsely matted with hair. Penises, cut and uncut, some little more than stubs nestling in thick hair, others long and fat, hard and soft and every stage in between. Flat chests and great big swollen breasts; asses red from flogging. Bodies restrained and constrained in a hundred different ways.
All of this blurred together, a peculiar mix of intensely arousing and curious and, more than anything else, a sense of liberation. The release here was so much more than merely sexual: it was a dropping of rules and burdens, a way of finding your own version of normal.
It felt odd, too. That guilt of being here on her own. The knowledge that every time before she had still been following rules – Nathan’s rules – whereas now she really was dropping all those constraints.
She became very aware that her role on this night was a voyeuristic one. That was fine – there was no requirement that she must join in – but still it felt as if she was cheating a little.
Having always been here with a partner before, she was unsure of the finer details of club etiquette. She understood that you should never interfere with a scene that was being played out: the participants were in the zone, caught up in their fantasy, and it was bad form to break that spell in any way. And she understood that you shouldn’t do anything unwelcome – ‘no’ means ‘no’, and many people at Extraordinaire had quite specific tastes and desires, so a ‘no’ would always be a common response.
But that should never stop you asking. Madame Superior had already offered to make introductions, and she knew there were Dungeon Monitors throughout the club who would do the same – there was a real art to reading people’s needs and matching kink to kink. When she’d been with Nathan, they’d only ever really indulged in a bit of BDSM Lite, and he was the one who had taken the lead. Now, she knew, there were no limits. She could try everything.
And then she saw him again, and all thoughts of finding something to join were gone.
He stood with one hand in the pocket of his tux and the other arm hanging loose at his side, a simple cat o’ nine tails in that hand. He was still clothed, but the bow-tie was unknotted and hanging loose around his neck, the top button of his white shirt undone.
At his feet, a young brunette was on her knees, her head bowed, her spine tautly held in a beautiful shallow S-curve. She wore only a leather thong, and she was motionless, like a statue. Julie couldn’t even see any rise and fall in her shoulders or chest as she breathed.
The guy just looked at her, that mask giving him a distinctly sinister air.
Julie joined the circle of onlookers watching the scene.
He raised the cat, turned to look at it and then, in a flash, brought it down sharply across the girl’s breasts. Everyone winced, and there were a few grunts and gasps from those who watched, but the girl remained motionless, obedient.
The guy nodded once, a sign of approval.
Julie moved around the circle until she could see the girl sideways on. She was in her twenties, her body statuesque. Her face was not blank as Julie had anticipated, but intense, eyes focused on her partner, a need in her look, a devotion. And one full breast had a pattern of parallel red marks across its pale flesh where the cat had struck. That must have hurt so much! How had she managed not to respond to that blow?
Julie stared, surprised at the intensity of her own response. If she concentrated hard enough she could feel the sting of the cat’s tails, feel the long, lingering after-burn as sharp pain transformed into something else. The intense awareness of everything, all brought to a focus by that stinging blow. She could feel her heart beating heavily, almost feel her own weight bearing down on her toes and knees, as if she was the one kneeling there, not moving, obedient.
He looked at Julie, then.
Right at her. A glance across to the side where Julie stood and then, as he made to look away, he paused and those dark glass eye sockets fixed on her.
He stood, still staring.
She thought he was going to come over to her, take her for his own. Bring her into this fantasy and use her.
Instead, he stepped around his partner so that he stood to one side of her. She leaned forward onto her hands now, kneeling doggy-style. Her long brunette hair formed a curtain around her face, and her breasts hung down, emphasizing their fullness and weight.
That curve in her carefully poised spine pushed her ass up, offering it to him.
Eye disks finding Julie again and fixing on her, the guy moved further round until he was behind his partner. Now he looked down, then leaned forward so he could trail his cat o’ nine tails softly along that curved spine and across her ass.
Deftly, he flipped it in his grip, and now it was the handle he ran across his partner’s skin, across one buttock so hard it left a pink trail. Finding the narrow strip of leather that ran down the crack of her ass, he dragged the whip downwards so that its heel buried between the girl’s cheeks. Moving further down, he pushed up between her legs and her body lifted.
So much strength in what looked like a casual movement!
He flexed his arm again and her back arched, the leather of her thong protecting her like a chastity belt.
The atmosphere was taut, the room silent save for gentle background music – something classical that Julie only vaguely recognized.
He looked up, finding Julie once more.
Again, with a movement so fast it was a blur, he withdrew his hand, flipped the wrist and brought the cat stingingly down across the girl’s ass, leaving a new trail of red lines.
Julie stood there, more aroused than she could remember.
She squeezed her legs together, feeling the tightening of black lace against herself beneath the leather mini-skirt. She wanted to move her hand down and press, but she knew that was a no-no – participation of any sort from the onlookers might interrupt a scene and break the moment.
But then... He was still looking at her. She hadn’t interrupted this scene: he’d involved her. He’d made eye c
ontact, fixed on her, sought her out as if she was some kind of sounding board, a mirror that might somehow reflect the intensity of his fantasy.
A blur, a snapping sound, and more red marks appeared across that exposed ass.
God, it was so intense!
The atmosphere was like glass about to shatter into a million pieces.
She had to leave. If she stayed, she would only do something foolish and mess things up.
His eyes wouldn’t release her, though.
Instead, he gave a nod, a different one this time. A ‘come here’ nod.
She didn’t hesitate, no longer caring about the etiquette of getting involved in someone else’s scene. She had been summoned. How could he pack so much command into a simple gesture like a nod?
Julie stepped out of the ring of onlookers, and all eyes turned on her.
Only three paces and she stood before him, legs a little apart, arms hovering uncertainly, and her eyes still locked on his.
There were only the two of them.
The watchers melted into a blurred backdrop. Even his original partner, down on all fours so close that Julie’s leg was almost against her side, was no more than a piece of the scenery.
She expected him to straighten, to dominate and possess her, but instead he dropped to his knees and looked up at her.
She stepped forward, one pace, two, and in a moment of understanding she knew what he intended.
She moved her hands to her thighs, slid them up. Her fingers hooked into the hem of her skirt so that it rode up to reveal the bare tops of her legs, her ass, the tiny black lace triangle of her thong.
He dipped his head, leaned forward, and the tip of the long beak of his mask pressed delicately against the outside of her thigh. The mask was hard and cool to the touch, made perhaps of porcelain or bone.
The contact sent a chill racing across her skin, goose bumps pricking up, tiny hairs standing on end. Her nipples stiffened, and she became intensely aware of them pressing against the tight leather of her bustier.
She focused on the touch of his mask against her leg, and then that cool hardness moved across the tight skin of her thigh.
He pulled away, turned his head, dipped, and the beak came to rest on the outside of her other thigh. Another thrill coursed across her skin, and this time she felt a deeper response, a tensing of muscles in her belly. Her heart thumped rapidly, and her breathing was fast and shallow. Now, she was aware of the tightness at the center of her being, the sudden wetness.
She bit down on her lower lip, and all the time her eyes were locked on those disks of black glass set into the mask’s round eye-holes.
He pulled away, and paused.
Her eyes still locked on those black disks.
This time, when he leaned forward, the hard beak slid between her thighs and the tip nuzzled upwards, coming to press against her sex.
She gasped, tipped her head back, and for a moment thought she might keep on going, black out altogether and keel over. Such an intense response to so delicate a touch...
She managed to remain standing, her head spinning.
That hard, cool porcelain still pressed. Was he pushing more firmly now, or was she just sensitized, becoming more aware? Against that hardness, she could feel her own movements: the slight sway of her body, a pulse somewhere deep. She rolled her hips against him as he held that beak rigid, and felt a delicious thrill surge up through her core.
She held and now... now he started to move, started to press harder. Everything about him was precise, measured, controlled. The rounded tip of the beak pushed against her and then slipped down, plunging its full length tantalizingly slowly between her thighs. A slight ridge ran along its upper surface, an edge that seemed to intensify every sensation as he drove deeper between her legs.
It was all she could do to remain standing. Her legs had gone so weak it felt as if all that was keeping her upright was that pressure, her weight being carried on this stranger’s porcelain mask.
Deep between her legs, the length of the beak ran along the folds of her sex.
The tip of the mask emerged beneath her ass, its bulbous end bearing up between her cheeks. And the base... its hard porcelain ground up against her, almost lifting her to her toes. Every slight movement was transmitted through this hardness, pressing against her clit, sending intense thrills through her belly and out through the whole of her body.
One long, languorous thrust and he’d taken her right to the edge!
He pushed, and it was as if the mask had been constructed solely for this purpose, molded to her contours.
She looked around, the room a dizzying blur of faces and bodies. Bare skin, leather, latex, lace, chains. Eyes, all focused on her and this mysterious Dom, the scene that had become their scene.
She looked down. The girl on all fours, motionless, eyes fixed on Julie and the guy. Something in those eyes, urging them on. Was she as turned on as Julie was? Arousal was heavy in the air.
A slight shift in that pressure and all Julie’s attention was focused on the physical sensations again, that cool hardness against her, the sense that one more shift, one more push, and she would be tipped over the edge into orgasm.
She bit down on her lower lip, trying to adjust focus, trying to hold on.
Then from the corner of her eye she saw that hand, that blur... his arm swinging wide so that it could come up behind her.
Sharp pain exploded across her left buttock, a pain that instantly transformed into pulsing heat. The cat o’ nine tails!
She bit down harder, tasting blood... anything to stop herself from crying out loud.
She held herself rigid against him as the pain transformed, its heat spreading out, merging with the intense stabs of pleasure from where the mask ground against her. Everything focused in the middle part of her body: her ass, her pussy, her belly.
So intense!
His arm was still extended around her, and this time the only warning she had was a tensing of his frame to tell her that wrist was flicking, and then the snap of tails against her ass came again. The sting was sharp, the transformation from sting to burn delicious. And then...
The transformation to something else entirely, a coming together of all those sensations into a tight ball in the pit of her belly, a clenching – almost a muscular cramping, almost too much – and then a blossoming, a spreading, rushing sensation. There was a pulse in her clit against that hard mask, a fluttering tightening in her pussy, and then it swept through her body, through her senses.
She couldn’t stand, but she had to remain upright, she had to play this out. All the eyes on her, this little tableau of the mysterious Dom on his knees before her and yet totally, masterfully, in control.
Somehow, she stood, as more waves of clenching pleasure tore through her.
Somehow she managed to breathe and not to black out.
Finally, the intensity started to seep away and she was left standing, breathing, becoming aware of her surroundings, the people, the room.
She stepped back, away.
She tasted blood in her mouth from where she’d bitten down on her lip. Heat spread across her ass from the cat – how many times had he struck her? A pulse still beating deep within.
She looked around, and they were still watching, all the faces: people she recognized from previous visits, complete strangers.
She turned back to the man, but he had stood up now and turned away.
The etiquette... what were the rules for something like this? How should one behave?
He had his back to her, his shoulders broad so that his back formed an inverted triangle down to his slim waist and hips where the tux hung loose.
She wanted to say something, to do something, but she didn’t know what. Her head was still spinning, a rush of blood thing but also a slew of unexpected emotions at the intensity of it all. This had been far more than something merely physical.
The man still ignored her, stooping to help his original partner to he
r feet, suddenly the model of attentiveness.
The scene was over.
Powerless, she watched as the two of them moved away towards the door. Finally, just as he was about to leave the room, he glanced back and she felt that connection again, through those black-disk eyes. He gave a slight nod, and beneath the mask she saw a twitch of that thin-lipped mouth, a brief smile, and then he was gone.
§
Rachel was looking at her over her glass, that knowing smile Julie knew from childhood plastered across her face. Had she shared too much? She’d left out a lot of the details in her account of the night at Club Extraordinaire, but it’s hard to tell that kind of story without getting carried away and spilling too much.
“Well, Julie,” said Rachel, “I do love having a sister like you!”
“TMI?”
“No, just about the right level of ‘I’, I’d say.” Rachel laughed, then went on, “I’ve always held back in life, but you’re a risk-taker. I admire that.”
“And somewhere in between the two of us there’s a healthy balance, right?”
Rachel nodded. “I do wish I was more like you sometimes.”
“And the rest of the time?”
“Well, the rest of the time I’m just glad it’s you and not me. And I mean that in the nicest possible way: I love that you go out there and take opportunity by the horns. I love that you’re open to the possibilities of life, even if it sometimes slaps you in the face – you’re always prepared to take the chance. People should live life to the full.”
“Oh, I do that, all right.”
“So this guy: you said it was more than just physical. Is that why you feel so guilty? That you went to the club to lose yourself in casual sex and ended up interested in someone? You need to move on, Julie. Nathan controlled you when you were together, but he can’t carry on doing that when you’re apart.”
“I’m trying.”
