by Lena Austin
The Widow was just picking up a large, heavy looking device that looked like a handle and a bunch of large soft leather strips. A flogger, Brad had called it. It was taken from the middle of a long line of devices of various ominous appearances. Obviously, the lady was methodical and organized. Judging by the thing she’d just put down that looked like a horse’s tail on a handle, she’d start at one end of her tools and move toward the other. He identified a rabbit fur glove, a few clamps -- some of which now dangled from the poor, skinny little bastard’s nipples -- the horsehair thing, and the collection of floggers and whips. Damn. Even a riding crop. Calder’s back hurt just looking at it.
Black Widow examined the flogger carefully, even tugging on a few of the strips before swinging the flogger in a figure eight pattern and walking closer to her victim. No, not victim, he corrected himself. Submissive was the correct term.
The submissive’s back was pink from the horsehair thing. Calder supposed it was called a horsehair flogger, since it had the same basic shape as the leather flogger Widow now employed effortlessly. The tips of the leather strips fell in an orderly pattern on the man’s rapidly reddening back. There was no blood or bruising, just an ever-increasing amount of color to the skin. Weren’t there supposed to be strips of flesh hanging off and blood flowing?
Calder did a fast check of the rest of the dungeon. The party was in full swing, and so were many floggers, even a few short bullwhips. However, there was damn little blood, and no screaming that he could hear. Not that he could hear much. Was that supposed to be called music?
“So, how are you enjoying things?” a sultry voice shouted in his ear.
Calder turned and beheld Brad’s wife, Angie. “Hey, kid. Can’t say I’m enjoying this, but it is interesting. Why…”
He never got to finish his question. The skinny guy on the cross began to yell, “Mistress!! I’m coming! Please! Finish me!” Over the pounding music, the whole crowd turned and watched avidly.
Angie snorted. “Wuss! He never lasts long. Thinks he’s such a pain slut. Poor BW!”
Incredibly, the Black Widow grabbed up a bottle and some cotton, and slathered the young man’s back with what smelled like isopropyl alcohol, even from Calder’s position just outside the booth. The kid screeched, but before he could draw the next breath, she’d set him on fire with a lighter! Just as quickly, the Widow patted out the flames with a towel from her left hand, even as she drew the lighter away with her right.
Calder had tensed in an automatic reflex, but Angie had slapped a hand on his sternum and shouted, “Wait!” It wasn’t easy.
As the kid hung there, limp and panting, “Thank you, Mistress, thank you!” applause broke out. The Black Widow, barely even sweating, gave a short nod acknowledging thanks, and turned back to her beaten submissive.
“What’s she doing now? Isn’t she done?” Calder asked.
“No way, hotshot. What? You think we just leave them like that? Watch. This, you won’t learn by reading books. This is the important part.” Angie flipped her black hair over her shoulder and pointed.
Calder watched as The Black Widow snatched up a spray bottle full of a vile-looking green liquid and began liberally anointing the submissive’s back.
“That’s BW’s own special blend of soothing agent,” Angie supplied before he could ask. “Main ingredient is, believe it or not, chamomile tea. Works like a charm to soothe Michael’s nerve endings. See? He’s already coming out of subspace. She’ll be able to take him down in a few minutes.”
Angie was right. “Michael” was standing upright and breathing normally in a few moments. Calder was surprised to see “BW” hold the kid as gently as she could in a hugging embrace while she released the cuffs, and lead him to a position on the floor. The kid sat, nodding his thanks when a cold drink from a small cooler was given to him. BW murmured soothing things, and even cuddled the scrawny guy briefly in a hug.
Angie turned and faced Calder. “That cool down will take a few minutes. They are always a little shocky when they come down from a scene. You gotta treat your subs right. Even assholes like Michael. Any questions?”
“Only about a million of them!” Calder shouted back in her ear. “But I’ll wait until I can hear myself think, much less the answers.”
Only when Michael began to respond in what could have been full sentences did BW get up off the floor and begin cleaning. She wiped everything that could be cleaned with more of the alcohol, and used a disinfectant spray with a pungent smell on everything else, even the wooden cross.
He watched as Michael reached with shaking hands into a small blue gym bag and pulled out a large candy bar. His hands trembled so badly the kid couldn’t even unwrap it. BW stopped her cleaning, knelt, and tenderly opened it for him. She even broke off a piece to hand feed her sub until he took the bar back and ate on his own. Only then did she return to her cleaning.
Fascinated didn’t begin to describe Calder’s emotions as he watched Black Widow give the booth a cleaning and sterilization a nurse would be proud to claim. Some tiny little snake squirmed jealously in the pit of his stomach, envious of the poor bastard that had just been beaten for getting such loving tenderness.
The dichotomy between the Hollywood image of the beautiful Dominatrix and the woman energetically cleaning had Calder staring and visibly clamping his jaw to keep it from hanging open like a yokel. He had to know more, and damn Brad’s rules.
* * *
Brad appeared just as BW gave Calder one helluva view of her spectacular ass while she bent down to get a diet cola from the tiny cooler. Calder barely managed to keep his tongue from hanging out like a wolf’s.
Instead of coming up to Calder, he went straight into BW with a concerned look on his face. “Kelly!” he shouted, loud enough for Calder to hear over the pulsing of Metallica. “Stay around here for about an hour, okay? There’s going to be knife play in number three!”
“Aw, damn!” Angie exclaimed, as the infamous Black Widow shuddered and wrinkled her nose. “Brad! Brad! Are you going to be safety monitor on that? And turn that music down!”
“Yeah!” Brad shouted. “You stay with Kelly and Calder, okay?” At Angie’s nod, he raced off.
Within moments, the music volume reduced to something below earsplitting, giving Calder’s abused eardrums some welcome relief. Mozart was more his speed.
BW walked over, swigging long and deep from her can. “Ye gods, my feet are killing me. I’m losing the shoes for the rest of the night.” Her voice was low, throaty, and cultured, with just a hint of the Deep South. She bent down to loosen the ankle straps that held on the skyscraper heels, and gave Calder a view that had him wondering why her tits didn’t fall out. They sure threatened to do so at any moment. She lost a good four inches in height. “Ahhh!! How do you spell relief?” BW asked to the ceiling.
Angie just laughed. “Self-inflicted torture, pal.”
BW eyed Calder speculatively. “Any luck?” she asked, apparently to Angie.
“Oh, no, Kelly. This guy wouldn’t know Gorean from sensual. He’s just observing tonight. No luck.”
They were interrupted by the meek voice of Michael. “Mistress? May I please go watch the knife play?”
“Sure, babe. Go for it,” BW answered without turning her head. Calder was positive now that her casual air of low-class was just an act. “Babe” hadn’t come out naturally. Her whole posture and voice screamed “Lady.” What a puzzle.
BW took another swig of her soda as Michael sped off without another word. “So, observer, huh? And your name is Calder?”
“Calder Burgess, at your service,” Calder answered with a mocking half-bow.
“I doubt it.” BW winked saucily.
Calder took a few moments to figure out that “service” around here took on a whole new meaning. “Just curiosity, tonight, Black Widow.” He grinned, appreciative that the joke was on him. “Would you care to explain your implements to me?”
* * *
Kel
ly studied this Calder fellow for a few minutes. He was tall, at least a six-footer, and had that easy confidence of an “innocent,” at least as far as BDSM was concerned. Intelligent green eyes, sun-streaked brown hair, and a hint he might wear glasses around the nose. She hoped not. Glasses were one thing that made her melt, big time.
You’re so repressed, Kelly. Get over it.
Calder took her silence for consent and walked over to examine her large collection of toys with his hands wisely behind his back. She’d hate to have to break his fingers.
Geeezus! Get a load of that gravity-defying ass. Down, girl! Crap, I need to get laid before I burst.
Calder pointed without touching to her collection of clamps. A larger box with divided trays was on the floor nearby, but enough of each type was in the small pile. “What are those for?”
“Stimulating nerve endings in specific locations, Einstein.” Rolling her eyes at such innocence, Kelly strolled over, getting into “BW mode” as she called it. She pointed toward a few plastic-coated alligator clamps with screws to make a perfect fit. “Those are the mildest. They do little more than restrict blood flow in the area involved, causing a certain amount of increased sensitivity. Of course, they are only good where skin is loose, such as nipples, scrotum, and occasionally ears or torso.”
Calder had grinned at the mild insult, but shuddered at the mention of a guy’s tender balls. “It doesn’t hurt?”
Kelly snorted. “Not those! Even the clothespins and other stronger items do little more than pinch. They stimulate the erogenous zones, nothing more. Now these,” she held up a rather wicked looking pair of tiny tong-like devices with sharp teeth in the prongs, “do a little more in the way of the pain department. But they are only good for pain sluts.” She held them up to the vicinity of her own nipples. It was almost second nature to tease a man like Calder.
Calder looked thoughtful. “Pain sluts? Those who are in it for pure pain?”
Kelly nodded. “Got it in one, babe. There are those in this world who can’t seem to enjoy what you and I would call normal stimuli for sexual pleasure. You have to bring them right up to the limit of stimulus, where the brain is almost overloaded.” She picked up a small device that looked like a less-wicked pair of the alligator clamp things. “Stick out your thumb and forefinger, sweetie.”
Long and Luscious Calder hesitated, delighting Kelly with his wariness. This one was a smart cookie. Whoever said the brain was the best sex organ was definitely right. Well, she knew how to engage the masculine mind. Kelly winged an eyebrow to her hairline. “Don’t be scared, Calder,” she coaxed. “This is merely a small demonstration of how the brain overrides the body. It won’t do more than pinch.”
Pride overrode his good sense, just as she planned. His eyes glittered, and he thrust out his right hand.
Kelly rewarded his bravery with a smile. “Thank you for trusting me, Calder. Now, pay attention.” She clamped the little device on the loose skin between his thumb and forefinger, tightening it down until she felt his hand tense in hers. “Trust is a big part of BDSM, as you well know.” She shot a look at Angie, who nodded and moved one step to stand behind Calder.
“Someday, you’ll have to elaborate on that for me. Ouch!”
Kelly favored him with a deliberately worried expression. “Oh, is that too tight? Some people are so sensitive there.” The initial pinch would fade in three seconds or so, if she could engage his attention that long.
Calder looked at his hand. The little clamp dangled there. “No, it’s okay. It just hurt for a second.”
“Good. Calder, look at me, not your hand.” It was a low, soft command, deliberately enticing.
Calder’s gaze snapped up and locked on hers.
Kelly gave him a sweet smile and said softly, “Pardon me.” Without warning, she reached out to caress his crotch in a long, slow sweep.
“Whoa!” Calder exclaimed, and jumped back into Angie’s waiting arms, panting.
That hard package had been difficult to resist. Its size gave a clear hint of the joys under the denim. Kelly returned to her usual impersonal mask. “My apologies, Calder. But if I’d warned you, the sensation would have been reduced. Did you not feel more than usual in that simple caress?” She moved forward to where Angie was making sure of his balance, and removed the clamp.
He was still stunned enough to answer honestly, “God, yes!” While still breathing somewhat heavily, he made a valiant attempt to regain aplomb, and jerked upright.
Kelly played with the clamp in her hand. “It’s a simple psycho-physiological reaction to direct stimuli. The brain reacts to the tiny amount of pain by ‘awakening’ to where it feels everything more. Of course, there is a threshold. When the brain reaches a pain-pleasure combination of a certain level, it naturally chooses pleasure over pain. Orgasm often results from the overload.”
Calder’s fingers twitched, as if he were dying to take notes or something. She loved an intelligent, organized personality. “You can experiment on yourself later, but it doesn’t work quite so well when the subject knows they are to be stimulated. That’s the reason the tests fail in the lab.” She handed him the clamp. “Something about you says that you’d be the type to try and repeat this at home. At the risk of being crude, I suggest using it the same way, but on your left hand. Then beat off. You should get a decent reaction enough using that method.”
He blushed as he put the clamp in his pocket. Kelly hid her delight with difficulty.
“Moving on.” She picked up the horsetail thing. “This is a horsehair flogger. Stick out your hand.”
Let’s see how you react, gorgeous. God, why can’t I have this kind of a subbie? He’s so innocent, it’s cute.
Calder looked warily at the flogger. “Aw, what the hell. What can hair do to you?” He thrust his hand out. With a simple flick, she lashed out with the horsehair. The sting was incredible. “Ouch!” he pulled his arm back, and stared at his hand and forearm. No welts, and only a tiny amount of redness showed.
“Sorry about that. If I had warned you, you would have flinched. Stick it out again. This time, I promise, it won’t hurt.”
Calder slowly put his hand back into position. This time, the swing was obvious. The hair, instead of touching him with the ends, lay swiftly across his forearm. No sting. “That didn’t hurt.”
“No, but look at your forearm now.” She folded the hairs against the handle neatly.
Calder looked at his forearm. It was now pink, and felt slightly warm. “But it doesn’t hurt.”
Angie gave him a nudge. “It’s not supposed to, silly. A few strokes of the horsehair, and your nerve endings are stimulated and blood is flowing to the skin, warming it. It prepares the skin for the next step. And Kelly is being rough on you. She didn’t do half of what she could to warm your skin and make this extremely pleasant for you. But this is just a demo. Nothing that would engage the psyche and make you hunger. And I assure you, she could make you very, very hungry for anything.”
* * *
The Black Widow grinned, and turned back to Calder. He couldn’t help but wonder what could possibly create a “hunger” in him, like addiction, perhaps? Well, it was possible to become addicted to sex.
A submissive, judging by the collar around his neck and the lack of clothing, slid bonelessly to the floor. No one in leather was in sight. Just two others in collars who tripped over the mess on the floor in their haste to get to the white-faced guy now seemingly unconscious next to a table.
Swifter than lightning, Kelly and Angie thrust whatever was in their hands at Calder and ran to the booth where the two rescuers cradled the downed man. One was taking his pulse while the other put a bottle of what looked like water to the victim’s lips.
Calder followed, looking helplessly at the soda and heavy flogger in his hands. He was in time to hear the one in a red collar taking the pulse report in an authoritative tone, “He’s going to be fine, Mistresses. Pulse is a little unsteady, but nothing to call an a
mbulance for. Keep dribbling in that liquid, Dave. Slowly.”
“Who did this? Harry? Do you know?” Angie snarled.
“It was the new Mistress in white,” Harry, the one in the red collar, answered.
The one called Dave cursed with a flair Calder could only envy. “Fucking idiot thing to do. Didn’t anyone teach her safety cool-down procedures? She doesn’t deserve a nice guy like Jim, here.” While he talked, he carefully continued to drip the liquid past the pale lips.
Angie stormed off, muttering dire threats.
“Get him on the table, guys. Facedown. How’s the new practice, Harry?” BW was all authority. “I’ll tend him. Calder, bring me my spray. And a towel. Should be fresh ones in my black bag.”
Calder moved, dumping the cola and flogger onto the table in BW’s booth. The spray was easy to find. The towels took only a few more seconds to locate in the organized and perfectly clean bag.
“Practice is doing fine. I love the new office. Ready, Dave? On three!” Harry expertly arranged his arms beneath the now semi-conscious man.
“Wait a sec! I’m a software geek, not a damn doctor. Okay, now!”
On the count of three, the victim was laid facedown on the table. BW began to repeat the ministrations she’d done on Michael. Within a few minutes the man was conscious and able to sit up. Harry and Dave volunteered to sit with him until he finished reviving. A meekly chastened Mistress in white leathers came back, and began to pack her equipment. She fled shortly thereafter. Her submissive was left to his own devices but did not seem concerned.
Calder and BW returned to their booth, and BW began to pack her things. She muttered imprecations, but didn’t toss Calder out. When her temper calmed enough where he wasn’t concerned she’d bite his head off, Calder asked, “What happened over there?” In a perverse way, he was grateful for the incident. It just wouldn’t do to get a hard-on in this place, and that was sure to get him the wrong kind of attention. But damn! How could a guy not get stimulated when a beautiful woman in leather and little else shows him toys meant for kinky sex?
