C.H.A.S.E. 3: Welcome to the Fetish Club

by Shelby Morgen

  Ani shook her head. “Let’s just say it’s a lesson that doesn’t need to be repeated.”

  11:15 AM, Sunday, 11 February 2007

  Crystal’s Dungeon

  The heavy drapes were closed, now, blocking out the New York skyline and casting the room into shadows. The only light came from dozens of electric wall sconces bathing the room in artificial candlelight. He didn’t remember seeing them before. The curtains in the corner were open, revealing a computer console and a camera.

  Fear laced through him at the sight of the camera. If she had a live Internet feed…

  A leather-covered bench built a bit like a gymnast’s “horse” stood a few feet away from the camera. To the right of it sat a small table with an assortment of restraints, straps, whips, paddles, and chains. In her right hand Mistress Crystal held the riding crop with the leather popper she’d woken them up with, and in her left, a remote. “There you are, my pretties. Are you ready to play my game?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” Ani answered.

  He knew what she was thinking. This camera was here, out in the open. Now. Had it been running last night? Where else were there cameras mounted? “I -- I…” He stuttered in his effort to reply, staring at the camera.

  He’d wanted this, and there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for his Mistress. But privacy was supposed to be part of the bargain. The camera wasn’t. The Internet could be bad. Very, very bad.

  “What’s the matter, Ricky? Worried about your reputation?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Mistress came closer, her body between him and the camera, trailing the end of the popper over the low V neck of the maid’s costume. “It isn’t proper, is it, Ricky. You don’t want to be seen dressed like this in public. And make no mistake, my dungeon may be limited access, but it’s viewed by thousands of people.”

  Fear coursed through him, warring with excitement. Limited access. Pay-per-view. So that’s how she afforded a penthouse and a private chauffeur. If he really was a chauffeur… “Mistress, I can’t.” His protest sounded feeble even to him. Damn it, it was exciting as hell, but it could ruin his career. And his reputation.

  “Did I ask your permission?”

  What would she do if he argued? “No, Mistress. I apologize.”

  “You have one choice. You may wear either a hood or a mask to protect your privacy if you choose.”

  He let out his breath in a sigh of relief. “The mask, please, Mistress.” A hood might cover more of his features, but it would be hot, and it would make his hair look like hell.

  Mistress Crystal nodded to Ani. “Do you wish to wear a mask as well, slave?”

  He looked up for a fleeting second, surprised. He hadn’t really thought of Ani as another sub. Though, in retrospect, Crystal had treated her more like a sub than another Domme. If so, she was obviously the Alpha sub. Ani’s gaze darted to the camera. “Yes, please, Mistress.”

  “Get them.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” Ani extracted a pair of smooth black leather face masks from the rack along the wall, along with several straps and cuffs. She moved to stand behind him, slipping the mask over his face and lacing it snugly in place, then handing hers to him. He laced it tightly, so it wouldn’t accidentally shift during the scene to come. For he was sure it would be a full-fledged scene, designed for the camera. His cock was on high alert.

  “Assume the position,” Crystal ordered.

  He dropped to his knees, folding his hands behind his back, forehead as close to the floor as he could bend. Beside him Ani did the same. A ping sounded, and Mistress Crystal turned toward the camera, hitting a button on the remote. The red light on the camera blinked, then turned green.

  He watched out of the corner of his eye as Crystal cracked the crop against her thigh, the noise echoing in the large cavern of a room. “Welcome to Mistress Crystal’s Dungeon. I do hope you’re not late. I expect all my slaves to be prompt.”

  With a smile that was far from comforting, Crystal turned her lovely backside to the camera and strolled the few steps it took to reach his side before turning three-quarter profile. “We’re going to play my favorite game today. I call this game ‘The Inquisition’.”

  Another pop of the whip. He flinched, almost expecting it to connect with his skin. That it didn’t was of little comfort. Never had he felt so exposed. So vulnerable.

  “One slave will be the prisoner. The other will play the part of the torturer.” She trailed the lash of her whip over his exposed ass. “Do you wish to be prisoner or punisher, slave?”

  Despite himself, he shifted slightly, almost making the mistake of raising his head. He was to be given a choice? What fool would willingly choose to be beaten? And yet… to lay a whip into Ani’s soft, tender flesh? He swallowed hard. “I would be the prisoner, if it pleases you, Mistress.”

  She smiled, as if she’d known all along that would be his choice. “Let the games begin.”

  “Have you got some sort of martyr complex?” Ani hissed. She looked positively wicked in her shimmering red kimono and the black leather mask. “Don’t think for one minute I’m going to be easy on you.”

  He did his best to hide his smile, sure now that he’d made the right choice. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  Smothering a laugh, Ani pulled his hands behind his back and cuffed them firmly into wide, padded leather restraints, connected so that his hands had to lie side by side. His shoulders pulled back sharply, making his tits strain against the thin fabric of his black satin uniform.

  “The prisoner will be masked during the interrogation, to protect his identity, should he decide to cooperate,” Crystal announced. “We will call this little sissy gurl Scott.”

  Ani flinched, then, smiling, cracked her whip for the camera.

  Was the camera real? Or part of the game?

  Crystal had donned a black barrister’s robe, which swung open as she moved to reveal an overly large black dick, complete with dangling balls, protruding from her strap-on harness. Dear God that thing was fat. Surely she didn’t think that would fit in his ass.

  “I am the Grand Inquisitor, Bishop Stuart. My implement of punishment today will be Mistress Ani. I know from your letters how much you enjoy her work. Mistress Ani will now chain the prisoner to the interrogation bench.”

  Letters? He shuddered to think what sort of letter she might receive from the sick bastards who’d watch this on the Internet. Ani led him to the “horse” and kicked the point of her high-heeled shoe between his feet, nudging his thighs apart with her knee. Obediently he spread his legs wide, knowing what was coming. She secured each ankle to the horse’s legs with more wide leather cuffs. His weight rode firmly on the balls of his feet, pinching his toes in the points of the slinky heels he’d chosen this morning. Had he known they were going to play a game like this… hell. He couldn’t lie to himself. He’d still have worn them. They made his legs look damn good.

  Next Ani added cuffs to his arms, just below the elbows. These she belted together, pulling his forearms as close to one another as possible without dislocating his shoulders. The last leather strap hooked to the horse on one side and across his back, toppling him onto his stomach over the hard leather bench. Ani swept his hair out of his face, grabbing a handful to lift his head so that he could meet Crystal’s gaze.

  Could she tell how excited he was? His cock was already leaking drops of pre-cum against the soft satin G-string. His nipples stood out so stiffly they had to show even through the frilly lace that adorned his bodice.

  “Where were you last night, prisoner?” Crystal demanded.

  Last night? Was this a trick question? “I enjoyed an evening out on the town, Bishop Stuart.”

  “Doing what, Mr. Scott?”

  He felt himself flush, remembering. “Dancing, Bishop Stuart.”

  “That isn’t all you were doing, was it?”

  “No, Mis -- Bishop Stuart.”

  “You consumed large amounts of spirits.”

  “I did.
I confess, Bishop Stuart.”

  “So you admit your debauchery?”

  Wasn’t he supposed to? “Yes, Bishop.”

  “Dancing and alcohol are a sign of the devil. Is the devil in you, prisoner?”

  He was dressed in a French Maid’s costume, spread eagle and cuffed over a horse, his cock swollen and stiff between his legs, like a cherry ripe for the picking. Too late to argue now. “Yes, Bishop. I have consorted with the devil. I have practiced deviant sexual behavior. I deserve to be punished.”

  Mistress Crystal moved close enough to run her hand over his ass and give his aching cock a squeeze. “Oh, look. The gurly girl has a dick. Before we begin the punishment we shall have to restrain your randy cock, prisoner.”

  Restrain? He swallowed hard as she plucked what he now recognized as a black rubber Gates of Hell set off the table. This was going to be good. So very, very good.

  11:25 AM, Sunday, 11 February 2007

  The Grande Inquisition

  Bishop Stuart’s Dungeon

  His cock securely fastened into the Gates of Hell, Ricky hung face down over the horse, his long black hair obscuring his vision. He might as well have been wearing a blindfold as a mask.

  The click of her heels told him Mistress Crystal had moved to his side. “Tell me who led you into this wicked behavior, deviant. Who corrupted your innocence and led you to do the devil’s work?”

  Ahh. So that was the way it worked. Well, truthfully, he probably shouldn’t have confessed so easily. She needed a reason to interrogate him, after all. “No one, Bishop. I swear it on my honor. I was alone in my wickedness.”

  “Oh your honor, peasant? You have no honor. Twenty lashes.”

  “Gladly, Bishop.” He heard Ani pick up one of the whips from the table. What had she grabbed? He couldn’t see, damn it!

  “Are you ready, Mister Scott?”

  “No, Mistress Ani. Please be gentle.” Like he thought there was any chance of that. From the tone of her voice when she’d called him Scott --

  Crack!

  Heated ribbons of pain sliced through him. Not hard enough or sharp enough to slice the skin, but exquisitely hot, like an electrical charge running straight to his balls. Oh fuck. Yeah. Scott was not someone she was fond of.

  “You will count the lashes, Mr. Scott.”

  Ritual counting, at that, he supposed. “One, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. May I please have another?”

  Crack!

  What the hell had she grabbed? No way he would make it to ten, let alone twenty. “Two, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. May I please have another?”

  Crack!

  But he did. She changed sides at five, and again at ten, though his backside already burned with the heat of the stinging lash. Mistress Ani was a true artist with the whip, laying each stripe onto his exposed bottom right next to the last, like a painter laying out a field of grass. She changed cheeks again at fifteen… “Twenty, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

  A hand fisted in his hair, wrenching his head up sharply so he could meet the gaze of an irate Bishop. “Who consorted with you, prisoner? Who else was privy to this debauchery?”

  “No one, Bishop. I was alone in my wickedness.”

  “Confess, and I may yet be convinced to spare you further punishment.”

  Confess? He’d already pled guilty.

  “Tell me their names, prisoner. Tell me their names.”

  Names? The pleasure/pain had taken him too high to think up even a remotely good lie. Besides. He deserved to be punished. He was the deviant, the sexual misfit, the man in a dress… the…

  “Ten cracks with the paddle.”

  Dear God. He’d seen that. It was a long, narrow leather paddle with a snapper at the end. He’d be sleeping on his stomach for the rest of the week. “No, Bishop. Please.” He did his best to sound cowed, though his cock had never been so hard.

  “You will count the strokes.”

  Pop!

  “One, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. May I please have another…” The pain laced with pleasure that was sharper than anything he’d ever known. May I please have another, Mistress. Make it stop. Don’t stop. May I have another. Please, Mistress. I’ve been a bad boy. I’ve worn women’s clothing. I’ve had deviant thoughts as long as I can remember. I want to touch you. Be you. Fuck you. Two, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. May I please have another. Harder, Mistress. More. Please. More. Never stop. More…

  “Who was party to your wickedness, prisoner?”

  “None, Mistress. There was only me.”

  Hands cupped his breasts, whose hands he didn’t know or care, tweaking and pinching his distended nipples. He moaned even as his cock jerked against its restraint.

  “Names, prisoner.”

  “I don’t know, Mistress. Bishop.”

  “You lie, prisoner. Do you know what the punishment is for lying to me?”

  He wasn’t sure he could take another twenty lashes. “No, Bishop.”

  “Torture. Days of slow, methodical torture.”

  Days? He was to spend his week in this room, exploring various pieces of equipment, until finally, at long last, his cock fell off from being so hard for so long? Some rational part of his brain reminded him that it was just a scene, that scenes didn’t last forever, but then cold lube hit his ass, stinging his sensitized skin, and he forgot everything but the feel of Mistress’s fingers circling his anus, parting him, stretching him, pushing in hard, harder… and then Ani stood before him, her hand pulling his head by the hair, guiding his mouth to her waiting pussy.

  The taste of her was as exquisite as the pain that wracked him when Mistress pressed her dong into his ass, pain that no lube could have prepared him for. His stinging flesh ground against her thighs. His neck arched and his back arched and his cock wanted nothing more than to explode, shooting cum all over them both, while he sucked and they fucked and he lay chained between them, helpless to do more than ride the wave and pray they wouldn’t move away.

  Mistress’s fingers reached beneath him, unsnapping the loop around the base of his cock, pumping him slowly up and down in time to her thrusts into his straining ass. Almost instantly he felt the burn of cum pushing, straining, as the climax rolled through him, slowly, so slowly, the rings of the Gates of Hell still stretched around the length of his straining dick, constraining him. Pain shot through him at every thrust of Mistress’s cock. Need filled him as he licked and sucked Mistress’s cunt. Pleasure forced its way toward release in slow, excruciating waves.

  “Please, Mistress,” he managed as Ani fell back on her knees, gasping, too spent to stand any longer. “Please, Mistress, may I have another.”

  Mistress jerked and shuddered against him, her rhythm broken, the cadence of the march no more. She cried out in climax, her plastic dong slipping from his ass. Ani crawled over to unbuckle the straps that held him, sliding a condom over his straining cock as he tumbled to the floor. He cried out, too, as she rolled him to his ass, the pain rocketing through him from his blistered backside. Still he had the presence of mind to grasp her hips, pulling her cunt down hard onto his aching cunt. Cock. Whatever.

  His hips hit the floor under her weight and he rocketed up, desperate to relieve the pain in his beaten ass, plunging into her hard and deep. He came down hard again, deliberately, riding the pain, transcending, glorying in the feel of the waves of agony rippling through his every nerve. Ani’s climax came so hard the waves washed over him, her hot juices dripping down to sear his wounded flesh. He jerked into her helplessly, his cum bursting through the restraining Gates of Hell in slow, agonizing crests.

  Ani’s hot, dripping cunt milked him dry. Finally she folded over his belly, her head on his chest. He couldn’t summon so much as a groan of protest as her weight forced his hips onto the rough carpet.

  “Assume the position.”

  Slowly Ani crawled from his body, reaching back to tug at his hand, forcing him to focus his muddled brain on the sound of Mistress’s voice.
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  “Assume the position, prisoner.”

  He crawled to her feet and slowly, slowly bent himself to her will. Beside him Ani’s body trembled visibly, the red kimono shivering as if there were a stiff breeze in the room.

  “I want a name, slave. Who was with you?”

  “I was alone, Bishop.”

  “We will continue this interrogation tomorrow.”

  Crystal turned away, the remote once again in her hand, slowly stalking the camera. “Who among you is worthy? Who would be my next slave? Which of you pathetic worms has the balls to approach me? Are you willing to pay the ultimate price? Are you able to withstand the ultimate pain? Send your whining, sniveling excuse for petition to Mistress Crystal. I might let you kiss my foot, if you’re a very, very good boy or gurl.”

  Mistress clicked the remote, and the green light went red again, then faded away.

  Or maybe the whole room was fading away.

  “Crystal?” he heard Ani’s voice as if from a great distance. “… sub-drop…”

  Sub-drop. That was bad, wasn’t it. Who…

  “Grab the blankets.”

  A long, rippling chill stole over his skin. Then there were blankets and hands and bodies pressed close. Apparently who was him. And then the room went black.

  2:00 PM, Sunday, 11 February, 2007

  Crystal’s Dungeon

  There might, possibly, have been a better way to wake up than sandwiched between soft, warm bodies, cocooned in plush blankets, the smell of sex thick in the air, but Richard couldn’t think of any alternatives at the moment. “Mmmm,” he purred sleepily, snuggling closer to the body in front of him.

  The head tucked under his chin curled against him, warm lips pressing against his chest. “Welcome back.”

  “Was I out long?”

  “Long enough.” Ani’s voice, behind him. She kissed his shoulder blade, the tenderness of her touch almost frightening. “You gave us quite a scare.”

  Naked truth hung in the air. Her lips against his skin told him as much as her words did. She cared. They cared. About him. Not just the sub Ricky, not just the part he played. Something in him wanted to bolt for the door, run, to where he didn’t know, but somewhere, anywhere safe.