by Desiree Holt
The caning was fierce—it must have been excruciating. The sub had long ceased to struggle, though the force of Maya’s blows still made his body quiver. Stephen dragged his eyes from Maya’s virtuoso performance to check her victim’s face. The man’s eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. Despite the gag that stretched his mouth, he looked incredibly peaceful.
He’s had enough, Stephen thought. Apparently Maya reached the same conclusion at the same moment. She crouched beside the submissive, set the cane on the floor, and unbuckled the gag.
“James,” she murmured. “Come back, James. It’s all over. You did very well. You pleased me.” She unfastened the cuffs as she spoke, chafing the man’s wrists, brushing that unruly hair out of his eyes. “Are you all right?”
Even from fifteen feet away, Stephen could see devotion lighting up the man’s face. Vicariously, he found that intoxicating. “Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”
“Can you stand?” Maya supported the submissive, trying to help him to his feet. Instead, he sank to his knees and pressed his lips to the polished toe of her shoe.
“Let me serve you, Mistress. Please, allow me to give you pleasure.”
Annoyance flickered in the Domme’s eyes. “No, James. The scene is over. You may go to the lavatory and make yourself come, if you wish.”
“No, please—I beg you. You said that I’ve pleased you, but I want to do more. Let me taste you.”
Anger, fear, doubt and desire chased each other across Maya’s lovely features in quick succession. Stephen read her emotions—it was all the easier after her previous impassivity—but he didn’t understand them. She gazed down at the man who grovelled before her as if she wanted him to disappear.
Most of the crowd had returned to their own spankings and whippings when Maya released her victim, but Stephen continued to watch in fascination as her feelings waged war with one another. Finally she shrugged.
“Very well. But be quick about it.”
She sank into a nearby bondage chair and hiked up her skirt. Stephen’s cock leapt when he saw that she wore nothing underneath. Spreading her thighs, she crooked her finger at poor James, who crawled to her feet, awkward and eager, his plug bulging between his battered butt cheeks.
Maya’s lewd position revealed the copious moisture coating her rosy folds. So she was aroused after all! The realisation thrilled Stephen, almost as if he’d played some role in inducing that state. Her swollen clit peeked out through her trimmed thicket of jet-black pubic curls. Stephen licked his lips. The ache in his groin was nearly unbearable.
James, the sub, hesitated, ensconced between those smooth, muscular thighs. He gazed up at his mistress, seeking permission to begin.
“Get on with it!”
The submissive needed no further encouragement. Clasping his hands in the small of his back as if they were bound, he leant forward to bury his face in Maya’s muff.
The dominatrix closed her eyes, gripping the arms of the chair. Her thigh muscles tensed as she strained for satisfaction, arching her back to grind her clit against the sub’s nose. James slurped and lapped at her pussy, coming up every now and then for air, then diving back into her depths. Their corner of the dungeon began to smell like a beach at low tide.
Stephen couldn’t look away. He watched the blood leave Maya’s knuckles as she clutched the chair more tightly. She needs to be cuffed. She’s trying too hard. The thought hit him out of nowhere, but something told him it was true. She can’t let go. His Dom radar on high gain, he noticed the flush climbing across her breasts, the way her breath came quick and shallow. James became more energetic, obviously determined to bring his mistress to climax. Her legs trembled. A visible pulse beat in her temple. But she didn’t climax.
“Enough!” She forced the sub away from her with the sole of her foot. He tumbled backwards, with a hard landing that must have forced the plug deep into his ass, if his gasp was any indication. Her blazing eyes silenced his protest. “Come,” she commanded, flicking her toe against his drooling cock.
A white fountain spurted from James’ groin. Stephen’s balls tightened in sympathy, but he managed to control himself. Maya snatched her shoes out of the path of James’ eruption. She waited till the torrent had subsided and the burly man had collapsed on the floor, exhausted. Then she rose and patted his head.
“Good boy. You did well tonight. Maybe I’ll see you next week.” She stalked out of the dungeon towards the locker room while her devotee was still mumbling his thanks.
“Whew! That woman really knows what she’s doing!”
Dazed with lust, Stephen had totally forgotten Tom’s presence.
“What? Oh—yeah, you’re right. She’s incredible.”
“But untouchable, or so I’ve been told. Doesn’t want to get close to anyone. I know half a dozen subs—men, and women, too—who’d do anything to wear her collar. She’s just not interested.”
“Hmm.” Stephen gazed down the corridor where Maya had disappeared. Could he catch up with her? “Well, you know what they say. Different strokes and all…”
A hearty chuckle shook Tom’s bearish frame. “Right! Speaking of strokes, Master Shark, there’s a sweet young thing waiting in the ‘schoolroom’ who’s dying to meet the sexy new Dom from San Francisco…”
Sweet and young wasn’t really what Stephen wanted, just then. No, he had a powerful desire for something tangier and more mature. He clapped his old friend on the shoulder. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. There’s something I’ve got to do first.”
Chapter Two
His eyes were lasers. She’d felt them all through the scene, burning into her, trying to ferret out her secrets.
Maya was used to having an audience. She never did private scenes—Club Inferno was pretty much the only place she dared to top, and at Inferno there were almost as many voyeurs as there were players. She’d reached the point where she could tune out the gasps, the chuckles, the breathless commentary on her flawless technique, and focus exclusively on her bottom. It was simply a habitual state of mind. She screened out all perceptions except those that related to the submissive’s state—the speed and depth of his or her breathing, skin colour and texture, muscular tension, engorgement of cock or nipples, pupillary dilation. At this point, she didn’t need to think about these things. She reacted by instinct, the fruit of long years of training.
“We don’t read minds,” Roger had told her, “though you subs like to believe we can. We just pay close attention.”
Remembering Roger made her chest hurt. She turned her mind back to the stranger. Who was he, the tall kid with the five o’clock shadow in fancy leather, hanging out with Tom? Normally she ignored the people watching. She owed that to her subs. Tonight, though, she couldn’t completely erase her awareness of the stranger’s intimate, knowing gaze.
She’d been performing for him, she realised—showing off her proficiency. She’d wanted to make him admire her and, just maybe, to make him jealous. You don’t get to my level without years of practice, honey, she imagined telling him. And I was practising while you were still in high school.
There was something about him, though… Something that rekindled that languorous weakness she’d thought she’d left far behind her, back in the wood polish-scented corridors of Harvard Law…
Don’t!
Maya wiped herself and flushed. Friction from the paper reawakened the delicious sensation of James’ mouth burrowing into her cunt. The sub loved to eat pussy, and he was as skilled with his lips and tongue as she was with her whips.
Though James had seemed more than happy with her attention, a twinge of guilt mingled with her arousal. She probably should have spent more time with him, given him more aftercare. She’d needed to get away, though, away from the X-ray eyes of the stranger.
She brushed a finger over the tip of her clit. Electric pleasure sizzled up to spark her nipples into aching peaks. She allowed the finger to slide into her cleft, noting how soaked she was, t
hen curved up to tap that hub of nerves near the front…
Ahh!
She forced herself to stop. She could jill off later, in the comfort and privacy of her own bed. It was time to call it a night. While washing the stickiness from her hands, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Milk-white skin and ebony hair from her Black Irish father, high cheekbones and plump lips from her Lebanese mother. Her nose was a bit prominent, and a few tiny lines decorated the corners of her green eyes, but, all in all, she approved. Not too bad for a thirty-six-year-old broad. Most of all, she liked the strength she saw in her expression. She lived her own life. She made her own decisions. She controlled herself. No one else could step in and take that control away.
But that strange Dom…
She’d felt oddly transparent under his scrutiny. It had been unsettling, but exciting, too. The challenge in his eyes had been too blatant to miss. He wanted her. He wanted to play.
A vision seized her—the nameless stranger bent naked over the footboard of her bed, with his arms spread wide and his wrists roped to the bedposts. Tattoos would wind around his biceps—barbed wire, or perhaps Celtic patterns. His taut, round butt elevated by pillows, he’d beg her to fuck him. She’d beat him first, though, marking his long thighs with her crop, paddling his butt cheeks to the colour of raw hamburger. Maybe she’d clip weights to his scrotum and nipples, or trap his swollen prick in a tight leather cage.
And he’d plead for more—more pain, more humiliation, more proof of her power. She’d never head his voice but she imagined it, deep and a bit gravelly, a contrast with his James Dean bad-boy appearance. It would be so sweet, finally giving him what he craved, donning her harness and driving her prick into his ass.
The image was so vivid! She dimly realised that she’d sunk to her haunches, her thighs splayed open, just inside the ladies’ room door. Three fingers of one hand were buried in her cunt. With her other, she plucked at her nipples through her bra, twisting them almost as hard as she imagined doing to the stranger.
She settled the pad of her thumb against her clit, while her fingers delved deeper. She was already close to the edge, self-stimulation combining with fantasy to ramp her back to the brink where James had left her, only ten minutes before.
Someone will see…
She arched her back, screwing the stranger Dom for all she was worth. The knob near the base of her dildo rubbed over her clit as she rammed into him, giving him what they both craved. He whimpered with pleasure, his strong body totally open to her power.
You’re losing control…
Doubts buzzed like mosquitoes, distracting her from her pleasure. She focused on her fantasy sub, reading his body language, sure that he wanted more. He tightened his butt around her silicone cock, transmitting the pressure to her sensitised tissues. “You’re mine,” she cried in her daydream, drilling into his ass as though to tear him open.
You’re mine.
The thought intruded. It was Roger’s voice at first, warm and cultured, seductive and treacherous. Then it deepened and grew rougher. All at once, her fantasy shifted.
She was the one tied spread-eagled with her ass in the air, not just her wrists but her ankles too, the ropes so tight she could scarcely move. Her shoulders ached with the pull of the bonds. Her cunt dripped onto the carpet. A blindfold hid her tormenter but she couldn’t ignore his fingers, poking into her to gather her pussy juice then smearing it over her anus. The rude fingers probed, loosening her, triggering sharp stabs of delight. She contracted her muscles, trying futilely to keep him out, but the fingers dancing in her cunt melted any determination to resist. “You’re mine,” he repeated, whoever he was, rubbing the knob of his huge-seeming cock against her back entrance. “Let me in.”
He slid into her rear passage, not brutal as she’d expected but smooth, slow, building the sensation with each gradual inch. “Why are you resisting me?” he whispered, his breath hot near her ear. “You know you want to let go.”
Why was she? She’d forgotten. With a huge sense of relief, she relaxed and allowed the tide of pleasure to sweep her away.
* * * *
Maya came to her senses to find her skirt tangled around her waist and one finger still lodged in her anus. It took a great deal to embarrass the Ice Queen, but, as she washed again, she saw she was blushing.
Good thing none of the female subs had come in while she’d been writhing on the ground. That certainly would have undermined her reputation. The door was slightly ajar, but she was fairly sure that, even in the throes of her masturbatory fantasy, she would have heard if there’d been anyone outside.
She splashed more water on her face, donned her blouse and adjusted the rest of her clothing as best she could. She’d undoubtedly meet other members on the way out of the old factory building that housed the exclusive club.
The corridor leading out of the locker room was deserted. A sudden thirst assaulted her and she decided to get something from the bar. Alcohol was, of course, prohibited at Club Inferno, but a wide selection of snacks, juice and soda was available.
Maya poured herself a cranberry juice and grabbed an oversized pretzel. The salt tasted especially good—she must have lost a good deal to sweat during her scene. She downed the juice in four gulps. The tartness revived her. She didn’t feel like another scene herself—unlike many of the Doms in her acquaintance, she rarely got involved with more than one sub in an evening—but she had to admit she was curious about the stranger. More than curious, came a mocking voice in her head. You’re dying to see him again.
Okay, so she wanted to find out what he could do. Anything wrong with that? Dominants were always observing and comparing techniques and approaches. They really couldn’t help it.
The vast interior of the old textile mill had been partitioned into spaces of various sizes. There were public dungeons, like the room where she’d flogged James, private cubicles for couples or threesomes who didn’t want an audience, and several themed spaces decorated to match favourite D/s fantasies—the pirate ship, the Roman arena, the doctor’s office and of course, the schoolroom.
The first three themed spaces were empty, but a dozen or so members, both tops and bottoms, crowded into the fake classroom. Some lounged against the wall. Some sat in the scarred wooden chairs or knelt at the feet of their seated masters and mistresses. All eyes were glued to the tableau unfolding in front of the blackboard.
A petite young woman with blonde pigtails cowered beside the teacher’s desk, her hands clasped against her plaid pleated skirt and her eyes on the floor. Behind the desk sat the stranger, wearing an expression so stern that Maya felt a twinge of sympathy for the little submissive.
Maya slipped into the room as quietly as she could. She found a place at the back, near the false windows and next to her friend Master Thomas, who welcomed her with a nod and a smile. The new Dom kept his gaze focused like a searchlight on his wayward pupil.
A responsible dominant herself, Maya approved of his concentration. She smothered a tiny spark of regret that he hadn’t noticed her arrival.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Roberts?” Maya’s breath caught as the Dom growled at the cringing girl, his rough voice very much as she had imagined.
“Um—uh—well…” The woman’s guilt appeared real. “I—I’m sorry, sir. I won’t do it again.”
“And, yet, this is not the first time you’ve been discovered diddling yourself in the girls’ room, is it, Miss Roberts?”
“No—um—no, sir.”
“As I recall, you promised before that you’d reform your behaviour, did you not?” The man’s leather vest and the tight black tee underneath somehow did not seem incongruous. He lived and breathed his schoolmaster role, every inch the severe disciplinarian subs dreamed of. Maya felt the force of his personality beating down on the hapless ‘schoolgirl’.
“Ah… Um… I couldn’t help myself, sir…” The blonde’s fair cheeks had turned bright pink. She shuffled her feet, clad in black
-strapped patent-leather flats, and wrung her hands, pretty and vulnerable.
“You’re a filthy, horny little slut, Miss Roberts. You can’t keep your fingers out of your pussy.”
“Ah… yes, sir. You’re right… I don’t know how to stop.”
“You’re a bad influence on the rest of the students. I can tell that only the most severe correction will have any effect. I will make an example of you. Come here.”
The girl seemed rooted to the floor. She cast a desperate glance at the crowd.
“Your classmates won’t help you, Miss Roberts. They all know you’re guilty. They want to see you get what you deserve. Now come here, this instant, or I will use the strap as well as the ruler.”
Maya caught the sub’s hesitation as the younger woman considered how far she could push her ‘teacher’. The dark-haired young man crossed his arms over his chest as though losing patience. His short sleeves rode up, revealing the curlicues of ink on his impressive biceps.
“If you persist in this stubbornness, I’ll secure you to the flagpole for the afternoon, with your uniform pinned up and your panties around your ankles. I’ll fix paper clips to your tight little nipples and hang a sign around your neck that says ‘Take me. I’m a slut.’ After I chastise you, of course. Everyone will see the marks on your bare bum. Is that what you want, Miss Roberts?”
Maya suspected the girl would like this very much indeed. The sub’s lips were parted. Her white blouse rose and fell with her fast, shallow breathing. The dominant’s litany of imagined punishment was clearly having the desired effect.
Even Maya reacted. She couldn’t help herself. Her pussy hummed with new arousal and fresh juice dribbled down the insides of her thighs. He’s a gifted actor. He could turn anyone on, she told herself. Swallowing hard and willing her pulse to slow, she struggled to focus on the stranger’s technique as opposed to identifying with his victim.
The girl took one reluctant step towards the dominant, then another.
