The ante room is dark, barely enough light for me to fold my clothes onto the chair provided. The mechanics of undressing temporarily alleviate my nervousness but by the time I’ve carefully tightened the Mistress’s studded leather collar and put on the blindfold, the fear is a tangible, solid object.
But I’m excited too. The Mistress explained the organisation of the private femdom party during the cab ride across town. It’s very much a first for me and my excitement and my fear are perfectly balanced.
The door clicks. I hear it brush the thick carpet and, as she comes close, I recognise her sophisticated scent from the car.
She tightens a wide leather strap round my waist. Other straps are pulled under my crotch, round my testicles and along my cock. Everything’s so tight and I feel myself get harder with each new restraint. Her presence is intoxicating. I move fractionally so my thigh touches hers, wanting the reassurance of contact. She lets it stay there for a moment.
She speaks softly. “Don’t worry. I will be near you all the time. Your safe word is ‘Red’. Do you understand?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
A lead is clipped to the collar and I’m led into the main room which feels large and plush. Female voices. Piano music. Expensive, scented candles. More expensive perfumes. Champagne being poured into a glass, bottle sounding clear on the crystal rim.
We stop. A foot against mine, spreading my legs; ankle cuffs, clinking chain, metallic snap of a clip. Then my wrists. I think it’s a metal frame.
Conversation continues around me. I hear snippets: service submissives, vibrators, rental dungeons; the daily concerns of the professional Dominatrix. Knots develop in my shoulders.
An unexpected touch; hands run over my backside, feel the muscles of my thighs. A hard slap on my arse followed by a laugh. A hand feels my cock in its leather harness; squeezes, pressing sharp buckles into sensitive skin. A slap on my testicles, a riding crop perhaps; again; a third time. I grit my teeth, not wanting to cry out.
Other hands, strong hands, pulling on my nipples then squeezing and twisting them hard. I breathe deeply, sucking up the pain, then let it out slowly, barely moving. I’m turned on, my cock growing harder in its leather prison.
A voice: “He’s good isn’t he? Can he take a lot?”.
The Mistress: “Oh, Darling; you have nooo idea!”
A new voice; clear, strong, in charge: “Ladies, shall we begin?”
Conversations finish and I sense people turning towards me, watching me. I lick my lips nervously, my breathing fast and shallow.
The room becomes completely silent, the only sound the tick, tick, tick of a clock in a far corner, measuring off the few seconds I have left to prepare myself.
Fuck. This is going to happen. It’s going to happen right now.
A whip moves through the air behind me.
This is a first attempt at a 500 word flash-fiction piece. Unfortunately I missed Malin James on the subject at Eroticon so I just wrote the fantasy that was in my head then threw words away until it fitted!
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