“It’s good to see you again, Paul,” Lady Alexandra said, her gentle voice contradicted by the black leather bustier she spilled out of and the matching high, laced stiletto boots accentuating her long legs. She held a black riding crop she held in her hand and black cap perched on her blonde head.  Her bound, gagged masked and leather-clad husband moaned something in sympathy.  I understood.  Sadists are not unnecessarily cruel, and most pain has nothing to do with pleasure. 

“I had to get away for awhile,” I admitted.  Cecilia had been much a part of the scene here, I said, speaking of my late wife and slave.  Cancer is crueler than any sadist, and her illness had turned me into her slave during the last months of her life. It was a role I had accepted willingly,  but now she was gone and I had no idea what to do. I had ignored several invitations to play parties before accepting this one. Lady Alexandra and her husband Donald were quite well off, and hosted regular parties for selected members of the kink community in their elegant Lake Atkins home. Their basement had been converted into an elaborate dungeon and theater, and I knew that several tops would put their slaves to the test in public tonight. On many occasions  I had shown off my Cecilia here and fucked her before the crowd in reward for her obedience. This was a place of good memories, her illness had left so many bad. I had come  hoping to reawaken some good. 

“We understand,” Alexandra said and her husband Donald mutely nodded his agreement.  “We were surprised to get you note that you might join us tonight. There are several bottoms present who would greatly enjoy your attention, should you choose to play a part. Some you know, others not. I know Gina has been mooning over you for years. 

I chuckled. Gina was a voluptuous red headed pain slut who had made it plain that she would happily offer up her bottom for my cane or whatever else I chose to give her.  She was nice enough, but I was perhaps not so much a sadist as a top.  Gina liked a heavy workout, and I wasn’t sure that was the sort of encounter I wanted.  Particularly when my caning arm was rusty from lack of use.  I told them that tonight I preferred to watch, at least at first. Perhaps some of my old fire might return.

As I spoke with them an unfamiliar sub approached,  She was of medium height,  properly collared and  with chain suspended from her collar to hold up the top of a backless, leather  mini-dress that emphasized her curves and shapely legs.  She had dark, pretty eyes and full lips in bright red lipstick. She looked at strangely, as if trying to understand my place in this home.  Lady Alexander noticed.  She turned to her and instructed her to face me directly.  Clearly this girl was part of Alexandra’s harem.  “Slave Pamela, Master Paul is to be given anything he wants tonight. You will refuse no reasonable request. He’s an old friend, and is to be made completely welcome.  And I mean, completely!”

I caught my breath for a moment,  realizing I had just been offered the use of one of her slaves. Pamela paled as she looked at me.  But Alexandra did not tolerate willful slaves, so quickly she bowed in abasement to her Mistress, and then to me. “What do you require of me, Master Paul?”

“For now I require one scotch, neat.” I knew Alexandra kept a fine liquor cabinet, and I liked a good single malt. Besides, it would calm Pamela if she understood I did not immediately intend to put her to the test.  I admired the sway of her full bottom as she headed tot he bar to fill my drink order. Alexandra and Donald had always been polyamorous. Bringing female slaves into their service pleased them both, as sometimes Alexandra rewarded her husband by having him fuck one. Pamela was especially pretty and the tightly fitting dress was clearly tailored at some expense. A present perhaps? No doubt she was a favored pet. That made the implied offer of her services especially kind. And terrifying for Pamela, who could not possibly know me or my inclinations. After all, it had been several years since I last visited their dungeon. 

I took a seat near the rear and off to the side where I had a good view of the room, but thought few eyes would fall on me. I wanted to be able to leave unobtrusively if needed. Cancer has the power to turn good memories bad, as it can everything else. Silently I thought of my lost Cecelia, wishing she were here,  yet for the umpteenth time I received no answer.  I saw the people filing in,  Lady Alexandra took her seat upon a throne set inside inside an elevated booth built to the right of the stage. Donald took his place at her feet. Our hosts would watch from there when not playing themselves.  There were seats at their side, and I know Alexandra wanted me there but that would have placed me in a visible post, something I was not ready for, even if Alexandra and Donald would have liked to see me there. 

“Paul, long time no see,” said Master John, offering a fist bump. He was a slim man with a shaved head, skin the color of kaluha and black leather trousers.  He was accompanied by his current sub, a zaftig bottle redhead with straight hair and her blouse undone to the waist revealing her budding, swaying breasts.  She nodded to me, and her eyes sparkled at the site of another domme.  We shared a few moments, he expressed sympathy, then he took his seat, his sub kneeling at his feet, but arms wrapped around his legs as she rubbed enticingly against him, hoping for what would come.  There were other folk as well, some I knew and a few more greetings were exchanged.

I noticed Pamela returning, hips swaying, head down in a posture of perfect modesty, bearing a silver tray with a single glass of undoubtedly superb single-malt.  She knelt before me, head down, tray outstretched offering up the light golden liquor.  I took the glass and thanked her for her service, for slaves deserve praise for good service as well as punishment for bad. As she pulled back, she looked up at me and her eyes smoldered.  Apparently Alexandra had told her something of me. No doubt her obedience would come willingly now, should I choose to indulge.  I debated it, for she was a comely lass and it had been a long time since I’d put a bottom to the test.  Particularly one so nicely rounded. 

People continued to drift in, but no one truly one stood out until a young blonde woman made her entrance.  She wore a strapless black dress, nothing fancy but one of those dresses only the young and beautiful can pull off. She wore it with black lace stockings and stiletto heels but no collar. Her hair was blonde and hung down over her shoulders, her breasts small but her legs were delicious and I sensed something familiar about her, something I struggled to place. She didn’t see me, but quickly assumed a submissive posture upon entering, and greeted several dommes and subs of different genders. I felt some fascination, wondering what she was like, who she was and why did I feel as though I knew her?

Alexandra tapped he crop upon the table  at her side, her husband loyally kneeling to kiss and worship at her feet.   The Lady had a flair for drama and her love of poetry had been the rock upon which our friendship had been forged.  She liked play nights to begin with an invocation, a short quote from some work of kink to focus everyone’s mind upon the action which would follow.

At that the young blonde woman in the little black dress rose and ascended the stage, eyes downcast like a a proper submissive, posture erect, steps long and careful. She kept her head down at first, then rose to look directly at the crowd as she read  the invocation with rich, melodious voice. 

“Thus, that happiness the two sexes cannot find with the other they will find, one in blind obedience, the other in the most energetic expression of his domination.”  She read the verse from Justine  as a poet would, with careful emphasis on each word and paused to emphasize,  especially upon the words “his domination” with special emphasis.  As she read I recognized her. 

Miss  Belton. That was her name. Six years ago she had been a graduate student in my romantic poetry seminar, a girl with a taste for Yeats and  whose poetry showed shocking directness which belied her very precisely modest dress. When I taught her she wore only loose pants and long-sleeved shirts, hair up, no makeup and curves well hidden. Tonight she wore a little black dress. In school only her rich voice and facial features had been clearly female. Tonight everything about her was female. I remembered thinking her a political lesbian, for her poetry had a certain content which I liked but made her work controversial.  Never in my life would have I expected to see her here at all, much less clad in so revealing a dress, conducting herself with such deferential precision.   Our eyes met,  and I saw that she too recognized me.  After stepping off the stage she made her way directly to me. 

Clearly I had not sat far enough enough back. 

I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet her yet.  She was the sort of woman I had found tempting and she’d once been my student. She was pretty with high cheekbones and big brown eyes that made her face stand out even without makeup.  The girl was a vision of loveliness, and now she had come to bow before me with precision that only comes from proper training. “Professor Paulson,” she said, then stopped to turn and clap as we all recognized  the first couple to ascended the stage. I recognized Lady Melanie leading her favorite slave,  Lucy, a strongly built redhead with enormous breasts and round ass, and  now clad in only a leather thong and her beautifully made slave collar.  Behind her Melanie bowed, before  taking Lucy’s arms to suspend her slave from the ceiling with padded cuffs.  Melanie slowly moved around Lucy, adjusting her slave’s posture, each correction answered with a correct “Yes, Mistress.”

“Miss Belton,” I replied studying my former student.  She smiled at me, but bowed her head low, marking herself as a sub in this place of clearly defined roles.  “I had not thought to see you here.”

“Nor, I you, Sir,” she said.  “Are you the Master Paul of whom Lady Alexandra sometimes speaks?”

“I wasn’t aware I had a reputation.”   Of course I knew better, any sadist who plays in public is bound to develop some kind of following.  When I was with Cecelia I could not but notice the  enticing poses offered by female subs who had hoped to assume  Cecelia’s place.  Their entreaties were proof enough that I had some admirers among the crowd.  But groupies were not a thing I preferred to think about.  Submission is the most intimate of gifts, and a domme must never take his responsibilities lightly.

“Your praise is nearly universal,” she replied.  “Now I truly regret never reading your poetry. It’s unusual that you made none of your own work required reading.”

I chuckled softly and tried to compose an answer.  “I feel it immodest to require my own work, particularly where there are so many fine, under-appreciated poets in this world.”  She started to speak then fell silent and turned to the stage as the crowd hushed as Lucy’s training began.  The air whistled with the sound of Lady Melanie’s first strike upon Lucy’s offered bottom. The impact distracted me.  Lucy had a wide, appealing bottom whose fair skin reacted well to a flogging.  It distracted Miss Belton as well, for she looked back for a brief  moment before she mastered herself before returning her full attention to the domme in front of her.  I did not blame her, for it is  difficult to turn away when another is in exquisite torment.  Keeping her voice down so as not to intrude she said, “Call me Margaret, Sir.  You need not be professional here, Master Paul.”

“What are you doing with your poetry now,  Margaret?”

“I published a book of poems last year under the name Misty June.”

“Why the pseudonym?”

“I teach literature at Davidson High, sir. My co-workers would be shocked to learn my true nature.  As shocked as I was myself.”

So there was a warning as well, but the kink community is generally very good about protecting our own. “I should have thought teaching at the high school level to be the essence of masochism.”

She smiled wanly. “Sometimes, Sir.  Sometimes.  But when you get a talented student they make it all worthwhile.” Her face lit up as she spoke, showing she had a passion for her work. It was a sentiment I truly shared. “Still, I am very careful not to share even a piece of this life with any of my co-workers. People gossip.”

Oh, that they do.  One or two of my colleagues had known the true nature  of my relationship with Cecelia, but college is more forgiving in so many important ways. So long as you remain discrete no one really cares.  School boards have to face voters, so they must care for any kink is instantly associated with pedophilia. Clearly Margaret was in a difficult position.  But I noted her careful posture as she spoke.  It pleased me.  “Are you bound to anyone?”

“At the moment, I have some regular dommes but no collar,” she said.  “I play here and there when I meet someone promising,” she said.  Her words were accentuated with a small shriek from Lucy, whose lower buttocks now glowed flaming red.  Lucy sagged some in her restraints, then arched her back again, once again offering her wide bottom to her Mistress.  Mistress Melanie took that to struck again with her flogger to establish a carefully cross hatched pattern on Lucy’s otherwise pale bottom. 

“I have not played at all for a while,” I admitted, and recognized that I missed it. I had to miss it otherwise why would I be here? I a way I felt disloyal to Cecilia, on the other hand I know she had urged me to take a lover even before her illness rendered her incapable of sexual intimacy. 

“I had heard that Master Paul, and offer my condolences, poor though they may be.” She bowed her head reverently, an I began to wonder why it was that this exquisite creature remained unclaimed? Of course collaring is not a simple thing, lightly entered into by either party. Subs and tops need to fit each other. D/S relationships are prone to all the foibles inherent in human relationships.  To be collared is much like a marriage, and I think Cecelia had preferred her collar to her wedding ring.  It was the one thing she insisted she be buried in. I looked down remembering until I felt Margaret’s fingers slowly stroking my shoulder.  “We were all told that if you returned to play we should do everything to welcome you. Particularly know that I know who the infamous Master Paul really is. ”

I chuckled at this, but my eyes were drawn back to the stage.  Lucy’s bottom glowed crimson as she rolled her head back in total surrender to her Mistress.  And why not? Mistress Melanie held the the handle of her flogger and rubbed it across her slave’s sex and backside.  The crowd murmured.  Lucy cried out loudly, her head flopped and she ground her hips as she rode Melanie’s whip.  The crowd leaned closer as they sensed a powerful moment coming.  As my gaze turned to the stage, so did Margaret’s, watching, with one hand over her mouth as Melanie turned the flogger into a dildo and began to fuck her willing slave.  Lucy rocked on the black leather phallus, head thrown back, eyes closed, sex dripping as the tines shook between her thighs. The moment was perfect.  I understood that I really had not known how much I’d missed the agony and the joy of another’s submission, along with the power and responsibility of domination. I began to think that I was right to return here.  

As I spoke Pamela returned again, hips swaying, smiling at me, though her eyes were carefully downcast.  “May I get you anything, Sir Paul.  Anything at all,” she asked, with a coquettish lilt. It occurred to me that Alexandra was conspiring to get me laid.   Oh, my devious hostess, so seemingly cruel but quite caring  So I nodded at her, and she removed my empty tumbler for replenishing. 

“She’s very pretty,” observed Margaret, her eyes following Pamela’s swaying bottom as she retreated.  “I believe she would give herself over to you if Lady Alexandra allowed.”

“Lady Alexandra explicitly instructed her that she was at my disposal.”  That was a truly generous offer and Alexandra’s part, and a sign of her faith in my skills.  Skills had I had let atrophy for a very long time. And then my gaze returned to Margaret.   “And what about you Margaret?”

“If ordered, I would happily pleasure her.”  Margaret’s eyes followed Pamela, then switched back to Lucy who was groaning in a particularly thrilling way.”

“Do you love women, Margaret,” I asked. It was a simple enough question.  One should not assume a sub’s sexuality.

“I love people, Sir Paul. It just so happens that half are women.”

I clapped my hands, showing approval of such a succinct and appropriate answer. I turned my gaze from ecstatic Lucy to Margaret and reached to grasp both her hands in mine and pin them. Her eyes immediately spun to me, and she dropped her chin into a classic submissive pose.   “You understand that play is not a simple thing, that one does not simply walk up to a sub and torment.  There are matters to be discussed and limits to be set.”

“I understand, Sir,” she said and bowed a bit, to make herself seem smaller.  It was an offer, one I was inclined to accept.

“What I require of you, right now, in this moment, is a fantasy.  A fantasy that might guide me toward understanding you.”

“Ahh,” she nodded, eyes shifting back to Lucy bobbing in her restraints.  Head back, she thought for a moment before returning her gaze to me.  “I’m not much of a pain slut, sir,” she said.  “A spanking or a soft flogger I enjoy, but nipple clamps revolt me. I like my circulation.”

I said nothing but filed away her words and studied her actions. Margaret had set a reasonable and understandable set of limits. Then our attention turned back to Lucy, who was announcing her orgasm in no uncertain terms. I looked too, for it can be difficult to turn one’s eyes away from the sight of a human being in ecstasy. Margaret glanced at the players, then back to me, perhaps a little flushed herself before turning her whole body to face me and turned her full focus to me as if I were her domme, while ignoring the applause breaking out in response to Lucy’s pleasure and Melanie’s skill.  As she turned back to I found myself fascinated by Margaret’s brown eyes.  Her posture already told me that anyone who sought to train her had better mind his Ps and Qs. 

“I have a fantasy I’d be willing to share with you,” she said, her eyes now focussed on me. I could see beyond her, to watch Lady Melanie releasing Lucy from her bonds and dragging her by the hair to service her cunt. “It’s a fantasy I favor alone in my own bed.”

“Please share.” I put a little edge in my voice, the voice of command, and it came back to me naturally.  

Margaret looked me directly into the eyes as she began.  “I imagine that I have been asked to serve as a handmaid at the Court of King Arthur and his knights, along with their ladies and concubines. I see Guinevere, Lancelot’s Elaine, and even Morgan LeFey herself, though my Morgan is more from Marion Zimmer Bradley than the standard wicked sorceress.  At first I serve as a simple handmaid, offering treats and drinks to the many nobles present. But then the King himself pulls me too him, and introduces me to all the assembled Knights and Ladies. And he introduces me as the greatest whore in all the kingdom.” 

I raised my eyebrow at that.  “The greatest implies pride.  Whore implies humiliation, and wanton desire.”

It was delightful to see Margaret’s fair face redden at my words  “All your words apply, Sir Paul. In my fantasy I am the Queen of the Whores, and I revel it, my depravity and beauty. My reputation brought me here, because though the nobility sometimes look down on me, they cannot look away.  The men seek to possess me, the women to be me, even if only for a little while.  I come dressed in tight silks and brilliant colors, my neckline plunging down beneath my breasts, my dress clinging to my bottom like a glove. I see jealousy and lust in their eyes, but at the end of the day I understand that they are royalty, and I their whore, called to them to be used for their pleasure. If I am to take pleasure from them, I must take it in surrender.  To survive and prosper here, I must make myself low, and feel shame as I feel lust.  And so my cheeks redden with embarrassment even as my pussy twinges with desire. As my cheeks blush, their desire for me grows.”

“I walk to them, erect yet with hands modestly behind me, to face the King and Queen and bow before them. I bow very low, so they can see all of my breasts and my stiff and tingling nipples.  They see what they crave, and what they crave is my surrender so I give it to them. As I kneel before the King and Guinevere herself. They laugh, but the King is hard and Guinevere clenches her thighs tightly together. The King grabs my nipples to stretch and  twist them cruelly. Then Arthur himself pushed me down upon the famed round table.  Around the table knights and ladies flirt and drink, but their eyes are on me  Sir Gawain comes over to pour a flagon of wine over my lips into my mouth. I cannot catch it all, so the wine pours down my chin and onto my breasts and belly. Naturally the King leans over and begins to suck the purple liquid from my chest.  Gawain lifts my skirt, tearing it aside and exposing my naked sex. The Queen calls me a slut and spanks me. Her words are mean, hurtful and bitter, but with each slap upon my bottom her fingers linger a bit longer until they are no longer spanking me but caressing me and exploring the whole of my ass.” 

As Margaret spoke, her hips rolled and her thighs pressed together but her eyes remained fixed on mine. It was plain she enjoyed the telling of her tale. “The King opens his tunic and removed the largest cock I have ever seen, it is huge and thick and dripping with pre-cum. Without ceremony he introduces it to my lips.  In obedience and delight, I open my my mouth to suck him deep.  Soon I feel in in the back of my throat.  As the kings thrusts begin I feel Gawain’s thick cock pushing into my sex without the slightest ceremony. He simply takes aim and shoves.” 

“I see myself surrounded by reveling nobles, by beautiful dress torn in half and my mouth stuffed with royal cock. Behind me Gawain thrusts into me, his thrusts are hard and brutal, without the slightest regard for my pleasure.  But I am wet and ready for him and readier still as he grunts in pleasure and spills his seed inside me.”  

“With a salute and a laugh,  Gawain steps away from me, raising his flagon while toasting to my long lost ‘honor’.  Another knight takes his place, I cannot see who, but I can feel it, feel his thrusts, rapid, forceful and long. I am being fucked and well fucked.  One by one the knights take his place while my mouth is occupied by the King. Somehow all of his enormous phallus finds it’s way between my lips to press into my throat and stretch it.  I feel as though I should choke, but I do not, but rather serve as the helpless vessel for his lust and my drool runs over his cock and down over my chin.” 

“One by one the knights have their way with me until one man takes his place at my rear. His voice is clear as bell, his hands are gentle and his cock is hard. He does not push it into my pussy, but claims my ass, pushing the full length  inside me in once deep stroke. It is Lancelot of course, he of the golden hair, the strongest and most handsome of all the knights, the bravest and most gallant. And though his words are gentle he fucks with determined brutality, until he too cries out and fills my bowels with his seed.”  

“At this I am nearly spent, hoping the King will soon come and grant my aching jaw relief.  And I feel cool fingers on my bottom. It is the Queen, Guinevere herself and her tongue pushes into my ass as she works to recover her beloved Lancelot’s cream.” 

“Go on,” I said, fascinated at this sordid tale of abuse.

“That’s as far as I’ve gotten, Sir.  By then I’ve usually cum thrice and am exhausted.”

I chuckled and pictured her in her bed, exhausted with her fingers between her legs.  Or perhaps something larger. “To arrange such a fantasy might be possible,” I began, mulling the details in my mind including verifying HIV status of the participants, “but it would not be simple or easy to do.  It would be something I would arrange only for a long-term and well-trained slave.”

“I understand, Sir,” she continued, her hands content beneath mine, face lowered but her eyes directly upon mine. “Some fantasies are meant to remain as such, however enticing. It is, however, one I often chose when I am alone and seeking pleasure. I hoped to illustrate some of my desires.”

“Your tale served that purpose admirably,” I said, releasing her hands and leaning back to look at her.  I have to admit it was difficult not to see myself in the roll of King Arthur or Lancelot.  Alexandra would be my choice for Guinevere, but would she accept the role?  Her husband Donald could play one of the knights, perhaps as Galahad.   Top and sub are often fluid concepts, with I’m sure he would enjoy stepping out of his usual bonds to fuck such a lovely young woman. And it occurred to me that it was ridiculous for me to even consider such a thing as Margaret was not my collared slave.

About this time Pamela returned, head down palms upturned, moving slowly holding a red leather flogger in her hands.

I reached out and took it into my hand, lifting the handle and testing it’s balance.  It was superbly made, of soft leather with wide tines so it would sting more than hurt, a fine tool for use upon a sub who was inexperienced with discipline or simply not much into pain.  It was beautifully made, with almost no studding, with a smooth wooden handle with light brown varnish and the outline of a kneeling female slave burnt into the finish.  “Is this a gift,” I said,  rolling it in my hands. 

“Yes, Master Paul,” said Pamela. “My Mistress said that if you wished to try it out I was to be at your service.” And though her face was held in a pose of perfectly practiced submission, her eyes had a certain light which showed Pamela herself was not at all opposed to the idea of being my coming-home present. 

I examined it closely. The flogger was finely made and clearly very expensive. I knew Alexandra and Donald were wealthy, but this was a princely gift. And I was also aware of my now swelling cock, aroused by the Margaret’s story and Pamela’s obvious eagerness to be used.  My head was swirling but my arousal proved that some things had not died with Cecelia. It  was, in fact, a sign that perhaps I was meant to be here among my friends, and not moping about at home writing morbid poetry. Perhaps it was time to live again. “Thank your Mistress for this fine gift, Pamela. I will inform her when and if I will take you up on your fascinating offer.”  

Pamela nodded politely, and I think I saw slight disappointment in her eyes as she backed away.  Clearly she was up for a flogging, and perhaps any other way I might wish to use her. She added some extra sway to her bottom as she turned to resume her errands, clearly lobbying on her own behalf. She made a persuasive argument. Certainly it would be fun seeing exactly how well Alexandra had trained her. First, I had I needed to decide what to do about Margaret. I could see her too watching me, her eyes on the flogger with a certain fascination, and pouted lips.  Perhaps she’s not a pain slut, I told myself, but she’s clearly not pain-averse. Again I studied her. Fort he first time I noticed the outline of her nipples through the black leather of her thin dress.  I began to think that for her play would preferably be ‘here’ followed by ‘there’.  And I realized that I very much desired her.  

“How would you feel about doing a scene with me,” I asked.  “I know we’ve barely met, but from your eyes upon my gift and the posture of your body, I think I could create a scene you would enjoy.  After that we can discuss more if you choose.”

Her face pinked for a second but she nodded.   “My safe word is school bus,” she said. 

“School bus,” I recited,  trying to imprint the word in my mind, and impressed at her rapid response. I needed to remember and obey her safe word, so I went over it several times in my mind.  And the crowd applauded again as Mistress Joelle led a very full bodied middle aged man who was fully masked and clad head to toe in leather up upon the stage, though only in front, and not everywhere.  His cock, balls back and buttocks were bare besides the straps.  Joelle pulled out a pommel horse, bent him over it with his bottom high in the air and tied his hands and feet to the base.  He was heavy, but his uncut penis was hard as a rock and sticking straight out.  It was then I noticed that Joelle was wearing a strap-on. A rather large one at that. 

“Nothing like a little pegging to liven up the evening,” I remarked motioning for Margaret to sit at my side.  Though a chair was available she settled in at my feet, arms around my knees head on my lap, lips so near to my stiffening cock.  A position she had chosen quite deliberately.

Apparently Joelle’s partner was well experienced, for though she warmed him up with a flogger it wasn’t long before she broke out the riding crop  from the nearby toy rack and began to seriously whip her man.  He cried out, again and again, in pain, but he used no safe word and his cock remained steely hard, even when she began to tap his balls lightly with the tip. It was a skilled and bravura performance, and no one could look away.  I looked at Joelle’s face. She had pretty blue eyes and her skin was flushed with arousal. It took a while before she releanted.   She took down her top and gently lotioned her partner’s bottom, cleaning his welts and even using her tongue.  Then she poured cool lubricant down on his star and began to work it into into his bottom.  The main event was approaching, and I could hear her man cooing and moaning softly as she attended to him.  Then she turned to the crowd, and announced to all assembled, “Slave Garth, what should I do with your worthless ass?”

“Fuck it, Mistress Joelle. Please fuck my worthless ass! Please drive your lady cock deep inside your lowly slave!”

“Very well,” she said, looking stern but clearly smiling as she took aim and pressed the head of a very impressive blue dildo to his anus. She was not cruel, but careful pushing it into him.  He screamed as she did, not entirely ready for this new invasion, but she did not just ram it home, she pushed into him, controlling him, and showing that Joelle understood the right way to fuck an ass. 

And fuck him she did, starting slowly but gaining speed until she fucked him with powerful, deep thrusts, over and over, beautifully paced. His cock bounced with each thrust, and he grunted each time she took him, but he also pushed back against her and it was easy to see the precum leaking from his cock.  I could see Joelle grunting, face blushed from the effort and the pressure of the strap-on riding up against her clit. I knew she would cum soon.  Soon heard him begging for permission to cum.  Permission she explicitly denied, yet continued her steady thrusts against his prostate.  

Again he begged, again she refused, though it was clear to me that neither could last much longer.  Joelle’s face was now flushed, sweat beading on her brow and she sighed with each thrust into her man.   Again he begged, his voice broken,  barely able to spit out the words in his plea that he be allowed to cum.  Driving deep into him she relented and granted him permission,  

As we watched, he began to grunt. Semen shot out of his cock to fly in a great arc, splashing against the base of the pommel horse, shot after shot coating it with creamy semen. Soon Joelle too cried out in ecstasy, her body shaking from the steady pressure of her thusts upon her clitoris.  

The room fell silent as they collapsed upon each other. After a few long moments Joelle pushed against her lover, and withdrew the enormous shaft from his bottom. She caressed him gently, and carefully untied him, raised him to his feet then took his hand, and bowed for the crowd. Cheers broke out as he bowed with her. We applauded at her bravura performance and the clear joy both had felt at using and being used. 

One of Alexandra’s slaves came out with towelettes to wipe down and clean off the pommel horse. Pamela took the crop Joelle had used then replaced with a fresh one while the original was set aside for cleaning and disinfecting.  I saw Alexandra rise to applaud, and then her head turned to me, eyes questioning. I raised my hand and nodded. As I did heads turned about the room all eyes upon us, applauding and expecting.  There could be no turning back. I took Margaret by the hand and led her up upon the stage.  

I  had dressed modestly, black silk, shirt, black trousers, patent leather shoes. In the motif, but not the leather one might expect of a domme. I had not come to play a scene yet I found myself on the stage, all eyes upon me.  It was a familiar feeling, but with an unfamiliar partner.  The room fell silent, our footsteps the only noise as I led Margaret by the hand to the stage.  Many here had known me, but always with Cecelia.  For a moment I looked  to the ceiling, up to the sky where she now resided, to hope she would watch with pleasure.  Then I turn I turned to look into Margaret’s eyes.  They were wide and ready, mouth open and her lips wet.  

Yes, she was ready. And ready or not, I had made my choice.  “Slave Margaret, are you you ready to begin?”

“Yes, Master Paul.” She assumed a subservient position, on her feet, but head down, arms behind her back, fingers laced.  I walked slowly around her, eyes studying her, seeking out every mark or mole on her smooth skin.  I wanted to know her, each curve, each depression, everything that might offer myself a clue to how to push and use her. I walked behind her, and reached out to unzip he dress and unclinch it. She understood, and  stepped out as it fell down beside her. The room murmured in appreciation of her slim body and small, upturned breasts.  She wore only a thong made of black silk, a very nice piece cinched by a thin back rope that outlined each cheek of her bottom.  Her thighs were exquisite, strong and and smooth and forming a nice arch with a lovely gap at her mound.  Margaret had clearly come ready to play had her number been called.  

I passed in front of her, examining her breasts who stood far apart, small but well shaped with small pink nipples. I ran my index finger between them, rising upward slowly, following the center of her ribcage, up her neck to lift her chin and face to look directly into my eyes.  I leaned over to kiss her, softly, lips grazing across her.  She tasted slightly of strawberries, and her smell was sweet, lips liquid smooth.  She pressed to me and parted her lips, but that was all, knowing that a sub does not lightly slide her tongue into a Master’s mouth. Our kiss was sweet and slow, but not long before I leaned back and continued to circle, my fingers tracing along the top of  her breasts. Then I reached out to take her wrist and raise it up, to click the padded cuffs tight around her wrist. 

Alexandra and Donald had invested in good cuffs. I checked the tightness then walked about her, taking her right hand and snapping the cuffs closed with a resounding click.  She shook just a bit as they snapped shut, realizing that at this moment she now held no control at all over what would come next, that she would have to trust me to make certain it would be to her liking.  And I liked the challenge of dominating an unfamiliar slave.  

I moved behind her again, nudging her heeled feet apart with my feet, pushing her into the posture I wanted, arms suspended apart and overhead so she could rest or lean on her bounds but not lower them, legs apart, pussy and ass totally vulnerable to me, and slipping my fingers beneath the straps I pulled down her thong, revealing her bottom to the whole room. I heard a small gasp.  Her sex was perfectly bare and I ran my fingers over her mound noting she must have just recently waxed, perhaps in anticipation of tonight.  The lights were hot and bright upon us, yet I could make out individual faces in the crowd, and of course, the face of Alexandra reclining on her love seat, with Donald at her feet and Pamela feeding her dates.   Her skin was lustrous under the light, and the lighting there only served to remind us all that she was our hostess. 

I ran my fingers across Margaret’s waist, then reached for the flogger Alexandra had so kindly given me. I showed it to Margaret, whose eyes grew big knowing it she would soon feel its kiss. Slowly I draped the tines across her breasts, her shoulders and her back. I wanted her to grow accustomed to its touch. I wanted the idea of her coming beating to enter her mind and so she could prepare herself mentally.  She shivered as the soft leather tines glided over her skin as I moved it up and down, slowly circling. I could see her nipples growing and expanding, the tips peeking out between the soft tines. I held it to her mouth, and obediently, she kissed it, accepting this implement and the pain it would soon wreak upon her body.  

Someone had trained her well, and trained her very well indeed.   Cecelia would have done the very same thing, kissing my whip, embracing the color it would bring into her cheeks,  the warm flow of blood and endorphins into her body. I was impressed by her lovely posture, back arched, bottom offered out, breasts pressed forward and prominent, legs straight and spread. Oh yes, Margaret was quite a prize indeed!  I wondered what Domme had dared let her go.  

I stepped behind her, and began to whip the the flogger in the air.  When a sub cannot see, she can hear, and it is important to let Margaret’s mind paint her own pictures, to prepare mentally for the strike before it happens.  Really that’s not how one uses a flogger, the sound is more crisp with a cane or crop, but sound matters even if you’re just using wrist action to warm your sub’s bottom. 

And so I began the correct wrist motion to make the flogger snap into her lower buttocks, leaving small red welts on her lower cheeks. She mewed as I struck, looked back and then forward, but kept her bottom arched, offering up the fleshy part for my strikes, to be painted and soon her cheeks took on a wonderful warm red glow.   She was fair skinned, but not particularly so, so the color filled her cheeks with a warm red glow, and she moaned and sagged against her bonds. 

“How do you feel, Slave Margaret?” I had not yet learned her cues, so it was important to check. In fact, you check even with a familiar bottom. 

“More,” she said, her voice breathy.  “Give me more.”

I gave her more, pace steady, the soft leather tines bitting into her. As she arched forward, her pink anus readily visible, and her pussy became visible, already glistening with juice.  Part of me wanted to drop to my knees and just taste her right there, but that would be far too soon for us both.  A domme is not supposed to give into his baser impulses.  He or she must master herself before he can hope to master another. I studied her as a struck,  watching the thatch of red welts warming her bottom.  Noting the beauty mark  just to the right of the small of her back.  Watching her breasts shimmy from behind as she reacted to my strikes,  Watching her head thrown back hair swaying gently as bottom warmed to a erotic blaze.  Listening to the soft, high pitched cries she gave out in time with the rhythm of my strikes. 

And then I paused, again to check  She sagged a bit,  and her eyes mere slits.  I knew her limits were near.  Once again I draped the flogger across her sex. I  walked around front, looked her in they eyes and forced myself to remain severe.  Her nipples were pink and upturned, nicely swollen.  With Cecelia I might have given her a few moments with clips or clothespins, but I remembered Margaret’s words. Instead I reached out with my left hand to take her right nipple between my finger and thumb to twist.  Then I leaned forward, covered her mouth with mine and shoved my tongue into her mouth. 

This time she came out to play, leaning into me, kissing me with hunger, sucking my tongue deeper into her mouth and caressing it with her tongue.  I took the handle of my flogger, which some craftsman had so carefully sanded and smooth to run its length across her pussy, back and forth, up and down like a young man might while searching for his first fuck. I teased her with it and she whined a bit into my mouth, pressing tight to me.   She was like a ripe colt, ready to be ridden, wet with desire but craving more. 

Her head tilted nicely as I licked down her jaw and neck, down to bite on her upper shoulder, then to let my teeth scrape across, her smooth soft skin. Her skin yielded then sprung back and I could smell the lotion on her body showing she had carefully prepared for this night, with no detail left unnoticed.  The scent of lanolin made her skin so much softer and her welts so much more prominent as I rotated around her, lifting her hair to lick at the back of her neck. then inch by deliberate inch to run my tongue down the whole length of her spine, She sighed gently and rocked her head back, letting her hair fall upon me as I licked between her shoulder blades.  She cooed as my tongue found the small of her back and gasped as my tongue made its way into her crack.  I brought my right hand up too, and gently ran the fingertip across her backside, and she felt slippery.  I pushed, just a touch, and her anus yielded, and I realized that she had even lubricated her bottom while preparing for tonight.  

Where did this exquisite woman come from? And why hadn’t anyone placed their collar upon her?  What a woman, what a sub!Margaret was a sub to make Cecelia proud! She tried close her legs around the whip handle siding across her molten pussy,  The handle had been varnished, but now glistened with a new finish, a lightly musky finish, a delicious finish.  I thought of tasting it, but her bottom remained unfinished, and I take pride in my work.  Each and every welt needed its healing kiss.  but I pulled away the whip handle, deciding that the moment called for something more sensitive and delicate than any whip could ever be. I set the flogger aside and using my right middle finger I started at the base and began to slowly circle her pussy. 

Oh, she was wet alright! I wasn’t a third of the way around my circuit before feeling the wet juices upon my fingers, and Margaret rotated her hips to speed the process. Disciplined as she was, her desire was beginning to trump her training. I loved that she was responding, rolling her hips while keeping her back arched as if she were a ballerina.  Her sex soon had my finger shiny and slippery as I slid my fingertip straight up and down her center.  Her pussy lips contracted at my touch, and I could almost feel her trying to invite my fingers inside, but Margaret said nothing, knowing that it was her place to receive as it was mine to give.  

It was then that I bent over to kiss her bottom to taste the salt and iron of her welts, to lick them clean and soothe her bottom with kisses.  She gasped just a bit as my tongue touched her, tracing each line left by my strikes, pink and inflamed even as her cheeks began to rotate. I put my left hand on her hips to steady her, but the room fell silent  for all sounds but the slurps of my tongue and the soft moans Margaret made as I granted her my healing kiss.  

I was hard, harder than I’d been in years, my cock rubbing against the fine material of my trousers, calling to me, trying to master me with its own needs and desires. I wanted to have this woman, to have Margaret in every way a man might have a woman, but realized that for tonight I must choose, and at that moment I chose to push two fingers into her sex.  

Up my digits went, up behind her pubic bone, to rub the front wall of her pussy from the inside, she shrieked briefly as my digits invaded her, and then began to rock,  her sex frantic to be fucked, to be taken and granted her own relief.  I made my fingers move slowly, deliberately, twisting and thrusting inside Margaret as I used her and stretched out her pussy. Her juices flowed freely, down my fingers, down over my knuckles and fist.   And her moans came, feminine and rhythmic, matching the pace of my thrusting fingers. 

Her moans grew louder as I ran my tongue into her crack, where her star crinkled nicely for my tongue.   “Master, may I,” she blurted out, her hips rotating freely, her body becoming enslaved to the fire burning in her loins.  I did not answer,  wanting to hold her back, just a little while, and make her concentrate on not coming so that when release finally came it would overwhelm her.

Besides, I had my own needs to think about. I needed to fuck this woman, not with my fingers but with the hard cock throbbing inside my trousers.  I needed to make this scene personal, and she had earned the gift of my cock driving deep inside her.  For I felt more alive than I had in years, more hungry and needy.  Before this had been about Margaret, now I needed to make it about me. 

I slipped my fingers from her pussy, drawing a sad whimper from Margaret’s lips. I rose up, standing close behind her, and reached up to undo her cuffs.  Leaning close I told her that I would fuck her. 

“Thank you, Master,” she breathed, turning her head so our lips met,  pressed tight together in the purest hunger as the cuffs came open with sharp clicks and she turned her body to meet me, hard nipples pressed to my chest, though she held her hands behind my back.  

“Bend over slave, Margaret,” I said after breaking our kiss.  

She complied with the widest of smiles, bending at the waist, legs long and erect, head down, hands on the floor bracing herself. “Do you want my pussy or my ass, Master,” she asked, deliberately loud enough so the whole room could hear, bringing our audience into this moment.   “All of me is Yours to use as You will.”

Once again, I was reminded what a fabulous slave Margaret was, and how lucky I was to have her as gatekeeper in my return  to this world.   And I debated for a moment which I would take, if not both, for a hard cock can move from one to the other so long as the ass was last.  Her anus seemed to wink at me, but it was the pink slickness of her puffy pussy lips that won me over. It would be her pussy I would use, in her pussy I would finish. I undid my belt, and pulled it open, and then my trousers, with Margaret smiling up at me from between her legs, eager for sight of the cock that would fuck her.  

In my eagerness I fought with my trousers, until they came open then pulled them and my boxers down in a single fluid motion. My cock sprang free, bouncing free and sticking straight out from my loins.  Margaret licked her lips as she saw it and readied her self.  I reached out and took a condom from the bowl atop the toy cabinet and though it had been years since I had worn one, I had not forgotten how.  Though I knew she would have welcomed me bare, this was not the time or the place for taking chances.   Besides, I had to set a good example for younger tops who might be watching and encouraged to misuse the power granted them.  The condom was snug, tight and ribbed, and it took it in my hand to rub the tip on Margaret’s wet pussy. 

I rubbed the tip on her clitoris, and slid it across her pussy lips. Margaret cooed and rocked her hips trying to open herself for me, but I thought it was better I wait just a bit and tease her beautiful pussy a bit more before plunging deep.

“Master, please fuck me now,” she said, her voice soft, but the urgency clear.   So rubbed the length of my cock across her pussy lips,  moving to and fro across her without penetration. 

“Master, please fuck your slave now,” she pleaded, her voice louder and more urgent, her hips moving more quickly trying to entice me in.   So holding the base of my cock in my right hand I used the head to circle her clit, moving clockwise about her swollen pink nub. 

“Master please fuck this slave,” she pled, her voice loud and urgent, her pussy hungry for cock,  And this time I was hungry for pussy, and could hold back no more. I centered my cock head on her opening and in one hard thrust drove deep inside her. Margaret moaned loudly as I entered, and the room hushed. I could her the slurping of mouths in the background as our audience began their own play to compliment our own.  I could hear mouths on cocks, on tits, and saw Alexandra mashing Donald’s mouth to her sex.   Then I began to thrust. 

I cannot say how long our coupling lasted.  Each thrust was strong, long and pushed deep as she pushed back to meet me.  She cried out with each thrust, and after a while so did I, my deeper voice mingling with Margaret’s contralto as our ride drove on.  Again and again, I pushed into her,  at first paced and deliberate but then harder and faster, driving deeper as my cock pushed aside my control and my own need to cum began to drive me. 

“Master, may I cum please,” Margaret called, voice broken and hoarse between her moans and deep breaths. 

“No,” I replied, telling myself as much as her as my cock drove like a locomotive into her hot molten sex. 

“Master, may I cum please,” Margaret begged, real pleading in her voice,  almost desperate.  She clearly could not last. 

“Not yet,” I replied, reminding us both. My cock was glowing with pleasure, my whole groin alight with the delight of her  gripping, tight pussy.  

“Master, may I cum please,” Margaret pled,  voice broken.  “Please, please, please, I really need to cum.”

I couldn’t reply. I couldn’t do anything but thrust, hard and fast as I could feel my own moment approaching.   I could feel the passages swelling between my balls and cock, feel the semen pressing into my cock as my load prepared for firing. 

“Master, pleaaaase!” she shrieked.  

“Cum now, Slave Margaret,” I said.  She moaned loud and her pussy began convulsing around my cock, pressing to me, holding me deep as contraction after contraction massaged my shaft.   That set of my own spasms,  cock convulsing, aglow with pleasure as I poured my seed deep inside Margaret.  I moaned with her, plunging deep, holding myself deep as my cock spasmed inside her. 

It took a moment to come back to myself, to remember again where I was besides inside the cunt of a beautiful young woman. I straightened up and looked around, and the applause began.  I shook my head, stepped back and helped Margaret to her feet.  They were still applauding with Alexandra herself ascended the stage and came over to kiss us both deeply on the lips.

“It’s good to have you back, Sir Paul,” she said bussing my lips and taking both of our hands.  

“It’s good to be back,” I said, then leaned over to kiss Margaret myself, tenderly as a lover and not her domme, in appreciation for the give she had just given.  And I thanked her for for her gift as our lips parted. 

“Thank you, Sir,” she said. “I am overjoyed this girl was able to please you!” And her eyes were full of light and mirth.  “You may use me sir, whenever and however you wish.”

I grinned broadly before regaining my reserve.  “Where in the world did you find Margaret,” I asked Alexandra.  

“At a poetry slam,” she said, one night at the Tea House.  “Her poetry was raw yet polished. I had to meet her. When I learned she had been your student, well, I knew I just had to know more.”

I chuckled, guessing exactly how well Alexandra had come to know Margaret. 

“Margaret is our gift to you Paul, for as long as you want her. Pamela was the distraction to keep you from seeing her coming.” I looked from Alexandra’s pale gray eyes to Margaret’s, downcast as a good bottom should, but full of light and mirth. I guessed she liked the idea of being Mine.”

“I may not give her back for a very long time,” I replied, smiling.  Then taking Margaret’s hand, I led her off the stage and into the night.