The Cross

I was used to being naked in front of people, sometimes an audience of a hundred or more at a time when I’m dancing. But not like this. When I was onstage, De Muis (“The Mouse”) was free and in control.

Here I was bound and on display to dozens of people who could walk right by me. Discuss me with each other while I listened. Touch or feel or caress me. And I was helpless to stop them.

I was tied, naked, to a giant X, a St. Andrew’s cross, feet strapped wide apart, arms strapped wide apart, gagged, blindfolded, with my pussy and tits available for anyone who wanted to touch them. I was panting around the gag because I was anxious, eager, excited – and scared, having never had anything like this done to me before.

Perhaps because I was blindfolded, I found my other senses grew sharper. A scent of perfume or aftershave told me someone was nearby. A touch on some part of my body, often an intimate touch, might be rough or soft, and could allow me to guess whether the person touching me was male or female. A voice commenting on my body might suggest whether they were a stranger or someone I knew.

The people walking past me, discussing me, or even caressing or feeling my body thought they were anonymous. But I was able to identify some of them – and that often scared me.

And even though I felt like a piece of meat on display, I found that being treated this way also made me very, very wet. So wet that I worried that people would be able to smell me, and see that my cunt was dripping. And that made me wetter still…

I was my Domina’s playtoy. No, her fucktoy. Her submissive.

And I never saw it coming…

The Stag and The Aftermath

Once Ricky, the best man, had cum in my mouth, he was very kind. He kissed the top of my head, then helped me stand, gave me a hug, and then said he had to get back to the party.

That left me with Luuk. I decided to try being nice.

I smiled, and said, “May I suck you, too?”

He blushed, stood up and said, “Uh, sure.” And he hesitantly unzipped.

Then it struck me. This was probably his first blow job, and he didn’t know what to do!

So, I sank to my knees in front of him, stroked his semi-hard cock, and said, “Oh, God, you’re big,” I breathed. Which wasn’t true – he was a little above average, about 150 centimeters (6 inches) – but I know men like to hear that.

I leaned forward and kissed his prick, then licked the top of it, running my tongue along his length, then pushing his foreskin back, and licking around the head of his cock.

He was getting hard, so I took him into my mouth and started bobbing back and forth along its length as I stroked it with my hand. Now he was getting into it, and grabbed my hair, trying to push further into my mouth. I smacked his hand lightly to indicate I didn’t want him to do that.

I decided the best bet was to try to get him to cum quickly and get this over with, so I increased my tempo and started to suck a little harder.

Sure enough, his cock started to twitch and his balls started moving shortly after that. He gave a sharp cry, grabbed my head, pushed deep into my mouth, making me gag, and came down my throat. He was lucky I didn't throw up all over his dress slacks!

I was pretty sure at this point that this was his first blow job – but it would be his last with me!

I moved his hands away. He flopped out of my mouth, and sat down hard on the settee, breathing heavily.

I smiled at him, and said, “I need to get back. Aurora needs me.” And left. But I was angry.

Miriam’s Plan

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, and a while later, I found myself in a cab alone with Miriam. She had paid everyone, and dispatched them all off in individual cabs, but said she wanted to see me home.

“So, how did it all go?” she asked casually.

“Oh, it was all fine.”

She looked at me. “Fine.”

“Yes, it was, ah, fine.”

“What are you not telling me? What happened?” She looked vexed, and it worried me a bit.

“Well, the best man was good, he was a gentleman, but his friend…”

“What was the friend’s name?”

“Luuk.”

“Right. Okay, what about Luuk?”

“Well, he got a bit rough with me, and tried to force his cock further down my throat than I wanted…but it was my fault! I didn’t manage him properly, and he…”

She held up her hand, and cut me off. “Being a sex worker is mostly pretty good. The pay can be very good, and most of the time it’s like being paid for something you like doing. But there are slobs who are not gentlemen, and they don’t deserve our services. Now, tell me more about this…Luuk.”

So, I told her what happened, then told her it was nothing, to forget it.

“We’ll see. Now, other than that, is this something you’d like to do again? Did you want me to find additional sex work for you? You don’t have to, you know. You’re very popular at the Club, and you’re making good money on lap dances…but sex work pays even better, and it can lead to additional kinds of work. Your choice.”

I thought for a moment. I had more money than I ever had before, but the money I made tonight was even better – and that was for the work I usually did at the club, plus two blow jobs.

And I was still sharing an apartment. Having my own place would be heaven.

“What kind of additional work are you talking about? Surely not as a window girl?” Amsterdam has a red-light district where sex workers of all kinds stand and offer themselves in windows. It’s not something I wanted to consider – too much like hanging in a butcher’s shop window.

Miriam looked at me for several seconds, and I began to get uncomfortable. She’s beautiful, a blond Valkyrie from Germany, but she can be pretty scary.

Then she smiled and said, “You’ve become very popular at the Club in a short period of time. ‘De Muis’, the Mouse, we call you. And you’re young, and look sweet and innocent – which, I have to tell you, you are. So, I was thinking that we could work a couples dance.”

“What’s a couples dance?”

“It’s where two women – or any two performers, really – dance together, usually with a theme or some kind of story to tie them together. What I’m thinking of is a seduction story, with you as an innocent virgin, wearing white lace, and me as the evil seductress, wearing black.

“Would you be okay with doing that?” she asked.

I thought about it. I trusted Miriam for figuring out how to choreograph this kind of dance, and she certainly knew how to make things sexy for an audience. She was an expert at that. Which left…

“How much would this pay?”

“Well, the easy part is the performance, and you would clear about €300 to €500 for one evening’s performances, in addition to anything else you make for stripping, lap dances, or sexing. You might wind up clearing as much as €1,000 a night if we were doing a sexier version at a party, and had additional clients after."

That sounded really good to me! “Why are the performances the easy part?” I asked.

She smirked at me. “Because the rehearsals take time, and a lot of practice and work. We will have to spend two- to three hours a day for about two weeks to get the routine down. Are you willing to do that?”

I thought for a moment because there were a lot of things going around in my head. First, I could always use more money, and this sounded like really good additional money. On the other hand, the exotic dancing I did now was easy – I didn’t have to rehearse to do it. But once we had the dance routines down, the additional money would keep flowing.

I think the thing that decided me was that I was drawn to Miriam. She had a magnetic personality, and I admired her. If I was honest with myself, I had a crush on her. And the idea of spending that much time with her was attractive, all on its own.

“I’d like to try,” I said.

She frowned. “I’m not going to invest time in you if you’re only going to try. If we do this, I want you to commit to it, or else don’t waste my time.” She was very forceful.

She was also frightening. I swallowed, and said, “What I mean, Miriam, is that I'm willing to do this, but I’m not sure I have the talent.”

Her frown disappeared, and she laughed. “You forget, I’ve seen you dance. Yes, it will take work – a lot of work, and it will be hard – but I am quite confident you can do it, if you will follow my instructions, and are willing to sweat and practice. So, will you do what I tell you?”

I looked at her for a moment and felt drawn to her all over again. She thought I had enough talent to invest her time in me!

I nodded, “Yes, I promise.”

She leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips, and smiled. “I was sure you would. You’re going to be great. And you'll love it.”

I smiled up at her, and felt warm and appreciated. That was a feeling I had never had before I had taken up exotic dancing, and one I found I wanted badly. And it had all happened because of Miriam. I decided right then that I would work hard, and do anything I could to please her.

An Unexpected Rehearsal

The afternoon of our first rehearsal, I took a cab to her address. It was in a surprisingly nice part of the city, and was in a respectable – and expensive – building. I rang, and she buzzed me in, and I ran up the three flights of stairs.

When I knocked, she opened the door almost immediately, and said, “Good girl! You’re on time. I like that. Come in,” and smiled. I was thrilled by her approval, and glad that I had left enough time to be a few minutes early.

She gave me a tour of her flat. I was surprised speechless, which is highly unusual for me. It was a beautiful apartment with a modern kitchen, a pantry, and even a garage and a car! There were lovely views of the canals, two bedrooms, plus a loft she had converted into a dance studio.

“You look surprised, little Mouse.”

“It’s beautiful! But it must be very expensive?”

She smiled at me. “Very.”

I wanted to ask how she afforded it but was intimidated. If she wanted to tell me, she would, in her own time, I guessed.

“Go change into your rehearsal clothes. There’s a bathroom right there,” she said, pointing to a door just down the hallway from her studio.

I was wearing most of my workout clothes, but changed my top and put on my dancing shoes, then came out to the studio.

“You’re very pretty, you know,” she said with a serious look on her face. “That’s part of why the audiences love you. And I like the way you look, too.”

I blushed with embarrassment – and pleasure. “Thank you,” was all I could manage to say. I hadn’t been this awkward since I was sixteen in secondary school, and just getting seriously interested in having sex.

“Okay, let me walk you through the choreography. There are a total of four versions of the dance we will need to learn.

"We’ll start with the short, more conservative version of roughly ten minutes that we might use at the Club Exotisch in the early evening on a weekend. The BDSM version will be much more physical, and we would use that for a later, raunchier crowd.

"We will also have longer versions of both shows for special events, perhaps at a Stag party or an LGBTQ or BDSM event. These longer shows will be about forty minutes each, with three acts of ten minutes, separated by five-minute breaks for us to catch our breath. Do you understand so far?"

I nodded.

"Okay, let's work on the short, conservative version first."

For the next hour, she painstakingly walked me, step-by-step, through the routine, explaining in detail what she would do, and what she wanted me to do, and how she wanted me to feel, act, and behave.

The scene started with me dancing alone, dressed in white opaque lace. It was a carefree dance as if I were just joyful at being young, pretty, and alive.

Part way through the dance, she would appear, menacingly, from behind me, and startle me, causing me to jump back, away from her. She would smile, and slowly approach me, then put her finger under my chin, turning my face up so she could look down, haughtily, into my eyes. Then she would slowly lean forward and kiss me lightly on the lips.

This was the pattern. I would move away, afraid. She would follow, and initiate an interchange, starting with a kiss, then enticing me with new, and progressively more erotic sensations. We would gradually move into more and more intimate exchanges, ending with her making love to me on the stage with most of our clothes off – then blackout.

The BDSM version, she explained, would end with me naked and in bondage, enslaved, and being used for her pleasure, but that would come later. And we wouldn’t end that version with a blackout, but with our mutual (faked) orgasms onstage. Then we would have a blackout.

She was describing this all in very plain, matter-of-fact tones, as if reciting the plot of a play for her literature teacher. I didn’t want to tell her that it was making me both nervous and excited. I was worried whether that would interfere with my ability to act and dance. And I was desperately afraid I would disappoint her.

I needn’t have worried about that.

Opening Moves

Then we started to walk through the scene, one step at a time. She was very patient with me, but expected me to remember something when she said it once. I was sweating with concentration, even though we were not dancing hard or moving quickly. This was very hard work, and I wasn’t used to it.

After we had walked through it, we went through it again, but now without stopping. She would call out what was to happen, and expected me to do it. And when I made mistakes, her tongue was sharp, and she would reprimand me. I cringed when that happened, and became even more determined not to disappoint her.

The entire scene, run at full speed, might take just over ten minutes, but rehearsing it like this was taking almost half an hour each time, so we took a break. We had both worked up a bit of sweat – although for me, it was as much in fear of not meeting her expectations as it was physical exertion.

We sat together, side-by-side on a sofa, sipping from our water bottles, when she said, “I really know nothing about you. Tell me about you and your family.”

I told her I didn’t have a family and looked down.

She looked at me for a long time, then said, very softly, “They hurt you, didn’t they?”

I looked away from her, tears starting in my eyes. She put her hand under my chin, and gently turned my head back towards her, saw the tears, and wiped them away with her fingers – which made me start to cry. No one had ever shown me this kind of tenderness.

“Tell me,” she commanded.

So, I told her about how Father had died when I was just twelve, about how Mother's new partner and his two sons who moved in when I was seventeen, and how they had abused me. How I had left home, and come to Amsterdam. How there was no one I could turn to, no one I could ask for help or rely on.

“I feel so alone. And I’m scared much of the time…” I said, and started sobbing.

She moved over, put her arm around me, pushed my head onto her chest, and held me, rocking me and making soothing noises, stroking my hair. And waited.

When I finally ran down and stopped, she turned my face up again – and kissed me. At first, her lips were firmly closed. Then she gave a small moan, and opened her lips, inviting me to open mine. After a moment of surprise, I did.

Her kiss was very gentle, very kind, welcoming. It promised care and comfort, warmth and love, and told me she cherished me.

When we broke from the kiss, I leaned my head forward and placed it on her chest. “My poor little Mouse…,” she said, and kissed my forehead, “We are family, you and I. I see so much of myself in you.” And she kissed me tenderly on the lips again.

I felt loved and appreciated by her like no other.

I also felt incredibly turned on. I looked down, and, much to my chagrin, saw that there was a damp patch between my legs. She followed my glance and saw it too, which made me blush.

She smiled, kissed my lips lightly, then said, “Let’s get back to work.” And stood up.

This Time…

“This time," she said, “we’ll use all the moves, slowly, but without stopping, and we will touch each other the way we will when we are actually doing the dance. Okay?”

I nodded, determined to get things right.

So, this time, when she was supposed to kiss me, she did. And this time, when she was supposed to put her arms around me, she did. And this time, when she was supposed to fondle my breasts – she did.

And this time, when she was supposed to caress my pussy – she did.

I squeaked – then cut it off quickly, but she heard.

And this time, the damp patch between my legs was soaking wet.

She stopped, stood up straight, and walked away from me, putting her hands on her hips. “You need to keep your personal feelings divorced from your performance. Can you do that? Or do we need to stop for the day?”

I didn’t know what to say, so just stood there, looking at the floor, blushing furiously, and feeling embarrassed and stupid.

She looked at me, long and hard. Then she sighed, dropped her hands to her sides, and said, “Do you want me to kiss you again?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I said, do you want me to kiss you again. Answer me!”

I was staring at the floor, but managed to stammer out, “Yes… please.”

She waited to see if I was going to say anything more, and, when I didn’t, walked over to the sofa, sat down, and said, “Come here.”

Very slowly, I walked towards her, finally sitting at the other end of the sofa. “Come here!” she commanded me. And I did.

She took my face in both of her hands, turned it up towards her, and kissed me again.

This time there was no tenderness.

This time, there was raw, demanding passion.

This time, she took me.

Naked Mouse

Slowly, but relentlessly, she undressed me, pulling my top off and sliding her hands over my shoulders and arms. She unclipped my sports bra, dropped it on the floor, then caressed and squeezed my breasts in her hands. She told me to kick off my shoes, then she slid my tights and my bunched, wet, panties, down my legs, skimming them, plus my socks, off of me.

She lifted me up, cradling me naked in her arms, and nuzzling my neck, kissing my ears, licking my breasts and tummy.

She laid me on the sofa like a rag doll, helpless to move, unwilling to have it stop, wanting her more and more. She knelt down beside me, her head leaning on one arm. She looked at, and lightly fingered, the piercings in my ears, my belly button, and the new one in my right nipple. “Why did you have yourself pierced?” she asked.

I didn’t quite know what to say, then finally said, “Because it’s sexy?” I replied in a squeaky voice.

“It is…” she breathed, making me shiver. And she licked and tongued all of my piercings, one by one, pulling on them with her tongue and lips until I moaned or cried out.

She explored my body, batting my hand away once when I tried to touch her. “Lie still,” she said. Frightened, I did.

She was so experienced, so knowing about what excited a woman that she quickly found all of my secret places. My ears. My scalp, and the back of my neck. The hollow at the base of my throat. The tops of my shoulders. The inside of my elbows. The hollow places on each side of my hips. The backs of my knees,

She made my toes curl by licking her way up the sole of my foot, but when I tried to pull my foot away, she grabbed my ankle hard, and smacked my sole. “Behave,” was all she said.

She was relentless, finding out everything there was to know about my body, bewitching me with her hands, her mouth, her eyes – and especially her tongue. Making me writhe with longing, making my pussy drip with desire, leaving me moaning and helpless.

And then she came back to my breasts…

She started with her fingertips, brushing the outside of my tits. Then she licked around my nipples, painting my areola with her tongue, and torturing me into wanting more. Then she started rolling my nipples with her fingers, then squeezing and pulling them harder and harder. It hurt, and the pain grew, but I found I wanted it. I wanted more of it.

By now I was panting, running my hands through her hair. She let me for a while, then captured my hands, and looked me in the eyes and hissed, even more forcefully, “Lie Still!” She pushed my hands to my sides, and told me to keep them there.

And then, slowly, slowly, ever-so-slowly, her magic tongue and lips worked their way, centimeter by centimeter, down to my navel, lingered there, exploring, teasing, and licking for a time.

Until finally, she moved to where I was desperate for her to go. Down my abdomen, pushing through the trimmed, blond hair of my mound, around the side of my labia, then extended her tongue and almost touching my pussy lips while I quivered…

Then stopped. She sat up and looked at me.

I was moaning and writhing by now, but when she stopped I went crazy. “Don’t stop! Don’t STOP!”

She just looked at me, and said. “Beg me.”

“Please,” I whispered.

She shook her head. “Not enough. Beg harder.”

“Please lick me, please make me cum. Please!”

She shook her head again, her smile broadening.

“Please! Please let me cum. Please, I’ll do anything!”

Her smile faded, then she leaned forward and looked at me hard. “Anything?” she said, flatly.

“Yes! Anything, anything you want, anything you say. PLEASE!”

“Promise me you will do anything I want. Promise it. Say it out loud.”

I almost screamed, “I promise, I PROMISE! I will to do ANYTHING you want, please…” At that moment, I would have worshiped at her feet if she had asked me. I would have done anything at all to please her. To have her please me.

And she knew it. She could hear it in my voice.

She smiled a knowing smile, then leaned forward, and, using her magic tongue and her fingers, licked my labia, finger-fucked my cunt, and finally, feathered her tongue against my clit, and very quickly, made me explode.

I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t speak. I could only scream and thrash and moan.

I was hers. I had given myself to her completely. I held nothing back.

Or so I thought.

But I was wrong.

Next time: The Slave