At Long, Long Last

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toward the back of the restaurant, his elbows planted firmly on the table,
his fingers clasped together, his chin resting on his conjoined thumbs,
waiting.
Within just a very few moments, he realized, she would be entering the
establishment and their eyes were about to lock for the first time.
It had been a playful relationship, in the most innocent sense of that term.
Oddly, their very first true contact had virtually been by phone, when he
was seeking information about a "play party" she had attended. He had
encountered her in the room, and immediately (and somewhat boldly, he had
thought at the time) offered her telephone number. He had called, and
instantly, upon the mingling of their voices, had experienced a kind of
affinity for her... a level of comfort and perhaps even admiration for her
cool, commanding tone and the lyrical sound of her words. Gradually, as the
conversation progressed, and he learned that she was Domme, he felt a deep,
distant stirring of his own long neglected sub past. He had first made his
way, stumbling somewhat blindly, into the realm of the lifestyle, by
offering himself to the service of a woman, and had been stunned by how
fulfilling it had been, to be available and helpless in the face of a woman
utilizing his body and spirit for her own pleasure. But that had long ago
faded, and when he had taken the opposite position, as the one giving the
direction, conducting the music of a concert of lust instead of being merely
an instrument of it, he had discovered his true element at last. Still, the
sound of her voice did beckon to that long buried sweetness somewhere within
him, and he knew that, were anything at all to develop between them, it
would be she who would look down on his helpless form, and not the reverse.
Over the next weeks, they would encounter each other occasionally, and there
was always a welling of warmth and comfort upon first contact, which rode
along with every line that passed between them. And, too, there was the
flirting... subtle, delicate and all the more exciting and pointed because
of what was implied than any bold statement could have been.
Finally, he could endure the current conditions no longer, and realized that
they must now either take a further step, or the warmth would ebb, like an
ember growing cold with consumption of it's own inner fuel. So, he had
mailed her a letter and asked that they set a firm date to meet. The reply
was given, possibilities discussed, and a mutual time and place obtained.
And so, here he sat, waiting for her. There was anticipation and the
delicate churning of butterflies deep within him, and the thousand, thousand
questions erupting through his mind. What would happen? Would the spark that
had flickered between them explode to a flame when they looked upon each
other, or would it shoot off into the darkness and fade.... would they be
pleasant and kindly, or would the heat of their subtle games blister the air
between them... He did not have to wait long to find out.
They spotted each other immediately, as she strolled, confident and
self-assured, down the lane between the booths, and the instant their eyes
touched, they both knew.... there was fire here.
She slid into the booth opposite him and they exchanged pleasantries, but
still, their eyes remainded linked, as if studying each other. And then,
after the usual, expected round of politeness, a silence fell between them,
cut only by their deep mutual gaze. And then she saw it, and slowly a smile
spread upon her lips.
"Mmmmm" she breathed, warming deeply.
"What" he said, curious and attentive.
Her look was now pierced with some inner reserve that stabbed into him and
impaled his spirit.
"You've surrendered to me. Haven't you." And her smile was now Cheshire and
playful.
He felt his breath catch deep in his chest, and it took some effort to force
it out, steadying himself.
"Yes" he said, as coolly as he could manage "I suppose I have."
She nodded slowly, confirming what she'd seen... what she'd felt.
"Good" she said quietly.

The rest of the meal was a whirlwind mix of pleasant talk and explosive,
deep, capturing gazes. Every time he looked into her eyes, he could feel
himself falling into her, giving up a bit more of his reserve... his
control... and he could see that it pleased her and the glow around her
brightened.
By the time the end of the meal at which he had only picked arrived, he knew
that a part of him, that long forgotten part, had floated fully up and he
was now, for the moment, a captive to her desires, and the central fixture
in his mind was that he ached to please her.
"Well" she said, as he signed for the meal and they began the tiny ritual of
gathering themselves together "perhaps it's time you saw what all the fuss
about the club is based on."
"Oh, yes" he sighed, feeling a leap of anticipation and anxiety inside
himself "I am dying of curiousity."
"Well, my sweet man" she cooed, the corners of her mouth turned up in a
slightly wicked grin "let's see if we can satisfy the curiosity... and kill
you some other way."
Her words struck him like a blow to the chest and he felt his entire body
begin, lightly, to tremble.

The club was in a deep, long basement, and as she ushered him inside it was
as if he had stepped into another world. It was dimly lit, and the crush of
people made it seem more like a catacomb... close and mysterious.
Rather than settle into chairs, he felt her loop her arm through his and
begin to move through it's spaces, as if silently conducting a tour for his
benefit. Here and there she paused to greet someone and introduce him, but
his mind was a thousand miles away, part of it roaming into the corners of
the gloomy space, capturing visions and sights that mirrored his fantasies,
or some fond memory, while the rest of it pressed against her, focused on
her feelings and searching for her desires, that he might fulfill them.
Turning away from some couple to which she had granted a smile and a fond
greeting, she moved him deeper into the clubs' recesses, and there he saw
it....
It appeared to him to be a tall post of some kind, thick and dark... And
afixed to it, his back turned, was a man, totally naked, his arms raised up,
hands holding the chains, the ends of which were looped through the
restraints around his wrists. There was a band of some sort around the back
of his head, though whether this was attached to a blindfold or gag he could
not tell. The mans legs were spread wide, and held there by the spreader bar
that was attached to the thick leather straps around his ankles.
Behind this helpless figure stood a woman, tall and stately, dressed in a
flowing gown that shimmered with a sort of silver ripple whenever she moved.
But what most caught his attention what the long, evil looking flogger that
dangled from her hand as she slowly swept it back and forth at her side.
Then, suddenly, her arm arched and there was a loud crack as the dozens of
long fingers of leather slapped against the naked skin of the mans buttocks,
causing him to moan and shudder deeply.
Observing this scene with a dread fascination, he suddenly felt her hand,
lightly settling on his own backside beneath his tight jeans, and could hear
the sound of her voice, softly muttered into his ear.
"Would you like to be hanging there, sweet man" she said, and he could feel
his body draw in a deep breath that fanned his blistering sense of
anticipation and desire. When she noticed this and chuckled wickedly, he
could feel his cheeks suddenly burn with the blush.
She looped her arm through his once more and with a gentle tug drew him away
from this scene, continuing her introduction of him to this realm of
marvels, and it to him.
There were many devices scattered about the club he quickly came to realize
as they slowly circulated its depths, and every one of them was in use, in
some form or another.
On a chilly looking leather covered medical type table, a young woman was
lashed down into the stirrups, her arms secured to the top corners of the
device, and two men slowly and deliberately applied a variety of clamps and
clothespins to every concievable part of her exposed flesh, until they
bristled upwards and shook as she trembled beneath their bite. Had it not
been for the huge, red ball gag lodged firmly in her mouth, he was sure she
would have been screaming, for her entire body shuddered as each new tiny
set of jaws bit into her flesh and muffled sobs escaped her throat.
Against a back wall was a large "x" shaped cross, to which a woman was
attached, her limbs spread so wide that she was virtually standing on
tiptoe. Although she too was clamped on the nipples and labia, she must have
been much more focused on the fact that just before her, kneeling between
her legs, was a tiny woman, who reached up with one hand to hold this
captive as best she could at that join of her hips, while her other slowly,
methodically, worked its way into her, sinking just out of sight and
engulfed within her up to the wrist. The captive let out a moan so deep it
was as if the invading fist might have been pressing against her diaphram
sto expell the air. But when the petite woman before her slowly began to
rotate her wrist, back and forth, the captive let out a howl and began to
shudder and sob in the unmistakable signs of a nerve-shattering orgasm.
His escort had to virtually pull him away from this sight, and as he turned
he found himself face to face with a stunning tableau...
Two figures, one male, one female, were lying on the carpet close to each
other, their bodies separately bound with what must have been countless
yards of rope. The man was on his back, his wrists tightly lashed together
behind his shoulders, an additional rope running from the closely secured
wrists through the cleft of his backside by a piece of cord far too short to
allow enough play to his genitals, which were tightly held at its other end.
He might have been kneeling when this procedure began, because his legs were
bent back under him and widely splayed, the ankles tied with long cords that
ran up to the wide band around his head, just above his eyes, forcing him to
bow over, the top of his head planted on the carpeting, his torso arcing
upwards, totally open to each drop of candle wax that the slender woman
above him delicately let fall onto his skin, causing him to flinch and
groan.
Next to him was a young woman, also naked, who must have been sitting when
her ordeal was begun, but now it appeared that her body had been folded
neatly down, until her breasts were pressed firmly against her thighs and a
stout series of rope coils wound around her, pinning her there. Her arms
were drawn up behind her almost to the center of her back, the wrists
crossing so that the hands lay flat against one another, and the end of the
coils of rope that secured them trailed upwards, like a taut bowstring, its
terminus looped through a rather heavy hook in the ceiling and running down
to surround her ankles and hold them pointed almost straight up in the air.
She looked absurdly like a closed pocket knife, standing on end, except that
this knife was gagged, blindfolded and quivering from the effects of
whatever was planted deep inside her sex, the control on the other end of
the long wire that ran from that part of her anatomy in the casual grip of
the tiny, slender oriental woman who stood, watching the Domme delicately
dripping the wax on the bound male and pointing at patterns the drops made
upon his flesh, quietly commenting. Every so often she would casually flick
the switch on the control and send her own captive into another torrent of
shudders and muffled moaning.
Observing this scene, he suddenly felt light-headed and giddy, as if the
overload of these fantastic sights were inducing a kind of trance within
him. It was several moments before he realized that she was tugging at his
arm, and then he felt a sudden slap against his backside as her flat palm
connected with it and he jolted heavily, turning to her, shocked. She smiled
up at him.
"Behave yourself" she said, an edge of amusement in her voice, and he was
surprised to find himself beginning to melt into a welling need to make up
for his poor behavior. He started to speak, to whisper those long unspoken
words..."Yes, Mistress", but he knew that was not what she saught, so he
simply muttered, his face warming with the blush.
"Yes... yes, of course. Sorry."

They spent several hours in the club, where she introduced him to several
people, and then sat as she chatted with a particular couple whom she
apparantly knew quite well. The woman was clearly in charge of the
relationship, for she chatted away, smiling and relaxed, while the man sat
quietly by, his attention focused on her like a hawk. He watched, fascinated
as, once, in the midst of some light gesture, the womans hand turned and
extended two fingers upwards, and instantly the man was extracting a
cigarette from the pack on the table, scooping up the lighter, igniting and
slipping the cigarette between her fingers with a rapidity that startled
him. A few moments later, he watched as her eyes merely flicked down to the
dreg-laden drink before her and the man was already out of his seat, moving
toward the bar to order another for her.
While he was gone, the conversation between the two women trailed off as
some topic or other became exhausted, and the woman across the table turned
and fixed him with a probing, critical gaze.
"He's a nice one" she said, a touch of admiration in her voice.
"Yes" his companion said smoothly, reaching casually out as if to pat his
cheek. But to his amazement, she instead gathered the beard on the side of
his face firmly between her fingers and pulled, turning his head so that he
faced her. Their eyes locked and he could see approval deep within her gaze,
and perhaps the stirrings of a heat beginning there. Then she pulled firmly
on the beard, drawing his head close and when their lips met, for the very
first time, he felt hers open slightly and her teeth rake lightly over his
lips. Before he could adjust to the rush of sensations, she was pushing his
head away, her fingers releasing him, leaving him unbalanced, and were it
not for the table before him, he might have tumbled out of his chair.
Across the table the other woman sighed, her eyes fixed on him, drinking in
his reaction to this rough and loving little assault.
"Ooohhh" she sighed, admiringly. "I want one of those."
Both women laughed, and the discussion turned to other matters. He sat,
steadying himself, struggling to slow and deepen his shallow breathing, get
some sort of grip upon himself. The other man returned bearing the new drink
and as he slid into his seat, he placed it before the woman, his eyes
searching desparately for some hint of approval from her.
For the first time, she turned her attention to him fully, looping one arm
over the back of his chair and gathering up his hair in her hands, she
pulled his face down, roughly enveloping his lips with her own. Her hand
slid off the table, disappearing out of sight into the mans' lap and in a
few moments he began to whimper. Suddenly he shuddered as if in pain and one
of his hands jerked up slightly, as if grasping at something far out of
reach, while the woman continued whatever it was she was doing out of sight
below the covering surface of the table.
He sat, staring at this, his mind reeling, and suddenly felt her fingertip
against the point of his jaw, pushing it gently upwards, until his mouth
closed. He turned to her and the look in her eyes was appraising and now
decidedly hungry.
He sighed, feeling himself beginning to float out, drifting across the small
space between them and fall, like smoke, into her gaze. She sighed, and
suddenly was reaching to gather her things from the table before them.
"I think it's time we were going" she said, casually, already beginning to
rise. He tried to leap up, hoping to be attentive, but found his legs were
weak and he almost stumbled, reaching quickly out to grip the table, bracing
himself for a moment before drawing in a deep, steadying breath and pushing
himself to his full height.
She observed this, amusement and pride on her face, knowing full well the
effect she was having on him, and turned, moving toward the door. He fell
into step beside her, longing to sweep an arm around her, draw her close,
feel her warmth... and not daring to without her specific permission.
Outside, the night was cool and quiet, as they emerged up the steps and
stopped on the sidewalk. She turned to face him and once more their eyes
locked for a long, questioning moment. She seemed to be calculating
something, turning over possibilities in her mind, and he didn't dare to
interupt whatever speculations she might be considering. At last, she
sighed.
"Oh hell" she said, as if resigning herself to something. "I hadn't planned
on doing this... not tonight, anyway.... but..... come with me."
The looped her arm through his once move and stepped off, down the sidewalk,
drawing him along, his mind reeling.

The room was dark, lit only enough for shadows to play upon the walls, and
on the bed that occupied one wall.
He preceeded her into the chamber, and as he stepped gingerly into it, he
heard the door close behind her and the click of the lock being slipped into
place. Through the dim shadows of the room, he couldn't really make out
much, his eyes taking a long time to adjust to the gloom. He blinked and
squinted, letting his gaze sweep slowly around the area, when suddenly he
heard her, quietly and somewhat forcefully behind him.
"Undress. Now."
He hesitated, feeling a rush of fear, mingled with anticipation at the base
of his mind, but then he felt the firm swat on his backside from the palm of
her hand and her quite, calm voice.
"Do it."
He reached up, taking the lapels of his jacket in his hands and beginning to
pull it down and back...

He knelt, at the foot of the bed, totally naked, his arms drawn out, wrists
secured to the corners, his cheek pressed against the softness of the
covers, feeling the rain of blows from the flogger against his back and
upturned buttocks, his mind drifting, his cock throbbing beneath him...
feeling and hearing the sound of his whipping, like a relentless tune
playing on his soul...

He stood at the foot of the bed, his wrists bound behind his back, feeling
her pressing against him from behind, her fingernail plowing furrows on the
skin of his chest and stomach...

He lay, naked and blindfolded, upon the bed, his arms and legs secured to
its corners, awash with the sensations of the plug that rooting into his
bowels, and the clamps that held his nipples tightly. With each drop of
blazing liquid fire that fell upon his skin from the candle she held in one
hand, and the slash of the whip that glanced over him from her other, his
body jerked and moans spilled from him.... until he felt the large,
spherical gag slipping between his lips, and she began her work in earnest,
slowly, methodically ravaging his flesh and shredding his soul so that the
pieces slipped from him to where she could scoop them from the air and
absorb them...
At long last, he felt the gag being removed, and the weight of her above
him, the press of her calves upon his pinioned arms and the heady scent of
her sex before him... instinctively, his lips opened and his tongue brushed
against her opening, slipping between her now moist and throbbing lips, and
finding the pinpoint of her lust... beginning, gently, to carress it.
He felt as she scoop up the chain on the clamps and gently tugged on it,
stretching his nipples and quickening the rhythm of his tongue upon her, his
entire being now a beast of burden whose only purpose was to carry her on a
frantic ride to ecstacy as she rode on the saddle of his tongue and lips...
And when she erupted with a cry, he drank down her lust, savoring it,
absorbing it, and quickening his rhythm yet again, striving to carry her off
those known paths to the wilderness of heat and unfulfilled lusts.
But she quickly dismounted, and he felt the press of the gag against his
lips once more, and he knew, as he knew that she now possessed a piece of
his soul that would never be his again but belong to her as a tender
keepsake of this moment, that their flight together had only just begun...