Everything I touch.

Skin as delicate as satin. Warm and smooth. Slick with sweat. A blank canvas ready for colour.

Muscles bulge and strain against the bonds. But you will not be going anywhere. Even if leather and steel were to fail; I would not.

The scent; A drug. Hot and begging. Speaking volumes without saying anything. A taste of divine emotion and base instinct.

Haggard breaths. A pulse of discordant melodies. The drum beat echos in my ears so sweetly.

You wait in anticipation for that touch. My touch. A caress to put the devil to shame. A rapture stronger than ecstasy.

A gentle raking of the skin to begin, but intensity will increase. Talons poising to maul.

Then pointed teeth pressing into exposed flesh. A bite sharper than a thousand blades.

By tooth and by claw, blood will flow. The hunger must be sated.

For despite casual appearance; I am built to savage.

And everything I touch turns to red.

No Champagne.

Written by Benjamin.
Edited by Aemilia Hawk.

A story about one of our play sessions that my Benjamin has been asking me to write for some time. However, lately I have not been in the mood to write short stories. So, I told him to write up the story from his perspective and that I would publish it on the blog after adding to it and editing it.

Enjoy.

It was a Tuesday evening and I made my way to the dungeon for the usual session with my Mistress. I thought it would just be a regular session. I was wrong.

On arriving at the house doorway, I paused slightly in the entryway before ringing the bell. It is very similar to visiting the dentist. There is a clean smell but at the same time, an unnerving sense. Once you step beyond the barred metal door, you give up all rights and you are at the whim of the Mistress to do as she pleases.

I rang the doorbell and waited for the clicking sound of heels which I normally hear as Mistress approaches the door to let me inside. I waited and I listened. I heard no sound this time.

Suddenly the door opened. It was the house slave.

“Good evening, the Mistress is expecting you and is awaiting your arrival upstairs.” he said with a welcoming smile.

I glanced at my watch to double check that I had arrived on time. I was a few minutes early.

“Is everything alright?” I asked as I stepped through to the hallway.

“Everything is fine, the Mistress is waiting for you in the purple room tonight, she demanded that you be sent up as soon as you arrived. Enjoy your evening.”

As I made my way up the thin staircase, I could see the dull glow from the dungeons candles seeping through the curtain door and as I entered, the first thing I saw is Mistress sitting on her Iron throne, smoking a cigarette and looking quite relaxed.

I try my hardest not to show any nerves. She always says that she can smell fear. So far she has never been wrong. But I manage to greet her as normal. There was a short silence as I waited for her reply. The tone of her voice can usually give away some clues as to how heavy the evenings play will be, but this time the words were soft and sensual.

“Come here.”

I approached slowly to stand in front of her and I offered her my usual gift which she accepted gracefully. There was a certain glint in her eye as she placed the gift to one side and in a single word told me to undress.

My nerves kicked in again. Normally I am undressed by the time she enters the dungeon but I turned away and begin to do as I was told.

“Face me. I wish to watch.”

With her watchful gaze upon me, I returned to face her and begin to take off my clothes piece by piece to place neatly in the corner. She smiled as I removed the last item and then gestured to the floor in front of where she sat. A signal of her wish to have me kneel at her feet.

After a few peaceful moments of sensation, Mistress running her claws through my hair and behind my ears, she leaned forward and whispered for me to stand in front of the slanted post, which I did immediately. She followed, but slowly. Standing from her throne and making sure every click of her heel could be savored as she walked towards me.

Normally just my hands and feet are secured, but this time she also secured my waist and made sure my movement would be limited.

“I want you fully secure tonight” She said in her voice like silk. “You will understand why in a few moments.”

I took in a deep breath and tried to think of something to say. I decided that it is probably best to say nothing at all.

Once secure, Mistress walked slowly towards the door, pausing only briefly to turn and smile at me before disappearing out. She returned a minute later carrying a large black box with silver accents. There was no mistaking her vintage violet wand (Angele) which she placed directly next to me on a waist height spanking stool.

My trepidation built as she took her time connecting all of the leads into the machine along with the body contact pad attachment. Then slowly lifting one side of her Steampunk skirt to reveal her left stocking top, she sensually slid the pad inside. For me this was breathtaking to watch, but unexpectedly she then lifted the other side of her ruffled skirt to reveal a small dagger tucked inside the top of her other stocking.

The dagger was tenderly removed and Mistress stood for a few moments before me, watching my expressions intently and caressing the blade tip with her claws. When she is not pressured for time, she likes to take her time, which can be all the more unnerving.

Eventually, she turned to one side and switched on Angele. The machine is not like a modern violet wand which would hum and whirr, Angele rumbles and growls, and had now electrified both my Mistress and the dagger in her hand.

Mistress returned her gaze and looked at me with such tenderness that I became oblivious to what she was about to do. The look in her eyes was one of content and pure confidence as she leaned in close to press the dagger against my chest and hold it still against the skin.

The initial shock of cold steel upon the skin outweighed the electrical discharge. As long as the dagger was pressed firmly and not moved, the electricity would not be felt.

“Now you see why I want you secure” she said softly as her body leaned in close for a few moments to press against mine.

And then it happened; she quickly stepped back and drew the dagger in a diagonal line across the bare of my chest. With the electricity running through it, it had the same sensation as if the knife was burning through the flesh and cutting deeply. A red line appeared in its wake, tracing the daggers branding and you could smell the scent of burning flesh.

Mistress paused and held the knife still, stopping the pain. She then leaned in close, again to press her body against mine before tracing the line she had just drawn across my chest with a claw. She deeply inhaled the scent in the air and a grin of utter pleasure formed on her lips.

“No Champagne” She said in that deceptive soft tone and referring to our normal safe word, revoking the privilege.

So, I took in a deep breath, closed my eyes and tried my best to find my sub space.

A single power.

He shuddered as he laid on the floor from what he had endured so far. Perspiration was running down his skin and the rope that was binding him was beginning to leave marks.

“You know quite well, deep within you,” I said as I laid down next to him and gently ran a finger around his ear. “That there is only a single power, a single salvation.”

He slowly opened his eyes and looked directly into mine. A delicious look of pleading.

“You call it: Mistress” I said with as innocent a smile I could muster.

“Oh god.” He said as he shut his eyes tightly and turned his head away.

“I will tell you what I have told many.” I whispered as my smile turned into a grin and I leaned in close.” ‘God’ has no place within these walls. This is my realm, my space. If he existed, he would fear to walk here.”

“Please, no more.” He said through wavering breaths.

I slowly stood. “Are you begging me or your ‘god’?”

“You, Mistress, Goddess. Please, no more.”

“Never let it be said that I am not benevolent.” I said as I loosened his wrist restraints just enough to allow the blood to flow again. “Though I hope you realise that I will need to punish you for worshiping a false deity.”

Feeling the eyes.

Whump, whump, whump, whump.

Time tends to slow down when you are in the moment. Everything seems to be in high definition and the only things that matter are the sensations. The sound and wind created by the dual floggers cutting through the air, the scent of sweat and leather, the feel of every impact sending vibrations through the body and the burn that penetrates every muscle from the exertion.

You can feel the eyes on you. The excitement in the air is like a drug. Addictive for an extrovert like myself.

With the beat of the music pumping through the club and influencing motion and impact, it swiftly turns into a dance. Erotic and sensual. This in turn attracts more eyes and the play becomes heavier. More visual. A performance to feed the spectators who are in turn feeding the extroverted desires.

By this point, the only way to stop the cycle is for the music to end. I am having too much fun.

Whump, whump, whump, whump.

With his arms raised and restrained to a Shibari ring that dangled from the ceiling, his back and shoulders are taking the majority of the beatings. Florentine style to be exact. Rash reddened and sore, he will bruise. But he too is being emotionally fed. Everyone is.

He raises his index fingers to the sky. Our prearranged signal that I am pushing beyond his threshold. I am oblivious to it. I know him and what he can take. The music had not stopped yet. He could endure. He ‘would’ endure. Limits are always best when at their extremities.

Now the thuds are louder than the music.

Whump… whump… whump… whump…

As the beat slows, so do the impacts. Breath is heavy. Sweat sheens the skin. The heat is comfortably uncomfortable as the world around phases back.

And then the music ends. I twirl the floggers to untangle them before clipping them to my waist. A spinning motion like a carousel. An elegant way to end. Aesthetically pleasing.

With a sure foot and gentle hip sway, I close the distance towards him to inspect the damage more closely. The skin looks tender. Tempting. Inviting. I gently run my claws down his neck and back. He shivers and groans at the sensation. A perfect finale.

With a short motion, I unclip his wrists and he slumps forward slightly. Drained. He turns, rests his head on my breast and I gently stroke the back of his neck. He had taken more punishment than originally intended. He deserved my gentler touch and aftercare. He had done exceedingly well.

Nothing needed to be said. Actions always speak far louder than any word. He attentively kissed my cheek. A “thank you”.

After a cigarette and a drink, maybe we would go at it again with a new song.

I do so love an audience.