Hurt

Amateur

Rhythmically, as if trying to tune the beating of my heart to hers, she clenches my hand as we climb the shallow staircase.

She smiles through a tightened jaw and walks with a grace devoid of its usual life. Holly’s facade would make fools of most people, but to me, her stress couldn’t be more obvious if she were wearing a signboard.

“Good evening. How may I help you?” a melodic voice reaches out from the shadows as a beautiful woman in a fitted and very feminine tuxedo steps from the darkness.

“Good evening Michelle,” I say, passing her two plastic cards taken from the inside pocket of my tuxedo jacket. “We have a reservation for 8:30.”

Michelle smiles, swiping the rectangles through the notebook computer she cradles like a high-tech clipboard. Returning the membership cards, her voice is full of recognition.

“Welcome back, Mr Maxwell. And you as well, Ms Carbone. Good to see you again.” A door, previously hidden in the immaculate matte black finish of the building, swings open of its own accord as Michelle steps aside.

“Thank you very much, Michelle. Have a good night.” I smile, gesturing for Holly to enter. The door closes silently, sealing us in. The large obsidian desk across the dim foyer hides the man until we have crossed over half the great hall. He knows we are coming of course, and strides out from his post behind the counter.

“Mr. Maxwell and Ms Carbone, welcome back to The Blackness. We have prepared for your reservation at 8:30, as per your requests. If you will follow me, I will take you to your room to get prepared.” His accent was a very refined British, suggesting a high level of efficiency and competency.

“Thank you Billy. Yes, please.” Down a darkened corridor and past a series of closed doors, we reach the very last door at the end of the hall. Billy unlocks the room with an antique skeleton key and ushers us inside.

“If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to call. I will be back to bring you to the Main Room at 8:25.”

Relief flashes across Holly’s pale face as the door closes silently behind the concierge. She feels more comfortable here than almost any other place in the world. Here she can be herself at her most primal, sensual level, existing only for experiences and sensations. And everything at The Blackness exists solely for its guest’s experiences and sensations.

As promised, our clothing and other items the club had picked up earlier in the week were arranged neatly, Holly’s in one antique wardrobe, mine in another. The leather items glowed with a high sheen and the clothing was freshly laundered and pressed.

It was this attention to detail which earned The Blackness its reputation and standing in the community, and gave it the ability to charge its highly outrageous membership fees. People paid because there was simply no other place like The Blackness in this country or any other.

As “Honoured Patrons” however, our membership fees were waived, provided we made reservations at least four times per year. This was our seventh reservation this year and we had plans to come at least twice more before New Year’s Eve.

“What are you thinking about?” Holly asks with an intrigued look. Her green eyes try to bore into my soul but I am fully in the room and in character.

“Holly, we have talked about this before. You are not permitted to speak once we enter the club. You had been doing such a good job until now, as well. But, rules are rules and there must be consequences.”

Hearing my rebuke, both in my words and in the tone of my voice, Holly shudders. A small amount of fear, mixed with growing anticipation, desire and the need for release flashes across her features.

Falling to her knees, she bows her head, long red hair held back in a ponytail tied with a dark crimson velvet ribbon. “Please forgive me, master. I forgot the rules and needed to be reminded. Please teach me so I will not forget again.” Voice strong but barely above a whisper.

“Not now, my dear. I want you to think about what you have done and feel ashamed that I have chosen not to punish you immediately. Now, stand up and dress me. We are running out of time and we cannot be late.”

Bounding to her feet, Holly moves behind me to remove my tuxedo jacket. Well practiced, she slides it easily from my shoulders and off my arms, quickly hanging it up in the armoire. Before long, the remainder of my tuxedo has been neatly hung as well, leaving me naked in the centre of the room.

Holly kneels in front of me again, this time with a cloth wet with warm water and rinses my stiffening cock, balls and ass. Pleased with her work, she looks up at me for permission. “Yes my dear,” is all I say and, with an excited smile, Holly takes my hard member between her lips.

This was all part of our ritual. She would undress and wash me, then suck bebek escort me almost to the point of orgasm. She would stop of her own accord, knowing and having experienced the punishment of not being careful enough and making me cum in her mouth. I prefer to fulfill our reservation feeling a bit sexually tense and Holly can tell the difference immediately when I am not at my peak.

So, after much practice, she can usually bring me to the brink and stop. A few times she has deliberately gone too far just to make me displeased and force me to punish her. I wonder if tonight was going to be one of those nights.

She had been telling me all week how bad it was at work and how much stress she was under. Holly almost jumped through the phone in excitement when I asked if she wanted me to try to get us this reservation.

But no, Holly was being a good girl tonight, except for speaking earlier. She knows the punishment for speaking is much lighter than the one for making me cum, so she is being disobedient, but not too much. I make a note of this and decide to be a little more observant and flexible when we get to the main room.

As my body begins to shake, Holly stops sucking and holds my cock motionless against her tongue. She is feeling me out tonight too. Sometimes, she has stopped at the correct time but I have thrust into her mouth to push myself over the edge, only to blame her to justify punishment.

Tonight, I am a good boy as well and remove my throbbing dick from her mouth, as much as it pains me to do so. “Dress me now.”

Rising, Holly moves to my armoire. Unzipping the garment bag, she has her first glimpse at the outfit I had chosen to wear tonight and her sudden intake of breath tells me it meets with her approval.

“Do you like it? I bought it just for tonight.” I asked.

“Yes master, I love it. It is beautiful.” she moans as she carries the garment to me like a priestess bringing an offering to her god.

The smooth leather feels cool on my thighs then my hips and buttocks as she slides the new black kilt into place and fastens the two large stainless buckles to close it. My erection presses urgently against the front of the skirt but the leather is heavy enough to hold my member pointing at the floor. Not an entirely comfortable position but not particularly unpleasant either.

Returning with my boots, Holly kneels and presses the soles against her sex to help me slide them on: jackboots, black, with a mirror finish. Slipping into the stiff leather was like putting a corset on my feet but the look and the feeling were beyond words. Lastly was the white linen pirate shirt I had chosen for the evening. I lift my arms as Holly pulls the shirt over my head and smoothes it around my waist. Her hands linger a bit longer than necessary on my shoulders, chest and waist, but I let it pass.

“Thank you Holly. Now, go and dress yourself quickly. Billy will be back for us at any moment.” She bows demurely and walks with long strides to her wardrobe, sliding her black ball gown to the floor as she moves. As ordered, she wore no undergarments and she is completely and beautifully naked in seconds.

Holly is perfection, skin smooth, freckled and free of tan lines. She goes to the gym just enough to keep her body the way I like: soft, sexy and supple. I pull my gaze away and refocus on what I need to do to finish getting ready.

After storing various instruments in concealed pockets, I reach into the shadows of the wardrobe and remove a long bag of crimson velvet. The tie at the top of the bag comes loose, easily revealing another new purchase, a mahogany walking stick with an elaborate knot made of titanium for a handle. The heft of the cane was solid but not too heavy and the finish shone even in the subdued light in the room.

I turn to check on Holly’s progress and find her staring at my new cane, a look of uncertainty on her pretty face. I ignore her concern and say “If you are ready, please kneel.”

My words break Holly out of her spell and she sinks to her knees and closes her eyes. Taking a simple black leather strap from my armoire, I walk to her and fasten the collar around her alabaster neck. “By placing this collar around your neck, I claim you as my slave. My property, to do with as I please and discard at my leisure. Do you give yourself or do I need to take you against your will?” I ask.

“Yes, Master, I give myself to you willingly. Everything I have and am is yours to use for your own pleasures.” Holly breathes, completing our binding ritual.

“Very good Holly. Now, stand so I can inspect you.”

Climbing to her feet, she stands straight and tall but with her head bowed. Now that we are bound, she will not look at me again until after we have completed our reservation.

Her red hair is still tied with the red ribbon, mecidiyeköy escort which matches the dark crimson of her velvet dress and also the bag I just took my cane from. The dress is Holly’s favourite. I had given it to her before our first reservation at The Blackness and she had never worn it here since. By choosing it for her to wear tonight, I wanted her to understand what was about to happen was very special, as special as our first night together.

Since I picked out her entire outfit, I know that under the dress are the sheerest panties she owns, a black thong closer to a fine gauze than fabric. A pair of silk stockings, complete with a seam, hug her legs, held up by a garter belt that matches the thong.

As I walk around her, making sure everything is perfect, I am again hypnotized by her beauty. I love this woman more than anyone else I have ever met and she loves and trusts me completely.

“You are perfect as always. And very lovely. Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes Master, I am always ready to serve you.” We approach the dimly lit dais, I leading Holly to the stage by a length of black cord fastened to her collar with a shiny silver clasp. We mount the wide stairs carefully, taking the four steps smoothly before stepping onto the ever slowly-rotating platform at the top.

“Good evening. My name is John and my slave is Holly. Tonight we will be presenting a scene called “Hurt”. I hope you enjoy.” I say to the darkness surrounding us.

Although I cannot see them, I know there are dozens of eyes watching us, hidden in the shadows. That is the draw of The Blackness: part BDSM club, part performance art, a natural fit considering the theatrics common to both.

Pulling Holly to the centre of the circular dais, I pass her leash through a ring in the centre of the overhead bar. The bars look like a child’s swingset, welded out of square steel tubing and capable of suspending several 200 pound men, as was proven in a performance several weeks ago.

I pull the line tight so that Holly has to stand very straight on her toes to stop her collar from cutting into her neck. I love to stretch her out this way, it showcases her beautiful legs and strong calves. I cuff her wrists and spread her arms wide above her head, securing them to the frame as well.

“Holly, you have angered me greatly this week with your constant complaining and whining. I thought I had trained you better than to bore me with the details of your life.” I am speaking at a normal volume but the sensitive microphones hanging above the stage pick up my words and echo them through the sound system.

Holly doesn’t answer, just tries to hang her head lower, impossible with the tightness of the leash.

With all the problems that she told me about on our calls this week, I know I have to make things worse before I can give her the release her body screams for.

“Let me tell you what is wrong with your life, you filthy whore,” I walk circles around her outstretched form as I start to torment her.

“Your husband thinks you are a dirty slut. He hates you so much that he has given you to me to abuse you however I want. To cause you as much pain as you cause him in embarrassment.” Holly’s eyes fly open, fire burning behind the green irises.

I slap her across the face, “Eyes on the floor, slut!” Holly looks down but her eyes remain open and her jaw clenches.

“Your children are ashamed of you and the way you behave. They know all about your lovers and how you enjoy being tortured. They tell their friends you are a drunk so they do not have to explain your appearance after you get beaten to satisfy one of your depraved desires.”

“Fuck you, you cocksucker!” she spits, fighting against her restraints to attack me.

I slap her across the face again but she continues to fight. A second slap calms her a bit.

“The people you work with do not respect you either. They think you fucked the vice president to get your position and I think they are correct. Someone as slutty as you would do anything or anyone to get ahead. You disgust me.” I slap her reddened cheeks again, each side. She is seething with anger and there is hatred in her expression.

Good, I think, you are almost ready. “I think I will show everyone here how much of a cheap whore you actually are.” I reach into the top of my boot and pull out the silver handles of my butterfly knife.

Holly’s eyes widen in surprise. She had given me the knife a short time into our relationship after she learned of my fondness for blades. We had never really experimented in edge or blade play before and her look changes from anger to abstract fear.

A few flicks of my wrist reveals the blade hidden in the handles. The choice of this particular knife seems fitting, the showiness of opening it one handed fits with the rest of the scene. florya escort The wavy edge of the blade is the only bright part of the otherwise blackened steel and it adds a menacing feel.

Holly struggles and tries to back away as move toward her. She probably thinks I have lost my mind. I run the flat of the blade against the softness of her pale cheek and she cringes in fear. Slowly, I slide the metal down her throat and against her exposed chest. The fabric strains against her plump breasts, trying to keep them hidden but the blade of my knife releases them from their confinement.

“No,” she whispers, pleading once she understands what I mean to do. I ignore her and continue to slice down the front of her gown until it falls away.

“You fucking prick,” she says. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I own you my dear. Body, spirit and everything else you have, including your favourite dress. I would feel no worse throwing you away than this rag. In fact, let me show you just how little I care about you.”

I reach under the cool leather of my kilt and take my still erect cock into my hand, pulling it free of its bondage. Aiming at Holly’s shaved cunt, I let loose a stream of urine, soaking her from breasts to feet.

She screams out in rage and tries to turn away but the restraints hold her firmly in place.

“There, see how much you mean to me?” I say, putting myself away. She just stands there, bound, mostly naked, soaked and humiliated. The anger has peaked and is churning within her. She is ready.

“But you are still my responsibility, and apparently my training was not good enough, which is an insult that I am unwilling to bear. You must learn and it must be from my own hand.”

I walk behind her as she tries unsuccessfully to watch what I am going to do next. With a twist of the knot on the top of my cane, the wooden shaft comes loose and I pull it away, revealing a thin carbon fibre rod hidden inside.

The sound of it whistling through the air as I swing makes Holly fight even harder against her bonds, having heard similar sounds many times before. But the knots hold tight and Holly’s perfect back is marked with bright pink where the rod makes contact. Four more marks soon join the first as I strike her back and round ass repeatedly and quickly. Still, Holly is defiant and angry, refusing to cry out or even acknowledge the punishment.

A hidden switch in the knot causes sparks fly from the rod’s end as I drag it across the exposed steel of the framework. Holly jumps at the show of light and sound, pulling her collar tight against her throat, choking her until she resumes her proper position.

The first caress of the electric whip against her wet ass makes Holly cry out and lose her balance. Bracing for another jolt, she quickly regains her footing as I work my way around her, touching her breasts, pussy, face, legs, arms, ass with my electric finger.

The shocks are quickly draining both the energy and anger from Holly’s brown scarred body.

“Submit to me, Holly. Feel the pain, embrace it. Only the pain will take away the hurt.” I whisper as I touch the whip to her left nipple long enough that the stench of burning flesh starts to fill the air.

Still Holly remains standing and quiet. I need to get this over with quickly. She has got to crack soon. I draw my knife again and slide it between the shear fabric of her thong and the flesh of her hip.

The sharpness of the double edge slices easily through the material, leaving a thin crimson line on her skin. The knife repeats its action on the other side and I roughly pull the fabric across her swollen lips and throw it to the floor.

“You are such a whore that even though you have greatly displeased your master and I am punishing you, your cunt is still wet and looking for pleasure. I think I can fix that.”

I quickly touch the electrified tip of the rod to her bare pubic mound and the jolt knocks Holly off her feet again. Her clit is peaking out from her folds, reaching out to be stroked.

The cane crackles three times in quick succession before Holly can regain her balance. The feeling of beautiful agony on her most sensitive of areas shatters her last defenses, releasing her tears as her orgasm overtakes her will.

The stresses of the week drain from her body like the tears from her eyes. She is battered, broken and pathetic, hanging limp in her bonds. She is the most beautiful and fragile creature I have ever seen.

Releasing the leash from her collar and her arms from the cuffs, she collapses into my arms and sobs into my chest, adding her tears to the sweat soaked into my shirt. I take a warm blanket from the shelf on the stage and wrap my beautiful slave in its protective embrace as I help her down the stairs.

Back in our dressing room, I hold her in my arms as she sits in my lap, head resting on my shoulder. I whisper how much I love her and how proud I am of her, giving her gentle kisses on her forehead until her sobbing subsides.

She lifts her head from my shoulder, capturing me with her bright and peaceful emerald eyes. “Thank you, John. I needed that.”