I was a bit surprised when Suzanne called and told me she would have a car service pick me up. On the night we met at Club Noir she did not appear to be moneyed. Although her clothes were well made and stylish in a punk chic sort of way, they did not look particularly expensive. Nor did her personality project an aura of wealth and sophistication.
Thankfully the driver wasn’t chatty and focused his attention on getting us to our destination, leaving me to my thoughts. I barely noticed when the black Mercedes SUV accelerated up the onramp to the 405 and merged with southbound traffic. I was preoccupied mentally reviewing what little I knew about Suzanne, whom I had only met briefly two months before.
I recalled that she was pretty in an unusual way, with a narrow nose and chin that complemented her large jet black eyes. Her close-cropped hair matched her eyes and both contrasted starkly with her pale skin, giving her a vaguely feral look. Besides the colorful, almost iridescent tattoos on both arms that stretched from her wrists to her shoulders, what stuck in my memory most was the ever-present smirk on her face.
The driver exited the freeway in the direction of Venice Beach. As we wended through the narrow streets crisscrossed with canals, I noticed how much the area had changed in the ten years or so since I had last been there. A good deal of gentrification had occurred during that period, and many of the quaint one and two bedroom cottages that used to line the canals were either remodeled beyond recognition or replaced altogether by upscale homes and compounds. I surmised that we were headed toward a now-tony neighborhood in what formerly was a low-rent seaside resort town.
Suzanne opened the door and stood silently looking at me with eyes both mischievous and mysterious that accented her signature smirk. Her appearance was strikingly different than I remembered. Short black hair was replaced by a spiky rainbow-colored Mohawk, and the white satin tap pants and unbuttoned embroidered vest that comprised her attire left exposed most of her flesh and myriad exotic tattoos, notably a large stylized bloodshot eye whose iris was centered in her navel.
“Hey!” she said finally. “Come on in…if you dare.”
I followed her through the foyer into a spacious living room that was furnished sparsely yet elegantly and overlooked a well-manicured atrium garden. Suzanne chuckled as she watched me survey the room and its contents appreciatively.
“I’d be willing to bet you didn’t expect I had digs like this when you met me at Club Noir,” she said.
“That…is a bet you would definitely win,” I replied.
“This is just a small part of the residual spoils of my robber baron great-great grandfather, Beaufort Reginald Rudolph, the ruthless scoundrel whose exploits have enabled my family to be filthy rich and decadent for generations,” Suzanne quipped sardonically. “So, you see, I come from a long line of gentry with dubious morals.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I responded softly.
“Oh, it is way worse than you can even imagine, slave boy. Your virtue and so much more is at risk when you’re in my domain. Let me share with you house rule number one: slaves don’t wear clothes. Unless you want to earn some demerits right off the bat, I suggest that you get naked—now!” she announced, her smirk taking on a wicked aspect.
I quickly disrobed, starting by pulling my sweater off over my head, while Suzanne watched me intently and menacingly tapped the crystal of her wristwatch with her index finger to hasten my progress. In less than a minute I was kneeling naked in front of the young domme with my head bowed and my hands clasped behind my back.
At Suzanne’s direction, I rose to my feet and strutted back and forth in front of her. She clapped her hands in appreciation as a subtle humiliation glow crept over me and I increasing felt objectified. Suzanne looked at me lasciviously while fingering herself and teasing me with lewd comments about my androgynous body and limp cock.
When Suzanne had her fill of humiliating me, she fastened a stainless steel collar around my neck, attached a leash to it and led me to her play room. I was barely able to catch a glimpse of her private dungeon before I was placed face down on a whipping bench with my hands and feet secured firmly to the sides, my legs spread apart and my ass positioned at a convenient level for receiving punishment. Without comment, she lubed my asshole and inserted an enormous butt plug into my rectum before placing a ball gag in my mouth and cinching its straps closed at the back of my head. Whatever she had in mind, I would not be able to prevent it or even plead for mercy.
“I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but I am a huge fan of CBT, and quite skilled at administering it, too. Whenever you are here with me, you can expect a steady diet of my favorite fetish. Since I really don’t have a soft side, the only pleasure you can hope for—besides the pain, if you happen to be a pain slut—will be provided by the vibrating feature of your butt plug.”
As I mused on what she told me, Suzanne turned the vibrating control to the highest setting possible and suddenly my glowing prostate became the center of my universe. I was fairly certain that I would be leaking cum for the foreseeable future until a leather flap attached to the tip of her riding crop smacked my ball sac sharply and replaced the overwhelming pleasure generated by the vibrator with pain. As the pain subsided, the pleasure gradually returned until another blow from the riding crop landed. Suzanne kept up alternating these intense sensations until they blurred together—the combined pain and pleasure became a totally new sensation that was perversely addicting.
Suzanne progressively increased the velocity of her blows with the riding crop, causing my testicles to ache terribly in the wake of each stroke, and still I wanted more. Instinctively she granted my silent wish by looping a chain through my PA piercing and stretching my cock until it was taut, then securing it to the bench—instantaneously I heard the swish of a cane followed by a fleshy thud, and felt excruciating pain emanating from the tip of my cock, as it made contact.
That first blow took my breath away and caused my eyeballs to roll back in their sockets. It was hard sledding for a while as Suzanne expanded her assault to include the rest of my cock. I slowly acclimated to the pain and eventually even managed to embrace it. By the time Suzanne decided it was time to take a break, my cock and balls were covered with bruises and angry red welts, throbbing painfully from the trauma they had endured. She set the cane down and shut off the vibrator, leaving me strapped to the whipping bench twitching and quivering in the aftermath of my harsh introduction to her CBT.
****
Once again I was in Suzanne’s dungeon, but this time my wrists were attached to a thick chain hanging from the ceiling, my legs spread apart and secured to a spreader bar bolted to the floor. I was completely naked and the bruises and welts on my genitals from my previous session with her had vanished.
Suzanne stood before me with her elaborately tattooed body completely exposed, smiling cruelly and holding an electric ray wand in her right hand. I found myself studying the designs and intricacy of her ink and the beauty of her feminine attributes. The vision she presented was at once exotic, sexy, and imposing.
“Have you ever played with one of these?” she asked, holding the wand upward in front of me as she pulled the trigger and caused a tiny flash of electricity to crackle at its tip.
I nervously shook my head side to side in response to her question.
“Excellent. I so love being the first to introduce new forms of depravity to my slaves.”
Without further foreplay, Suzanne lowered the wand to my crotch and gave my balls a quick jolt. By now I had acquired a taste for genital pain, so the short burst of electricity didn’t really faze me much. It was simply a brief prickly sensation on a tender part of my body. I had no doubt, however, that I would be suffering soon enough when Suzanne finally increased the juice and applied that evil tool in diabolical ways not intended by its maker.
Indeed, that initial tease with the wand did not adequately prepare me for what was to come. Soon numerous excruciating zaps were peppering first my balls and then the shaft of my penis. I bit down hard on my ball gag in response to the severe pain I was being subjected to. The combined smells of ozone and burnt flesh permeated the room’s atmosphere and nearly caused me to wretch.
Suzanne continued tormenting me gleefully with her nasty toy. She even inserted an anal probe and positioned it flush against my prostate, then began waving the wand’s current over it. The electricity arced from the wand to the probe precipitating indescribable agony and pleasure to course throughout my groin and caused my cock to jerk violently as cum spurted erratically from its tip. By the time she was done introducing me to this unique variety of CBT my genitals felt like they were on fire and I was mentally and physically drained.
I remained hanging in bondage for upwards of forty-five minutes, during which time I started having vivid daydreams involving all sorts of extreme D/s scenarios that made what I had just experienced seem tame in comparison. Perhaps it was the array of corporal punishment tools and equipment surrounding me in Suzanne’s dungeon that triggered those fantasies within a fantasy. A tiny part of my brain knew that everything was just an illusion, and that I would survive this without really being brutalized or scarred, but that didn’t stop my dark fantasies from taking on an incredibly realistic and intense affect. Curiously, my ever increasing perversity tolerance was starting to make me wish that they were real and not imagined.