Rasheed and Serena’s BDSM Service
Author’s Note:
This story converges two plot lines started in “Escape from Theo’s” and “Allyson’s Online Dates,” picking up the thread a while after the ends of both prior stories. It’s an attempt to further develop the weird mix of consensual and non-consensual that I tinkered with in both stories.
I kind of wish I hadn’t established that Allyson is from Michigan when I first introduced her in “Kendra at the Beach.” Now it necessitates some plot contrivances to get her back to Canada for Rasheed and Serena’s establishment. It also makes the Angelica-Allyson-Jonathan triangle more geographically messy than it had to be. Apologies if credibility is a bit strained in spots. It’s a fantasy — get over it.
This story also has a few back references to “Signing Up for a Life of Slavery,” but you don’t have to have read that storey, or any others, to be able to figure out what’s going on here.
By the way, I don’t intend to forget about Kev and Kendra while I’m exploring the possibilities of this new, consensual version of the Theo stories. I’ll get back to your, and my, favourite BDSM couple in a while.
I put this story under BDSM rather than non-con because the slavery is consensual, but be aware that there’s some bondage, pain and downright weirdness on the way.
**
This was odd. Jonathan had invited me over to his place on a Wednesday evening, which he doesn’t normally do. We both have five-day-a-week jobs, and we usually get together at his place on Friday evenings so we can have a long bondage, pain and fuck session that sometimes spills over to Saturday morning. Sometimes I leave on Saturday afternoon, especially if I have things to do, but other times I stay through Sunday. I never seem to get tired of Jonathan’s creative BDSM talents. But why on Wednesday?
When I arrived, Jonathan poured me a glass of wine without asking and sat down beside me on the couch, looking more serious than I’d ever seen him. He took both my hands, looked me in the eye and said, “Allyson, there’s no good way to say this. Angelica has turned up again.”
I sat as if I had been turned to stone. Angelica, Jonathan’s old girlfriend and bondage partner from a few years ago when he’d been living and working in Canada. I remembered the cryptic conversation we had had about her when I asked Jonathan about previous bondage partners. He mentioned her with a longing tone in his voice, but said that she had abruptly disappeared from his life some time earlier.
“My God, that’s awful,” I had said, “not even knowing where someone is.”
“Oh, I have a pretty good idea where she is, but you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Anyway, I really don’t like to talk about it.”
Now she was back. I had no idea what this was going to mean for our relationship, but from the seriousness of his expression, I knew I wasn’t going to be happy. Was he going to dump me and go back to her? Was he going to propose some sort of Jonathan-sharing arrangement where he saw each of us some of the time, like some sort of joint custody agreement between divorced parents? Maybe threesomes? I waited for Jonathan to say something.
“Allyson, I still love what we do together. You’re a wonderful bondage partner, and we seem to be more sexually compatible than almost anyone I’ve been in a relationship with.” (“Almost.” I didn’t like where this was going.) “But I have to tell you that I’ve missed Angelica ever since she disappeared. We were absolutely perfect together from the moment I met her. I’m sorry to say this, but she’s willing to pick up where we left off, with a few logistical adjustments. And I’m willing to let her.”
I finally regained my ability to speak. “So, where did she disappear to, and what changed that made her come back?”
Jonathan sat silent for a minute, as if he were turning options over in his mind. “If you ever meet her, Angie can tell you herself if she wants to. But it’s very, very personal and private. I told you at the time that I didn’t want to talk about it, and I still feel like I’d be telling tales out of class if I told you much about it without her say-so. Let’s just say that her circumstances have abruptly changed in the most complete way possible.”
I had gotten used to our arrangement. It stopped well short of live-in status but was mellowing somewhat beyond friends-with-benefits. I had come to count on how he could push pain just to the limits of my tolerance and my ability to transmute it into pleasure without going over the line. I had also come to count on the way his strong arms and genuinely kind manner could bring me back to earth after a long series of mind-shattering, pain-augmented orgasms, and the utter trust I had in him. It wasn’t love, exactly — I didn’t think — but it was developing into something very like it.
“I’ve going to miss the hell out of you, Jonathan. For the past few minutes I’ve been trying to think of ways to win you back, but I learned long ago not to try to get between a woman and a man who prefers her to me. The way you talk about Angelica makes it clear that our thing is well and truly over. I almost asked you to tie me up and fuck me senseless one last time before I head out of your life, but that would be silly. Make-up sex is one thing, but break-up sex makes no sense.”
I drained my wine glass and stood up, trying to hold back the tears that all of a sudden were making it difficult to see. “Good-bye, Jonathan. I hate this, maybe more than you could ever realize, but I don’t resent it, or you, or even Angie. Sometimes life just drops an anvil over a cliff and it lands on you.”
I walked to the door, put my hand on the doorknob, and turned back one last time. “Really, Jonathan, I’m not being sarcastic when I way this. Thanks for all the good times.” He opened his mouth, then shut it again. There was really nothing left to say.
I walked out and closed the door behind me.
**
After a couple of weeks of feeling sorry for myself, I decided that it was time to cut losses and find a new bondage playmate. I had tried trolling for BDSM partners on kinky dating sites, and had ended up with one winner, Jonathan, one total disaster, Brandon, and one in between, Charles, who had at least been entertaining in his cluelessness about women’s bodies and how to pleasure them. I guess odds like that aren’t bad, but I didn’t really feel like going there again, at least not right away.
Instead, I headed for Lucifer’s, a fetish club where I’d had quite a bit of success picking up casual BDSM partners, even if none of them had had the staying power of Jonathan. The safety of semi-public bondage play, combined with the exhibitionism that I had come to relish, appealed to me right then more than inviting potential partners back to my place where they could mistreat me the way Brandon had done. The presence of dungeon monitors — a polite term for bouncers, but also mentors and safety officers — would help ensure that I would have an experience in the proverbial safe, sane and consensual space.
I paid the cab driver, stepped out, and walked up to the door. I showed my membership card, COVID vaccination confirmation and my proof of a recent STI test, walked in, and took off my surgical mask. I stopped at the women’s change room — “women” defined as broadly as anyone wanted to define it, including trans women in whatever stage of transition, and gender-fluid people who happened to feel the most comfortable changing in the presence of women rather than men. I found a cubicle and changed into my chosen outfit for the night, which consisted of nothing more than a silver locket on a chain around my neck and dangling between my breasts, and another silver chain loosely cinched around my waist, plus a pair of black heels. Any dress or no dress is welcome at Lucifer’s, and I had decided to go full-on Allyson to signal that I was seriously looking for a playmate.
I put my street clothes in a locker, dropped in the token I had paid for at the door, and clipped the key to the chain around my waist. I left the change room and strode, looking more confident than I felt, into the main dungeon.
Ah, Lucifer’s. The familiar smell of sex and sweaty bodies. The loud music partially drowning out the sounds of pained yelps and orgasmic screams. The dance floor in the middle and the items of bondage furniture, some occupied and some waiting for users, around the periphery. The shelves of bondage and pain devices waiting for anyone who wanted to use them. The bodies of both sexes bent over spanking benches, tied to racks and tables, suspended from pullies, being flogged, hand-spanked, or enthusiastically fucked in one hole or another.
Fuck Jonathan. These were my people.
**
I sat at the bar and ordered a mocktail. Lucifer’s doesn’t serve alcohol, which isn’t a good idea before indulging in potentially dangerous activities such as those that went on at Lucifer’s. Not only does it impair judgement, it dulls pain, tempting subs to put up with treatment that they would deeply regret when the anesthetic wore off. So I nursed a glass of something fruity and fizzy and looked around.
One scene caught my eye as being especially interesting. A naked woman lay on her back on a metal table, legs wide apart and arms by her sides. Rather than the usual straps or ropes, she was secured by polished metal bands clamped over her ankles, knees, elbows and wrists. There was even a metal band across her mouth, not only silencing her but holding her head immobile on the table. The effect of the metal on metal was certainly striking, as was the contrast between the bright silver metal and her light brown skin.
Standing over her was a tall white man wearing jeans but no shirt. If I were a man with a body that ripped, I would have gone shirtless as much as possible too. (Not that I was wearing a shirt right then myself, but you know what I mean.) Sweat glistened on his naked chest as he wielded a short cane, bringing it down authoritatively on various parts of the woman’s body. He methodically hit her on the thighs, on the belly, on the chest, on her naked breasts, even sometimes hitting her square on the nipples.
He also brought it down from time to time between her spread legs, hitting her square on the pussy. She had a line of little rings pierced through each labia, and at the moment strings were threaded through each ring and secured to metal rings set into the edges of the table, pulling her pussy wide open. The effect was similar to threading a string around a line of skewers to truss a turkey, except that in this case the result was to hold something open rather than to hold something closed. As a result, when the cane came down, it connected with her bare clitoris, unprotected by its usual defenses. Her hands were balled into fists and her eyes were screwed shut, and when he hit her on a particularly sensitive spot, her body contorted and a muffled scream forced its way past the steel gag and out her nose. From where I was sitting, I could see bright red marks multiplying on her skin, although the skin never actually broke and bled. He seemed to know exactly how much force he could exert to cause maximum pain without causing real damage.
A dungeon monitor hovered in the background, keeping a close eye on the scene. She was identified as a DM by her black jeans and bright red Lucifer’s T-shirt, and I recognized her as Jodi, a DM whom I had seen on duty a number of times and respected immensely. I assumed that she and the sub clamped to the table had previously discussed how much pain the sub was willing to take, or she would have stopped the scene long before, especially with the sub gagged and unable to direct her dom. Certainly the sub didn’t seem to be trying to signal her dom to stop, even though she sometimes let muffled screams escape in response to a particularly nasty cane strike.
Finally the dom decided that he had ramped the woman, and himself, up as much as he needed to. He put the cane aside and thrust three fingers into her spread pussy and began fucking them in and out, massaging her clit with his thumb as he did so. He pulled his pants down and started jerking off with his other hand in rhythm with the fingers that were buried deep in her cunt. After a few minutes of being finger-fucked, she arched her back and screamed in ecstasy through her nose, and the dom let loose a gigantic flood of cum all over her face and tits. The muffled scream went on and on until she finally dropped back to the table, totally spent. A little patter of applause went through the crowd — you’re really not supposed to let on that you’ve been watching that closely, but it was certainly a spectacular scene, and Jodi let the minor indiscretion go.
After the dom had recovered a bit, he wiped off his cock on her long black hair, pulled up his pants, and started to walk away. Jodi intercepted him.
“Hey, Gene. None of that. You know the rules. What do you say to Asha after a scene like that?”
Gene looked a bit grumpy but he came back. “Hey, cunt. You all done? Want out?”
She couldn’t nod her head, but I could hear a muffled but distinctly affirmative “Mmmm-hmmm” from behind the steel gag. Gene pulled up on the quick-release fasteners that were holding the steel band to the table and pulled it off. Once it was off, we could see that a very efficient silencing bar built inside the gag had been holding her tongue firmly to the floor of her mouth.
Gene untied the strings that were threaded through her pussy rings and pulled them out, letting her lips close into their natural resting position. Then he went around her body, unfastening steel bands. When he was done, he helped her to stand up shakily. Jodi took over, holding her under one arm as she walked carefully to the women’s bathroom where I knew there was a shower she could use to get the semen off her body and out of her hair, and also some healing lotion for the cane marks. Although she didn’t seem permanently damaged, she looked as though she would bear red stripes for days or maybe weeks.
I reclaimed my forgotten mocktail and turned back to the bar, wondering what I was going to find for myself tonight.
**
It didn’t take long. After I had swished the swizzle stick in my mocktail by myself for ten or fifteen minutes, paying somewhat less attention to the more prosaic BDSM scenes after Asha and Gene’s over-the-top performance, a man sat down on the bar chair next to me. I glanced over at him. He was every inch a dom, wearing tight leather pants and heavy metal chains crossed over his bare chest — there seemed to be a lot of bare chests at Lucifer’s tonight. A faint scar crossed his chest at an angle from just below his left nipple to his ribcage. His head was shaved, but he didn’t project a skinhead vibe — neo-Nazis are too macho to frequent places like Lucifer’s. I had to admit that the look was good on him.
He made his move early. Looking at the sad remains in my glass, he asked, “Can I buy you another drink?”
Not as good a line when there isn’t any alcohol in the drinks, but the convention still works as a conversation opener. “Sure, that would be great.” I resisted the urge to say, “Do you come here often?” I didn’t feel like descending that far into cliché.
He ordered me another of the same, and one for him. “My name’s Charles, by the way,” he said as he stuck out his hand. Clearly not the Charles I had met on line a while ago, that was for sure.
I took his hand and said “Allyson.” He looked me up and down. The convention at Lucifer’s is to be totally frank, and he said frankly, “Those are certainly great boobs you’re showing off. May I touch?”
I was charmed by the combination of honesty and respect for my personal property. “Sure, go ahead.” He reached over and took my left breast in his hand, gently stroking my nipple with his thumb. If it hadn’t been hard already from the moment he sat down, it would have been instantly erect. My pussy started to juice a little.
“Nice. From your outfit, or lack of it, I take it you’re a sub shopping for a dom?”
“Very astute.” I put my hand over his and pressed it more firmly to my breast. “And I take it from your outfit that you’re shopping for a sub, at least for the evening?”
He smiled warmly. “Very astute.” Our drinks came and he took his hand off my breast so he could take a sip.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” I asked.
“I used to hang out at Franco’s Dungeon. Not a bad place, but I got tired of too many rules. Obviously, everyone wants to be consensual and safe, but at Franco’s we couldn’t do what we’re doing right now. No nudity until you’re actually in a scene, no sexual penetration in the public area, and you’re not supposed to march up to people at the bar and ask if you can touch their boobs. This is the first time I’ve been here, but I think I’m going to like it.”
Then he got right to the point. “What do you like to do?”
This guy didn’t beat around the bush. I liked that, especially since he was asking me what I wanted. “Well, I love to be tied up and fucked, or I wouldn’t be here. Pussy or asshole, whichever. I like impact play a lot, but maybe not quite to the level of that woman we just watched. I don’t want to stagger away with bright red cane stripes all over me. But mild to moderate pain turns me on.”
“How do you like to be tied up?”
I thought for a minute. A delicate question, although it was a good sign that he’d asked it. “Surprise me.” I realized with a bit of shock that I’d just agreed to a more or less open-ended BDSM scene with this man I’d met five minutes ago.
“How do you feel about gags?”
“As long as you respect the local safe-grunt if I really need to get out, I love them. I love being helpless, the more helpless the better. I wouldn’t agree to it if we were alone in one of the private rooms — I need to be able to communicate when I don’t have backup. But I feel safe with the DM’s around here, so bring it on.”
“Any issues with being struck on the nipples or pussy?”
“I’m sure you know not to be super-hard on the more delicate bits. As long as you don’t go over the top, that’s a turn-on for me too.”
Ah, this was the Lucifer’s I remembered. Safe, sane and consensual, but also completely frank and open. I felt totally comfortable talking to this total stranger about how I liked to be restrained, flogged and fucked.
Our drinks were finished. I had said “Surprise me,” so we didn’t need to discuss our scene in advance any further. I just took his hand when he offered it to me, stood, and let him lead me to wherever he wanted me.
Wherever he wanted me was at one of the X-shaped St. Andrew’s crosses. It had taken me a while to get over my bad experience when Nick had left me tied to one on the beach for hours until Kev and Kendra rescued me, but now that I had experienced some really great scenes with them, I loved them. I like being helplessly spreadeagled, and the standing position makes me feel far more on public display than just being tied to a bed.
I wondered whether he would position me face in or face out. Face in presents more back and ass to be flogged and spanked, but face out exposes more private equipment that can be fondled and tortured, and I always like to be able to look into my dom’s face. It makes the experience that much more personal.
He positioned me face out, and I dutifully spread my arms and legs against the wooden cross. It had wide padded straps for wrists, elbows, knees, ankles, and waist — Lucifer’s doesn’t kid around with half-baked restraints. I felt my pussy getting wetter and wetter as he cinched up the straps on my wrists, elbows and waist. I pulled against them experimentally and established that I was almost totally immobile from the waist up. They weren’t tight enough to cause a risk of circulation problems or nerve damage, but plenty tight enough to make sure I would have to stand there and take whatever Charles dished out. Perfect!
I waited for him to cinch up my knees and ankles, but he did something I didn’t expect. He bent my legs at the knees and brought my feet up to the knee straps, which he put across my instep. Now my soles were pressed against the wood and my knees were apart, exposing a lot more pussy at a much more fuckable angle than the usual posture. I would have been able to wriggle my feet out of the straps, except that before he tightened them, he reached into a pocket and produced two more short straps, which he fed under the main straps where they came across my instep. He buckled them around my ankles, and now my feet were secured the way a pair of strappy sandals are secured. There would be no pulling out of the straps now.
Experimentally, I tried to bring my knees together. I could force them into an awkward knock-kneed posture, but it was so very awkward that I wouldn’t have been able to hold it very long, and Charles would have been able to force them apart easily. Not that I wanted to hide my fuckable bits, but I wanted to see what my options were. I let my knees relax again and they automatically opened.
“This is interesting,” I said out loud. “I’ve never been cinched to a cross quite like this before.”
“My own design,” Charles said with evident pride. “I think you’ll come to appreciate the possibilities.”
Charles went to a shelf of gags, selected one, and held it up for my inspection. It was a muzzle that would cover the whole lower part of my face, including my nose, in black neoprene. There were two fairly large holes under the nosepiece to make sure the wearer could breathe, and a medium-sized rubber ball to fit behind the teeth and make sure that intelligible speech would be well and truly impossible. “I love it,” I said, admiring how extreme it looked. “I’ve been gagged with lots of things, but never with a muzzle like that.”
That was the last thing I’d be able to say for a while. He pushed the ball into my waiting mouth, buckled the muzzle behind my head, checked to make sure the breathing holes were lined up properly with my nostrils, then stepped back to admire his work.
Once he was satisfied with the visual effect of my muzzled face, he went to a rack of equipment and came back with a riding crop. It was a big one, with a long handle that would allow for a lot of leverage and a large tongue with holes in it to reduce air resistance and increase velocity. It’s hard to do really serious damage with a crop, but this was no toy, and I knew that Charles could make it really hurt if he wanted to. I squirmed slightly in my bonds in glorious anticipation. One of the dubious favours I took away from my unpleasant experience with Brandon was the knowledge that my pain threshold is a lot higher than I had thought it was, and it had been way too long since I’d been properly worked over.
Charles swished the crop through the air a few times to get the feel of it. The tongue made an evil hum as the air rushed around it and through the holes. He walked around me a couple of times as if deciding where to strike first, and the suspense multiplied the erotic sensations that were already running through me. Then, without warning, he snapped the crop down on my right nipple.
He did a good job of honouring my instructions to avoid over-the-top impact on my most sensitive parts, but the blow still stung like an absolute bitch. I let out a scream that the gag redirected through my nose, but it was a scream of surprise as much as of pain.
He studied me for a few seconds to assess my reaction to his experimental first strike, and when I seemed to be taking it well, he set about delivering more. He methodically worked over my chest, my tits, my belly and the outsides of my thighs, leaving light red marks, the kind that would fade in an hour or two at most. Then he gave me a couple of good swats on the insides of my thighs. Those stung even more. A couple of times, he brought the crop down square on my pubic mound, making me wonder how wise I’d been to shave it so carefully that morning. Then he brought it up from below right on my pussy lips. That really triggered a squeal of pain from behind the gag.
I suddenly realized that it might have been a bad idea to give him permission to hit me there. I was going to want to be fucked in that pussy eventually, and if he made it too red and sore with the crop, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience. Fortunately, he didn’t hit me there very often, and really held back the intensity when he did. He was probably thinking the same thing I was about future uses for that body part.
Speaking of which — after he had worked me over with the riding crop for twenty or thirty minutes, and the red marks on my skin were starting to flow together into an overall mass of burning pain, he decided that it was time to move on. He put the crop down, moved his legs in between my knees, and started sucking and licking my nipples. Compared to what he’d been doing with the crop a few moments before, his tongue and lips felt gentle, soothing even, cooling down the stinging pain that the crop had left.
He worked his mouth slowly down my body, gently licking my chest between my breasts, then down over my belly and my mons, finally ending up on his knees with his mouth at my pussy. He parted my pussy lips with his tongue and ran it up and down inside, from my clit down to my vaginal opening and back up. I started whimpering behind the gag with sexual heat as the sensation, egged on by the pain I had been warmed up with, radiated from my pussy through my entire body.
Disappointingly, he abruptly pulled his mouth away, but it was only briefly. He got a pump of lube on his fingers from a bottle on another shelf, then came back and positioned his mouth where it had left off. He reached under me and pressed a lubed finger against my asshole, which resisted for a moment, then relaxed to let the full length of his finger into me. He massaged my rectum from the inside for a few minutes, then pulled out and pressed two fingers back in.
The stimulation from the two sources at once was so intense that I could hardly bear it. In fact, I didn’t bear it. I let the sensations ramp up until they exploded in a blinding orgasm. I couldn’t arch my back with the strap holding me at the waist, but I clamped my bent knees around his head to keep it pressed as tightly as possible against my spasming pussy as the orgasm went on and on, releasing the sexual energy that had been building from the first strike of the crop against my nipple.
Spent, I released his head and hung limply in my straps, panting through my nose and letting myself come down from the extremes of stimulation. Charles had a wide grin on his face — I guess he was the kind of guy who got a real charge out of wringing a mind-shattering orgasm out of a woman. He waited until my breathing subsided, just holding my pussy in his hand in a comforting gesture without doing anything more to it. He left the fingers of his other hand in my ass, but didn’t move them either. I had to admit that it felt good to have them there — just a warm post-coital glow of filled-up-ness without real stimulation.
Once he had let my overstimulated body settle down, he pulled his fingers out, stepped back, and picked up the crop again. This time he didn’t need to hit me nearly so hard. I was worked up enough that little swats all over my skin were enough to start the energy rising again. He undid his pants and worked them down and off — I could see that, for all its sexiness, one disadvantage of leather was its clinginess. He couldn’t just let them drop like a pair of jeans. But I very much enjoyed watching the strip show.
While I was taking my brief strip show break, I also noticed that we were being watched intently by a woman at the far end of the bar. I had noticed her vaguely throughout the scene, but I had been too preoccupied to pay any real attention. Now I registered her as a tall Black woman with extremely striking coal-black skin, much darker than the usual Afro-American brownish skin tone. Her hair was done in a cascade of long black braids with small gemstones worked into them. She was wearing more clothes than I was, but not by much — a skimpy silver miniskirt and matching halter top. Just above her left breast I could see a brand showing pinkly against her dark skin. 14. I had seen plenty of words and images tattooed, branded or occasionally scarified on various people, but I had never seen just a number. I wondered what it represented. Did something important in her life happen in 2014?
She didn’t seem interested in picking up a BDSM partner. Several men and women had come over to investigate her, and she had politely shooed them away. Rather, she seemed interested in me.
I was brought out of my reverie by another swat from the crop. I turned from the branded woman to look back at Charles, who now was wearing nothing but a big erection and a grin. In between swats, he massaged my nipples, my asshole, and my pussy, gently but firmly ramping my arousal back up again.
When he had me teetering on the edge of another shattering orgasm, he put down the crop, moved in between my legs, and pressed his cock firmly against my cunt. I’ve been fucked standing up lots of times, and it usually involves my bringing my legs up, often wrapping them around my partner’s waist so he can get a good shot at my cunt. The few times I’ve been restrained in ways that prevented me doing that, the sex has seemed pretty awkward, the man needing to crouch to drive into me from underneath. Now I saw the genius of the position Charles had cinched me into. With my feet drawn up and my knees apart, he could get into my pussy without any awkward gymnastics.
Oh, Jesus, how I needed this. The orgasm he’d given me with his mouth and hand had been amazing, but the way he was pistoning his cock into me was sent straight from heaven. I bit down hard on the ball in my mouth and focussed on the rapidly rising orgasm radiating from my cunt through my whole body. My G-spot was responding to the powerful massage it was getting, and another orgasm exploded through me, drenching his pubic area with pussy-cum. He waited until I had come down a bit from that one, then gave a few deep, hard thrusts and pumped semen far into my vagina.
When he finally pulled out his softening cock, he politely held a cloth to my pussy so the cum didn’t leak all down my legs. Once it had stopped flowing, he wiped me off, then got another cloth and wiped himself off. Then he took both my breasts gently in his hands, looked at me, and said, “Well, Allyson. Had enough?”
I nodded weakly, and he set about releasing me. He pulled the ball out of my mouth and peeled the muzzle off my face, freeing my mouth to take in great cooling gasps of air. Then he undid the straps, let my feet gently down, and walked me over to a bench where he sat beside me and held me while I came down from subspace enough to speak intelligibly.
“Fuck, Charles, that was just great. You have a gift for balancing pain and pleasure just perfectly.”
“Thanks, Babe. That was terrific fun. I’m glad I tried out that muzzle on you. The look was sexy as hell, and the way you screamed behind it when you came was a real turn-on.” He gave me a deep kiss, then he worked his pants back on and walked out of the club.
Well, that’s the way it goes at Lucifer’s. Sometimes you meet someone who’s in it for repeat business, sometimes you meet someone who just wants a one-and-done good time. No hard feelings either way. You park hard feelings at the door when you come into Lucifer’s.
**
After I had recovered and had checked out my body — the red marks were already starting to fade — I tottered back to the bar. I felt dehydrated from all the stimulation, but I didn’t want another fruity drink. I ordered a glass of water, which I drank off in a gulp, then a Coke, which I sipped slowly.
The tall Black woman brought her drink with her from her perch at the far end of the bar and sat next to me. I expected to be propositioned, and was preparing a polite “Not tonight” response — under other circumstances, I would have been happy to do a scene with her, but I’d already had quite enough excitement for one evening. She stuck out her hand, speaking with some sort of mild Caribbean accent with a touch of Canadian in it as well. “Hi Allyson. I’m Serena Brown. Nice to finally meet you in person.”
“You’re one of the women who placed the ad on the Bondage Buddy site, looking for women to play at being sex slaves. I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you checking me out at Lucifer’s.”
“I wouldn’t have travelled all this way just for that. I’m in Michigan to visit a cousin I haven’t been able to see since before the pandemic. But while I was here, it seemed like a good way to get to know you a little better, too. I often come to Lucifer’s for a little fun when I’m here, and I know the people who run it pretty well. And they know you pretty well too, so when in conversation I accidentally found out that you’d made a reservation for tonight, it seemed a natural way for us to meet. I normally wouldn’t have entertained the idea of bringing an American into the picture — just too many technical complications with the border, immigration, all that kind of thing. But you mentioned in your reply that you’re a dual citizen, so that makes it a lot easier.”
“Yes. I was born in Canada, but my parents moved here for work when I was two, and the family stayed. I’m a naturalized American but I hung onto my Canadian citizenship as well. Comes in really handy at times.”
“The other reason I took an interest in you is because Kendra spoke so highly of you.”
“Kendra? You know Kendra Williamson?”
“We had become friends in Toronto before I was enslaved. When Theo was busted and I got out, it seemed natural to pick up our friendship again.”
“Hold on,” I said, my mind reeling. “You’d better start further back. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Want to go somewhere we can get a real drink? It’s a long, complicated story, and this bar stool is starting to hurt my ass.”
**
We got back into our safe-for-public clothes and ended up at a quiet lounge just down the block. We settled into a booth, ordered real drinks now that the BDSM part of the evening was over, and also a sharing-size plate of nachos. As well as making me thirsty, that sexual workout had made me ravenously hungry.
“You probably heard about it in the news — a creep named Theo Gustaveson was making a killing running a sex slave brothel where perverts could rent time with a real honest-to-God non-consensual slave and do almost anything they wanted to her.”
“I remember that. Before then, I’d heard of one or two women being held for years as personal sex slaves, but I’d never heard of a commercial operation. Didn’t a few slaves finally escape and rat out the whole operation?”
“That’s exactly what happened. I can tell you, I’ve never had such a feeling of satisfaction in my life as when I watched that APC smash down Theo’s front door.”
I goggled at Serena. “You were one of the slaves?”
“That’s right. My friend Rasheed and I wrote a book about it.”
“I’ve heard about it. In fact, it’s on my must-read list, but it hasn’t quite made it to the top with all the other things happening in my life. Were you really held against your will for all that time? I’ve always found it hard to believe that so many people could be held for that long without being at least a little bit complicit.”
“Theo was very clever and ran a very, very tight and secretive operation. He looked after us well, treating us as valuable pieces of property, but yes, we had no options. I was kidnapped right off the street seven years ago and was Theo’s slave for six of them. I won’t bore you with all the things his customers did to me over the years, but let me tell you, some of them made Lucifer’s look like a children’s daycare.” She gestured to her chest where I’d seen the branded number, now covered by a more modest top. “I was Slave Fourteen. The others had tattoos, but they would have been nearly invisible on my skin. I could get rid of it with a skin graft, but it helps me remember what I’ve been through.”
I was totally speechless. Then I found my tongue. “So why the hell are you advertising for women to work there? I’d have thought you’d want to burn the place to the ground.”
“Some of us did. But some of us had managed to turn ourselves into true pain sluts over the years. At first it was purely self-defence, trying to push through the pain and rape by learning to sort of enjoy it. But then some of us reached the point where we genuinely missed it when it was all over. It was the non-consensual part of it that had made it really bad. We — the small group of us who thought this way — wondered if it would be satisfying to turn the whole place on its head, run it ourselves with consenting slaves who aren’t really slaves. Rasheed and I bought the place cheap and rebuilt it closer to our own vision.”
“If you missed BDSM so much, why not just visit clubs like Lucifer’s?”
“Sometimes I do. But let me ask you: did Charles give you $2000 in cash when he was done with you tonight?”
I sat there for a minute. The only thing I could finally manage to mutter was “Fuck!”
“Fuck is right. The difference between our operation and Lucifer’s is that after being tied up, beaten and fucked, we walk away with two grand, less a bit that we need for expenses.
“I see the look on your face. Yes, it’s a glorified prostitution racket, but after spending some time as a non-consensual sex slave, you find yourself getting less choosey about what you do for a living. Theo took the time to destroy his records when he knew he was going to be busted, so we couldn’t reach out to former clients, but they gradually started finding us. Soon we had more work than the nine of us old hands could handle, so we started recruiting other pain sluts who were tired of doing what they do for free. And so I’m here. Recruiting.
“I guess I should qualify the non-con part. One woman actually signed up for it. Once she joined Theo’s operation, she could never leave, so to that extent she was a genuine slave. But she chose it because she was such a deeply committed sub that she craved true non-con. Damnedest thing I’ve ever encountered. She worked with us as a consensual slave for a while, but I guess when she was no longer forced into it, the thrill was gone and she quit. Angelica is one messed-up human being.”
“Angelica? Angelica Henders?”
“Slave Twenty-Seven to Theo. You know her?”
“That fucking bitch. She used to be my ex-boyfriend’s lover and bondage partner before she mysteriously disappeared. Now I finally know where she went to. And now she’s here again to steal Jonathan back from me. I’ve always made it through life without actively hating another human being, but Angelica’s made it really, really hard.”
“Maybe you’d like to seek revenge by taking her place at Rasheed and Serena’s BDSM Service.”
“I’ll need to think about it for a while. But without Jonathan, there’s not much here for me. My day job is pretty dead end. And I’d be close to my friends Kev and Kendra. It’s tempting.”
“If you’re interested, I can make you a written job offer that will keep Immigration happy. The job description will be make-believe, of course. You won’t get a work permit for a job that says “Sex Slave.” And you’ll need to handle all the paperwork yourself, including transportation. Canada is pretty tolerant of sex workers — the law targets the customers, not the women — but anything that even smells remotely like human sex trafficking could get me sent to jail for almost as long as Theo.
“But before you decide, you need to be clear on what you’re in for. We kept most of Theo’s business formula, although we clamped down on some of the more extreme forms of torture. When you start your shift, this is how you’ll be displayed.”
She flipped through her phone until she came to a picture of a lineup of women, all handcuffed, tape-gagged and in leg spreaders, and all transfixed on dildo poles in their cunts. I recognized Serena as one of the women in the lineup.
“Yes, I take my turn on deck with everyone else. I don’t make any money just because I co-own the place — it all goes back to the women. I get my personal income $2000 at a time like all the rest of the associates — we don’t use the words ‘slave’ among ourselves.
“We had quite a debate over the poles. Even the biggest bondage sluts among us didn’t especially like standing around with dildoes up our twats waiting for something to happen. But when we tried getting rid of them, clients really complained. Maybe they remind them of what they hope to be doing soon with their cocks.”
“Do I need to get a number tattooed on my chest?”
“No. We use names now. Most people have gotten their numbers removed or covered up.
“Once a client picks you, he’ll take you to one of the entertainment suites.” She swiped to a video and started it. I watched Serena suspended upside-down, bound and gagged while a man took what looked like really vicious swipes at her with a flogger. She had a huge dildo in her ass and another in her pussy, secured by a thin chain that ran through holes in the dildo handles and then through her asscrack and pussy to a waist belt.
“One of the Theo-era rules that we’ve stuck to is that clients can’t do any damage to anyone that won’t be gone by the next day. But you don’t get to negotiate your own boundaries like you’re used to at Lucifer’s. Once you’re in a scene, you stay in until the clock runs out, or Jake, our bouncer and glorified DM, calls a halt.”
The video panned the room. It didn’t look much different from Lucifer’s, with its array of restraint devices and impact tools. “It’s consensual to the extent that you can quit any time when you aren’t in a scene, or if desperate, use a secret safeword that will bring Jake running. But the secret sauce for clients is that it feels so much like genuine non-con.”
She brought up some more pictures, this time of women lounging around a comfortable-looking common room, working out in a little gym, or putting in free time in private bedrooms. “One of the perks for putting up with what you saw in that last video. You’d be welcome to come and go as you wished when you weren’t on shift. But given the housing prices in Toronto, some women elect to bunk there free. The quarters were designed for women who could never leave, so they have plenty of amenities to keep us healthy and pass the time, as long as you don’t mind having no windows. The sleeping area used to have cubicles like a women’s prison — if you’ve watched Orange is the New Black, you’ll have the idea. We ripped them out and divided the space into private bedrooms. You’d need to share showers, kitchen, that sort of thing, but basically it’s more co-op housing than slave quarters.”
I munched my nachos thoughtfully. Serena handed me her phone and I ran through the pictures again. The video of Serena being so ruthlessly flogged was certainly extreme, but it got my pussy tingling again in a strange way.
“Give me twenty-four hours. My brain is full right now, and my body is still humming from the workout at Lucifer’s. But it’s fucking tempting.
**
So, three months and a thousand government forms later, I was in Toronto, unpacking my bags in my room in Rasheed and Serena’s hostel-like residence. I was introduced to Jess, Anabelle, Stephanie, Rasheed, and all the old hands who had stayed on, as well as a handful of new recruits like myself.
Rasheed walked me through the facility. The showroom and the entertainment suites were exactly the way they had looked in Serena’s pictures, but seeing them in person sent a chill through me that was so intense I nearly backed out then and there. But I got a grip and forced my reaction down. I recognized it as the sort of reaction I always have when taking a step out of my comfort zone into the unknown.
Rasheed opened a small door into an equally small room with a cement backwall with shackles dangling from it. It was filled with boxes, shelves of computer parts, and some mops and brooms. “This is one of the punishment cells where we ended up if we crossed Theo. We were going to have it walled up, but then we thought it would be more fitting to repurpose it as a storeroom and broom closet. It’s a way of thumbing our nose at Theo.”
Rasheed looked at her watch. “It’s almost time for dinner, so we’d better wind up the tour. Anabelle and Althea are the cooks tonight, so I think it’ll be good. You might want to order pizza delivery when it’s my turn to cook.”
**
Dinner was delicious, but quite light. “We always eat a light dinner,” Rasheed explained. “You never know how much cum you’ll have to swallow or whether you’ll find yourself hanging upside down. It’s just as well not to start on a full stomach. We always end the evening with a hearty snack to make up for it.”
After dinner, those of us who lived on site went back to our rooms, stripped naked and hung up our clothes. The ones who lived off site had a change room where they could leave their clothes.
Feeling oddly self-conscious considering how many fetish clubs I’d been in with little or nothing on, I joined the others and walked down a hallway, carrying the four-inch stilettos that were all I’d be wearing in the showroom aside from various restraints. We walked in and positioned ourselves astride our dildo poles, each with our name on a little interchangeable nameplate to the clients would know who to ask for if they wanted repeat business — Rasheed had explained that we wouldn’t always get a chance to tell them ourselves.
Rasheed showed me how to fasten the spreader bar, put on the neopreme wrist cuffs, and position a wide strip of microfoam tape over my mouth, then did the same to herself. I telescoped the dildo pole until the pre-lubed dildo was seated comfortably but firmly in my pre-lubed pussy, and waited until Rachel, the bondage rigger for the evening, went down the line and finished the job by locking our poles with a hex key and fastening our cuffs together behind our backs.
As rigger and maître d’, Rachel was the only person wearing anything but shoes and restraints. She had on a tight black minidress scooped low enough to show the tops of her areolas peeking over the neckline and a wide gold belt that matched wide gold bracelets and a gold collar. Once we were all rigged up, she took her position by the clients’ entry door and waited for the first customer that Jake would send in.
As I looked to my right and left at the line of naked and utterly helpless women, I could see why the clients had objected when Rasheed and Serena tried to get rid of the poles. I couldn’t imagine another means of immobilizing someone that would be as humiliating and erotic at the same time. My own pussy was getting wet just looking at my fellow associates staked out like donair meat on a skewer.
The first client came in, and Rachel said, “Take a good look and pick your favourite. You can take a feel too if you want.” He did, checking boobs and butts for firmness and roundness. He settled on Alex, another relatively new recruit, and said, “This one.” Rachel handed him the hex key and he slid out the dildo, unfastened her spreader, and marched her off to whatever he felt like doing to her.
I waited with a mixture of eagerness and apprehension. This was all exactly the way Serena had explained it to me. I was eager to get on with the action for the evening — it had been far too long since I’d had a really good bind, flog and fuck session. Given the way Serena had explained the rules of engagement, clients wouldn’t be allowed to do anything to me that I really couldn’t handle, and Jake would be keeping a close eye on the cameras to make sure they didn’t. But it felt weird not to be able to discuss boundaries in advance, to know I’d be treated as a no-holds-barred sex slave, to know that my safeword was to be used only as an absolute last resort. This was definitely not Lucifer’s.
After three others had been chosen, the fourth client walked in. He looked a bit like an executive who had just gotten off work — expensive-looking, well-cut grey suit, solid blue tie, neat haircut and neatly trimmed brown beard. He walked along the line, now featuring nine women rather than twelve, and sized us up without bothering to squeeze any body parts. He just gazed at each of us in turn with piercing grey-hazel eyes, which he ran carefully once down each body and then back up to the face.
I had no idea what he was looking for — Rasheed had told me that we hardly ever do — but he certainly made me feel even more like meat in a deli window. He stopped for a moment at Rasheed, admiring her magnificent brown half-melon breasts, but somehow she didn’t seem to be exactly what he was looking for. He came to me, and seemed to be particularly admiring my cascade of thick, well-textured brown hair hanging to my shoulder blades.
He held out his hand for the hex key wordlessly. Rachel handed it to him, and he unfastened the dildo pole. However, he didn’t unfasten the spreader bar. He just wound my hair into his hand and pulled me forward, waddling awkwardly in the half-metre spreader. Even if it wasn’t a very efficient way to get me to the entertainment suite, I guess the effect was intended to be extra humiliating. It was certainly working.
As I waddled in, I was impressed all over again at the amount of bondage furniture Theo had been able to fit into a single room without their getting in each other’s way. I remembered my night at Lucifer’s when I had told Charles to surprise me. I didn’t have to say that to this client — whatever he did would be a surprise.
He towed me over to a doggy-style bondage frame that I recognized as identical to the one that Kendra and Kev had showed me at the resort. There was something reassuring about seeing such a familiar piece of equipment, even though the equipment said little about what would happen once I was buckled into it. He took off the spreader as well as the neoprene wrist cuffs, and finally spoke as he pushed me to my knees by the handful of hair that he still held in his hand. “Get down there, cunt.”
I complied as quickly as I could, hoping he’d release my hair as soon as he had me secured. I put my neck in the padded collar and my wrists, elbows, knees and ankles in the open cuffs, which he tightened up one by one until I was solidly immobilized once again. Then he peeled the tape off my mouth — it was designed not to be very sticky, Serena had told me, since we would be wearing it night after night. Something like ordinary duct tape would have damaged the skin on our lips with constant use. Then he selected a red ball gag from the shelf, pushed the ball firmly into my mouth, and buckled the strap.
Actually, the tape would have done a better job of silencing me, but I guess he liked the look of his slave for the evening with something stuffed in her mouth. I have to agree — even though you can sort of get slurry speech out around a ball gag, the look is more sexy than that of almost any other kind of gag.
He played for a minute with my dangling breasts until my nipples were good and hard, then clamped a pair of wicked nipple clamps on them. There was a large weight in the middle of the chain that joined them, and they bit fiercely into my nipples as they pulled them downward. I almost had a mini-orgasm at the sudden pain.
He disappeared from my line of sight, but I could see what he was doing in the mirrored wall. He positioned a machine behind me, a huge dildo on a pole protruding from it like a cannon on a tank. Great, I thought to myself. I just got off a dildo pole and now I’m going to have another one shoved into me.
I’ve been machine-fucked before, and my reaction has been ambivalent. On the plus side, a machine can keep going longer and harder than any human being ever could. On the minus side, a machine can keep going longer and harder than any human being ever could. If the operator isn’t attentive to the sub’s needs and reactions, a fucking machine, especially if turned up high, can be a really exhausting experience, driving a succession of orgasms far beyond the point where they’re enjoyable. I doubted that this dude was going to be very attentive to my needs and reactions.
He moved the machine so the dildo was pressing firmly on my asshole. This might or might not be good. The few times I’d been machine fucked in the past, it had always been in the pussy. I like anal sex, but I wasn’t sure how well my anus would take to reaming-by-machine.
He ran a big river of lube over the dildo and my hole, another of Theo’s rules that Rasheed and Serena have been happy to retain, and started turning a crank to get the dildo into starting position far up into my rectum. The thing was big enough that my sphincter screamed in protest as it was forced open more brutally than I would have allowed a man to do with his penis. I let my own scream burst out around the edges of the ball in my mouth, but the force of the machine was unrelenting. Once it was in, the dildo was merely uncomfortable rather than excruciating, but it must have been at least eight inches into me before he even turned it on.
Once he started the machine, it began thrusting in very long, slow strokes, burying itself even further in my rectum. I was glad it was equipped with a flexible gel dildo. I could feel it going deep enough to connect with and go part way around my colon’s first corner. A rigid dildo would have ripped a hole in my bowel.
I tried to concentrate on the sensations radiating from deep in my body as the dildo massaged my G-spot through my rectal walls. My body couldn’t move forward much with my neck in the padded collar, but each thrust was still enough to make the weight on my nipples swing forward and pull painfully on the tender flesh. Each flash of pain from the nipple clamps blended with the erotic internal massage from the dildo, and I could feel an orgasm beginning to gather in my pelvic region. I don’t usually orgasm from anal stimulation alone, but this damned machine was doing a good job of getting me ready.
He turned up the speed until the machine was pistoning far faster and deeper than any human penis could have. Then I was surprised by a hard, stinging impact on my back. I glanced in the mirror and saw that he had a flogger in his hand, its six tails of stiff braided leather ready to inflict another swarm of sharp stings on my back as he brought it down. He was using just his wrist and a bit of elbow, since full from-the-shoulder strikes were banned under the new rules, but he was still causing a hell of a lot of pain with that thing.
The pain in my nipples and the pain in my back blended with the hyper-stimulation of the fast and deep penetration in my anus to form into a giant wave of orgasm that washed over me and brought another muffled scream, this time of pleasure, from around the gag. Normally at this point a dom would have taken a short break to let me come down from the orgasm and let him rest his arm and his cock, but the machine just went on pounding relentlessly as it forced a string of orgasms out of me. I would have pleaded for it to stop if I hadn’t been gagged and if the client hadn’t been having so much fun watching my pleasure turning to painful overstimulation.
Finally, he stopped the machine, leaving it at full extension inside me, and started to unbuckle his pants. Good, I thought. This was great fun when it started, but the fun is starting to wear off. I wonder what he’s going to remove to find a place to put that cock? Two of my three holes are stuffed, and the machine will be totally in his way if he tries to get into my cunt with anything but a finger.
Instead of trying to find a hole for his cock, he just moved around in front of me and started jerking off with one hand while he continued hitting me around the shoulders with the flogger. Some pieces fell together in my mind when I saw his cock. It was tiny, no more than three or four inches even fully erect — technically, on the edge of being a microphallus.
I’m no psychologist, but I could guess why he was here spending $2000 to machine-fuck and flog me. He was likely ashamed of his little appendage, and had very possibly been ridiculed by women he’d tried to fuck with it. As a result, he not only liked to get even with women by hurting them, but also felt he needed a big machine to do his fucking for him.
Poor guy. Under other circumstances, I would have worked with him on that, tried to show him how he could use even a small penis to get the job done and pleasure both women and himself. Judging by how it was reacting to his hand, his little dick worked perfectly well despite its size, and if he’d had a woman to show him how to use it properly, he likely would have been just fine. Unfortunately, I was in totally no position to do any amateur sex therapy at that moment.
His BDSM session with me had obviously gotten him well and truly aroused. With one last blow of the flogger on my upper back, he grunted, clutched his cock tightly, and sprayed a huge load of cum straight into my face. I really don’t like messy facials, but they’re such a fixture in porn clips that I was warned to expect lots of them. I didn’t try to avoid the sticky stream — not that I could have even if I had wanted to. I just closed my eyes and let him spray my face and my hanging hair.
Despite his diminutive cock, there certainly wasn’t anything wrong with his prostate, which seemed to be able to force huge amounts of cum out his pint-sized apparatus. Once he got over the rictus of orgasm, he had a broad, satisfied smile on his face. He’d obviously gotten what he came for.
He didn’t bother to release me — another frequent client habit that I’d been warned about. He just walked out of the room without so much as a “Thank you ma’am.”
Within a minute or two at most, Jake walked in. He had obviously been keeping a close eye on the scene by way of the cameras, and saw that it was time to get me out. He gently eased the giant dildo out of my ass and pushed the machine out of the way so he could part my asscheeks and check to make sure it hadn’t done any real damage. Seeing none, he unbuckled the gag and pulled the ball out of my mouth, then worked his way around me unbuckling various body parts.
“Well, that was interesting,” I said as I sat up shakily. I went to the sink and washed most of the cum off my face.
“What did you think of your first time at Rasheed and Serena’s charming little establishment?”
“It certainly wasn’t the kind of scene I normally experience, that’s for sure. That joker didn’t hurt me any more than some of my bondage partners do in my regular life, but it sure was weird to have to just take what he wanted to dish out without mapping out a scene in advance or setting any boundaries. Mostly I felt sorry that he felt he had to do all that to compensate for having a small cock.”
“If you stick with it, you’ll get used to it. Just thank God you can leave and take a normal-life break whenever you want to. The women I used to protect were stuck here with no hope of anything different for years. Some thought they might have to spend the rest of their lives here. I’ve gotta say I sleep a lot better working for the new management.”
I shuddered. I’d talked to enough of the old hands to be able to imagine what that must have been like.
“I have to say that, despite the weirdness and the fact that my asshole feels like it’s been through a blender, that was also a strange kind of thrill. Something about not knowing what was coming next, and an extra layer of kink from playing the non-con role.”
I thanked Jake for taking care of me and headed back to the dorm area to shower the gunk out of my hair, get into something comfortable, and join the others for the promised hearty post-fucking snacks. This was certainly turning into an interesting adventure. I looked forward to the next client and whatever strange perversions he could bring on.