Debut Series: Part 3
Author: selkie
Filed in: submission, flogging, male submission, initiation, st. andrew's crossThe crowd parted as Lydia led the now leashed S. through their ranks. Her great eyes met no-one's but turned inward as S. hugged to herself D.'s parting kiss, his unspoken promise which she believed with every fibre of her being. Unconsciously, she straightened her strong shoulders, the small breasts lifting, their tips crimson and stiff. Oblivious to the admiring comments which drifted around her, she glided with long shapely legs after her diminutive keeper, her gait measured and strong.
Across the room, Damian watched her progression with narrowed eyes; impassive, his face did not betray the hot acid which roiled in his stomach. Even from his vantage point, he could see the marks of his art upon the long curved back of the slave – what was not obvious was the fact that despite his best efforts last night she had refused to submit. Oh, not physically – no, in the flesh S. had done as she was told – stood where she was placed, spread those beautiful legs when commanded, even held those pretty breasts in her own palms when he chose to whip them. But those eyes .... not once did he see real submission in their defiant gaze.
Yet, with a simple kiss, he had just watched her capitulate ... happily, completely, wholly – and to a man who had placed her in this position in the first place. A man who had handed her over to be used at will and without recourse. A man who through his long association with The House knew exactly what he was exposing her too – knew too that Damian's own particular brand of sadism could elicit submission from even the most defiant of individuals – knew that Damian had been known to break spirits, crush and destroy autonomy and at the same time elicit the most exquisite of surrenders. A graduate of The House (who inextricably bore Damian's signature) was treasured and sought after world-wide – but what they were not known for was an ability to retain any semblance of individuality or personal choice.
And now, two weeks after being handed over to his ministrations, Damian was almost ready for the first time in his long and most illustrious career to admit to failure.
Even watching S. as she passively allowed herself to be handled and abused, he could sense that strong inner spirit standing firm and untouched.
Taking a deep breath, Damian tightened his grip on the leather handle of the flogger. Nodding to the slave who watched his face attentively, he strode through the crowd towards his trainees as the slave ran to get the rest of the implements.
Lydia had reached the St. Andrews Crosses which were placed in a large alcove at the back of the room. Built specifically to accommodate their impressive size, the alcove was almost entirely composed of glass. Octangular in shape, the three crosses were placed equidistant from each other in a semicircle. Thus, when fully utilized, the slaves tethered to their strong arms had a full and unimpeded view of what was awaiting them as each was clearly visible to the other. Above, the dark sky pressed against the glass ceiling, stars blinking frostily in a tapestry of madness in the muted light. Gas flames flickered in the sconces lining the walls, lending an eerie light to the scene.
The crosses were not standard fare but had been crafted and built by Damian himself. Unlike the workaday models in the basement, whose utilitarian nature were obvious, the ones in the drawing room were built as working showpieces. Damian had chosen mahogany and lovingly and carefully cut and polished each piece until the dark red wood had blazed with depth and richness. At the center joist he had chosen burnished steel, worked carefully in the smithy which lay in the quadrangle at the back of The House, using his in-depth knowledge of ironwork to form his own distinct pattern. The iron tethers were riveted at various intervals on the arms and legs of the great cross to allow for the greatest leeway as well as the most creativity in how the bottoms were to be restrained. These also bore Damian's unique signature – the leather of the cuffs attached to the rings was supple and incredibly, deceivingly soft, masking the steel which lay at the center. Damian did not believe in permanently marking slaves (with the exception of administering a brand) but saw no point in etching permanent scars when smooth lovely skin could so pleasingly be marked time and again.
Unlike many of his ilk, Damian eschewed the more brutal and outward manifestations of his trade, preferring finesse and subtle, psychological coercion to brute force. But he understood the psychology of his lifestyle and did not discount the theatrical elements which often provided a fillip of excitement to many participants. And, because he was a perfectionist, Damian had to give his very best to whatever task he undertook. In the end, he had entered into the creation of the crosses with enthusiasm and been pleased with the end result.
Now, in the cavernous glittering expanse of the alcove, the crosses gleamed with a rich glow, reflecting the flickering flames in the sconces. A small red leather cushion was placed at the foot of each.
The keepers led their three charges, one to each cross. There were three tonight. A very handsome male slave brought in by a very experienced domme from San Francisco, a young coffee coloured submissive provided by a epicurean from the Middle East and S.
The male sub brought in by Mistress Lau just a week earlier, was the first to be cuffed. A noted and respected historian, Mistress Lau had a penchant for gladiators, as the Ancient Roman Empire was her chosen field. Like Roman matrons of old, she made excellent use of her "gladiators" – remaining true to historical accuracy as gladiators were indeed slaves and in order to achieve any measure of happiness in life were devoted to their aristocratic mistresses. Gladiatorial sweat and sperm was at one point highly prized as an antidote to infertility and ancient roman aristocratics would often bribe the centurions guarding the gladiators to allow them unfettered access to their favourites.
In a charming nod to this tradition, all of Mistress Lau's subjects were garbed in historically accurate (but slightly altered) versions of ancient dress. Loki, the slave now being cuffed to the left-hand cross, was no exception. His slender feet were encased in flat sandals, with strings which crisscrossed the muscular calves to his knees. Around his chest a stylized leather harness enhanced the flat, rippling stomach and strong shaven chest and allowed his muscular arms freedom of movement. A thick leather belt encircled the taut waist and emphasized the sweet firm sweep of buttock. Below, the heavy prick and full balls swung free.
Loki's waving blond hair was worn longer than would have been the norm during that time period in the Roman empire, but Mistress Lau preferred to have something to tangle her fingers in and tug. Around the strong column of his neck, a heavy studded leather collar with a small silver tag clearly proclaimed his status.
Loki's keeper pulled up and out the slave's muscular arms, securing them at the wrist to the cross. Kicking the slave's legs apart, his keeper bent to wind the leather thongs around the slave's ankles.
Spread-eagled, pressed against the cross, Loki's head was positioned between the V at the top while his heavy prick dangled just beneath the crux. Stepping back, his keeper admired the luscious sight of his charge completely and utterly helpless. He had tied the wrists securely and a slight trembling in the shoulder blades showed that the strain on Loki's joints was very real. The spread of cross at the bottom meant onlookers had an excellent view not just of the firm buttocks, their tight sweet flesh taut and pulled slightly apart but of the heavy prick which dangled enticingly between the spread legs, drooping below the heavy bag.
Loki trembled slightly, his eyes beneath the blindfold moving frantically. He recognized the feel of his restraint, having been cuffed to similar crosses many times before, but the past week had left him nervous and ill prepared for any more surprises.
He had agreed to further training in The House at the command of his Mistress who he adored but She had chosen (unlike D.) to absent Herself from The House during his training and he was feeling Her absence cruelly. Also, while he enjoyed pain when inflicted by Her beloved hand, what he had undergone in the past week was beyond anything in his experience.
Now, restrained, still aching from the previous evening's rigorous training, he understood that this, his debut, would require the greatest effort on his part to maintain decorum and make his Mistress proud. But, hanging here, helpless, sore and afraid, he felt horribly bereft.
Loki jumped as a soft hand caressed his buttocks, trailing fingers over the slightly raised welts which marred the otherwise smooth surface. Flinching, Loki fought to remain still. A finger probed firmly between the slightly gaping cheeks, pushing gently but insistently into the tight furled rose of his ass, which already ached from several days of being spread with a plug to increase comfortable access. Against his back, Loki felt the warmth of soft breasts press against his sensitive skin and relaxed slightly. Although he had participated in male on male play before, it was only at his Mistress's insistence, his own preference being unequivocally heterosexual.
Warm breath trailed along his knotted shoulder blade and a beloved, remembered scent filled his senses.
"Mistress!" he cried joyously.
"My lovely boy," She purred into his ear.
"Damian tells me you have been a very good and obedient boy. I am very pleased."
Loki shivered with delight, his bruises forgotten, the travails of the past week dismissed. She was happy! His goddess was pleased with him and he glowed. Now, whatever happened was irrelevant, his beloved Lady was in charity with him, She was close to him and if the gods allowed, he would be with Her tonight.
Although difficult, Loki stood taller, his muscles flexing, the firm buttocks clenching. Leaning his head back, he allowed his tousled blond hair to trail along his shoulder blades. Happily, he felt his Mistress tangle Her beloved fingers in its abundance and tug. Like a puppy, Loki wiggled.
"Damian will administer the flogging, but because you have been such an excellent student, I shall provide the reward myself." His Mistress said into his ear.
Loki was beside himself. Had the earth moved and swallowed him at this moment, he would be happy. He felt the warmth of his beloved leave his back but his senses, intensified by loss of sight, sensed Her moving around the cross. Turning sightless eyes down, he felt Her beloved presence directly in front.
Loki's heavy penis thickened and began to stiffen at the thought of his Mistress watching him. Then he felt Her firm hand cupping his balls and groaned as She rolled them expertly in long fingers. Pinching the soft globular flesh, feeling the firm egg shaped matter at the centre, Mistress Lau squeezed. Loki whimpered, his prick jerking and thickening as She released them and then began to slap his balls rhythmically and firmly.
Because he was concentrating on the feel of his Mistress cupping and abusing his most delicate flesh, Loki jumped at the first blow of the leather thong. Light as a whisper, the supple tongues of the tooled leather flogger flittered along the flesh of his back, barely touching, hinting a promise of what was to come. Again it came, a sweet supple caress of flesh, the steel tipped fronds barely stinging. Below, his Mistress caressed the heavy drooping balls, then ran expert fingers along the pale thickening shaft of her slave.
Damian stood tall and dark around 4 feet from his victim. In his hand the leather tooled flogger was a an art form as he expertly plied it against the sensitive skin of the slave's back, trailing sweet trails of heat from the shoulder blades down to the firm buttocks. Almost imperceptibly, he began to stroke harder, patterning an intricate quilting of colour and texture along the human canvas.
Keeping in rhythm with Damian, Mistress Lau manipulated and deliciously tortured the now throbbing member of her slave, pausing to admire the thick pale shaft, the purple head and to cup the balls which now began to tighten.
Loki, his eyes useless behind the blindfold calmed as the familiar feel of the whip caressed him. His mind flitted and then quietened as sensation flooded through the nerves of his body from the tip of his neck to the sweet, intense ache in his prick. Onlookers murmured appreciatively as the straining arms quietened, then drooped, the slave now held up almost entirely by the restraints which bound him to the cross. Sweetly, his body a mass of sensation, Loki slipped into sub-space.
Sensing his capitulation, Damian tightened his grip. A whistle and suddenly sensation flamed along Loki's back as Damian snapped the flogger, its long tongues flicking hard and quick just beneath the shoulder blades. Loki gasped, as even deep within his quiet mind he felt the leather tongues licking at his already abraded flesh with abandon, nerve endings waking and protesting. Deep within his psyche, endorphins began to pump, flooding his body and subtly exerting their siren call to his soul. Pain became pleasure and sighing, the slave sank deeper.
Again, Damian's strong hand wielded the flogger expertly, this time striking the fleshy buttocks, raising a lovely welt which bloomed pink as the sibilant whisper of the tongues fed at Loki's flesh.
Loki groaned, exquisite pain flaring along his spine as Damian brought the flogger down on the fleshy pads just below his shoulders. Needle play the night before had left that area extremely sensitive. Gasping, he felt a soft mouth envelop his stiffening penis. Unbelievably, he realized his Mistress was herself sucking his lowly prick!
For a moment, pulled from his special deep reverie, Loki almost panicked. Although Mistress had occasionally been inclined to suckle his very unworthy cock, the occasions were far and few between and often did not include him actually coming. But the combination of the harsh flogging against his back and buttocks, the feel of his Mistress's tongue against the aching shaft of his penis and the knowledge that onlookers were taking this all in served to create an unbearable excitement within him.
His cock was throbbing and felt as stiff as the iron bar which lay cold against his belly. Unconsciously, he flexed his back, clenching the muscles as he heard the whistle of the flogger cut the air behind him.
Loki's breath stopped for a moment as Mistress deep throated him, the spongy tip of his prick tickling the back of Her beloved throat. Helplessly, he felt precum oozing from the purpled tip to drip upon Her tongue while deep within his testicles he felt an explosion simmering.
He waited, his attention torn between waiting for the next blow to strike his back and the unbelievably erotic feel of his Mistress' mouth now moving up and down his engorged shaft.
Suddenly, ,without warning, a sharp, stinging pain exploded down his spine and he realized that Damian had changed tactics. He wasn't sure what he was being whipped with, but the pain was immediate and dramatic and quite wonderful and Loki's entire body stiffened as his brain signalled its distress and exploded endorphins into his body.
A collective sigh arose from the onlookers who crowded around the first of the slaves to be whipped. The skin of the boy's back bloomed a deep pink, criss crossed by minute slender threads of crimson. In front, the boy's domme sat on the small footstool, her lips enveloping the long thick white shaft of his penis, Her fingers cupping and squeezing the heavy, tight balls.
Damian stood, straight and dark at the boy's back, approximately 3 feet behind him. In his leather gloved hand was a dressage riding crop, deceivingly simple, the stock long and slender and the actual whip a mere 6 inches. With an experienced hand, Damian brought the crop down on the boy's buttocks yet again, a thin red line blossomed, then slowly, deepened as ruby red blood welled up slowly. Again he brought the whip down and then again, a pattern slowly emerging, a criss-cross of diamonds, equidistant and equal in size.
Turning slightly, adjusting his angle, he swept the crop up between the outstretched legs, barely stinging the sensitive delicate skin of the perineum.
Loki groaned as he felt the kiss of the whip between his thighs. Helplessly, he felt his balls pull deep into his groin. His back and buttocks flamed hot, the cool air of the alcove intensifying the sensation of heat. His prick throbbed and ached, its long thick shaft first cool then unbelievably warm as his beloved Mistress slid Her luscious lips down its throbbing length.
"Mistress," he gasped, "I don't know if I can control myself!"
Loki's Mistress controlled when he was allowed to cum and now, when She was so pleased with him, he was miserably afraid he was going to anger Her.
"You may cum," she said, purring.
Hearing those beloved words, at the same moment Loki felt Damian's expert hand wield the crop yet again and along his inner thighs he felt the sweet drip of blood. Yelling, he felt the cum boil up and surge through the thick heavy shaft of his cock to explode in a long salty stream into his Mistress' mouth. Expertly, Mistress Lau drank Her slave's essence, Her tongue teasing at the slit of the spongy tip as his throbbing prick jerked and spat its load into Her willing mouth.
A collective gasp rose from the crowd as they watched Loki's prick jerk and spurt while the crimson pattern on his back and buttocks bloomed and bled minute drips, creating a canvass both captivating and frightening.
From her vantage point, to the right of Loki, standing beside the center cross, S. could see his mouth working and his body writhing. She had watched as Damian whipped him savagely and marvelled at how Loki seemed to drink it in; not just tolerating but accepting and desiring it. She had watched as his Mistress enveloped the thick prick in Her mouth and recognized the expert manipulation of this experienced domme as She forever linked in Her slave's mind, pain and unbelievable pleasure.
Outwardly calm, S. felt her insides twist as she wondered if she was next. Swallowing, she closed her eyes and sought comfort in deep within, summoning her beloved's face, conjuring up the feel of his sweet hands and the touch of his lips. Calmer, she opened her eyes and met Damian's burning gaze.
He stood directly in front of her, the whip hanging loosely from his leather clad hand, his long spare figure gaunt and yet strangely compelling. His eyes were a deep almost navy blue, cold and intense and S. felt as if her own green orbs were being cut with needles as she silently fought to keep calm. Outwardly successful, forcing her gaze to remain unwavering and calm, inside her chest she felt her heart thumping wildly and knew that a telltale pulse jumped at her throat.
His eyes still locked on hers, Damian motioned to the waiting house slaves to remove Loki, who exhausted and depleted, sagged against his restraints. Carefully, the two men gently untethered the almost unconscious slave, supporting the dead weight and then carefully placing him face down on the waiting gurney.
Mistress Lau stood, a red tongue flicking out to sip at the drops of cum which had escaped from between the red lips. Like a cat, her tongue lapped and stretching with feline grace, she yawned, showing tiny straight teeth and a pink throat, shiny with the remnants of sperm.
Striding to the gurney, she ran long crimson tipped fingers along her slave's leaking back, flicking blood droplets and purring as she gently felt the welts. A conscientious Mistress, she motioned to the slaves to follow as she preferred to do all after-care herself.
Despite her agitation, S. managed to remain still, the telltale pulse the only sign that she was disturbed. Passively, she awaited a sign that she was to be tethered next.
Instead, Damian allowed his gaze to falter and turning, commanded the pretty middle-eastern girl to be restrained against the cross to the right.
S. swallowed, at once relieved and anguished. Her turn was yet to come and a part of her was ready and she would have it done and over with. She had no illusions. A perceptive and insightful woman (a trait common to the rarest and most prized of submissives), she knew that somehow Damian had developed an obsession with her. Over the past two weeks, she had had ample opportunity to watch his obsession take root and grow and knew with a certainty which bordered on fright, that he was very close to stepping beyond the line of what was acceptable, even in their very distinctive lifestyle.
Watching the savagery with which he had disciplined Loki, she sensed a dangerous imbalance in his usual stoic mien and marvelled that only she seemed to sense the scent of madness.
Regardless, her course was set. Sighing and closing her eyes, she garnered the inner reserves which had served her well during that past two weeks and straightening, prepared to meet her fate.
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