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The music was loud, making conversation all but impossible. It was a dark heavy rhythm too, powerfully seductive. The room was darker than the others, with alternating red and blue lighting. The strange dark-colored lighting meant it was both public and private at the same time, because the crowd appeared anonymous as they circulated the scenarios in the colored half-light. The dense lighting made shadows reach out from the corners of the room, then suddenly stripped them away when a series of strobe lights lit the space starkly, revealing images that took her breath away.
At the centre of the space was a raised platform and on it was a girl on her hands and knees. She wore shiny red hot pants and a black leather top studded with metal. A well-built guy dressed as a Dungeon Master towered over her, trailing what looked like a bull whip over the length of her body, teasing her with it. His face was obscured by a black hood and he wore clothing that reminded Naomi of an old-fashioned blacksmith.
It took Naomi a few moments to realize a second man was involved. He was kneeling behind the girl on the podium, licking the back of her thighs, trailing his tongue up the length of the bare flesh towards her PVC-encased pussy. The attention of the two men was making the woman wild. She wriggled and swayed, her head dropping, her mouth opening as she cried out.
Further away at the far side of the room stood a huge cross set in a circle of wood. A man was tied there, facing away from them. He wore tight leather pants and was stripped to the waist, revealing an array of eye-catching tattoos across his back and arms. Two men stood either side of him, running their fingers over his leather clad buttocks. One of them held a cat-o-nine tails aloft.
They were readying him for a flogging. A public flogging.
Naomi's level of arousal rocketed.
It was then she realized Lucas was studying her. She looked at him, noticing the way the shadows and light made his face appear gaunter. His mouth was a sensuous contrast. She wanted to wrap herself around him, to show him how much she adored the world he was introducing her to. A cutting edge fetish world, and yet the way he'd been speaking in such romantic notions was old fashioned and oddly familiar to her soul. She clung to him, her arms snaking around his neck, and breathed in the scent of his cologne mixed with that of the leather he wore. How she ached for him. To be without him would be the only true hell.
He ducked his head and kissed her, long and hard and wet, his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth. Her arms tightened around him. She pressed against his hard body, aching to be filled by him.
He drew back and the strobes lit up his face. His eyes searched hers, then he leaned in to speak close to her ear. "I want to show you off, are you willing?"
She nodded.
Quickly, he headed for the central podium.
Being led through the crowd by him in this highly charged, sexualized atmosphere was breathtakingly arousing to Naomi. As they passed, people looked at them, assessing their relationship, their fetish. She was proud to be seen as his pet, and the lead created a safe zone for her. It implied she was his and his alone.
When they reached the podium, Lucas stepped up the first of the steps and spoke with the Dungeon Master. He nodded, and then returned his attentions to the current occupants of the podium.
Naomi saw people looking at them with admiration and curiosity. It made her shiver with anticipation. As the lights changed, their faces became indistinct in the decadent arena of club lighting and dry ice, but she could tell they were eager to discover what Lucas would do with his pet.
While they waited, Lucas drew the baton from his inner pocket.
He stared at her, tapped it on his palm then moved and placed at the base of her zippered mini skirt, on her thigh. He drew a line across her bare thigh, then pressed it there. There was a question in his eyes.
Again she wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed herself up against him.
He groaned. "Naomi!"
"I want it all," she whispered.
It was the last thing she remembered doing. From that moment on, everything happened to her. It was out of her control, and it was narcotic in its intensity.
The stage was cleared. The guy in the blacksmith's outfit swept his arm widely, inviting them up. Lucas gave her the full length of the lead and stepped up ahead of her. On shaky legs, she followed him. As they took the stage, the strobes hit them. Glancing about, she saw the lights exposed stark profiles of them both on the far wall. It was an image that burned itself into her memory – Lucas, tall and powerful, awaiting her at
the top of the steps, the lead between them both tethering them together.
When she reached the stage she lost her nerve. Instinctively, she sat on the edge of the stage and clung to his muscled thigh through his leather pants.
Lucas shifted. He put his hand on her head and stroked her, soothingly.
Reflex poured through her.
Lucas shifted again. She looked up at him, mesmerized by the way he looked in the strobes. He took off his jacket, threw it down on the stage floor and encouraged her to kneel on it. His chest expanded as he took the jacket off, his biceps flexing. His hair fell forward and he tossed it back with a jerk of his head. He didn't look like a high powered executive now. He looked altogether more dangerous.
He pointed at the jacket and she crawled forward until her knees were on the soft leather. As she took up the position, she discovered how hard the stage was under her hands and keens. His jacket was both a gentlemanly gesture – another old fashioned quirk – and a safe haven.
Her heart raced. She could feel the weight of expectation around them, the multiple pairs of eyes on her as she moved to her master's command. The situation compelled her to act appropriately, moving against Lucas's lower legs while he stood alongside her, the rhythm of the music was undulating and infectious, making her move in time, rocking her hips.
She felt touch of the baton against the back of her neck. Her heart stalled, then beat on frantically. He moved the tip of it along her spine, following the line of her zippers, first on the back of her fitted top and then down the back of the skirt. The tip of the rubber baton jerked over each and every bump on the zipper. The action reverberated down her spine, making every nerve ending leap to attention.
Sensitizing me, she thought, arching and bowing to the tip of the baton. She remembered the woman who'd been up here on the platform previously, how the whip had trailed over her body.
