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Her heart rate spiked again with anticipation. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
Only now did Tiffany see a server girl hovering nearby, glaring at them. Lukus flicked his hand in her direction and she shot forward, looking more than happy to do his bidding.
“Trixie, secure Tiffany.” As he gave his orders, Lukus reached down to pull Tiffany’s thighs wide, placing each leg in the base of the cushioned U on either side of them, splaying her wide open. She was thankful for her negligée that gave her some coverage over her bare pussy, but also for her frequent yoga classes that allowed her to sit relatively comfortably considering she was almost doing the splits—her legs were splayed so wide.
The server named Trixie knelt at the side of the chair, using what looked like a rope to secure Tiffany’s ankle cuffs to hooks at the bottom of the chair. She handed the end of the rope to Lukus, putting him in control of Tiff’s bondage. As she crawled from one side to the other, Tiffany detected the anger rolling off the woman. At first, she wasn’t sure what was causing it, but when their eyes locked, she knew with certainty her anger was directed at Tiffany.
Ah! The first of many of his previous subs who are not happy with me being here. Just great. She works here.
Tiff was relieved when Trixie finished and handed the final rope to Lukus and he dismissed her. She sulked off to serve other patrons as the house lights went down. The music changed over to an instrumental number with a heavy beat. Palpable anticipation and tension filled the room.
Waiting for the show to start, Lukus drew Tiff back so she was resting against his chest. His lips brushed her left earlobe while one hand explored her splayed open pussy and the other cupped her right breast. “So, you didn’t want to go through the contract. You’d rather talk about things. We’ll consider tonight our first official contract negotiation, baby. I have you as a captive audience, and we’re going to talk about all of the things happening on stage. What you like. What you don’t. What you’d try. What you won’t. Understand?”
“That was tricky.”
“Maybe.” Lukus sucked her left earlobe into his mouth while burying what felt like two fingers deep in her wet cunt.
“Oh, God. That feels so good. Don’t stop.”
“Here’s the deal. You keep talking, I keep rewarding you. You clam up, I keep my hands to myself.”
“You’re devious.”
“I prefer resourceful. First question. We’ll start easy. On a scale of one to ten with ten being you love it, how do you feel about having your legs tied open and being immobile like this?” he asked her.
“That’s not easy!”
“Oh, so you’d rather I start with asking how you feel about needle play?”
“Well sure, since that’s a negative ten. See. Easy.” Tiff loved his chuckle.
“Fair enough. How about the naked slaves next to their Masters and Mistresses?”
“What am I rating? Watching them, or how I’d feel if I was one of them?”
“Both,” he replied.
“Okay, well watching them is fine. Good, even. Being one, I’m not sure yet.”
The stage curtains slowly parted, revealing a dungeon scene. An announcer sounding a lot like Ethan announced the start of the show. As the stage lights brightened, Tiffany’s eyes became riveted to the scene center stage. It was a scene pried directly out of the deepest recesses of her own mind; visions formulated years ago after reading several very dark erotic romance novels. That this was real should have dampened her excitement. She should have felt embarrassed, maybe angry. Hell, definitely scared. None of those adjectives captured her true feelings as surprising waves of a desire to surrender and submit washed over her.
Center stage, arms strung high against a thick wooden whipping post, a frightened and vulnerable woman hung. As if hanging by her arms wasn’t painful enough, her legs were bent and pulled up and wide, secured by artfully wrapped layers of white rope, leaving her entire body open for inspection and punishment. Even from a distance Tiff could see tears streaming down her face, tracks of black mascara in their wake.
She became aware of Lukus leaning in close. “How are you doing, baby? What number are you?”
I can’t tell him the truth. What will he think of me?
“Tiff, are you okay? Answer me. I need your—”
“Eleven. I’m at an eleven.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath. “I think I can work with that.”
