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She obeyed instantly, moving toward the warm glow at the far end of the hallway. When she walked into the room, she instantly admired his choice of art adorning the walls. He was a consummate collector. Impressed, she slowly unfastened the belt and removed her coat, placing the slick material over the arm of the couch.
“Magnificent. You are everything Mistress Jade said you’d be.”
“Thank you, Sir.” She lowered her head. The sign of reverence was just the beginning of her duties.
“Turn around. I need to see all of you.”
She did as she was told and when she turned in his direction, she was surprised at the face peering back at her. Her Dom had chiseled features, high cheekbones. His aristocratic look was personified by the black silk shirt and charcoal pants he wore. She rarely cared about the person who would tie and flog, beat and fuck her during the course of their limited time together. For some reason she was drawn to him. Instantly she looked down at the floor.
He moved toward her, lifting her chin with a single finger. “You’re very beautiful.”
“Thank you, Sir.” His eyes were mesmerizing, almost haunting. There was no kindness, no sense of love. He was merely admiring his prize.
He took a step back before nodding, then shifted to his left.
Trixie’s instincts were honed after dozens of experiences. She could sense what every Dom yearned for even before they gave instructions or issued commands. Hearing a clinking sound, she exhaled. Three hours. She was ready for the sting of a whip, the anguish of tightened clamps.
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” In his hand he held a glass, the prisms glistening in an assortment of colors given the flickering flames of the fire. He took a sip, then held out the goblet, as if paying homage. “I can see why you’re considered the best.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Her eyes darted to the whip attached to his belt. Nothing surprised her in the world of BDSM. Both men and women had fallen into their personified darkness, an inner cry to release tension. Many were unable to have sexual relations without including various aspects of pain. She tingled in anticipation. Her needs were secondary, but she certainly appreciated the rush received during various sessions. Tonight, she would leave bruised and bloody. Weary of wearing the mask or not, she was a pain monger.
“Remove your bra and panties. Remain in your shoes. I very much appreciate a woman in high heels.”
She lowered her gaze as she removed her underwear. He demanded consistent reverence. Every move was perfunctory. He didn’t care about passion or sensuality. His only desire was the use of a pain slut, and she was one of the best in the business. Standing naked, she held her arms at her side, waiting for his direction.
“You’ll do perfectly.” Gulping the remainder of his drink, he growled as he placed the glass on top of the coffee table. He unsnapped a fastener holding the whip in place. “Turn around. Spread your legs wide.”
Air rushed into her lungs, excitement building.
“There are few women who understand the joys of anguish inflicted on perfect porcelain skin, the way welts crisscrossing their bodies heighten their beauty. I believe you understand.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“At attention, slut.”
The whip was slammed against the floor, the thudding sound powerful. She didn’t react. She merely placed her hands behind her head, her full attention given.
“Very nice. You’re unafraid,” he hissed. “And you’re in need. I can soothe your inner beast.”
The sound of the whip as he coiled the leather around his hand was distinguishable. “I fear little, Sir.”
“Excellent.” He snapped his wrist, the whip sailing across the space.
Blinding pain rushed into her system. She bit back a moan as the force of the strike pushed her forward. She caught herself before falling and regained her position. He had control of the whip. His technique was practiced, his needs brutal.
“Nice. You understand.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then you’ll be happy to know you’re the one.”
This time his words caught her attention. She heard a change in his voice, the tone growing ominous in nature. Many Doms enjoyed playing games, but there was something about his demeanor that gnawed at her gut. He was a true sadist. “The one, Sir?”
“Yes. Perfect in all ways. You’re the kind of woman most men prefer, docile and prepared for anything on the outside. A fighting tiger on the inside, yet you know your place. However, there will be no additional questions asked. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What a good slut.”
