03

Part 1

Athena dreamed violence: a blade slicing through soft flesh, the hot lash of a whip, and the slap of a spanking hand. Violence was the path to power, and power set you free. This was the code Athena lived by. It brought her strength and beauty, lovers, admirers, and slaves.

A passion for power is what made her. At the young age of twenty-three, she was first among her equals. A Dominatrix of Dominatrixes. A goddess among immortals. And yet, for all her power, for all her lovers, for all her slaves, Athena’s dreams left her wet and aching. On some subconscious level, she was looking for something…she just didn’t know what.

Athena was no “classic beauty”. Her half-Asian, half-Slavic features made it impossible to determine her ethnicity, but a clever hand at make-up allowed her to exploit this in either direction. She was not overly curvaceous, but her breasts were a healthy 34B, her legs were long, and her body subtly toned with muscle. At first glance she looked too thin to be beautiful, but with full lips, dark hair, and piercing dark eyes, she had the kind of allure that made men look twice. In her signature calf-length boots, tight miniskirt, and black corset, she was a force to be reckoned with in any fetish club.

It was easy enough to find slaves to pleasure her, but Athena was very picky. She’d realised within the months she’d been on the giving and receiving end of the lash, that she was a “Dom” to the core. The people she brought under her whip were made aware that she would bring them pleasure, but she would never swap roles. Anyone she took to bed had to be as submissive as she was dominant, a slave through and through. Within a year, Athena had a group of three slaves who were grateful for the pleasure, addicted to the pain, and followed her rules unconditionally.

Athena’s fondest memory was of her two male slaves. She’d met them a month earlier at a fetish club called the Funhouse. Both were successful businessmen. Both were attracted to her for her beauty and finely honed body, but it was her brutality that brought them back every time. She’d brought them home one night, and after whipping them bloody, ordered them to fuck each other. As the first slave rolled on a condom and began to lube up the other, the one on the bottom began to beg.

“Please Mistress,” he breathed helplessly “Don’t make me do this,” he, a thirty year old Catholic who claimed to be straight as an arrow.

“Silence!” she’d told him, slapping him across the face. If he really didn’t want this, he wouldn’t have come home with her in the first place.

Sure enough… as the first slave began to ease his cock inside him, the man arched his back and began to moan, incapable of muffling the tortured sounds of ecstasy that escaped his throat. While Athena sat nearby and pleasured herself with a dildo, she watched her slave as he gradually began shoving himself backward on the other’s cock.

He may have claimed to be straight, but he couldn’t hide that he was loving it. He thrilled to the feel of a cock pounding his ass with his back still hot from the lashing. As his eyes met hers, she knew he got as much pleasure from experiencing this, as he did from knowing she loved watching it. The slave doing the screwing was too busy enjoying the tight fuck to notice her. To remedy that, she pulled her chair closer to them and raked her nails over the welts on his back. The pain caused him to come immediately, while the man beneath him spewed his seed into her sheets.

The knowledge that she’d mastered them so completely sent her over the edge. When the convulsions subsided, she rewarded them by letting the one lick the juices from her vibrator while the other caressed her breasts with his tongue.

All in all, it had been a wonderful evening.

Nevertheless, Athena’s frustration continued, and every morning she awoke with the same ache. No matter how hard she pulled on the clamps on her female slave’s nipples, no matter how often she slid a sterilised blade over the skin of her male slaves, she was always left wanting. She had everything she could ever hope for, so why did she feel so empty?

That’s when the challenge came.

Hunter had watched Athena for some time. The first time he saw her he’d pegged her as a phoney. One of those tourists who appeared in the fetish clubs to scope out the freaks, and maybe take one home for a one-night stand.

He’d changed his mind the first time he saw her whip someone. He was captivated by the controlled grace of her wrist and arm as she wielded the lash. Captivated by the hidden ecstasy in her beautifully dark eyes as the man in front her writhed in pain. This was a woman addicted to violence, a woman who loved to control. As pure a dominant as any he’d ever seen. She was perfect.

Hunter was different from most other Doms. He was known well enough on the fetish scene, but not for the number of lovers he had, or for the brutality with which he treated them. Unlike Athena, Hunter didn’t look for the willing. He didn’t look for the hard-core “submissives”. To Hunter, dominating that which willingly submitted was boring. He sought to control that which couldn’t be controlled. To dominate that which couldn’t,

wouldn’t

, be dominated. To Hunter, the sweetest pleasures came from taming the untamed. This is why he chose Athena. In her he recognized a kindred spirit, but he knew he could never truly have her unless she gave in to him, just once.

It was a typical night at the fetish club. Athena sat on a couch drinking her usual Amaretto Sour while her two male slaves and one female slave, a beautiful, shapely blonde, sat meekly at her feet. She stroked the blonde’s head, marvelling at the softness of her hair, when a man approached her seat.

“Buy you a refill?” he asked politely.

Athena took a sip of her drink and perused him out of the corner of her eye.

The man was tall, over six-foot four and built for destruction. Two hundred-fifty pounds clad in well fitting jeans, a tight black T-shirt and leather boots. His face was completely at odds with the rest of his body. While his body suggested brutality, his face spoke of gentleness. Large blue-grey eyes with thick brown lashes, rosy cheeks, and a full-lipped mouth made for kissing. His hair, cropped short, was dirty blond, tipped with gold. It was the look of determination, so at odds with the gentleness of his face, that drew her in. All in all he looked…appetizing. But Athena’s pride commanded that her attention be won with something better than the stereotypical pick-up line.

“If you want me, feel free to kneel at my feet with the others,” she said, “If you’re lucky…I might spare you a glance,”

“I think not,” he said firmly.

The flat out refusal caused Athena to look him in the eye.

“What is it that you want?” she asked, each word said with lethal precision.

At this, Hunter smiled, his eyes sliding up over her black leather boots, up her deliciously long legs clad in thigh high fishnets, over her miniskirt, corset, and breasts, to her beautiful lips, and then finally to her eyes. He was delighted by the look she gave him; she made no attempt to hide that she was incensed by his audacity.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked slowly, “I want you to submit to me.”

That caused everyone within earshot to burst out laughing. The man’s humiliation eased Athena’s embarrassment at having gotten wet under his insolent scrutiny.

“It’s good to want things” Athena said kindly, toasting him with the remains of her drink, “The trick is accepting that sometimes we can’t always get what we want.”

“What makes you think I can’t get what I want?” he asked, his voice deepening.

“You can’t talk to my Mistress like that!” a male slave said, jumping to his feet.

“Just who do you think you are?” the other demanded.

Athena controlled the third by tightening her grip on the blonde’s hair. She should have held back the other two slaves, but she somehow got perverse pleasure witnessing aggression between males.

“I think your Mistress is a coward,” the man said, his eyes locking with hers.

In an instant, Athena was on her feet. With two brutal blows of her fists, her two slaves were on their knees before her, staring meekly at the ground.

“I think she’s afraid to give up control,” he continued, “To let someone give her pleasure…” before she could stop him, he’d slid the tip of his finger over her breast, “…or bring her pain,”

Athena’s whip lashed out at him of its own accord. Hunter caught it instantly. They stood there, staring into each others eyes, neither willing to release their hold on the whip. Everyone in the room had gone quiet, but the two of them might as well have been alone.

After a moment, Hunter smiled and released the lash. He’d let her have this one… for now.

“Why are you here?” she asked him, taking a step back.

“To challenge you,” he said. “Pick any competition, any at all. If I lose, I’ll kneel down, lick your boots, and do whatever else you make your little lapdogs do. If I win,” he said, his voice thickening, “…you submit to me, body and soul, for an entire night,”

Now “the fat” was truly in the fire. If Athena refused, she’d do no more than prove herself the coward he’d claimed her to be. If she accepted his challenge; however, she ran the risk of losing and submitting herself to something she never wanted to endure. On the other hand, if she beat him, she could have him on his knees; a slave to her desires, whom she could punish for his display tonight. To do that, she had to choose a competition she knew with absolute certainty a man with his heavy build could never win.

“Pick your game” he told her.

Athena’s lips curved.

“A foot race” she said.

She’d been on the University track team and had been training regularly ever since. With her light build and long legs, she’d left many in her dust, and her combat training had given her the kind of endurance most men prayed for.

“Fine” Hunter replied, without missing a beat.

As activity resumed in the club, they made their arrangements. Athena and Hunter were to meet at a park at noon the next day, and race a half a mile, uphill. The first one to the top was the winner. He gave her his address; should he win she was to show up at his apartment the following evening. She gave him hers; if he lost he was to come to her.

“Be sure to bring your knee pads”, she told him with a smile. If she had things her way, he’d be spending a lot of time grovelling at her feet.

Athena sent her slaves home that night. Though she’d gone out to get laid, for some reason, the desire to play had left her. The thought of punishing this man had flamed her desire to spending the rest of the evening alone with a vibrator.

As it massaged her g-spot, she imagined his cock inside her while she delivered stinging welts to his torso with a riding crop. As her fingers worked her clit, she dreamt it was Hunter’s tongue giving her those jolts of pleasure. As she gasped and clawed the sheets, she imagined her nails scraping down the flesh of his back while his pleas fell on deaf ears. The fantasy of having him under her control was more potent than any pleasure she’d ever had before. As she drifted to sleep, hazy from the aftermath of all those orgasms, she thought that maybe, after all this time, Hunter was the slave she’d been looking for.

Part 2

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and a soft breeze blew through the budding trees and filled the air with a sweet scent. It was the perfect day for a run. It was the perfect day, Athena thought with a smile, for a victory.

She arrived at the mountain at 12 sharp. Hunter was already there with a few posers from the fetish club. He was just as handsome in the daylight, dressed in a well fitting T-shirt and track pants, a large fanny pack bisecting his waist.

“You really shouldn’t carry that thing while you’re racing,” she told him “It’ll weigh you down”.

“I think I’ll manage,” he replied with a smile, watching her pants stretch tight across her ass as she bent down to stretch.

She looked so different in the light of day, he thought. She’d left the make up and the tight black clothes at home today. She wore a tight T-shirt and Karate pants, her long hair tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail. The absence of make-up made her face look almost childlike, and infinitely less severe. It was like seeing Catwoman changed to Selina Kyle. With that cool, almost sweet exterior, one would never guess a tigress lurked beneath. It was the determination, barely masked by the cockiness in her voice that told him she was the same woman as the night before.

As they took their places at the designated starting point, her slaves arrived, one by one, to show their support. Their feet braced; their bodies prone, Athena was able to send him one arrogant grin before a scarf dropped and they took off.

Within a moment Athena was twenty feet ahead of him. With the air in her lungs, and the blood flowing through her veins, she knew that with Hunter’s heavy build, he didn’t stand a chance…

He didn’t…unless he knew something she didn’t. Among other things, Hunter was very observant. In order to dominate that which couldn’t be dominated, you had to discover a weakness. He’d discovered hers by accident after weeks of asking around the fetish club, and making a few discreet inquiries. It was the most ridiculous, stereotypical thing anyone would ever think of. It was so simple, so insanely obvious no one would expect it from someone of Athena’s complexity.

Athena… was a slave to chocolate.

He’d discovered this entirely by chance during his lunch hour two weeks ago. He’d been walking through Montreal’s network of underground shopping centres when he saw her in Mr. Felix and Mr. Norton’s gourmet cookie store, buying a box of double chocolate-chip cookies. Having spotted her, he followed for a little while, only to see that her next stop was at Laura Secords, and then for Godiva chocolates. It could have been an amazing coincidence, save that the following weekend he was at the Cabace D’or, a rural Belgian chocolate factory, looking for something to bring his old friends who lived nearby, when he spotted her buying a bunch of chocolate truffles. He stayed just long enough to watch her taste one of her purchases and witness the blind ecstasy on her face. Without a doubt, this was Athena’s weakness.

True to his realization, Athena was such a slave to chocolate that all he had to do to slow her down was toss a small package of two bite brownies in her path. Sure enough, she dove for the bait, and the delay allowed him to catch up with her. They continued the run, grunting, sweating, and almost neck in neck. As she shot past him he threw a package of chocolate truffles in her way. With a grunt of frustration, she bent to retrieve it, and the move allowed him to gain ground. As the finish line drew closer and closer, Athena prepared to pass him and claim victory…when he tossed a bag of expensive chocolate covered almonds in her way. With a shout, she grabbed for them… and as she got to her feet and sprang forward, Hunter passed the finish line.

Part 3

Athena stood before him, while her slaves rushed to her side and rubbed her shoulders, swearing their eternal loyalty. Athena knew in her heart that she would never see them again, not after a failure like this.

“You’ve won. I’m an honourable woman, I’ll give you what you want,” she said, putting the chocolate down. She meant every word. She was a slave to him now…because in one fell swoop, she’d lost her slaves, her status…everything.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Hunter said suddenly, “We both know you would have won if I hadn’t cheated. Let’s just shake hands and call it quits, okay?”

Athena stared down at his hand as if she didn’t know what it was. They’d never set any rules for the race, and under the circumstances, he’d won fair and square. What the fuck was he doing?

He wanted her to submit to him, but at the same time, Hunter didn’t want her to come to him because she was punishing herself for her failure. To do that, he had to let her save face in front of her people. When she took his hand, he pulled her into his arms in what looked like a friendly hug.

“We both know I won that race fair and square” he whispered, “I’ve decided to allow you to save face in front of your slaves. Take them home, whip the fuck out of them for all I care, but so help me you had better honour our agreement. You have my address, be there at six pm sharp tomorrow night. If you don’t come to me, you’re nothing but the coward I said you were,”

With those words, he released her. Before she could step away, he tipped her chin up and kissed her. When she gasped in shock, he slid his tongue between her lips, loving the feel of her slender body softening against his own. Within moments, her nails dug into his back and she pressed herself against him. When he finally, reluctantly put her down, she glared at him, her breasts rising and falling with every breath. Sending her a self-satisfied grin, he turned and headed home. He had planning to do.

That night, Athena brought her slaves home. As her tongue kept her blond slave on the brink of orgasm, she ruthlessly pulled on the weeping woman’s nipple clamps. She fucked one of her male slaves with a dildo, while he fucked the other one, who was tied face down on her bed. She whipped them all brutally, ignoring their half-hearted pleas for mercy.

Though she tormented her slaves, she knew in her mind she was punishing herself. For all the pleasure they brought her, she would not let herself orgasm, for she knew that her slaves wouldn’t be shackled in her apartment had it not been for Hunter’s speech. Until she did her penance, she didn’t deserve the ultimate pleasure. Until she regained her honour, she would not come.

When she sent them home the next morning, she was frustrated, exhausted, and achier than she’d ever been. Athena needed sleep, for on some level she knew that that evening’s events would change her life forever.