Switching Places

The bed was sheathed in black satin sheets that slid like sin against his over-heated skin. The room was warm with walls a light and cool green. Tanner's hands were bound. his arms were splayed wide with nary an inch of play. His ankles were bound with legs splayed wide and hips elevated on a pillow.

He was vulnerable to any and all ministrations deemed necessary by his beloved Mistress. The room was quiet, devoid of all sound except his quickened breathing and anticipatory heart beat thudding in his ears. His imagination ran wild with all Mistress could--no, would do to him today.

When Mistress entered, slave-boy's greedy eyes feasted on the deep auburn hair tightly bound into a severe, single auburn braid that fell just below her waist, her butter soft black, leather corset that left her breasts exposed and lifted like an offering to the Gods. She wore a supple leather skirt that skimmed the tops of her muscular thighs and did nothing to hide the tops of the thigh high black silk stockings with the seam up the back...the seam that ran down long legs to wicked black stiletto heels that shone like mirrors.

The room always seemed so much closer and smaller with Mistress in it. She wasn't big, but the presence about her said: business or hell, your choice. Behind her, Mistress pulled a large carryon style suit case on rollers. When opened, it was filled with custom dividers and organizers that held all the various tools that she would use.

Briefly, she looked over the comfortable leather bonds that adorned slave-boy. His salt and pepper hair and his meticulous grooming told her volumes about the control he sought in life. The needy expression on his face told her that he hadn't found satisfaction in it. That was why they were here. They would seek the answers to who he truly was, and what his needs were.

Assessing him as she went, Mistress continued to lay out her instruments of instruction, punishment, and reward. She watched as his eyes grew heavy lidded. They glittered with want. Her ruby lips and delicate brow quirked, he might not know exactly who he was, but she was betting he did know what he wanted, or thought he knew.

She fine tuned the placement of her tools and watched carefully for his reactions to each. She made mental notes here and there on the ones that seemed to hold his interest or fear. After all, she'd hardly be a good Mistress if she didn't know both, what pleased, and displeased her willing subject.

Mistress finally pulled a blind fold from her traveling chest of wondrous torture. Abruptly his world was dark, and a little disconcerting. His breathing quickened along with his pulse, and a noticeable shiver ran through him as he felt the nerve endings throughout his body leap to increase their input--covering for his loss of eye sight. Sensitized, a case of the nerves made him begin to wonder: What if she wouldn't stop? Would it be pleasure or pain with her? Would he care when or if the pain came? Slave-boy jerked when he felt her soft, sweet and warm breath in his ear.

She whispered, "Your safe-word is avalanche. Say it!"

"Avalanche!" Slave-boy's voice broke, hoarse and rusty sounding.

"Your safe-word must only be used if you are unable to bear what is being done." She cautioned. "Be careful in it's use! Should you use it, the session will end. That will be the last interaction you have with me as your Mistress. You can let me know you are close to your edge of endurance by telling me 'yellow light' and I will know to keep you at that level or lower until we've talked or built your endurance and broadened your threshold of pleasure and pain."

She smoothed the hair back from his forehead and then said, "You are not to talk unless directly told to answer. Nods or head shakes will be your reply unless told to speak. You will always reply respectfully using my title 'Mistress', then give your response, then thank me, your Mistress for allowing you to respond. You are not to come without permission, if you do..." Here she trailed off squeezing his ass cheek firmly letting him know it wouldn't be pleasant then continued, "You will be brought to the edge of release and let down just as many times. There will be no release during that round. Do you understand?"

Slave-boy nodded. With pleased murmur and a soft kiss to his temple, Mistress raised herself and set about testing slave-boy 's limits. First, she plied a downy soft feather so lightly that at first, he thought he only imagined the touches hardening his nipples, down his underarms. Then she lightly brushed his semi-erect shaft and his world shifted on its axis.

His whole body lurched against his restraints. She always loved to torment freshly shaved balls and cocks with feathers because they were so damned sensitive. From the looks of it, he'd done a first rate job of grooming his nether regions and groin. She was already slick and wet between her thighs, at the thought of such a proud, fine man with such authority willingly submitting to her. It was hellaciously good to be Mistress.

Slave-boy was a fine, muscular man who reeked of authority and power. Here, he wanted her to be in charge. He wanted to give himself over and allow someone to release him from the daily drudgery of commanding stuffed shirts, tiresome meetings, and courtrooms that did nothing but waste time. He was all hers for the next four hours and she was going to see that he ran the gamut of pleasure and pain. He would see need and satisfaction, fulfillment and relief. Slave-boy would be tired and sore as hell, but he'd remember this day for the rest of his life--always with a shiver and a smile.