The Debut Continues Ch 02

Ignoring S., Damian strode to where the middle eastern girl was being led to the right hand cross. She was tiny, barely 5 foot yet with a luscious full figure. Heavy drooping breasts with large fleshy nipples, a tiny waist and full supple hips complemented the dark flashing eyes and heavy oiled black hair. As long as S.'s, Fazila's hair when loose swung straight and heavy to mid-thigh. Now, piled in an intricate knot upon her small aristocratic head, its heavy mass emphasized the delicacy of the long slender neck and sloping shoulders.

Her café-au-lait cream coloured skin was dense and thick and quite beautiful. Intricate henna tattoos decorated the long slender hands up to the wrist and down her swelling shapely calves.

Leading her to the cross, her keeper paused as he went to place her up against its polished surface. For the 6 ft Loki, the cross height had been perfect, for diminutive Fazila it was not going to work.

Striding to the cross, Damian bent and began to adjust the joists. When he designed the crosses, he had taken into account that the various individuals who would be tethered to their joints would be of varying heights and body types. After several false starts and a lot of thought he had come up with a very workable solution. The joist at the center of the large X could be tightened and loosened. Loosening it, Damian then bent to the foot of the X. Here he again loosened some bolts, and with only a whisper of sound, the one arm of the cross slid into its intricately carved foot. Carefully adjusting the other side, Damian slid that into its deceivingly innocuous foot and then, after ensuring they were even, tightened the bolts.

The entire alcove was in fact built on a raised dais which to most onlookers was not obvious. The intricate mosaic of the floor tangled the eye and few were aware that the crosses were in fact some distance above the main floor. This slight elevation allowed not only for the crosses to be adjusted to various heights, but also gave onlookers an unimpeded view of the floggings.

Leading the girl to the X, her keeper pulled her arms up, one by one, restraining them at both the elbow and the wrist. Carefully, he cupped one heavy breast which was slightly squashed against the wood surface and squeezing it, pulled it slightly to the side. He then did the same with the other. Now her pretty face was framed in the upper V while her drooping fleshy breasts were easily accessed. They looked quite delectable, their dark fleshy tips already stiff and elongated in the coolness of the conservatory. Fondly, he pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezed.

Then bending, Fazila's keeper pulled her legs apart, winding the rubber cuffs around her slender ankles. Her fleshy buttocks were thrown into relief as her arms and legs were pulled apart and from the back the crimson slit of her cunt was visible as her stance pulled her heavily dark furred nether lips apart. Running an exploratory finger between her legs, her keeper pushed up into the swollen hole. Pulling out his finger, he turned and showed Damian its glistening surface. Fazila was already aroused.

Damian contemplated the little beauty for a moment. For such a small, delicate appearing young girl she had been remarkably resilient and he had already reported to her owner that she had definite masochist tendencies. A sadistic master would get much enjoyment from this slave but would have to exercise the greatest restraint in order not to permanently damage her. Fazila, Damian had reported, would most assuredly never use a safe word.

"Sir".

The voice was so slight and tentative, Damian almost missed it. Then he realized it was Fazila.

"What?" he said harshly, impatient to get on with it.

"I need to urinate," she said apologetically.

Damian frowned. His orders had been quite specific; the slaves were to be watered lightly in order to avoid this while enemas were administered just before their debut. Fazila's keeper blanched; he knew that his punishment would be harsh and severe. He wasn't quite sure where or when she had found the opportunity to find something to drink, but the little vixen had somehow done so.

Her eyes downcast, Fazila looked the epitome of submissiveness, embarrassed, sorrowful and frightened. Then with a quick upward glance which Damian just caught, he saw the gleam in her eye and knew she had done this deliberately, to ensure her punishment would be severe.

He stood, spare and dark, his leather gloved hand absently snapping a heavy flogger against his thigh while he contemplated his options.

Turning to the crowd, he explained his dilemma.

"Either I flog her at which point she will most likely piss all over the floor. Release her and allow her access to a bathroom or provide her with a receptacle."

There was some murmuring from the crowd, then a young man stepped forward. Slightly red-faced with excitement, he said tentatively.

"I could take care of it for her," he offered.

"Be the receptacle, that is." he said to clarify.

Damian looked coldly at him with his navy blue eyes, then nodded. Stumbling slightly, the boy hurried to the cross, and kneeling in front contemplated the luscious cunt which gaped in front of his bulging eyes.

Leaning forward, he opened his mouth and angling carefully, fastened his lips at the crux of Fazila's thighs. She squeaked as she felt his warm lips envelop her, and then sighed as his fleshy tongue probed between the thick lips, flicking at the already distended clit but concentrating on her urethra.

He waited.

Damian stood, a pulse jumping in his throat, then impatiently.

"If you need to piss, then DO IT."

Fazila ducked her head and closing her eyes, concentrated. Onlookers crowded around eagerly, their eyes fastened to where the boy had his mouth. Fazila's flat smooth stomach clenched, then relaxed and sighing, she allowed her urine to flow.

A stream of hot yellow piss flooded the boys mouth, and swallowing eagerly he drank the thick stream of golden nectar as fast as he could, eager to miss none of it. As the hot piss flooded down his throat, he fumbled at this fly. Unzipping, he fumbled inside while keeping his lips glued to Fazila's hairy grotto. Pulling out a long thin prick, already engorged and stiff, he began to rub its shaft harshly.

The boy choked slightly as Fazila pushed her streaming cunt harder upon his mouth, her restraints curtailing the range of motion of which she was capable. A spurt of piss hissed out of the side of the boy's mouth as she moved.

Moving his mouth quickly, the boy covered the hot liquid stream quickly. His hand worked quickly and suddenly, around his bulging lips he managed a wet groan. Thrusting his hips forward, his prick jerked and a thin stream of cum arched out to splash against the rich burnished limb of the cross. Rubbing his spasming prick and gulping as Fazila's hot piss faltered, then trailed off, he emptied his cock.

Fazila sighed and squeezing her muscles, expelled the last drop of hot urine against the boy's mouth. Rubbing her streaming slit against his tongue, she pushed her clit against his teeth. Replete, a thin yellow stream trailing down the side of his mouth, the boy moved back, rubbing his softening prick which trailed a sticky line of clear sperm along the floor.

Watching, Damian restrained a look of disgust. Motioning to a house slave, he indicated that she was to clean up the mess. Quickly, she did as she was instructed, using a damp cloth to mop up both the drops of urine and the sticky patches of sperm which spotted the floor and the leg of the cross. Taking a dry cloth from her apron, she quickly rubbed the shine back into the rich burnished wood.

Damian stood in front of Fazila and contemplated her impassively. Her doe like brown eyes captured his innocently before she modestly and most assuredly, falsely, dipped them and the wide, mobile mouth struggled to suppress a smile. The small tongue flickered out of the lush lips, as she anticipated the punishment to come.

Damian was quite aware that she expected and anticipated being treated harshly for her indiscretions, and he saw her avid glance at the tooled leather crop he slapped absently against his leather clad thigh.

Deciding, he called the keeper to his side and in a low voice issued instructions.

Nodding, the keeper scurried back to his charge and to her surprise, began to undo the restraints.

"What are you doing?" she asked anxiously.

"I have been extremely naughty. I am ready to take my punishment."

"Exactly." Damian said coldly.

"I do not allow bottoms to top nor slaves to dictate. You will be put in a cage until and when I decide. No whipping. No spanking. Nothing except extreme boredom and the opportunity to recognize who is Master here."

Pouting, Fazila was lead out of the alcove to the center of the room. There, the keeper pressed a button and a large, steel cage slowly lowered from the ceiling. Opening the door, he pushed his angry charge in. Because of her small stature, she could almost but not quite, stand. Kneeling, the keeper forced her to her knees against the hard iron bars of the floor, then taking her wrists with their leather cuffs, attached them to the ring at her wide leather collar. Her hands curled helplessly against her throat and without their support she was unable to push herself to stand but had to remain kneeling.

Clanging the door shut, the keeper locked it and then turning, pushed the bottom. Slowly, the cage rose to its position close to the ceiling. Above, Fazila could look and see all that was going on in the room but apart, she could not participate. Nor could she provide herself with any form of relief, as her awkward position prevented her from touching herself in any way. As the evening wore on, even her greedy capacity for pain would be challenged as her knees abraded, her muscles cramped and solitude (more agonizing because it was technically among so many) gripped her.

From where S. stood, she could just see the bottom of the cage. Guests below were pointing and laughing at the sight of the full fleshy buttocks and the bunched knees. Then as if physically touched, S. felt Damian's gaze capture and abrade her. Turning, she met his cold blue eyes and shivered. Within those frozen depths she sensed a flicker of madness, a flame of insanity which her sensitive spirit felt could be coaxed into a conflagration with very little effort.

Turning, her eyes sought through the crowd for her beloved, but he was nowhere to be seen.

*****************

D. was at this moment in the library. He knew Damian's debut parties and knew too that the slaves would now be in the process of being whipped for the enjoyment of spectators. This final "introduction" not only underlined their position as creatures to be used but provided Damian with an opportunity to display his aptitude at this craft. D. did not want to see his darling S. abused any more. He had found it increasingly difficult over the past two weeks to see anyone else touch her with the intimacy he would rather have reserved for himself. He more than many knew the bond which could form between a top and bottom – the deep intensity of the experience reaching into one's soul and touching a part of the individual only hinted at in more mundane relationships.

D. had thought himself impervious to the full intensity which could be engendered by such a relationship. While he had felt great tenderness and even become attached to a degree to some of his submissives, until S. he had never really grasped the magnitude of the powerful relationship which could exist between a Master and his slave. With her, he had found himself plumbing a depth of emotion hitherto foreign to his taciturn nature. When she hung before him, that long beautiful back scored and marked with his sweet ministrations, the long legs parted, sweet nectar drooling down those taut thighs, the great eyes glazed and intense, capturing his gaze, naked in their adoration, he found himself swelling with a powerful, almost frightening emotional intensity that focused on this girl, his girl, his property, his slave. The awareness that this girl would allow him to do anything and everything he desired, in a moment, without hesitation and with no recourse or desire to desist or refuse was unbelievably powerful – elating him at the same time as it frightened.

Leaning forward, he absently thrust another log on the fire, his gaze inward as he contemplated newfound knowledge about his own motivations and desires. The past few weeks had been intense, almost painful but ultimately illuminating. He had, on the one hand, accepted the reality that S. was his and his alone. That his former polymorous lifestyle was a thing of the past. Certainly, watching as she was used by others had not provided the usual fillip of pride in providing an admired candidate, but rather, it had engendered a possessiveness and jealousy he had never suspected existed within his solitary soul.

D. started as someone cleared their throat.

"Sir."

A house slave stood quietly, small breasts bare, nipples rouged and stiff above the leather corset which cinched an impossibly tiny waist.

D. searched his memory, then remembering, asked "Yes, Charlotte, what is it?"

"Sir, S. is to be flogged."

The girl stood passively, eyes downcast in the approved fashion but D. could sense anxiety rolling of her. (Unlike S., D. thought fondly, who though compliant in many respects, refused to lower to eyes).

"And?"

"Sir," the girl hesitated, and remarkably for one of the impeccably trained House slaves, raised her eyes. "Sir, Damian...."

She stopped, agonized.

D.'s attention sharpened .... "Damian, what?"

It came out with a rush.

"He doesn't know I'm here – I'll probably get punished. But I like S. She is kind and sweet and quite wonderful and I'm afraid for her."

"Afraid? How?"

"Sir, I've been a House slave here for several years. I have seen many come and go and even admired Damian's methods – he trained me as well – and he is harsh, yes, but always fair, always in control. I don't think he IS with S."

She raised her eyes to his again.

"I think he is going to seriously hurt her. Sir, you need to be there, you need to watch and protect her."

D. was shocked. Although he had never particularly warmed to Damian, he had always admired the man's excellent methods and undeniable skills. He ran the House efficiently and professionally and on D.'s many visits here, he had only admiration for the manner in which Damian controlled every aspect of this fanciful haven.

"Why?"

"Because she is yours," Charlotte said simply.

"And because it is the first time he, any of us, has seen you totally enthralled, involved. He has always been jealous of you – he knows that we all want to be with you when you come – that we'll go happily, gladly, if you call but he knows too that he merely has to motion and we will return to him – we are ultimately his property.

"But S." the girl paused.

"S. She is different – I've never seen such a submissive as she – I mean she does everything she is told, her pain tolerance is extremely high, her stoicism remarkable -outwardly, she is all that she should be."

D. motioned for her to continue.

Licking dry lips, the girl continued.

"S is different. We all sensed that – and most of all Damian – even while she did what he demanded she was resisting – nothing overt , nothing obvious – but you could see him..." she faltered, then swallowing, continued.

"It drove him mad – we watched him physically try to hold onto his control – and I've never seen that – not ever".

"Tonight, well, tonight, in front of everyone – she was watching him, your S. – she knows, she knows that it is going to be bad, maybe too bad, maybe too harsh ..."

D.'s mind churned. He thought back to the morning when he had lain beside S. cupping her long firm body, her slender arms stretched up and attached with cuffs to the headboard. Sunlight drifted in lazy swirls though the casement window, dappling the pale white skin, glowing on the golden freckles and sparking fire in the shining, sherry coloured hair which spilled along his arm.

Turning, her sweet honest gaze met his, filled with love, the great green depths shining and glistening as tears welled up. Leaning, he had delicately licked the salty tribute with a gentle tongue, trailing butterfly kisses along the sweet line of jaw and meeting the clinging lips with a tenderness he had never thought to feel.

"What is it, my love," he asked gently, sensing in his beloved a deep despair.

"My dearest love."

D. had had to lean closer to hear the whispered words.

"Tell me, sweet pet." he said gently.

S. looked up into D.'s concerned eyes. Her heart literally felt as if it would burst. He was her all. As hard as the past few weeks had been, she would not wish away one single second, one moment because each of those moments meant she was showing D. that she would absolutely do anything, suffer any indignity, tolerate any pain to convince him of her single hearted fidelity and adoration. Each welt, each bruise, each time she was invaded, plundered, raped and literally brought to her knees, she was bringing him her complete and utter submission.

D. reached up and gently unlocked the cuffs. S. winced then schooled her face as her muscles protested at their long inaction. Gently, D. massaged her arms and shoulders.

"What is bothering you, my dearest heart?" D. asked as he ran strong fingers along the back of her shoulders.

S. was silent. She had almost confessed to her beloved D. that she was frightened, that she wanted to stop this all now. The past several sessions with Damian had convinced her beyond any doubt that he was quiet simply, losing his mind. Sensitive in the true manner of the ultimate submissive, S. could intuitively discern what a dominant's soul was saying – so much so that D. often called her his sorceress as she would quite often anticipate his desires even before he realized he wanted something.

With Damian, she sensed a strain so intense that she could almost physically feel the battle within him as his rational mind fought with his insanity. Tonight's debut would, she felt strongly, see the culmination of that battle, and her Irish soul and uncanny ability to sense the outcome told her clearly how that would play out – and for her, it meant disaster.

But looking into her beloved's eyes, his strong hands rubbing feeling back into her sore limbs, she realized that she couldn't tell him that. He trusted her, her judgment, her ability to know her limits – but to pull out now, when it was almost over ... she could not, would not, do that to her D.

Resolved, S. smiled up into his eyes, her arms sliding up around his shoulders.

"Nothing, darling Master, just nerves about my debut."

D. had accepted her answer, preoccupied with planning their departure first thing in the morning. Distracted, he hadn't pursued what he had sensed was not being said.

Now, as he stood in the library, he cursed himself.

Turning to Charlotte, he motioned for her to lead. He had sensed how disturbed his beloved S. had been this morning and done nothing; that was going to change.