This is the next chapter following my story, The Debutante
The crowd parted as Lydia led the now leashed S. through their ranks. Her great eyes met no-one's but turned inward as S. hugged to herself D.'s parting kiss, his unspoken promise which she believed with every fibre of her being. Unconsciously, she straightened her strong shoulders, the small breasts lifting, their tips crimson and stiff. Oblivious to the admiring comments which drifted around her, she glided with long shapely legs after her diminutive keeper, her gait measured and strong.
Across the room, Damian watched her progression with narrowed eyes; impassive, his face did not betray the hot acid which roiled in his stomach. Even from his vantage point, he could see the marks of his art upon the long curved back of the slave – what was not obvious was the fact that despite his best efforts last night she had refused to submit. Oh, not physically – no, in the flesh S. had done as she was told – stood where she was placed, spread those beautiful legs when commanded, even held those pretty breasts in her own palms when he chose to whip them. But those eyes .... not once did he see real submission in their defiant gaze.
Yet, with a simple kiss, he had just watched her capitulate ... happily, completely, wholly – and to a man who had placed her in this position in the first place. A man who had handed her over to be used at will and without recourse. A man who through his long association with The House knew exactly what he was exposing her too – knew too that Damian's own particular brand of sadism could elicit submission from even the most defiant of individuals – knew that Damian had been known to break spirits, crush and destroy autonomy and at the same time elicit the most exquisite of surrenders. A graduate of The House (who inextricably bore Damian's signature) was treasured and sought after world-wide – but what they were not known for was an ability to retain any semblance of individuality or personal choice.
And now, two weeks after being handed over to his ministrations, Damian was almost ready for the first time in his long and most illustrious career to admit to failure.
Even watching S. as she passively allowed herself to be handled and abused, he could sense that strong inner spirit standing firm and untouched.
Taking a deep breath, Damian tightened his grip on the leather handle of the flogger. Nodding to the slave who watched his face attentively, he strode through the crowd towards his trainees as the slave ran to get the rest of the implements.
Lydia had reached the St. Andrews Crosses which were placed in a large alcove at the back of the room. Built specifically to accommodate their impressive size, the alcove was almost entirely composed of glass. Octangular in shape, the three crosses were placed equidistant from each other in a semicircle. Thus, when fully utilized, the slaves tethered to their strong arms had a full and unimpeded view of what was awaiting them as each was clearly visible to the other. Above, the dark sky pressed against the glass ceiling, stars blinking frostily in a tapestry of madness in the muted light. Gas flames flickered in the sconces lining the walls, lending an eerie light to the scene.
The crosses were not standard fare but had been crafted and built by Damian himself. Unlike the workaday models in the basement, whose utilitarian nature were obvious, the ones in the drawing room were built as working showpieces. Damian had chosen mahogany and lovingly and carefully cut and polished each piece until the dark red wood had blazed with depth and richness. At the center joist he had chosen burnished steel, worked carefully in the smithy which lay in the quadrangle at the back of The House, using his in-depth knowledge of ironwork to form his own distinct pattern. The iron tethers were riveted at various intervals on the arms and legs of the great cross to allow for the greatest leeway as well as the most creativity in how the bottoms were to be restrained. These also bore Damian's unique signature – the leather of the cuffs attached to the rings was supple and incredibly, deceivingly soft, masking the steel which lay at the center. Damian did not believe in permanently marking slaves (with the exception of administering a brand) but saw no point in etching permanent scars when smooth lovely skin could so pleasingly be marked time and again.
Unlike many of his ilk, Damian eschewed the more brutal and outward manifestations of his trade, preferring finesse and subtle, psychological coercion to brute force. But he understood the psychology of his lifestyle and did not discount the theatrical elements which often provided a fillip of excitement to many participants. And, because he was a perfectionist, Damian had to give his very best to whatever task he undertook. In the end, he had entered into the creation of the crosses with enthusiasm and been pleased with the end result.
Now, in the cavernous glittering expanse of the alcove, the crosses gleamed with a rich glow, reflecting the flickering flames in the sconces. A small red leather cushion was placed at the foot of each.
The keepers led their three charges, one to each cross. There were three tonight. A very handsome male slave brought in by a very experienced domme from San Francisco, a young coffee coloured submissive provided by a epicurean from the Middle East and S.
The male sub brought in by Mistress Lau just a week earlier, was the first to be cuffed. A noted and respected historian, Mistress Lau had a penchant for gladiators, as the Ancient Roman Empire was her chosen field. Like Roman matrons of old, she made excellent use of her "gladiators" – remaining true to historical accuracy as gladiators were indeed slaves and in order to achieve any measure of happiness in life were devoted to their aristocratic mistresses. Gladiatorial sweat and sperm was at one point highly prized as an antidote to infertility and ancient roman aristocratics would often bribe the centurions guarding the gladiators to allow them unfettered access to their favourites.
In a charming nod to this tradition, all of Mistress Lau's subjects were garbed in historically accurate (but slightly altered) versions of ancient dress. Loki, the slave now being cuffed to the left-hand cross, was no exception. His slender feet were encased in flat sandals, with strings which crisscrossed the muscular calves to his knees. Around his chest a stylized leather harness enhanced the flat, rippling stomach and strong shaven chest and allowed his muscular arms freedom of movement. A thick leather belt encircled the taut waist and emphasized the sweet firm sweep of buttock. Below, the heavy prick and full balls swung free.
Loki's waving blond hair was worn longer than would have been the norm during that time period in the Roman empire, but Mistress Lau preferred to have something to tangle her fingers in and tug. Around the strong column of his neck, a heavy studded leather collar with a small silver tag clearly proclaimed his status.
Loki's keeper pulled up and out the slave's muscular arms, securing them at the wrist to the cross. Kicking the slave's legs apart, his keeper bent to wind the leather thongs around the slave's ankles.
Spread-eagled, pressed against the cross, Loki's head was positioned between the V at the top while his heavy prick dangled just beneath the crux. Stepping back, his keeper admired the luscious sight of his charge completely and utterly helpless. He had tied the wrists securely and a slight trembling in the shoulder blades showed that the strain on Loki's joints was very real. The spread of cross at the bottom meant onlookers had an excellent view not just of the firm buttocks, their tight sweet flesh taut and pulled slightly apart but of the heavy prick which dangled enticingly between the spread legs, drooping below the heavy bag.
Loki trembled slightly, his eyes beneath the blindfold moving frantically. He recognized the feel of his restraint, having been cuffed to similar crosses many times before, but the past week had left him nervous and ill prepared for any more surprises.
He had agreed to further training in The House at the command of his Mistress who he adored but She had chosen (unlike D.) to absent Herself from The House during his training and he was feeling Her absence cruelly. Also, while he enjoyed pain when inflicted by Her beloved hand, what he had undergone in the past week was beyond anything in his experience.
