As Amy writhed against the leather bands holding her limbs in place on the St. Andrew's Cross, she began to regret her impulsively rebellious decisions.
The oiled wood was smooth where her naked skin rested against it. The room was small, bright, and clinical. With white walls and bamboo flooring, the room seemed like a doctor's office - excepting the cross. The lighting was slightly less harsh than the stark white fluorescents.
On the wall with the plain wood door hung a massive interrogation room mirror. Amy could see every inch of herself in that mirror, the art in the contrast of the dark leather and wood against her pale skin.
The Master must have noticed her lingering at the party. He must have asked one of the other girls to keep tabs on her. It was the only way he could have known that she brought herself to a silent, shuddering orgasm while the other recruits slept in their bunks.
The slaves were expressly forbidden from orgasm without permission. This rule had been explicitly laid out for them upon arrival. No wiggle room or loopholes were left available. Her stolen pleasure was a punishable violation of the terms of her service.
Now she had to face the consequences.
Amy trembled even as she felt her sex grow moist in anticipation. She had been in the Master's home for a week and most of that time had been spent getting used to the new environment and learning the basic routine and expectations. The Master had not yet had occasion to personally train or punish the newest girls.
She could feel him, watching her. Her eyes lingered on her reflection to see herself as he would.
- - -
Two weeks ago she had been just another aimless college graduate with a degree in communications and unclear intentions for the future. Big, vague, swirling ideas, but no defined path or focus.
Amy had left college as a slightly duller-eyed SUNY graduate, Buffalo born and raised. A quintessential southern girl on the wrong side of the Mason-Dixon Line with rich, naturally wavy brown hair and hazel eyes. Petite, but curvy, with wide hips and full breasts - an hourglass in miniature. Freckles dotted her endlessly summer sun-tanned skin. She had gone in hoping for inspiration and left with more confusion. Thankfully, her financial situation was not dire. She would continue to work the same bartending job and she had been frugal enough that her bank account had some padding.
As a last hurrah before buckling down and finding a career, Amy and her best friend plus roommate, Tasha, had set out for New York City. They planned for a week of sight-seeing, tourist activities, and general mischief. On the sixth day of their adventure, Amy had absolutely not expected to find herself in a tucked away BDSM club. She had certainly not expected to enjoy it.
The entire idea of the club had been a challenge from Tasha, who had always been the more sexually adventurous of the duo. Giggling like schoolgirls, they had donned their most risqué club wear: black mini-skirts too tight for underwear and revealing halter tops. The club itself was tucked away in the basement of a defunct warehouse in the meatpacking district. How Tasha had found it was not a question Amy dared to ask. From the outside it was a dark, disused warehouse. No signage proclaimed that inside was one of New York's sexiest best kept secrets. The only thing that ruined the illusion of abandonment was the bouncer.
The bouncer, a big, burly man who would have looked right at home in a Hells Angels rally was sitting in the shadows to the left of the door. He had not moved except to check their IDs and nod them in without question.
A flight of stairs just inside the door took them to their destination.
Inside the music was all loud bass and electronic noise, flashing lights and dark shadows. Bodies writhed together on a dancefloor, sweat lubricating motions and dampening clothes. A large rustic-industrial bar stood on one side of the main room where a dark haired, leather clad vixen and her collared and shirtless male companion hastily poured drinks for the assembled patrons. They moved quickly and as a practiced team.
At the back of the club was a dark wood stage, around which a small crowd was gathered to watch a woman raining down blows on the bared backside of a bent over man. The man moaned and writhed soundlessly, his cries drowned under the pounding music.
Tasha retrieved their drinks - gin and tonics, winking devilishly at the collared bartender. She led a wide eyed Amy past the stage and through an open metal door. The door led to a hallway lined with openings and Amy gaped in amazement at the scenes playing out within. It seemed like an entire bible of pain and pleasure was displayed in the rooms they passed. Things Amy had never even dreamed of.
When she found a room where a woman was sandwiched between a woman wearing a large strap on and a big, muscular man with a thick veiny cock she had to stop. Screaming orgasm after orgasm gushed out from the victim, rendered completely helpless by the pounding bodies engulfing her. Amy watched, entranced. She felt the moisture of arousal begin to drip down her thighs as the girl was held aloft and trembling by the thick cocks pounding into her.
Amy's knees buckled and a strong arm snaked around her waist to steady her. She found herself staring up into the icy blue eyes of the most attractive man she'd ever seen up close. He let her go as soon as she regained her balance.
"Are you alright?" His voice was low and soft but still crystal clear and the tone sent shivers down her spine. Even standing she had to look up at him. His hair was dark brown, short and mussed. He was dressed entirely in black.
"Yes," she stammered, pink blush creeping onto her cheeks.
He smirked, quirking his full lips at the corners, and looked past her into the room. "See something you like?"
His voice was a purr, mocking and yet maddeningly seductive. Amy's face flushed redder as she imagined him purring deliciously filthy words directly into her ear.
His smirk widened, "I am Jonathan."
"Amy."
"First time?"
She paused, not wanting to seem completely innocent, but unable to hide her inexperience.
"Yes..."
"Amy..." He tested her name on his tongue and she enjoyed the sound of it. "Would you like to come somewhere quiet with me?"
She knew it wasn't smart, that he was a stranger and that she was in a strange place. She knew with absolute certainty that it was a very bad idea. She also knew that there was a part of her that wanted to do anything he asked.
Amy let him take her arm in his and lead her further down the hallway.
Jonathan hadn't so much as touched her as they sat in a quiet room and he told her about his work. Amy's eyes had gone wide as saucers as he explained his home, the girls he trained, the rules, and the benefits.
He was offering her an opportunity to explore fantasies so dark she hadn't even known she'd had them. A year of room, board, and training in a variety of subjects... paid for by her submission.
The day before she would have stormed off in a huff. Today, watching the way his lips formed the words and wondering how they would feel on hers, it sounded like a good idea.
