Topping My Boy

There is a collar he wears. It marks him as my boy, my pet, my love, my person I intend to share my life with. The key part here is that it marks him as mine.

I look in the mirror. My hair is pulled back in a low, no-nonsense ponytail which makes my eyes easier to focus on. The boy kneeling next to me has often told me that when I am in the zone, my eyes are my sexiest feature. Also the scariest. He often thinks the two words are synonyms. "Are you finished with my boots?" I ask, still staring in the mirror. I don't need to actually look at him; he knows not to lie to me.

"Almost, Katherine," he replies, "I can't quite get the toes to shine as much as the rest."

Now I look down. My boots look fine. Better than fine, even. I can't see any problems in them at all, but he is a perfectionist. I spare a glance at the boy. His hands are filthy now, and his shoulders are quite tense. I know he's tired. I know work has been extra crazy for him this week what with half the crew being out with the flu and management refusing to bring in any temporary workers due to budget constraints or something else equally stupid. I know what he wants; no, I know what he needs.

Reaching down I grab the hair at the nape of his neck and pull down, forcing his head up so his eyes meet mine. "My boots look perfect, boy," I say in a tone that makes it obvious this is not a compliment, "I think you are dallying so you can spend more time at my feet. Is that it? Do you just want to stay knelt at my feet all night?"

Poor boy, he knows he's just been handed a Domme favorite, the unanswerable question. Say yes, and he knows I'll take it as proof he's dallying. Say no, and I'll take it as an insult to my poor feet. Neither will end well. At least not for him; I'll enjoy the results no matter what. "I love your feet, Katherine," he says slowly, "but where I want to be tonight is wherever you want me to be." He then looks down in a not-so-subtle attempt at hiding the brief flash of pride. I actually appreciate the look away since it means he doesn't see the pride in mine. What can I say? Smart is sexy.

Recovering my game face, I reply, "Smooth answer there, but I don't think I gave you permission to look away." His eyes lift up just in time to see my wrist as my hand makes impact. There's an art to slapping. I don't do it hard -- there's no mark or even color change -- but there is something incredibly primal and jarring about getting hit in the face. It's an amazing way of getting someone's attention.

"I'm sorry, " he says, pausing before he hastily adds, "Katherine," and braces himself for another blow. It doesn't come. Instead I gently stroke the other side of his face. He leans against my hand, like a kitten that really wants the petting to continue. Getting him to use my name every time he says anything to me was one of the harder parts of training. The joys of playing with experienced subs meant that he was conditioned to call me mistress. Eventually, I explained that there were lots of mistresses out there, but there was only one Katherine. He did better after that.

He closes his eyes. Possibly surprised that I've been nice for this long, but definitely trying to enjoy it while it lasts. He looks vulnerable and very trusting. He is so beautiful. "Are you ready for tonight?" I ask gently.

"As long as you're there, I'm ready for anything, Katherine"

"You're on fire tonight with that quick wit of yours."

"If you want me to be on fire, Katherine, I'll gladly burn for you," he replied.

I raised my right eyebrow, "Really? I mean, dude," and with that we both crack up.

Two hours later we're at the club we're playing at tonight. Kinksters of all stripes are already there, and I make the rounds catching up with old friends. Despite all the flesh exposed, this early in the evening the conversation still leans towards the sort you'd have at the beginning of any party. "How's your kid doing in school?" "I heard about your promotion at work; that's so exciting." "Tell your wife that lasagna recipe rocked!" The usual. As time passes though we slowly start segueing to why we're here. No one's playing in public yet, but the noises from the private rooms start getting people talking about the new paddle they just finished making or the new knot they have that can be released quickly in an emergency (note: bondage emergencies almost always involve the phrase "I really, REALLY have to pee.")

Some of the staff at the club start setting up for a demo; they arrange furniture so people can gather around and watch someone get worked over. The woman I've been talking to tells me that she's heard a rumor that Johan was coming. I feel the boy tense up at the mention of his name, and apparently it's obvious enough that she asked me if there was history between the two. "Not really," I replied, "but my boy has a major crush on Johan."

Clearly amused by the impressive shade of red my sub had turned, she inquires, "I thought he was straight?"

"Oh, he is," I say, "mostly, anyways. That's what makes his occasional man-crush so amusing. My manly man would be a great cocksucker too. Look at those lips."

Before I can embarrass him further, the atmosphere in the room changes. The last traces of pink vanish from the boy's face as he pales considerably. I can understand why. Johan is one strong dude. With his long hair, and well sculpted frame he looks like a Viking. A very sexy Viking. He's carrying his bag which, if previous experience tells me anything, will be carrying whips, floggers and other leather implements. "I have new tools to try out," he says to the room, "I just need a volunteer. Preferably a strong one that I can beat for a while."

"Let's go talk to the nice man with the whips, ok?" I ask, gently tugging at his collar. He has some trouble getting his feet moving, but he follows me up to Johan.

"Why, Katherine, are you going to let me try out a whip on you?" Johan's slight accent made everything he said infinitely sexier so it actually takes me a moment to process what he'd asked.

"Oh, no," I replied, "When it comes to pain I'm a giver not a taker. My boy here, though, he is one selfish pain slut that just can't get enough, right?"

He nods slightly and then, possibly sensing my glare, whispers "Yes, that's right, Katherine."

"Hmm," said Johan, "let me take a look at him. Turn around." After a brief nod from me (my subs know that only I get to give them orders) he turns away from us. "He has a nice back. It's so smooth; I'd think it would be covered in welts if he lives with you, Kath."

"Every so often I let him get all pretty again. It's more fun to add color to a blank page, don't you think?"

"And that's what you want me to do tonight? Give him some color? I know you're a fan of floggers, should I get some of those out?"

"Maybe," I say, "but he's expressed an interest in trying something a bit harder." Ignoring the tenseness that was reforming in his shoulders, I add, "We've been thinking of getting a single-tail. Do you have any of those?"

Beaming, Johan said, "Why yes, I do. Last week I finished this lovely whip. It's called a Dragon Tail."

Johan was right. This whip was lovely. The handle had leather strips of black and royal blue crisscrossing each other. The actual whip was a deep black strap. It looked kind of like a 4 foot tie, gradually getting thicker than ending back in a tip.

"It looks positively evil," I said feeling the weight in my hands, "I love it."

Handing it back to him, I turned to the boy who'd been facing away from us the whole time. "Let me show you where he likes being hit," I said and lightly rubbing his shoulder blades I said "This area is his favorite. He likes his shoulders too." Lowering my hand I added, "He's not so fond of his ass getting hit. I don't know why, but he just doesn't enjoy it as much."

"So avoid the ass?" Johan asks.

"Oh heavens no, I'm just letting you know he doesn't like it. That's certainly no reason not to do it. You don't care if he marks you down there, do you sweetie?"

"No, Katherine," he whispers.

"Good boy," I say, stroking his hair. "Now on to his thighs. They're probably the most sensitive spot on him. Of course," I add, wickedly, "they're also the most fun to mark up."

"One other thing you need to know, Johan. He's never been beaten by a man before. Occasional swings at an event like this, but nothing prolonged."

"I see," he said. "I hope you're not asking me to go gentle with him."

"Not at all," I reply, smiling, "not at all." Taking my boy's hand, I asked, "Now, where would you like him?" Johan nodded toward the post in the middle of the room, and I led the boy over to it.

Whipping posts come in a variety of shapes and sizes. This one looked like a "Y" and was tilted so one could lean into it. There were cleverly placed loops so that one could tie their "poor victim" if one desired. I didn't. I look at the post and then look at my boy. Gently stroking his face I ask, "Do you trust me?"

Returning my gaze he says, "Yes, Katherine," completing a short ritual that has yet to lose its power to move me despite its repeated use.

I place his hands on the post and gently nudge him forward. Walking to the other side of him so we're face to face, I lean in close so I can whisper without being overheard. "Are you comfortable?" He nods, knowing I am checking to make sure he wouldn't have any issues in the middle of a scene (muscle cramps are decidedly unsexy). Straightening up and in a voice meant to be heard by our audience I command, "Do not move your hands unless I or Johan tell you too." Changing to a sweeter tone I add, "Now be a good boy for me," and give him a quick kiss on the forehead before taking a seat directly in front of him.

As much as I love watching Johan work, I want to watch the reactions being incited more. Johan approaches his quarry and whispers something in his ear. My boy reacted by blushing red enough that I could see it from my chair. Johan, new whip in hand, stepped a few feet back.

He started gently, swinging the tail of the whip back and forth across my pet's back. His hair was moving back and forth as the tip lightly brushed against it. After he'd worked his way down and covered his entire back in gentle caresses, he took a couple of steps back.

"Dragon Tails," he informs us, "are thrown more than they are swung." He took a stance that reminded me of a pitcher, although he bent his knees a bit more, and flicked his wrist. The first shot landed between his shoulder blades. I could tell the blow wasn't very hard but my pet still flinches a little bit. The first blow is always seems worse than it is. Johan throws again and catches him a bit further down. This time, though, he holds still, barely reacting to the blow.

After a few more light shots, Johan has decided to really get started. He is now throwing hard. The whip wasn't cracking but it was certainly loud. My pet holds steady; his grip against the wood the only sign that this hurt. His breathing is still calm though so I am not too concerned about him.

Abruptly the blows stop. Johan walks forward and whispers something in my boy's ears. Apparently the poor dear was deep in subspace though because he doesn't respond. Johan's been doing this long enough to know the difference between willfully disregarding an order and being unable to respond so there is no repurcussions. Instead he gently takes my pet's hand and moves them down while whispering something else. Now the boy realizes what is going and blushed as he adjusts his manhood and keepst his hand there to hold it up.

If one is getting whipped with one's legs apart it's best to protect the more delicate bits. Even if your top is as talented as Johan is, it's better to be safe than sorry.

Johan walks back and crouches a bit more and starts hitting my boy's ass and thighs. This hurts more. I can see it in his face. He looks directly at me once and immediately looks away. I can tell he feels strange watching me watch him like this. As the blows fall harder his breathing quickens. His grip on the pole has tightened enough that his fingers are white -- I can't see his other hand but for the sake of his genitals I hope its grip is not as tight. Johan increased the pace further and blows are landing in a fast, rhythmic pattern.

I have to use every ounce of resolve I possess to keep my face calm when I suddenly realize what Johan is doing. Johan likes noise. He wants to hear my pet cry out - not scream or sob, just audibly react to what was happening. He's used to whipping women, and while our gender is just as tough when it comes to continuing vs. stopping a scene, we are more comfortable reacting loudly. My pet...is not. He only makes noise when we're alone and that was after months of playing. It was a pride thing. I leave him in control of so little whenever he's collared; deciding when he will or will not respond vocally is one of the few decisions he gets to make.

I look at his face; he's turned to the side and probably won't notice my stare. His eyes are watery, and his jaw is clenched. I catch Johan's eye and raise my right eyebrow. It is nice and subtle. It is telling him to stop.

If Johan is disappointed at ending his beating without hearing a peep from my pet, he manages not to show it. Instead he ceases throwing and goes back to the gentle swings he'd started with. My boy once told me when I did this with a flogger after a rough session that it feels like being kissed, hugged and comforted all at once. It's a nice way to come down. After a few moments Johan walks up and quietly says things in my pet's ears. I assume they are complimentary things, judging by the way my pet reacts.

After a few moments Johan motions to me, and I walk up to join them. "That was lovely," I say, "both of you were exquisite." Kissing my love's brow which is slightly damp with sweat, I tell him "You were very good. I'm most pleased with your behavior, pet. You can let go now. Oh, and thank the nice man for beating you."

Slowly lowering his arm he quietly mutters, "Thank you, sir."

"The crowd seemed to enjoy the show," I tell him as I lead him away. "You and Johan are a wonderful pair to behold." After a dozen steps or so, I stop and turn him to face his recent tormentor. Johan had gotten some cleaning supplies out of his bag and was wiping down the whipping pole. His muscles were bulging and he was covered in the slightest sheen of sweat. "Looks like you gave him quite a workout," I said. "He looks really hot, don't you think?" Swallowing nervously, the boy nodded. "Do you like looking at him?"

Before he can answer I reach my hand down and grab his crotch. "I can feel you getting hard," I hissed in his ear, "You're getting aroused looking at someone else. A male someone else at that." I started stroking him, "He just beat you, and you liked it. You're such a pain slut."

"Look around," I ordered, pausing so he can take in the small crowd that's still gathered, "all those people know now. They know you're going to get off looking at a very sexy guy." I pull my hand away, enjoying his moan of frustration, before I stick my hand down his pants and am able to grab onto him without his clothes between us. I love feeling his cock; it's smooth and hard and a little slippery because of how turned on he's getting. "You are actually dripping from how worked up you are looking at this guy. Are you thinking about him touching you? About him holding you down? Maybe fucking you?" He moans, and I know he's getting close.

"I'm not ordering you to, boy, but you do have permission to come. Just know that you're coming of your own free will in front of all these people." I increase the pressure making sure to stroke the most sensitive spots along the head. "You have permission to come thinking about him taking you with his big, hard cock." I barely get the last word out when he shoots all over my hand. I grab onto his chest with my other hand to help him stay upright. Johan tries and fails to conceal a smirk as he watches us out of the corner of his eye. "Look at you, coming in your pants like a teenager that's dreaming too hard. You're a little old for this aren't you?" I ignore the fact that I goaded him into it. Being mean is part of my job. "You got your stuff on me. Ugh," I pull my hand out and wipe it on his stomach.

"Now I have to get you cleaned up; come on." I walk over and grab our bag and lead him to the back, hoping there's a private room available. On the way I pass Sarah a gorgeous brunette that has half the guys (and half the ladies) crushing on her. She stops to chat, but after a few moments I tell her I need to get the boy to the back. She raises an eyebrow and tells us to have fun, but I shake my head. "We're not going to play. He ruined his pants so I have to put him in new ones."

She and I watch his face turn red. He blushes deeper when she says, "Oh, yeah I saw that. Don't worry too much, sweetie, I almost came watching him whip you myself."

Laughing, I guide him into a room and shut the door.

"You were awesome tonight," I murmur, taking him in my arms. "I am so proud of the way you handled yourself. You were very brave." He leans back against me and held my hands in his. We stand quietly for a moment before I give him a gentle squeeze and say, "Lets get you changed." I make him stand still while I pull down his pants and then have him step out of them. I carefully wash him off in the adjoining bathroom; this dungeon actually provides wash cloths and towels along with everything else. "I wish we were home so I could just stick you in the bath; that's more fun." Exchanging a smile, I sigh dramatically and say, "I guess this will have to do for now. I think you're clean enough. Let me dry you off."

I gently towel him down before I lie down on the bed and pull him to me. He curls up and places his head on my chest. We lay quietly for a bit, our respiration syncing up as it usually does until our breaths are in unison. I stroke his hair and wait. He'll talk when he's processed everything.

Eventually, he speaks, "That was different than I thought it would be." Without even being able to see my eyebrow raised in confusion he hurriedly adds, "Not in a bad way. It was good. You watching me was hot. You sharing me was really hot. I was worried that I'd feel disloyal playing with someone else when we talked about this before, but it turned out it just made me feel more owned - that you gave me to someone else. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, dear, it does. I'm so glad you enjoyed it." I start to ask him if I stopped the scene too soon, but stop myself. There's no need to let him know I "saved" him; Johan would have stopped on his own soon anyway. Probably.

"The stuff afterwards," and now it is I that can "see" his face without seeing it. I can almost feel the heat radiating off of him. "Um, when you made me look at him while you did stuff and said stuff..."

"There was a lot of stuff going on" I say, lightly teasing.

"Right," he chuckles, "that was also good. I'm not sure what made it so intense -- the audience, him, the lovely things you were doing with your hand...hell, it was probably a combination, but I liked it -- even if it was pretty humiliating at the time."

"What do you mean 'even if'? One of these days you'll believe me when I tell you humiliation is one of your kinks." I snuggle in even closer. "So, do you think you'd like to go further with a guy? Not in front of a crowd; maybe at home?"

He thinks about it for a moment. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes, I think I would. Maybe something mild? Like no full-on sex but maybe some touching or even oral."

I drop any sounds of teasing from my voice. "I would love to watch you go down on someone. I would find that really hot if it's something you want to, love."