"I got you a present," Becky said, holding up a thin black band of leather. It took Liz a moment to realize what it was.
"A collar?" Liz asked with a sly smile. "Really?"
"Yeah... well," Becky stammered slightly, blushing. "Derrick invited us to our first bondage party and it seemed right 'cause... um..."
"I'm your sub," Liz purred, leaning her curvy body toward the young blonde coed.
"That's right," Becky said firmly, despite the flush of red covering her face. She held up the collar, easing it around Liz's neck. "You're my sub. You know, Derrick says the collar has real meaning."
"Oh, yeah?" Liz whispered, staring lovingly into Becky's eyes.
"Yeah," Becky continued. Her voice was firm and demanding, but Liz could feel Becky's fingers shaking as she held the collar around her lover's neck. "It means you're mine. So no more ass-raping guys at parties..."
"He ass-raped me first," Liz countered. "And I bought you a new hairbrush."
"... and no more blowing guys in bars or fucking them in parking lots..." Becky continued.
"Hey, I only did that because I was looking for a guy for you," Liz pouted. "It's not my fault you picked up Gary on your own... and before you say anything, I only fucked Gary because you told me to and usually only when you were there too. I still don't get why he broke up with us."
"Liz!" Becky's tone became threatening.
"Sorry," Liz pouted.
"No more fucking people unless I say so. OK?" Becky barked. "The collar is supposed to mean you're mine, really and completely."
Liz's face softened. Reaching up, she laid her fingers on the side of Becky's face and smiled.
"Silly," Liz whispered. "I'm already yours. Really and completely yours. My mistress."
Leaning forward, Liz kissed Becky gently and pretended she didn't taste her lover's tears.
*****
"Invitations, please," the goth at the door asked.
Between the shaved head and facial piercings and heavy black clothes, the doorkeeper was imposing. Liz wasn't entirely sure if the goth was male or female, but she supposed it didn't really matter. If it did, she expected she'd find out.
Meanwhile, Becky was handing over her invitation while clearly trying not to stare. The goth made a show of first examining their invitations, and then examining them. Becky squirmed a little under the doorkeeper's dark gaze.
Liz knew Becky was a little self-conscious. The whole drive over, her lover had been fidgeting with her outfit, though Liz kept assuring Becky that she looked very hot. The tight black stretch pants emphasized her long legs and round ass, and the under-bust corset borrowed from a friend in the theatre department, combined with the low-cut dark blouse, did wonders for Becky's pert breasts. No, Liz thought, Becky had no reason to feel self-conscious.
For her part, Liz didn't feel concerned, just a little chilly. Her short, lacy black dress, with its spaghetti straps and open back, had probably been designed to be a nightie, and the hemline didn't fall much below the bottom of Liz's ass. The only other thing she was wearing was her new collar. The cold air, the touch of soft satin and her own excitement had all conspired to make Liz's nipples so hard they ached. The night breeze swirled up Liz's legs, chilling her flesh and occasionally exposing her bare ass.
Finally, the goth smiled, causing lip-piercings to flash in the streetlights, and waved them in.
The club seemed to have started life as a gas station some years ago. The front room was small, decorated with flyers for local bands. On one of the ratty-looking couches that crowded the space lounged a couple, one a skinny man in a mesh shirt and tight black jeans, the other a chubby girl in a filmy black dress. Curls of cigarette smoke made a cloud above their heads.
"You're new," the skinny man drawled, his eyes crawling hungrily over Liz's body.
"We're friends of Derrick's," Becky replied, managing to sound tough.
"Oh," the chubby girl purred, pressing herself against the man. "Master Derrick is in the play room on the left, showing off his new sub."
"Thanks," Becky said. Turning to Liz, she barked, "Come on."
Following, Liz shivered. She always loved it when Becky got commanding.
The large back part of the club had been divided off into a number of smaller rooms. Through the open door on the left, Liz and Becky could see a small, smoke filled room. More ratty couches lined the walls, these occupied by an assortment of people dressed in what Liz was taking to be the standard black. However, she barely noticed them. Her attention was fixed on the heavy wooden frame in the center of the room and the couple with it.
Derrick was a tall, lean man, dark and handsome. He wore loose-fitting black pants, and his well-muscled chest was bare. The woman with him was petite and presently covered only by her own long blonde hair. Her hands were bound and tied to a rope that hung from the top of the wooden frame. As small as she was, she seemed to be balancing on her toes as if she were in fact hanging helpless from the frame. Liz felt her breath quickening at the sight.
While Liz watched, Derrick walked in a slow circle around the woman. His face was impassive as he studied her. All his attention was focused on her, and he seemed oblivious to his audience. Finally he finished his circle and stood silently behind her. Slowly, he reached out. His hands softly caressed her hair, sliding down her face as he gathered up her long, fair tresses. He gently pulled the woman's long hair behind her, revealing her naked, perky breasts and hard bud-like nipples.
Reaching over to a small table beside him, Derrick returned with two old fashioned wooden clothespins. With patient deliberation, he slid one clothespin over the woman's nipple and let it slowly close. The woman whimpered and gasped. After a long pause, Derrick closed the other clothespin over her other nipple. The woman moaned. Liz's hands involuntarily brushed over her own sensitive nipples and she gasped.
Derrick started to slowly circle the woman again, his eyes fixed on her face. She was looking back at him, her breath coming in short gasps, her eyes full of longing. Liz noticed that Derrick was holding a long, thin switch only seconds before he lashed out with it. The women yelped as the thin leather crop smacked against her ass. Derrick continued to circle her, lashing out with the crop as the whim took him. The woman gasped and jumped with each strike. As she watched, Liz moaned softly. Without thinking, She cupped her own breast with one hand while her other hand slid along the silky fabric of her dress, down her belly, down her waist, toward the hem.
Becky grabbed Liz's arm. She jumped, startled out of her lustful trance.
"Come on," Becky said. Liz could see Becky's face was flushed. "Let's go see what else is going on."
Liz stared at Becky for a moment, confused, but allowed herself to be led away. She wondered why Becky didn't want to stay and watch. Even more, she wondered why Becky looked angry, maybe even jealous.
*****
The room Becky led them to was similar to the one they had just left. Ratty couches lined the walls, surrounding a wooden frame from which hung a naked body. In this case, the body was that of a dark-skinned, powerfully muscled man. Liz thought she recognized him as one of the college football players, but she wasn't sure. She didn't really follow sports closely, and she was certain none of the promotional pictures of the team depicted them bound, naked, oiled, shaved and hugely erect. Perhaps, Liz thought as she took a place on a couch beside Becky, they should.
Circling the naked black Adonis was a young woman in shocking red. With her red heels, her narrow red skirt and tight red corset, the woman seemed to be aggressively defying the club's unspoken black goth dress code. Her spiky black hair was cut cruelly short, accentuating her boyish face, which smiled viciously at the crowd gathered on the couches around her. Where Derrick had ignored his observers, this dominatrix clearly reveled in them. Apart from one hand, which was lightly caressing her sub, she seemed to ignore him.
"My Toy here is perfectly trained," the red mistress drawled softly to her audience.
Her fingers slid along the man's body and pinched his nipple, squeezing and twisting it viciously. The man, Toy, Liz supposed he was called, stood stoically accepting this small abuse.
"He will not make a sound, unless I command it," the mistress continued.
The mistress's hand ran down her Toy's body, sliding between his legs and cupping his heavy, dark balls. Liz's eyes grew wide as she watched the mistress's fingers tighten. She could see his oiled muscles tensing, but he remained still and silent. After a moment, she released him. Her fingers slid upward, grasping his hard shaft. Slowly, the mistress stroked her fingers up and down, rubbing her Toy's long dick.
"He won't come, unless I command it," she said, leering at the audience.
"I bet you could make him come," Becky said quietly, leaning over to Liz.
"What did you say?" the red dominatrix barked. Obviously, Becky's comment hadn't been quiet enough.
"Leave it, Caitlyn," a man's voice said, evenly. "She's new..."
Liz glaced over at the couch next to theirs and gave a short gasp. She recognized the man as her art teacher, Professor Ashton. Absurdly, she wondered if her recognized her, but the dominatrix's next words distracted her.
"Someone should tell her not to contradict her betters," Caitlyn snapped.
"What did you say?!" Becky said, shocked.
