Blood Brothel Impact Play

Impact play

It's not that I was trying to track the menstrual cycles of our clients, I just have a real solid memory. And hope, too. Josh--Emmaline's favourite--was on leave for the next three days, which meant if she came in it was highly likely she'd spend her time with me.

As the day wore on, I second guessed myself. I wasn't privy to what Emmaline did during traditional work hours, or where she went afterwards, only that I'd never seen her past three pm and it was nearing six. Perhaps her period was late.

"Evandar?" The kitsune running reception stepped into the lounge and surveyed us workers, sprawled on couches and beanbags, waiting. Their name was Jo--pronounced Yo--and they generally presented as an androgenous human, at least from the front. From behind? Well, you might not even notice the two fluffy fox tails; their tight ass was captivating in those red leather pants.

I raised my hand. "Jo."

"Emmaline's asking after you. Filled a new intake form instead of having me print her standard. Take a look and see if you're keen."

I'm sure my raised-brow expression displayed my curiosity. "It's probably a yes," I said as I reached for the paper.

"Might eat those words," murmured Genevieve beside me.

Emmaline had ticked the box saying Impact play. And then circled the option multiple times for emphasis. She was willing to pay a truly staggering sum. I swallowed. No one had ever said so explicitly that they wanted to beat the stuffing out of me before.

The form listed the type of tools she wanted laid out, plus how and where she wanted to find me.

Jo tilted their head and offered me a pen. I could accept or deny Emmaline's offer without seeing her. Or the kitsune would lie and say she'd just missed me, I'd gone home for the day, if that's what I wanted.

I didn't.

Emmaline wasn't the only one with hungers that needed satiation.

'My day has been consumed by thoughts of you,' I wrote. 'Dirty, obsessive thoughts. I long for whatever punishment you're here to dish out.' Then I crossed out nipple clamps/ nipple play because that was a hard no from me - despite having gotten top surgery before I was turned, even the idea of that kind of attention was dysphoria inducing.

I stood and handed the form back to Jo. "I'll get set up."

Gen and some of the others heckled me a bit on the way out with calls of "Go get 'em big boy" and wolf-whistles. It felt good.

I hoped whatever Emmaline had in mind would also feel good. That it would be more play, less impact.

Gen materialised beside me. "Jo gave me the heads up. No way you'll get set up and showered in the standard fifteen minutes. Here's how we do it--" She opened the door to my rooms and swept inside "--You pop the restraints you're comfortable with around the bedposts. If you're comfortable with a collar, chain, leash, whatever - on the console." She pointed to the antique table by the door. It felt anachronistic to call the hand-carved piece by such a modern word. "If you don't have a bed specially designed for power play--and you don't--you're going to lay out your crops, whips, floggers, whatever on the night stand. Not really necessary for a regular like Emmaline, I'm sure she knows the drawers are well equipped, but it is a way to communicate your preferences without breaking scene."

"What if I don't have preferences?"

Her eyes widened at the implication that I didn't have enough experience to know what I liked or didn't, what I could take vs what I couldn't. "I'll pick entry-level things for you, from the tools she's listed." She waved me off. "Get showered. Once you're out, you can pick your playlist... oh.

My face had given me away again

"You don't have that either?" Genevieve massaged her brow with three perfectly manicured fingertips.

"I mean... I know what I think will work best. But do I have it prepared? No."

"Shit Evandar, I thought I trained you better. You should be using your downtime for this kind of thing."

"Sorry." I stood there awkwardly.

"Go!"

When I was done scrubbing, I hastily dried the floor and shower cubical with my towel, tossed it in the chute, and rushed to my sitting room where I thew myself onto my knees a split second before the door opened.

I kept my eyes downcast.

Emmaline's black business pumps stopped right in front of me. We'd only had a couple of sessions, and none like this. Was I supposed to greet her?

Was she standing over me, scrutinising my bare form? Quietly judging the way my hairy belly rested on my pale thighs, concealing half my packer? Did she notice the blue undertones of my skin, particularly where my veins spidered over my effeminate hands, making me look older than my thirty-one years? Did she notice the tension in my back muscles? Or was she just standing there sending one last text, not even noticing where she or I were?

Unable to handle the pressure, I leaned forward and kissed the tops of her feet where the skin peeked out between her pumps and the hem of her office slacks.

A cute huff of appreciation escaped her. I probably wasn't supposed to notice, so I said nothing, continuing to kneel patiently. The playlist Gen had selected tinkled in the background. Something instrumental. Not what I'd have expected for a power play that promised violence.

The sound of silk sliding against cotton preceded Emmaline slipping her tie over my head. It was warm against my bare chest. "Don't move, pet."

I wouldn't.

When she returned from her shower, she grabbed the knot of the tie and hoisted me to my feet, her knuckles pressing into my throat. She'd gotten back into her pencil skirt and blouse, minus the bra. A small choking sound escaped me. She dragged me into the adjoining bedroom. As if Genevive was watching, the music switched to something with a heavy beat and growly lyrics.

Emmaline scowled. The shower hadn't done a damn thing to wash away whatever had brought her here so late.

"Rough day huh?" I regretted the quip before it even faded from the air.

Emmaline's jaw flexed as she pressed her teeth together.

Propelling me by my throat, she shoved me on to the bed then grabbed my left ankle and dragged it toward the left bedpost, where she efficiently restrained that leg. I bit back a giggle as I scrambled onto my knees. She secured my right ankle.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

She reached between my legs and grabbed both of my wrists, yanking them backwards. I crashed face first onto the bed, grateful for the billowy duvet. In moments she had my wrists strapped to my ankles. I felt small and very much exposed.

"Don't speak unless you need me to stop," Emmaline instructed.

I didn't dare reply.

She went to the nightstand and browsed the tools Gen had selected. My view of Emmaline was slanted and obstructed by the bedding, but I caught the stiffness in her movements and the way sadness creased her face. It occurred to me that she was at least my age, possibly several years older; I had just assumed she was young because she was confident in her body in a way I associated with youth. Stupid, considering I'd been shy and withdrawn in my twenties.

"My slut," she read the paddle aloud. "That's about right." She deliberated a moment more, then brought her selection into my field of view. The paddle was a thick leather strap with the words cut out, so that as her blows landed, I would be branded. Assuming I had enough borrowed blood in my system for it to work. I hoped it did. My dick twitched in anticipation.

She positioned herself behind me and grabbed a handful of my arse, her acrylics digging in like little fangs. She squeezed cruelly. I shut my eyes and swallowed my protest.

"Good," she said, releasing me.

I sighed. She was pleased. That must have been a test.

I heard the snap of rubber and then, without warning, she lubed my bonus hole and slid a finger into me. I pressed my lips together. This was fine. Unexpected, but fine. A moment later she removed her finger and rubbed a generous squirt of lube around my anus. My eyes bugged out of my head. My lips parted to tell her to stop. She circled some more, just playing.

She wouldn't. This was a test. Emmaline wouldn't actually--

I gasped as her finger slid into my ass, right to the knuckle.

We both made a soft "oh" sound at the same time. Might have been funny, under other circumstances. She paused there, waiting for my body to relax around her intrusion. It was good. Better than I could have imagined. I wanted her to do depraved things to me.

She slid her finger free. For reasons beyond my understanding of biology, the sensation filled my mouth with the need to suckle.

Emmaline circled with two fingers, probing gently. I held onto my feet and relaxed my jaw.

Soft top, soft bottom

, after all.

It burned a little as she first penetrated me, but the thrill raced ahead of the pain. This beautiful business woman with her long curly hair and plump lips, who made the sweetest sounds as I feasted upon her, was standing over me, fucking two fingers in and out of my tight hole to assert her dominance. My ring burned.

Again she applied lube. I tensed in fear.

Three fingers pushed at my opening.

I leaned away from her - the scant inch I could. "Uh..." I began my protest.

"You're a man, Evandar," she reminded me. "Take it like one." And with that, she slid her hand inside me.

I cried out as her knuckles passed my sphincter.

She chuckled; a wickedly delicious sound.

"You're mine." She forced two fingers into my bonus hole. "All of you. However I want you."

I'd never been so full. Something about it warmed my cold dead heart. She held me there, burning, a moment longer. Then pulled away, leaving me devastated. I'd have collapsed on the bed if my bonds didn't make it impossible to do so. I heard the wet snap of disposable gloves flinging into the trash, and then her hands were on my ass again. Roaming, squeezing. I wanted her inside me. I wanted her to use me.

There was a moment of pause, not even enough time to take a breath, and then the hard kiss of a leather paddle smacked into a gap between songs - the only sound in the room. I smothered my gasp.

She hit me again. Branding my arse with the words MY SLUT. Tears prickled my eyes as the leather bit the top of my thigh. Music thumped around us now - a scratchy voice sang about tearing clothes off in back alleyways. I peeked behind me. Her brows were drawn together and her lips pressed tight. She seemed cautious, somehow.

I risked speaking. "I can take it, my lady. Give me your pain."

She huffed. "Is that so?"

It was hard to control my expression when my neck was twisted and one side of my face was mashed against the bed, but I tried to look needy. "I want it." I surprised myself in that it wasn't a lie. I did, in fact, want to see Emmaline let loose, even as part of me dreaded the pain. If I really could take it, I'd be proud of that. And if I couldn't--

The thought cut off abruptly as her hand struck. I buried my face back into the duvet. She struck me again. Even without the paddle, these strikes were harder. When the next blow landed, I let out a moan to encourage her.

"Yessss," she hissed, digging her nails in and shaking my ass. She slapped it again and again until my flesh grew tender. I couldn't see, but it must have been red, sprinkled with little white crescents. Wood scraped against the nightstand and I tried to remember what tool might have a wooden handle.

The crops did.

I tensed.

Surely not. Geneveive wouldn't consider that for a beginner. Surely.

The new paddle made a loud clap as it connected with my ass. Almost as loud as the cry that burst from me. I tried to make it sound like pleasure. She struck me again and again in quick succession, filling the air with the clap of leather and my voice.

My cries coalesced into words. "Please. Em-AH! Please. Please!" I gripped my own ankles so tight my hands cramped.

She hit me harder. "No talking."

I pressed my teeth together. The pain leaked out my eyes.

"We're not here for a conversation," Emmaline added. Something about her tone communicated she wasn't really telling me - she was talking to herself. Or perhaps someone back at her work. It gave me something to focus on as her blows rained down.

The image I had of her was secretarial. I couldn't imagine her driving; I saw her riding the tram. Smiling politely at people but keeping to herself. Had a customer upset her, or a co-worker? The slap of the paddle became her low heels on laminate flooring. Her suit skirts looked uncomfortable. Restrictive.

Thew music cut abruptly.

"My word," Emmaline whispered into the sudden void. The paddle clattered to the floor and then her face was between my legs. A single taste, as though she meant to savour my pain with her tongue.

I breathed in so sharply I coughed.

"You okay?" Her concern felt real.

I cleared my throat. "Never better."

As casually as if she was fishing in her purse, her fingers entered me. "Can you hold this position a while longer? I'm not done."

"Whatever you need, my lady."

"Is that so?" She pushed deep with one hand, then grabbed my packer with the other, rocking it against my folds.

"How does that feel so good?" The words burst from me. I managed not to voice the rest - the confusing contrast between the satisfaction, the excitement, and the pain.

She chuckled good-naturedly. "It's not all about the whip, my boy. It's about taking care of you - my property. But first..."

She released my cock and picked up the MY SLUT paddle. With her fingers still inside me, she marked my hips and thighs. I accidentally fucked her hand every time I flinched forward and then had to drag myself back into position. Worse, it was evident to both of us how much I wanted her hand there. How much I craved her attention. I loved being her little man slut.

When my flesh was tender and I risked shaming myself by begging for mercy, Emmaline tossed aside the paddle. She released my bonds, then crossed to the wall where a thin padded bench stood alone. It was the kind of thing that was only used as a two-minute seat to put on one's shoes and socks. Or so I'd thought, before she popped a restraint out of the wooden panelling above.

"Kneel here, facing the wall."

In moments, I'd made a triangular target, my hands tied together above my head. My feet were delightfully cool against my butt.

She trailed her fingertips over my shoulders. "You work out, don't you?"

"Yes madam." Or I did, before I died. It was a lot harder to change my appearance now.

She hummed softly as she selected a toy and returned to me. As she trailed the ends of it over my skin, I shivered. She'd chosen a thin-stranded rubber flogger that covered a lot of area when she rested it against me.

"Ready?"

"Yes, my lady."

She squeezed my shoulder, then stepped back and tapped her foot, finding the music's beat. Once she had, she laid into me with a flogger in each hand. A stray end kissed my cheek as I looked over my shoulder, but it was worth it to see her swaying her hips, putting her whole body into the lashing she gave me. And I was relieved to see her smile. Whatever had been bothering her, she'd worked it off.

The flogger felt a lot different to the paddle. Much easier to receive, too. A warm sting, almost like an itch, flared across my flesh at a million points, the rain of blows coming steadily. I relaxed into it, sagging until my own weight strained my shoulders. And then I realised with a start that I was supposed to be working.

I twisted so I could meet her gaze. "You're so sexy like that."

She bit down on her bottom lip, which did nothing to contain her grin.

The floggers, still in constant motion, peppered my side and reached around to my chest as I admired her. The top buttons on her blouse were open, her breasts bouncing, her skin pink against the white fabric. Her stiff nipples made dark starbursts. Below her office skirt, she'd widened her stance and her feet were bare. There was something charming about how she'd opted for comfort over the dominating aesthetic of heels.

She finished out the song with a twirl, and untied me. There was laughter in her smile and her step. Bashfulness in the tentative way she touched the welts she'd left on my body from neck to knee.

"Stay," she murmured, rushing to a drawer and returning with soothing lotion. She coated my skin liberally.

"Thanks. You didn't have to."

"I want to." She peeled back the duvet and settled me on my back between the white sheets. I tried to focus on her movements and the comfort of stretching my cramped legs, instead of how the bedding stuck to my skin. She wriggled a second pillow underneath my head. "I'm not finished with you."

"Oh? This is giving bedtime tuck-in."

She giggled. "Hush. You're giving insolence, and I haven't put the whips away." She stepped out of her skirt and anything she might've had under it, then crawled over me and positioned her dripping pussy over my mouth. I opened wide for her, wrapping my arms around her thighs to hold her in place while I received my reward.

"Mmm, good boy," she cooed. "I'm going to fuck your face now, and I expect you to like it."

I pushed my face into her and moaned loudly, so there could be no doubt. It wouldn't take her long to cum. Her pussy was swollen and needy, her clit a little pebble that she ground against my tongue, my lips, my nose, anything that came in range as she rode my face. I licked and sucked like a man deranged. Desperate. I didn't care how wet and sloppy we sounded any more than she cared how much noise she was making.

Emmaline grabbed a fistful of my hair and spread her knees wider, her weight pinning my head in place. Her other hand found my throat.

"Eat it. Fuck yes! Eat me."

It was difficult to swallow. At least I didn't require oxygen.

"Fuuuuuck. Oh you filthy bastard. You're drinking my blood."

"Mmm-hmm," I agreed. And it was delicious. I never wanted to stop. That it might be a month or six before we did this again - before she chose me again - only fuelled my desperation. Her tempo picked up.

"Take it!" She slammed herself against me so viciously I was surprised she wasn't hurting herself.

I held her tighter, devouring every drop of her lush, juicy pussy. She screamed profanities, her pussy twitching as she went stone-still, her orgasm ripping though her.

As last, when she inched back, taking her weight from my jaw, her cheeks were wet with tears. "Stay and drink the tea with me this time? I could use someone to talk to."