Dominated

I am not tethered -at least not yet(?)- but I kneel in submission nevertheless.

The room resembles a dungeon:

Decadent drapes and elegant voiles hang from hooks in the stone walls, no doubt those fixtures may have other purposes, too.

Somewhere unseen, a liquid drips and splashes onto a hard surface (or perhaps a soft one which has taken up too much and now become saturated?).

Roughly-gouged sconces and swinging lanterns hold myriad candles throwing multi-coloured flickering shadows across the rough textures. It hurts my mind to look at them very long, because they alternately resemble cavorting figures and others who writhe in torment.

The click-click of sharp heels upon stone approaches and I dare to look at the delicate ankles and lovely strong legs encased in long thigh-high boots. I yearn to look higher, but anxiety about potential consequences grips me.

She paces back and forth. All I see are black suspendered stockings disappearing beneath matching leather, shining silver buckles gracing shin-pads and her elegant nimble feet.

Suddenly, I register my dry mouth and parched lips. Have I been here so long that thirst has begun? Or is it some supernatural effect she has on her captives; yet another way of making them want her?

My mind races and my voice finally catches up with at least some of the questions, whispering: 'Where is this place?

When

is this place? What will become of m..'

From fear of speaking without being permitted, I momentarily avert my gaze and for the first time notice the floor's chalky pentagram enclosing me.

I know she requires my obedience, but I can feel her penetrating gaze and realises that she sees my lust for her.

The shame of turning away...denying myself...blushes my cheeks. Her keen senses must have picked up on this, despite the swaying patches of gloom and bright light.

I want to look, but am scared that one glance will tarnish me forever.

Even when blood red nails caress-scratch my jawline, I do not turn forwards.

"Were you watching me tonight? Spying on me from your bedroom, old man?"

I nod, for I cannot deny her insight.

"How often, slave? Does your rational mind rebel against the depraved sins you wish to commit? "With my sisters? Or perhaps even one or two with me..?"

I have no idea how I got here. Nor even where 'here' is. But her mocking laugh is a portal through which my licentious dreams of the last 3 weeks invade my mind unbidden.

Her fingers now hold my face in the lightest of touches, permitting me to reply. We both know that her power over me is an iron grip that doesn't owe anything to physical musculature.

"Mistress R, you know me fully. I lusted after all of you. It has been so lonely since my wife passed away. You remind me of Jackie in her finest hours: svelte, passionate, lustful, commanding and rounded in all of the right places. Your sisters are undeniably beautiful, but they cannot compare with you."

A sharp slap hits my cheek; I must have unthinkingly offended her in some fashion.

Even through the outrage, her body-control is so complete that her nails do not draw blood although I instantly sense the tingle of 5 deep scratches reddening my skin.

Tears well at the edges of my eyes, partly from pain, but mainly upset because I have made her lose her cool. Equal waves of pride and unworthiness bathe me; that she bestowed such an intimate touch and that something I did has provoked a reaction in my goddess.

"I am no such 'mistress'! No mere dominatrix! I am The Demon Queen! Remember that you are only here because I willed it."

"I admit my failing, Lady Darkness. I was wrong. You are not just a mistress, you are MY mistress, the one who owns me."

Thankfully, her tone changes and her ire seems partially mollified by my heartfelt obedience.

"This is better. On the surface your apology is suitably respectful. But I agree with the others and wonder how sincere it is. We think more evidence is needed. How many times did you pleasure yourself to us in the last week? Did any of it satisfy your needs, villein?"

I shake my head as her silken words stroke my arousal. How can I admit such things to her? Yet also how can I

not

..?

"Thirteen. Four times when I watched 2 nights ago; your skills are unequalled and your form is so pleasing to my eager eyes."

Her sweet hot breath plays across my ear "and you now imagine yourself ready for more?"

Her tongue tickles and rasps against my earlobe, exciting me further and making me moan from my soul.

Between gasps, I try to reply, but her shrill cry of humour rings my ears and harshly demeans me.

It is exactly what I need and have dreamt of.

Her whisper brushes through my hair, soothing my scalp, yet her words set me afire: "No, you shall not taste our fruits. I shall have the pleasure of another. No, I think I shall have two. Who will enjoy each other whilst you watch and squirm, bound by my magicks and words."

A bell softly chimes and a shaft of wan light enters the room from the right; another door has opened, revealing the shadow of a female form.

My face is turned to regard her as the newcomer tentatively steps forth. "Where am I? Why am I here?" her soft voice enquires, afraid like me.

My lady lets go of my face and walks -no, struts- over to her. It's the first time I have gazed upon the full length of my captor's figure tonight, although her attire and physique is well-known to me:

The long boots, stockinged thighs, skintight black shorts covered in a skirt of black mesh; the band of exposed firm flesh around her midriff below her smooth black tank-top. Red and black gloves adorn her hands, with one arm sheathed in lace like some modern-day gladiatrix. Dark hair is shot through with flashes of red and yellow, perfectly matching the multihued flames all around. Her hair sways deliciously between a pair of lovely, kissable shoulder-blades.

I let out a deep moan and she pauses before asking me: "The revelries have not even begun and you are already close?"

The newcomer asks "Who is he? How did I get here? What do you mean by 'revelries'? Surely they are nothing that involves me?"

"Step into my parlour, dear fly. So many questions and so soon. You will have your answers in time, because the nights here are

very

long." My Mistress extends her hand and the woman accepts falteringly, as though in a trance.

"Tonight you will be called 'A'. I know it is not your true name, but you are here at my forbearance, so you shall be remade by my imagination."

The blonde looked as though she was about to protest, but she slowly nods. Whether it is from acceptance or in thrall to some spell, none of us seem to care. Her agreement is sufficient; nothing more is required.

Lady R brings 'A' to stand, blinking, into a pool of stark white light and I can see her much more clearly: long blonde hair tied back, soft blue eyes and a gorgeous body clad only in a pink satin bodysuit and white knee-high boots.

Ordinarily, I would I wonder who this attractive busty woman is, but this place does not seem to permit thoughts of "identity" or "individuality"; such concepts are merely a couple more slaves for our gaoler to accept or dispense with as she wishes.

A harsh growl greets the sight of the gorgeous illuminated lady, drawing the immediate attention of myself and A, yet R does not react at all. It's the deep sound of a man whose lusts are building.

A garish pink light rapidly blinks, throwing shadows across a muscular body, bald head and thickly bearded face as he clenches his fists, eager at the sight of 'A'.

The blonde's eyes flash in alarm: "Who is he? Why is he here? What do you intend for him..?"