Welcome To The Show

A curtain concealing a length of wall ripples, and a hand pulls it aside. It is dark there, and as the woman slips through the curtain shadows seem to move around her, concealing her yet revealing confusing glimpses. Each step she takes seems to change her. Were those wings sprouting from her back, and a tail curling behind her? Did the dim light flicker across mirrored sunglasses worn by someone wrapped in a long dark coat? A school girl? A face covered in glistening latex with only unnatural glowing red eyes to be seen? Other shapes that hinted at dark mysteries? As her path finally takes her into the light the shadows twist and flee back into the darkness as she is revealed.

Dominique pauses, looking around the room, her smile showing just a hint of her fangs. Long black hair falls unbound to her bare shoulders. She is short and plump and voluptuous, her skin a vivid and unnatural red, and she wears a purple corset and panties, with garters, fishnet stocking, and black high heel shoes. Around her neck is a leather collar with a heavy silver ring. As she passes the bar she nods to the barman and picks up a snifter of brandy, then continues to a small table at the side of the room with two chairs. She sits down and lights a candle with a flame from the tip of her finger as she surveys the room. After a moment she lifts her brandy so she can savour the bouquet before taking a sip.

She offers a respectful nod to the Matriarch and her court then watches the crowd in the club. She grins and her long, forked, serpentine tongue flickers out for a second. The show is about to begin.

Dominique sets a coiled leash on the table before her, then picks up her drink and takes another sip.

For a while she sits and chats with men and women who stop by her table, some of whom pick up and play with the leash while they try to discreetly peek at her nicely displayed décolletage. Some approach her hesitantly, others confidently, but she laughs and jokes and spends time with each.

Without warning a beam of light finds Dominique at her table, harshly illuminating her. A grotesquely muscled man dressed in black leather slowly walks up to her table and picks up the leash, letting it run through his fingers as he looks at her. She sets her glass down carefully and sits up straight in her chair, looking up at him. The moment stretches out, and then his hand snaps forward and grabs her hair, yanking her to her feet so he can snap the leash to her collar. He slaps her once across the face, rocking her back so he can jerk her to him with the leash.

With a brisk step he leads her around the room as she skips and stumbles and runs to keep up with his longer stride, threading between the tables until they end up in the centre of the room where the spotlight awaits them. While the large man holds her leash tight, two more black clad men come out and fasten a spreader bar between her wrists and another between her ankles, handling her roughly as they buckle the cuffs on her before they back away. The big man gives her one final look before he unsnaps the leash and steps back, leaving her alone, pinned by the shaft of light. She stands awkwardly, her feet uncomfortably far apart and her hands down with the bar across her thighs, her head bowed so her long hair hides her face.

Suddenly the bar at her wrists yanks her arms up, although no wire or chain can be seen as she is pulled off her feet and floats upwards, turning slowly so everyone gets a good look at her. She groans as her wrists take her full weight, and whimpers softly as the room spins beneath her.

Dominique turns slowly as she hangs by her wrists, caught in a bright shaft of light. From the band comes the rattle of the snare drum as something flies past her. Several things, in fact, fly circles around her a few times until they stop and can be seen as floggers, bundles of thick knotted leather cords mounted on wooden handles, moving around her without any hand to wield them. They trail the cords across her flesh, caressing her with the lengths of leather, making Dominique breath faster and moan softly. The floggers writhe and slither over her body sensuously. The lone drumbeat speeds up.

Without warning one flogger spins away and slashes at her ass, the long cords curling around her hip so the knotted ends kiss her thigh, making her cry out and jerk. A second flogger spins around to lash her back, while the third snaps across her breasts. She cries out and twists and pulls at her bonds as she hangs helpless high above the crowded club. Each time the floggers lash her there is a crash of a cymbal.

A synthesizer joins the drum, the music matching the rhythm of the whipping, the floggers spin and dance, the cords falling on her, making her squirm and groan and cry as the thongs curl around her body and the knots kiss the flesh of her breasts, her inner thighs, and her bottom. Bits of leather and silk begin fall from her as her corset and lingerie are cut away. She twitches and pants for breath, her cries and yells mixing into the music. One high heeled shoe slips from her foot to fall to the floor and bounce, then the second one follows it.

The pace increases as the music does, the floggers lashing her faster, the drums crashing now. She is almost nude, only shreds of fabric hanging off her, the knotted thongs now curling across her bare bottom, snapping up between her legs, kissing the exposed flesh of her breasts. Dominique twitches and shakes, her body rocking with each fall of the lash, gasping and mewling as she strains against her bonds, muscles tense. The music stops abruptly and the sound of the floggers cracking across her round bottom and her sex fills the room, the knotted ends kissing her most intimate flesh again and again as she twists in her bonds and whimpers and moans, hanging by her wrists 20 feet off the ground while the crowd stares up from their tables, motionless, barely breathing.

Suddenly she stiffens and screams, a long echoing cry as the weaving of pain and pleasure peaks in her and shatters her. She spasms and jerks as she hangs from the bar. Her hips buck and roll as she is lashed a few more times, then the floggers simply vanish, leaving Dominique hanging limply, mouth open wide as she pants like a bitch in heat, utterly spent. Then the spreader bars vanish and she falls, tumbling head over heels towards the club floor, only to disappear into a pool of twisting shadows above the heads of some rather surprised club patrons.

A while later Dominique wanders back into the club through a side door, somewhat incognito in a long duster over a shirt, short skirt, and knee high boots, with mirrored sunglasses hiding her glowing eyes. She saunters up to the Matriarch at her table and grins.

"So, do I get the job?"

The Matriarch smiles slightly and takes a sip of her drink as her courtiers and hangers on look at the brash little demoness with narrowed eyes, waiting to hear their leader's reaction before they expressed any opinion of their own.

"I think we will feature you in the private room downstairs, Dominique, I will hire you."

The courtiers all nod and smile on cue as Dominique pulls her glasses down a bit on her nose to peer over the frames and grin as her glowing eyes flash a bit brighter.

"Great, thanks, but, hey, call me Nicki," she winks and continues, "you won't be disappointed."