Slow Seduction (Struck by Lightning) (13 page)

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ve never come while wearing a chastity belt,” I said. “That would be a first.”

He chuckled into my ear, rubbing my clit harder for a few seconds, but then pulling his hand away as I writhed back against him, whimpering. “You’ve also never been tortured to the edge of orgasm again and again while wearing one either,” he said. “I think I like that one better.”

“Ahhh, sadist!” I cried as he did it again.

“Yes, dear, that’s the point,” he said with another chuckle and then stepped away. I put my hands on the bed to steady myself.

He rummaged in a drawer of the chest behind me. Next I felt his hand stroking my hair. “Vanette convinced me, no gag, but let’s put one more thing on you.”

He slid a black nylon hood over my head, turned me to face him, then tugged at it until the holes for the eyes and mouth were in place. He looked quite serious now. “This way you’ll have a chance to observe your Jules before he realizes it’s you.”

Ah. “Good thinking, Mr. George.”

“I knew being sneaky would come in handy someday.” He raised his eyebrow conspiratorially. “And here’s something else.” He held up what was like a very short robe made of sheer black silk, almost see-through. It had no belt. I slipped my arms through it, and he had me turn so he could inspect how it looked. It hung just above my ass in back. “That’ll do. Now, I have a few other rules to go over with you.”

They were commonsense things, mostly. There was a dining room where they didn’t allow sexual acts to go on for sanitary reasons, and he explained some of the etiquette around the slaves or servants people brought with them. Since I wasn’t supposed to speak, I didn’t have any need to worry about forms of address or other spoken formalities.

“And be sure to alert me if you need to use the water closet,” he added.

“You really think of everything.”

“You’re far from the first submissive I’ve put in chastity. Last thing. We haven’t discussed your name.”

“Oh.” I blushed under the mask. How could I forget? This was always a big thing.

“It’s customary for most to use a pseudonym,” he said, as if I didn’t know that already.

“I know. I have one.”

“
Tsk.
And here I was hoping you’d let me name you.”

“Like a stray cat you adopted?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not yours yet, Damon.”

His grin grew toothy, predatory. “Ahem.”

“Ack! I mean, Mr. George!” Dammit, why did I slip?

“Now I have to punish you again, Karina.”

“Ashley, my name’s Ashley,” I snapped.

“Very well, Ashley it is! Come with me. I’ll punish you out there for everyone’s entertainment.” He hooked a finger under the belt and pulled me toward him, then turned and strode out of the room. I hurried to follow.

He went up a flight of stairs to a large parlor. Two men were sitting in one corner, chatting.

“What have we here?” one of them asked.

“A new trainee,” Damon answered. “The night’s barely begun and I’ve already got to teach her a lesson. Ashley, over here.”

He gestured to a nook in the wall lined with bookshelves, but in the archway of the nook I saw restraints hanging from bolts embedded in it. They were fur-lined cuffs for the wrists, with chains to adjust their height. He turned me so I was facing him and the room, and strapped my wrists into place above my head.

Then he reached down and rubbed my exposed lips and clit until I was flushed and panting. While he was doing that, other people came drifting into the room, most of them men, some women, and a few S-types. I heard myself described as “new trainee” several times in the snippets of conversation I could make out.

“Lift your leg,” Damon said. “I don’t care which one.”

Back when I had been dancing, one of my teachers had told me my right leg was stronger, so I stayed on my right foot and lifted my left, bending at the knee.

“Wider,” he said. “Show me your pussy.”

I didn’t have to worry a lot about balance since my wrists were affixed to the arch, and I held my leg off to one side.

“Perfect. Stay like that.”

Stay like this? It was a pose I could hold for a little while, but I wasn’t sure how long. Was he going somewhere? His facial expression was pure mischief, of course, as he pulled 
down
 
the flaps that covered the eye holes on the hood. He really liked blindfolding me, I guess. I took a deep breath and tried to relax as much as possible in the darkness behind my eyelids.

Then I felt something soft against my inner thigh. Something tickled and I bounced a little. Then came a soft swat on my thigh and I yelped in surprise, not pain.

“These tails are a lovely, soft suede,” he said. “They’ll only sting if I want them to.”

The next swat of the flogger fell against my leather-framed cunt. It didn’t sting at all; rather, it was a pleasant sensation, a gentle impact against my sensitive parts. He hit me like that again, then a third time, before setting up a rhythm. He must have been twirling the suede tails such that they caught me on the way around each time.

I had already been aroused when he started, and now the sensation of being struck again and again softly right where I was most sensitive was making my hips buck. He had asked earlier if I could come from something like this. I had a feeling I was about to find out.

I drew closer and closer, but oh so gradually. The leg I was holding in place began to tire, but when it drooped, the tails didn’t catch me in the right spot! He didn’t even have to order me to fix my posture. Every time I slipped, I straightened up again because I wanted that touch, needed it, needed more of it, wanted it to be harder, faster. I couldn’t ask for it with words, but I bucked my hips and hoped he was in a generous mood.

As I grew closer and closer, my breathing went ragged and I let out little cries and whimpers.

“Can she come like that?” a male voice asked.

“I don’t know,” Damon said. “Do you think I should let Nadia down there lick her to completion?”

I whimpered hopefully.

“I’m of half a mind to lick her myself,” the man said.

“This is supposed to be a punishment,” Damon pointed out. “I think she’d enjoy that too much.”

“Ah, understood. Well, carry on then.”

The strokes never stopped during that conversation. My cries grew louder again as he ramped up the intensity, hitting harder now, but I was too aroused for it to feel like pain. The only pain was in my leg muscles, which were cramping a little from holding up my leg.

And then they were cramping a lot as he continued relentlessly whipping my crotch. Finally I couldn’t keep my leg up anymore and it collapsed against the other one. I moaned in dismay, so close, so close! But now with my legs closed, my clit wasn’t getting anything.

The blows stopped, though, and a moment later something touched me there. I assumed it was his fingers again and bucked against it.

No, it was his cock. He slid the long bulk of it between my legs, along the flesh the belt exposed. I clamped around it instinctively, knowing he couldn’t get inside with the plugs in place and needing that friction against my clit so desperately. My hips jerked as I sought to stimulate myself against whatever I could get.

“That’s a pretty picture,” said another voice nearby. The director. “Ingenious. You have her in chastity and yet utterly wanton. You do have a way about you, George.”

“Thank you, Director. Would you care to take my place?”

“Does the belt not chafe you? I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh, only a little. Anyone else?” Damon called out.

I was nearly there, and he wasn’t stopping me, so I rubbed as hard and fast against his shaft as I could.

“How about you?” he asked teasingly to someone else nearby. “Help a girl in need?”

“Thank you, but no.”

James!
I’d know that rich, honeyed voice anywhere. But at that moment Damon gripped my buttocks and thrust against me, triggering my orgasm at last. I screamed, helpless to do anything else, as the powerful spasms tore through me.

M
y body went slack in the restraints, my legs completely giving out and Damon supporting me with his arms tight around my body. I could barely move, but inside I was frantic. James was here. I knew it was him. What was I going to do now? This wasn’t anything like what I had imagined our first meeting would be like. I was grateful now for the hood over my face and the fact that he couldn’t tell it was me.

Damon undid the restraints and carried me to a couch nearby. The voices were farther away, and when he opened the eye flaps I saw we were in a side room to ourselves. The doorway to the hall was wide open, but we were alone. He had also put his dick back in his pants and looked as put together as ever.

“He’s out there,” I whispered.

“Yes, I believe he is,” Damon answered in a low voice. “I definitely heard his name.”

It occurred to me then that Damon might not know what James looked like. He might know him only by nickname and reputation. “How are we going to—”

I didn’t get my question out before the director appeared in the doorway. “How is she? Revived enough for another round?”

“I daresay she is,” Damon said, straightening his shirt cuffs. “Quite a masochistic streak in this one.”

“Bring her to the Rose Room then, would you?”

“We’ll be there shortly,” Damon said. After the director had gone, he continued. “No rest for the wicked. Come on. Up one more floor. And remember, no talking.”

I nodded in answer. He gave me a glass of water and then we went up another flight of stairs.

The front parlor on this floor would have overlooked the park, except instead of a regular window, the large oval niche inset in the wall contained a huge stained-glass window in the design of a rosebush. I could see it had been soundproofed with an additional layer of clear glass, as well. The chairs were arranged in a semicircle facing the rose window, and there was a thick curtain rod across the oval niche.

The director smiled as he saw us come in. “Ashley, so glad you could join us. If you would grasp hold of that bar and do not let go unless either I tell you to or you physically cannot any longer?”

I bowed my head in acknowledgment. So it wasn’t a curtain rod after all. What else was I supposed to think a bar across a window was? The wood was warm and smooth, well polished.

“She’s not allowed to speak, but she can make sound, is that right?” the director asked Damon.

“You’re welcome to forbid her from making sounds,” Damon said.

“Oh, no, no, it’s no fun if the songbird doesn’t sing,” the director said. “I’ll refrain from asking her questions, however. If you’ll gather the others?”

“Of course.”

Damon left the room. The director tucked some stray wisps of my hair into the hood and then took hold of the short robe. “Let go of the bar, now,” he said, as he slid the robe from my shoulders. “Now grasp it again.” He ran his hand across my bare shoulders and I shivered. He was a nice enough man, older and distinguished looking, but I wasn’t particularly attracted to him and I didn’t know what he was going to do to me.

“I made something especially for you,” he said. As some people came filtering into the room, he showed me a cat-o’-nine-tails made of purple leather, intricately braided at the handle end, a long leather tassel at the other. “Have you been flogged before?”

I nodded, then shook my head, then nodded again, trying to figure out if what Damon had done to my pussy earlier counted as what he was talking about.

“Ah, here I go, trying to ask you questions. Clearly the answer is more complicated than a mere yes or no.” He chuckled. “I’ll ask George.”

To that I nodded emphatically.

I heard them speaking about it behind me a few minutes later, and other conversations were taking place as the audience settled into their seats. I had goose bumps all across my bare back and shoulders.

And then I heard James’s voice again. “I’m more interested in the window than the girl hanging in it,” he said. My heart did a little flip, and I reminded myself he had no idea it was me.

“Have you not been here before?” another voice said.

“Not in many years,” James answered.

“The window has an interesting history,” his companion told him. “It was originally in the private home of a member, but his wife didn’t like it, and it was moved here. Designed by Burne-Jones, they say, and manufactured in William Morris’s workshop.”

Really? Apparently I couldn’t escape the pre-Raphaelites, even when naked and about to be turned into some kind of erotic performance art. Well, maybe that made sense.

The voice went on. “Yes, the rosebush is clearly meant to represent female sexuality in all its lush fullness.”

“And don’t forget that the lovely, silky petals are matched by the wicked thorns,” said the director. “With pleasure, comes pain. With desire, comes agony. Or so our little trainee is about to learn. Aren’t you, dear?”

I nodded.

“Take a deep breath, dearie,” he said.

I did, and as I let it out again, he brought the flail across my shoulders. I jumped at the impact and the sound, but it didn’t actually hurt. The sensation was stimulating and sensual as the tails slid off my skin after the initial smack. Not that different from what Damon had done to me earlier.

I tried to relax into the strokes, which got gradually harder but at the moment felt only good. Over the sound of the flogger I could still hear James’s voice out of all those in the room.

“Yes, I’ve been working on a major piece, but it’s not quite done. My benefactors have been quite patient with me, thank goodness.”

So these people knew him as an artist. Interesting.

“And then there is one, the one that is actually taking up all my time and energy. It’s essentially done, but it isn’t what they are looking for. I don’t know whether that one will ever see the light of day. Few institutions are daring enough to exhibit that sort of material. With glass, all they want is beauty. Dale Chihuly’s work is astounding and wonderful, but overall it is beautiful. But where is the angry glass? Where is the glass art about war and heartbreak and tragedy?”

I heard Damon joke, “Well, no one likes
broken
glass,” and several polite laughs.

All through this, the tails of the flogger were slapping against my skin, so rhythmic I almost felt I was being hypnotized by it. My body was there, my skin heating up under the touch of the leather, but my mind was in the corner of the room where James sat. What was he wearing? Was he there with someone? Could I toss my head and catch a glimpse of him? It sounded like he was behind me and to one side.

Suddenly the flogger tails swung sharply across my ass, making me yelp.

“Making sure you’re still with me,” the director said. “Now that you’re warmed up, we can begin.”

Oh. He started a new rhythm then, faster and harder, and all my thoughts flocked to the surface of my skin. The leather battered me like relentless wind or rain, feeling less like violence and more like an irresistible force, wearing away my tension, my fear, everything I held so tightly inside.

I lost myself in that sensation, in the waves of impact, my resistance washing away. Eventually I began to cry, not because of any physical pain, but because of all the pain I held inside that I couldn’t keep in any longer. The director made crooning sounds at me, encouraging me to let it all out, his flogger never stopping in its rhythmic path tearing me apart.

The last time I’d felt like all my boundaries were worn away by sensation had been when James had made love to me at that party. To have it happen again now, with him sitting in the room, was too much. I cried and sobbed and shuddered. This wasn’t like some romantic, sexy misting of my eyes. I was flat-out bawling. The director didn’t seem the least dismayed by that. In fact, he seemed quite proud of himself for having brought me to such a state.

When he was done, he praised me for being so obedient, for never letting go of the bar, for letting him take me “so far.” He wrapped a blanket around me and lowered me to the floor right on the spot, not even trying to get me to a chair. He petted my hair and asked someone to bring a glass of water.

Various people drifted out of the room, now that the show was over, but I could hear James and Damon had stayed put.

Their conversation was smattered with art-world talk. “Yes, I take two or three trips a year to Greece, dealing in antiquities, so my relationship with the museums is quite good,” Damon was saying.

I realized Damon must have figured out he was the one, though, when he began to ask James leading questions.

“I hope you’ve been enjoying the hospitality on this side of the pond. I haven’t had the chance to go to America yet. I’ve heard the society is quite different?”

James cleared his throat. “Yes, quite. The socializing is much more centered on private parties.”

“That must make it more difficult to find suitable partners. How do they bring in fresh blood?”

“Oh, well, there is recruiting of various kinds. People meet partners outside the society and bring them in, or through the nightclubs and the Internet.”

“Daring,” Damon said. “You never know who you’ll meet through the Internet. Here, with the trainee program, you know the submissives are extensively screened.”

James chuckled. “All the screening in the world won’t guarantee love, though.”

Damon chuckled in return. “Well, of course not. Some members, of course, are satisfied to have a juicy fanny at their disposal.”

“Trophy submissives instead of trophy wives?” James asked, his voice deep with skepticism.

“Sometimes,” Damon allowed. “But we do pride ourselves on being able to play matchmaker. What sort of woman would you be looking for, my friend?”

James made a noncommittal noise, deflecting the question with a question. “You have submissive members of the society, too, don’t you? Do you train doms as well?”

“We do. Vanette is very skilled at teaching women to bring out their dominant side, and both she and the director have a skills-training curriculum. And of course we have an endless supply of practice bottoms with the trainees. Ah, here come two of our recent trainees now. Miss Juniper, Miss Nadia, come say hello.”

While they made their introductions, the director pulled my hood free and I gasped in fear. But I was still turned away from the room with the director curled behind me, dabbing at my tear-stained face with a handkerchief. I held it over my eyes. No one but the director seemed to be paying any attention to me, though.

From the chatter and rustling, I could hear it sounded like the two women were settling in with Damon and James. I heard the sound of kissing.

Then Juney’s voice. “Oh, what have we here? Oh, sir, I’m trained to take care of problems like tha—Ahh!” She yelped and I heard a thud as if she had fallen to the carpet.

“I say!” said the director.

James’s voice was tight, and I could hear he was livid. “Is this how you train them on this side of the ocean now, to be wanton, undisciplined creatures?”

“I was only going to suck it a little,” Juney said, sounding confused. “No one’s ever complained before.”

“My apologies, Miss Juniper, if your training did not include such niceties as asking first. It takes a very special woman to get into my trousers. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve had enough for one night.”

He left amid a burst of protest from Damon and the women.

“Well, la-di-da,” Juney said. “I guess I’m not special enough for Master Fancypants.”

The second she said it, I knew it was a mistake. I finally lowered the handkerchief to look in Damon’s direction.

His jaw was set. “Miss Juniper,” he said in a very low voice. “Strip and take your place at the bar.”

“Here you go, darling. Let’s get out of the way,” the director said to me. He helped me up and we moved to a nearby chair while Juney pouted and started to shimmy out of the black minidress she was wearing.

Damon stopped her with a hand on her waist, pulling the dress down just enough to free her ample bosom. He discarded her bra, then hiked the bottom of the dress up to show she was wearing thigh-high stockings but no undies. Her pubic hair was as blond as her head.

“Nadia, my dear, fetch my canes.”

“Yes, Mr. George.” She hurried out of the room. When she returned, Vanette stood in the doorway, her cool eyes taking in the scene.

She gestured to me. “If I might borrow Ashley a moment, Director?”

“Why, certainly,” he said, helping me to my feet, taking the blanket from my shoulders and replacing my short robe.

I followed Vanette down the hallway to another door. She opened it and led me into a small but elegantly appointed bathroom.

“I thought you might need this,” she said. When I nodded, she pulled up one of her sleeves to show a gold charm bracelet. One of the charms was the key that opened the locks on the chastity belt. “It’s much neater if you take everything off. When you’re done, you can replace the items and close the locks again yourself. I’ll wait outside the door. Knock if you need help.”

I nodded and she smiled, seeming pleased that I remembered not to speak.

I did as she suggested and then sat down tiredly, taking the opportunity to collect myself. I was aroused from the flogging, from the environment, and from hearing James’s voice. I felt a surge of hope, and even a little pride, thinking about what he had said to Juney. He was back to the way he was when we’d first met. Damon George would let any woman suck his cock who offered. Not so James.

Only a special woman could get into those pants. What could I do to show him I was still that special woman, the woman he fell in love with? What could I do to find out if he was still in love with me?