The Collectors (14 page)

This was not posed as a question or an invitation. It was an announcement of their intention. So far, as had been the case with nearly everything else, Jeanne’s desire comported with my own. Except for that damn night in Paris.

“How does that happen, if you don’t mind my asking?” I looked demurely at Jeanne and she smiled.

“You can’t hear the history or too much of the detail of the organization until you become a member, so we don’t have much to tell you tonight. However, the upcoming quarterly get-together is scheduled for next weekend at my country place. I’d like for you to go with me and to submit to the initiation at that time.”

This seemed a little clichéd, if you were to base such things on how much there is similar to it in the BDSM literature. In my lost and lamented collection of books there were several stories partially set in someone’s country place, and the country place always had an elaborate dungeon. Of course, I reminded myself, those were the books I couldn’t stop reading, so it’s not like cliché is necessarily bad. In this case it might be very, very good.

“This initiation doesn’t include any form of sacrifice, does it?”

That got a laugh out of everyone.

“No, we aren’t an offshoot of the Freemasons,” Pat said. “The only thing that will be sacrificed during your initiation is a little bit of your dignity.”

I saw a note of pleasure in Heather’s expression when Pat said this, as if she was going to particularly enjoy watching whatever humiliation was in store for me. Presumably, Heather had to go through something similar, but as so often happens when someone becomes ensconced in an organization, there is scorn for the newcomer, as if they were somehow inferior for not knowing all the rules, for not yet being a part of the group. At least I hoped it was as banal as that. I had a sinking feeling there was something personal in Heather’s less than enthusiastic reception of me.

Jeanne put her arm around me and gave me a squeeze. “Let’s leave off that conversation and concentrate on this evening. Who’s ready for dinner?”

Mrs. K. served a scrumptious feast of roast leg of lamb, twice-baked potatoes with fancy designs on the slightly browned top, fresh asparagus with a sauce I couldn’t even describe, and a fresh fruit tart I hoped to God she picked up at a bakery and didn’t make herself. The woman was a workhorse. During coffee back in the study I was interested to see Heather sit on Kevin’s lap, Denise snuggle up under Pat’s arm, and Jeanne take my hand. It was like any lesbian party, where long-term couples reach for each other as they relax with other long-term couples. Very safe, very established. And yet this similarity was a veneer, one that would crack the second a submissive tried to assert her will about anything. One that would positively shatter as soon as we walked into Jeanne’s play room and the doms started stringing us up in any way they saw fit. I wasn’t going to test Jeanne’s patience by suggesting we go in there right away, though I already could feel my excitement. I would wait for her, and I knew Heather and Denise would act with the same restraint. The doms were well aware of our eagerness, and even if they were dying to get us in there, it was more important to them to keep us waiting and guessing what they would do. I had been around just long enough to figure that out. I had a love/hate relationship with it—loving the dependence on their decision-making, but hating the patience it called for. I’d never had much in the way of patience.

Luckily, their collective will must have been to get right to it this evening. Jeanne put down her coffee cup and rose.

“Shall we?” she asked, and all of us sprang up and followed her to the secret door, waiting while she entered her code under the desk and held the book shelf panel that swung open. We walked in, followed by Jeanne, who locked the door behind us, a sound that still gave me a chill.

Denise and Heather had clearly been in the room before, probably many times before. They stopped in the middle of the room, standing quietly while the doms poured drinks and took off their jackets. I joined Denise and Heather, holding my hands behind me, feeling like an army private in line before the commanding officers. We were about to be sent into action. I stole a glance at Jeanne, who was settling into her seat, and was surprised to see her wink at me. It was a strangely intimate message, as if she were saying, “We’re about to put on a show, but don’t forget it’s really about you and me.” But maybe she was just winking to say, “You are about to get fucked within an inch of your life, darling. Have fun!” I didn’t yet feel fluent in dominant-speak.

Pat stepped forward and led Denise and I over to a wall where chains and cuffs were attached to eye-bolts. She cuffed us to the wall and put gags in our mouths. Denise was a little taller than me and I envied her height. I was unable to rest my feet full on the floor. Denise glanced at me with a look of sympathy, but her eyes were also glittery. I could see she got off on this as much as I did. Even saying I envied her height wasn’t exactly true. Each bit of discomfort I felt seemed only to increase my feeling of arousal.

Heather was left in the middle of the room, standing very erect and looking straight ahead. Pat returned to her seat next to Jeanne while Kevin rose and walked slowly to the armoire that held the equipment. When she returned she was carrying a large amount of rope. She tied an incredibly complex series of knots around Heather’s body, pushing her to the ground during the process so her body could be contorted in very specific ways, none of which looked in the least bit comfortable. I knew that these rope skills were something that some doms worked very hard to master, not only as a way to distress their submissives but also to show off to other doms.

At one point Heather looked over at Denise and me and gave us the haughtiest look one could give under the circumstances. I noticed she did so when Kevin was busy tying knots behind her back and Jeanne and Pat were talking and laughing about something. It wouldn’t do Heather any good to look proud. I’m sure Kevin wouldn’t like it. Or maybe I was basing that on the books I’d read, where the submissives were forced into a constant state of humility.

Whatever the dominants might think of Heather’s haughty look, I know what I thought of it. It said she had something personal against me. I wondered if the other submissives were going to be like Heather and Adele—bitchy, territorial, maybe a little crazy. It made my heart sink, not only because I’d have to be around them, but because I didn’t want to be associated with that kind of personality. I’d hoped to be done with social drama in high school. And I didn’t want to think badly of the women I’d soon be spending more time with. Denise seemed nice, at least.

Jeanne and Pat fell silent as Kevin finished her work. Heather was left on her stomach, essentially looking like a rocker bar. Her head was held up by a rope tied to her ponytail, secured at a central knotted area in the middle of her back. Her legs were pointed toward her head, rope securing them between ankle and the center knot. Her breasts were bound at the base and bulging beneath her. Kevin walked over to the coffee table and picked up a remote, which lowered the chain from the ceiling. When it was all the way to the floor, Kevin attached it to the center knot and then slowly started to raise the chain back up. I heard it creak a little, but no one looked concerned it would break and Heather fall to floor. All three dominants stared intently at the figure as it rose to Kevin’s shoulder height. The strain could be easily seen on Heather’s face, and I didn’t doubt the force of her weight against the suspension was incredibly hard on the body. She didn’t look so proud now—more like she was simply gritting her teeth and trying to get through it.

Kevin walked slowly around her, tapping lightly with a crop on her ass, her breasts, her feet. Each tap brought out a cry from Heather. I could see sweat starting to break out on her forehead. She kept this up for five to ten minutes. It was hard for me to judge the passage of time. It must have seemed like an eternity to Heather. Kevin glanced over at Jeanne, who gave a slight nod of her head, and Kevin lowered Heather to the floor and removed the rope. I think I was breaking out in a sweat by this point. The rope markings on Heather were vivid and red and they didn’t look like they’d just fade away in a few hours. They would be bruises. I understood the things submissives are sometimes asked to do are extremely hard and also call for extreme trust. There had been no genital contact between Heather and Kevin, yet everyone in the room was aroused by what they saw. Kevin put a collar on Heather and then pulled her up by it, leading her over to the wall where she was chained up next to Denise and me. Heather wasn’t looking at anyone. She seemed to be in a zone of some sort, and I hoped it was a good one and she was as aroused by all of this as were those watching. I had to admit I was impressed with her skill, because there had to be some involved in successfully hanging like that, even for ten minutes.

While Kevin was putting her equipment away, Pat was pulling a pommel horse to center stage. It was about waist high and a foot wide, leather clad on sturdy metal legs. She then made her own trip to the armoire while Kevin got a drink and joined Jeanne. I saw Jeanne pat her on her knee, as if to congratulate her on a job well done. Pat dumped some items on the floor and then came over to get Denise. I felt a little heart stab, not out of a sense of being rejected by Pat, but more at being last to be asked. Again with the high school stuff.

Pat put a collar and cuffs on Denise and then pushed her over the pommel horse. Her body was bent in two, her ass in the air, and her head hanging upside down. Pat fastened her cuffs to the legs of the horse, tightly, so Denise could not move at all. She picked up a bamboo cane and walked in a circle around Denise. I heard Denise make a noise through her gag when Pat walked past her head and she saw the cane. It confirmed what I’d read, that the cane was the least liked of all the implements used on submissives. It stung the most, and it could do a lot of damage with very little effort on the part of the dominant. It was often misused as a result. I would trust Pat. I’m not sure I’d want to be caned by Kevin, though. She seemed skilled, but I didn’t like her. Therefore, I didn’t trust her.

My thoughts, which had a tendency to quickly complicate the very simple, were brought quickly around by the sound of Denise crying out. It looked like Pat was barely tapping her on the ass and I wondered if Denise was being overly dramatic. Certainly, it couldn’t hurt that much. Pat was moving from ass to thighs and then down to her feet, which got a particularly loud cry, a scream really, though all of it muffled by the gag. This went on for quite a long time and Denise’s ass and thighs grew cherry red. There were horizontal lines across both. Denise was no longer making any noise other than a little whimpering. Pat reached down and removed the gag and then strapped on a dildo. She took Denise by the hair at the back of her head and raised up her head.

“Suck it,” she said. She looked very fierce. She was rubbing the dildo up and down as if it were really her own cock and she was getting it ready. I believed it was her own cock. Denise opened her mouth and did the best she could from her awkward pose, trying to swallow the cock and push it against Pat’s clit. Pat stood in front of her, staring down at the mouth working on her, holding Denise by the back of the head and pushing further into her throat. Pat’s thighs were trembling from the strain and the excitement, and all at once she pulled out, leaving Denise gasping for breath. Pat kept hold of her head with one hand while she took off her harness, and then she thrust her pussy at Denise. Again, Denise took her into her mouth, using her tongue instead of the back of her throat to excite her. I could see Pat rubbing, holding Denise rigid between her legs, rubbing and rubbing until I thought her legs would go out from underneath her. She came, quietly, but her body language was clear. She let Denise’s head drop and pulled up her pants.

I looked over at Jeanne and Kevin. Jeanne looked perfectly composed but certainly interested, while Kevin seemed a little overheated. Her hand was snaking into her trousers. Without looking at her, Jeanne reached over and pulled Kevin’s hand out of her pants.

Pat got Denise off the pommel horse and chained back on the wall next to me. She looked flushed but happy. She hadn’t come, I don’t think. Was she truly happy without having an orgasm? I hoped I’d be able to talk to Denise about this question of coming or not coming. I believe in submitting, but I believe in orgasms also. I didn’t want to give up one to get the other.

After Pat put away her equipment she poured another drink for Jeanne, Kevin, and herself. Nothing was offered to the submissives. Jeanne rose and walked slowly and gracefully to the armoire and came back with her own accoutrements. She kicked the ottoman over from where Kevin had been propping her feet on it, and then she walked toward the wall. I had a bad moment where I thought she might pick one of the other women instead of me. But she didn’t. She took me off the wall, without looking at me and without speaking to me. She attached a collar to me and then clicked on a leash.

“Get on your knees,” she said. “And I expect you to keep up with me.”

I dropped to all fours and looked up at her just as she set off at a brisk pace toward the back of the room. It was a bit like the Westminster Dog Show, though I stumbled a bit, making her yank on the leash and wrenching me forward by the collar. I quickly got my limbs working and scrambled to stay at her side as we went around the room. It was a large space and the floor a polished hardwood. I felt like I was bringing a hammer down on my knees with each step. It was painful, and it was also the most humiliating thing I’d done for Jeanne. I felt everyone’s eyes on me. The effort was making me breathe hard, and I was drooling through my gag. At one point I balked, needing to catch my breath, and Jeanne stepped behind me and kicked me in the ass with her boot. Hard. For the first time since I’d been with her, the actions we were taking were not what I thought would be arousing to me. I never fantasized about wanting to be dragged along like a dog and kicked, but I had constantly fantasized about being spanked and whipped. And yet, as I found myself falling into some kind of rhythm beside her, I also felt my arousal. It was strong. It was fed by seeing Jeanne’s leg striding beside me, leading me by tugs on the leash. When we finally stopped, in front of the sofa where Pat and Kevin sat, I was ready to be taken in any way imaginable. Doggy style seemed appropriate.