Smoke & Shadows

 
Smoke & Shadows:
BDSM Stories
2008-01-20
From Affairs Of A Wicked Heart by Lizbeth Dusseau
© Copyright 2001, all rights reserved

Smoke & Shadows.
Jonas asked for her specially and Diva's call couldn't have been timed
better. Interesting that Armando didn't tell her until after they fucked.
Just proves he still wants her even when he knows he's not enough, even when
she'll split at the drop of a hat to get what he can't give her. It's crass
the way she runs from Armando's bed to one of Diva's clients. But she can't
stop the imperious drive in her that so easily claims her attention. Of
course, she won't tell him about Jordan; that would be too cruel.

Jonas surrounds himself with smoke and shadows. Lana has never seen his
face. She understands there is a scar across his cheek and a patch over his
left eye, the remains of a barroom brawl many years before. She's seen the
scar on his chest that came from the same fight; that gash was deep and
probably life-threatening at the time. The mysterious master surfaces
rarely; but when he does, the submissive who claims his hours become his
princess.
The night begins late, never before ten o'clock. On this particular night,
he wanted Lana ready at ten-thirty sharp. She didn't fail him, but then
that's hardly an issue, as his driver picks her up in plenty of time. The
rendezvous always takes place in the same location, his private dungeon, an
unknown, unmarked warehouse somewhere deep in the cavernous warehouse
district where one building looks the same as another. For most of the
journey, she's blindfolded; Jonas driver always has one ready to prevent her
from retracing her steps and discovering his identity.
Lana shudders as she covers her eyes. Goose bumps rise on her skin and she
feels a tremor of excitement skirt her body like an unexpected breeze.
Arriving at the destination, she's removed from the car with the assistance
of the driver and the blindfold is whisked away in time for her to take a
quick peek at her surroundings. Still, there are no clues to her
whereabouts; there never have been.
She's learned to dress for him-she can remember at least five other scenes
with this master spanning her entire career as a paid submissive. They come
like a bolt of lightening out the blue, strike hotly and then recede as
though they never took place. Were they just vivid daydreams, she often
wonders?
She wears a gauzy dress, pale like the indistinct color of her eyes. In
some light, it looks green, in another light a shade of blue. The sheer gown
covers her well, but at the right angle, it's nearly see-through. Her
breasts bounce beneath the surface, her nipples poking through like bullets;
while the hem skips along at her ankles and trails slightly at the back.
This one, this summer one is sleeveless with a low-cut neckline and a long
slit up the side. She waltzes into the darkened warehouse like a phantom,
moving directly, without instruction to a spot lit with candles. There's a
small round dining table set for her meal. Sitting, she carefully eats the
small feast Jonas has waiting for her-homemade pasta in a simple sauce and
cup of fresh berries-downing each little bite of food with a swallow of
wine-anticipating his arrival any minute.
Piano music plays behind the scene, a tune she's never heard, played in a
deeply resonate minor key that arouses her body and makes her think of sex.
She is utterly alone in this great expanse of space, feeling cozy in the
tiny lighted spot... Lana, her table and the sumptuous dinner, and to her
left, also flooded with candlelight, a St. Andrews Cross made of steel and
copper, something Jonas obviously fashioned himself. She's never seen one to
compare with this one's design. There are always surprises with Jonas,
something new she's never experienced before-like the night he brought a
woman with him, whose hand was forced into her entrails, who fucked her with
that fist until Lana came with a primal scream-or the time Jonas strung her
up like a side of beef, feet and hands bound together, as some mechanism
above her twirled her in circles fast and faster until her mind was dazed
and her body almost numb with fright. He plans his scenes for months for
months in advance. He has the money and time to plot his visions. Some work
better than others-she's heard him mutter excitement or disappointment as
his strategy unfolds and she responds to each carefully planned stimulus.
She imagines herself an equal partner in his experiments and is equally
disappointed when they fail to bring her explosive physical results. But
it's not the explosions that matter to her-always in his strange theatre
she's far from the world, miles away, time outside of time without a care.
This alone makes scenes with Jonas perfect.
As she finishes her meal, she feels his fingers on her shoulders, griping
her firmly, making her rise. She removes her dress for him. He doesn't have
to ask anymore since the ritual is always the same. Naked, she's cuffed-this
time wrists and ankles-and then chained to the cross. One thick chain
bisects her ass and is pulled up tight in front and back and attached to a
thick metal collar he's secured around her throat. He begins to whip her
with a light deerskin flogger, then he gradually increases the power behind
his strikes. He uses a heavier cowhide flogger next, which rips and tears
into her skin, biting hotly with each blow. As she becomes accustomed to the
intensity, he changes to a braided cat 'o nine tails, laying the heavy fire
on her back and ass. At the height of her misery, he stops for a moment,
stalks her quietly and then and takes an ice cube from his drink glace and
drags it over her skin. She flinches as the cold climbs into her body, then
shrieks when he presses the melting shard into her cunt. Her body drips with
water, and her desperation is acute as he presses a second ice cube directly
against her clitoris. She writhes with little effect-there is no getting
away from the cold a cuts her as keenly as would a knife.
The flogging begins again with the cat, methodically applied as he asks her
to move inside the pain and release. But she's oddly pent-up, hardly able to
give him what he wants. He encourages her, standing to her side, his warm
breath on her neck, whispering, "You understand, Night-Myth, I'm purchasing
you from Diva, to make you my own. You'll live in chains, become my prize,
my possession, my property to display like a trophy and use at my
discretion. The negotiations are going on now with your Mistress..."
She knows she has no such arrangement with Diva, to trade or sell, but that
doesn't stop her fear from surfacing wondering if it's true, or the thrill
of anticipation from making her pent-up body begin to explode. Would Diva do
this to her? Would Diva sell her? Has her Mistress that right? The questions
haunt her with their mysteries. Would she object if she were sold to him?
It's all a game-so she believes, but she's left to wonder, question,
speculate. If no one can find her here in this hidden warehouse, what would
he do? Even Diva doesn't know where Jonas takes his submissives. That's the
caution Lana is always given before she enters these scenes, before she gets
in Jonas' car and accepts his blindfold.
"He's harmless," Diva once told her, just to get her into the scene-but
even Diva can't assure her she's safe.
"Does the thought of true slavery frighten you?" Jonas purrs in her ear.
"Yes, sir," she admits.
"And fear turns you hot." He fingers her cunt, seeing how her pussy has
responded to his words. "Yes. I think I should buy you." His voice is raspy
and ancient sounding, but the body next to hers seems firm and youthful. She
drinks him in, smelling sex on his skin, and a sweet taste coming from his
lips. "I'd keep you naked in chains. I'd flog you until you're about to
bleed. I'd share you with my companions as if you were a toy, make you spend
hours with your crotch opened, clamped, ready for cock, your mouth
gagged-unless, of course, I need it for a prick that too anxious to wait for
your cunt or anus. Your ass would suffer as I rammed my fist inside-one with
fat knuckles," he shows her his fist and she cringes, "Yes, Night-Myth, this
is what will take you into shame." She feels his sneer all round her, his
mockery leaves its imprint, a stain she knows will never leave because, at
least for these few hours, this is her perfect fantasy and this is what she
wants.
If this world were real, if women could give up their freedom and become
the property of masters, she would beg him to buy her outright? How does he
guess so well? Know the very fabric of her soul, thread by thread?
"It makes you wet to think of my owning you, doesn't it?" he says as he
fingers her slit and makes her flesh cry for consummation. It hungers so.
"Yes, sir," she's obliged to answers and tells him the truth.
He presses a hand to her belly, and massages the desire inside it, pushing
it downward into her cunt where the other hand still toys with her clitoris.
"Yes, I thought so, Night-Myth," he chuckles. "But you think I'm kidding.
You have this illusion that you're safe. Your mistress told you to be
careful and she's wise to say so... but how can you be careful when you're
at my mercy?" He pauses to let her think. "You can't. You're captive." He
moves away from her, leaving her cunt without its orgasm, gently flogging
her shoulders and ass again while he continues to speak. "You're the
favorite one. The one I think about, the one I scheme around. The one of
many I've abused in this warehouse, who I honestly would take the chance of
owning. Diva will give me a fair price. I have the money to buy out any
contract you have with her, and if there is no contract, I'll pay her just
to keep her pacified. Enough money, she'll quit worrying about you after a
time, telling the world that she has no clue where you've gone. Think of it
slut, they'll search your apartment, but there will be no trace of me to
link us together.
"I can have you that easily. I can keep you safely out of the way for as
long as you still thrill me, months, years even. My pet. The body I love to
abuse. The soul I wish to claim," he chuckles more.
He begins his flogging in earnest again, taking her to a new level of pain,
to an new experience of pleasure. The endorphins come alive making her
delirious, about to faint, and when he orders her, "Come slave!"
As if he has tripped a switch to her climax that only he can find, he sends
her body reeling, sensation gripping her like a vice in the belly and in her
clit, and deep inside her cunt. The feelings roll through her while the
flogger strikes, and the cat follows. She shakes his handmade cross until it
might shake apart-but it's more sturdily made than that. She comes again
when he stops and works her crotch with his hand, and then finally she
collapses against him as he begins to release the chains.

Jonas stands over her shaking the last of his come off his dick. The thick
globs of his ejaculation, hit her face and throat and breasts. "Smear it on
yourself," he orders, "and let it dry."
She obeys, looking at the vague apparition above her, but when she tries to
see his face, she can't. A blinding spotlight shines in her eyes and she's
forced to close them again, forced to be satisfied with his body and his
words and the powerful essence of command that holds her in its grip. He is
the best of her masters, she believes. And perhaps he'll own her completely
after this night.
But an hour later, groggy and sore, she exits the car on the street outside
her building. It's nearly three am and he's sent her home.
Yes, of course, she thinks to herself as reality sinks in. It was all a
game, the drastic words, the images of the extremes, designed to arouse them
both. She is relieved, but perhaps a little disappointed too.
 



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