CHAPTER 41: The Virgin’s Master, Part 4

… I sip wine and try not to make a fool of myself. Several of the men and some of the women are clearly interested, angling for an invitation into whatever my Master and Michael have in mind. No invitations are forthcoming, and I begin to relax, to enjoy myself.

What do they have planned?

Eventually, my Master turns to me. “Ready to play, Charlotte?”

I swallow hard.

Tilting my chin up. “I think so, Master, yes.”

My Master and Michael lead me downstairs, through semi-lit corridors, to a thick, carven, oak-fronted door.

Pushing it open, they pause at the doorway to let me see inside, pointedly allowing me the space to back away if I want to.

Inside, arranged as the kind of classic dungeon you could see in any Hollywood movie, it has every appearance of a Medieval torture chamber, with a rack, chains and manacles hanging from the walls, and a heavy, timber carved cross mounted upright.

A series of wide windows set into the walls of the room, heavily barred in wrought iron, provides a viewing platform for spectators from the outside corridors. The corridors outside are dark. The room itself is in a kind of half-light. Good for looking in, but not out.

I hesitate... My heart races and my breath comes in short starts...

But I asked to come here. I asked to play these games.

“You trust us, don’t you, Charlotte?” My Master’s gaze is keen.

“Of course I trust you. Both of you.”

Holding my head high, I step into the chamber, Michael and my Master flanking me. Perhaps I might have found the array of equipment intimidating; a bench, ropes dangling from the ends, brass rings set into the walls, a rack containing whips, floggers and flails, but my Master’s promise is with me.

And Michael loves me.

As we step inside, Michael looks at me for a moment, drops back a step, closes the door and firmly draws the bolt. Any person standing at the barred windows can see anything that happens inside here, but no-one can enter until the door is unbolted from the inside.

A small crowd is gathering around. Ready to see a show? There are a lot of them. They stare in, fifty pairs of eyes...

... But I know what my Master and Michael have done, keeping them out, to keep me feeling safe.

My Master, pausing to choose, takes a flogger from the rack, red braided leather around the handle, and long black tresses in a suede-soft, velvety hide. With a crack, he flicks it at the leather studded padding of a bench, and I start at the noise. He strokes it under my chin, holding my eyes as he does so. He does not smile at me, but I sense the smile inside.

I am panting hard now, pulse beating fast, and the blood singing in my ears.

My Master holding me by one arm, Michael by the other, I am turned on the spot, displayed to the watching crowd.

Michael, behind me, first pulls the lower folds of the dress to one side, displaying my legs to the watchers, bare to the hips, no panties. Eyes, male and female, follow his every movement. Then, slowly, he unbuttons the halter of the beautiful dress.

The halter unfastened, and the lovely thing falls away from me in a puddle of black sparkle, leaving me naked to the crowd.

Standing behind, arms curved around me, he strokes my stomach, caresses and cups my breasts, and a hundred eyes follow his motions. The air is not cold, but a slight draught blows cool over me, raising my nipples, puckering them tight. My Master rolls one between forefinger and thumb, whilst the other hand quests south.

With a start, I know what he is doing. This is a reflection of our mirrored conversation of the previous day, but now with no mirror, just the audience, watching my Master take his pleasure with me.

Trembling with nerves and a little chill, nonetheless, my pussy exudes a liquid heat and my thighs are dampening, my hot juices trickling. Lips parting as my breathing increases further, my chest beginning to heave, I flush in anticipation of what…?

My eyes roll sidelong to the array of whips and lashes, to the flogger my Master selected.

“Michael. If you would.”

Michael produces a tie from his pocket, a black silky scarf which he binds around my left wrist, then also, my right wrist, with a second silken cloth. He leads me by my bound wrists to the padded horse.

“Bend forward, Charlotte,” he whispers.

He ties each wrist to either end of the bench, leaving my arms splayed and bound. Arranging me, he presses my face, cheek-side-down against the padding so I can see only obliquely, to one side. My hips and legs, he pulls outwardly. My ass, he lifts, to be displayed and accessible, parting my cheeks and folds, to reveal my wet, pink entrance. His final move is to push my ankles apart.

My Master trails the tresses of the flogger over the contour of my spine to my face. Lingering and soft, the sensation is exotic, erotic, and I shiver.

He murmurs, “Charlotte, if this gets close to your limits, you say ‘Yellow’. If it becomes too much, you say ‘Red’. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You’re sure? You stop this at any time. You simply say ‘Yellow’ or ‘Red’.”

“Yes, Master. I understand.”

He strokes my hair, which trails in a long, foxy fall from the padded bench, then, moving around me, draws the tails along from my shoulders, to the curve of my waist and hip.

A pause, a sharp flick, and the soft lashes kiss my thighs.

I quiver, my lips parting as my breathing increases to panting. Another lash licks across my buttocks. This is not painful; only... stimulating. My folds swelling, pussy lips opening, I well up from within, a sense of well-being and of other-worldliness...

The tresses trail my skin, over my shoulders and neckline, before another, sharper strike of the lash across my thighs. It stings, but my pussy warms my clit shudders.

Breathing ever more heavily, I move my legs to a more comfortable position, but my Master, hooking his shoe around my ankles, parts my feet further. The leather tresses lash along my lower back, between my buttocks, sparking against the soft inner skin.

Face down, looking sideways on, I cannot see my Master, but Michael is watching me, his eyes alternately fixed on my face, and watching my reactions as the tails come down.

The lash swipes across my buttocks again, harder now, the stroke biting in, and, as my pussy freely flows, I bite my lower lip. The strange ethereal feeling blooms, an inner glow that laves my body and brain and shivering cunt. The snap of the lashes and the tingling sting on my skin is supremely erotic.

And somehow... calming...

My hips quiver and jerk under the flogger, my Master’s strokes becoming harder each time.

Should I speak?