Enemy queen, p.22
Enemy Queen, page 22
“Quite a job, Chester!” Lorraine observed. “The mahogany paneling is sublime. Do you contract out? We might be interested in your services.”
“Well,” he replied with a self-effacing grin, “I’ve always been pretty handy with tools, and I enjoy using them. But think about it, Lorraine. A couple of black tenured professors from the local college can’t just call up a carpenter out of the yellow pages and say, hey, we’d like you to come on by and build us a bunch of S&M and bondage equipment for our secret underground room. Oh no! I had to build this dungeon myself!”
“It’s fascinating, Angela,” I said, “that you refer to the basement as your playpen, yet Chester calls it the dungeon. Might that reflect somewhat disparate experiences within its confines?”
Angela turned to Lorraine. “Remind me to gag your boy when I play with him,” she said.
Affixed to the ceiling in various spots were a number of large, heavy-duty screw eye hooks. Ropes threaded through them hung down and ended with leather handcuffs dangling chest high. The ropes’ far ends ran through pulleys along the ceiling and down the walls, where iron dock cleats were attached to tie them off.
A large, beautifully finished wooden box sat along the far wall. Stenciled letters had been scrupulously hand carved into the front of the box, spelling TOY CHEST.
There was also a huge cylindrical cage capable of holding a man as tall as Chester, a cot with leather restraints on each of its four corners, and what appeared to be a medical examination table, also replete with leather cuffs and straps.
Angela took Lorraine’s hand and led her to the wooden chest. “I have a bunch of toys,” Angela said, opening the lid, “more than enough for both of us. Here, see how these feel in your hand.” She and Lorraine caressed what looked to be a series of whips, crops, and paddles. Angela continued, “As for clothes, the boys will be naked, so we don’t have to worry about them, but you and I need hot costumes.” Angela then showed Lorraine to a closet with double doors, which she flung open. Inside was a massive array of outfits, most made of black or red leather.
“Oh dear,” Lorraine said, “you’re so slender. Nothing you have here will possibly fit me.”
“Actually, I have a lovely leather corset,” Angela said, pulling it out of a drawer in a small chest in the closet’s corner. “The laces make it totally adjustable. You’ll look fearsome and adorable in it.”
Chester blurted out with a smirk, “I think it will hug your hips beautifully, Lorraine. Even better than it hugs Angela’s.”
Angela shot Chester a haughty scowl, then turned to Lorraine and said calmly, “You have my permission to punish him severely for that remark, dear.”
Chester glanced at me and winked. I realized that he had made the remark for the very purpose of providing Lorraine with something to punish him for.
Angela strode toward where Chester and I stood, stopping just short of us. “What are you two gawking at?” she inquired, feigning contempt. “Expecting to see two pretty ladies undress while you leer and get your jollies? No way that’s gonna happen. You slave boys head over into the far corner there and get undressed. That means totally undressed, Stanley. No knickers. No socks. I want to be able to inspect every inch of you when you’re done. And listen carefully to what I’m saying: you two keep your eyes peeled to that wall. I’m warning you, don’t either of you dare to glance back at us while we’re changing. Chester, tell Stanley how big a mistake it would be for him to do that.”
“Oh, Stanley, my friend,” Chester said with exaggerated solemnity, “that would be a huge mistake. I can promise you that.”
My eyes were fixed on Chester as he said that to me, but I was certain I heard Angela emit the slightest giggle. By the time I turned to see if she was smiling, however, she was already walking back to join Lorraine at the closet.
Chester and I undressed as instructed and stood facing the wall in silence until we were summoned. I estimated that we waited ten or fifteen minutes. There were whispers and titters coming from the women, and the sound of wooden drawers opening and closing, but we both obeyed Angela and resisted the urge to glance back and see what was going on.
“All right, slave boys!” I heard Angela shout. “You may approach and kneel before your goddesses.”
Chester walked toward them, and I followed. He kneeled before Lorraine. I took his cue and got onto my knees in front of Angela.
The two women looked dazzling. Lorraine’s hips proved a perfect fit for the corset, which was black leather with silver sequins and bright red laces. It cinched her waist delectably and unerringly caressed her hips. The corset’s garters clasped onto black fishnet stockings. Interestingly, Lorraine had dressed for the evening in black leather boots with very high heels and an especially decorative black demi bra, both of which now completed her outfit impeccably. It was at that moment that I realized she had known full well where the evening would be headed.
Angela’s figure was thinner and more boyish than Lorraine’s; she had smaller breasts and hips, but her body was proportioned exquisitely. She stood above me now encased in a low-cut, red leather minidress that was sheer and sleeveless and hugged her like a second skin; it had narrow strips of shiny metal studs splayed diagonally across its front as decoration. She wore thigh-high red leather boots with such tall stiletto heels that I was certain she’d tower over me when I was finally permitted to stand. Her chestnut skin was tantalizing against the sultry red leather.
“Do we look beautiful?” Angela asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Chester replied immediately. “You both look very beautiful.”
“I agree,” I said.
Angela glared down at me. “Chester knows the rules, so I’m going to explain them to you, Stanley. They’re very simple, so even slave boys like you can understand them. You will obey your mistress unconditionally at all times. You will not speak unless responding to a direct question, and then your response will be brief and polite and include the word ma’am or mistress. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered.
“Good boy. Now, this is important. We have safe words. You use those if things get to be too much or too painful for you. The safe word red means stop, and the safe word yellow means slow down. Now, make certain you understand this, Stanley, nothing else, no matter how loud or imploring that you utter, will be interpreted by me as anything but part of the game. If you happen to have your mouth stuffed with a gag, as is a very likely probability in your case, you will use Morse code. Three beeps means slow down, three beeps repeated quickly and frantically mean stop. Do you understand that, slave boy?”
“Yes, mistress,” I said.
“All right!” Angela announced gleefully. “Let’s string up the slaves!”
I rose, and Angela took my hand and led me to the far end of the room, positioning me directly beneath one of the ceiling hooks. She motioned to Lorraine to place Chester under a similar hook at the other end of the room.
Angela called over to Lorraine, “Let’s string them up so their backs are toward each other.”
“That sounds good,” Lorraine said.
“And, boys,” Angela declared emphatically, “we are tying you up with your backs toward each other for a reason. You are to keep your eyes on your assigned goddess in front of you. If your goddess walks behind you, then you just continue staring ahead until she returns. You are not to turn around and look at what’s happening across the room.” Angela smiled slightly and lightened her tone. “Lorraine and I, of course, will be monitoring each other constantly. Twice the fun for goddesses!”
Angela grabbed the handcuffs that dangled at the end of the rope. “Hold your hands out in front of you,” she said. The cuffs were fur-lined black leather, wide, thick, and heavy. They made the pink cuffs Lorraine had purchased seem like child’s trinkets. Angela strapped the cuffs snuggly around my wrists and walked over to the wall where the other end of the rope hung from the pulleys. She tugged on it, slowly at first. My arms were lifted gradually upward until they stretched high over my head. Then Angela yanked the rope hard and held it taut. I felt my whole body stretch, and I rose up momentarily onto my toes. She wove the rope around the dock cleat several times and tied it off with a clove hitch executed with the expertise of a grizzled longshoreman.
“Wow!” I said. “Where did you learn to tie knots like that?”
Angela strode back and stood directly in front of me. As I suspected, with the stiletto heels she was now at least three inches taller than I. “Did I ask you a question?” she demanded.
I realized I had already inadvertently broken a rule. “No, ma’am,” I whispered with an embarrassed smirk. “My apologies, ma’am.” She glared at me. It was at that moment that I realized how helpless I really was, my body stretched taut before her, my naked heels barely making contact with the floor, my wrists strapped tightly into the strong, stiff cuffs above me.
“Are these rules so difficult?” she pressed. “You would think an attorney would be able to understand simple rules. You really do need to be gagged.”
Angela took a few steps over to the toy box and began rummaging through it. While she did, I glanced over to check on Lorraine. She had Chester strung up with his back toward me and was executing a clove hitch identical to that of Angela’s. She had evidently been tutored in all this a good deal more extensively than I’d suspected.
I turned back around and Angela was already in front of me, holding a ball gag in her hands. Her features had narrowed into an angry scowl. I had never actually examined her face so intently; there was an austere ferocity and intelligence about it. She was a very beautiful woman.
“Where were you looking, Stanley?”
“Oh, my god, I misbehaved again.” I chuckled. “I’m—”
Before I could finish the sentence her left hand shot upward and grabbed me around the chin. She squeezed my face roughly, her thumb pressing hard on one cheek and her fingers mimicking that action on the other. My mouth opened wide, and I emitted a brief murmur somewhere between a moan and a gasp. She ignored that and with her right hand positioned the black ball firmly inside my mouth. The ball was rubber and smelled distinctly of alcohol, which assured me that Angela was cognizant of sanitation concerns and made me feel safer. The strap threaded through the ball was leather; Angela now stepped behind me and bucked it tightly behind my head. There was no way I could budge it.
She came back around and stood before me, leaning her head within inches of mine. She rubbed her hands sensuously along the front of my torso and cupped my testicles briefly in her hand. She then cradled my now-erect penis while she stroked my face delicately with her other palm. “Now this is how I like my men,” she cooed softly, “silent and helpless. We’re going to have fun now, baby. You have to trust me. Do you trust me, baby?”
I stared into her eyes, mesmerized by her. I nodded my head yes. Our eye contact felt to me inexorable.
Angela looked past me toward the other end of the room. “Chester doesn’t need a gag, Lorraine. He’ll moan and groan within reason. It’s actually really hot to listen to.”
“I’ll look forward to that,” Lorraine replied.
Angela removed her hands from my body and said, “Stanley, pick a spot directly in front of you on the wall and stare at it until I get back. Do not turn your head or look anywhere else.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her walk over to a shelf in a corner of the room upon which sat a miniaturized music dock and a small pile of CDs. She turned the machine on and fed in a disk.
Just a moment later it started playing. Angela fiddled with the volume knob and lowered the music to a subdued but discernible level. It was minimalist—repetitive and insistent—pulsing with strings and woodwinds. It might have been Philip Glass or someone like him. I wasn’t a fan of that sort of sound, but its driving tenacity did seem particularly well suited to what was going on here with the four of us.
Angela stepped away from the shelf and outside my area of peripheral vision. I didn’t dare turn my head to follow her.
I smelled something I believed to be a scented candle. Then another aroma wafted toward me, one I recognized, though I hadn’t encountered it in years. It was incense. I believed it to be sandalwood.
The lights dimmed. Angela finally reappeared before me. She held in her hand a whip comprised of dozens of thin leather strips emanating from a black wooden handle. She rubbed it against my belly and shoulders to acquaint me with its feel and texture. She brought her face very close to mine and stared into my eyes. “I’m going to hurt you now, Stanley,” she whispered.
I gazed intently at the implement in her hand. I felt my penis begin to grow limp. I strained against the cuffs on my wrists, but they held fast. I felt my breathing rate increase.
It must have been obvious that I was becoming frightened because Angela smiled gently, leaned against me, and took me in her arms. She talked softly into my ear. “Relax, baby. We’re gonna have fun. I’ll take care of you, baby, you don’t have to be afraid.” She embraced me tightly until she felt me calm down. “Good,” she said, “you feel better now, baby?” I nodded my head affirmatively. She drew back and raised the flogger again. Her gentle smile grew just a bit wicked. “Well, maybe you should be just a little afraid, Stanley,” she quipped, and flicked the strands of the whip lightly against my solar plexus. It didn’t hurt, but I flinched instinctively. “It’s gonna get a lot heavier, Stanley. Do you remember the safe signal?”
I nodded that I did.
She leisurely positioned herself behind me and slightly to my left. She leaned in and whispered, “The safe signal is there if you need it, baby, but the real joy is to get into whatever I do to you. And you’re such a strong fellow. Chester tells me you can lift as much weight as he does, and he’s so much taller than you. I think you can take anything I can dish out.”
Her words beguiled me and made me eager to feel her lash. I felt my penis begin to stiffen again.
She began slowly, snapping the strands of the whip gently and rhythmically against my back and buttocks. Gradually her pace slowed and the strikes became harder. Then the intervals between thrashings grew unpredictable, with some strokes very severe, and others less so. When she hit me especially hard my whole body shuddered and strained against my bonds. I cried out loudly from the pain, but only muffled moans seeped through the ball gag.
Angela stopped and returned to face me. She caressed my temples and kissed my forehead. “You’re doing beautifully, baby.” She chuckled softly. “Who says African Americans and Jews can’t play nicely together?” She kissed me again and stroked my face lovingly. “Let’s rest for a few minutes. I’m going to pick out a new toy for the next round.” Before she left she grabbed my erect penis and squeezed it gently for just a moment, laughing.
While Angela rummaged again through the toy chest, I could hear, above the throbbing rhythms of the minimalist music, sounds coming from Lorraine and Chester behind me. I heard severe lashings, followed by sensuous, deep-throated moans. When I listened closer I heard Lorraine softly murmuring things like, “Good boy … you’re doing great … you’re so hot.”
I heard nothing for a few moments, then an especially harsh whack, followed immediately by a harrowing roar from Chester and what sounded like a frightened gasp from Lorraine. I turned to see if everything was all right. Lorraine moved around quickly and embraced Chester, laying her head on his chest. She whispered something to him, but I could not make out what she said. He lowered his head so that his forehead rested lovingly on her crown, his arms stretched high, his wrists tightly cuffed.
Suddenly I felt a something thrash me on the side of the face, snapping my head back around. Angela stood in front of me, a stern expression on her face. She had returned with a riding crop and had used it to emphatically refocus my attention.
She pressed her forehead to mine. “You really are in need of obedience training,” she said. “You weren’t supposed to be looking there, were you?”
I shook my head no.
“And you deserve to be flogged for that. Do you not, honey?”
I nodded yes, my head moving slowly, my eyes locked irrevocably into hers, my gaze yearning to penetrate deeper.
She beat me and comforted me and beat me again, until I could only groan and sway. There were a couple of moments when I was on the verge of invoking the safe signal to implore her to slow down, but both times she seemed to sense what I was feeling, stopping to caress me and hold me tightly. A serene sensibility overtook me. It was neither the pain of the lashings nor the immobility caused by the bonds. It was my total surrender to Angela, my trust in her, my knowing that she’d bring me back from wherever she took me. I felt as malleable to her will as a loaf of bread she was kneading.
Finally, I could barely stand. I clenched onto the ropes for support and dangled helplessly before her. Angela put down the crop, removed my gag, took my head in her hands, and kissed me passionately for a long time. She left for a moment, returning with a lit beeswax candle.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she said, “this is gonna hurt.” She squeezed my right nipple while she held the candle above it and let the hot wax drip onto my flesh. She started high, but she kept lowering the wick until it was just above me. The wax grew hotter the closer the candle got, and at the end, it seared my skin like a hot iron. I screamed and writhed. A few tears dripped from my eyes.
Angela took away the candle, blew it out, and kissed me again. She held me tight and whispered, “I am being a little hard on you, baby.” She flashed a broad, beautiful smile and nuzzled my face and giggled. “But honey, you know, I just have to punish a slave boy who persists in socializing with right-wing fanatics.”
That made me laugh. She hugged me tenderly and laughed with me. I could feel the leather of her minidress pressing against the tip of my penis, stiffening and engorging it even more. Our laughter fed off each other and escalated to heaving guffaws until we both needed to stop and catch our breath. Then she undid my cuffs and took my hand and led me to the cot. “Rest awhile on the cot, baby,” she said, “you’ve earned it.”
