Sticks and Stones May Break Your Bones, But Chains and Whips Might Kill You
08 Sep 2019Today’s prompt: “Write a sex scene you wouldn’t show your mom.”
You still have bruises from your last session with Mistress Xi, but you’re already back for more.
As suburban dungeons go, Mistress Xi’s is pretty good. The walls are painted a dark red, and every few inches there’s another hook or peg holding a gag or a nipple clamp. You stare at the shibari ropes and collars, harnesses and handcuffs, whips and paddles. Not to mention the bench and the sling. You’re getting excited just looking at them.
The smell of disinfectant wafts through the air. Mistress Xi is careful to run a clean, safe dungeon. But you brought a collar and ball gag anyway. You like having your own.
Mistress Xi cinches the collar around your neck. You hand her the gag. “No,” she says, laying it on the bench. “Not yet. I like to hear you beg.”
Click. Click. Click. The four-inch heels of her thigh-high boots sing out to you as she slowly, deliberately walks along a wall of the room, vinyl caressing her ass cheeks with each step, tapping a clamp here, a restraint there, until at last she selects a pair of leather wrist cuffs. She strolls back to you and seizes your wrist, sharply pulling your left arm behind you, then your right. She binds you, then admires her handiwork, making sure nothing’s going to hurt unless she wants it to.
“What should we start with today,” Mistress Xi says, again walking along the wall, tapping items. You know better than to answer.
Click. Click. Pause. You crane your neck to see what Mistress Xi has selected – a riding crop.
“Are you ready for me to cover your ass in bruises?” Mistress Xi asks.
“Yes, please,” you reply.
She smacks your backside sharply with the crop. “Yes please what?”
“Yes, please, mistress,” you reply.
Swat. “That’s better.” Swat. “But we can’t have you forgetting your place, slave.” Swat. “Can we?”
“No, mistress.”
Swat. The crop stings across your ass, and a shiver of joy travels up your spine. You can picture the red marks decorating your cheeks.
After several more swats, Mistress Xi decides you are ready for the sling. She straps you in and places your feet into stirrups, giving the soles of your feet a few judicious smacks with the crop in the process. As she fastens the ball gag in your mouth, you feel deliciously vulnerable.
A smile quirks across Mistress Xi’s face as her thumb and forefinger pinch your left nipple and tug until your whole chest moves forward. She does the same with your right, then takes a slight step backward. She raises her leg and presses the toe of her boot against your crotch. “Mmmmph,” you thrill.
Mistress Xi strolls along the wall once more and selects a clamp. She bends down in front of you to attach one end to your genitals, and you steel yourself for an excrutiatingly pleasurable pull, when a succession of loud bangs comes from down the hall. It sounds almost like a battering ram. Mistress Xi looks alarmed, and moves to investigate.
Crash. It sounds as though the front door just gave. Mistress Xi opens the door to the dungeon to see what’s happening, and a man with a widow’s peak wearing a black hooded robe and a gold sigil on a chain appears in the doorway, flanked by several armed men in heavy boots.
You’ve heard about these guys. They call themselves Cthulhu’s Army. They’re fanatics.
“This is a private session,” Mistress Xi says with the same authority in her voice she used in your scene. “You have no right to be here.”
“Meredith Xi,” the man in the robe says. “You are hereby charged with perversion and obscenity in the eyes of our Dread Lord Cthulhu. Your days as an abomination are now at an end.”
“Perversion?” Mistress Xi’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Do you even know anything about the god you claim to serve? He’s not known for morality. He’s mostly just known for devouring shit.”
“Silence!” the man in the robe says, and a soldier next to him slaps Mistress Xi across the face. It’s shocking to you to see her be slapped. She’s always been the one doing the slapping.
“Take her away,” the man in the robe says. Two soldiers grab her by the arms and hustle her out of the room.
“What about…” another soldier says, jerking a thumb toward you.
“Kill them. I don’t care how,” the man in the robe says.
The soldier grabs a short length of chain and a hook from a nearby wall, fastens it into your collar, and pulls you up until you can’t breathe.