The Studio by Anonymous Domme

The Studio

by Anonymous

There is light reflected in his eyes as he watches me. His wrists are proffered... a quiet offering, palms upturned, and I am concentrating so hard I can see the subtle swirl of crinkles in his palm as his fingertips curl inward instinctively when the rope is pulled just a touch too tightly as I run out of length.

There is light reflected in his eyes as he waits for me. His calves are curled beneath his body, and the muscles in his thighs are pulled taut

with the strain of kneeling as he casts his head down, curving the arch of his spine, his palms still supine before he whispers quietly, "Yours, Mistress, Yours."

There is light reflected in his eyes as he moves for me. He knows we've come here for this and this his gift to Me -- his own body, supplication as he straddles the leather horse, My fingers moving over the curve of his hamstrings, raising the fine hairs on his legs in a line of goose-flesh as he shivers before my fingers explore further up, probing, pushing into the puckered bud of his ass.

There is light reflected in his eyes before they close for Me and I reflect for a moment how we got here...

It is our first genuine real life experience together as Domme and sub outside of second life within the scene. His birthday gift to Me....

It was the green door... and we entered as two anonymous people off the street. We could have been anyone... just going into an apartment building. But we were buzzed up to The Studio and greeted there by our Host for the night.

This was My boy's birthday gift to me and I was stunned. Sure I've been in the scene before, but not like this.

It is an elaborate play room with just about everything you can imagine... toys I would never want to touch (toilet play and enemas) to beautiful metal and leather collars, crops and floggers I am aching to try on My boy now in real life for the first time.

The Host is a petite Domme with a commanding presence... there to guide us through our first real life experience together, but she is deferring to me regarding Mine and I immediately like her. We had him strip and present himself...

His shudder as my finger pressed deeper into his ass brought me back to the present... he held in place so beautifully and I brought out the cup of water with the finger of ginger I had forced him to so carefully cut and peel with his own hands.

The smell of it was pungent in the room now and he tightened his ass in anticipation of what was to come. "Relax..." I hissed. And he did so immediately. There would be no lubrication as that would dull the effects so it was important that he was relaxed.

I press the moistened root against his rectum and he flinches almost immediately, moaning. I press my left hand down on the small of his back, arching it to present his ass and push the finger of ginger inside until it reaches the concaved hilt which remains outside his body. I see his toes flex and he groans but remained immobile. I look at my watch to time out twenty minutes, remembering from my reading that ginger isn't effective after that much time.

I weigh the feel of the leather crop in my right hand. The other Domme smiles at me. She is beautiful in her leather corset. "The crop is an extension of your hand," she says. "He must come to see it as the equivalent of your touch... any touch from you is a good touch... a gift to him."

I nodded, liking the feel of it... it felt like an extension of My hand... like part of Me... like an aching leather fingertip that needed to reach out and touch something... anything... but especially My boy. I pat the little leather square against the bud of ginger, testing the crop and grinning before smacking it down in a line across his ass and then caressing his cock and balls where they hang down, swollen, engorged, and caged, between his straining thighs. He is shaking.... and tied and prone over a horse... and it is a first for us both in real life. We had agreed on a safe-word before hand but I was worried he would never use it.

I lay several more lines with the crop across his ass before smacking his balls with the leather pad of the end. He is quiet... but I see his toes flex... his control breaking. After twenty minutes, I remove the ginger, hand it to him and instruct him to throw it away. He does so, his eyes downcast.

We move across the room to a small section with hard wood flooring and our host brings out saran wrap and candles. We wrap him up like a mummy and order him lay on his back on the floor. He is still sweating from the ginger when She lights the candles and hands me one.

We hold them over him, dripping the hot wax onto his skin, giggling gleefully like two little girls using magnifying glasses to kill ants on a sidewalk as he squirms under our ministrations until finally he cringes... and hisses between gritted teeth, "That's a yellow!" to signal that we are close to his limit.

I am pleased that he's admitted he has a limit... admitted it is enough... that we'd pushed him hard enough he had had to admit not only to us but to himself too that it was almost too much.

We cut the saran wrap away and I kiss his jaw. He smiles, a bit weakly and pushes himself up to his knees to begin cleaning up the scattered bits of wax.