The Queen’s Helmet

By DX

Art by Doktork

Copyrighted 9/2024, all rights reserved.

The towering stained glass windows of the throne room depicted a heroic man clad in shabby, broken armor battling a fierce dragon.  As the beast’s claws raked the hero’s breast plate leaving long bloody scars, the hero plunged his sword, dulled and chipped, into the beast’s heart.

Along the walls, other windows depicted the hero’s rise to accept the crown as king.  Then, by his hand, aquifers and dams and canals were built and the farms were irrigated and protected from flood and drought.  Other windows showed farmers and bountiful harvests, schools and cathedrals being built, and a kingdom flourishing.

In the hall, drenched in the multi-colored light from the windows, the administrators, priests, and nobles sat in tall backed chairs.  They spoke casually in hushed tones.  Pages scurried about to light lanterns as the light from the stained glass windows slowly faded to sun set.  Everyone looked up expectedly as Lord Dorland came from the king’s chambers.

“All hail, King Garland!”  Someone shouted.

“All hail, King Garland…”  Echoed throughout the hall.

Dorland nodded, and waved for quiet.  “The king yet lives.”  

“All hail, King Garland.”  The hall murmured.

Dorland nodded, then turned and shuffled back towards the king’s chamber.  As he neared the door, a skeletal hand plucked at his arm.  “How much longer, Lord Dorland?”

Dorland shrugged off the clutching hand.  “Patience, Lord Baylen.”  He whispered.

“We wish the king eternal life,”  Baylen pressed.  “not eternal suffering.”  Baylen’s face darkened.  “Nor is our patience eternal.”

Dorland pulled away and pushed through the door of the king’s chamber.

The aged King, emaciated, grey and slacken, lay still on his bed.  Earlier he had pulled open his nightshirt and exposed the horrible, never healing scars the dragon had left him all those decades ago.  Princess Galen pulled her veil off and covered his scars to keep the flies at bay.

In the King’s right hand was his crown.  On his left was Princess Galen.

Princess Galen was kneeling at his bed side.  Her hand intwined with his.

King Garland’s eyes flashed open.  “Dorland?”

“I’m here, your Majesty.”  Dorland stepped forward, but one of the doctors interceded.

“You must rest, your Majesty.”

The King shook his head almost imperceptibly.  “Dorland, your quill, your parchment.”  The King took a few moments to catch his breath from his exertion.  “Mark the time and date.”  He began, straining to be heard.  “I, King Garland, Dragonslayer, bequeath my crown…”  He paused, then let out a terrible cough as his face contorted with pain.

Quickly, Princess Galen rose up and with a damp towel, wiped the blood from the King’s lips.

He nodded his thanks to her.  The turned his head toward Dorland.  “I give my crown, my kingdom, to Princess Galen.  He shifted the crown, and dragged it towards her.  “Take it, Galen.”  He looked over to her, and despite his tremendous pain, smiled proudly.  “Queen Galen.”

Dorland’s quill scratched feverishly.  

“Your Majesty, please!”  The doctor pressed.  “You must rest.”

The King only looked to his daughter.  “Beware your sister’s treachery.  Even though I’ve sent her off to marry Prince Verius, given the slightest inkling, she will ruin you.”  He coughed again.  “Remember, love your people.  Guide them, nurture them.  Build them roads and schools and they will take care of the rest.”  He paused to catch his breath.  “Show kindness and mercy when you can, but remember justice is a hammer.  Strike true!  Keep Duke Wilhelm close.  Trust no one else.”  He smiled weakly.  “And let me be the first to say to you, your majesty, Queen Galen.”

With a gentle smile on his face, King Garland, Dragonslayer, passed to the next world on a river of his beloved daughter’s tears.

“The King is dead.”  The doctor murmured.  “Long live the Queen.”

Dorland nodded.  “Long live the Queen.”  He shuffled to the door.  “I’ll inform the court.”  He, with the doctors close behind, slipped through the door and closed it behind him.

And Queen Galen openly wept.

Moments later there was a knock on the door, and Dorland peered in.  “Your highness, you’re needed in court.”

Whether or not she took offense to his wrong use of title, she didn’t show it.  She lay the King’s crown on his chest, then placed his hands upon it.  She then washed her face.

Bareheaded, she stood regally, and walked into court.

The lords and nobles were all on one knee, their heads bowed.  Queen Galen stepped to the center dais, and raised her hands.  “Rise gentlemen, and be seated.”

No one moved.

Curious, Queen Galen looked around and noticed a cold shadow on the floor.  She turned towards the throne.

Princess Cassandra sat curled up on the throne, her legs over the arm rest.  “Sister.”  She cooed.

Her eyes filled with daggers, Queen Galen nodded curiously to her sister.  “What of your marriage to Prince Verius?”

Cassandra scoffed.  “Why would I marry a seventh prince when I can have a kingdom?”

Queen Galen drew a sharp breath.  “Guards, remove Princess Cassandra from the court.”

No one moved.

Cassandra turned and slumped on the throne.  “There’s been a change, sister.”

From the back of the hall, a guard ran in.  “Your Majesty!  Duke Wilhelm has been arrested!”

Cassandra clapped her hands.  “Call the headsman!  Bring his block and axe and put it right there!”  She pointed to the middle of the room.  “I want Wilhelm on his knees.  As the crown is placed on my head, I want the axe to fall on his neck!”  She squealed in delight.

“How dare you!”  Queen Galen roared.

Lord Baylen stepped forward and slapped Galen, then cried in pain, clutching his hand.  “Bow down to your Queen!”  He shouted, then turned and held out his hand to the doctor.  “I think I broke it.”  He whimpered.

Queen Galen scanned the men kneeling before the throne.  “His body still warm and you betray him?”

“We’re just following his last command.”  Cassandra answered, then clicked her fingers.  “Dorland?  Read our good King’s last words.”

As Dorland held up his parchment, his squire held up a candle to shed light.  “Hear the final words of King…”

“Speed this up!”  Cassandra said, tiredly.

Dorland cleared his throat.  “Ah, yes.”  He looked to his document, reading quickly.  “Herby bequeath my crown to Princess Cassandra…”

“Liar!”  Queen Galen screamed.

“Quiet!”  Cassandra roared, then looked to Dorland.  “Read the good part.”

Dorland looked sheepishly, and mumbled.  “Queen, I mean, Princess Galen is to be sent to the brothels, which are to be reopened in according to the old customs.  Queen… uh, Princess Galen will serve her kingdom as a cum swallowing slut for the rest of her days.  Her arms shall be removed, her sex sewn shut, and her identity locked away in the Queen’s Helmet!”

Cassandra clapped her hands and two pages wheeled out a cart.  On the cart was a helmet, polished to a mirror shine.  The helmet was perfectly sculpted to fit the wearer skin tight, and would cover from the crown of the skull and drape over the shoulders.  It was smooth and featureless, save two lucite shielded eye ports and a gaping hole for a mouth.

Cassandra fanned her hands at it to show it off.  “Crotainum alloy, virtually indestructible.  The locks are on the inside”  She pointed.  “So once it is on, it is on for life.”  She giggled.  “And would you look at that?  It’s just your size!”  She chirped in delight as she pointed to a small valve at the throat.  “You’ll breathe through here, so you’ll be able to service the nobles without interruption, and of course, make you silent.”  She snorked a laugh as she pointed to the eye shields.  “You’ll be able to see somewhat, but on the outside, it fits seamlessly, and looks opaque.  So no one will be able to tell you from one service slut to another, but you will know who’s cock you are sucking.”

Teaser:  For the whole 3,100 word story and art, please consider supporting us at:
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Copyrighted, 9/2024, all rights reserved.  Story or art may not be reproduced without previous written permission.

Art used with permission from Doktork:

Safia's New Filly!

By DX

 A woman breaks into Mistress Safia’s club and challenges her, but the mistress only smiles because she was looking for a new Ponygirl!

 

Artwork and words Copyrighted 2/2001, 10/2023 All rights reserved. Images or story may not be reproduced electronically or otherwise without permission!

 Wildfire glistened in the mid-day sun as she the canted through her paces.  She had taken to the surgically implanted hooves and her balance was adjusting.  The Thyr-steri treatments had made her taller, stronger, faster, and gave her unheard of endurance.  Her rider felt light on her back.

 She shook her mane and tried to remind herself it was only a bad hair cut.  She clenched the bit in her teeth as she tried to ease the relentless pain in her jaw from the sawing reigns.  Mistress Safia was an unyielding woman, but Wildfire had quickly learned that if she obeyed, Mistress Safia could be quite pleasant.

 Wildfire didn't want to obey, but Safia was breaking down her will, slowly and surely.  Soon, Wildfire would forget her own name. 

 Alice had been a mousy, plain woman who hungered for a romp on the wild side.  When she heard of Mistress Safia’s adventures she long to be part of it.  She applied, but was turned down.  The reason given was there were no positions available.  They invited her to resubmit in a few months, but Alice wouldn’t wait.

 She stole a club patron’s ID and snuck into Safia’s club.  Once in, she used the stolen patron’s established bar tab and bought herself the most expensive drinks.

 She then had way too many.

 Through blurry eyes, she spotted Safia and confronted her.

 “Jusch who do you think you are?”  She slurred as she splashed her drink and stained Safira’s dress.

 "You're a wild little filly, aren't you?" Safia smiled with her eyes as she spoke.  “A little wild fire!”

 Alice was three sheets to the wind as her glassy eyes fell on the mistress.  "You thinksh you hot shit, don't cha'?" She slurred. “Turn me down?  You turned me down because you can’t handle the liksh of me.  I betsh you can't tame me!”

 Safia smiled. "I already have.”

 Alice looked at her curiously, then looked at her glass as the world spun away from her and the floor rose up and smacked her in the face. 

 One of Safia's special teas had done the trick. 

 “Did you think to impress me with this stunt?”  Safia asked the bewildered girl.  “Steal and lie your way into my club and drink my expensive liquor?”  She laughed as the staff peeled the girl off the floor.  “I would have simply sent you to one of the rooms upstairs to sleep it off, but you HAD to challenge me,”  She gestured to the other patrons who watched with scandalous curiosity.  “in front of everyone?”  She laughed.  “Ironically, I had revisited your original application.  I had an opening for a new sub-mistress, but after tonight’s show, I think you will fit another position entirely.”  

 She signaled to her handmaidens.  "Take her to the car.  I believe I have found my new filly."  

 As Alice slipped into darkness the word filly danced in her head.

 She was whipped to break resistance.  

 The treatments made her grow.  Alice, now Wildfire, marveled that even her breasts were swelling to perfect orbs, but they were only a purchase for Safia to punish.  Wildfire screamed into her gag as the surgical screws permanently attached hooves to her feet and a wispy tail to the base of her spine.  The dental work was the worst as they adjusted her jaw to properly accept her riding bit.  She would no longer be able to utter a single human word, but only grunt and whiney like a horse.

 Oddly enough, the most humiliating thing was the hair cut.  The stupid horse hair cut.  The groomers used a laser device to permanently destroy the follicles of any unwanted hair.

 The pain was nothing compared to Safia’s conditioning.  Days on end in a virtual world with full tactile sense of training in altered reality turned her iron will to slag.

 She soon felt the tight bite of the leather tack harness, and in no time at all she felt naked without it.

 When Wildfire looked at her reflection in the watering trough, she didn't know who it was looking back at her.

 "I have something special for you today, Wildfire." Safia announced as she reigned her towards the barn. "Today we apply the final finishes that makes you my ponygirl forever.”

 Wildfire thought she felt a spark of happiness as her knees weakened.  A moment of protest sparked somewhere deep within, but she didn’t want to resist.  

 She cringed when she saw the glow of the hot branding iron.

 “You should be honored to wear my brand.”  Safia motioned.  “Now, be a brave Wildfire and show me how grateful you are to wear my sigil.”

 Wildfire nodded, and stepped up.  As she presented her flank, she realized she was proud, and happy to be accepted by her wonderful mistress!  The girl before was adrift, nameless, now she was Wildfire, property of Mistress Safia!  Her purpose was to provide joy to her wonderful mistress!

 After she recovered, her reins were removed and replaced with her bit gag.  Wildfire was always gagged except for eating and sweet kisses from her mistress.  Then her corset, that tight, wind stealing corset was removed and replaced with a steel belt that constricted her waist even more.  Wildfire cringed from the sparks of the welding gun as it was permanently sealed up.  Then, heavy brass collars were squeezed over her breasts until the hung like little blobs of dough on her stomach.  They felt very odd as they hung there, brushing against the cold steel of her belt.  Then because everything has to be extreme with Safia, titanium shafts were pierced through her breasts to permanently secure the brass collars in place.

 A new collar and harness were bolted on, and connected to the steel belt.  This form fitting brace allowed her spine to carry a rider easily over many miles. 

 Wildfire's arms were then positioned behind the back prayer style and riveted into steel mittens. 

 "A proper ponygirl has no need for arms." Safia explained.  "They will be uncomfortable for a while, excruciating in fact.  But as they atrophy, the pain will subside, along with your memory of the girl you used to be.”

 An aluminum saddle was bolted on.  The mittens were positioned to be the horn of the saddle at the right spot to entertain Mistress Safia as she rode.  Stirrups were attached to Wildfire’s teats, and Wildfire was ready.

 "Feed and water her.”  Safia called to the stable girl.  “I can't wait to take her out for a ride.”

 And they rode.

 Wildfire loved the caress of wind through her mane.  Safia only had to touch her flank with the crop and she sprang to canter and then run.  They ran the steeplechase course in record time!  Wildfire marveled how her new tack fit her perfectly, allowing her to perform as never before!

 When she heard Safia laugh with joy, Wildfire was happy!

 When they returned to the stables, Safia dismounted and handed the reigns over to the stable hand.  As they stable girl lead Wildfire away, Safia touched her new ponygirl’s cheek.

 Wildfire felt of joy.

 In the shadow of the stable, Wildfire leaned down to sip at her trough and saw her reflection in the water.  She looks nothing like that girl she used to be.  

 What was that girl's name again?  Wildfire wondered to herself, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember that girl's name.  As she made her way over to her feed, she dismissed it, like a dream to the dawn.

Copyrighted, 2/2001, 10/2023 all rights reserved.

Imprisoned  (Teaser)

Full story available here, please support us!
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By DX

 

Copyrighted 2017,2023 all rights reserved.  May not be used without prior written permission.

 

 

            The sharp tick of her arch breaking high heels clicked sharply on the cement floor of the parking garage and the sound echoed madly in her foggy and heavily drugged brain.  She could see herself on the edge of a dream, her elegant dress flowing, and her fox fur draped across her shoulders.  She was tall, despite being only five foot four in her killer pumps, as if floating on her cloud of hubris.  She was sparkling in her hazy dream, diamonds winking in the flickering florescent light.  Her lipstick was a dark, venous blood red and her lips wore a perpetual arrogant smirk.

            She had much to be arrogant about.

            The feel of metal and cement grated on her face, as a low, throbbing pain racked through her body.  Why was she lying on the floor?  Where was the attendant?  Where was her phone?

            Watching her dream-self rummage around in her clutch purse she wanted to cry out, The phone!  It’s in the purse!  Call for help!  Now!  but all she could manage was a throaty moan her dream-self could not hear.  Instead of her phone she pulled out the key to her Lexus, all the while oblivious to the hulking shadow sweeping up behind her.

            Lightning, hot and sudden, and her world went vertical.  The greasy, oil stained cement floor ruined her dress, her hair.

            She lay on the floor.  It was wildly bright.  Walls rose about her, surrounding her completely.  Cement.  Cement walls, cement floor, cement ceiling.  Get up!  She shouted at her dream-self.  Run!  Just run away!  But he had her, picking her up and putting her into darkness.  The sound of a van door slamming shut.  

            There had been no fear, no realization, until the hollow tearing sound of duct tape being spooled off a roll filled her senses.

            She was in trouble.

            Then nothing.

            It jarred her fully awake.  She was in a cement room with light, brilliant white, beaming down from a three-inch hole in the ceiling.  As she stirred, sliding to sit up, she first noticed she was barefoot.

            Where are my shoes?  She looked around for them thinking about the cost of her designer footware before the flashing image of metal pulled her attention back.  Shiny metal shackles wrapped her ankles, connected by a metal cable.  They had no key, no lock.  It was as if someone had welded them on.

            Still struggling to sit up she tried to use her arms but found her hands were trapped in small, round cages, which had also been cuffed.  There was a short, three-inch cable attaching them to a metal belt, leaving her hands trapped to her waist.  Cables ran down the front of the belt to a metal shield, which pulled snuggly over her vagina.  The cables then ran from the bottom of the shield, under her buttocks then up over her hips to the belt.  Her eyes traveled up her body before stopping at the metal cups covering her breasts held tightly in place by welded cables.

            “What in the world?”  She croaked, feeling her voice rake as if she hadn’t used it in quite some time.  As she scooted on her butt to sit up properly she felt the weight of a cage around her head.  It appeared to be oval in shape with bars blooming up from a metal collar around her neck.  There were flat pieces welded on the inside of the cage that rested on the crown of her head, across the bridge of her nose and under the nape of the back of her head.  As her head turned, the cage turned with it.

            Almost breathless, she properly took in her surroundings.

            She was in a concrete box.

            It was about three feet wide, three feet high and three feet long.  The ceiling had a hole where light poured through.  In the corner there was a dimple in the floor about eight inches in diameter and four inches deep.  In the center of the depression there was a hole about an inch in diameter.

            She slowly shifted around and found the door.

            Framed by concrete, the door was two feet by two feet of the same shiny metal that her shackles were made from.  In its center was a three-inch diameter hole.  She shuffled closer, trying to peer out.  As she leaned towards it, she could see frame of the door showed the thickness of the concrete walls.  She guessed it was about eight inches.

            Was she in an asylum?  Locked away in a high-risk ward?

            “Hello?”  She called out, putting her eye up to the hole.  The metal of the door was an inch thick; beyond that was a heavy piece of glass, possibly ballistic.  “Can anybody hear me?”  She could see a small, cramped room.  The concrete walls were maybe six feet high and the room about six feet deep.  Against the back wall was a metal rung ladder.  Just at the end of her peripheral vision to her right, she could see blue plastic barrels stacked one on top another.  She could count four, but imagined there where more.  There was white PVC piping connecting them all together.

            “My name is Eliza Cooper!”  She shouted at the door.  “I am the Assistant States Attorney!”  She craned her head to try to see more in the room.  Light beamed down from a hole in the ceiling similar to the one in her concrete box.  “I demand to be released!”  Her voice shrilled.  “You must return my clothes at once!  You have no right to keep me here and I promise heads will roll for this!  I want a supervisor down here right now!”  She squinted, peering through the little hole.  There didn’t appear to be any video cameras in the room.

            She sat back almost aghast.   The concept began rolling through her head.  She wasn’t in prison or an insane asylum.  Images of her last memory flooded her senses.  She had been abducted.

            “They’re looking for me, you know that?”  She screamed.  “You’re only making it worse for yourself.  Release me now and we can talk plea bargain!”  As her voice’s echo faded out, she knew no one had heard her.

            She scanned the door, but there was no key.  It was smooth, without a slot for food or water.  She tried to maneuver her body so her hands could reach the door, but the hand cages prevented her from touching it.  She rotated carefully, swiveling on her butt on the concrete floor.  She scooted forward and then leaned back on her back so she could raise her feet to the door.  

            She tried pushing, and then sliding the door, but it didn’t budge.  She then kicked it repeatedly but it was so solid it barely made a noise.  Panting from her exertions she shifted to get back on her butt, but it was complicated in the tiny space.  With her hands cuffed and her feet shackled any movement became a carefully orchestrated exercise in human engineering.

            Sweat glistened on her brow as she almost cheered when she was sitting again.  “You will pay for this.”  She growled, catching her breath.  “Every bit of this, every indignity.”  She looked at the door unmoved by the threat.  “I know you hear me and I swear you will pay for this!”  She shifted forward and started banging her caged head against the door.  It made a good, sharp clang.

            “I DEMAND TO BE RELEASED!”  She hollered, her words punctuated with strikes against the door.  “Now!  Do you hear me!  I am the Assistant States Attorney!”  Sweat rolled down her face as she tried to catch her breath.  “I have rights…”  She tried to wipe the sweat from her face but cursed her hand cages.  “What the hell is this?”  She looked at her cable and shield underwear.  “A chastity belt?  Seriously?”

            She leaned back and rammed her head into the wall hoping to break either the wall or the head cage.  Neither happened.  She slipped her legs underneath her and got to her knees.  She tensed her body, aimed her head at the door, and with an Amazon’s battle cry launched forward into the door.

            Stars flashed across her vision as she bounced back.  Stunned, she glared at the door.  It was unblemished.  She geared up again and crashed her head as hard as she could.  Other than a sharp pain in her head, nothing had happened.

            She thought it was sweat dripping from her brow until she saw it was blood.

            “I’m bleeding!”  She shouted.  “I need medical attention!”  She shuffled as close to the door as she could.  “You cannot deny me medical attention!”

            There was no answer.

            Eliza Cooper, Assistant States Attorney sat back in stunned silence.  

            She shook her head, not believing, and began screaming and screaming and screaming.

            Hours?  She had lost track.  She was sticky in her own blood, although the cut to her head had clotted.  There was nothing left of her voice but she kept chanting her demand to be released until exhaustion took her and she slept.

            Sitting on the unyielding cement floor caused slow but insistent radiating pain, which stirred her.  Alarmed she was still in her concrete box, Eliza began shouting again, but her throat felt as if she had gargled with butterfly knives.

            Looking again she noted the room was dimmer.  She looked up into the hole in the ceiling.  Eight inches of cement led to a pipe, about three inches in diameter.  The pipe went straight up for at least ten feet.  She shouted up the hole with her feeble voice but nothing happened.  Peering again, she noted the light was in fact fading.

            And a sliver of rainbow.

            She pulled her eye from the hole with start, and then peered again.

            A prism!  She thought, sitting back.  It was directing sunlight from who knows where and now the sun was going down.  A flash of fear tickled her but she dismissed it.  They have some night operations.  She assured herself.  It also meant the evening shift would come by.  They had to feed her and provide her with medical attention.

            They would release her the moment they found out who she was.

            Something started ticking.

            She felt it more than heard it.  Mechanical clockworks came to life and she shifted her legs around, ready to leap out the moment they opened the door.

            Gravel spilled from a small hole in the wall into a dimple in the floor.  Beside it was a second basin that filled with water.

            Eliza looked at it curiously.  She hadn’t noticed the two bowls set into the floor by the door before and it surprised her that, locked in a three foot cube, she hadn’t properly taken in her environment, but then again she hadn’t thought she would still be there to worry about such things.

            The gravel appeared to be dry dog food.

            “You are kidding me.”  She hissed.  “You are…  fucking kidding me!”  She cursed.  She sat in the far corner, trying to put as much distance from the insult as possible.  She started screaming again, invoking the Geneva conventions and the Red Cross.  

            But the room only became darker, gloomier.

            Fear became an itch.

            She felt the walls closing in as the darkness grew.  She screamed more and more but still there was no response.  She knew there would have to be some light, probably from the peephole in the door.

            There wasn’t.

            The darkness was profound and absolute.

            And Eliza screamed and screamed.

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Imprisoned  (Teaser)

 

Copyright 2023, all rights reserved.

The Pit (Teaser)

By DX

 

 

 

Copyrighted 12/2022, all rights reserved.  This story may not be reproduced without permission from the author.

 

A man scoffs a professional dominatrix, "How easy it is, getting paid to paddle naughty bums!"  But instead of anger, she invites him to a special retreat where there will be no saafe words, only predator and prey.  He accepts, deciding to be predator, but will he just be prey?

 

 

He drank deep from the well of her beauty and was helpless to look away.  She had cascading, iridescent raven hair and cool, ice blue eyes that peeked out from her long lashes.  Her sculpted high cheeks swept easily to her full, strong lips that held a resting bemused smile. 

It was late afternoon, and the hotel lobby was filled with perfect light.

She wore a leather jacket that did nothing to conceal her battleship breasts that sat waiting in harbor.  The jacket had a mandarin collar and military epaulettes.  It was wrinkled and crinkled and butter soft with a deep wax shine.  Her leather skirt ended just at her knees, showing off her longer than the law allowed legs for just a peek before the cuff of her calf gripping boots plunged her back into severe, tight leather.

The heels of her boots were deadly weapons and notched from her confirmed kills.

Ankles delicately crossed, she sat in a lounge chair reading a book.  

He gaped, stupidly.

“Can I help you?”  She asked, not looking up from her book.

Her voice was like warm honey and rang of Dixieland.  He could feel her pillowy breasts against his naked body has he stumbled into their canyon.  He came back to reality when he realized she was talking to him.

“Oh, uh, hmm?”  He stammered.  “Ah, yes, I was, uh, wondering what you were reading?”

She continued to read, not wanting to acknowledge him more than she needed to.  “A book.”  She said, politely.

He scoffed.  “Print is dead.”  He chuckled.

Her eyes flashed up and stabbed him brutally with a glare, splattering blood everywhere.  She softened, almost conceding there were too many witnesses and resumed her reading.  “Long live the Print.”  She said, hoping to end the vapid conversation.

His head bobbled slightly.  “I don’t follow.”

This time her eyes cut him so finely it would take him days to bleed.  “I wasn’t leading.”  She resumed reading.

“I mean,”  He persisted.  “I don’t understand.  Was that a joke?”

She regarded him casually and gave him a soft smile.  “If you have to ask, then my little josh has fallen flat on its face, so pay it no mind.”  She returned to her book.

He could feel shadows creep nearer whenever she looked away.  He inched to the edge of his seat to get that much closer to her.  “Are you here for the convention?”

His breath pulled easily from his lungs as her lips parted.  She touched her finger to her tongue and insouciantly turned a page.  “No.”  She said as if she had gently closed a door.

“Oh, yeah.”  He relented.  “I guess you wouldn’t.  Your husband then?”

An icy vapor curled about her lips.  “No.”

His face flashed with mild surprise and elation.  “I see.”

She silently sighed as she closed her book and set it in her lap.  She placed her feet flat on the floor and leaned towards him, her blue eyes cutting him open with a saber.  “I’m a professional dominatrix.”

“Oh, Oooh.”  He said with a sly grin.  “Waiting for your slave then?”  He teased.

“No.”  Her voice was the dropping blade of a guillotine.  “My slaves wait on me.”  

He sat back, a little afraid.  “Nice work if you can get it.”  He dismissed her with a sniff.  “Kind of easy work, isn’t it?  Getting paid for spanking naughty bottoms.  I’d like that job.”

“Then go do it.”  She pointed with a tilt of her head.  “Go spank someone and get paid.  Go on.”

His face scrunched in disgust.  “Oh, I’m not into that stuff.”

Her eyes were lidded as they drank in his soul.  “Really?  You haven’t taken your eyes off my heels since you sat down.”

He crossed his arms defensively.  “What?  No, I just… Well you certainly have quite the look.”

She sat back in her chair as if it were a throne.  “It’s not my look that you noticed, but my look.”  Her eyes slowly coiled around him like a python.  “That’s how a dominatrix works.  She looks, and knows her prey.”

He frowned as her coils tightened around him.  “You think I’m prey?”

Her voice was warm summer days leading to nights of fireflies dancing in the boughs of Spanish Moss ladened trees.  “I know you’re prey; but despite the quiver of your fat jowls, you’re not enough of a meal for me.  I ignored you because you’re boring, and now that you have my attention I can see I was right.  You’re a boring, baggy-eyed, mouth breathing, offspring of siblings keen on licking the ass of a fly.  With each less than discrete scratch at your crotch I can see the embarrassing nub of your limited manhood.  I see you’re not prey, but the prey of prey, the hunt of rabbits.  You are pathetically pathetic.” 

She took up her book and resumed her reading.

He felt the sting of her verbal slap.  He knew she had insulted him, but had to take a moment to unpack how.  Anger, frustration, and irritation flared in the hairs on the back of his neck while he felt the stir of his loins.  He glanced around the hotel lobby for a distraction from her, but he couldn’t just look away; he couldn’t just leave it at that.

As her spell was cast, the tiniest triumphant smile leaked from her lips.

He grumbled.  “So, you can read me?  Like your book?”

She didn’t look up.  “Already read.  No character development.”  She said.

He glowered and leaned forward.  “What’s my story then?”

Her eyes cascaded ninja stars and their poison tipped blades jammed into his flesh.  She set her book down and faced him.  “You have a new cheap suit, the hanger creases are still evident.  You can’t open your jacket because it will reveal the stains on your shirt and the fact you had to add extra holes to your belt to accommodate your embarrassing gut.  You bought your gaudy ring from a late night shopping channel and your gold watch from a man on a street corner who also sells phone cases and dish towels.  The liquid polish you use on your shoes is leaving streaks in the carpet.  I imagine it is the same stuff you use in your hair.  Your key fob says Lamborghini, yet you drive a ten year old Korean hatchback.”  She shrugged with her brows.  “You’re so pitiful, you disgust yourself.”

 He was paralyzed.  He wanted to pull his key fob out of his pocket to figure out how she saw it, but he resisted.  “You’re like a detective.”  He finally blurted.

She sighed with the patience of a schoolteacher with a slow student.  “I’m a dominatrix.  I have to know more about you than you do.”  She held out her hand.  “Give me your phone.”  She casually ordered.

He quickly fumbled for it, unlocked it, and handed it to her before realizing how much of a bad idea it was.

She tapped at the screen, and a moment later somewhere on her person something chimed.  “There, I have your number.”  She said, still tapping on his phone.  “I’m deleting mine from your phone.  You don’t need it.”  She flung, more than tossed it back at him.  It bounced in his clapping hands before he dropped it, cracking the screen.

“Unbelievable,”  She admonished.  “I put it right in your hands.  I bet you were always the last chosen for the playground team.”  She waved the notion away.  “In a couple months about a dozen of us mistresses and masters will be getting together at a woodland retreat.  We won’t be practicing safe-words or respecting limits.  We don’t, Top from the Bottom.  There will be predators and prey.  We’ll be bringing our best slaves for fun and games.”

Her sapphire eyes cut open his chest to reveal his beating heart.  “I like the feel of a man’s testicles crushed like grapes beneath my naked feet.”  He could feel the fingers of her hand slither around his pulsing heart.  “My two studs will be pony racing, so I was thinking you might be of some use, sort of an ornamentation or bedizenment.”  Her eyes smiled devilishly as she dinned on his fear.

“And there will be blood, or burns, or scars, or all of the above.  There will be tears; many, many uncontrollable tears.  If anything, you will be permanently changed.  You will learn who you really are, a servant, a toy, a thing to be discarded, and happy to be so.”  She picked up her book and found her page.  “You’ll be allowed to ejaculate at least once, and since I wouldn’t trust you with such a delicate endeavor, I will have one of my slaves see to it.  You will show, because a worthless pillow-humper such as yourself can’t turn down a chance to lick the bottom of my shoe for free.”

 

The Pit (Teaser)

By DX

 

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