Story Time - The Acrobat

There's something wintery in the air.  A certain festive jingle in the music in the grocery stores.  Are those xmas lights I see?  Well, I'll be!  It looks like it's that time of year.  You know, when I was a child I would ask for so much for xmas, more than I could or would possibly receive.  I'd go through the toy section of the JC Penny's "Wish Book" catalog, circling item after coveted item and carefully listing them on a sheet of notebook paper.  But when you grow up and have the money to buy this or that, you don't really want much for xmas.  It becomes a struggle to think of something to ask for.  And my sister?  This year she wants a laundry bag.  Well... I guess I can handle that.

To accompany the festivities, I'd say a warm and fuzzy story is called for!  Here is another of my friend soubrette's short stories set in my slave role generator mansion.  It's called The Acrobat.

The Acrobat by soubrette

    She came for me again today, this morning. It was nearing noon, and I was making myself busy investigating the various stations in the dungeon, trying new positions on the furniture and slings. The place was empty except for me and a human chair off in the corner. A somewhat boring human chair that didn’t seem to be interested in talking to a lowly naked pain slut, I might add. The furniture here can be so snooty sometimes. Anyway, I was maneuvering myself into a sort of spread-eagle hand-stand in an attempt to loop my legs around the straps of a sling and swing in it upside down. You know, for fun. I had just managed to wrap my right leg around one strap and support enough of myself to try and do the same with the left leg when I heard the dungeon door click open.

   “How acrobatic,” came her voice from the doorway, a voice as tender as a doting mother’s and as awe-inspiringly elegant as an empress’s. At the sound of it, I tipped my head to try and right my vision and ended up tumbling out of the sling onto the floor. She sighed through her laughter, “Then again, maybe not.” I rubbed my elbow and stood to go and greet her.

   Lady Katie, as I was allowed to call her, was absolutely beautiful. Not a strikingly-featured beauty like you might see in a magazine, but a subtle beauty. A curvy sensual earth-goddess beauty. Auburn hair to the middle of her back fell across her shoulders in waves framing a petal-soft face upon which rested dusty pink hued lips and deep blue eyes. Some might call such a description overly-romantic or an idealized version of the truth. I’m sure she would, but I recognized the magic in her look every time I saw her. And it never has made sense to me to stifle the experience of her with useless modesty. She’s a heart-fluttering beauty even if only I see it.

   Lady Katie stood a few inches taller than me when bare-foot, but today she positively towered above me in stiletto boots that laced all the way up to her thighs.    They were latex-- black and shiny with interesting buckles and hooks and laces all the way up.  To compliment the boots, she wore a matching shiny black latex body suit with long sleeves and gloves of the same laced and hooked construction as the boots.  All I could see of her body was her beautiful face, her neck and décolleté, and the top few inches of her thighs, that soft warm mystical area where the boots had ended and the bodysuit hadn’t yet begun.  I wanted to touch those thighs.  To kiss her.  To worship her.  But being a pain slut, I knew such services weren’t my usual claim.  So, I pushed the thoughts away for a moment.  (But not too far away, I’ll admit.)

   On the face of it, this outfit seemed an odd choice for Lady Katie.  In my time serving as a naked pain slut, she’d come to use me several times, but each of those times she had been dressed casually.  And that’s how she played.  I had grown fond of her light fragrant scent and casual but feminine clothes.  Usually a skirt and blouse with a cardigan and some flats.  Very mom.  Very elementary teacher.  Warm and cozy.  This new outfit was a shock to my senses and understanding, such as it was.  I complemented Lady Katie immediately as I wheeled in her toy bag and plumped the cushy seat of the human chair for her to sit upon.

   She sat, and I heard the chair moan at the newly applied pressure of a Lady sitting.  It made me smile.  I arranged Lady Kate’s favorite toys on one of the vacant toy stands as she watched me.  It was a familiar enough routine.  When I’d finished, I knelt in front of her and asked formally, “How might I be of service, Lady Kathryn?”  Some weeks ago, I had giggled at the thought of abbreviating her name to “Lady Katie,” at which time she instructed me to call her such-- if it made me smile.  But formal offers and requests are never to be made in familiar terms, I’ve been told by some of the older slaves, so I used her full title here.
 
    For many moments Lady Katie didn’t move or speak.  She simply watched me.  I wasn’t doing anything particularly entertaining that I can recall, but she watched me just the same.  After a short while I tipped my head to one side and smiled quizzically as if to ask if anything was the matter.  She patted her thigh, and I crawled to her and rested my head there.  She stroked my hair with her gloved hand.  If I were a cat, I’d have purred. 

   Then from the silence Lady Katie spoke, “How many times have you and I played, Kristie?”

   “This will be the thirteenth time, I think, my Lady,” I replied.

   “Thirteen.  My, what a memory you have.”  And at this, I smiled.  I’d rather her credit my knowing how many times we’d played together to my good memory than to my affection for her.  But surely she must know.  I could read her.  I knew which toys she liked, how she moved.  I knew where to kneel and sit and stand, all to her preferences.  I accommodated her.  Even if it was all just familiarity, surely she knew there was something more for me with her.  I’d been used by other Ladies, after all, but she was special.

   Another few moments passed before I no longer felt her latex-clad hand petting my head.  I looked up and returned to kneel in front of her, though somewhat closer this time than the last.  She had a distant look in her eyes. “Lady Katie?” I asked, concerned.

   Without looking at me, she reached for a box inside her toy bag and pulled it onto her lap.  Lifting the lid, she spoke, “I have grown very fond of our play sessions together, Kristie.  You do your job well.”  She removed an expressionless glossy black mask from its bed and returned the box to the toy bag as she continued, “And you’re right, this will be the thirteenth time we’ve interacted, but it will not be play.” 

   I didn’t understand, but I didn’t speak.  She stood and beckoned me to stand, which I did.  We were less than a foot removed from one another as I watched her slip the glossy mask over her soft motherly face.  In an instant she was transformed.  I caught my breath and took a small involuntary step back.  Her outfit was complete.  The stretchy high shine boots, bodysuit and gloves that had seconds earlier seemed out of place on her warm earth goddess body now clicked together with the mask, an inaudible clarity.  I was awe-stricken.  And slightly afraid. 

   She stepped toward me, swift and confident, at once closing the distance between us.  I didn’t dare move.  I was frozen in place.  She grasped my hair in her latex fist and eased her face in next to mine, savoring my fear.  I felt the warmth of her beneath the cold of the mask as we pressed cheek to cheek.  I shivered and caught my breath again.  In a low steady tone she all but growled, “I’m going to hurt you Kristie.”  I shuddered as tears began to prickle my nose and swell in my eyelids—the fear was that real.  She continued, “Before I begin, I must know something.  Do you want this?  Do you want me to hurt you?”

   “Yes, Lady,” I replied automatically as I’d been taught.  Too scared to function on my own behalf, the training was always there for default.  She tugged my head back and peered at me through smooth black eye holes, those blue eyes burning into me.

   “Do you really want this?”

   My eyes met hers, and I couldn’t speak.  I was terrified.  She saw me.   She looked down into my eyes and was really asking.  Asking me, a slave assigned to be a pain slut, if I wanted her to hurt me.  No one had asked me such a thing since I came to this place months ago.  I had no idea what she had in mind other than pain—to hurt me.  Not play.  I was floundering in the whirlpool of my own thoughts.  Her behavior was already so out of character that I could scarcely guess what might come next.  I’ll say it again—I was terrified of her as she looked at me with a fist full of my hair. 

   If it had been any other Lady, I might have spoken up.  I might have said no and taken a beating anyway.  But Lady Katie was special to me.  Did she know?  Could she know?  I wouldn’t deny her, no matter the fear or promise of pain.  I had never admitted that so plainly to myself.  Even as I parted my lips to speak, I couldn’t deny her.  My own body wouldn’t let me.  I took a shuddering breath in and nodded my head in affirmation.  The way was closed to me then.  Yes, Lady Katie, I want this.  The words I couldn’t say.  The words she understood nonetheless.

   There was a pause then, and I might have seen a smile had not the mask obstructed my view of her face.  She gripped my hair even tighter and yanked it toward the floor, causing me to lose my footing and stumble to my knees in front of her.  I splayed my arms to try and balance myself, but she caught them mid flight and with only one hand of her own, handcuffed my two hands securely behind me.  Not the soft fur-lined cuffs I was accustomed to, no, these were the real deal.  Releasing my hair, she pushed me hard at the shoulders, and I landed squarely back on the floor, winded, with my legs bent under me.  She straddled my abdomen and looked down at me.  I felt the weight of her crushing down on my cuffed hands underneath me on the floor.  The hard metal dug into my back, and she writhed on top of me as if to let me know she knew I was in pain—to let me know it was intentional. 

   I cried out as the cuffs bit into my skin, and she leaned forward, placing both latex-encased arms palms-down on the floor at either side of my head.  Her masked face slowly lowered to mine as her hair fell forward, grazing my cheeks and neck.  Just her mask and my face at either end of a tunnel of her hair.  I inhaled the scent of her and became aware of the smooth warm latex crotch atop my nude belly.  I breathed slow measured breaths to take her in.  Two strong latex legs on either side of me squeezed in toward my naked hips.  Two fierce gloved hands waited dangerously close to my exposed face.  I swooned beneath her and moaned unabashedly. 

    She lowered herself even more, slowly laying her torso almost exactly on top of mine.  Latex pressing against flesh.  I could feel her breath on my lips, passing through the mouth opening of the mask.  On her elbows now, body very close to mine, she pulled one hand away and worked it between us, finding a rosy pink nipple in its path.  The squeaking rubbery sounds of her latex were all the sound in the world as I felt my nipple stiffen between her forefinger and thumb.  She applied just enough pressure and rolled it around between her fingers in just the right way.  I felt familiar warmth and aching in my abdomen.  Then I saw stars.  Before I was even aware that the fire in my nipple was her pinching, she sat up on top of me and seized the other one and was pinching and twisting it too.  I cried out in pain, and she slapped me hard across the face.  She’d never done that before.  In shock, I began to flood up, but she didn’t stop.  Slap after slap planted on each cheek until I felt heat rising to my face as the pain in my nipples faded to throbbing. 

    She stood up, towering over me in a fearsome way, and for a moment stood there.  Then she stepped aside and helped me to my feet.  Without speaking, I was more or less dragged to a whipping post where my hands were re-cuffed in front of me and hoisted up high by a rope to the top-most ring of the post.  I searched her expressionless mask for any hint of compassion, any sign of understanding, any kind of human connection, but none was there for me.  I shivered again and closed my eyes. 

   The lights went out, and I heard a faint scratchy metallic noise coming to life a few feet away.  A purple glow and corresponding purple reflections off of Lady Katie’s smooth mask and latex-clad body came toward me.  I nearly screamed at the sight in the dark.  Purple electricity and this dark alien form descending upon me like a predator upon prey.  I did shriek as the tip of the violet wand hovered over my breast closer and closer until an arc of purple static electricity connected with my skin.  It prickled and stung as she moved it here and there over my heaving chest, dragging slowly over my already tender nipples. 

    With one hand, she traced electricity over my skin, with the other, she explored my body in a way she’d never done before.  Her warm latex palm caressed my waist and hip before dipping behind me to feel the back of my thigh and the curve of my behind.  Her hand squeezed then and massaged my ass cheek before slowly creeping its way back toward the front, the whole time purple sparks were sparkling and bedazzling me in the dark.  I stole a glance at Lady Katie in the flickering eerie light, and wished instantly that I hadn’t.  Her eyes gleamed in electric purple reflections.  My lovely Lady was gone, and a demon had taken her place. 

    Seizing the opportunity to use my fear, she turned off the violet wand, set it down, and probed me in the dark.  Her hands left no crevice unexplored—nothing of mine was sacred.  Nothing was mine.  She stepped close, and her arms wrapped around me, fingers slowly sliding down the lower part of my spine down between my ass cheeks.  I clenched and stiffened, which earned me a hearty smack to the outer thigh.  I forced myself to relax and let her in.  She touched and teased the outside rim of my anus for a moment.  I could feel her body, her breathing, as she pressed against me.  Then one shiny finger slipped in.  So slowly.  What was this feeling?  Shame?  My stomach turned, and I wanted to hide.  I felt so exposed.  So vulnerable.  I would rather her have done it fast than this way.  Slow was far too intimate.  Slow was far too much attention being paid.  Slow was more than I could handle.  But slow is how she did it.  First in back, then in front.  Then to my mouth.  Nothing was sacred. 

    All at once, she stepped back in the dark.  I heard her moving.  Unfamiliar sounds compared to my memories.  I no longer knew the way she moved.  Did I only think I knew the way she moved? There was rustling and shifting-- her bag?  Then the distinct clop clop clop sound of heels against floor.  I felt a hood being pulled down over my head.  A tight, lycra hood with padded eyes.  The light clicked back on, but I was left in the dark. 

   The first whack of her cane landed sharply across the front of my thighs.  I screamed, shocked, and thoroughly unsettled.  With each new stripe, the image of the Lady Demon flashed in my mind, all ablaze in purple electricity.  She haunted me.  My legs were burning.  Dozens of stripes fell upon my flesh, no force was withheld.  I heard her panting.  I sobbed and cried out, pleading with her to stop or wait a moment.  She did neither.  Relentlessly, she went at my legs with her cane again and again.  Just when I thought I could no longer stand, she turned me around and made my ass and the backs of my thighs match the front.  

    I cried into the post and gripped it as best I could to keep from falling completely, dangling from my cuffed wrists.  It was all I could do to stay up.  The canes were cast aside, and out came the whips.  I screamed as the first one cracked loudly off to my left, and I heard her giggle maniacally. She cracked it again a few times just for entertainment, I imagine.  When the first lash flicked across my shoulder blades, I felt as though I had just been sliced with a knife.  I opened my mouth, but the scream was too large, too full of pain, to even escape my lips.  Tears streamed out of my eyes and were soaked up by the lycra hood and eye pads.  Slice after slice, all across my back and my rear and the backs of my legs, even my arms and calves once or twice, I was cut apart.  The lash smacked and cracked all around me and cut into my skin in strips of fire.  And when she was finished with the back, I was turned around.

   There are hardly words to describe the level of pain that proceeded from there.  The whip found my thighs for sure, but also my belly and my breasts.  My poor breasts.  Stripe after stripe was laid down like licks of fire, and I backed out of myself.  Like a child stepping backward out of her mom’s old button up shirt used for a painting session, I backed out of my body and spun.  The whip was still there, all around me.  In the distance, far off in the distance, I could still feel my breasts wobble as the impact of a whip landed and my body jerked in reaction.  I was all at once aware and removed.   My body was jerking and twitching and moving and moaning involuntarily, and the Lady Demon was not letting up. 

   A swift grip of my neck lifted my face and snapped me back into my body.  The rush of pain was overwhelming.  I couldn’t see her, blinded as I was, but through the hood I knew she was staring.  Flashes of the electrified demon goddess raced across my mind’s eye and I begged her to please stop.  I begged, but my mouth didn’t budge.   Still, she heard me.  I heard the soft swoosh of laces being pulled, the sound of latex crinkling and being pulled away from skin.  And again.  And then I felt it, unmistakably.  Her hand, her skin, caressed my cheek and cupped my chin through the lycra hood.  Then her other hand—both hands holding my face.  I sobbed.  She leaned in and kissed my forehead.  I cried out and visibly shook as I sobbed.  She spoke in a soothing whisper, “There, there.  You’ll be alright.  You’ll be okay.  You’re doing so good.  You’re being such a good girl.”

   I heaved a sigh of relief and wanted to crumble.  Her words spoke to my soul and satisfied a need I didn’t even know was there.  I felt like falling into her arms and crying in a way I hadn’t done since I was a child on my mother’s lap.  She backed away, and my face followed her, longing for the small comfort she offered.  There for just a moment, gone in a flash.  We weren’t done.

   “I said I was going to hurt you, and I am,” she said, obvious pity for me in her voice, “Brace yourself.”  Her bare fist planted hard into my left thigh muscle, and I fell.  At least, I would have had I not been tethered to the post.   Dangling by my wrists, I lifted myself up only to be dead-legged again, this time on the right.  I could feel the impression of her knuckles in my legs.  Swollen, throbbing, likely bleeding skin was now being pummeled by naked fists and a rage the likes of which I’d never seen before.  She bent me over as far as my arms would allow and attacked my breasts with her fists.  One after another, blow after blow, I began to see stars, I grew dizzy.  But I didn’t faint.  I felt the bruises forming.  Pain like I’ve never known.  And just when I thought I would faint, she turned me around.  This time a paddle struck my bruised bottom, and I yelped and moaned.  She kept coming.  We had long since passed the initial pain phase.  Long since flew by the floaty endorphin phase.  We were now plowing through the meat of the endurance phase.  One of us would give out from exhaustion.  Me or her.  One of us would finish. 

   I backed out of myself again.  This time entirely.  She won.

   I woke to the sound of my own weeping.  The hood had been removed, and Lady Katie was herself again.  The mask was gone, I was in her arms, and my body was trembling.  I was freezing and burning and shaking in her arms and crying.  Thin moans escaped to match the tears streaming down my hot cheeks.  She held me and rocked me and hummed and stroked my hair. “There, there,” she whispered, a hint of emotion in her own voice, “You did so well.  You are such a good girl.”  I let loose the tears and wrapped myself around her in an embrace more intimate than any other I’d ever given.  I opened myself to her and gave myself to her without saying a single word. 

   We stayed that way for a while and rocked together on the floor.   When I had finally gathered myself back into my trembling, tenderized husk of a limp overworked body, she looked down at me, smiling, and said, “I think you deserve a reward.  What kind of reward would you like?”

   The answer came to my lips as immediately as it had been trained to, but I meant every word this time.  This time I felt it at my core, at the very center of me, and I spoke from my heart, “I am honored to serve a Lady in any way.  Your acceptance of my service is reward enough for me.” 

   At this, she clutched me to her chest and whispered, “Good girl.”

   The next day, I learned the reward I hadn’t chosen for myself had been assigned to me instead.  I was purchased by Lady Katie, the price would be used to bring in a replacement for me.   I had done well, I was a good girl, and she chose me for her own.