Interactive Entertainment

July 11, 2017 - 7 minute read -
fiction bdsm

“I’ve decided we’re going to stay in tonight.”

“Ma’am?”

“I know you were looking forward to the party, but we’ve just been so busy, it would be nice to have an evening in.”

“Of course, Ma’am, whatever you wish.”

He smiled slightly and suppressed a pang of disappointment. They hadn’t seen their many of friends in quite some time, and with their busy schedules, the two of them hadn’t even had the opportunity to play for nearly two months.

“Should I ask for play tonight?” he asked himself.

He got restless in long periods without play. Of course the service and authority was there, always permeating their lives, but play was important too. The physical manifestation of trust, the pain, the intimacy and closeness. He craved it and knew she did too. Ask for what you want was one of his rules (though, of course “want” and “get” didn’t always go hand-in-hand). Regardless, he was particularly bad at asking for play, always feeling like it was an imposition, especially when her immediate interest wasn’t clear. She knew this of course, finding his shyness cute, and had reminded him of the rule enough that he overcame his trepidation and went for it.

“Ma’am, would you like to play tonight?” he asked.

“Try again, boy,” she said, frowning.

Flustered, he found the words he knew she wanted.

“Ma’am, I would like to play tonight, if it pleases you.”

She grinned broadly, the smile that never failed to make his heart skip a beat. He held her gaze for a moment before looking away, his cheeks reddening in irrational embarrassment.

“Oh, well, since you asked so nicely, I suppose I could cook something up,” she said, with a hint of playfulness in her voice.

They finished their dinner in silence and before he could start clearing the table she said, “I’ll clean up. Go take a shower - don’t bother getting dressed.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responded, standing and nearly skipping to their master bath.

He let the hot water pour over himself, touching the black polished steel of his collar, a representation of his service to her and her ownership of him. It was his safety net, his rock, and his energy ground when they were apart. He rotated it around his neck, thinking of her and their relationship. He thought back to their first scene, years ago, at a party they were both attending. He thought back to their first date, days later at tea shop. She loved his cold, snarky humor, and he had been immediately drawn to the aura of comfort and confidence that surrounded her.

It hadn’t always been easy - relationships never are. After the first year of whirlwind romance, service, and as much kinky sex as either of them could want, their dynamic waned somewhat. The stress of work, family, and co-habitation took its toll. But they got through it, rekindling the dynamic, eventually leading to her claiming him as her own with a small collaring ceremony witnessed by friends.

He snapped back to the present, thumb still rubbing his collar. Finishing up, he wrapped the towel around himself and walked into the bedroom where she was already waiting for him.

“You won’t be needing that,” she said, ripping the towel off him and discarding it behind her.

She looked him up and down with hunger and pointed to the floor. He knelt into seiza, and looked up at her.

“You’re getting better at it,” she noted.

Once a position his knees couldn’t handle, they had worked on it over time, both through his mediation practice and their movie nights in. Being able to sit through a full 20 minutes of zazen with no pain and limited discomfort had been a goal of his before they had met. The kinky applications were icing on the cake.

She leaned down to kiss him, hands on his shoulders, and told him to stand and follow her to the basement.


Had it been minutes? An hour? He was having a hard time keeping track of the time. The disorientation was working well. Sitting in a chair in the center of the room, he was nude save for a full leather hood and the ever-present collar.

She had tied his arms behind the chair back. His legs were spread wide, ankles tucked and tied to the chair in such a way that his heels touched the bottom of the seat. Blinded, half-deaf, and left to stew, he feared tipping the chair as his head swirled.

Leaving the mouth cover on meant he was especially aware of his breath, the heat and condensation having no where to go as his lips touched leather. He started counting in time with his breathing: in, 2, 3, 4, hold, 2, 3, 4, out, 2, 3, 4. He felt his heart rate dropping as he counted and settled into the familiar rhythm of meditation.

The doorbell rang, erasing the calm. Who would should up unannounced on a Saturday evening? They weren’t unannounced, he realized. It was part of the plan. Her plan.

Fear struck him. He was not an exhibitionist and while the physical vulnerability with his owner was cause for excitement, being so exposed in front of others was not.

A minute later the door rang again.

Fuck.

15 minutes and several rings later, he could hear a small crowd laughing and talking in the kitchen. The chatter stopped abruptly and there was a knock on the basement door.

“Dear, it seems we’ll be entertaining tonight. Well, I suppose it’d be more correct to say you’ll be entertaining and we’ll be entertained.”

She walked down the stairs, the sound of her favorite boots loud on the wood. Behind her followed the guests. He guessed maybe a dozen or so. No one said a word as the group took seats around the home-grown dungeon.

Out of his head once again, he realized his muscles were tense and did a mental body scan. Drips of sweat covered him, causing gooseflesh in the chill of the basement. His right knee had developed a throbbing dull ache, a reminder of an old sport’s injury. Bringing his attention to his extremities, he gently tested his bonds, they held strong, but weren’t too tight.

Her hands came to his hood, removing the flap covering his mouth and he took in his first full breath in who knows how long.

“How’s my boy doing?” she asked, checking his digits for circulation.

“My knee, Ma’am,” he responded.

He wanted to apologize, but knew she wouldn’t stand for it. Without a further word, she released his left ankle, letting him move and stretch the leg for a moment, before she re-secured it, this time in a more amenable position tied to the chair’s leg.

“Thank you Ma’am.”

Staying at his level, she kissed him and said, “I’ve invited some of our friends over tonight. You are going to be our…interactive entertainment this evening.”

He didn’t know how to respond, so thanked her again and realized that he was at half mast. She reached to cup his balls and growing excitement, pushing the contents through a silicon cock ring. Secured around the base and still in hand, she kissed him once again, this time, biting his bottom lip as she pulled away. Looking down at her handiwork, she made a sound that he translated to be delight. His erection was full now, head peeking through the shelter of foreskin and a drop of precum at the tip. She licked it away.

She stepped away from him, and he felt another presence behind him. Hands, female he thought, but couldn’t be sure, rested on his shoulders briefly, then moved down over his chest. Fingers lightly played over his nipples, and a moan escaped him.

The hands moved slowly over his body, caressing inch by inch. Ultra sensitive and tuned in, he could feel the ridges of the finger pads as they drew across him.

Another set of hands grabbed his thighs from the front. They were much rougher than the other set, moving up and down his thighs over ancient scars he wished to forget.

More hands joined in now, one set feeling the leather covering his head, pulling slightly on the straps and rings that adorned it. The other ran a single finger over his left side, tracing the words inked there:

Fear is the mind-killer…

The words, his mantra, came to his lips.

Another pair, this time to massage his bound hands. This pair he knew, they belonged to a man who had worked his body at the massage parlor numerous times.

More hands again, on his legs and arms this time. He tried to imagine the scene around him. How had six bodies managed to find the space around him in this ritual of molestation? The feeling was intense, but it made him feel wanted; loved, even.

The seventh pair were hers. His cock still at attention as she fondled him again. Just touch and feeling, no strokes, no pain. The proof of his excitement was dripping now, and she wiped it away as it presented itself.

Minutes ticked by, hands touching, feeling, and caressing every inch of his body. There were pokes and pinches, but no pain, at least not at the level he was used to when rope and nakedness were involved.

Without warning, everything stopped. They all drew away in unison, leaving him a mess of emotions and glistening skin. The crowd exited to the first floor, and minutes later the house was silent.

She returned, carefully removing the rope that held him, the silicon holding him at attention, and finally, to his relief, the leather hood. She looked down at him.

“You did wonderful tonight, my boy. I’m so proud of you!”

He blushed as she wrapped a blanket around him. He wanted to say thank you, but no words came out. She helped him slide off the chair to the floor, a bottle of water and pillow waiting for him. They lay for a while on their backs, till she spoke again.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Exhausted, Ma’am, but good. That was one of the most intense experiences I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

“I’m glad. Shall we head upstairs? I’m not ready to put away my toy yet.”

He nodded so she helped him up and led him to the bedroom.