Toy Story.

Warning:  F/M, M/M, pegging, spanking, CBT, men with squints, oblique Charles Dickens references, animals on motorbikes, ninjas and high heels.

Joanna coolly checked her hair and reflection in the hall mirror.  She knew she looked good but it was a habit she’d got into before opening the door.  One never knew when a really good first impression was needed so she made sure that everyone got one, merited or not.

She turned to the door and nodded to the man standing beside it and upon receiving her permission, he opened the door wide, keeping himself securely behind it and hidden from view.  His Mistress was who people had come to see, not him and he was careful not to detract from the attention she was due.

By ignoring him she made him feel special, made him feel that he was serving her well. 

By not needing to be aware of him and what he was doing, she was showing her confidence in him.  It was a privilege not everybody was allowed.

Joanna smiled a greeting at the woman standing outside her door and her glance took in the half dressed man standing at her side.  Oh, but he was glorious, just as Sandra had promised.  The problem was that he knew it.  He was standing much too proud to be a proper submissive.

“Miss Sandra, do come in, please.  Let Boy take your coat.”

Boy jumped from his position behind the open door to help his Mistress’ guest rid herself of the garment in question.  The sub standing beside her slipped off the coat he had been wearing and turned to hand it to Boy as well.  He was left with his arm outstretched and Boy looking to Joanna for guidance.  She gave him a look that he interpreted immediately and he melted away to take care of Miss Sandra’s coat only.

She turned her gaze to the new sub.

“Boy doesn’t serve other submissives.  If you want your coat attended to, you do it yourself or it goes on the floor.  And I’m not sure why you have a coat anyway, you should uncover yourself for viewing before you come to my door, understand?  Don’t make me wait in future.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds, Joanna waiting to see how long it took him to back down.  Her mind was made up that if it took more than five seconds, then he wasn’t for her.  As much as she thought he would do very well and was pleasing on the eye, if he couldn’t accept basic instruction he would be better off with a more junior Domme.  Although having said that, she thought wryly, that is what he has in Sandra and look where it has gotten him. . . thinking that he was better than other submissives and starting to lay down his own rules if everything Sandra had told her was true.  Astonishing!

No, something had to be done before he was ruined completely and found himself a pariah in the small BDSM community of their town.  He didn’t deserve that . . . he was way too pretty not to be played with.

She’d be doing him a kindness if she took him off Sandra’s hands really.  Joanna almost laughed out loud at her own thoughts.  No-one had ever accused her out loud of being kind and she would have been offended if they had done so.  Cruel to be kind . . yes, she could go with that.

 

Lance lowered his eyes just in time and moved to hang up his own coat alongside that of his current mistress.

He had been wearing a long leather coat; open to show his bare chest underneath.  It was a good look on him but not an appropriate one for him to wear on this occasion.

Having closed the door of the apartment, Boy had moved discreetly to stand behind Joanna, to be on hand for anything she thought to ask for.  Lance moved to stand beside Sandra but caught the lift of the perfectly sculptured eyebrow from Joanna as well as the look Boy was throwing him and the head movements indicating that he should step back.  He did so automatically and saw the eyebrow retreat to a more natural position. 

It had been a long time since he had been controlled non-verbally so it was a surprise at how naturally he had obeyed.  He’d got used to having his opinions considered with Sandra and although it was gratifying to get his own way in many things, it wasn’t always what he wanted.  What he didn’t know if he was able to give up the privileges so easily.

Joanna invited Sandra to accompany her through the double doors which stood open on to the large split level room that served as her lounge.  A bank of industrial sized windows stood on the opposite wall and showed nothing more than the black reflection of the river below and distant lights twinkling from the town that sat directly across from them.  Boy and Lance followed behind.  The room already held about twenty-five people and some of them were already playing.  Lance could see one person being spanked – a woman dressed as a schoolgirl – and two others were being fucked.  A woman was being fucked by a man while he in turn was having a flogger laid across his back and a man was being penetrated by, what appeared to Lance, to be an excessively large strap-on worn by a not-much-smaller woman.

Joanna led Sandra to a long sofa pushed back against one wall and sat with her while Lance hovered not knowing what to do and Boy retreated to stand to the side.  Lance thought about copying his move, maybe it would ingratiate himself to the woman who was on the point of deciding his future.

Almost as though she knew his thoughts, she pointed to a spot in front of her and he moved there wordlessly.  He didn’t much like her scrutiny but he could hardly look away without appearing disrespectful.  He compromised.  He placed his hands behind his back and looked down in what he hoped was a demure demeanour.

“Have you told him why he’s here?” she asked Sandra. 

Sandra didn’t appear keen to talk about him in the third person and averted her gaze from him, presumably to pretend he wasn’t there and that it was safe to discuss him.

“I’ve told him that I don’t think we are a good pairing and that if he came here and proved himself, you might recommend someone more to his liking.”

That wasn’t quite how Lance remembered but he was adept at getting people to do something and think it was their own idea.  He kept his own counsel and let this Joanna woman think it was Sandra’s idea.

“What can he take?”

“He likes the flogger, and the slipper, not so much the tawse or the crop so we don’t use them much.”

Joanna’s eyebrow rose a fraction.  She’d asked what he could take, not what he liked but she guessed this was part of the problem between this unlikely couple. 

“He likes dressing up, mainly leather but he’s not keen on cross-dressing.”

The eyebrow rose again.

“How about anal?”

“Oh, well, we’ve tried that.  Once or twice” she offered in way of an apology.  “He can do it but says it isn’t his favourite.  Says it was uncomfortable.”

“Isn't that kind of the point?”

“Yes, you may be right but it wasn’t my thing so I didn’t push it.  There were other things that we could do.”

“What did you change to?”

“Erm, a bit of bondage and nipple play.”

“Which he takes well?” Joanna asked casually.

“Oh, yes, he's very good about taking that, doesn't struggle at all.”

‘Of course he doesn't,’ she thought to herself, ‘it's what he obviously likes so he allows her to do it.  This was bordering on disgraceful.’

Sandra continued, “It’s odd really, he likes all the things that I do so we should gel better than we do but we’re both honest enough to admit that we don’t fit well together.”  Sandra felt emboldened to continue, “Personally, I think he wants more but has trouble giving up the control.”

Personally, Joanna thought that it was more a case of Sandra having trouble taking control but she kept her thoughts to herself on that one.

She considered for a moment, and made up her mind.

“Your request has good timing, as it happens.  Dog has broken his leg – he got hit by a car last week so is going to be out of action for a couple of months.  I have too many social events organised not to have permanent entertainment on hand for the weekends.  I wouldn’t normally take on a beginner but I don’t have a lot of choice in the matter – frankly, I don’t have time to train up someone new, it would be easier if I could order one from Amazon but unfortunately they don’t stock them.  I’ve looked.”  Joanna laughed at her bad own joke and saw Sandra do the same.

“Oh, that’s handy then, he’d like that, I’m sure.  Wouldn’t you Lance?”

Lance wasn’t so sure he would agree with that assessment but felt obliged to answer in the affirmative.

“Yes, Sandra, that would be very nice.”

The eyebrow had almost disappeared by now.

“Well now, Lance, why don’t we let Miss Sandra circulate and chat to my other guests and you and I can get acquainted.”

Sandra almost flew out of the chair in her haste to get away and Lance watched her go with regret.  As a champion of his wishes, she wasn’t much but he was all he had in that room and he was sorry to see her go.  Still, if she wasn’t there, she couldn’t contradict anything he said to this new woman.  Oh, he knew who she was, had heard talk of her about town.  

She was the Head Honcho in these parts according to some of the other subs he had spoken to.  If he could get her on his side, he’d have it made; he would be the envy of all the other subs in any club he went to if it became known that he played with Joanna.  Time for some of his magic.  He opened his mouth to start and was cut off before he’d even drawn breath by the icy voice directed at him.

“From what Miss Sandra has said tonight and what she told me on the phone last week, you started off well enough with her.  Maybe it's not all your fault but you most certainly took advantage of her nature, of her generosity and of her compassion.  It would be fair to warn you now; I do not have a compassionate nature.  If I instruct you to do something, I expect you to do it.  If you don't do it, you will be punished.  Repeated denial to obey will end our relationship and you will be free to look elsewhere for another Mistress.”

“Your trouble is that you think the other subs admire you for getting away with so much and for being pampered.  You're wrong.  A submissive will admire another submissive who pushes himself to the limit to please his Mistress or his Master.  A submissive will admire another submissive who doesn't think about himself, only about giving good service.  At the moment, you do neither of those things.” 

“That said, I think you could.  With a bit of training I think you could be very good.  I'm willing to do that training but it needs a decision from you right here and right now.  I'm afraid I don't have time to give you time to think about it but I also think that you've already thought about it enough in the past, haven’t you?  Otherwise what are you doing here?  People don't get into this to just dip their toes.  You're either in or you're out and tonight is the time to say yay or nay.”

Lance was shocked.  She hadn’t directed more than ten words towards him and already she knew him!  It’s as though she had a bug inside his head and knew all his thoughts.

“If you say yes to this, then you need to know that I'll do everything to you.  You'll be made to take anal, whether by a strap-on or another man.  You'll do oral on both men and women.  I'll milk you, I'll torture you, I'll humiliate you in front of others, I'll whip you, I’ll dress you as I please, I'll tie you up so you can't move and I'll do whatever I want to you.  And you'll take it.  You'll take it because that's what a good submissive does. They take it.  Without whinging or trying to change the deal or putting limits on what happens.  I put the limits on what happens, not you.”

“I may decide to have someone play with your balls all evening while you wear a cage and can't cum.  I may give you to any spare men without a sub of their own for them to fuck your feet and cover you with cum, like a human tissue.”  

“This is your one chance to say what you cannot do.  Not because you're not in the mood, or don't feel like it.  If there's something that you truly object to, I need to know about it now and if I think you're trying to hold back control, I'll tell you.  But think carefully, because you can't play me.  There's not a sub alive who has managed to do it yet and you’ll regret trying.”

“So.  I’ve been honest with you about what you can expect - now you need to be honest, with yourself and with me.  Tell me what worries you; tell me what really does it for you.  I'll make sure you get a fair amount of both.”

“I like my nipples being touched.”  As an answer to all that she had said it was somewhat inadequate but his mind was still in shock.

She nodded in understanding.

“But I don't do piss-play.”

“No, neither do I,” Joanna replied wryly.

While he was pleased to hear it, he'd just waved goodbye to his one chance to impose his will on her by denying her something from him.  He didn’t even know why he’d said it; he’d never heard that it was something she wanted to do so he could have picked a better kink to use as a bargaining tool.

He tried to reassert himself.  “Yes, but if any of your guests wanted to do something like that, I'd have to refuse.”  

“If anyone asks that of you, you have my permission to tell them on my behalf to use the wall outside to relieve themselves.”

Damn.  She wasn't allowing him even a small win.

“If I take you on, your only purpose at these parties will be to be played with.  Your job is to be used and abused at my discretion.  Can you handle that?”

The smallest of nods.

“If you're exceptionally good, I may let you fuck someone but it will be a person of my choice.  I will choose who that is and I will choose how long it lasts and if you cum or not.  Don’t get too excited though, it won’t happen often.”

It was what he wanted.  His ideal submission wasn't in the form of any one particular scene or any one kink; it was having to do anything that he was ordered to.  What Joanna was offering him was to be a demonstration tool, an implement in her pleasure.  All he had to decide was could he go through with it and how much of everything that she had described would he really have to do.  Anyone could talk the talk, the important thing was walking the walk and he hadn’t found that in anyone yet.

She gave him time to think about it and she watched him do it.  She had considered another submissive for the role she had offered Lance but got a bad vibe from him.  She'd heard that his moods spiked a lot and got the impression that drugs were the reason.  She wouldn't allow that in either her public or private parties. 

It was pitiful really; she could see Lance thinking about how to get a handle on her.  Poor fool.  Little does he know that once he’s in, that’s it, the control has gone and he doesn’t get a say in matters once he’s in uniform.  Or out of it, in this instance.  The black leather trousers were fine, nothing really wrong with those although they wouldn’t be her first choice, too much coverage.  But the biker cap?  No, that would have to go.  He was doing a James Dean lookalike impression and quite frankly, he looked a bit silly.  Artistic, yes, but silly.

“Are you in or out?”

 

Lance took a deep breath.  “In.”

“Good.  You can start the evening by being a server.  Go with Boy and he'll kit you out and show you standard positions for serving.  You can spend the evening watching the play and see if you really think it's for you. You'll have to wear a service bell - go see if you can.”

Lance looked somewhat quizzical at this new term, he wasn't sure what it was and a quick glance at the other servers didn't answer his question.  There was nothing visible with a bell attached to it. That wasn't promising.

“Oh but...” It was obvious Lance didn't want to change; he liked how he looked in his trousers. The soft leather cupped him in all the right places and concentrated the mind beautifully on what might be hiding underneath.

“My servers don't wear street clothes - the choice is yours.”

Lance looked about the room to see exactly what it was that Joanna's servers did wear.  Apart from a girl behind a makeshift bar in the far corner who appeared to be naked from the back view she was currently presenting, there were two servers circulation the room, one male and one female, and they both wore the same.  A short skirt, typical of the ubiquitous French maid uniform used in films, designed and cut in a way that it flared out.  It was little more than a frilly waistband really and it was short enough to see that the woman wore a thong and the man wore a cock cage.  Both of them wore nipple clamps.  Lance's interest peaked and it wasn't the only part of him that did - something that might make putting on a cock cage a bit difficult.

Joanna saw his glance take in everything about her servers, including the fact that they wore heels.

“Can you walk in heels,” she asked him curiously.

“Um, I can if they aren't too high....  But I don't have any with me.” He offered as an excuse.

Joanna looked at him with an air of expectancy about her.

“. . . Mistress,” he amended his mode of address.

She nodded her acceptance of his rectification

“That’s not a problem.  Boy will also get a yellow band for your wrist.  The yellow denotes a server and not someone here to be seriously played with.  It won’t save you from punishment if you cock up or get an order wrong so don’t feel too protected by it.”

Joanna used a simple system for her parties.  It was a given that play would occur, whether it was sex or torment or both.  Leather wristbands in assorted colours were available in a crystal dish just inside the salon doors.  Each colour had meaning; that the wearer was willing for everything or just some things.  Certain colours meant ask permission from the Dom or Domme first. Others showed preferences to gender or corporal punishment or willingness to do anal or dildo etc.  Some of the subs and slaves that attended already wore neck collars and wouldn’t have been open to wearing another one, even if it was just for convenience and Joanna understood that.

A collar was a personal thing, something that was a special connection between a Dominant and their sub.  Their relationship imbued it with feeling and it could mean just as much as any wedding ring for some couples.

No wristband meant ‘ask and I’ll probably say yes to whatever’.

With a backward glance towards the room full of guests, Lance followed the man called Boy from the room.

*******

Boy was in fact Joanna’s life and business partner.  They were the joint owners of a chain of sex shops throughout the Midlands although not many people knew he was an equal partner.  They had a thriving online section that regularly sent orders around the world.

They also organised BDSM events in the cities of the surrounding areas, gave demonstrations on techniques on bondage and corporal punishment at trade fairs and did the best New Kink Year party in the region with tickets sold out six months in advance. 

Each year had a specialised theme and display pedestals dotted around with couples or threesomes demonstrating the chosen kink that year.  Paying guests were allowed to do what they wanted of course – participate with each other, be a spectator or just socialise - but being chosen as a display model held prestige in their world and spots were guarded jealously.  Also, they were allowed free entry so it was a win-win situation for them – a free party and all the audience they could wish for.

The majority of their standard sex toys were bought in bulk from overseas from a larger manufacturer but they produced their own line of speciality items.  Furniture for any sort of playroom or dungeon.  Speciality sex toys that went beyond just dildos and vibrators.  They combined the two where possible.  If a customer was willing to pay for the making of a chair with a removable strut underneath that could be replaced with a twist-in dildo or butt plug, they would make it to the size and colour required and they had an adaptable penetration seat that a sub could be made to sit on for hours.

Their newest item was a kneeling bondage mat that was a simple device.  It consisted of a tough nylon webbed mat the size of a small coffee table with long straps at each corner; it was designed to be put on the floor with a low footstool placed on it.  The sub would then kneel at one end on the edge of the stool and place their forearms on the other end, upon which the straps would be brought up and bound over the forearms.  The same would happen across the back of the knees.   An additional elastic strap could be added to go across the back of the neck, the elasticity meaning that no matter how much they reared back, whether in shock, protest or excitement, there would always be a pressure bringing their head back down again to a more submissive position.  What the mat had over other bondage devices was that there was no way for the sub to slip out or wiggle themselves loose from a kneeling position.  Their own weight was what kept them tied down.  They couldn't pull the mat out from under the stool as they couldn't lift themselves up in order to free it without learning the art of levitation first.  The position it imposed on a sub was one that was particularly pleasing to Joanna.  The arse was up in the air and presented nicely and allowed all sorts of things to be done to it.  It was ideal for penetration or spanking and could be used with either gender.

They had only just finished the prototype last week and she had been waiting for an opportunity to try it out on someone other than Boy.  Tonight that may happen.

*******

She watched as Boy took Lance from the room and headed towards the lift that would take them to the lower floors and watched again ten minutes later when they returned and headed towards the bedrooms instead of coming back into the salon.  The bag that Lance carried looked full.

The building was in fact an old warehouse that had been bought just at the start of the property boom.  Even though the market had peaked several years ago and then dropped a bit, it was still worth three times as much as it had been when she bought it.  Added to that was the fact that the two lower floors housed other aspects of her business, the ground floor being the warehouse and development offices for new products, the first floor was used for events and large parties and the top floor held her large apartment and the company offices.  The warehouse was within a walled compound, security gates keeping unwanted visitors out and the distance provided by the courtyard keeping enquiring eyes at bay.

Yet another fifteen minutes passed before they returned.

By this stage, Joanna had taken a seat in her preferred chair, a large mahogany throne chair with studded red leather upholstery.  It normally stood in the entrance hall as a statement piece and somewhere for Joanna to throw her handbag and coat when she returned home until Boy hung them up properly.  It was only ever moved into the large open living space when they were holding a party and it was done at Boy’s insistence.  He guarded her authority and status well.  

She'd been sitting and watching her domain occasionally chatting to those with the confidence to approach to say hello.

She watched Lance re-enter the salon walking slightly behind Boy and cross the room towards her.  His gait was somewhat awkward and his eyes were downcast.  Joanna rightly surmised it was more to do with not wanting to witness others seeing him dressed as he was as opposed to any natural submissive trait that had appeared by magic.

He was wearing her standard maid outfit, the skirt with the apron as well as a pair of black crotchless stockings and a medium height black patent heel.  A set of embellished nipple clamps swung enticingly at his chest with a filigree chain connecting them.

“Boy, why is he wearing stockings as well?”

“Mistress, the shoes are new and stiff still, and might chafe him.  I thought he could wear them longer if he had some protection, however flimsy.”

Joanna looked at Boy as he lowered his head meekly but she caught the smallest of smiles that played at the corner of his mouth.

He knew damn well that she liked men in stockings. Strange that he didn't say so.  And he knew that the fact that they were cut away would show Lance’s butt off to its best while still allowing his caged cock to be visible to all.

“We'll leave him how he is for now but you presume too much, Boy.  You'll pay for that later on.”

He shivered in happiness.  “Yes, Mistress.”

Joanna raised a finger and beckoned and the female server shot across the room to bow and ask how she could be of assistance.

“Take Lance and show him what his duties are as a server,” she dismissed Lance from her presence without, it seemed to him, a second thought.  He wasn’t aware of how her eyes followed him as he crossed the room, the stockings framing his buttocks perfectly.

Boy stayed where he was and stepped closer to kneel at her feet and plant a kiss on the toe of the alarmingly high black shoes.  Her legs were crossed and one spiky heel wavered dangerously in the air so he took care not to impale himself.

He sat back on his heels and waited for her to command him.

“Well . . .?” she asked.

“He’s not a novice.”

“Oh, I know that.”

 
“He’s playing you.”

“No, he just thinks he is.”

Joanna watched as Lance went to mingle among her guests to offer service and smiled as he was set upon almost instantly by guests wanting to get a drink from her new server.

“How did he take the plug?”

The serving bell Lance had wondered about turned out to be another adaptation of Joanna’s.  It comprised of a small thin butt plug, of the type that had a ring at the end, originally meant to slip a finger through it and use it as leverage to withdraw the plug.  What Joanna had done was have an old style bell & clapper clipped onto the ring.  With the right movement, the bell rang if the wearer bent over far enough or walked provocatively.   By doing either of course, it meant that the plug moved inside them.  Also it was a fun way for her guests to ring for a drink – all they had to do was come up behind a server and waggle it and tell them their order.  Some people were a bit too enthusiastic about ringing for service but Joanna’s rule was that no pumping was allowed.

Boy took advantage of the fact that they were relatively unobserved for the moment - most people had their eyes on Lance or were involved in their own scene - and that he had his back to the room to throw her an expressive look.

“Like a professional.  I offered him the use of the spare bathroom and some cleaning equipment and he went in without a qualm.  He's had things up him regular and he knew exactly what to do, all that stuff about not being used to it was a lie.  I’m sure it slipped in as smooth as you like but he didn’t like having to do it on your orders.  I could see if it his face.  You’re going to have your work cut out with this one, he’s cocky.”

“He can’t be any worse than you were, my pet,” she replied with a smile and stroked an indulgent hand down his face to cup his cheek.

Boy smouldered with pleasure at her touch and her tone. 

“One of my greatest achievements,” she told him before turning away to look once again at Lance.

“Shall we keep him?”

“He’s not a stray cat, Mistress.  I don’t think we’re allowed to not hand him back.”

“Hmm.  So what did you make of his demeanour?  What do you think?”

“He doesn't like the stockings.  He likes the nipple clamps and he'd prefer to wear his trousers - and they are expensive, let me tell you - and he likes and doesn't like the skirt, that's a love/hate thing.  He likes the shoes; he walks taller in them because he knows they make his legs look good.  I saw him checking himself out in the mirrors.”

Joanna had learned to trust Boy’s opinions on these things.  Not only was he the business mind behind their company, he was an adept judge of character and often got more information as a silent obedient sub stood in the corner than someone who asked questions.  Observing often achieved more than talking did.

“He tried to convince me as well that he's a novice; that he just needs time to adapt - I let him think I believed him.”

“If he doesn't like the stockings, how did you get him in them when he'd already seen the other servers weren't wearing them?”

“Oh, that was easy.  I mentioned that you had a weakness for men in stockings.  I could practically see the cogs whirring and he couldn't get into them fast enough.”

“A-ha” she said finally understanding why he didn’t mention it earlier.  “You're a cruel man for a sub.  Remind me to spank you for it later.”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress,” he said as he bowed and kissed her shoe again.

“What else?”

“He wants it all but on his terms.  Someone, somewhere, has spoilt him to bits.  His accent says North and he mentioned a work transfer so I'm assuming he had a Mistress or two elsewhere who let him get away with murder.  Miss Sandra really can't cope with him and I get the impression that he wants to move on as well, but he's lazy.  He wants to put in the least amount of effort - he's role playing really, he thinks that playing the innocent abroad will get him some leeway.  I gather he's used to women and men falling at his feet.”

“Go on.”

“The skirt is the standard one but I gave him free rein with everything else in the showroom and he instinctively went for the most expensive and luxurious items we carry.  Those are the 15 denier stockings that he chose, our most expensive ones; most men go for 30-40 denier as it’s thicker and better at hiding leg hair.  Young Mr Lance over there waxes his legs.”

“Does he indeed?”

“Yes.  The cage is the deluxe model, as are the clamps.  The shoes are not the most expensive only because we didn't have his size - he made me look twice.”

“Did you remind him that you do not serve other submissives?” She asked in a tight voice.  She wasn't happy that the new sub had already forgotten or disregarded her rule.

“I didn't serve him, Mistress.  You know I reserve that only for you.  All I did was look for a pair of shoes while he tried another.  He didn't order me; he tried to charm me into looking again.  I apologise if I caused him to disobey you.   I wanted to see how far he would go.  I didn't get the full effect; he doesn't waste much of his charm on submissives.  He doesn't know our relationship, he asked quite shamelessly about you and how indulgent you were with me when I came to serve at your parties.  I told him that you were generous and gave me gifts when I earned them.”

“You lied to him?”

“For a given definition of lying . . . that's relative, is it not?  You torment me, you whip me and force me to do things I don't want to.  I consider those gifts.”

Joanna nodded her agreement and then looked towards the couple who were approaching her.  They hadn’t arrived together and she knew that they wouldn’t play together.  Neither was what the other one wanted.

“Mistress Joanna, congratulations, a great party as always.” Conceded the man.

“Thank you, Andrew.”  Privately she thought he was a bore but he was a useful contact with his very private hotel and conference centre on the outskirts of a large nearby town.  She had often used his facilities and it paid to keep him happy so that her bookings were given preference.

“How can I help you both?”

“Well, we were wondering if you could help us with any suggestions.  Madam Rose here and I find ourselves without play partners.” 

“Yes, I'm sorry about that, we had some cancellations and my regular fuck toy has had an unfortunate accident so we're rather short handed.”

“It's a shame, your parties always gets people het up and eager to play.   Both Rose and myself only penetrative I'm afraid and the only unoccupied sub is wearing a blue band so that's off the cards.  Is anyone else coming later on who might want to play?”

Joanna glanced at her watch. 

“Yes, I’m expecting one or two more people; they shouldn’t be too long in arriving.”

Joanna let her gaze travel across the room and settle on Lance.

“And I have an alternative in mind if they don’t suit, Andrew.  If you and Rose would have patience for a little while longer, I think I can offer you something good.”

Andrew and Rose followed the direction of her eyes and smiled their acceptance.

*******

Lance had been tugged on and had been rung for service quite a lot by the time Joanna indicated for him to approach.  He did so thankfully.  His cock was straining within its cage and his nipples tingled with soreness and arousal.  The two hours of service he had done had taken the edge off his desire to pose.  He served the last drink he was carrying, bowed his apologies to the group who would have ordered him to fetch something more, and made his excuses as well as his escape.

The service had given him something that he hadn't expected.  He hadn't wanted to do it but had been prepared to go along with it in the hope that he would be relieved from the menial duty after a short while. That hadn't happened.  The odd thing was that the longer he did it, the less he minded and the more comfortable he felt.  He liked the admiring glances he received from the guests, he liked the compliments, and he even liked how the stockings felt.  He had been caressed and fondled and stroked enough to satisfy a legion of pets.  All but one of the guests had been complementary.  

The serving had not been hard, but Lance felt drained with emotional stress.  The constant pressure on his cock, on his nipples and from the butt plug, didn't allow for a minutes respite from thinking about where he was and what he was doing.  It was more exciting than he had thought it would be and all he could do now was think about having his cage removed and having a break so he could masturbate.

Surely he had done enough to earn that?

With his previous Mistresses it had been easy not only to get what he wanted but also to achieve a level of personal satisfaction.  He'd paid them lip service really, he knew that, but it had been enough to give him the thrill he was after so saw no need to go further.  That wasn't the case recently though. Oh, he still had no problem to get what he wanted, the women he chose to serve were chosen for that purpose but recently he found himself indifferent to them.  He'd had to feed them the lines and drip scenes into their minds because they didn't seem capable of doing it themselves.  Take Sandra.  She was a nice enough woman and Lance enjoyed her company but she was too nice.  He needed someone who had a bit more . . . imagination.

This was all a game; he didn't really believe that any of these people believed in what they were doing.  They were role playing as much as he was; the difference was that he knew it while they were kidding themselves.  Oh sure, he liked the idea of being dominated and he liked sex and he was pretty open minded over who he got it with, man, woman, both at the same time, he didn't care.  As long as the people he had sex with did it how he wanted it, he was happy.  

It was hard to explain to himself so he knew it would be impossible to try and explain it to another.  He did want more than he was getting but he didn't really believe in it and anytime he thought he was near to being fulfilled, he fought to take back the control by telling himself it was all make believe.  Most people didn't notice.

Lance approached the chair and elegantly dropped to a kneeling position, placing his hands behind his back and waited.  He couldn't hide his experience.  He might pretend to not know but his grace gave him away. 

It was pure artistry, a pose meant to impress, not please, and the show of perfection offended Joanna.

Barely able to control her ire, she hissed at him.

“Still?  Still you defy me?”

At her tone, Lance’s head shot up in surprise and he looked at her in disbelief.

“Right there!  That look says it all, doesn't it?  It's all there in your face and the way you stand and even the way you kneel.  What are you here for, because it certainly isn't to serve?”

“I have serv. . .”

“Yes, you've served drinks for an hour or two but that isn't what I mean and you know it.  Serving a Mistress or a Master is more than fetching an occasional drink and you have no idea.  What you consider service is an insult to me and to my guests.”

“No!”  The denial was almost a shout. 

“Yes!” Stated Joanna emphatically.  “Even the way you deny it screams defiance.”

The people standing nearest started drifted away, whether to afford them privacy or to get a better viewpoint of what was coming, only they themselves knew.

Lance’s eyes flickered in confusion.  He was doing well, he knew he was.  He'd been admired by all the people in the room, he'd bowed and been respectful and fetched and carried and called everyone Mistress and Master.  What more did she want!

Although the question had been in his head, she answered him as clearly as if she had heard it.

“I want more from you than this” - she waved a dismissive hand at him – “display you put on.  I want honesty.  I want the real you.”

Lance was frozen with panic.  The real him?  He didn't know that he dared be the real him in this environment.  He would be exposed and at risk.  He didn't think he could do it; the thought of lowering his defences was terrifying.  He wanted to carry on as he was, it was safe, and it was known territory.  It was . . . boring, his own libido betrayed him and screamed its opinion before he could shout it down.  It made him stop and think. 

Were the feelings he got from his sessions with Sandra and the others not real because he hadn't been real with them?  Maybe . . . maybe it was time for something new . . . ?  He wasn't happy now - there, he'd admitted it - so could doing it differently be any worse? Can a person be sadder than sad, lower than dissatisfied?  What if the chance to change things was standing right in front of him disguised by the designer dress and fierce bob?  What if . . . ?

There was no guarantee, no way of knowing what this road held unless he trod it.

His eyes lost their guarded look and were almost innocent without that protection.  His shoulders dropped and his stance relaxed.  He met her eyes without saying a word, and saw that she knew.  She knew she had won.

Joanna looked at him and saw his uncertainty.  He was more beautiful now than at any moment throughout the evening.

She lowered her voice and spoke softly to him.  "This way, we both win.  Believe me."

While he stood before her not knowing what to do next, she turned to the ever present Boy and told him to bring the new mat.  Boy smiled, whether in sadistic glee or genuine delight, Lance didn't know.  When he returned few minutes later, he was also carrying a low footstool.  Lance looked at it dispassionately - he'd find out soon enough what it was for.  His curiosity was in abeyance, all he could do was stand where he had been told to stand and wait.  For whatever Mistress Joanna had in mind.

Boy unrolled the mat and lay it on the floor directly in line with his Mistress' chair.  The footstool went on top and he came to Lance and took him by the elbow and turned him so he could see what awaited him.  Lance felt as though he were a horse being allowed a good look at the starting gate before being led in and having the doors close behind him, cutting off thoughts of escape.

"Boy, help him remove the skirt and the plug."

Lance stood still and let him do so and was surprised at how gentle he was.  The removal of the plug was disconcerting, he'd worn it for hours by now and its absence was strange. At Boy’s urging, he stepped to the low stool and let himself be pushed down into a kneeling position where he felt straps go across the back of his calves.  He was then pushed forward until he was leaning on his forearms instead of his hands and he lowered his head to rest it on his grasped hands once they too had been secured with straps.  He knew he was hiding but felt the room could see enough of him in this position. They didn't need his face as well.

Joanna approached and stood to his side and he turned his head to bring her into view as well as avoid looking at anyone else.  She was now holding a long leather horse’s crop in her hand and with it she traced the still vivid handprint on Lance’s left cheek. 

“What happened?”

“A guest punished me,” mumbled Lance.

“Why?”

No answer.

Joanna slashed the crop across the back of his thighs which elicited a howl that resounded around the room.  People were watching intently although the distance they kept restricted them from hearing most of the conversation, except the howls.

“Why?”

“He said I was disrespectful,” he finally admitted, panting with the effort of coping with the brutal blow he’d received.  He was used to a build-up to the level he was comfortable at – this was full on from the first moment.

“In what way?”

Lance gave up all pretence of trying to hold on to the details and instantly the last of the tenseness left his body.

“He said that I didn't show humility.  That I stood above my station.”

“Ha!” Joanna laughed out loud.  And he had the right of it, she thought.

“Who was it?”

Lance glanced around the room quickly, horrified to see all eyes on him and his predicament, and swiveling rapidly back to face only Joanna, told her.

“The man beside the bar wearing the blue shirt.”

Joanna looked where he indicated and saw that he was referring to Andrew.  She almost laughed out loud again.  Andrew would have no truck whatsoever with a submissive that didn't show proper respect. 

“I warned you that you would need to be respectful, that I expected you to be deferential.  Not to think of yourself, but of your superiors and put them first.  You haven’t done that.” 

“I also said that if you disobeyed me that I would punish you.  This is that punishment.  Do you deny the need or my right to apply it?”

She waited while he thought about his answer.  She showed no patience for what she deemed disobedience but she did possess patience for him to think about it and come to his own conclusion.

“No, Mistress.” The words stumbled out in a voice he didn't recognise as his own.

“Then we shall begin.”

She began to slash the crop across his arse and his thighs.  The stockings may have protected his feet from new shoes but they offered no protection whatsoever from a crop wielded by a wronged Mistress.  Time and time again it came down and time and time again he felt driven to the brink, convinced that he couldn’t take one more stroke until it fell anew and proved that it wasn’t his choice.  He couldn’t continue, he really couldn’t.  He wanted to use the safe word that he had always insisted that his previous partners use until he remembered that he didn’t have one.  She hadn’t asked him for one and she hadn’t offered one.  He didn’t have a safe word!  Too late he came to understand that for Joanna, this wasn’t play, this was for real.

She lowered the intensity of the strokes but added another element to the punishment.  Questions that were meant to torment him further.

“When I tell you to bend over, what do you do?”

“I bend over?”

“Wrong answer!”  The crop came down smartly.

“When I tell you to strip, what do you do?”

“I strip, Mistress?”

“Wrong answer!” Again the crop struck. 

No, how could the answer be wrong.  He didn’t understand what she wanted from him.

Question after question she asked him and no matter how he answered, she deemed it wrong and gave him another awful slash with that damned crop.

His arse was on fire.  He couldn't take any more; she must know that . . . why didn't she know that?  He felt like screaming out in anger and frustration at not being able to get it right.  He'd never get this right, she was asking the impossible and suddenly he knew that he would stay like this all evening until she and her guests got bored with seeing his incompetence.  He'd failed.

A harsh hand in his hair pulled his head back and she demanded.

“Think!  You can do this.  Don't tell me what you think I want to hear, tell me what you feel, what you know, what you want.”  She let him go suddenly and his head dropped back down.

Think.  Think?  How the hell could he think when his mind was screaming?

She started again.

“When I tell you to do something, what do you do?”

“I do it.”  The silence was palpable.

“Almost.  But wrong answer!”  Once again, another searing stripe across the fleshiest part of his buttocks. 

“Again.  When I tell you to do something, what do you do?

He thought about her earlier demand; to tell her what he wanted.  What did he want?  Something clicked in Lance's brain and the answer came to him suddenly.  He rushed to give the correct answer before she could swing the crop again.

“I obey.  Please, Mistress, I obey.”

“Louder.”

“I obey!”

“Louder”

“I obey, Mistress, I obey!”

A hand skimmed briefly across his blazing flesh offering the smallest of comfort, a hint of understanding and moved away.

“Yes, you obey.  Well done.”

Her approval soothed him.  She let him be for five minutes for him to recover from the beating and take on board what he had just declared to a room full of people.  When she thought that enough time had elapsed, she approached him again.

“Now comes the second part.” She said as she waved over the two guests who had asked for her help earlier on.  She knew that they both had played by now with others but was sure that they were willing to play some more.

He didn't know what part two consisted of but he did know that he had just screamed out his obedience to her at the top of his voice so it would be whatever she decided.

Joanna invited Rose to step forward.  She knew that Andrew normally preferred to go first but she also knew he could be - vigorous - and, there was no denying it, he was well endowed.  If Lance really wasn't used to anal, he wouldn't appreciate Andrew’s eight and a half inch cock suddenly stuffed up him without any warm up.  Rose could get him ready and loosened up and Andrew would still be the first cock in. 

Lance felt hands on his arse; smaller, softer hands than those of Mistress Joanna’s but with longer nails.  They stroked and traced their way across the red skin, gently at first then harsher and harsher until it was just the nail making contact and they weren't stroking, they were digging.  

What importance a bit more pain if it was what his Mistress wanted.  Lance relaxed into the touch and arched his back to offer more access.  A cool sensation flittered across his hole; he recognised it as gel and knew what was coming.  He braced himself just in time to push back against what felt like a dildo entering him.  The butt plug had done its job, he was ready and the dildo slipped in easy enough.   The woman behind him, Madam Rose, moved back and forth slowly at first, touching him as she pushed at him, the disparity between the two types of touch jarring at him until he didn't know whether to push himself against one or lean into the other.  He gave up trying to do either and let things be as they were.  He was securely tied down, he wasn't going anywhere so it wasn't his responsibility to anticipate her movements, all he had to do was accept.

She sped up when he started to moan. 

Although his cock was leaking he wasn't going to cum, he hoped she knew that because if she was waiting for that to happen before she stopped, they were in for a long night.  What he didn't know was that Joanna was keeping a close eye on proceedings and indicated for Rose to finish up.  She did so with some angled thrusts that stimulated him further.  He regretted picking the metal cock cage, he was sure that if he'd gone for the leather one, he'd have burst through it by now.  His cock was straining and aching for release.

She slowed and rested against him, the base of the dildo touching him behind his balls.  With a final circular wiggle – for luck, for all he knew - she slowly moved back and allowed it to slip from his opening.

Had he been able to move he wouldn't have done so.  He was waiting for his Mistress to tell him what came next.  Lance felt more hands on his arse, pushing open his cheeks to gain access.  This wasn't the cold impersonality of plastic though, this was flesh.  Pulsing, warm insistent flesh through a thin coat of rubber and quite a lot of it by all accounts.  It quickly entered to the hilt where it stopped and let him regain his breath.  It was enormous!  There was no steady build-up with this one, he went straight at it. 

‘Thank God he was tied down,’ he told himself.  He was worried he'd have been catapulted across the room with the effort Andrew was putting into fucking him. Either the man was an animal or he was still intent on punishing Lance for not being humble enough.  What was the phrase he'd used ...that he walked above his station?  Well, he'd be lucky to be walking at all after this.  It was intense, fast, deep, forceful and fantastic.  The fucking by Madam Rose had not had so much physicality to it but she'd touched him more.  Apart from the nails dug into his whipped arse, she had dragged them sensually up and down his back which had made him stretch and writhe and almost purr with pleasure.  This on the other hand was rutting, pure and simple.

When he'd finished, he pulled out without a comment to Lance, told Joanna that he was a good fuck and excused himself to visit the bathroom. ‘Pig,’ thought Lance ‘not even a Thank You’.  He was careful not to voice the thought.

Boy had obviously been given a wordless instruction because he started to undo the straps that were holding Lance down and then helped him regain his feet.  Lance felt dizzy with lust.

“Would you like to cum?” Joanna asked.

Lance had learnt enough by now that what he would or wouldn’t like didn’t enter into things much.

“If it pleases you, Mistress.”

“There will be a price to pay for doing so, you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress, I understand.”

She gave a satisfied smile and nodded to Boy who stood at her side once more.

“Fetch me a long leading rein for the clamps and remove the stool.”

Lance paled at the instruction; he imagined he was going to be paraded around the room.

She beckoned with one hand for him to approach which he did cautiously.

Taking a key from her pocket – that was where the damn thing had gone – she took hold of his cage and unlocked it, gently releasing his cock from its prison.  It was already straining at half mast with all the physical and mental stimulation his body had undergone and he sighed with pleasure about having the restriction removed.  Joanna handed the cage off to Boy who had appeared at her side with a length of chain which looked to be at least two metres, with a clip at one end and a leather hand loop at the other.  On her word, Boy attached the clip to the centre ring of the connecting chain that hung across his chest and handed the other end to his Mistress.

He hadn’t selected the harsher style of clamp, the ones that had teeth that bit into the skin, rather he’s gone for the peg style that would grip and squeeze until knocked or pulled off.  They were perfect for what she had in mind.

She clicked her fingers and indicated for him to kneel.  He did so immediately and even he felt the difference in how he did it.  She gathered up some of the chain so that it was taut and added pressure to the primary pull of the clamps on his nipples.  She continued to jiggle her hand, causing peaks of pain to run through his abused chest.

“I’m willing to allow you to masturbate, right here, right now, in front of everyone on two conditions.  One, you cum when I say so and not before and two, as soon as you start cuming, you pull off the clamps.”  Lance’s eyes widened at her words. 

“Mistress, I don't know if I will be able to do that.  I want to do it, I want to please you but I might not have the courage to do that.  Please, Mistress, you do it.”

Joanna's eyes glinted in pleasure at the request and she stretched one leg towards him and placed the high stiletto on the ground and told him to move towards it.  He shuffled forward on his knees until she could almost touch him.  She shortened the chain in her hand accordingly.

“Lean back on your heels, you can put a hand down if you want, and you will masturbate in front of me, for me, and you will cum only when I give you permission.  Understood?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Then begin.”

Lance took his cock in his right hand and placed his left on the floor slightly behind him.  Doing so gave him the leverage to lift himself up, as if offering her more of himself.

She insinuated a foot in between his legs and he opened them for her to run a foot up along his stockinged thigh.  She stopped when the pointed toe of her shoe reached his balls and he watched in fascinated horror as she began to roll them around with the point of her shoe.  She wasn't gentle and although she couldn't actually step on his balls what she could do was push them and flick them and squash them back against his body.

No one had done this to him before.  It was a sensation that was painful and intoxicating and a new variation on the phrase 'she held his happiness in the palm of her hand'.   It was hard to concentrate on what he was doing with his hand when she was tormenting him so thoroughly. 

"Look at me, please."  She was very polite with her instructions; he had to give her that.  The 'please' was for form only, it wasn't really a request, he had learnt that much about her.  He didn't want to look at her but not because she wasn't worth looking at, she was.  It was more a hope that by keeping an eye on what she was doing to his nuts, he could avoid disfigurement if she suddenly went psychotic on him.

A clicking of her fingers recalled his attention and he raised his eyes to hers.  He saw the steadiness in her face, a confidence in what she was doing and he understood that she was asking him to trust her.  To give up that final thread of control that he had always held onto and let her decide.

Everything that had happened this evening had not been what he thought he wanted but it seems she knew him better than he did himself.

He maintained the eye contact and began to run his hand slowly up and down the shaft of his cock.  He touched himself as though it was someone else doing it, as though it was her.  The touch was sensual, caressing, loving even.  He wasn’t just rubbing himself frantic in order to cum, he was making a gift of it to her.  He wanted to show her that his body was no longer his to derive pleasure from; that was her right and privilege now and that she even had control over his own hands on his own body.

  

The slight smile at the corner of her mouth appeared cruel and pleased at the same time. 

She encouraged him and he sped up slightly. Up and down, again and again, running his fingers over the head and touching himself in a way that he hadn’t done for years and years when he was first a teenager exploring how it worked.

His breath got heavier and his eyes dilated.  His movements took on a jerky quality as he came close to the limit of his control.  He mutely pleaded with her for permission.  It didn’t come.

He would obey.  He must obey.  It was the one thought running through his mind.  If he didn’t manage this, then tonight’s journey had been a failure.

He watched her intently, waiting for the minutest hint that she was about to allow him his release.  He saw her hand take a firmer hold on the chain she was still pulling on; he saw her draw breath ready to speak.  She opened her mouth and then waited five seconds more before saying, “Now!”

Lance found that he didn’t even have to rub harder or faster.  All that he needed was that one word from her, that permission, and his body obeyed her of its own accord.  He started to spasm and his hand automatically gripped harder around his cock.  As soon as the first spurt landed across his stomach, she flicked her hand upwards.  The clamps flew from his nipples and his body rocketed backwards, stiff as a board with his hand still gripping his cock and cum spurting from it.  Every sinew in his body was rigid and although the intense reaction was shocking to some of the witnesses, others couldn’t help but be impressed by it and him. 

His body looked as though he had received an electric shock and he shook and trembled while his body dealt with the overload of sensations he had experienced.  All he knew was white lights behind his eyelids and the most exquisite pain he had ever felt.   The world faded first to grey and then to black and after that he knew no more.

He didn’t know how much time had passed but when he came to, his body felt battered and he was exhausted. He became aware that he wasn’t lying where he had collapsed, that he was lying on something soft.  It was an effort to open his eyes but the muted sounds that he heard were a mystery that needed to be solved.  He cracked one eye open but all he saw was the heel of a very expensive Manolo Blahnik shoe.  He recognised it.  Mistress Joanna had been wearing a pair just like it.  The party!  Forcing open his other eye confirmed that he was still there but that he’d been moved – or that he’d moved himself and didn’t remember doing so.  He was now lying on what appeared to be a large dog bed situated to the side of Mistress Joanna’s chair.  She was still seated there and in a way that twisted her body so that her crossed leg hovered in front of him and acted as a barrier between him and the rest of the room.  She was standing guard!  Well, sitting guard.  But the feelings he felt was still the same.  Gratitude.   Appreciation.   Respect. 

She was talking sotto voce to someone to her right and out of sight of Lance and vice versa.

He must have made a sound because she twisted her head back and looked down at him.

He didn’t quite know what to do.  He’d been asleep in his Mistress’ presence and would surely be punished for it.

“Good, you’re back with us.  Get up now.  Come on, you can do it.”  Her voice was encouraging, not reprimanding and it persuaded him to force his limbs to move and get up as elegantly as possible.

He nodded his understanding, too weary to even remember to give a verbal response.  It seemed she even understood that as well as she didn’t reprimand him, she just smiled at him.  Was that pride he saw in her countenance?  Pride in him?  That was a novel experience for him.  He knew all about pride in him looking good and making a handsome escort to events, but this was for him, the person he was and the journey he’d undertaken.

Someone had moved him, had carried or dragged him so he was hidden and protected and comfortable while he recovered.  He stumbled a bit from his weak legs and felt a hand support his elbow discreetly from behind until he could steady himself.  Once he had done so, Boy stepped back and melted away.  The man could have been a bloody ninja he was so good at it!

“Come here.”

She beckoned him to stand before her and when he did so, she unclipped the yellow band from his wrist and took another handed to her from Boy.  This one was black.  He watched as she pulled it open and held it out, ready to attach it if he was ready to accept it. 

“A black band would show that you belong to me so you won’t be asked to do anything prior to my permission being requested first.  But.  Outside of this building, you could run the country for all I care; it makes no difference to me how much responsibility you have elsewhere.  Here, inside these walls, inside this world, our world, your one and only purpose is to obey.  But to obey with the right attitude, with willingness, with forbearance even, but never with resentment, never with an eye on what you can get out of it.  You get out of it what you put in.  Do you understand that now?”

He had found that it wasn’t a game after all.  He thought he’d been kidding everybody but the only person he had deceived had been himself.

“Yes, Mistress.”

He looked at the black wristband, thinking of what it symbolised. He would belong to her; he would be giving her full body rights over him as well as the authority to control his actions and his movements.  He stretched his arm forward and smiled sweetly as she laid her badge of ownership on him.

There were no fireworks, no applause, no shouts of Congratulations from the crowd.  This was a private moment between them both . . . no, between the three of them.  From the corner of his eye Lance saw Boy watching.  There was no resentment on his face.  He saw pleasure and interest and, he realised belatedly, a sense of mischief.  There was a man who could get him into all sorts of trouble if he wasn’t careful!

He became aware of someone approaching them and he moved to stand beside Boy with the knowledge that he wasn’t the one whose attention was sought.

It was the man who had fucked him earlier.  A small niggle of annoyance tried to make itself known over the treatment he had received until he shouted it down and told it that it was the treatment he had come here seeking.

“What’s his name,” asked Andrew “or haven’t you assigned one?”

Joanna pursed her lips together as if pondering and responded slowly.

“His name is . . . Toy.”

Lance blushed at hearing his new label, because that’s what it was rather than a name.  He had just lost his identity.

He felt humiliated and was surprised at the pleasure it gave him.  What wasn’t going to give him so much pleasure was the disdain he felt he would be met with by the other submissives in the room.  They had seen him put through his paces in this room and he was worrying about what they may see as his lack of status.  He knew he could kiss goodbye to the leather trousers and the custom-made nipple-clamps, and the indulgent evenings where his Mistresses had spent more time pleasing him than the other way round.  Now, he was just an item.  He couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him.

He could feel the man, Andrew, looking at him pensively and wanted nothing more than to escape his gaze.  He was too drained to go another round with him but he didn’t know if his new Mistress would be aware of it or even care.

“Toy, fetch me a drink, please.” She ordered. 

He made a small bow and made his way to the bar where he mumbled to the girl behind it ‘A drink for Mistress Joanna’.  She quickly began mixing it while Lance was aware that a crowd was drawing in around him, almost every sub in the room had managed to come to the bar to get a drink for their respective Masters or Mistresses. 

No one was talking, they just looked at him.  The silence grew and grew until one of the girls standing beside him could hold it in no longer.

“Wow, you are so lucky.  You have a name from Mistress Joanna.  A name!  It doesn't get better than that.”

He looked at her as though she was talking in a language he didn't understand.  She saw his confusion and hurriedly began to talk before he walked off or her own Mistress called her away.

“. . . she said your name was Toy, didn't she?”  Everyone surrounding them nodded in confirmation without him needing to.

“That means you belong to her now, she doesn't give names to every sub, only to those she thinks are special.  There's Boy of course, he's number one, and she has Dog - he's not here because he broke his leg.”

What?  Animals?  No fucking way was he into that.  

Another sweet looking girl looked at him with what could only be described as a star-struck look in her eyes.

“Wow, Mistress Joanna gave you a name.  Do you not know how lucky you are?” 

They were all trying to speak to him now, each telling him something while all he could do it look past them to where Mistress Joanna was shaking her head at something Andrew had just said and laid a hand on his arm and patted it as he moved away to talk to one of the later-comers, a sub with a ton of piercings that did nothing for Lance at all.  Neither did the multitude of tattoos that he wore – in his mind it hid the beauty of the body underneath.  He was brought back to the present by the continued chattering of his fellow submissives.

“. . . only the elite get names.”

“. . . Dog has been with her for about 6 months but he came off his bike last week.  His real-life name is Tony, you'll like him.”  

Okay, things made a bit more sense now, especially the bed he’d woken up on.

A slight redhead who looked like he needed a solid meal butted in.

“He's shitting bricks about Mistress Joanna getting hold of him once he's out of hospital.  I visited him last night and he said she'd warned him before about being careless on the bike at night and she's been in to see him already and promised him a thrashing he won't ever forget as soon as he gets out.” 

The girl who originally had spoken, laughed and said, “Well, that will keep him safe then.  He won't be able to sit on a cushion after that, let alone a motorbike.”

The other subs giggled in agreement. 

All the other subs around him were nodding their agreement to what she was telling him.  All except one.  A tall man with a fashionable beard and a slight squint.  He wore enough straps and studs and chains to satisfy even the most dedicated of blacksmiths.

“The name sounds derogatory to me.  My Mistress calls me by my name. . .”

“What . . . Jacob Marley?” said the redhead as he looked the man up and down mockingly while the very young looked confused at the reference.  He sniffed his disapproval and moved away to stand with his Mistress.

Half the group sniggered.

“Take no notice of him, he’s a prat.”

“Anyway, of course it is a bit derogatory, but even so, it’s a Name.  From Mistress Joanna.  That’s a big deal.  Half of us would give our left arm for a Name from her – it means you’ve arrived.  You’re at the top of the tree now.  Well, okay, you’re at the bottom of her tree, but with everyone else, you’re at the top . . .”

She broke off suddenly and grabbed at his wrist, jarring him enough to make him spill some of the drink he had managed to wrestle from the barmaid who had been holding on to it to keep him there.    

He protested and hissed at her, “Now look what you've done” as he moped at the liquid dripping down his stomach.

“Oh, don't worry about that, someone will lick it off later on.  Look at this,” she said to the others.  “He's wearing a black wristband.”

The knowledge seemed to strike everyone dumb simultaneously.  He looked at their faces and saw what he'd always imagined he'd seen there before.  Respect, admiration, envy, awe.  

“Dude!”  “You lucky bastard.” 

He made to move away from the sound of their murmurings of congratulations and turned to return to his Mistress’ side.  The crowd in front of him parted to let him pass.  ‘Shit,’ he thought to himself, ‘this could have its benefits.’

He hadn’t seen the name as a good thing but maybe he’d not seen it for what it was.  Maybe it wasn’t the label as he’d first assumed, maybe it was a badge of honour.  

As he crossed the room, he walked with pride, not this time for how he looked or what he thought of himself but for what others thought of him.  It was a pride well earned.

He returned to Mistress Joanna's side in time to see her order Boy to bend over. 

‘What had he done wrong?’  It seemed to Lance that Boy had been everywhere tonight, helping, assisting, serving, guarding.  ‘Where in all that had he misbehaved enough to warrant a punishment?’

Lance looked on with interest.  Now he would see what a punishment from Mistress Joanna looked like from an upright position and without fear for his own skin.  Boy had worn only a pair of fine mesh boxers all evening; they would offer little protection but what they did offer was a fine view.

As Boy bent over and linked his hands behind his knees, without warning or time for preparation, Joanna laid the crop across his backside three times.

 Only three but she made every one of them count.  Not only were they fast, they were effective as well.  Boy lifted up on to his toes and rocked slightly as he tried not to fall forward with the momentum.  The only sound that he made was a small gasp on each stroke but Lance didn’t mistake them for light.  He knew to his detriment that Mistress Joanna had a heavy hand.

When it was clear that no more were coming his way, Boy slowly unwound and turned to face his wife.

“Don't give away the good stockings again!”  She instructed him sternly.

“I apologise, Mistress.” 

It should have sounded contrite and maybe to the others in the room, it did but Lance understood the tone perfectly. 

Satisfaction.

The End.