The Blackest Rose

"You're definitely the hottest one here," the uber-goober leered at Stella, as she tried to deflect the spittle from landing on her vinyl corset dress. She shifted awkwardly in her tall black boots, resting her weight on one heel, then the other. Then she corrected herself, knowing that when she did this, it poked her hip out to the side, a pose that might be misconstrued as flirty by a loser such as this type of guy. Where WAS he?

"Come on, baby, let's go," Edward appeared, pinching her side a bit and gathering up the glittering chain she'd been flipping around in a little circle. Tripping after him, she hissed "finally" under her breath. He spun around, but she could tell he was amused. It was her fault, it had been her idea to come here. He'd have been fine with their usual sessions of him tying her up, beating her black and blue, then stuffing his dick down her throat and up her pussy until she passed out.

But she wanted to show him off. Or rather, she wanted to be seen with him showing her off. Edward didn't understand that whole part of "the scene." She told him how much she despised the majority of the crowds at the conventions, yet she looked like a pleading, eager little girl when she asked if he'd take her. He found it hard saying no to her most times, and this specific time she'd asked him midway through clamping her lips around his cock and running her long nails through his ball hair.

She'd dressed his tall self in all black and he found that he definitely fit in there. He watched the other couples traipsing around in all states of undress and power struggle. Stella leaned on him, hugging him from behind, and toying with the little dominatrix cat keychain he'd bought her earlier. When she saw it, he felt like breaking the thing out of pure empathy for it, but she'd really wanted it...

"Can we go to the dungeon now?" she purred into his ear. How many guys get to hear that all that often, he wondered? She ruffled his fluffy jet black hair and bit down on his neck. He jerked her leash and they got into the elevator. A few other folks milled around watching the numbers drop. He pulled her around in front of him and thrust his fingers into her panties. A few of the men turned to watch as she closed her eyes and braced herself against the elevator wall. When the door opened on their floor, Edward jerked his fingers out of her, yanked on her chain, and she tripped out after him, leaving their audience to adjust their crotches and smile ruefully.

Stella made a beeline to a wine-colored leather spanking bench. Edward set down the duffel bag he'd been hefting. Stella kneeled down and got her Clorox wipes out of the bag. Edward snorted, laughing at her, but she simply shrugged it off. "Are you kidding me? Do you know what's been going on down here? Don't you WANT me to keep myself nice and virginy for you?" She scrubbed down the bench and then laid out some of her favorite toys. "My precious," she said in a geeky Lord of the Rings voice.

Edward looked on as she gently removed items from her bag. There was the wooden heart paddle that left heart-shaped rosy marks on her perfect behind. There was the star-cut out leather slapper that did the same. There was the leather flogger, the rubber-band flogger, the furry flogger. Lots of floggers. There was the fur pelt, to soothe hits gone wrong (or right) or to run slowly between her legs. Garden gloves. Vampire gloves. A fly swatter shaped like a smiley face that never ceased to make Edward crack up.

For the last item, she stuck her head in the bag and came out with a long, skinny riding crop between her teeth. At the top rested a leather stitched hand, much like the computer icon used to move objects on a screen. With everything laid out and the bench ready, she crawled on her hands and knees over to Edward and simply waited at his feet, with her neck bent and eyes to the floor. She folded her hands in front of her and pushed her behind up towards the floor.

Edward pushed her head back and removed the crop from her mouth. He slapped it against his jeans, which made her involuntarily move her hands toward her crotch. She caught it though, and brought them back to the floor. "Get up there," he said, prodding her with the crop.

"You don't have to tell me twice," she thought to herself. She loved feeling the leather on her skin. She placed her arms on the arm rests and straddled the main bench between her thighs. Edward reached up and yanked up her corset so her panties showed. He moved them down her thighs and she reached around to grab his hand. He caught her wrist in his and squeezed the small bones. "Did I tell you you could touch me?" He spoke sharply.

"I just don't want..."

"I know your rules, my dear. Now put your arm back where it belongs or I'll rip it out of its socket for you." Edward knew Stella never "got naked" at these things. That was for him alone. She didn't mind -- or well, put up with -- the oglers, but she had a massive distaste for the people who simply dropped trou and flashed their privates all over the dungeon equipment.

With one hand, he pulled her panties to the side again, and stood in front of her. Now he was fully blocking view to any part of her from the hips down. He alone had a perfect view to what she hid between her legs. He slowly dragged the riding crop over and between her lips, its leather catching here and there. He could hear her breathing become ragged and see her hips start pumping up and down on the bench in anticipation. He let fly with a few quick smacks to her clit and other surrounding areas, and then hauled off on the expanse of skin on her behind and upper thighs.

"Sit up. Turn around and face me." She did as he requested, leaning in to kiss him as she did. He started pulling her top down, but she pushed him away. Stella loved fetishwear, and not just for the hotness of it. She liked it because she could hide behind it. He used the little hand crop to smack her across the cheek (of the face) and she immediately came to attention. "I'm going to pull your top down, and you're going to make eye contact with everyone standing around here," he whispered to her, tugging on one little strap.

She crossed her arms in front of her and bent her neck down. "Um, I don't think so," she said quietly.

He batted her hands away and continued working on baring her chest. Edward knew the difference between Stella not wanting to do something, being afraid of it, and it being a serious to risk to her safety. Plus, he knew that when things pleased him, they pleased her, and he damn well wanted to show off what was his tonight. "Stella, I'm warning you. You don't say no to me. Now you put your hands behind you on that bench, you arc your chest out towards me, and you ruche that top down to your waist now."

Stella heard a few hushed poofs of conversation from the people around them and certainly didn't want Edward to look undermined. And of course, it was at the core of her to please him. But it was always ridiculously hard for her to show those "hidden parts" of her skin. She never got naked, but she'd been in just her little panties enough times at these events that she probably should be used to it by then. For a moment, she forgot where she was, and instead allowed herself to indulge in the little fantasy vision of crawling, tired and aching, into Edward's lap, feeling his rough jeans and t-shirt scratching her already irritated skin. By then, her bruises would be enough to clothe her, and she wouldn't care anymore that all she had on in a room full of (mostly even-less-clothed) people were tiny black skull panties.

Edward snapped her back to attention. He tossed the riding crop down and one of the room monitors scurried after it to replace it in their bag. He jerked on her chain so she had to scramble not to fall off the bench. Nervously, she stood, staring at him, but he was already yanking the chain over to another corner of the dungeon where an enormous, glistening, cherry wood St. Andrew's X-cross was waiting. He stopped in front of it, and without speaking, she climbed on, hooking her hands into the holder straps and allowing Edward to wrap the ankle straps around her. He then wrapped the additional wrist cuffs around her wrists and in one fluid motion, ripped her corset dress to her knees. "Look at me this instant," he hissed.

She met his gaze. It was even hard, in this kind of circumstance, to make eye contact with him. But at least she could stare at him and block out any other onlookers. Their bag had been dropped off at their new location, and Edward pulled out the rubber band flogger. He started softly, warming her up, dragging the rubbery fronts over the bumps of her ribs, hip bones, her jutting breasts and pointing nipples, and on top of the fabric of her panties. By flicking his wrist, he built up a little rhythm, and soon small patches of red burst onto her skin. By the time he was truly whipping her, long thin lines had begun to rise in little patterns. He read her well, and knew when to back off, because he knew she'd never, ever tell him. He could see by the way the tendons in her upper arms were stretched to their taut limit, or the way she slightly shifted out of the way when she sensed he was going to land a shot directly on her hip bone.

He dropped the flogger into the bag and leaned down, picking up the fur pelt, then stepped up so his body pressed against her directly on the cross. He met her mouth, then whispered what a good, good girl she was. He ran the smooth, cool fur over all of her blooming welts. "Are you done yet?" He asked her and she shook her head no.

He unlocked her from the cuffs, and turned her so her behind faced out, then locked her back into place. Deciding between the heart paddle and leather star slapper, he picked up the paddle. He knew it was her favorite toy, the first one she ever bought, the one she'd convinced her mother was "wall décor" when she'd accidentally seen it. Plus, the wood was smooth and hard. It made nice, loud, smacky noises, and he could also taunt her by running the tip of the handle close to inside of her. After working her over, he leaned in close, brushing her puff of hair off her neck, so she could feel the fuzz of his facial hair scrape her neck. She instantly thought how much she wanted to feel him scrape that hair on the soft, sensitive inside of her thighs. She could rub on him like that for hours, not even worrying about "the usual stuff" her girlfriends liked to get into down there. His bristles worked better magic for her. "Are we done yet?" He asked her again. Although her body was uncontrollably shaking, shivering, and still reverberating from his ministrations and just the sheer proximity of his crotch, his beard, his strong hands, she was able to lean back and whisper back to him, "No, not yet."