Hunter and Prey Ch. 07: Vixen

"Light but firm swings here... here... and here," the Mistress instructs in a crisp tone, and I find myself moving before I think. I swish the flogger around to get a feel for it, mesmerised by the swirling patterns of light the fluorescent tails make in the dark.

After a hesitant first swing, my grip is corrected, and I have more success. I see the bound man's eyes close for a moment in happiness, and he waits expectantly for the promised strikes. It's hard to explain the emotions running through me right now.

Swish. I feel the impact through the handle even as the loud sound shocks me; he sighs and leans into it.

Swish, swish. He jumps slightly and his lips part in a gentle moan, the sound sending a thrill right through me. Fuck, I'm so turned on right now.

"It feels intoxicating, doesn't it? To know you can give someone that much pleasure with a light flick of the wrist."

Mr Sarcastic's cologne wraps around me as he steps up behind me. I can feel the heat of him burn against my back. I suppress a whimper of need as I feel him press close enough to brush my tail and dig the butt plug in a bit deeper.

After a nod of acceptance from the Mistress, he gently pries the forgotten flogger out of my hand and sets forward to skilfully make the slave wriggle and writhe.

I can see the grudging respect in the Mistress's eyes at his masterful understanding of just where and how hard to strike for maximum pleasure. Pretty soon the bound man is begging for release.

Mr S leans over to the Dominatrix to have a quick word, and with a very satisfied smile she nods agreement to his suggestion.

"You've been a good boy," the Mistress murmurs in her slave's ear, at the same time as I feel warm hands on my shoulders forcing me to kneel in front of his twitching cock. I lick my lips and have a moment to blink up at Mr S before my mouth is pushed onto the slave's waiting shaft.

As I savour the texture of his cock against my lips and tongue, I hear his Mistress say, "You can cum now," and I feel the warm salty spurts of cum fill my mouth. It feels like a tight coil inside me loosening as I suck and lick every last drop in satisfaction.

God, it feels amazing to use my body to pleasure someone again. I feel like I'm burning up, and I have a moment of irritation at all the cloth covering my skin and trapping that heat in.

It's only when I feel an insistent tug that I remember where I am. With a dazed look, I follow the leash from my collar all the way up to the firm hand that's holding it. I'd never noticed what powerful hands Mr S has. He pulls me up to standing and leads me back into the crowd before I can wonder at the expression that flits across his face: longing?

Fluffy.

I hear my name in the distance and suddenly remember Ryan was trying to catch up with us. I feel a moment of intense guilt that Ryan or Jess hadn't crossed my mind once as I've been exploring with Mr S. Shame fills me as I look around for them to make some gesture of apology.

"You deserve more," Mr S says cryptically, and for a panicked moment I worry if I'd blurted my thoughts out loud. I open my mouth to ask what he's talking about, and I'm rewarded for the effort with a juicy strawberry forced between my lips.

I feel something warm drip down my chin: chocolate. The flavour, intermingled with the cum I can still taste, makes for an interesting combination and I grudgingly finish it off, thinking about the nameless bound man I gave release to with these same lips.

Suddenly Mr S leans in alarmingly close, his green-eyes so intense that I hold my breath, expecting a kiss to force my lips apart next. But in his typical sadistic fashion, he instead licks from the bottom of my chin all the way to the corner of my mouth. It feels as appealing as if a dog licked me; I scrunch my face up in exasperation.

"Ahh, much better. We couldn't have chocolate ruining that beautiful dress," he says dryly, raising his eyebrow questioningly as I blush furiously. Whether it's in embarrassment that I thought he was going to kiss me, or in disappointment that he didn't, either way I need an immediate distraction to clear my lust-addled mind before I throw myself at him - or punch him - it could go either way right now.

I turn to look for more strawberries and stop dead as I see where they're displayed: between the butt cheeks of a gagged and bound Elliott lying sprawled on the nearest banquet table; the chocolate sauce unappealing poured from his asshole down his crack.

Mr S's amused laugh draws a few more stares as I clearly can't hide the disgust on my face at the misleading image Elliott portrays on the food table.

"What, no more strawberries for you?" Mr S mocks as he reaches out and scoops up a generous dollop of chocolate sauce, tapping Elliott's ass affectionately in thanks. "It would appear yet another heathen doesn't understand your high art, Elliott. Every year Elliott covers his ass in chocolate to see which brave souls will fight past the appearance of something distasteful to find the pleasant surprise behind the facade."

I shudder slightly as he bites into the brown-coated strawberry even as I tell myself repeatedly its chocolate. Eventually, it's the twinkle of merriment in Elliott's eyes at my personal struggle that finally drives me forward to grab a large strawberry and run it playfully down his ass until he's wriggling. Much better, I think, as I pop the chocolate-coated strawberry in my mouth with satisfaction.

I can see that Mr S approves, and a wave of giddy happiness washes over me. I pause mid-chew; what the fuck?

I'm suddenly painfully conscious of my semi-naked appearance: my decorated nipples on display, the linking chains tickling against my hot skin as I move; the weight of the tail pulling at my ass; and the feel of cold air against my wet pussy as each step parts the dress and reveals my soaking thong. A thread of tension ties us together as his eyes freeze me in place.

"Pull your dress open," Mr S suddenly demands, his green-eyes coolly assessing my reaction. In the distance I can hear my name being called more clearly. The tension tightens as I decide: do I want to play this game with you or wait for Ryan to save me?

My eyes never leave his face as I reach down and pull open my dress invitingly, widening my stance provocatively and thrusting my breasts out until I complete the position of a slave at attention. I bring the dress edges, and my hands, to rest in the arch of my back.

It feels as if a gauntlet has been thrown down, and I've accepted. His eyes narrow at the challenge in my eyes before the corner of his mouth turns up into a tight smile. A shiver of anticipation runs through me, and for a moment fear, as I wonder what I've gotten myself into.

Mr S steps forward - not touching me - just staring down at me with those implacable eyes. One deep breath from me would brush my hard nipples against his shirt. My neck is starting to hurt from craning up to keep eye contact with him so close, but I'll be damned if I break first.

I can clearly hear Ryan's voice getting closer, and I'm delighted as a flicker of irritation crosses Mr S's face before he breaks and looks over my shoulder. I win, I can't help but think, as a smug smile stretches across my face.

"Ah there you are Fluffy, I've been looking everywhere for you," Ryan says with false cheer, despite the obvious irritation in his eyes at being led on a merry chase. He takes in the scene in front of him and I can see he's tempted to snatch my leash away from Mr S but is holding himself back.

I drop my hands quickly in embarrassment, the dress falling back into place, and step away from Mr S. I'm shaking as if I've just been pulled back from an edge. The two men stand assessing each other as I take a moment to collect myself.

"Ah, you must be Ryan," Mr S holds out his hand in introduction. Despite the friendly appearance, the move is clearly provocative. He continues, "I had the pleasure of meeting your wife at a previous event. Jess was a joy to fuck. I must confess I quite monopolised her time that evening. You are a very lucky man."

Despite himself, a proud smile stretches Ryan's lips, and he grudgingly shakes hands with Mr S.

"She is incredible, that's true. I shall tell her you send your compliments. I believe I even remember the event; she came home very exhausted. I'm sad to have missed it," Ryan comments blandly.

I frown at his jealous tone even as I look down at their still shaking hands. It seems as if they've completely forgotten about me.

Mr S continues, "Colin tells me you've been breaking in this unruly creature... (dismissive glance in my direction; my teeth clench) ... That's quite greedy of you to horde all these beautiful women, although this one clearly needs more work. Have you collared her yet?"

"Not presently," Ryan grates out; clearly at the end of his patience.

I can see that they're doing the stupid 'man thing' of squeezing the other's hand to test each other's strength. Men! I roll my eyes in sudden exasperation, which of course gets two sets of intense looks flying my way. Dammit, I really need to learn to stop doing that! The look of annoyance on their faces is almost identical; I have to hold back a laugh. Worth it.

"Ryan, thank you for looking out for me. I've been exploring, as we agreed," I can't help putting emphasis on that part. Part of me is feeling particularly petty and not a little bit hurt. Ryan has no business saying no to me and then getting in my way with someone else. Ryan's eyes widen, and there's a measure of hurt there before he nods stiffly in acceptance.

However, the widening of Mr S's smile at the comment pisses me off more, so I can't help but add, "Despite his singularly rude manners, Mr S has done a barely passable job of showing me around and making sure I eat."

OK, so I can be petty sometimes, so sue me.

This will probably be the last time I can get another dig in at Mr S, so I quickly add, "Although he needs to work on his choice of what an appropriate drink for a woman is," I end daringly, as a waiter walks past with glasses of champagne. I snag one and finish it in one go before either of them can comment. Moments of rebellion need big showy gestures, no matter how stupid, I decide. I'm proud my hand only shakes slightly. I feel the champagne burn its way down my throat, warming me up with false courage for what hopefully comes next.

Ryan's eyebrows shoot up in surprise at my tone before drawing down in disapproval at me drinking. We both know how much of a light weight I am when it comes to alcohol, and I suspect I will need all my wits about me tonight.

But it's Mr S that shocks us both: he starts laughing - uncontrollably - bending over until he has to wipe tears from the corner of his eyes. I've never noticed the laughter lines around his eyes before, it really softens his hard demeanour, throwing me off balance for a moment.

Once Mr S has composed himself again, he asks wryly, "I hesitate to ask, but curiosity is killing me. What does the S stand for?"

Oh shit, I called him Mr S out loud! I gape at him like a fish, opening and closing my mouth as I struggle to answer. The silence stretches out awkwardly as I try to think of respectful words starting with S. My mind is a complete blank.

"Fluffy, you were asked a question, and we expect an answer." Oh crap, Ryan's using that voice.

But I'm feeling reckless tonight, maybe that alcohol did go straight to my head? How does that expression go: 'in for a Penny, in for a Pound'...?

"Mr Sarcastic. Although it could just as easily have been sardonic, sadistic, smart-mouthed, snarky, stubborn, stern..." I start running out of steam under their increasingly steely expressions.

"My, my, how well you think of me," Mr S says with a dangerously neutral voice.

Oh fuck. Looks like I found that breaking point.

The men share a look that I don't understand, although their shared sense of purpose is perhaps more terrifying.

With a tiny nod of agreement, Ryan steps forward and murmurs, "Your behaviour has reflected badly on me. You have two choices: apologise and get an extensive lecture on etiquette at these events on the drive home, whilst you sit naked the whole way; or do it the hard way and take the punishment for your bratty behaviour. Remember, you brought this on yourself."

They both wait patiently for me to apologise but I am completely unrepentant about it all because, well, he started it! Yes, I know how childish that sounds. I stare back with obstinate silence. It's only when I notice a ghost of an excited smile on Mr S's face that I start having reservations about my choice of action.

Ryan looks back at Mr S and adds, "She's expected on stage in an hour, if you wouldn't mind escorting her there and making sure she doesn't hurt too much so she can still put up a good chase," and with a polite nod of the head, Ryan walks off and I end up just gaping in surprise at his back.

Mr S gives me a moment to chicken out and run after Ryan, before his hand wraps around my upper arm, and like an undeniable force of nature, he pulls me towards the far corner of the room and through a hidden door into a dark corridor.

My mouth goes dry as the sound of revelry dies down.

*****

I'm once again at war with myself: part of me is seriously considering accepting the humiliating lecture from Ryan as I have no idea what Mr S has in store for me; while the other traitorous part of me that's had far too much free-reign this weekend, is wet with anticipation at being punished. And if I were really honest with myself, I'd even admit that I deliberately put myself in this situation because I wanted to explore this tension between us more. But who's ever that honest with themselves?

He pulls me up short in an empty room with what looks like wall-to-wall curtains arranged in a semi-circle, so I have no idea how big the actual room is. The sound of people shuffling around seems louder here, but still distant. Silence falls as we both contemplate each other; the loudest sound being my excited, rasping breath.

As the time drags and no apology is forthcoming, he quirks an eyebrow in his characteristic mocking expression. "The hard way it is," he says, a truly malevolent smile splits his face.

Before I have time to blink, he's twisted my arm behind my back, forced me face forward onto the ground and pinned my wriggling body under his knee. It is almost laughable how quickly he had the situation back in his control.

The breath is completely knocked out of me so I can't speak. The rough grain of the wood floor and the smell of wood polish surrounds me. My heart is threatening to break through my ribs. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

With insulting little effort, he leans over and with his free hand clicks open a panel on the floor. I can't see what happens next, but it sounds like a button being pressed, followed by a repetitive hum. He shifts his weight and I try wriggle away, but with deft movements he pulls me around to face him.

I look up at him through a curtain of my tussled hair; the intensity in his eyes wraps around my beating heart and squeezes. My thoughts dissolve, and I can't breathe.

Although I desperately want this, the survival part of my brain is telling me this is insane, and it tries to break free. But his hands may as well be steel for all the give there is; the rest of his body is a mountain pinning me down. Other than trying to pull my scattered mind back together again, there is literally fuck all I can do to get out of this situation right now.

How can I be turned on so much by that thought?

I feel the familiar touch of rope a moment before I comprehend he's tying my hands together. "What are you..." I manage to wheeze out before he leans more heavily on me and I'm back to trying to breathe.

The rhythmic humming is back. What the hell is that?

Mr S suddenly stands up and walks out of view. I can't help but shiver as a wave of cold air replaces the warmth of his body. Now's my chance to figure out what's coming next. I sit up awkwardly and scan around wildly for him.

I feel his looming presence behind me a moment before I feel him roughly pull off my high heels. He tickles my foot provocatively and I squeak in protest, wriggling away until I have enough momentum to stand. I spin around to say something scathing as soon as my brain catches up.

The humming gets faster, and it suddenly hits me that I can feel the rope moving upwards. I glance up in shock and realise I'm attached to a mechanical winch on the ceiling. I can feel the rope start to get taunt, pulling me into standing straight, then pulling my arms up... and then keeps going until I'm forced onto my tip toes as my shoulders scream in protest. It's a hair's breadth before I'm ready to scream for mercy when he stops the machine.

I stare at him with wild eyes as I fight to keep my balance. I feel taunt and stretched, and not just physically. I'm back to feeling like I'm on the cliff edge again.

"What does the S stand for again?" He asks in a quietly conversational tone.

My jaw clenches, and I realise I'm buzzing with anticipation at butting heads with him. "S... (it takes me a moment to get my breath in this position) ... sarcastic.... I think I also said sardonic, stern... stubborn, sadistic... strict..." I'm back to being breathless, stretched out like this.

His smile widens and he starts undoing his cuff and rolling up his shirt sleeves, "Actually 'strict' is new so I'll add it to the count."

I blink at him. Count? I open my mouth to ask, but he holds up an admonishing finger.

"Every word I hear that I haven't expressly asked for will be another strike of the cane. Your write up mentioned that you've never been caned, but it is listed as one of the things you don't need verbal consent for this evening. Very bold of you. Friendly word of advice, you don't want me to lose patience with you on your first session."

My mouth snaps shut with an audible click. A shudder ripples through me before I can control it.

"Wise choice, Kitten," he smirks before stepping closer with vicious looking clips in his hand. I lean backwards in panic, but with a laugh he just lifts my dress and pins it aside with the clips, so my ass and pussy are openly on display. I squeeze my legs tight in panic.

"You won't be needing this, or those, anymore this evening," he adds conversationally, unhooking the leash that had been hanging loose from my neck, before his warm hands grab the edges of my thong and pull down. It catches for a moment on my tail, which causes me delectable torture before he slides it off completely. I'm flushed in embarrassment as he can now openly see how excited I am by all this.

"Perfect," he murmurs in appreciation before walking out of my view.

Time passes and all I can think about is what I know about caning. It involves a stick, and it hurts; that's it, the sum of my knowledge on the subject. And of course, images of old-school teachers disciplining irreverent students by bending them over a desk and ...

Swoosh. Thwack.

Every fibre of me jumps in panic and I lose my footing and hang by my wrists for a moment before I get my feet under me again.

Mr S is standing in front of me, the cane held firmly against his palm.

"You will get eight strikes for the eight words you used to name me. You will count us down as we go after each hit. If you fail to count, or say anything other than the number, I will add another strike. Are you ready?"

My eyes are huge as I stare at his unyielding expression. How bad can it be? I loved flogging, eight doesn't sound so bad. I bite my lip and nod yes because I'm not sure I trust my voice right now.