Incipiunt Vitae Novae Pt. 12: Khalidah's Celebration

This chapter continues the mini-series which started in Part 10: Bound for Atlanta , describing Khalidah's return, no longer at risk of arrest, to the city where she established her dungeon, Khalidah's Lair. Tonight's the night I've been waiting for: I'm bound for Khalidah's homecoming party.

A fair warning: this story contains heavy bondage and discipline, though in the end, everyone feels they had a good time.

Incipiunt Vitae Novae Part 12: Khalidah's Celebration

It was good I'd had a chance to rest!

Not that I had much of a choice. I owed it to Khalidah. And I'd better be fresh for Lady Dimitrescu, Ginny reminded me as she tied me to the bed. Just tight enough—she's so mean!—so I couldn't pleasure myself, a wise precaution given the visions of the prison tour she knew, better than I was aware, were dancing in my brain. When she woke me from my nap she'd already showered and dressed.

How fine Ginny looked, radiating cool competence in her custom-designed C-suite outfit, one of a closetfull she used to wear to work before she became an official tormentor. She still finds them useful, now for the delicious chill they induce in the newly convicted when she wears them to the courtroom for sentencing. As she bent over me I felt her newly developed ice-hard gaze slice right through my skin. Then the sisterly twinkle from her eyes. Whew.

"Get up", she ordered, "and get in the bath. We need to be in the lounge at eight-thirty. You have less than half an hour."

She untied me. I scurried into the bathroom.

"Leave it open", she commanded as I started to close the door.

She'd already run the bath, and with the door open I didn't dare misbehave. By the time I came out she had my control harness ready to take over enforcing my chastity. Once she had me thoroughly locked up she tossed me a silky black and red kimono, giving me just long enough to make myself hotel-presentable before we headed downstairs.

We met Jen and Bev in the hotel lounge right on time, ate a light supper, and headed out to the car. Bev and I rode in the rear, I with my wrists fastened to my harness on each side, Bev with hers cuffed in the small of her back, under matching kimonos.

Ten minutes later we arrived at the club, and shortly after that Jen and Ginny had us stripped naked—they even took away my harness—and strapped together back to back, just like in my nightmare.

Almost. Our wrists were drawn up above our heads, but we weren't suspended off the floor. Instead, we stood ankle to ankle on a small turntable. I'd be in that position, I could be sure, for considerably longer than in my dream, so it was a relief to be at least partly supported by my feet.

We revolved slowly, one facing into the club on full frontal display, the other watching the wall drift by, twice per minute, and we weren't twisting into pretzels; whatever held our wrists high above our heads swiveled, which was another relief.

But that was it for relief, because there was another difference. Ginny did produce a crupper strap from her toybag, but once we were bound and turning, it turned too, into one massive, frustrating disappointment. Ginny simply looped it loosely around our necks. It wasn't buried, the way I'd dreamed, deep in our crotches. No matter how hard we squirmed, our bare pubes got no stimulation whatsoever.

"Damn you, Ginny," I muttered, as the free ends danced an infernal two-step on my rapidly hardening nipples. "I hate, hate, hate you."

Oh, well, better safe than sorry—Lady Dimitrescu will punish the devil out of me, I consoled myself, if I cum before she arrives. Then again, she probably will anyway.

Soon after Ginny and Jen finished setting us up the DJ took her station. Mysterious techno music, like the background music I remembered hearing in the punishment center viewing gallery, filtered through the club, not so loud it made conversation difficult, but loud enough to establish a delightfully unsettling ambience. Khalidah's homecoming party was officially underway.

++++

"Oh, oh," Bev whispered after we'd been revolving for five minutes, wriggling fruitlessly in our bonds. "Trouble's coming, for you at least!"

Jen had agreed to DM that evening so Jessica, who's turn it would have been otherwise, could play. Bev was the first to see her sauntering over, brandishing a Hitachi magic wand, wearing a deliciously evil grin. As we turned and she swung into my view, I just knew she was preparing some fiendish supplemental torment for us. Two other women, one I remembered from the previous evening because she'd spanked me brutally, then stroked my face with uncanny tenderness, hurried out from the staff area. The brutal spanker bore a flip chart, which she set up a few feet away. The other, who might have spanked me but if she did I never saw her face, carried a stool with two saucers double-sticky-taped to its seat, and a squeeze bottle full of lubricant. She set the stool down halfway between our platform and the flip chart, then placed the oily bottle precisely in the center of one of the saucers.

So tidy, I thought. Aunt Barbara would undoubtedly approve.

The two of them finished up and walked away just as Jessica arrived, pacing herself perfectly.

She smiled at each of us in turn, plugged in the wand, squeezed lube onto its bulb, switched it on low, and set its bulb down in the other saucer. She waggled her finger at it and laughed.

"No-one's allowed to touch you, except that way."

She moved over to the flip-chart.

The facing page was blank except for a few ghostly marks coming through from the back, and in any case I turned away just as she flipped it over, exposing the sheet underneath. Bev chuckled and wiggled her ass. When I came around again I read, 'Vibrator only, no other contact permitted. $1 for 10 seconds, honor system, additional tips welcome.' And in smaller lettering underneath, 'No freeloading. The DM knows if you've been naughty or nice!'

Under the poster-pad hung a plastic pail, primed with a fistful of dollar bills.

"Thanks for helping with our fundraising," Jessica giggled as she slipped a rubber glove over her wrist and squeezed a generous spurt of lubricant onto her latex-shrouded index finger.

I couldn't see what she did next because she launched herself into Bev-synchronous orbit, but the energetic squirming transmitted through our encircling straps told me all I needed to know. After a couple of rotations Jessica dropped out of orbit and returned to the stool for another fingerload of lube.

I gasped as her slippery fingertip overwhelmed my altogether inadequate perimeter defenses. She eased her oily invader up and down several times, thoroughly lubricating me, then landed, just for a moment, on my clit, inducing a powerful wave of anxiety-ridden pleasure before sounding her retreat.

"Don't forget about your date with Lady Dimitrescu," she whispered, pressing her lips close to my ear. "You'd be most unwise to cum before she arrives." Then out loud, "Have a nice ride, you two. Bye-bye!"

With that, Jessica turned and sashayed away, wiggling her leather-covered hips at us, leaving us to marinate in frustration to the music of the vibrator mixing with the techno, one from all around us, the other rattling and buzzing from the stool beside us.

"She tends to arrive on the late side," Jessica called back just before passing out of range.

++++

Around and around we went. The room filled up a little more with each revolution. Khalidah marched in wearing an abaya, the same one, I think, that she cast off during Ginny's, Bev's and my mock execution. It wouldn't stay on long, I figured, but covered by it, at that moment, she looked profoundly mysterious. Ineffably powerful, too—in her left hand she carried an electric cattle prod.

In her right she held a chain leading to Chrissy, who was bound just like the women we'd seen earlier in the prison coffle, complete with perforated pussy plate. Did Kalisha borrow those restraints from the penitentiary? Perhaps, or maybe she knows where to order the exact same product. Either way, Chrissy's going wherever Khalidah wants.

Next in the coffle: Veronique. She's about Khalidah and Chrissy's height. And who's this, hard on Veronique's heels! Yes, as she got closer I was sure: Jillian Klemmer, struggling to walk barefoot in her hobble chain almost as much as she had earlier in her heels.

Even without heels Jillian raised the bar considerably, but Kalisha, who held the chain at the rear, towered over them all. Unlike that morning, when she was off-duty, this time she did have on her prison guard's uniform, and looked every bit as ready to discipline as the guards we'd seen on our tour.

Jillian was beaming like she was in seventh heaven. I didn't expect her to be so fit, so healthy-looking; her body was gorgeous without clothes on, even if it was a bit clumsy. Chalk it up to distraction! The chains flowing over her lightly-tanned skin twinkled like perseid showers in the club's lights, elevating her nakedness to refined elegance. Would she stay so sky-high, I wondered, once Kalisha set about punishing her for being two minutes late that morning?

And what, I wondered, was in Khalidah's mind as she led that glittering coffle? She'd talked to me a little about what she experienced in the punishment center, so I knew that the last time she'd participated in such a procession she'd been neither first nor last. How did she feel, all chained up, in the middle? What was it like in the flagellation chamber, sandwiched between the clear films, waiting for the first impact? How did she, how would I respond to that dreadful band, striking me over and over, driving eruptions of atoning pain past my immobilized flesh into the depths of my consciousness?

I couldn't pretend away the juices oozing down my thigh, puddling with Bev's on the turntable at our feet. Would the same juices, I wondered, be flowing if I were really there, facing the band?

Jillian might be wondering too; she couldn't hide the quivering droplet forming at the bottom of her chastity plate, glistening and just about to fall, and she didn't look the least bit frightened, so no mystery what she was feeling, at that moment at least. Chrissy and Veronique seemed to have themselves under better control, only a trace of slickness on theirs.

Oh, oh, here comes another one of those guards, er, guests.

Tani. I recognized her from the tour, though this time she wasn't dressed in her guard's uniform; instead she was looking fabulous in a shiny leather catsuit, her waist and bust sculpted crisply in a silver-studded corset. I doubt she picked up those clothes just for one evening.

She walked right up to us.

"Hi, Angie! Looks like you could use some help."

I squirmed in dismay as Tani pressed the vibrator onto my shaved, lubricated lips.

No, no, I don't dare cum, not now, I cried inside. But would I be able not to, especially with Khalidah at that very moment guiding her jingling coffle so near us? Khalidah's eyes projected the sunny warmth of affection through the narrow slot in her head covering, multiplying my arousal sevenfold as Tani followed me around, holding the magic wand squarely on my clit. I was so, so close.

Suddenly the stimulation stopped.

"Aw, shucks," Tani exclaimed, looking surprised, though I'm sure she wasn't. By the time she got the wand plugged in again she was facing Bev, ready to make her squirm for ten seconds. Kalisha grinned at the three of us from the back of the coffle as she caboosed by. By then Jillian looked so totally lost in subspace I was afraid she might trip and fall, though I was confident Kalisha would catch her if she did.

Tani teased each of us three or four more times, stopping each time before the plug pulled out. Not worth having to keep plugging it in, she must have figured. My skyrocketing frustration assured me it was no accident we were located exactly a cord's length from the outlet.

The coffle reached the spanking benches around rotation two. Khalidah and Kalisha detached Jillian, fastened her securely to one of the benches with her tony come-and-spank-me buns high in the air, then steered the remainder of the coffle back our way. Up to then I hadn't paid much attention to the second turntable about five feet away on the other side of us, but I had a feeling it wouldn't stay vacant much longer, and indeed, in short order Chrissy and Veronique lost their chains and found themselves rotating back to back, strapped together just like Bev and me.

Almost. Chrissy and Veronique each received bright red ball gags, and as they were being fastened together Kalisha fitted them with clitoral anvils, ominous little strips of plastic which slid between their labia, just as we'd seen on the prison tour. Held in place by a single transparent band passing between their legs and attached at each end to a shared midriff band, the anvils peeped out, barely visible between their enfolding pudenda, ready to transmit any impact landing sufficiently nearby directly to their exquisitely sensitized pleasure nubs.

Jessica brought over another flip-chart as Khalidah and Kalisha finished setting them up. I couldn't read it since Chrissy and Veronique were in the way, but Tani filled us in, snickering as she read it out loud. The gist was similar to ours, except for the permitted implement: a wicked looking riding crop, which Tani lifted from its hook and whipped through the air a couple of times. The result was by no means guaranteed, she appended in her high soprano, to actually be pleasurable.

As Chrissy rotated into her line of fire Tani swung the crop, landing it with a snap right over Chrissy's shiny, shaved, anvil-outfitted snatch. Chrissy forced the closest she could to a shriek past her gag; clearly the anvil did its job, though she would have known it would from previous experience. I wondered if Veronique shared that foreknowledge, but if not, she had Chrissy's response to go by. Either way, she'd get to anticipate what was about to happen for the remainder of the time it took for her to rotate serenely into perfect alignment.

SNAP

EEEEEEIIMPHH...

I first had to imagine, then see it live as I turned to face her: Veronique struggling furiously, shaking Chrissy violently in their shared bonds. I suppose it didn't really matter whether Veronique knew what to expect or not.

What was it like, I couldn't help wondering. Khalidah knew; she could fill me in, I supposed, perhaps with more than mere words.

Tani returned the crop to its hook, dropped two dollar bills into the bucket under their sign and walked over to greet Kalidah with a generous hug, which Khalidah reciprocated gracefully. How she could have any affection for a woman who'd humiliated her so thoroughly just a few weeks before was confusing to me, but Khaldiah's spiritual depth is unfathomable, her manners unflappable.

Together Kalisha, Khalidah and Tani headed over to the social area, leaving one pair of us to revolve in extreme frustration, the other in slowly dissipating agony.

It seemed like everyone was gathering in the social area, which wasn't helping us advance the club's finances. Even the bar was empty. Just as well, this early, I thought. Jen, who must have ducked aside to change and now looked magnificently commanding in her official tormentor's uniform, wandered about the floor inspecting equipment. She didn't come over, but she glanced our way. I tingled all over, reminded of my volunteer judicial punishment session, which she had conducted, and our private session less than a week later.

She turned her icy tormentor gaze on us for a full rotation. Bev got it first—I felt her body tense up and shudder, then it was my turn, but after that Jen smiled at us, for a whole additional revolution. Then she headed to the bar.

You've taught my sister well, I reflected, with a little shudder, and not a little filial pride.

Alcohol's a touchy subject in BDSM circles. It's nice to have some, and it was available that night, but I'll admit I get frightened if I'm tied up around people who've had a lot. Jen hardly drinks at all, especially since she recovered from her illness, and while I couldn't overhear it, I was sure she and the bartender were discussing what level of inebriation they'd tolerate that evening. They certainly weren't talking about us. I was getting lonesome, especially since Bev was busy descending into her own space. Around and around we went.

++++

Oh, my! That woman who just came in... it took me a moment to recognize her. The cropped hair peeking out under the rim of her leather skullcap clued me in, finally. That's Joanie, dressed in a fantastically threatening medieval executioner's outfit, complete with a very realistic ax and various other nasty-looking devices hanging from her belt.

Suddenly I felt much more vulnerable than lonesome, naked and bound as I was. I had to remind myself that I was safe in that setting. I could let my fantasies run wild, as long as I took care not to let myself go off a climax cliff. But that executioner, walking right up to us, was truly, voluptuously scary.

"Aren't you two a scrumptious sight? Mary Queen of Scots and Anne Boleyn, isn't it?"

Joanie laughed, balancing her ax against the stool. She picked up the magic wand and grazed it on my glistening mons.

"Watch yourself, Angie," she warned, pressing harder. "If you cum I'll lend Lady Dimitrescu my ax. She'll probably arrive tipsy, so you'd best not count on her accuracy."

I was trying very hard not to climax. Joanie's terrifying, darkly erotic outfit was helping not one bit. I was starting to understand how, in the event, one might tip one's executioner generously, and pray for their sobriety and skill. Funny, that didn't even cross my mind with Khalidah, she was so obviously competent.

Bev rotated into wand range as I turned away.

"No, my mistake, it's Joan of Arc, right?" I heard her whispering to Bev as the wand's vibrations telegraphed through her buttocks into mine. "Khalidah texted me this afternoon, told me all about your fantasy. I'll be the one binding you to the stake, just like I prepare convicts in the prison!"

The vibrator stopped, plug pulled out.

"Toodeloo, Angie. See you at the stake, Bev!" she called out as she plugged the magic wand back in, set it back on the stool, dropped two dollars in the bucket, and picked up her ax. She thought for a moment, then parked it against the wall nearby.

For us to contemplate? Or just a handy spot?

As Joanie walked away I stared at the ax, then recalled with mixed relief that the spanking I'd endured the previous evening at Lady Dimitrescu's hand was as precisely executed as they come.

But Joanie must not have been kidding. Over in the far corner, a couple of club staff were busy erecting a stout wooden stake.

I had to ask.

"Bev, what have you got up your sleeve? Is this another one of your stories?"

"You don't think," Bev responded with a chuckle, wriggling her ass against mine. "You don't think your aunt Barbara would let me get away with just one execution story."

"Just glad she didn't choose this one to put Ginny and me through."

"It wouldn't have worked. Ginny would have seen right through it. Since, nobody burns witches anymore."

"Are you the witch tonight?"

"Yes, just like Joan of Arc. A Woman In Total Control of Herself."

O... K. Bev maybe. Not so sure J of A. It does seem that almost no matter what happens to Bev, she's in control.

That can be a problem for her. One of her peak experiences, she'd shared with me in a moment of libidinal frustration when a scene collapsed, was when the automated collar closed around her neck, committing her irrevocably to corporal punishment. Especially the second time, not as a volunteer, but an actual convict. The moment the latch clicked she felt all agency, all responsibility, stripped away in a surge of glorious psychic release. But then again, even that situation was based to a considerable degree on one of her essays for Barbara.