Master H and Mistress S

He watched her from across the bar. Mistress S. She was dressed in a stereotypical sexy devil's costume comprised of a red latex catsuit, spaded tail, and spiky horns attached to a headband. Dark blood-red dyed hair cascaded in loose waves to athletic shoulders which currently shook with laughter. A young submissive knelt at her feet, regaling her with a comedic story. A flash of teeth, pointy canines, and a flick of the tail across the sub's bare back proved it was more than just for show. A red welt appeared between his shoulder blades, a small reward for amusing her, leading to a hissing intake of breath and a joyful grin from the skinny lad.

It was Devil's Night at Club Morpheus and nearly everyone was in wilder-than-usual costumes to celebrate the holiday. Dominants and submissives alike were dishing out the treats and the tricks, mischief for once being encouraged by more than just the brats. The aforementioned loin-cloth-clad sub was entertaining a small group in the cozy circle of regulars. They were parked in a dim corner in cushy beanbag chairs and gothic velvet couches under red bulbs in wall sconces. Master Jacob and two of his long-term submissives were seated to the left, a petite bare-breasted Tinkerbell leisurely sucking his cock as if enjoying an Otter Pop on a hot summer's day. She would occasionally pop her head up to laugh along with the others and then return to the languid suckling.

Again and again, his eyes returned to her though. She had been a regular here for several months now. At first, she had been unsure of herself and her place within this world, but soon she was regularly offering comfort, both of the painful variety and not, to many of the others who frequented the club. She lifted her head and caught him staring and then excused herself, sashaying across the floor with that damned tail swinging like a red flag before an arena full of bulls. His gaze darkened as it landed on the men and women also watching her move through the crowded social area.

"Master H, why the scowl? It's supposed to be a magical night. The veil between worlds is thin." There might have been some innuendo in her words as she hopped up onto the bar stool next to him. Perhaps the veil was just as thin between their own worlds tonight. A night when spirits roamed in more than spectral form. Henry motioned to Thomas behind the bar who promptly deposited an 18-year Aberfeldy, neat, in front of Mistress S. She smiled her thanks over the rim of the glass as the first smooth sip slid liquid heat down her throat. She plunked down a bag on the bar and he heard the sounds of candy and chocolate wrappers along with the clink of metal chains.

"It sounds like you've got some interesting treats in there," he teased, deflecting from the question. She swiveled on her stool to face him and he did the same. Dark brown eyes were pools of endless black in here, and he allowed himself to get lost in them for a brief moment. Brief moments were all he could take from her.

Running her fingers along the puckered edge of the drawstring bag, her smile appeared more wistful than excited by her little gifts. "Well, I can't say people weren't thinking of me," she quipped. "But I have a little treat for you, Master H." She watched his expression phase through surprise to curiosity to something that might be hopeful. Green eyes swallowed by enlarging pupils and shaggy shoulder-length brown hair were the perfect backdrop for his Viking warrior persona tonight. The combination only lent more credence to Henry's usual feral appearance. They stared at each other, a game of silence, both of them watching the other for minute tells of who might break first. She caved with a dramatic sigh, her eyes skittering down to the bar and missing a fleeting grin of triumph from him.

"What is it?" He conceded his victory gracefully by breaking the silence first, a conciliatory act to soothe her inability to hold his eye contact. Her lips pursed into a small pout, drawing out the anticipation of the moment as was her way. One finger trailed lazy circles on the bar top as she shrugged indifferently.

"It's just a small thing. I thought you might enjoy it." Delicate fingers plucked at the ties holding the bag shut. She delved into it, sorting through the assortment, and finally drawing out a dark blue box. She placed it on the bar and meticulously retied the bag, taking her time to make the bow pretty and perfect. He was well aware of her tactics employing waiting...pauses...lengthening moments until the boredom almost set in. Henry was a patient man, however, and he knew she would eventually deliver whatever was promised. As she slid the box across the bar toward him, he lifted his hand and covered it, and her own hand, with his. It was all part of the dance they had been doing around each other for the last several months. Stolen touches and glances, innuendo, testing the waters as they grew closer as friends.

The sudden hitch of her breath when he touched her was covered up with another sip of the scotch. She was playing with fire right now and damned if she didn't just want to get burned but immolated by the mountain of a man in front of her. He took the box and she gulped the rest of her scotch, abandoning her aplomb for nervousness. Thomas whisked by and deposited another before her empty glass hit the bar.

Was she blushing? Thomas met Henry's eyes and winked broadly before bustling off to deliver more refills. Henry turned his attention to the box, lifting the plain lid to peer inside at delicate folds of gold tissue paper. Peeling back the layers exposed a slim pair of leather wrist restraints in dark teal with a forest green suede lining. He couldn't hide his pleased expression. "You made these?" he asked, tipping her chin up to look at him again.

She nodded, shy now, as he evaluated her workmanship. He had been helping her refine her leatherworking techniques, and she wanted to show off a bit all that she had learned from him. Hand-tooling created a thin line of knotwork around the edges of cuffs, and the center was embossed with a stylized dragon's head cameo, his personal design. The rings and buckles were gleaming titanium, but he was already envisioning them with the beautiful nicks and scratches that would come with their use. Spontaneously, his cupped hand tightened on her lower jaw. Her eyes shot back to his in surprise. A shiver quivered down her spine. Her brain suddenly screamed retreat! As if sensing the precipice upon which she balanced, his voice dipped into a soft growl.

"I asked you a question, kitten."

A flare of defiance in her gaze lanced him and blood rushed into his cock. He shifted slightly on the stool to accommodate the sudden bulge. He enjoyed a spirited woman. "Yes, Master H, I made them. For you," she added, as if that were ever in doubt. She might have corrected him for calling her kitten, but nobody had heard him except the two of them, at any rate.

His eyes narrowed pensively and he leaned toward her, lips brushing the shell of her ear while retaining his iron grip on her chin. It was a brazen act. He had never stepped over this line with her. "For me? Or for you?" he whispered in her ear and then sat back, releasing her physically but not mentally. It had not gone unnoticed that one of the colors was her favorite. Her brain scrambled for a toehold as she pulled herself back from swaying toward him. She had no problem bantering with the other Dominants, but something about Henry always put her on edge. It wasn't that he was good-looking, although he was. He exhibited a musculature and height that pegged him as capable and strong, but lacked the hardness of hours spent at the gym. Just her type, really. Plenty of the people here were physically attractive though, and she had never been one to be swayed by good looks.

A part of her hated how easily he wormed his way around her thoughts. She was green as far as Dommes go, a baby really despite being in her 40s, and she had stumbled into the role accidentally by sheer virtue of her people-pleasing nature, outgoing personality, and easily slipping into the role of caretaker. Delivering punishments, pain, and even cruelty was not something from which she took any gratification, but she did derive great satisfaction and happiness from knowing she was capable of giving someone something they craved. She exhaled silently between clenched teeth and realized she had finished another scotch. A third had been deposited already. How had she missed Thomas' presence breezing through? The alcohol was starting to go to her head, and she realized it would be prudent to get away from Henry and his delicious growling. She slid her weight onto one hip and realized she was more buzzed than she had thought when she wobbled at the edge of the stool. There was no way in hell she was walking away from the bar in the 5-inch heels she was wearing.

Henry watched her carefully, ready to steady her if needed, but she managed to keep her seat. Out of nowhere he uncharacteristically blurted out, "I can't believe you're wearing those damn things," and motioned to her feet. True, she was more of a flats or platforms type of person, but she had wanted to step out of her comfort zone with this outfit. After all, Halloween only comes once a year.

"To be fair, I figured I'd be sitting most of the night, and the slow walk looks really great with the tail, say?" He grinned at the slang, "say" being the equivalent of "right??" in eastern PA lingo. It was a sure sign she was getting drunk. She normally moderated the slang of her youth when around those who wouldn't understand it.

"You're going to break your neck. You're a klutz," he noted without rancor. She was a klutz.

She grinned saucily, "Naw, you'll catch me." The confidence and trust in her voice sent another rush of blood to still-throbbing groin.

"Let's get out of here. We'll go back to my place and watch some scary movies, make some popcorn...," he let the sentence trail off as she was already nodding agreeably.

Within half-an-hour they were curled up on his oversized sectional. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, the catsuit and heels long since discarded in a heap on his bathroom floor. A bowl of popcorn sat untouched on the table in front of them, and the opening credits of Trick 'R Treat were playing on the screen on the wall. She was leaning into his side and he had a thick arm curled around her. They had spent many evenings together like this, just enjoying the company and comradery. He had felt something was different tonight at the club, and the feeling hadn't dissipated since they left.

"Would you do something for me?" he asked quietly.

"Sure, what do you need?" The answer was spontaneous, given before even considering what he might ask.

"Try them on." He didn't need to specify what he was talking about. The sudden stiffening of her body under his arm told him she understood perfectly. For a long moment she said nothing. He wasn't even sure she was breathing. He remained quiet, letting her work through it on her own terms, his calloused fingers gently massaging the back of her neck under the hairline. Slowly, she began to relax again.

"Okay," she whispered. She understood this wasn't a modeling request. She also understood that she was going to end up here sooner or later. Like most things in her life, she was ready to meet it head on and get it over with. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, she told herself. The box sat on the table, the lid in place, an innocuous-looking Pandora's box.

Carefully, as if afraid of startling a wild animal, he put the box on his lap and pried off the lid. He lifted one of her arms and laced his fingers through hers, studying the way her tanned skin and slim digits contrasted with his heavy paw-like appendage. Her fragility didn't lie within her stature but within her mind, however. His lips brushed the pulse point of her wrist, tongue following, and then the jingle of an opening buckle tinkled softly in counterpoint to shouting on the screen.

She could feel the flames in her cheeks, unable to look at him, at the TV, at her wrist. Self-preservation combated with hedonism. Why shouldn't she enjoy a night with him? She had seen him pleasure others at the club and knew she would likely enjoy herself immensely. She could keep it professional, couldn't she? She ran a hand up the inside of his thigh, the sides of her fingers brushing his balls through the fabric of his lounging shorts. He inhaled sharply and grabbed her hand, placing it on his knee.

"Behave for a moment, kitten," he ground out, fighting the urge to throw her on the ground and bury himself. The supple leather was cool around her hot skin as he fastened first one and then the other cuff around her wrists. He clipped them together at the center so her hands were bound together. Without a word, he stood up, tugging her along with him, possessiveness flaring in his chest at the sight of her standing barefoot and fresh-faced in his too-large tee.

He unlocked the door that led to the basement of his home. She knew the dungeon was down there. She had even seen it and used some of the gear to practice and learn. She was dedicated to making sure she didn't hurt the subs who approached her, at least not in any way they didn't want to be hurt. When they reached the bottom step, he paused and picked up a blindfold and a pair of new ear plugs. Her steps faltered as she pulled back against his grip on the cuffs. He stopped and glanced down at her, compassion and lust filling his gaze.

"You know the safewords. You trust me." It was a statement, a reminder that she knew him. He wasn't a stranger. He realized she was terrified but not of him or what he might do. A deep inhale, a pause, a long exhale, and then a determined squaring of her shoulders as if she was going into battle. He almost laughed.

"Up you go!" His attempt at restoring humor to the mood as he lifted her onto a platform with a St. Andrew's cross. "How about we start with just the arms, little one?" He unclipped the cuffs and raised one arm to secure it to the top of the X and then repeated with the other. The hemline of his shirt rode up to expose the barest hint of a well-groomed pussy. He couldn't stop himself from reaching into the soft curls and parting her nether lips. "No room for panties under that catsuit, I see," he chuckled.

Dampness covered his fingers as they side from between her thighs. "Cat got your tongue?" he tried again and this time he saw the edges of her lips quirk into a smile. She did enjoy a bad pun. Silently, she was chanting a mantra over and over again. She knew him. She wanted this. She trusted him. She would not lose herself to him.

The pad of his thumb tugged at her lower lip and then his lips were on hers, an iron grip at the roots of her hair eliciting a growl of pleasure. His presence loomed over her as he captured her mouth, plying it open with sharp nips. Her speared her mouth with his tongue, inviting her to take part in the dance. She tasted like scotch and chocolate. Without warning, she bit him. A bead of blood formed on his lip as he jerked his head away and she licked her lips hungrily. He painfully tweaked her left nipple through the shirt in response. Her hips jerked forward as if pulled by an invisible string running from the tender bud to her core.

Instead of rebuking her for the bite, he shoved himself between her legs and ground the hard ridge of his erection into her mound. A surprised gasp and then a needy whine followed as he pulled back, her hips humping ineffectively at the empty space left behind. Bunching the hem of the shirt in his hands, he pulled it up to expose her small breasts. The rosy buds were taught and the dusky skin around them pebbled with excitement.

"I have a confession to make," she whispered hoarsely as his thumbs flicked the sensitive skin. "I haven't...," she hissed as his mouth closed over one breast, tongue lapping at the nipple. "I haven't done...this...sex, I mean, not, this, in a long time. I haven't ever done this." She was babbling and she knew she was babbling. Why on Earth would she tell him that? Shut up, you idiot, she berated herself.

He lifted his head only to nuzzle the stubble on his face across the now damp, electrified skin. "Good." That wave of possessiveness swamped his senses again. He liked knowing that no one had touched her in a long time. It would make her experience with him that more memorable. He slipped the blindfold over her head and rested it on her forehead, gauging her readiness, and then sliding it into place and sending her into the dark. Next, the earplugs were placed with gentleness to block out any inkling of what he might be doing in the room. She immediately lifted her chin, trying to peek out the bottom of the blindfold to no avail. She shook her head like a dog in an attempt to dislodge the earplugs. He watched from just inches away until she settled again.

"Are you still here?" she asked in a little girl's voice. His knuckles skimmed across her cheekbone, and she turned her face into the palm, inhaling sandalwood and cedar from his cologne. He could almost hear the bees buzzing about her skull, all that anxiety and worry ping-ponging off the walls.

He pinched her opposite nipple this time. The unexpected flash of pain had the desired reaction. She groaned and sagged against the cross behind her. Her belly fluttered with fear and excitement. Unproductive thoughts fled from the hormonal surge the pinch elicited. Once more, his tongue soothed the smarting bud, cool air rushing in to replace the warmth of his mouth.

She felt him step away, a void of space in front of her where he had been standing. Her fingers wiggled as she tugged on the cuffs, testing their looseness around her wrists. She really couldn't help herself. Her head tilted as she tried to rub the blindfold against her arm to dislodge it. A sharp slap upon her ass ceased the action. She was both appalled and enthusiastic at her body's response. She had never felt so wet and needy in her life, and he was just getting started. She wanted to break free of the shackles and tackle him to the ground, attack him with the ferocity of a wild animal.

She felt the vibration of the platform under her feet but couldn't place where he might be standing. Was he circling her? A predatory image formed in her head -- him stalking around the platform as if looking for the perfect place to bite to kill. Goosebumps spread across her skin and she pressed her thighs together. Another mistake apparently as one ankle was swiftly lassoed and tethered to the bottom of the cross. Beneath the barrier of the ear plugs, she picked up a humming sound. The first touch of the vibrating wand nearly sent her shooting straight through the ceiling. She shrieked in surprise and couldn't seem to decide whether to jerk away or press into it. This time he did chuckle even though she couldn't hear him. He had no idea she was so responsive. She was always on the giving end of any public scenes, tightly in control of herself and what happened.

He barely gave her a moment to catch her breath before touching her again, the vibration hammering her clit with insane accuracy. She whimpered, sweat beading across her chest, belly, and forehead. She wanted to scream. She wanted to curse him. Instead, she ground her jaws together painfully and tried not to feel the unrelenting buzzing between her folds. Her free leg jigged up and down, thwarted at finding a position which blocked the sensation. Fingers clamped around a nipple, rolling, twisting, teasing, sending sparks licking down her body and consuming her mind. She was unaware of how her body was riding the wand, the inside of her thighs soaked with her own excitement. With a flourish, he pulled the wand away right as she neared her peak. She strained against the bindings with almost inhuman strength as he denied her the orgasm. She practically roared with frustration.