Meridsya's Pet 01: Trapped

Author's note:

This story contains supernatural beings and themes of dubious consent, bisexuality, BDSM, female dominance and male submission, pegging, pain for sexual pleasure, orgasm control and forced orgasms, and slavery.

It is not connected to any of my other stories.

#~#~#

The scenery was fantastic. The music was fucking great, I had a mild buzz on, I was already sweaty from dancing, and the scenery was making my cock turgid beneath my kilt.

Although, to be honest, the fact I was free-balling (I've never worn underwear beneath a kilt and don't intend to start) and my cock kept being bumped by my sporran wasn't hurting there.

But the scenery truly was glorious.

So I was already enjoying myself even though I hadn't done more than exchange appreciative looks with a woman (several women, to be fair), yet.

The venue was shared between my goth club and a BDSM club. Once every other month, there was a shared night that was at least as busy as either club by itself, once those who didn't care for the other culture were weeded out. This night was one of those.

Normally, I glam it up when I go goth, with lace and frills and velvet, wanting to look the best-dressed there and damn Brisbane's subtropical climate. But I go way more punk for crossover nights. I was shirtless and had replaced the barbells I normally have through my nipples with rings connected by a fine silver chain. I don't really work out but I am keenly into cycling and rock-climbing, so I'm pretty happy with my body even if I've always been skinny enough to be skeletal before I got sporty.

Add tall buckled boots, chains on my kilt and corpse paint makeup, and only my silk-fine hair down to the small of my back still looked like the pretty boy I normally played.

Everyone else went the gamut from elaborate goth to casual goth to proper, full-on sexual BDSM eye candy.

I mean, there were topless women with chains between pierced nipples. Both crowds wore corsets, leather, vinyl, fishnets and latex, but there was a difference even where styles overlapped, if you knew how to look. There wasn't just sexuality on display for the personal satisfaction of it, there was full-on nuclear sexuality on display for the overt worship of it. In one corner, I saw an apocalypse-punk collared man kneeling and fingering his standing mistress through her leather zipper-crotch panties as she leaned back against the wall. A young, smoking-hot woman knelt under a table giving her master a slow, long blowjob. I could have masturbated to any woman there and there were even a few pretty boys who re-awoke my occasional, usually acted-upon, desires in that direction.

The usual BDSM nights were full sex-on-show with scening stations and demonstrations, but the rule for the mixed nights was to keep at it but tone it down and be a bit discrete. A woman was chained to a wall getting whipped, but wasn't naked and didn't have a dildo inside her (that I could see).

Personally, I overlap with BDSM but I'm not seriously into it. I love to play with spanking and whipping sometimes, restraints, teasing and orgasm control, but I can't cope with giving or receiving real pain and I get really, really uncomfortable around submissive/dominant power dynamics more complicated than doe-eyed looks or assertive posturing. Oh, sure, I'll happily go hard on a woman screaming "Fuck me, Master!" or "Break me! Break me! Break me!" (she really had been utterly amazing) or who kneels and whispers, "I've been a bad girl," but I can't take it seriously and my skin crawls when I see anyone acting subserviently.

If a woman wants me to be dominant, I'll tend to restrain them and then tease them with mouth and fingers until they're begging and/or screaming. Multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, orgasm control -- those are kinks I can fully get behind.

Plus, when I discovered that I wasn't bad at going down on women, and started actively learning to be better, I discovered a submissive side of myself that was confident enough to play at being a sub, take orders, and be used for pleasure because I knew there was going to be pleasure.

But for years, the big brake on my sexual exploration had been trust. It took me a while to learn that there is nobody on Earth who knows more about trust, honesty, negotiation and self-control than serious BDSM people. Once I did learn that, well: some of the best sex of my life has been with dominant women met at crossover nights. I stipulate that I come out of it coming, and I'm happy to let her take charge and use me -- within my limits, of course. Everyone wins.

But, that's just me. You do you and your kinks.

As I came out of the bathroom on my way to the bar, a woman walked past with a barely-adequate, barely-overbust corset and large silver earrings that showed naked men, their hands bound behind them, wrapped with barbed wire.

"Hey, fantastic earrings," I said with a nod.

She flashed me a brief, socially adequate smile of acknowledgement. "Thanks. Chick back there's selling them," she said before moving off.

I gave her a brief salute and moved on. My first rule is: I do not harass. I will and, where possible, do, fuck anything that moves but it is always mutually agreeable and mutually beneficial. I do not chase, I do not hound, I am not, at any point, one of those pathetic, rapey fucking pickup artists. I have never in my life negged. If you want to have a good time with me, I can promise you I will do my level best to make it a good time, and I have hardly ever turned down an offer. But if you don't? I hope you have a nice night, and sorry to take up your time.

The great thing was that when I stopped being desperate and accepted that maybe a life of debauchery wasn't for me, my life of debauchery started. Funny how being nice is attractive.

So I moved on to the bar but I was intrigued by the idea of jewellery like that being sold.

With another beer in hand, I strolled in the direction the woman with the earrings had nodded in, pausing only to exchange an appreciative look with a tattered-leather-and-chains woman who gave me a purr and a slow up-and-down. Since she turned away slowly, I moved on. I was tempted to check if it had been an invitation, but I still had a couple of hours of dancing in me before I really needed to wet my cock.

As I turned away again, I came face to face with a grinning, fanged smile and vertical-slit pupils.

She was short and the word "cute" did not do her justice.

Short black hair teased and gelled into horns. Leather micro-mini skirt, fine-mesh fishnet stockings, thigh-high boots with silver buckles marching up the front, a super-tight waspie corset and a leather barely-adequate bra that supported a pair of impressive breasts which, based on the way they moved when she did, were probably natural.

I wasn't sure which crowd she was with, but she could easily have fitted in with either one.

"You look like a man who could use some more jewellery," she said with one of the most inviting grins I have ever seen.

Ah. Promo girl, then. She may have just dressed for her customer base, but she looked comfortable and as if she'd had practice. Well, if she wanted to be sexy and flirt with me, I was happy to waste some time being flirted with.

"Did you sell the earrings I just saw?" I asked.

She giggled. "Probably! Would you like to look?"

"Lead on," I said.

She offered her hand. Surprised, I took it. Her hand was small and soft but felt strong and confident. She lead me a little way to where she had a display on a table next to a small semi-circular couch under a downlight.

She slid onto the couch and patted next to her. "Have a seat, sexy," she said with a smirk.

I thought she was laying it on a bit thick, but I could appreciate it. I sat down next to her, flicking my kilt underneath my thighs.

She offered her hand again. "My name's Seiren."

I almost laughed. It seemed a bit excessive, but then again she also didn't quite pronounce it like the word, so it might have been Irish or something similar, and a coincidence.

"Lucas," I said, shaking hands formally.

I wanted to make it obvious I really was interested in her wares and she didn't have to try so hard. I've never worked in that particular sort of retail, but I've known people who have, and the corporate instructions to be flirtatious are not always appreciated.

So I leaned over her trays (not a euphemism). "What have you got?"

She spread a hand majestically over the table. "Rings, nipple rings, nipple shields, earrings. All piercings are surgical stainless steel, the rest are sterling silver. Oh! I've got some kilt pins!"

That really did surprise me, but maybe she just knew her likely audience.

She presented a small box. I had to laugh when I looked. They all depicted figures. A naked woman with a snake twining around her, its tail inside her pussy. A naked woman being ravaged by a tentacle monster. A naked man with a demonic female figure clinging to his back, legs around his, and holding his cock. A naked man being flayed and wrapped with barbed wire. That made me shiver.

There were also men and women in shibari which both interested me keenly, and men and women bound and naked apart from extremely tight corsets.

"Not my style," I said, making a flicking away gesture with my finger to the flayed one. "But the rest are nice." The kilt pin I was using that night was just one of my normal ones, a traditional sword design.

"Which crowd are you with?" she asked. She was sitting close to me, almost touching.

"Goth, but I'm more in the middle. I normally dress up, except for these nights.

"You look fantastic," she breathed into my ear, with an intonation that turned the word into "fuckable" in my head.

"Thank you," I murmured, choosing not to return the compliment since she was working and I wanted to maintain that boundary.

"Do you mind if I skooch up? It'll be easier to show you things."

I almost said something like, "oh, is that why?" but I restrained myself. "Be my guest," I murmured instead, and she slid sideways to press her hip against me. Her nearly naked breast pressed into my bare arm. I almost moved but restrained myself. After all, she had put it there.

I moved on to the other boxes.

"Have you got a Prince Albert?" Seiren asked breathlessly, leaning against me with an inquisitive grin. Her breast moved against my arm.

I smiled and shook my head. "Just my nipples pierced." In point of fact, I don't really know why I haven't pierced my ears. I keep vaguely thinking of it, but only vaguely.

"Well! You really should get something more appropriate than rings!" she exclaimed, looking through her wares. She picked out a couple to hold up to show me. I rejected the vampire mouth shield, although I love seeing them on women, who have larger nipples than me. I was amused, though, by bars with figures dangling from them. There were women or men in shibari, arched, with ankles and wrists connected to each end of the bar. There were women or men hanging from their wrists in crucifixion poses, naked or with loincloths, tied with ropes or chains or simply hanging, injured or not. She did not pick up the injured ones to show me, after my reaction to the kilt pin.

"Have to say, I love the shibari ones," I said, leaning forward a little to study them.

"Like getting tied?" she said teasingly. "Or do you do the tying?"

"Never chased up the opportunity, but I'm a big admirer," I murmured. "Although, if I get them, I'd have to get one of each, male and female." I make it a rule that I don't have jewellery, clothing or tattoos that depict female figures sexually. I'm not a woman, so I see it as taking away a choice, as being aggressive. But I don't tend to depict men sexually because then people will think I'm not attracted to women. So, I tend to not show people at all. But I did love the bars, in context, and the club was the only place I'd wear them, so why not? They were also really well made and detailed.

"Sure! I can do that. Do you swing," she said, emphasising the word and flicking her fingers so the hanging figures swung back and forth, "both ways?" she winked.

I just gave her a knowing smile. "Bit big for my nipples, though," I said.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, with an overly obvious admiring look at my chest. "But..." she replaced everything she was holding and pulled out smaller examples of the same.

I felt a surge of impulse buying. "How much?"

"Fifty."

That really surprised me. It'd be maybe appropriate for the mass-produced jewellery you see at every market and street fair, but this stuff was unusual and seemed really good. $50 seemed a great price.

"Alright. I'll take a pair."

"Great! Would you like me to put them in for you?"

Seiren's grin became positively lascivious. The offer surprised me, but it really shouldn't have, by that point.

"Sure."

"Sit still then, sexy."

I've had women tattoo me and pierce me and massage me, let alone medical care, and I have no trouble ignoring their sexuality in professional situations. Seiren was the exact opposite of professionalism as she actively caressed my nipple, causing a nub already erect from the piercing to get even more so.

But her fingers, although flirtatious, were deft and precise as they pulled the first ring out.

"Would you like to put the chain back on these?" she asked, looking up at me through her lashes.

I thought that was a bit excessive but... I shrugged. "Sure."

Her nimble fingers deftly unclipped the chain from the ring, which she put carefully on a small square of fabric on the table. She cleaned the new bar with an alcohol wipe and then wiped it dry. But she was not, I noticed, wearing gloves and didn't seem otherwise much fussed about hygiene. But then, in that club, and with me not bleeding, I was happy with clean hands.

She teased my nipple with a fingertip, making both it and my cock respond. Thankfully, I had sat so that as my cock stirred, it went sideways along my waistband and didn't threaten to lift my sporran. I have experience with this.

"Turn towards the light a little," she said, tweaking my nipple playfully.

I obliged her, trying to suppress a grin. I had to admit, she was doing a wonderful job and I was just sad she was working.

She slid the bar through with as much skill as I could expect, closed it carefully, then clipped the chain on.

Then she patted the nipple and stroked the hanging figure. "There! Sexy."

I made no comment.

She did the same performance on the other one, flirting and caressing and removing the ring carefully before unclipping the chain, but this time she handed me the end of the chain to hold. I sat there feeling like a submissive holding his own leash and trying not to laugh.

Then, she flashed me a mischievous grin before leaning forward towards my nipple. "It's so cute, can I suck on it?"

My eyebrows shot up. "Is that part of the service?"

"No, that's in my own time," she said coquettishly. Then she pouted. "Is that a no?"

"Oh, go on, then," I said, unable to entirely constrain a laugh. I could hardly believe she had actually gone there, but it still wasn't too excessive for the club. For a light-headed moment, I wondered just how far she was going to go.

I had to suck in a breath as she sucked firmly on my nipple, my cock springing to full attention and making me shift unconsciously.

She pulled back impishly. "Sorry, was that too hard?"

"No," I said, managing my own smirk.

She grinned and cleaned my nipple with an alcohol wipe.

I hissed, but the sensation was good sharp, not bad sharp.

She put the second bar in, took back the chain and reclipped it.

"There! They look nice."

I took that for what it was worth, but I did like the look myself. She had a Square unit on the table, so I pulled out my phone.

"Aw, leaving me so soon?" she said with a pout.

I just smiled. "Will you be here all night?"

She smiled apologetically. "Each customer only gets one shop. Sorry, it's the rules."

"Oh, OK then. Look, I'm tempted, but I will control myself."

She sighed theatrically, then grinned again, a lightning change of mood. "Don't go yet," she whispered, then pulled another box from underneath the table. "Everyone who actually buys something gets a free gift. Don't tell anyone!"

She opened the box in front of me to reveal four silver rings, then pressed against me again, squashing her breast against my arm. "You can take one if you like. Pick them up, have a closer look."

I leaked forwards to look at the rings. Free gift? They looked better and more expensive than my barbells!

"They're called succubus rings," Seiren said, her breast moving against me. "The story is they are an invitation to a succubus appropriate to the ring, to ensnare you, steal you away and keep you as her slave for a year, having her way with you at her pleasure." She giggled.

I almost had to laugh. It was a good story for jewellery sold in a goth/BDSM club. I firmly did not think about how that was a wistful fantasy of mine, about how I dreamed of the absence of responsibility and grinding wage slavery that sexual slavery would bring. We all have fantasies we know would be hell if they actually happened. Besides, a year as a slave to a succubus is a hell of a gap in your employment history to explain away, to say nothing of going missing and being declared a missing person. And getting my car repossessed and losing my apartment.

I cleared my head without shaking it, to avoid giving anything away, but to be honest, I probably paused long enough to make it obvious the idea did get to me in some way.

I forced myself to focus on the rings.

Each one depicted naked bodies, of course. One showed a woman and man, both arched backwards away from each other, joined wrists to wrists and ankles to ankles, wrapped with barbed wire and showing various wounds and expressions of agony. Guess my reaction to that one.

One showed four figures, two male and two female, entwined in a lustful overlapping ouroboros with no form of bondage or torture at all but much passion. I admired it, certainly, it was beautiful work, but it didn't grab me. I've never been that attracted to the idea of group sex. I prefer to focus on one partner.

One showed two pairs of figures, each a man and a woman, all four figures facing out, joined wrists to ankles in a continuous circle. In one pair, a man clasped a woman to his chest as his fat cock penetrated her pussy from behind. A chain connected her nipples, his hands were at a breast and her clitoris while his mouth was biting her ear, and her expression around a bit gag was one of pure ecstasy. In the other figure, a woman clasped a man to her chest. A chain connected his nipples, his fat cock was swollen by a cock ring and held by her, her other hand at his chest over a nipple and her mouth at an ear, and his expression around a bit gag was one of tormented ecstasy. As I turned the ring around in my hands, I noticed the inside was also detailed, and she was clearly wearing a harness for a strap-on.

I definitely raised my eyebrows at that one. I almost stopped breathing. It called to me so strongly that I lost a brief moment of time as my brain glitched.

The fourth ring showed a man and woman joined wrists to ankles, wrists to ankles around the circle. They were not otherwise bound or gagged, but each one had a disturbingly alien or demonic slender, long-fingered and apparently boneless, possibly even liquid or gaseous or -- I squinted -- vegetable, figure entwined around them with fingers or prehensile cocks in orifices including mouths, or twining around his cock.

It was very well done and creepily unsettling. I could almost feel my skin crawl looking at it, despite the fact I also found it disturbingly erotic and magnetic.