Rasheed and Serena's BDSM Service

Rasheed and Serena's BDSM Service

Author's Note:

This story converges two plot lines started in "Escape from Theo's" and "Allyson's Online Dates," picking up the thread a while after the ends of both prior stories. It's an attempt to further develop the weird mix of consensual and non-consensual that I tinkered with in both stories.

I kind of wish I hadn't established that Allyson is from Michigan when I first introduced her in "Kendra at the Beach." Now it necessitates some plot contrivances to get her back to Canada for Rasheed and Serena's establishment. It also makes the Angelica-Allyson-Jonathan triangle more geographically messy than it had to be. Apologies if credibility is a bit strained in spots. It's a fantasy -- get over it.

This story also has a few back references to "Signing Up for a Life of Slavery," but you don't have to have read that storey, or any others, to be able to figure out what's going on here.

By the way, I don't intend to forget about Kev and Kendra while I'm exploring the possibilities of this new, consensual version of the Theo stories. I'll get back to your, and my, favourite BDSM couple in a while.

I put this story under BDSM rather than non-con because the slavery is consensual, but be aware that there's some bondage, pain and downright weirdness on the way.

**

This was odd. Jonathan had invited me over to his place on a Wednesday evening, which he doesn't normally do. We both have five-day-a-week jobs, and we usually get together at his place on Friday evenings so we can have a long bondage, pain and fuck session that sometimes spills over to Saturday morning. Sometimes I leave on Saturday afternoon, especially if I have things to do, but other times I stay through Sunday. I never seem to get tired of Jonathan's creative BDSM talents. But why on Wednesday?

When I arrived, Jonathan poured me a glass of wine without asking and sat down beside me on the couch, looking more serious than I'd ever seen him. He took both my hands, looked me in the eye and said, "Allyson, there's no good way to say this. Angelica has turned up again."

I sat as if I had been turned to stone. Angelica, Jonathan's old girlfriend and bondage partner from a few years ago when he'd been living and working in Canada. I remembered the cryptic conversation we had had about her when I asked Jonathan about previous bondage partners. He mentioned her with a longing tone in his voice, but said that she had abruptly disappeared from his life some time earlier.

"My God, that's awful," I had said, "not even knowing where someone is."

"Oh, I have a pretty good idea where she is, but you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you. Anyway, I really don't like to talk about it."

Now she was back. I had no idea what this was going to mean for our relationship, but from the seriousness of his expression, I knew I wasn't going to be happy. Was he going to dump me and go back to her? Was he going to propose some sort of Jonathan-sharing arrangement where he saw each of us some of the time, like some sort of joint custody agreement between divorced parents? Maybe threesomes? I waited for Jonathan to say something.

"Allyson, I still love what we do together. You're a wonderful bondage partner, and we seem to be more sexually compatible than almost anyone I've been in a relationship with." ("Almost." I didn't like where this was going.) "But I have to tell you that I've missed Angelica ever since she disappeared. We were absolutely perfect together from the moment I met her. I'm sorry to say this, but she's willing to pick up where we left off, with a few logistical adjustments. And I'm willing to let her."

I finally regained my ability to speak. "So, where did she disappear to, and what changed that made her come back?"

Jonathan sat silent for a minute, as if he were turning options over in his mind. "If you ever meet her, Angie can tell you herself if she wants to. But it's very, very personal and private. I told you at the time that I didn't want to talk about it, and I still feel like I'd be telling tales out of class if I told you much about it without her say-so. Let's just say that her circumstances have abruptly changed in the most complete way possible."

I had gotten used to our arrangement. It stopped well short of live-in status but was mellowing somewhat beyond friends-with-benefits. I had come to count on how he could push pain just to the limits of my tolerance and my ability to transmute it into pleasure without going over the line. I had also come to count on the way his strong arms and genuinely kind manner could bring me back to earth after a long series of mind-shattering, pain-augmented orgasms, and the utter trust I had in him. It wasn't love, exactly -- I didn't think -- but it was developing into something very like it.

"I've going to miss the hell out of you, Jonathan. For the past few minutes I've been trying to think of ways to win you back, but I learned long ago not to try to get between a woman and a man who prefers her to me. The way you talk about Angelica makes it clear that our thing is well and truly over. I almost asked you to tie me up and fuck me senseless one last time before I head out of your life, but that would be silly. Make-up sex is one thing, but break-up sex makes no sense."

I drained my wine glass and stood up, trying to hold back the tears that all of a sudden were making it difficult to see. "Good-bye, Jonathan. I hate this, maybe more than you could ever realize, but I don't resent it, or you, or even Angie. Sometimes life just drops an anvil over a cliff and it lands on you."

I walked to the door, put my hand on the doorknob, and turned back one last time. "Really, Jonathan, I'm not being sarcastic when I way this. Thanks for all the good times." He opened his mouth, then shut it again. There was really nothing left to say.

I walked out and closed the door behind me.

**

After a couple of weeks of feeling sorry for myself, I decided that it was time to cut losses and find a new bondage playmate. I had tried trolling for BDSM partners on kinky dating sites, and had ended up with one winner, Jonathan, one total disaster, Brandon, and one in between, Charles, who had at least been entertaining in his cluelessness about women's bodies and how to pleasure them. I guess odds like that aren't bad, but I didn't really feel like going there again, at least not right away.

Instead, I headed for Lucifer's, a fetish club where I'd had quite a bit of success picking up casual BDSM partners, even if none of them had had the staying power of Jonathan. The safety of semi-public bondage play, combined with the exhibitionism that I had come to relish, appealed to me right then more than inviting potential partners back to my place where they could mistreat me the way Brandon had done. The presence of dungeon monitors -- a polite term for bouncers, but also mentors and safety officers -- would help ensure that I would have an experience in the proverbial safe, sane and consensual space.

I paid the cab driver, stepped out, and walked up to the door. I showed my membership card, COVID vaccination confirmation and my proof of a recent STI test, walked in, and took off my surgical mask. I stopped at the women's change room -- "women" defined as broadly as anyone wanted to define it, including trans women in whatever stage of transition, and gender-fluid people who happened to feel the most comfortable changing in the presence of women rather than men. I found a cubicle and changed into my chosen outfit for the night, which consisted of nothing more than a silver locket on a chain around my neck and dangling between my breasts, and another silver chain loosely cinched around my waist, plus a pair of black heels. Any dress or no dress is welcome at Lucifer's, and I had decided to go full-on Allyson to signal that I was seriously looking for a playmate.

I put my street clothes in a locker, dropped in the token I had paid for at the door, and clipped the key to the chain around my waist. I left the change room and strode, looking more confident than I felt, into the main dungeon.

Ah, Lucifer's. The familiar smell of sex and sweaty bodies. The loud music partially drowning out the sounds of pained yelps and orgasmic screams. The dance floor in the middle and the items of bondage furniture, some occupied and some waiting for users, around the periphery. The shelves of bondage and pain devices waiting for anyone who wanted to use them. The bodies of both sexes bent over spanking benches, tied to racks and tables, suspended from pullies, being flogged, hand-spanked, or enthusiastically fucked in one hole or another.

Fuck Jonathan. These were my people.

**

I sat at the bar and ordered a mocktail. Lucifer's doesn't serve alcohol, which isn't a good idea before indulging in potentially dangerous activities such as those that went on at Lucifer's. Not only does it impair judgement, it dulls pain, tempting subs to put up with treatment that they would deeply regret when the anesthetic wore off. So I nursed a glass of something fruity and fizzy and looked around.

One scene caught my eye as being especially interesting. A naked woman lay on her back on a metal table, legs wide apart and arms by her sides. Rather than the usual straps or ropes, she was secured by polished metal bands clamped over her ankles, knees, elbows and wrists. There was even a metal band across her mouth, not only silencing her but holding her head immobile on the table. The effect of the metal on metal was certainly striking, as was the contrast between the bright silver metal and her light brown skin.

Standing over her was a tall white man wearing jeans but no shirt. If I were a man with a body that ripped, I would have gone shirtless as much as possible too. (Not that I was wearing a shirt right then myself, but you know what I mean.) Sweat glistened on his naked chest as he wielded a short cane, bringing it down authoritatively on various parts of the woman's body. He methodically hit her on the thighs, on the belly, on the chest, on her naked breasts, even sometimes hitting her square on the nipples.

He also brought it down from time to time between her spread legs, hitting her square on the pussy. She had a line of little rings pierced through each labia, and at the moment strings were threaded through each ring and secured to metal rings set into the edges of the table, pulling her pussy wide open. The effect was similar to threading a string around a line of skewers to truss a turkey, except that in this case the result was to hold something open rather than to hold something closed. As a result, when the cane came down, it connected with her bare clitoris, unprotected by its usual defenses. Her hands were balled into fists and her eyes were screwed shut, and when he hit her on a particularly sensitive spot, her body contorted and a muffled scream forced its way past the steel gag and out her nose. From where I was sitting, I could see bright red marks multiplying on her skin, although the skin never actually broke and bled. He seemed to know exactly how much force he could exert to cause maximum pain without causing real damage.

A dungeon monitor hovered in the background, keeping a close eye on the scene. She was identified as a DM by her black jeans and bright red Lucifer's T-shirt, and I recognized her as Jodi, a DM whom I had seen on duty a number of times and respected immensely. I assumed that she and the sub clamped to the table had previously discussed how much pain the sub was willing to take, or she would have stopped the scene long before, especially with the sub gagged and unable to direct her dom. Certainly the sub didn't seem to be trying to signal her dom to stop, even though she sometimes let muffled screams escape in response to a particularly nasty cane strike.

Finally the dom decided that he had ramped the woman, and himself, up as much as he needed to. He put the cane aside and thrust three fingers into her spread pussy and began fucking them in and out, massaging her clit with his thumb as he did so. He pulled his pants down and started jerking off with his other hand in rhythm with the fingers that were buried deep in her cunt. After a few minutes of being finger-fucked, she arched her back and screamed in ecstasy through her nose, and the dom let loose a gigantic flood of cum all over her face and tits. The muffled scream went on and on until she finally dropped back to the table, totally spent. A little patter of applause went through the crowd -- you're really not supposed to let on that you've been watching that closely, but it was certainly a spectacular scene, and Jodi let the minor indiscretion go.

After the dom had recovered a bit, he wiped off his cock on her long black hair, pulled up his pants, and started to walk away. Jodi intercepted him.

"Hey, Gene. None of that. You know the rules. What do you say to Asha after a scene like that?"

Gene looked a bit grumpy but he came back. "Hey, cunt. You all done? Want out?"

She couldn't nod her head, but I could hear a muffled but distinctly affirmative "Mmmm-hmmm" from behind the steel gag. Gene pulled up on the quick-release fasteners that were holding the steel band to the table and pulled it off. Once it was off, we could see that a very efficient silencing bar built inside the gag had been holding her tongue firmly to the floor of her mouth.

Gene untied the strings that were threaded through her pussy rings and pulled them out, letting her lips close into their natural resting position. Then he went around her body, unfastening steel bands. When he was done, he helped her to stand up shakily. Jodi took over, holding her under one arm as she walked carefully to the women's bathroom where I knew there was a shower she could use to get the semen off her body and out of her hair, and also some healing lotion for the cane marks. Although she didn't seem permanently damaged, she looked as though she would bear red stripes for days or maybe weeks.

I reclaimed my forgotten mocktail and turned back to the bar, wondering what I was going to find for myself tonight.

**

It didn't take long. After I had swished the swizzle stick in my mocktail by myself for ten or fifteen minutes, paying somewhat less attention to the more prosaic BDSM scenes after Asha and Gene's over-the-top performance, a man sat down on the bar chair next to me. I glanced over at him. He was every inch a dom, wearing tight leather pants and heavy metal chains crossed over his bare chest -- there seemed to be a lot of bare chests at Lucifer's tonight. A faint scar crossed his chest at an angle from just below his left nipple to his ribcage. His head was shaved, but he didn't project a skinhead vibe -- neo-Nazis are too macho to frequent places like Lucifer's. I had to admit that the look was good on him.

He made his move early. Looking at the sad remains in my glass, he asked, "Can I buy you another drink?"

Not as good a line when there isn't any alcohol in the drinks, but the convention still works as a conversation opener. "Sure, that would be great." I resisted the urge to say, "Do you come here often?" I didn't feel like descending that far into cliché.

He ordered me another of the same, and one for him. "My name's Charles, by the way," he said as he stuck out his hand. Clearly not the Charles I had met on line a while ago, that was for sure.

I took his hand and said "Allyson." He looked me up and down. The convention at Lucifer's is to be totally frank, and he said frankly, "Those are certainly great boobs you're showing off. May I touch?"

I was charmed by the combination of honesty and respect for my personal property. "Sure, go ahead." He reached over and took my left breast in his hand, gently stroking my nipple with his thumb. If it hadn't been hard already from the moment he sat down, it would have been instantly erect. My pussy started to juice a little.

"Nice. From your outfit, or lack of it, I take it you're a sub shopping for a dom?"

"Very astute." I put my hand over his and pressed it more firmly to my breast. "And I take it from your outfit that you're shopping for a sub, at least for the evening?"

He smiled warmly. "Very astute." Our drinks came and he took his hand off my breast so he could take a sip.

"I don't think I've seen you here before," I asked.

"I used to hang out at Franco's Dungeon. Not a bad place, but I got tired of too many rules. Obviously, everyone wants to be consensual and safe, but at Franco's we couldn't do what we're doing right now. No nudity until you're actually in a scene, no sexual penetration in the public area, and you're not supposed to march up to people at the bar and ask if you can touch their boobs. This is the first time I've been here, but I think I'm going to like it."

Then he got right to the point. "What do you like to do?"

This guy didn't beat around the bush. I liked that, especially since he was asking me what I wanted. "Well, I love to be tied up and fucked, or I wouldn't be here. Pussy or asshole, whichever. I like impact play a lot, but maybe not quite to the level of that woman we just watched. I don't want to stagger away with bright red cane stripes all over me. But mild to moderate pain turns me on."

"How do you like to be tied up?"

I thought for a minute. A delicate question, although it was a good sign that he'd asked it. "Surprise me." I realized with a bit of shock that I'd just agreed to a more or less open-ended BDSM scene with this man I'd met five minutes ago.

"How do you feel about gags?"

"As long as you respect the local safe-grunt if I really need to get out, I love them. I love being helpless, the more helpless the better. I wouldn't agree to it if we were alone in one of the private rooms -- I need to be able to communicate when I don't have backup. But I feel safe with the DM's around here, so bring it on."

"Any issues with being struck on the nipples or pussy?"

"I'm sure you know not to be super-hard on the more delicate bits. As long as you don't go over the top, that's a turn-on for me too."

Ah, this was the Lucifer's I remembered. Safe, sane and consensual, but also completely frank and open. I felt totally comfortable talking to this total stranger about how I liked to be restrained, flogged and fucked.

Our drinks were finished. I had said "Surprise me," so we didn't need to discuss our scene in advance any further. I just took his hand when he offered it to me, stood, and let him lead me to wherever he wanted me.

Wherever he wanted me was at one of the X-shaped St. Andrew's crosses. It had taken me a while to get over my bad experience when Nick had left me tied to one on the beach for hours until Kev and Kendra rescued me, but now that I had experienced some really great scenes with them, I loved them. I like being helplessly spreadeagled, and the standing position makes me feel far more on public display than just being tied to a bed.

I wondered whether he would position me face in or face out. Face in presents more back and ass to be flogged and spanked, but face out exposes more private equipment that can be fondled and tortured, and I always like to be able to look into my dom's face. It makes the experience that much more personal.

He positioned me face out, and I dutifully spread my arms and legs against the wooden cross. It had wide padded straps for wrists, elbows, knees, ankles, and waist -- Lucifer's doesn't kid around with half-baked restraints. I felt my pussy getting wetter and wetter as he cinched up the straps on my wrists, elbows and waist. I pulled against them experimentally and established that I was almost totally immobile from the waist up. They weren't tight enough to cause a risk of circulation problems or nerve damage, but plenty tight enough to make sure I would have to stand there and take whatever Charles dished out. Perfect!