Rasheed and Serena's BDSM Service

I waited for him to cinch up my knees and ankles, but he did something I didn't expect. He bent my legs at the knees and brought my feet up to the knee straps, which he put across my instep. Now my soles were pressed against the wood and my knees were apart, exposing a lot more pussy at a much more fuckable angle than the usual posture. I would have been able to wriggle my feet out of the straps, except that before he tightened them, he reached into a pocket and produced two more short straps, which he fed under the main straps where they came across my instep. He buckled them around my ankles, and now my feet were secured the way a pair of strappy sandals are secured. There would be no pulling out of the straps now.

Experimentally, I tried to bring my knees together. I could force them into an awkward knock-kneed posture, but it was so very awkward that I wouldn't have been able to hold it very long, and Charles would have been able to force them apart easily. Not that I wanted to hide my fuckable bits, but I wanted to see what my options were. I let my knees relax again and they automatically opened.

"This is interesting," I said out loud. "I've never been cinched to a cross quite like this before."

"My own design," Charles said with evident pride. "I think you'll come to appreciate the possibilities."

Charles went to a shelf of gags, selected one, and held it up for my inspection. It was a muzzle that would cover the whole lower part of my face, including my nose, in black neoprene. There were two fairly large holes under the nosepiece to make sure the wearer could breathe, and a medium-sized rubber ball to fit behind the teeth and make sure that intelligible speech would be well and truly impossible. "I love it," I said, admiring how extreme it looked. "I've been gagged with lots of things, but never with a muzzle like that."

That was the last thing I'd be able to say for a while. He pushed the ball into my waiting mouth, buckled the muzzle behind my head, checked to make sure the breathing holes were lined up properly with my nostrils, then stepped back to admire his work.

Once he was satisfied with the visual effect of my muzzled face, he went to a rack of equipment and came back with a riding crop. It was a big one, with a long handle that would allow for a lot of leverage and a large tongue with holes in it to reduce air resistance and increase velocity. It's hard to do really serious damage with a crop, but this was no toy, and I knew that Charles could make it really hurt if he wanted to. I squirmed slightly in my bonds in glorious anticipation. One of the dubious favours I took away from my unpleasant experience with Brandon was the knowledge that my pain threshold is a lot higher than I had thought it was, and it had been way too long since I'd been properly worked over.

Charles swished the crop through the air a few times to get the feel of it. The tongue made an evil hum as the air rushed around it and through the holes. He walked around me a couple of times as if deciding where to strike first, and the suspense multiplied the erotic sensations that were already running through me. Then, without warning, he snapped the crop down on my right nipple.

He did a good job of honouring my instructions to avoid over-the-top impact on my most sensitive parts, but the blow still stung like an absolute bitch. I let out a scream that the gag redirected through my nose, but it was a scream of surprise as much as of pain.

He studied me for a few seconds to assess my reaction to his experimental first strike, and when I seemed to be taking it well, he set about delivering more. He methodically worked over my chest, my tits, my belly and the outsides of my thighs, leaving light red marks, the kind that would fade in an hour or two at most. Then he gave me a couple of good swats on the insides of my thighs. Those stung even more. A couple of times, he brought the crop down square on my pubic mound, making me wonder how wise I'd been to shave it so carefully that morning. Then he brought it up from below right on my pussy lips. That really triggered a squeal of pain from behind the gag.

I suddenly realized that it might have been a bad idea to give him permission to hit me there. I was going to want to be fucked in that pussy eventually, and if he made it too red and sore with the crop, it wasn't going to be a pleasant experience. Fortunately, he didn't hit me there very often, and really held back the intensity when he did. He was probably thinking the same thing I was about future uses for that body part.

Speaking of which -- after he had worked me over with the riding crop for twenty or thirty minutes, and the red marks on my skin were starting to flow together into an overall mass of burning pain, he decided that it was time to move on. He put the crop down, moved his legs in between my knees, and started sucking and licking my nipples. Compared to what he'd been doing with the crop a few moments before, his tongue and lips felt gentle, soothing even, cooling down the stinging pain that the crop had left.

He worked his mouth slowly down my body, gently licking my chest between my breasts, then down over my belly and my mons, finally ending up on his knees with his mouth at my pussy. He parted my pussy lips with his tongue and ran it up and down inside, from my clit down to my vaginal opening and back up. I started whimpering behind the gag with sexual heat as the sensation, egged on by the pain I had been warmed up with, radiated from my pussy through my entire body.

Disappointingly, he abruptly pulled his mouth away, but it was only briefly. He got a pump of lube on his fingers from a bottle on another shelf, then came back and positioned his mouth where it had left off. He reached under me and pressed a lubed finger against my asshole, which resisted for a moment, then relaxed to let the full length of his finger into me. He massaged my rectum from the inside for a few minutes, then pulled out and pressed two fingers back in.

The stimulation from the two sources at once was so intense that I could hardly bear it. In fact, I didn't bear it. I let the sensations ramp up until they exploded in a blinding orgasm. I couldn't arch my back with the strap holding me at the waist, but I clamped my bent knees around his head to keep it pressed as tightly as possible against my spasming pussy as the orgasm went on and on, releasing the sexual energy that had been building from the first strike of the crop against my nipple.

Spent, I released his head and hung limply in my straps, panting through my nose and letting myself come down from the extremes of stimulation. Charles had a wide grin on his face -- I guess he was the kind of guy who got a real charge out of wringing a mind-shattering orgasm out of a woman. He waited until my breathing subsided, just holding my pussy in his hand in a comforting gesture without doing anything more to it. He left the fingers of his other hand in my ass, but didn't move them either. I had to admit that it felt good to have them there -- just a warm post-coital glow of filled-up-ness without real stimulation.

Once he had let my overstimulated body settle down, he pulled his fingers out, stepped back, and picked up the crop again. This time he didn't need to hit me nearly so hard. I was worked up enough that little swats all over my skin were enough to start the energy rising again. He undid his pants and worked them down and off -- I could see that, for all its sexiness, one disadvantage of leather was its clinginess. He couldn't just let them drop like a pair of jeans. But I very much enjoyed watching the strip show.

While I was taking my brief strip show break, I also noticed that we were being watched intently by a woman at the far end of the bar. I had noticed her vaguely throughout the scene, but I had been too preoccupied to pay any real attention. Now I registered her as a tall Black woman with extremely striking coal-black skin, much darker than the usual Afro-American brownish skin tone. Her hair was done in a cascade of long black braids with small gemstones worked into them. She was wearing more clothes than I was, but not by much -- a skimpy silver miniskirt and matching halter top. Just above her left breast I could see a brand showing pinkly against her dark skin. 14. I had seen plenty of words and images tattooed, branded or occasionally scarified on various people, but I had never seen just a number. I wondered what it represented. Did something important in her life happen in 2014?

She didn't seem interested in picking up a BDSM partner. Several men and women had come over to investigate her, and she had politely shooed them away. Rather, she seemed interested in me.

I was brought out of my reverie by another swat from the crop. I turned from the branded woman to look back at Charles, who now was wearing nothing but a big erection and a grin. In between swats, he massaged my nipples, my asshole, and my pussy, gently but firmly ramping my arousal back up again.

When he had me teetering on the edge of another shattering orgasm, he put down the crop, moved in between my legs, and pressed his cock firmly against my cunt. I've been fucked standing up lots of times, and it usually involves my bringing my legs up, often wrapping them around my partner's waist so he can get a good shot at my cunt. The few times I've been restrained in ways that prevented me doing that, the sex has seemed pretty awkward, the man needing to crouch to drive into me from underneath. Now I saw the genius of the position Charles had cinched me into. With my feet drawn up and my knees apart, he could get into my pussy without any awkward gymnastics.

Oh, Jesus, how I needed this. The orgasm he'd given me with his mouth and hand had been amazing, but the way he was pistoning his cock into me was sent straight from heaven. I bit down hard on the ball in my mouth and focussed on the rapidly rising orgasm radiating from my cunt through my whole body. My G-spot was responding to the powerful massage it was getting, and another orgasm exploded through me, drenching his pubic area with pussy-cum. He waited until I had come down a bit from that one, then gave a few deep, hard thrusts and pumped semen far into my vagina.

When he finally pulled out his softening cock, he politely held a cloth to my pussy so the cum didn't leak all down my legs. Once it had stopped flowing, he wiped me off, then got another cloth and wiped himself off. Then he took both my breasts gently in his hands, looked at me, and said, "Well, Allyson. Had enough?"

I nodded weakly, and he set about releasing me. He pulled the ball out of my mouth and peeled the muzzle off my face, freeing my mouth to take in great cooling gasps of air. Then he undid the straps, let my feet gently down, and walked me over to a bench where he sat beside me and held me while I came down from subspace enough to speak intelligibly.

"Fuck, Charles, that was just great. You have a gift for balancing pain and pleasure just perfectly."

"Thanks, Babe. That was terrific fun. I'm glad I tried out that muzzle on you. The look was sexy as hell, and the way you screamed behind it when you came was a real turn-on." He gave me a deep kiss, then he worked his pants back on and walked out of the club.

Well, that's the way it goes at Lucifer's. Sometimes you meet someone who's in it for repeat business, sometimes you meet someone who just wants a one-and-done good time. No hard feelings either way. You park hard feelings at the door when you come into Lucifer's.

**

After I had recovered and had checked out my body -- the red marks were already starting to fade -- I tottered back to the bar. I felt dehydrated from all the stimulation, but I didn't want another fruity drink. I ordered a glass of water, which I drank off in a gulp, then a Coke, which I sipped slowly.

The tall Black woman brought her drink with her from her perch at the far end of the bar and sat next to me. I expected to be propositioned, and was preparing a polite "Not tonight" response -- under other circumstances, I would have been happy to do a scene with her, but I'd already had quite enough excitement for one evening. She stuck out her hand, speaking with some sort of mild Caribbean accent with a touch of Canadian in it as well. "Hi Allyson. I'm Serena Brown. Nice to finally meet you in person."

"You're one of the women who placed the ad on the Bondage Buddy site, looking for women to play at being sex slaves. I certainly wasn't expecting to see you checking me out at Lucifer's."

"I wouldn't have travelled all this way just for that. I'm in Michigan to visit a cousin I haven't been able to see since before the pandemic. But while I was here, it seemed like a good way to get to know you a little better, too. I often come to Lucifer's for a little fun when I'm here, and I know the people who run it pretty well. And they know you pretty well too, so when in conversation I accidentally found out that you'd made a reservation for tonight, it seemed a natural way for us to meet. I normally wouldn't have entertained the idea of bringing an American into the picture -- just too many technical complications with the border, immigration, all that kind of thing. But you mentioned in your reply that you're a dual citizen, so that makes it a lot easier."

"Yes. I was born in Canada, but my parents moved here for work when I was two, and the family stayed. I'm a naturalized American but I hung onto my Canadian citizenship as well. Comes in really handy at times."

"The other reason I took an interest in you is because Kendra spoke so highly of you."

"Kendra? You know Kendra Williamson?"

"We had become friends in Toronto before I was enslaved. When Theo was busted and I got out, it seemed natural to pick up our friendship again."

"Hold on," I said, my mind reeling. "You'd better start further back. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Want to go somewhere we can get a real drink? It's a long, complicated story, and this bar stool is starting to hurt my ass."

**

We got back into our safe-for-public clothes and ended up at a quiet lounge just down the block. We settled into a booth, ordered real drinks now that the BDSM part of the evening was over, and also a sharing-size plate of nachos. As well as making me thirsty, that sexual workout had made me ravenously hungry.

"You probably heard about it in the news -- a creep named Theo Gustaveson was making a killing running a sex slave brothel where perverts could rent time with a real honest-to-God non-consensual slave and do almost anything they wanted to her."

"I remember that. Before then, I'd heard of one or two women being held for years as personal sex slaves, but I'd never heard of a commercial operation. Didn't a few slaves finally escape and rat out the whole operation?"

"That's exactly what happened. I can tell you, I've never had such a feeling of satisfaction in my life as when I watched that APC smash down Theo's front door."

I goggled at Serena. "You were one of the slaves?"

"That's right. My friend Rasheed and I wrote a book about it."

"I've heard about it. In fact, it's on my must-read list, but it hasn't quite made it to the top with all the other things happening in my life. Were you really held against your will for all that time? I've always found it hard to believe that so many people could be held for that long without being at least a little bit complicit."

"Theo was very clever and ran a very, very tight and secretive operation. He looked after us well, treating us as valuable pieces of property, but yes, we had no options. I was kidnapped right off the street seven years ago and was Theo's slave for six of them. I won't bore you with all the things his customers did to me over the years, but let me tell you, some of them made Lucifer's look like a children's daycare." She gestured to her chest where I'd seen the branded number, now covered by a more modest top. "I was Slave Fourteen. The others had tattoos, but they would have been nearly invisible on my skin. I could get rid of it with a skin graft, but it helps me remember what I've been through."

I was totally speechless. Then I found my tongue. "So why the hell are you advertising for women to work there? I'd have thought you'd want to burn the place to the ground."

"Some of us did. But some of us had managed to turn ourselves into true pain sluts over the years. At first it was purely self-defence, trying to push through the pain and rape by learning to sort of enjoy it. But then some of us reached the point where we genuinely missed it when it was all over. It was the non-consensual part of it that had made it really bad. We -- the small group of us who thought this way -- wondered if it would be satisfying to turn the whole place on its head, run it ourselves with consenting slaves who aren't really slaves. Rasheed and I bought the place cheap and rebuilt it closer to our own vision."

"If you missed BDSM so much, why not just visit clubs like Lucifer's?"

"Sometimes I do. But let me ask you: did Charles give you $2000 in cash when he was done with you tonight?"

I sat there for a minute. The only thing I could finally manage to mutter was "Fuck!"

"Fuck is right. The difference between our operation and Lucifer's is that after being tied up, beaten and fucked, we walk away with two grand, less a bit that we need for expenses.

"I see the look on your face. Yes, it's a glorified prostitution racket, but after spending some time as a non-consensual sex slave, you find yourself getting less choosey about what you do for a living. Theo took the time to destroy his records when he knew he was going to be busted, so we couldn't reach out to former clients, but they gradually started finding us. Soon we had more work than the nine of us old hands could handle, so we started recruiting other pain sluts who were tired of doing what they do for free. And so I'm here. Recruiting.

"I guess I should qualify the non-con part. One woman actually signed up for it. Once she joined Theo's operation, she could never leave, so to that extent she was a genuine slave. But she chose it because she was such a deeply committed sub that she craved true non-con. Damnedest thing I've ever encountered. She worked with us as a consensual slave for a while, but I guess when she was no longer forced into it, the thrill was gone and she quit. Angelica is one messed-up human being."

"Angelica? Angelica Henders?"

"Slave Twenty-Seven to Theo. You know her?"

"That fucking bitch. She used to be my ex-boyfriend's lover and bondage partner before she mysteriously disappeared. Now I finally know where she went to. And now she's here again to steal Jonathan back from me. I've always made it through life without actively hating another human being, but Angelica's made it really, really hard."

"Maybe you'd like to seek revenge by taking her place at Rasheed and Serena's BDSM Service."

"I'll need to think about it for a while. But without Jonathan, there's not much here for me. My day job is pretty dead end. And I'd be close to my friends Kev and Kendra. It's tempting."

"If you're interested, I can make you a written job offer that will keep Immigration happy. The job description will be make-believe, of course. You won't get a work permit for a job that says "Sex Slave." And you'll need to handle all the paperwork yourself, including transportation. Canada is pretty tolerant of sex workers -- the law targets the customers, not the women -- but anything that even smells remotely like human sex trafficking could get me sent to jail for almost as long as Theo.

"But before you decide, you need to be clear on what you're in for. We kept most of Theo's business formula, although we clamped down on some of the more extreme forms of torture. When you start your shift, this is how you'll be displayed."