Restraint/s Ch. 01

"Really? A four minute song with a chick gyrating on your lap versus an hour of light to hardcore domination?"

"Okay," he admits, "it's not the same, but it also is. I mean, at least from a male perspective, right? Like, you're doing your boy a solid, and it's hard, like, we make everything harder. Being with Dean has shown me a lot about toxic masculinity that I hadn't ever really noticed before, but have lived with my whole life. So, maybe that's why it feels weird for you, but not for me, or him?"

"I don't get it," she admitted. "Like, I mean, I don't get it." She pushed her plate away and picked up her fork again just to have something to do with her hands.

Ben looked up as he thought about what to say. "Okay, so follow me here. Like, our culture is built upon the basis that men aren't allowed to have feelings, unless it's anger or ambition, right? It makes it really hard to connect with other men without people getting all 'no homo' on each other, as if that's a bad thing. As if having feelings makes you less of a man. For example, women have these friend groups and they can cry together, be upset together, and if one of you is upset, or freaking out, or just sad, the other one's hugging her, and it's all supportive, right?"

"Not always." He shot her a skeptical look and she nodded. "Okay, fine. I guess so."

"If it's a good relationship I'd imagine the support is there, built into female relationships. Now, if you're a dude and, let's say the woman you thought you were going to marry decides to leave you, cold turkey, and you tell your friends and even show a shred of depression over it you're weak. A wimp. Lame. Pussy-whipped. Any other demasculinizing terms you wanna add. 'Be stronger' they tell you, 'don't act like a whiny little girl'.

"Every guy knows it happens, even if we don't actually know it, or wanna admit it. Maybe this is your weird friend's way of showing support to his bestie, the only way he can?"

Ben's words marinate in her mind for a few minutes and he's kind enough to give her time to process it all. "That sucks," she admitted. "Like, I've never really considered that before. I kinda feel like a dick now."

"Maybe that's why your mentor wants you to meet this guy's friend?"

"Fine, fine, I'll call him."

"It can't hurt, right?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I can always make it hurt, Ben."

***

She hadn't been this nervous about a session since her first solo session. It was hard not to pace the short length of Room A. She was filled with so much nervous energy it felt like she was going to throw up everywhere, but she hadn't eaten since lunch, so it was mostly an empty threat. She couldn't sit down, her new corset rubbed against her pelvic bone if she sat, so she stood, then caught herself pacing and forced herself to stand still.

After the third time she caught herself pacing again she grabbed a spreader bar and held it behind her back, her arms spread behind her. There was absolutely no reason for her to be this anxious, but here she was.

Beth's voice was muffled through the door, she couldn't tell what she was saying, but it had her standing at attention, using the spreader bar to pull her back straighter. The door creaked open and she swallowed her nerves and put on a neutral face. She hoped.

"This way," Beth said, standing outside the door, her hand motioning her guest into the room. "Mistress Kali is waiting for you."

"Thanks. Um, thank you." He stepped inside, his head ducked shyly. He had a black leather coat, she could smell the supple fabric and leather conditioner from where she stood, well familiar with the scent. His black hair was combed to the side but she couldn't see his face from her angle.

"Come in," she demanded in her firmest voice.

His head shot up as he nearly jumped out of his skin. "Okay, okay, um, okay."

That he was so nervous had her relaxing, helped her regain her composure. He stepped into the room, barely looking up from the floor. His friend had been right, he was absolutely submissive, she felt a little bad for questioning him so hard on the phone.

She took a step forward, but then realized Beth hadn't shut the door. "Go on," Beth encouraged from the hallway, only half visible to her from where she stood.

Any composure she'd regained crumbled as a second man stepped into the room, looking massively uncomfortable. "Um, hi," he said, raising one hand half way up shyly. She frowned at him and he dropped it to his side again, avoiding eye contact.

"Um, what's this?" she demanded, turning towards Beth.

"Your new client," Beth said, then shut the door in her face. "Be nice."

"I'm not here to be nice, Beth," she hissed through the door. She heard Beth chuckle, then the telltale click of her heels as she left. "Bahanachod," she swore under her breath.

She turned on her heels to face the two guys in the room with her. "So. Which one of you is Derrick Rossi?"

The second guy raised his hand again. "Hey. Um, I'm Derrick."

"Fantastic. Derrick, why are you here?" He squirmed under her attention, and normally she'd be reveling in, but this was all kinds of messed up. He studied the floor, and his companion, who was her actual client, looked so uncomfortable she thought he might bolt for the door any second. "Well?"

"Mistress Beth said I should, since I came with him, like, that I should, um. For the interview part. That I could, like, since it was my idea and, um..."

She sighed. Her hands and forearms hurt, she'd forgotten she was holding the spreader bar behind her back. Both men's eyes caught on it as she moved to put it back and she changed her mind, deciding to hold onto it for a while longer.

She studied them both, leaning against the table in the middle of the room. Derrick looked exactly like she'd pictured him, slightly hipster with either black or navy skinny jeans and a green plaid flannel shirt. The lighting in the room made his hair look red, but she was pretty sure he'd be more sandy blonde if regular lighting. He looked down, studying his hands as he rubbed his fingers nervously.

She turned to study the other man. "You're Miles? Miles Miura?" she eventually asked when the silence between them got too thick. The guy in the leather jacket nodded, his eyes locked on her shoes. That neither of them would look at her was irritating her beyond belief. "Miles, I asked you a question, and I expect you to answer me."

"Yes," he whispered, his voice raspy. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, thin ones without frames on the bottom. It looked like a nervous habit. His nose was crooked, just slightly, like he'd maybe broken it at some point. She couldn't quite tell in the lighting, but he looked like maybe he had some asian ancestry in his lineage.

"You will address me as Mistress if you are going to session with me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he whispered. She waited, then tapped her toe. He swallowed twice before he spoke again. "Yes Mistress."

"Good boy," she praised, her sadistic innernature surfacing. "And you, Derrick, just because Mistress Beth told you to come back, you did?"

"Yes Mistress," he squeaked. It was actually kind of adorable.

Shaking the thought from her head, she turned her attention back to Miles, softening her stance a little. "Okay. We aren't sessioning right now, this is an entry interview."

Miles's eyes traveled up her body, taking in her kneehigh black boots, the blood red skirt that flared mid-thigh, and her black corset with red piping along the top and bottom. He didn't make it past her breasts before he studied the floor again, but she got the message, in his mind he was already in session.

"Sit," she barked. Both men jumped, then climbed, rather awkwardly, onto the black padded table. It looked sort of like one in the doctor's office, but had rings just under the lip of the table, and chains suspended from the ceiling above it.

"So, should I leave?" Derrick asked, the red lighting coloring his features in candy apple hues.

"Sit!" she barked again. "You're here now, so here you'll stay." She didn't know why she'd said it, he'd given her an easy way to dismiss him without losing command of the situation, and she'd squashed it immediately.

"Yes Mistress," he whispered, his eyes locked on her ample cleavage. She smiled, realizing she liked seeing the friends squirm together.

"Here are the rules-"

"Mistress Beth told us the rules," Derrick interjects over her. "No touching you unless you say so, that nothing is off limit as long as we discuss it first, and that-"

"Did I ask you to speak?" she barked.

"No, Mistress," he whispered, his posture slumping.

"Sit up, Derrick. We are going to create our rules. Do not interrupt me again, or you can do corner time now while Miles and I discuss wants, needs, and hard limits. Do you understand?"

Derrick swallowed hard and finally met her eyes. His eyes were wild, panicked. It sparked something inside her, and she liked it. "This's for Miles," he said. "I'm just here for moral support."

"You're just going to stand in the corner I think is what you meant to say."

"I, um, what?" Derrick asked, standing up quickly. He brushed his hands on his pants, then danced from foot to foot.

"Um, what Mistress," she corrected. She pointed to the only empty corner in the room. There were mirrors mounted on the wall on either side so the person in timeout would be able to watch their dominatrix. "Go."

"But-"

She cleared her throat. "First rule, you always follow my directions unless you use your safeword. Stand in the corner, Derrick, nose against the wall. Do you understand?" Derrick shivered, then turned to look at Miles. "No! You look at me, not at him. I'll tell you when you can look at him. You look at me. Do. You. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered, swallowing hard. He met her gaze and then turned quickly, almost fleeing to his corner.

"I'll make a good boy outta you yet," she said, locking eyes with him in the mirror. "Stay there until I tell you otherwise, do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress."

She turned back to Miles. "Let's talk."

"Yes, Mistress," he said, nodding towards her knees.

"What do you want out of your sessions, Miles? What are your deepest fantasies?" He swallows hard, then shakes his head. "You don't know, or you don't have any?"

"I don't know, Mistress," he replied. His voice was deeper than she expected, he was about the same height as her with her heels on.

"I'm going to list some things and you can tell me yes or no. There are no wrong answers, Miles, and if you decide later that you want to try something else that wasn't on the list now, that is perfectly okay." She watched him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Okay. Spanking?" He nods, his cheeks pink. "Restraint?" He nods again. The blush is moving across his face, creeping towards his ears.

Derrick shifts from foot to foot in the corner, catching her attention. "Stand still!" she demands. He squeaks and freezes, then incredibly slowly shifts until he's standing at attention.

"Mistress?" he croaks.

"Yes Derrick?"

"What do I do with my hands, Mistress?"

She catches his eyes in the mirror again and he swallows hard, but doesn't look away. "Clasp them behind your back for now, Derrick. Good boy, for asking."

"Thank you, Mistress."

Miles had turned towards his friend. She stepped closer and grabbed his face, drawing it closer to hers. "Your attention is on me, Miles," she whispered sweetly. He whined and she chuckled, then released his chin. As she stepped back it was impossible to ignore the bulge in his jeans. The twinge of lust caught her off guard, she had to push it away and focus on the session.

"Back to your needs, Miles. Watersports?" He shakes his head no. "Okay. Body torture?"

"Mistress?" he said, looking up at her quickly, then averting his eyes again.

"Nipple clamps, cock and ball torture, biting, whartenburg wheels, clothes pins, rope play, that kind of stuff."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Yes you like it and want to do those things, or yes, you understand?"

He looked like he wanted to run, he kept eyeing the door. He swallowed hard as she waited for his answer. A few seconds pass before he gives in. "I want to do it, Mistress."

"Good. Gags?" He nodded again, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. She caught herself staring at his erection again, and when she noticed, so did he. His hand slid over his groin, hiding himself. "Ah, needles?" He shakes his head no. "Food?" He shrugs. "Sissy play?"

He shuddered, a small whine escaping from his throat. She laughed and he flinched, then looked up at her. His ears were now bright red, his blush spread across his entire face. "I'll take that as a yes. Listen, both of you. This is a safe space. What happens in this room stays in this room. You are completely free to explore anything you desire, and I'm here to help you."

She looked at Derrick, dancing ever so slightly from foot to foot in the corner, his eyes locked on her, then to Miles, still sitting with his hands in his lap to hide his arousal. "Hard limits? Derrick?"

He choked, as if he hadn't expected her to ask him questions. "I don't understand, Mistress. This's Miles's thing."

"The second you stepped over the threshold into this room it became Derrick's thing, too. You're here, you're in the session. No ifs, ands, or buts. Now, hard limits?"

Derrick looked away, or tried, but the mirrors in the corner had a very specific purpose. He closed his eyes, which made his dancing more obvious. She didn't call him on it, not yet. Miles shifted in his seat, too, as they both waited for Derrick's answer.

"No, um, like, poop or anything, I guess. I um. No fires or candles, I don't like needles, either."

"Good boy," she praised. He stepped back, turning to face her and she slammed her hand on the bench beside Miles, making them both jump. "Did I tell you to step out of the corner, Derrick?"

He choked on his response. "No, Mistress."

"Get back in the corner, Derrick." He looked over to Miles as if asking for help, but whatever he saw on Miles's face had him turning tail back into the corner. "Good. Don't move again or I'll have to punish you." The whine her threat elicited was exciting.

"Hard limits Miles?"

He shakes his head. "What he said, Mistress," he answers.

She waits, but he doesn't elaborate. "I can work with this. You will both use traffic lights for safewords. I will check in with you from time to time to make sure you are good. I will say 'color?', and you'll answer 'green' if you are good, 'yellow' if you're unsure, or mildly uncomfortable, and 'red' if you need to stop. There is no shame in stopping something you aren't enjoying. The whole purpose of this is to enjoy it, and if you aren't, or if it hurts too much, or anything at all feels off, you say 'red'. It doesn't stop the session, it just gives us a moment to regroup and fix whatever is wrong, or to do something else. Do you both understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," they both responded, slightly out of sync. A wicked thought flickers across her mind to train them to answer her in sync, and she's looking forward to playing with that later.

"Good." She checks the clock. "We have thirty five minutes in your session remaining. Do you want aftercare as part of your session, or do you want to pay extra for it, or do you not want it at all."

"He wants it," Derrick barks from the corner before Miles can answer. "Sorry, Mistress. Aftercare. Please. I don't care if it costs more."

"Good. Derrick, come here please." He hesitated, then looked at Miles again as he turned to face them. "Don't look at him. Look at me. Come here, Derrick."

Derrick shivered, then took a wobbly step towards her, followed by another, and another, until he stood in front of her, just outside of arms reach. "Mistress?"

"Take off your shirt, Derrick," she demanded. He looked scared, but under that he looked eager. She risked a glance down to find his cock clearly outlined in his skinny jeans. She looked up slowly, letting him know she was looking and he flushed. Derrick's fingers shook as he undid the buttons on his flannel, starting from the top and working his way down.

He slid it off his frame and let it fall to the ground. Everyone did this the first time, and it excited her each time she had the opportunity. "Derrick, are you just going to throw your stuff around like that?"

He flinched. "Mistress?"

"Pick it up, fold it neatly, and put it under the table."

"Yes, Mistress." He leaned down and picked up his shirt, his shaking fingers moving slowly as he tried, and failed, to neatly fold his shirt. He eventually gave up and placed it as neatly as he could on the shelf under the table, carefully avoiding touching Miles as he did so. He took off his undershirt and sort-of folded it as well, then placed it on top of the flannel.

Derrick stood up, then clasped his hands behind his back again like he'd done in timeout. She wasn't sure if he'd done it on purpose or not. His nipples were reddish tan, perfectly biteable, and she had to restrain herself from leaning in and taking one between her teeth. She forced the sudden impulse down, partially ashamed at her unprofessionalism, but also mildly aroused as well.

"Pants off, Derrick," she demanded, her eyes tracing his chest, studying him. He wasn't fat or skinny, he was somewhere in between. He had a small belly, and she had to force away her impulse to lick and nibble it until she found his treasure trail...

She focused on Derrick's movements, trying to ignore her own welling desire. He struggled out of his skinny jeans, then folded them and put them under the table with his other clothes. He resumed his 'at attention' stance, standing for her inspection in just his tighty whities. She focused on his member straining against the fabric.

"Look at this spot of precum, Derrick," she purred, stepping closer to him. He gulped down a belly full of air and swayed. "And you acted like you didn't want to be here." She reached down and grabbed a fist full of him and squeezed gently. "Do you wanna be here, Derrick?"

He squirmed, but didn't try to get away. "Yes, Mistress," he eventually whispered. She squeezed harder. "Yes, Mistress!" he barked.

"Good boy," she praised, then released his junk. She turned towards Miles. "Same for you. Strip."

"Yes, Mistress," Miles said, jumping up eagerly. He stripped down in half the time it took Derrick, then stood at attention for her.

"Miles, do you think Derrick needs to be punished for disobeying me when he was in the time out corner?"

Miles swallows and Derrick's eyes are locked on his friend. Miles must work out or do something athletic, he's got a lot more definition than Derrick, though he's not bulky or anything. Aisha takes a second to appreciate the 'v' that starts at his hips and disappears into his satiny, navy boxer briefs. "Mistress?"

"Does Derrick need to be punished?" she asked again.

He lookwd at Derrick, both of them looking a little panicked. A second later they both looked away from each other with matching blushes. "Yes, Mistress, he needs to be punished," Miles eventually said.

She headed to the wall with all of the implements hanging in neat rows and took her time to select a paddle. Both men watched her, and very pointedly avoided looking at each other. She picked a plain paddle, a simple wooden paddle that looked sort of like a ping pong paddle, though this one was strong enough for a good spanking.

She looked at Derrick and he looked away, dancing from foot to foot with nervous energy. She pulled the spanking bench away from the wall, then grabbed Derrick's hand and led him to it. "Your knees go here," she said, pointing to the lower padded slat. "And you lean over it like this." She kneeled on it where she'd shown him, then leaned forward. The top slat was also padded, and was angled in the opposite direction so that the closer side was about six inches higher than the farther side.