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The night air was pleasant, cool and slightly moist against your skin, but it brought you no peace. As you leaned out over the balcony, surveying the reflecting pools and gardens of the estate stretching out into the moonlight, you tried to relax, enjoy the panorama, and ignore the sound of the music, laughter, and dancing in the ballroom down the hall from the study whose window you had flung open. Flung open at the end of a mad flight from the ball, trying to escape that which you most desired and, yet, by which you were most terrified.

The party had begun pleasantly enough. You had come unescorted, determined you have a good time regardless of who had or had not come with you. There were enough unattached men, or just outrageous flirts, to more than fill a casual night. Perhaps you would meet someone interesting, or particularly attractive, you had thought, but put the subject from your mind: no expectations except for diversion.

Then, two hours or so after the first dancing had begun, she had entered the room. It was between dances, and the crowd was busy with angling through the floor, looking for someone to ask for the next dance, or making themselves obvious to the person they wished would ask them. When the dark figured had filled the doorway, many had turned to look. Most had given a quick, appreciative glance, and then returned to their partners. You had not; although you were across the room, you stopped and stared as if turned to stone.

She was tall, at least six feet. She was dressed in black, in a perfect coachman’s uniform. She wore tight pants fit into calf-high boots, shiny and well-polished. Her vest, cut to give her a tight V-figure, was closed with a double row of bright silver buttons. Those, and her white cravat, were the only thing which were not black, black to the point of absorbing the light around her. Her hands and fingers were long and delicate as she casually tapped the palm of one hand with a riding crop. Her features were strong, aristocratic, not feminine except in their beauty. Her close-cropped hair was nearly completely concealed by a coachman’s top hat. But her eyes drew you most of all. Large, intense, as dark as her clothing, they held to the promise of lust, passion, power and even cruelty

The band struck up a waltz on a slightly off note, shocking you back to reality. You dimly were aware of your partner taking your hand and leading you onto the dance floor, and the movement gradually brought you to earth. Occasionally as the dance progressed, you would glimpse her dancing with women (and always leading). But after every dance, she was someplace else, asking someone else to dance; you could never seem to get near to her. Finally, the impression of her first appearance faded, and the evening continued.

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It had been one week since Ariel had been introduced to the role Eric wanted her to play, below, in the dungeon below the royal bedroom. And she had waited eagerly. Eric had not inclined or willing to take her there a second time. She had insisted on wearing her collar for long periods of time, even walking on the beach near the castle wearing it. She had not seen Flounder, but she had seen Sebastian. She had thought he might be angry at her, perhaps hold her in lower esteem, but he seemed as friendly as ever. Grimbsy as well had been his usual friendly but reserved self, never letting on from his behavior that he had seen her bound and kneeling on the floor of Eric’s dungeon. Only the leather collar which she wore constantly told her that the scene in the dungeon had ever happened at all.

Eric was in the bedroom when she got back from her walk along the beach. She wondered why she had not seen Flounder, nor her father, nor in fact anyone who had not been in some way involved with the events in the dungeon. He was sitting on a velvet chair in the bedroom, smiling in the same way he had smiled at her down below.

“Morning,” he said, and she recognized the tone in his voice. Yes, it was time.

“It’s good that you already have your collar on,” he said. Ariel’s hand crept to the leather collar around her neck, playing briefly with the ring embedded in the front of it. He arose, embraced her, and took her hands. As he kissed her she felt him secure cold metal cuffs around her wrists, and when he broke the kiss and moved away from her, her wrists were firmly but comfortably locked together.

He snapped a leash onto the front ring of Ariel’s collar. Then he opened the hidden door within the royal bedchamber and led her down into the dungeon. The door at the bottom slammed shut and locked. Ariel jumped at the sound.

“Nervous, are you?”

Ariel bowed her head. She had tried to think about what he would want from her, and physical signs of submission seemed to be a good idea.

“Somewhat, Master,” she said, her clear alto voice the same one that had serenaded him on the beach two weeks ago. She wondered what he was going to do with her. She had enjoyed the floating experience of last week, but had no desire to allow Sebastian the crab to punish her in order to get to it. Her nipples were still sore from the ordeal the crab had inflicted on her as punishment for the chaotic three days before her marriage to Eric.

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In retrospect, I should have known that his plans for the evening were more elaborate than he’d told me. They always are. But I went into it thinking that we were simply having dinner with a friend of his, a man he referred to as an excellent conversationalist and a ‘fun’ person.

I wore almost-normal clothes — a long skirt with high-heeled boots, scoop necked silk shirt with a pendant in the shape of his mark. My buttocks still tingled from the spanking he’d given me earlier, and I could feel a bruise swelling gently on my thigh where he’d bitten me. There was a certain extra thrill in feeling the aches and throbs in my body after he had done with me. I relished them as a secret thrill when people saw us together, for we were close friends and no one knew of the deeper relationship we shared.

The man he introduced to me as Orion was already seated in a booth at the restaurant when we arrived. He was tall and slim, with a stern countenance and icy grey eyes that thawed a little when he smiled. My master ordered for me, and this was my first clue that something was up. He ordered a light, easily digestible meal which alerted me to the fact that I would possibly need to be ready for action before long. Or he could simply be teasing me…

But no.

He and Orion chatted easily over their wine. I sat back and enjoyed the witty conversation, relishing the feel of my master’s leg against mine. He was not paying much attention to me, other than to smile at me occasionally or feed me a morsel of food from his plate. I began to relax, the wine making me feel mellow and a little sleepy.

Suddenly his head snapped around and when I looked into his eyes I knew the game was about to begin. Still, I was stunned when he slapped my face lightly and ordered me to go to the restroom and remove my underwear.

My face must have showed my amazement. How could he talk to me like this in front of Orion? No one knew of our relationship save my master and me, his slave. And now he was ordering me around in front of a man I had just met!

My hesitation seemed to anger Orion, because he leaned over the table and grabbed my face in his hands, squeezing my cheeks painfully. His eyes were frosty.

“Do you hesitate, little one? Most unwise.”

My head immobile, I looked pleadingly, shocked, at my master, but he met my frightened eyes with a glare. He wanted it this way!

As I left the table, I felt a tear slide down my cheek. It was a salt sister to the moisture between my legs.

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As she awoke she marveled at the softness and coolness of the sheets enveloping her. The warm soft sun shown through the sheer curtains, and as she rubbed her eyes, it dawned on her that she wasn’t quite sure where she was….

As she looked around the room and her eyes fell on him, it all came back to her. Dennis sat in the boudoir chair watching her with fiery eyes of interest. They had been casual friends for a while, and her drunken admission to him in conversation at a party the last night that she was into submission had gotten her an offer to spend Saturday with him. She knew him well enough to not refuse.

As she stretched he moved from the chair and silently moved towards her, taking something from behind his back as he neared her. Winding the piece of black cloth in his hands, he surprised her into stillness by placing it across her face and into her mouth, gently tying it in back, tight enough so that it dug in between her jaws a bit. Stretching out his hand in an offer of support he raised her to her feet, taking a moment to look at her in the wonderfully soft and silky teddy she had worn to bed. With a flicker of his eye and a quick wave of his hand he grasped the plunging neckline and ripped the silk right down the middle, allowing her breasts to bulge out and showing at the bottom of the rip her dark mound of pubic hair. He chuckled at the surprise in her eyes, and saw fit to speak to her.

“I know what you like, I can read it in your eyes, they are a very clear window to your soul. I can tell what you want, what you need. I happen to have complimenting needs, desires, and wants, and as so will do my best to fulfill yours while fulfilling mine. You will have little say in what goes on here, although if you feel that you cannot and will not take any more of a specific situation, then make it clear to me. Do not falsify the end of your wits or you will be punished for it.”

“Shall we begin?”

She nodded a silent yes to his awaiting gaze.

As he walked around her, he grabbed the low cut back of her teddy and ripped it down the back, and with a swift pull broke the snaps at the crotch and let the shredded garment fall to the floor. He paused to look at her shape, very soft and lovely, her milky skin, and warm brown hair. “Follow me,” he said as he placed a hand on her shoulder and walked out of the room. She wasn’t sure where they were going, or if anyone else was in the large house…

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Once again Jim found himself climbing the stairs to Carol’s 27th Street apartment. Several weeks ago he had attempted to wrestle Carol, but only ended up submitting to painful holds - the dreaded Boston crab, a combination body scissors/headlock where Carol completely shut down his breathing, and a deadly sleeper that sent him temporarily to dreamland. Despite his poor performance in Carol’s clutches, Jim was thrilled with the experience in retrospect. His life-long fantasy of being physically dominated and tortured by a beautiful woman had certainly been realized in spades. Jim had made a return appointment with Carol on the spot, and today he was keeping that date.

The beautiful Carol greeted Jim warmly and ushered him into the apartment, which was equipped with wrestling mats as before. This time the six-foot blonde was dressed in a shiny spandex “catsuit,” which left little concerning her anatomy to the imagination. She was so luscious that Jim’s palms seemed to itch in his eagerness to get his hands on her.

“You like?” she cooed, turning and showing off her body. “I just got this little number last week. It’s great for wrestling - guys get so involved in looking at me that they forget what we’re doing. Makes it real easy to trap ‘em!”

Jim gulped, imagining how he would soon be trapped that way!

“You know, Jim,” added Carol, “you really didn’t do very well against me last time. Were you really trying?”

“I sure was! You’re just a damned good wrestler. Anyway, what excites me the most is being forced to submit to your holds. I’m not really into defeating a woman - I enjoy being dominated.”

“Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place! Like I think I told you last time, I really get off on using my body to make a man beg for mercy! Tell you what - I’ll stress really punishing you today. How’s that?”

“Sounds great! Just don’t kill me!”

“What? And lose a good customer - No way! What I will do, though, is pour on the pressure until you say the magic word. Let’s use ‘mercy’ as a safe word. Don’t forget it!”

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