The Dom – ebook

$5.99

Who am I? No one can tell me. Not the doctors at the New York hospital where I woke up, not the party clothes I wear, not the thousand dollars in my clutch purse or even the burner phone stuffed there too. But I get these text messages, luring me to a sub-basement in the village where I am stripped, whipped and brought to mind blowing ecstasy by mysterious, darkened figures.

Description

The Dom by Alexander Kelly

Who am I? No one can tell me. Not the doctors at the New York hospital where I woke up, not the party clothes I wear, not the thousand dollars in my clutch purse or even the burner phone stuffed there too. But I get these text messages, luring me to a sub-basement in the village where I am stripped, whipped and brought to mind blowing ecstasy by mysterious, darkened figures. When I dream I see women’s faces, not unlike my own, full of fear, terror and desire. From the too few clues I discover a name – Conover – the name of a Dom who is somehow involved with my amnesia. Slowly but surely, I follow a trail to a private SM club and a kinky restaurant, encountering familiar faces, though they’re strangers to me. All the while, my latent slave persona manifests more and more and I realize it’s Conover who has set me on this path of torture and bliss. My overwhelming obsession to be used as a slave will take a back seat to nothing – possibly not even the truth of my own identity.

A male and female dom/female submissive tale of rope and leather bondage, gags, whipping, ponygirls, interrogation, electro play, suspension and deep submission.

Additional information

Artist Credit

Cover Art Image © Nejron Photo – Shutterstock.com

ISBN

9781945648335

Page Count

113

Publish Date

06/02/2017

Word Count

68405

Excerpt

The dark room beckoned like an intimate friend. In a far corner a match scratched on a rough, concrete wall. The brief, initial flare highlighted a sweet, angelic face, the top half covered by a dark cloth blindfold, the lower portion by a thin, white strip that wound tightly across the mouth. Voluptuous, separated lips curled around red packing that he realized were women panties, probably more than one pair. A lot more judging by the woman’s bulging cheeks. The flaming match continued down the woman’s right side. Shadows flickered across smooth, bare shoulders. Full, pale breasts with little brown aureoles and erect nipples held his gaze for more than a moment. The flame continued downward, then stopped at a small table, about waist high, and lit a red candle in a brass holder with thumb ring. A wide base served to catch dripping wax, already half full. The candle light played across the woman’s flat stomach, firm thighs and far below hinted at thin ankles and side by side feet.
A perfect naked vision – bound tight in rope.
Cinched and knotted in every possible place, the braided rope cut in to the pale, unblemished skin and tied her to a sturdy, dark wood pole. The rope wound about the ankles, below and above the knees, over the thighs, around the waist and crisscrossed the breasts. The arms too were tied, although these were mostly hidden except for the upper parts. She stood absolutely still, but that changed gradually to undulating shivers from the top of the head to the feet.
A black gloved hand lifted the candle holder, held it next to the woman’s face. Her short, just recently and shoddily cut light blonde hair a reflective beacon. When long it must have been quite an attractive sight so cutting it so badly must have been a punishment. The other black gloved hand pulled up the blindfold. Two large, cotton pads fell to the floor, landing just beyond manicured toenails. Saucer eyes blinked in the sudden light and at last fixated on the newcomer. The hand yanked down the gag and the visitor counted five pairs of soaked panties that were slowly drawn out from the woman’s mouth. They too joined the cotton pads on the floor.
The darkened figure wrenched the woman’s face sideways. She gasped and a terse, muffled voice spoke so only she could hear, then half-slapped, half-turned her face back to the visitor.
‘Conover wants you to – ‘
The gloved hand stabbed out, pinched a nipple – hard.
‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ the woman cried. Her eyes squeezed shut in a grimace, but when the fingers released the nipple the woman sighed – not in relief but pleasure – and licked her lips. ‘Please, please, don’t st – ‘ Then she caught herself. ‘I mean, I mean, I’ll do better, I promise.’
The hand remained to rest on the tit, a silent threat, or more like a promise, that she would suffer if she did mess up again. The blonde woman drew a few deep breaths.
She said to the visitor, trying to keep her voice steady, ‘I want to know if you’re really ready for this.’
‘I am,’ said the visitor. He kept his voice low, an attempt to demonstrate resolve and strength. ‘I made my choice when I responded to your initial offer all those months ago.’
Muffled voice, then the woman said with a quaver. ‘Let us b-be clear. Now there is no turning back.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course. Sorry.’
Quick words. Angry tone. The blonde woman: ‘Don’t you ever say that word again!’
The visitor nodded and the silence lengthened. The woman’s eyes remained fixated on him but didn’t say anything more. The almost disembodied gloved hand massaged her breast, as if considering whether to deliver to the woman more pleasure through pain, or perhaps thinking if the visitor was really committed to the agreed course of action.
More muffled speech. The woman, who still quivered in the ropes, nervously licked her lips and struggled to catch every word so they would be repeated without error. She had slipped when she had said ‘Conover’ and not ‘I’ and had paid the price, or received a reward, depending on the point of view. Yet now, even in the dim candlelight, the nipple shone bright red.
‘You’ll be texted an address and a lady’s name,’ the woman parroted. ‘She owns a restaurant – Le Fouet Enroule. Arrangements have been made. Go to her.’
‘A lady?’ he said. ‘But I thought you – ‘
More muffled whispers. ‘Enough questions!’ The tied up woman tried to sound forceful, authoritative, but it came off as desperate, almost pleading. ‘I’ve been patient long enough…way too long. Do this!’
‘No. One more question,’ he said, the nascent dominance in him now active. ‘Why will this lady help me?’
A pause, then: ‘The slave you see before you is… is gifted to her.’ The blonde hesitated just for a moment, but he could see that she fought back tears. Still, she carried on with the task at hand. ‘She now owes me and will complete your training. Go now.’
Crossroads. That’s what he was at. For the last five months they had done this little dance; him getting training videos of bound women, then him trying new skills on live flesh on the same woman from the video, dominating them per instructions, testing his willingness on how far he would go, what he was comfortable with, and going beyond his self-imposed limits. He learned how to wield the whip for pain and punishment, and for pleasure and reward. He learned how to tie knots so that a woman begging for mercy or pitiless severity couldn’t escape either. Taking a cringing female slave beyond the edge of endurance and bringing her (and himself) intense pleasure from the pain. Now, at the last, he wasn’t about to lose his nerve.
‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ he said. ‘I haven’t come this far to turn back.’
A pause, maybe thinking this novice might actually be speaking the truth, or not. Then, at last, more whispers.
‘Do what we’ve agreed on,’ said the woman. ‘But also don’t rush. Lay your groundwork. Prepare. And even though we’ll never meet like this again, I will watch you.’
The gloved hand twisted the blonde’s nipple again, harder than before. She threw her head back, mouth open, her scream almost enough to pierce eardrums. Before she finished the hand stabbed down, forced its way between her legs until, by the tied woman’s reaction, the visitor knew her pussy had been breached.
‘Oh! Oh!’ she breathed. ‘Oh, ma – ‘
A silhouetted figure crossed in front of the tied up woman, just barely taller than her. The candle dropped to the table. How the holder stayed upright and lit defied logic. A hasty back hand slap from the figure cut off the woman’s moans while…
‘Just one more question,’ said the visitor. ‘You could have texted me, even sent me a letter to tell me all this. Why did you bring me here? To this…club?’
The dark figure leaned in to the woman’s ear. The woman spoke, just barely above a whisper. ‘So that you could see that everything I tested you on I also do myself.’ The dark figure shoved the hand further up the woman’s pussy. The woman gasped but also said, ‘You…You c-can stay…if you w-want.’
The visitor thought about it; tempted to watch the legend at work. But then he also thought – another test? While he weighed the pros and cons the dark figure drew forth a penis gag and shoved it down the woman’s throat. Another dildo thrust out from the outside end, the flesh colored rod curving slightly up in to the air.
‘No, I won’t stay,’ the visitor said. ‘Like you said, I’ve got a lot of work to do. And I’m not into watching.’
The dark figure nodded; an action that indicated to the visitor that he had made the right choice and passed the final test.
The visitor left them, climbed a set of rickety stairs, padded across a rich Persian carpet in a narrow hallway and emerged out to the cold night. He was in a good part of the city, a place where people would never think such things would happen. It was quiet, everyone snug in their beds, except for a few; himself, for one, and the other two that he had left alone in the basement. He knew better than to overstay his welcome; the last five months had taught him something about his mysterious teacher. But from what he knew, or what he assumed, certain things in this series of encounters just didn’t make sense, like that penis gag with the other end sticking out in the air. Yet, he didn’t question it too closely. Some things were just better left alone.

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