Copyright 2002 Wanton Hussy, all rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced without permission.
WARNING: The following article is DIRTYDIRTYDIRTY! Do not read if this will disturb you!
Release
Part 1
"How did I get here," I thought, shifting my weight and moving my wrists within the shackles. "Here" was a dimly candle-lit bedroom in vaguely Victorian décor, in what I had been assured by my friends was one of the safest dungeons in San Francisco. I'd never done this before, ever; not even anything approximating it with any lover, but I had long been fascinated and aroused by erotic Bondage and Dominance stories and fantasies. And now, somehow, here I was fully clothed, arms stretched out just slightly above my shoulders, in chains. Waiting. In complete silence, broken only by my frightened breathing. This was a mistake. What on earth was I doing here? How could I get out? And why were my thighs so warm and nipples pulsing with every heartbeat?
I jumped, startled, as the shadows opposite me shifted and moved as a woman appeared-I had heard absolutely nothing; how long has she been there? She came slowly forward and I was simply overwhelmed by her beauty and the power that emanated from her. I saw all of her in an instant, of course, but her appearance is well worth describing in detail. She was taller than I, but not an exceptionally tall woman. Young, but no one would ever call her a girl despite her soft, rosy skin. Her hair was a shoulder-length veil of thick, glossy-black corkscrew curls, reminiscent of Shirley Temple, which would have looked silly on anyone less self-possessed. She wore dark, heavy make-up, gothic style, to accent her huge dark eyes and full crimson lips. Her expression was unreadable as she watched me look at her.
She wore a thin red-jeweled choker and shoulder length black silk gloves. My eyes filled with inexplicable tears as I took in the beauty of her breasts. She wore an underbust corset of black satin, with small red accents; not so tight that she seemed the one in bondage, just enough that it accented her gorgeous breasts and waist. Flowing from the corset was a tiered black silk skirt, and combat boots. I smiled as I saw them, so much more practical than any silly high-heel platform fetish shoe.
I did truly see first her beautiful face and hair, but her breasts were especially lovely. They floated above the dark corset, round and full, but somehow not heavy; soft and ivory and tipped with deep crimson nipples like the deepest red rosebuds. Luminous. I felt my face flush as I suddenly caught myself running my tongue over my teeth, thinking of her nipples.
She was so thoroughly self-possessed, so certain of her beauty and desirability and power. I knew I was nowhere near her equal in beauty, and was embarrassed and distraught, fearful that she would find me unattractive and leave.
She drew nearer, eyes appraising my body. She stopped a polite distance from me, but it seemed her presence surrounded me. "You are here of your own free will?" she asked, in a voice smooth and strong. Swallowing hard, I managed to stammer, "Yes-yes, Mistress." She smirked. "Yes, only respond with 'Yes Mistress' or 'No Mistress' unless told otherwise. But be assured, good behavior will not spare you, nor will your innocence." My eyes began to tear, not quite crying but close, in fear. What had I gotten myself into? "Are you here to be humiliated?" she asked, turning sharply, with acid and scorn in her voice. I could not control my impulse to try to step back as I cried, "No Mistress," with a shaking voice. Her lips were touched with a slight smile as she paused, then reached out a gloved hand, tipped up my chin to meet her eyes and asked sternly, "Are you here to be punished?" Her eyes would not let go of mine, and my voice shook as I whispered, "Yes Mistress."
She touched the tears at the corners of my eyes and replied, "Yes, you will be punished, but rewarded too, my sweeting, if you are good. I would reassure you to not be too afraid, but you have much to fear. I can see that your terror and guilt punishes you already, just for wanting this, for bringing yourself here." She drew near me so I could smell her spicy fragrance and added, "But you are honest, so a small reward," s she touched my lips lightly with hers. So soft, yet so powerful, I felt my body melting, my knees shaking.
She stepped back and went to the mirrored dressing table, and took from it something which in the dim candle light looked like a small sword or dagger, glinting silver. She held it against her chest as she walked back to me, smirking and saying, "You can't take your eyes off my breasts any more than a man, but you are embarrassed by your desire. Maybe if you are exposed more than I am, you will feel more at ease." She removed the sheath from the dagger and revealed nothing more dangerous than a pair of oddly shaped scissors, and I felt relived and foolish at my earlier fear. She saw me relax, and so opened and closed the scissors quickly, snip-snip-snip! "No, you were right to fear. They are very sharp, and if you move, they will cut you. Your choice. Small injuries cannot always be helped," she said with a small, cruel smile as she lightly ran the closed scissors back and forth across each of my nipples, stroking them into hardness through my clothes.
She started at my wrist, cutting up the sleeve, running the dull outer edge of the blade up my arm, not quite a tickle nor a caress, but it felt good and I shivered a little and then suddenly felt the sharp point at my elbow. She cut up to the shoulder and then around it, so the fabric fell away to the floor. Then she did the same to the other arm. She ran the scissors, the smooth, safe outside, and sometimes the dangerous point, over my neck and back and breasts and belly. "Pretty dress," she said. "Too bad," as she cut up the front and down the back, stroking and teasing and just barely almost scratching me with the sharp scissors. By the time the fabric fell away, leaving me in my bra, panties, and stockings, my body felt like melted honey or liquid fire, or some such substance, aroused but languorous and yet craving more.
She had me step out of my shoes, and moved them away. She snipped between my toes and stroked my feet and calves with the scissors. My head rested on my shoulder, eyes closed, trying not to move, having an out-of-body experience, or perhaps more accurately an in-body and out-of-mind experience. She stroked my thighs with the metal blades and gave a low melodious yet slightly cruel chuckle as she noted how sweaty my thighs were. She cut the stockings up to my belly, and they fell away so I stood in bra and panties. She sat on the floor between my feet, and I opened my eyes to see her looking at my face.
to be continued…