He looked like a tourist, the blond boy circling the dungeon. His black outfit, paired with a chin-length blond haircut, sculpted cheekbones, and pouty lips, telegraphed a style, a persona: artist, musician, model, perhaps. He reminded Nyx of the beautiful boys she lusted after in school but was terrified to go near, with her 90 lbs of awkwardness and anxiety. He never made eye contact, always focusing his attention on whoever was bottoming for her, typical tourist sucking up an eyeful of a young hottie getting her ass tanned.
Nyx was the resident badass bitch Domme of this hidden suburban dungeon, all PVC and facial piercings and horror-film tattoos. She had the look, but didn’t present herself as the screaming harridan of porn fantasies. Her quiet, calculating demeanor drew both shyer, inexperienced bottoms and more seasoned masochists interested in exploring a deep dark world of pain. She didn’t take kindly to lurkers or voyeurs; so if fratboy wasn’t paying to play, then he needed to keep his ass at home and make do with shitty porn.
As fate would have it, however, she came upon him before her next shift. Out for a late-night ice cream run at the end of a gloriously lazy weekend, she scanned the Ben & Jerry’s section, earbuds pumping the Bram Stoker’s Dracula score into her head, and caught a flash of yellow to her right.
And there he was, infuriatingly perfect looking, all in black again, this time in joggers instead of jeans.
Nyx rolled her eyes. Outside of the dungeon she was just Nikki, part time comics illustrator, in her own black joggers and the shredded Baphomet tee she always seemed to wear on Sundays. Here, she could tell him to fuck off without worrying about decorum.
He glanced at her, did a double take, then sauntered over.
“I would say you look a lot different out of the dungeon, but you really don’t. I’m Eric, by the way,” he stuck out his hand, and she shook it, roughly, declining to provide her real name or respond to his comment.
“You live around here or something?”
“Yeah, over at The Factory.” A hipster enclave of an ancient newspaper building renovated into highly overpriced apartments with 20 ft ceilings, exposed brick and pipes, and an “ironic” name. Nyx lived a few blocks away in a shotgun cottage that cost at least $500 less per month.
“Where hipsters go to die,” she quipped, before mentally shushing herself. She just wanted to grab some Chocolate Therapy and boot, not titillate this hunk of dumb meat with insults or jokes.
He smirked and raised his eyebrows. “Ouch.” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “So I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to you the next time I went, but if you’re open to it, maybe we could talk tonight, go get a drink or something.”
“Talk to me about what? Topping you? Training you?”
He nodded, dazed.
“Look, Chad, or Eric, or whatever, I came in here to get some ice cream and then go back home to my amazing couch. You are fucking that plan up royally. I’ll see you next weekend.”
He was stung, then pissed, eyes going all flinty. “Hey, sorry I ruined your oh so stimulating evening.”
He seemed to be gathering a breath to continue his tirade, so Nyx shoved him up against the freezer case, hand on his throat.
“If you want me to train you, or top you, or whatever, this is a piss poor way of going about it,” she seethed. “Your behavior sucks, you give off a cocky fuckboi vibe, you don’t seem to actually be interested in submitting, least of all to me. I think you’re a spoiled little trust fund kid who’s used to getting his way, and I think you hate that and want to be punished for it. And you hate that it excites you, and so on and so on. Self loathing does not an ideal submissive make.”
She released him, watching his eyes go dark, then soft, then hot with desire. And he did what she least expected: sank to his knees before her in the middle of the frozen food aisle.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice clear and steady, the caustic attitude gone. “May I please buy you some ice cream? And a drink?”
Nyx laughed and threw her head back. She thought again of her couch and mourned it briefly, before focusing her attention once more on the kneeling blond before her, and the rising heat below her navel.
“Sure, Chad. Now get your dumb ass off the floor.”
Eight minutes later, armed with a bottle of Seven Deadly Zins and a pack of Solo cups, Nyx curled up on one of the benches ringing the fire pit in the courtyard of Eric’s pretentious apartment complex. She poured herself some wine and took a small sip, pushing down the urge to shear his clothes off with a knife and fuck him in a variety of perverse and bondage-assisted ways.
“So…what do you do besides, you know…” He waved his hand in the air, presumably indicating her dominatrix duties.
Nyx snorted and propped her Chuck Taylor-shod feet on the edge of the fire pit. “I’m an artist. Illustrator, actually. You?”
“Photography, mostly. I travel a lot, do bleak landscape type stuff. I have a travel blog too.”
“Full offense, but you seem more like a stockbroker than a creative type.”
“I don’t know why, I mean I’m always wearing black. I’m poking around BDSM dungeons. Am I supposed to dye my hair and get a bunch of metal in my face?”
“Not everyone who’s into the lifestyle is dark or gothy. We get soccer moms and cowboys and MDs along with the aging Hot Topic crowd.”
“Look, I grew up in a certain kind of family,” Eric acknowledged, sipping his wine. “I do have issues about it, yeah, but it seems like it bugs you too. Do I remind you of assholes that bullied you or some shit?” He seemed genuinely curious, so Nyx suppressed the urge to bodyslam him again.
She laughed, drained her cup, and poured herself another three fingers. She’d bedded and dominated her share of gorgeous men since she’d become the she that she was meant to be, but had not yet come across such a perfect archetype of the preppy rich boys who’d never looked at her twice.
“I wasn’t bullied, surprisingly enough,” she said truthfully. “But I am naturally mistrustful and wary, especially when the person claiming to desire my dominance seems to have such a resistance to it.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, taking a beat to think. “It wasn’t resistance, so much as…a defense mechanism. I’m pretty new to all this, and to be honest, I’m fucking terrified.” He laughed shakily, eyes darting up briefly to meet hers, then dropping again, a red flush suffusing his skin.
Nyx felt herself leaning closer to him. Vulnerability paired with fear, her favorite cunt-twitchingly hot cocktail.
She drew more history out of him (rich kid, played the game he was supposed to until his late 20s, the basic bitches he dated repulsed by the idea of dominating him), then finished her wine, declining another glass. Any more would strip away the thin veneer of civilization that was keeping her from attacking the boy.
“So…what do you think about me?” He dared another glance, then stared back down into his cup.
She narrowed her eyes, raked him from head to toe, slowly enough that he was twitchy with lust.
“The package is appealing, and there’s certainly chemistry. My id would enjoy defiling and violating you in a variety of ways. Being dominated arouses you sexually, and pushes a few psychological buttons. I don’t know that you’re suited to a lifestyle relationship, but training can often bring out hidden facets. Then again, I’m not interested in 24/7 myself.”
His breath had quickened, and he was rubbing his palm anxiously over his thigh, as if trying to calm himself. She knew he was hard, and perhaps a second away from humping the air.
“Would you — be willing to train me at all? Or, if not…maybe that thing in the second sentence?” Arousal had dulled his mental acuity.
Nyx laughed. “If I trained you, it would be mostly confined to the dungeon. You would serve me, for awhile anyway, but I would also train you to serve others who might desire a relationship with you. Perhaps that’s something you might decide you’d like in the future. However, I’m inclined to begin simply by exploring you physically and psychologically, and steering you to your natural destination.”
“Yes,” he said, not quite humping the air yet, but writhing against the cushions, his erection straining the soft cotton of his joggers. “I consent to that. Explore me. Please.”
Nyx stood and marched over to him, grabbed his jaw, forced his eyes to focus on hers. “You’re in a bit of a state right now, I see, but that exploration isn’t going to happen until we negotiate our preferences, and I receive a copy of the full STD panel you’ll be having done. I expect it done by this Friday.”
“No exceptions,” she said firmly. Her hand traced the contours beneath his t-shirt and came to rest on the warm pulsing shape in his pants. He bit his lip and moaned, bucking against her hand. Her cunt was hot and liquefied, but she was going to stick to her resolve and go home without whipping her pants off and riding his face.
Nyx removed her hand. “Look at me,” she commanded. Eric did, his eyes pleading and about to slide right off his face. “Slip your hand into your pants.”
“Whh — here?”
“Slip your hand into your pants,” she repeated, louder this time.
After he obeyed, she smirked at him, running her thumb over his petal soft lower lip. “Now, I want you to stroke yourself until you come.”
“I — I can’t,” he stuttered. “Please don’t make me.”
Over the soft sweatpants material, she forced his hand to close around his cock. His eyelids fluttered.
“Nooo…I can’t,” he moaned, thrusting his hips forward.
“Look at me,” she said again, and when he looked up, she gripped his throat, took his mouth finally in a wet messy kiss. “Now stroke your fucking cock like I told you to,” she hissed.
Nyx kept her hand on his throat and her eyes on his, feeling his arm move now, his hand slow and reluctant, his hips stuttering forward, thighs trembling.
“I — I can’t, I’m going to — ” And then he came in his pants, his face pressed hotly against her abdomen, a moan that cascaded to a whimper escaping his bitten lips.
After the electric twitch of aftershock had subsided, Nyx gently cupped his jaw and kissed him again, softer but just as possessive.
“Good boy,” she said, and Eric’s eyes closed.
Nyx found herself thinking of Eric when she was working the dungeon that weekend. When she’d left his courtyard that night, he’d been dazed, pliable. She wouldn’t be surprised to encounter more resistance, but he’d sent his response to her negotiation checklist as well as the results of his STI panel (all clean), and even a copy of the insurance form for his vasectomy the previous year. She’d stalked the fuck out of him online and didn’t find any dirt. At some point, you had to choose to trust, or not.
He was meeting her tomorrow for a late lunch, and she supposed they would begin their unholy adventure then. Her thoughts were scattered all night, targeted on her new prey, but now that her sweet little masochist Julia was shackled to the St. Andrew’s cross, about to get her back striped crimson, her focus returned, and Eric retreated to the shadows where he belonged. Until, of course, she summoned him.
Around three the next afternoon, they dined on Thai takeout on her backyard deck. She studied him thoroughly as she piled her plate with green curry shrimp with lemongrass and rice. That hair, gold shot through with platinum, just about grazing his jaw. Plenty long enough to really get her hands in and grip. Stormy blue eyes, clear tanned skin, and those obscenely pouty lips. His body seemed to be leanly muscled, and she hoped that his ass was one worth biting. Her cunt throbbed as she recalled him writhing before her, moaning as he came, and she imagined the turn the afternoon might take.
He flushed under her perusal and lowered his eyes to fill his own plate.
Nyx got a light conversation going, touching on horror films, music, places they’d traveled. Eric lowered his walls a bit and was more engaging, more eager schoolboy than cocky fratboy. The occasional smile and sparkle in his eyes made her realize with a growing sense of doom that she could possibly grow attached, grow possessive. It wasn’t that she was completely against being in a relationship. She’d just had more than her share of adult children and control freaks.
They’d been done eating for awhile, and were lounging comfortably on the deck, when Nyx interrupted his description of the Italian coast. Her eyes narrowed, her smile vanished.
“Eric.” Her voice was quiet, but commanding. He looked at her, lips parted, his posture changed, alert, nearly vibrating with tension.
“Get out of your chair, and kneel in front of me.” His blush and the visible shiver that ran through his body, nearly made her smile. He obeyed quickly, his head bowed, his face hidden by his blond curtain of hair.
“Look at me.” She wanted to touch him, so she lifted his chin with her hand. He was breathing faster, his eyes dark with longing. “You will address me as Mistress Nyx, from now on.”
“Understood, Mistress Nyx,” he said softly.
She slid her feet (freshly pedicured, and adorned with silver toe rings) out of her flip-flops. “I want you to worship my feet. You may kiss, massage, lick, suck…and you had better suck. No tickling.”
His chest was heaving with his quickened breaths, and Nyx smirked. She knew he wasn’t a major foot guy, but he was majorly into being commanded.
“It would be my pleasure, Mistress,” he said, voice quaking just a tad.
Nyx let herself give in to the pleasure of watching him, the pleasure of his touch, seeing his tongue dart out lightly. His worship of her feet was tentative and sensual, but built in intensity with their rising mutual desire. She knew this would lead to fucking of some sort, but she’d prepared herself for that already. The little sighs coming from him became a groan when he first sucked her big toe into his mouth, as she threaded her fingers in his hair and began moving his head up and down, simulating fellatio. The groan became whimpers and his hips thrust forward, his jeans fully tented. She stopped it then, gripping him gently by the jaw, his eyes dark with lust. She ran her thumb over his soft reddened lips and pushed it into the wet warmth of his mouth. He sucked it greedily, and her cunt throbbed, barbaric and impatient.
“Good boy,” she purred. “You loved sucking on my toes like a little whore, didn’t you?” Eric moaned around her thumb and dropped his eyes, beet red, and she forced his chin up once again. “I know you loved it. You’re about to come in your fucking pants again like you did last week.”
He recoiled as if slapped, and Nyx chuckled darkly. “Let’s go inside and get your clothes off, shall we?”
Nyx didn’t bother giving Eric the tour; she dragged him straight down the short hallway to her bedroom, which resembled a dark little jewelbox: sapphire blue walls, black and silver bedding, vintage framed horror posters, taxidermied oddities in bell jars, and a galaxy of black candles in various stages of meltdown.
He looked around, dazed, as she stuck her phone into the cradle of a small stereo, and downtempo electronica suffused the air like incense. She withdrew a pair of shearling-lined leather wrist cuffs from a mirrored chest and backed Eric up to the canopy bed. She shoved him down onto the black silk duvet and climbed atop him, claiming his mouth in a violent kiss, her left hand snaking up his shirt while her right was ensnared in his hair. She broke the kiss and dispensed with the shirt. Not pausing a beat, she quickly fastened the cuffs onto his wrists. Eric watched her avidly, biting his lower lip.
And now he was chained to the headboard, that beautiful body tense and writhing.
His nipples were dark pink and pierced with silver barbells, which delighted her. She rubbed the ball of her thumb over one and Eric hissed, hips bucking, his eyes on her dark and pleading. Such a lovely conundrum; he wanted relief from the burning pleasure, yet he never wanted it to end.
“Such a state you’re in, and I’ve barely touched you,” Nyx laughed, straddling him again, fully invested in tormenting him. Light, then harder pinches to those succulent nipples, and harder still, and his brow contracted with pain, but the denim-covered erection that was poking her thigh twitched.
“Fuck,” he gasped. “I can’t stand it…need you so bad…”
She pulled his nipples away from his chest, released them, and then flicked them with her fingernails, hard. Eric cried out, grinding into her, and she withdrew, not wanting him to come quickly from overexcitement. She fantasized about having a multiorgasmic boy, and perhaps Eric was that boy, but right now she wanted to draw out his climax, excruciatingly so.
Nyx slid up his body and gripped his neck. “I love all those little sounds you’re making,” she said throatily against his ear. “You sound like a whore, a whore getting fucked in a porno.”
He whimpered, eyes screwed shut, breath coming faster.
“Look at me,” she commanded, and his eyes were dark, liquid, all pupil. “Are you a whore, a slut? Do you want to be used like a little bitch?”
“N — n-n-no –” he stuttered, and Nyx slapped him across the face, hard. His face went blood red and he writhed under her obscenely.
“Ye — yesss, I am,” he groaned softly.
“A slut, your slut, your whore, I want you to use me, fuck me, tear me apart, I need it so bad.” It all came out in a breathless rush.
“Good boy,” Nyx replied, stroking the faint handprint she’d left, running her thumb over the soft skin of his lips, her cunt liquefying as he parted them and sucked her thumb into his mouth.
“The things I’m going to do to you,” she sighed, and his eyelids fluttered closed in pleasure. She scraped her stiletto manicure down his taut stomach, stopping at the waistband of his jeans, ignoring his hisses and groans.
“Time to see all of you,” she informed him, and then she relieved him of his jeans; he was bare beneath, and thoroughly trimmed. His cock was thick enough for her, and the same pink of his nipples. She’d never really given a fuck about dick size, considered the obsession with it atrocious to men, and Eric’s was as aesthetically pleasing as the rest of him.
“Very nice,” she said, catching his gaze.
“Thank you,” he whispered, writhing under her inspection. His cock was so hard it looked about to burst, a trail of precum leaking onto his stomach.
“Look how wet you are,” she said, dipping a finger into his fluids and holding it up to his mouth for him to lick clean.
“Such a good boy,” she said. “Such a beautiful boy.” She ran her hands down his torso and thighs, lightly caressing. His legs were beautifully shaped, lightly dusted with blond hair that was nearly invisible. Her panties were soaked, and her cunt was throbbing mercilessly, but her mind wanted to drive him insane with pleasure before she sought out her own.
“Turn over,” she commanded, and Eric looked up at his cuffs, confused. “The restraints will allow you to do it,” she said. “That’s definitely an important feature to me.”
Eric rolled carefully onto his stomach, and the chains complied. “Like this?”
“Yes, for now.” Now she could see the tattoo on his back. It was a minimalist anatomical spine piece that traced his own vertebrae, and as she ran her fingers over it, Eric shivered. The tattoo ended in the two delicious creamy globes of flesh that was his very generous ass. Most tall guys had Hank Hill asses, but he was an exception. It was smooth and muscular and damn near perfect. She dragged her nails over it and down the backs of his thighs, and he pressed his cock into the mattress, moaning.
“No bed humping, my little whore,” Nyx admonished. “Get that gorgeous ass in the air, and keep your head down.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he murmured, and pushed up onto his knees. She settled between his legs and continued raking his ass and hamstrings with razor sharp nails. Eric cried out, and spread his legs wider, exposing the dark pink rosebud at his center. She spread his cheeks apart, and he began rocking back and forth, moaning. Nyx stroked his smooth perineum slowly, and Eric’s thighs parted even further.
“Mmmmm…please touch me, please, Mistress Nyx,” he said breathlessly.
“I am touching you, my stupid little slut.”
“Please touch me…there,” he begged.
Nyx continued stroking his perineum, and his moans were ceaseless. “Are you asking me to touch this?” She pressed her thumb against his rosebud, and he cried out, hips stuttering helplessly.
“Yes oh my god yes please oh fuuuck….”
Nyx laughed wickedly, then replaced her thumb with her tongue. He was squeaky clean as she’d requested, and she so enjoyed the squirming reaction this always got. She licked his perineum delicately as a kitten and teased his rosebud with the tip of her tongue.
“Oh fuck oh god Mistress please I’m gonna — ”
She stopped dead then and threw him violently onto his back. He whined, his cock twitching, reddened and oh so wet. He spread his legs wide, rocking his hips, and moaning as she shoved his knees up to his chest.
“You REALLY want me inside you, don’t you, my little whore? You want to get fucked so bad.”
“Yesss please fuck me please.” His eyes were dark, desperate, beyond shame.
“It’s sweet that you’re so eager, but I’ve barely started playing with you.” With that, Nyx produced a padded leather blindfold, and secured it snugly around his head.
Eric’s breathing immediately quickened again.
“OK, baby?” She asked, caressing his jaw.
He nodded, biting his lip. Nyx bent to kiss him softly, traced his throat with her lips and tongue, sucking on the tender flesh until he shivered, then sank her teeth in until his moans became gasps of pleasured pain. She continued this treatment down his torso, avoiding his cock, spreading his legs roughly and nibbling on his inner thighs. His skin was salty, hot, clean, and she wanted to eat him alive.
“Fuck, please…oh god…” Eric’s entire body shivered and thrummed, hips bucking, cock twitching. Nyx continued her assault, tonguing and then nipping at his perineum. She licked her way back up his body, pausing to suck and bite his nipples until he wailed, thrusting up against her.
“Down, boy,” she purred in his ear, and he resumed his frustrated writhing. His cock was deep red, swollen, leaking. She wanted it in her mouth as well, but it was not yet time for such things. Nyx very gently placed her hand atop it, and though Eric whined, he managed not to thrust against her hand.
“Good boy,” she said. “Such a good boy. You would like to come very much now, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” he managed to whisper. “Yes, please, Mistress.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not quite done with you yet,” she said, stroking Eric’s sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead. “But soon, my sweet boy, very soon.” His lips trembled and her cunt throbbed mercilessly. If he started crying, she was done for. Among other things, she was a dacryphile.
Without warning, Nyx slowly breached Eric with two well-lubed fingers. He whimpered, his body tensing, his thighs twitching with shock. “Good boy,” she praised him, and he relaxed around her invasion, and although she knew he was desperate to move, he remained still, bound and blind and perfect.
She began fucking him slowly, a low moan unfurling from his throat. He rolled his hips against her, unable to help it. Each time his hips sped up, she stilled her motion, and he was panting now, the frustration about to break him. She stroked the rough little nub of his prostate gently, stilling his hips with a bracing hand.
“Please Mistress, I can’t, please let me come, please, I can’t take anymore,” And now his voice broke, and here were the tears streaking his beautifully flushed face.
Nyx pushed the blindfold off his eyes. They were raw, the blue brighter from the tears. He was a trembling shape of need.
“You’re mine,” she said coolly, and his lashes fluttered, his hips trying to surge forward again.
“Yes, yours, Mistress, I belong to you, I need you so bad.”
“Then keep your eyes on mine, until you can’t anymore.” She let go of his hips and gripped his throat with her free hand. She began fucking him again, slowly, deeper, and he gripped her fingers with his quivering heat.
“Your body is mine,” she said, eyes locked on his, “mine to do with as I please. I will fuck you whenever I want, this way or any other, and you will please me however I wish.”
“Yes, yes, please…”
Nyx sped up her thrusts until his eyes squeezed shut, his hips stuttering, and as a tortured cry was wrung from his throat, his cock pulsed and spurted a thick geyser of cum, splattering his chest and neck.
She laughed with delight, slowing her movements as Eric shuddered through a good sixty seconds of aftershock. He burst into tears then from reaction, and she began wiping him down with a warm, damp towel, kissing him gently.
“Sorry,” he murmured when he could speak again. “It was so…so intense.” He shivered, eyes gone glassy. “Thank you, Mistress Nyx. I — I’m yours?”
Nyx nodded, stroking his face, tender now. His bitten-red lips turned up in a slight smile, and she was half in love. Fuck.