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Alex’s Final Lesson.



Based on the Characters created by Angelus And Lady of Dragon Rose from the short story “An Ordinary Day” written by Angelus and continued by Lady Of Dragonrose and Angelus.



*For Adults Only





It was shortly after eight in the evening when Alice stood in the doorway, a young woman, perhaps seventeen or eighteen; she wore a white studded dog collar and a white tee-shirt, that reached half-way down her thighs and nothing else.



Her face was made up to look doll-like, with an emphasis on blue today; and her hair was cut short, gelled to be spiky; in her hands was a tray.



The young woman’s eyes sparkled with delight, as she looked into the room at the small bed tight against the wall, where the young man lay.



Alex had arrived two weeks ago, to the night, in the back of an SUV, bundled over her master’s shoulder and then left in this room, no bigger than a cell, with a smaller room adjacent, without a door, that held just a toilet and a wash-basin.



Alice smiled, as she recalled how obstinate Alex had been when he first arrived, his sore flesh bruised where he had been struck and welts had appeared.



He had gone to the bdsm club Marley’s with a group of friends, all of who knew the establishment far better than he had, yet no-one in his group of friends had given him a warning about being respectful when there was a punishment exhibition.



Then when he had shouted the odds, he had quickly found himself taken to task, much to the amusement of his friends and work colleagues.



They had stood and laughed, as he had tried to make a fool of Jared and ended up making one out of himself, as he learnt of a side to himself he’d not known existed before. It was a side to himself his front had hid well, for years.



The arrogance that had led him here had been beaten out of him and as the cocaine had flushed out of his system Alex had quickly realised that he had found himself in a situation well out of his control: and he had been used to being in control.





It hadn’t been the pain of his beating that had begun his realization of self; rather the fact that as Mistress Celine had taught him the first of his lessons he had tuned into all that had happened to him, hardened and almost, enjoyed it.





In his world he played the role of an Alpha male and a been a leader of men, earning a lot of money and wearing smart tailored suits, used to his bullying tactics establishing his place in the office, but not now. Now his time with Master Jared was nearly at end, although he did not know that: ‘after all, why should he?’



For weeks he had remained resolute that he would not wear the clothing left for him on the on the end of the small bed, in this small room at the front of Master Jared’s home, a townhouse in a good area, on the outside of the city.





Watching Alex continue to sleep Alice recalled that first time she had entered this room after his and set the tray down on the end of the bed on which had sat a bowl of beef-stew and a glass of beer.



She had left him a black dress, a little black dress, which she would never, had worn, not even when she had not been in servitude to her beloved Master Jared.



Alice had arrived at Master Jared’s door after several disastrous relationships, with a rugby player, a trainee doctor and, a nurse named Jacklyn.



Unlike Alex, she had taken to her role in the household quickly: and though sex wasn’t why she had sought out a Master, even that was good.



Master Jared, her Master Jared was all she needed and she loved and adored him for that. And now, she could not imagine her life without him.



‘But, now there’s so much to do,’ Alice reminded herself as she placed the tray down on the floor, and then gently shook Alex awake.



“Time to get up sleepyhead. Time to get ready.” She told him, as he slowly turned to face her.



Alex had been known as conceited and arrogant, yet now was stripped of all remnants of maleness, as Alice stood back, pleased with her handiwork.



He eyebrows were tweezered to a fine arch, his hair was now blonde and styled and as he wiped the sleep from his eyes, she nearly thought of Alex as female. Almost.



He had slept in a nightgown, that was translucent and showed over his body shorn of all hair, his nipples already erect, as he opened his eyes to look at Alice.



“Hi,” he greeted her warmly.



She had been seen as his jailor, but not now. Now Alex saw the young slip of a thing as a good friend and confidant, as she fed him and dressed him and taught him all he would need to know, in preparation for tonight.



‘Tonight?’ He mused, ‘I so hope he’ll like me.’



Tonight was his night, to be so much more than he had been and less than the arrogant conceited man he had been.



“Do you think Master will like me? Do you think I will… please him?” Alex asked Alice, as he sat up and swung his bare legs round and set his feet down on the concrete floor.



Alice sat at his side and, with her right arm draped over his shoulders she wiped away a tear that had rolled down his left cheek.



This was the night. And, Alex was very nervous: she could see that.

“Don’t worry hunnie,” she told him; “you’ve been a good girl these last few days and if you’re a very good girl tonight, then everything will change for you.”



Alex looked at his intimate young friend and allowed a smile to form on his face.



She had taught him so much, ready for tonight and, as he gently squeezed her left knee he thanked her for all that.



“It’s been my pleasure,” Alice told him, then kissed his cheek and smiled warmly.



Little did Alex know, she was telling more than the truth with that remark. Alice had taken a great deal of pleasure in his subjugation and gradually taught him to dress, act and feel more feminine.



She had even lain awake a couple of nights previously, looking forward to the alarm ringing, so that she could continue his training.



And, her fingers had played between her splayed legs, as she had thought of how she would give him a treat that morning, if he continued his obeisance to all her Master’s instructions.



He had earned his treat, a milking and then, demonstrated how adept his tongue was, as she illustrated with long slender fingers, just where she wanted him to lick.



And, although it hadn’t been strictly part of his training, it had been a pleasant diversion for her that day and after all, ‘a girl has to have some perks in a job’ she considered wryly.



‘And, besides,’ she considered, briefly very aware of his hand on her knee, ‘he has a good tongue and knows how to please a woman, it would seem.’



‘But tonight was different,’ she thought with a brief grin, tonight it wouldn’t be a woman he would be pleasing, with his tongue.’



And recalling that Her Master had said that she had two hours to get Alex ready, the young woman stood, leant forward kissed Alex on the forehead.



“We’d best get you ready. Master Jared doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she said and, at his names mention, Alex thought of his young handsome master, who he so wanted to please.



“Yes Alice, whatever you say,” he said in a soft voice and meant it.



She smiled, turning to to pick up the tray again, which she set down on the bed as Alex attended to his toilette.



Beside the mug of coffee was her make-up kit, which she’d leave with him.



“Alex, I’m going to go get your outfit,” she called to him, as he sat on the toilet to perform ‘the necessary’, just as a woman would.

Even that had been part of his training, as much had been the care of his nails, which he stared at as he sat there, mulling over what was expected of him tonight.



“Certainly Alice, I’ll be waiting,” he called back.



And Alice knew that would be the case. Alex had learnt to be good at last and now she could leave the door open, if she chose to. His days of wanting to escape had ended and, now he wanted to experience all that Master Jared could teach him.



‘And tonight would be his final lesson,’ she thought with a light smile, as she moved down the long corridor and up the stairwell, to her large dressing room, where his outfit sat, freshly ironed.



And, time passed dreamily for Alex during his preparation, while Alice readied him for the night ahead and, his Masters arms.



Finally Alice stood back from her creation, pleased with what she saw.



Alex now looked like the woman that Jared had wanted him to look like, for tonight and Alice felt satisfied.



“Alright, time to go…” she said with a smile, as Alex stood, replete with the knowledge that after tonight he would have realised an unrealised dream.



He followed Alice, walking confidently in the high heels he had taken days to learn to walk steadily in, without breaking his ankles.



Although nervous with expectation of all that would happen, he was aroused, delighted to be what he had become, a sissified subbie, ready to please his Master.



And, promptly at ten o’clock, Alice knocked on Master Jared’s door.



“Enter,” he called back.



The door opened, and Jared smiled as this vision of femininity walked into his room, led by his sweet Alice, who led Alex by the leash, which attached to the pink leather studded collar around his neck.



He knew that initially Alex hated and loathed him for making him dress as a female, yet now here he was, as docile and subdued as Jared wanted, submissive to his every whim and wish.



For Alex, this would be no ordinary night.

Based on the Characters created by Angelus And Lady of Dragon Rose from the short story “An Ordinary Day” written by Angelus and continued by Lady Of Dragonrose and Angelus.



*For Adults Only







Yumi faced the slave standing before her, his eyes downcast to the floor. His hard body was naked except for the black leather collar that he wore around his neck. His brown hair was kept short as Yumi detested long hair on her slaves: In fact any body hair was removed the moment that they became hers.



His hands placed behind his back caused his chest to be more prominent as Yumi reached over and traced his nipple with her fingernail, causing the young man to gasp as his Mistress pinched the pink nipple hard, “What did I say to you Trevor?” she growled.



He kept his eyes downcast and began to tremble, hating that she was displeased. And of late, nothing that he ever did seemed to please her. He had come to Yumi on loan from another Master who did not want to train him, hence his training beneath Mistress Yumi.



“I told you to keep and eye on Sandrine, did I not?” Trevor looked up to Yumi, the steely, elegant Chinese American and in a slow voice replied “Yes Mistress Yumi you did, but I’d lost sight of her after she left Marley’s.”



Yumi had been a Mistress for well over ten years, and was considered to be very good at what she was. Dominatrix was her profession. She had several slaves that she had taken in over the years to train. She was harsh with her slaves and made it well known that she would not tolerate any form of misbehavior, as they served her and that’s all that mattered to Yumi.



She turned away from Trevor and began to pace back and forth, face contorted with annoyance. She had been considered High Mistress at one time, but that was before Celine Jenkins came along.



The majority of the regular customers that frequented Marley’s had respected Yumi out of a sense of fear. Yet, when others would look at her, she could never be sure if they were really looking at her and whether their respect was real or not.



Celine was a challenge and challenges were what made Yumi a Mistress to begin with. And, things had turned drastically worse since Celine had shown up.



The apartment lit up as lightning flashed brilliantly through the overhead skylight. The rain was pouring down outside Yumi’s loft apartment, which was quickly followed by a boom of thunder that literally shook the very foundation of the building.



Momentarily, the lights flickered for a moment, and Trevor was glad of the dark, as it meant that he didn’t have to look directly at her then. Now all he was worried about was the punishment he was going to receive at her hands. He couldn’t face another one.

He almost wished to return to his former Master, He had thought that no one could be as hard as him, until recently when Mistress Yumi proved him wrong on that score.



She looked at Trevor as the lights came back on. She watched him squirm under her hard gaze: and, when she was satisfied that he had squirmed enough, she dismissed him. “Yes Mistress Thank you Mistress,” was all he could say.



He knew that he would eventually be returned back to his former Master, yet he would have to serve her, for now. That was the punishment his Master wanted. Loaning him out to her was the worst punishment that he could ever have given Trevor.



Yumi looked down at the pine flooring, lost deep in thought. Sandrine was the key. ‘The Major’ was totally smitten with the young model wannabe, that follower of heroin chic. He would deny her nothing, as long as she stayed with him.



A flash of lightning illuminated the house once more, as thunder rolled by: the encroaching storm had found them, as someone knocked on the door. She glided over to the door and opened it.



Standing on the front porch drenched was Sandrine. She stood there; her shirt plastered to her skin, showing her nipples through the thin material of her shirt, her wet jeans hugging her hips tightly.



She looked at Yumi, her eyes had a hollow cast to them that betrayed her hours of tears and present state of anxiety. Her blue eyes searched for an answer in Yumi’s face.



“I got your message Mistress, we need to talk” she pushed past Yumi and stood by the couch as Yumi glared at the young woman. Sandrine smiled, that was enough for Yumi. She walked over to Sandrine, looked up and down and then slapped Sandrine across the face. Yumi was angry, too angry for words and the slap said it all.



“What are you doing here?” she snapped angrily at Sandrine, “you were told to stay with Summers, not to come here for any reason.” Sandrine held her hand to the side of her face that had been slapped, glaring at Yumi. Sandrine knew she was no match for Yumi. But she also knew that given time that could change.



“Summers is the inroad to Celine,” Yumi fumed angrily: “You know this Sandrine. They have a past and I need to know what it was. It’s the only thing we have to go on. You jeopardize everything by coming here.”



Sandrine nodded but didn’t utter a word.

“I asked you a question Sandrine, I expect an answer,” Yumi asked with menace, “what are you doing here?”



“I have some information for you Mistress and you wont like it. But I felt you needed to know right away and I couldn’t risk being overheard on the phone.”

Yumi looked surprised. Maybe Sandrine wasn’t as stupid as she first thought. Yumi turned her angry filled eyes to Sandrine’s young slim face, “You’ve got five minutes to explain Sandrine, I promise you if its not important information, I personally will send you to ‘The Major’ with stripes on your back. Do I make myself clear?” she heatedly told her.



Sandrine began to shake inside; she knew that Yumi kept her promises. She had seen with her own eyes just what Yumi was capable of. She swallowed hard and took a breath. “Crystal clear Mistress. You wont like it. I am sure of it, but I keep my end of the bargain.”



“Marley’s has been sold,” she said with a quick rush of words. Yumi’s face showed surprise. She wasn’t expecting this kind of news. “And who is the buyer?” She asked. Sandrine knew she wasn’t going to like this, but carried on nevertheless: “Mistress Celine has purchased it. I was there and saw with my own eyes.”

She went on to explain that Rachel, and David, Celine’s assistant and slave were there. “When I left Mistress, her slave was drawing up the contracts.”



Yumi wasn’t pleased with this information. She looked up toward the skylight; one thought was pushing through her head. Celine was to blame for her fall. She knew she had to work quickly if she were to gain back control. She wasn’t done yet with Sandrine, not by a long shot. She turned to Sandrine as she stood there shaking in her shoes.



As of late Sandrine’s nerves were strung very high. And, at the moment it would not take much for her to snap. Yumi knew this. Using people, she did well. Sandrine’s blue eyes began to fill with tears. She called out softly to Yumi. Sandrine walked toward Yumi, and reached out and touched the Mistress’s face softly and leaned in to kiss her.



Yumi felt the petal soft touch of the young woman’s lips on hers. She wrapped her arms around the young woman and pulled her wet skinny body against her own. She would give Sandrine a taste: and, if nothing else she would turn Sandrine to her own ends. She stopped and pulled away from Sandrine, her eyes hard once more, “Is that all you have for me Sandrine?”



Sandrine shook her head ‘no’. She swallowed hard once more and said, “John and Celine, were lovers at one time. Not here in this country, but in the south of France. All I could get out of ‘The Major’ was that it didn’t work out. I believe there’s more to it than that. What, I do not know…” As her words trailed off Yumi thought for a moment, ‘This could prove to be something useful.’



“Very well. Your next task is to find out where and when and how. I don’t care how you do it just get it done,” Yumi said forcefully. “Now I want you to leave. Do not come here unless I call you, do you understand Sandrine?” Sandrine shook her head and realized she was being dismissed.



“Yes Mistress Yumi, I understand she replied meekly. She took another look at Yumi as she walked past her and out the door to the rain once more. Yumi slammed the door and sat on the couch, her eyes lost in deep thought. She needed someone else on the inside. ‘Sandrine would eventually break.’



She listened to the rain falling outside and picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers and waited for them to pick up the phone, hoping that the person she wanted to speak to would answer. She smiled as she heard his deep rich voice over the phone as he spoke only one word.



“Marleys.”

Four and a half I would look up to my Mother, as we walked up the tree-lined Allport Road, crossed the green space with trees on the corner that we knew as The Common, then plodded onward, holding my Mum’s hand, a shock of blonde hair and inquisitive bright blue eyes.



I had walked to the school everyday, pleased to see people like Nicholas Butt, who could draw Thunderbird 5 better than me; and Linda Peters, who I would adore with love-struck eyes, over the sandpit.



I also recall a lad named Steve, the first to bully me with.



And, though there were many things I liked about that school, being bullied by that lad certainly took the shine of each day.



Then, all big brown eyes and dark hair, with chubby cheeks, my little brother had joined the same school: and, on his first day decided home was for him.



The reason for his decision had been a portion of baked beans on his plate at luch-time. And even now, I recall well the sound of his voice as he said, ‘Ugh’, in a rather loud voice, eyes wide as he’d stared at his plate, before yelling the walls down of the main hall, where people sat eating.



Yet little brother and friends aside, my days were made awkward by Steve, who would twist flesh, punch my arms and extort sweet money.



After a year or so, a new primary school had opened up near where I lived and no more did I have to trek up the road and my jumper turned from red to blue, with a change of uniform.



And, school was okay. I had my hassles, but nothing like I’d previously known. And, time passed, as it does…



One day I had been called to the Headmasters office. It seemed that a lad of eleven crying over his eleven-plus, when ‘everyone’ expected him to breeze-it through didn’t sit well with this little man, with heavy-framed glasses and a woollen green suit, who sat in a small office, with two understanding teachers standing by.



“So what do you want to do?” he had asked. “Do you want to go to a Grammar school, where you’ll probably be in one of the lower streams and have lot’s of pressure put on you? Or, do you want to go to a Secondary School, which is less academic and you’ll have less pressure put on you?” He had asked a very nervous, pale-faced boy, who was somewhat confused by these questions: “And, if you go to the secondary school,” he’d added, “you’ll be in one of the upper streams.”



To me, phrased like that, the answer was obvious: and, at eleven, I had chosen the least academic choice offered, the Secondary School.



Then, when I began as a first year at my ‘big school’, already very nervous, just to learn that on my first day, that Steve the bully I’d known, was there to meet me, as I’d walked through the gates.



Acre Lane was a Secondary School and it didn’t do to speak well, or take pride in the blazer, your Mother had made for you.



It didn’t do, to speak proper [‘properly’] and carry a brief-case, when everyone else carried a haversack. It was also particularly awkward, if you didn’t like sport, or the latest pop-music.



And, the bullying I had got used to at Primary School had continued and, I remember a bully, who lived round the block from me passed by our bungalow one day on his way home: and, when I told my Mother about him, she had marched straight out the front door, collared him by the ear and took him to task. That had been one fellow who had never bothered me again.



Oh the school, like many, talked a good talk, about having an anti-bullying policy. In fact considering I am writing of the seventies, they were quite ahead of their time, for doing so. But, who wants to report someone, when after it’s dealt with; their mates will get you?



But the actual scale of the bullying escalated: a wooden cross tip fired into my ‘testicles’, is the worst I recall. Yet, the games master checking me out, ‘to see if you’re okay’ had augmented the pain and humiliation that sunny day during P.E.



But, I was still a loner, with a briefcase, a sheepdog haircut and stack shoes that made me even taller than I was, yet they were the fashion of the day.



There were many other incidents, but one afternoon in my fifth year, as I was hassled by a group of fourth years and one of them in particular, the cock of his year.



All those years of being picked-on had got to me, just a little bit too much: and, I’d exploded goodstyle.



I got beaten, once then twice, as people had gathered round and around us many shouted, “don’t get up’, but I had. Then I had dragged myself up the metal basketball goal posts, blood pouring from my face.



Turning to him, I had raised my fists again, in the stance that my Father had taught me. I wasn’t going down easily: that I’d decided.



And, though I got my face bashed yet again, so I ended up looking somewhat like a squashed strawberry - that was the day that I stopped being bullied at school, such was the respect I gained from those around me, including the one who had bashed me to the floor again and again, till the tarmac yard had been spilt by my blood.

COMMENTS

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Nedra
18:02 May 21 2009

*hug*

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LAZARUSAD
19:42 May 21 2009

So many brutish folk on this planet, it is a miracle that any of us outsider intellectuals even survive our childhoods eh?



If you are different, or of another thought pattern, you certainly are singled out, picked on, harassed and harangued.



Ah the beast of this jungle. Fi, may their bones mortar the future, while the positive essence of our being lives on forever...

Great slice of your youth mate, exemplary form, beyond a doubt. ;)

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ladyofdragonrose
20:17 May 21 2009

one of the reasons i never go to any reunions. I have no interest in people that made my school years uncomfortable. but as I say. Time is a great revenge.

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POST COMMENT

Taken from my journal.





On Saturday, the 16th May, the fellow presenting the morning show on Radio Merseyside had starting by talking of ‘Coronation street’ and how Dev, the corner-shop lothario had finally had his come-uppance for his philandering ways, when a naked picture of him was displayed in the street, by his now ex-girlfriend.



He then asked for the listeners’s to phone-in with their own stories of vengeance attained. So, I had phoned in, with a story of my own, which dated back to 1976.



I say that, it had actually started in ’72, when a boy had stood up and betrayed a secret. The person the secret belonged to had been me. The other, the boy who had been so-mean, had seemed charming and very plausible: and my friend, till then.



Cut the chase, to two to three years later and the Geography room, which several of us fifth formers were using as a common-room during break-time.



Well, Yvonne had walked into where we were. Or the other Neil had, my memory isn’t clear on that. What I do recall well is the conflict that followed: and the order of those events, which is ironic considering what happened later and the opportunity for vengeance I was presented with. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.



Yvonne, had curves and though not tall, those curves were Junoesque: meaning she was very curvaceous and got the piss taken out of her goodstyle, by the mock-charmer.



She hadn’t taken his untoward remarks well and slapped him, somewhat justifiably in my opinion. But that hardly matters, as he blocked the move, then when she went to slap him a second time, the charming fellow head-butted her.



When she left the classroom she was fine, albeit tearful. But, she hadn’t been crying, not until halfway down the corridor and she pretty well walked into the Deputy Headmaster ‘Pop’ Roy. Then the tears had flowed: and needless to say, ramifications had followed.



‘Pop’ Roy had taken the two of them to the Headmaster’s Master and then the whole of the fifth year students, who Neil had said were present at “the incident”. And, soon there we all stood in a group before where the fellow sat behind his desk, reminding me somewhat of Captain Mainwaring from ‘Dads Army.’



Yvonne had said what had happened, when pressed. Then Neil had been questioned and his response had been, “She started it.”



‘Pop’ Roy is a stentorian and was the fellow who would generally do the caning’s for the Headmaster Mr. Bamforth: and, when he spoke people listened.



One by one he began to question the fifth year students. He had asked one fellow who Neil had made fun of his sister being killed on a bike. That guy took real pleasure in saying he knew nothing and said so with a straight face, as had each of the others.



Finally, ‘Pop’ Roy had got to the always smartly dressed fellow who Neil had considered his best friend at school. He too had said he knew nothing.



Then, both Mr. Bamforth and ‘Pop’ Roy had turned their gaze to me: “So what do you know Neil? Is he telling the truth when he says she started it?” I’d been asked.



Around me there’d been an air of expectation; people knew there was animosity between that scrot and me. So there wasn’t too much surprise I suppose from the fifth formers, when I’d looked Mr. Bamforth squarely in the eyes and said, “I don’t know anything about it Sir, I was talking to someone. I wasn’t paying attention.”



In essence, I had lied completely, just like several of the fifth year.



‘Pop’ Roy had turned to Neil and reminded him of the seriousness of the offence.

Then, after a moment’s deliberation they decided he would get the maximum punishment that a student would have had, during their tenure in their roles: six strokes of the cane, every day of the week.



So, as it happens, I had been presented the chance to obtain my vengeance, passively.



There, I finally told the tale. And though it’s taken awhile to do so, I think it was a good tale to tell…

COMMENTS

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ladyofdragonrose
00:14 May 19 2009

i had gotten rapped on the knuckles once by an ex nun....that hurt... but i understand what you mean by vengeance.

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renegadeslove
12:48 May 20 2009

hm, excellent opportunity for vengeance.

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POST COMMENT

Alex’s lessons continue



Based on the Characters created by Angelus And Lady of Dragon Rose from the short story “An Ordinary Day” written by Angelus and continued by Lady Of Dragonrose and Angelus.



*For Adults Only







Time passed: but slowly, for Alex. Minutes passed into hours and eventually the door to his room opened again.



There in the doorway, was a young woman, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, wearing a white studded dog collar and a mauve panty and bra set, nothing else.



Her face was made up to look doll-like; and, her hair was cut short, gelled to be spiky; in her hands was a tray.



Alex could have made a move to escape, ‘but where to?’ He was naked, except for the blanket still worn over his shoulders: and, he did not know where he was.



Alex had arrived late at night, in the back of an SUV, and then found himself bundled over a strong man’s shoulders and left in this room.



The cocaine was out of his system, as was the arrogance that had led him here.

That had been beaten out of him.



‘It hadn’t been the pain,’ he had realised earlier, ‘it had been the realization that he had tuned into all that had happened to him, hardened and almost, enjoyed it.’



“You’re not dressed,” the girl stated in a soft well-spoken voice.



“No. You’re right, I’m not,” he retorted, snapping at her, as if she were the cause of his misfortune.



“Master Jared will not be pleased,” she said simply, then smiled: “but, you must know that, by now…”



Alex could tell this slip of a thing wasn’t going to be helpful.



‘But, maybe…?’ He mused.



“What’s your name?” He asked, in a far gentler tone of voice.



“Alice,” she told him, stepping into the room, the tray held before her.



Alice set the tray down on the end of the bed, and then stepped backwards, towards the doorway.



“If I were you, I’d get dressed,” she told Alex, as she closed the door.



“Well you’re not me,” he said, in part in reply, but more for his own benefit, as he shuffled across to the tray, to look at what was on the tray.



There was a bowl of beef-stew, in rich gravy and next to it, a spoon and a glass of what appeared to be beer. That looked interesting to him immediately.



Alex picked up the glass and took a sip: ‘Yes, beer. And, not bad either.’

Gathering the blanket tighter around his shoulders, Alex picked up the spoon in his left hand and the bowl in his right. Then, he began to eat, staring at the dress he had cast aside.



Finally the meal was over and having set the tray aside, he picked up the dress, rubbing the delicate texture of its material between his fingertips, ‘So fine.’



In his everyday life, Alex was known as conceited and arrogant, yet now he felt completely stripped of all remnants of maleness.



Tears slowly fell, as he mulled these thoughts and waited, the little black dress in his sweaty hands.



Suddenly he was aware, of the lock being turned and he snapped his head round, as the door opened and the girl stepped inside once more, the key still in the lock.



“Master says you must put the dress on, if you want to ever leave here,” she told him.



From behind her back, she drew out a small scrap of material, the panties she had forgotten to give him earlier.



“You must wear these as well.”



Alex looked at her askance, ‘No way could he do this.’ But, he wanted to leave.

He looked up at Alice, still dressed in the collar and panty and bra set and the tears began to flow freely.



“I can’t,” he wept.



“Oh you can,” Alice assured him with a smile, “you must, if you want to please.”



She stroked his hair as he cried, pressing his cheek to the teens thigh, seeking solace from the warm body of another.



“Aw sweet,” Alex heard and looked to the open doorway at Jared. Startled by her Masters presence, Alice moved quickly away from Alex and then the room, leaving the two men alone.



Jared stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, an imposing man in his white shirt and slacks, his muscles filling the material well.



He revelled in breaking down the haughty, conceited Alex, sitting there, little arrogance left in him now.



The man had arrived at the club with friends, friends who head shown off to, with loud and abusive behaviour, who had witnessed his subjugation to first Celine and then Jared, when his Mistress had chosen to take him to task.



He knew that Alex hated and loathed him for making him dress as a female, yet he also knew that soon he would be submissive to his every whim and wish.



Jared loved this part of the seduction, training and subjugating his captives: at the end of their instruction they would be as docile and subdued as he wanted.



‘After all,’ he reasoned, ‘ what counts with punishment, is knowing who to hurt and how best. With some, like Alex, overt coercion would be enough, to achieve results.’



He slowly walked across the room and sat to his thralls left and draped an arm around Alex’s shoulders, and then leaning in toward his ear he whispered, “You will wear the dress.”



Like Celine the night before, who had commanded his obeisance with simple instruction, it was all Alex needed.



He turned, to look at Jared, his eyes filled with tears and he nodded.



“Good, then you won’t need more punishment,” Jared told him with a smile.



Inside, deep inside, Alex relished the idea of ‘no more punishment,’ yet he still recalled well, how he had hardened as Celine had struck him, again and again.



Jared smiled, patted Alex on the head then left the room, leaving the door open.



Alex sat there, huddled with the blanket, stupefied.



So little time had passed, yet he already felt so different: and, aroused.



“This is lunacy!” He exclaimed, looking down between his legs, staring blankly at his rapidly growing erection.



Numb, he stood and, with the growing realization of self, that had started the previous night, he began to slip the dress over his head.

Determined to check out the Goth’s her friend Liza had told her of, Tracie had arrived at the ‘Vampire night’, at the local Community Hall, filled with curiosity.



She had stood at the bar and watched the reveller’s, dismayed by what she saw: a lot of wannabee’s and role-players, wearing a lot of purple and black and white lace; ‘and just waaay too much pretension,’ she thought as continued to people-watch.



Tracie had soon become bored and drank at least two ‘Dracula’s kiss’ to her knowledge, ordered from the overworked girl behind the bar; the one with light freckles across the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks; and a dash of purple to her shoulder length bleach blonde hair, worn in bunches.



And, she had even contemplated yet another early night, with a bad book, until he had arrived to her left, as if from nowhere.



His eyes had fascinated her, even more than his accent: French.



‘Je’adore.. the French accent,’ she had thought dreamily, as he had continued to talk to her. And, it had mattered not what he said after awhile, just that it was her he was saying it to. And, saying whatever it was he was saying to her.



“Boy, doesn’t he look dreamy,” something had said to her loins, because she’d got warm between her thigh’s, in a way she wouldn’t normally allow, not like that.



After all, she was drinking. She needed control.

Yet, at that moment, Tracie realised she was drunk, not just slightly, but very drunk.



Perhaps it had been the ‘Dracula’s Kiss,’ or even the lack of a meal inside her before she came out? But either way, Tracie had soon felt the heat of so many bodies close to, augmented by the music’s thump-thump, thumping. And, she needed air.



Xavier, as she had learnt he was called, had offered to take her home, telling her, “I have a car, just round the block from here…”



And with glazed eyes, she had said to him, “Yes, thanks.”



Tracie had let him take her by the arm and guide her through the crowded dance-floor and out the fire escape, past where a young couple stood kissing and then, out onto the street, then he had led her to his car, a large black sedan.



“Where to?” He had asked, helping her stand, as he held open the passenger door.

“Mine,” she answered, and then hiccupped.



“Where’s that?” He asked, as she fell into her seat.

“Not far from here…” She told him and gave him her address.



It was wrong, she knew: taking him home like this. But this young Frenchman was the most interesting man Tracie had encountered, all week. Perhaps even this month, and there was noway she was letting him out of her sight; ‘till morning, at least,’ she thought with a grin, as he started up the engine.



Xavier drove into town, and then took the ‘B’ road, off the main-road, that led into the hills, where the houses were mainly of a single-floor and generally painted white.

“So where is your car?” he asked.

“I came with a friend…” she replied, feeling quite languorous, as she revelled in the car’s warmth, the seats comfort and Xavier’s voice.



“And will your friend miss you?” He asked, with that grin on his face, which pleased irritated Tracie, in equal measure.



“On a full moon? That nutter will be out prowling the streets, if I know her!” She exclaimed, and then went quiet, as if she had said the wrong thing.



A pause followed that lasted for well over half a mile of dark highway, interrupted by the occasional neon-lit sign, advertising the next point at which a driver could fill up his motor, before hitting the desert.



“So the drink? What’s in it?” Xavier asked, to break the silence.



“Dracula’s Kiss?” Tracie asked between giggles; ashamed momentarily, that she had begun to giggle and that she found it difficult to stop.



“Yes, that drink,” he responded, almost laughing himself, though he managed to retain his stoic façade.



“One part Drambuie, One part Cherry Brandy, one shot of Vodka, served in a pint glass, topped up with lemonade. An, the girl behind the bar had smiled when she said ‘a dash of port is optional,’ which I thought was funny, as there’s enough in there already an…” She was rambling: she knew she was rambling.



“I take it you liked it?” He asked, with a surprisingly amiable smile.



“I did,” she answered with a light voice, “best part of the evening… till..”



“Until what?” He asked, aware of the lorry bearing down on the, it’s lights glaring.



“Until I met you,” Tracie admitted, as the lorry passed by and she hoped the noise of it’s passing would drown out what she had said. It had not.



He grinned. He grinned that damned grin that drove her ‘nutso, with the insufferable smugness of it. Then he placed his hand gently on her thigh: and, Tracie melted.



“Mais qui mon amore, that is good to hear.” He responded, much to her chagrin, as it was obvious that the lorry hadn’t done her the favour she had hoped that it might.



‘French? What was it he’d said??’ She mused, aware that he hadn’t moved his hand, nor did she want him to. She liked his hand, just where it was.



“Ah nevermind,” Tracie thought looking up, into the rearview mirror.

Xavier Martyns had no refection, she noticed.

She smiled and the warmth between her thighs increased, further still.

The night had suddenly become more, so much more than had been expected.



Tracie glanced to her right, at her intended lover, with the lightest of smiles.



‘There are vampires…’ she thought and, she was glad there was: ‘and, who’d have believed she’d meet one at Vampire Night, at a local community centre dance.’



And, Xavier bared his fangs, embracing the night, as he gunned the engine and the black sedan continued down the highway, into the night.





*



































Epilogue:



In town, an alleyway had become home to four very bloody cadaver; young men who had accosted the wrong young bleach-blonde, hair worn in pig-tails, wearing a short tartan skirt and abbreviated black tee-shirt.



It had become her time of the month, to change, as she wanted: and Liza so-wanted to change, to lose her freckles, as the fur grew and nails extended.



She had so-wanted Tracie to join her, but she had denied her own calling; so till she decided to join her, Liza would run alone…

COMMENTS

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Kalera
13:25 May 12 2009

Oooh, so so so fun! Thanks for adding to this. Makes me want... to study French. >.> It would be the fourth language I've dipped into.

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Alex Continues His Lesson.





Based on the Characters created by Angelus And Lady of Dragon Rose from the short story “An Ordinary Day” written by Angelus and continued by Lady Of Dragonrose and Angelus.



*For Adults Only









Alex woke with the sun shafting down on him from the street-level skylight.

Much as he’d slept well eventually, there had been little comfort in the small room, nor the bed he’d slept on.

‘…the bed? That was a misnomer in itself,’ he mused, as he stood and stretched his aching muscles: ‘…at least six inches too short. A thin sponge on top of slats, on legs a few inches high,’ would be a more accurate description, he considered, rubbing the pit of his back.



He stretched backwards, right-hand on the base of his spine, just above his firm buttocks. Alex was buff and proud of it.

‘Ah, pride…’ that is what had led him here, to this small room at the front of Jared’s place, a townhouse in a good area, on the outside of the city.



Pride had led to him sleeping naked as well: something, which he rarely did. Yet he had, which had begged the question, ‘why?’

He had been left clothing, after he had stood in utter docility before Jared and undressed on his instruction. Then he had been left alone, in a locked room, with just a pink nightie to wear.



So of course, Alex had slept naked, as he was loathe to sleep in something deigned to demean his manliness. He was way too macho, to allow that. And now come morning, he sat on the edge of his cot-bed, the single blanket he had drawn over himself.



Alex eyed the flimsy garment on the floor near his feet, wondering how Jared expected him to wear it.



It was a seasonal thing maybe, but it was cold in the room and Alex’s Goosebumps had Goosebumps, he was that cold.



With hunger pangs, Alex stood and went into the small room, with no door, that adjoined the bare bedroom he had slept in, the night before. There was only a toilet at one end of the room, a washbasin the other.

He sat, to do as he needed, the blanket still drawn tightly over his shoulders.



He was bruised where he had been struck and welts had appeared on his sore flesh and he was now beginning to regret his mouthing off at Marley’s the night before.



He had gone to the club with a group of friends, all of who knew the establishment far better than he had. And now, he can’t help but wonder if someone might have warned him what might happen, if he got drunk and started shouting the odds.



But, no-one in his group from his group of friends had given him a warning.

Instead they had stood and laughed, as he had tried to make a fool of Jared and ended up making one out of himself, as he learnt of a side to himself he’d not known existed before. It was a side to himself his front had hid well, for years.



His flesh still hurt from all he had endured, to please Celine, as recompense for disturbing the presentation. ‘No…’ he quickly corrected; “Mistress Celine.”

He said it out loud, enjoying the sound of it, ‘Mistress Celine.’

“So what does that make me?” He mused, aware that as he thought all this, he was getting aroused, “Surreal.”



He stood, his erection standing proud and bobbing with each movement, as he walked across the small room, to the sink. And, as he began to wash his hands, he heard the lock turn on the bedroom door.



“Hello!” he called out. There was no answer.



Yet, in the seconds it took him to re-enter the room, the intruder had been and gone, leaving a few things behind.

‘Food.’



Alex began picking at the toast, as he checked out what else had been left.

Along with the toast, there was a cup of black coffee, that tasted really good he learnt, as he washed down the last of the toasted wholemeal bread, with a smidgeon of vegetable oil spread on it.



‘Quite tasty,’ he mused, ‘but hardly a filling breakfast.’



He noticed the nightie was gone, which pleased him; that was until he saw what had been left in its place: a little black-dress, with high heels, in his size.



“Oh god,” he began as he sat, hands in his face, “what have I got myself into?”

Either way, he knew that today would not be another ordinary day.

Celine



Based on the Characters created by Angelus And Lady of Dragon Rose from the short story “An Ordinary Day” written by Angelus and continued by Lady Of Dragonrose and Angelus.



*For Adults Only





Celine stood facing herself in the mirror and decided it was time. She called David and had him fetch the car. She was going out. One day out of the week, Celine would just be Celine. Not Mistress Celine or High Mistress Celine, or even owner of Marley’s, the BDSM club she now owned.



’Just Celine,’ a woman, like any other. She took off her black corset and heels and dressed in a pair of blue jeans, with a black t-shirt that said, “out of my mind, leave a message”; and her favourite white tennis shoes. She brushed back her long hair into a ponytail and gazed into the mirror. She wore no make up and still those smoky brown eyes could bring any man or woman to their knees. But today Celine took the time to be herself. She found with all the stress in her life it felt good to be herself. ‘Just good mental health.’ she always said.



David came into the room and looked at his Mistress. For some reason it always shocked him when she would dress this way. But it never ceased to amaze him that no matter what she wore, she still had the grace and dignity of a Mistress. He firmly believed she could make wearing a paper bag look good.



He knelt before her, and raised his eyes to look at her. His collar spoke firmly of his submission to her. She turned and smiled down at him. She reached down, took his leash, and clipped it to her belt.

“The car is waiting outside Mistress,” he said… and Celine gently tugged on the leash, giving him the signal to rise. He obediently followed behind his Mistress.

An Ordinary Day – The Purchase.



Based on the Characters created by Angelus And Lady of Dragon Rose from the short story “An Ordinary Day” written by Angelus and continued by Lady Of Dragonrose and Angelus.



*For Adults Only





As he dried yet another glass with a white-linen towel, James Whitman looked up from the polished oak bar top.



Bald, with piercing blue-eyes, his muscles were barely hidden beneath the miniscule black tee-shirt he wore.



His sullen countenance changed rapidly as he noticed her walk between the table, stacked with chairs, then across the dance-floor, ignoring where she normally sat directly to his left and across from where she strode briskly.



He grinned, as he noticed the way she was dressed: ‘Dita Von Teese would be pleased.’



He opened the hatch in the bar, the one opposite the fire escape and bid Mistress Celine, “Enter.”



As she revelled in the title bestowed on her of Mistress, Celine Jenkins understood why Whitman liked to be known he Chevy Markman: In the world they inhabited, it gave him a certain charm. She still thought the surname sounded stupid.



Yet, ever polite, she nodded briefly in acknowledgement.



They passed through the bar and he ushered Celine and her small entourage through the thick door marked ‘private’ in big red letters.



Considering how he normally saw her, in the night come early morning, she was down-dressed. Even so, Celine Jenkins could not be described as dowdy ever; ‘today’ was no exception. Her make-up was light, compared to her evening colours, yet even so; it acted to heighten her natural colouring, which owed much to her heritage, of Native American Indian, Cherokee.



She wore a grey small tight-jacket and tight hobble skirt, in three quarter inch wide vertical stripes, seamed stockings; and black shiny wedge-heels, with lace-webbing tied up the sides of her calves.



Beneath the jacket, she wore an expensive mauve bra, which served to heighten her bust and thus emphasise her cleavage.



In her left hand she held a leash that attached to the collar around her attorney’s neck.



Stapleton wore an expensive suit, tailored to fit, allowing anyone who took the time to look to notice the impression on his trousers by the suspenders he wore to hold up his fine denier stockings.



David Stapleton wouldn’t have minded someone notice such a thing though: since he’d met his Mistress, he’d grown to enjoy the humiliations she’d thrust upon him.



And, doing business, any business here today, was distinctly embarrassing.

Primarily, he was known as Mistress Celine’s slave, here at the club.

That was one thing.



For another thing, he was wearing a studded dog-collar, which his Mistress used to direct his movement.



As ever, he was pleased to be out with her; and even more pleased to be seen as useful to her.



To compound his miseries further, David tented within the expensive lingerie he wore, as he recalled his debasement, the other night and the hands of Mistress Yumi.



She’d had him kneel before the barman and service him orally wearing naught but heels, self-support hose and a sheer black teddy.



He’d been on his knees for almost fifteen minutes: and in that time, numerous customers had been served their bottled water.



Now here he was, with his Mistress and Rachel, her P.A., confidant, lover and slave a softly spoken Asian, who had been with his mistress for years now.



Rachel wore an outfit much like that his mistress wore, albeit in pink: and as a mark of her obeisance, she wore a collar like him, which she wore with pride.



They were here because John Summers, also know as ‘The Major’, because of his commanding manner, had offered Celine Jenkins the option to buy his club Marley’s from him, before he put it on the open market.



For a long time John and Celine had been friends; and, that was after they’d been lovers. But, it hadn’t worked out: ‘two Dommes in the one house!’



Yet, the friendship had prospered, much as the club had.



Although the club was a success, John Summers wanted out of the business, as he now had a fiancée who he adored and bestowed much of his money on recently. Sandrine Laurent was an exchange student, who been introduced to Marley’s shortly after her arrival in the U.S.



Too slim, as a follower of heroin chic, the young woman had met Summers and had quickly enmeshed herself in his life with ease: She liked the luxuries the man could provide and had manipulated the man easily, into his decision to take early retirement.



Rachel followed behind Mistress Celine eyes forward. She saw ‘The Major’ sitting behind his desk, ‘the French slut draping herself from his left shoulder.’



The big man behind the desk was wearing a grey suit, which looked good on his frame and his dark haired, elfin-faced young lover wore just a white tee-shirt which reached mid-thigh.



‘Must be his,’ Rachel considered, noting how the young woman’s bullet hard nipples showed through the material.



Rachel turned her head, to look at her mistress and with gaze lowered in deference:

“Mistress, may I ask you a question?”



“Yes, you can,” Celine responded, glancing briefly at Rachel.



“Why is the male with us Mistress?” Rachel asked, with an eyebrow raised.



Celine gave a disdainful sniff: she didn’t need to answer, ‘why should she?’



But, Rachel had proven her worth to her Mistress, hence her right to speak unbidden: ‘as long as she was respectful.’



“Slave David was good at what he did. And, he’s useful to me. I value his input. That’s why he is here…”



Hearing this, David’s heart beat faster, with pride: his Mistress needed him.



Rachel went to say more. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t, knowing it would appear churlish.



So, she decided that discretion being the better part of valour, ‘so they said’, she would shut up. Besides, there were only so many liberties Mistress would allow from her: and, she knew it.



Celine looked at her old friend, left eyebrow raised a little.



“There’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask…”



“Yes?” Summers responded.



“Is there a reason you called this place Marley’s?”



John grinned.



“You read your Dickens?”



“There’s a lot to read.” Celine answered with a smile.



“Uh-huh. Christmas Carol, I should’ve said.”



“Yes, I have…” Celine answered after a moments thought.



“Remember his partner? Scrooges partner?”



“Yes.”



“Well he was wrapped in, ‘long ponderous chains’ … hence the name.”



“Ah,” Celine responded. ‘It was an understandable reason. And that said, perhaps the club should stay as Marley’s, once it was it was hers.’



“So what do you think Celine, you know the place. You know we do good business here, do you want the place. Ninety percent. I just hold ten per cent, as a kind of investment…” As he finished speaking, he turned to Sandrine, stroking her face.



“Five per cent and you have deal,” she told her old friend slowly.

‘This was business, after all,’ she considered: ‘and, the plus was that it looked like ‘The Major’ really wanted out of the business.’



Sandrine smiled, at her love, running light fingers through his thick dark hair, just starting to turn grey.



“Yeah, alright Celine. You have a deal,” he responded, acquiescing to her demand.

“But you didn’t ask about the price,” he added after a pause.



Mistress Celine waved a hand dismissively.



“That hardly matters John,” she said, using his given name. And, it was apparent from her scowl, that Sandrine didn’t like that act of intimacy: an testament to what they had shared. After all, everyone, just everyone, knew her love as ‘The Major’.



Celine wanted to smile, when she noticed the scowl, but she didn’t.

“After all John,” she continued, “as you said, I know the business. And as for the rest, the price and the contracts, just talk with David, please…”



As she finished speaking, she gestured toward Slave David and smiled gently.

“You see my old friend, for him such things are just part of an ordinary day.”



David smiled warmly at John and Sandrine, perhaps he shouldn’t: but, he couldn’t help it. He was just so-happy, to be useful to his Mistress Celine.

Not An Ordinary Life







Based on the Characters created by Angelus And Lady of Dragon Rose from the short story “An Ordinary Day” written by Angelus and continued by Lady Of Dragonrose and Angelus.



*For Adults Only



Celine tossed and turned in her sleep. She opened her eyes and decided she could not sleep. She got up out of bed and stretched, then reached for her blue robe lying on the chair beside her bed. After putting it on and tying it around her small waist, Celine walked silently on bare feet to her window, facing out to the city street below, with her brown eyes looking up at the stars above. The North Star, shone brightly among the rest of the stars. The house was quiet. Rachel, she knew would be sleeping and there was no reason to wake her.



She looked over to the bed and saw David, her slave, his collar a sign of his submission to her around his neck. He had not felt her stir. She crept downstairs and walked to the kitchen and helped her self to a glass, and a coke that she took, out of the fridge; then noticed her cuffs, lying on the table and began to trace her fingers over its cold surface, loving the feel of it. Looking up at the clock, it said five in the morning. David and Rachel would be up soon to start their day. She lit a cigarette and blew its smoke up watching its rise on the air in soft circles.



Being Mistress was not always easy. In fact, it had taken her years to unite the Mistress that was Celine and Celine the woman. While times where she had to make decisions about the slaves and her business, the decisions were not always easy. To punish those that seemed to need it: and in addition, to punish those just for her self-amusement.

She was not a hard Mistress; to others, she was not hard enough. To all that knew Celine, very few knew of her past and how hard it had been to reach the point where she was now. She leaned back, reflecting on those that had passed through her life, the men and women who shaped and molded her into the woman that she was. She smiled and chuckled softly at some of her memories and let a few of the bad memories linger just for a moment. While it was hard to relieve those memories, she knew she had to.

“The past can’t hurt you anymore,” she thought to herself. She was always the one who dragged them out into the light. Just as a vampire that cannot withstand the sun, those memories would quickly turn into dust and vanish.



She took a sip of the coke, letting its coldness run down the back of her throat, the caffeine doing its magic, helping her to wake up.

‘Never was one for coffee,’ as hard as she tried she just could not make herself like it. She picked up the glass and ashtray and walked to the spacious living room, pausing at her desk to see of her appointments for that day and then decided to make errands for the rest of the household staff that she employed.



A call from the owners of Marley’s the club that she was a regular of had called some days ago with a business proposition. Being a Mistress and a wealthy one at that gave Celine the position in life she would have never had if she had not decided to become what she was. Her life up until she made the decision to be a Dominatrix was hard. Never asking for more than she needed. Until one day, she grew tired of working her life away for people that really did not deserve her hard work.



At least now, in her line of work, she was the boss, decided others lives. That is what most wanted, someone else to make the decisions that she could do: and, it never ceased to amaze what her clients wanted and needed. She never judged. What most didn’t understand was that they gave her what she needed. Was never about the money with Celine. She would speak to David as soon as he woke about Marley’s. Rachel would see to Celine’s needs while David went to work.



Celine thought of David with a smile. Very few slaves had remained with Celine over the years; she would release them once she had trained them. But something was different about David, something about him that she could not quite put her finger on, she decided that once he had been trained to serve her she would keep him. That had caused Rachel to raise her eyebrows. She never questioned her Mistress about such matters,



David was an attorney, one of the best in the city, while she never cared about some of the clients that he defended.

In truth, she admitted some of them were guilty but the law being what it is, the legal dance mattered.

The jury always believed the better story. And it was not always the truth. More often than not, the guilty were set free, due to the better dance of their lawyers. Look at O.J Simpson. Eventually he went to prison on something very different. They could not try him again for the murder of his wife and her friend. His lawyer provided the legal dance. The best defense money could buy, unlike some who didn’t have money for a dream team. Court appointed lawyers didn’t seem to care about their clients, they worked for the court system and whatever the courts needed for expediency: they weren’t above throwing their clients under the wheels, to earn the court money. Celine believed that. She and David had their own opinions. She never questioned him of his ethics; David truly believed in the law and upheld it. David could do the dance, and he moved well.



She soon heard the shower running and heard feet running quickly up the hallway. She knew Rachel would be the first to raise, then David. They would soon both be kneeling before her, and asking what she commanded for them to do. She loved the morning ritual as much as they did. She could tell by the look in their eyes as they both looked up to her from their position by her feet. And, Celine smiled, as she heard footsteps coming down the stairway as Rachel and David came to kneel before their Mistress, to begin the day.

Captivated as she was by the strangers’ eyes, Tracie still couldn’t figure out why she was there. She had arrived at the ‘Vampire Night’, at the local community hall filled with curiosity, determined to check out the Goth’s her friend Liza had told her of.



Now the noise of the music and the night’s revellers were forgotten, as she stared into Xavier’s eyes of the greyest blue she had ever seen.



He reached up with his right hand and drew his hand back through his thick dark hair, worn short and tufting up.



“How many of those have you had?” he asked, as he looked at the empty glass on the bar before Tracie.



She listened to the question, still rapt by his wonderful French accent.



“Erm, two or three,” she told him, trying to draw her eyes away from his.



It was difficult.

She found his eyes beautiful to look at, beautiful and very dangerous looking indeed.



“You sure?” Xavier asked, with a grin.



“No,” Tracie admitted ruefully.



Truth be told, she did not know much just at that moment. Just at that moment, the only thing on her mind was avoiding looking into those deep, deep eyes one more time, as there was noway she could afford to feel as she felt. Noway José.



“What is it, or should I say, was it?” He asked her, with a smile, which was warm and cold at the same time.



“Whattcha mean?” She quizzed.



“The drink. The one that has you slurring your words…” He responded, with that stupid grin on his face once more. ‘Oh God, it was irritating,’ she thought.



“I’m not, am I?”



“Not what?” He asked, irritating Tracie further, as the grin widened into the most devastating smile she had ever seen, away from a magazine cover, or the teevee.



“Slurring my worse… I mean words,” she was blushing, she knew she was blushing, all over: and, especially ‘down there.’



‘It’s ridiculous,,’ she told herself, ‘I never get like this over a man, well… a man I’ve just met that is…” Tracie wanted to die, just shrivel up and die.



If embarrassment were an Olympic sport, she’d have a gold; she knew it.

But what was there to do?



One thing. There was one thing to do. That was it. And then, he spoke, in that wonderful French accent that she so liked to listen to, no matter what Xavier said.



“So, what is it?” He asked.



Tracie grinned sheepishly, then told him, “Dracula’s Kiss.’



He laughed, not at her, but at what seemed to be a private joke; and, briefly she wondered idly, whether he would share the joke with her, or not.



“And, what’s Dracula’s kiss?” He asked, an eyebrow rose impossibly high.



At that moment, Tracie realised she was drunk, not just slightly, but very drunk.



“A cocktail. And, erm…” she hiccupped and looked all round her, panic struck.

If she was going to be ill, as the tremor in her tummy suggested, she didn’t want it to be here: “I don’t feel… too well.”



Xavier looked at her. The young woman looked as pale as he normally did and for someone like her, that wasn’t good.



“Do you want me to take you home?” He suggested, adding, “I have a car, just round the block from here…”



“You do?” She asked him.



“Uh huh, I do.” Xavier assured the slightly inebriated young woman, that stupid grin back on his face.



But, this time Tracie didn’t mind the grin. She let him take her by the arm and guide her through the crowded dance-floor and out the fire escape, past where a young couple stood kissing and then, out onto the street.



“But no messin,” she told him, with a lob-sided grin, as she stumbled a little, while he guided her to the end of the block, where his car waited for him at the kerbside.



“No messing,” he corrected, with a definite glint in his eyes.

COMMENTS

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Kalera
21:09 May 07 2009

Oooh. Looks very like a very fun story, I can't wait for you to resume. :3

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crowgirl
22:13 May 11 2009

MORE! NOW! WRITEWRITEWRITE!!!!!!!! 0.o Um........please?



Fantastic story! :D

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Contains some Adult themes





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Escort, For A Favour Part 2



Preparation





The weekend has cum and gone: and, though still tired from Saturday night Sunday morning, I thought I’d write to finish the story, about an ‘Escort For A Favour.’

I’d met Mark, my ‘John’ for the evening through Lucie, who had set-up the meet for her boyfriend Darren. It had turned out that Mark’s connections would be useful to the bands success, so that’s why Lucie had phoned me, after all that time, to ask me: “Do you still go with men?”

Well I hadn’t, not for quite awhile. But, the offer of an interesting evening and a bit of coin seemed a good one. So, when she’d called round, to give me the hug I’d requested as payment, I’d taken advantage of her need for an escort, to satisfy my curiosity, by discovering just how submissive Lucie could be.

Yet, I’ve told that tale. This was meant to be about my evening as a paid escort, wasn’t it?

My appointment was for seven thirty. The room had been booked for me, at a country hotel, near where I live: and, by six in the evening and having shaved fully, I had been getting dressed in the outfit Mark had wanted me in.

I’d not been trying to look passable, just sexy, for this fella I’d been assured would enjoy my company.

And, that’d almost reason enough: except, I would get paid as well.

Bonus.

And, having got the outfit on, and then tied the pinny in place, I’d stretched my hole with a glob of Vaseline on two fingers, prior to pulling up the white nylon panties that had a delightful satin feel to them.

I had lubed myself well, as I’d already been clued-in, as to one of the thing’s Mark would require from his escort. And, even now I recall well, how much I was looking forward to that part of the evening.

I mean, I hadn’t been with anyone, let alone a man, for absolutely ages; well in the Biblical sense that is. And, what was planned for Saturday just gone had nothing to do with the Bible. Ah, that is, unless you count Sodom!

Anyways I distract myself, again.

I’d been describing the wait for Mark, my intended John for the evening: he had arrived just after seven and those few minutes extra I’d waited had seemed interminably long. And, I’d been ever-so pleased when the main desk had rung, to tell me he was on the way up to see me.