The room held its breath. Reactions were as varied and wide-ranging as the observers. The watchers tried to be silent but each sharp crack would elicit a small flurry of sound: a sharp gasp from an elegant blonde curled on the floor; a high pitched moan of pleasure and longing from a brunette strapped to the wall, his torso crisscrossed with chain; guttural sound of fear from a mousy dishwater blonde who had curled herself around and between the legs of her Master, who sat stiff and watchful in the chair above her. For the most part the Dominants in the room were silent, the few sounds that were made coming from the submissive men and women who were with them.

There were varying degrees of understanding among the Dominants in the room as to what exactly was happening on the central raised platform. For the beginners, it seemed to be a harsh game, more severe than most, but consenting Dominance and submission play, a passion for which united all those in the large room. Those with more experienced eyes knew it was consensual but far from safe.

The sub was a laughing, gentle man in his life outside the chains, with a mature, open face, and a body still thick with muscle, but beginning to show some middle-aged padding. The extra flesh probably saved him from further true harm. A likeable guy with deep-seated submissive sexual tendencies, he was familiar to most in the small community.

The woman however ... she was an unknown.

His body was spread in the classic X, chains to the ceiling and floor holding the leather cuffs so that every inch of his body was accessible to her.

There had been silence for several minutes, no stroke falling over his defenseless flesh. The pause in activity may have caused some to think that it was over, but most knew better. Expectation was thick in the air, flavored copper like blood, seeping into those who watched, mingling with their fear, their desire.

She had been motionless, standing to one side and behind. Now she turned and began to move. She was a predator, her movements sharp but controlled. Most dominants moved slowly, surely, as if showing the world with the measured movements how in control they were, but not her. She stalked around him, her body wrapped in the classic black body suit, but instead of shiny cheap vinyl hers was muted, clearly leather and most likely custom made. There was elaborate stitching, black on black; a vaguely Celtic pattern started on each shoulder, moved down over her breasts, and then parted to continue down her hips and the outsides of her thighs.

A leather and lace mask covered the upper part of her face. Starting from her hairline, it covered her brow, nose, and upper cheeks, the leather then giving way to lace that lay close against her cheeks in line with her lips. Unlike the catsuit that molded her curves, the mask sparkled, jet and crystal beads worked into the lace where it was darted into the leather. It drew the eye, causing the viewer to crave the answers the mask hid.

Some, those who had had the privilege to see her up close, would know that there was a teardrop crafted in crystal beads under one eye. The contradiction, the complication, was compelling, and frightening.

“Slave.” Her voice was low, smooth, but thrumming with power, tension, her concentration, her being, clearly centered on the sub before her.

“Yes, Mistress.”

The blow she landed with the cane was sudden, unexpected. The rattan cane, stained dark brown, was a blur as it arched up from below, striking the inside of the sub’s left thigh. His cry was sharp, desperate, his back arching before he hunched back in on himself.

“Do you want to know why I did that slave? Do you wish to know what you did to deserve such harsh treatment?”

“Yes Mistress ... please ... tell me so that I might not do it...”

His plea was cut short when she gave him a matching welt on the inside of the right thigh.

“I will not tell you.”

The tip of the cane traced his chest, following the pattern of the stripes she had already laid.

She took a step closer to him, taking his left nipple between her finger and thumb.

“Offer me something slave, try to please me.”

“Mistress, whatever you want is yours to take.”

She twisted the nipple, his breath hissing through his teeth.

“But I want you to offer something to me. What do you think will please me?

Those who had a view of the front could see the poor man blinking furiously, his breathing fast and uneven.

“Mistress, if it pleases you, you have not touched my cock.”

She twisted the nipple harder, wringing another cry. “Are you, slave, asking me to suck your cock? You think so highly of yourself and so little of me?”

“No! No! No! I offer it for your pleasure, whatever it may be.”

Without another word she stepped back, moving to a small rolling case which rested on the floor near the platform. There were gasps as those closest saw what she brought out. The rest of the room waited, breathless.

Standing once again before the naked man, the Dom lifted the cane.

“Open your mouth, slave.” Instantly his lips and teeth parted. She placed the cane between his teeth, whispering, “Bite.”

The watchers were left to wonder at the sub’s thoughts. What did it do to him to hold his instrument of torture in his mouth? Could he taste his own flesh upon it?

Gloved fingers took the man’s genitals in hand, gathering his semi-erect cock and balls together, squeezing and manipulating the flesh until she was able to wrap her fingers around the base, pulling both cock and balls away from his body. His small sounds were muffled against the cane. With her other hand she carefully wrapped a cock strap, studded with inward facing spikes, around his genitals.

Ten spikes, tips sharp, but not enough to draw blood, each over an inch long, were forced against his soft skin as she fastened the strap. When she stepped back, everyone could clearly see the silver held in place by the leather circle. A terrible cry echoed through the room as she released her hold on his cock and balls, allowing them to take the full impact of the device.

The savagery of the item was beautiful and terrible. The sub’s eyes were on the horizon, the cane still in his teeth. His breath whistled around the piece of rattan.

She took the cane from his teeth, “Look down, slave. See what I have done for you.”

The man dropped his head to his chest, a sob coming from between his teeth at the sight of his tortured cock.

“Where does it hurt, slave? Tell me.”

She stood back, her eyes never leaving the bound man so helplessly in her charge.

“My ... my cock, I can feel the spikes, digging in, they’re sharp. And my balls, oh God--my balls.”

“Is the pain more or less than in your cock?”

“More, more, more, oh God, the weight is pushing my balls onto them. It ... it ... hurts.”

“I want it to hurt. I want you to hurt.”

“Yes Mistress.” The words were a plea.

She raised the cane and added a stripe to his chest. His body bowed, adding pressure to his cock in its painful mooring.

Her own breath was labored now. She began to circle him, the cane adding a stripe to his body every few steps.

“We are near the end now, slave. So close. You’re deep, so deep. I have brought you here, someplace you could never go on your own, never be taken with love or kindness or games.” A welt to the outside of his thigh, right ass cheek, left shoulder.

“Do you think you have pleased me? Do you? Have you considered the possibility that you haven’t? What if none of this will ever be enough? What if all the lashings, the debasement, will not bring you low enough for me?” More welts, now to the other ass cheek, thigh, and the soft flesh covering his left tricep.

“God, please...”

“God cannot help you, I’m afraid he never comes here.” She was at his front again, her right hand cruelly twisting one nipple.

“But you have a secret don’t you, slave, a deep secret. It is not God who could rescue you, but someone else. Someone in this room.” His eyes moved over her shoulder to someone behind her.

“That’s right. She loves you still, and so you are safe, forever safe.” Stepping close, she whispered into his ear, “And I hate you for that, and I will punish you for it.”

Reaching down she grabbed the leather strap and lifted, the spikes digging into his balls. He screamed, not merely a cry, but a true scream. Around the room people jumped, some of the Doms moving as if they would interfere, but no one did.

“Beg me for more!”

The words were ragged, raw, his vocal cords strained. “Please--please--please Mistress, use me ... more ... more ... more, ah God, it hurts.”

She pinched a fold in the leather drawing the spikes on the sides in. Another scream followed.

“Beg.”

“Please Mistress more, I beg you, more, more, more. Use me, use me, use me.”

“Offer yourself up.”

“My ... my body ... is yours.”

“And what of your soul, your mind, your heart? Can you feel me there too, pressing hurting, squeezing?”

“Yes... I will never, never, never forget ... forget.”

“And you will never be the same.”

With a vicious twist she released the leather so that the strap fell away, the spikes pulling from the groves they had dug in his flesh. The returning blood caused pain so deep he threw his body back, his mouth open but no sound emerging.

He was brought back as she viciously caned his ass, then spanked his throbbing genitals. His body was alive, aware, every nerve ending on fire so that the air itself was a torture.

Ten times more she caned his ass, the blows quickly followed by spanks to his cock and balls, some straight on, some coming from beneath to bruise and abuse his sac. They were both in a frenzy, his body arched in a bow, every muscle defined, she a controlled fury, savage and cruel.

She stopped. Faced him. “Slave, what do you need?”

“The spikes, the spikes, please put them back ... oh God please!”

“You cannot have them. What else?”

“Please, please, don’t stop caning me... Just a few more ... please, please.”

“Where, where do you need them?

“All the soft places, my ass, yes please ... my ass, and my nipples, right across them please, please, please. And balls, cane them, cane them.”

“What if I break you, so no other can have you?”

“Oh God, oh God, please, do not stop.”

His words echoed in the cavern. He was gone, lost in sub-space, so far into the world of darkness there was no light. And she had taken him there, simply, easily.

Her voice was low now, just for him. “I will touch you once more, and only once. Your body and mind are fractured now, but you will survive. I will let you down and your mistress, your wife, will take you home and care for you, and you will love her all the more for having danced on the edge.

“Know what good fortune you have that there is someone to care for you now. When I release you and walk away I will forget you.”

Her voice was hard, cruel, cutting him in ways and places that a knife could not reach. His body and mind warred between his insane and desperate need for more of her dark attention and the haven of the arms of someone who loved him.

As he shook in his bonds, his mind at war, his body foolishly straining towards her, she turned, sweeping the room with her gaze.

Let them feel true fear, true pain, and appreciate what they have all the more, she thought. Let them see what it is to truly need to punish, to need to inflict pain rather than simply using it to express desire.

When all had felt the soulless weight of her gaze she turned back to her broken partner. In this dark moment her heart died a little--as it always did. Horror began to seep into her consciousness, easing the fog of rage that motivated her.

It was this damnable weakening, this traitorous softness in her--when she knew the world had no softness to give her in return--that made this last blow the most horrible, the darkest. She did not temper the blow. Pulling back the cane she brought it forward with stunning force, cutting a line just above his cock, catching the root of it where it met his belly. For a moment a white line blossomed there, straight and sure across his body. In the next breath, white morphed to red, horrible red, pain red.

And in a room that echoed with the sound of the crack there was silence, until he threw his head back, his scream at once hopeless and beautiful. Blood began to seep from the mark of the cane.

Stepping close once more she pressed her fingers against the raw flesh and leaning in whispered, “Forgive me.”

She strode from the room, scooping up the pack as she went, and was gone.