Stan's Journey into Gentle Femdom

"What a good boy," Shae murmurs once he's spent, tugging Stan's head back using a fist wrapped in his hair. She drops a kiss against his forehead then lets him go.

Stan opens his eyes as Mia cleans his cock with her tongue, floating on a sea of endorphins. Once the boy finishes up, she sits back on her heels and places her hands on Stans shoulders.

She leans in to kiss him, and Stan tilts his head and kisses her back, tasting himself on her tongue.

A light jerk on Mia's leash calls the boy back to his mistress's side, and she shuffles back to Bel on her knees.

"Did you enjoy that?" Bel asks Stan.

Stan nods lazily. He glances back at Shae. "Should I reciprocate?"

Both Bel and Shae laugh at that.

"Mia, show Stan your pretty jewels."

With a shy smile, Mia lifts her skirt and shows Stan her shaved, ringed testicles, her cock locked away in a shiny gold cage. She drops her skirt again and nuzzles Bel's hand. Bel pats her head fondly.

"Good girl."

"Well, now that you're 'relieved', let's see what else this place has to offer," Shae says to Stan. "I'll see you around," she says to Bel, and gets to her feet, tugging Stan to his, using his leash.

He stands on wobbly legs full of pins and needles from kneeling so long, and to the surreal first strains of Aha's 'Take on me', follows her through a set of curtains into a second room.

* It's dark and scary, and thinking is hard, as the weight of the velvet curtain caresses Stan's face then slides across his back.

He's only half aware of his surroundings, his focus on the back of Shae's head, blindly mesmerised by the heady scent and gloss of his mistress's hair. She's used some hairspray that creates an oil-slick effect, and the hair that curves against the back of her skull falls over itself in sleek layers.

She leads him on a loose leash, Stan staying close on her heels. He feels safer when he can smell her; a creature following the being who owns him completely.

He doesn't understand how she has this power over him, but as her boots hit the concrete beneath them, he senses her power comes from her grounding, from her understanding of her place in all things.

Shae is not a woman who can be pushed aside, pushed off balance. She's part of the balance, part of the world, while Stan feels disconnected, unreal, floating behind her, tethered only by the thin leash attached to his collar.

"Close."

Shae calls him to her side as she stops part-way into the new space. She places her hand on Stan's shoulder, and instinctively he sinks to his knees, a dog called to heel. She strokes his hair fondly, and he soaks up the attention, basking in her approval.

"I'll give you a moment," she says, then looks around the room with the air of someone at an amusement park choosing which ride to try next.

Stan's eyes adjust to the twilight, and through the heady fog of his submission, he makes out bondage stations placed around the room. Each is artfully lit, each a scene waiting for the players to step onto the stage.

All manner of scaffold frames, padded benches, wooden crosses, and even a pillory, are spaced around the room. It's early yet, and none of it's in use, but as the dommes drink their cocktails and chat with each other, they eye the equipment.

Their submissives eye the equipment too, some with hunger, others with trepidation.

A domme, her arm around her slim, male companion, leans in and whispers something in his ear. His eyes widen, and he looks nervously over at a post set in one corner. She pats him on the ass, and he leaves her side and walks towards it.

He reaches the post and glances back at his domme. She gives him a nod, and he settles his knees either side of the central post on the raised wooden platform and secures his hands in the restraints. There's enough leeway that he can close the padlocks on each, but once secured, the key—which dangles from a brass hook near the top of the post—is out of reach.

Stan waits for the man's domme to join him, but she continues speaking with her friends while her sub kneels at the post, his wrists secured above his head.

Shae nudges Stan. "Do you like what you see?"

Stan has only ever been a passive participant in Connor's sadistic explorations into bondage and has never actively sought it out. The sight of the equipment, and the causal way in which the dommes touch their submissives; fondling them, teasing them, but rarely looking at them, feeds some need in him to be treated this way.

He nods.

Shae calls out "Mind if we play with him?" to the restrained man's domme, and receives a 'Go for it'.

"Come." Shae tugs on Stan's leash and he gets to his feet.

Shae leads him over to the whipping post, where the submissive waits patiently. Stan recognises the young guy's distant gaze. It must be uncomfortable, kneeling on hard wood, unable to move, but Stan doesn't think he can feel it. His mind is elsewhere, focusing on his obedience. His submission.

Shae has Stan stand behind the man and drops his leash. "Stay."

Slowly, she circles the whipping post, and the sub's eyes re-focus from the sub-beyond, and follow her. Stan notices the man's nipples hardening under her gaze, and wonders at how conditioned he is to react to react this way from just a look.

Then again, it is Shae. She glides around him, considering him, her ink-blue eyes bright with a kind of primal pleasure at seeing this man secured and at her mercy.

"Has he been good?" Shae calls to the man's domme.

"Actually, he cocked up in the car on the way over," floats the reply. "I promised him the dragon tail."

"Brilliant," says Shae, in a low voice.

The sub's eyes widen as Shae steps over to a rack on the wall. She selects an implement that's like a whip, only the suede tongue unrolls as it leaves the handle, opening to a long fall, perhaps an inch and a half wide, tailing off to a pointed tip.

"Come here," Shae says to Stan.

He moves so that he's standing in front of the manacled sub, and Shae shows him the dragon tail. The suede looks soft, but he can imagine that the impact from the speeding leather would be similar to that of a belt.

"Back to where you were."

Stan does as he's told, the leash dangling as he moves, brushing against his hard dick.

Shae collects the suede tail in her hand, holding it folded against the handle, as she leans in to speak to the sub.

"What did you do to upset your mistress?"

The man, in his late twenties, with dark hair and a cropped moustache and goatee, finds his voice.

"I spilled my drink on my mistress... mistress...?"

"Mistress Diostella," Shae finishes for him. She glides the suede down his cheek. "I imagine she wasn't very happy with you."

"No, Mistress Diostella. She said she would punish me tonight in front of everyone."

Shae cocks her head. "Does she punish you often?"

"No," he says softly. "Not in front of other people."

"Is that why you spilled your drink?" Shae asks, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

"No!" the sub looks horrified at this suggestion. "I'd never do that to mistress."

"Hmmm." Shae straightens up. "Yet, here we are."

She moves behind him again, and the sub nervously turns his head to follow her movement.

"Eyes forward!" Shae commands, and he whips his head around again, fixing his eyes on the wall in front of him.

Shae motions to Stan. She shows him the length of the suede tongue once it's unravelled.

"Make sure you stay out of the way. We don't want you losing an eye."

"Does it hurt?" Stan asks, looking at the leather curiously. He assumes it does, or no one here would enjoy it, but the suede looks so soft.

"If you like, you can have a go after this one," says Shae, stepping forward to grip a fistful of the sub's hair. The man's head falls back, his eyes unfocused, and Shae shakes his head and lets go.

"I don't think I want to," says Stan.

Not here. Not in front of all these people. What if it hurts? What if he cries out, and everyone looks at him?

Shae points, and Stan moves to stand out of the way against the wall. She swings the whip, making a cautious circle, and determines Stan's safely out of its reach.

The sub jumps as the suede licks across his shoulders, but to Stan it doesn't seem that the whip hurts him. But as the tail lands again and again, red marks start to appear.

Every so often Shae pauses to run her hand across the sub's burning flesh, caressing him almost lovingly. It's a strange thing to see; this woman, beating this tethered man—yet Stan senses no malice in it. Just a cat-like playfulness. An exchange; her energy given to the sub, who receives it gratefully.

It's not what Stan's used to. His only brushes with this kind of thing have been with Connor, and Connor definitely has malice in his heart. Much of it comes from his own dark past, and his joy at Stan's suffering is fuelled by memories of his own abuse. More than Stan's submission, it's Stan's pain he wants, his fear. To see someone suffer as he has, to see someone else made weak, as he's been made weak in the past.

When he gets in these moods, if Stan refuses to fight back, he drops as if all the serotonin's left his brain, leaving him a shivering wreck, needing Stan to comfort him.

His sister seems more... stable.

As Shae swings the dragon tail, the satisfying crack of it echoes off the concrete walls and decorated panels placed to create the room. Soon, a small crowd gathers to watch.

The sub's back is now striped with red welts, his body twitching each time the leather lands.

With Shae's focus on her task, Stan feels simultaneously exposed and forgotten. He catches some curious looks from other dommes, and a few glances of either warmth or commiseration from their subs, but no one approaches him.

Shae finishes, and runs her hands over the trembling sub's body. She moves around to face him and waits.

"Thank you, Mistress Diostella," he says, his voice unsteady as if he's on the verge of tears.

Shae hangs the dragon tail back on the wall as the man's domme approaches her sub. The domme caresses her sub's neck, and he tilts his head against her touch, nuzzling against her like a cat.

She unlocks his hands, and he rubs his wrists as she helps him to his feet. She leads him away to a corner furnished with cushions and couches, and Stan watches enviously as he curls up in his mistress's arms.

For the sub, his fears have been realised, his endorphins released, and now his recovery is his domme's primary concern.

For Stan, the night's only just begun, and he has no idea what lies in store for him.

Shae collects his leash, and leads him from station to station, as dommes and their subs begin their play. Most of the play involves some form of impact, which has never been Stan's thing. He's used to Connor's psychological abuse and knows how to manage his lover's tempests when they overtake him, but Connor's never struck him, for fun, or in anger. Stan doesn't think he'd dare, as Stan stands inches taller, and has twenty kilos of muscle on his lover.

But these days, with Darren in the mix, Connor seems less interested in torturing his roommate and lover, preferring instead to have Darren serve them both. This natural hierarchy allows him to treat Stan as more of an equal, something Stan suspects Connor's always wanted, but has never been secure enough to allow in his life.

And besides, they don't have long left together. At the end of the year Connor will move away, leaving Stan and Darren without a tiger standing over them in the dark. As much as Stan enjoys the softer relationship he shares with Darren, he knows he'll miss Connor's dark energy. He creates a canvas of threat against which Darren and Stan can comfort each other. With him gone, will they even need each other?

The leash jerks tight, and Stan stumbles, pulled from his thoughts. It seems Shae wants to take him somewhere else, and he follows her through a set of red velvet curtains into the twilight that lies beyond.

He blinks as he emerges into the low light of this new area. There's bondage equipment here, but most of the space is taken up with couches, cushions, and other places to sit or recline.

Though it's still relatively early, some dommes relax here with their subs, drinks in their hands.

One woman lies back, her eyes on her phone, while her sub, an older man in his forties, has his head buried between her parted thighs. Her long legs, bare and tanned, wrap around his back, but her attention's elsewhere entirely, as her sub runs his tongue along the edges of her underwear, teasing under the lace to taste her.

Another domme uses a sub as a footstool as she sips her drink, which a second sub laps at her toes in their open-toed high heels. Her eyes are on a movie projected onto the wall. The sound is low, but there are subtitles. It looks like a Spanish horror film.

Shae leads Stan to a couch and drops onto it, putting her feet up on an ottoman. Stan's just glad he's not the ottoman tonight.

"Down."

She tugs lightly on his leash, and Stan sinks to the floor. Thankfully, there's a rug under his knees, but he can feel the cold from the concrete seeping through the carpet. Instinctively, he moves in closer to her, and Shae runs her fingers through his hair.

"What do you think?"

Stan lets his gaze wander, taking it all in. Opposite him, a domme dressed in a black, latex catsuit, has her naked sub suspended across her lap. His toes and fingertips touch the floor, and he moans as his domme teases between his lightly-furred buttocks with a single finger. She watches his face intently as she traces circles around his opening, eliciting soft moans from the sub.

What does he think?

Shae's fingers against his scalp are hypnotic, and he's unsure that he has any thoughts to offer. Except that he's horny... and no longer sure he's himself.

Shae grips a handful of his hair and guides his head up so she can see his face.

"I like this movie. I'm going to watch it for a bit. Go get me a drink, gorgeous." She unclips his leash and hands him her credit card.

Stan gets to his feet, nervous that he's being asked to walk back to the bar by himself.

"What would you like to drink?" he asks.

"Same as before." She scrutinises him. "You do remember what we had before?"

Stan nods. A something mule? He'll figure it out.

"And remember, you've given consent for others to touch you."

Stan shudders. Is that likely? Before he can ask, she waves him off.

"Off you go. And don't take too long, or I'll send someone after you."

Stan weaves a path between couches, dommes and subs, Shae's card clutched in his hand. He's never felt so naked, so exposed.

He reaches the bar without incident and hangs back, trying to remember the name of the drink. For some reason, all he can think of is Donkey from Shrek. He laughs nervously to himself under his breath and the bartender spots him and points at him.

"You—what are you having?"

Moscow Mule, Stan remembers in a rush. He blurts out a request for two cocktails, then realises he hasn't been given permission to order a drink for himself. He has no money on him, no wallet, and this isn't his card.

"Make that one," he says, and the bartender nods. He makes the drink, and Stan taps Shae's card against the machine.

As he takes the drink back through the second room, half the impact stations are now in use. He does his best to move inconspicuously through the crowd, but a hand squeezes his ass and moments later, an arm slides around his waist.

"This way, boy," says a woman he's never met.

Stan's heart's pounding. Is this allowed? Is this okay?

"It's alright, Mistress Diostella asked me to see why you were taking so long, and offer you an incentive to be quicker next time."

Stan's startled that Shae would do that. Isn't he hers? Where is she?

The domme leads him over to a corner of the room, to the whipping post where Stan watched his first impact scene.

The domme hands the cocktail and Shae's credit card to another naked man and gives him instructions to take them to Mistress Diostella. He hurries off, leaving Stan terrified and alone.

"Climb up."

Stan's sure his pupils are the same size as his irises, as he kneels on the platform and allows his wrists to be secured to the post. This time, at the same level as his knees, bending him forwards, his ass exposed as he's forced to push it out behind him to hold the position comfortably.

The domme crouches at eye-level, and he's struck by her features. Her lush, scarlet hair falls around her shoulders in waves, and her slim, boyish frame is dressed in a fitting blue and gold corset over tight, shiny black pants that show a bulge. Stan's eyes are drawn there instinctively, and he can see she's excited by whatever she's about to do to him.

He hears a soft scuff of leather boots over the general hubbub, and realises he recognises the sound of Shae approaching. When did he memorise the sound of her steps?

"Is he behaving?" Shae asks the domme, who moves out of Stan's field of view as she answers.

"He's absolutely delectable. Where did you find him?"

"At a party." A hand strokes Stan's naked back, and he's sure it's Shae's. He recognises her touch, too. He's glad she doesn't tell everyone he's fucking her brother.

"Hand me the flogger there," says the domme, and someone near the wall does as she asks.

The domme appears back in Stan's field of view.

"I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart, so relax. I'm just going to warm your skin for you. It'll be a little thrill, but nothing you can't handle."

Stan does his best to relax, but he's scared. He lets out a whimper, and instantly wishes he'd held it in.

Shae appears and crouches near his head. She cups his face in her palms.

"You're fine. You're okay. I won't let anything bad happen to you."

Stan meets her gaze and is drawn into the ink of her eyes. "I'm okay," he says harshly, and she stokes his cheek.

"That's my good boy."

She straightens up, and behind him, Stan senses movement. A moment later the flogger kisses his skin. He's expecting pain, so it's a relief to find the flogger really isn't frightening at all.

The tongues hits his shoulders with the 'plack' of many fine leather strands, and the domme skilfully alternates where she lands the blows to do as she promised—warming Stan's skin, drawing him into the sensation. But it's nothing he can't handle.

He drops his eyes from their intense fixation on Shae's as he realises he's not in any danger and concentrates on the feel of the flogger.

Every so often the domme pauses to massage his heated skin, her touch firm, reassuring. As the blows become harder, more frequent, Stan finds himself waiting for those pauses, for the caress that follows. The pleasure is in the contrast.

The domme works her way down his back, avoiding his spine, his kidneys, to whip his ass. With all the attention it's had from Connor, Stan's well-muscled ass is sensitive to any attention it receives, making the whipping all the more intense.

The leather smacks his cheeks, left, then right, alternating repeatedly, the blows growing firmer with each strike.

To stop from crying out, Stan drops his shoulders, tenses his ass then releases the muscles, seeking relief from the relentless rain of leather strands.

But as he's nearing the end of his endurance, his muscles quivering from the pain, the domme stops. She caresses his ass and he moans quietly, allowing himself to admit to himself how aroused he is. And the pain isn't that bad. He's had much worse.

Shae crouches in front of him again and cups his chin in her hand.

"How was that?"

He nods as an answer, unable to speak.

"I think your boy needs some aftercare," says the domme from behind him. She runs a hand down his back and pats his ass. "You did well."