From: exile@geech.gnu.ai.mit.edu (Heresiarch)
Subject: The Tiger
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
disclaimer 1 (black flag warning): this is an intense story and may bother some people.
disclaimer 2: Fantasy. F, A, N, oh, never mind.
The Tiger
"In the hearts of many, whether master, dominant, or sadist,
there dwells a wish. It is almost never discussed, but you can see
its shadow in the volumes of literature that cater to this very
desire."
I listened carefully, for Gena's words were always worth my
full attention. Since our sophomore year in college, Gena knew her
greatest joy in discovering exactly what her lover wanted, or her
friends, or even people like me. If you hung out with Gena long
enough, you might find your wishes suddenly coming true.
She continued. "The wish is this: to take one who is truly
unwilling. Legal ramifications aside, to do so would be a grievous
betrayal of our Art." She said the last word so that I could hear the
capital letter. "But still, some people will dream about a helpless
slave, trembling like a candle flame between their cupped hands, who
will cry like a child when hurt, and who has no safeword."
Gena was a tall woman of spectacularly mixed heritage. Her
eyes were almost green, and her hair had that color of red that only
comes from African ancestors. I had thought her beautiful back in
college, but we were roommates then, with our sexual identities
changing almost daily. I never slept with her, and likely wouldn't
now, but had been satisfied in having more of Gena than almost
everyone else on campus did.
She had a dream of her own then. She told it to me one night
after we had given a visiting prospective student the time of his
life, and he had fallen asleep, exhausted. "If my hormones aren't
supposed to peak until I'm thirty-five," she had said, "I'll need to
keep a matched pair of twenty-year-old men on retainer when I grow
up." She would pick them out of the brightest and most attractive
college students, and train them exactly to her taste. "Look me up
then and I'll share them with you."
Gena had got her wish. Her two pets were sitting on the floor
between us. One was blond and the other black-haired, both with wide
eyes almost the same shade of blue. The fair one had a pierced ear.
They both were wearing jeans, just snug enough to set off the hard
ripples and interlocking muscles of their legs. The dark one wore a
white T-shirt, and the blond one wore black. Their hair was very
long, and as I watched them the dark one was brushing the blond. Gena
always did prefer men, and these two were like great predator cats
grooming each other, seemingly oblivious to my stares.
"Do you like them?" Gena asked.
"Oh yes."
Her pets glanced at me under their lashes. The dark one
handed the brush to the blond, and they switched roles.
Under my skirt things were starting to twitch.
"I know what you mean, about wanting to go beyond top," I
said. "The converse of your idea, though, is the submissive who wants
to be truly and completely taken. There are always some who want all
choice removed, and to be hurt just for the pleasure of someone else.
In my limited experience, though, I've known people who tried that out
and changed their minds."
I paused, distracted by the scene before me.
"Go on," Gena prompted. Her smile had grown just a little
wider.
"There is a crucial paradox. A master can't just walk up to
someone and ask them if they want to be enslaved. If you do ask, and
the other is truly that submissive, will he or she be able to tell you
so? Will telling you void the state of non-consent? If you don't
ask, would you be able to live with yourself and the thought that you
might have raped someone?"
"Touchy problem, that. Next I'll have to implement
telepathy."
The blond set down the brush. Both of them looked up to Gena.
"Amuse each other," Gena said.
They turned upon the carpeted floor and with measured
eagerness began to touch. Light hair and dark tumbled together. I
watched their hands meet and clasp, then slide into an embrace. They
kissed with open lips, without haste.
My own mouth watered.
Gena said, "One of them is, in fact, truly that submissive."
I swallowed.
The two men shivered ever so slightly and then resumed their
lovemaking with, if anything, even greater fervor.
"Which one?" I asked.
Gena smiled. "Which of them would you like?"
"I'd have to think about that."
They were both lovely, so the choice of the dark or the fair
one, was no choice at all. Gena had offered me the chance to hurt
someone. Once awakened, that appetite had a soul of its own. I could
no more deny it than one bound and tied could evade a blow.
"Shall I choose for you?" Gena asked.
"Yes."
The two men broke their kiss and turned towards her again,
still kneeling, holding hands, pack animals who feared separation more
than anything else. I wondered which one wanted this more, and if she
would, indeed, give that one to me.
Gena said, "Daniel."
The dark one stood hastily and faced her with head bowed. She
pointed towards me. Daniel turned on one bare foot and went to kneel
beside my feet. He leaned his head against my leg and let his hair
cascade down so that I could not see his face.
"You may do exactly as you will with him, as long as it is
safe. I trust that you know what is safe."
I nodded.
"Know that Daniel's safeword is my name. He is permitted to
use it. Therefore we request that you not gag him."
I reached down and stroked Daniel's back. He arched against
my hand, sighing. My fingers touched the skin of his neck. A wave of
heat and then of chill traveled up my arm. I brought my fingers to my
lips and tasted the bitterness of masculine sweat.
"No, I won't gag him. I want to hear him sing."
Gena pointed once more, to a door off the living room. "That
room is made up for you. I'm sure you'll find everything you need
there. You are a guest, but Daniel may not leave that room until
tomorrow morning."
Daniel followed two steps behind me until the door clicked
shut between us and the living room. He leaned against the wall with
his hands at his sides.
I looked about the room first. The bed was actually a futon
on a sturdy frame. There was a bathroom attached, and a plate of
fruit and cheese on the dresser next to two bottles. One of the
bottles held seltzer and the other was apparently concord grape juice,
thick and sour enough to rattle one's teeth. I poured some in a
glass, cut it with seltzer, and drank it while I looked through the
dresser drawers. Gena had left a nice supply of toys for me. I
pulled out the riding crop and sat down on the bed.
Daniel hadn't moved.
The map of my sexual psyche is very simple. My taste
compromises on androgynous men, with bodies taut enough to hum under
my hands when I rub their backs or slap them, and effeminate enough
that I can't be sure of their gender when I look upon them the first
time. I like long hair and very wide eyes. I prefer them too strong
and proud to beg. I also had, in the disreputable depths of my
libido, a large button labeled "chickenhawk," that was set off by the
young, the novice, the virginal, or the just plain helpless. Daniel,
unknowing, had his finger down hard on that button.
"So," I said, "The lady or the tiger?"
Daniel looked up sharply. "What?" He had a sweet face, even
now with tension written so plainly in every line and his mouth curled
into a pout.
"Are you really that submissive?"
"No."
His denial was a bit too fast and loud. I felt the first
prickle of doubt.
"Are you really that cruel?" Daniel asked.
"Yes." I wondered if he believed me.
Daniel's hands clenched, then loosened. He fastened his eyes
securely on a point to one side of my face.
"So tell me," I said. "Why do you do this?"
"Which?"
"Why are you Gena's slave? And please sit, or have something
to eat, if you wish."
Daniel took a seat in one of the chairs across the room from
me. He met my eyes for the first time, arching one of his eyebrows
just a bit. His was the smug look of someone who knew something that
I did not.
"A real slave would laugh to hear you say that. My submission
to Gena was, and is, by choice, renewed daily if necessary. If we
need a word, we use 'bondservant.'"
"OK. Why are you Gena's bondservant?"
"Mostly for the sex."
Of course Gena, the perfect top that she was, would be giving
Daniel exactly what he wanted. I wondered if he really didn't want
this assignation, and if we were doing it just to please me.
"And then, there is the money. Work-study is a joke when your
tuition and fees top $19,000 a year. If it weren't for Gena, I'd
probably have joined the Navy, and I'd hate to cut my hair."
"Would she dismiss you if you used a safeword?"
Daniel blinked. "I don't know."
I twirled the riding crop between my fingers. "I needn't push
you that hard. What would you prefer? I could settle for vanilla, or
something a little more... complicated. Or we could do nothing."
That last was a blatant lie. I was not in the least prepared
to walk out of here without taking some advantage of Gena's gift.
Daniel's eyes narrowed.
He said, "Let me show you something," then stood, turning his
back to me. Daniel pulled off his shirt, then gathered his hair
together on one side of his neck.
The smooth, tan of Daniel's back was interrupted high on his
right shoulder by a ripple of white. The mark was shaped like Gena's
stylized signature "G."
"Have you ever seen a freeze brand on human skin before? I
take my submission seriously, and will thank you to do so yourself.
If Gena requires me to do something which I find distasteful, then I
only owe it to her. I will not pretend that I like it, though. If
you need feigned gratitude to get off, then I'm deeply sorry to
disappoint you."
I am not, and never have been, one to pass up a dare.
"Sit down," I told him. "Cover your eyes with your left
hand."
Daniel blinked at me once and then obeyed.
I got up from the bed. He moved just a bit under the pressure
of the urge to look.
"You are not permitted to move until I say so."
I reached out and cradled his chin in my fingers. The riding
crop was a thin wisp, almost too light to transmit the full snap of my
arm.
To Daniel's credit, he did not move when the crop whispered
and bit his cheek. I made certain that the second and third blows
caught not only his face, but his fingers.
"Your composure is admirable," I said. "Take your hand down."
When he had done so, I turned his head until he was facing the
mirror over the dresser. His eyes narrowed as he watched the three
welts on his cheek rise and darken.
"So is your aim."
We watched each other in the mirror.
"You will lose that self-control," I said. "Either give it
over of your own will, or I will take it from you. Believe that I can
do it."
Daniel's upper lip twitched in a savage, theatrical snarl. I
was being provoked again. But then, as any bottom, Daniel had the
ultimate control over this scene, and he was determined to keep it.
I dropped the crop, leaned over, and ran my tongue down the
marks. Daniel stiffened at my touch, then sighed and let my tongue
creep around to his lips. I wrapped his wealth of hair once around my
hand, then kissed him.
His mouth opened for me, passive but hardly still. Daniel's
breath quickened at each light touch of my fingers on his skin. These
caresses of mine, that sought out the places he loved to be touched,
won from him a delicate shiver. He moaned when I tickled the roof of
his mouth with my tongue, yet was too impeccably mannered to penetrate
my mouth with his own.
Daniel was the perfect bottom. He responded instantly to
every sensation, returning pain with rage and provocation, and
pleasure with an appreciation so sweet and intense that it made me
ache inside. Before him the memory of so many other submissives, lazy
and demanding, who expected me to do all the work, faded like a bad
odor in a breeze.
I trailed my fingers across his collar bone and down his
chest, lazily circling his left nipple. Daniel froze. His breath
caught on something sharp. He let his head fall back a little
further, exposing the vulnerable arch of his throat, in a wordless but
unmistakable plea. I took the nipple between my fingers, stroking it
gently.
Daniel's hands had the arms of the chair in a death-grip. His
eyes were closed. It seemed that his mind had fled into that small
part of himself that I teased with the edge of a nail. And then, when
Daniel had melted into my hands, I seized his nipple between my
fingernails and twisted it.
He barely checked himself before he bit down. Breaking our
kiss, he turned his head, coughed, and spat.
"Don't tease me like that."
I slapped him on the same cheek that I'd welted earlier. The
force of the blow knocked Daniel sideways. I had to pull him back by
his hair so I could look him in the eye.
"Don't tell me what to do. Got that?"
I relaxed my grip on his hair enough to let him nod. Reaching
down, I tugged on his belt until it unbuckled, then pulled open the
button fly of his jeans.
"Either you're extremely well-trained," I said, probing the
length of his erect cock through his underwear, "Or you're enjoying
this much more than you're letting on."
All of Daniel's exposed skin acquired an endearing blush.
I freed the head of his cock from his underwear and squeezed
it lightly.
"Would Gena beat you for mouthing off like that?"
"Yes."
"Do you expect any less from me?"
Daniel shook his head. Had he been maneuvering me into this?
If so, I was determined to make him sorry.
I tugged his belt loose from Daniel's jeans. It was an
unusually thick piece of black leather, soft and flexible, as if it
were used often.
Pulling Daniel's hair, I brought him to heel on his hands and
knees and led him, as he tripped over his loose jeans, to the futon.
"Kneel and bend forward over the edge of the bed," I ordered.
"Put your hands on the back of your neck and cover your face with your
arms. Very good." I ruffled his hair as if he were some favored pet,
then folded it forward over his shoulder. His skin was not marked. I
wondered what that meant.
Daniel was no toy. He was a live person, with his own tangled
motives and responses. Seeing him kneel there, I could have forgotten
that. Daniel's submission matched my dreams so perfectly that I could
scarcely believe him other than a personal fantasy. And I dare not
forget that I hurt someone real.
Doubling up the belt, I tucked the buckle safely into my hand.
"Count for me, Daniel," I said, and struck backhanded.
The belt left a wide, white mark diagonally down his left
shoulder.
"One," he said, as the welt began to turn pink.
The usual game is to inform someone that they are getting a
certain number of strokes, have them count for you, and then start
over if they lose their count. The strokes may be harder or lighter,
measured to the victim's response. I wasn't doing that. I planned to
beat Daniel until I began to tire.
Daniel never lost count, though his voice rose somewhat in
pitch and he took more and more time after each stroke to come up with
an answer. Around forty he developed a violent tremor in his arms,
almost as violent as the one I'd have in my right arm tomorrow when
the muscles had stiffened up. The places I had struck repeatedly were
turning purple. At fifty Daniel broke. He turned suddenly, covered
his face with his hands, and lay his head back against the futon.
This left his torso arched and his thighs splayed out in tempting
targets. His penis was still erect against the black curls of his
pubic hair, free of his jeans.
It was a clever bottom's gamble to disobey this way. Daniel
would be hoping that I'd spare his welted back and vent my displeasure
on his unmarked chest and thighs. If I were getting tired, it
wouldn't hurt him nearly as much.
I was getting tired. Time to try something else.
"Take your hands down," I ordered.
Daniel's eyes were wide and moisture spilled out the corners.
He met my gaze squarely though, and wouldn't look away.
"Lovely," I said. I placed my foot between his legs and
nudged him in the balls with my toe, watching his face change. "Most
lovely. Take your pants off, and lie down on your back.
He obeyed slowly and with a clumsiness that obviously pained
him, perhaps more than his back did. Very few people can look proud
and graceful sprawled naked on a bed with every breath reminding them
of a recent beating.
Gena had left nipple clips in the dresser, but I wanted
something a little bit crueler. My briefcase had been set in a
corner. I went to it and flipped through the manuscripts until I
found two that were held together with black, triangular binder clips.
Daniel couldn't see what I was doing. I kept the clips hidden
in one hand while I leaned over him and took his left nipple in my
mouth. I sucked it briefly, then pressed my tongue down into it,
grinding it against the bones of his ribs.
No matter how hurt, Daniel still melted. This was one of his
favorite ways to be touched, and he knew better than to hold a grudge.
Daniel writhed beneath me, as if he could distract me from any other
thought but of making love to him. He made one soft, startled noise
as the clamp bit his nipple, then was silent again. I repeated the
procedure with his right nipple. I wondered if he could have called
his safeword if he wanted.
Daniel's face had acquired the blank and unfocused expression
I had seen before on someone after I had given them an especially good
backrub. A flick of a finger against the clamps brought a violent
flicker of emotion to his face, that smoothed out quickly as the
numbness returned. His hands clenched the covers, then vanished
behind the back of his neck as he conquered the urge to pull off the
clips. It would have been easier for him had I tied him down first.
I cupped his balls in one hand and stroked his penis with the
other.
"I'll be sure to tell Gena how good you were, and how you
stayed hard no matter what I did to you."
Be safe, Gena had told me. I found a glove and a tube of KY
in the drawer. Then, properly equipped for safe sex, I pressed my
thumb against the tender flesh behind his balls and stroked the shaft
with my fingers, much too lightly. My fingers spread lube over the
circumcised head. Daniel was very close to coming. Heat radiated
from his genitals, and a thin line of sweat trickled down his forehead
into his hair. It was a challenge to stroke him but not let him off
just yet. Daniel could take pain much more easily when on the very
edge of orgasm, even when he moved and jolted the clips.
I concentrated my touches on the satin skin just below the
head of his penis. Daniel's expression didn't change, though I
watched his eyes for some sign of feeling as he came over my fingers.
His jaw clenched, then relaxed. When the long, hot spasms has
subsided, and Daniel had begun almost imperceptibly to soften, I
reached up and pulled off the clips.
And he still didn't scream.
His eyes were open again, self-possessed and almost mocking.
"What do you get from being so cold?" I asked him.
He said, "What would you get from seeing me lose it?"
My fingers, still slick and gloved, went down between his legs
and into his ass, so suddenly that his jaw clicked shut on empty air.
Daniel's eyes narrowed sharply.
"Don't act so outraged," I told him. "You're not tight enough
to be a virgin."
He took two fingers easily. The third hurt him just a bit. I
settled for two. This was to be a gentle, though direct, seduction.
I'd forgotten just how hot a human body was at its core, and how soft
the lining of the ass, and how swiftly the right touch could bring a
spent cock to attention.
With my clean hand, I reached into a pocket and pulled out the
condom I'd stashed there earlier.
"Put this on," I told Daniel. "And if you go soft, you'll be
bending over for my fist."
This was sufficient threat to keep Daniel's hand on his penis
while I lost my clothes and discarded the glove. I was wet and slick
inside when I straddled him and fit our two bodies together. This
wouldn't get me off. I required a more delicate touch to orgasm,
which was just fine. I wasn't trying to make me come.
Daniel didn't know this, though. He kissed me and ran his
hands down my body, perhaps wishing I'd let him alone once I'd had my
pleasure. I wondered how sore he was already. He took so long to
come this time that I was starting to dry out. Then, while I wound my
tongue deep into his ear and rubbed one sore nipple between my
fingers, Daniel cried out.
It was the sound of some animal in pain or suddenly bereft.
Daniel's body shuddered for so long that I wished I had a watch to
time it. He still moaned when he had finished thrusting into me.
I gathered up his hair in one hand and kissed his throat.
"That's better," I said, pinching him and hearing him whimper.
"Much better."
Later that night I turned over in the dark in a strange futon.
There was supposed to be someone beside me, I remembered.
There.
In the square of window light, Daniel sat on the floor. He
was clothed in jeans and nothing else. His arms were folded across
his chest, and his long hair covered his face. Daniel made no sound,
yet I could not mistake the shuddering of his body. He was weeping.
Wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, I grew suddenly so cold
that I hurt. But I had destroyed all power in me to comfort, and at
last I fell asleep again, long before Daniel came back to bed.
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