Themes : swinging, fetish-wear, domination, humiliation, pegging, whips, chains, masturbation
Part 1
The gas mask completed Jane's glossy black fetish-wear.
A single flourescent tube flickered and buzzed in it's low hum above them in the cellar, a sickly strip of light reflected off every curve of the polished black PVC of her figure hugging catsuit, enhancing her full, round hips and her narrow corsetted waist.
Tony and Ian could smell the rubber, PVC and leather in her outfit from where they sat, kneeling with their palms, face down on their thighs in the centre of the floor, as instructed.
The men could make out her mascara and violet eye shadow through the eye holes in the gas mask as she looked down at them in front her, perched on her six inch stilleto heel boots.
Her heels tapered off to an impossibly thin point, barely a quarter inch across but perfectly in keeping with her dominatrix look.
Even her hands were gloved in shiny black PVC with a riding crop in one hand and her other hand resting in a dominant and in-charge manner on her corsetted waist.
Her corset was a fine red lace over more black PVC, gathering her waist and making her hourglass figure pop and demand the men's attention with the crimson lace breaking up the glossy black.
Her blond hair was braided above her head in a high pony tail, pulled back at the sides framing the thick rubber of the gas mask at the sides and creating softness above the cruel harsh lines of the gas masks straps and buckles and the heavy round filters either side of the nose and mouth.
Tony looked at his wife in awe. He had never dreamed Jane could look so amazing yet so dominant and flawlessly cruel with her riding crop, the way she was owning the room around them.
This was everything Ian had dreamed of using the cellar of his house for since he moved in three years ago, clearing the cellar and seeing it's potential for indulging his fetish for dungeon play. He knew there would be a couple out there who would love the idea of playing in an authentic Victorian cellar with it's feel of abandoned hope, shackles and chains on the wall but still big enough for a spanking horse big enough to support a large man.
Water was dripping into a steel pail in the corner of the room and it's hollow echo had been the only sound in the cellar until Jane lifted the riding crop and brought it down sharply on her thigh, snapping the men to attention and making them kneel up straight, naked and obediant to their msitress.
It was time to start. |
