LeChatNoir's Maison de Maître

[Miss_Vivi]

"I'm sure I will, girl. If there's any sort of afterlife at all, then I'm comfortable with my destination."

His body pressed against hers, pushing her against the post and her breath was forced out of her body.

Tease.

"And how about you? Will I see you there, too?"

She grinned, and glanced down at where she could see just his shoulder, her long lashes covering those hazel eyes gently, her hair curling around her face, and she pushed her hips back slightly. Just enough that his length rested against her ass, and they could both feel it.

Vi moved her hips just enough to let him know that there were several ways to skin a cat... or distract an evil man. She felt it work a little too, and then she whimpered for him. A breathless little noise, that would only further this little game.

"If... I am in hell, Sir... I'm sure you'll hunt me down and make me pay for my sins."

 

[LeChatNoir]

The Maître of the maison took a deep breath as he felt her ass moving purposefully against him, then ground firmly back against her rear.

"Oh, yes. Each sin must be bought and paid for. And you may rest assured that I'll not slack until you have achieved absolution."

He pushed away from her then, his hands squarely in the middle of her back, pressing himself away and her even more firmly against the surface of the post. Having regained his feet and balance, he regarded her for a moment before turning to a small locker at the edge of the cleared area and opening it and reaching inside.

His prize, once he withdrew it from the box, was a large, elkhide flogger the color of salted butter. With a practiced snap of his arm he shook it out by its hardwood handle, the multiple tails sliding sibilantly over each other in eager anticipation.

"I wonder what currency you can offer, to pay in."

 

[Miss_Vivi]

"Oh, yes. Each sin must be bought and paid for. And you may rest assured that I'll not slack until you have achieved absolution."

She laughed softly, her cheek pressed against the rough wood of the post while he pushed himself away from her. Vi imagined what that absolution would look like, those breathless pleas, her back stinging and arched, against every single strike, while she screamed her pain to a silent and judgmental moon and the evil man who stood behind her.

The image was enough to make her weak in the knees, she clung to the pole, and heard him move and open something. She looked over her shoulder to see him pull out a flogger. Beautiful. Full. The falls were gorgeously soft looking and she knew that he'd hurt her. And he'd like it.

"I wonder what currency you can offer, to pay in."

"Screams," it was a simple statement and it was all that she could offer him, for the moment. That he would want something else perhaps went without saying, but she wasn't going to allude to any of her particular skills in that area.

"But first.. you might want to bind me. Unless you relish the chase."

He'd only get one warning.

 

[LeChatNoir]

She had been right, during her initial assessment. It was chains. His hand returned to the box and came up holding a set of old-school manacles - a pair of metal cuffs linked by a length of chain. Advancing on her, he let it swing from his left fist, in counterpoint to the swaying of the flogger's tails in his right.

A true smile creased his face as she answered his question, a flash of white teeth in his salt-and-pepper beard. "Oh, that will do just fine. I do like screams. I accept your payment."

He carefully threaded the manacles through a loop in the opposite side of the post to where his guest stood, then let them dangle there while he stepped around and regarded her.

"Turn around first, girl. I wouldn't have the lovely material of that dress driven into your flesh, or marred by the leather."

As she turned, he reached down and began to undo the closures across her chest, his fingers deft and quick. A short time later, he'd reached her waist. Those same deft hands reached up and slid the material of her dress off of her shoulders, revealing a pink, strapless bustier beneath it, a discovery which elicited a wry chuckle before the man turned her back to the post, the top of her dress now safely out of the way.

"Embrace it, girl."

 

[Miss_Vivi]

"Oh, that will do just fine. I do like screams. I accept your payment."

She'd known it. Vi wanted to roll her eyes. Certain men and their penchant for painful noises.

He'd pulled out some manacles and had threaded them around the wide post. She shivered. Metal wasn't her favorite, it was cold and could pinch, she preferred rope.. or tape.

"Turn around first, girl. I wouldn't have the lovely material of that dress driven into your flesh, or marred by the leather."

He wasn't a man who was used to brats, nor was he used to not being listened to, so she turned and let him unbutton her dress, while she watched his face as her cleavage and bustier was exposed. The dress was slipped off her shoulders and it rested against her hips. He smiled and turned her gently back to the post.

"Embrace it, girl."

She leaned back against him, pulling his hands over her waist and tummy, pressing herself near him.

"Are you sure, Sir? I can think of other things to do," she grinned softly, capturing one of his hands again and moving it to her lips, placing little kisses over the tips of his fingers, her tongue slipping out to taste and pull his index finger in between her lips where she sucked on it gently.

He played one game, she played another.

 

[LeChatNoir]

Arms around her waist, feeling the warmth emanating from her body where his still jacket-covered arms encircled her, and from where her mostly-bare back pressed against the thinner material of the shirt covering his broad chest.

It felt good. When she lifted his hand, nibbling at his fingertips before taking one digit into her obviously skilled mouth and suckling at it, that felt even better. She could feel him rising against the curve of her bottom, separated by a few scant layers of thin material. A momentary thought or two, or five or seven or a thousand crossed his mind, but he shook his head slightly as if to clear it, and leaned forward to again whisper into her ear.

"You do that very well, girl. I think you must enjoy suckling, which is a talent to be appreciated. But now is not the time for that."

He slid his finger from her mouth, allowing his now wet fingertip to trail over her chin, down her neck, and deeply into her cleavage before slowly drawing it back.

He stepped around the post and took up one end of the heavy manacles.

"Give me your hand, V."

 

[Miss_Vivi]

There was a coolness in the air when he stepped away from her, or maybe that was the trail of wetness down her neck and into her cleavage. Still her attention was quickly given to the man with the ivory shirt that commanded her eyes even in this muted light.

He wanted her wrists. Her hands went instinctively behind her back and she grinned at him.

She wanted to behave and give in, to place her hands in the relative safety of the manacles but he needed her fight, okay maybe not needed it, but he wanted it.

Otherwise, why give her the option of telling him no?

Regardless of his intent, the option existed. Therefore, when she met those dark eyes that demanded her submission she giggled.

He was good, and so fucking distracting.
But she was going to misbehave... again.

"No, Sir."

Keeping her hands behind her, she leaned forward slightly, showcasing her cleavage, and stuck her tongue out at him, quickly, of course. She knew better than to leave it out.

"Would you like to hear it again? I know you like it when I tell you no."

 

[LeChatNoir]

The man's chest rose and fell silently once, twice...a third time, as he watched her intently. The refusal of his instruction he took with a somewhat resigned good grace, almost as if he'd expected it, and he clearly appreciated the view offered by her lean, but as her tongue came out, his eyes flashed dangerously and his jaw set. He did not speak for a few moments - from the look on his face, he might not have trusted himself to speak. Instead, his right arm flashed out and caught a fistful of red hair, pulling it sharply to bring her face right up against the curve of the post, the wooden surface warm in the dying sunlight.

When he did speak, his voice was low and firm. "I think that perhaps you've mistaken my instruction for an invitation." His fist kept her opposite cheek pinned against the wood, allowing no movement from the neck up as his left hand started a purposeful journey from the top of her cleavage across her collar bone, down her left arm, and ended by firmly clasping her left wrist. With a shift of his body position, he was able to bring the wrist up to the manacle, and he released his grip on her hair long enough to fasten the heavy metal securely around her wrist.

 

[Miss_Vivi]

His hand curled into her hair and she was pressed against wood. Gasps leapt from her lips into the newly born night and died on the wind between them. Her body was pressed against the warm wood, and she dare not move.

Even when one manacle clinked into place, securing her in place. The other seemed only a matter of rote, she was let go as both wrists were bound.

Time was suspended for the moment. While he moved around her, she ignored him. Her attention was on the kiss of the cool air on her back, her exposed tattoo between her shoulder blades flexing slightly as she pulled at the cuffs.

Very little movement was afforded her. She might lean back, but keeping her body against the wood sufficed and gave her strength. Or she hoped it would.

She kicked off her shoes and spread her legs, taking a wider stance, and closed her eyes.

The sounds of the awakening night surrounded her, crickets softly chirping, the gentle wind caressing her curls, the whisper of his suit as he moved around her. She breathed. Prepared. Let her body relax for his touch.

Vi didn't know if it would be rough or soft. She prepared for both. She listened for the tell tale signs of an impending strike, a grunt, a growl, the falls of the flogger flying through the air.

She heard nothing.
She kept her eyes closed. Breathed. And listened.
She'd be prepared for him and his onslaught.

Maybe.


Prolly not.

 

[LeChatNoir]

The scene was set, the tableau properly arranged – V’s pale skin, complimented by the pink fabric of her bustier; the setting sun catching her red tresses and setting them further aflame; the last rays shining on the metal manacles holding her wrists in place.

With a practiced shrug, the master of the house slid his suit jacket from his broad shoulders, then folded it neatly and set it on a stone bench at the edge of the cleared space. Deft fingers slipped cuff links from their places, the glinting metal tucked into his pocket before he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

Finally, he reached down and picked up the flogger that he’d dropped to the ground when he had to wrestle his recalcitrant guest into the manacles. A practiced gesture shook loose any dirt that might have clung to it, and allowed the falls to sort themselves out into their proper arrangement. Holding it in his right hand, he moved to her side, breathing slowly and regularly.

And then he beat her.

He beat her with steady, deliberate strokes, moving the point of impact across her shoulders and down to just below the midpoint of her shoulder blades. He beat her with the confidence of long practice. He beat her with affection.

 

[Miss_Vivi]

She could take a beating. The pain made her feel radiant. Made her laugh. Made her whimper. Made her want to beg and plead, and cry out. She cursed him, while the endorphin's made her mind swim and her prayers vocal to the evil man who stood behind her.

"Stop! No! I hate you!"

The falls hit her back and shoulders in cadence, sighing, fighting, collapsing upon the skin there, pushing groans from her chest. Her head fell back, her eyes closed, she cried out for him there.

"Please, sir!"

Safe in her bindings though she pulled and struggled. She even danced for him then. Her toes pointed as she tried to escape his onslaught, to escape his pain, to free herself from this almost unending need to be hit.

"Oh, fuck! Please Sir, please!"

The pain ebbed and mingled with adrenaline that flowed freely in her pain response, that made her see double, when her eyes were open, if they were open, and the laughter that had fallen and bubbled so easily died, she pushed that point of brat, past that point of needing it.

"Sir!"

She was screaming for him then. It was for him. Finally. This moment where even she couldn't resist, where she tripped herself right into submission, where no one, not even herself, believed she could go. She could. She has. This beating was no longer about her, about needing her pain, about being a brat. She took each strike, each cruel caress of the falls for him, screaming into the cool dusky evening, for him.

 

[LeChatNoir]

His arm rose and fell, rhythm varied now, trying to keep her from getting accustomed to his pattern. Ears attuned to the small sounds that she made in between the solid impact of the blows, ready to change his impact point or the force of his blows at the slightest variation in her breathing, in her cries. As her cries progressed along a familiar path, from defiance to insincere pleas to much more sincere pleas to actual begging, he punctuated each cry with a harder stroke, giving counterpoint with the thudding sound of leather on skin to each of Vi’s utterances.

The woman chained to his garden post moved with the blows, her progress along a path familiar, yet unique. The sunlight hitting her body, turning all of it red with the sunset, not just the parts beneath his whip. The sensation of the leather-wrapped handle in his hand, stained with sweat, jumping and writhing in his grip as the falls impacted pale flesh.

But most of all, most evocatively for him as it had always been, his sense of smell. He could smell the leather of the flogger, elkhide, soft as butter and with the smell of well-used leather. The smell of himself, sweat starting to rise through his aftershave even as darker spots of moisture began to appear on his shirt beneath his arms and in the middle of his chest and back. Lavender and sage in the air, the scents of the Canal du Midi, the scents of southern France.

But most of all, the scent of her. As the beating progressed, he could begin to smell her, as well. Not in an unpleasant way, but the scent of her sweat, driven from her by the impact of the leather as well as the residual heat of the post. The smell of her desperation as the falls caressed her, bending her to their will. And finally, the faint tang that told of her submission, of her surrender.

It came as a wave of pleasure, washing over him. As he watched her body tense, then relax; as he heard her screams change tenor; he landed a few more blows, then lowered his whip hand and stepped closer to her, his free hand going to the back of her neck, pushing her face more firmly against the post.

“Good girl, Vi. Good girl.”

 

[Miss_Vivi]

“Good girl, Vi. Good girl.”

He had stopped with the flogger, and her back was so sore, but she stretched within her pain, whimpering as he came near her. She breathed him in, that scent of his, the pleasure in his voice as he touched her. The timbre of his voice betraying his lust, as well. It fairly dripped down her spine, making her shiver even though he was near, and quite warm.

It was her turn then, time for her onslaught, and while he had sought to bring her to her knees with pain, and it have very nearly worked, she would seek his lust. His need. She could feel it, and hear it in the ragged intake of his breath, feel it against her back, how his fingers tightened in the back of her hair, his movements around her.

She almost grinned, but he shifted and pressed against her back and she arched a little, pressing her chest against the post, while the pain flashed through her whole body. Vi pressed her hips outward, rolling them gently against the front of him. A soft trembling whimper, where she let free some measure of her own need.

"Please Sir.. please free me.. please..?"

Her words were small and not audible past the post most likely, but they were edged with her own pain and longing.

"Please Sir, please.. I want you so badly."

He had played with her pain causing her screams to be freed from her, now she played with his self control. Her tiny movements against him were measured, her voice dripping with need, desire, pain, and pleasure.

"Please free me Sir."

 

[LeChatNoir]

A low growl escaped the man's throat as Vi's hips moved against his groin, accompanied by her soft whimper. His hand still held her head against the post, a steady pressure on the back of her neck keeping her in place, but the position did allow her hips free motion, which she was using quite effectively.

"Please Sir, please.. I want you so badly."

"Please free me Sir."

It was tempting. Very tempting. With her freed from the post, there would be other opportunities to make use of her, opportunities he very much wanted to take. But it was too soon. She hadn't quite broken, yet.

He tossed the whip aside, noting for later where it fell, then reached down and around his captive to fully tug the dress off of her body. The soft material puddled around her feet, leaving her clad in bustier and boyshorts, the curves of her body only enhanced by the clinging lace.

Straightening from his task, he bent his head to hers, his voice sounding low and quiet in her ear as he pressed his body against her back, trapping her writhing hips between him and the unyielding wood. "Not yet, little toy. You don't get free of the post that easily. You come here, a guest to my home, you tease and taunt. Now, you get to hang there, and you get to beg. Beg like a good little slut."

 

[Miss_Vivi]

"Not yet, little toy. You don't get free of the post that easily. You come here, a guest to my home, you tease and taunt. Now, you get to hang there, and you get to beg. Beg like a good little slut."

She was warming to this game. To his game. Leur petit jeu.

Hands gripped the warm wood and she pushed her hips up and against him. The cool early evening air caressing her skin, just as sweetly as his breath against her cheek and shoulder.

"Take what's yours Sir."

She wiggled beneath him. Whimpered softly.

"Come on Sir, claim it."

She spread her legs slightly more and licked her lips, her breathing just a little labored, at the pain from him laying against her, against the soreness of her back, she might have gasped. It didn't stop her hips from grinding.

"I know you want it Sir, I can feel you."

A small grin, a small sigh. That he was slowly driving her insane and he would have his way, was not in doubt. But until that point she would push back. And hard. Word choice made all the difference.

"Please sir...."

Well, she gave a little.

 

[LeChatNoir]

He did want her. He wanted to take his pleasure on her body, to make her scream, to make her cry his name, to make her beg with abject abandon for the things her body craved, but her mind shouted against. She thought she knew his game? Fine. Then let her play it.

Strong hips ground right back against hers, giving as good as he got. Certainly there was some stiffening in his groin, but he was a man, not a plaster saint.

“You think to control me with your body, Vi. You think that you can roll your hips and grind your very pretty ass against me and that I’ll give in and fuck you without you begging for it.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong. I may want it, I may want it as badly as you do. But I’m master of myself, most of all.”

He reached out, arms on both sides of her head, and grabbed hold of the post. With a grunt, he drew his body to it, crushing her against the wood. “You want me to take what’s mine? Then tell me that it’s mine, Vi. Say it. Your back wants you to say it. Your ass wants you to say it.”

“Your cunt wants you to say it.”

 

[Miss_Vivi]

Every man has his breaking point. His place where there is no more pushing. She had tiptoed, jumped over and danced along that line since she had walked in the door.

She had screamed for him.
She had begged him.
Whimpered.
Cajoled.

It was time for him to either take or let her go. They had both been pushed to their limit and this dance was coming to an end. They would sink into the bliss or walk away still circling each other, wondering what the other would bring to their world.

Vi was a tease. A brat. A demanding partner that would push and stand toe to toe with any person who deemed themselves dominant. Prove it, she'd whisper with a dance and smile. Catch me. Make me submit to you. Show me that you're worth my time and my submission. She was crushed against the wood of the post, and his hardness and she still wanted to wiggle and dance. But the edge in his voice warned her. Gave her pause.

She wanted to scream at him to take her, to just use what he wanted. But he wanted something else from her. A piece that she so rarely, if ever gave, that she hated giving. Made her vulnerable, she hated that feeling, perhaps she reveled in the dance between almost giving and not giving and then falling in three steps. But it was her choice.

She could stand here and squirm while little whimpering noises dotted the night with her voice. She could fight back, push back, laugh at him, little titters that could crush some men, dare him to take with a smile on his face.

Vi's submission was unlike her bravado. The quiet descent into what she was sure was surely madness did not come with her usual fit, her usual verve, but on quiet words, that barely made it past her lips, but she knew he caught anyway.

"I'm yours."

It was all that needed saying when the sun finally set and the quiet of the night rushed in around them.