Sistine Smiles
Pt. 1
The disc hit track 8, their song, and Robert wept. The previous tracks were all hard, heavy, and loud, but their song was slow, melodic and haunting. It always brought him back to their junior year of college, when they had first hooked up after a long night of heavy metal and heavy drinking. The chorus reached out and crushed him with each line, but the memories it conjured of their 7 years together were the cruelest. He cried uncontrollably, and as the song faded out, he pressed REPEAT on the remote and let it smother him again.
Six floors up, in the penthouse apartment of Aaron Fisher, his beloved wife was being bound, beaten, abused and fucked by a complete stranger. And, apparently, she was enjoying every minute of it. Robert took another long pull from the whisky bottle in front of him and played the last few hours over again in his head.
---
"You want me to ride down to the lobby with you?" he asked as she came down the hall rolling her bag in front of her. Her heels clicked on the tile, and made her ass wiggle under the high-cut skirt of her business suit. The black jacket was very conservative, but the short skirt, and the black stocking-clad legs that descended from beneath it, were anything but.
"That's OK. I'll be back on Sunday night," Allison said, leaning over to kiss him goodbye. He returned her kiss, gently squeezing her left breast as he did. She moaned for a second, then slapped his hand away. "I have to go."
"When is the new office going to be set up? Seems you fly out to Dallas every other weekend these last few months."
She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then shrugged. "There's always another office that needs to be set up. These trips are going to be a regular thing. I thought you were OK with that."
It seemed to Robert that she was getting defensive, so he changed his tone. "I just miss you, is all."
She blew him a kiss, then was gone. Robert took his cell phone and sent her a text message, "Hurry back to me, Wife. XOXOXO," to read in the elevator. He pressed SEND, and a moment later he heard her phone beep from the kitchen table. She had forgotten her cell phone.
Robert quickly snatched up her phone and his keys, then ran down the hall in his bare feet to the elevator. He turned the corner just in time to see the doors slide shut on his wife. As he tried to calculate how quickly he could descend 14 flights of stairs, he noticed the counter above the elevator was going up. Perfect. He pressed the down button and waited for the car's return trip.
The elevator stopped on 20, then dropped again. When the doors opened in front of him, the car was empty. He stepped in automatically, second guessing the glimpse of Allison he had seen from the hallway a moment ago. Could he be mistaken? Did she take the other car down, and the person he glimpsed was someone else, going up to 20? He stepped into the empty lobby still puzzled, and after a quick scan of the sidewalk outside, he began to feel suspicious.
He rode back up to 14, but when the car stopped on his floor, he hesitated. Still clutching her cell phone, he rode up to 20 to poke around.
The twentieth floor was completely dominated by 2 penthouse apartments with rents that Robert could not imagine ever being able to afford. As he stepped into the small lobby that separated the two, he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn't right. He needed to talk to Allison, and she didn't have her phone. It wasn't the first time he had been overcome with a sense of dread. He was, perhaps, overly protective of his wife. When he could not reach her, he would get nervous, imagining something terrible had happened to her. Of course, eventually she would call with a perfectly reasonable explanation, and Robert would feel foolish for worrying.
Then again, she didn't have her cell phone with her, which defeated the purpose of wireless phones in the first place.
Both penthouse apartment doors were made of a dark, solid-looking wood, with shiny brass hardware and massive dead-bolts. Feeling foolish, Robert rang the doorbell on his left, 2001, still unsure what he would say when the resident opened the door. The chimes echoed faintly behind the thick door, but even after a full minute, no one answered. Robert was relieved, and almost slunk back to the elevator and his own apartment. But then Allison's phone beeped in his hand again, still announcing his unanswered text message, and before he could talk himself out of it, he rang 2002.
Again, he could hear a faint chime behind the door, but also the shuffling of people inside. He swallowed hard, clutched his wife's phone, and prepared to make an ass of himself.
The door was opened by a tall, scowling man with a shaved head and goatee. He was dressed in a black, button-down silk shirt, of which all the tiny silver buttons were undone. Across his chest lay a silver pendant on a chain. His eyes were dark, and his expression was one of someone displeased with the interruption. He looked Robert up and down, then said smugly, "Can I help you?"
Robert cleared his throat. The man before him reminded him of Anton LaVey, or at least someone trying (perhaps, too hard) to be menacing. He seemed a little old to be playing Goth. But his eyes did hold a look of genuine annoyance, so Robert mumbled, "Sorry to bother you...HEY!"
In the dim light of the room beyond, Robert saw Allison's bag lying on the floor. It was unmistakably the bag she had left home with only a few minutes before. He recognized the small loop of purple ribbon she had attached to the handle to distinguish it from other identical bags on the baggage carousal. Robert pushed by the tall man, shouting Allison's name.
The room was bigger than their entire apartment 6 floors below. A huge marble fireplace dominated the far wall, and the flickering flames were reflected in the rich shine of the dark, polished wood floor. The wall to the right was made entirely of glass, and ornate French doors opened to a massive balcony, and a spectacular view of the dark city beyond. Robert ignored this grandeur; his eyes fixed on his wife's suitcase. As he got closer, he noticed her conservative, black jacket and sexy skirt were folded neatly atop the bag, as well as her blouse, panties, bra and heels. Robert's anxiety became panic, then anger as he turned back towards the tall man who had closed the door behind him and was coming down the hall. Robert's fist clenched. His vision turned red and he shouted, "What the hell is going on?!"
But before he could lunge at the man, Robert heard Allison's voice call his name from behind He turned...
Allison stood at the top of the wrought-iron circular staircase that spiraled down from a high landing. Robert's panic cooled upon seeing her safe, but his confusion was fueled by the bizarre costume she was wearing. She carefully descended the stairs on her tip-toes, forced by the enormous heels of the skin-tight, thigh-length leather boots she wore. Her arms were encased in equally tight gloves, from fingertips to shoulders. Her already stunning figure was gripped by a corset that shrunk her tiny waist even further. The gloves and corset were made of highly polished latex rubber, and the reflected light of the fireplace danced across her luscious body. Her exposed, milky breasts were lifted by the corset, and a silver chain twinkled between small clamps attached to each nipple.
Robert's head spun as he watched his wife circle down from the landing. The tight corset and high heels made her ass (bare but for a wide leather strip down the center which covered her most secret places) roll and sway. He was amazed by her balance and grace as she walked on those impossible heels as if she were barefoot. As she approached him, he noticed the thick leather collar around her slim neck, the leather straps around each wrist and ankle, and the silver rings and tiny padlocks attached to collar and cuffs. The padlocks triggered an understanding in Robert's subconscious, yet his emotions were in such disarray he simply did not recognize it. But he did notice his growing erection.
Allison reached the bottom of the stairs and stood with her arms at her sides, looking sadly at her husband. He returned her gaze with an astonished stare, his mouth hanging open and his eyes unblinking. The strange man, the penthouse apartment, the annoying beep of Allison's cell phone in his hand; all melted away and only she remained, glistening and burning into his vision. Finally, he swallowed hard and said, "You are so beautiful." Allison blushed.
Robert moved towards her, but was stopped by the voice of the other man. "Mr. Dunne," said the stranger, reaching out in a futile attempt to shake Robert's hand. "I am glad to finally meet you, despite these circumstances. My name is Aaron Fisher. Please have a seat and I assure you everything will be explained." His unacknowledged handshake became a wave towards a luxurious leather sofa.
Allison still stood at the foot of the stairs, hands at her sides, as if at attention. But Robert caught her quick glimpse towards the sofa, and a barely perceptible nod. He conceded to her unspoken wishes, unclenched his fist and sat down. A glass was placed in his hand. "Brandy," said Fisher, the "host" of this bizarre casual meeting. "Drink it down, then have another. I'm sure you are very confused. I am sorry for this uncomfortable confrontation, but perhaps we can move forward from here."
Robert took the second glass, still staring at his gorgeous wife. The shock of her sublime outfit was fading, replaced by a feverish lust. Robert has grown up a metalhead, and had been with plenty of slutty metal chicks with their hairspray, leather skirts and fishnet stockings. But Allison, with her waspish, latex-clutched waist, pinched nipples and those amazing boots, looked anything but slutty. She was dignified, graceful, stunning and proud. But where had she gotten that outfit? And why didn't she ever wear it for him?
He turned towards Fisher, in whose apartment he had found his wife dressed like a Gothic wet-dream. The man stood behind him, pouring himself a brandy, and Robert noticed the silver charm around his neck was actually a keyring with many small keys attached. Robert was certainly no prude, and he had been around the Internet enough to make the connection to the padlocks his wife wore, but the explanation he was envisioning was simply too bizarre to be believed.
After downing his second brandy, Robert took a deep breath, looked back towards Allison said, "Wife, please tell me what is going on here?"
"Please address me, Mr. Dunne," Fisher said.
"All right, motherfucker," Robert growled. "What the FUCK is going on around here? Why is MY wife prancing around half-naked in your apartment? Why is she locked into that crazy outfit, and why are you holding the keys?" Allison's phone beeped again, and Robert slammed it down on the huge, mahogany coffee table in front of him. It beeped no more. "Aw, shit. I'm sorry, baby. Your phone...you forgot your phone..."
Fisher sighed. "Lavender," he said to Allison in a forceful tone, "please tell our guest to address me, and not you."
"Yes, Master," said Allison. "Robert, honey, please speak only to Master Fisher. He will tell you the truth. Please believe him. I am in no danger. I am here willingly. Listen to what Master Fisher says. For me."
Robert was shocked. Master Fisher? Of course, his subconscious had already put this puzzle together, but hearing it from the mouth of his beloved wife was a crushing blow. Surely she was drugged, or brainwashed; coerced in some fashion. He had to rescue her.
"Yes, Mr. Dunne," said Fisher, "you do know what is going on here. Your wife is a submissive, and I am her Dom." The realization crushed Robert like the proverbial ton of bricks. His stomach churned and quaked as if it was being turned inside out. His limbs were numb, and the brandy glass tumbled from his fumbling fingers. Fisher pulled another bottle from the cupboard and filled a shot glass. He carefully closed Robert's fingers around it. "Something a little stiffer, perhaps," he said. "Whiskey. Take a moment."
Robert drank two more shots, then waved off a fourth. His head buzzed with alcohol and revelations. Fisher grabbed his own brandy and sat down. Robert turned to him and asked, "How long?"
"We met over the Internet nearly two years ago," Fisher explained. "Like many subs, Lavender was in a serious relationship with someone who was unable, or unwilling, to fulfill her needs." Fisher saw agitation growing in Robert's eyes and quickly clarified, "It is no failing on your part, I assure you. Many loving husbands cannot imagine treating the one they love with what they perceive to be cruelty. However, denying them the one thing they truly desire can be even more cruel, don't you think?"
Robert listened intently, trying his best to understand these strange circumstances. Fisher continued. "Your wife is a beautiful, powerful, strong woman. She has many responsibilities, and makes many important decisions. She is under a lot of stress, and this is one way to alleviate that stress. By completely surrendering to another, she is absolved of all responsibility and consequence, if only for a few hours or days. Allison Dunne is shed at the front door , and Lavender enters. I assure you, sir, she has never been coerced. She comes of her own free will, and is welcome to leave at any time."
He turned towards Allison and asked, "Do you want to leave, Lavender? Shall we cancel our plans for the weekend?"
A tear crept down Allison's soft cheek as she looked at her husband. Finally, she looked down to the floor and answered, "No, Master. I do not wish to leave."
Robert doubled over in pain as his insides churned. Bile burned the back of his throat as he struggled to keep from vomiting. Pressure built in his sinuses until he felt his head would explode. Tears squeezed from squinting eyes as he felt his world come down around him. He had lost her to this monster. How could he face another day?
Fisher stood again. With a silent command, he released Allison from her servitude, if only for a short while. Despite the attire, Lavender was submerged, and Robert's wife returned. She delicately floated across the floor on her toes, heels clicking, and wrapped her shiny black arms around her husband. Robert sobbed on her shoulder. His cries echoed through the cavernous room. Allison rocked him slowly in her arms, brushing his hair and quietly shushing him.
Eventually, Robert looked up into his wife's shining green eyes. She smiled at him, and kissed his forehead, but his despair was becoming anger again. He shifted his weight away from her, and scanned the room with blurry vision for Fisher.
"He went upstairs so we can talk," Allison explained.
"Talk about what?" Robert snapped. He grabbed the whiskey bottle from the table and chugged it, relishing the familiar burn in his belly. "Haven't I always been good to you? Haven't we had a great life together?"
"Yes, of course," she pleaded. "All this doesn't change that. You are my husband and I love you. I love the life we have built together. But this is a part of who I am. You must understand that."
"Then why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you give me the chance to share this with you?"
At this, Allison moved away from him. She pulled her legs up underneath her, and crossed her arms over her naked breasts. "It's not like I didn't try. We dabbled a little bit, but it always seemed like too much of a hassle for you."
Robert paused, and remembered a few times when she had initiated something kinky in the bedroom. When they first moved in together, he had come home several times and found her tied, spread-eagle, to the bed with clothesline. And while he had not declined the invitation, he had released her soon afterwards, rubbing her raw wrists and ankles. Other times, she had asked him to spank her, but after a few taps on her luscious ass, he had felt foolish, and taken her in more traditional ways. He had assumed such instances were nothing but playful fun to alleviate bedroom boredom, and afterwards, he had always tried to be even more attentive to her needs; making sure she had orgasms a plenty before he finished himself. In that respect, sometimes he felt their lovemaking was a chore.
"Besides," she continued, "you are too sweet. You couldn't do to me what I really want. You were always protective of me, putting my needs before your own. And I love you for that." She leaned towards him, touched his knee, and stared deeply at him, hoping he would understand her sincerity. "But sometimes, I just need to be used and abused. Sometimes I want a man to NOT take my pleasure into account, and just treat me like an object. Like Master said, just give up control and let someone else do what they want with me."
"And he does that for you?" She nodded. The chain between her swollen nipples swayed with the motion. "What kind of stuff does he do? Does he tie you up and spank you?" She nodded again, and Robert felt sick and turned away. After a long pause, he faced her again and asked what he needed to know, but could not face, "Does he fuck you?"
She nodded again, blushed, then hung her head in shame. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never meant to hurt you."
"How could this not hurt me?" Robert asked quietly, as his rage smoldered ever hotter. "What you mean to say is you never meant to get caught." Allison shivered with her own tears, and Robert's anger overrode his protective instinct. He chugged more whiskey and let it fan the flames of his fury.
"I wanted to tell you so many times. I wanted you to love this part of me, too. Don't you think I look beautiful?"
Robert denied himself another glance at her. His anger engulfed even his lust. "You could've at least divorced me before you started playing town whore."
Allison was shocked. "I don't want to divorce you," she said. "I love you."
"So, you want it both ways? You want to come up here and play your games and get fucked by that bastard, then come home to your loving, caring husband? I'm the one who is constantly thinking about you...worrying about whether you're safe and happy. Worried about you getting into a car wreck or kidnapped or killed in a terrorist bombing. I CARE about you. That prick up there doesn't love you. He doesn't care about you. You're just an object to him; he said as much himself. If you're gone, he'll find another tramp to get his rocks off with."
They were both crying now. Tears and sobs and curses. Allison's heavy eye make-up streamed down her pale face. The outfit she wore made her tears more pathetic. Fisher dressed her up like an object, and that image clashed harshly with the raw emotion she was showing now. But within that emotion, Robert saw the woman he married. Beneath the leather, latex and padlocks, Allison was still there. He took another sip of whiskey and tried to calm down.
"Let's go home, Allison," he said, reaching out his hand to stroke her wet cheek. Her latex-clad fingers wrapped around his hand, and Robert again noticed how enticing they were, shiny and black against his own skin. Perhaps they could find a compromise. Perhaps he could find a way to give her what she needed.
But Allison still cried. "I can't go home now," she said quietly. "I need to stay here until Sunday, or Master will release me permanently. I'm not ready for that yet."
Robert stood up. "Fuck him," he roared. "You are my wife. I am your husband. That relationship supersedes this little playtime drama you've got going on here. Come home with me."
"I will be home on Sunday. Please, can't we talk about it then?"
"I am through talking, Wife. Come home now and be my wife, or stay here and be a worthless slave for that dipshit up there."
Allison closed her eyes and whispered, "I can't. Not yet."
Robert hurled the whiskey bottle at the floor, and its shattering was the sound of all he had known and loved going straight to hell. He stormed out of the penthouse, never looking back.
---
"Take my hand/You'll never find another quite like mine
And if you look/You'll see that I'm a lonely one
I lost my soul deep inside
Oh, and it's so...black and cold...deep inside"
Track 8 repeated for the millionth time. Robert's tears had dried, but his head and heart ached. He considered going to bed, but he knew he could not face that empty bed alone. Now that he knew where Allison had gone on all those weekend trips to Dallas. And probably other times; when he used to worked the swing shift each month, or when he crashed early and she stayed up late "watching movies." What an idiot I've been, he thought to himself. I've lost her...
No, not yet. Not without a fight. He was not going to simply let that motherfucker take his wife away from him. He would have to learn all he could about her particular needs. If he could satisfy those needs, then she would have no reason to see Fisher anymore. He would win her back, and beat that bastard at his own game.
Despair and rage became determination and drive. Robert stumbled out of his chair, turned off the CD player, and plopped down in front of his computer.
---
Robert swayed unsteadily outside the door to Fisher's penthouse and leaned forcefully into the doorbell. He could hear the chimes repeating from within, and he hoped it annoyed the bastard.
He had slept little after his overnight education via Internet. Robert had surfed into the morning, reading stories and message boards, viewing pictures and equipment for sale (he could not believe the prices for even the most basic items). Even psychological theses on submissive compulsion. Despite 8 hours in front of his monitor, Robert realized he had only scratched the surface of this bizarre, alternate lifestyle he was suddenly thrust into. But he had time to learn, and he had a valuable resource living six floors above him.
The stories, confessions and pictures he had found online had fueled his anxious imagination to flash point. He had to see what went on in Fisher's apartment. He had to see what the prick did to his beautiful wife with his own eyes, and hear her say she enjoyed it. He was determined to sit in on one of their sessions. He just prayed he had the stomach for it.
The door was opened by another man, not Fisher. This man was a behemoth, 7 feet tall and nearly as wide. He wore a tight black tee shirt which revealed rippling muscles beneath, leather jeans, and a full face leather hood with a padlocked collar. The hood was not as severe as some Robert had seen online. It had large holes for eyes and mouth, and the eyes that looked out from behind this hood were huge and frightening.
But Robert was beyond intimidation. "Where's Fisher?" he snapped.
"Busy," answered the giant.
"I want to see him." Robert tried to push past the man, but a hand the size of a frying pan pressed down on his shoulder, keeping him in the hall. Robert noticed leather cuffs locked to this man's wrists.
"Goddam it!" Robert growled. "Tell him Robert Dunne is here." The giant just stared indifferently. Robert looked up into his indifferent eyes and said, "I am Lavender’s husband."
The dull eyes opened wide in surprise, and the man stepped aside and allowed Robert to enter. The man motioned Robert to the same leather sofa, then quickly ascended the spiral stairs. Robert stood. In the grey, afternoon light, he noticed little details about the great room. All the artwork consisted of framed, black and white photos of women in bondage; all very tasteful, yet seductive. A huge home-theater screen hung opposite the glass wall. Robert examined the setup, and noticed the speakers were mounted in the walls all around the room. Past the now cold fireplace, Robert saw another screen and more speakers mounted in a large, bright kitchen, and he presumed every room in the apartment was wired for sight and sound from this central console.
Always the technophile, Robert couldn't help feeling envious. He picked up the huge remote. It had no buttons, just a smooth, back-lit touchscreen. After taking a moment to examine the symbols, Robert turned on what he thought was the enormous TV. The screen came to life, and Robert nearly dropped the massive remote at the sight of a gorgeous woman dressed in a red latex corset and boots. She was doubled over a black upholstered sawhorse, wrists bound to ankles, ass pointing skyward. Her face was hidden by a matching latex hood with, seemingly, no holes at all. From off-camera, a black flash of leather lashed her exposed bottom, making her writhe, but her screams were muffled by the hood. Robert watched, mesmerized, as the bound woman wriggled and squirmed in obvious pain and subtle pleasure from each whack of the whip.
A man appeared, his back to the camera, his hand clutching an enormous, black rubber cock. He slowly shoved it into her dripping cunt, relishing her spasms. He wiggled it a little, then backed away, commanding her to not let it drop. It was obviously Fisher's voice. Her muscles clenched around the now slippery dildo, but it stayed put, even when the whipping commenced. Her cheeks glowed as red as her costume; each blow of the whip left a new burning welt, but still the dildo remained tightly in her pussy. Robert was impressed.
"Look at that picture," he heard Fisher say from behind him. The man was coming down the stairs, dressed only in silk pajama bottoms and a matching, open robe. He sipped coffee from a black mug which said "World's Greatest Master" on the side. "And the Surround Sound." He waved his hand around the room. "If you sit on the sofa, you can hear the whip whiz by your ears from behind, then hear the smack in front of you."
Robert turned the TV off and dropped the remote on the coffee table. "Is that Allison?" he asked.
"No," answered Fisher immediately. "That disc is not Lavender." He pointed to a shelf beneath the TV, lined with colored jewel cases. "There are others of her, though. Would you like to see?"
Robert tried desperately to keep his cool. He had thought he was ready for this confrontation, but now he wasn't so sure. The thought of seeing his wife in such a position was sickening, frightening, yet somehow, strangely alluring.
Fisher sat on the sofa, and motioned for Robert to do the same. Robert stood, just for the simple pleasure of not doing what Fisher wanted. "Would you like some coffee, Mr. Dunne? I expect you slept little."
Robert had to admit the bastard was perceptive. He nodded, and suddenly the huge, hooded man was beside him with a tray of coffee, cream and sugar. Robert lightened his cup, then conceded and sat. The coffee was rich and delicious, and Robert began to feel more alert.
"What can I do for you?" Fisher asked.
Robert relaxed, and slowly recited the words he had been formulating all night while he surfed the seedy back-alleys of the World Wide Web. "Last night was very difficult for me, Mr. Fisher. You must understand that I am very protective of my wife, and the realization of what she truly desires was very hard to come to." Robert saw Fisher nodding. He knew the fucker would like that line. "I appreciate your helping her to discover what she truly needs. But now, I want to learn, too. I am her husband, and I am not going to turn my back on her. So, I want you to help me understand her desires, and I hope that I will, eventually, be able to take over as her new Master."
Fisher smiled a condescending smile. "I applauded your willingness to understand, Mr. Dunne. But I must caution you; this is not an avenue to explore lightly. Lavender is an experienced sub, and her desires require a firm, understanding, experienced Master. I don't think you are capable of being that Dom."
"Then teach me," Robert pleaded, stroking Fisher's ego. "I am really stuck here, Fisher. What can I do? I love her, and I want to be with her, but I can't allow this arrangement to go on forever. I can't have her most intimate desires fulfilled by another man. Help me get her back."
Fisher shook his head. "Mr. Dunne, if you are asking what I think you are asking, then I am sorry I must decline. Your reaction to that video, to the possibility that that woman was your wife, made it obvious that you are not a Dom. Your over-protective nature would make such an arrangement simply impossible; and likely very dangerous for me."
Robert enjoyed Fisher's acknowledgement of the threat he represented, but he was prepared for this refusal. "Then restrain me," he said, staring intently at the man he hated so much. "Tie me up, or cuff me or something. Whatever you feel is necessary. I have to see, Mr. Fisher. My imagination has been driving me crazy all fucking night. I need to know what goes on up there."
Fisher was astonished at the proposal; Robert could see that. The Dom stroked his goatee in contemplation. This was an interesting predicament, but Dunne's willingness to submit for the sake of his wife was intriguing. Finally, he agreed. "All right, Mr. Dunne. If you are willing to be restrained, to my specifications, then you may observe a scene with Lavender. But, I warn you, you are not going to like what you see. I hope you have considered that."
"Oh, I have. But the devil you know..."
"...is better than the devil you don't," Fisher finished. He called for his butler, "Brock, please escort Mr. Dunne to the Red Room and strap him into the chair; securely, but comfortably." Fisher rose. "I will collect Lavender and join you shortly." He hurried up the stairs.
Brock placed his heavy hand on Robert's shoulder, and after Fisher disappeared down an upstairs hall, the ogre directed Robert to the stairs. He pushed him towards one of several closed doors off the second floor landing, and Robert held his breath. Here we go, he thought.
The bright red walls and floor contrasted sharply with the black furniture and other accessories that littered the Red Room. Eye hooks and pulleys hung from the ceiling, black upholstered furniture of bizarre design cluttered the floor, and all manner of whips, paddles, ropes, cuffs and straps hung from hooks and littered shelves. Robert recognized the padded sawhorse from the video he had seen downstairs, as well as a low table, heavy wooden stocks, and some kind of modified weight-lifting bench. He also noticed small video cameras mounted near the ceiling on 2 walls, plus two more on tripods in a corner. The chair Fisher had mentioned was against the far wall; rich dark wood, with a generously padded seat and high back. Fleece-lined leather cuffs hung from the arm rests and front legs, and buckled leather straps fell from various points up the back.
Robert sat himself down without protest and allowed Brock to cuff his ankles and wrists. Then, the huge man began drawing the various straps across Robert's body; above and below each knee and elbow, across his waist, chest and shoulders. Neither straps nor cuffs were locked in any way, but none allowed Robert enough movement to work any one restraint free. Finally, Brock selected a simple ball gag from the wall, and fastened the single strap around Robert's head. Robert had hoped Fisher would not think of gagging him, but he was not surprised by it. The gag was too tight to force out of his mouth, but much more comfortable than it could have been. He tried to thank the butler for that, but the man did not even acknowledge his muffled grunt before leaving the Red Room, shutting the door behind him.
Sitting alone, unable to move more than his neck and head, Robert settled into the surprisingly comfortable chair. And while he was still fully dressed, the smell of leather and the taste of rubber were having a unique effect on him. He tried to stay focused on his purpose here, but the stirring in his pants was very distracting. Perhaps he was getting a glimpse of elusive understanding. The implications of the various devices he saw all around him were very stimulating. He began to imagine himself using them on Allison.
The sound of jingling metal from the hallway brought him out of his daydream. Fisher poked his head into the room, saw Robert adequately restrained, then swung the door wide. He pulled the leather leash in his hand, and Allison (or is it Lavender, Robert thought to himself) was revealed in another stunning entrance. Shiny black latex gloves and stocking enveloped her long limbs, and her sumptuous body was encased in a tight, complicated harness of riveted leather straps and gleaming chrome rings. Her dark hair, tied behind her in a simple ponytail, shined faintly blue in the muted light. Her wrists, ankles and throat still bore the thick leather cuffs and collar, and the simple leather leash stretched from her neck to her Master's hand.
Robert's attention was immediately drawn to Allison's bare pussy. She had previously kept a closely trimmed strip of pubic hair, but it was now shaved completely clean; just a smooth expanse of milky flesh tapering down to a small, moist cleft. It was an exhilarating shock to see, and Robert silently approved.
When she saw Robert bound to the chair, Allison's eyes bulged in confusion, and she let out a barely audible squeak of surprise. Fisher smiled and said, "I forgot to tell you, Lavender. You will be performing for a very special audience today. How do you feel about that?"
Allison obviously did not know how she felt about it. Robert tried his best to smile around the ball gag. He nodded his head, trying to tell her that it was OK. "I don't know, Master," she answered finally, still looking deeply into her husband's eyes.
"You have been the cause of much hardship this weekend, Lavender," continued Fisher. "You forgot your cellular phone, and created this terrible mess of a confrontation that has affected both Robert and myself quite deeply. I was far too lenient on you last night, but don't expect that kind of mercy now."
A switch was flicked inside of Robert, and his rage was full-on. He growled into the gag, and tried to wrench himself up from the chair. His sudden explosion made both Allison and Fisher jump back. It only took a second for Robert to realize that escape was impossible, so he calmed himself, still glaring at the bastard who was controlling his wife. The momentary look of fear on Fisher's face was satisfaction enough, for now.
"Look at the pain you have caused our guest, Lavender. For that, the pain you will experience now will be doubled." Allison hung her head in shame, but her eyes looked up at Robert, and he saw that she was actually smiling. He tried to mouth her a kiss, or some kind of intelligible word around the gag, but he ended up winking at her, and when she winked back, his heart leaped. Tears of joy seeped from his wide eyes, and he knew now that he had not lost her. He was well on his way to getting her back.
From the center of the ceiling, Fisher pulled down a long, horizontal bar attached to a thick cable. Allison instinctively raised her hands over her head and grabbed it. The rings of her cuffs were attached to loops at the ends of the bar with doublesnaps. More doublesnaps clicked, and her ankles were attached to short links of chain anchored to the hardwood floor. Fisher flipped a switch on the wall, and a motor hidden in the ceiling slowly took up the slack in the cable, lifting Allison off the floor until she was stretched out, in mid-air, facing Robert. All the while, she stared at her husband, smiling and licking her lips. Robert's hard-on grew painful in his pants.
A tangle of leather straps was placed over Allison's head and buckled into place. A leather-wrapped metal ring was forced behind her teeth, then filled with a removable leather nub that snapped securely to the head harness. Fisher's nimble fingers tweaked each of her nipples through the strategically placed rings of her body harness, then attached a clamp to each. Allison shuddered as her nipples were squeezed by the cold metal clamps, but even with the complicated gag wrapped around her face, Robert could tell she was still smiling.
Finally, Fisher selected a small rubber plug from its place on a shelf. He slid it into Allison's dripping pussy until it glistened with her juices, then he shoved it carefully into her spasming anus. Allison's eyes rolled back into her head as the butt plug found its way home. Then Fisher attached a small bulb and began to inflate the tiny plug. She moaned into the gag with each pump as it filled every nook and cranny of her rectum. After 6 pumps, Fisher dropped the bulb and left it to dangle between her legs.
He knelt down beside Robert. "Isn't she magnificent?" he asked, and Robert emphatically agreed. "You can't take your eyes off of her, can you," Fisher continued, not waiting for the impossible answer. "She is the submissive, yet look how she dominates this room. That is the power of the submissive, Mr. Dunne. I cannot resist the urgency of her command to be dominated. She is restrained, yet I am at her mercy. Lavender is truly the most spectacular sub I have ever known. Completely bound and gagged, she commands me." And Robert gained a little more understanding, looking into his wife's defiant eyes. She was not pathetic. She did not need rescuing. She demanded to be whipped, and no man could possibly deny her wishes.
Fisher chose a heavy leather cat-o-nine tails and began to whip Lavender’s back and bottom with long, violent strokes. Lavender shook and screamed with each impact, but she also seemed to be thrusting her back towards Fisher in anticipation of the next lash. Robert suspected that the web-like harness she wore might serve to deaden the impact of the whip, but Fisher was swinging as hard as he could, and the sound was deafening in the small, windowless room. The rhythm of the whipping became hypnotic as Robert watched his wife sway before him. She winced with each stroke, but here eyes stayed focused on her husband, and he could plainly see she was enjoying the beating.
Fisher rested, removing his robe and sipping water from a plastic bottle. He knelt beside Robert again, speaking in-between labored breaths. "She used to orgasm from the beatings," he explained. "The strictest bondage, the most brutal whippings; they were an aphrodisiac to her. It took nearly a year to teach her not to come without being instructed. Quite a challenge."
Robert's fury smoldered in a controlled burn. He didn't let her get off? Son of a bitch!
Fisher pulled the chain between Lavender’s nipples and clipped it to her collar with another handy doublesnap. This added tension on her nipples, and also cleared the chain from the path of the whip as Fisher began to lash at her front. The tails fell against her breasts, stomach, thighs and crotch, leaving burning-red welts interspersed between the straps of the tight, web-like harness. Fisher attacked her cunt specifically, swinging upwards between her spread legs, allowing the whips to sting her swollen lips with tremendous force. Lavender writhed with each stroke, but she gave no signs of anything other than complete and utter bliss.
Fisher rested again, leaning against the sawhorse and chugging bottled water. Both he and Lavender glistened with sweat, and the smell of her arousal filled the room. While her eyes were partially closed, Robert could see her looking at him, and smiling around the gag. They shared a silent moment, bound and gagged, oblivious to all but each other's eyes.
With the flick of the switch, Fisher lowered Lavender until her feet touched the floor. She swayed and leaned, unable to hold herself up, and Robert struggled against his bonds to catch her. But Fisher was there, unhooking her wrists and ankles, then lowering her gently to the floor. "Very impressive," he told Lavender, "You have made me very proud." He glanced at Robert and added, "I think you've made both of us very proud." He looked around the room for a second, thinking, then began to gather items for his next scenario.
"Kneel in front of Robert," he command Lavender. "Now, open his pants and free his manhood." Lavender complied, and Robert spasmed in delight. The smoothness of her latex fingers on his engorged cock was incredible, and she stroked it gently a few times before Fisher fastened her wrists behind her back. Her ankles were also secured together and Fisher slipped a modest vibrator into her gushing cunt, securing it within the loops of her harness. He then detached the small, leather dildo from within the ring gag, and Lavender immediately engulfed Robert's dick in her forced-open mouth. The ring was a tight fit around his erection, but she slid her mouth all the way down to the base, until his cockhead touched the back of her throat. The pressure of the ring caused Robert's erection to grow ever larger, until it seemed he was trapped inside Lavender’s mouth.
Fisher chuckled to himself. Reaching between the couple, he locked a short length of chain to the front of Lavender’s collar with a beefy, silver padlock. Pulling her head down, he fed the chain beneath Robert's seat and used another padlock to secure it to a massive eyebolt positioned there. The result was that there was not enough slack in the chain for Lavender to lift her head off of Robert's cock. He would be getting a perpetual blowjob until Fisher released them. Robert was amazed at the man's ingenuity. He truly was a master at his chosen craft.
Fisher pumped the bulb to Lavender’s butt plug two more times, causing her to moan loudly around Robert's cock. The vibrations in her throat made him buck and jerk, but the restraints held him fast. The sensation of being sucked off while completely immobile was indescribable. While her lips were useless, Lavender’s tongue swirled around Robert's member, with soft, light licks and strong, forceful strokes. She also continued to moan, and her throat muscles contracted around his cockhead.
Fisher, still chuckling, left the room. Lavender’s eyes strained upward to look her at her husband, questioningly. Robert returned her gaze with his own, hoping he could convey how much he loved her with only his eyes. His entire universe became focused on the sight of her leather-wrapped face, and the sensations of her mouth around him. Her tongue moved frantically, her moans became louder and the vibrations stronger, but the pressure of the ring at the base of his cock kept Robert from coming. His dick became a hot, wet point of fire in her throat, pulsing and quivering with false ejaculation.
Robert tried to shift his weight. He tried to reach out and caress his wife's burning red shoulders, or stroke her long, dark hair. His inability to do anything, especially come, was maddening. Lavender continued to suck, never breaking eye contact with Robert. Her tongue was getting numb, and her throat rubbed raw, but she kept up the pace, working towards the anticipated eruption. Finally, the pressure within his loins exploded, and Robert's fiery-hot load filled her mouth. She swallowed quickly and efficiently, expertly keeping pace with the flow of his ejaculation. Robert shook violently in his restraints until the last drop of his crippling orgasm was drained from his deflating cock. When it was soft, Lavender tilted her head to the side and let it slide out of her mouth. She lay her head in his lap, purring softly.
Robert was spent. Physically and emotionally exhausted from the spectacle he had witnessed, then participated in. His emotions were still a scattered mess of confusion, but one point emerged from the tumult. He LIKED this. The restraints, the bizarre costumes, the uncanny equipment; the entire, all-encompassing lifestyle he had been thrust into; he was completely enamored by it all, and he couldn't wait to share more of it with his strong, stunning, absolutely incredible wife.
Eventually, Brock came and unlocked Lavender from the chain at her throat, released her ankles and gently lifted her to her feet. Lavender gave her husband one last wink, then allowed herself to be led out of the room by Fisher's manservant. Soon after, Brock returned and released the straps and cuffs that bound Robert to the chair. Robert stood slowly; he was still dizzy from the experience and his limbs were slightly stiff. He stuffed his limp penis back into his pants, and followed Brock into the hall. Brock steered him to Fisher's office, and motioned for him to sit in one of two comfortable, albeit conventional chairs which faced Fisher's massive oak desk.
Fisher had apparently showered and dressed. He reclined in an exquisite leather executive chair, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the sprawling city. Oppressive gray clouds hung heavy over the city, diffusing the afternoon light and bathing the world in cool autumn rain. The Dom spoke quietly into a tiny headset, occasionally glancing at his computer monitor. Robert strained to hear any part of the conversation, but Fisher's quiet voice did not cross the huge expanse of his desktop.
Finally, Fisher pulled off the headset, turned his chair and faced Robert. His smile was smug, but genuine; pleased with himself for the little adventure he had thought up for his unusual guest. "Did you enjoy that, Mr. Dunne?" he asked, filling two glasses with a fragrant Merlot and pushing one across the desk to Robert.
Robert's smile was nothing but goofy euphoria. "That was the most intense experience of my life," he replied. "I had no idea..." he trailed off, sipping his wine in giddy contentment. After a thoughtful pause, he said, "Thank you."
"You are very welcome," said Fisher, surprised. "I must admit that I did not expect you to be so open-minded after the way you left last night." Robert remembered the smashed whiskey bottle and blushed. "No harm done," Fisher continued. "I am just glad to see how easily you have accepted these unusual circumstances. A lesser man would have either divorced his wife, or attacked his wife's Dom. For many, a lifestyle such as this is simply unacceptable."
"I considered both," Robert confessed. "But Allison and I have been together since college, and I could not imagine my life without her."
"Yes," Fisher mumbled under his breath, seemingly to himself. For a moment, he seemed distracted, and he stared over Robert's shoulder for a second as if calculating something in his head. Robert sipped his wine, growing anxious in the awkward silence.
Draining his glass, Robert attempted conversation. "I have some questions," he said nervously. At the sound of Robert's voice, Fisher returned to himself. He motioned for Robert to continue, refilling both glasses and settling back into his commanding chair.
"How did you and Allison meet?" Robert asked, "It seems an unusual coincidence that you both live in this building."
Fisher was nodding. "Yes, but easy to explain. I met Allison online, surfing local BDSM chatrooms. Our relationship began online, which was a new experience for both of us. But even early on, I recognized Allison as a true submissive, and after a few weeks of cyber-domination, I arranged a meeting.
"I was actually living in another building several blocks east of here. Lavender would come whenever she could. I know you were working swing shifts every three weeks until your recent promotion, so that was an ideal time for her to spend with me. After your schedule changed, Lavender invented these business trips in order to accommodate her growing need for longer, more intense sessions. I regret her having to lie to you, Mr. Dunne. It was always our intention to reveal this arrangement to you at some point."
Anger and embarrassment began to rise in Robert's mind, but he struggled to suppress it. "But the building?" he asked again.
"Yes, of course. The simple explanation is that Lavender told me of this penthouse becoming available during one of our meetings. After nearly 18 months as her Dom, I realized that she was the most incredible sub I would ever meet, and I moved here to have her closer to me. Again, I apologize for the pain this conversation must be causing you. But you must understand that I am speaking of Lavender, the submissive, not your wife."
"I am still having trouble making that distinction," Robert said, becoming annoyed. Fisher's apologies were hollow and insincere. His polite demeanor barely concealed a real contempt for the husband of his favorite slave, who had just ruined his precious arrangement.
"That distinction lies at the heart of this matter," Fisher continued. “Your love for your wife is commendable, Mr. Dunne, but I am concerned that it will not be enough. Lavender is an essential part of your wife, and you simply must appreciate that. I applaud your willingness to accept who she is, but I am not convinced you really understand what is involved. She is an experienced sub who demands to be dominated by an equally experienced master. Filling that role in her life will be a long, arduous process for you; one that may never be accomplished. I wonder if you will really find it to be worth the effort."
Once again, Robert tried to cool the flames of rage that threatened to engulf him. "I can assure you that I will find it worth the effort, Mr. Fisher," he hissed. "I would certainly appreciate any input on your part, but I will do without if need be. But, make no mistake, I am taking my wife, and Lavender will be going with her."
The two men stared at each other across the monstrous desk as the storm intensified outside. Robert was disappointed that he had shown his hand and stated his intentions, but he was through playing.
After an eternity of endless moments, Fisher smiled and subtlety bowed his head in gracious defeat. “Very well, Mr. Dunne,” he said. “I can see that you have made up your mind on this subject, and I know better than to stand between a man and what is rightfully his. I offer whatever humble services I might provide, but I will, reluctantly, end my relationship with your wife.”
Robert felt the emotion swell within him. It was his all-consuming love for Allison, yes, but there was something more. The thrill of victory, perhaps; the satisfaction of having beaten the pompous, self-righteous, brandy-swilling ass that had tried to take Allison away from him. It was the most exhilarating experience of the day, but he struggled to keep the emotion from showing. Only a faintly smug smile betrayed his joy. He said, “Thank you,” without sincerity.
But Fisher wasn’t finished yet. “I wonder, Mr. Dunne, if you would indulge me one last request.” Robert’s satisfaction became suspicion. “Would you allow me one last night with Lavender? I had specifically counted on her services at a small get-together I am hosting this evening.”
“What kind of services?” Robert asked warily.
“Much more domestic than you might imagine,” Fisher explained. “It is my turn to host a monthly meeting of an organization I am a member of. I need Lavender to play hostess; mixing and serving drinks mostly. Such duties will require her full mobility, although I will admit to you that she will be dressed, and accessorized, appropriately.”
“I don’t think so, Fisher,” Robert replied. “It’s bad enough you’ve been fucking her for 2 years. I don’t want your whole little coven having a go at my wife.”
“Of course,” Fisher agreed, “but there is no need for concern. Aside from the fact that our monthly meetings are usually mired in mundane discussions of philosophy and politics, another member will be responsible for providing any entertainment of that particular nature. And even then, the other members are merely spectators. You need not worry about anything like that.
“However, I will concede to your wishes. If you feel it necessary to remove Lavender without delay, I will have her dressed in her street clothes within minutes. And I will still offer advice, instruction, or whatever else you might desire of me, Mr. Dunne. The next move is yours.”
Robert was still suspicious, but he was suddenly torn. He appreciated the strength of the emotional bonds Lavender (Allison?) and Fisher shared. Also, his morbid curiosity about this bizarre lifestyle he had stumbled into was growing exponentially, and he knew Fisher was his key to learning more about it. If he had any chance of truly satisfying his wife’s particular needs, he was going to need Fisher as a resource.
“Whatever she wants,” he said, finally. “Let Allison decide.”
Fisher shook his head. “Don’t you understand that we cannot do that, Mr. Dunne? Absolution from all responsibility is the allure of true submission. Lavender cannot be allowed to make decisions for herself. She does not WANT to be allowed to make decisions for herself. That is why she comes to me. If you are ever going to fulfill her desires, you must understand this.”
It made complete sense, and Robert felt foolish. “I sympathize with your plight, Mr. Dunne,” Fisher continued, “but you must realize that what Lavender truly wants is complete surrender. She will do whatever she is told to do, and she will derive her greatest pleasure from the complete lack of control she has over her situation. The best way to please her is to not try to please her. She is a slave; formerly mine, now yours. YOU must make every decision for her; what she does, what she says, what she wears. Her sole purpose is to obey her Master, whatever the command.
“So, I say again, the next move is yours.”
Robert’s satisfaction became embarrassment as he saw the truth of Fisher’s scolding. He had to stop considering her feelings about the matter, and that was the hardest part. It went against everything he thought he understood about love and relationships being an equal partnership. But she had shown him what she truly wanted, and he loved her too much not to give it to her. He still had a lot to learn.
“She’s yours for the night, Fisher,” he said sheepishly. “I will come for her tomorrow morning.”
“Perhaps, later than that? Three o'clock, maybe? I expect a relatively late night tonight. Come up for a late lunch on the balcony tomorrow, and you, me and Allison can sit down and discuss what happens next.”
Robert stood up, shook Fisher’s hand, then turned and sleepwalked back to his own, empty apartment. The wine, the sex and the lack of sleep eventually took their toll on him, and he collapsed onto the sofa and slept long into the night.
---
Robert was shaken back to consciousness by a hammering on his front door. He awoke to total darkness, confused and momentarily unsure of where he was. The pounding repeated, and he yelped as he banged his shin against the coffee table in his blind, frantic dash to the front door. Grasping the knob in the darkness, he swung the door open and found the hallway empty.
Even the dimmed light of the corridor made Robert squint as he peered towards the elevator, just barely making out the form of an enormous man in black turning the corner. It was obviously Fisher’s masked butler, but he was gone before Robert could call out to him.
Irrational panic suddenly seized Robert as he stood, frozen, in his apartment’s threshold. Had something happened to Allison? What possible reason could Fisher have for sending Brock to bang on his door in the middle of the night? Why didn’t he just call? Robert turned back to his apartment to grab his keys before riding up to 20. it was then that he noticed an unlabeled DVD-R on the floor of his apartment, obviously slipped under the door. He had stepped right over it in the dark. Confused, he entered his apartment and loaded the disc into his DVD player.
His modest TV sprang to life. Hastily edited plain white text scrolled across a black background:
"Mr. Dunne,
Please watch this entire video. It will be difficult for you.
Master Fisher has lied to you. He has no intention of returning your wife to you. He has made plans to take Lavender and leave the country. By 3:00 tomorrow, both he and your wife will be beyond your reach.
It pains me to go against Master's wishes, but he has gone mad. He has broken the trust that is the foundation of the Dom/Sub relationship he claims to value."
The black screen faded to an overhead scene of Fisher's Red Room, obviously shot from one of the high-mounted cameras. Lavender was bent over the padded sawhorse, clad in a skin-tight purple latex catsuit and familiar leather head harness. Her arms were forced into a glossy leather armbinder, pulled taut above her by the hidden pulley in the ceiling. A naked man was taking her from behind, while another forced his swollen dick into her mouth. Each pumped furiously, the man behind her severely swatting her raised ass; the sound of each smack amplified by the latex. Lavender's body shuttered with the force of their pounding as she stood there, helplessly being violated. Suddenly, the man in front of her pulled his pulsing dick out of Lavender's mouth and it erupted all over her gorgeous, leather-wrapped face. He smeared his load across her cheek with his softening member, then walked off screen while another hard-on took his place within Lavender's gaping mouth. Several other naked men could be seen milling around the room, waiting for their turn.
Again, searing rage and lurid arousal battled within Robert's psyche, the rage barely winning out. He should've known Fisher could not be trusted. He should've seen that the bastard would never give up his most prized submissive. He felt so foolish, trusting that pompous toad. Robert knew now that the next time he saw Fisher, Robert would kill him.
Another jarring cut, and the scene changed. Fisher and an older woman sat in a small parlour, sipping brandy. The woman look stunning, dressed in a black leather catsuit and thigh-high boots. She had a commanding presence, and even Fisher seemed subservient to her. Obviously, Fisher's apartment-wide A/V setup inclu
Topic: Sistine Smiles by Hail2fire (Read 20960 times)
