"Some people choose to see the ugliness in this world. The disarray. I choose to see the beauty."
--Dolores Abernathy, on Westworld.
Friday night we made plans to see our friends at a party a few hours from home. It was a long day for my Master, but so worth it.
My Dolores costume was done, and Master's Man in Black outfit was all put together for this was a Halloween theme party. He was so panty-droppingly handsome in his black jeans, shirt, hat, and vest! He decided it would be better not to have even a replica gun at the party, but he did have a large sword tucked in his belt.
I wanted to lick him. I would have to wait.
A horror movie of some kind is playing on the main screen in the dungeon. We start in a small quiet room off to the side on our own near the entrance, just the four of us. It is a dark, intimate space, lit only by a glowing green lamp from the corner. A couple pieces of dungeon furniture adorn the room, including a massage table. I am standing in the doorway when Travis steps up behind me, wraps a hand around my throat and squeezes. I focus my mental energy on remaining still, being limp and accepting, on not fighting back. Because (I don't know if this is "of course" or if it is just me) my first impulse is to resist, to fight, to escape. I know I am about to lose my air. He's squeezing harder. I'm probably going to collapse, possibly be unconscious for a second.
Or maybe not.
He lets go. I smile. I'm so excited, so turned on, so ready for all of it; I feel ready for anything. He's got me by the throat again, squeezing again, and this time my legs do buckle. I think he's saying some sexy things to me, but I don't know what they are, it is all over-shadowed by that one hand, life condensed down to one hand and my throat. Then he's propping me up, keeping me from falling until I regain the strength in my legs. Hurting me with his hands, kissing, then biting me, he next leads me to a table in a corner of the room. I start to whimper and he thinks I am laughing.
"Are you laughing at me?" he accuses me.
I protest that I am not, but his appeals to the front desk guy just in the other room on the necessity of making rules about slaves not laughing at Doms and ruining their scenes with disrespectful mirth is beginning to make me actually giggle despite myself. The laughing doesn't last long. Travis bites down hard on the back of my neck, not letting up, but getting harder and harder. I feel an instinctive terror setting in and my accepting acquiescence turns to a need to get away from the pain. I began to struggle. As I struggle, Travis says in my ear, "Your Master said I could do anything I wanted with you. So why are you trying to get away? You're not going anywhere." He holds my chin and slaps my cheek several times.
I attempt to wrap my mind around holding still but I don't know how successful I really am. I feel wetness soaking through my panties with each bite to my neck. It goes through them entirely and then down my leg and even into my boot. I am still wearing the floor length skirts of the costume. Feeling the trickle into my boot makes me sob slightly for some reason. Perhaps the shame at being such a wanton slut.
He bends me over the massage table just in front of us and begins lifting my long Victorian-style skirt and under-skirt. It's double layered for volume and warmth. When my bottom is exposed he spanks me a few times and then tells me to go see if I can help out my Master with his wife.
I look around. I hadn't paid any attention to what they'd been doing, but now I see that Wolfmoon, Travis' slave and wife, is lying on the floor with her leather corset, short skirt, and some sexy high heeled black boots. My Master is lying on top of her, fully dressed in a black suit, with a sword in his hand. Wolfmoon and I share a fondness/weakness for sharp, pointy things. I kneel down on the floor to see what I could do to her. She has the most beautiful hands, I notice, not for the first time.