Chapter 30
“Please welcome to the stage, a very special guest…Miss M!” The emcee doesn’t have to try very hard to rile up the audience, and more people pile into the room by the minute to watch.
Mila slinks onto the stage and scowls at the audience, already projecting a commanding aura and making it clear that she thinks she’s better than every single one of them. And she is. In my eyes, at least. More beautiful, more deadly, more…everything. Just more.
“She’s here visiting for the evening and has graciously agreed to present with her slave.”
Well, he’s not her slave anymore, but I guess they have to explain their relationship.
“This useless waif is not my slave,” Mila growls.
It makes sense, so that people in the back of the room can hear, but it’s still a disconnect to see her dressed like a sex goddess with a pop star mic on.
“He’s here because he thinks he can give me an ounce of pleasure.
I’m not convinced, but I plan to try my best to torture him until we find out. ”
With a sharp tug on the end of the leash I now see she’s holding, Riley crawls onto the stage behind her. His head is down, and he’s naked except for a studded collar with a tag hanging in the center. Who put that collar on him? What’s on the tag?
Mila positions Riley on a leather apparatus, like a reverse massage chair almost. His ass is in the air, and his legs are spread, but his head is supported as he faces forward.
“I refuse to touch this disgusting excuse for a submissive until I’ve completed a thorough inspection.
He needs to be distracted while I examine him. Are there any volunteers?”
Men and women in the audience jump at the chance to take part, and Mila chooses an androgynous person wearing lingerie and sporting an erection.
She kneels in front of Riley and speaks too softly for the mic to pick up before he nods, and she rises.
The volunteer wastes no time plunging into Riley’s mouth and thrusting as Mila pulls on latex gloves.
By the time she’s finished with her inspection, I’m speechless.
The volunteer came in Riley’s mouth and left the stage relatively quickly, but Mila…
Mila has taken her time. An entire tube of lube was needed for her to poke and prod her way into Riley’s asshole, and the audience applauded when she deemed him “adequate.”
He must be loving it, because his dick’s been hard the entire time, but I…
“You’re doing very well, Riley. What’s your color?”
“Green, Mistress.”
Mistress? Is that what she likes? She never told me to switch it up from Ma’am, but maybe I…
“The slave is fit to be in my presence, but he was brought to me specifically for punishment. He’s been a very bad boy and displeased his Master.”
Master? Okay, maybe that’s whose name is on the collar.
Relief floods through me, but I don’t have time to question why before an X-shaped piece of furniture is wheeled onto the stage.
After Mila secures him onto it, she turns to grab something from the table to the side of the stage, catches my eye, and winks.
I swear I’ve never seen fire dance in anyone’s eyes before, and the beautiful blue I’m used to is almost eclipsed by predatory hunger. She stands tall, her posture Amazonian as always, and brandishes the whip she grabbed off the table.
“This slave is going to attempt to atone for his sins by accepting a number of lashes decided upon by himself and his Master. The design has been left open to my artistic interpretation.”
Design?
After jolting at the first crack of the whip and resulting scream from Riley, I glance around, embarrassed to have been taken off guard, but it seems I’m not the only one.
At least one person next to me flinched, and another submissive nearby got scolded for gasping when they were supposed to be silent.
If I expected any of the measured, moderate entrances into a scene that Mila usually provides, I know better now.
She’s a master with the whip, her fluidity and grace breathtaking.
Every lash blooms on Riley’s body immediately, his back, ass, and thighs all pink and then red as she finally breaks the skin.
With the first appearance of blood, she circles the cross to check in before laughing at what she finds.
“This slave is a whore. I haven’t even touched this pathetic little cock, and it’s weeping for me. All because I made you bleed. Do you think this tiny thing is enough to please me?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Is that why you let me whip you, hmm? You know deep down that’s the only way to be useful to me, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“At least you know your place. I can’t believe you aren’t locked in chastity full-time.
Your Master and I might need to chat about that.
Perhaps that would be better for everyone.
We wouldn’t have to watch this embarrassing little thing get hard, and you could focus on other tasks instead of thinking about this tiny dick. Would you like that?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She doesn’t say anything but continues with her expert whipping, and by the time she finishes, there’s enough blood I can barely make out the design, but it’s there.
It looks like a crest of some sort, made up of lashings of various depths, and I remind myself to ask her what the design was when we’re done here.
She and Riley share a loaded look, and both take their mics off before she gently helps him off the cross and presses a kiss to his forehead. The applause is deafening as they exit, and praise for both Mila’s skill and Riley’s endurance are all around me.
“She’s so lucky to have found a submissive who can take so much.”
“Everyone thinks they’re a masochist these days until they meet a real painslut. That was incredible.”
“It’s impossible to find someone who’s that good with a whip these days.”
“Nobody really enjoys the whip or the cane anymore. All my partner wants is the flogger, which is fine, but where’s the real pain, you know?”
“Hey!”
I startle for the second time this evening as Mila approaches me, much sooner than I expected.
“Uh, hi. Shouldn’t you still be with Riley?” I really hadn’t thought she’d be finished with his aftercare for at least another thirty minutes.
She rolls her eyes, leaning heavily against the wall and sipping from a water bottle. Her wrist is in a brace, and I wonder if she hurt it with the whip? That’s her dominant hand. If her carpal tunnel is acting up and her trigger finger is slow, that could be so fucking dangerous.
“His Master is with him now. He told me before that they probably wouldn’t want me back there, which is fine by me. This was a favor to him anyway, and—”
“What was the design?” It’s a testament to the energy the scene took out of Mila that she doesn’t censure me for the interruption.
“It’s their wedding crest. It’s a whole thing, but they’re getting married soon, and had a crest made with their initials. They’re building a house and putting it on everything. As soon as Riley approached me and his fiancé showed me the image, I knew it wouldn’t be too hard. Fucking wrist…”
She polishes off her water as I think about the blood she drew from Riley and the gleam in her eye just from holding the whip in her hand. It looked like she was meting out justice for a dark ruler, exacting pain to discourage anyone else from doing whatever the poor soul she was beating had done.
That’s what she does, though.
It hits me all at once that this might have been the most Mila I’ve ever seen.
Ruthless, skilled, deadly…I’m not an idiot.
Even if I did the obstacle course and the sparring mats with the guys, I know that’s not what their job is.
Their job is loyalty and enforcement, and the penalty for faltering is what I just watched on stage. Worse. For pain, not for pleasure.
I’m not scared of Mila. Never. But if that’s what she needs to truly let go, truly let off steam…
“You ready to go explore?”
Bright-blue eyes beckon me from my thoughts, and I follow.
Like I always will.