Part 1

Bodies clad in garments of every description writhed over the dance floor, a mindless lust-fueled monster that devoured all who approached. The girl, in contrast, wore white, as did every other free submissive on the premises. Each of them had willingly put their safety into the hands of the club security, who monitored their whereabouts and companions.

Free submissives always ran the danger of falling in with the wrong people, and the white garments were a way of keeping them safe. They stood out among the riotous crowd like angels, easily spotted on the security monitors, and each submissive wore a locating anklet. If a submissive wished to accompany strangers, they were required to inform security before heading to one of the many private rooms behind the main hall.

To some it seemed an extreme measure, but to Carla, owner and Mistress of Underworld, it was a necessary precaution.

Carla sat in her office above the dance floor, her eyes fixed on monitors before her. She was breathtakingly beautiful, her body that of an athlete or dancer. At six feet even without heels, her body turned heads wherever she went, and she used it to her advantage.

Beyond the world of BDSM, Carla Scarletti was well-known as a corporate ice queen, a stock market player who only ever seemed to back the winning odds. She had been a self-made billionaire by the age of 30. Her cool blue eyes and platinum blonde hair eased many into believing that she was easily taken advantage of. All of them regretted it. Her tongue could cut the air with a whip crack of confidence and contempt for the men who saw her only as the tits and ass.

If only they could see me now, she thought to herself. I’d own them. Her pale skin shimmered slightly under the flickering lights, enhanced by body make-up, and her figure was bound into a sleek black gown, her back bare and her legs crossed languidly. Black stiletto heels encased each elegant foot, fine ribbons lacing up her calves to tie behind her knees. Her eyes were lined dark, and seemed to glow from within.

“Damien...” she said softly.  From the shadows, a hulking shape appeared silently, massive arms folded over a bare chest. Clad in only black leather pants and boots, Damien was both her husband and the first submissive she had ever collared. They had many more now, all male, all of whom Damien topped easily. He switched for them, but he would always submit to Her.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Who is that?” Carla indicated the young woman on the monitor before her. She was dressed in the white silks of a free submissive, and sat curled on the oversized lounge in the corner of the club reserved for them. Her eyes were fixed on the drink in her lap, or so it seemed. Strappy sandals sat loosely on the floor at her feet, which were tucked under the skirts of her dress, and her hair tumbled loosely around her shoulders.

Damien leaned forward, resting his hand on the back of Carla’s chair, studying the monitor. “I do not recognise her, Mistress. She might be new.”

Carla frowned slightly, and Damien leaned over, rubbing gently at the lines on her forehead. “Don’t be frowning now, Mistress.” He was the only one who could get away with doing that to her. She bit his finger gently, moving his hand away and rising gracefully to her feet. Folding her arms over her stomach, she leaned against the window, looking down at the orgy-like scene below.

“Bring her up.”

i wonder... is it fair to be expected to be able to play Domme when you're a sub?

A Fantasy...

The large room was airy and open, a warm summer breeze heavy with the scent of incense and the sound of the ocean. The stars were clear in their midnight embrace, adding gentle twilight to the otherwise dark area.

A large semi-circle of people sat in the dimly candlelit room, heavy carved wooden armchairs filled with men and women, dressed in all different styles, leather and latex, satin and silk. Each of them had a slave, submissive or pet curled at their feet, collared and leashed, chained to the side of their Owner's chair. The conversation was animated, though not overly loud, each person quietly confident in themselves.

He stood just behind the edge of the arched doorway, dark eyes observant as he silently watched this little gathering of visitors to his home.

Slowly, gentle drumbeats began, and a small lithe figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by flickering lamplight. Dark hair fell in soft curls to a shapely behind, her curves only accentuated by her small waist and graceful movements. Swathed in black silk, glimmers of silvery chain caught the light, flickering on her skin like jewels.

Stepping forward in to the semi-circle, she began to move slowly in time to the music, carefully removing one of the silk scarves tied loosely around her form, using the fabric to accent her motions as she swayed and spun in time to the music. A slow smile curved the lips of her Master, a slightly sardonic expression overshadowed by his pride in her training.

The music began to speed up, bit by bit, the drumming becoming more intense, accompanied by a sitar. One by one, the silk veils slipped from her body, revealing a well-toned form, creamy pale skin, and silver chains. Large blue eyes glanced up briefly, enticing glances under dark lashes.

Her dancing grew more frantic, passionate as her movements matching the music. The avid watchers never noticed as her Master stepped into the doorway, moving deliberately towards the semi-circle.

Suddenly, the room went quiet. The music cut itself off sharply, as did her dance. In a fluid movement, she dropped to her knees, now garbed only in the most delicate of silver chains around her body, her head pressed to the floor at his feet. He allowed a small smile to touch his face, and she lifted her head, sitting back onto her knees and nuzzling his outstretched fingers gently. Her expression was a mixture of shy and joyful, for he was her whole world.

He turned his gaze to the watching audience. "Welcome..."

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