The Dapper Dom

Sometimes, the best kind of public humiliation is when you don't know, one way or another, whether or not other people are in on it. Whether or not they are even aware of it. Without being sure, you're stuck with the uncertainty and all the things your mind can fill in. For me, at least, that's sometimes the worst part.

But then, I sometimes think I have a dirtier mind than is normal.

On the other hand, considering the fact that this request marks the 60th person to make one... maybe not.

The Dapper Dom

            I almost didn’t recognize him. He stood tall, the stripes of his suit lengthening his frame, every thread in perfect place, every inch of him elegant and dapper. The vest hugged his frame, somehow making his arms bulge out without the slightest strain to the suit itself. The tie drew the eye, but not in a distracting way. He smiled with dazzling teeth, his hands were perfectly groomed, and he held a glass of wine in each hand.

           “Darling,” he said, stepping closer and handing me one of the glasses. “You look positively ravishing tonight.” I did not miss the emphasis. He looked me up and down with more than just appreciation. There was a hunger there, as if he was considering the best ways to get me out of this dress, whether it would be better to rip it off, to cut the strings on my corset, or to take it off slowly, teasing me with the anticipation of what would come. His eyes lingered at my feet, at the top of the skirts, at the frame of my corset, then again at my shoulders and my neck. I tried my best to look half as gorgeous as he did.

           He gave me a wolf’s grin. “Absolutely stunning,” he said. “I adore the dress, the shoes, and the makeup. It’ll be a shame.”

           “A shame?” I asked, taking a sip of my wine.

           He nodded and took me by the arm, leading me over to a table where we could put down our glasses. “Oh yes,” he said. “In a few hours, all that makeup will be ruined. Your mascara will run with tears, your lipstick smudged on my cock.” He shook his head. “A shame.”

           I looked around to see if anyone had heard him. It didn’t seem like anyone had. But then again, it didn’t seem like he much cared if they had. I took a long gulp of wine before he took the glass from me and set them both down on the table. He started drawing me to the dance floor, into a waltz that seemed both wonderfully formal and oddly out of place. It was like dancing in a dream.

           “I will have to take the dress off, of course.” He spoke as if he was discussing the weather. “It wouldn’t do to rip it with a careless lash of a flogger, or with you struggling against the rope as I tie you up like the little slut you are.” He smiled over my shoulder and nodded at someone, as if to say hello.

           I couldn’t find my voice. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t done yet.

           “Those heels look delicious on you, by the way. Not terribly comfortable, but that doesn’t much matter, does it? Let your feet be uncomfortable now. In just a short while, I’ll be poking at them with bamboo skewers, dragging the points along the soft flesh of your sole, swatting at them when the urge comes upon me.” He swung me around the floor, his voice never dropping to the whisper I expected, but never rising to the shout I feared. He kept it even, level, and seemed to be more concentrated on the dance, and on looking good, than he did on whether or not people could hear him.

           “I’ll have to have the dress off to really get good access,” he said, as if he was coming to a simple enough decision. “I have restraints to let me hang you by wrists without doing any damage. So I can hang you just a little off the floor, with your feet pressed down on the sharp points of the bamboo skewers. Don’t worry; there are so many of them that even your full weight won’t press them deep enough to pierce your skin. It’ll just feel like a couple hundred needles jabbing at your feet every time you shift your weight, every time you move.”

           He dipped me, gave me a quick peck on the lips, then pulled me up again and gave me that same dapper smile from before. His eyes burned with a combination of lust and something else, something that chilled me to the bone even while it lit me on fire in… other places.

           “So if you stay still, you’ll be fine,” he said. “All you have to do is not move. Not even a flinch. So when I spank you, hanging there, you just have to hold still. Try not to focus on how red your ass is getting. Try not to think about what I might do to it once it’s all raw and sore.” He gave me a dazzling display of teeth again, as comforting as when a timber wolf does the same thing. “And do try not to jump when I swat you on the other side instead. When I spank your bald pussy, do try to hold still. Wouldn’t want those bamboo skewers to move. Wouldn’t want to let the blood flow too much in your feet. That would be painful, I’m sure.”

           The song ended, but he didn’t let me go. Another song began, and while I was a bit heady, even a little dizzy, he wasn’t ready to stop. He wasn’t ready to let me off so easily.

           “I wonder if that would be enough to get your mascara to run,” he said. “Or would it take more pain to make you cry? I do so love it when you cry, my good girl.” He reached forward and ran a hand around the outline of my face, like he was pushing hair out of the way. But my hair was so firmly placed in its elegant style that there was nothing to move. He smiled anyway. “Your tears are sweet to me. Wonderful little gifts. How shall I earn my presents?”

           He bit his lip as if he was thinking, then smiled over my shoulder again, greeting someone. We spun, and I saw that it was just some random person, probably a friend of his from work or something. They weren’t paying attention to what he was saying. No one was, at least not in any obvious way.

           Still, his voice never faltered or dropped even a single decibel. “I could put a candle in your hands,” he said. “Let you hold it as it burns, as the wax drips down onto your arms, on your shoulders. Maybe a drop will make it all the way down to your legs or even your feet. Not exactly reliable way to get pain to your nipples though. Still, I thought of that. I took a few things from the office today. Ever wonder what butterfly clamps will feel like as they squeeze your nipples? The bigger ones aren’t as tight as the smaller ones, so we may have to work our way down, closer and closer, pinching those nipples tighter and tighter. As hard as you can handle. The best part is that the pressure will be constant. It’ll never let up, never change. Of course, if you move, they might flop around a bit. I suppose that would make them more painful.”

           He spun me again, and I could feel the blood flushing against my skin. “So again, all you have to do is not move. You just have to hold still as the hot wax drips onto your body.  As I spank your clit and paddle your ass. You just have to hold still as the little bamboo spears jab up into your skin. Make sure you don’t move when I whip you. Even the slightest tremor will probably be very painful.” He took a deep breath, let it out in a wistful sigh. “Do you think that will be enough?” he asked. “Will that make you weep at the agony? At the cruelty of the world, the horror of the man you invite into your bed? Will the shackles on your wrists be enough? Maybe we should add something to your legs. A nice silk strip tied ever so gently around your ankles.”

           He pulled me in close, his mouth by my ears, so close that I’d be able to hear even the barest whisper.

           Only he didn’t whisper. He kept speaking in that same conversational tone and at that same conversational volume. “Something soft and gentle, to remind you that the world is more than just your pain, that there is pleasure out there. Lots of wondrous pleasure, of finer things and of better times. To remind you that there is pleasure out there. Remind you it’s there, and that you aren’t feeling any of it. That all you get, all you deserve, is the pain.”

           He pushed me back out to arm’s length, his upper body stiffening as the music turned to a tango. “I don’t know if I’ll draw any blood,” he said. “I’ll certainly try not to. But if you bleed, I promise I’ll clean it up. After we let it slide down your skin, after we let your marvel at the sensation of your own blood slipping down. I doubt it’ll be the only bodily fluid you’ll find dripping down your legs.” He smiles again, his teeth pressed firmly together, his eyes wild and dangerous. “But we’ll try to avoid the blood. I don’t want you injured. I just want you to hurt. To suffer. For me.”

           He pressed his cheek to mine as we stalked down the dance floor, then dipped me in a roll and pulled me back up to a stiff hold. “It’s the tears I want,” he said. His voice might have risen a little, but that was just to overcome the music. We were very close to the band, who might very well have heard every word. “Not the screams. I don’t like it when you scream.” His eyes twinkled. “Not in pain, anyway.” He laughed at his own joke and took me away from the band. “Maybe a gag is in order. A ball gag, perhaps? Something that leaves your jaw open, that forces you to remember that your little mouth is best used for sucking. Let you drool a little bit, to smear that make up for me just a bit more. Something that keeps you uncomfortable. Maybe the gag will be enough to help you tune out the pain in your feet. Or the pain in your nipples.”

           He pulled me close again. “No,” he said, “I don’t think it will. But it will teach your mouth to stay open. Open and ready for me. When I’m done, when I’ve collected my tears from your battered and beaten body, you’ll be ready for me. Your mouth will be open, and you’ll be begging for my cock. Begging to show your appreciation for your torture. Begging to reward me for all the pain I’ve put you through.

           “You’ll be so happy, won’t you, my good little girl? You’ll be so excited, so turned on, that just the act of putting your throat around my cock will be enough to push you over the edge. Maybe we’ll cum together. Because you’ll be so turned on by what a dirty little pain slut you are, what agony I’ve put you through, that you’ll already be on the edge. Won’t you?”

           The music ended, and we stood on the dance floor. He was staring at me with a carnivore’s smile, with one perfect eyebrow raised.

           I cleared my throat and somehow found my voice. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, you’re right. I will.”

           “Because you want all that, don’t you?”

           “I do,” I said. “Sir.”

           He reached out a hand and gently guided me back off the floor. “That’s my good girl,” he said.