Fantasia
Rhythm intro in four-four time
“Okay, boys and girls,” The producer said over the studio intercom; “We got that one down cold. It could be your next hit, Tracy. It’s a big rocker!”
“That’s the only way we do it, man,” Tracy said in satisfaction, as he laid his guitar aside. He pulled the headphones off and headed out of the cluttered soundroom, skirting the drum rack set up inconveniently in front of the door.
“Wanna start laying down tracks for ‘Fire and Water’ now.” Tony beckoned to the rhythm section, and they went into a huddle. Voices were raised almost immediately, while four strong-willed musicians endeavored to pull the concept in their own preferred direction.
Tracy sank down onto the sofa in the engineer’s booth with a sigh and watched through the glass as the musicians escalated their argument. He shook his head in amusement. Everyone got an opinion, all the time.
But his moment of quiet was lost all too soon.
“No, man!” he whined, seeing Jerry walk in with his arms full of stationary boxes.
“Sorry, but it has to be done,” Jerry handed him a pen. “”We need one hundred by Friday.”
“Can’t we hire someone to do this?” Tracy broke open a box, lifted a stack of glossy photos onto his lap. “I got better things to do with my fingers, Jerry!”
“Dear boy,” Jerry said sternly; “We have hired someone. We have most printed with your siggy, darling. But sometimes, only the real thing will do. Please try to keep them legible.”
“Ah, fuck.” Tracy began moving the pen, mechanically, over photo after photo.
“Your girlfriend is on the phone, Tracy.” Rourke, the sound engineer held the receiver out to him.
“Yo,” he said into it. “Aw, hey Stella. Yeah, we are kickin it out smooth, I swear. Sweet day, baby, it’s going real sweet.”
“When do you think you’ll be finished today?” Stella asked. “We have an invite for this evening, a dinner party. Can you get out around seven? I know that’s early, but it’ll be so worth it.”
“Uh. What’s up?” Tracy felt that now-familiar wrench at his bowels. He could feel a grin spreading itself over his features.
“Let’s just say, boy,” Stella purred; “That we gonna make some dreams come true.”
“Oh… Well, I don’t know for sure, but I’ll get home as close to seven as I can. Will that be okay, Mistress?”
“Close as you can,” Stella said and hung up.
Tracy emitted a sharp bark of laughter, that made Rourke glance over at him. Well, damn. He felt heat crawl up his back. In the soundroom, the first rough notes were coalescing into a funk riff. He went to stand behind the engineer at the mixing board.
And the wrench in his gut tugged at him as he drove back through the North Hollywood traffic, across the hills into Silverlake. He punched up the tape he’d brought with him from the studio, let the Big Funk carry him along. But he turned it off as he swung into the hillside streets, wanting to get himself into the mood he knew he’d need for this evening.
First Chorus
Stella heard his car stop at the foot of the hill. The sun, now falling westward, gilded his already golden skin, the color of old oak. His blue-black nappy hair was pulled, rippling back over his scalp, into a neat little ponytail. His black leather dustcoat swung around him as he trudged up the long flight of steps to the front door. From the window, she watched him climb, and felt her heart turn over with love and avarice.- Mine, mine- the familiar litany sang in her mind. -Sweet Mother, you gave him to me- She forced herself to wait for his knock before she opened the door to him.
Tracy cut his grin off as the door swung open for him. It wasn’t so hard to look solemn, really. The erotic ache she roused in him was akin to panic. Stella, clad in jeans and a tank top, gestured him in. He dropped to kiss her bare feet and sat back on his heels looking up at her. She had his collar in her hands. The touch of her hand in his hair was sheer bliss, and the click of the lock.
“I want your consent for tonight, Tracy. It’s a public scene.”
“As you wish, Mistress,” he said and he meant it.
“Well, we’re going to Monica’s. She’s having a party, and then a private dinner afterwards. We know most of the people at the dinner, but I don’t know about everyone at the party- and it isn’t a play party.” She grinned down at him. “She says everyone is discrete, you know- or else they won’t even recognize you.”
“What!” Tracy affected outrage. Stella laughed at him. “I thought you’d like that, Mr Big Star! But I was wondering how you felt about Monica seeing you as a bottom.”
“Mistress,” Tracy said, “I don’t care. No- I would be happy to let her see you top me. I’d love it.” He thought; -Icing on the cake-
“Well, help me get dressed.” She led the way to the bedroom. “Hey,” she stopped and turned toward him “I love you…”
“Oh, Honey,” he wrapped her into his arms, gleefully. “I love you so much.”
She had her clothing laid out on the bed. He slid the white stockings up her legs, clipped them to the virginal white corset, raising an eyebrow at the choice. The marshmallow whiteness made her creamy skin look dark, but his hand on her thigh was darker still. Zipped up the black velvet dress for her, smoothing the tight skirt over her hips. Red high-heeled pumps; he deposited a kiss on each instep as he slipped them on her feet. She hadn’t told him to change clothing. -hmmn.-
He picked up the red velvet trick bag, and followed her out the door, steadied her arm down all those steps. If he’d had his way, he’d follow behind, watch her butt swing. Like Betty Boop. He bit his lip to quell the laugh.
Stella drove, as she usually did when they were together, and as always he relished the way she cowboyed the old white jeep through the traffic. Another house, in another part of the hills. One of Monica’s submissive girls opened the door for them, arms covered in flour, and led them through the small crowd to the kitchen- which, as befitted a caterer, was the largest room. Wonderful smells wafted through the house.
“Hellooo..” Monica sang out. “Hi, my darlings!” She handed her icing gun to the girl, and ran up to kiss the air around Stella’s face. “Hello, pet.” Her greeting to submissives, every time.
Tracy remembered when he’d been alone with a need he barely understood. Thank the fates for women like Monica, women like his beloved Nicolette, a woman like Stella. In his submissive state, he found it pure pleasure to drop to touch his lips to Monica’s feet.
“You want to take my room, darling?” Monica asked Stella. “We’re just finishing up in here, the girl will show you where.”
Full Verse
“In here, Mistress.” the girl said, opening a door for them.
“I’m putting you on display, baby,” Stella said. “Take your clothes off, now. You’re going on a platform, during the party, and I’ll put your hood on, so nobody much will see your face, and you can wear your strap.“
“Yes, Mistress.” Tracy peeled his jeans off, pulled his shirt over his head, and knelt while Stella clipped his leash to his collar.
“You can talk to anyone who talks to you first,” she went on. “Watch your smart mouth, though.” Tracy opened the trick bag, laid out what was in it. His need surged unbearably at the sight of the tangle of black leather, glitter of steel, the thin, stinging rattan cane. Stella buckled cuffs of thick black elkhide over his biceps, wrists, knees, ankles. Comfort, and terror.
“Stella, I’m scared,” he whispered. “Mistress…”
“Uh-huh,” she said dryly. She held him by the hair, slid the little ball into his mouth and buckled the soft wide leather band around his head. “Scared like a fox, baby.”
Tracy shied from her touch; he was afraid he’d come, without any further stimulus. He grabbed his hands, tight behind his back. Words were denied him, now, he pled with his eyes, his cock agonizingly hard. Stella picked up the cane from the bed.
“You need to calm down,” she said, and pushed him forward over a small table that stood in the room. She clipped his wristcuffs together; he pulled his clasped hands up to the small of his back, and whined at the bite of the cane across his buttocks. Light stroke, for her. The second one was harder. His prick lost some of its blood, she was right. She hit him three agonizing more times before she was satisfied with the way he looked, and then lay him back on the bed and dealt out burning stripes over his thighs.
“You are a work of art,” she said, and he caught the shake in her voice. He smiled, behind the leather. He had her. He lay still, letting the endorphins come. She let him up, his leash jingling. Wincing at his smarting thighs, he nodded at her harness, with its sleek black silicone phallus, turned to her with the question in his eyes. “Yep, it’s going right up your ass,” she answered him. “in public, too. The scene is, I’m taking your virginity…”
-Oh. Stella.- Tracy groaned, behind the gag, his cock as hard as it had been before the cane. Heat roared through him. He hunched over, his need painful in its intensity. -Now, Mistress, can’t wait- he dropped to the floor in front of her, bowed his head. Staring down at the welts on his thighs, and his hardon. Waiting. Why should she care? Why should she put cuffs on him, when he so obviously wanted what she dealt him?
Stella gazed down at her slave, through a black filter of desire. She touched his cheek, till he lifted his face up to her. The impact of her hand on his face sounded through the quiet room. Tracy shuddered, lifted his face for more. He whined, his eyes half-lidded and trancey under her ministrations.
She wanted to bring his cock down, but it wasn’t happening- the long day in the studio would have made him hot, even without this game. Her hand on his collar pulled him up, and a judicious shove while he was still off-balance sent him hurtling backwards onto the bed. He grunted when he landed, and again when she brought her mouth down to suck him dry. His trapped hands clenching at the bedclothes. His body bucking as his orgasm hit him, a cry like a question behind the ball. His come warm and bitter in her throat.
Stella watched him as his breath slowed, and his eyes opened. She smiled lovingly. “You’re still gonna go through with this, you know,” she said, and lifted his head to unbuckle the gag.
“Yes, Mistress,” he said as soon as the ball was out of his mouth. “And I’m sorry, about that… I just… wasn’t expecting it, I guess.” His mouth looked swollen from the leather, her imprint across his cheek. He looked beatifically happy. “Stella, get this through your head,” he said to the ceiling. “I would do anything you want me to, do you understand? Absolutely anything.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “I’m going to put your hood on, now, and we’ll go out to the platform, okay? And then you can just stay still for awhile. You’re the last course, with the brandy and fruit.” Stella smoothed the soft leather over his head, and drew it over his eyes. Coming halfway down the bridge of his nose, it framed his cheekbones and made his lips into something irresistible. It turned his eye sockets into shadowed mystery. She drew the laces tight at the back, buckled his g-string at his hips, settling his cock and balls into it with all too much facility. “Up,” she said,
“Stella,” he said, standing, surrounded by darkness; “Don’t you believe me?”
“Yes, my darling boy,” she said softly; “I believe you. Even when you’re topping me, it’s because I want you to. The Goddess gave you to me, and I own you, I know.”
“Yes,” he said, satisfied, and strode forward confidently at her touch. With his eyes covered, his hearing, his senses of smell and touch, were all so much more acute. The tap of her cane against a leg was all he needed to steer by. They entered a room that sounded big, and which was inhabited by party voices; he stumbled.
“Steady,” Stella told him, and her cane directed him through the room, to a platform, about knee-high, which he climbed onto.
Chorus
Monica joined them, alight with avarice and pleasure. “Oh, you look so beautiful!” she exclaimed, and set about helping Stella find the screw-eyes set into the wood. Tracy knelt, with his knees apart, held in place by short chains clipped to the cuffs at his knees. Stella took his leash off his collar, and used it to pull his hands back, linking it to an eye behind him. Monica slid a flat cushion under his knees. “Are you warm enough?” she asked. “Look, Stella, there’s a heater under the stage- here’s how you get to it, if you need to.”
“I’m plenty warm, Ma’m,” Tracy said. “Thank you.”
“Good boy,” Stella said. “That’s how I want you to behave.” She leaned in close and whispered against his mouth; “Keep your pride, baby. Remember you are my slave, and no one else’s.”
“I’ll never forget that, Stella,” Tracy whispered back to her. Her hand on his cheek; he turned in to kiss it, and then she was gone.
Around him, the hum of voices. Hard to believe he was really doing this. He amused himself by stretching his hearing, made more acute by the blindfold. People would hush as they walked past him, but there were two women talking intimately, and very near by, didn’t they think he could hear them? Music began, and he let his body sway to the beat, shifting in the room’s currents. He heard Stella’s contralto laugh, and involuntarily turned his head toward the sound.
Stella had gone straight to the bar, when she left him. “What will you have, darling?” Monica was at her side. “Jack Daniels? in a snifter, right?”
Stella took the glass, and sipped the harsh liquid gratefully. Putting Tracy up on display was harder than she’d expected it to be. She turned to look at him, bronze, graceful, helpless and commanding at the same time. Blackness, webbed with light, filmed her vision, a sign of the Goddess. A rush of lust that physically clenched the muscles of her stomach.
“Are you okay?” Monica asked her. “Come, sit, honey.” She let herself be led to a sofa, and was glad that Monica settled beside her. “What a beautiful man,” Monica said comfortably. “Honestly, he’s much better now than when I first met him. He’d no style yet. He’s learned so much.”
Stella laughed, and saw Tracy’s face turn in her direction. “A hit record adds a lot of style to a man,” she said. “Are you sure these people won’t…”
“Oh, my dear, no!” Monica finished the thought. “And ruin the fun?”
“Tracy is having fun, that’s for sure,” Stella said. “You know his mouth. Just be ready to move fast if someone jumps at him,” and she laughed again. Monica smiled amusedly.
Bridge
“Excuse me,” a man’s voice said in the darkness. “I want to say that your latest album is a pleasure.”
“Hey, thanks, man,” Tracy said, startled; “Glad you liked it.”
“Is this a performance piece? Are you going to play, later?”
“Uh, no- sorry. No, this is just… um.. an acting exercise, like.”
“Oh, how interesting. well… Au revior.” And the shadow faded, to be replaced by a jittery, angry presence.
“What are you doing, wearing chains?” An intense hushed whisper, from a man who leaned near to speak to him.
“I’m just hanging out, man.” Tracy shrugged.
“How can you, a black man, even play at slavery?” the whisperer hissed. His breath came to Tracy’s nostrils- Tobacco, booze, and irritation.
“Black man, white man,” Tracy countered “We’re all slaves still, man, ain’t you ever noticed that? I know where my chains are, bro, how far they stretch. Do you?”
“Good answer!” The angry one was mollified suddenly. “You attempt to cast off your bondage by ritualizing it, is that right?”
Tracy leaned towards the unseen speaker, against his chains. “You got it brother,” he said. “And I get laid in ways you can only imagine, that’s a little side affect.”
There was a hiss of breath being drawn in through nostrils pinched in anger, and Tracy smiled inwardly as he felt that presence recede hastily.
“Are you hungry, dear boy?” a woman’s voice, amused and knowing.
“Yes, Madam,” he said, and the scent of Chanel No.5 came with the taste of grapes that she popped into his mouth. A piece of cheese came next.
“Thank you, madam,” he said. Her fingertips came to his lips and withdrew after he kissed them. A player. If he lost the blindfold, he’d have to see if he could identify her. The song changed, catching his attention; The Rolling Stones’ “No Expectations”. Tracy lost himself in Brian Jones’ shuddery, moaning slide guitar, dancing in place against the tugging chains.
“Um… are you comfortable?”
Tracy could feel this woman’s own discomfort, palpably. His nostrils were flooded with the perfumes she wore; patchouly, attar of rose, much too strong. He wished her away, interrupting his communion with the song as she was. “Yes Ma’m. I’m just fine,” he replied.
“Well… Um do you need anything? A back rub?”
“Oh, no Ma’m, that’s fine.” -Stella, where are you?-
“So, listen… are you, like an escort or something? I mean…“
“Oh,” Tracy said gently, “No Ma’m, I’m sorry.”
She was sorry. He felt her stay near a while longer, then wander away.
Verse
“You happy, my boy?” Stella asked him.
Tracy’s smile broke out like sunshine at her voice. “Hey, baby,” he said. “I missed you!”
Stella dipped a piece of bread into her champagne and fed it to him. “I like that,” he said. “Can I have more bread, please, Mistress?” Mostly he wanted to keep her near for a while. He could catch her scent drifting near him, comforting and exhilarating.
“Sweetheart, I’ll be back soon,” she said and left him. His image burned in her brain; the deep olive skin with its bronze overtones, set off by his blue-black hair and the black leather holding him in, holding him down. Stella felt the world spin around her. -better go somewhere and jack off, or I’ll never get through this- she turned blindly, looking for Monica’s bedroom door.
A voice at her back; “Is that your new boyfriend? I was wondering if I’d ever meet him.” Stella turned and saw, smiling down at her, a big, red haired man with a broken nose.
“Oh… Ricky,” she said, and clasped his arm. “I…”
“Stella, are you okay?” Ricky said.
“Let’s go somewhere private, please Rick. Are you here with anyone?”
His pirate smile. “No, Princess, I’m here solo.” He opened the door for her and followed her into the bedroom. She turned and threw herself into his arms.
“Ricky, help me-”
“Stella, you’re with someone!”
“No, this is- I can’t do it for him- I need to come, Ricky, please…”
“Uh.” He bent down to kiss her. Stella clung to him, whimpering. “You’re serious, I see. How do you get this dress off?”
**
Tracy heard a voice he’d spoken with before, and linked it to a perfume he’d smelled also; “Bro, hey brother!”
“Yes?” the black man who’d been so angry. He was gonna be angrier, but, Tracy told himself, that couldn’t be helped. “Bro, you with a woman? She wears patchouly and rose?”
“I believe she does, yes,” the man said stiffly.
“Don’t be pissed off, dude, just listen.” He pitched his voice quieter. “You take your woman home.”
“Why on earth should I?” The voice sounded startled.
“Cut some rope and tie her up a little. Fuck her like a nigger stud, you know?”
“What the hell-” the man caught himself and lowered his voice again.”-gives you the right-”
“Listen, I can smell her pussy from here, She’s in heat,” Tracy said. “Go get her or you’ll lose her.”
“How dare you!” the presence was gone, abruptly and with finality. Tracy bit back a grin, hearing voices at the door, making their goodbyes. The couple was leaving- to fight, or fuck?- he wondered. And here was his Mistress again.
“Baby, some of these people ain’t even real!” Tracy complained. “This one dude, he must’ve been made out of paper and ink.”
“Hush,” she replied. “Someone wants to meet you- Ricky, this is Tracy”
“How do we shake hands?” a deep voice rumbled.
“Put your hand near his face, so he can smell you.” Stella’s voice had barely a suggestion of laughter in it.
“Um?” Rick said, but did as she suggested. Tracy tensed as the warmth reached his cheek. Stella’s hand at the back of his neck. “Steady,” she said gently. Ricky had her scent on his hand, mixed with his own- the scent of sex. There were other women on him, too- well, of course, this was a party- but, he was convinced, his woman had fucked this man, and not only a few minutes ago.
“Mistress, when?” he demanded.
“Pretty soon, now,” Stella said. “People are starting to leave now, except for the ones who are staying to dinner. And you come on after that. Can you wait?”
“Yes, Stella,” he said, and felt elation eddying up within him.
“Don’t be afraid, baby,” she told him.
“Not afraid,” he muttered, from deep within a tidal wave of emotion. He hated this man, who had touched his Mistress. He wanted him, saw and felt his cock in his mouth, sucking away their mingled juices. “Mistress-”
“Hush, baby, wait for me, okay?”
“What is it, exactly, that you are going to do with him?” Ricky whispered as he escorted her into the dining room.
Stella looked back, at the figure, alone now. “Just make sure the music stays on,” she said to Monica’s sub. “He’ll be okay, as long as he can hear something- no, please, not his own records! Oh, Ricky,” she went on. “This is the toughest scene we’ve ever played…”
She sat down, to pick uneasily at her food. The figure in the other room remained still as a statue. She wanted a second Jack Daniels, for courage, but didn’t ask for it. If Tracy could put his trust in her so absolutely, she must be doing something right.
Solo for Guitar
Tracy, listening to the soft clatter of the dinnerware and muted, incomprehensible, conversation, faced his own fears. -You gotta watch what you ask for, boy. Stella doesn’t stop to bargain.- Ain’t that the truth. Sweat cooled on his arms, suddenly.
He had half a mind to claim safeword, get out of this. And all these strangers watching, too- how many? he wondered. He wished he could get a drink. If Stella trusted him enough to do something like this, he would just have to prove his worth.
-You shoot your big mouth off, you get just what you ask for- the inner voice told him. I know, I know. What a gift. I can give too, Stella, I’ll prove it to you.
Chorus
“Yes, we’re ready.” Her voice, and the click of her heels coming toward him. Tracy jerked himself out of his near trance at her approach. He heard the chains clink as she freed him, felt his leash tug at his throat.
“Can you stand, honey?” Stella asked. “Are your knees stiff?”
“I think… they’re fine.” Tracy stretched his arms, got to his feet and took a step towards her.
“Stop!” She touched his shin hastily. “You’re up on a platform, baby, remember? A half step, and you’re at the edge”
He slid his foot forward to find it, put a hand down and vaulted down lightly- blind as he was. Stella marvelled. She put her hand on his back and walked him through the spaces he’d been listening to.
“Kneel.” Stella told him. Comforted behind the blindfold, he sank at her command.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Monica’s cooing voice said; “We have a very special guest… I don’t need to say that this is a sexy show, do I? But it may be a little unusual, so be warned. Is everyone all right? Oh, how wonderful. Stella?”
“Stand and turn, sweetheart,” Stella told her slave. She smiled around at the eager faces smiling back at her. Eight in all, and some of them had seen her, in her own slave role. Ricky had never seen any play of this type, he had told her so. But he was a lascivious man, and she had no doubt that he would be highly entertained tonight. Beside her, her beautiful lover stood, seeming as relaxed as any active man could be who had been forced into inactivity for two hours.
She led him into the circle of people. Hands reached out for him, women and men alike. Monica stroked his flank, and he startled, but soon relaxed into the sensations. Tracy’s catlike smile made the women coo back at him, and he stepped forward to accept the love of the group. Stella nearly laughed aloud. Following him, she found herself to be the object of the same attentions, a sensual greeting from a close group of like-minded people, and her own nerves subsided.
Verse
She unclipped his G-String and pulled it away, releasing his half-hard cock. He lifted his blind head, turning towards her. “Mistress…” There was a half question in his voice.
“Unzip me.” She guided his hands to the zipper, stood upright while he slid her black velvet dress to the floor. He went down with it, into a kneel. His fingertips touched the heavy lace of the white corset she wore, and the audience murmured at the unexpected color.
“Ooh, Stella!” Monica laughed, and some male voice said something too soft to hear.
Tracy’s questing fingers found that her panties were gone. He turned his face up to her. The pouting lips parted in a silent question. Stella squatted down to bring her face to his. “That’s right, baby,” she whispered into his mouth. “He got in before you.”
“Ahh…” Tracy purred, and groped towards her.
“Come this way.” She led him towards a pouffe that Monica’s sub had pushed to the center, lay back on it, opening her legs for him. Tracy found his way unerringly, sliding his hands up her thighs and lay his tongue onto her clitoris. Stella was suddenly aware of the people around her, but Tracy, aided by his hood no doubt, had no such qualms. His questing fingers entered her, found their rhythm. Flicking his toungue against her clitoris, and his fingers against her g-spot, untill she came, crying out in homage to his skill. Gleaming eyes surrounded her, faces lit by avarice and sensuality. Tracy, satisfied, released her, helped her to her feet again.
“Mistress, I’m the best,” he murmured against her cheek.
“We’ll see,” she told him, and chuckled. “Buckle me in.” She had to assist him with the harness, guiding the straps between her legs and holding the weight in place while he fumbled the straps together. A tug settled the silicone dick into place, seating it against her pubic bone and clit. Tracy, unbidden, opened his mouth to engulf it. The sweat, which had been cooling off at the small of her back, prickled forth again.
She pointed to a heavy elkhide flogger, and was handed it by eager helpers, brought it thudding over his back as he sucked. She pushed him off her cock, and lay him over the pouffe for a flogging, make up to him for the long wait. He wrapped his arms about the ottoman, gripping the elaborate upholstery tightly; his spine curved, as elegant as a string of beads, under the lash. There was Ricky’s voice, talking in an undertone and Monica answering him. From what words she could hear, he seemed to be asking about the finer points of the play he was watching. Stella changed the angle of the whip, to bring it up under her lover’s buttocks, firing him, and raised her head to look at the audience. Time to bring it to a close. The lashes trailed down his back, to signal the whipping was over. Tracy sighed, released his hold, waited.
Verse, Reprise and Crescendo
“Roll over.” She guided him onto his back. He lay, docilely, deep in the pale folds of fabric, long legs trailing off to the floor. his skin mahogany in the soft light. His cheekbones, his mouth, the strength of his shoulders- all showed in some sort of closeup to her. The energy of the group pushed her forward, the silicone weight at her hips insistent.
She put her hands on his knees, pushed them up. His lips thinned, suddenly; he hadn’t been expecting that. Then, as she watched, his mouth softened, opened voluptuously, and he pulled his legs up to his chest for her. The hiss of indrawn breath sounded from the audience, and Tracy startled at it, but lay, inviting her to do as she would.
Stella rubbed lube into his rectum; “Greasing you up, baby,” she whispered.
One corner of his mouth quirked. “Take me, Stella,” he said, not whispering. He laid his legs over her shoulders. Stella watched her fingers disappear into him, one then two. She leaned in, positioning the tip of the slender black cock at his anus, leaned in, slowly, watching the flesh part, added more lube, and he groaned as the black column slid home. She came to rest against his buttocks.
“How’s that feel?” she asked.
“Oh, baby…” Tracy was incoherent. “Ooohh, baby.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No, it don’t hurt, Oh, god, Stella, I didn’t know it would feel like this.” He tossed his head against the pouffe.
“Fuck me, Mistress-” he used his legs to lever himself against her, slid them down and clasped his ankles across her back, his cock incredibly hard against her stomach. -Darkness, webbed with light- She felt her hips begin to move, in unthinking response to his need.
Tracy gasped, cried out at each thrust, grasped frantically at the upholstery, at her arms. “Is this it?” he gasped, “Oh, baby, this is where the power is…”
Tracy felt as if he understood for the first time. As if his surrender to her conquered her. Now he knew why she held him so tight, when she let him into her cunt. And he was going to come this way, on his back like a woman, heels in the air in front of strangers. Feeling the energy in flux between them, and she shifted position, driving towards the base of his spine. If anything, it felt even better. He gave voice in abandon to the soaring sensation. Seeing darkness, webbed with light, and drops of falling music.
Stella slid her hand between their bodies, to find his cock. He cried out, his high, questioning wail, jetting into her hand with an astonishing force. And again, as she pumped into him, and yet another spasm. His final cry, the answer found. Stella stopped moving, rested her forehead on his chest, panting.
“Oh, Stella…” he whispered. “Oh, Mistress.”
“How are you feeling, boy?” She slowly pulled out, such a strange feeling.
“We’ll have to do this more often,” he murmured. “I had no idea…”
Hands were at her hips. Stella looked around in surprise; Monica’s sub was unbuckling the harness, with a towel ready to receive it. Another towel, warm and wet, for her hands. She rubbed Tracy’s chest down with it as well, his pleasurable sigh.
Coda
Voices rose up around them, as the group relaxed their attention. Stella stood- to a round of applause. Grinning, Tracy slid off the ottoman, to kneel against her legs. “Take a bow, baby,” he murmured. “You did good.” Her hand came down on his head, caressing the soft leather covering. Monica’s sub brought Stella her dress, and suffered Tracy to push her aside and claim the privilege of zipping it up for himself, and Monica brought her a new glass with her sipping whiskey. Stella buckled her slave back into his posing strap.
Tracy settled himself at her feet, as the group of people got comfortable again. There was subdued talk. Monica came to Stella’s side
“Honey, I wonder if..” She began.
“Well, maybe,” Stella said blithely. “Who is it?,”
“Claire, in the green chair,” Monica said. “Her fifty-fifth birthday…”
“Tracy, what do you think?” Stella said. She knew he’d heard Monica’s question, with his sensitive ears.
“She wearing Chanel No.5?” he asked thoughtfully. ”Sure, I’ll serve her if you want me to.”
Tracy grinned. There was gonna be more.
