Shades Of Submission: Fifty By Fifty Part 29

When she entered, they quieted, turning to look as though they had smelled a woman. Kana held her tightly and announced, "Madam has brought a new submissive, and this is her escort. She will watch the proceedings from the back."

The men nodded and were turning back to their conversations when Kana, trying to be helpful, slid the bag off Syria's arm and tugged the jacket off.

The light lit the white halter and the sudden cooling off made her nipples tighten painfully. Syria wanted to grab the coat back, but she was stuck, and Kana was handing her things to an attendant. She didn't know which to panic more about - her camera going away or the attention her outfit had drawn.

She pulled at the hem of the skirt as the men silently appraised her, twisted in their seats. Why had she and Mia thought this was a good idea?

Kana, thankfully, made no mention of her clothing and led her to a cus.h.i.+oned chair in the corner. A boy dressed all in black came onstage, leading a metal hook on several ropes along a metal bar until it rested in the center. The men turned their attention to this, and Syria relaxed. Hopefully they would forget about her now. She crossed her arms over her chest.

A man in silky black pants and a ceremonial jacket came on stage and bowed to the audience. Music began, full of flutes and strange instruments Syria didn't recognize, flighty and light.

The girl they'd met at the door came out in a sky blue kimono, her makeup slightly altered, the white face accented with silvery blue shadow and kissed pink lips. The man took her by the hand and led her to the center of the stage, turning her in a circle for everyone to admire.

She kept her eyes downcast, demure, so small as to almost appear to be a girl, although Syria knew she had to be plenty old enough. Her glossy hair was swept up with two crossing bamboo spears.

The man came behind her and embraced her, one hand on her belly, another cupping her chin, bringing her face up to his. He smiled at her, rapt and loving, and ran his fingers along her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, and just inside the fold of the kimono.

Syria stirred and could not pull her eyes away, but became aware that his hand was loosening the girl's robe. Then he spun her, hand tight on the blue fabric, and as the little wisp whirled, she broke free of the kimono, pale and naked, turning more and more slowly across the stage.

Her body had been rouged at the thighs and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She was trimmed but not shaven, the dark hair a deep triangle below the white belly. The man tossed the kimono away and reached for the hook, pulling it lower. Only then did Syria realize he had a coil of white rope in his hand. The girl turned back to him in slow circles, and he quickly twisted the first tie, pressing her arms lightly so that she lifted them. And he caught her again, running a hand along her body, across the tiny b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and wrapped the rope around her waist, cinching it tight.

Syria's brain whirled as he whipped through the steps of creating a cinch on her waist, another above and below her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, smas.h.i.+ng them tightly between, and then one on her thigh. He attached her to the hook, letting one leg dangle, lifting the other straight up and las.h.i.+ng it into place.

Now she hung, one ankle near her ear, arms tied together over her head. He bent the free leg and tied her ankle to her thigh. Then he stepped away, observing her with admiration and something akin to love. He grasped her knee to spin her, and now the work was complete. The girl whirled, a blur of rope, breast, white skin and rosy spots, her lightly furred mound the center point of attention, open and ready.

After a moment, the man released her, pulling her down with the loving care of a parent, stroking the red whelps from the ropes as the girl curled into him.

Syria was blown away by the sheer emotion of the experience. The men in the audience were silent, appreciative. She imagined the same scene with other people, hooting and clapping. But here, only the lyrical cascade of the music filled the room in the aftermath of what felt and looked s.e.xual, but had actually had almost no contact you would normally consider to be s.e.x.

Her body throbbed in several places, and she knew she was slick. Maybe Mia would be the same way afterward and they could go home together.

Tyson had introduced her to video chat, and a whole new set of possibilities had opened up. She wished she had her phone and could show him where she was, but judging by the silent deference of the audiences, pulling out an electronic gizmo to shoot video probably wouldn't go over too well. Once more, Syria wished they had a real relations.h.i.+p and lived in the same town.

Another man came on stage, this one dressed more normally in jeans and a white turtleneck. His submissive strutted on stage, completely different from the childlike deference of the first girl.

She was deeply tan with long blond hair falling over the thin straps of a form-fitting black dress. She c.o.c.ked a hip, elbow out, and tossed her hair over one shoulder. The man laughed, chin high, then rubbed the stubble on his jaw as if trying to decide how to manage his charge.

The audience had visibly relaxed, and the tone of this pair was completely different from the first. The girl walked in a tight circle around him, as if appraising his appeal. He grabbed her and twisted her in front of him, but still held her in the same pose as the first man had held the first girl, hand on the belly and holding her chin. Maybe it was some element of the ritual. The first girl was innocent and had to be taught. This one was to be tamed.

He kissed her deeply, his hand moving to clamp a breast. When the woman relaxed, he moved to a tender stroke of the back of his hand along her arm, just grazing a nipple with his thumb.

The tension in the room grew and Syria felt it within herself. He was about to strike, like a lion coiled before his prey.

They stayed in that position another moment, then the man grabbed the straps of her dress and jerked it down in one swift movement.

Syria inhaled so sharply that a few of the men turned around. She covered her mouth. She couldn't get thrown out before Mia's turn.

Like the first man, this one worked swiftly, but the differences were monumental. He blindfolded his girl and used a spreader bar to make her knees go wide. His touch was much more s.e.xual, lingering on her popped-out b.r.e.a.s.t.s and sliding through her folds. His touch on his submissive made Syria writhe in her seat, much hotter and wondering if she touched herself, if anyone would notice. She longed for her coat to place in her lap.

The men were impa.s.sive, smoking or sipping drinks, but otherwise seemingly unmoved. Syria didn't know how they weren't going crazy. Maybe they saw this all the time.

The girl spun slowly in a lying position, anchor ropes at her head, shoulders, waist, and thighs. The spreader bar made it easy to see the glistening s.e.x as it pa.s.sed by.

The man lit red candles and reached out to still her spinning. He heated the soles of her feet until she flinched. He dripped red wax along her legs, across her belly, and dribbled it on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The room grew more tense, the men s.h.i.+fting in their seats, and Syria saw they were not as unaffected as they had first appeared.

The man bowed and then his part was over. The woman was not released, but s.h.i.+fted to the side of the stage on her hook, still in her suspension. Two boys tugged additional hooks along the pipe. Apparently there would be more than one girl bound now.

A third man came out on stage, bowed, and led a figure encased completely in black onto the stage. She had no face or hands or any visible feature, but the s.h.i.+ny fabric clung to her like an outer layer of skin. This man did not caress or comfort his submissive, but quickly bound her body in neon yellow ropes. As he worked on her, the Madam came out on stage. Syria held her breath as the woman bowed in her brilliant blue kimono, then stepped aside as Kana led Mia onto the stage in the gold robe.

She seemed so small and vulnerable up there. The man with the black figure finished his work, suspending the girl high above the stage and setting her into a slow rotation.

Mia glanced at the bound woman, then turned back to the Madam, who nodded at her. Mia slowly bent backward, the slippery robe cascading along her form as her hands reached the floor behind her. Madam knelt, tying a quick bind around one ankle.

Mia walked her hands closer to her feet with a contortionist's practiced ease until she was tight in a circle, the robe flowing along her body. Madam tied the bound ankle to Mia's wrist and tugged on the fabric until it covered Mia's face to form a loop. She was no longer a woman, but a circle of gold.

Then men straightened in their chairs, leaning in as they watched. Syria surged with pride for her friend, creating something so beautiful and challenging.

Now Madam untied the gold robe and jerked it free, letting the s.h.i.+mmering fabric flutter the ground. The tension grew again as the men took in Mia's body in its tight circle, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s floating near the floor, her hips high. Madam swiftly created a st.u.r.dy corselet around Mia's waist, distributing her weight across several loops. With only two simple areas of binding, she attached the ropes to the metal loop and raised Mia up.

The men pressed forward in their seats. Now that Mia was aloft in her tight ring, Madam pushed her further, taking the untied leg and tying it straight up. Syria slid to the edge of her chair, anxious, worried that Mia might be in pain.

Mia's face showed only calmness, but a small tremor in her arm did not go unnoticed by Madam. She adjusted a cinch and pressed her hands along Mia's body, much like she had during their lesson. Mia relaxed into her position, a near perfect ring of skin, one leg gracefully outstretched. Madam took the free arm and stretched it out to balance the form.

Oh, to have her camera. Syria glanced back at the attendant's stand, where a line of coats were hanging. Her bag was lying on the counter. The boy who had taken it from Kana was not there.

Syria stood slowly, back against the wall, easing toward the stand. The bag was in a good position. All she needed was to press the proper spot, and she could capture this amazing scene, three women in suspension, Mia in the middle.

She'd reached the counter when Madam herself glanced out and saw her. Something in her expression made the men turn around. Syria tried to lean nonchalantly on the counter, but it was not fixed to the floor and s.h.i.+fted backward with a squeal.

Everyone was watching. A coil of rope sat on the end of the counter, and not knowing anything else to try, she picked it up and began tying a coin knot. The men turned back around, and Madam bowed to show her work was complete. The men began to stand and approach the women, keeping a respectful distance to admire the displays.

Syria set the coin knot down, still considering b.u.mping the bag to take a shot. But one of the men walked back to her rather than to the stage. "Are you studying the art?"

He wore a black suit, no tie. His dark hair was impeccably trimmed above a cla.s.sically handsome face.

Syria remembered the instruction not to speak and simply nodded.

The man fingered the coin knot. "Will you make another?"

Syria untied the rope and began again. The knot was both intricate and simple. Only four steps, but every loop had to be in place and each movement needed its specific order, angle and tension, or the two overlapping coins would not appear. She held up the finished work and he nodded appreciatively.

Syria's anxiety increased as they stood together. She had no way to explain her position there without speaking, and no telling what he might be a.s.suming about her. She was painfully aware of the sheer top and her nipples poking against the fabric.

"I can only a.s.sume you came with Madam's new submissive," he continued. "Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Erik Andrada. I am visiting from the Philippines."

He turned to her with a bent elbow c.o.c.ked away from his body. "Might I escort you to the stage to admire the art?"

She nodded and took his arm. From the corner of her eye, she saw Kana rush into the back of the room, see her, and stop. Whatever Syria was doing, it was probably the wrong thing.

The Madam bowed as they approached but her lips were a thin line of displeasure. Mia hung only a few feet away. Syria wanted to ask her if she was comfortable, but didn't want to make matters worse by speaking. Several of the men had returned to their chairs and now spoke amiably to each other, smoking and drinking.

Syria longed to touch Mia, make some small contact to rea.s.sure her. But Mia's eyes were closed, perhaps in concentration, maybe to manage her position.

Erik pressed lightly on Mia's thigh, continuing the slow turn. Mia flinched lightly, but Syria knew that movement, not of pain, but a state of high sensitivity, the one that makes every touch feel like a jolt.

Syria throbbed again. She'd never felt so much like an arrow in a bow, stretched taut and ready to spring. Tyson had encouraged her to be Mia's lover too, and seeing her vulnerable like this was more stirring than anything they had done together.

The man who had tied the blond woman brought over a lit candle, running it along Mia's calf. Now Mia moaned and the s.e.xual tension in the room ratcheted up a notch.

The girls from the makeup room came out, wearing sheer gauze that hid little of their tight, lithe bodies. A few of the men tapped on their tables and the girls scattered among them. The music bled through it all, lyrical and melancholy, beautiful and haunting. The candle man dripped the scarlet wax along Mia's leg and now Syria could barely stand it so she reached out to touch her, smoothing the still-soft color along her skin.

A gong sounded from somewhere, and the man with the candle walked back to his own submissive. All three girls were lowered, and Erik returned to the audience.

Syria stayed near, not caring anymore if she was breaking tradition, wanting to be close to her friend. Madam removed the rope carefully, letting Mia down slowly. All the submissives groaned in their exhales, feeling relief from the bindings.

The room gradually grew in sound as the girls sat among the men in the audience, and the music swelled. Syria rubbed her hands along the red marks on Mia, who shuddered again and again, but still kept her eyes closed.

Syria remembered how limp and groggy Mia had been after Madam had come to her house, and wondered how to handle her here on the hard stage. The gold robe still lay on the floor and Syria s.n.a.t.c.hed at it, prepared to cover her friend. But Mia opened her eyes, piercing Syria with need, and this brought Syria over the edge, forgetting she was on a stage, that strange men sat only a few feet away, and that the Madam presided over them like a statue, disapproving and stern.

Mia took Syria's hand and laid it on her breast, and Syria tweaked the nipple. Mia's hips lurched upward. Syria kneeled between her legs and used her other hand to stroke the marks on her belly, soothing the pain away.

The stage emptied as she worked over Mia and now they were the focus of the room, although she could see the gentle gyrations of the lithe girls on the men's laps, large dark hands clasping their pale bodies. Most of them no longer wore their sheer wraps, but were servicing the men's pleasure.

Syria shut all that out and focused on Mia, who sat up and untied Syria's halter. The gossamer fabric fluttered away. Syria lay fully on Mia now, back to the familiar, her friend and lover. She kissed the red marks, and her tongue could feel the groove of the indentions. "My Mia," she whispered on her skin.

But Mia was impatient and thrust against her. Syria moved downward, tongue reaching her folds, hot and slick. And Mia bucked upward instantly, crying out, and the music came down to a soft undertone so the room could hear her.

The attention was intoxicating and Syria plunged in, flicking her tongue on Mia's c.l.i.t, her hands bracing Mia's body to keep her in place. Mia required little contact at all and rose almost instantly into an o.r.g.a.s.m, the muscles tightening and clenching. She hadn't even subsided completely when Mia lurched forward, switching their positions, mouth hot on Syria's nipple.

Mia's arms were weak from her bondage and began to tremble as she tried to work. The man who had used the candles approached and slid a soft length of silk along her rib cage and her hips, quickly tying a simple cradling suspension that took her weight off, looping it through the dangling hook above.

Mia relaxed and now swung freely over Syria, nipping at her skin, and tugging on the skirt.

Am I really doing this? Syria lost her concentration and realized where she was, lying on a stage, her clothes coming off.

Two girls arrived and helped Mia remove Syria's boots, and the skirt. Mia pulled down the panties and plunged fingers inside.

Her knees still touched the floor, only her upper body suspended, and she scooted backward. The man lowered her silks enough that her lips could encircle Syria's belly b.u.t.ton and now Syria was lost again, forgetting the audience, only the rhythm of the fingers and mouths, their bodies that fit together with familiarity.

Mia seemed to be recovering and worked downward, her mouth fitting over Syria's mound, sucking lightly on the c.l.i.t. Syria's cry seemed to wake the audience and the man with the candle, who had hovered closely, began to run his hands along Mia's back.

He whispered something in her ear and Mia lifted her head and nodded. Even as Mia returned to Syria, the man moved behind her, stroking Mia's hips and bending over her back.

G.o.d, he was joining in. Syria reached over her head for something to hold on to and was immediately given a spreader bar. Madam quickly tied her wrists to it and the effect was intoxicating, the helplessness adding to both her fear and her excitement. Mia worked her carefully, both fingers and mouth. Syria saw the other man over Mia's shoulder, hands on her back, and he must have entered her because Mia cried out against Syria's skin. The three of them rocked together and the music rose again, filling the s.p.a.ce with a ghostly melody.

Smoke from the men's cigarettes formed small spirals. The lithe girls moved from one man to another, kissing, sucking, kneeling, bending over to be entered. Syria was consumed with the vision of the men and the girls, Mia between her legs, the heat wafting from the whirring machines, and Madam looking down, no longer disapproving, but content, her eyes alight on the scene.

The man behind Mia shuddered, clutching at her waist. Another one approached and Mia nodded again. The risk, the craziness. How could she do it?

Mia sensed her distraction and worked harder, plumbing all her knowledge to hit Syria's sensitive spots, and now the cascades came over her, pleasure and light, the world blurring. She tightened into the o.r.g.a.s.m, her voice louder than the flutes and the eerie strings, so much more outwardly pa.s.sionate than the silent men and their slender waifs.

The sparks showered into light and came down. Syria settled onto the floor, feeling each grain of the hardwood planks. Mia ran her hands up and down her belly, smoothing her skin, rocking with the push of the new man behind her.

A third man approached, kneeling by Syria, and she felt panicked. She wouldn't! Couldn't! Mia was one thing, but there was Tyson!

The man unzipped his pants, leaning near Syria's face. With Mia on her and the spreader bar immobilizing her hands, she was helpless. A small cry escaped and Mia must have felt it as she looked up and reached for the man, bringing him closer to her until his stiffening c.o.c.k was close enough, and Mia drew him into her mouth.

Syria laid her head back, relieved, but what if others came after her? The second man behind Mia finished and stepped away. Mia pulled away from the man's c.o.c.k and looked behind her. He moved around to finish the job inside her.

Syria watched him, his hands squeezing Mia's b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They moved together, and Mia dropped her forehead to Syria's belly, letting the silks hold her weight as the man's movements expanded and rocked the three of them, as though they were a pendulum moving together in time.

When he stepped away, the candle man released the silks, slowly lowering Mia to lie flat on Syria's body. It seemed over now, and Syria relaxed. They'd gotten through it.

She caressed her friend, the still-visible marks on her back. The men who had serviced her stayed near, and now all their hands worked over Mia, ma.s.saging, caressing. All their skin became one, and Syria felt them on her as well, grazing her gently, following the curves of her body. Something hot dripped along her skin and she saw the candle branding them all, blood-red wax falling on her shoulder, one man's wrist, Mia's back, and the other man's arm.

She couldn't take the photograph but she seared the image of them in her mind, limbs, clothes, naked skin, and red wax, surrounded by ropes, ghost-like wraiths, and s.e.x.

She had survived.

2: Aftermath They slept together a while, Syria and Mia, on the plush chaise in the dressing room. The attendants rubbed balm into Mia's skin then covered them both in furry blankets.

The music still swelled outside the door and Syria knew the festivities went on. Whiffs of cooking meat and other luscious scents occasionally penetrated the walls. Syria laid her head back on Mia's chest to wait.

Sometime later, the door opened, and Madam entered the room. Syria watched her cross before them and pushed Mia's shoulder, causing her to stir.

Madam was patient and waited for them both to fully wake. Mia sat up and they huddled close, ready, Syria guessed, to accept their ejection from the exhibition, or whatever might happen.

"You did well, submissive," Madam said formally, tall and broad in the Sapphire robes, like a life-sized gem. "No one expected a public display between you two, but it was thoroughly enjoyed by the audience. The monetary contributions following your act will ensure the exhibitions continue for some time."

She pa.s.sed them each a jade silk purse. "Gifts for you. You are invited back, should you want to come. You know how to find me."

She moved to leave, but Syria held out her hand. "Madam, I would still love to learn more ties."

Madam bowed. "You know how to find me."

When she left the room, Mia jumped up. "This was nuts! Did I really g.a.n.g.b.a.n.g three dudes on a stage?" She whirled in a circle, clasping the blanket to her. "Holy cow!" She opened the jade purse. "Gold coins? What?" She dumped them in her hand. "What a strange thing!"

She plopped back on the chaise. "I've done some crazy s.h.i.+t in my life, but this just about beats all. Did you see those girls having s.e.x with all the men? What the h.e.l.l?" She dropped the coins back in the bag. "Talk about an orgy. All those fancy men were just doing it with all the girls in front of everybody!"

Syria reached for her clothes, piled neatly on a table by the chaise. "This wasn't what I expected at all."

"It's like a s.e.x club, but with bondage, the good kind." She pulled out one gold coin and bit it. "Ouch. Why do pirates do that?"

Syria laughed. "The softer the gold, the more pure it is."

"Huh. I should have known that." She held the coin up. "Teeth marks. That's a good sign?"

"I'm guessing so."