The Crucifixion of OfficeToyBoy Pt. 01

I glide up the stairs and through the portal of the historic house in downtown Detroit with LittleWilly at my heels. Once inside, we transport seamlessly (aside from my stockings) into the Prohibition Era -- dim lights, the smell of leather and wood and whisky, the way that the impulse to pleasure persists despite an un-loving authoritarian leadership. No cell phones, websites or e-mail. Inside, we are metal signs, painted notices, handwritten notes, and body language. The backdrop for tonight's beautiful adventure has been curated by the Dungeon Masters at Detroit Bondage and Leather. So easy to feel at home, if you feel most at home in fantasy and desire.

LittleWilly bounces up the stairs behind me as I ascend to my Red Room. He knows his place. He takes off his cloths according to the routine I taught him, jacket, jeans, sweatshirt, etc. Folds them in a neat little pile, places them in the bottom drawer of my dressing table cabinet. And he kneels at my feet.

Good boy, I say, as I slide his dog mask over his head, and he give me his tongue out through the hole.

Good boy, I say, placing an M&M on his tongue and his collar around his neck. He gives me his tongue again. He is now wearing nothing but his dog-mask and collar and looks so cute. I place a cock ring around his tiny little cock. He gives me his tongue for his treat.

Good boy.  Puppy down, I say, and LittleWilly turns and drops his chest to the floor, his arms outstretched in front of him. I lube him up, tickle his butthole a little, and LittleWilly barks. I tickle him a bit more, and he barks a bit more, but his chest stays on the ground where I instructed it to stay. I shove in the butt plug with a tail and tell him to Shut up!  But he's got what he wanted, so he turns his face back up to me, sits on his heels, and wiggles in glee. Enjoying his tail, he is panting now, and he gives me his tongue once again. This time, as I award him his M&M, he sucks on my finger, little black eyes looking up at me.

Good Boy,  I say, stroking his black silky hair,  Good Boy. Now leave me alone.

I need to get ready for the evening. Under my dressing table, LittleWilly sits obediently, occasionally resting his head in my lap. My puppy is a slut for the feeling of my painted nails stroking his bare chest and neck. When LittleWilly begins to get bored, he curls up on his floor bed by my feet and waits for me. Waits for his Mistress, the Mistress of this evening's play party.

Sit,  I say when I am ready, and LittleWilly pops up onto his knees. I leash his collar, and we begin to descend the wooden staircase, LittleWilly on all fours behind me. On our way down, we great the Master of the House, TwistedGrandpa, and his Kitten. Down one more flight of stairs to the Dungeon, and LittleWilly's cage awaits him beneath the stairs. I open the door, and he bounds into his special place. He has a nice little bed awaiting him there if he needs a nap, and a water bowl. From behind the bars of his cage, he looks out onto the main room of the Dungeon. That should keep him entertained.

I lock LittleWilly's cage and replace the table and chairs. Throughout the evening, guests will come and go, sharing drinks just beside the door. Because I know that LittleWilly is a greedy little fucker -- greedy for attention, greedy for treats -- I put up a sign: Do not feed the sub!  He will work his charm around that, for sure, but at least I have tried to keep the guests in line.

Now, knowing that some people can be a bit shy and cautious about asking for what they truly want, I hang another sign at the entrance desk:

"ANAL SLUTS: Looking for your twenty-minute therapeutic pegging? Lock yourself in the Laundry Shoot. Miss Tress will fetch you there and take you to the Red Room."

It does not have to last forever to do you the world of good, does it?

The Laundry Shoot is a space the size of a small closet at the bottom of the house, a few feet away from the Dungeon Bar. A wooden enclosure with a latch, designed to catch the laundry that falls through the metal shoot. If you are inside and the latch catches, you are not getting out, unless someone lets you out. This being a BDSM party, it is likely that you will have to ask more than once, and more than just politely. Before that happens, we may or may not drop some sex-dirty sheets down the shoot on top of you.  

My evening rolls along in a delightful blend of greeting guests, fiddling with the balls of random subs, laughing on the dance floor, and periodically dragging a sub up from the laundry shoot to my Red Room for a quick thump. People book ahead for these quick sessions, and by ten thirty, all had arrived but one. We lock the doors at eleven, so I had nearly written him off. But at the eleventh hour, my favourite slut of the evening finally arrived.

OfficeToyBoy walks in with the hood of his jacket up. As he quickly scans the entrance way, I notice the bright, manic green eyes. He asks Kitten at the desk for one of the lace masks we offer subs who need to feel a bit anonymous in the public play areas. As he slides off his jacked, he looks clean cut and slightly dishevelled in his slick blue suit, white button-down shirt not entirely tucked in, silk tie. Looks as though he has come straight from the office, but smells like his office might be a bar. And I could feel it:  Damn, this boy needs it bad.

As he turns away from the desk, he almost body slams me. But he freezes just in time, and realises I have been watching him since he walked through the door.

Mistress,  he says, swallowing.

Laundry Shoot in the Dungeon, I say, and toss my head in the direction of the basement.

Yes, ma'am,  OfficeToyBoy nods, and scurries down to the Dungeon. DeskSub follows him to make sure he gets in the Laundry Shoot like he's been told.  Make sure the latch catches as the door shuts,  I instruct them, but DeskSub knows the routine. I leave him there for about 15 minutes, long enough to soak up the pleasant buzz in the basement. Long enough to wonder if he will be left to watch the rest of the party from within his wooden cage or be yanked out by his Mistress.

Then I descend to fetch him.

LittleWilly starts to bark as I round the corner at the bottom of the stairs because he sees me from his cage. The couple sharing a drink and a fondle outside his cage are soft; they throw him some caramel popcorn to shut him up. He leaves it on the ground, for now, because that's not what he's after.  Hush,  I say, but the bastard continues to bark like an idiot.

I pass by MissKitty, the Touch Model tethered to a support beam beside the bar. Her hands are cuffed above her head, and she's wearing only some kitty ears and a little pouch around her neck that reads, "A Touch for a Tip." I drop five bucks into her pouch and flick her pretty left nipple with my tongue while I smile up at her.  Thank you, Miss Tress,  she says. I kiss her on the cheek and move along to the Laundry Shoot. OfficeToyBoy has been watching this space through his lace mask and the wooden beams of his cage, wondering when it is his turn to play.

I open the latch to the Laundry Room door.

Come with me ...