The large wooden door, leading to the cellar of Janice’s house creaked, cobwebs dangled from it’s edges, the corpses of insects long dead in the web of thousands of spiders hung and danced in the air. The musk and mold smell rushed out, escaping into the late summer air, it’s coolness hitting my legs.
Janice Flaherty, my work-Wife school counselor, transfixed the basement of her classic Victorian home a “lair” filled with devices of torture, pain, pleasure and erotic bliss. Increasingly she stepped out of herself into Mistress Lace, a demanding, often brutal, dominatrix capable of such painful rapture that she used to ensnare several people, including my Wife Melanie, with her charismatic flair and gift of delivering physical and mental torture.
I stood, looking down the concrete stairs lined with mismatched brick and stone walls, the recently installed door at the bottom, painted black, a brass knob and lock reflected light I wouldn’t see for three days. In my hand pressed a key, not on a chain, just alone it’s new teeth cuts now aggravating my palm.
My directions were clear.
“Enter no sooner, or God help you no later that 6 p.m.. Strip naked, slide the hood over your head, stand in the middle of the room and wait.” Mistress Lace’s text read just 10 minutes ago. My phone read 5:57 and turned to 5:58.
I was there to be trained, willingly submitting to the skilled indoctrination my body, mind and soul would encounter behind that black door. Over the past three weeks I had found out Melanie was submissive to Mistress; two large African-American men were submissive to Mistress; her husband and his ten inch schlong were submissive to Mistress and most recently my school secretary was submissive to Mistress Lace.
My phone rolled over to 6:00 and I began walking down the steps. I panicked a little, the newly cut key didn’t turn right away, I had to force it finally turning the lock and I was inside. The brightness of the sunny early evening left, the door slowly closed, leaving me slightly blinded until the soft light of mini-fake candles illuminated the room.
I could hear moaning and sexual sounds emitting from speakers in the corners of the small room. The sounds of a woman being penetrated repeatedly, crying out in pleasure, flesh against flesh, the sounds grew louder and I began the process of taking of my clothes. The basement smell pungent, though not as prominent, and I could already sense leather and oil in the air.
The pleasure cries in the background tickled my cock, caged by my secretary Kimmy, one of Mistress Lace’s minions, given up to me for my pleasure after Melanie ran off. Mistress took my Wife and replaced her with my 20-something, pregnant nymphomaniac to bring out MY inner nympho. Three days of Sex earlier this week was choked off by the chastity device meant to prepare me for my training.
Naked, I picked up the hood and pulled it over my head, the dimly lit room faded and my ear zoned in on the moans and sexual sounds. It was Melanie, I was convinced, when she was restrained and servicing several men. Video sent to me by my Mistress, or when I was in this room behind a two way mirror watching her husband impale my Wife with his mammoth cock.
The cool air extinguished the hint of my erection in the cage and I stood patiently, though hearing Melanie exclaim “You’re so good, Vir, SO FUCKING GOOD” almost brought it back until I heard the door clank open. The oil and leather smells rushed in and over me, my nakedness felt more natural, almost like a given cloak.
“Spread your legs,” Vir said, his low voice recognizable, I imagined him in leather, partially naked. I felt a crop slide up on leg and pull at the cage around my genitals, slide over my arsehole and up my back, pushing me forward. I went with the direction and bent over, grabbing my ankles with my legs spread.
“Very good,” Vir said and I felt his large hands take both of mine and lock them in some sort of padded cuffs and connecting them to a light chain. I felt a tug and stood following the lead of whomever had the other end.
In the background, Melanie’s voice echoed “Mmph, Mmph, Mmph, Your COCK is so big, TWICE. Oh, oh Mmph, YES! YESSS! VIR, YOU ARE AHHhhh, AHHhh, AHMAZING! HOLY FUCK!”
I heard the chain clip to something then gravity had it dangle from my hands where the restraints were around my wrists. It began to pull and the sound of a wheel turning cut down the slack, pulling me towards the wall and then my hands and arms upwards over my head. It kept going until I was about to raise off of my feet and stopped.
The large hands turned me, though I was disoriented, not sure where I was in Mistress Lace’s lair, there seemed to be a cooler flow of air to my face and I wondered if I was facing a wall. I heard a door creak above me, and I assumed the door to the kitchen, just above the stairs Mistress threw my Wife down, opened.
The slow footfalls of a petite woman in heels reverberated through the room and got louder. The smell of heavy perfume filled my nostrils when the steps were had on the concrete of the lair. Mistress Lace had arrived I was sure.
“Welcome Puer,” she said, I felt her warmth just inches from me, I heard the breathing after her words. “You will be experiencing 62 hours that are designed to push your limits physical, mentally and spiritually. Nod your head ‘yes’ if you are prepared to endure this training or nod your head ‘no’ if you wish to be released from this burden.”
‘Like I had a choice?’ I thought to myself. Her draw was too strong, her power over my Wife was too complete. I had to ride this out, get to the other side, do what Larry had instructed me to do, and let my life become what it would be 64 hours later.
In the background, reminding me of what we’ve already been through, the carnal enjoyment of penetration broadcast as Melanie screamed “YES! YES! YES! YES! YOU ARE MY MAN, VIR! FUCK ME FOREVER!”
I slowly nodded yes, the leather of the hood strong in my senses, the darkness beginning to heighten my awareness without sight. I imagined a smile on my Mistress’s face, I could hear Vir (Larry) getting something off the wall and her feet step and shuffle on the concrete.
“Very well, Puer,” Your training will begin and you will fully understand what sweet Melanie, Kimmy, Larry, Jerome and Tyson already know and you will officially become one of us. An hour of pain shall begin.”
I heard the deafening ‘snap’ of a bull whip and then the ‘whoosh’ of the leather pull back and then instead of a snap, a sharp pain and the sound of the tip expertly hitting flesh could now be heard.
“OMmmmmggh,” I screamed through my hood. “Ohhhggh, Ohhhhh Ohhhgggh, Ohmmmgpt!”
Previous punishments sitting in her office came in fives, and we started with the same count, the welts rising, warm in the cool air. There were five seconds of pause before five more quick and expertly placed strikes to the right side of my arse.
“Jesus…Mary…Joseph…Holy…Fuck!” I exclaimed muffled under my hood. Again the pain manifesting into physical welts, warm, Hot and rising. The other five I could feel, however receding some, the pain now beginning to dull.
Five seconds passed quickly, and five more came, my yells turning to muffled grunts now, the repetition and now familiarity calming my nerves. We were 25 strikes in and I counted the time of each strike being about two seconds, with the five second break, we were taking a minute and a half for each set.
My body tingled in the air, the pain both sharp from the last five and dull from the other twenty. We rested for what seemed like almost a minute, before the second set came, the whip, now striking my shoulders, five in a row, five seconds break and five sets of five strikes.
“Five is the symbol of the incarnated conscience four, Matter, plus one, Spirit,” Mistress Lace said in a monotone voice, she cracked the whip, not striking me, causing my body to flinch as if it expected to be struck. “Notice out the ‘Matter’ that composes your flesh, runs from the pain, letting your ‘Spirit’ carry you through.”
The break continued in silence, the noises from in the background had different tones, I couldn’t make out the woman, and man, obviously fucking, the deep and heavy breathing.
The snap of the whip on my flesh began the next set, I learned to relax to take it, my flesh not tight from anticipation, making the each seem a little less sharp. I had concluded that Mistress was not using a whip with the hardest tip she could, my body was adapting and my spirit kept me relaxed taking me out of the physical moment.
She never paused, never flinched, the strikes covered my back with six sets of 25 and after a break after the 6th time the large hands of Vir pressed into my shoulders, turning me around.
She covered my front in sets of 25, the same timing, bouncing some off the cage protecting my cock. I was glad for the device and her accuracy and my body was on fire, though pain was there a rush of pleasure had begun a while ago. Another 6 sets of 25, my body tingling, stinging, and throbbing with old strikes all at once.
The clank of the wheel startled me, it spun as I fell onto a pad below me. The chain was still attached to my hands, still bound tight, Vir’s large hand pulling at the top of the hood, wriggling the leather mercifully at first and then with one tug pulling it off of me, the friction bringing me almost to my knees.
Light was dull, dim, flickering, and after the deprivation of that sense, seemed bright. My eyes looked around, but my head didn’t move, knowing my Mistress was lurking close by, her scent a rose and leather combination, heavy. I scooted to my knees, head down, chest on the pad and I positioned my hands straight out.
“Oh Puer,” she said, my eyes getting a glimpse of the shiny leather knee high boots, wanting so much to peak upwards, to see the flesh of her thighs and in-between. I ached, the natural endorphins pumping through my body, to every inch. “Please sit before me and let me tell you a story as I comfort you.”
I slipped my legs underneath and into a cross-legged pose, my eyes getting their wish, the vision of Mistress Lace, crotchless, leather bustier, her nipples poking out above the top. Long, sleek gloves, high stiletto heals to those knee highs. Her neck had several shiny adornments, her ears, now lined from the lobes up the whole length. Mistress’s hair was like that of a bride, dressed in black for her ceremony, intricate, small, black and silver cloth woven into the strands.
She bent her front leg and knelt onto the pad, it was like a dream, her hand extending, now on all fours moving to me, then continuing under the cage holding my cock. Her hands found my balls and soon she was pressing into my body, sliding around me, and was wrapped around the tortured flesh of my back.
Vir had leant over and handed Mistress a bottle of cream or ointment and she opened, the pop of the top in my ear was soothing as was the first application. She had removed her gloves at some point and her fingers were now pressing the cool, cream into my warm, welts and red flesh.
“Mmmm, Puer, you performed well my slave,” she said setting up some needed after-care. “Trust is earned and I will earn that trust from you. Let me tell you of my humble beginnings and why I deserve and will earn your obedience.”
I looked up at Vir, remembering if I was Free (which I was not) and he gave me the signal, that I would simply force myself upon Mistress Lace for the purpose of bringing her closer to Janice Flaherty and not lose her to the alter ego we were feeding in her lair.
Her hands worked the soothing cream, infused with an oil or balm that worked into my skin, warming and invigorating the sore, raged parts where the whip struck hardest.
“Listen and understand,” she said working my body and telling me the roots of her being. “And we will move closer to one soul.”
The story of DOMINA VITTA part I
(As told by Mistress Lace, or in latin “Domina Vitta”)
I was a brat with no established boundaries for proper behavior, lost in my own self-pity that my father would rather travel the world for work than make my birthdays or school events.
Mother drank so much that often I put her to bed, stepping around the other people strewn about our living room who gravitated to her beauty, money and affinity for the night life. She was what we call a ‘functioning alcoholic’ present during the day, but in a bottle at night.
I did well in school only because I never missed, never wanting to stay at home, the drecks of the neighborhood dragging themselves out sometime before noon. I did misbehave, getting into fights with other girls and some boys. My anger was untamed and spent a lot of time out of the classroom, though I would complete my work eventually.
When Daddy was home ‘they’ knew to stay away and it wasn’t until their divorce my senior year in high school did I realize she was the neighborhood slut, sucking and fucking men and even hooking up with couples, sometimes several people in one evening. ‘They’ knew a good time and that good time was my mother.
“You didn’t have to read her that!” Mother screamed at my Father, he wanting to take away daughter once discovering the depths of her infidelity. The divorce decree told me all I needed to know to disown them both, especially since he chose time home to read me such a document.
The fact was, I had slowly been distancing myself from their guidance starting back in primary school, their faults driving me to find better. I met Pastor Thaddeus when he hosted an after school event my last year at George Washington Elementary in a distant New York burrow. He was kind, introduced me to scripture and took interest in me when I said, “I don’t really know if I believe there is a God.”
Over the next six years he was the most important Adult in my life. Pastor Thaddeus had an old converted Catholic Church for his “Congregational Church of Christ”, complete with an old, run down basement, steeple and wooden pews. I went to Wednesday night youth gatherings and began to walk myself to service on Sundays.
The only thing my Mommy Dearest ever said about Thaddeus, was that he used to be a priest and there was something surrounding him leaving the priest hood. “He probably wanted some,” I remembered her saying to Father one night on the phone after telling me it was okay to go to youth group.
I’m old enough to remember us going to church as a family, St. Mary’s Catholic and even the early service being done in Latin. When Pastor Thaddeus started praying in Latin Wednesday evening it endeared me even more, just the thought of those simpler times when I was innocent and believed we were a family.
He guided me through my teen years, helping me cope with my anger, often mixing a strict message with an understanding and caring recommendation. I kept the scripture in my heart and treated Pastor’s words almost as if Christ himself were telling me.
It was a week after my 18th birthday. Dad read me the divorce papers, and I had been suspended from school for punching a girl who was harassing my good friend Tina, that Pastor let me in on a secret.
“Janice, I want you to know something,” Paster Thaddeus said that night, after I read a birthday card from him that simply said ‘Happy Birthday Miss Janice, you are important to the world in ways you will someday understand.’ “I am starting a new practice, one of trust and truth.”
I told him ‘that sounds wonderful, if you could get a group of people there, ‘wow.’
“It starts with one, Miss Janice,” Pastor Thaddeus said. “Will you be my one?”
Okay, I was sorta naive when it came to Sex, Love and all of that, but not that naive. I picked up my things and told him I needed to leave. He got up and blocked my way to the door.
“Do you trust me Miss Janice?” He said, my world starting to collapse, first my parents marriage, then the revelation of my Mother’s promiscuity, and now the only Adult I cared for and trusted was standing in my way, of leaving, but why?
I said I didn’t ‘trust anyone, not even God.’ That everything was fucked and I was fucked and he was fucking up my mind. I swung and struck him in the stomach and then higher in the cheek. He didn’t move.
“You are so angry my child,” he said, talking like something else, like someone else. “Trust.”
I fell to the floor and began to sob uncontrollably.
“Spiritual, mental and soulful anguish can be cleansed,” he said. “I’ve experienced it, many times over and I want to help you. I see your pain, I have a solution, one we can take to the suffering people in this world.”
I continued to cry, sob, swing at the air until her caught me and just held me, exactly as I hold you now Puer, his big strong arms around mine. I expected a kiss, or his hands to roam, in the moment that’s what I wanted, physical, worldly Love. I had limited experience, my body, my flesh, still yearned in that first embrace.
He just held me and talked to me, we talked our truths, I immediately told him I was drawn to him in that moment, he told me he “couldn’t, not right now.” The anticipation would be the magnetic force that kept me coming back after that first embrace.
We spent a month focusing on truth, telling each other the light, promising corners of our souls and the deep, dark, unclean corners, the ones that strengthened my draw to him, I noticed his physical “stature”. He was kind, patient and still talking of a church that would start with my commitment to Christ, the truth through trust.
My graduation from high school came on a cool, May, New York afternoon. I invited Pastor to my ceremony and my reception of relatives and friends. I had walked across the stage looking for him, and then was distracted making nice for my parents sake at the Catholic Church hall they had rented for a reception on my behalf.
It was over at 6 p.m. and I was ready to cry, not seeing my mentor, when I turned to the alley behind the church to sob, he was standing there. My heart leapt and I rushed into his arms. He held me enough, but not what I wanted.
“It’s time for you to trust,” Pastor Thaddeus said, looking down at me, my lips wanting his so badly. Then he broke our embrace and pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket. “Here, read it and follow my instructions perfectly Domina.”
It was the first time he called me Domina, and alone he never called me Janice again. I was born right there, an infant in my new world, my new destiny, birthday through truth and soon to be raised on trust.
I fumbled the invitation, almost dropping it in a puddle, looking up to see him round the corner and leave. I finally ripped off the envelop, discarding it quickly and opening the card. There were two $100 bills and a note on the card that I have framed in my lair.
“Tu es meus Domina. ‘Come build a church with me’, it opens tonight at 9 p.m. Enter through the basement no sooner or no later as the steeple bell tolls on the hour.”
I spent 62 hours with Domini Thaddeus and was reborn Domina, eventually becoming Domina Vitta when we added Domina Mus as our third member. The 62 hours you spend with me are designed to replicate my birth into THIS world.
THOMAS’S VOICE
She quit rubbing my sore body, her massaging the cream into my Hot flesh, was an icy-Hot sensation that tingled and delighted. She uncoiled from around me and I heard Vir stir in the background, she ordered me to stand up, I could see the shadows dance in the flickering light, the stone makeup of this dank and dreary part of the basement.
“He brought me to the basement of the church, ordered me naked and began with the whip,” Mistress Lace or Domina Vitta said to me, continuing the story. “In our truth telling he told me the only way to trust is through the physical manifestation of pain.”
She immediately pulled the whip back, and struck me on the cage of my cock, the vibration from the direct shot, painful and the next four shots the same. Vir had tightened the slack of the chain and she hit my cage all 25 times of set, it reverberation started to feel like the cage was tearing off my genitals.
