Prime Defender by Ann Jacobs

She looked like an Amazon goddess, standing in the dungeon wearing a skin-tight white rubber bodysuit and a scarlet corset that cinched her waist almost enough for him to encircle it in his hands. Standing at least six foot three in her platform stilettos, she was a picture of sexual power—the ultimate Domme.

He adored her, worshiped her voluptuous body and the exotic face that perfectly reflected her mixed African-American and Asian heritage. He respected her keen, analytical intelligence that matched his own. He wanted the full-time, 24/7 dominance that would give him the freedom to love her without fearing that he might hurt his woman the way his father had abused his mother into an early grave. The dominance he’d been missing since his family had fallen apart.

In a few minutes he would give his goddess his unquestioning obedience. In return she would control his every action, his every thought. She would be his Mistress, now and forever in charge of his sexuality, in control of the ego he soon would cede to her.

The ultimate alpha football player in his public life, he feared the total sexual submission he was about to embrace, yet he craved it with every fiber of his being. A shudder went through his body as he anticipated handing over the burden of self-direction and control he’d carried for fifteen years now, since he was twelve years old and his beautiful, nurturing mother had died at the hand of his abusive father.

He peered out into the dungeon where a chair and a small table had been placed among the restraints and torture devices that gave them both such pleasure. His dick swelled against the thick, gold barbell in his ampallang piercing when he saw her place a white sheepskin on the floor in front of the chair before setting a flogger and an ornate box decorated with what looked like Arabic script onto the white tablecloth. When she bent and lit a ceremonial candle, the light bathed her stunning face in burnished gold, lent a metallic sheen to the long, straight black hair she’d left loose tonight because he’d asked her to.

Ironic, he thought. He got paid for hurting opponents on the field, but he was about to give this woman the right to humiliate, even hurt him whenever she wished—to punish him for her sexual pleasure. For his pleasure as well, he’d been learning since they’d begun playing at Rebels’ Roost more than six months ago. Both lawyers, although he was postponing his legal career while he played professional football, they had laughed together about the probable illegality of the contract they were about to enter into. But that hadn’t deterred them.

This was the life of sexual slavery she demanded that he embrace. A life of willing enslavement in the service of his big, beautiful Domme whose voluptuous body and the striking combination of features from her African-American father and Japanese mother, made heads turn every time they appeared together in public. Her engaging mind and a sense of humor that stimulated his own had captured his soul in a way no one had ever done before.

He reached up and stroked his head, shaved earlier today for the collaring ceremony—temporarily, his Domme had assured him. Funny, being bald made him feel even more vulnerable than having his body waxed smooth, which he’d been doing since their second play date. He was used to coming here to the dungeon nude but for the jewelry in his genital piercings, and he’d grown accustomed to teammates teasing him about his smooth, hairless body. When he considered his discomfort at his hairless scalp, he guessed it bothered him because he hadn’t had his head shaved since his team had done it before the state championships his senior year in high school. Until today. The Jamaican braids he’d originally affected because it had helped him blend with his African-American teammates in spite of his pale, white skin were now swept off the barber’s floor into the trash. He missed those braids which had become an integral part of how he saw himself—a tough player making a statement about his individuality more than one finding a convenient way to wear his hair long and still tame his unruly curls.

As soon as she summoned him to join her, he would surrender his freedom, much like women in previous centuries used to hand over total control of their lives to their husbands when they vowed love, honor and obedience for the rest of their lives. As he prepared to go to her, he looped the thick, black leather leash he would give her around his neck and dropped to his hands and knees.

I am a sexual submissive. I’m not afraid for everyone here to know she is my Mistress and I am her loving slave.

He repeated those words, a silent mantra, as he crawled past a handful of his teammates, his head coach and their dungeon playmates. When he reached the sheepskin and knelt at her feet, he bent to place kisses on the light-brown skin of her feet and every one of her ten delectable toes with their bright-red nail polish, dodging the white straps of her stilettos. He set the leash on the floor at her feet. Then he raised his upper body and, for the last time, looked her in the eye as an equal.

“Do you want to be my slave—to love, honor and obey me in all things?” He loved the low, mellow tone of her voice and the warmth of her hand as she caressed the crown of his bald head while she spoke the words they’d agreed upon in advance.

“Yes, Mistress. I want that above all other things.” He felt no reluctance, for they’d already signed the contract they had written together, a document that spelled out what she was giving him as well as what rights he was ceding to her. In a way the contract they had signed was similar to those that couples who practiced his faith would sign before a rabbi before their wedding. This collaring would bind him as much as any religious or civil wedding ceremony. More than most. He lowered his gaze and focused on the tips of his Mistress’ toes. “I am yours to do with as you will.”

“Then I accept you as my slave and take full responsibility for your well-being.” When she straightened, her distinctive scent of musk and roses surrounded the area around them, alerting him to expect a sting from the flogger. “Stand and absorb the pain from my lash because it gives me pleasure, and feel my pleasure in your body. My beloved slave.”

He rose, his gaze focused at her feet. Holding steady, he refused to wince. Truthfully, when the hot, steel-tipped ends of the flogger bombarded his body it aroused him, something his Mistress knew well. His cock lengthened and hardened with each bite of the metal and leather on his flesh, until it stood out from his body as stiff as steel. His testicles drew up in their sac, pulling against the sturdy ring in the guiche piercing she’d commanded that he get as soon as they began considering this commitment. When she flogged his genitals, he grew even more aroused.

She soon took pity on him and set aside the flogger. “Kneel, slave. You will wear my collar now.” Turning to the table, she opened the wooden box and drew out a heavy, black collar made of supple leather. Its long, thick metal studs caught the light from the ceremonial candle. When she sat on the chair he bent his head forward and offered her his neck.

Stopping first to caress his cheek, she then put the collar on him and fastened the buckle before placing a gold lock into the hasp at his throat and snapping it closed. Despite the fact he deeply wanted to be her slave, the click of metal against metal jolted him for a few seconds, much like he imagined the clank of an iron prison gate shutting would affect a newly convicted felon. The collar fit snugly, a symbol of his enslavement for all to see, yet one she had promised to remove except when they were playing in the dungeon—unless he should require punishment for some predefined misdeed.

As they’d discussed before the ceremony, he handed her the leash he had brought and she clipped it to his collar. Then he went down on all fours, lowered his head to his Mistress’ ample lap and rested his hands on her ankles. He awaited the club submissive his Mistress had told him would be helping her initiate him to acts that would be part of their BDSM play in the future. He anticipated his first act of full, total submission with some fear, even a little embarrassment.

I am a sexual submissive, my Mistress’ sex slave. I need feel no embarrassment, no shame.

“Suck my clit, slave.” At her command he slid his hands up her inner thighs, finding and opening the slit at the crotch of her bodysuit. She spread her legs, giving him room to bury his face in her damp, warm pussy and find her swollen clit. He drew it into his mouth as he felt a warm breath on his ass. The gazes of a dozen or more voyeurs burned into the back of his bald head and his vulnerable, exposed ass.

But only his Mistress’ helper touched him. She ringed his asshole with her tongue as he pleasured his Mistress. The contact aroused him yet it felt wrong. Nobody had ever messed with his butt before. He’d always associated ass play with something gay or bi men would do, and he was neither.

But he was a slave now. His body belonged to the Mistress whose collar he wore, to do with as she wished for her pleasure, so long as she did him no permanent harm. When the sub worked a large, lubricated plug up his ass he tried not to wince, for his Mistress had warned him that any sign of hesitation on his part would embarrass her before the other Doms and Dommes.

“Keep sucking. It makes me hot to watch my slave get fucked by another submissive.” Mistress pushed hard on his head then stroked the crown, her touch intensely arousing. His cock felt as though it would burst, but then the submissive woman took it in her hand and jacked him while she worked the plug with the other hand. The warmth of her hands and the arousing heat of his Mistress’ fingers stroking his head made him desperate to come. “Use your fingers in my cunt.”

Hot, wet and slick, her cunt swallowed up two fingers so he inserted a third. His balls tightened, his release imminent. He couldn’t hold out for long, though he wanted to come inside his Mistress, not on the floor at the hands of the other sub. Hoping to speed along the ritual, he redoubled his efforts, nipping at his Mistress’ swollen clit while he finger-fucked her hard and fast.

“Come, slave.” It wasn’t a request but an order, Mistress to slave. He dared not disobey, but he kept up his sensual assault on her while his climax took him in short, staccato bursts that cooled his heat, but only for a moment, until he felt the butt plug being withdrawn and replaced with another one, longer and thicker than the first.

He raised his head from his Mistress’ cunt. “What?” Though he tried to choke back the question, it escaped his lips.

“Be silent, slave. You aren’t allowed to speak except on my order. Now I have to punish you.” She reached into the box on the table and handed something to her helper. “Attach this to my slave’s cock piercing and then put the lock through it and his guiche ring. It’s evident that he needs to learn what obedience means, to realize I own his cock, just like I own the rest of him. Slave, I want you to tongue-fuck me now.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He’d expected this to happen soon—it was in their contract that she had the right to keep him in chastity for varying periods of time as punishment, depending on his particular transgression. He’d even guessed a few months ago how she would do it when she took him to a piercer and had the guiche done. While the piercer had welded a larger and thicker ring than usual into that piercing, she’d picked out a longer, thicker barbell for his ampallang—a barbell with a bend at each end where a second half-ring could be attached. She’d removed his old jewelry and inserted the new last night. Sort of like an engagement ring, she’d told him before giving him a rare treat—a blowjob. But he hadn’t expected her to lock him up right away or in a public forum in front of many of his teammates and coaches.

He fought to keep from raising his head and protesting against this ultimate humiliation. He inhaled deeply when the submissive woman grasped his dick and clamped the attachment on either end of the barbell so it hung just far enough from the lower side of his cock head that a lock would pass through it without digging into his flesh—unless he dared to get hard. It proved less painful than he’d imagined when she bent his flaccid dick over his sac and locked the two rings together. But no less humiliating.

“Make me come now.” His Mistress’ demand rang in his ears as he knelt before her, his plugged ass in the air and the lock swaying below his cock and balls, reminding him of his total submission—his complete impotence.

He opened his mouth and fucked her with his tongue, using his fingers to tweak her clit and ring her tight little ass. His dick hurt like hell when it tried to get hard again in response to the taste of her hot, slick nectar, but he loved it. Loved the pain, the humiliation, the knowledge that she had accepted him as her sex slave and would give him what he needed, no matter how much he might protest. Just before she let out a scream and her cunt clamped down on his tongue, he heard her give her helper a quiet order and felt a warm, wet tongue bathing his constricted genitals while she attached something to the end of the fat plug in his ass. It tickled the backs of his thighs, its long stiff hairs swaying against his flesh.

Apparently his brand-new Mistress wasn’t going to wait to initiate him to being a pony slave, a right he’d tried in vain to get her to leave out of their contract. He let out a sigh against her spasming pussy.

The helper put on his pony shoes as he kept licking his Mistress’ cunt. Thoroughly humbled, he stood on pony hands and pony feet when he felt Mistress’ flogger hit his ass.

“I’m going to show our guests just how good a sex slave I’ve trained.” Then she bent and laid a hard, deep kiss on his lips. “I love you, my brand-new slave, and I don’t want you to forget it.”

I am a sex slave, a sexual submissive sworn to serve my Mistress’ pleasure. I don’t give a fuck what my Dominant teammates may think, he told himself as she buckled on his headgear.

When she took the reins and led him around the room for all the others to see, he started believing what he kept telling himself was true—that he truly didn’t give a fuck what anybody thought, as long as his Mistress loved him and wanted him as her slave.