Part One: Devil's Palace
Brad felt his skin hum and face glow as he entered
the club, Devil's Palace. It was an old habit of his
to always enter in street clothes, small black nylon
duffle bag in hand, and change there, make use of the
provided storage areas, then leave in street clothes.
It was like isolating who he was at that location, so
he didn't have to deal with his masochistic streak in
the real world. Time in the Palace just ceased to
exist...almost as if someone had frozen a moment just
for his people.
They weren't really his people, the men and women
(though sometimes it was impossible to tell which was
which, it didn't really matter in the dungeon) that
hummed with a dark sexual energy. The sadists and
masochists, gathering at the bar and speaking as
casually as any crowd in a downtown coffeehouse. The
only thing they had in common was the want, the need
in some cases, for violent sex. The raw power that was
bondage, domination and humiliation drawing them to
this place.
Brad had never been a frequent visitor to the club,
but once in a while...he needed it. Sometimes once a
week, usually once a month, he made his pilgrimage to
the shady night club on the edge of town. It was set
up as a brothel of sorts. You can just go and look, or
cruise in the bar upstairs. Have a drink or two, maybe
just watch the parade of leather. Almost always,
though, the bar was where you waited for the chance to
go downstairs.
Below the bar was the action, the real thing. If you
were willing to pay the money, you could probably get
anything you wanted. Usually, you paid, then got your
name put on the list. When a master had chosen you,
you'd go below and be his or her slave. Usually it was
all the master's choice...but for the right fee, you
could pick your master.
Brad always left it up to the random pick. Male
masters always made the experience more sexual, bitter
and brutal and hot. But females brought out things in
him he never thought were there.
The real hardcore experience there was the dungeon.
From what he heard it was pretty much a leather orgy,
naked slaves and masters with whips and crops and
cuffs, all dominated or submitting in the large room.
He'd never had the courage to go. Instead, he opted to
wait for a private master in one of the rooms.
After ordering a drink and paying his fee, then
watching as the young woman neatly wrote his initials
on the list, Brad made his way to the changing rooms.
He wasn't the only one who opted to dress there, but
it still felt a little like wearing your bathing suit
in the gym shower. It was the wussy way out.
When he exited, clad in only a leather brief plus his
leather wrist and ankle cuffs, he went back to the
bar. He'd toyed with buying a harness weeks before, so
he could experiment with suspension, but had passed
with the thought that it might make it hard to stop
and go back to the mundane world if he let himself go
any farther. After fiddling with the zipper, he pulled
the black leather hood over his face and accepted his
usual drink.
There were never any faces. That was the rule of the
Palace. You went downstairs as a slave with your mask
on, and met your masked master. No names, no faces,
you were both separate people from the person you left
at the door. When you first encountered the master,
you were to assume your slave position, on your knees
with your lips to the floor. They would give you your
safe word, then instruct you from there. As soon as
you said the word, it was over. The slave always
picked when it was over.
Each master was different, and Brad figured that
during his ever growing number of encounters he'd
submitted to almost all of them at one point or
another. He was shocked when the woman who ran the bar
softly whispered in his ear that one of the head
masters wanted to see him, his blood ran cold. Three
masters had been with the place since it's inception,
two women and a man. Everybody thought they didn't
even work with the public these days, and Brad
couldn't understand why he'd been picked to go to one
of their private suites.
* * * * *
Greg was infinitely bored. As he sat in his large
private suite, he wondered how much commotion it would
cause if he went upstairs and hand picked a slave.
He had been one of the first masters hired on when
the Palace opened up, and for the last five years he'd
been in the elite that just worked private parties and
high dollar slaves once or twice a week. The rest of
his life, the outside life, was dedicated to his
comedy. However, when the tapings went on the usual
hiatus and his stand up routine wasn't booked, he
liked to work the Palace a little. He almost never
took a slave from the public selection, but boredom
brought that out of people.
He picked up the phone and made a call to Shelly at
the bar. "Hey, Shel."
"Mr. P." The voice was slightly surprised, "What can
I get you?"
"Anyone interesting on the list tonight?"
"The private list is barren, Mr. P. You can probably
just go home."
"I know, I want the public list. Anyone you'd
recommend?" Greg smirked. Shelly wasn't a master, but
she talked to all of them. She'd heard a million
stories and knew which slaves were regulars and who
they usually saw. "A young male, maybe?"
Shelly was shocked at the demand, but understood that
it was nice to have someone, even if he was stooping
to the level of the lower masters. "I've got quite a
few tonight. Most looking for a specialty." The
masters each had things they liked to do better than
others, ultimately they'd all do whatever it
took...but it was nice to get what they wanted. Greg's
specialty was role-playing.
"I'll take anything tonight, love." Greg's voice was
like honey, "I'm bored out of my mind...send me a
challenge...someone that will last forever if you
can."
Shelly went down the list, mentally marking off the
ones she knew he wouldn't enjoy. "We've got a few
regulars. A middle aged male looking for wax play in
addition to the regular, but I think Mol has her eye
on him."
Greg nodded, Mol was one of his favorite underlings,
he'd trained her early on, then given her over to a
female master. "I'll skip that, what else?"
"Oh!" Shelly half-laughed into the receiver, "There's
another guy here too that you might like. He comes in
on a sporadic basis, but has been with almost every
master we've got. I think he's the one that Mary said
is really into the lighter stuff, but seems ready for
something harder. Letter B."
"Oooh." Greg licked his lips, it was fun to watch a
slave in a new situation. "Voice trained, or does he
need a gag?"
"Sorry, don't know." Shelly saw the smirking brunette
as he came back from changing and slid into his hood.
"But I think you'll really like him."
"Send him down." Greg hung up the phone and went to
change into his leather.
* * * * *
When a mostly naked slave came to escort him to the
suite, Brad knew it would be an intense encounter. He
was being led towards one of the best masters in the
place, probably in the state, and didn't know at all
how to respond.
"On your hands and knees." The courier's voice was a
whisper. "Head down, eyes on the floor. Mr. P doesn't
like a slave speaking until they are spoken to."
Brad nodded, getting on the hardwood floor. In the
Palace, you became a letter. He was no longer Brad,
but his moniker, 'B'.
"Mr. P is very good, if you know what you're
doing...your experience will be wonderful beyond your
wildest dreams." the slave was on his hands and knees
beside Brad as he knocked. "But if you aren't, he'll
shape you up fast."
"Thank you, C." Greg opened the door, looking down at
his slaves as he lowered his voice into something that
sounded almost nothing like him. "Go see Mz. M."
Before the commands came, the other slave was gone.
Brad kept his head lowered and gazed at the shiny
black leather boots. On instinct, he leaned in and
kissed the toes.
Greg readjusted his half-mask and bent, sliding a
spiked collar around the slave's neck, lightly running
his fingers over the soft, pliant skin. "You are my
slave tonight. You will not speak unless I ask you to,
Every order and command is to be obeyed. When you wish
to terminate the session, your safe word is 'ocelot'."
Brad knew the routine, and kissed the boot once more
when he heard a leash being attached to his collar. He
couldn't help but smile at the code word, usually it
was something strange, but 'ocelot'?
Greg detached his thick leather strap from his belt
and put it to the slave's chin, drawing his face
upward as he stood.
Even with the mask on both of them, Brad could always
feel a connection to his master, but as his eyes
eagerly took in the skin tight leather pants, leading
up to a white silk shirt, cinched tightly in a black
leather corset vest, he felt a shudder pass through
him.
Greg locked his eyes on the slave's. Usually slaves
he catered to carried that blank, never ending stare
that seems to show nothing but solitude...this slave
seemed to be wild. His eyes flashed fear, lust and
uncertainty. Yanking roughly on the thin leather lead,
he pulled the slave to his feet and led him to the
center of the dimly lit room.
The carpet was soft under Brad's toes, and he kept
his eyes downcast, remembering the directions of C.
Greg hooked the slave's wrist cuffs together with a
thick chain, then went to the wall and pressed a small
button, lowering a hook to keep the slave's arms
pinned above him, then took off the collar and tossed
it aside. He knew just what to start out with.
It was definitely not the first time Brad had his
arms strung above him while he stood, but he found
himself rather grateful that his arms weren't pulled
high enough to actually hurt his shoulders, just to
restrict a little blood flow if he stood long.
Greg came up behind the slave, loving the way the
shadows fell on his pale body. Almost every slave he'd
dealt with had been exceptionally beautiful, and this
one proved no different. "Have you ever had a male
master?" the questions began. It always started with
the same questions, ritualistic and informative on
both accounts.
Brad could feel the man behind him, only inches away
from his back. "Yes, master."
Greg winced at how terribly the word 'master' rolled
off the slave's tongue. It had never been a word he
was fond of. In a motion, he brought the strap down
across his shoulder blades. "I am not to be referred
to as 'master'. I am above that." He brought it down
on the opposite side, "You will call me Mr. P."
"Yes, Mr. P." Brad responded, the second hit less of
a surprise than the first.
Greg smiled, he liked the way the slave seemed afraid
after only the initial strike. Most seasoned slaves
were apt to take many more before they fully took on
their character. Casually, he slid his arms around the
slave's waist and lowered the zipper on the leather
brief. "I don't like this." He brought them down the
solid white thighs, then let one hand cup the slave's
pale ass. "I shall dress you." It was one of the most
dominating things in Greg's mind...to dress the slave.
Many masters were fond of stripping them naked, making
them appear that way in front of an audience, but to
him, making them wear clothes against their
will...covering up their sex and making them look as
you wish was far more powerful.
Brad felt a blush creep into his cheeks at the
contact of Mr. P's hand with his rear. He obediently
stepped out of the leather and waited for a command.
Before any came, he felt a thick, lacy cloth pressed
to his eyes, then secured behind his head. A
blindfold.
"Are you uncomfortable with the blindfold?" Greg made
sure his voice was soft and right against the slave's
ear.
Brad swallowed, the master's breath moist and hot on
his skin. "No, Mr. P." He had never been fond of
blindfolding, but it had strange effects on him.
Greg smiled secretly under the leather mask as he
went to his mirrored wardrobe. By far, his favorite
thing to do was introduce slaves to gender play. The
strange humiliation of being forced into clothes
unmistakably of the opposite gender. He selected a
pair of soft pink satin panties. Each slave reacted
differently to being dressed up and some could take it
all the way, where others felt enough with just the
panties.
Brad heard the opening of something across the room
and waited for Mr. P's return. The worst part about a
new master each time was never knowing what you were
about to get. He still had a scar from his first and
only tryst with fire play.
"Do I frighten you?" Greg was back, whispering the
words into the slave's ear.
Brad took in a steady breath, trying to keep his cool
as he felt the strap come down on the base of his
neck, then a kiss placed to the same spot. It was a
question he never knew how to answer honestly. "I
don't know, Mr. P."
Greg smiled and ran his lips over the flash of red
skin, then let the leather strap drop to the floor.
"Are you afraid of what I could do to you? That I
could leave you helpless like this, perhaps?"
Brad shook his head, only to receive a hand swat to
his rear, "No, Mr. P."
Greg couldn't help but smile at the response, they
always said 'Yes', they were always scared. He leaned
in close, making sure his breath would bring up the
hairs on the back of his slave's neck. "What scares
you most?"
Though to moist, deep voice massaged his ear, Brad
had to mentally sedate himself to keep from breaking
character and asking what his fears had to do with
whatever Mr. P had in mind. He replied very softly, "I
don't know."
Greg delivered another stinging swat to the soft
rear, slightly amazed at how the slave barely
flinched. "I suppose that isn't important at the
moment." Greg nipped lightly at the slave's ear lobe,
then pulled himself away.
Brad bit into his lip slightly, preparing for another
hit, and was taken off guard by the feel of something
soft and silky against his thigh.
"I think I'm going to name you tonight." Greg ran
the panties up over Brad's thigh and across his ass,
making sure to just lightly drape the cool fabric over
the flesh. "I think I'll call you Brittany."
Brad felt his brain convulse as he realized what was
going on. He was being gender fucked. He felt the
master's hands on his ankles, silently instructing him
to lift up. He was being dressed.
Greg licked the back of the slave's knee, watching as
he resisted the reflex to draw it up. Slowly, he slid
the panties up his thighs.
Brad held back a whimper as the panties were smoothed
around his waist, they were cut just high enough so
his rear hung out a little, but it kept his now stiff
cock inside.
Greg ran his hands over the slave's belly from
behind, making sure not to touch him anywhere else.
Then he once more put his lips beside the slave's ear.
"Brittany, you've been a very naughty little girl, you
know that, don't you?"
Brad felt himself giving over to the character. Role
play wasn't strange to him, but something about being
a bad little girl struck a chord deep inside. He let a
thin sighing whimper escape his lips as he nodded.
"You know better than that." Greg delivered a firm
smack to the now covered ass, "You should always
answer Daddy's questions."
"Yes Daddy." Brad's voice shook, he wanted to sob,
fully engrossed in his character.
"Now Pumpkin, Daddy's going to let you down, but I
want you go put on your play dress so I can punish you
for being a bad little girl at school today."
"Yes, Daddy." Brad let his voice take on the little
girl's tone. Then, the presence behind him was gone
and he felt his arms being lowered. After he was
disconnected from the chain, he was led to the large
cabinet.
"Put on that cute little pink dress for Daddy,
Sweetheart." Greg watched the shudder pass through his
slave once more, thrilled by his quick acceptance of
the character.
Brad watched as the master opened one side and
immediately saw the dress. It was short and pink with
lots of white lace. Too frilly to be something a real
girl would wear, but perfect for the fantasy. Before
he could react, the other man's hand swatted him hard
again.
"Don't make Daddy wait. You have to be punished
before you get your candy." Greg delivered another
hit. He couldn't help but smile as the slave trembled
while sliding into the dress.
"Yes Daddy." Brad chocked on the sob still lodged in
his throat. It was starting to overwhelm him, but he
wanted so badly to stick with the fantasy.
"That's a good girl." Greg ran his hands over the
leather mask on his slave as if smoothing back soft
curls. "Good little Brittany. Now I didn't want to
have to take you over my knee, but you've been a *bad*
girl."
Brad nodded, whimpering again as the master led him
to stool. Then, he bent over the other man's knee, his
body pulsing with desire as he felt the spankings
delivered with excruciating ease.
Greg counted out loud, letting each of his slave's
cries control the pain. His hand tingled from the
spanking and he knew the slave was almost ready to
crack. Shelly hadn't been kidding when she said he'd
only done light stuff...but he definitely wasn't ready
for anything too hardcore. "Have you learned your
lesson, Brittany?"
Brad nodded, the tears moist on his cheeks as they
made the leather cling to his face. "Yes Daddy."
"That's a good girl." Greg delivered another swat.
"Now, what do you think Daddy wants to hear?"
Brad quivered, his body pulsing as his head swam. It
was over. He couldn't take anymore. "Ocelot." The word
quivered on his lips. Just as quickly as it had begun,
the encounter was over and he was on the floor, his
face pressed to the deep carpet. He heard his master's
voice on the telephone, calling for him to be escorted
back upstairs.
"Give him the VIP treatment, Shel. No charge. This
one is my pleasure." Greg smiled as he gave his
orders, watching the slave writhe on the floor, "I'm
going home for the night, I have a busy week ahead."
Brad heard a door close and he was alone in the room.
After only a few moments, someone he'd never seen
dressed in leathers stripped him and let him put his
leather back on, then escorted him to a small indoor
garden he'd never seen before.