The Club Owner's Troubles

Chapter One-3

A rather chubby dimpled face framed by a huge mass of black curls smiles sheer delight down at me. Accented by shiny mirror sunglasses and a gleaming silver necklace with diamonds twinkling in the earlobes, that lovely face mediates perfectly between the creamy white of my own skin and the dark coffee brown or eggplant black of all the other people I’ve ever seen. More, that beautiful light brown is breathtakingly bare all the way down the thick but beautifully proportioned shoulders, arms and chest to where a blindingly white tight dress barely contains breasts that are several orders of magnitude larger than any I’ve ever dreamed existed. They are the same size or even larger than my head! My shameful little man-thing swells as swiftly, alarmingly and painfully (if inexplicably) as ever and my heart hammers within me. Worshipful adoration floods through me, and just like that I’m in love as never before. The hopeless veneration I felt for the previous females in my life was but a shallow precursor to this enthralling instant attraction and adulation. Oh, heavenly Mistress Dara, you are far more gorgeous and wonderful an owner than I could have ever dared hope for!

Dara

Nera was right. Taking off my sunglasses at last I see that my precious slave’s eyes are indeed a simply gorgeous blue: the brilliantly clear azure of high summer skies and un-muddied mountain lakes. Yet even more enchanting than their color is the expression of awed surprise and instant adoration that fills them the moment they fix on me. Clearly my sheltered little Drew has never seen anyone like me before! His gaze flicks constantly back and forth between my face and my breasts as if he can’t decide which he finds more stunning. Filled with gleeful amusement I let him look, returning the favor by gloating over him in return.

I had feared his white skin might have the sickly pallor of the dungeon about it – this boy has never been above ground in his life before today. Yet Mistress Nera has anticipated this, and equipped his cell with natural spectrum lights. Drew has a perfectly healthy vanilla complexion that is absolutely beautiful.

I will have to see to installing the same, and perhaps even a sun lamp. A nice even tan would make him even more attractive. Unable to help myself (and why should I want to) I again finger his thick silken tresses, and then caress the soft springy flesh of his shoulder where it is exposed by the ropes. He is just too perfect to be believed! I simply must see more of him. At last I lift the little key-ring Mistress Nera gave me. In addition to the single tiny key on it (which fits his chastity sleeve) it has a complicated little fob which when properly programmed or pressed will deliver a crippling shock to his very impressive imprisoned p***s. Holding this up before his eyes I smile with genuine affection at him.

“I won’t have to use this if I untie you, will I?”

Drew shakes his head emphatically no, his worshipful gaze utterly disregarding this threat to continue feasting with wondering love on me.

“Good boy,” I grin, tucking it into a pocket of my dress. “You couldn’t escape this place anyway if you were foolish enough to want to. The elevator requires a security code. We’re the only ones here and the apartment is completely soundproofed. Without my good graces you’d starve to death down here and no one would find you for about a dozen years, if ever. So let’s get you out of that box and have a proper look at you. The two of us were just made for each other, and we are going to have the time of our lives down here – or a life of great times I should say.”

Drew’s eyes tear up with uncontainable emotion at this approval and promise. Lavishing him with as much kindness now as I will eventually subject him to cruelty I quickly but gently unbind the ropes about his legs. Mindful of how numb these must be I don’t hurry him to stand but merely help my deliciously fresh young virgin up onto his knees. Still ball-gagged and with his shoulders, torso and arms wrapped in that elaborate rope harness, and his hands and testicles tied tightly to one another, he stares first with amazed and worshipful fascination at the rest of my wonderfully voluptuous body. Then kneeling in that box on its little dolly just outside the elevator opposite the one I took from my bath he gazes around in wide-eyed wonderment at the secret basement apartment I’ve prepared for him.

Far away across this great underground space, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet, lies the gigantic waterbed in a wide alcove on the end. Draped with furs and piled with pillows, this sumptuous disporting place is reflected from three sides and above by the completely mirrored walls and ceiling.

Each corner of the bed features a spooled rope with a cuff on its end and a motorized crank. Another winch is hidden above the ceiling mirror, the cable descending from this retracted right up against it, undetectable from this distance. Likewise undetectable around the perimeter of the frame are regularly spaced cleats for tying off other ropes, presenting limitless possibilities for s****l bondage. To the right of that sybaritic alcove lie the bathroom facilities: the huge sunken tub, a large shower compartment, a toilet and bidet, sink and vanity. To the left is a fully equipped kitchen and dining space, with the drawers and cupboards currently locked shut. Closer this way in that same wall is a smaller alcove, this one about ten feet long and eight deep. Closely set steel bars enclose this, behind which can be seen the currently empty cell awaiting my new slave, with its thinly padded floor, simple toilet, sink and steel rings regularly set in the ceiling, floor, and concrete-block walls.

Pretty Drew’s eyes betray a glint of amazed gratitude as he takes in the fact that this little cell is actually quite a bit larger than the cage he occupied in Mistress Nera’s dungeon. Indeed he gawks stunned disbelief at everything: the expansive, high-ceilinged space, opulent furnishings, and most of all the great number of devices for restraint and torture ranged around the rest of the large apartment – along with more mirrors for reflection and racks and racks of bondage gear, fetish outfits, s*x toys and nearly numberless implements of discipline.

Utterly staggered, my slave’s gaze ranges ceaselessly over everything, before at last returning to me with mute and questioning supplication. As filled with delight by his reaction as I have been myself every time I revel in the sight of this wondrous place, I loosen his ball-gag and let it fall around his neck. Considerately I use my own silk handkerchief to wipe the drool from his chin, neck and lips. Then I raise my eyebrows enquiringly.

“You would say something, my slave?”

Drew swallows with difficulty. Then he husks timidly up at me.

“I know you are a goddess of sorts, Mistress Dara. That goes without saying – every woman is inherently sacred. But is this place heaven?”

He seems so earnest that I just have to laugh, and stroke his smooth young cheek.

“Together we will make it so, my slave. This is our own little alternate universe, perfectly fit for an omnipotent goddess and her enthralled subject. Are you happy with that? Are you glad I purchased you from Mistress Nera and brought you here?”

“More than I can possibly say,” Drew tremulously avows, everything about him emphasizing the honesty of this. “I had no idea such places even existed – or such amazing women as you. They told me my life would get inconceivably better. They were right. I can’t wait to begin serving you however you require. I haven’t been disciplined in forever and all this stuff…I’m so excited I feel both weak and yet at the same time like I might explode. My naughty little boy-thing hurts so bad, but in a strangely good way. It fills me with a terrible urgency that nothing seems to ease but being beaten. Would you like to beat me, Mistress? Or how else shall I submit to you? I live only to make you happy.”

How indeed?

Now that I finally have my slave I’m so giddy with the joy of possession that I can’t decide what interminably deferred pleasure to indulge in first. Standing with my palm on the head of my new bound and kneeling toy I find myself flashing back to my childhood spent in the slums, when I first began to develop a craving for punishing and subjugating males.

***

Everyone used to pick on me.

I was the chubby shorty with lighter-colored skin than everyone else, even those of Indian or Latin descent. No one knew who my father was, though obviously he was a European or American tourist, of which my prostitute mother had serviced endless number of times. To make things worse, the despised and high-handed gringos had recently invaded nearby Panama. Killing indiscriminately they’d overthrown the rightful government, captured, spirited away and imprisoned the leader, causing a great deal of resentment throughout the region.

The highly lucrative cocaine traffic had shifted into different avenues. This worsened the already crippling poverty we all grew up in, while doing nothing to lessen the ravenous appetites of the Americans – or their supply. No one could strike back at the all-powerful United States of course, so I became a convenient scapegoat. When lacking any other diversion the neighborhood kids used to chase me about and beat me up. They also tried to exclude me from the backstreet football games that were endlessly played by both boys and girls everywhere. Yet occasionally I was still allowed to participate, usually when someone needed a goalkeeper and no one else wanted the position.

One day when I was still only ten came the chance happenstance that eventually led me to where I am. There was a mad scramble for the ball around one of the big red bricks we used in lieu of goal posts. Fists and feet were flying everywhere. Though I was the only one permitted to use my hands there was no way I was going to dive into that melee. I’d be lucky to come out with all my teeth, which for a wonder in that part of the world were all beautifully white and straight and all there. Instead I lunged in and attempted to kick the ball clear. What I connected with was a different set of balls – the testicles of an older boy, and one of the worst of those who delighted in victimizing me. Watching him writhing on the ground weeping and cursing, I was suddenly filled not only with a righteous sense of vengeance but a strange and powerful thrill, a kind of pre-s****l excited satisfaction that was irresistibly compelling. All at once I felt truly alive for the first time. Inspired by this inadvertent introduction to sadism I found myself eager to repeat the experience. Soon I was purposely kicking balls at every opportunity, each time becoming more addicted to the exhilarating sense of power and domination inflicting such intensely intimate agony on deserving males gave me.

This soon saw me banished from the games all together. Yet now I had a new weapon in the endless street conflicts. Whenever boys began to chase and afflict me I could drop them in their tracks with one well-placed kick to the crotch. So gratifying did I find this, and so expert did I become at it, that I soon became notorious for it. And as I grew older I became something of a bully myself, seeking out defenseless or unsuspecting younger boys I could instantly fold up into gasping, sobbing agony with a relishing kick. I even managed to incapacitate a grown man this way when he tried to rape me one day.

Soon I was turning tricks for the tourist trade myself – there wasn’t any other way to earn money, and the development of my enormous breasts saw me much sought after. I began dancing in clubs too, constantly moving on to better and more lucrative gigs, and the opportunities for immensely satisfying ball-kicking dried up. Still I never lost my craving for the thrill of dominance it gave me. And eventually similar avenues for sadism were opened to me. Once in a while I came across a john who wanted something other than just straight s*x once he had me in his hotel room.