Acting Dominant

by Tigger

©2008

Chapter 18: My Love is Nothing Like the Sun...

 

~--~

The assembled guests followed her to the dais as if she were the Pied Piper and they were the children, Solange thought, amused. She picked up her microphone and turned toward them. "We have had some kind of failure in my video system. I don't know what thingamie broke, but basically what it means is that we can't watch the challenge scenes because those feeds can only go one place until it gets fixed. I've decided that my Dungeon Master Mistresses need to see what's happening in those rooms more than we do."

There were murmurs of agreement and consolation from the audience. "Thanks for your understanding. I'm sad about that, too, but at least we can watch the last of our contestants go for the prize!" she said as she made a grand gesture to the screen behind her. It flickered once, and then settled once again on to the split view of the two entry points into the Hall of Horrors.

"Our Mistress in this competition, dressed as Boris Badenov's fellow Potsylvanian spy and helper, Natasha Fatale, is our own Mistress Betina!" There was a smattering of applause, and then she pointed to the other side of the monitor. "Her opponent is Mr. Victor Davis. Since two of our Mistresses have already lost, We thought about putting a squirrel tail or moose antlers on him to help motivate Natasha, but we couldn't find any in time."

There was general laughter, but Solange didn't want to wait any longer. She needed to get this last one started! "Mistress Betina, you may enter the Hall!"

Betina, made a pistol with her index finger and thumb, and grinned as she 'shot' it at Davis. Then, she disappeared through the curtains.

"Mr. Davis! "On the count of three, you will enter the Hall and the clock will start!" Solange called out, and took a deep breath as she watched him slip through the curtains.

~--~

At least they were out of the main ballroom, Walter thought. Almost all of the guests were listening to La Maitresse, and there were none of the large screen televisions in this part of the ballroom to bring them here when the last guy's contest started.

Head Mistress Marie led him to a furniture grouping evidently intended to be a quiet, conversation area. She stood him directly behind one of the heavy, overstuffed chairs, so that his bare belly was brushing up against it. "Bend over the back of that chair!" she ordered, punctuating her command with quick swat of her yardstick against his thigh. "I want to see your toes on the floor, hands behind your back and your nose on the seat cushion. MOVE!" she ordered, urging him on with another slashing blow; this one to his other thigh.

He did as she ordered. "Now, I want you to spell out - CORRECTLY - the honorific of the woman to whom you kneel. I will encourage you in this examination by a thorough application of my motivational tool to your upturned buttocks until you pass my little test." A whistling stroke cracked loudly against clenching ass-cheeks. "Begin!"

~--~

To the watching guests, this pairing seemed to be shaping up as something like a repeat of the first. The Mistress costumed as the femme fatale of Rocky and Bullwinkle fame took up a position about twenty feet down the corridor from where she'd entered.

Davis was moving into the corridor, as had Walter Evans before him, but without any real attempt to silence the bells. He was moving as quickly as the hobble on his ankles would permit, and as a result, he reached the first corner well before the first minute was expired. Cautiously, he stopped there, and went down on one knee.

~--~

Solange had told them there'd be traps, he thought, as he felt around the corner. If he was going to set traps in this dark pit, he'd do it at the corners - expecting to catch the prey when they were excited about making it to the first check point.

Unfortunately, he couldn't feel much through the bulky glove, and he set off the trip-wire controlled light trap. Fortunately, his eyes were not in the direct line of either the lamp or the reflection from the mirrors so he was only slightly dazzled. Closing his eyes, he rounded the corner on his knees and headed for the next corner.

~--~

"One Minute gone!" Solange announced as he headed down the second corridor. "There are Two Minutes remaining!"

That was to his advantage, the guests saw, because he was still on his knees when he hit the greased floor trap. Additionally, whatever tripped the webbing was up higher than he was tall when crawling, because he missed that one, too.

"Must be he figures he can just push his way past Betina, because he sure as hell ain't being sneaky about it," someone offered.

"Well, she's the smallest Domme doing this thing. I sure wouldn't try this with Emerald or ShaJuana," a female voice replied.

They agreed, watching him turn the second and final corner, and look carefully into the darkness in the direction of his goal.

~--~

"M . . A . . I . . T. . .R . . E. . S. . S. . EEEEEEE!" Walter yelped against the stinging fire lighting his bottom. Somehow, he'd managed to misspell La Maitresse's name three times. Okay, two times - the one time he'd forgot the 'L . . A' at the beginning.

"That is correct! You have mastered the spelling of your Mistress' honorific. You are released to your next class."

Walter looked up from his awkward position. "But. . .but.. ."

"Speak clearly, student!"

"What about my clue, Head Mistress?"

Marie heard the dismay and fatigue in his question, and gentled her own voice. "You already have it, student. Now go and find her." And then, she left before he could struggle up into a standing position.

~--~

Betina had moved a little further into the corridor, perhaps another fifteen feet when Solange announced that there was one minute left. Plenty of time for anything to happen, the crowd knew. Betina was going to have to stop him somehow, or he would win.

~--~

Victor wasn't really sure what he'd do if he won this contest. It was too bad what he really wanted wasn't on offer. He'd taken the challenge expecting to lose. He wasn't afraid of the challenge thing - so long as he could safeword if they approached his one hard and fast limit. That was a given because Solange, La Maitresse, wouldn't allow anything else in her house.

He'd already decided he wasn't going to try to capture Betina. Hell, what would he do with a submissive? However, that didn't mean he was just going to give in and let HER win. Where was the fun in that?

~--~

Solange watched as Victor went back down on to all fours, and started to gallop toward the finish line.

Betina barely saw him, but still managed to jump towards him. He saw her and made an incredible effort to twist his body so that he missed hitting her head on - he really didn't want to hurt her. He landed on his side, and started to roll back to his stomach so that he could start galloping again when something caught hold of the hobble chain, and pulled!

A cheer went up as the guests saw that there was a second Mistress, one who must have already been in the Hall when Betina had first entered. She pulled hard on the hobble chain, causing Davis to go flat onto his stomach, unable to get his feet to the floor. Then, Betina jumped on him, putting her weight on his shoulders.

Solange started the ten count, and was quickly joined by the rest of her revelers. Moments later, she announced that Mistress Betina and her partner, Mistress De Masque, had won and that the losing contestant was to be transported to Playroom 3 to await their pleasure.

~--~

Tina was tactilely and orally reacquainting herself with every square inch of HER ShaJuana. Juana had long since ceased complaining - about being captured anyway. Now she was complaining about being teased - LOUDLY!

It could be fun being a bitch, Tina mused as she discovered the pleasure to be had nibbling her way up the back of Juana's neck while cupping and fondling those magnificent breasts!

She'd just about reached her goal when a red-light flashed on the now-dark screen. Time for the big show, she thought. "Wanna watch some television, Tall Booty?" she asked as she walked over to pick up her remote.

"WWWHHHHHATTT??!?" was the bellowed response from a very frustrated goddess as the TV screen flared to life showing the two slaves with their burden entering a playroom with Betina and the masked Domme following behind.

~--~

"Maitresse?" Walter called out from in front of the dais, catching her attention from the screen on which her two slaves carried away Victor Davis.

"Yes, Mr. Evans," she said, turning to face her kneeling submissive and schooling her face and voice.

"Are you my next clue giver?" he asked, "Maitresse?"

"You should go soak your head, Mr. Evans," she said quietly. It was too close to midnight to put him through granting her some type of playful boon, and he looked about ready to crash.

"Soak my head?" he asked, incredulous.

"Well, dear boy, it is, after all, Halloween?" Then she deliberately turned away from him.

~--~

The slaves bound Davis hand and foot to a horizontal torture rack. Betina activated hidden motors that slowly stretched him out until there was no slack in the restraints.

"I think, Mistress Betina, that we should start by seeing just what kind of man we've won here. Is he a dud, or a stud?" the one called Mistress De Masque asked.

Betina found a pair of scissors. "I seem to recall that when I trained him, he was. . .adequate, at least for size. I can't tell you about his endurance," she giggled as she passed the scissors to her partner. "I never let him cum."

Three quick snips had the jockstrap coming off easily in the masked woman's hands. "Hmmm," she replied, "Seems large enough - and growing! If he's this quick to erect, however did you manage to avoid . . . accidents?"

The Madame' gentle, gloved hand began to fondle him intimately. "Maybe I didn't excite his little willie as much as you seem to do, my dear," Betina observed. The two woman looked to one side, where a floor to ceiling mirror stood. A little smile curled the blood red lips of Betina's blond partner as she took in her own reflection. The curvy woman who smiled back from those silvered depths was stunning in the tightly corseted black catsuit, heels and mask. "He must really like well-endowed, petite blondes."

Victor groaned in response to the teasing, 'Ummm, Mistress? Please, but I don't cum with the Ladies here - it's one of my hard limits."

"Oh, really?" the blonde purred, her fondling becoming more serious. "You didn't mention that, Betina. This one doesn't enjoy orgasm? How - interesting."

'Natasha' laughed. "No, I think he enjoys it well enough - just not here at the dungeon, but it is so much fun driving him to the edge of insanity. He's quite the only sub I truly enjoy forcing to safe word."

"Oh really?"

"Yes indeed. I've sent him out of here limping, his dick so hard, holding his hands behind his back on his own because he refused to touch himself and cum. Only fair, because he won't sexually pleasure, orally or otherwise, any of the Mistresses either."

"I don't think that's because he doesn't like girls," Madame observed thoughtfully, "I mean, look at this hard-on. I'm almost impressed."

Victor groaned again, going rigid. to control himself, and the masked blonde went up to look into her victim's eyes. "And why don't you want to share pleasure with us, slave-boy? hmmmm?" she asked, her hand speed beginning to pick up.

"Because I won't be sexually unfaithful to my wife, Mistress. I go home, after serving, to make love with her - to worship her, even if she doesn't know that's what I'm doing."

"Lucky woman, but I don't understand why you come here, slave-boy. Is she some type of prude, that you hide what you are and what you want to give her?"

Tears glistened in Victor's eyes. "I won't lose her because I . . . NEED this!" he growled through clenched teeth. "I can't give this up, but. . .but. . . MERCY!!" he called out, his entire body clenching against the suddenly imminent eruption.

The hand stopped, but wasn't removed. Instead, she gave a firm pinch at the base that stifled his climax. "Thank you, Mistress," he managed to gasp out.

The blond dominatrix signaled to Betina, who smiled, nodded and left the room. She then reached down, and unsnapped the bra and the crotch of her catsuit. "It's time, little man," she said in a smoky voice, "For you to give me what I've earned."

Before Victor quite knew what was happening, she straddled him, and took his erection into her in one slow movement. Davis was stunned! "Dammit, I safeworded! You're supposed to let me go - stop everything! I will report you to Solange! The police!"

Arching her back, the blonde put one gloved finger to his lips. "You safeworded because you were about to orgasm without your wife, correct? Answer yes or no."

"YES, DAMN Yooiuuuummph!" he was cut off by a firm palm across his lips.

"I said, yes or no, you naughty boy. Well, the reason I'm not honoring your safeword, is because," she reached up her free hand to sweep away the mask and blond wig, "I'm your wife!"

Davis found himself being tightly embraced and thoroughly kissed. "Linda?" he managed to choke out around the tongue invading his mouth.

The petite brunette sat up, gave a quick hip shimmy to seat him more thoroughly in her womanly core, and sighed happily, "That's Mistress Linda to you, slave boy."

"How - why. . .I don't understand. . ."

"Shhhh," Linda purred as she began to ride him slowly. "I followed you once and Solange saw me. We'll talk - LATER! Now, do I have to gag you, slave boy, or are you going to shut up and fuck me?!?!?"

~-~

  

  

  

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