Learning to Dance

As she sat on a sofa in the corner of the crowded club, she wondered for the hundredth time why she let her friends talk her into this. She never thought she'd see the inside of this place again, after....what happened. She recognized faces here and there in the crowd, but drew her solitude around her like a screen and nursed her glass of ice water. She shifted again on the couch, feeling ill at ease and foolish for allowing herself to be goaded into coming out at all. She shifted yet again, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she tried to achieve a more comfortable position. She leaned her head back momentarily as a wave of fatigue washed over her; she closed her eyes and tried to will herself a thousand miles away.

"May I have this dance?" A deep, masculine voice resonated in her ears and cut across the bass beat of the music to startle her out of her musings. She squinted against the flashing lights that backlit the figure standing in front of her, trying to see his face. He stepped closer, his hand outstretched to help her rise from the couch. Not bad, she thought to herself as she got her first good look at him. He was taller than she was, even in the 4-inch stiletto heeled boots she habitually wore when she was at this particular club. Nice build, lean and lithe as an acrobat. Dark hair and dark eyes which were returning her frank assessment with a patient, steady smile. The smile...now, that was very nice. His lips were well-shaped and curved slightly upwards at the corners with a hint of wickedness. A very kissable mouth, she decided.

"I don't believe we have ever been introduced...my name's Master Titus." Her eyes widened slightly; she had heard stories about this Man but had never seen him in her time among the community. His smile widened as he saw her flash of recognition. "And your name is..." he prompted, giving the hand that he was still holding a gentle squeeze in encouragement. She almost blurted her old scene name out, then caught herself in mid-syllable and subsided in embarrassed confusion. "You must have a name little one...or are you too new to have chosen one yet?" She shook her head and tried for a sophisticated, worldly laugh that came out sounding like a high-school giggle. "Well, no matter...you can tell me your name when you're ready. Now, how about that dance you promised me?" He led her, still holding her hand, out into the press of bodies in the middle of the dance floor. There was hardly room to stand, much less dance, but they managed as best they could. As she danced, she let the pulse of the music get inside her and loosen her muscles, so that by the end of the song she had lost all the stiff discomfort from earlier. The next song blared out from the speakers; a new song that was darkly sensuous and that she had wanted to dance to from the first time she heard it.

Suddenly, an over-enthusiastic dancer behind her bumped into her hard and threw her forward into her dancing partner. He caught her before she could trip and fall, and held her steady in strong arms as she regained her footing. The music swirled and beat around them, and he kept his arm around her waist as they both started to move in rhythm again. The nearness and warmth of his body got her flustered and she felt awkward and clumsy. He leaned in and breathed in her ear, "Relax girl, follow my lead...give over control and see where it takes you..." His voice, deep and calm like a mountain lake, washed over her. She closed her eyes and allowed her perception to narrow just a bit, to feel the shift and thrust of his body as he danced and matched her body's movements to his. "That's it, good girl...let go..." His lips brushed against her cheek and she could smell his clean, masculine scent as he pulled her in even closer. The music was building to the crescendo; his other hand came up and ran through her hair before taking a firm grasp of it and suddenly pulling her head back, exposing her neck and making her back arch. She gasped at the speed and the controlled ferocity of his action, and her first reaction was to pull up - to struggle.

He stood stock-still and held her firmly, right there in the middle of the dance floor. Her eyes had flown open and now were locked with his as she tried to read what his motives were for doing this. His dark eyes betrayed nothing, and looked back into hers with the same calm patience that was there when he first asked her to dance. She struggled again, her hands coming up to push against his chest as her neck muscles strained to pull her head fully upright. She wasn't going anywhere; he had her locked in a very firm, very controlled embrace. As awareness of her helplessness sank into her, a strange wave of emotion stirred her to relax again. Her eyes that had been staring so defiantly into his softened and went dreamy; her lips that had been tight and pursed softened and opened slightly to release a low sigh. She relaxed against him, her hands dropping to her sides as she finally hung, almost limp, in his arms.

His eyes gleamed as he smiled at her and released her hair. He leaned in and gave her a swift, hard kiss on the lips before taking both her hands in one of his and leading her off the dance floor and outside to the patio area. The space was deserted and a blessed relief from the heat and noise of the dance floor. He perched on top of a high bar-seat and motioned for her to sit opposite him.

"Now, why don't you tell me who you are, little one." His calm demeanor belied the hint of steel she heard in his voice. She blushed crimson and considered telling him an outright lie. But she considered him, and remembered exactly who he was, and decided to tell the truth. He would definitely walk away, that she had no doubt of, but all she would have wasted was an evening and a dance.

"My name is Elizabeth." Now it was his turn to show recognition; his nose flared a bit and his lips thinned as he breathed in sharply. She hastened to add to the end of her statement, "....Sir." As a veiled challenge, as proof that she had training, she wasn't sure why she dared that. She saw a tiny flash of mirth in his gaze, and his lips curled at the corners again in acknowledgement of her salvo across his bow.

"Well well....I heard that you had left the scene completely. I suppose my information was inaccurate." He studied her as she debated what to say next. A part of her brain was screaming to just thank him for the dance and leave the damn club and never look back. However, to her amazement and shame, she started recounting the whole story of all the mistakes that she had made that led to her self-imposed exile. She was brutally honest with him; the months of telling the story to her friends and all the gossip-seeking hangers-on that had hounded her for juicy tidbits had cut away all the self-serving and pitiful excuses that she had originally made to herself. She took responsibility for her grave errors and gave all the reasons for her subsequent decision.

He was silent for many long moments after she had finished speaking. His gaze was far away as he sat; she could only believe that he was trying to digest what she had just told him. Finally he nodded and said, "Well, you can imagine the different versions of the story that were floating around about that whole thing. First, and correct me if I'm wrong, you had only had one or two experiences before your first private party, right?"

He waited until she nodded before continuing.

"Then it was how long, a week, before a collar was offered?"

Again, he waited until she nodded. He made a low rumbling noise that put her in mind of a male lion gnawing on a gazelle's shin-bone.

"And given the people involved, I imagine that you were played with very hard. I know their styles. I hope you will indulge me, but I want to know how you liked their different approaches..." He leaned forward, putting both his hands palm-down on the small table between them, and looked into her eyes with an eerily intense focus.

She was silent for a minute, letting all the memories swim to the surface of her mind. The only problem with this, she thought, was that I have to re-visit all the good memories as well as the bad. She started to talk. She told him about her real journey into pain, her first endorphin high and what it did to her. She told him about the crushing let-down afterwards that also iimprinted its conditioning on her. She told him about the edge-play, pushing her limits, breaking her limits in some places, and how it helped her completely open her psyche to new realms of possibility. And finally she told him about how she had let her emotions get involved, and how she was the most ashamed of that because it was what had prompted her to commit the cardinal sin of defying her collar to one Dom and secretly seeing another Dom.

He smiled. She sat there silently and was amazed that he was smiling. The man sitting across from her was probably the most well-known traditional Dom in the city, and he was smiling at her after hearing how she made fools of two of his brother Doms in the eyes of the rest of the community. Her incredulity must have shown in her expression because he let out a long, soft chuckle and stood up to move directly in front of her. Looking down into her eyes, he took her face in his hands.

"Elizabeth, I hope you hear this and believe it. I'm sure that you've heard that I don't play with "newbies". There's a reason I don't. The intensity of my style is not suited for people new to the lifestyle, not because they can't handle the pain level but because it takes them places that they have no knowledge of how to deal with. What happened to you, little girl, was a bad case of "first frenzy" that was taken advantage of. It takes probably six months of steady play and teaching for a new sub to finally come to terms with the physical and psychological effects of BDSM; then and only then are they capable of making a rational choice to be collared to a particular Dom. What you did was wrong, of course...but in my mind there are greatly mitigating circumstances for what happened."

His words and his quiet, calm demeanor eased the last vestiges of hurt and self-loathing in her. Tears formed in her eyes as she gazed up at him; she trembled and started to raise her hands to brush the tears away before he could see them. He beat her to it, raising his thumbs to gently wipe the moisture away then licking each thumb and tasting her tears. That low rumbling came again, a leopard as he savored his kill this time. He seemed to make an internal decision and pulled her off the barstool and into his arms.

Holding her firmly against his chest he murmured, "If you wish, I would like to take you home with me for this one evening." She stiffened in surprise. Never in her wildest thoughts did she think that this would be an even remotely possible outcome of the evening. His smile widened slightly and he added, "After all, I have always been curious about the infamous Elizabeth....I want to see for myself what you're capable of..." She blushed again when she heard that and he laughed out loud. She also recognized his answering salvo in the word "infamous" and the fighter in her rose to the challenge.

Elizabeth nodded her assent and allowed him to lead her back through the club and out the front door. She had ridden with her friends to the club so she didn't have a car of her own; she whispered to one of her friends as she passed where she was going and what she was doing, and was rewarded by a huge gasp and an equally huge "thumbs-up" sign.

In his car during the short drive to his house, they talked about light, inconsequential things - a new movie he'd seen, a new book she'd read. First date material, she thought with an internal chuckle. When he parked and turned the car off in his driveway, the first flutter of nerves hit her stomach. What if....what if she couldn't live up to his standard, what if she panicked and used a safeword before she could really show him what she was capable of....the thoughts swirled in her mind all the way up the walk and through the front door, which he held open for her in an exaggerated show of gallantry. He led her through the house and back into a living room that was decorated in warm earth tones with splashes of vivid colors here and there.

"Relax girl, take those ridiculous heels off before you break your ankle." He smiled his wicked smile to take the sting out of the words. He disappeared back into the darkened house, presumably to get drinks, as she started the process of unlacing, unhooking and unzipping her boots. He came back with two tall glasses full of ice water just as the second boot hit the floor and Elizabeth breathed a deep sigh of relief. He chuckled and handed her a glass, then sat down in a large overstuffed leather chair and put his feet up on an ottoman before taking a large gulp of his water. Silence settled in the room; Elizabeth didn't know what to say, and he was seemingly content to drink his water. She felt his gaze upon her and glanced over, then hastily looked away. His eyes were too intense to hold their gaze for long.

"Stand up." The statement, so quietly spoken, yet rang with command and she obeyed without thinking. "Come here." She slowly walked toward him, stopping at the edge of the ottoman on which his feet rested. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. Her body reacted instantly; her hands went behind her back to clasp together, her head lowered slightly and she dropped slowly to her knees. My god, she thought, some things you never forget, even if you wanted to. She could feel the same curious narrowing of focus that she had encountered on the dance floor earlier, and the same silken lassitude as when he had held her head back.

"Now, Elizabeth, we can go about this one of two ways. The first way, we can negotiate the evening's scene, from start to finish, then act it out, then I take you home. Nothing will be left to chance or guesswork, and you can feel secure that you will know exactly what will happen. The second way requires a bit more trust on your part...that you hand yourself over to me for the night and let me lead you where I think you want to go. The choice is yours..." He leaned back in his chair and watched her with calm assurance.

She knelt there and thought about the two options. The first one had its merits - she would know exactly what was going to happen and know that she could handle it. But then she realized that what she really wanted was to submit to this man and relinquish that control, at least for a night. She cleared her throat and murmured, "This girl would choose the second option, Sir..." She risked another glance up at him and was rewarded with his smile.

"Well then, little girl, stand up and take your clothes off for me." He sat forward as she stood up and began to slowly unbutton her blouse. Each piece of clothing was removed and folded carefully, and put on the couch behind her. She was meticulous, remembering her former training. Finally, she stood naked before him, her head bowed and hands clasped behind her back.

He stood up and walked to her. Slowly he circled around her, touching and inspecting her body. She could feel his warm fingers as they stroked up her spine to rest at the back of her neck. His other hand came brushing up her belly to lightly cup a breast. She closed her eyes as his thumb grazed across her suddenly erect nipple. She heard him chuckle softly and then murmur, "Your body is certainly responsive to positive stimulation. Now let's see how you respond to..." His voice trailed off as the fingers that had been so lightly and teasingly playing with her breast suddenly pinched down on the nipple. Her eyes flew open at the sudden onslaught of pain; then she breathed in deeply and relaxed into the sensation, letting the feeling course through her body as she had been taught. He stepped in front of her, still holding her nipple painfully tight between thumb and forefinger. His eyes caught hers; his steady gaze became her focus and she poured out the pain she was feeling as offering to his dominance. His gaze warmed as he sensed her surrender to the sensation he was choosing for her, and he slowly relaxed his hold on her breast. She had not moved a muscle during the whole short ordeal and could see that he was very pleased with her performance.

Master Titus pulled a wide band of black cloth from his back pocket and told Elizabeth to close her eyes. She obeyed, and felt the soft cloth wrap around her head to bind her eyes shut. He tied the blindfold snugly at the back of her head, then took both her hands in his and started leading her forward. She relaxed even further into her rapidly narrowing perception as her sense of hearing and touch were exponentially heightened. She could feel every bump and furrow in the carpet she was walking over; she could hear his soft breathing and the swish of his clothing as he led her.

He stopped her and dropped her hands. She stood still; she could hear assorted clinks and rattles as he moved around her. Finally, she felt him lift her wrist to wrap a wide soft leather cuff around it. She shivered. It had been a very long time since she had been bound like this, and it brought back intense memories of her past experiences. He continued, fastening a cuff on her other wrist then on both ankles. She could feel him attach clips to each cuff, then he gently pulled her forward and guided her hands to the smooth wood arms of a St. Andrew's cross. She almost froze when she realized what was about to happen. She had heard of Master Titus's prowess with all manner of floggers, whips and canes, and that he was a bit of a sadist when it came to the giving of pain. But she had made her choice, and was now in his domain for the rest of the night, for good or bad. With that thought, she leaned forward and stretched her arms up to be fastened to the rings.

He secured her to the cross, making sure her feet were firmly planted before attaching the cuffs on her ankles to the bottom rings. When she was secured to the cross, he patted her hip like he was gentling a restive horse and then moved away. She could her him moving around behind her. Then his hand was on her shoulder again, bracing her as he stroked the heavy leather flogger down her back. The soft leather strands felt cool and sensuous on her heated skin and she moaned softly.

"Listen to my voice little one, and relax. Let the sensation flow through you like I know you can. You know your safewords; and you know that I will respect them. But for now...relax..." He stepped back and she shivered at the loss of contact. Then the first warm sting of the flogger hit across her buttocks. The still-rational part of her brain had to admire his skill; he knew just how hard to swing the flogger to get her skin warm and responsive before going further. The thuds of the flogger took on a rhythm that she surrendered to. Up her back, across her shoulders, back down to her bottom and then down the backs of her thighs...the leather strands brought the blood to the surface of her skin and made her nerves sing. Instead of anticipating and tensing before each blow fell, she relaxed and let her head drop forward to rest on the cross. She moaned softly as he started to pick up the tempo; the strokes rained down faster on her flanks and back and she realized he was using a flogger in each hand. She took a moment to think about what other interesting things a man who could use both hands independently of each other could do. The images made her moan louder, just in time to gasp as the floggers started to bite harder into her back.

The harder the blows fell, the higher Elizabeth's consciousness soared. She gave in to the pain and let it flood her with endorphins. Just as she felt like she was reaching some sort of apex the flogging stopped, and she almost cried out to beg for more. But then she felt the tip of a rattan cane trace down her back before hearing the swish and then the impact across her bottom. He alternated light, tapping strokes with broad swats and precision cuts that left no part of her body untouched. The fire was growing inside her with every beat; she was moaning continuously and her tears were streaming from under the blindfold. A series of rapid strokes fell, that went from the bottom of her buttocks to her shoulderblades, and then suddenly he was standing close behind her. His hand came up between her legs to cup her sex, then his thumb slid into her in one fluid motion. He knew just where to push; and she screamed as her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave. She was mortified to hear the splatter of her essence on the hardwood floor beneath her. He chuckled and bent forward; she felt his hair brush down her side and then a towel was placed between her feet. All she could do was moan and shiver as he slowly unclipped her arms and legs from the cross.