It was pouring down when we got out of the taxi, the wet asphalt reflecting the club's neon lights as the colours of a spoiled rainbow. It represented the place and my life perfectly; a distorted paradise. Above the entrance, the "7 deadly sins" sign glowed in its usual red, the colour of fire and hell, because make no mistake, whoever had a membership here was on a sure path to inferno, mistress leading the way.
She wasn't fond of the rain and didn't see the beauty in it.
"I hate this foking English weather," she cursed prodding her long legs forward, out of the car into the cold, wet December air. Just looking at her graceful features one would never have thought that this goddess swore like a well-educated sailor.
I didn't know which part of South Africa she was from; she didn't like to talk about that part of her life, but I'm guessing it must have been the sunnier side as she absolutely despised rain. "Come on pretty little thing." She pulled on the leash that was attached to my black diamanté collar, adding, "We don't want to ruin your hair and makeup before due time."
The club's entrance was mere steps away so there was no real danger of getting soaked in the freezing winter rain, but after that hint my panties were a different matter altogether. I looked up to her, my eyes filled with hope. Even in my six inches heels she towered above me, only because she was so very fond of her lace-up black stiletto boots.
She gave me a quick vacant stare. She could be described as a typical cold beauty, with platinum blonde locks -- now tied in a messy but somehow still elegant ponytail - and eyes of misty mornings. Her nude lipstick concealed her narrow lips almost completely, as if she didn't need a mouth and everyone was expected to just read her mind. She had chosen big heavy crystal earrings and matching necklace to further distract and intimidate whoever dared to feast their eyes on her. Just like that, noticing her sealed, frozen lips, hope whizzed out of me and I looked away as I was expected to.
It seemed like tonight wouldn't be the night that I would get my old life back. and that my punishment was to continue. Seven long months, and all for one silly mistake; I was really starting to become desperate and grow resentful towards her. As much as I loved her and loved being owned by her, deep inside I was a free spirit and I'd been locked up for far too long.
She didn't have to tell her name to the bouncers; they greeted her by it and one of them crossed us off the list on his phone. They must be used to all sort of kinky shenanigans and outfits but he still stared at my studded cat ears and his eyes lingered on my assets for a few seconds.
"Mmm," I purred at him cheekily. I wasn't fond of big beefy, double wardrobe type men, but I'd been starving for a nice big cock for too long and I couldn't have cared less what it was attached to anymore.
Mistress again pulled on my leash. "You'll be punished for that later," she scolded.
"Ba-ad kitty." The bouncer smirked, shaking his head teasingly, which just made me want him even more. I wanted to put on the brakes, dig my heels into the red carpeted floor and tell him what this bad kitty wanted to do to him - but I was already in enough trouble as it was.
The word decadent didn't do the place justice on any given night, but now with all the festive decorations it was surreally beautiful -- whomever was in charge had gone so far as to change the wallpaper on the walls. Before, it was something dark and a bit gothic; now the silver-glittered patterns sparkled against the white background like freshly fallen snow. They went with a silver and white theme this year and the rest of the decorations echoed these colours of innocence. The shift in atmosphere that this caused was in scandalous contrast to the club's purpose, but then that was obviously the very aim.
After handing over our coats to the staff we headed to the main ballroom. My little red cocktail dress didn't leave much to the imagination and, as we entered, all eyes turned upon us. Larissa was well known in these circles and people were rushing to greet her, and as usual she never bothered to introduce me to anyone. I was just her pet, her accessory. I didn't mind it at first but now, after so many months, it had begun to feel humiliating.
I kept myself busy looking at the Christmas tree, the biggest I had ever seen in my life. I tried not to think about how many woodland creatures had lost their homes when it had been cut. There was a smaller room, adjacent to the big dance hall, separated only by three large archways. A long table ran throughout its full length, adorned with a pristine white tablecloth, silver cutlery, more different kinds of alcohol than could ever be thought of and a buffet dinner that, from where I stood, seemed to consist mostly of seafood dishes. Posh and all that, but give me a burger any time over fancy oysters and caviar; I hoped they at least had some pigs in blankets. The champagne, however, was out of this world -- it tasted like a basket of summer berries from a hilltop where the sun shines stronger, ripening them to perfection. It lit up little sparkles on my skin and in my brain as the tiny bubbles coursed through my veins, tickling me inside like miniature bouncy balls. The club's waitresses were patrolling the room, balancing flutes of this nectar on small glitter trays. They wore nothing but barely-there thongs, revealing almost their entire bodies to the hungry eyes of the patrons.
Mistress had been in an animated chat with a man in a silver suit; he had casually reached for a few glasses of bubbly and placed them into our hands, while at the same time tucking his other hand under the waitress's string and stroking her mound with the backs of his fingers. She gyrated her hips provocatively and whispered something into his ear, carefully balancing the tray as she leaned forward. Whatever she said earned her a big grin on his lips, but then he turned back to Larissa and asked if we'd like to have a few bites. We walked over to the table; he pulled a chair out for Mistress but left me standing.
"Ohh, she can't sit anyway," she giggled, lifting up my dress to reveal revealing my cute stripy cat-tail and its associated butt plug hiding between my ass cheeks.
"Nice," he remarked with a grin.
"You better just kneel on the floor, kitten," she instructed me. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but I was used to it. I curled my legs under myself and sat there in a sideways pose between the two of them as they chatted away in Afrikaans. I was given a few bites from her hand, sweet chilli shrimps, salmon bites on brioche rolls, some melt-in-the-mouth chicken tikka skewers and for dessert - because she knew how much I liked fruit, - a few honeyed figs and a miniature blood orange tartlet.
"More." I looked up at her, begging with the honest desire of a hungry kitten. With my face-painted button nose and whiskers, I imagined myself as irresistibly cute. She handed me a few more figs and let me lick the honey off her fingers. I curled my soft tongue around her long sexy fingers and purred contentedly. I put my paws on her chair and rubbed my tits against her thighs. She let me suck her digits while she was looking at the man behind me with narrowed eyes and a gleeful pout.
Now with my stomach full, my other more pressing needs were rising rapidly. Unable to fight the urge I teased her, kissing her beautiful, fishnet clad legs, working my way up, smelling the scent of her arousal while others watched; this was one of her favourite things to do. I was there to serve her and everybody else she chose to entertain; I was to pleasure numerous women and men with my mouth while always wearing a plug in my butt and my pussy to make these parts absolutely off limits to everyone. It had been my punishment for the last seven months, because I "had gone too far" with a particular... erm... I guess we could call it a gangbang. "I'm not sure how I feel about you fucking so many men in one night," she had said.
Instead of completely removing us from the scene and giving up coming to 'Seven', she chose to tease me and punish me in this very cruel way. I assumed she got off on torturing me and enjoyed the thrill of others lusting after me and using me.
She suddenly pulled me up by my collar, my elbows resting on her chair between her thighs and looking deep into my eyes she said on a serious tone. "I want to give you an early Christmas present, kitten. I stop your punishment for a day. For 24 hours, we will do whatever you want to do." It was completely unexpected and I was lost for words and for a minute or two I was lost for ideas too. Then the kinky fantasies slowly came alive and wiggled and snaked their way back into my dirty mind.
"Anything?" I grinned mischievously.
"Yes," she sighed, rolling her eyes in mock disapproval. "If you want to take home a whole football team, we will do that. Or a dominant couple, or whatever you wish."
In a flash the fancy Christmas decorations blurred into an insignificant smudge and my eyes focused on all the beautiful faces and bodies surrounding me. I had almost forgotten how amazing it felt to be on the prowl, to be in control at least for a while. My heart started drumming inside my chest, completely out of sync with the club's Christmas dance tracks.
"Go on, be greedy - this is the 'Seven deadly sins' after all," she giggled.
"I love you," I blurted out. It wasn't the first time I told her those words, but I didn't remember saying it recently.
"I love you too," she replied dreamily. "Sorry that I have been selfish and jealous for a while. I'm very lucky to have you." She stroked my face, being careful not to smudge my drawn-on whiskers. "I don't want to lose you."
She wouldn't have lost me over this, of course. Yes, I had become a bit resentful lately, but only because this wasn't the arrangement that we had agreed on when we met. I wasn't a service slave and I wasn't a lesbian. I needed to have a nice pounding from time to time and she knew that. If we were a normal vanilla couple, I wouldn't have had a problem even to stay monogamous, but after you tasted the apple from Eden you'd always lust after it.
"You know what I want," I purred.
We moved back to the main hall and sipped a bit more champagne while looking for possible candidates.
Normally no nudity and sex were allowed in the ballroom, but this was a private affair with less than a hundred members and people were losing their clothes at a dizzying rate and all kinds of kinky goings-on were beginning to take place. I spotted the couple that I'd had fun with last time and turned away, blushing feverishly as I remembered how they used me as a cheap clean up slave, fucking right in front of my face. Once the husband had finished filling up his wife with cum, he had pushed my face into her pussy. Mistress delighted in the scene and in the heat of the moment I did enjoy it too, but it was not something I wanted to repeat.
Suddenly the guy in the silver suit appeared again - now minus his jacket and a few shirt buttons -- and Larissa called out to him. "Pieter, Ek het 'n baie honger katije hier."
It sounded like crystal bells on her tongue, even if I didn't understand any of it. I only knew that 'katjie' meant kitten as that was her favourite name for me. Whatever she'd said, it was an invitation for Pieter to come closer and glide the side of his thumb across my bare cleavage.
"I have just the thing for a hungry kitten," he teased, now running his fingers along my cheeks and offering them, pressing against my lips, which I obediently sucked. He was very sexy in a laid back, carefree kind of way. His blonde hair was spiked up messily as if the evening wind was responsible for its styling. His 10pm scruff would have been irresistible for my nails to have a wander in under normal circumstances, if I hadn't been a collared kitten.
"Would you ladies like to go into a private room?"
He was asking Larissa, but she just passed the question to me, "It's her night, she can decide."
Well, by way of a reply I just lowered myself onto my knees and gave him a nice teasing blowjob, there in the middle of the dancefloor. A few men walked by brushing my arm, which is the club's agreed subtle sign that they wish to join but by that time, from the corner of my eyes I saw that couple again, the one I played with last time. While they did not interest me at all, they were involved in a scene that unfolded in front of my gaze, distracting me and drawing me in. The husband was standing with his trousers and underwear around his ankles and a very slender slave girl -- dressed in all black leather -- was eagerly swallowing his cock, balls deep. The owner of the slave girl was kissing the other man's wife passionately. Bizarrely, in the whole lewd scene there was one tiny detail that caught my attention: the way the master was looking at his sub while kissing the other woman. The look in his eyes was so deviant, so perverted... so familiar; it was the same passion and twistedness, my mistress used to watch me play with others, but it seemed even more potent, more powerful. Was it simply because he's a male, I wondered. I looked at his slave and for a minute I wanted to be in her shoes. He noticed me staring at them, smiled with the other woman's lips still between his and curled his fingers into an inviting come hither gesture.
As a kitten with free will for the night I crawled to him. He was still fully dressed in a pair of tight jeans -- less formal and admittedly sexier than the rest - and underneath it all there seemed to have a very impressive package.
He broke his kiss from the other woman and took a close look, first at me and then at Larissa. When their eyes met, I realised straight away that they knew each other, even though I was sure I have never seen him before. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and it was obvious to me that the previous scene and everything that surrounded us had turned her on. I could almost smell her irresistible scent and couldn't wait to taste her sweetness; I was conditioned to concentrate on her, but I reminded myself that tonight I could have so much more.
My choice of fun for the night in the shape of that mysterious, very handsome man whispered something into Larissa's ear then playfully bit her earlobe. Larissa froze with surprise and a shocked expression took over her face, her eyes casting an invisible wall between them.
"Long-time no see, Coen," she said. Her voice was cold, and yet there was a sparkle in her eyes that I had never seen before.
"It seems your kitten wants to play, Larissa," he said, giving a strange formalness to her name. "Should we find a room?" His voice was provoking, challenging even, as if expecting her to refuse. Mistress hesitated. The stormy seas in her eyes made me realise that I'd just prodded my garden fork into something murky and buried deep. I looked up to him contemplating if he was worth the thunder. Yes, most definitely.
"It's her night, so whatever she wants," she finally said with a shrug, then with her statuesque face she added, "but I have to warn you sir, I don't do men anymore."
"We'll see about that, pet," he shot back.
The mistress I knew would have told him to 'fok af', but this Larissa smiled and stared into mulled wine scented space, seemingly lost in a long-forgotten world, as she pulled on my leash following Him.
As it was so completely off the table till now it has never ever crossed my mind how it'd be like to see her with another man. I knew that she wasn't strictly a lesbian otherwise she wouldn't have enjoyed seeing me being dominated by men. This new-old connection put a few very dirty fantasies into my mind.
"You got a very pretty little kitten for yourself there," he said almost mockingly, once the four of us were in the privacy of a playroom. His sub could hardly be described as pretty, to be completely honest; she had a very slim body, mid length black hair and big soulless, empty eyes. She was like a shadow of a person; either very submissive or extremely well trained.
"She's a bit of a handful," Larissa unclipped my leash off my collar with a half-smile.
"Like you used to be?" His back was towards us, pulling the drawers of a large chest open, but his smirk was audible in his sarcastic comment.
Mistress closed her eyes. She did not want to remember. I could never imagine her as submissive.
"I'd keep my torture device cabinet closed if I were you," he smirked. Was he suggesting that one day I'd turn into her? Very unlikely.
"I've never been into that, Coen." The way she emphasised his name gave me the impression that it was something new on her tongue and she enjoyed tasting it.
"I remember otherwise."
I was already getting off on their power struggle and he hasn't even touched me or her.
His slave girl didn't like her master flirting with another female. Her hollow eyes were quietly watching from a distance with a green glint in them.
"So you liked to receive but you're too soft to give?" He arched his eyebrow provocatively.
Larissa folded her arms in defence and remained silent.
"Show them your stripy ass, slut," he called out to his kneeling sub. She obediently turned around, lowered herself into all fours and displayed the deep red welts on her buttocks. He stepped closer and tenderly ran his fingers on the lines. "Beautiful isn't it?" Mistress preferred restraints and soft teasing and wasn't into pain. She did use a soft leather whip on me a few times to 'warm me up' and made me cum on the tip of a crop once or twice. Oh, how delicious that was.
But nothing else. She wasn't a sadist. I didn't know it was my kind of kink till I saw those marks on that girl.
"Does your kitten like caning?" His voice was so low, so thick so challenging.
"I'd like to try," I blurted out before Larissa could open her mouth to answer.