Jeff barely looked up. The whole flurry of the
more-animated-than-usual office was bewildering. He knew not looking up meant
“not attentive to team-working”, but his irises were wobbling around the blurry
grey and black blobs that was his office. He wanted nothing to do with this,
nothing, none. He decided the best way for him is to fade from the scene, to
drop dead on his cubicle, not that the higher-ups were around to tend or even
observe the mess. A few more clicking of the keys, pretended or not. The smell
of damp paper, springtime it was, but still chilled by the blasting air
conditioning, and suffocating sniff by sniff, draining your arm’s strength
until his back was sucked onto the chair. That’s the life of a soul-crushing
cubicle worker, and every workday had been like that. In work days he could
have gone to the bar for a soothing drink washing through his brain and
emptying the self-pity, but lately all the overtime work punched a hole in his
little leisure time. Now what? Bite the bullet, what else? Reality was pitched
against him until he gave up.
At least he still has the weekend. On his way back he’d read
through a few of the private chats, nothing alarming to him. And after them –
It’s Friday, finally, and he finally could take his own time back. He had an
address for Saturday, and it was on his phone. He had a few friends lightly
touching on it, saying almost nothing about it, except “all your most depraved
and twisted desires can be fulfilled. Nah, do any fucking thing there as you
wish.” Fucking everything! Jeff could imagine nothing barred, of course –
anything. Anything without decency. He could guess anything with bodies and
objects, anyway, and anything was right. That was the only tip he needed before
searching for the directions of the club.
Granted, it was remote, and it took a few hours of drive out
of town to be there – not the place for those trekkers, hobo or not. He looked
back – no one else was with him. No one to witness whatever faux pas he would
have, or little rumors to be spread by those coincidentally there to witness
him. The gates were over there, and in front of it was an almost underage girl
– no reason why she would not be illegally employed if it was famous enough for
the twisted orgies. “Welcome to Juxtaposition, our new master.” He could easily
look down on her, not idiomatically, with her average, unboosted height and a
slightly drab glow over the bunny form. “How can we best serve you, master?”
Those words startled him, even on a vantage point over her. “Huh… Um… I’m new
to this place, so what can this place offer?” Jeff has less courage than the
usual reserved self. The whole free-for-all image in his mind wimped him, and
it showed. The girl in front of him turned back and turned the door knob, the 2
panels creaking as they made their entrance into a new world.
Even in the corridor leading up to where he would wait for
things to be prepared, he was already bombarded by all the sensations he could
never feel in the cubicle, or the confines of his home. Not even him sitting in
the bar, with a few close contacts, could compare. All the flickering positions
and places, some visible and some half obscured; whorish moans and
testosterone-filled shouts; scents of flesh and fluids. This was no normal
club, and those were quite a lot to bear. From the assault on his senses, the
seconds by bits, and each slide beside him, faded from the mind…
“Go this way and just wait”, the bunny half pushed and half
commanded him. Jeff’s body said “no way” to his mind, wanting to slip out of like
a mirage, but every way his body fell, the bunny just righted him, sort of like
a cosmic choreography. The dancers slip by swiftly… Like a few moments later
(he didn’t know), a pair of penetrating mallow eyes stared from the opening of
this otherwise dark, cushioned room, into the depth of camera obscura in him.
The first thing he knew, perhaps entrancingly, was “I wanna be that girl, I
wanna get excited”. And then, he asked, what girl was this? As more and more of
her figure entered into his eyes, the second greeting from her was the waves of
her rolling, coarsely strapped butt. Rhythmically her spine spun along her way
onto him, every step the jiggling boobs swung by the dotted leather bikini.
Inches and feet of shining skin, once belonging to the sun, but now radiating
sunlight on its own. And hell, the devilish, imposingly sly smile under the
equally demonic lavender hair, every corner protruding an aura imposing and
overwhelming him, locking the limp body in place. Not to say the crown - and
from this he instantly discovered her appellation: “The Queen!” Speechlessly,
from her wavering entrance and firm stance, a leg was ready to be raised - and
off the thick, purple sandal came that, onto his face. A light peek at the
unzipped shorts and zap-
“Out of yourself! out!no dumbing down with my majestic body!
This a command!” With a sharp quirkiness in her words, his whole body was
zapped by the boot on his face, crushed-
Crushed is his face, the nose pointing back gently to the
Queen’s right foot. The plushy ass of her coiled back when she released her new
slave. A private first session, getting started by the way the real Jeff never
expected - clamped in her regal body. Like strings pulling a puppet, her blood
pulled his spirit, bound to his Queen’s body, and returned to the
one-leg-up-front pose she asserted on the floor. “Your Matronic Majesty… your
slave’s humble body… submits to Your Majesty…” with this said his eyes barely
meet her exalted presence. “Your slave… presents here… your perfect Queendom… for
your enlightened pleasure…” As this obstinate slave mumbled. A great service to
the (unweary) Queen. Jeff knew this would be a place of depravity, not a place
to be with a twist. And this first time, his body submitted, a nobody, under
the radiance of Her Majesty. And for a new slave, “he” has shown a total bowing
before her, unwilling to rise above even her navel.
“Your Majesty… your slave… will lead you into the hall…” and
The Queen knew she had, from the pressing sensation on her butt, a lash.
Sleekly from the belt she drew the lash, and harshly it fell on the slave, once
and twice, each lash firmer and firmer as The Queen regained the momentum of
subjugating this new slave. Not just a little implement - to rhyme with it, a
servant handed a velvet plate. On it was a leash, a pitch black cord cuffing at
one end and handled at the other. Nimbly and swiftly the slave’s neck was tied
to her gloved hand, and a pull almost choked him with a red, twitching face.
Like a battered horse pulling her invisible chariot, the slave, little drips on
his back, started fumbling as he tried to crawl across the room towards the
exit. Small gracious steps and unrelenting lashes followed him.
The hallway was glowing purple and spotty with the shadows -
some of those waiting for her glory. And lo, from one of those hallways, the
new slave announcing her path. “Uh… *flap* Hail to the Queen!... *flap* Submit
to the Queen!... *flap* Let no ill be spoken of Her Majesty!” With each lash,
and each streak on the drenching shirt, the slave cleared his throat and
stuttered with the announcement with a barely audible whine. With the loud
shouts entering rooms and reverbating in the little chambers filled by lust and
pure lust, a great many in the rooms peeked, not taking a second out of
whatever sensual pleasures they reaped and Her Majesty’s presence would
sanction. The Queen had come! All Hail the Queen!
This is a commission for someone on DeviantArt. But who'll care?
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