“Strip,” the Dyke demanded.

She stood waiting, with arms folded and legs shoulder width apart, clad all in black fetish wear: motorcycle boots, jeans, leather vest, and leather biker hat.  “Now,” she added.

The Meat obeyed, slowly freeing her long, lithe body from the leather corset and miniskirt that had protected her.   Finally, she stood before the Dyke clad only in a lacy black thong and spiky black sandals, her head down in submission, her arms properly at her side, palms forward.  The Meat knew what was expected of her.  She also knew what was coming.

The Dyke cocked her head in appraisal, then stepped forward and removed the Meat’s panties.  Stepped back and appraised again.  Yes, that was better.

With her flesh exposed for all to see, the Meat felt a rush of excitement, but dared not let it show.  She kept her gaze down, her breathing regular and slow.  Only two very erect nipples on her full breasts betrayed her arousal.  The Meat loved being naked in front of a roomful of clothed onlookers, her body the only one exposed.   She reveled in the vulnerability, the exposure, the inspection of dozens of anonymous eyes: some desiring her, some critiquing her flaws, some appraising her as they would a cow ripe for slaughter.  Standing for inspection, she began to feel a familiar moisture between her legs.

Apparently satisfied, the Dyke ordered her up onto a medieval spanking bench.  The Meat’s wrists were then cuffed and lashed to posts on either side of the bench, and she was made to rest on her knees, bent over a padded 2x6, which raised her tight ass high in the air for the Dyke’s convenience.

The Dyke began with light caresses all over the Meat’s body – her back, her legs, her breasts, even the moist area between her legs.  She did it smoothly and confidently, until the Meat’s skin was all gooseflesh.  The Meat was trying not to moan in arousal.  She knew that no sound was allowed, now.

Then the spanking began, easy at first then progressively harder, mixed with caresses, until the Meat was begging for mercy and her ass was glowing bright red.  Through it all, the aggressive music was pounding, and the Meat’s pleas were all but drowned out.  Not that they mattered, except to the extent that they pleased the Dyke.

When she finally became bored with the spanking, the Dyke moved on to better tools: a paddle, then a heavy leather flogger, and finally to the cat o’ nine tails.  But not the regular cat.  This Meat deserved the special cat: the one with steel spikes where the knots usually are, at the business end of the tails.  For ninety minutes the Dyke beat her slave with implements of cruelty – beating the Meat’s ass, and back, and tits, and legs, and shoulders, and feet – and delighted in the screams, squirming and tears her efforts elicited.

For her own part, the Meat went deep into sub space where pain became pleasure, submission and endurance the path to sexual fulfillment.  She screamed in answer to the heaviest blows, but only part of it was from the pain.  Most of it was pleasure so intense she couldn’t stand it and had to shriek, bawl and wimper.  During it all, she delighted in knowing that others were looking on, watching with rapt fascination and arousal of their own.

Then came the canes.  One of fiberglass, one of wood and one of steel.  The Dyke used them expertly, and made the Meat count the strokes out loud.

Whack!

“One, Mistress!”

Whack!

“Two, Mistress!”

Whack!

“Three, Mistress!”

The Meat laughed inexplicably, inspiring the Dyke to hit harder and harder.  When the Dyke was done with her cane work, the Meat’s ass was lined in horizontal stripes like window blinds, all raised welts of dark purple and bright red.  And the Meat was in tears, collapsed from pain, exhausted, every muscle spent, every ounce of endurance expended.  The Dyke moved to her victim then, embraced her, took her sobs and her shaking, put her arms around the Meat’s slumped and inflamed back, and smiled in satisfaction.  She released the Meat’s wrists, had her turn around and sit on the bench.  Gave her a drink of water.  When she could, the Meat looked up at her in gratitude.

“Thank you, Mistress,” she said with a wan and tired smile.  The Dyke kissed her gently on the lips, then turned away.

Out then came other implements: a speculum, an inflatable rubber dildo, and a strap-on harness with an 8” silicone cock attached to it.

“Back up on the bench,” the Dyke demanded.  “Turn around.  On your knees.”

The Meat stuck her ass up in the air again, her vulva peeking out from the bottom.  The Dyke then spread her sub’s cheeks and plunged two fingers inside the Meat’s swollen and wet pussy, eliciting a pleasure moan, then began to slowly thrust her fingers in and out.  The Meat felt waves of pleasure rush through her body with each thrust.  Then the Dyke inserted three fingers.  Then four.  When the Meat began to move in rhythm to the thrusts, she stopped.  The inflatable dildo replaced her fingers, and she began to pump it up by squeezing a bulb on the end of a rubber hose, not unlike pumping up a blood pressure cuff.  As she pumped, the dildo expanded, getting both longer and bigger in diameter.  Two inches in diameter.  Three.  Four.  The Meat’s vagina expanded to accommodate, and the inflatable dildo grew to the size of a can of tennis balls.

The Meat loved the feeling.  It didn’t hurt.  She knew her vagina could expand to swallow an entire fist, as it had done many times before.  She loved the feeling of growing fullness inside her, delighted in knowing that unseen watchers were fascinated by the expansion.  How big could she take it?   She was going to take it even if it split her in two.

When the Dyke began thrusting the huge dildo in and out, the Meat moved her hips in rhythm, fucking the giant rubber cock slowly and sensuously, with her ass high in the air.  The Meat was so wet it was effortless, and her passions rose.  She moaned.  She reached her hand between her legs, two fingers making slow circles around her clit, in time to the thrusting.

Before she could cum, the Dyke stopped, and pulled the huge rubber sausage out.

“Turn around,” she ordered.  Tapping the bench she said, “Plant your ass down here at the edge, and lean back.”

The Meat obeyed silently, her cunt still tingling.

When she turned around, the Meat could see the dimly lit room.  It was large and receded into darkness by the corners so that she could not discern its end.  Benches, wooden horses, a cross, a rack and various other bdsm furniture littered the space.  Black overstuffed chairs lined the walls, and other chairs had been pulled up to within a couple yards, occupied by rapt onlookers.  One man had his hand down his wife’s top and was caressing her breasts while they both watched intently.  The Meat met their gaze and held it, thrilled that they were so engrossed.  She felt their eyes on her naked body, on her dripping cunt, on her long blonde curls that fell heavily on her shoulders and stuck to her face, drenched in perspiration.

The Dyke approached, wearing the strap-on, its angry erect cock at attention.

“On your knees, slut, and suck my dick,” she said.

The Meat dropped to the floor and pulled the silicone cock into her mouth, sucking and licking it with flair for the audience, giving her best performance.  She loved performing naked.  For the Meat, this was so very much about the theater of it, and she gave it her all.  The Dyke then grabbed her hair and pulled her head violently down on the cock, forcing its entire eight inches down the Meat’s throat.  The Meat took it as best she could, but after only a couple seconds her gag reflex arose.  The Dyke moved her off the cock, let her regain composure, then jammed the full eight inches down her throat again.

The Meat gagged once more, and was about to vomit when her mistress let go of her hair.  She sat back onto her knees, wiped saliva from her face.

“Back onto the bench,” she was told.  “Slide your cunt down to the edge.  Yes, that’s it.  Now spread your legs.  I’m going to fuck you, and I want you to cum for me, for all the nice people watching.”

The strap-on slid smoothly into her ready pussy, and the Dyke began to pump.  She leaned back to take it all, get the right angle.  It was heaven, and she was ready to go there.  The Meat took it all enthusiastically, closing her eyes and fucking the silicone cock with abandon.  As her passion rose, she reached her right hand between her thighs and began rubbing her clit, at first sensuously, then furiously.

She opened her eyes and was surprised to find that the couple with whom she had made eye contact were out of their seats.  The man was standing just off to her left side, where he could get a good view of the dildo sliding in and out of her cunt.  The woman was on the left side, with a similar view.  A man she couldn’t see clearly was just to her right, standing right over her so close she could have reached out and grabbed him.  It was like being in a hall filled with statues.  They could not avert their gazes, but neither could they touch her.  She was in a maelstrom of passion, in the center of a sea of silence and frozen faces.

And then The Cane stepped up behind her, a large, muscular, dominant, very attractive man.  The Cane owned this play space.  He bent down and put his face next to the Meat’s ear.  “Let me hear you,” he whispered to her.  “Let me hear you moan.  It is the music of the lair, and I want to hear the music.”

He then reached his two strong, black hands forward and pinched her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers – hard – while the Dyke began thrusting forward harder and harder.  The Meat lost control.  She did moan, loudly and involuntarily, and began masturbating furiously as waves of pleasure began to ripple out from her vulva across her entire body.  Dick thrusting hard.  Erect nipples tugged and pulled and pinched.  Fingers manipulating her clit.   Anonymous people staring, boldly and unabashed, in fascination and their own arousal, some standing close enough to touch.

She moaned again, louder, and the waves of pleasure began to crest.  Her muscles tensed, her legs stretched out full length.  Her back arched and her breasts thrust into the air.  She flung her head back and screamed, and was overcome with orgasm after orgasm, timeless tsunamis of ecstasy washing over her body, blocking out everything but her pleasure.  Her passion lifted her up above the earth, and she hung suspended in air, a vision of perfect eroticism and eternal art.

But life is not art, and the moment could not last.  The ecstasy waned, and she was left panting, arms wrapped around the Dyke’s neck, the two women locked in a sweet and lingering kiss, the Meat’s legs still akimbo and rubber cock still plunged deep insider her.

And then it was over.

The passion ebbed, the sound of the pulsing music returned, the audience turned away to other pursuits, and The Cane wandered off to observe other pleasures.  The two women were left alone, in a private embrace.

“You did good, pig,” the Dyke whispered.

The Meat smiled and looked into the Dyke’s eyes for the first time that evening.  “Thank you, baby.  You were pretty good yourself.”

She dressed and put the gear away, and the two of them walked out into the balmy night.

“I’m up for a burger,” the Dyke said.  “How about you?”

“That sounds great.  I’ll drive.”