We process through the café, where bodies turn and eyes swivel to follow our progress. It feels unlike anything I’ve ever done before. I’m so used to displaying myself, yet I’ve never been put on display like this. My skin crawls, but at the same time, my cunt moistens, feeling puffy and heavy almost immediately. Lloyd’s arse looks fine in those leather trousers, so I concentrate only on its tight outline, swaying from side to side in front of me.
Down to the dungeon we go, down, down. The stairs are hard to negotiate in heels and Lloyd takes the descent considerately slowly. People mill in the flame-lit corridors. There are submissives kneeling at their master or mistress’s feet all over the place, even more so when we enter the dungeon.
A cross, a pillory and a spanking bench are all in use, small crowds and queues of people lining up to watch or wait their turn.
I peek from the corner of my eye at all the naked, willing flesh on show. At first, I’m drawn to their bottoms and thighs, their spread slits and marked skin, but after a while what I want to see is their faces. Twisted in pain, lips bitten, eyes popping desperately or screwed shut, none of them looks as if they’re enjoying the experience at all. There is none of the ‘ecstasy in agony’ one might expect. They look like I feel when Dr Lassiter or Lloyd is on the cruel end of the cane. True physical masochists are rare, I suppose.
But behind those tormented faces, inside their minds, there must be fierce efforts of self-control and dedication to their dom/mes going on. I think of what I get from a good whipping – the endorphins, the tumble into the luxurious embrace of submission, the sense of being dealt with and controlled and made use of and yet cared for all at once. Really, there is nothing like it.
The man at the cross is untied and released. Now he has the beatific expression, dropping to his feet and kissing his master’s boots. O steps up and stretches her limbs in the required X-shape while Mal ties the ropes.
At the pillory, they seem in no hurry to finish their exhibition. The dom has finished flagellating his submissive, but he is rubbing something on her bum cheeks that seems to be exacerbating the soreness, by the look on her face.
The domme at the spanking bench releases her male submissive and leads him away by means of a leash attached to a cock ring. He is fully hard, gasping for breath, and, as she yanks him past us, I admire the deep crimson shade of his paddled bottom.
I wait for him to be replaced, but then a tug at my leash makes me stumble and I realise that it’s my turn.
‘Now?’ I whisper as Lloyd takes hold of my upper arm and turns me to face the amused onlookers.
‘Speak when you’re spoken to,’ he mutters from the side of his mouth. ‘Unless it’s to safe-word.’ He raises his voice, addressing the crowd. It’s not enormous, as most people are interested to see what’s happening at the pillory. Nine or ten people give Lloyd their polite attention. ‘Masters, mistresses and their devoted submissives, I’d like to introduce you to Sophie. Before we start, there’s one thing you need to know about Sophie, and that’s that she’s a very, very bad girl.’
There is an amused ripple from the crowd. He puts his hand, which is now gloved in thin leather, underneath my lacy skirt, and rubs it up and down my arse.
‘Tell them, Sophie.’
His gloved finger draws a line up my crack, squiggling between my cheeks. My pussy gushes.
‘I’m a very, very bad girl,’ I falter.
‘And I think we all know what very, very bad girls get, don’t we?’ More chuckling. ‘What do you think, Sophie? Any ideas?’
My mouth is too dry to answer. I think my cunt has used up all the moisture in my body and there’s none left.
‘Hmm?’ He pats my bottom gently with his gloved hand, still expecting his answer.
‘Do they get spanked, sir?’ I finally manage.
He joins in with the general revelling in my humiliation that’s going on around the bench. ‘Do they, Sophie? Are you asking me? I thought I was asking you.’
His head is cocked to one side, his lips curled in amusement, his eyes gleaming with lustful purpose. I want to slap him and jump on him, both at once.
I take a deep breath and try to edit the natural sulky tone from my reply. ‘They get spanked, sir.’
He claps his hands, making my collar wobble as the leash swings between them. ‘That’s right. They do. Now, I’m going to throw this open to the audience. I’m going to ask them exactly what kind of spanking a very, very bad girl deserves. The answer I like best wins a prize.’
‘What’s the prize?’ asks a domme in a peaked leather cap.
‘The prize, ladies and gentlemen, is that you get to administer the whipping.’
I wheel around, stunned.
They like that. The laughter is more than a chuckle this time.
I open my mouth to form a word, but then I remember what he said. Only when spoken to, unless to safe-word. Of course, I could safe-word now, in theory.
But why would I? Lloyd is offering me the chance to take my thrashing from a practised, experienced top. In a way, he’s doing me a favour. And himself, of course – I suspect his offer is driven by the fear of wielding a less-than-steady hand under public scrutiny.
I have to hold my nerve, that’s all. I have to beat him at his own beating game.