The dungeon was crowded. That was his reasoning for bumping into two ponygirls, another Dom, and a slave boi. Well, that, and carrying three boxes full of cupcakes.
The music thumped with a heavy back beat that he felt in his balls, and the dancing, swirling, chattering mob-scene spoke volumes about people finally out and about after being cooped up for the winter. The last two munches and play dates had been cancelled after snow made roads impassable.
He doubted he’d ever seen so many at one event before. Oh shit. He ducked behind a pillar as Samantha cruised past. She hunted him with a passion that was enviable. Or would be, if he’d been at all interested in her. She was far too aggressive for a purported submissive, and he suspected a heavy amount of ‘switch’ floated in her blood. He might be a klutz, but he didn’t have an iota of switch in him. He knew how and what he wanted, and like most Doms, wanted it his way. He could be clear and concise with a sub. He didn’t expect a lot of arguing, either. Samantha was a ditherer, an arguer and way more high maintenance that he wanted.
He’d explained it in gentle terms. He’d explained it in bald terms. Yet still she stalked him. He sighed. The evening would be a lot more difficult if he had to spend it escaping from her. He wondered if Dan was here; he didn’t mind Sam and her forward ways.
He successfully navigated the last few feet to the food table, passing off his boxes of treats. He turned away, then turned back.
“You know what? I think I’ll have one of those before the crowd sees them and devours them.”
“Yes Sir.” Eyes lowered as she had been taught, slave rissa handed him one of the cupcakes, and a napkin. He smiled at her, called her a good girl. Her dimples appeared.
“You’ve got the cutest dimples, rissa.”
She blushed, he laughed. David was a lucky man to have such a sweet sub. Then again, he’d been through hell and back before he and rissa had met.
“you…have…um…on your cheek…”
He touched his cheek, found a wad of frosting. How the hell had he managed that? A hand touched his lower back, as a body wrapped around him sinuously.
“I’d be happy to lick that off for you, Michael.”
He sighed inwardly.
“Thanks but…no. Samantha, we’ve talked about this before.”
And suddenly his friend Dan was striding toward them. In seconds, his hand lashed out, grabbing a fistful of hair, jerking the wanton slut off of him.
“Are you asking to be thrown out?” He shook her head and she whimpered.
He shook her again by the handful of hair.
“Sir Michael has told you, and I have told you…stop. This will be your last warning. Capiche?”
Tears welled in her eyes, yet a quiet rage brewed there too. Michael saw it, Dan felt it.
“Cool down and settle yourself. Volunteer to be a floor slut. But steer clear of this guy–or you’re out.”
He released her hair, and she scurried away, losing herself in the crowd.
“What a dumb cunt.”
“She is persistent.”
“Why are you so nice about it? It’s pure bullshit! She’s been stalking on you for months.”
“I’ve wondered about that. Maybe if I just played with her she’d go away, you know?”
“I wouldn’t. You don’t really want to get tangled up with a sub that unstable. If she is a sub. She seems way too controlling, to my way of thinking.”
He nodded. His friend had a point.
“Some new blood in here tonight. Go mingle. And Mike?”
Michael paused, looking at Dan.
“Don’t fall on anyone.”
Dan punched his shoulder, laughing.
“Funny, you bastard. Very amusing.”
Turning back to the bar, he tripped over his feet, stumbled a few steps, then righted himself. He didn’t even turn around to look at Dan…whos guffaws followed him half-way to the bar.
Her laugh trilled out. This was her first munch & play party since moving here. It had taken seven months to get her business started, to renovate the upstairs and downstairs apartments in the building she’d bought.
She’d missed the community. Kinky people were so fun! There was an honesty and acceptance here that she’d found nowhere else. Tall people, short people, people with strange hair styles and wild tattoos. No matter your size, your shape, your sexual orientation, you were welcomed. She’d moved half-way across the states, as far away from her old home as possible. She wanted no reminders of what she’d lost. Choosing to move forward, rather than looking back, had always been her motto. She’d lost a lover, a child, a parent and survived all. Life was short and she planned to make the most of every last second she had on this plane of existence.
It was her personal motto: Live fully.
Her new friend handed her a glass with an umbrella in it.
“To new friends!”
To which she enthusiastically agreed.
He’d paddled a few bottoms, caned a pair of feet, given a demonstration of breast binding, only pinching his own fingers once. He crossed the room, heading for those fucking cupcakes. He hoped there was one left.
He heard the laugh.
It rang down his spine with bell-like clarity, twanging deeply in his balls and tightening his cock for the first time all evening.
She was here.
He turned quickly, taking a step forward. His eyes scanned the dimly lit room, looking for her. Was she in her wheelchair? He didn’t see her, and turned another quarter-turn, feeling a desperate need to find her.
A gaudily dressed boi twined around him, through the tight press of people. He shrugged past him, but tripped over the leash trailing from the boi’s waist. Unable to stop his forward momentum, he felt himself hurtling forward.
She was caught up in conversation when someone came crashing to the floor virtually at her feet. Before she could rise from her chair, he was up, shaking himself like a wet dog.
“I’m okay,” he said, even before he was fully sitting up.
“Sir Michael, you always make such an entrance!” The crowd around him giggled, as one sub spoke up.
Leaning forward, Shae patted his shoulder.
“Pardon me, but I think you’re bleeding,” she said.
His hand lifted to his temple.
“No, I think I’m just dying of embarrassment.” But his hand came away smeared with blood.
He looked up and froze.
There she was.