The Dom's Diary: Pallaca

Who is Maxim and what was his proposition? I don't know about you but I'm anxious to find out.

 

The Dom's Diary:

Pallaca

by 

Abyrne Mostyn 

 Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

Read part 3 here

 

                Maxim signaled Naobi for a drink of his own before excusing her from the conversation once it was delivered.

“I will summon you to attend my guest if I need to be called away.  Please ask Ren to watch the community room for me until I am done.”

“Yes Maisu.”

                She bowed slightly and left quietly; again I barely caught her verbal response, though as it was meant for him, it was of little consequence.  He watched her leave, turned fully to me, took a long draw of deep amber liquid, set it aside, and began.

“Welcome to my playground.  Like you, I enjoy our world away from the pretenders and the merely curious.  This dungeon was created to serve those like us who want the freedom to partake, without the prying eyes or questions of those who are only playing at the lifestyle but have no place in it.  This is a place to allow opportunities for those who know who they are and what they want, but who choose a level of discretion or exhibition that the public dungeons do not afford.  It is also for those whose lifestyle choices and fetishes have no play place elsewhere.  Everyone here is of consenting age.  Everyone here has also provided medical background proving they are clear of affliction that can be passed through our activities, though birth control is always available.  We collectively and separately enjoy the aspects of the lifestyle here with no risk of persecution or retribution as we all collectively have a stake in the success or failure of this establishment.  We call it ‘The Manse’.  I believe, based on the orders you have placed with my other business, you may fit right in, should you choose to entertain the notion of joining us.”

I thought through the comments he had just made for a few moments, nursing my scotch as I pondered.  I had always believed such places existed, but never knew how to find one.  How do you find what you want when you don’t know what to ask for?  Simple…You don’t.  It finds you.

“That’s quite a substantial proposition you’ve put on the table.  You say Yessenia is to thank for this meeting and subsequently this offer?  Will she be joining us?”

“My sister is likely here somewhere.  She enjoys her proclivities often, though I had not invited her to join us for this discussion.  If you are interested in joining us, I would not put that to you in front of anyone.  It is of course, a choice, but the parameters of our group must be factored and those are no one else’s business.”

  I was nearly blinded by the flashbulb this time.  Looking at him as he relayed their relationship, the familiarity I could not place before, smacked me in the face as I saw many of her features in more masculine relief in front of me. 

“I appreciate the courtesy.  I assure you that should I elect to accept your offer, your conditions are not beyond my ability to meet.  Should I be enquiring about membership costs?  Rules?  Times?  Terms?”

“Perhaps you would like to have a look around.  While I am confident you will be pleased, I do not assume it is for everyone and a conversation of the other details would be premature.”

“If you’d like to lead, I’d be interested to see what you have here.”

Naobi was waiting just beyond the doors in the foyer when we cleared the study.  A small Asian man was by her side and their conversation ceased at Maxim’s appearance.  She moved quickly to his opposite side and walked with us through the halls, leaving the man near the front entrance alone.  Maxim was proud of his manse and with good reason.  Upstairs and down were filled with private spaces to scene.  Some rooms held equipment, some had beds and some held both while others held nothing at all.  Variety abounded from room to room.  There was a lounge, and two community rooms, one that was openly social mingling and the other I knew before we reached, was openly sex.

Sex had a smell; a distinct, indescribable, unmistakable scent that you just know.  To me, the scent of sex had always made me think of the Sahara at the fording point in the land where the rain forest meets the sand and the scents converge.  Walking with Maxim and Naobi as we came up to the last corner, I knew what I would find once we passed the turn, I could smell it.  The high heat and dense damp humidity of sex play was around the corner.  I knew it in my bones.

I was not disappointed.  As we made the turn, we entered an exhibitionist’s dream landscape.  I had never witnessed anything like it.  Around the room dotted in odd tangles of flesh, every proclivity was playing out.  I saw them all, but noticed none save the scene that was playing out from the center of the room.  It caught and held my attention and stole my breath from the moment we cleared the doorway. 

A large guilt frame was fastened upright to the girders, immobile and hovering over a small platform two steps up from the floor.  The woman inside appeared to be floating, balancing on just the balls of her feet on tiny tree stands that were built into the sides of the frame.  Her hands were high above her head, grasping the straps that connected her wrist manacles to the frame at the top.   The harsh manacles a hard contrast to the canvas of soft skin she presented openly in the frames display.

Though her head was down, I knew without knowing that it was Yessenia.  The tension and arousal played across her features as she relaxed into each new lick of the whip that was being thrown from behind her and the sheet of mahogany swung forward and back as she returned to pose.  The snap and crack of each throw was distinct.  I knew from those sounds that it was a single lash that was being applied.  It was too crisp to be a cat or compound.  I also knew by the time of the drags in between that the thrower was holding back.  This was for pleasure, not punishment.  Yessenia’s full mouth was dropped to gap open with soft pants and I was transfixed to watch her.  Through the fall of her hair I saw her eyes open and caught the flash gleam of recognition and pleasure before the next stripe fell and she was again lost to the euphoria of the sensations.  She was near to gone, but fighting to hold out for more.  She was magnificent.

We walked the circumference of the room.  Every new angle only added to the experience.  Able to watch another dance for someone else’s whip for the first time in ages, I had forgotten the eroticism of it and craved seeing her take more.  It wasn’t for several moments that I realized I was no longer looking at Yessenia.  We were on the opposite side of the room from where we had come in and I found I was not watching the dancer but the Domme. 

She was a petite package, wrapped like no gift I’d ever gotten, but one I was wont to have, right then.  Wrapped in a second skin of leather, she wore fitted chaps that hugged her legs from ankles to hips.  The cutaway exposed a micro thong of lace and pearls.  A leather bustier and fingerless elbow length leather gloves covered the top half, with nothing more.  Her back and shoulders unclad and free ranging to throw as she chose, it was the perfect outfit if she had to wear anything at all.  Thick auburn tresses swung from a high ponytail that brushed back and forth against her ass cheeks with each swing as I watched.  The rounded globes of her cheeks were pushed up and out by heels just high enough to accent her curves and I found myself imagining tracing the continents on each of them with my tongue. 

I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t make myself look anywhere else.  Each throw set off a domino of muscle flexion’s that made my fingers twitch to touch her.  Her form was impeccable.  My mind was reeling at the images and stutter-stepped when, several throws later, I realized what I was seeing that I hadn’t realized I was seeing.  In between the sway of her hair and the shift of pearls, a jeweled plug peeked back at me and winked in the lights before hiding away again until the next throw.  My carefully schooled face nearly dropped with my mouth at the onslaught of information.  My head was a whirlwind but my mask was intact, for now.

It was a solid few minutes of Yessenia’s low moan before it built to a keening cry and it was over.  The Domme stepped up to help Yessenia from the frame with the aid of two males I had not seen come forward.  I remained rooted to the spot where I stood with Maxim and his wife, watching the whole thing.  Looking around with only quick glances, I noticed that I was not the only one who was moved by the scene.  The Domme turned just then to walk back towards where we stood.  Had I not been completely undone by the images from the back, I would have been as she approached.  Maxim and Naobi were talking quietly, if it was to me, I could not say.  Walking in my direction was a vision in leather with the most arresting green eyes I had ever seen.  The two men brought Yessenia past us and I heard her speak for only a moment to the woman who had taken her over the edge.

“Thank you Pallaca.”

Maxim brought me out of my blank stare, clasping my shoulder and speaking to me as he gestured the Domme who was merely nodding her reply as Yessenia was led away.

“Thorne, might I introduce you to Cla’vis Tand.”

“Cla’vis, this is Thorne DuFoe.  He is considering our establishment.  Perhaps I can talk you into showing him the rest of the property?  Naobi would like time in the frame and I am never one to deny her.  Thorne is the designer of the cross ours in modeled after.  Perhaps you can show him the modifications we made?”

“It would be my pleasure Maisu.”

“Thorne…stay as long as you like.  Jenner will take you home when you are ready and give you my number.  We will speak again tomorrow.”

With that, Maxim was away, peeling clothes away as he approached the stand of tools along the wall.  I saw that Naobi had already been helped into the frame as Maxim bid me goodnight and was being secured in the manacles.

“This way Mr. DuFoe.”

“Call me Thorne.”

“Ok Thorne.  You may call me Pallaca.”

“What is Pallaca?”

“It’s an old word.  It means mistress.”