Tavern named The Kicking Mule

The Kicking Mule was a dimly lit tavern, filled with the spiced smoke and the smells of sweat, roasting meat and spilled beer. A minstrel nursed a beer by the bar as he strummed and hummed a tune on his lute, a pleasant melody that rose above the murmur of men's voices, the laughter of easy women, and the occasional clanking of tankards and crockery. There was no sign of any other pleasure house girls, alcove girls, cup girls, siolat girls, or sexual servants of any other variety but many curtains were drawn and there may have been any number of slavegirls discreetly servicing patrons.

Kat felt a thrill as she stepped into the interior, her eyes scanning the hazy room for the man Diam had arranged to be her escort for the evening. Her heart quickened when she spotted him, a tall figure in the black leering mask in the style of Punch from Commedia Del Arte - a mask that matched the hue of his cloak. He wore a leather belt with utility pouches, leather wrist binders, riding crop and sword scabbard attached and carried his lean muscular frame with the ease of a seasoned warrior. His sharp grey eyes found hers, and she knew he was the one she sought.

Kat did not recognise him and he was not one of the prince's men, which was a relief. He was a stranger, which made her feel both safe and oddly excited. The stranger stepped forward, extending a hand, which she took tentatively. He smiled behind his mask as he shook his head. “No girl, a **** gives her master her leash, a lady gives a man her hand - you must know the difference.” He corrected her.

With an awkward pause and a shiver of excitement as she realised that her role as acting as this man’s slavegirl was commencing, Kat handed him the leather leash attached to her collar, feeling the unsubtle shift in power between them as he took it. It was more than just a physical action - it was a symbolic act of handing over her freedom and entrusting her fate to this stranger. Her heart beat faster as she sensed her freedom and volition slipping away, for the evening - but possibly forever. She had just given herself to a man - a master. This was a fantasy that had fuelled many a hot steamy nights sexually exploration the limits of her new female flesh. She had succumbed to this tempting desire… and the act triggered memories of her fantasies.

Her master controlling her with her leash. Reining her in as he fucked her bent over from behind or merely parading her in front of everyone she knew. Shame, lust, wet fever dream and reality converged in that simple act of obsequiousness.

He gave the leash a firm controlling downward pull. It was not hard but it was not entirely gentle either, the supple leather collar she had chosen pressing into her slim neck so she almost chained as she found herself unbalanced and dropping to her knees on the timber floor. He knew how to use a leash on a girl and this added fuel to her growing sexual ardour.

Kat self consciously crossed her wrists, a subtle acknowledgment that she was his ****, an act of submission that added more to her evident arousal. She looked up at him. He was so much taller than her, stronger. He was a man. And she was not.

His grip was firm but gentle, his eyes appraising her, the flicker of a smile playing on his lips. His gaze lingered on her breasts, the leather and silk doing little to conceal the aroused points of her nipples. She felt a flush creep up her neck. Was her loincloth growing noticeably damp. She feared it was.

He took out his riding crop and ran its end under her chin gently. “A **** keeps her eyes facing downward. You are not my equal. You never will be the equal of any man again. You may think that this is all play acting, but tonight you are my property and I will not have my property acting otherwise. Are we clear.” He brought the crop across her flank, enough to smart and leave a red mark.

As Kat yelped more in shock than pain and looked down and nodded in understanding, not for the first time she wondered what was she doing…? This course of action was not only foolish. It was dangerous. She could truly end up as a ****.

Again her excitement grew at the thought and she rued her serum girl urges. Had she been the man she was she would not have accepted these transgressions against her body. She would have retaliated with tenfold ****. But she was no longer that man. And she was enjoying this new role a little too much.

Satisfies he had made his point he tugged her back to her feet and led her through the throng of the tavern, the leash a taut line of authority that sent shivers down her spine. A **** walked behind her master, never beside, never in front. And she walked behind. The crowd parted for them, the men nodding in respect to the masked man, their eyes lingering on the tantalizingly displayed flesh of his serum girl.

Kat felt a strange mix of embarrassment and exhilaration. Every part of her was exposed, every curve and contour laid bare for all to see and she felt more powerless. They must know she was a serum girl. Must suspect that she was a free woman playing at being a **** and that this display of need was shameful for a once respected man.

The stranger took her to a private booth in the corner, the walls draped with velvet to muffle the sounds of their whispers. He pulled out the chair for her, and she sat down, her legs parting slightly, giving him a clear view of her wetness. He took the seat opposite and leaned in, the candlelight flickering over his features, making the shadows dance.

“My name is unimportant tonight, serum girl,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. “You shall call me Master. Is that understood?”

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she managed to nod, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Master.”

“And what is your **** name?”

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as she replied, “Kat, Master.”

“As in pussy?” He prompted.

“Yes, Master,” she murmured, feeling the heat in her cheeks rise even more at his crude reference to her new name. The tavern was alive with the sounds of laughter and music, the smells of roasting meats and spilled ale. Yet in this secluded booth, it was as if they were in a world of their own.

Master took a seat opposite her, his gaze roving over her exposed flesh with a hunger that made her squirm in her seat. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “Tell me, Kat, what is it that you truly crave?”

Her eyes searched his masked face for any sign of the person beneath the disguise, but all she could see was the intensity of his gaze. With trembling fingers, she reached up to touch the collar around her neck, feeling the cold metal against her skin. “I crave…”