His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) (31 page)

I read on. A lengthy description of the video followed:

Master Black’s sexy little sub has disappointed him by disobeying orders -- not once, not twice, but THREE times! This sub obviously requires extra discipline, so Master Black has called in Master Brown to help him punish the willful slut. This is one sub who won’t ever forget her place again.

Watch her suffer in six different feeds of uncut video! Choose your favorite view and angle, including handheld! Watch as many feeds as you want at the same time!

Hear her beg and scream for mercy! See her get her pussy pounded raw!

Full package includes access to scores of still photos of the gorgeous, tortured sub, up close and personal.

Don’t miss out on this one -- it’s our HOTTEST VIDEO YET.

Click here for a sample.

Click here for prices and to select a package.

Click here if you have a membership access code.

I read through the description twice. There had definitely been a mistake. Maybe I had a doppelgänger out there who made her living starring in BDSM videos. I clicked on the link to the access code, then entered the lengthy number on the DVD label.

A basic page came in, just three links: “Photos,” “Main Video,” “Bonus Video.”

I clicked on “Main Video.”

Within seconds a screen popped up, telling me I didn’t have the appropriate player installed and that I had to go download the right one. I slapped my palm on the desk. Dammit! Typical.

No way I was going to wait around on that. It didn’t matter. I had the DVD, and I’d seen the site. According to Isabel, the DVD had everything the site did.

I jumped up from the chair and ran over to my television, shoving the disk into my DVD player.

I sat on the couch, remote in hand.

The DVD was every bit as basic as the Web site. It opened to a simple menu under the heading: “The Disobedient Sub Gets Disciplined.” There were only four choices under the title: “Photos,” “Main Video,” “Bonus Video,” and “Sample Other Available Vids.”

I selected “Main Video.”

I expected the film to start right up, but instead a screen came up asking how many video feeds I wanted displayed, with instructions on how to change the main feed during the film. I hastily selected “All Feeds,” and only glanced over the instructions.

My television was filled with six boxes. There were five smaller boxes spaced across the top and down the side of the screen. One large box filled the rest of the space.

The large box was black, but the smaller ones were showing different, wide-angled views of the same room. I soon understood that the cameras had been placed in the four corners of the room, with one more centrally located. I selected the central feed and it took the place of the black box.

Now that it was bigger, I could make out more of the details of the room. It was large, a dungeon, I thought, from the equipment and devices placed around the room. Some of the equipment looked familiar to me. The video was grainy and poor quality, probably from the low lighting and the distance. My stomach tightened.

There was movement in the feeds, a naked woman being rushed into the room by a large man. The woman had long black hair and her hands were cuffed together in front. She had a hobbling chain attached to the cuffs on her ankles. It was impossible to really make out her face. She was too far away and the quality was terrible.

There was no sound coming from the television, as if the television were muted. I checked the volume. No, it was fine. There just wasn’t any audio to the video.

The man wore black pants and a white shirt. His face was blurred out. He drove the woman into the room then left her standing there while he began fiddling with something on either side of her. Restraints. Chains. Yes, he was lowering chains.

I shook my head slowly. Said, “No.”

It couldn’t be.

The man soon had the woman chained up, spread-eagled, even her ankle cuffs clipped into chains on the floor. I watched the whole thing in dread, knowing the truth now, but unable to accept it, incapable of naming it.

Impossible.

The picture in the main feed began to change, to zoom in on the girl. Slowly, the woman became clearer and clearer. Her lips and nipples were a garish bright red. Her eyes were wide and scared looking. Her mouth was slightly open. She watched the man touch her body, pinch her nipples. She visibly trembled.

And there was no way to deny it any longer.

The trembling woman was me.

The man with the blurred face was Michael.

The room was his dungeon.

She was me.

Chapter 17

She was me.

That was Michael.

This was the night of my punishment. Punishment for not doing what Michael wanted.

And he had secretly recorded it with hidden cameras.

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t cope. I couldn’t accept he had done this thing. Done it to me.

I watched Michael bring the hideous hood over to the woman in the feeds, over to me, taunt me with it. Then he shoved the hood on my head, adjusting it in place. I knew what came next, of course. Who would know better than I?

There still wasn’t any sound with the video, but I remembered what he said, telling me the hood looked perfect on me. He slid two slim metal boxes into flaps on the sides of the hood, over my ears, I knew.

Suddenly, audio kicked in. Michael’s voice sounded distant, scratchy. He said, “It’s equipped with noise cancelling headphones.” Then back to mute.

He had said more than that, though, I knew.

He held a remote control. And then music began to play on the video. It was the same dark music that played in the hood that night, except the volume was much lower on the video, acting as background music.

I hated that music, the ridiculously-named “Terror Tunes.” Despised the composer. Every muscle in my body shuddered at once.

The music played on while Michael roamed around my bound person. You couldn’t tell it in the video because it was all cut out, but I knew he was talking to me about the music, about how he had to use the hood because he couldn’t hit me hard enough to make me really pay for my transgressions, how the hood would make even little things seem terrible.

He touched me around the face. That was the part where he was threatening me with the bottom half of the hood, with the horrific penis gag. My mouth moved a few times, but there was no accompanying sound. This was also when he explained that I would be punished first for removing the Ben Wa balls without his permission.

Michael suddenly said something on the video, his voice loud and clear, obviously dubbed, stilted. “It’s now time for you to be punished. Do you understand?”

I heard myself say, “Yes, Master.” And that was original audio, I knew, because it was me, and it was distant-sounding and weak. And I sounded scared as hell.

Michael picked up the remote from a nearby table. I knew he was turning the music on. I remembered how it felt to stand there, waiting for him to begin whatever it was he was going to do to me. How long he made me wait before he began.

I had sat frozen on my couch all this while, too stupefied to fully react. Watching myself in the video, knowing what would happen before it happened. I hadn’t even begun to process Michael’s betrayal.

In the smaller feeds, I watched Michael stroll over to the open doorway. Well, here was something I didn’t know, because I had been completely isolated in the hood, could see and hear nothing but blackness and vile music. I couldn’t even smell anything other than the cloying scent of incense. When Michael wasn’t touching me, I had no way of knowing where he was, what he was doing.

Michael’s face was still blurred, and distant now in the smaller feeds from the corners of the room. He stepped briefly into the doorway, then returned to the room, went over to a shelf and began putting something around his face.

It was a mask. As soon as it was in place, the blurring disappeared. I could make out that the mask was black, like a simple masquerade mask, only coming down to the bottom of his nose, leaving his mouth and chin uncovered. He reached out to one of the walls and the lights in the room suddenly brightened.

The increased lighting greatly improved the quality of the video feeds, removed the graininess. The views in the corner feeds were still distant, but clearer now.

The close-up view of me improved as well. My red lips and nipples were even more garish in the brighter light. The hood. The awful hood. My trembling chin and half-open mouth. Panting, I realized. I had been panting.

Michael removed his shirt then began pulling the covers off of some equipment in the rear of the room.

There was a movement at the door.

A man. Not Michael. Entering the room.

My heart seized. No. Not possible. Another man?

I clenched the remote so tightly that the plastic edges bit into my palm and fingers.

Michael had allowed another man to join him.

No. He could not have done this thing.

The man was shirtless, like Michael, and dressed like him in every other way, too, including the mask, leather pants and boots, except everything was brown instead of black.

I remembered the description on the Web site. Master Black and Master Brown. Both of them punishing the disobedient sub.

I thought I might be sick. It hadn’t just been Michael and me that night. He had let someone else in the room. Master Brown. Whoever he was.

I barely registered Master Brown heading over to Michael and helping him with the equipment. I could now tell what they were uncovering: tall, free-standing lights. One by one, they carried four lights over to where I was chained, setting them up around me, not too close, leaving plenty of empty space around me, giving the men room to maneuver.

Men. More than one. Moving around me, chained spread eagled, naked and helpless.

I didn’t think I could watch any more of this, didn’t think I could handle any more.

Then there was movement at the door ... again.

Two more men entered the room.

I blinked. No. But it was true.

Two more men.

There was a roaring sound in my ears. My vision narrowed, became tunnel-like. I felt an intense need to run, but there was nowhere to hide from this. Nowhere to go. Panic, panic rising ...

Then something clicked in me. A flipping of a switch. I suddenly and simply went numb.

This thing that Michael had done, it was too big, too much, too far. I couldn’t manage it, make sense of it.

So something inside me threw the numb switch. It was like being in a waking stupor. I felt nothing. I was only eyes and ears, thumping heartbeat.

The two men were wearing simple black masks, jeans and black t-shirts. They were carrying equipment, and soon set up a station on a table, complete with laptop computer. It only took a few more minutes to realize that one of the men was the hand-held camcorder man, and the other was the sound man, holding a microphone. The sound-man also had a still camera slung around his neck.

Between the four men, they soon got everything wired the way they wanted it, including me. I recalled Michael fiddling with something at the back of my neck, but I didn’t know what it was at the time. Turned out, it was a box, with wires leading to a small microphone he clipped into the hood, near my mouth.

After they plugged in the free-standing lights, the pictures in the boxes became perfectly clear. I remembered how hot it was in the room, and how I had attributed the heat to the confining hood and the difficulty of enduring the punishments. Now I realized much of the heat was caused by the lights.

The sixth feed on the screen, which had been black all this time, flickered to life. The video-man moved around with his camcorder, and the sixth feed filled up with close-ups of my various body parts as the man moved around me.

Michael and Brown stood off to one side of me. The sound-man hustled up to them, wearing headphones and holding out the microphone which was plugged into a box clipped on his belt.

The video-man focused in on Michael and Brown, centering them in the frame. I selected that view as the largest box on the screen.

I had been suspecting it, somewhere down inside, but had tucked the suspicion away because I didn’t want to look at it. Now, though, I couldn’t deny it anymore, not with the camera close on him. Plain to see.

Master Brown had tattoos circling both of his upper arms. I could just make out the tiny thorns and barbed wire, the red-inked drops of blood. There was no mistaking it. I’d remember those tattoos for the rest of my life.