Thread: The Domme Society {Torridsoul x Alan23}

Hmm, not really my type, whispered Madlyn Chaucer, high-flying industrial lawyer and mega-rich socialite, dabbing at her jet-black make-up. Bit scrawny, in fact. Did you run for him, Leesh? Me? Never? replied Alicia Wagner, billionaire property developer, patting at her long blond hair. She studied the catalog, where brief biographical sketches and pen-pics of the various submissives on offer were listed. I've held some very interesting conversations with numbers three, six and eight. Heavens'. I've got six subbies already - one has to draw the line somewhere, yes? Yeah, I went for three and six, too, Madlyn confirmed. And nine, too - the black girl. I know femme on femme isn't your thing, though. It's certainly mine, though, put in Kerrilyn Snake Chambers, lead singer of the Goth Band Still Undead. - I've been courting number eleven ever since she was listed. Hell, I've got eight girls already, but another one never hurts, right? Someone must have showed interest in him, though, Alicia said under her breath. Or he'd have been eliminated and never made it to the stage. Ivy, maybe? The three women giggled behind their elegantly manicured hands. Ivy McKnight's desperation to - not so much add to her slave-harem, for it contained not a single follower - as to begin it, was a source of never-ending amusement to them. How long has she been here, now? asked Kerrilyn. Shit, most Dommes usually have a few followers after six months or so. Frankly, I don't know why the let the pathetic little cow in. She's more suited as a slave, in my opinion - frightened of her own shadow, that one. Or why she persists, continued Madlyn. If I was as timid and weak as her, I'd never show my face here. Oops, that's right - her mother was one of the high-ranking members. Janelle - now there was a Domme, all right. The three stopped talking as, after the brief description of his abilities and assets, the man in the red shorts made his choice. I beg to submit to- he said, his voice cracking slightly, but at least he remembered the correct words of the ritual Domme Natalya Du Mornay. There was polite applause as the Domme in question, one of the city's top and richest gynecologists, sashayed up to the stage and clamped the collar and wrist-chains onto her new submissive, and led him away into the crowd. Not a bad match, that, admitted Alicia. Nat's fairly new, but promising. Done some good scenes. She'll knock the guy into shape, all right. She hasn't rushed him off though, She's bidding on number six, too, I heard, Madlyn told her. He's quite in demand, that one. She bought him a Rolex Oyster, too. Mind you, I confidently expect the solid silver pendant I gave him to bring him over. Seems like everyone is, laughed Kerrilyn. 'cept us girls who only like girls, of course. And pisspants Ivy, probably. Maybe perhaps even her, said Madlyn. After all, there's nothing to stop her bidding. And if a Domme doesn't put at least three bids in per year, they face public expulsion from the Society, remember. But how humiliating for her - no slave ever chooses her. She looked at the bidding list at the back of the glossy catalog. Yep - she's gone for six, all right. Let's all watch the expression on her face, when she sees she's been passed over yet again. If she's there when he takes the stage, laughed Alicia. By my timing, it's been at least twenty minutes since she's had a piss. She'll be rushing off again, before the next slave's up. Unless she wants to wet herself again, like she did at Dyanna's party. Or at the dinner, at New Year, Madlyn gave a most un-domme like giggle, and hastily changed it to a deep chuckle. References to Ivy's unreliable bladder never failed to raise a laugh among the three, and the deep crimson blush that never failed to light up Ivy's face when they mentioned it in her hearing was a source of constant delight. And when Ivy became nervous - and, undoubtedly, she'd be nervous now - the situation became even worse for her. The three watched, as four more slaves were led up, made their choice, and were claimed. Share magnate Lorelei Wheeler claimed number three, a broad, muscular Japanese stud, much to the disappointment of Madlyn and Alicia. And then, Miles Fortright took his place again, his deep booming voice cutting through all whispers and murmurings. And now, it's time for the sixth slave of the evening to make his choice. Ladies, can you not smell the gum-leaves in the air? Yes, we present an Aussie, ladies, though one born in Britain - so you can expect culture and refinement as well as machismo form this one. Hey, there's a few scars here and there, but... he winked. Some of you like 'em that way, right? Saves you the trouble of marking him yourself. Anyway, without further ado - let Damon Bicher make his way to the stage. Damon emerged from behind the curtained-off area, flexing his muscles slightly for show. He was not as broad, nor as muscled as the Japanese, but his tall, lithe body was ripped, hinting at a much more athletic strength. There were involuntary gasps from some of the bidders, who had only ever seen him clothed - not as now, in the traditional cuffs and red shorts of the unclaimed slave. He stood proudly, perhaps arrogantly, though that could soon be whipped out of him if whatever Domme he chose wanted to go that way. Damon Bicher, you know why you're here, intoned Miles Fortright. You must, tonight, choose a mistress. Once made, your submission is complete. You can't change your mind, nor back out - the contract you signed when you joined ensures that. If you leave, you must return all the presents, of any kind, that you've received here. And once you have been claimed, you must obey your mistress in every respect... every respect! So, choose carefully... make your choice, Damon Bicher, or be whipped from these premises never to return. Damon looked around the assembled Dommes, allowing his eyes to linger on the faces and bodies of those who had courted him. Zita Vaccaro, who'd promised him membership of the city's most exclusive dining club. Chelsea Burrington, who promised to set him up with his own business after a year of ownership. Alicia. Madlyn. Portia Torrington, the world-famous ballet dancer, who had given him the expensive suit. Many more, all exquisitely beautiful, powerful and well conencted, and had given him expensive presents and promised much, much more if he wuold but submit to them for a period of two years. He drew breath, and spoke in his deep, cultured voice. I beg to submit to... he paused dramatically. Domme Ivy McKnight! Murmurs of shock ran around the hallway!