Thread: The Domme Society {Torridsoul x Alan23}

Damon was finding his first ever duty as Ivy's slave - simply to drive her home - at once enjoyable and yet more difficult than he'd thought. Simply walking through the foyer was a challenge in itself. He could sense all eyes upon his new mistress. Some seemed jealous which was flattering, others contemptuous, many of them were simply assessing - weighing her up, as if wondering if this woman had what it took to be the owner of a strong, high-quality slave. Being said slave, it was difficult to know how to react. Should one walk with head held high, showing contempt for those that were looking at Mistress? Or meet their gaze with a what are you looking at expression? Or should he pretend to be cowed, to avoid any of the hostile gazes taking it out on Mistress afterwards? In the end, he contended himself with a blank stare ahead, which was quite enjoyable as it forced him to look at Mistress' rear view... which was one to die for, with her long, slim legs and tight ass, in the even tighter skirt. And that gorgeous halfmoon of pale flesh where her corset had shifted upwards again. He noticed that as they reached the cool night air outside, Mistress seemed to relax a little. He found herself admiring her. To keep returning to the club, time after time, when all the others made fun of her and belittled her unmercifully... Damon had been decorated for courage during his military service, and knew what it took to force yourself to do something you had to do - even though every nerve of your body and mind cried out against it! Ivy's continuing to frequent the society, absorbing the constant humiliation and insult, took courage of a different kind. He was, he admitted to himself, proud of her in a way he could not have been of Domme Wagner, or Domme Chaucer, or even of Domme Hollister. To be frightened and overcome it was, he reflected, the greatest of all kinds of bravery! When they reached the car, he thumbed the switch on the key to unlock the car doors, and waited, hands behind his back as instructed, for Mistress to seat herself. The material of the seats was a little shiny, some kind of leather or a fake version, perhaps which caused her skirt to ride upwards rather radically, giving him a sight of her black panties, before she hastily rearranged herself. He was already sporting a massive erection, but at the sight of this he became even harder. He seated himself behind the wheel, running his eyes over the dash to familiarize himself. Not that driving the vehicle could present many problems - after all, he'd piloted tanks and other military vehicles, so this would be easy enough. The engine purred into life with a single twist of the key and he snicked off the handbrake and nosed the car out into the heavy traffic, listening attentively as Mistress gave him the directions for her condo. The route would take them through a short section of back-streets with which he was familiar, then straight onto the freeway, exiting at a ramp that he'd driven on before, so they'd be no problem finding his way without further instruction. The drive home was uneventful enough, but not without inconvenience. Normally, the trip would have taken a half hour or so, but roadworks on the freeway forced them to take a long detour, which added at least fifteen minutes to the journey. Then the car sprung a puncture, after driving over a shard of broken glass which it was impossible to pick out even in the car's powerful headlights, and Damon was forced to pull onto the hard shoulder and change the wheel. Finally, they came across an accident, with a motorbike lying on the road and a police officer holding up traffic while the road could be cleared of debris, though, thankfully, no-one appeared to be badly injured this meant a lot to Damon, who had seen enough shattered human bodies to last him several lifetimes. All in all, by the time they reached the exit rank, they'd been driving an hour and a quarter. Damon looked across, to address his mistress, wondering why her voice seemed to have taken on a slightly higher tone, as if she were worried about something. She was staring straight ahead, a worried look on her pretty face, squirming in her seat, as if she were suddenly finding the luxurious interior of the car uncomfortable. Her legs were tightly crossed, and she kept shifting about and jiggling. Is everything all right, Mistress? he asked, solicitiously. We're nearly home, now. Do I turn into Flower Street or go past it and through Market Street?