Dominating Iris

A Hallow's Eve

"That's what I'm wearing for the party? It looks like an ancient night gown more suited for a pajama party than Hallow's Eve, Alex." She stared with contempt at the thin gown he held out for her to put on.

"It's perfect for the look I have in mind for you, go on, put it on." He said.

"Yes, sir, if it pleases you. Should I wear knickers underneath?" She said, annoyed.

"No, you're not wearing anything under it. Everything else goes over it," he said.

"Hmmm... okay," She wriggled into the dress and looked at herself in the mirror with disgust. "I don't think..." Alex stopped her with a finger on her lips.

"Not another word," he said, "look at me."

She turned to him and gasped when he grabbed a fistful of fabric on her shoulder and tugged it down. "What the hell? You ripped it."

"Not a word..." he repeated. He took a bundle of rope from the closet and bound her upper torso, the rope wound around her shoulders, breasts, and abdomen, it looked like a corset made of ropes.

While one of her breasts was covered with a part of the gown that was left unripped, her other breast came out naked between the crisscrossed web of rope. Her gossamer gown didn't cover her much either.

Then he bound her wrist with two rounds of rope and tied a knot, loose enough so it didn't restrict blood flow but won't fall off her hand. He did the same on her other wrist with a rope connecting it long enough for her to move her arms.

Then he turned her around and ripped the skirt vertically from her waist down like an overrated slit that displayed her shapely legs from the backside and her whipped bum.

"There you are, Joan of Arcadia. Punished for pursuing pleasure, sentenced to a lifetime of pain— except— you really like pain, don't you?" He laughed.

"I like the twisted analogy though." She laughed. "And who are you gonna be?"

"I'll be your dungeon master. Easy enough, because I already have my leather pants for that. I'll carry a whip as a prop, but don't worry, I'll use the soft leather ones."

"Wait— I have to climb in the car looking like this?" she smirked.

"Of course not, I got you a red riding cape with a hood. And wear your high heeled shoes, so you'd look good when you bend down for more whipping." He teased.

"I think I'd rather wear my high heeled kinky boots. Why don't you get dressed now, we're gonna be late for the party."

Guests in costumes congregated at the ship's entrance when they arrived. Incognito in their hooded riding capes, Alex and Amanda streaked through the crowd toward the entry. The receptionists let them pass immediately when Alex showed his face.

Amanda saw her butler David at the lobby. "David!" she hollered. The butler's face brightened when he heard her voice and hurried toward her.

"Iris, is that you?" he said.

"Yes, it's me, David. I've missed you." She kissed him on the cheek.

"Oh my god, Iris, I'm so happy to see you. I saw you over the news and that interview with Olivia Pratt— you were amazing. Who would have thought that the innocent Iris I served as butler last spring turn out to be a hero." He said with pride in his voice.

"Stop patronizing me, David. That was a whole lot of mess I got myself into."

"You know me, I don't patronize. I say only the truth."

"I know... thanks, David. I'm really excited to be back on the ship." She said, and heard the ship blow a long signal as it prepared to leave the docks. "I also want to thank you for sending me to the spa as my first stop on the cruise." She winked and gestured at Alex.

"Actually, I should be the one thanking you, David, for sending me the woman of my dreams." Alex smiled.

"I knew something clicked that day— and I'm glad I did it." David puffed his chest with pride.

"What time does the program start?" Amanda asked.

"The Kink Quartet just got on-stage to warm up the audience." He said. "You might want to go ahead and get your seats now. I'll see you around." He said and bowed as he walked away.

"Shall we go, my love— I mean, my captive heretic? But I'd like to show you something first." Alex said.

"Okay."

He led her towards the hall near the shops. It had bright lights while two stanchions barred the entrance framed by a floral arch of white orchids and wild flowers. Amanda gasped at the lavishly designed exhibition hall.

"Is this your art exhibit?"

"It's a preview. The main exhibit will be held at the MoMA next weekend, and will run for a month." He said, and moved the stanchions aside to let her in. "I want you to be the first to see them."

"Why didn't you show them to me at your studio?"

"They won't look the same."

A series of nudes hung on a wall with dramatic lighting pointed toward each painting— the series depicted the subjects in the act of receiving sexual pleasure either by themselves or with a partner. Replete with orgasmic facial expressions and detailed muscle tension, the series carried explicit sexual themes that could powerfully stimulate its viewers.

"Wow, these are beautiful, Alex. Now I know why you have to fuck your models when you work." She said. "You had to capture those expressions."

"Yes, but I didn't have to fuck them all the time. Sometimes I made them pleasure themselves while I paint them, but they'd ask me to fuck them after anyway." He laughed. "How can I refuse?"

On another wall hung several erotic art that depicted other gender relations, like gay and lesbian sexual themes.

"You had gay and lesbian couples model for you too?" she asked.

"That one on the right," he pointed to a painting of two men kissing in kneeling position. "That's Hans and Edward in oil— one of my favorites."

"Oh my, it's beautiful. I could almost feel the love they have for each other." She said. "Actually, all these paintings seemed to move as they tell their story. It's amazing. You are amazing, my love."

She turned to him and kissed him.

"Wait, you have to see this one... remember the portrait I have of you in the bedroom? I sculpted the same image in alabaster." He said as he pointed to a lone bust sculpture displayed at the center of the room under overhead and floor spotlights. "It's the centerpiece of this exhibition."

She walked closer to the bust and examined the stone's beautiful finish. The centerpiece of Alex's exhibition was a three-dimensional image of her from the head down to her bare breasts— head tilted to one side, eyes cast down, and lips that curved in a subtle smile, a pose that undeniably denoted submission.

Alex moved in from behind and wrapped his arms around her. "You are my inspiration, Iris, thank you. I can't help it, but my world seems to revolve around you."

****