This is the beginning of a BDSM power exchange relationship, through the eyes of a Priestess. There may be more of these BDSM/occult fusions to come, if I find myself with an audience. This content is not sexually explicit per se...............
He shivered. The trenchcoat was heavy and the latex bodysuit was stifling, but he kept shivering anyway. Every time he took a step, the latex creaked. He could feel his face flushing and his heart beginning to pound. People were staring at his shiny black legs even though only the shins could be seen between coat and boots. Breathing heavily from anxiety by the time he got to the coffee shop, he had to stop at the door to calm himself. Then he nervously scanned the room for her. She was there as promised, black lipstick matching her hooded robe and corset. She gestured for him to cross the busy room and sit in the chair facing her. Every single person in the room watched him take the chair. She smiled without removing her hood and pushed a glass of wine toward him with two fingers.
"Did you run to get here?" She asked, noticing the rise and fall of his shoulders.
"N-no, Goddess. Just terribly nervous," he replied, taking the glass in a trembling hand.
Her smile deepened. She needed this. With an upward twitch of two fingers, she commanded him to drink. He chewed his bottom lip between swallows, obedient and wide-eyed. She kept twitching her fingers slightly, and he kept drinking. The dynamic was intoxicating to her, but she allowed the waitress to bring her another glass of wine. The edge of her hood hid most of her expression as she gazed at her subject. She'd been coming to this place for years and was fully at ease creeping out the mundane patrons. She sipped her wine when it arrived, noticing the onlookers, enjoying how the public display of so little affected so much. When he finished his glass, she threw back her hood to stare openly at him. There was a pleased yet somehow sadistic look on her face. He instinctively looked down to avoid her eyes.
"I like how you tremble for me in public, slaveboi. I can't wait to see what's under that coat," she said in a low voice, leaning forward.
He smiled awkwardly but with a sincerity that was almost alarming, and his eyes stayed on the table top. A good sign. She wasn’t interested in this one as a project, so less than genuine slave behavior was going to get him harshly corrected or dismissed. Her hand went to his cheek for a moment, gently, but then she pulled away suddenly. His eyes went wide for an instant and he flinched, clearly anticipating a slap. Instead, she sat back in her chair, shaking her head with a delighted little smirk on her face. If she was going to slap him in public, it wouldn’t be over wine glasses at a hipster cafe. Everything she’d sensed about him before this little rendezvous seemed accurate. A bit chewed up from mistreatment, but otherwise an utterly fascinating specimen.
She finished her wine and overtipped the waitress before pulling the collar out. It was almost wide enough to be a posture collar. It had two large side-by-side steel rings in its center, opposite a heavy buckle. They jingled when she set it on the table between them. The volume of the chatter in the room increased noticeably. His cheeks were flushed again, and he looked up at her helplessly. His eyes asked several questions of her cleavage.
“You can put it on right now, this second, or you can choose to accept it, get up, and walk with me to where I will put it on for you.” She explained in that same low tone, enjoying his panic.
For a moment she thought he might just leave instead. He stood up, still avoiding her gaze but staring earnestly at her chest. Then he looked down at the collar, took a deep breath, and picked it up. She got to her feet and pulled her hood back up. The chain leash she’d been holding in her lap rattled a bit as she wrapped it around her left wrist a few times, catching his attention and once again exciting the tables immediately around them. They left the coffee shop together, her pace keeping him slightly behind her until they were back on the sidewalk. She loved the sound of creaking latex.
He was shocked by her height, despite being aware of it before their meeting. She was well over six and a half feet tall in her 4 inch heels. Even her shoes looked like something a witch would wear. The air around her seemed to come alive with electricity. She could feel him becoming emotionally vulnerable in real time as they walked. It was beautiful. This collar had been blessed by several different women from several different occult paths. It had also been consecrated and enchanted thoroughly. They stepped into a dark little corner behind the coffee shop, secluded from most passerby, and slightly away from the street. There was an old couch here. She brushed a few leaves off of it and sat down on it casually.
“Kneel before me,” she commanded softly, “and I will collar you as my slave.”
He felt like she had stabbed him in the chest. No wasting fucking time with her, it seemed. Much to his relief, no one was watching, though street traffic was a breath away. The collar felt stiff and heavy in his hands. His knees more gave out than him deciding to kneel, but the result was what she wanted. He stared at the ground on his knees, feeling the latex stretch and grip at the slightest movement. Without hesitation, he held the collar up to her, fighting the urge to glance all around by closing his eyes and holding his breath.
She took it from him with one hand and dragged her nails across his scalp in little patterns with the other. Quickly, she wrapped the collar around his neck and buckled it in a singular motion. It rested against his collarbones and reached almost entirely up his neck. The Goddess looped her two commanding fingers through the double rings and tugged hard to the left and right with a horrifying amount of sudden strength. He whimpered. She squeaked with glee and got back to her feet, dragging him upward with her.