When all else was said and done, maybe it was about the screams.

The door sliding shut behind them blocked the light of the moon, and there was little illumination in the waiting room. Nevertheless, She turned to look at him, and memory served in place of vision. Very tall, He was. That was helpful; as, though there is an art to physically looking up at someone and yet clearly looking down on them, the reverse was not true, and it would have been very difficult to look down at Her master submissively. His golden hair spilled out under the brim of His hat and down his pale skin that glowed even in the subtle light of the place. She smiled, He looked like an angel and a devil combined for His beautiful features and His everything-black sort of attire, from the leather pants tight to Him to His shirt and His priestly coat to the long leather whip curled up at His hip. She focused on it for a moment, it looked like a serpent coiled there, almost animate. But She knew that it was only alive when it was in His hands, and when it was, its bite was deeper than a serpent.

And of course, there was His voice; "I love you, my Pet."

Before and after speaking, He seemed a statue as they waited for admittance. His eyelids seemed to rise and fall with an agonizing slowness, but the rest of His body was entirely without motion, from His tightly shut mouth to the hand gripping the leather leash that connected to her collar. The collar, a thick leather symbol of what they were to each other, matching the cuffs on each wrist and ankle, though none were locked or connected now. She did not need them to be, She stood as perfectly as He without needing to be bound, poised with all the esoteric nobility of the powerless-by-choice. She took in the shallow breaths that the sleeveless, corseted top of Her dress, red and black to match Him, would allow Her. Her tired legs stiffened straight, wrapped in black nylon and brushing against the long skirt of the dress. She could have leaned back on Her high heels to relieve the tension, but tonight was not about comfort or ease. Beauty rarely coincided with ease, and she wanted to be beautiful for Him, She wanted him to find Her as beautiful as She found Him.

Words always seemed inadequate, but they would have to do. "I love you Master."

The evening was just beginning, but already She wanted Him as She looked at Him. She wanted to feel Him on top of Her, inside Her. She wanted to smell Him. She wanted to taste Him. She wanted to hear Him scream. She glanced at the whip; He often had the joy of hearing Her scream, but His were different. His screams came when the pleasure was so great that it was something that even He could not bear, and She knew that She had given it to Him, it had come from Her, and that made His screams music to Her ears.

Luckily, She could put Her craving aside as the double doors opened and they were admitted by the doorman,

"Welcome to Hernando's Hideaway," the man greeted them.

"Are you ready, my Pet?" He asked.

"Yes," She told him. She waited a moment for Him to begin walking, and then She followed.

He had told Her what to expect. Hernando's Hideaway was a nightclub for those who were decidedly deviant. There were several rooms, each of such a size that it was a club in and of itself, and each with a distinct character to it designed to accommodate a particular pattern of deviance. The room that he led her into was designed for them.

This place, with the whips and chains hanging from the walls, was designed for them. This place, with the stage upon which were bondage racks, was designed for them. This place, with the little platforms beside each chair for those who obeyed to kneel beside those who commanded, was designed for them. This place, with it's waiters and waitresses dressed in garments that served to do little more than accentuate that which clothes usually served to conceal, was designed for them.

"Do you like it?" He asked.

"I'll like it so long as you don't leave me alone here," She said.

"You don't have to be afraid. This is a place where we belong."

He was right; this was their ground. With their tastes in pleasure, with the fashion and method of their love, they were at war with normality, with the common ideas of purity. It was a war to be recognized as lovers, pure and beautiful, and not as twisted or perverse. This place, this Hernando's Hideaway, was one of the few places they had been that was truly their ground, their territory. This was a place where she could say, "He is my Master and I am his Pet", and not be ashamed.

She would concede, though, that it surprised Her just how many people were here. There must have been over one hundred in the room, perhaps even two hundred. At the first sight of the crowd, She almost missed a step, but followed just closely enough to leave a bit of slack in the leash. She hadn't expected to display Her submission before this many people, She had never done anything like it before. But She would not let it stop Her. She would prove Herself to Him in any way He wished. I failed with Teardrop... That will never happen again.

She soon realized, though, that Her being led by the leash would go all but unnoticed among this crowd. As She looked this way and that at the dominants and submissives everywhere, She found herself hurrying to walk closer to Him, for a level of comfort amidst the sights that shocked Her.

She saw a man on his hands and knees, nearly naked, cleaning his mistress's stiletto boots with his tongue. She saw a woman spread eagle and bound atop a table, and a half dozen men and women at that table eating their food off of her body. She saw men and women bound nude on wheeled structures that were carted about so that these obedient ones could be touched or tickled or tortured by anyone who cared to do so. She saw people bound and restrained in manners that made Her cringe. She saw people with devices attached to their most sensitive places to hold them in a continuing pain, frozen in what rightly should only be a moment of torment, but which for them would go on and on.

She strained not to judge them, reminding Herself that if someone unlike them were to peer in on them one night and see Her bound on the bed, the welts on Her buttocks, the whip in His hand, they might be similarly disgusted. She told herself over and over again that each person simply has a different way of showing their love, but even as She did, She was frightened by what She saw, and didn't realize just how close She was hugging to Her master until, though He still held Her leash with one hand, His other hand took Hers and gave it a comforting squeeze.

She knew, She understood, that everything from that squeeze of Her hand to His kiss on Her face to His whip on Her buttocks to all the unspeakable things that She saw around Her were simply a means of saying, "I love you. I love you more than any other has ever loved you or will ever love you. My love for you is deeper than the oceans, such that no other could care for you as I do."

"As I said, just so long as you don't leave me alone," She said.

"Let's have something to eat."

They stopped at a table where several men and women were sitting, and other men and women were kneeling beside them, and She was careful to remain behind Him. He spoke briefly to the other masters at the table; friendly they seemed, and He was invited to sit. She looked at all of the people at the table, some of them watching Her, and renewed Her determination to prove Her obedience to him, to follow every command. I won't let what happened with Teardrop happen again.

"Kneel here, my Pet."

"Yes Master."

"Put your arms behind your back, my Pet."

"Yes Master."

"Pull your ankles together, my Pet."

"Yes Master."

His voice was always pleasant to hear, whether simply speaking or commanding. She wished again, though, that She could hear Him scream.

He attached His end of the leash to a little rung on the table edge. He locked Her wrists together with a little lock He had carried. He used a similar one to lock Her ankles together, and She was effectively helpless. When this was done, finally, Her master sat and began to eat.

He spoke with the other masters, and with the slaves and pets and whores and whatever else they were called, if they were allowed to speak. Only one was gagged, but She came to assume that others had been instructed not to speak. She spoke to them as well, conversing politely as She studied them. Some of the masters seemed similar to Him, pleasantly powerful, benevolently commanding. Of course, they were as flickers of light to the raging blaze that was Her Master, but they were pleasant nonetheless. But others... She had to wonder why anyone would give themselves to such a person. She reminded herself again, that there were plenty of people who would look at her now and find it abhorrent. How could one person be the property of another? It was by choice, She wished they would understand.

Slowly, She adjusted to her bound position. It wasn't so uncomfortable; She had held it before, and many others. One of the first incidents to prompt His interest in Her true submissive side was after a bit of bondage-play, when He lay next to Her, His heavy breathing slowly relaxing, and the night wore on and He held Her and waited for Her to ask Him to untie Her wrists and ankles. But She never did. She slept with Her ankles and wrists bound together, and He knew that there was something special here.

She was used to the locks. A similar one to those that connected Her wrists and ankles was set at the buckle of Her collar, a smaller one, but just as strong. The difference was that She kept a key to that little lock. The collar was almost as a wedding ring, but sealing a different sort of union. It sealed that She belonged to Him, that She would obey Him, be His Pet. But it was, though, always by choice. She held the key, and She chose to be His.

He fed Her. He picked up food and held it in His open palm before Her face. She ate from His hand even as She looked at the rest of the couples at the table. None of the other obedients were eating. Her master had always been especially kind and respectful and generous to Her, as far as couples such as they were concerned. She ate from his hand, and studied the man straight across from them.

From the first moment She laid eyes upon him, She didn't like him. Perhaps it was that greasy black hair of his and those hideous side burns. Or maybe it was his face. There was cruelty in it without a trace of love. It was this master's slave who was gagged with a big red ball-gag, making her look like a child who had just been bobbing for apples. The master with the sideburns kept the handle of the apple-bobber's leash in one hand and he drank with the other. Sideburns was drinking too much. She watched the man with disdain. Sideburns once spilled wine on his slave, probably ruining what seemed a rather nice dress. The slave whimpered at it, and Sideburns slapped Apple-bobber's breast for silence.

She gasped at this, and Her master once again gripped Her hand in reassurance.

She knew that his squeeze on Her hand meant something more now than that He loved Her. It meant that He would let nothing happen to Her, that Her belonging to Him meant more than that She would obey him, but that He would protect Her. That She was not only His property, but His treasure, His most cherished possession. What surrounded Her was almost nightmarish when She imagined it happening to her, but that simple squeeze told her not to worry, that he wouldn't let the bogeyman come.

"Calm down, my Pet, don't worry," He whispered.

"It isn't right," She whispered back even softer, but they went back to their dinner.

It happened again and again in different ways. An angry shout. A slap here or there. She continued to wonder why in the world that poor woman would have given herself to this oaf. She wished she could tell the poor thing that someone would love her, and own her if she wished it, without her having to endure this. She looked about and could tell that the others at the table would agree with her. There was a difference between discipline and cruelty. There was a difference between punishment and abuse. The former was love despite pain. The latter was� this.

Finally, the man noticed his wineglass was empty, and as he spun about to call for more, he knocked the glass right into her face by accident. She let out a groan of pain as a little bruise on her forehead appeared. She tried to hold it back as she had been all night, but she began to cry just a little.

"Oh shut up," her owner said, mumbling, "pathetic."

She rose as much as She could, straightening as high as She could and yelled out, "You're the one who's pathetic, and she cries because now she knows the sort of trash she's given herself to!"

The man sprang up from his seat with a rage that it seemed could throw him over the table at Her. But Her Master was, in the same instant, up from His seat, and this kept Sideburns firmly in his place, for the look on His face was not rage. It was too calm, too controlled to be rage, but that made it all the more frightening.

"Your girl needs to learn to keep her mouth shut!" Sideburns shouted.

"I suppose you would advise a gag?" He asked. Sideburns didn't seem to know quite what to say, unable to interpret His tone. "No thank you." But even as He calmly talked the man down, He had His hand on Her shoulder, lowering Her to how She had rested before Her outburst. She hoped She hadn't disappointed Him.

"Of course you wouldn't use a gag on her, weakling. I knew as soon as I saw you you were that sort who wouldn't even have the nerve to punish her. That's why she clearly doesn't obey you the way my slave obeys me." Sideburns grunted with confidence.

Inwardly, She was falling apart. She was right to say what She had said, but She felt so horrible now for doing it, for embarrassing Him, for failing Him. They were talking loudly enough that they had attracted attention. Everyone within several tables surrounding them was watching, wondering what would happen. But when She looked up at Him, He didn't look embarrassed. He was grinning in that angel-devil way that He grinned.

"If you think so, then perhaps a little contest is in order?" He suggested.

"A contest to see what?" Sideburns stammered out.

"To see, of course, who has more skill in discipline," He said. There were murmurs of interest in the crowd, and more attention was falling on them.

"This should be rich!" the man belched up the words. "Just name the game!"

"It's simple," the Master said, and the Pet listened, Her heart thumping hard in Her chest. "Whoever can make his girl scream the loudest is the winner." He turned to Her, "I trust you won't mind demonstrating, my Pet?" he asked.

She did mind.

"Yes Master."

The crowd loved this, and more words were spoken, but She stopped listening, too busy running thoughts through Her mind. She couldn't believe this was happening. Never had Her Master done anything like this. She was lost in her own thoughts as Her locks were undone and those who worked at Hernando's Hideaway took Her leash and led Her, along with the other girl, over to the stage.

Over and over again, She thought to object. Each step of the way, She thought to object, to say She wouldn't go through with this. She thought She might before She made it up onto the stage, but She didn't. She thought She might before they had Her hands tied to the wooden bars of the device on the stage, Her arms spread wide and Her hands higher than Her head, but She didn't. She thought She might before they pulled up Her dress and pinned it there, exposing Her ass save for Her thong, but She didn't.

She wouldn't object, She was determined. If Her Master wanted screams, He would have Her screams. It reminded Her once again of how much She wanted to hear His. As they were securing Her ankles in place, She looked over at the other girl, bound in the same position, utter apathy on her face.

On the stage, behind the girls, were the men with their whips. He took the instrument from His belt and gripped it firmly in His hand, the leather uncoiled and the tip rested on the stage. He had taken off His coat and He was now a figure of lean, agile limbs, the whip like an extension of His body, ready for use as surely as His hands.

"Ready then?" Sideburns shouted loud enough for everyone to hear. He gave Sideburns a look with which words were unnecessary, and for an instant, it was clear that Sideburns was simply glad he was not in the Pet's position.

The Master's Pet breathed deep, preparing, determined to obey. But even as She did so, She wondered just what it was that He had to prove to these people. Why did He care what they thought?

The time for thinking of such things was over precisely when the first lash struck with a great audible CRACK, and then Her world became something else. It was a world of pain and glory and invisible fire. The first lashes struck simultaneously from both men. The Pet gave out a little groan, as She usually did. Apple-bobber immediately let out a great echoing scream so as not to disappoint her master. For a moment, the Pet inwardly kicked Herself.

Should I be making such a show? She wondered. But She decided against the idea. If Her Master really wanted this contest, then She wouldn't make it a farce. She would scream when He made Her scream.

CRACK. As the next lash hit, She knew that this wouldn't be difficult for Him anyway. He had practiced with the whip a great deal, both on Her and on targets He had made for this exact purpose, until He was deathly proficient with this tool of discipline.

She squirmed with the next CRACK. Apple-bobber was still screaming, and the Pet was just starting to cry out a bit.

CRACK.

It was painful; there was no question. She never really got used to it, no matter how many times She was disciplined.

CRACK.

His accuracy was unmatched, so far as She knew. He had spent too many hours training with the whip to ever miss a target. If He meant to strike her ass,

CRACK-

He struck Her ass. If He meant to strike her thigh,

CRACK-

He struck Her thigh. If He meant to strike even something so small as a birthmark,

CRACK-

She knew He could do it. And if He aimed for a welt already given,

CRACK-

He struck the welt, and She cried out, starting to scream now. He knew that striking the welts caused a great deal of pain, and He was good at doing it.

CRACK-

If only those outside this world could see them now. Thinking about it, She almost laughed through Her cries. Her screams still weren't matching the over-acted screams of the other girl, but they were getting close. Another CRACK, and another. She heard them as something else now, thinking back to their quiet little battle with the outside world for recognition, the CRACK was something else. It was as the sound of a war drum.

CRACK.

Her bottom was on fire. She cried out loudly and She squirmed, but He never relented. The whip had no pity. She still wished She understood why He cared so much for this contest. But no matter why, She would obey. I won't fail as I did with Teardrop.

CRACK.

She had wandered downstairs that morning wearing nothing but Her collar. Last night had been wonderful, and She told Him so. He turned to Her from where He sat at the computer. He smiled and told Her that He had made plans for them tonight. She asked what sort of plans.

CRACK.

He asked Her if She would always obey Him as She had promised. He asked Her if She would trust Him completely. To both questions, She answered Yes without hesitation.

CRACK.

He told Her that He had met someone online, and that tonight, they were going to meet this person. She asked whom it was that He had met, and He told Her that the name was Teardrop.

CRACK.

That night, She was dressed in a leather skirt He had bought for Her and a sleeveless top, along with Her wrist and ankle cuffs and of course, Her collar. To Her surprise, though, He blindfolded Her before walking out of the house and wouldn't so much as tell Her when it would be removed. He simply led her to the car and began to drive.

CRACK.

They reached their destination before long, though, of course, She had no idea where it was or what it looked like. Once He took Her from the car, She was forced to focus on mere balance in Her high heels as they made their way to wherever they were going. He opened and closed the door for Her as Her apprehension increased every second. She could hear Her footsteps echoing just a little as He walked Her somewhere, holding Her hand. Eventually, though, He stopped Her, let go of Her hand, and walked away from Her.

CRACK.

She called out to Him, both with His name and with His title, and He answered, "Yes, my Pet, I'm here." She heard other sounds then. There were people here. She heard voices, murmuring, talking, all in front of Her. Somehow She knew they were looking at her, discussing her. Her breath quickened. She asked what was happening, and He told her not to speak.

CRACK.

"Take off your shirt, my Pet," He told Her. She didn't want to. She asked what was happening, who these people were. Their murmuring continued, but all that came from Her Master was the instruction repeated. Finally, She took off Her shirt. She longed to remove the blindfold and discover where She was. But She was left with only Her hearing, and it told Her that there were at least a dozen people watching Her, probably more, and that they were quite pleased with what they were seeing.

CRACK.

"Take off your skirt, my Pet," He told Her. She objected, but complacently, and the order came again and again. Finally, She reached down and slid Her skirt from Her waist to the floor and stepped out of it. She stood cold and naked before all these watching eyes with their excited voices. She wanted to leave.

CRACK.

"Now spread your feet, my Pet," He told Her. "And begin to touch yourself." She stood still. "Touch yourself, and make yourself cum." She stood still, and after a time, He repeated the command. The crowd was mumbling, wondering why She wouldn't do as She was told. She couldn't do it. He repeated Himself again, but She couldn't do it. Finally, She ripped off the blindfold and looked out at the room.

CRACK.

No one. An empty room save for Her Master with the remote control of the stereo in His hand, speakers all about before Her. She looked at Him and saw a calm sort of disappointment on His face. She nearly broke down. Teardrop was no one. There was only She and He and Her obedience to Him; that was all that had ever mattered. And She had failed.

CRACK.

Twenty-five! She was reeling. He had never given her this many before. She screamed loudly, though still not as loud as Apple-bobber. But she understood now, She knew why He was doing it. He didn't really care about these people. They mattered no more than Teardrop. It was just as it had been before. Only She and He and Her obedience to Him.

He paused for several moments, and She could hear Sideburns' whip striking Apple-bobber, but no lash hit Her. She wondered if He was giving up, and actually hoped that He wasn't done. She understood now, and wanted more than anything to show Him that She could obey.

He wasn't done, but it was different now. It had never been like this before. His whip found it's way to another place, between Her legs, touching more softly and slowly than She had ever thought that it could. She gasped with the shock of it. It was pain, yes, but it was also such pleasure that She had never thought could come from this.

He struck again, teasing and tickling. She gasped and panted, unsure what to make of this. She dripped with pleasure, craving for the whip to come again, and it did. It came again, and again, and again, each lash building upon the last.

She couldn't tell if He was striking harder or softer or just the same as when He began hitting Her there, but the feeling was intensifying. She couldn't tell much of anything besides that. The crowd was gone from Her perception, along with Sideburns and Apple-bobber. There was only She and Her Master and Her obedience and the pleasure.

She didn't even realize She was screaming. She wailed with the intensity of the pleasure, growing louder and louder and sustaining the scream longer and longer until it rang out through the place, carrying louder and lasting longer than She thought She was capable of, powered by the sheer power of the orgasm wracking her body.

When it was done, the crowd was silent. They all knew what had happened. She didn't care. She looked over to Apple-bobber, who was hanging silent from her bonds, bleeding from the sloppy, poorly placed whip strokes on her ass, thighs, and back. They, like everyone on the crowd, were staring at the Master and His Pet, staring at the winners of the contest.

The Master made no declaration of victory, save to pivot and send His whip lashing out one more time, snapping directly into Sideburns' hand. Sideburns dropped his whip, and his hand was bleeding.

Everything that happened after that was dreamlike and immemorable. Leaving the club. Driving home. Everything just sort of floated around Her unnoticed until He lay Her in bed, and slid the clothes from Her body.

His arms came around Her and She melted into him. All the pain she had felt that night drifted away, banished by His love.

He took Her then in that final way that showed Her that She had done well, had obeyed Him as He knew She could, and there was more pleasure in it than She ever imagined. She held Him with Her whole body, wrapping around Him, Her legs crushing Him, Her fingernails cutting Him, Her teeth biting Him.

He thrust in and out of Her and after what She had endured that night, She could hardly take it. So sore from the whip, even the joy of Him inside Her was a torment in its own way. But She endured it for Him, as She could endure anything for Him, and would endure anything for Him.

She had proven that She could, and that She would. And finally, She had her reward.

She heard Her Master's screams.