Trip to London

The roar of Master Felipe’s private jet engine was the only sound competing with the accelerated beating of my heart. London welcomed us with its classic fine rain and a leaden sky, the perfect setting for the next chapter of my training. My body already bore the marks of his ownership, but this business trip represented a trial by fire: I had to maintain my absolute submission in an unfamiliar environment, surrounded by strangers and under my Master’s strict gaze.

We had spent the day in high-level meetings in the City. I, dressed in an impeccable tailored suit but without underwear, wore the ring of my Prince Albert piercing rubbing painfully against the fabric of my trousers with every step. An invisible chain, but firmly engraved in my mind, bound me to Felipe’s hand. While he closed multimillion-dollar contracts, I remained standing at his side or discreetly kneeling beneath the table when privacy allowed, remembering every rule of his manual.

As night fell, business gave way to dark pleasure. The private car left us in front of an exposed-brick Georgian building in the Shoreditch district. There were no signs, only a heavy black wooden door and a bronze bell. As we crossed the threshold, the scent of leather, latex, and candle wax immediately told me where we were. It was the Underground Obsidian, one of the most exclusive and severe BDSM clubs in the British capital.

Felipe handed over our coats at the cloakroom. Right there, he ordered me to undress completely, except for the black leather collar with the plate engraved with my name, edumiso, and the gleaming steel jewelry that pierced my urethra.

“Walk behind me, keep your eyes on my heels, and prepare to be exposed, edumiso,” Felipe whispered in that deep voice that both froze and ignited my blood.

The club opened into several underground rooms lit by a dim red light. The sound of lashes, muffled moans, and industrial music in the background created an intoxicating atmosphere. Men and women of London high society, stripped of their everyday suits and masks, watched the different scenes of domination.

Felipe strode firmly toward the central area, a spacious space with a noble-wood Saint Andrew’s cross and several chains hanging from the ceiling. Several British Masters and Dominas greeted Felipe with respect; his reputation preceded him.

“I have brought my new acquisition from Spain,” Felipe told them in perfect English, pointing to me with a slight gesture of his chin. I immediately knelt at his feet, placing the palms of my hands on the cold stone floor.

A tall Master with an icy gaze came closer to inspect me. My eyes remained fixed on the floor, just as the rule dictated. I felt the stranger’s gloved fingers lift my chin to force me to show my face, and then, roughly, his hand moved down to my crotch. When he tugged lightly on the Prince Albert ring, a sharp moan escaped my lips. The cold metal ...