Rowland, The Senators Son

Chapter 10 Fourteen Days of Hell

I am "Lanzo Thorvald" the literal meaning of my name is 'the Lance that is powered by Thor'. I am six foot two inches, 250 pounds of Viking protector. My heritage runs strong within me and is obvious in my red hair and beard. In the service of my Domma as one of her hell hounds, our purpose is to protect, do her bidding and see no harm comes to her. I have served in this capacity for the past six years known by the house as 'Lance' (her Spear).

It has been 14 days, 3 hours and 20 minutes since displeasing my Domma; She has not said a word or even looked upon my unworthy soul. It is the longest I have ever gone without her touch or word, and I am eager to receive the punishment I deserve. Even now, as I sit in the town car across from her, she is silent. We are going to Emporium. It is obvious, our punishment is to be carried out in front of others, adding to my humiliation.

With such failure, there is always the possibility that she will remove her protection. That thought clutches at my heart. I know I will endure any humiliation any punishment to prove my worthiness to still serve.

We enter an underground garage and use the private elevator to arrive at the venue unobserved.

While at play all the men of her house wear long leather coats, no shirt, leather trousers, boots, and chest harness with matching collars that signify we belong to the house of Dark Angel. Black leather masks obscure our identity.

My Domma is the embodiment of divinity. Her rounded hips are tightly encased in black leather trousers, open panels down the side of each leg are secured with crisscross lacing that ensures a tight fit, ankle to waist. Black calf-high boots encase her legs. A black satin corset encases her upper body. Her long coat made of the finest Napa leather sways softly around her, as a tightly restrained braid of long hair flows over her back.

Her mask is a unique creation of her own hand fine sterling silver fret work enhancing her facial features. Smokey dark eye makeup and red lipstick complete her transformation to the Dark Angel that is my Domma. We all know she is about to hold court and we are the sacrificial lambs that willingly go to slaughter for her pleasure a role we relish.

My nerves are shred 14 days, 4 hours and 5 minutes since displeasing my Domma, and still not a touch or utterance.

Her will an unbreakable force of nature, not even my prostrated begging at this moment would change her. There is a lesson I must learn the hard way.

The Emporium is crowded, the humiliation I must endure. I take a quick side glance at Ekon he looks even more nervous than I feel; The boy is so much younger than I.

We walk through the room with purpose surrounding our Domma, Boy and Toku flank her back while Ekon and I lead the way. I am excited, nervous, and even a little scared only the trust in my Domma stills my soul.

We stop when approached by the Dungeon Master bowing our heads, keeping our eyes averted we step aside so he may greet our Domma.

Each bows their heads slightly as a sign of respect before he reaches forward to greet Domma kissing each of her cheeks.

"So nice to see you Dark Angel, it honours us to have you visit us again," the Dungeon Master's voice a deep rumbling baritone.

"You do me a great honour in allowing my presence." Domma is genuine in her show of humility. Over my service, I have witnessed how she offers respect without reservation and receives it in turn. She earns then reaps; The learning of this one lesson has assisted me the most in my everyday interactions.

With no fanfare, he guides our group to the Play arena; This truly is to be a public humiliation. Once inside, he secures the door, the click of the latch heavier than any chain.