Written by slave q at Mistress Ruby’s command.
Detective Trevor Carson was a veteran of the force, wearing the weariness of his years like a weathered trench coat. His latest call, however, promised to jolt him out of any complacency. His partner, the eager rookie Dave Swanson, was on the other end of the line.
“Trev, this is wild. You gotta see it to believe it!” The urgency in Dave’s high-pitched tone piqued Trevor’s curiosity despite his earlier lethargy.
“What’s happened, Dave?” Trevor replied, trying to suppress a yawn.
“At Central Park… it’s a guy. He’s all bruised and… sort of attached to the roundabout,” Dave stuttered, almost out of breath.
“What do you mean by ‘attached’?” Trevor questioned, now sitting up in his chair, genuine interest in his voice.
“Just get over here, pronto. You need to see this with your own eyes!” Dave urged.
Trevor swung himself into his car, the sirens wailing a path towards the chaos awaiting them at the park. As he arrived, a small crowd had gathered, their eyes locked onto the unbelievable spectacle in front of them. A naked man, save for a collar around his neck, was bound painfully, a thin but firm chain connecting him to the slowly rotating carousel.
Despite his years of experience, Trevor was momentarily speechless—confronted by the bizarre scene of a man forced to crawl endlessly in circles.
“Is this some new age fun Dave, or did I miss the leaflet?” Trevor’s joke aimed to mask his surprise.
“Just trying to lighten the mood, Boss,” Dave chuckled awkwardly.
Keeping a straight face, Trevor crouched down, attempting to communicate with the victim, while the crowd murmured around them. But as he closed in, the man’s voice reached him before any eyes met.
“I beg your forgiveness, Mistress Ruby,” the man chanted in a repetitive trance. Trevor’s realization sharpened the scene unfolding before him.
Trevor moved back beside Dave, his mind processing the situation. “Hey, does the name Mistress Ruby tell you anything?” he queried, searching his partner’s eyes for any flicker of recognition.
Dave shrugged, his young face earnest. “Sounds… East side-ish?” he ventured.
Trevor nodded. “Clean things up here while I follow up on this ‘Mistress Ruby.’ And for heaven’s sake, stop the damn carousel.” Trevor’s voice was urgent. “It’s not right!”
Dave winced but laughed, “On ‘nad detail, Boss.” Trevor couldn’t help but smirk, rolling his eyes as he sauntered back to his car.
As he drove towards the city’s seedier fringes, Trevor’s phone rang. A glance told him it was the Chief, Carol Flowers, or “The Bitch” as he irreverently dubbed her—a title he would never dare say aloud. He pinched his nose bridge, trying to think calming thoughts before answering.
“What’s all the ruckus at the park, Carson?” Carol’s snappy voice crackled through the line.
Trevor adopted his blandest tone. “Just the usual, naked guy tied to a ride,” he replied dryly.
“Are you kidding me? We can’t have this kind of filth taking over the city,” Carol barked. “Your top priority now is to fix this mess. Got any leads?”
Trevor calmly replied, “Just one name, Carol—Mistress Ruby.”
Her voice dropped, “I’ve heard that. Affluent, they say. Check out the fancy clubs on the East side. Hop to it! I want this wrapped up by sunrise.”
Trevor pried the phone from his ear, mentally picturing her steely glare beneath the polished sheen of her business suit. “Yes ma’am,” he muttered, steering his car into the glitzy yet gritty underbelly of the city’s nightlife.
He prowled the neon-lit streets, a sleuth in pursuit of a name whispered in shadowy realms. Each denial from the city’s demimonde echoed louder, resilience wearing thin.
Caffeinated desperation led him to a corner coffee shop, where a cursory scan revealed an alluring redhead seated alone at a four-person table. Trevor approached, curiosity kindling despite himself.
“Is this seat taken?” Trevor ventured, balancing his coffee and juggling his nerves.
Without raising her gaze, she commanded smoothly, “You may sit if you’re a good boy.” The implication in her tone was unmistakable, laced with an authority that brooked no contradiction.
He sat, unsure, as her magnetic presence held mesmerizing sway over his attention.
“Thank you for letting me join you; my name is Trevor,” he offered, hoping to steer the conversation leisurely, yet purposefully.
When she finally glanced up, her vivid green eyes impaled him—an electrifying intensity in her gaze. “So, are you?” she asked, voice wrapped in velvet bravado.
Trevor gulped, humor flitting nervously around his lips. “I can be,” he replied, attempting charm.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she stated with feline bemusement, sliding her empty cup towards him. “A latte, skim milk, no foam.”
Trevor played along, retrieving her drink in hopeful acquiescence. Upon his return, she acknowledged him with a nod, savoring the steaming beverage. “You can call me Ms. Ruby.”
As comprehension dawned with the shattering of fantasy and reality, Trevor coughed awkwardly, struggling to balance professionalism with visceral intrigue. He asked cautiously, “Do you, by any chance, go by Mistress Ruby?”
Her lips curved mischievously. “Only those in my service call me Mistress. Are you interested?”
Inwardly battling duty and desire, Trevor couldn’t help but nod, caught in her web, as echoes of the victim’s plight reverberated in his mind.
Feeling a rising discomfort with the conversation, Trevor attempted a diversion. “Do you know this man?” he asked, displaying a picture of the man from his phone—the one shamefully branded as ‘pet nuts.’
Ms. Ruby’s eyes danced with a mischievous glint. “Ah, that’s Bruce. Silly boy indeed. One of my own, who failed to obey my commands,” she declared, her tone as rich as velvet. A glance at her watch prompted a smooth transition, “I think you’d find being one of my slaves quite… enlightening. I can introduce you to sensations beyond your imagination. How does that sound? Are you ready to be a good boy for Ms. Ruby?”
Confusion and a strange yearning warred within Trevor’s mind. An inexplicable pull towards this enigmatic woman enveloped him, blanketing rational thought. He tried forming words, coherent thoughts twisting like smoke around a flame, yet all he managed was a nod of consent—one that seemed to escape against his own will.
In a glide of graceful movement, she stood, beckoning him with an authority that stirred the air. “My car is waiting. Come along now, be a good boy,” she instructed, her voice like honeyed silk.
Trevor moved as if in a trance, every step synchronized to the rhythm of her beckoning presence as he followed her to the sleek black car awaiting them. Inside, seated across from her sumptuous form, Trevor’s eyes were ensnared, his attention roving over her legs, lingering helplessly upon her cleavage. Every glance stoked the seeds of a heat rising unbidden inside him.
“Be a good boy for me and sleep, Trevor,” she purred softly, her voice weaving through his consciousness. In this surreal state, those words echoed and reverberated until they lulled him into a deep, dreamless drift.
Darkness gradually gave way to dim light, his eyes heavy as they surveyed his new surroundings. This was different—an interrogation room made familiar by purpose but aberrant in its current construct. He was bound, not standing by his own volition, but strapped to an X-shaped cross of smooth, cool material beneath his skin. The restricting sensation sobered him sharply, sending realization skittering through his mind.
As recognition dawned, Ms. Ruby entered with a feline grace, her presence intoxicating and disarming all at once. Her perfume, a heady mix of florals and forbidden delights, assaulted his senses, leaving him unfocused, vulnerable to her motions.
“Awake, my good boy?” Her voice was soothingly superior, carrying a teasing cadence that left him speechless—lost in the tempest stirred by her fragrance and proximity.
Trevor’s gaze traveled over her, transfixed. Here was a desire tethered not to romance, but to something primal—a raw, untouched hunger she could unleash with just a whisper. The rigid thrust of his unbidden arousal attested to the power she wielded over him, her every move amplifying his yearning.
“My, someone is excited to see me,” she mocked lightly, her voice lancing his consciousness. As she closed the distance, her fingers grazed the sensitive skin beneath his manhood, triggering a shiver cascading through every nerve within him. “Would you like to be my slave now?” she asked, her voice dripping with beguiling allure.
A guttural groan escaped Trevor despite his attempts to contain it, betrayal etched into every reaction of his body—a puppet to her painstakingly meticulous manipulation.
“Just say yes, Mistress Ruby, and I shall uncover more pleasures than you dare expect.” Her voice was a silk-lined promise, coiling around his rational thought, squeezing until compliance seemed his only refuge.
He hesitated, words eluding him, as his senses writhed against a will crumbling beneath her touch.
“Perhaps a glimpse of what awaits is in order,” she whispered. Her fingertip traversed the length of him, a mere touch igniting fireworks that blurred resistance into instinctual surrender.
“You’re dripping for Mistress Ruby.” Her voice, a triumphant chorus harmonizing with the smirk of power that twitched her lips. The subtle withdrawal of her hand left him reeling, his body lurching involuntarily towards empty space, desperate for contact.
“Please,” he moaned, coherence drowned by primal urges.
She chuckled, softly, almost affectionately. “Boys ask. Good boys beg, Trevor. Now, are you my good boy?” Her eyes sparkled with a knowing challenge.
In the grip of longing, Trevor, the competent detective, found himself reduced—desperation lending force to his compliance. “Please,” he repeated more fully, beseeching her with open vulnerability.
“Tsk-tsk, such a poor display of submission. Address me correctly, then beg with sincerity, stating your desires and offerings.” Her voice, now an instructor’s chastisement, framed by the sharp hand descending upon his vulnerable manhood, echoed the lesson painfully into his awareness.
“Please,” Trevor uttered, humbled and pained afresh.
“Clever boy,” she praised sarcastically, expectation quivering in the air. “Repeat: ‘Ms. Ruby, will you please touch my cock?’” Command replaced coaxing, her eyes fixed on him, dissecting his resolve.
His resistance yielded to instinctual compliance, a whisper emerging from strained silence, “Ms. Ruby, will you please touch my cock?”
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