Performance Art

Anne Stagg
12 mins read
Published almost 3 years ago

The Menagerie was packed, the sea of heaving bodies illuminated by flickers of light. Flashes of blues, reds, and sparkling whites chased each other in time with the driving bass that spilled from the speakers like honey. I sat at the bar and watched the bacchanalia, wondering if it had always been the way of people to court exhaustion in pursuit of that small, quiet space that exists outside of the self. Kitten laid his head on my thigh and stared out at the dancers. I carded my fingers through his hair. The heat from his cheek seeped through the silk of my skirt. The contact kept us both calm while we waited for midnight.

“You need another?” The bartender, a spit-fire youth, nodded towards the ice melting in my glass.

“Not for me,” I tipped Kitten’s head up, bending to whisper in his ear so I could be heard over the din, “Do you need any water before we go on, pet?” 

“No, Lilith.” He radiated calm and I was struck by the enormity of his gift to me. He had carved a place for himself in my life that would always be his, and his alone.

“We’re fine, thanks,” I said. The bartender winked and carried on with her rounds. Kitten purred when I scratched at the scruff beard beneath his chin. He kept it trimmed close and neat, claiming it leant gravitas to the boyish roundness of his cheeks that he had carried into adulthood. 

I slipped from my stool at a quarter to midnight, Kitten’s leash in hand, and waded through the dancers. The air was suffused with the scent of clean sweat, of bodies in motion, and it fanned the flames of my excitement. Kitten crawled behind me and the crowd parted for us, like we were royalty. 

Kitten held them in thrall. There was an air of danger in the sharp set of his jaw and the flare of arousal in his eyes. The leather collar around his throat was a testament to his strength, not my control. His back and ass were bare, pale as milk, a perfect contrast to the black leather of his gloves and the chaps that hugged his legs. The corded muscles in his back and thighs rippled as he moved. He prowled like a jaguar cloaked in the skin of a man. His cock was trapped in a cage of concentric silver rings, with one large, thick band nestled at the base of his balls. 

A raised dais had been erected in the center of the dance floor. The music faded and the crowd gathered around. Kitten knelt at my feet, his forehead pressed to the toes of my boots. Pride swelled in my chest; it was an honor to share him, to know that he trusted me enough to show him off and to keep him safe. 

“Stay, Kitten.” I slipped off my boots. Working barefoot was a conceit of my own. The feel of the floor beneath my feet kept me grounded. It challenged perceptions, and what was a power exchange, but a way to confront how we perceived the world.

The Menagerie had set a low table beside a stool in the center of the dais. My instruments had been placed there for me; they were the brushes I used to draw out the colors of Kitten’s beauty. My fingers trailed over the hilts of the two floggers I brought, one with falls of deerskin and another with falls of oiled leather. The silver of the wide-barreled Wartenberg wheel gleamed in the club lights and the hands-free prostate massager sat beside it, twisted and bulbous, like an ancient tree root. There was also a candle, a tube of lubricant, and a bucket of ice. I had chosen not to bind Kitten for the scene. The tension that existed between his need to move and his desire to obey made him beautiful. 

The DJ introduced us while I fit the wireless mic over my ear and fastened one onto Kitten. We both wanted the crowd to hear every breath. They clapped as I led Kitten to the center of the stage and had him kneel before the stool. It was a plain thing with a padded round seat sat atop a thigh-high frame. 

The lighting for our show was perfect; a spotlight flooded the space where our scene would unfold and the house lights were dim, but not darkened. The club manager knew that part of what made Kitten special was his fearless connection with those who were there to watch him submit. The effect would be lost if Kitten was unable to watch them in return. 

“My name is Lilith and this is Kitten,” there were some cheers and whistles from those who had witnessed one of our scenes in the past, “Thank you. I would like to ask for quiet from this point. Please hold your applause until the end, for your pleasure and for ours.” There was another round of clapping. I played to the crowd, staring out into their faces with stern resolve, and raising a sculpted eyebrow. There was a smattering of laughter before they settled in for the show.

“Look at me, Kitten.” 

“Yes, Lilith.” He raised his head, his neck turned at a slight angle to meet my eyes. The trust in his gaze never ceased to take my breath away. 

“Color?” It was crucial to me that the crowd understood that neither of us took our play or our commitment to each other for granted. 

“Green, Lilith.”

“And what do you do if you need the scene to end?”

“Say ‘red’ or snap three times if I am unable to speak.” 

“What do you want to show these people tonight?”

“How I serve you, Lilith.” 

I nodded, dragging a manicured finger over his bare shoulders before I released the clasp on his leash. His breathing was even, measured. 

“Stand,” I demanded and stripped him nude, save for his collar and the cock cage. I remained clothed. I had chosen a silk wrap dress of deepest sapphire with a wide leather corset belt laced around my waist. The only other piece of clothing I wore was a lace thong that was split along the seam of my womanhood by a single strand of pearls. Those were for Kitten, who loved the feel of pearls against his tongue when he worshipped me.

Kitten stood a full six inches taller than me, but our dynamic had never been about height. I reached up and raked my fingers through his hair, grasping a handful, and tugging hard. His sharp inhale echoed over the speaker system and fed the fire in my belly. A flush of heat erupted between my thighs.

I liked to start slow and prepare my canvas. I traced feather-light caresses across his chest, his back, and the globes of his ass. His skin was soft; I had bathed Kitten myself. It was part of our ritual. I loved filling a tub with warm water, scenting it with essential oils, and pampering him until his skin was infused with the bitter citrus of neroli and the sweet spice of fennel. 

Kitten’s breath began to speed up. I palmed his balls and squeezed and he stifled a small grunt, but thanks to the mic, his attempt failed.  My hand cracked across his ass and he yelped. The sound was as sharp as a gunshot in the quiet, and I heard startled gasps from the crowd.

“Selfish pet. Are you going to deny these people what they came for?” I spanked his other ass cheek, satisfied that both were flushed primrose pink.

“No, Lilith.” The chastisement made his cheeks burn. 

I murmured against his ear. I kept my voice low, intimate, as if we were alone in our bedroom, “You can’t hide yourself, Kitten. They already know you’re an insatiable slut.” 

Kitten moaned. It started deep in his chest and rolled out between his parted lips 

“That’s right, my sweet, let them hear how much you love their eyes on you. Shall we show them what a greedy little beggar you are?” 

“Yes, Lilith.” 

“Over the stool, legs wide,” Kitten wasted no time. He draped himself over the stool’s padded seat presenting his gorgeous ass to the audience.  The stool was low enough that he could spread his legs wide and maintain that position for as long as I required, even if he were to squirm.

The deerskin flogger was the first brush I would use to paint my masterpiece. I picked it up and worked the falls in a figure eight until the hilt warmed in my hand. Its sting was light and playful, like an amuse-bouche before a sumptuous meal, a taste meant to whet the appetite, rather than sustain the body.

The string of pearls on my thong slipped against my clit and the folds of my sex, the delicious jolts of sensation heightened by the vision before me. I spun the handle of the flogger and the falls flew out in a wide circle and I used them to tickle Kitten from the backs of his ankles to his neck. The sweet huffs of breath that flowed out of him were gorgeous. His exclamations changed to grunts when I moved on to flogging his ass and upper thighs with the tips of the falls, careful to build the sensation at a steady pace. Kitten was panting by the time I finished, the tip of his cock shining in its cage. 

A warm flush stained his skin and I let my hands roam over his body. I stroked down the valley between his ass cheeks, letting my finger glide over the furled muscle at his center, before I gave it a vicious pinch. The shock of it drew a pained shout from him and people in the audience jumped. Their presence had been transformed and they were part of our scene. Kitten’s responsiveness, the sight and sound of his pleasure, had broken the wall that existed between observer and observed. It is what made me love him, what made him special. 

I chose fire and ice as the next colors to splash across my canvas. The candle I had brought was a long taper the color of black cherries, the bee’s wax still carried the subtle scent of honey. The molten wax formed its own patterns on Kitten’s skin, shifting and cracking with each small movement. I chased the blooms of heat with ice until his skin was beaded with wax and water ran in rivulets down his sides. My Kitten reveled in indulgences that stirred together different shades of sensation, pleasure and pain, worship and humiliation. 

“Spread yourself open for me, slut.” Kitten reached back and spread his ass wide, without question. He moaned when my fingers brushed over his hole. The furled skin twitched while I massaged it, dipping my fingers inside as his muscles relaxed. He whimpered when I pulled my hand away and I patted his flank, a small check-in to let him know that I would not leave him untouched for long. I snuffed out the candle’s flame and lubed the other end. It slid into him with no resistance. 

“Be a good pet and hold that there for me.” I stepped back to see the tableau I had created. There were some giggles from the audience and I allowed myself a dark chuckle while I traced the place where his hole was stretched around the candle. 

“You’re being so good for me.” I crouched by his head and brushed the hair from his face. He was flushed, his lips swollen from where he’d bitten and licked them. His eyes were filled admiration. “Where are you, love?”

“The Menagerie, Lilith.” There was a tremor in his voice.

“And what is your color?”

“Green, Lilith.” 

Satisfied that he was present, I took up the Wartenberg wheel. The silver roller was covered in sharp spikes and could produce everything from a subtle tickle or hornet’s sting. It was one of Kitten’s favorite toys. I thrust the candle against the sweet bundle of nerves inside him while I used the wheel to loosen the wax on his skin. Kitten’s whines were constant. High-pitched, throaty sounds that dipped and swerved around the scale as I worked. I showered him with the peculiar brand of praise that set him alight. 

“You are such a good little whore for me, listen to you moaning. I bet there isn’t a person in this room right now who would turn down a bite at this sweet little apple,” I set the candle aside and grabbed a handful of Kitten’s ass. I was dripping with longing, anticipation burning beneath my skin.  

I guided Kitten from the stool to the floor, laid him on his back, and repeated the process with the candle, ice, and the wheel. He was gulping air, tears leaking from his eyes when I finished. My own excitement could not be contained any longer. I sat on the stool, letting my legs fall wide, and exposed the heart of my womanhood. 

“Kitten, show these people how a greedy slut worships his mistress?” 

“Yes, Lilith.” Kitten sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly before he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself to his hands and knees. He moved with no trace of self-consciousness or care. He was fully submerged in our play and had become a living, breathing work of art.

Kitten reached the stool and knelt up bringing his mouth level with my cunt. He panted, open-mouthed, his tongue extended like an offering. The mic caught each exhalation as it ghosted over the delicate folds of skin at my entrance. I wound both hands in his hair and pulled him to me. A guttural cry erupted from my throat as Kitten used his tongue to tease my clit with the pearls on my thong. 

“That’s right, you’re such a good boy,” I yanked his head away from my body and forced him to look into my eyes. His chin was wet with my slick and his spit, his eyes wild from the denial of his own pleasure.  

“Do you want to come for these people?” He nodded and I gripped his hair harder. “Answer me with words, Kitten.” 

“Yes, Lilith.” 

“Show them how hungry you are for me.” I dragged him back against me. Tendrils of pleasure shot out along my limbs from where he beat his tongue against my clit.  

He pushed the string of pearls to the side and slipped two fingers inside me, crooking them, and stroking at that magical spot that sent my mind reeling. The sounds of lapping and sucking flooded the room. The excitement that had been building between us began to overflow and my thighs quaked. I shivered through my climax, riding his tongue and his fingers. 

“You did so well. Would you like to come now?”

“Yes, please, Lilith, may I?” He pleaded while he rained gentle kisses on my sex. 

“Yes, you may. Stand and face them. Let them see you with my slick on your face.” 

Kitten whined when I stepped away to retrieve the prostate massager and the lube. He was deep within his submission and losing my touch pained him. I kept up a constant patter of praise while I lubed up the toy. 

“Grab the base of your cock, Kitten. Remember you can’t come until I give you permission.” 

Kitten’s head nodded up and down. “Yes, Lilith.” 

He cried out when I released him from the cock cage, the expression on his face equal parts relief and frustration. I had Kitten lean forward and worked the prostate massager into his channel. By the time it was fully seated inside him, his groans were constant. 

The oiled leather flogger brought the master strokes of our piece. I picked it up, loving the heft of the hilt and pommel in my hand. It was so well balanced that it could be used for an entire session without causing my wrist to ache, but the sensation it produced was so intense that I only ever used it at the height of a scene, much to Kitten’s chagrin. 

“One hand on your thigh, Kitten,” I stood behind him, facing the crowd, and held the falls of the flogger in one hand while I twisted the hilt. Kitten was bent forward, one hand supporting his upper body and one hand wrapped around his prick.

“Look at them all watching you,” I commanded and struck one of Kitten’s ass cheeks, then the other. 

“Do you want to come?” The falls made a sharp, cracking sound when they kissed his skin, like shale popping in a fire. Crack, crack.

“Yes, Lilith.” 

“Beg me,” I demanded. Crack, crack.

“Please Lilith, please let me come.” 

“Have you been a good boy?” Crack, crack.

 “Only if you say I have, Lilith. Please.” He had tears on his cheeks and I could no longer hold back. 

“Stand up straight. Don’t you dare come,” I barked and molded my body to his side, replacing his hand with my own, and threading my other hand in his hair to prevent him from turning away from the crowd of onlookers.

“Come for me.” His cock was wet with pre-come and the sweat from his hand. I stroked him hard, with a tight fist. “Open your eyes, Kitten. Let them see you come. I know you can do it for me. Come now.” His length hardened further and pulsed in my hand. He screamed and trembled through his release. I milked his cock through his spasms, petting his hair, his chest, his ass. I whispered words of love to him as he started to come down. 

“You were so perfect, love. I’m proud of you. Look at what you did for me? You’re a work of art. I can’t imagine a stronger man.” I lifted the hand that was covered in his come and let him lick his spend from my fingers. The house lights brightened, signaling the end of the scene. Applause washed over us and reverberated back over the crowd through the club’s speaker system until the room was alive with sound, like the thundering crash of a waterfall.

The same spritely youth who had been tending bar hovered near the steps to the dais with a large bath sheet. I took it with a smile of thanks and draped it around Kitten’s shoulders. He took sips of water while I disconnected his mic and my own. I was a greedy, keeping his sighs of satisfaction and exhaustion for myself. 

When I was convinced he was steady on his feet. We stepped off the dais together, ignoring those who crowded in close to offer words of admiration. I led him to a room where we could rest before facing the throng. Kitten was spent. He mewled, sweet little whimpers while I worked the rest of the wax off his skin and massaged him with aloe. 

He curled up with his head in my lap and let me feed him bits of fruit and cheese that the club had left out for us. He lipped an orange slice from my fingers, sucking on the juices and moaning as the bright flavor filled his mouth. He was as stunning in his rest as he was in his submission. I told him so and then let him drift, content to sit by and listen to the muffled sounds of music and excited chatter flowing around the little island of silence we had made between us.


Anne Stagg's 'Mound of Gaia' series is a Bellesa exclusive.

I. The Song of Water
II. Rumors of the Wind
III. Flame's Tongue
IV. The Sacred Passage
V. Blood Makes Noise
VI. Drink Deep and Remember
VII. The Huntress

Other stories:

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Written by
Anne Stagg

Anne Stagg writes sex-positive, affirming erotic fantasy fiction and advocates for creating healthy, sex-positive, affirming sexual spaces for the LGBTQIA community and women.