by Ashe Barker, Katy Swann, Rosalie Stanton, Lucy Felthouse, Anarie Brady, Rose C. Carole
I’ve read enough legal documentation to know what to look for, and also to appreciate that this particular piece of paper will never be brandished in a court of law. It has no legal force whatsoever, but rather it serves to express our expectations of each other. I skim it, then sign and leave the pen on top of the sheet.
I stand, remove my trench coat and fold it up before laying it on the seat of the chair. I place my small clutch bag on top of it, my phone inside. I have no qualms at all about leaving my belongings behind. I draw in a breath, set my shoulders, and reach for the door handle to enter the playroom.
* * * *
I expect darkness, or at least subdued lighting, but find neither. The room I enter is well-lit and, while the room is not especially large, I can see at a glance that it is equipped with a dizzying array of toys and implements. I turn in a slow circle, taking stock.
A spanking bench dominates one end of the room, and a plain wooden chair, without arms, is at the other end. The wall before me is mirrored. My own rather startled-looking reflection peers back at me from the glass. I took particular care over my appearance this evening, but despite my efforts I look disheveled and unprepared, my shoulder-length dark hair more tousled than artfully curled. My short red latex skirt is creased so I pull it smooth again, then adjust my black and crimson corset. I can cover my breasts or my abdomen, not both. I opt for my breasts, and twist to check the seams on my thigh-high stockings. Not too shabby.
I move across the room to examine the items hanging from a display rail beside the St. Andrew’s cross. There are paddles of varying weights and design, whips, crops, more canes than I personally care for, floggers and all manner of restraints. I select a pair of soft leather cuffs and press them to my nose to inhale the sensuous aroma. My pussy starts to moisten in anticipation.
“You may put that pair on, if you like them, and select another pair for your ankles, Miss Barnett.”
I whirl, startled, at the disembodied voice. The room is empty, of course, and the sound system carefully concealed. I can see the camera, though, mounted in the ceiling, and I realize I have been watched all along. They probably observed me in the anteroom, too.
“I… You gave me a shock,” I announce, though the comment is irrelevant.
“I know.” He sounds unrepentant. “My name is Mark, and my associate for this evening is Greg. We are both delighted to welcome you to Vivant. May we use your first name, Miss Barnett?”
I note he makes no apology for startling me. I look up into the camera as I voice my response. “Yes, of course. It’s Jessie.”
“I know that, too, Jessie. So, please would you do as I ask now?”
“Could we…? I mean… I’d like to actually meet you before we…” I pause, not sure what I want to ask for.
“You will come to know us well enough, Jessie. And we’ll know you intimately by the end of this evening. For the avoidance of doubt, we both expect you to follow our instructions immediately and without argument, or face the consequences. Is that clear?”
“But—”
“Jessie, be careful. If anything I have asked you to do is unclear you may request more information, otherwise just obey. Now.” His tone has hardened, sharpened. The discussion is over before it ever really began.
“Right, Sir. Now.” I fasten the cuffs around each of my wrists, then choose a slightly bigger pair and crouch to attach those to each ankle. I stand up and look back into the camera. “Anything else, Sir? Sirs?”
“You’ll need a blindfold, too. We left one for you on top of the spanking bench.”
I nod and go over to the bench. The blindfold is leather, too, padded around the edges to exclude any peripheral vision, with a Velcro fastener.
“Should I put this on now, Sir?”
“Yes, please. Then we want you to remove any underwear and arrange yourself on the bench lengthways. Get your bearings before you put on the blindfold, as you won’t be able to see anything after.”
My heart is in my mouth as I place the blindfold across my eyes and reach behind my head to fasten the strap securely. My hands are shaking, the combined effects of nervous anticipation and fast-building arousal, when I reach under my skirt to hook my thumbs in the waistband of my thong. I peel the brief miniscule confection down my legs and step out. Blindfolded, I can’t easily pick up the scrap of lace and put it away tidily, so I leave it wherever it might be on the floor and fumble for the bench. I ease my weight forward until I am lying face down along the length of it, the soft, warm leather comfortable against my bare stomach. I breathe in, as ever loving the deep, satisfying scent. I exhale, and I wait.
Several minutes pass, but I’m content to remain where I am. My skirt is so skimpy that just leaning forward is enough to expose the lower curves of my bottom. The waft of cool air that flutters across my skin alerts me to the opening and closing of the door somewhere behind me.
Footsteps, the brush of fabric, a rustle of paper. I am no longer alone. No one speaks to me, though, and I remain silent also, alert, acutely aware of any movement in the room. It’s them. It has to be. Mark and Greg, my Doms. Every nerve ending in my body is attuned to them. I listen, and I shiver in apprehensive anticipation.
“I believe she’s nervous.” A male voice, low and matter-of-fact, and coming from directly to my right. Mark, unless I’m mistaken.
“Perhaps, but horny, too. I wonder if she’s a slut? Are you, Jessie? Are you going to be our slut tonight?” This must be Greg. His tone is softer, though his words belie the gentler timbre.
“Yes,” I murmur. “Yes, please.”
“Ah, good. We’re feeling generous this evening so we shall start by restraining you to avoid the necessity for you to concentrate on remaining still. We want to get to know you, Jessie, so we’ll be exploring, testing your responses. You may like it, you may not. I certainly expect you to wriggle a bit. But you’ll be going nowhere. Are we clear on that?”
It’s Mark’s voice again, setting out their intentions for me, though neither man has touched me. Yet. I manage a small nod.
“Speak to us, Jessie.” Greg this time.
“Yes, Sir. Perfectly clear.”
“Your safe words?”
“Red, Sir, to stop. Yellow to slow down or talk, or if I’m finding it difficult to continue. Green means all’s good.”
“Excellent. And right now, Jessie?”
“Green, Sir.”
“Okay.” Cool fingers fasten the clips on my cuffs to the wooden posts that make up the legs of the bench, then a solid, firm palm trails the length of my body from shoulder to hip. “I’ll be placing your knees on the ledge on each side of the bench so you’ll have to bend and spread your legs wide. Just relax and I’ll get you in position.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” I concentrate on allowing Greg to manipulate my legs as he pleases, fully aware that as he parts my thighs and bends my knees, my ass is raised and my pussy laid open and exposed for their scrutiny. He rolls my skimpy skirt up to my waist, leaving nothing concealed. I am already starting to pant. Wetness cools my heated folds. I swear my juices are dribbling down my inner thighs, though that may just be my overactive imagination. Or wishful thinking.
“Are you comfortable, Jessie?” This from Mark, who is also behind me now.
“I…I wouldn’t describe myself as comfortable exactly, Sir.”
“Oh? Is there a problem?”
“No, Sir. I just… I want you to touch me. Please.”
“Ah, you’re eager to get started, is that it?”
“Yes, Sir, I suppose so. It’s just… The waiting is difficult, Sir.”
“Is there somewhere else you need to be, Jessie? Are you in a hurry? We’re keeping you, perhaps?” His soft tone has hardened just slightly, but enough to serve as a warning.
“No, Sir. I apologize.” I ought to know better than to seek to hurry a Dom intent on taking his time, even more so two Doms. “I meant no disrespect.”
“We know that, Jessie. But you wi
ll be patient from now on, will you not? We wouldn’t want to have to take issue with you over this.”
“I will, Sir, I promise.” I gnaw on my lower lip, willing myself to remain silent until I need to speak again.
Several moments pass, then I jerk violently as fingers part my pussy lips.
“Be still, Jessie. Settle down.” It’s Mark again. His fingers remain in place, though he doesn’t continue until I am once more settled on the bench. “Good. Thank you.” He slides two fingers right inside my moist cunt, then delivers several sharp thrusts. My inner walls clamp tight around his digits and I let out a groan. The onslaught of sensation is nearly overwhelming, and they have hardly even started.
“She certainly appreciates that.” The quiet observation is delivered by Greg.
“Seems so,” agrees Mark. “She’s tight, though, and hot. Such a beautiful pussy. Nice and smooth, just as we like it.”
I bask in their admiration. I invested in a full Brazilian wax just two days ago, in preparation for this evening. My money was not wasted.
“No need for lube, I reckon.” Mark withdraws his fingers and I am at once empty, bereft. He chuckles and pats my bottom.
He knows. They always seem to know.
“Don’t worry, Jessie, we have plenty to keep you occupied. This, for example…” Again he parts my pussy lips, but this time he inserts something wide and smooth and quite cool. He pushes the—whatever—deep into my cunt, there is a moment’s pause, then the pulsing starts.
“Oh, God…” I moan. “That feels…oh, oh…”
“Liking that?” inquires Mark, his tone casual.
“Yes, Sir,” I manage as my cunt starts to spasm around the vibrations inside me. “But I need to come. Soon.”
“Not happening. You’ve work to do first. Any stolen orgasms will earn you a caning, is that understood?”
“Sir, I hate the cane. Please—”
“We know that. We read all the background details you so helpfully supplied. So to avoid being caned all you have to do is obey. Simple.”
It’s anything but simple. They know it, I know it. I am destined to receive a caning this evening, the only question is how many strokes and how long can I stave it off for? I bite down on the inside of my lower lip and try to think of something else, anything else apart from the insistent throbbing right at my core.
“Sweet clit. Beautifully plump for us. This is for us, I assume, Jessie?” Mark moves on, his tone still conversational as he takes my swollen nub between his fingers and squeezes it.
“Sir…” I let out a scream. “Please, I have to come…”
“That’s unfortunate. Such a sloppy little sub, but I suppose if you really can’t help yourself…” He increases the pressure, tugging and twisting my engorged clit as I writhe on the bench, helpless to withstand any more of this torture. My climax grips and overwhelms me, the delicious shudders and ephemeral bliss of release momentarily overriding all other considerations. Mark continues to rub and roll my clit between his finger and thumb until the tremors recede and I return to this moment, with them, to face the consequences.
“Was that good, little Jessie?”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” The vibrator in my cunt continues to thrum and pulsate and I wonder how long before I transgress again.
“Don’t thank me, little sub. You’ll pay dearly for it. Eventually. Now that you’ve had your orgasm, do you think you’ll be able to contain yourself enough to appreciate a little anal fun?”
“I’ll try, Sir.” I squeeze my ass cheeks together. I know what comes next, and they’re right about one thing. I would appreciate it. A lot.
“So, we’ll get you lubed up then, shall we?” This time it’s Greg speaking to me. “Mark, could you open her arse cheeks, please. And you, Jessie, arch your back to lift your bottom up for us, if you would.”
I do my best to comply, and my efforts must be satisfactory as I receive no further instructions. I wince as the cool gel hits my delicate rear hole, but I relax quickly as Greg works it first around the outer rim then inside my ass. I’m no anal virgin, not by a long way, and I always love this part.
My puckered sphincter soon relaxes to allow him to penetrate me with two, then three fingers. I sigh in absolute contentment as he slides them in and out. This alone wouldn’t be enough to bring me to orgasm, but the sensation is still wonderful, relaxing, sensual and utterly sublime. Behind the blindfold my eyes are closed and my state of relaxation so profound I could almost fall asleep.
“She responds well to this. I think we’ll need to fuck her arse before she leaves. Would you like that, Jessie?”
“Mmm, I beg your pardon, Sir?”
A sharp slap to my upturned, defenseless buttock brings me back into the moment.
“I said, we’ll fuck your arse soon. You do know that double the Doms means double the cock, don’t you? One in your arse, the other in your pussy.”
I’d hoped as much, though this will be a new experience for me. Of course, I’ve experienced both separately, but never at the same time.
“Yes, Sir,” I manage to mumble through a foggy haze of satisfaction, “but— Will it hurt?”
“I’m sure we can make it memorable for you, Jessie.”
I sink back into a soporific numbness as Greg continues to finger-fuck my ass and I let out a frustrated whimper when he eventually withdraws his fingers. My clit is quivering, desperate for something, any sort of contact. They have only to flick the tip and I’d come again.
“Sir, please…” I can’t help it, I have to try, though in some more sensible part of my brain I know it’s futile. Orgasms have to be earned, and they’ll demand much, much more of me before I’m allowed another one.
Both men chuckle, and one of them pats my bum. “Patience, little sub. You can have a plug, though, a nice vibrating one to match the one in your cunt. We wouldn’t want you getting bored while we spank you.”
I press back instinctively as Greg inserts a thick, well-lubed plug into my receptive ass then flicks the switch to set it throbbing. The sensation is almost as pleasant as his fingers were. Even though I know what will happen, I can’t help trying for a surreptitious little rub against the buttery leather upholstery beneath me.
This time the slap is hard, catching the lower curve of my left buttock. “Greedy girls with clits that beg to be squeezed and juices that wet our nice clean bench get spanked. Is that what you want, girl?” Mark’s tone is sharp. My overstimulated pussy spasms in helpless response.
“No.” Yes!
“A good, hard paddling might calm you down a bit, teach you a little self-restraint. Would you like us to help you to learn how to control yourself, Jessie?”
“Yes, please, Sir. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweet little slut. So you’ll be nice and still, now, and lift that delightful arse up good and high, yes? And you’ll ask us for your spanking.”
My thighs are aching from being restrained for the last thirty minutes or so, but still I manage to raise my bottom up a little more. “Please spank me, Sir. I need to learn how to behave.”
Despite my enthusiasm for a decent spanking, I still wince when the flat of a paddle caresses my right buttock. Whichever Dom is wielding it strokes the implement back and forth across my waiting cheek before lifting it and bringing it down hard. It catches me full across the widest part and hurts like fuck.
“Aagh!” The pain sizzles and blooms across my skin. I absorb it, can almost visualize the warmth seeping into my flesh. I stiffen as my left cheek is subjected to the same preparation before the strike lands, hot, fervent, demanding my breath. I gasp, then hiss as the pain crackles across my bottom.
They take it in turns to repeat, each one caressing my inflamed buttock with the paddle before delivering the strike. I count eight strokes, then ten, by which time my entire bum and thighs are aflame. My Doms for the night are meticulous and accurate, covering every inch, leaving no part of my bottom unscathed. I writhe, gasp, plead m
eaninglessly with them to stop while my body begs for more.
By the time I reach sixteen, I’m less interested in counting, more in remaining in place. I bless the leather cuffs that keep me where I need to be, absolving me of responsibility as the pain grows, becomes a living entity, consuming me until nothing else is in my thoughts. I’m no longer screaming with each stroke, or if I am I can’t hear it. There’s nothing, nothing but me, them and pain. Glorious, mind-emptying, purifying pain.
The sensation dulls slightly. Perhaps they are easing off, or maybe it’s me, the endorphins doing their thing. Whatever, this is just as I need it, want it. I drift, blissful, contented as the paddling pushes me further into my own world of heady, blissful agony.
There’s a voice, muffled, far away. It sounds pleasant, safe, comfortable. “Jessie, open your eyes.”
I shake my head, attempt to turn away.
“Jessie, look at me, girl.”
“No, not yet.”
“Yes. Now.” Fingers caress my jaw as other hands release me from my safe perch. I moan as I am lifted, carried across the room. “Open your eyes, love.”
The voice is achingly gentle, yet insistent. I should obey. I have to, or, or… I manage to pry my eyelids apart, then blink them shut as the bright light assails my retinas.
“Too bright,” I complain.
“Try again.”
I do, to find the lighting is dimmed. I manage to peer up into a pair of vivid green eyes.
“Mark?”
He shakes his head. “Greg. That’s Mark.” He tilts his chin, indicating a spot to my right. I look across the room. A second man, tall, broad-shouldered, his arms folded across his chest, regards me from several feet away. His features are not classically handsome, his eyes perhaps a little too dark, his hair cropped in a severe style, reminiscent of the military. He exudes authority and I stifle the urge to clamber from the warm haven of Greg’s arms and drop to my knees.
