Fran tried to take it all in. Two weeks ago she had been in Omaha, dreaming about anonymous lovers and soft, warm sex. Now, here she was in a New York brownstone owned by a high-priced hooker seriously thinking about going to a dominant-submissive party. She imperceptibly shook her head in amazement.
“There are always people, brought by friends, who are interested in learning about this lifestyle but aren’t into it just yet. They dress in street clothes, but they each wear a green ribbon around their neck as a sign that they aren’t players.”
“I’m intrigued. And what stories that would trigger.”
“You understand that this is very personal. Nothing factual goes outside that loft.”
Fran laughed. “Of course. I understand that it’s all private.”
“Sorry. Of course you do. I’m almost dressed under this robe so I just have to finish up. I’ll be down in just a few minutes.”
While she was gone, Fran let her mind wander over the stories she could write, maybe even parts of her next book. But it was difficult to write about situations she’d never been in so this was really for research. Wasn’t it? She snorted. Right.
When Carla reappeared, Fran could only stare. She was dressed all in red. A tight, red leather teddy, with black laces up the front. The bra cups were missing so Carla’s full breasts were displayed for all to see. Long red garters hung from the bottom of the corset and held up long red stockings. On her feet she wore knee-high red patent leather boots and her red leather gloves came up high enough to cover her elbows. Her hair was wild, her makeup severe. Her jewelry was all silver, with heavy-looking earrings, bracelets and a necklace with a large, irregularly shaped, pendant that hung between her breasts.
“Oh my,” Fran gasped. “If I didn’t know it was you, I’m not sure I would recognize you.”
The grin was pure Carla. “Thanks. It’s taken me quite a while to perfect this look, and longer to feel comfortable with it.”
“Comfortable? You look totally relaxed.”
“When Ronnie and I first got together, and I played power games for the first time, I was a submissive. I loved taking orders, being told what to do. It’s really much more difficult, I think, to be the one in charge. You always have to consider not only your own pleasure but that of the person you control. In stories it always seems like the boss gets to do anything he or she wants, but it’s not like that at all. To be a really good dominatrix, you’ve got to be thinking all the time.”
“I never considered that.”
“You like it when O’Malley ties you up, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Fran was startled at how easily she discussed the most intimate details of her sex life with someone she had only met two weeks before.
“He’s wonderful and considerate. Think about what it would be like if the person in control didn’t care as much about your pleasure as his own. It wouldn’t be satisfying for you.”
“But I’m sure there must be people who aren’t like O’Malley.”
“Sure but, for me and my friends, that’s not what the dominant-submissive lifestyle is all about.” Carla took the black cape she had over her arm and draped it around her shoulders. “There’s a hired car coming to pick us up assuming that you’re still interested in coming along?”
Fran stood up and got her coat. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
There was a chilled bottle of champagne waiting in the limo and Fran and Carla sipped as the car wove downtown through Saturday evening traffic. It pulled to a stop in front of an ordinary storefront with the words A Private Place in gold lettering on the darkened window. “His loft is upstairs,” Carla said. “Ready?”
Fran squared her shoulders. “I’m more than ready.”
Carla pulled a narrow green ribbon out of her pocket. “Here, tie this around your neck. And if, at sometime during the evening you decide you want to play, just take it off. Then just assume some persona that feels right and someone will get the message.”
Fran tied the ribbon around her neck. Together the two women entered the shop and walked to an elevator in the rear.
When they arrived at the upper floor, the elevator doors opened and Fran’s eyes widened and her muscles tensed. There were about three dozen people of all ethnicities in the room. About half were standing, or sitting, talking animatedly. “The ones with the freedom to move around, talk, drink, are the dominants, the tops,” Carla explained. Then she indicated the remainder of the partygoers, who were crouched on the floor or sitting alone, silent. “Those are the slaves, the bottoms. They can only eat, or drink, or speak when they are given permission.” The contrast was remarkable.
Fran stared at two men who stood talking, dressed identically in tight leather pants, vests and boots. Each had a woman at his feet, one a brunette with long flowing hair and one with steel-gray hair cut very short. Both women were naked and the men idly stroked their heads. There was a woman dressed in a tight green sheath dress with five-inch spike heels holding a man wearing a leather jock strap by a collar and leash. She was walking along a buffet table with the man awkwardly crawling behind.
A man and a woman stood near the bar, talking softly. The man was large, with long sandy hair pulled back in a ponytail, a beige suede western-style shirt, matching skin-tight pants and brown boots. A dark-skinned woman, dressed in a light blue teddy which bared her breasts, stood behind him as he chatted with a small Asian woman.
Of the male and female bottoms, many wore nothing but collars. Others wore tiny garments with openings in strategic places. Naked breasts, cunts and penises went unnoticed by everyone. A man stood in the corner, facing the wall wearing an all-over garment of skin-tight leather, with sleeves that attached in the back like a straightjacket. “Some form of punishment,” Carla whispered as she followed Fran’s gaze. “Just remember there’s no whipping or paddling in here and everything is consensual.”
As Fran put her coat on a chair, she noticed a few men and women with green ribbons like hers. Although the situation was totally bizarre, she forced herself not to stare. But despite her efforts, she found herself again gazing at the man with the beige ponytail and this time he caught her glance. He just stared at her with eyes the color of sherry, until Fran was forced to look away.
With a flourish, Carla removed her cape. Her red outfit stood out like a flame in a forest. “Oh my dear,” one man in a one piece leather outfit, which allowed his large, semierect penis to stick out through an opening, said, “you look wonderful.” He then stared at Fran, his eyes almost black. “Who’s your friend?”
“Everyone, this is Nicki. She’s an old friend and she’s visiting tonight. I told her she was in for an eye-opening evening.” Carla took the hand of one man who had crawled over to sit at her feet. “Nicki, this is CJ. It’s his party and he’s my party for tonight.” She reached down and took the leash he handed her. She noisily clipped it to a large ring on his collar.
Slightly tongue-tied, Fran stammered, “It’s nice to meet you.”
Crouched as CJ was, Fran couldn’t tell how tall he was, but his face was almost angelic, topped with a cap of soft brown curly hair. He appeared so innocent, yet here he was rubbing his shoulder against Carla’s calves. CJ looked at Carla as if for permission and she nodded. “It’s a pleasure. I’m delighted you could be here.” He pointed to the bar at one side of the room. “There are drinks, hard and soft, and lots of food on the table over there.” He motioned. “Please help yourself. Or let someone serve you.”
Carla jumped in. “I don’t think she’s ready for that just yet. Maybe later.”
“Of course,” CJ said. He looked at Carla. “May I serve you, Mistress?”
“I’d like a white wine. Fran?”
“Sure.”
“Yes, Mistress.” CJ rose to his feet and hurried off.
Softly, Fran said, “Wow. Are there any rules I should know about?”
“I don’t think so. Just understand that everything here is for fun. Other than that, j
ust watch and listen. These people aren’t shy. At least not most of them.”
“Okay,” Fran said.
“And if something is going on that bothers you, move away. And if the entire scene turns you off, feel free to cut out and head home. I’ll call you tomorrow. And if someone approaches you in a way you don’t want, just touch your green ribbon. It’s an absolute rule that no one will violate your position as a nonparticipant.”
“I understand.” CJ returned with two glasses of white wine and Fran took hers, happy to have something to do with her hands.
“Do you want to stay with me or circulate?”
“I think I’ll wander around for a while.” As she moved around the room she realized that, other than the bizarre dress and the positions of the submissives, the party was like lots of others she had attended. The conversations were really rather ordinary, ranging from television shows to politics. She chatted with a few of the dominants and, although she would have liked to hear how the submissives felt about their situation, she didn’t want to speak to any of them without permission and she didn’t yet feel comfortable enough to ask.
Soon, however, much of the conversation turned to discussions of recent events in the lives of the couples. Training was a frequently discussed subject and many of the tops discussed different methods of introducing new bottoms to their situation.
Fran was standing with two slender, leather-clad men when the elevator doors opened again. A tall, well-built man walked into the room, greeted by several tops. “Walt, I haven’t seen you in quite a while,” one said. As Fran watched, his gaze turned to the woman now crawling off the elevator.
Fran looked at her. She was wearing a tight leather corset that cinched her waist in so it appeared that she could hardly breathe. She had a thin gold collar and gold wristbands all connected with long chains. As the woman emerged, Fran could see that her ankles were joined by a foot long length of gold chain.
“Oh, Walt. How wonderful. Is she new?”
“Yes. She’s only been with me for about a month but her training’s going wonderfully.” He unzipped his tight leather pants and took out his cock. Immediately the woman knelt at his feet, his cock in her hands, her tongue flicking over the tip. Carelessly, he pushed her head away. “Not yet.”
She crouched at his feet. “Of course, sir,” she whispered.
CJ knelt at Carla’s side in the center of the room. Carla tapped on her wineglass with a long fingernail and soon everyone was silent. “CJ tells me that everyone’s here so who would like to begin the fun and games,” she said. “A few of you are here with new bottoms, I see. Does anyone want to play? As you know, my CJ is still the champ at over eleven minutes. Anyone want to challenge him?”
Fran had no idea what was going on, but she took a seat on one side of the room to watch.
“I’ll play,” one man said.
“I’ll bet on my Laura,” another voice said.
Several others volunteered people for the game, whatever that was going to be.
Soon, CJ was standing along one wall with a woman at his feet. Three other men were beside him, each with someone sitting beside him. Two were women and one was a man.
“You’re new here. Do you know about the game?” a voice said in her ear.
Fran turned. It was the man she had stared at earlier with the magnetic eyes and beige ponytail. Since he was now sitting so close, she could see that he was enormous, muscular, with wide shoulders, forearms as thick around as her thighs and tremendous hands. He sat stroking the thigh of his soft suede pants. Fran could feel the heat rise to her face. “No,” she whispered.
“It’s a ‘don’t come’ contest. Pretty simple. Each bottom will try to make his or her target climax by doing whatever he or she wants. It will, of course, be mostly cock sucking but you get the idea. CJ lasted eleven minutes at our last party.”
“Go,” someone called and the four contestants began to stroke and fondle their targets. Fran had never seen a man caress another man so her gaze was riveted on the couple at one end.
“You can’t imagine the feeling of being so hot, with a hungry mouth on your cock, yet trying with all your concentration to think of anything else. The bottoms will do lots of things to try to break their target’s concentration. That’s the way the bottom wins, by making her target come quickly.”
Although the man beside her didn’t touch her, he kept up a running erotic commentary, his huge hand rubbing up and down his thigh. “I’m Steven but my bottoms call me Sir Steve. That’s my slave, Deirdre,” he said in Fran’s ear, indicating the woman in the light blue teddy and skin the color of milk chocolate. “Second from the left. She’s got a very talented mouth indeed. See how she’s scratching Bart’s thigh? She’s trying to get him to focus on what her mouth is doing.”
Fran could feel the lips of her cunt swell. Any minute she was going to have to go to the ladies’ room and masturbate to relieve the pressure. “Please don’t,” the man said.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re moving your hands as though you’re stroking yourself.”
Fran looked at her hand, then made a fist in her lap.
The man’s chuckle caused his warm breath to tickle her ear. “This atmosphere is almost guaranteed to make one very hungry. But it’s so much better to let one of us satisfy that hunger.” He ran his finger along the ribbon around Fran’s neck. “Want to take that off?”
Fran realized that she did, but she said, “Not right now.”
“Ah yes. Well, maybe later. I would like to be the one to introduce you to all this.” He ran one finger down Fran’s upper arm. Even through her dress, she could feel the heat. “I will be right here when you change your mind.” Fran noticed that he had said “when,” not if.
The contest continued. Suddenly Deirdre’s target arched his back and, as the audience watched, a thick stream arched from his cock to cover her face. There was a burst of applause and she smiled. Steve stood up and walked to her. “Is that pride I see, my dear?” he asked.
Her face changed instantly as if she had realized her mistake. “No, Master.”
“That’s good. Pride is a sin.”
“Yes, Master.”
Steve snapped his fingers and Deirdre rushed to his side and sat beside him. He spoke to her in a low voice and she disappeared into what Fran assumed was the bathroom.
Fran returned her attention to the three remaining contestants. The man on his knees had his hand buried between his target’s legs. “He’s probably fondling the man’s heavy balls,” Steve whispered, returning to his seat beside her, his breath tickling Fran’s ear. “Or maybe she’s rubbing his asshole. Have you ever had anyone play with you from behind?”
There was a commanding quality to Steve’s voice so, without thinking, Fran answered, “No.”
“Oh how wonderful. I would love to be the one to take that virginity from you.” Again he stroked her ribbon. “Tell me to stop if you want me to, or give me hope that you will take this off later by your silence.”
Fran said nothing and Steve’s warm laugh warmed her ear. “You give me such wonderful expectations for this evening. I never dreamed…”
“I never did either,” Fran said breathlessly.
Together they watched the contest continue, Steve’s comments heating Fran’s body. “Until you are mine,” he said, “I will ask permission. May I touch you, just once?”
Fran remained silent, and Steve’s hand slid up her stockinged thigh and rubbed the crotch of her panties. “So wet. You want this. You want to belong to me. Here. In public. You’re titillated, aroused and so curious. I could satisfy everything and show you so much.”
Fran looked at Carla, who was watching CJ’s attempt to win the contest intently. Fran shook her head. She could almost admit that she wanted to play, but it was so public. She might be able to do it in front of strangers, but not in front of her friend. She sighed.
Steve leaned over and bit Fran’s earlobe. “Carla will be go
ing into the other room with CJ later. He likes his games a bit more painful and Carla will more than satisfy him.”
“I thought she didn’t really like the pain stuff,” Fran blurted out.
“Here, tonight, she will do it to please CJ. She always does. And she’ll enjoy it too, of course.”
“But…”
“She forgets how wonderful it is to give a slave the pain he craves. I’ve been in the back room with her and she wields a paddle as well as anyone. I’ll let her tell you about it if she wants to. But you needn’t worry about Carla watching, if that’s what is bothering you.”
Steve sat beside Fran until the final target, CJ spurted into the mouth of the woman at his feet. “Only nine minutes,” someone yelled. “You can do better than that.”
“And he will,” Carla said loudly. “Later.”
“You see?” Steve said.
A few minutes later, Carla sought Fran out. “CJ wants to go into the other room to play and I really want to go with him. But I won’t if you’re uncomfortable. Will you be all right out here alone?”
“She won’t be alone,” Steve said.
Carla’s look was filled with understanding. She squeezed Fran’s arm. “It’s okay, Nicki. I’ll be quite a while.” She paused. “Listen. There’s a back entrance and I’ll leave that way so you can be assured that I won’t come through here again. Do whatever you want.” She squeezed again. “Whatever you want, and no more. Yes?”
Fran looked at her friend seriously. “I don’t want to force you to sneak out the back.”
“Please. Let me do this for you. I want you to experience everything.”
Fran hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow over brunch. I’ll call you.”
Fran placed her hand on Carla’s arm. “Thanks for understanding.”
Cape in hand, Carla winked and walked off, with CJ crawling behind, his leash in his mouth.
Made For Sex Page 39
