by Ashe Barker
Like an obedient little cocker spaniel I trot along the hallway in Tom’s wake. First he heads for the bar at the end of the hall, asks the bartender for an iced water for himself and an orange juice for me. He hands me my drink with a quirk of his expressive lips.
“Something stronger later, perhaps, for me at least. You’re driving. If we intend to play a little this evening it’s best we both keep a straight head for now. And I definitely prefer to keep my submissive’s senses on high alert, makes for more interesting games.”
Not sure I entirely agree with his reasoning I nevertheless accept the drink. It gives me something to do with my hands and helps me to resist the almost overwhelming impulse to cover my breasts. Realizing my discomfort, Tom maneuvers me into a corner and stands in front of me, shielding me from view.
He leans in, nuzzling my neck in apparent dominance but in reality taking the opportunity to murmur into my ear, “If you want to leave we can. And whatever happens I promise no one’s going to touch you. You’re safe here, trust me.”
I gulp my drink, take a few deep, steadying breaths, then, “I’m fine, just a bit shocked. It all takes a bit of getting used to, especially parading around naked. I guess I’m just something of a prude. We didn’t do a lot of this in Gloucester. Really, I’d like to look around. I don’t want to take part in any, any…activities, but I’d like to watch if that’s all right. Is it all right? Just watching, I mean.”
He smiles, brushes his lips over mine. “A prude? Dressed like that? Hardly. You’re fucking wonderful. And yes, watching’s fine. And if you want a floorshow I think the dungeon’s the best place for us. There’s usually a lot going on down there, and plenty of spectators too. Follow me.”
Cocker spaniel-like once more I scurry along behind Tom as he makes his way through a large double door and we descend a flight of stairs. Through another double door we find ourselves in a large open area, dimly lit for the most part although there are pools of illumination at various intervals. These take the form of a sort of spotlight arrangement artfully angled to better display the range of sensual delights being enacted for the pleasure of participants and spectators alike.
Tom moves casually into the space, keeping mainly to the darker areas which are discreetly furnished with comfortable seating, low tables, and here and there sumptuous cushions scattered around on the floor. There are several occupants relaxing in the shadows, but Tom leads me to a softly upholstered two-seater settee which is currently unoccupied. He sits down and pulls me onto his lap, and makes no comment when I cross my legs tightly to obstruct any casual view of my naked crotch, achieving some minimal degree of modesty. Tom proprietorially caresses my bum with his hand as he leans back and slugs down the rest of his iced water. I cling to the dregs of my orange juice, gazing wildly across the rim of my glass at the intense, uninhibited sexuality showcased on all sides of me.
A few minutes pass. I’m aware of Tom’s hand on my bottom, a warm and familiar presence in this alien world, but he makes no other move, nor any attempt to engage me in conversation. I’m free to look around, to observe, to stare unashamedly from our secluded vantage point in the shadows. Eventually I admit to myself that my fascinated attention keeps swinging back to one couple on the far side of the room, a tall blonde-haired woman and a fairly stocky, dark-haired man. She’s secured, her back to the wall, arms and legs outstretched as though on a St Andrews Cross. Needless to say, she’s naked. And blindfolded. Her partner, her Dom I suppose, wearing leather trousers but bare-chested and gleaming with sweat, is systematically lashing her breasts, her belly, her exposed crotch with what appears to be a short, multi-stranded whip. The handle of the implement is perhaps eighteen inches long, the strands around the same length. Their almost fluttery motion through the air suggests no great weight, but she flinches with each stroke. The pool of light showcasing her is sufficient to clearly define her reddened breasts, and the stripes criss-crossing her belly are sharp, vivid in the strong white light. I begin to flinch in sympathy with her, though I suspect she’s perfectly content with the proceedings.
Noticing where my attention is riveted Tom reaches up, pulls my head down to his lips to murmur in my ear, “She’s called Josie, her husband—sorry, Dom—is Edward. They run the post office on a housing estate in north Leeds. Nice couple. Would you like a closer look?”
“Won’t they mind?”
“If they wanted privacy they wouldn’t be in here. There are private rooms available. People play here in the dungeon because they want an audience. Come on.”
He stands and drops me on my feet. I scramble for my shoes which I kicked off as we sat down, and he waits for me, allows me to hang onto his arm for balance while I wriggle my feet into them. Then we stroll in the direction of Josie and Edward’s scene, me respectfully a foot or so behind Tom. I comfort myself by ogling his bum, beautifully defined in his perfectly fitted black Levi’s. En route Toms stops to nod or exchange pleasantries with a couple of other Doms but totally ignores their female—and male—companions. A thought occurs to me and I scurry to catch up with him, grabbing his elbow to attract his attention.
“Tom. I mean, Sir—do women ever take the dominant role? I mean, could I whip you?”
He turns to regard me sternly for a moment, and I realize that grabbing his elbow may not have been suitably respectful for our current environment. I shift uncomfortably and mutter an apology, not at all keen to test the boundaries, and definitely not in this place, surrounded by whips, spanking benches and God knows what else. There’s no shortage of inspiration here for an irritated Dom looking to discipline his unruly sub, remind her of her place.
Then Tom smiles suddenly, clearly amused by my half-baked attempts at submissive compliance, and answers my question. “Yes they do, often. And no you bloody couldn’t, not my idea of fun at all. If you want to explore your Domme side I can easily find you a playmate who’ll bottom for you, though. Do you fancy that?”
I think about that intriguing prospect for a few moments, then, “No. Thanks for offering, but no. Sir.”
He smiles, not especially surprised at my response I suspect, apart from maybe the ‘Sir’ part which shows I am learning, and we continue to make our way across the dungeon. We position ourselves a discreet few feet away from the happy couple, apparently completely wrapped up in each other and oblivious to anything or anyone else around them. Certainly that’s true of Josie, whose frantic groans of mounting pleasure can be clearly heard from this vantage point. She’s muttering something, and Edward moves in close to hear her. His response is a guttural snarl, not at all postman-like if you ask me, and he turns his attention exclusively to his wife’s crotch. Up close I can see that he’s using a suede flogger rather than a whip, and I recall having seen something similar in the chest of little horrors back at the apartment. I start to wonder…
Edward is now flicking the flogger unmercifully against his sub’s clitoris and labia, and she’s in absolute ecstasy as far as I can tell. She’s panting now, thrusting her hips forward to catch the blows, urging him on, muttering something incoherent. Suddenly, Edward glances around him, catches sight of his audience. Embarrassed to be caught watching I start to step away, ready to apologize, but Edward’s urgent beckoning and Tom’s hands on my shoulders stop me. Tom steps around me and strolls over to Edward, leans down to hear his curt request. He nods, smiles pleasantly, and approaches Josie. He says something to her, she nods frantically, and with no further ado Tom moves to stand alongside her and casually takes her right nipple between his fingers. He squeezes, tight, leaning in again to check that the degree of pressure he’s applying is quite to Josie’s liking, before proceeding to twist and pull on her swollen nipples, first one, then the other.
I watch in bemused silence. I should be jealous, but I’m not. Tom’s involvement in their scene is so—impersonal—nothing like when he plays with me. He’s just an extra pair of hands here, quite literally—this is still Edward’s scene. When Tom and I spoke all th
ose weeks ago, the first night I slept with him, we talked about the Dom/sub relationship. He told me it was not always sexual. Abbie said something similar. I didn’t quite get it then, because between Tom and me it was always so very, very sexual. But here, now, with Josie and Edward, Tom is just being helpful like the nice guy he is, acting as an extra nipple clamp. It makes the intimate connection I feel to him so much more powerful, more significant. My pussy quivers as I contemplate how much more meaningful his touch is when he lays it on me.
Edward continues his ministrations to her clitoris, and a few seconds later the joyous sound of Josie’s climax is ringing around the room. Both intent on her responses, Tom and Edward continue to deliver their services until she relaxes, spent, limp now in the restraints holding her in place. Her lips are moving, though her words don’t carry to where I’m still rooted to the spot. Tom nods to Edward, mutters something to Josie, which I assume to be along the lines of “you’re welcome,” and returns to me.
“Now we move away, out of sight while Edward takes off the blindfold. Part of the buzz for her is not knowing which other Dom was involved.”
He takes my elbow and we stroll back to our settee. Seated again, I’m less self-conscious now. I’m no longer hiding my breasts like some Year Seven schoolgirl in the changing rooms and although I can generally manage to keep my crotch out of plain sight it does seem a less imperative objective than it did a few minutes ago. And I’m bursting with curiosity.
“What was that? That thing he was hitting her with?”
“A flogger. Made of suede. Very arousing but takes a while to build up the desired effect. I think you’d love it—especially on your nipples.” He idly trails the backs of his fingers across my right nipple as if to emphasize his point, and cranes his neck to look around me. “Josie and Ed are heading for the showers by the looks of things and their space is vacant. Do you fancy a turn, Ashley?”
“God, no! Well, not here…”
“Are you sure? I’m very, very good with a flogger…” He is now gently stroking me and rolling my nipples between his fingers, and he’s smoothed my hair back away from my shoulders to fully expose my breasts to him and anyone else passing.
I realize my nipples are swollen, red, and very, very hard under his teasing fingers. My state of growing arousal is obvious, but somehow I don’t care now who knows it. I arch my back, urging Tom to increase the pressure. He does, but only slightly, not nearly enough.
“You’ll love it, I promise.” His voice is like warm chocolate, sweet and sensual, urging me to even greater delights.
“I, I don’t think I…”
“Don’t think, love, just do it. Just let me do this for you…”
“I don’t want to take my clothes off.” Such as they are.
Tom chuckles. “I hardly think that’ll be necessary, gorgeous.” And with that he stands, holds out his hand to me.
I take it and he pulls me to my feet.
Moments later I’m spreadeagled against the wall, secured just as Josie was. My legs are wide apart and I’m acutely aware of my exposed and freshly shaven genitals, my aroused clitoris on proud display along with my swollen, throbbing nipples. I’m dimly aware of others nearby, shapes in the shadows, their voices softly murmuring. I’m in the full glare of the spotlights, illuminating me from above and below, and I can feel several pairs of eyes on me, watching me, waiting. Tom stands before me, a blindfold in his hands, his expression questioning. I nod, and my world drops into darkness.
“People are watching,” I whisper at Tom, a little desperately, then, “I don’t want anyone else touching me. Please. Do you promise me?”
“Absolutely. Only me.”
As ever, acutely aware of my tension, he does what he needs to do to calm me. He leans in, kisses me. The kiss is deep, possessive, his tongue plunging deep into my mouth, caressing mine, tasting and testing, exploring. He soon has my attention, undivided. I’m focused just on him and all else recedes. At last, sure I’m his, he breaks the kiss. I purr softly as he raises his head before gently lifting my hair from around my shoulders, twisting and coiling it to lie behind my neck.
“Is that comfortable?” The question is a soft murmur, little more than a whisper against my cheek.
I nod, my eyes calmly closed behind the blindfold, my body tingling in anticipation.
Tom steps away from me, and for a few moments I’m alone. Quite alone, in the dark. In a room full of strangers. Exposed, vulnerable. And feeling incredibly safe.
I don’t hear Tom’s return but squeal in startled surprise as the lightest, most gossamer of touches grazes the very tip of my right nipple. Then nothing. Silence. I wait, quivering, expecting the same treatment for on my left side. A few moments pass, then I feel Tom’s lips close around my right nipple. He grazes the swollen peak with his teeth, lightly, just barely touching. He opens his mouth to take more of my breast, holding it in the warm, wet softness. He wraps his tongue around the pebbled, sensitive bud, pressing it against the roof of his mouth as he sucks.
“Oh, God. Tom!” My strangled shriek bursts from me, the stimulation so intense I feel like the top of my head about to blow. Is it possible to come just from this? Just from having one nipple expertly tongued? Apparently yes, as my climax starts to bubble deep within my core, the direct crackle of electricity from my breast to my groin.
Tom doesn’t let up, he knows exactly what’s happening to me and continues to suckle hard. I’m gasping, about to climax wildly, when he stops and releases me. There’s a slight chill as the air hits my wet flesh, and I start to protest. The sounds die in my throat as Tom shifts his attention to my left breast, taking the throbbing peak between his teeth. This time he nips, not hard, but enough to get my attention and dispel my ardor of a moment before. Then he starts all over again, suckling, laving the engorged peak mercilessly with his skilled, wicked tongue and dropping me at the point of orgasm. His lips briefly brush mine again, his breath on my neck, as he cages me with his body.
“Mmm, you and I are going to have a lot of fun now, sweet Ashley. I think we’re ready to begin. Do you?”
Confused, I’m not especially coherent. “What? I thought we were… I mean, aren’t we already…?
“That was just the warm up.”
His fingers are once more on my breasts, caressing the distended peaks, lightly, gently, but quickly tightening. First the right, then the left. And I realize this is different somehow, not like so many occasions when he’s touched me before. It feels more like when he clamped me, but without the harsh metallic grip. And whatever’s around my nipples is tightening, pinching hard. It’s like a drawstring being pulled tight. Very, very tight. I gasp then squeal. It’s painful. And the not knowing is scaring me.
“Tom, please…” I’m whimpering, I can hear the catch in my voice.
“Call me Sir. You know the rules, little sub. You may be sexy as hell, but you still have to obey. You do know that, don’t you?”
I’m grinding my teeth, determined not to cry out again, so don’t respond.
Tom’s reminder comes in the form of a sharp flick to the now quivering bud on my left breast, and I cry out my answer, “Yes. Yes, Sir.”
He leans in, his mouth close to my ear now. “Breathe slowly, ride the pain out. You can handle this.”
I’m shaking my head, more in disbelief at my own powers of endurance than in any sort of refusal to continue. “I can’t, I don’t think…”
“Yes, love, you can.” And Tom’s palm is against my cheek, his thumb tracing the shape of my mouth.
I part my lips and he slips the end of his thumb inside. I bite down instinctively, and he lets me, a small hiss of pain his only reaction. It’s enough, though, and I release him, ashamed of my violent reaction.
“Sorry. Did I hurt you?”
He chuckles wryly, and I smile too, not unaware of the absurdity of my remark given our current situation.
“Let’s call it even. Now, my little Ashley, you have a visitor. Th
e dungeon master is here and wants to ask you a question. I’m going to step away, out of earshot, and you must answer him. Honestly.”
“What? Where…?”
The next voice I hear is deep, male. A stranger. He sounds to be close by, just to my left. “Are you all right, girl?”
Girl?
I nod, frantic for this intruder to leave, for Tom to be back with me.
“Are you familiar with our safe word color code, girl?”
Again I nod. Then I remember, blurt out the only thing I can think of that’ll get rid of him. “Green. It’s green.”
“Very well. Thank you. Please continue. I will be close by and I’ll look in on you later.”
And suddenly he’s gone, and Tom’s back.
I devour his “hello, it’s me” kiss and realize the pain in my nipples is there, sharp and cruel still, but bearable. I’ve no idea what sort of clamps he’s using, but they are very, very effective. He grazes his fingertips lightly across the swollen, hard tips and it feels like a bolt of electricity again, arcing straight to my clit. I jerk, the sensation intense, almost overwhelming. I’m thrashing in my restraints, and rolling my head from side to side as Tom experimentally suckles my left breast this time, to test my response once more. The moisture is pooling between my legs, my exposed clit growing, stretching for contact, desperate for friction. Even the slightest touch will be enough to send me into orbit.
