If I thought that this aspect of my training would involve me finally being able to orgasm, I was sadly mistaken. The first lessons were how to please S- my turn would come later.
I undressed him that night in the large master bathroom- he allowed me to use my hands, but would insist later that I also learn to perform the task with my mouth- and did not hide my shaking as I did so. I also made no attempt to hide my instinctive reaction to him as I uncovered his body; I was already damp just from tugging his sweater over his head and exposing his chest, but the wetness increased exponentially as I helped him out of his pants. I sucked a lungful of air through my teeth as he stood unselfconsciously in front of me and I took in the sight of him for the first time. Feeling the length of his penis pressed against me through clothing had not prepared me for the reality of it, and I ached to reach out, run my fingers over it, take it into me in any number of ways. There was a softness to his voice as he brought me back to awareness.
Focus, little one.
He had me join him in the shower and directed me to wash him, allowing me to explore to my heart's content without the pressure of an overtly sexual situation. I began the process of cataloging the angles of his body and his response to my touch, carefully filing the information away. He made no attempt to touch me, and would not allow me to linger anywhere for long; the few times I 'accidentally' brushed up against him or became a little too.. fastidious.. in my cleaning, he deliberately moved away from me. Eventually, when my attention was becoming less cleansing and more stroking, we retired to the bedroom.
For those hours there were no crops or paddles, blindfolds or ties; he was very specific about what he wanted done, and did not hesitate to verbally correct me if I did something wrong, but he took his time. When I gagged slightly trying to take his full length into my mouth, he simply smiled, gently stroking my cheek, and murmured we can work on that.
If it had been left in my hands, I never would have had the control to keep from orgasming. I was too inexperienced in that realm, too on edge from months of denial, and entirely too attracted to S. So he made sure that I never got too close to the point of no return- he would stop moving, or shift me into a different position, or give a well-timed, perfectly-placed slap/pinch/nip. None of these things decreased his arousal at all, and he moved inexorably toward his own release.
He propped his back against several pillows in the bed, easing himself into me carefully as I straddled him- I was not a virgin, but was out of practice and he was significantly larger than the other gentlemen I'd been with. Bending his knees up so I could lean back on his thighs and watch while he ran the tips of his fingers over the spot where we were joined, he told me in exacting detail how it felt being inside me, what I looked like as he'd entered me, what he was looking forward to doing with- and to- me.
If he hadn't kept distracting me, the casual deliberateness with which he spoke- outlining things that sounded incredibly, appealingly dirty- would have sent me over the edge into hard, screaming release. But no matter how much I begged- and I assure you, I begged- he would not give in.
He clung to me as he came, his teeth on my neck, nails digging into my back, and I arched against him, desperate, wanting that moment to last forever.
Afterward, when he was sated and we had cleaned up, I settled into my nest of blankets at the foot of his bed; he kissed my lips for the first time, his tongue chasing mine briefly before he drew away and told me how much I had pleased him. And despite being achingly aroused, sleep claimed me almost immediately.
*******
We went to dinner at one of the upper-scale restaurants the next night; after we'd placed our order, he told me to go to the restroom, take off my underwear and bra, and bring them back to him. I followed his instructions, moving carefully back to the table lest a stray breeze move my skirt the wrong direction, my hand tightly clasped around the requested items. As I sat down, he told me to place the garments on the table; I hesitated, looked around at the other diners and waiters, and he casually remarked that things would not go well for me if he had to repeat himself. I was shaking as I did as he asked; it seemed that small pile of fabric sat on the table forever, but he eventually tucked them into his pocket with one hand, using the other to pop open two more buttons on my shirt, leaving me even more exposed.
He teased me mercilessly throughout the dinner, pinching my nipples through my shirt to keep them erect, running his fingers between my legs. When we got in the car he unzipped his pants, pulled my head into his lap and roughly used my mouth for his pleasure, flipping my skirt up as I knelt on the passenger seat so he could run his free hand over the bare skin of my ass. I didn't notice until he'd finished and I sat back down that several of the valets were standing only a few feet away; they had a perfect view of the interior of the car, and there was no doubt they'd seen the whole encounter. They froze when they realized they'd been caught watching, but relaxed visibly when S casually waved at them. I tried to sink down into the floorboard but he grabbed the scruff of my neck.
Take off your shirt for the nice boys; let them see the rest of you.
I tried to protest but his fingers tightened almost painfully; closing my eyes I undid the last few buttons and dropped the shirt from my shoulders. S reached over, pinching my nipples sharply, and I whimpered.
Open your eyes. Look at them.
Their ranks had grown- there were at least double the number that had been there a moment ago, and I cringed in embarrassment, not knowing what S wanted me to see, panicking at being half naked in front of these strangers, despite the (relative) safety of the car.
Sit up straight, arch your back- just like that. Now look at their reaction to you.
It still took me a moment, but then I saw it- they were aroused. All of them. There was no denying the bulges that altered the contours of their uniforms, creating intriguing shadows. They were staring at me, on display for them, and they were aroused.
You can just tell what they're thinking, can't you? They watched you let me use you, let me show your body to them, and you know they want to try it for themselves. Want to taste you, play with you, fuck you. Maybe one by one, maybe all of them at the same time.
I gasped as his hand tightened around one of my breasts and his mouth pressed against my ear.
If it pleased me to do so, I'd let them have you. I'd put you out of the car right now, just as you are, and watch as they did whatever they liked to you. Now, put one foot on the dash, the other over here- yes, on my knee, don't worry about your shoes- I want you spread open for them.
His hand moved from my breast so he could push my skirt out of the way. I cried out as two of his fingers thrust inside me; I hadn't taken my eyes off the valets, so I saw their immediate response to S's actions, and my heart pounded as I wondered how much longer they would be content to watch. Several of them actually took a step toward the car to get a better view, licking their lips.
Are you still watching them?
I managed to stammer a very shaky-sounding Yes sir.
Are they enjoying this?
I.. I think so, sir.
He drew his fingers out and pushed them into my mouth; the collective groan that went up from outside the car was echoed by my own.
It's a good thing I'm not quite ready to share you yet.
A car horn sounded as a restaurant patron pulled into the lot, breaking the spell. The group scattered a bit, almost guiltily; S shifted back into his seat and set my foot back on the floorboard; putting the car in gear he drove forward slowly, giving them one last look, and the valets laughed and saluted us as we went past, thumping each other on the back as if it had been them, not me, who had been pushed well beyond their limits.
Back at the house he simply sent me to bed, leaving me unfulfilled yet again.
*********
It wasn't until a week later that he allowed me to finally touch myself; he reclined on the den couch and told me that I had three minutes go upstairs and choose any one of the toys from the nightstand, then I was to come back downstairs and masturbate for him. I declined the toy, stating I was content with my fingers if it was acceptable to him. He agreed, and I positioned myself on the floor as he instructed.
I was on the edge within seconds,and narrowly missed his command to stop. The sudden slap of a riding crop on my stomach brought me back to awareness, and with a moan I pulled my fingers away. He kept me on that edge- allowing me to play with myself for a few minutes, then stopping- for an hour, until I was crying and begging him for release. Finally, mercifully, he gave me permission to come, and I experienced the most intense, gratifying orgasm I'd ever had.
I went on to use that particular training technique myself several times over the years, because it was really, really effective.
Over the next weeks I learned as much about sexual toys as I had about the other tools of the D/s trade. While I'd had some experience, S introduced me to things I hadn't even known existed, and he took great pleasure in keeping me off-balance, especially when it came to denying/prolonging my orgasms
He brought me back to the club a couple of weeks before I went to college, our first visit since the night we met, and my introduction to the first floor. I was collared and leashed, clad in leather pants and a corset, and had a remote-controlled vibrating egg tucked inside me that would randomly turn on and off, keeping me very, very.. alert.
The first floor of the club was for the workshops and demos that S was in charge of booking; it was laid out and furnished similarly to the second floor, but instead of an area for dancing it had a large stage with a variety of bondage devices- Saint Andrew's cross, pommel horse, bench, etc- spread out on it.
No two doms will ever agree on the proper training method for subs, or the best/most effective use of toys, so the workshops served three purposes; to introduce new techniques/tools, for doms to demonstrate the benefits of their particular training methods, and for subs to show off their training. Demonstrations were as choreographed as any ballet, and some of them could be quite impressive. The show that night was to promote the work of a local artist, a particularly talented leather worker who specialized in clothing and toys for the dedicated BDSM practitioner. She had brought several dom/sub friends, and they would be doing their best to drum up business for her.
If I thought the mini demonstration I'd covertly observed all those months ago had been arousing, what I saw that night was multi-orgasmic. Subs were secured to various spots on the stage in a range of positions, and over the course of several hours were subjected to constant.. attention. The artist kept up a patter extolling the flexibility of one tool, or the lack of leather marks left behind of another, but her voice added to the show rather than distracting from it. I knelt at S's feet and tried to keep from rocking back and forth. The unpredictable vibrations of the egg weren't helping.
I pounced on S the moment we got in the car, climbing into his lap, frantically pulling at the fastenings of his pants, whimpering in need; normally this would have been a fairly significant breech of etiquette, but I think S was so amused by my response that he either forgave me or forgot to punish me. He moved the seat back to give me more room, and shifted his body as I requested- lifting his hips so I could get his pants out of the way, tilting his head back so I could lick and nip at the sensitive flesh around his collarbone- but gave me no other assistance. I took pleasure from him- used him- as he had so many times from me, and it was unbelievable.
The next month he hired me out as one of the performance subs.
It was my first time being disciplined by another dom, my first time being completely naked in front of a crowd, and I was nervous about how I would respond. I needn't have worried; I remember being tied to a bench, remember the first few slaps of the riding crop, but not much after that- though the criss-crossing maze of marks that covered my body the next day told the tale well enough. I do remember quite clearly S waiting for me at the side of the stage, impatient as I was untied and lifted off the bench; I remember being placed into his arms, being carried into the bathroom and set on the edge of the sink, the cold marble somehow both easing and sharpening the pain from the lash marks, and his fingers digging into the raised welts as he took me roughly there on the countertop.
More importantly, I remember every compliment S received that night about my training- some of which included quite pointed requests for my company when he felt I was ready for such things. He responded to each comment the same way; with polite gratitude, his body firmly situated between me (kneeling at his feet with my head on his knee) and the speaker, preventing any inappropriate, 'accidental' contact. When we returned home he laid me on the bed and inspected each of my welts, rubbing soothing cream into them and making sure the skin hadn't been broken; later he would tease me about falling asleep under his careful ministrations.
I volunteered for as many shows as possible after that.
It was still nearly a year before S took me to the basement, where doms could make arrangements for time with subs that belonged to other doms. Anything went in that room, and unless there was an immediate threat there was no interference allowed. Access was tightly controlled and clean medical records were a requirement; still, personal safety/protection was always at the forefront of everyone's mind, and failure to be empathetic to those concerns would have very negative consequences.
We'd come to the basement straight from the main entrance, so I was still dressed; I was instructed to remove everything except my collar prior to entering the room, and I left my clothes in a small cubby on the wall with S's assurance that no one would take them. Once through the doorway, S left me in a sort of holding area with several other subs, tying the end of my leash to a hook on the wall nearby, and went over to where the 'bidding' was taking place. I had grilled him relentlessly in the weeks leading up to the trip about what sorts of things I might be asked to do, and although he had done his best to address all my fears, my anxiety was simmering just below the surface as I waited.
I didn't notice that someone had unhooked my leash until I felt the sharp tug on my collar; I dutifully stood and followed the person over to a corner of the room where a large chair was tucked into a darkened nook. They sat and pulled me into their lap, one knee on each side of their legs so I was straddling them. I'd kept my eyes down, but when I heard them chuckle I couldn't help looking up in surprise- I would have recognized that laugh anywhere.
I was promised that your manners were much better than last time we met- why are you daring to raise your eyes to me?
But R never was a good poker player; he tried to keep a stern face to go with his admonishment, but failed within seconds. I threw my arms around him, my laughter joining his as I rejoiced in the fact that he would be the one to introduce me to this level of play.
Though it wasn't the purpose of the basement, we cuddled and talked quietly as I told him what life as S's sub had been like; we hadn't seen each other since that fateful night I'd left with S, and had a lot of catching up to do. He expressed amazement at my transformation, and I flushed with pride.
It took me a while to notice how turned on he was.
In my defense, I'd known R for years, and it never crossed my mind that he would be interested in me as anything other than a friend. We were buddies, that was all.
Okay, and sometimes I'm not very bright. There, I said it. I should have noticed long before I did, because I was naked and straddling his lap, for god's sake. There was no way I should have missed the pounding heartbeat, the shallow breathing, the flushed, warm skin- he was putting out a lot of heat- and the bulge straining at the fastenings of his pants. But I did miss it, until a lull in the conversation tipped my awareness more toward the physical.
Although I have strong aural leanings, I'm very much a tactile creature as well; I'm unerringly drawn to soft/fuzzy/furry things, and as I'd sat in R's lap I couldn't help running the silk fabric of his shirt through my fingers, reveling in the sensation. I took advantage of the pause in talking to shift my position, get a better hold on his shirt, and that's when my hand brushed over the undeniable proof of his arousal.
I looked up at him in surprise, but he refused to turn his head toward me, staring off into the distance instead. His hands, previously resting casually on my thighs, moved to grip the arms of the chair. A lot of things went through my mind very quickly, but in the end there was only one choice.
I ran the tip of my tongue over his jaw. He immediately tilted his head away from me.
Don't.
I was undeterred. Pressing my body closer to his, I put my hands flat on his chest and nipped at his ear. He pushed me back.
I said, don't.
It was very un-sub-like of me, but I wasn't going to give in quite that easily. His protests hadn't elevated to the level of real denial- if he really wanted me to stop, he only had to stand up and dump me onto the floor. He hadn't, so I would keep trying.
I reached for the button on his pants, letting him feel my fingers pressing against him, and nipped at his ear again.
You asked for me for a reason, and don't try to tell me it was so we could catch up on old times. Did you want me to beg?
He shuddered, inhaling sharply. I heard the chair arms creak under the pressure of his grip.
Don't you want to see what I've learned?
He didn't stop me from unbuttoning his pants, or from easing the zipper down. I slipped my hand in the opening, hiding my smile at the choked groan he made as I wrapped my hand around his cock and freed it from its obviously uncomfortable bent position.
I don't want..
Yes you do.
His hands were suddenly in my hair, his lips crushed against mine; I sank into his embrace without hesitation, meeting his need with my own, and I felt like the most powerful creature in the world.
*********
Not all my visits to the basement were as tame. If there was any part of me that was prejudice against a particular act or combination of partners, the repeated exposure (either through experiencing it myself, or watching others) destroyed such thoughts.
It was an interesting life.. I was taking classes full time, working two jobs, participating in various on-campus groups.. the stereotypical college experience. And whenever I could, on weekends and breaks, I would pack a bag with leather pants, corsets, and my collar, and go to visit S.
S had made it clear from the beginning that while we would develop strong feelings for each other, in the end there would not be a 'happy ever after' for our relationship. He felt it was important that I be allowed to experience 'romantic' love- if that was something I was interested in- and therefore always encouraged me to date other people while we were together. I occasionally dated, and actually had a couple serious relationships, but inevitably I would become restless and they would end.
We had been involved for nearly three years when, during a 'down time' between vanilla boyfriends, I spent a long weekend at his house. He was sitting on the couch reading, running his fingers through my hair, when he suddenly set the book aside.
I want you to do something for me.
The rhythmic movement of his fingers on my scalp had lulled me to the very edge of sleep, but immediately he had my attention.
Of course.
His request turned out to involve the local strip club's amateur night. I was nonplussed, and asked for permission to speak freely. I didn't really need the money, I pointed out, and my performances at the club certainly indicated that I was comfortable with being in compromising positions in public. I had no experience as a dancer, let alone a stripper, and found the idea confusing- could he explain the reasoning behind his request?
In reality, 'because I want you to' was enough of an excuse for me; S had never put me in real danger or pushed me to do something I was completely unwilling to do, so I gave him significant latitude in what I would at least attempt. But he would never resort to so simplistic an explanation, so we spent a good bit of time discussing the issue, and in the end I agreed.
He chose the music, helped when I got stuck on choreography ideas, and I made $210 that night. It didn't take too much haggling to reach an acceptable deal with the owner, and as a result I went back a few nights a month during the rest of the time I was at school. I never left without at least several hundred dollars, which I used to offset some of the student loans I was having to take out.
In case it's driving you crazy trying to guess which song I broke my stripper cherry to.. it was Poison, by Alice Cooper. Make of that what you will. :)
*******
Our relationship ended as simply as it had began; I graduated from college, would be attending an academic summer program in another state, and from there- who knew? Just as he'd pushed me to date other people, S had been preparing me for some time for our (inevitable, in his mind) separation; it would never be the 'perfect' time, or easy, but this seemed as good a time as any. We spent the night before I left saying our goodbyes the only way we could have; as respective reminders of the years we'd shared, he agreed to allow me to keep my collar, and I left him the riding crop we'd shopped for together. In the morning he drove me to the airport, kissed my forehead, and as he held me in his arms for the last time, his body wrapped around mine, whispered thank you, little one.
I didn't trust myself to respond verbally, but I know he read everything I needed to say in my eyes, which met his just before he turned and walked away- no punishment for that now, since I wasn't his anymore. He slipped easily into the crowd of travelers, and never looked back.
I mourned the loss of the friendship more than anything else, but S was, in the end, just as R had described him: a firm believer in the rules that govern doms and subs. He had brought me (and my training) along as far as he could, and it would be up to me to figure out where to go from there.
Little did we realize what a suck-ass decision maker I am. But that's another story..
I undressed him that night in the large master bathroom- he allowed me to use my hands, but would insist later that I also learn to perform the task with my mouth- and did not hide my shaking as I did so. I also made no attempt to hide my instinctive reaction to him as I uncovered his body; I was already damp just from tugging his sweater over his head and exposing his chest, but the wetness increased exponentially as I helped him out of his pants. I sucked a lungful of air through my teeth as he stood unselfconsciously in front of me and I took in the sight of him for the first time. Feeling the length of his penis pressed against me through clothing had not prepared me for the reality of it, and I ached to reach out, run my fingers over it, take it into me in any number of ways. There was a softness to his voice as he brought me back to awareness.
Focus, little one.
He had me join him in the shower and directed me to wash him, allowing me to explore to my heart's content without the pressure of an overtly sexual situation. I began the process of cataloging the angles of his body and his response to my touch, carefully filing the information away. He made no attempt to touch me, and would not allow me to linger anywhere for long; the few times I 'accidentally' brushed up against him or became a little too.. fastidious.. in my cleaning, he deliberately moved away from me. Eventually, when my attention was becoming less cleansing and more stroking, we retired to the bedroom.
For those hours there were no crops or paddles, blindfolds or ties; he was very specific about what he wanted done, and did not hesitate to verbally correct me if I did something wrong, but he took his time. When I gagged slightly trying to take his full length into my mouth, he simply smiled, gently stroking my cheek, and murmured we can work on that.
If it had been left in my hands, I never would have had the control to keep from orgasming. I was too inexperienced in that realm, too on edge from months of denial, and entirely too attracted to S. So he made sure that I never got too close to the point of no return- he would stop moving, or shift me into a different position, or give a well-timed, perfectly-placed slap/pinch/nip. None of these things decreased his arousal at all, and he moved inexorably toward his own release.
He propped his back against several pillows in the bed, easing himself into me carefully as I straddled him- I was not a virgin, but was out of practice and he was significantly larger than the other gentlemen I'd been with. Bending his knees up so I could lean back on his thighs and watch while he ran the tips of his fingers over the spot where we were joined, he told me in exacting detail how it felt being inside me, what I looked like as he'd entered me, what he was looking forward to doing with- and to- me.
If he hadn't kept distracting me, the casual deliberateness with which he spoke- outlining things that sounded incredibly, appealingly dirty- would have sent me over the edge into hard, screaming release. But no matter how much I begged- and I assure you, I begged- he would not give in.
He clung to me as he came, his teeth on my neck, nails digging into my back, and I arched against him, desperate, wanting that moment to last forever.
Afterward, when he was sated and we had cleaned up, I settled into my nest of blankets at the foot of his bed; he kissed my lips for the first time, his tongue chasing mine briefly before he drew away and told me how much I had pleased him. And despite being achingly aroused, sleep claimed me almost immediately.
*******
We went to dinner at one of the upper-scale restaurants the next night; after we'd placed our order, he told me to go to the restroom, take off my underwear and bra, and bring them back to him. I followed his instructions, moving carefully back to the table lest a stray breeze move my skirt the wrong direction, my hand tightly clasped around the requested items. As I sat down, he told me to place the garments on the table; I hesitated, looked around at the other diners and waiters, and he casually remarked that things would not go well for me if he had to repeat himself. I was shaking as I did as he asked; it seemed that small pile of fabric sat on the table forever, but he eventually tucked them into his pocket with one hand, using the other to pop open two more buttons on my shirt, leaving me even more exposed.
He teased me mercilessly throughout the dinner, pinching my nipples through my shirt to keep them erect, running his fingers between my legs. When we got in the car he unzipped his pants, pulled my head into his lap and roughly used my mouth for his pleasure, flipping my skirt up as I knelt on the passenger seat so he could run his free hand over the bare skin of my ass. I didn't notice until he'd finished and I sat back down that several of the valets were standing only a few feet away; they had a perfect view of the interior of the car, and there was no doubt they'd seen the whole encounter. They froze when they realized they'd been caught watching, but relaxed visibly when S casually waved at them. I tried to sink down into the floorboard but he grabbed the scruff of my neck.
Take off your shirt for the nice boys; let them see the rest of you.
I tried to protest but his fingers tightened almost painfully; closing my eyes I undid the last few buttons and dropped the shirt from my shoulders. S reached over, pinching my nipples sharply, and I whimpered.
Open your eyes. Look at them.
Their ranks had grown- there were at least double the number that had been there a moment ago, and I cringed in embarrassment, not knowing what S wanted me to see, panicking at being half naked in front of these strangers, despite the (relative) safety of the car.
Sit up straight, arch your back- just like that. Now look at their reaction to you.
It still took me a moment, but then I saw it- they were aroused. All of them. There was no denying the bulges that altered the contours of their uniforms, creating intriguing shadows. They were staring at me, on display for them, and they were aroused.
You can just tell what they're thinking, can't you? They watched you let me use you, let me show your body to them, and you know they want to try it for themselves. Want to taste you, play with you, fuck you. Maybe one by one, maybe all of them at the same time.
I gasped as his hand tightened around one of my breasts and his mouth pressed against my ear.
If it pleased me to do so, I'd let them have you. I'd put you out of the car right now, just as you are, and watch as they did whatever they liked to you. Now, put one foot on the dash, the other over here- yes, on my knee, don't worry about your shoes- I want you spread open for them.
His hand moved from my breast so he could push my skirt out of the way. I cried out as two of his fingers thrust inside me; I hadn't taken my eyes off the valets, so I saw their immediate response to S's actions, and my heart pounded as I wondered how much longer they would be content to watch. Several of them actually took a step toward the car to get a better view, licking their lips.
Are you still watching them?
I managed to stammer a very shaky-sounding Yes sir.
Are they enjoying this?
I.. I think so, sir.
He drew his fingers out and pushed them into my mouth; the collective groan that went up from outside the car was echoed by my own.
It's a good thing I'm not quite ready to share you yet.
A car horn sounded as a restaurant patron pulled into the lot, breaking the spell. The group scattered a bit, almost guiltily; S shifted back into his seat and set my foot back on the floorboard; putting the car in gear he drove forward slowly, giving them one last look, and the valets laughed and saluted us as we went past, thumping each other on the back as if it had been them, not me, who had been pushed well beyond their limits.
Back at the house he simply sent me to bed, leaving me unfulfilled yet again.
*********
It wasn't until a week later that he allowed me to finally touch myself; he reclined on the den couch and told me that I had three minutes go upstairs and choose any one of the toys from the nightstand, then I was to come back downstairs and masturbate for him. I declined the toy, stating I was content with my fingers if it was acceptable to him. He agreed, and I positioned myself on the floor as he instructed.
I was on the edge within seconds,and narrowly missed his command to stop. The sudden slap of a riding crop on my stomach brought me back to awareness, and with a moan I pulled my fingers away. He kept me on that edge- allowing me to play with myself for a few minutes, then stopping- for an hour, until I was crying and begging him for release. Finally, mercifully, he gave me permission to come, and I experienced the most intense, gratifying orgasm I'd ever had.
I went on to use that particular training technique myself several times over the years, because it was really, really effective.
Over the next weeks I learned as much about sexual toys as I had about the other tools of the D/s trade. While I'd had some experience, S introduced me to things I hadn't even known existed, and he took great pleasure in keeping me off-balance, especially when it came to denying/prolonging my orgasms
He brought me back to the club a couple of weeks before I went to college, our first visit since the night we met, and my introduction to the first floor. I was collared and leashed, clad in leather pants and a corset, and had a remote-controlled vibrating egg tucked inside me that would randomly turn on and off, keeping me very, very.. alert.
The first floor of the club was for the workshops and demos that S was in charge of booking; it was laid out and furnished similarly to the second floor, but instead of an area for dancing it had a large stage with a variety of bondage devices- Saint Andrew's cross, pommel horse, bench, etc- spread out on it.
No two doms will ever agree on the proper training method for subs, or the best/most effective use of toys, so the workshops served three purposes; to introduce new techniques/tools, for doms to demonstrate the benefits of their particular training methods, and for subs to show off their training. Demonstrations were as choreographed as any ballet, and some of them could be quite impressive. The show that night was to promote the work of a local artist, a particularly talented leather worker who specialized in clothing and toys for the dedicated BDSM practitioner. She had brought several dom/sub friends, and they would be doing their best to drum up business for her.
If I thought the mini demonstration I'd covertly observed all those months ago had been arousing, what I saw that night was multi-orgasmic. Subs were secured to various spots on the stage in a range of positions, and over the course of several hours were subjected to constant.. attention. The artist kept up a patter extolling the flexibility of one tool, or the lack of leather marks left behind of another, but her voice added to the show rather than distracting from it. I knelt at S's feet and tried to keep from rocking back and forth. The unpredictable vibrations of the egg weren't helping.
I pounced on S the moment we got in the car, climbing into his lap, frantically pulling at the fastenings of his pants, whimpering in need; normally this would have been a fairly significant breech of etiquette, but I think S was so amused by my response that he either forgave me or forgot to punish me. He moved the seat back to give me more room, and shifted his body as I requested- lifting his hips so I could get his pants out of the way, tilting his head back so I could lick and nip at the sensitive flesh around his collarbone- but gave me no other assistance. I took pleasure from him- used him- as he had so many times from me, and it was unbelievable.
The next month he hired me out as one of the performance subs.
It was my first time being disciplined by another dom, my first time being completely naked in front of a crowd, and I was nervous about how I would respond. I needn't have worried; I remember being tied to a bench, remember the first few slaps of the riding crop, but not much after that- though the criss-crossing maze of marks that covered my body the next day told the tale well enough. I do remember quite clearly S waiting for me at the side of the stage, impatient as I was untied and lifted off the bench; I remember being placed into his arms, being carried into the bathroom and set on the edge of the sink, the cold marble somehow both easing and sharpening the pain from the lash marks, and his fingers digging into the raised welts as he took me roughly there on the countertop.
More importantly, I remember every compliment S received that night about my training- some of which included quite pointed requests for my company when he felt I was ready for such things. He responded to each comment the same way; with polite gratitude, his body firmly situated between me (kneeling at his feet with my head on his knee) and the speaker, preventing any inappropriate, 'accidental' contact. When we returned home he laid me on the bed and inspected each of my welts, rubbing soothing cream into them and making sure the skin hadn't been broken; later he would tease me about falling asleep under his careful ministrations.
I volunteered for as many shows as possible after that.
It was still nearly a year before S took me to the basement, where doms could make arrangements for time with subs that belonged to other doms. Anything went in that room, and unless there was an immediate threat there was no interference allowed. Access was tightly controlled and clean medical records were a requirement; still, personal safety/protection was always at the forefront of everyone's mind, and failure to be empathetic to those concerns would have very negative consequences.
We'd come to the basement straight from the main entrance, so I was still dressed; I was instructed to remove everything except my collar prior to entering the room, and I left my clothes in a small cubby on the wall with S's assurance that no one would take them. Once through the doorway, S left me in a sort of holding area with several other subs, tying the end of my leash to a hook on the wall nearby, and went over to where the 'bidding' was taking place. I had grilled him relentlessly in the weeks leading up to the trip about what sorts of things I might be asked to do, and although he had done his best to address all my fears, my anxiety was simmering just below the surface as I waited.
I didn't notice that someone had unhooked my leash until I felt the sharp tug on my collar; I dutifully stood and followed the person over to a corner of the room where a large chair was tucked into a darkened nook. They sat and pulled me into their lap, one knee on each side of their legs so I was straddling them. I'd kept my eyes down, but when I heard them chuckle I couldn't help looking up in surprise- I would have recognized that laugh anywhere.
I was promised that your manners were much better than last time we met- why are you daring to raise your eyes to me?
But R never was a good poker player; he tried to keep a stern face to go with his admonishment, but failed within seconds. I threw my arms around him, my laughter joining his as I rejoiced in the fact that he would be the one to introduce me to this level of play.
Though it wasn't the purpose of the basement, we cuddled and talked quietly as I told him what life as S's sub had been like; we hadn't seen each other since that fateful night I'd left with S, and had a lot of catching up to do. He expressed amazement at my transformation, and I flushed with pride.
It took me a while to notice how turned on he was.
In my defense, I'd known R for years, and it never crossed my mind that he would be interested in me as anything other than a friend. We were buddies, that was all.
Okay, and sometimes I'm not very bright. There, I said it. I should have noticed long before I did, because I was naked and straddling his lap, for god's sake. There was no way I should have missed the pounding heartbeat, the shallow breathing, the flushed, warm skin- he was putting out a lot of heat- and the bulge straining at the fastenings of his pants. But I did miss it, until a lull in the conversation tipped my awareness more toward the physical.
Although I have strong aural leanings, I'm very much a tactile creature as well; I'm unerringly drawn to soft/fuzzy/furry things, and as I'd sat in R's lap I couldn't help running the silk fabric of his shirt through my fingers, reveling in the sensation. I took advantage of the pause in talking to shift my position, get a better hold on his shirt, and that's when my hand brushed over the undeniable proof of his arousal.
I looked up at him in surprise, but he refused to turn his head toward me, staring off into the distance instead. His hands, previously resting casually on my thighs, moved to grip the arms of the chair. A lot of things went through my mind very quickly, but in the end there was only one choice.
I ran the tip of my tongue over his jaw. He immediately tilted his head away from me.
Don't.
I was undeterred. Pressing my body closer to his, I put my hands flat on his chest and nipped at his ear. He pushed me back.
I said, don't.
It was very un-sub-like of me, but I wasn't going to give in quite that easily. His protests hadn't elevated to the level of real denial- if he really wanted me to stop, he only had to stand up and dump me onto the floor. He hadn't, so I would keep trying.
I reached for the button on his pants, letting him feel my fingers pressing against him, and nipped at his ear again.
You asked for me for a reason, and don't try to tell me it was so we could catch up on old times. Did you want me to beg?
He shuddered, inhaling sharply. I heard the chair arms creak under the pressure of his grip.
Don't you want to see what I've learned?
He didn't stop me from unbuttoning his pants, or from easing the zipper down. I slipped my hand in the opening, hiding my smile at the choked groan he made as I wrapped my hand around his cock and freed it from its obviously uncomfortable bent position.
I don't want..
Yes you do.
His hands were suddenly in my hair, his lips crushed against mine; I sank into his embrace without hesitation, meeting his need with my own, and I felt like the most powerful creature in the world.
*********
Not all my visits to the basement were as tame. If there was any part of me that was prejudice against a particular act or combination of partners, the repeated exposure (either through experiencing it myself, or watching others) destroyed such thoughts.
It was an interesting life.. I was taking classes full time, working two jobs, participating in various on-campus groups.. the stereotypical college experience. And whenever I could, on weekends and breaks, I would pack a bag with leather pants, corsets, and my collar, and go to visit S.
S had made it clear from the beginning that while we would develop strong feelings for each other, in the end there would not be a 'happy ever after' for our relationship. He felt it was important that I be allowed to experience 'romantic' love- if that was something I was interested in- and therefore always encouraged me to date other people while we were together. I occasionally dated, and actually had a couple serious relationships, but inevitably I would become restless and they would end.
We had been involved for nearly three years when, during a 'down time' between vanilla boyfriends, I spent a long weekend at his house. He was sitting on the couch reading, running his fingers through my hair, when he suddenly set the book aside.
I want you to do something for me.
The rhythmic movement of his fingers on my scalp had lulled me to the very edge of sleep, but immediately he had my attention.
Of course.
His request turned out to involve the local strip club's amateur night. I was nonplussed, and asked for permission to speak freely. I didn't really need the money, I pointed out, and my performances at the club certainly indicated that I was comfortable with being in compromising positions in public. I had no experience as a dancer, let alone a stripper, and found the idea confusing- could he explain the reasoning behind his request?
In reality, 'because I want you to' was enough of an excuse for me; S had never put me in real danger or pushed me to do something I was completely unwilling to do, so I gave him significant latitude in what I would at least attempt. But he would never resort to so simplistic an explanation, so we spent a good bit of time discussing the issue, and in the end I agreed.
He chose the music, helped when I got stuck on choreography ideas, and I made $210 that night. It didn't take too much haggling to reach an acceptable deal with the owner, and as a result I went back a few nights a month during the rest of the time I was at school. I never left without at least several hundred dollars, which I used to offset some of the student loans I was having to take out.
In case it's driving you crazy trying to guess which song I broke my stripper cherry to.. it was Poison, by Alice Cooper. Make of that what you will. :)
*******
Our relationship ended as simply as it had began; I graduated from college, would be attending an academic summer program in another state, and from there- who knew? Just as he'd pushed me to date other people, S had been preparing me for some time for our (inevitable, in his mind) separation; it would never be the 'perfect' time, or easy, but this seemed as good a time as any. We spent the night before I left saying our goodbyes the only way we could have; as respective reminders of the years we'd shared, he agreed to allow me to keep my collar, and I left him the riding crop we'd shopped for together. In the morning he drove me to the airport, kissed my forehead, and as he held me in his arms for the last time, his body wrapped around mine, whispered thank you, little one.
I didn't trust myself to respond verbally, but I know he read everything I needed to say in my eyes, which met his just before he turned and walked away- no punishment for that now, since I wasn't his anymore. He slipped easily into the crowd of travelers, and never looked back.
I mourned the loss of the friendship more than anything else, but S was, in the end, just as R had described him: a firm believer in the rules that govern doms and subs. He had brought me (and my training) along as far as he could, and it would be up to me to figure out where to go from there.
Little did we realize what a suck-ass decision maker I am. But that's another story..
Very impressive story. I love it.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much!
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