The lights of the club cast the blue haze on everyone. There were a lot of people here tonight, some waiting the arrival of me and my companion. People close to my heart knew what had had my panties wet for days. My brain was flooded with thoughts and nerves. Fear was never an option because I oozed confidence. It bled out through my very skin.
I was unstoppable.
Our arrival was greeted with the warm vitality that is an event of sexual fortitude. A lot was riding on tonight. I had spent my time building myself up, fantasizing. Not only was it to put on a show. Put on a show for them but I was supposed to meet her.
I would eventually get it all right. But until then, my skin was like fire. The two of them, him/her...ebb/flow...push/pull... thought they would get off easy with this. They had agreed to this on the pretense that I am a stout whipping post but that I am breakable. I fall to their knees and grovel like the pleasing little slut that I am.
And so, I steer clear of them. Oil and water tonight. Until it begins.
The bathroom. A call to escape usually, but a necessary shelter for someone who wants to change her clothes. I'm prepared to walk in as a classy woman but to walk out a barrage of rebelliousness and spikes. They're not taking me down. Everything inside me is twitching and sensitive to the sounds and energy around me. No one can touch me in the place between my legs that's throbbing with energy and need.
But to get to the bathroom, I have to cross their paths. All three of them. I'm actually quite skilled at tunnel vision; this should be a piece of cake. I'm nearing the home stretch until I feel his hands run through my curls and pull my head to him, stopping me. I grit my teeth against his force, as he grumbles into my ear, "You should really learn to say hello..."
Ah, my first opportunity to snip; nothing more, nothing less than the most sarcastic "Hi," that I could drum up. I suppose that must have been acceptable when he threw me back onto the path of my destination and back into tunnel vision; I was only mildly disheveled by that.
I snarl my face into the bathroom mirror while stripping. He knows how to play my weakness. Grumbling into my ears like that. And so my resolve, and albeit my excitement, was found again. I also found myself silently wishing I had brought more panties. By this time, I had found these were going to end up in a very interesting predicament by the end of tonight.
And so I changed clothes. I changed from the leather clad & collared beauty into the rough and rowdy rebel. I steeled myself against the change and braced the wilds, tunnel vision in tow. My nerves were beginning to also surface, and I couldn't bare a glance in her direction, I couldn't bare to watch them set the stage and so I did none of it. I stood. Aimlessly. Steeling and breathing.
I turned my back for the quickest of moments and the world went black. Something, a bag or a pillowcase, had been forcefully shoved over my head and down onto my shoulders and a strong arm came around me. He started yelling in my ear about dignity and asked if I had any. I stumbled, my internal desire to please him and innate need to get it right caused me to waver in my resolve and I responded, "No," I had no dignity. Did I even want it?
And so the reaming questions began as he dragged me backwards and I found the chair that would be my prison, my interrogation chamber, my downfall.
The bag was made of canvas and kept me from seeing the world but not from hearing it or feeling it surround me. I was being told exactly what a dirty whore I was, and that it shouldn't matter that the bag was a cum-covered mess of cloth because it was all I deserved. I should feel right at home.
The next thing I heard, whore that I am, was the sound of my clothes being cut. Stripped down, tied to a chair, with a bag over my head. I'm more concerned with the fact that if one of them gets too close, they're going to smell my sex as my body begins to take over. I feel the cool steel of the knife smack into me for good measure. We have knives, and we know how to use them... That was something that he had told me, and my very essence cried out to feel what I knew he couldn't give me, the feel of that blade dragging across my skin. The sharpness cutting me.
Then he was gone.
From a distance he asked for the answers to my questions. Questions that had been pre-planned and pre-assigned. "Now, where are your questions?" My first thought was simply that he was making this too easy. Too easy to foil his plans.
"They're on the table!" But that wasn't a good enough response. It was quickly followed by a snarl from him and indication of which table. No, no, this wasn't how this game was going to be played, "They're are plenty of tables to chose from, I'm sure you'll find it..." I laughed.
His hands were now pulling my neck back to unbelievable angles and my hair was ripping from its delicate place on my head underneath that bag, "If you don't tell me, we're done, because you're wasting my time."
That was a statement that I felt could strike fear into the heart of man, and all of the sides within me warred against each other, and I shouted, "Meira has them!" I had left them with her before I'd ever found myself stuck in this situation. And while he saunters off to retrieve them, their is no reprieve from the hands of a sadist, I'm left to her and she was going to enjoy this.
And the hits started to rain down. Across my breasts, down between my thighs, over and over the feel of her cane, his hands, and the pain of that flogger fell. God that pain rocked my world, the weight of a grown man throwing his all into hitting me, I could feel the wind before I felt his skin. The feel of her at my back, I could hear her satisfaction at my delirium and restraint. And she cracked that cane across my leg.
It was a misstatement to say my skin had been on fire before because now I knew what that meant. He pointed out all the bruises as they bled underneath my skin immediately. Just to point them out he took the bag off my head.
The light was so harsh. I blinked against the intrusion of it. I could see the people in the club watching me; watching as I was reduced to a rebellious little slut. Clothes torn, pussy drenched, taking a beating. He held up that little pink envelope that held inside the answers to my private questions. Things that none should know of me. The submissive side of me, the part that wants nothing more than to please the two of them, had tried so very hard to put effort, care, and love into those questions. I used my very best handwriting, paper, and envelope with the best of intentions...and there, before my eyes, he ripped them to shreds. Ripped them to shreds with only a "I don't give a damn" attitude and the notion that I answer only to him now.
This was the first time I thought that maybe...I'm breakable.
Flight or fight. Cry. Effort and love torn to shreds. Cry. The emotions were beginning to swirl as the bag was shoved back over my head. The spinner for emotions landed with fight. I WILL NOT BREAK THAT EASY!
He so eloquently called out to the club to witness the demonstration of his new toy. I was to be his willing target practice. The sting of the flogger spread out over my thighs and I shook my head at the tenderness that now flooded my nerve endings.
When he was...satisfied?...he tore the bag off my head again. He forced me to look into his face. Looking into his face, the face of my torturer, stirred up everything in me and it took everything I had to not spit in his face, but everything I had inside me called for it. He'd deserve it the bitch side said. He'd punish you for it the masochist side said. He'd not expect it the brat side of me said. While the voices raged on inside my head, came the first question, "What color are firetrucks?"
I almost laughed. I got a little dizzy at the question. It's a warm up. Oh, come on, we play this game better than that, I thought. My answer was simple, "Green." And I laughed at his hesitation, and I laughed through the punishment. They could both deal it out, they will make me pay for my transgressions. And so they shall pay for theirs.
I rocked the chair that I was in, tossed my head and threw my elbows, until the chair fell to its side and now they couldn't reach me. Oh, I was a slutty little mess they had to clean up now. I could see them clearly. See how our energies were blending in the epitome of BDSM roleplay. It was one of the most amazing things I had ever felt and it spurred me on. I tossed, turned, and threw my elbows. Anything that I could do to make untying and righting me more complicated was what I wanted to bring to this scene. I wanted to give them something.
And so, with a moderate amount of effort, I had been planted back in that chair. Untied except for one leg, and now the role reversal. He stood behind me, wrapped his hands around my arms and pulled them out to the sides, crucifying me. In that, he opened up my entire body for her. She could hit me anywhere she wanted, she was free to do it. She caned my thighs and I could swear I heart her giggle. He strung me tighter and pushed the tiny nerve endings and pressure points, and the rest of my body belonged to them in that moment. I had finally landed in a position that was fulfilling my deepest desire. Words like thank you, please, and more begin to take the place of any fight that I have.
If there was a door to subspace, a door to heaven, I could now see it. Gratitude bloomed over my body, my nipples harden and my skin resolved itself for the torture.
The next question...
"What color are strawberries?"
Oh, I know this one. "Red! They're red."