Copyright 2017 Matt Nicholson. All rights reserved.
Disclaimer - This is a story about two women who play fast and hard. "Hard" meaning just that. The BDSM might be a little rougher than some people prefer, or it might not. It depends on your tastes. I just wanted to make sure you were warned. No sense getting bad ratings from people who prefer romance and a little light flogging to the more rough and tumble stuff if you can avoid it, after all. In any case, please let me know what you think. Best! ~Matt~
*****
Arin Jefferson, known to most of the world as "Charity DeSade," lay naked across the brown, brushed leather couch in her fourth weekend home's media room with her bare feet propped on the sofa's arm. Her latest concert played on the 103" plasma TV. Music blared through the room's dozen or so speakers with the excited sounds of the crowd muted in the background. She'd long since stopped watching herself and her other band members. She preferred instead to watch the four women off to the sides of the stage.
All four were dressed the same. Skimpy black pasties barely covered their nipples. Equally skimpy black thong bikinis exposed just enough of their shaved pussy lips to make her mouth water. Spiked leather collars gave them the whole slave vibe. And black, leather, platform heels made their perfect, long legs look even longer.
Two of the girls twirled suede leather floggers. The other two drooled around glowing ball gags, their wrists manacled high over their heads to glittering poles and their legs spread wide with matching ankle spreaders. Their skin was decorated with pink lines where the suede straps had already touched. Whether the floggers wrapped around their nearly naked bottoms or their heavy breasts, both bound women writhed energetically, making sure the crowd got an eyeful of wildly bouncing boobs and curvaceous, jiggling bottoms.
As the concert continued its frantic pace, the perfectly paced close-ups showed their curvy flesh becoming increasingly red. By the time Arin's recorded self bounced across the stage in her tight leather hot pants and vest and snatched a flogger from one of the lady punisher's hands, both the bound women's best parts were covered in crimson lash marks. She slowed the playback down and dropped the remote beside her. Then she slid one hand up her belly to her breast, tweaking a nipple while her other hand found her clit.
What had started out as a sideshow gimmick had become Arin's favorite part of the show, and she always looked forward to treating the audience to a frenzied three minutes of lashing that left the tied women thrashing, their chests and backsides lashed so thoroughly they'd bruise. Arin always tossed the whip into the stands before she danced back to her guitar to blow the crowd out of the auditorium with an epic finale. They had no idea how much will it took for her to leave the flogging behind.
The on-stage BDSM may not have been quite as controversial as biting off bats' heads or satanic rituals, but the whole girl on girl sadomasochistic thing certainly turned heads and drew crowds. Once her road manager figured out which cities would ban them and which wouldn't, it was just a matter of figuring how long the girls took to recover and finding enough of them to rotate from show to show. At the moment, she had nine on the payroll. She just needed one more to fill out her "harem," as everyone called it.
"Harem" was a bit of an overstatement. It wasn't that she went to bed with them all. There were a couple that got the gig in other ways, but - by and large - there weren't many of them she didn't "interview" first. The job was to be tied up nearly naked and flogged in front of tens and thousands of people, after all - and that wasn't counting the recordings and broadcasts. Most of them expected, and even wanted, the chance to play in Charity DeSade's bed. Even so, the turnover rate was high enough that she seldom tried any girl more than once. It was better that way.
She glanced down from the massive screen. Not bothering to let go of her breast, she checked the time on her Feldo. If this evening was true to form, the chimes would ring within moments and the groupie-of-the-day - chosen from the usual crowd of back stage admirers - would stroll in wearing nothing but the fur coat Arin had draped over her shoulders four hours earlier. They'd let word get out that she always gave one lucky "admirer" a fur coat after each concert as an invitation to interview. What "word" hadn't mentioned was what they usually had to do to get the job.
Almost on cue, the rich-sounding door chime rang. Arin smiled to herself as she punched off the TV, and shifted on the sofa. Recalling the pretty face, long blonde hair, athletic body and luscious, fat tits that were about to come through the door, she shook her shoulder length blonde hair back and licked her lips. She wondered how this one would react when she saw Arin naked on the couch, then she thought for a second about the ways her newest prospect might earn a spot on the pole.
"Come in . . ." She looked at the name scrawled in smeared ballpoint ink across her palm, ". . . Trina. It's open."
As the door latch clicked and the door started to swing open, she licked the smeared ink and wiped her hand several times across the back of the couch, eradicating Trina's name. She smiled as the other woman pushed the door closed behind her. As instructed, she wore just the fur. She still had the thin, silver, lip ring that caught Arin's attention earlier. With one piercing there were usually others, and most women that had multiple piercings liked to play rough. It was that promise that led her to give Trina the nod over a hot little Hispanic brunette with mountainous tits that would have been heaven to flog.
Arin beckoned the girl forward. When the pretty little groupie got close enough, Arin reached towards a nearby end table and picked up a pink wine glass she'd filled with a fruity 1982 rose. With a slow glance at Arin's naked body, Trina took the extended glass and looked around at the surprisingly austere decor before sipping.
"Nice place. Come here often?"
The rocker smiled at her guest's casual tone. She'd seen the way the girl's eyes had hovered over all the right places. She gestured toward the burning fireplace. Even though both women were naked, or nearly so, there was no way she couldn't have known Arin's intentions. That said, she seemed completely calm and ready to play. If Trina had any clue what Arin was thinking, Arin wondered if she would have been so casual. Regardless, if all went as planned - as it almost always did - they'd have the entire weekend to play. Even if Trina caved after just one evening, "Charity DeSade" had a hell of an evening planned.
"Sit down. Get comfortable."
Trina shrugged out of the coat and let it slide down her arms to the floor as if it was nothing more than a K-Mart special. A ring hung from Trina's right nipple, just as Arin had expected.
Trina watched Arin's gaze travel from her long, silken hair; over her full, white, breasts' lightly jiggling curves, around her freshly-shaved pussy, and down her lithe legs. Once Arin had taken in the view, Trina knelt gracefully in front of the fireplace. She took a longer sip of wine before setting the glass on the red brick stoop. Arin caught a quick glimpse of thin, pink folds peeking from between the taller woman's fatter ones. Trina's eyes lit with mischief as she crossed her legs and leaned forward on her hands.
Making certain her unspoiled breasts - the only parts of her that hadn't been touched by the sun - swayed tantalizingly, she looked up at the rock star. "So, are you going to tie me up and whip me now, or did you want to fuck first?"
