This is another installment in the ongoing saga of a couple who met in the original story, "Fourteen Days on the Mountain". In this story, the third since the original, Mike, now 29, and Tiffany, a 20 year-old blonde, have a wild time visiting their friends, Paul and Kelly, in Chicago. For a more in-depth and intimate knowledge of the characters and chronology, read the aforementioned original story, followed by "The Move" and "Santa Monica Swing", then part one of this story.
Before you read this story, be advised that it is adult oriented and contains very graphic depictions of a sexual nature. It is not intended for, nor should it be read under any circumstances, by persons who are not at least eighteen(18) years of age.
I love to read your comments and would enjoy hearing from you if you like this story. I even want your comments if you don't like it, provided you are actually giving constructive criticism. Please don't leave a comment if you are simply turned off by what the story contains. Just because you may not enjoy or politically agree with the portrayals, it doesn't mean that others won't.
~~Odysseyker
*
As Kelly caught her breath, Paul picked up the phone again. "Yes... White tray for four, please," he said, and hung up.
Reaching behind me, I let my fingers find Tiffany's nude body as she snuggled with me. "I guess you had a good time," I stated rhetorically, twisting my head and looking at her over my shoulder.
"Mmmmm... You bet I did," she responded, letting her right hand slide lower to find my wilting tool. Gently stroking it, she asked, "What about you?"
"Yeah..." I said, "I had a great time."
"But..." she posed.
"But what?" I asked, puzzled.
"It just sounded like there was a 'but' coming. Is something wrong?" she wondered.
"No. Nothing. I just haven't quite recovered yet," I pretended. Although, I guess if I had been honest, I was still a bit concerned that Tiffany was going to get some wild idea that she could dominate me in bed. I just couldn't get the idea out of my head, knowing it would be a bad scene if she tried.
I heard a knock on the door and it opened. In came the same waiter that had delivered our drinks earlier. This time he was carrying a large sliver tray, covered by a dome. He didn't even seem to pay any attention to the fact that both of the females were nude, or that Paul and I both had our dicks hanging free. Setting the tray in the couch, he asked, "Will there be anything else, sir?"
Paul told him, "No. That's all. Thank you," and handed him another tip.
The waiter exited, closing the door behind him. When he was gone, Tiffany giggled her patented schoolgirl giggle and snickered, "Great service here."
I figured that Paul must have ordered us a snack, but didn't want to assume anything at this point. "What's that?" I queried.
Paul reached over and removed the covering. Under it were eight white towels, four hot, damp ones in plastic bags, and four dry ones. "You don't want to walk around all sticky do you?" he inquired. Going on, he extended, "Just another one of the 'perks' that makes this club so nice."
We each took a damp and a dry towel to clean up a bit. As we wiped down, Paul offered, "If we hurry, we still might be able to visit the slave, if you'd like."
A little confused, I questioned, "Do what?"
He explained that after each performance, the slave is put on display for everyone's inspection. He told us that it was kind of a 'meet the actors' type of deal, but also served the purpose of proving the severity of the on-stage punishment. "Sometimes the dom, or doms, as it would be tonight, are there too, but it's usually just the submissive," he said.
"Come on," Tiffany urged, "I want to see this chick close up." We hurriedly finished our clean up, and began to dress. "Huh-Uh, not you!" Tiff directed Kelly. "You need to stay naked." Then she turned to Paul to confirm, "It is appropriate to keep a slave naked, right?"
"Yes, but she'll have to wear this," he replied, pulling a collar and leash out of his jacket pocket. "The rules are that no one is allowed to be totally nude in the common areas, but a collar and leash are acceptable." Offering the items to Tiffany, he asked, "Would you like to..." Before he could finish, Tiff had snatched them from his hand and was headed toward Kelly.
Kelly didn't say a word as Tiffany fastened the collar around her neck, simply stood there obediently. Snapping on the leash, Tiff let it drop between the sub's breasts, the loop handle hanging below her furry mound. Stepping back to admire the slave, Tiffany oozed, "That looks sooo hot..."
"Just so you know; She hates to be paraded around here like that," Paul told Tiffany. "I've used it as a mild punishment a couple of times, but I'd bet she considers it a treat tonight. Especially if you'd be willing to handle her leash, my dear."
"Is that right..." Tiff replied? "Would you like me to lead you around, slave?" she boldly questioned the now blushing woman. Tiffany seemed to be really getting into her role as dominatrix, and I had to wonder just how far she would take it. "Well, slave..." she barked, reaching down to take the loop of the leash, "Would you like that?"
Kelly nodded her head in the affirmative, flashing a wide smile at my girl. That settled, we headed out the door and Paul led us through a series of corridors and turns. We descended a couple of flights of stairs and rounded another corner, bringing us to an area the club members referred to as 'Misery'.
Paul explained that the term was originally derived from the state name 'Missouri', which is called the 'show me' state. Someone apparently thought this appropriate because members would come down here and demand to be shown the marks on the slaves. As this became regular practice, it also became evident that this was a place of humiliation for many of the subs, hence the 'misery'.
There were several people gathered around, obviously ogling the unfortunate victim of the performance. We worked our way toward the front, being met with a velvet, theater-style rope barrier. The two hooded men who had assisted on the stage were standing on either side of the slave, and a bright light shone down on her. She was facing us and you could see that the blindfold was still in place, and her torso was splotched with varying shades of pink and red.
I could see bits of hardened wax still clinging to her skin in areas that the crop had missed. There was also an abundance of waxy buildup in the 'mohawk' of hair covering her pubic mound. It was more concentrated in the lower portion of her bush, as it disappeared between her tightly closed legs. Apparently this was the remnant of the candle she'd held in her pussy while the 'master' had beaten her with the bullwhip.
"Turn her around, please," Paul requested, and the two men spun the girl around to display her backside. Her back and buttocks were splotched red, like the front of her body. And, there was more wax visible in the cleft of her ass, again disappearing between her legs. But, angling across her posterior were wide, deeper crimson stripes that highlighted the raised welts left by the whip. There was no mistaking that the punishment had been very real indeed.
"Can I touch her?" Tiffany asked Paul in a hushed, but almost hyper, tone.
"No. This is an 'eyes only' display. But, if you want, I could try to arrange a private meeting," he replied.
