How I Got Into This

How I got into this Part 2

We suggested the Shergar as a meeting place. Sal was still working there, and we knew we would be pretty much ignored. We were sitting at a table by a window, so we saw Benny arrive with Albert. They came in, sat down without a drink, and Benny came straight to the point.

There is an old cinema in Camberwell; his people bought it and were going to turn it into a high-class fetish club and dungeon. I suppose Benny had worked out that Sal was the brains of our little outfit, so his questions were addressed to her. First, was she interested in fronting the house and managing it? He wanted her to think it over, and then we would meet the people behind the project. If she wanted the job and they could come to terms, was I interested in the wet work?

He would take us around to have a look; it wasn't going to be as well appointed as the gay BDSM club, as he said the straight community could not keep its mouth shut, but if we could put this together with the same team, in budget, it only had to last 18 months to pay for itself. If it folded for any reason, another place could be found; the idea was portable.

From my point of view, it was a no-brainer. Good customers are harder to find than good plumbers. For Sal, it was a bit more problematic. If she took this job, she was going to become the face of this place. We were both very nervous about having her picture plastered all over the shity side of Fleet Street.

I will say now that Sal has never abused her position as my mistress. I do know, however, that when something is pushing her buttons, my little best friend gets even less fun. It doesn't work both ways; my tongue gets lots to do, and she really gets off on denying me. In the six months I had been Sal's sub, I had learned very quickly that whinging and begging only increased the time intervals between me getting off. So I guessed, quite correctly, that if she could get assurances, she would not get thrown under the Fleet Street bus she wanted in.

Later, when we met the main man, she got the assurances she wanted, plus a fat salary package; the clothing allowance alone was the clincher. As soon as she found she could tart around in heels and corsets all at someone else's expense, she wanted in. At that point, so was I, for no other reason than that, as I had given her carte blanche to dictate our sex lives, we were moving into a 24/7 dome/sub lifestyle. An unforeseen benefit was that I was about to become a fixture at the club. Take that literally: 95% of the time we spent at the club, at least when it was open, I was fixed in the lower half of "Lady Sally's Throne," as her somewhat lavishly appointed bar stool became known.

When fingers were pointed and the question was who the hell is he, the answer was Mistress Sally's sub; he's the guy who plumed the place and made the heating work. I pretty much ended up working solely for the SM community in the Southeast. The SM community wasn't shy about putting its hand in its pocket; I was doing very well. Thank you very much.

There was none of the real dark stuff that happened down at Mile End. "Club Sally" became the place Mr. and Mrs. Stock-Broker came to on Friday and Saturday nights to do their thing. A sub would often finish the night with a dozen or more stripes across his or her arse, but there was none of the serious SM stuff that happened at Mile End tolerated at the Camberwell site.

For the grand opening night, Benny had an absolutely inspired idea. He invited one of the better-end Sunday newspapers. He later told me the editor was a regular at Mile End, along with his long-term master/partner. He brought with him a girl who wrote a feature article entitled "Sinfull Sex in Southwark", and together these two played Madam X and Sub pretty well. Sal gave Madam X and a partner a lifetime membership. Madam X gave Sall star treatment. I wore a gimp mask, as I still had to make a living among the vanila horde.

Trust me here, Madam X made the most of it; she came at least twice a month, and when she was there, she came half a dozen times a night. Everyone who was invited to the grand opening of "Club Sall" knew the press were going to be there with tame photographers. Everyone who came wore masks, hoods, horse heads, or puppy snouts. It was perfect, and after that, there was no shock value for Fleet Street's gutter to grovel around in; it pretty much fireproofed the club.

My first night at the club was pretty boring. Sal spent her entire night running around, almost disappearing up her own sweet little brownie, making things just so. I spent the whole time in the chair without the benefit of her fanny to smell and lick. Her niece Amy, almost a mirror image of a younger Sal, kept an eye on me. Sal employed her as head barmaid; dressed as a French Harlot, she offered an easy 10 out of 10 score as eye candy.

Amy made sure I didn't get into any problems and kept the inevitable drunken arsehole away from me. Eventually, after one or two complaints about one guy in particular, two of Benny's associates took him outside for what they described as a deep and meaningful conversation. Amy sat on Sall's chair a couple of times, and despite the fact I was gagged and she didn't remove her frilly knickers, the heady atmosphere under her skirt had my poor willy trying to burst out of his little prison. Sadly, a battle, he is never going to win.

It had some side effects, though. On the downside, when we got home, I was told I was going to get a dozen on the bum with a cane for misbehaving, and after stupidly complaining that it was all Amy's doing, my punishment was doubled for blaming her sweet innocent little niece, sweet undoubtedly so, innocent, not since she was 10!

The upside, however, was that after I was chained to the bed, Sal removed my tube for the night. Then she told me that, as a reward for being a good boy, I was going to get as many orgasms as I could manage. I'd learned my lesson by then. I didn't ask how it was possible to be a bad boy and a good boy at the same time. Anyway, if I didn't have a mouth full of fanny, tit, armpit, or arse, I was gaged.

First, my favourite thing: a titty wank. Sadly, as I had been locked for three weeks in anticipation of the opening of Club Sally, I lasted just a few seconds. What red-blooded male, submissive or not, does not love a titty wank between such a gorgeous pair?

The second was a blowjob. Sally brought me to the edge half a dozen times. with licks, kisses, pauses for tickles, and fingernail scratches. Little bites, bigger bites, threats to bite the end off if I didn't cum soon. then three good ten-minute sessions of pure blissful agony. I was firmly gagged while Sal worked on my poor dick with a Wartenberg Wheel giggling at my muffled screams. All this before I was allowed to come a second time. Thirdly, it was a really long, very slow fuck. Sally controlled the pace, pausing, stopping, and giving genital kisses, putting clover clips on my very tender bits, taking them off, and reapplying. Everyone knows they hurt more coming off, but when they have come off for the third time, I was promising her anything I could think of to try, completely unsuccessfully, to persuade her not to put them on again. She kept reminding me constantly that I was the sick bastard who asked for this.

Trust me, I was howling at the moon before I was allowed to cum a third time. We now have a rule. Sorry, Sal now has a rule: whatever comes out of my cock other than pee has to go back in my mouth. So after the titty wank, I had to lick my cum off her tits. Then, after the blow job, I had to French kiss all my goo from her mouth and finally thoroughly clean Sally's fanny. After that, Willy was standing to his best military attention. So my mistress, keen to prove her promise to drain me, complexly grabbed the KY jelly. Kneeling above my face, she worked plenty into her chocolate starfish, lathered my nob in it, and then engulfed every bit of my best mate with her arse.

She rode me till we were both sore. I did cum, but I think it was dry. I got my tongue in her bum and found no taste of cum. I have no problem getting my tongue in Sall's brownie, as she spends so much time cleaning herself before she orders me; lets me in reality. Sal came a couple of times more; hers were not dry. Sal is a very squirty, juicy girl; that's lucky; I'm a very thirsty sub.

I don't know if I was disappointed that I wouldn't get to lick my cum from her arse or not. I'm fairly sure I'll get to find out if I like it soon. Recently, Sal has decided she likes her arse rimmed and fucked. In consequence, she has had me alter her throne, so I sit a little further forward, but with my head strapped back, so she can plant her brownie right over my mouth. To be honest, it ain't that comfortable for me, but if you are servicing your goddess, what's a bit of a neck ache?

I know it's not for everyone, but I'm addicted to her, and as I set us down this road, it would be churlish to complain. We have never gone down the cuckolding route. When we play, she often tells me she wants a big black dick to stretch her wide. I once brought the subject up outside the bedroom/playroom. Sally gave me the biggest bollocking of my life. It started with, Are you fucking stupid? and ended with, You have to be some sort of cunt for even thinking anything like that. It ain't going to happen, you stupid prat. Don't you ever dare ask me again. I suppose what made me ask is that we don't have kids. It is not from a lack of trying; neither of us know where the fault lies, but I think it's me. I had mumps when I was a kid, and my mum said I had it very badly. When I asked her if she wanted a kid, she just looked at me like I was the village idiot and said, I've already got one, you big dope.