Mayhem At Mardi Gras

I wrote the original version of this longhand. It began as a letter to a lady friend while I was deployed on a peacekeeping mission to the former Yugoslavia in 2001. She was a six one redhead ex-model from the Mississippi Gulf Coast that I'd met on a now-defunct bondage personals site. We had our first date the week before I left, and she said this letter had her "squirming."

With that feedback, I spent the rest of that six months daydreaming of her and ways to make her squirm, scream, and cum her brains out. We had our second date not long after I got back. Very sweet, and in New Orleans, but nothing like this happened. Tactical patience on both our parts. But I told her I wanted a copy of the letter, since she told me she "reread it frequently." She typed it and sent it to me, and maybe it fueled her up for Date #3. That went VERY well, and the story became my BDSM fiction debut, 2002's Mayhem at Mardi Gras, which appeared on that same defunct site. Her public flogging was Halloween weekend '02 in Atlanta.

I intended it to be the first of a series, but instead celiese left me for her vanilla ex-fiancee when she found out I was leaving with the rest of the "Screaming Eagles" to go invade Iraq. Most of my unit was not predicted to survive the experience, so she decided to go do what was best for her. I suppose a live boyfriend outweighed a dead dom.

But since I found this one on a long-lost backup CD-R last night, I decided it should be immortalized online somewhere. She might even find it and get angry, which would amuse me.

Azrael556

*****

New Orleans, Mardi Gras Week: Sometime in the near future....

It was one hell of a party, one filling several rooms of a balcony suite overlooking Bourbon Street. Beads and empty bottles were strewn around in between abandoned take-out containers and discarded clothes. And what clothes. The top half of a reproduction Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader uniform spun from a lazily drifting ceiling fan as the well-stacked blonde who'd been filling it enthusiastically assaulted my friend Scott.

Assorted members of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions cheered lustily, throwing plastic beads and crumpled, sweaty dollar bills as two hotties who'd who'd invited themselves in and stripped then proceeded to sixty-nine on the coffee table. Whip cracks, moans, and muted screams drifted from open bedrooms, it being impossible to tell who was doing what to whom by sound alone. The crowd and the several stereos were just too loud. Too many kinky people with too much going on in their outside 'nilla lives had basically decided to say "Fuck it" all at once.

I closed the fridge, stepping over the prone, snoring form of "Doc" Wells as I cracked open another Mountain Dew. I was keeping my alcohol to a minimum since I guessed I'd been awake for three days. I dodged several unconscious drunks and actively making-out couples and headed back to the balcony to see if the sea of humanity outside could match the rapidly degenerating crowd inside the suite. The Big Easy was hot and humid for spring tonight, the overwhelming smell of drunk, horny crowds hitting me. The scent of a hundred thousand's lusts fuelled my predator's urges, but there was only one victim I sought that night. You.

High heels clicked seductively on the hardwood floor behind me and I half turned as you slid your arms around my waist, sliding your fingers down along my flybuttons teasingly. I leaned back around, hungry for a hard kiss, and came up several inches short. I looked down over my glasses at the skyscraper six-inch heel platform fuck-me heels you wore.

"Ooops, the guy I was just paddling liked them. I mean really -liked- them. I suppose I'm going to pay for that?" you smiled hopefully, almost petulantly. I loved your long legs in heels; I simply had a rule. There'd better be a fucking stepladder or something handy so I could kiss you properly if you were wearing them. We were both six foot one but heels on you ruined it.

You kicked the heels off with a slight, graceful motion and held your arms out for a hug, your lips in a sexy, mock-pout. But I was going to look before I hugged.

And it was not like I could bitch about the rest of your costume. Finely textured stockings went thigh-high to a lovely black leather garter belt clearly visible under a cute little pleated plaid skirt that was short enough to get you arrested most places, It just barely covered your wonderfully curved ass. A mostly undone white blouse and a very well-packed black leather bra completed your ensemble, at least so far.

"So, have you been having fun?" I asked, making you wait for the hug you desired.

You smiled mysteriously "Of course, but you know how I get when I get to paddle others." "That I know, lover," and kissed you hungrily as I slid my arms around you, squeezing just hard enough with the gym-crafted muscles to make you hungry for a more detailed bondage fix. "Go find some toys and I'll cure you of this domme-y mood you've gotten into." "Mmmmmm." you purred, eyeing me speculatively with a long look. You turned and sauntered off in search of your collar and a pair of cuffs no one was using, teasingly smoothing your skirt down as you swayed appetizingly. I knew your favorite flogger was available as it was still locked in a rifle case under what was our bed. As bad as this party was getting, God only knew who or what was in that bed right now. Three bedroom suites were not supposed to have a minimum of fifteen "couples" in it. An hour before I'd had to stand in line for the bathroom while moaning through the door told me a couple someones were using it for a little more privacy.

You came back quicker than I thought you would, heavy black leather cuffs buckled securely on your slim wrists and ankles, and your collar carried in one hand. You always loved it when I buckled your collar on, and I thought you looked so tasty on your knees. True to form, you gracefully knelt on the rug at the balcony's threshold, holding it out to me. I stepped forward to take it, a sly grin flashing for a moment, knowing the crowd below was in for a show if they looked up three floors. Loving the moment, I slid the warm leather around your neck.

Kneeling where you were, you took the opportunity to kiss the hardening bulge in my cut-off jungle fatigue trousers. I grinned inwardly, totally aroused by how excited you already were, but the formalities had to be observed, BDSM is such a game of rules. I secured the collar with its tiny, golden padlock, and used it to tug you gently but firmly to your feet.

"Bad girl, you know you don't get to play with that until I give you permission." I kissed you quick and hard.

You mock-pouted, giving me your vampiest sex-goddess look with a Marilyn whisper. "What if I want to now?"

"Then maybe I'll be an asshole and not give you anything at all." I threatened, sliding my arm tightly around you, holding you close, loving the feel of you pressed against me. That was an empty fucking threat and we both knew it.

"But I was a bad girl, and bad girls need special treatment, right?"

I slid a hand south and smacked your ass playfully-severely while I cocked my head in exaggerated thought. No panties under there, it seemed. My cock twitched harder at the idea. "If the bad girl -wants- to get punished, that really takes the point out of it, doesn't it?" I toyed with you, refusing to give in too easily, though there was no way I was going to pass up flogging an aroused six-one redheaded ex-model on a balcony at the New Orleans Mardi Gras. The various gods of the universe do not love me enough to give me this again. I'd punish you later by making you wait through two hours of foreplay to get what we both wanted. That would be payback enough for you topping from the bottom this badly right now. You'd gave up ordering-from-the-menu rights when I hung up on the Chinese place, but in the utter magic of the moment, combined with the fact you are such a complete turn-on, I couldn't stay pissed for more than a fraction of a second. So I'm a sentimental wuss. Fuck off. I'm human and horny.

"So how bad a girl have you been?" I asked teasingly.

"I've been very, very bad", you said with a mischevious gleam in your green eyes. You slowly pulled up your skirt in the front, then turned and bent over, flipping it up in back, bending over with agonizing slowness. "See? I lost my panties somewhere." Your hands slowly ran down the length of your legs, the heavy chrome rings jingling faintly, then they slid slowly back up your legs and sides to cup your chest before unbuttoning and discarding your blouse. "Lost my shirt too, it's laying around here somewhere, that's also very bad...right?"

"Mmmmm, very, very bad. That's going to cost you a kiss while I decide how much you're going to be paying." We slid gracefully into each others arms, kissing fierce, long and hard while I tried calculating strokes in my head and ignoring the painful throbbing in my trousers.

The hell with it, we had been playing around long enough, I could tell when you were 'done' with the preliminaries. While continuing to revel in the kiss, I slid a hand into my cavernous leg pocket where I had enough light chain and snaplinks to sling-load a humvee.

My other hand very gently grazed your dripping-wet labia and throbbing little bud of your clit. Feeling sadistic on top of teasing, I gave it a not-too-gentle pinch. I giggled inwardly as your knees buckled and you broke away from the kiss with a deep, gasping moan. I gave the ticklish hollow of your throat above the collar a licking and nibbling kiss before coming up to graze your earlobe. My lips close to your ear, I whispered commandingly "Now, lose the bra and skirt, sweetheart, time to play."

You flashed me a smouldering look for a second before I heard "Mmm, Yes, sir." in a near-mocking tone. As each nipple popped proud and hard from its leather prison, I gave each an "I missed you" bite as you turned your back to me, wiggling your ass teasingly and invitingly at me as the skirt slid down stockinged legs to the floor, I delivered a nice, firm spank. I totally loved your ass. On the other hand, the tits were awful cute too, and I cussed myself for misplacing those nipple clips in this mess of a party. I thought about blindfolding you too, but I wanted you to see the street below as we played.

"Hands in front", and I thanked the architect for the decorative ironwork edging on the balcony. In less time than it now takes to write, a snaplink connected the cuffs together and a foot of chain was hooked on, looped through the iron ivy leaves three times and hooked back in. Quick and effective. The same technique on each ankle secured you neatly in the corner, as beautiful as I'd ever seen you.

Below the crowd began to roar, as the ever-vigilant among the horny drunks of Mardi Gras spotted six feet and one inch of exposed and displayed wonderfully female flesh. You looked down, smiling wickedly, and then back at me. "Oh lust of mine, before we continue, is our lawyer in there sober enough to bail us out of jail if the cops break up our party?"

I looked inside through the patio door to the living room, where Tom was passed out in the arms of some brunette I vaguely remembered him meeting at Pat O'Briens. "Sorry, we're working without a net."

I went back inside, leaving you exposed to the world, high above the street below. Ignoring the anonymous threesome going on in what had been our bed, I slid an aluminum rifle case out from underneath. Unlocking it, I pulled out your favorite flogger, the thuddy elk leather one you'd brought into our relationship when we met. I also found those damned nipple clips I thought I'd lost and a good pinwheel. I left two loaded .45's and some knives in the case as I locked it again. Not that kind of party.

I crept up behind you, as you were smiling and waving off the balcony like Marilyn Monroe on a USO tour. Sliding to your left ankle, trying not to slip on the beads, and figuring I could always get you new stockings later, I started very slowly dragging the pinwheel up the back of your leg, and then back down. I repeated it with your right leg, and then all the way up your back. The backs of your legs were one of those spots that tickled you "just right" and would get the blood pumping a little.

Standing behind you, I nibbled teasingly at the back of your neck, your favorite spot. With that momentary distraction, I slipped the clips onto your rock-hard throbbing nipples, giving the connecting chain an affectionate tug. Using your long red hair as a handhold, I pulled your head back around for a long hard kiss before we got to what I knew was your one true addiction, the flogging. I knew I was no real whipmaster, but there is such a thing as Good Enough To Get The Job Done. I pulled myself together, knowing as usual there was no room to fuck this up. I blocked out the crowd, the gorgeous sight of you, and slowed my breathing.

With that, I carefully delivered the first strokes, watching you arch back in pleasure/pain with a soft hiss. The crowd roared even louder than before, but my concentration rivaled mine on a competitive rifle range during the final match right now. After all, I wanted your back undamaged enough to lay you out and fuck you long, slow, deep, and hard in a couple of hours when I got around to forgiving you for being such a demanding little slut tonight.

Again and again I aimed and delivered, controlling the sensation you craved so much. Yet another string of large metallic-plastic beads sang by as someone with a good arm was able to make launch them up three floors. The balcony below us was probably being bombarded with them, snowed under with riches in what in any other town would be worthless.

Soon enough your moans were nearly orgasmic, and your creamy, freckled back was a darkening pinkish color, good enough. I leaned forward over you and bestowed upon you a two-minute, teeth-and-tongue teasing kiss on the nape of your neck again. As I nibbled, I slid a hand between your thighs, probing and teasing. You pushed against my hand with a soft whimper. "Sweetheart, if I don't get fucked really, really good tonight, I'm dumping you." I pondered that as I tasted you on my fingers....

There are times a sub can give a dom an order and make it stick.

******

Ah, celiese. You broke my heart, but it was fun while it lasted.