Sensitive Research - Discoveries 02

I suggest you read chapter 1 of this story.

*

I lay there, naked and bent over the sofa of this woman I had met just a little over an hour ago. She had a finger up my ass, and was slowly rotating it.

"I know you like being violated this way, you little slut, I can smell how turned on you are," the woman said to me. I was not going to try to argue with her; I knew that she expected total obedience from me, and besides, the argument would be futile as my body was betraying my true feelings. I was getting aroused from having her finger shoved up my ass; it was the combination of the humiliation, as well as the physical stimulation, that was having such an effect on me. I could feel my pussy continuing to leak, my juices beginning to trail down my inner thighs which were spread so far apart.

After rotating her finger a few times, she began pistoning it in and out of my ass, slowly at first, but then picking up speed. It felt so good, and in a moment of cogent thought I remembered that in my research on BDSM I had read that the nerve endings in the anus were highly sensitive and more numerous than in the vagina. I began to believe that I could have orgasmed just from the anal stimulation, but just as I felt myself approaching the peak, she removed her finger, leaving me feel void back there. I then felt a hard slap on my left cheek, as I realized she had spanked me. "That's a good little pet, there'll be plenty more of that later. And if you're good, you'll get to worship my ass. Now stand up."

I did as she commanded, even more aware of the feeling of my pussy juices running down my thighs. As I rose I glanced at my dress that she had draped across the back of the sofa and over which I had prostrated myself, and sure enough, I could see a wet spot where my pussy had been leaning against it. I was overcome again by a feeling of humiliation and shame.

"Come with me," she said, as she started walking across the living room. I followed behind her, noticing again the spectacular views of Los Angeles from her 20th floor apartment. She walked through the large living room and down a hallway which had a few doors opening off of it. The hallway ended at another door, which she opened and walked through. As I followed, I saw that we were in a huge bedroom, a room that was at least 20 feet square. Like the living room, it had floor-to-ceiling windows, and the curtains were wide open providing another set of spectacular views. Centered on the far wall was a king-sized bed with a large, slatted headboard and footboard.

"Stand there," she commanded. I stopped where I was, just a few feet into the room. I watched as she walked to the bed, grabbed the comforter from the top, and pulled it down to the bottom, revealing what looked a set of lavender-colored satin sheets. She grabbed a couple of the pillows and propped them up against the headboard.

"Come," she beckoned, crooking her finger at me as she stood by the bed. I walked toward her, again painfully aware of my nakedness compared to her standing there in her robe. As I came to approach her I stopped right in front of her.

"Down on your knees," she commanded, and I dropped onto the floor, glad that it was carpeted and providing some cushioning. I knelt there, waiting. She reached down and opened a drawer in the nightstand on that side of the bed, and removed something that I could not see from my angle below her.

She bent down and grabbed my right breast. I could now see that she had nipple clamps in her hand, and she opened one and released it on my nipple.

"Ow," I cried out, the sharp pain coursing through my nipple and throughout my body. That earned me a sharp slap on my breast, causing the pain from the clamp to intensify.

"Quiet, slut," she said to me as she reached across and repeated the action on my left breast. I somehow managed not to react this time, at least not verbally. "I don't want to hear a word from you unless I ask you a question, do you understand?"

"Yes," I squeaked, trying to breathe through the intense pain I was now feeling.

"Yes, what?" she inquired, now holding her hand under my chin to raise my gaze up into her eyes.

"Yes, ma'am?" I asked questioningly, not sure if that was what she was looking for.

"That's right," she said, "you will refer to me as 'ma'am' or 'mistress' when you respond to me. Now get up, and lie face down on the bed, your feet on this side and your head on the other." She pointed toward the far side of the bed, indicating that I should lie across it sideways, right next to the footboard. I got up from my knees, and lied down. While I had just started to get used to the pain from the nipple clamps, having my large breasts pressed against the bed with the clamps on them brought them back to their original painful state. I was also aware that my wet pussy was likely to be leaving a stain on her sheets, which I realized truly were satin as I lay myself down on them.

I heard her rustling in the nightstand drawer again. "Okay, my pet, time for me to let you know who's the boss here. I'm going to paddle your big ass, and I want you to count each swat. If you miss one, it'll be back to the beginning and we'll start over. Since you're still a new slut for me, I'm going to go easy on you and just give you ten."

I immediately tensed up, realizing what was coming. Lady Amber, one of the dommes I had interviewed in Chicago for my research study, had spanked me when I had fallen under her spell a few months ago. And I certainly didn't enjoy it.

Before I knew it, the first blow hit my left cheek. "One," I managed to get out through gritted teeth, realizing that like Lady Amber, she was using some kind of paddle on me. The blow also pushed my entire body into the bed, multiplying the pain on my nipples.

The second blow landed on my right cheek. "Two." She continued alternating, until all ten blows had been landed. It was all I could do to hold back the tears that I felt welling up in my eyes, from both the physical and emotional toll the beating had taken on me.

"You're such a good little pet," she praised me, and I felt a soft hand gently caressing my cheeks. "Taking that paddling without a word of complaint. For that, I'm going to give you a reward."

I heard her rustling around again, and then felt the bed move as I realized she had gotten onto it. "Okay, pet, come here." I rose up, and as I turned I looked at her, I saw she was now totally naked, laying back against the pillows she had earlier propped against the headboard. She was magnificent, with large breasts that stood proudly on her chest with no sag at all, quite a contrast with my 40DD breasts that immediately sagged toward my belly as soon as they were freed from a bra. Each was topped by a large nipple standing proudly tall, a signal of her arousal. She was not thin, but muscular, clearly in good shape as I had observed when I first saw her. Her public hair was neatly trimmed, allowing her prominent labia to be quite visible.

As I turned toward her, she pointed toward her crotch and said, "Get to work -- let me see what you've learned so far."

*******************

As Maggie and I were driving out of Santa Monica, I turned to Maggie and asked, "So where's this club you're taking me to?"

"West Hollywood," she replied.

"Isn't that the gay neighborhood?" I asked.

"Yup."

"So is it a gay bar?"

"Oh sweetie," Maggie chuckled at me, "you're showing your age. There's really not anything like a 'gay bar' in LA any more. Everyone just sort of mingles, no matter who they like to sleep with."

"Sorry for being the small town hick," I said back to her, smiling.

She smiled back, "No worries, dear, I'll take good care of you."

We arrived about 15 minutes later, and Maggie parked on the street just down the block from the club. As we walked into it I could see that it was pretty empty, even though it was dimly lit. There was some dance music playing, though nobody was on the dance floor yet, as it was only about 9:00 and a Sunday night.

We grabbed a small table near the dance floor, and as we were sitting down, a waitress came by and asked, "What would you girls like?"

"Do you have a sauvignon blanc by the glass," I replied, and she said they did.

"Make it two," Maggie chimed in.

The waitress headed for the bar, and as we waited for her, I looked around the room as my eyes were adjusting to the dim light and I could see a little better. I realized that while there weren't many people in the room, every one of them, from the bartender, to our waitress, to the DJ spinning the tunes, to the patrons, were all women. "Not a gay bar, huh?" I said to her, my hand subtly sweeping around the room.

She laughed at me. "Well, not all the time at least, but yes, the fourth Sunday of every month is lesbian night. You're very perceptive, professor."

"Thanks. All that experience observing women the last few months has heightened my observational skills," I said with only a hint of sarcasm in my voice. "And why did you choose this place?"

"I've been here a few time with friends. It's nice to go someplace where you don't have to worry about some dickhead guy hitting on you all the time. And the music is not too loud, is danceable, and the drinks are reasonable."

I laughed inside at that, thinking that she certainly doesn't have to worry about the cost of drinks with all the money she and Dave have. But I had to admit that she was right about the music; it was a good mix and not so loud that you couldn't hear someone talking to you from three feet away.

The waitress returned with our wine and a bowl of pretzels. "You want to start a tab?"

Maggie opened up her purse and handed her a credit card. "Sure."

"Hey," I objected, reaching for my purse, "you've already provided me with two great meals today, how about if you let me buy the drinks?"

"No way, José," she replied, "you're our guest here."

I knew enough not to argue with her, and put my purse back down. We sipped our wine, and I continued to look around the bar. More people were starting to file in, and a few people were beginning to make their way to the dance floor. We chatted about the day, and I told her how lucky she was to have Dave as a husband.

"Yes, I am," she agreed. "He's certainly not perfect, and we've had our ups and downs, but all in all he's been a good husband and father to the girls. I can't complain."

Just then, Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" came on, and Maggie stood and grabbed my hand. "C'mon girl, they're playing our song!"

I laughed at her memory. When we were in graduate school and used to go out to clubs with other people in our cohort, every time that song came on, we'd all immediately hit the dance floor. It was such a campy favorite, we couldn't resist throwing every dance move we had into that song.

I got up and followed her onto the dance floor, holding her hand. We started dancing and laughing at our memories, and it drew other people onto the floor as well. Three songs later, I finally said breathlessly, "I need a break!" and headed back to the table, Maggie following behind me.

We plopped down into our seats, and both of us eagerly downed the rest of our wines. Maggie signaled for the waitress, holding up two fingers, and she nodded and a minute later returned with two more glasses of wine.

"God, that was fun," she said. "I do love dancing, but Dave's not really into it, so he's usually happy to allow me to go out with my girlfriends every now and then."

"Well, I have to admit that I can't even remember the last time I was out at a club like this."

"Geez, girl, I told you earlier that you're not dead yet. You need to have a life," she admonished me.

"I know, I know," I replied, "but it's just not my kind of thing."

"What the fuck are you talking about, you were a whirling dervish out there on the dance floor!"

"Oh, Maggie, you're so good for me," I laughed, punching her lightly in the shoulder.

We drank our wines, both still thirsty from our exertions on the dance floor. I was definitely getting a little bit of a buzz on, as I rarely had more than one and my tolerance was pretty low.

I still had a little bit left in my glass, but Maggie had finished hers, and she signaled another round from the waitress. I looked at her. "Hey, you going to be able to drive home?" I asked.

"Sure, don't worry, I'll stop in plenty of time before I need to drive again," she reassured me.

"Okay, just checking." I figured what the hell, I wasn't driving and didn't have to be up early in the morning, so why shouldn't I have another.

As we waited for the waitress to come back, Maggie leaned in to me so she could speak a little more quietly and still have me hear her over the music. "So, to continue to conversation from earlier -- tell me what it is that was so arousing about those scenes you were observing."

I laughed at her. "You're relentless, aren't you?"

"Just a little," she laughed back.

"Okay, okay." I knew she wasn't going to let up, so I might as well tell her about it. "Well, I guess for me it was the whole thing about these clients relinquishing control to the dommes. Many of them were high-powered women -- doctors, lawyers, bankers, even some academics."

"You met some professors?" she asked, sounding astonished.

"We didn't get to interview any, but one of the dommes said that she had clients who were faculty at a local university."

"Cool. Go on."

"Okay," I continued. "So it was the idea that these women, who were so in control in their professional lives, and many of them told me in their home lives as well, who willingly paid money -- and large sums in money in most cases -- to be able to just give up total control and turn themselves over to these dommes for one, two, or three hours, or even a whole evening."

"I understand that notion of the need to subjugate yourself in that way," Maggie said, "but I guess what I don't understand is why that was so erotic for you."

I hesitated at first, not sure exactly how much I could, or wanted, to tell Maggie. Fortunately at that point the waitress returned with our drinks, so I had a moment to collect my thoughts. As I considered it, I decided that Maggie was the one person in my life who I trusted unquestioningly, so I really had no reason not to answer her honestly.

I sipped my third glass of wine to buy just a few more seconds. Maggie did the same, but after she put her glass down, she looked at me, waiting for a response.

I sighed. "I'll do my best to explain it to you, Maggie, but I'm not sure I really understand all of it myself."

She could tell I was struggling, so she reached out again and held my hand. "Go ahead."

"I guess it was the adoration with which these subs treated the dommes that got to me. These women -- all ages, shapes, and sizes -- treated their dommes as if they would do anything for their adoration and to please them. And trust me, I saw quite a bit," I added, trying to add a light note to my commentary.

"I can imagine," she said, still holding my hand.

"So as I saw these women doing that, feeling these strong emotions, I thought to myself, my god, I've never experienced emotional and physical feelings even half as strong for someone as these women felt for their dommes. The look in their eyes, the reaction of their bodies, the depths to which they would allow themselves to go in service to their domme -- it was just stunning. You can read about it, but until you have seen it right in front of your own eyes, I don't think you can really understand it." And I then added, in an even softer voice, "I just longed for that kind of experience in my life."

Maggie squeezed my hand. "Oh sweetie, I can just imagine what that was like for you. But I have to ask a question. Why did it have such a strong impact on you when you're not a lesbian?"

"That's just the thing, Maggie. Most of these women did not identify as lesbian. Only a handful of the women we interviewed identified that way. Many of them were in relationships with men, even married to a man for years, but there was a very deep-seated need that could be fulfilled for them only by giving themselves so willingly to another woman. Others were not currently in relationships with men, but still identified as straight, or sometimes bi, but they somehow compartmentalized what they did with these dommes as being outside of their regular, everyday sexual identity. I think that's an important part of why it resonated with me, because I looked at these woman and thought to myself, this could very easily be me."

It would have been very easy for me to continue on, and explain to Maggie that in fact, it was me, that I had actually experienced myself some of what these women did. But even after almost three glasses of wine, I wasn't ready for that yet.

The wine had gotten to me in more than one way, and I realized I now had to pee badly. I stood, and said to Maggie, "I've got to go pee, need to join me?"

"Not yet, thanks. You go ahead." She pointed toward the back of the room, and I headed in that direction.

I walked into the bathroom and into a stall, hiked up my dress, and lowered my panties. As I sat on the seat, I felt the relief as the pee started flowing out of me and splashing into the bowl. It took a while, but when I finally got the last drop out of me, I grabbed some toilet paper, and gently wiped. I was shocked to find that I was a little wet, and not from the pee. I wasn't sure why, but surmised that my recollecting for Maggie what I had seen in my observations was bringing back some memories of what I experienced as well. I took a few more sheets to make sure I dried well, stood up, pulled up my panties, and dropped my dress, smoothing it over my lower body as it fell.

I wasn't sure whether Maggie was going to continue to push me to reveal more, but I decided I needed to calm down a little. I went to the sink and splashed some cold water on my face. I took my lip gloss and rouge out of my pocketbook and carefully touched it up.

As I left the bathroom and got closer to our table, I saw that somebody had pulled up a third chair and was talking to Maggie. "Susan, sweetie, I want you to meet someone," Maggie said as I approached. The woman rose and turned toward me. At what must have been at least 5' 9" or 5' 10", she towered over me. I stuck my hand out. She ignored it, and, leaned down to give me a hug as I heard Maggie saying, "This is my friend JJ."

I looked at her a little more closely. She was African American with an Afro cut very short. She had what most would call a traditional hour-glass figure, which was easy to see in the tight knit dress she was wearing. The dress accentuated her wide hips, a narrow waist, and impressive cleavage accentuated by the plunging neckline. It was evident she was not wearing a bra, because her nipples were quite prominently pushing out below the low cut neckline of the dress. She had a face that I would describe as "cute"; not classically beautiful, but a youthful look with a button nose, wide-set eyes and full, plush lips, even though she looked to be about my age. The dress stopped just above her knees, revealing a pair of powerful but well-shaped legs. As I looked down her back while she hugged me, I could see that she had what I was surprised to find myself thinking of as a stunning ass, so well displayed by the dress, and just beautifully proportioned to the rest of her body.

As she released me, I said, "Nice to meet you, JJ, I'm Susan."

"Yes, I know, Maggie was just telling me about you. Nice to meet you as well." I noticed that Maggie had finished her latest glass of wine, and JJ had what looked like some kind of mixed drink in front of her. Maggie didn't seem to be showing any effects of the wine, but then again, she had always been able to hold her liquor better than I.