I looked round the fetish club, full of friends and, presumably, friends-of-friends, there for celebrating someone's birthday-ending-in-zero. Any excuse, really, for hiring out the whole place and hugely reducing the quotient of bug-eyed newbies getting in the way.
More importantly, it eliminated that swarm of wanking blokes who always get too close to a scene, keep trying to 'accidentally' touch women, claim they didn't know the rules, and invariably get their dicks out so close you have to worry about spatter. There's probably men reading this, thinking "not all men", which is certainly true - decent men get equally annoyed by these tossers - but trust me, they are
always
men.
As a woman, especially one usually being the recipient of attention in a scene, the chances of my curvaceous arse and lovely large breasts being touched only by the person I want touching them, is key to whether I'm happy to play in a club or not.
But this place was great. Various respectful scenes happening in the main play space - I'd been in one, audience sitting or standing by the wall, quietly observing. Someone I didn't know was having... an experience? ... in the room with a swing, which I hadn't realised was actually physically possible. You live and learn.
A dozen people, mainly friends of mine, were enjoying themselves in the giant Jacuzzi, but I'd been in there earlier in the evening and didn't feel like it again.
What was a girl to do next?
I wandered to the bar for another drink, winced at the prices more than I had under my beating just before, and took an orange juice. Liquid and sugars, very important in the circs.
A tab set up with my wristband number was very handy, seeing as I was wearing nothing else. "How's it going?", my friend asked me. "Nice marks on your bottom, there..."
"Good, thanks. And yes, aren't they good? Just wondering what to do now... see who else is here, I suppose."
"Bunch of people from up north just arrived... They've mostly headed to the Jacuzzi... Oh, do you remember John, you know, black hair, energetic geek, lives with Cathy? He was asking if you were here. Looked quite pleased when I said you were, if you get my drift..."
I remembered him all right. Most decorative chap, reputedly a highly-skilled top, certainly with a filthy mind and wicked sense of humour. We'd never played, though; our negotiations had got as far as yes, we had compatible interests, but sadly, so little time...
I went to look for him.
As it turned out, I didn't need to. Just as I left the bar space to pass through the 'cuddling area' - a room full of huge wipe-clean beanbags and some similarly hygienic beds - I was grabbed round the shoulders.
"You're here!" A gleeful voice in my ear, and a firm kiss, central on my cheek. I could take this in any direction, dialling the situation up or down as I chose. I turned my head and kissed him back on the mouth, which, with him holding me tight, enabled an excellent full-on snog, my bare body pressed to his dressed one, from head to toe.
We stopped after a minute or two, possibly when he noticed my efforts to avoid spilling my drink. I knocked it back. He took the glass back to the bar for me, and returned, upon which his game was to hold me round the waist and try to push me against the wall.
"I'm not really up for anything standing, right now," I told him.
He nodded, and we fell sideways into a giant beanbag. We wrestled a bit, which from my much-weaker point of view was pointless but still fun, and soon he was lying on top of me.
A clothed man on a naked woman.
His leg, clad in black jodhpurs or similar, rested between my legs, the weight of his pelvis on mine, his chest's centre of gravity between my breasts, my arms somehow wedged by my sides, helpless.
He raised his chin to look into my eyes from a few inches above them.
"Happy?"
"Yes."
"Good."
It was all peaceful for a minute, as I enjoyed his body weighing on top of me, but also, I didn't know what to say. No-one else was entering this large room, other than to cross it at the far end. He broke the silence for me.
A quiet command, spoken clearly into my ear: "Tell me what you want."
How to even start to answer such a question?
"Um, well, this is good, uh, well, you know I like bottoming, bondage, being hit by thuddy things..."
"I know. And I'm feeling
very
toppy today, so we're sorted there. But I want to know what's in your head, before we do anything. You say bottoming, not sub?"
I shrugged, as much as I could in the circs.
"People laugh at the idea of me being submissive, go 'yeah, right'."
"Never asked you to sub to them?"
I shook my head. "Not in years. Loads of 'can I hit you like this or that' , 'shall we try blah and blah' ... But, expecting me to bend to their will... no."
He looked intrigued, and shrugged himself, as if changing the route his mind was going down. "Interesting... But back to you, me, now... You like being beaten," - he reached down to grope my arse cheeks with clawed fingers, and I moaned happily as his nails dug into my bruises there. "What do you like about it?"
"The feeling after, when someone touches me there... Yeah. Like that..." That was an easy question.
"How does that feel?"
"Oh! That's like being fucked hard, just from where you're pressing your thumb!"
He removed his thumb.
Bastard.
Then he rubbed the whole area gently, which was beautiful, so good on all that tender flesh, and I forgave him.
"And during it? Or before?"
"Oh, anticipation is... Good, yeah. You know. A bit scary, building up to both pain and pleasure..."
He smiled.
"I know." He drummed his fingers against my skin. "Do you like the fear? Or nervousness, anticipation?"
"Mm. I suppose."
"Think about it. Does waiting and anticipating arouse you?"
I pictured myself, standing toes and nose to a wall, waiting to be spanked. "OK, yes. Yes, it does."
"And when the pain starts - are you scared then? Do you worry it'll be too much, or really harm you, or you won't be able to take it?"
"A little." I exhaled, as his tapping made clear he expected more of an answer. "I suppose, I have to trust the person not to cause lasting harm or I wouldn't be with them in the first place?"
"Good. What about the fear of it being too intense, too much for you?"
"There's a bit of that, sometimes, but no, usually what happens is, they start slow and gentle and I relax, thinking this is nice, and then by the time it builds up, I'm managing to exist in the moment, nothing to worry about other than breathing, keeping going... I guess if the top decided to hurt me in other ways that I don't find at all... pleasurable, then I'd be worrying about that, but then that wouldn't be a scene, that would just be abuse and torture?"
"I get you. If its the right sort of pain, then your brain just accepts and there's no fear, and if it's the wrong sort, then you're not getting into a playing headspace anyway?"
"I guess."
"Don't worry. I'm sure I can hurt you in lots of the
right
ways you've told me about before."
OK, now I'm nervous...
"And do you like..." He stroked down my side, held me down firmly, "being...made... vulnerable?"
"Yes. It's why I don't play with just anyone - I need to trust so much... I love the way bondage forces me to relax, accept what is going to happen, and then all I have to do is let it happen, no decisions, no stress, you know what I mean?"
A far-off look in his eye suggested that yes, he did.
"All helpless, anything could happen," he murmured. "But what?" He wanted to find out the more secret parts of what turned me on, possibly never even admitted to myself, I later realised. "So... you might like to be tied down, somewhere like here, in that room there" - he gestured with his head.
"Yes."
