She was tall – that was the very first thing he noticed. He was sitting at the bar, and she’d glided past just at the edge of his vision, inviting him to crane his neck and look again. His initial, uncharitable thought – given her height – was that she was a transvestite, but when he took another, longer look at her, he knew that this was definitely not a mistake he would have made if he’d got more than the briefest glimpse of her. Or if this club had better lighting. Or if he hadn’t been surrounded by transvestites – as well as rubber-corsetted nuns, adult babies and leather-clad dominatrixes.
Second look – yeah, she was definitely tall. Not quite up to his own six feet and four inches, but she’d reach his shoulders, at least. Tall enough that he could kiss her standing up, without feeling like a giraffe taking a drink of water. But that was just the icing on the cake… and this was an amazing cake. She was – quite literally – stunning. Well, he was stunned and that was as literal as it got, right? He drank in the black, thigh-length boots, the black, skintight costume, the whip stuck so casually in the black belt and he wondered if she was modelling herself on Catwoman. Oh, Christ, he hoped she was. What a fantasy that would be. Well… if he could get close to her, anyway.
It was – obviously – a fetish club. His first night at “The Gaol”. His first night in a strange town as well, but that’s not important at this point in the narrative. What is important is that so far, he’s been relishing every minute of his first night at The Gaol. Yeah, this was his scene all right. A place where he could indulge freely in every kink he had. A place where he could wear as much – or as little – as he liked. And right now, he was wearing very little. A posing pouch, a collar and his tattoos. Black stripes running down his back and curling round to disappear into the top of his pouch. Drawing the eye of the observer and concluding – he hoped – in a curiosity regarding what still lay hidden.
He had taken the idea from a book of fantasy art. From a picture of a feral-looking girl, poised in the jungle, ready to pounce. And, liking the idea of looking animalistic himself, he had commissioned the series of tattoos and got them indelibly marked onto his body over a series of long, painful weeks. It was worth it, though, going by the amount of second looks he’d had tonight. Second looks from everybody, it seemed, barring Catwoman there.
She was gone. The cat was gone. Disappeared into the crowd, as lithely and completely as the animal he himself sought to emulate. He swung back to the bar in disappointment and raised his glass to drain the contents, then tried to catch the eye of the big, butch girl with the rose between her breasts to order a refill. Someone tapped him on the shoulder before he succeeded however, and he swung round, hoping the cat had returned.
It wasn’t her.
“Want to play, big boy?” The speaker’s outfit was composed entirely of red leather – such as it was. It amounted to little more than a bikini outfit, with a pair of stiletto heeled shoes. She had a red handbag hanging casually from one shoulder. She was certainly attractive, and he did feel himself spontaneously stirring in response to her invitation. She noticed and her eyes sparkled as they deliberately and indiscreetly looked down at his own indiscretion. “I can see you do,” she said. She held out a hand. “Why not come with me?”
“I’m not submissive,” he answered, but took her hand anyway and allowed her to draw him from the stool.
She smiled at that. “Then why the collar?”
“Decoration,” he answered. “I didn’t think of it as a submissive thing.”
“Then why are you following me?”
OK, she had him there. He smiled shyly. “I’m…
possibly
not submissive,” he amended. “I don’t know yet.”
She led him to the middle of the room. Two hooks were set into the ceiling, with chains hanging down and padded leather cuffs on the ends of the chains. Two more, shorter chains were set into the floor – also with cuffs. “Testing your limits, are you?” she asked.
He nodded. “Experimenting. Finding out,” he answered.
“Then let’s have some fun while you find out.”
During this exchange, she had taken his unresisting arms and fastened them into the cuffs hanging from the ceiling, then dropped to her knees and done the same with his ankles. His erection drooped, as the reality of the situation set in, swiftly followed by the implications of it. He was helpless now, wasn’t he? Maybe he
wasn’t
submissive – but he was still helpless and he was still going to find out what it was like to be submissive. He wasn’t sure how happy he was about that.
“It’s OK, honey… just relax. Say ‘carnations’ if it gets to be too much for you.”
“’Carnations?’” he said, confused.
“Hey, give me a chance to start!” The girl smiled at him, then looked at his face and drained some of the levity away. She moved closer. “Honey, I promise you that nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want to happen. If you want to stop, just say ‘carnations’. It’s a safe word and I always respect it.”
“Why not just say ‘stop’?” he asked.
“Because that’s what people say anyway – whether they want to stop or not.” She laughed at him, suddenly. “You really don’t know much about this kind of thing, do you? It’s part of the fun for a lot of people if they fantasise about being tortured against their will, so begging their tormentor to stop is part of the scene.”
He nodded. “Oh, right. Yeah, I get it now. I don’t like pain, though.”
“Oh, a real virgin, eh? Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you, honey.”
She pulled a blindfold out of her handbag, reached up and tied it over his eyes. “My name’s Carole, Honey. What’s yours?”
“J-James. Um, Jim.”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “Well, Jim. Relax a little and open yourself up to new possibilities. You never can tell what you’re going to enjoy.”
She drifted round behind him, and he felt fingertips trailing across his back, tracing the outline of one of his tattoos. The fingertips of the other hand, traced another one and then both hands slid down his sides, slowly and sensuously, before coming to rest on his waist. He made a soft “mmm” sound of appreciation and arched his back towards her. Her touch left him and he felt suddenly bereft. He waited to find out what would happen next.
It was a while before anything did. It seemed that Carole enjoyed teasing – he waited a long time and started to worry that he had been abandoned. When the flogging began, he was so startled that he cried out in shock. A light, rhythmic pounding from two… two… he didn’t know what they were, but they felt like some kind of heavy tassles. There was no pain, at first – just that pounding, alternating quickly – left, then right, then left, then right. And then, without any noticeable change in pressure or speed, he realised that the sensation was becoming uncomfortable and he started to strain to be out of the their way, but they just followed.
And then stopped. And then Carole’s hands, caressing and soothing where the tassels had been pounding. He sighed and once more pressed against her hands. And once more, she drew them away.
Something else began striking him now. Something bendier, more flexible, stingier… He cried out again, and once more began straining to get out the way. The focus of her attention was his arse now, and just as he was beginning to bless his pouch for affording him some protection, he felt her fingertips slide into his waistband and pull it down slightly, at the back. He flushed bright red, as he wondered what kind of sight he was presenting to anyone who might be in front of him. What could they see? The top of his cock? Not really – the waistband hadn’t gone down that far, in the front. His pubic hair? Definitely.
But then, the one kink he had that he was aware of was exhibitionism, and he knew that he hoped that he was being watched. And with that thought, his cock – treacherous appendage – began to rise and seek out the attention of those potential eyes. It rose upward blindly and got snagged in the elasticated waistband of his pouch, which still offered enough freedom for a full erection. And then, perhaps aware of its stirring, Carole laid off her flagellation once more and pressed herself against Jim’s body, to reach round and caress his cock through the fabric of his pouch.
His sigh came louder than ever and his cock swelled even further and pulsed to her touch. He felt her fingertips slide up his shaft, then slide inside the pouch to dance lightly across his glans, causing his whole body to shudder violently. She laughed softly and did it again. He shuddered once more. She made a soft, humming noise and then started playing with his balls.
“Now, why do you want to be wearing this pouch? Can’t be very comfortable, can it? Not with this monster straining away, inside.”
“I had to wear something,” he said.
“But you are wearing something,” she pointed out, very reasonably. “You have a collar.” He didn’t answer, so she leaned closer until her lips were virtually touching his ear. “You don’t
