Archive for public sex

A Special Invitation

Posted in Nonfiction with tags , , , , , , on August 20, 2009 by scarlettbottom

Remember this post? That fellow is my costar in this one, too.

Last night was my second spanking from him. He’s the DM at a weekly playspace. Last week I asked him to try a few different toys so I could experience a range of different sensations. They all ran together quite a lot, and when he was finished, he rested his hand on my back, as I slid right off the end of the bench into a puddle on the floor. He looked down at me on the floor, grinning, and assisted me to my feet. Half carrying me over to the edge of the playspace to recover, he handed me over to a friend who set me on a bar stool.

Sometimes one can be so deep in subspace that normal activities seem unnatural. Like sitting on a chair.
“Can I sit on the floor?”
“Absolutely.”
I slid down to the floor, petticoats spread out everywhere, completely unconscious of the staring crowd. S came back and I leaned my head on his knee, his fingers wrapped in my hair.

I wasn’t able to indulge in this very long because this girl lines up several dates in a night; Luke beckoned me over for a suspension. He suspended me from my hips, upside down, hands and heels together. It was my first suspension and I had a great time. But the best part was that I could feel that S was watching.

Last night S noticed me as soon as I came into the club.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
Since he’s the DM I have to wait an awfully long time for his attention; he has work to do. About 1:30, I went hunting for him.
“I’m going to have to insist in a moment.”
“Oh no, we’re going upstairs right… in a minute.”
He held me around my waist and chatted with a few people (I love being a trophy on someone’s arm- and the higher the status of the man, the more satisfying the experience) and then took my hand and lead me upstairs. Standing in the playpit, he held me by my hair and instructed me to pick out three favorite toys and lay them on the spanking bench. I chose two different paddles and a crop, and played “poor me” to get a flogger and and bare hand, as well. Five toys? Sure, indulge the kitten.

I stepped out of my skirt. In just a wifebeater tank top, towering heels, and bare-assed, I leaned against the bench, basking in the attention from the growing crowd and letting suspense build. But I forgot all about my audience when S came back. He pushed down hard on my back, down to the bench, gripping my hair, and using first a flogger and then hands to stroke and slap my ass and pussy. He leaned over me, talking dirty in the best bdsm tradition- “You’re a very dirty girl, aren’t you? You like it when I hold you down like that? I bet you’d like to be even more restrained- how’s that? You’re a bit of a slut, aren’t you?” He put his finger in my mouth and I melted. How is it that he knows exactly what I want him to do?

He pulled me to a sitting position, straddling the bench.
“Do you drink vodka?”
“Sure.”
“Are you driving?”
“No.”
He took a shot into his mouth, and then fed it to me, and then another. Let me tell you, I’m not normally a fan of shots, but that was the smoothest vodka I’ve ever had. It probably helped that he was holding me up by my hair and leaning into me like that.

He pulled me up and walked me over the the cross. Kicking my feet apart, he stood with one knee between mine and leaned in, pressing my lower back into the crux of the cross. He nibbled my ears and neck (nibbling for this guy isn’t what you would normally think of as nibbling) finally kissing my mouth before putting his hand over it. I’m guessing that breath play isn’t normally allowed at this PG-13 club, but when you’re the boss you do what you want. I like rule-breakers anyhow.

Someone came over to him and said it was 2:20 and time to clean up. He swore mentally and pulled out a horrible wooden paddle and gave me three of the hardest slaps I’ve ever had. Ouch! That was like a hairbrush. I stood and turned around, sitting down on the bench (so we ended up using all of the furniture in the space) and he wrapped an arm around my waist and invited me to play at his personal dungeon at his home before sweeping me up in his arms. I snuggled my face into his chest and he held me for a little bit, before setting me back on my feet smoothly.

“Scarlett, how old are you?
“22. How old are you?”
Sigh. “36.”
“I’ve never played with anyone younger than 30. And I choose my tops carefully.”

He went to tidy up the toy box and get some people to put the furniture away. As I unlaced his corset, he made an apology to the club manager for taking so long: “Sorry about that, I was playing with Scarlett. Look at that cute ass! How could I resist?” I, for my part, hammed it up and he laid a hand on my lower back and bit my right ass cheek so hard I screamed. That bite mark is going to last for days.

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No pressure

Posted in Nonfiction with tags , , , , , on August 4, 2009 by scarlettbottom

I had a few firsts the other night. I spent a night tied to a bed, knees tied together with yellow rope (“for my own protection”), wrists tied to the headboard. I slept in rope and restraints for the first time. This was also first real experience with rope (I already knew I loved it, Styrn and I experimented very briefly). I also had my first paddling, albeit very lightly. (Delicious.)

He woke up periodically to check my extremities and see that I was comfortable. That’s consideration. We went through three or four changes of restraint, different ties, different cuffs, different levels of freedom of movement. He also made some discoveries by accident, most notably my love of breath control and my addiction to corseting. The best part of having a new lover is the discoveries you make about each other, usually inadvertently, just running hands over skin and listening to breathing. The confirmation of eye contact.

He tied two ropes around my waist and ribcage (about four wraps each, doubled), which felt divine. I wondered aloud about creating a corset for waist training out of something flexible like rope- the point is the pressure on the ribcage and organs, not the posture. If I had a corset that was comfortable to sit in, I would definitely wear it all the time.

I also loved the blindfold. I don’t normally like to have things on my face, so I struggled with that for a bit, but finally I was able to relax enough to enjoy my other senses being heightened, as well as fall asleep in it.

He’s rough enough with my nipples. It’s not necessarily about the amount of pressure, but how long the sensation goes on. Like a light spanking that goes on and on.

Tomorrow night I’m going to have a few more firsts. I’m going to be tied up by a rigger at a bondage club. I’m excited about it. Because it’s my first time working with this guy, we’re not doing suspension (in the name of safety). Regardless, this should be thrilling. It’s also going to be my first time playing in public, which might be overwhelming. Plus it’s going to be in front of one of the Doms I most admire, so I have to be on my absolute best behavior to make a good impression. No pressure.

Dinner Party

Posted in Fiction with tags , , on August 1, 2009 by scarlettbottom

We’re at a restaurant. Me and my dates. I’m sitting in the middle of a horseshoe shaped booth, two men on either side of me. This is my fourth glass of wine.

The fellow sitting to my right asks me at a whisper if I wouldn’t mind, you know, playing with him a little bit. The tablecloth is long after all, and no one can see. I don’t mind, of course. I’m not very subtle though, and after a few seconds the other guys at the table have caught on. I watch them, grinning, exchanging sly glances across the table. Not only is this a girl who goes out with several men at once, this is a girl who might give a handjob in public. In a well-lit restaurant, no less.

The man to my left: “You’ve dropped your napkin.” Wink.

“Oh, so I have. Thank you.” Glancing around for the waitress, I slide under the table. My, these gentlemen are an excited bunch. Unzipping the pants of the man to my left, I take out his cock and begin stroking it to full hardness with my hand while rubbing his neighbor through his slacks. I can hear their muffled conversation and nervous laughter. I’m smiling as I slide a third cock into my mouth, and wrap my fingers around the fourth.

Oh, here’s the waitress. She wants to know if we want dessert. I tap the thigh of my man who belongs to the cock in my mouth. Yes, I certainly do want dessert. He asks for the menu. Another man passes a menu to me under the table. I read it out of the corner of my eye, running my tongue around the head of another delicious cock. Making my selection, I place the menu in my seat, finger on my choice, the fingers of my other hand on something equally delicious.

Above the table, the tension is building. The men shift uncomfortably in their seats. The waitress returns.

“A cherry clafoutis for the lady.” “Certainly.”

The man I’m currently serving reaches under the table and caresses my breast for a moment, lifting it out of my low cut dress. Another man holds my hand tightly, while I bring him to the edge. This is a calculated enterprise; none of these men will be satisfied until I have had dessert. First things first.

Arranging my hair and my dress, I reappear in my seat, wiping my mouth with my errant napkin. As I reapply my lipstick, my dessert arrives.