Musical Beds

by Justine Elyot

  Vanessa met Ben’s parents and nobody got shot. In fact, everybody got pleasantly tipsy and there was much laughter and clumsy dancing and the birthday meal ended with all of them getting turned away from a taxi rank for being too rowdy, especially Ben’s father, who was singing Mrs Robinson at the top of his voice.

  Milan and Sarah seemed to be getting very much closer, very quickly. They appeared to be inseparable after rehearsals and, by the week before the Prom, Milan had even stopped chasing after Lydia and trying to lure her back.

  She was relieved. Or was she? Was relief the word?

  Everyone had to move on sometime, she thought sadly. And it wasn’t as if she had shut herself away, mourning his loss.

  On the contrary, she spent more and more time with von Ritter, especially since he’d found a decent apartment. They played kinky sex games almost every night—rope bondage, spanking with all kinds of implements, nipple clamps, sex toys of every description. Yet they had still never had full sexual intercourse.

  Lydia wanted to ask why, but, on the other hand, she was afraid of the answer.

  They did everything else—hand jobs, oral sex, penetration with dildos and vibrators, even butt plugs. But the joining of their flesh, cock to cunt—that was one frontier von Ritter seemed reluctant to cross. Was he waiting for some mythical right moment? Or would it never happen? Sooner or later, she was going to have to steel herself to ask outright.

  But the Prom was mere days away and the orchestra had entered into a feverish time of intense rehearsal, pre-publicity and promotion. Relationship questions were going to have to wait. Besides, they were happy enough. Life was sweet, full of potential, excitement on the warm air. Why spoil it?

  “I want to show you off,” said von Ritter, lying in bed after Lydia had swallowed down a mouthful of his semen.

  “Show me off?” She wiped her mouth and lay down beside him.

  “Yes.” He caressed her stomach idly. “Dress you up and take you somewhere. Let everyone know that you’re mine.”

  Her pussy clenched at the words. Lately, von Ritter had talked more and more of ownership, of collaring, of some kind of test of commitment.

  The idea excited her, but at the same time it seemed too soon. She was not sure she was ready to dedicate herself to him.

  “Somewhere like where? Out for dinner?”

  “No, Liebchen. I’m thinking more of a place where we can be ourselves. There is a private club in the city I used to visit.”

  “A BDSM club?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Wow.”

  “What do you think?”

  “What would I have to do?”

  “What would you have to do?” He rolled onto his side, grinning widely now, pinching her nipples between practiced fingers. “What you always have to do. What you’re told.”

  “Would it be an orgy?” she asked, thinking back to the party in Vienna where she’d so memorably engaged with two famous movie stars.

  “No, not an orgy. I don’t plan to share you. I just want to display you. I’m proud of you. You’re a wonderful submissive. I want all the other Doms to be jealous of me.”

  “Oh, it’s about vanity and status, is it?” she teased.

  “Isn’t everything? Sorry, that sounds cynical. No, it isn’t really. I just want everyone to know what a terrific girl I’ve got. Is that so bad?”

  “I never said it was bad.” She thought about it, imagining dark dungeons and iron maidens against the dripping walls. “What’s it like there?”

  “It’s very nice. Different rooms, you know. If you want a dungeon, you can have that. Or, if you don’t, there are plenty of other settings.”

  “I see. What would I really have to do, Karl-Heinz? How far would you want to go?”

  “Well, I guess I’d like to show off your body. Perhaps have a go at tying you up, maybe whipping you.”

  “In front of an audience?”

  “Yes, in front of an audience. But you won’t know any of them. How would you feel about that?”

  She bit her lip. It really seemed far too silly to claim that she was shy, after everything she’d done. But she was. All the same, the activities von Ritter had mentioned appealed to her. The fantasy of being spanked in public was an old and often-visited one in the dark of the night.

  And they wouldn’t know her…

  And von Ritter would be proud of her…

  And perhaps he would let her inside his head, as a reward.

  “Well, all right,” she said. “But there won’t be anyone I know there? For sure?”

  “Ninety-nine per cent sure,” he said. “Is that good enough?”

  “I think so.”

  * * * *

  On the Thursday night before the Prom, Lydia arrived at von Ritter’s apartment to find some clothing laid out on a chair for her. If you could call it clothing. Black and shining like oil, it lay drawing all the light of the room into it.

  “Do you like it?” Von Ritter stood at the side of the room, sipping at a brandy.

  “I’m not sure it’ll fit,” she said doubtfully.

  “It’ll fit. Look. I’ll help you.”

  He put down his glass and picked up the first of the two garments, a glossy corset top with frilly shoulder straps.

  “You can’t put this on by yourself, after all,” he said. “Well, then. Get undressed.”

  Lydia began removing her clothes, eyeing the corset with suspicion.

  “It looks uncomfortable.”

  “It’ll hold you in at the waist, but I won’t lace it too tight. I want you to be able to breathe.”

  “That’s reassuring.” Lydia folded her clothes neatly onto a chair and stood naked, shaved as instructed, ready to be locked into the scary new garment.

  In the event, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as she had feared. Von Ritter pulled the back laces until she was a perfect hourglass, then knotted them tight. Her breasts were pushed together and raised high by the low, square-cut neckline. The bustier ended in a soft V-shape, its tip pointing directly down at her naked pussy.

  She could breathe without difficulty, but she was highly aware of her squeezed-in stomach and her prominent breasts.

  “Lovely. So lovely,” said von Ritter.

  He handed her a pair of knickers made from the same material, puffed up and decorated with elasticated lace. The cold material felt strange against her skin, especially the way it brushed and clung to her pussy.

  The final touches were a pair of thigh-high hold-up stockings and some ribbon-tied heels that forced her to jut her bottom out when she walked in them.

  “What do you think?” Von Ritter showed her her reflection in the full-length mirror.

  “I don’t know how to describe it. I mean, it’s blatantly tarty but strangely demure at the same time. I think it’s the lacy knickers, or shorts, or whatever they are. Hot pants?”

  “They certainly are hot,” he said with a smile, running his palm over one latex covered bum cheek. “And I think everyone at the club will agree with me.”

  Lydia bit her lip and grimaced.

  “I’m nervous,” she confessed. “Going out dressed like this… I don’t really like being looked at, especially by lots of people.”

  “Liebchen, you won’t stand out as much as you think. There will be much more outlandish people than you at the club. More nudity, some completely covered from head to toe, the wildest costumes you can imagine. You are quite tame in comparison.”

  And he was right.

  As Lydia walked through the large double doors at the top of the stairs, into a spacious bar area, she barely knew where to look. Everywhere, visual stimuli struck her eye so that her gaze zigzagged wildly around the room. Body paint, full frontal nudity, multiple piercings, carnival costumes, masks, feathers, whips, chains—everything you’d expect to see at a stereotypical orgy and more. Lydia wasn’t aware that her mouth was hanging open until von Ritter nudged her and told her to stop staring.

  “It’s quit
e amazing, though,” she said, with a little shiver. “And a bit scary. Some of these looks are quite…extreme.”

  “Everyone has their own level, Liebchen. Their comfort zone. In this place, we live and let live. Or rather, we whip and let whip.” He chuckled.

  “Hey, Karl-Heinz.” He was greeted by a man at the bar—Lydia recognised his face but couldn’t place him. She was pretty sure he hadn’t been wearing leather trousers and a fishnet vest last time she’d seen him. Nor had he been holding a riding crop. “And this is your new sub, right?”

  The man’s accent was similar to von Ritter’s.

  “Allow me to present Lydia,” said von Ritter, holding her shoulder and nudging her into a servile little bow. “She’s very new to the scene but she’s a fast learner. This is her first public outing, so be nice.”

  “I’m always nice. I love the outfit.” He put out a hand towards the latex, looking up at von Ritter as if for permission.

  Von Ritter nodded.

  Lydia gasped as the man’s hand traced the curve of her waist and hips, tugging at the knicker elastic.

  “I’d like something like this for my sub,” he commented. “Not that I have one at the moment.”

  “You’re here alone?”

  “No, no, I have a companion, but she’s here out of curiosity. She isn’t really submissive. She might even have a Domme streak. Where the hell is she? She went for a look around twenty minutes ago.”

  “Well, why don’t you accompany us to the boudoir? I think Lydia is nervous, and perhaps she might appreciate getting her first public spanking over and done with. What do you think, Lydia?”

  “Oh, er, okay.”

  “Julius has seen it all before. You mustn’t mind him.”

  Julius! It’s Julius Hackmeyer, the conductor.

  Leading her up some stairs, von Ritter explained that he thought it too early for the dungeon, where all the hardcore action went on, but that the boudoir was a nice place to ease her in. Besides, most of the people in there would be too busy fucking to take much notice of a girl getting her tail reddened.

  Hackmeyer laughed in agreement and they walked through some splendid golden doors, upholstered with red buttoned velvet, into a sumptuous, Oriental-themed room. Beautiful, tactile fabrics were everywhere, scattered over the large selection of beds and divans. Wherever Lydia looked, she saw writhing bodies. Some screened themselves off behind curtains, but most were indifferent to the strangers’ gazes, taking their pleasure in full view. Low, sultry music played, mingling with the scents of incense and sex, forming a kind of aural and olfactory drug. Lydia felt her inhibitions slowly dissolve, replaced by fascinated arousal.

  “Would you like to lie down on one of those couches and be pleasured until you are exhausted?” asked Hackmeyer lightly.

  Lydia couldn’t answer. She was absorbed in the sight of a beautiful girl in a spangled bikini top and nothing else, sitting astride one man while another thrust into her bottom.

  “Never mind them.” Von Ritter led her onward, to a low divan that lay unoccupied in a corner of the room. “This looks like a good spot. Suitably obscure. Will this do, Lydia?”

  She looked around. No eyes were upon them. She nodded.

  “Good. Now I want you to get onto the bed on your hands and knees.”

  Lydia, averting her eyes from Hackmeyer, whose presence lent extra butterflies to her stomach, did as von Ritter commanded. The divan was lusciously soft, its velvet caressing her knees and palms. She felt the tight latex strain around her bottom as she pushed it out, presenting as von Ritter had taught her.

  “That’s perfect,” he said in a low, reassuring voice. He put his hand on her rear and patted it. “I think we’ll start with these on, since they’re so cute.”

  “Very cute,” said Hackmeyer approvingly. “Lovely ass, too.”

  Lydia felt all the blood rush to her cheeks. Well, not all of it rushed to her cheeks. Some of it ended up between her legs, too.

  She breathed in the heavy incense and let it go to her head. She was embracing a new experience, flying into a fantasy. No harm would come to her.

  Von Ritter’s hand fell on her tightly cased bottom. The latex gave the smack a gloriously crisp sound and she felt sure it would attract attention. From the corner of her eye, she saw a couple engaged in energetic shagging look up and try to find the source of the noise. As for the pain, it was negligible, even when von Ritter carried on at a languid pace. The rubber was so thin it offered little protection, but what it did accentuate, after only a few strokes, was the heat. Pretty soon, Lydia was feeling very hot. And not just on her spanked cheeks—her pussy soon radiated an uncomfortable level of warmth, her clit throbbing against the tight, constricting material.

  “You’re taking it very slow,” remarked Hackmeyer. “She hasn’t made a squeak yet.”

  “It’s her first time,” von Ritter reminded him, but his friend’s words seemed to lend impetus to his hand, which sped up and landed more heavily from that point onwards.

  Lydia moved from sensual pleasure to sensual pleasure mixed with sharp sting. She began to flinch and twitch under the inexorable fall of his palm, though she tried her hardest to maintain her position the way he liked her to. Her breath escaped her in little gasps. In amongst the struggle to take her spanking like a good girl, she noticed people drifting towards them in ones and twos—curious observers. She screwed her eyes shut, holding on to her safeword in her mind, even though the pain was nowhere near her threshold.

  It was so hot, though. She almost thought she might scorch a hole in the shining blackness so that patches of scarlet skin would show through.

  Before this could happen, von Ritter paused and lowered the knickers, exposing her bare bottom to the room.

  There was a collective murmur as the onlookers took in her rounded, reddened curves.

  “Nice work,” said a female voice.

  Lydia swallowed and clenched her pussy. It was like a dream, but it wasn’t. She was really here, getting her bum smacked good and hard in a public place. What a bad, bad girl she was. She deserved all of this and more.

  She kept her bottom obediently pushed out, wanting to feel von Ritter’s hand on her again, no matter how hard he laid it on her. She felt a little drunk with the power of the experience, the depth of her submission. She was crossing a line, moving to another level of intimacy with von Ritter. She was making him proud of her.

  He recommenced the spanking, the slap of his hand on her skin echoing around the chamber, drowning out the music and the grunts and groans of the copulating couples. Now there were people commenting on the scene, egging von Ritter on with words of admiration and encouragement, talking about Lydia as if she weren’t there. The exquisite humiliation turned her on all the more.

  “She’s getting nice and red.”

  “Is it hurting you, sweetie? Poor thing.” A tinkly laugh, devoid of real sympathy.

  “She’s very good, not to move at all. You’ve trained her well, Karl-Heinz.”

  “Does she take anything harder? Paddles? Whips?”

  “Yes,” said Karl-Heinz, still spanking hard and fast.

  Lydia began to whimper and make the smallest of squirms.

  “But, as this is her first time, we thought a hand spanking only.”

  Only, thought Lydia ruefully. This was worse than the strapping he’d given her the other day. His hand could be the most fiendish weapon in his entire spanking armament, when the mood took him.

  “Fair enough. Oh, she’s starting to struggle. Look at that little face. Aww.”

  Laughter.

  “I’m very proud of you,” said von Ritter. “If you need to use your safeword, use it. Don’t worry. Nobody will judge you.”

  I will. I will judge myself.

  He began to spank her thighs instead, all the way down to the lace tops of her stockings. She was gasping now and flexing her ankles and clinging to a cushion, determined to make it to the end. When would it end? Oh, please, could i
t end?

  It ended.

  The crowd—considerable in number now—applauded and uttered congratulatory phrases.

  Lydia glowed, weirdly feeling the way she had when she’d won first prize at a music festival. She basked in their approval, though she still couldn’t look at them.

  “Lucky man, Karl-Heinz,” said somebody.

  Karl-Heinz’s face appeared at her shoulder, his voice in her ear.

  “You are wonderful,” he whispered. “So wonderful. You make me very happy. Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Would you like these people to go?”

  She nodded again.

  “Okay,” said Karl-Heinz, straightening up. “The show’s over. My girl and I need to debrief. Thank you so much.”

  He drew the curtains around the divan and joined Lydia, who knelt up on her heels and fell gratefully into his strong embrace. His hands roamed all over her hot bottom, squeezing it, fingers prising open the cheeks and delving into the space within.

  “You are so brave,” he told her, slipping a hand down between her pussy lips, which flowed with her juices. “And so wet,” he exclaimed. “That turned you on, then?”

  “Mmm. It was better than the fantasy. It was just so… I don’t know. It was like jumping out of a plane or something. The fear and the exhilaration. It takes you to a higher level.”

  “You gorgeous, amazing girl.”

  He kissed her soundly, all the time manipulating her clit between firm fingers, rubbing and stroking, giving her an outlet for all the heat that had built up in her during the spanking.

  When her orgasm came it was powerful, quaking through her while she slumped against von Ritter’s chest, waiting for her body to come back to her.

  He ruffled her hair, kissing her forehead.

  “Please, Sir, would you like me to suck you?” she asked shyly, looking down at his tented suit trousers.

  “Perhaps later.”

  “But aren’t you uncomfortable?”

  He lay down, settling her into his arms, making no reply.

  She had to ask. This was getting ridiculous now.

  “Look, Karl-Heinz, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but will we… Are we ever going to… I don’t know how to phrase it…”