Sol squeezed and rubbed my waist, cupped my breasts, and murmured filth in my ear. He could have been reading from a Chinese takeaway menu and the accent alone would have made me wet. I arched into him, rolling my head against his shoulder. He stroked my silver collar and drew fingertip circles in the hollow of my throat.
‘That’s where I wish my cock was right now,’ he whispered, pressing firmer. ‘In your mouth so deep it’d reach to here.’
He smudged kisses across my neck, behind my ear, until I was limp with lust.
‘OK, Cha Cha,’ he said. ‘I want you to do something now. I’m going to give you some money and I want you to get us a couple of drinks.’ He patted my arse sharply, changing the mood. ‘And while you’re at the bar, see if you can get into conversation with the guy dressed in black. The one with a goatee and a shaved head.’
I didn’t want to move, wasn’t sure if I could, but when I looked over to the bar, I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You just described half the men in this room,’ I said. I turned to embrace him and rubbed at his chest, his crisp, coarse hair springing under my fingers.
‘Yeah, OK,’ he conceded, grinning. ‘The one on the left. He’s with a woman wearing a green tutu and stripy stockings.’
I glanced their way as I slipped a hand under his blue jacket, caressing his warm, smooth back. ‘OK, Squadron Leader Miller.’
‘Don’t get lippy,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, who gave you permission to talk?’
‘Um, how else am I going to get into conversation with someone, Sherlock?’
‘Here, take thirty.’ He flipped open his wallet and handed me a couple of notes. ‘Buy them a drink if you need to.’
‘Who are they?’
Sol shrugged. ‘Dunno. But they seem to know a lot of people so it might be useful to forge a connection.’
‘OK, boss,’ I said. ‘Here’s hoping they don’t ask me about my years shacked up with you in New Jersey.’
I took a shortcut through the dungeon arena, careful to keep my distance from those wielding whips and paddles. Then I edged through the crowds, my skirt crumpling around me. I stood near the couple at the packed bar. I felt sorry for the harried guy serving but the chance to linger was useful.
‘Is it usually so busy?’ I asked the woman in the tutu.
She shook her head. ‘First time they’ve had a night at this venue. There aren’t enough staff on. It’s mad. Bit shit as well, to be honest.’
‘Where’s it usually held?’
The woman’s partner nudged closer to the bar, brandishing a folded tenner over other people’s heads. I guessed he was her dom or master or top or maybe simply her kinky boyfriend.
‘Best ones are in London. But here it’s usually at Zangos. Down by the beach. You know it? Love your make-up, by the way.’
‘Cheers! And I love your skirt,’ I lied. ‘Don’t know Zangos, no. I live in Saltbourne. Only moved there recently. Just getting to know the scene down here.’
‘Oh, a mate of mine lives in Saltbourne. Have to confess, I’ve got a love–hate relationship with the place.’
‘Yeah, it’s that kind of town.’
And we were away, chatting above the music while getting jostled by people eager to get served. She was called Emma, her partner was Mark, their friend was Tom, this was Declan, Veronica from Poland, and, oh and that was Merry Nell.
‘You on your own?’ Emma asked.
I was warming to her sweet, cheerful manner. ‘No, with my partner. Seem to have lost him though.’
The group disbanded as people got served but I managed to keep chatting to Emma, Mark and Tom. We edged towards a square column with our drinks, because, when I’d mentioned being the owner of a cocktail bar, Mark was keen to tell me exactly how to make a gin martini. I sighed inwardly because gin martini is martini. Vodka martini is a variation on a classic.
‘I always say,’ declared Mark, ‘fill a glass with gin and wave it in the general direction of Italy.’
His friends laughed.
‘That’s a famous quote,’ I said. ‘Noel Coward, if memory serves.’
‘Is it? Well, he had the right idea.’
To my relief, I spotted Sol threading a path towards us. I wasn’t sure what I was meant to be doing, whether making friends with these people was enough or if I should be trying to establish if they knew Misha.
Sol had that dark, clouded look on his face, an expression suggesting he was either angry or mercilessly horny. Impossible to tell if he was pissed off or he’d fully stepped into his role as my dominant. Either way, he looked hot and mean, intent on business.
When he neared me, he clasped me lightly from behind and leaned close to my ear. His breath tickled. ‘Put the drink down, baby,’ he said.
His soft, authoritative tone sparked a liquid rush. He caressed my midriff, and between my thighs my lips thickened quickly. I swallowed nervously, placing my vodka next to his beer bottle on the ledge of the column around which we were clustered. He kissed and nuzzled by my ear then I felt him rummage in a jacket pocket. I half turned to see him withdrawing the Hiatts. With a quick, brutal flick, he snapped the cuffs on to my wrists, tugging my arms back so hard he jolted my shoulder sockets. I yelped, wriggling instinctively to be free. They were called speedcuffs for a reason but, nonetheless, the suddenness of his action startled me. I continued struggling, irked with him for slapping on the cuffs without warning.
From behind, he reached for my neck, half circling me below my chin with the span of thumb and forefinger. He titled my head backwards, stretching my neck taut. He held the cuffs around their rigid stem, twisting me fractionally, demonstrating how easily he could steer me. The metal edges dug into my hands.
‘Hush now,’ he murmured in my ear, lips brushing against me. ‘Hush, there’s a good girl.’
I calmed, his voice a swift, dizzying narcotic, and drew slow, careful breaths. Awareness of the eyes observing us made me burn with shame and dark, secret pleasures.
‘That’s better,’ Sol whispered, removing his warning grip from my neck. I cast over my shoulder to see him take the baton key from his top pocket. I turned away from him and stood motionless, obedient, my eyes fixed ahead as he bent to lock the cuffs in place.
My three new friends watched, interested and amused. Cold, harsh metal weighed low on my hands, the angle of my capture causing my shoulders to jut, and my tits to thrust as if on offer to all and sundry.
I found my public vulnerability excruciatingly awful, my sequin-tipped breasts on display and devoid of protection. That inability to defend myself is what I love and loathe about cuffs. It’s not simply about the restriction of movement; it’s about the restriction of movement when you know damn well someone’s keen to exploit that.
‘You want to play with her?’ asked Sol. He pinched my jaw with one hand, tipping my head back as if better to display me.
I winced, a wave of heat rising from my neck to my cheeks. A pulse pounded in my ears and my entire face throbbed with the upsurge of blood. Between my thighs, a burst of wet arousal made my folds swell and throb. I silently cursed Sol for pushing me towards my limit so early in the game. These people had accepted me without suspicion so the master/slave act wasn’t remotely necessary. But Sol knew I couldn’t protest without destroying the sham which wasn’t quite a sham.
‘I’d love to play,’ chirped up Emma.
I heard chains rattle behind me and felt a slight tug on my cuffs. Cool metal touched my bare back and when I heard a click by the base of my neck I understood Sol had linked my cuffs to my collar with a length of chain. Jeez, he hadn’t mentioned that his voluminous jacket pockets doubled as a portable dungeon. What else had he brought out with him?
‘Excellent,’ said Sol. ‘Why don’t you start by taking off her pasties?’
I jerked my shoulders in protest, complaining softly. Tears of humiliation stung my eyes. I wasn’t sure I could tolerate being toyed with in such a public venue.
‘Aw, but they’re so pretty
,’ said Emma, sarcastically reluctant.
‘What’s underneath is even prettier.’
I closed my eyes as Sol stroked a finger around one nipple patch, lulling me towards receptivity, drugging me with lust. When I opened my eyes, Emma was studying me with an expression I’d never received from a woman before, cruel, mischievous and unpleasantly smug. Perhaps she wasn’t the sweet, friendly creature I’d first taken her for.
With pinched fingers, she took the point of one sequinned star; then, her gaze pinned on my face, her tongue tip poking, she peeled down the sticky little shield to uncover my nipple. I felt my exposed tip begin to spike.
‘Ooo!’ She handed the pasty to Sol.
I was mortified at being treated this way in front of spectators; mortified too that my tormentor was a perky young woman wearing a cartoonish net skirt. With a brisk, workmanlike touch, Emma squeezed my nipple and then rubbed her thumb back and forth. She was erasing traces of adhesive and the confidence with which she handled me turned my cunt to syrupy warmth. I threw a glance at our onlookers. We had around half a dozen guys, presumably hoping for some extensive girl-on-girl action. But I’m not into women so I privately cast Emma as a sadistic slave cleaning me up for the approval of men watching me at auction. My imagination was evidently quick to get in role.
My nipple hardened fully. Smirking, Emma tapped with her fingertips as if dusting away flecks. She stepped closer, rested her hands on my waist, and leaned forwards.
Oh sweet Jesus, no. I squeezed my eyes shut, my face on fire. Heat and wetness flared around my nipple. A man laughed, a boorish thump of noise lifting above the music. Another jeered in encouragement. Someone whistled. Emma’s tongue slathered circles around my stiffness; then she sucked tenderly as if trying to draw precious juice from me. I thought my knees would buckle. Her touch above my hips felt like a gigantic pressure threatening to topple me.
For several moments all I knew were those soft hands on my waist and the wetness around my tip. I barely breathed. My nipple felt enormous, expansive, as if Emma’s rippling, sucking, sloshing heat were spreading to overtake my entire upper body and connect with the sensation swirling in my cunt. And through all the dizzying bliss ran the more dubious pleasure of knowing strangers watched us, cocks getting hard. Their attention generated and exacerbated the dark, stormy charge of my humiliation, their enjoyment of my discomfort making my discomfort worse than ever.
I kept my eyes shut tight, trying to block out my audience, until Emma pulled away. I released my breath, gawping down at her in arousal and astonishment. She gazed coquettishly upwards, grinning. She straightened, flicked her thumb across my nipple. After a nod at Sol, she turned her attention to my other, covered nipple. With the same lingering pleasure, she peeled away my second pasty, studying my face all the while. From behind, Sol reached out a cupped hand and Emma placed the sparkly black star in his palm.
‘Aw, these shy little nips,’ she said. ‘Nowhere to hide anymore, have they?’
Again she thumbed away the remnants of gum, and then leaned forwards to bathe my hard nipple in wet, sloppy warmth. This time, I couldn’t help but groan as the intensity of her oral caress swilled around my tip, obliterating any attempt to keep my lust suppressed. With steady luxury, Emma slurped and sucked, her small, gentle hands resting on my waist.
I glanced around at my onlookers, seeing both smirking pleasure and slack-jawed captivation. Patches of dancing white light dappled their faces as if I were in the midst of a grotesque, monochrome forest. The sight made me close my eyes again. It was too much. Between my thighs, lust pounded, my wetness flowing into my skimpy underwear. I was sure my arousal rose, not from Sapphic delights, but from my subjugation in a scene orchestrated by Sol. But either way, I didn’t much care. Deep down, I was lapping it up and yet at the same time, I was praying Sol wouldn’t push this too far. I reminded myself this was for Misha, and I’d agreed to play a role. But now, in the thick of it, I began doubting my ability to stay in character because the character was too much like me.
Emma withdrew and stood, scuffing her thumb over my soaked nipple.
‘Now what?’ she asked, glancing from her partner to Sol by my shoulder. Without waiting for an answer, she slipped a hand between my thigh, crushing my skirt. The taffeta rustled as she sawed back and forth.
‘Feeling good, sweetheart?’ she asked.
I tilted my head back and gazed at the ceiling, shards of light twirling across its dark expanse. I fought to get a grip. I was feeling good, head-spinningly, cunt-thumpingly good. But I was also feeling uneasy, half wishing all four of us, Mark included, could explore this dynamic in privacy. If we continued, I didn’t think I had the strength of mind to cope with the regret which would doubtless haunt me when I wasn’t off my head on horniness.
‘Here,’ said Sol from behind. He reached out a hand to Emma, his fist bunched around an object. ‘Put these on her, would you? Then I’m going to take her for a walk.’
Emma took the object. She laughed in wicked delight, holding up two nipple clamps linked by a chain. ‘Now, let’s see,’ she said, edging closer.
‘Oh God, no,’ I breathed. Wetness sluiced through me. My heart fluttered wildly like a bird trying to escape my ribcage and the disco ball’s light-fragments whirled at triple speed.
I held my breath. Emma bent to one nipple and cupped the underswell of my breast, lifting me for her inspection. She squeezed open the jaws of the clamp, bringing the object towards me. Glancing up at my face, she carefully closed the clamp on my tip, keeping the weight of the chain in her palm. The pain escalated sharply but then levelled out. I released a stream of breathy gasps as I adjusted to the sensation. She stroked around my breast with a consolatory gesture.
‘You OK?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, fine,’ I murmured.
‘She’ll let me know if she’s not,’ said Sol.
‘Good to hear,’ replied Emma.
She brought the second clamp to my other nipple. Again, she glanced at me before fastening the metal jaws onto my spiked, sensitive tip. Smiling, she watched my anguished face as the pain rose. When she let go, the chain hung slackly between my breasts. With one finger, Emma lifted the links, tugging lightly upwards so the clamps pulled on my nipples.
She leaned closer, speaking above the music. ‘You’re so responsive,’ she said. ‘Your face hides nothing. Your body shivers when I touch it. So gorgeous.’
She brushed her lips over mine, half mumbling, half kissing, then stepped away. Silver from my lips glinted on hers. I gazed at her with dumbstruck gratitude, not so much for the compliment but for such careful administration of cruelty.
In the corner of my eye, I saw Sol talking to Tom and Mark.
Emma tapped one of the clamps, smiling when I whimpered in response. ‘Given half a chance, I could play with you for hours,’ she said into my ear. ‘Are you wet?’
I nodded, my cheeks burning with desire and shyness.
‘If you and your guy ever want to join me and Mark, you’d be more than welcome.’ She shoved my skirt into my groin again, rubbing hard through the starchy fabric. ‘He doms. I switch. You think you’d like that?’
My throat was parched. I swallowed. ‘I’d need to ask Sol.’
‘You’d need to ask him if you’d like it?’
‘No, if he was up for it.’
‘Ah, I see.’ She stopped rubbing me and unzipped the pocket of a belt around her waist. ‘Here, take our details. We host private play parties.’ She withdrew a card from her belt with a dramatic flourish and then slipped it inside the sash around my waist. ‘Invite only. And I just invited you both. Or you alone, if you wanted. No single guys though.’
Sol and his companions laughed heartily; then Sol clapped Mark on the shoulder, saying goodbye. He moved to stand next to Emma.
‘Nice work,’ he said to her. Briefly he bounced the chain on a finger as if to weigh its length. He stepped behind me. ‘Here, take this,’ he said, his breath tickling by my
ear. ‘And this. Got them?’
He slotted our drinks into my cuffed hands, my vodka tonic and his bottle of beer. My fingers clutched the objects, glass clinking against glass. He returned to stand in front of me, raising the nipple chain again.
‘C’mon, this way,’ he said. He nodded at Emma and co. ‘Nice meeting you guys. Maybe catch you later.’
Protesting, I followed Sol in mincing steps, eager not to allow him to exert too much strain on the clamps or to knock into someone who might dislodge them.
‘You enjoyed that,’ I said, mildly accusatory.
‘Totally. And so did you from the looks of things.’ He turned to grin. ‘You OK?’
‘Suppose so. Embarrassed though. And horny.’
‘Cool. Let’s go downstairs, find somewhere to sit. I want to spend some quiet time with you. Oh, hi!’ He glanced back to acknowledge a woman we’d just passed. ‘Lou! Hey, good to see you. Wow, you look amazing, doll! How’s tricks?’
Doll?
He released my nipple-clamp chain and stepped away from me. Lou. Now, where did I know that name from? He embraced her, planting a kiss on her cheek while I stood there like a lemon. He chatted to her without introducing me. Then the penny dropped. She was the woman he’d once dated and his connection to some of the people at Dravendene. What had he said? It didn’t work out, they’d wanted different things. Something bland like that.
I stood in silence as they talked, saw them nod and frown, becoming intense and tender. Doll! He’d called her doll. He never called me doll. A green-eyed monster began growling inside me. My jaw tightened. He touched her arm, his hand on her bare skin. Yeah, and he could do that, couldn’t he, along with the hug he’d given her, because I was his mute underling, standing there with my tits in clips while holding his fucking beer.
The woman pressed her lips together, blinking hard in a fight against emotion. Was she remembering how it used to be when he’d touch her with his fingers, inside and out? And was she the reason Sol had lied to me about his interest in fet nights? She gave a stiff-armed shrug. Sol reached out to squeeze a hand, lunging close to her as a passerby jostled him. She didn’t retreat. She liked it, wanted him. My stomach plummeted. My blood turned to ice. They were practically holding hands in front of me. Christ, any moment now, they’d start fucking. They’d probably done it loads of times in places like this.
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