Twenty Tones of Red (2 page)

David w
as still taking his time and she was glad. The tease was part of the ritual. As much as she wanted some immediate attention she also wanted to wait. Being caught in perfectly balanced indecision was part of the thrill and it was all helping to send her mind into the dreamy seductive state known as subspace.

A
few moments later his hand started to move in gentle circles over her taught buttocks then he leaned closer and started to speak to her. “You ready for your beating slave?”

She bucked her hips against his caress.
“Yes master. Please beat me because I’ve been very very bad.” Her answer was loaded with code. More than just giving him permission she’d used the word ‘very’ twice. This was her way of saying that she wanted a long and severe beating. She wanted to eliminate any doubts he had about going full force. Of course this could be because she was horny and tipsy. Things might change as soon as the pain started.

He started to lift his hand from her bum and then replace it in gentle slaps.
“I think because you’ve been so bad you might need several different types of punishment.”

“Yes master.” She
was so desperate for the sting of pain that she’d have agreed to anything just then. Anything as long as it started soon.

As if readin
g her mind he replied with a single word. “Good.”

The first strike
came down with a delicious burning sting and he followed it with another and another. After starting quite weakly he built up the force of his palm on her buttocks until after just twenty or so a fire was burning on the surface of her pale skin. It grew slowly at first but when his hand started to find the same place again and again one flush of blood seemed to add to another and the heat strengthened into a long prolonged stinging.

She started letting out short little pants and gasps with each blow and was wriggling and twisting violently against her bonds. The fire was
n’t just burning on her backside and the top of her thighs there was also an intense heat simmering between her legs. With her eyes screwed tight closed a strong clear image had formed in her mind. She could see herself from behind, her long shapely legs braced wide against the wooden frame, her outrageous heels keeping her calf muscles straining and defined in the black silk stockings. The black hosiery ended with the dark band at the top of her thighs and here it became obscene. Her pale freckled thighs curved seamlessly into the smooth rounding of her buttocks. Her behind was sticking out provocatively, her cheeks pulled apart by the relentless tension on her widespread ankles. She was wickedly and shamelessly exposed. Everyone standing in the doorway could see her and perhaps if she was honest with herself some of her restless wriggling and struggling was to make sure that they kept watching.

T
he heat on her skin had built to an almost unbearable intensity when David stopped and stepped away from her. Her backside tingled in the cool night air and the burning slowly faded to a warm glow. Her immediate feeling was one of relief but that was soon followed by disappointment. The spanking was at least a form of touch. To be spread out and helpless but uncaressed was the worst torture of all.

Her
hair was hanging over her face with some strands sticking to the thin layer of sweat on her forehead. She heard a murmur of voices but couldn’t catch the words. With her heart beating fast and her own pulse throbbing in her ears it was difficult to catch what was being said. Straining as hard as she could she heard David say ‘next’ then heard another male use the phrase ‘no hurry’.

Something tickled her bum cheeks and she shivered. It seemed that the discussion behind her had come to a satisfactory conclusion because
the strands of a whip were being trailed up and down her buttocks. Her heart leapt as she realised that she was being warned to prepare for stage two with the traditional introductory caress of the new torture implement.

After just a few seconds the flogger w
as pulled back and she braced in anticipation. She waited and waited and just as she was considering opening her eyes and twisting her head to try to get a view of what was happening it started.

The sound came first. There was a satisfying thwack as the twenty or so individual rubber threads hit her skin for a split second then
came the pain. Unlike the slap of a hand this burst like fireworks in multiple places at once. The ends of the tassels had each found a different point across her exposed backside. Most were across the broad curve of her buttocks but some had curved their way down her thighs and a handful had twisted up into the intimate places between her legs. She let out a long hiss of air and was stuck again. The stinging explosions broke out all over and her mouth was wide open, her lungs gasping for breath. The rhythm got a little faster, the blows a little stronger and one burst of pain blurred into another then another.

Hands stroked her cheek and she opened her eyes to see David crouched down in front of her.

“You enjoying this slave?” She nodded, delighted to see her lover so close to her and touching her so tenderly. An instant later she realised that he wasn’t only there to look into her eyes but also to make sure that she realised that he’d handed her punishment over to another. Someone else was now beating her and the thought of being whipped by a complete stranger was far more exciting than she’d imagined.

While her mind was running through the possibilities of who might be standing behind her wieldi
ng the whip she remembered she’d been asked a question and replied. “Yes master.”

“You deserved this beating didn’t yo
u?” While he was talking to her the rain of lashings continued and she spoke through narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. “Yes master. I was very bad.” She smiled inwardly. Her script wasn’t difficult and that helped. She didn’t want to make demanding and difficult conversation. She wanted her mind free to focus on her predicament. She wanted to drift into the sexy dreamlike state known as subspace where time melted away and there was only her sexual desire and the messages of her senses.

As if sensing her need
for solitude and silence he shuffled back and cocked his head, his face soft but full of mischief. “I might go and have a little stroll around.” He leaned forward and planted a series of kisses on her upturned face. “There’s a queue back there waiting to give you your punishment. That’s okay isn’t it?”

This was her moment to complain if she wanted to. Just one word and he would untie her and take her back to the safety of their own little flat. It wasn’t a difficult decision, not only did she want the beating to continue she also wanted to know what else the night held for her.
“Yes master.” she replied. “I deserve the beating. Thank you sir.” The voice was not quite her own.

Time became blurred. She was beaten with a number of different implements by what she guessed was a number of different people. At one stage she heard a woman’s voice behind her and was interested to note that she was almost as turned on with the attention of a female as she was with a male. Her guest torturers were by and large a gentle group. None were as firm as David. They seemed to explore her skin with their whips and paddles rather than actually try to inflict pain and this was fine with her. The experience was still highly erotic; being so helplessly exposed and so tightly bound in a room full of strangers kept her skin tingling and blood pumping.

She started to fantasize about the crowd at the back of the
room taking advantage of her. She visualised a line of erect men waiting to take their turn and although outrageous and obscene she let the idea build and build. The scenario got filthier and filthier in her mind and she soon substituted the blows of the whip for the thrusts of well endowed, muscular admirers.

Finally her master returned
. She guessed that fifteen minutes or so had passed but she was ready for a change and was glad when he kissed her and untied her bonds. He gave her no time to forget her place, instantly reminding her to bow her head then taking the chain that hung from her collar and leading her quickly from the room.

He took her down a wide corridor towards the sound of pumping house music. She saw coloured lights flashing on the ground in front of her and moved into a dance floor area. She caught glimpses of high heels swivelling in the flashing lights as clubbers danced around them and as she moved through the crowd she felt eyes on her and knew she was on display again.

The tension on her chain slackened as David
moved her to the far side and found an empty bench where he sat and stretched out his legs. Pulling her a little closer he held her hips and turned her to face the DJ. The music was almost incredibly loud, the thumping bass hitting her body with a real physical force. He fiddled with her skirt, making sure that it was rolled up as tight as it would go then thrusting it into her waistband then unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it open. She was exposed to the whole room. Her thin triangle of red pubic hair and her intimate curves open to view above her stocking tops. She could feel moisture drying on her thighs; her own wetness betraying her reaction to her whipping. A slap stung her backside and she jolted. David was spanking her again, slowly but with real force.

“Dance! Come on. Dance slave.”

She understood and immediately started moving, wriggling her hips and moving her feet to the pounding insistent beat. She didn’t dance as she would have done if she was her real self out enjoying a party. She moved like a stripper, focussing on gyrating her hips and belly in a languid provocative way. It was supposed to be humiliating but it wasn’t. Being
forced
to dance slutishly freed her from her inhibitions and whenever she could she flicked her eyes around the room and caught both men and women watching her admiringly. She’d always loved being the centre of attention but it was something that she’d carefully played down to avoid getting a reputation as a show off. She’d helped out in amateur fashion shows at university and found striding down a catwalk in skimpy clothes incredibly exciting. Now that she was collared and chained and shimmying almost naked in a crowd she got even more of a buzz. She could feel lustful admiring eyes on her and she loved it.

As she moved her lover slapped her backside with relentless precision. Her tender
ised skin quickly started to burn and her cheeks became flushed again. She had no idea how many people were watching, or whether she’d become the main attraction on the dance floor but the whole situation was deeply erotic. She had become an object. Her dancing was to titillate her master and the other clubbers. She was naked below the waist and was being slapped on the backside like a piece of meat.

She lost track of the time she spent on display but just as she was getting
uncomfortably hot and breathless on the dance floor her master decided to move on. He must have felt the need for a cigarette break because it was then that he led her out to the smoking area on the balcony. There was to be no rest for her. He kept her in role and when he’d found an empty space ordered her onto the floor near his feet. She knelt on the wooden decking while her fellow clubbers sat chatting, smoking and drinking around her. She knew that there was a stunning city sky line to appreciate but it was way beyond the range of her lowered gaze. Had she been allowed to stand up and look around she would have seen the spectacular array of lights twinkling down the river bank. Just on the other side of the road was the MI6 building, a huge hulking castle-like presence that housed the country’s James Bonds. There was probably a night shift at work who, had they taken a pair of binoculars to the window, would have been able to watch her holding her submissive position so obediently. They, or any other observer who caught sight of her, might have struggled to understand what they were seeing. Some might have been appalled at the sight of the beautiful young woman kneeling, half naked on a chain. They might have objected to the revealing outfits and atmosphere of threatened violence that permeated the club but they would have missed what was going on in her head. At that precise moment she was feeling insulted and degraded because the dominants and clubbers who had gathered outside for a smoke were discussing lighters. David’s petrol fuelled Zippo had drawn some comment and its flame and reliability were being compared to various other models that she couldn’t see. It was infuriating. How dare they discuss such pointless trivia when she was kneeling just a few feet away with her body so beautifully exposed?

A calming voice in her head slowly explained the situation. The smo
king terrace was a break spot and domming was hard work. While she had spent the evening slipping away into an indulgent and quite trippy subspace David had been working hard on a number of levels. He had to think for two as just moving around the club with her on a chain meant he had to prepare a path for her. He was responsible for making certain that she was sure footed and didn’t bump into anything. When tying her he had to make certain that her bonds were tight enough to feel sexy but never threatened to cut off her circulation. Even when it came to the beating she could squirm around and enjoy it but he was doing the physical work. While the sensations were building on her skin he had to make sure that he was hitting the right places at the right time with the right strength.

The other thing that many casual observers might not be aware of looking at the selection of male and female slaves with their owners
was how much the submissives were actually in control of the situation. Many, like her, had sought out partners with the capability of being dominant and then subtly trained and encouraged them into the part. Even more startling to the uninitiated was the amount of flexibility and role swapping. Within a lot of BDSM relationships the doms and subs frequently changed positions. This gave them both a break and the chance to see what it felt like on the other end of the whip.