BDSM Erotica
"Fantasy 13 - Anna's Story" a sex story by Kay Jaybee
When Clara and I started to bore Michael, his normal procedure was to select a costume for each of us - usually made from red PVC for myself and black leather for Clara - and take us to "Discreet," which was only a relevant title from the outside of the establishment. It was basically the reason that Michael stayed in London and didn't move closer to his business in the sticks. "Discreet" was the only place where his increasingly imaginative fantasies could really be appreciated, most of which involved the observation of other people's erotic desires. Michael is probably the ultimate in voyeur.
On the night in question, after he'd finished the supper we'd prepared for him, Michael summoned us to the dining room. We went quickly; we never kept him waiting.
Standing the other side of the table, heads meekly bowed, we awaited instructions.
"Girls, you will be pleased to know that I have decided that we will take a little trip out this evening."
His eyes regarded us, weighing our reactions. "Anna, you will be less pleased, perhaps, when I tell you that this trip is intended as a lesson, possibly a punishment."
Forgetting myself for a second, I lifted my head and looked at him squarely, questioning.
He smiled. "You wonder why? Why, when you are forever questioning my instructions?"
"But Sir, I..." I stopped, suddenly aware that by asking I was simply proving his point. I could feel my nipples hardening under my white cooking shift as he continued to stare at me.
"You may never question me out loud," he spoke softly, "but I know that you are constantly querying my actions in your own mind. It has to stop."
I couldn't believe it. I had always been so dutiful. The perfect assistant; the willing slave. How did he know I constantly questioned my existence? More importantly, what was going to happen?
Clara was shifting uncomfortably next to me in her stained apron. Michael stood up and came towards us. "Tonight," he said as he pulled off my shift, leaving my bare chest exposed to the cool of the room, "you will be the subject of Fantasy 13."
Michael, during his long periods of leisure, had painstakingly detailed the many scenarios he would love to direct, and often wrote notes accompanied by intricate diagrams of erotic, slightly disturbing, but ultimately satisfying fantasies. Clara and I generally had no qualms about helping him to bring his dreams to life. After all, that was what he kept us for. However, Fantasy 13 was different; he had always refused to show us that particular idea from his book. He'd simply said that we'd find out when he decided we deserved it.
I could feel a cold sweat break out on my face, arms and chest as Michael trailed a single finger across my skin. "You will leave the cleaning up until tomorrow. You will both go to your room and put on the clothes I have placed on your beds. Then you will wait in your room until I call you." He pointed to the door and we headed upstairs without a sound.
Considering some of the things that we had been required to do over the last six months, I kept telling myself that the prickle of fear shooting down my spine was irrational, and that it was probably just Michael trying to scare me; that Fantasy 13 might actually be not only tolerable, but enjoyable. Then I saw our beds.
Clara instantly began to remove her working cloths before pulling on the stockings, suspenders, leather bra and high-heeled boots, plus a long whip which was habitually kept inside the left boot. These things made up her normal "Discreet" attire.
My bed supported a leather dog collar. So, he really was punishing me. Clara had been forced to wear it once. It had been a truly memorable and horribly uncomfortable afternoon, but at least it had been here, not in a seething London club.
I almost spoke, but Clara stopped me with an urgent shake of her head. There was no privacy here, and we never knew if the video cameras positioned in every room were switched on or not.
I couldn't possibly secure the buckle around my own neck, so I passed it to Clara who, with an understanding look of concern and sympathy, tightened it around my pale skin.
Bare footed and naked I stood at the end of my bed and waited. Eventually Michael came, still dressed in his crumpled linen suit, he nodded approvingly and slipped a lead onto my collar, before pulling me out of the house and towards the car, with Clara following close behind.
Normally we would sit in the back of Michael's chauffeur-driven limo. Not today. He pulled me towards one of the staff cars and gestured for me to sit in the front passenger seat. I did as I was told, apprehension and humiliation creeping over me as I realised that he really was going to drive me across London both naked and enslaved. Our private arrangements in his home were one thing, but what had I done to deserve this? Why did my willing slavery suddenly feel so different? What was the difference between walking into the club scantily dressed and naked?
Clara sat behind me, and I could hear our master whisper something to her before he got into the drivers seat and started the engine. We had only gone a short distance when Clara's fingers reached around me and began to fondle my nipples. My tits instantly responded to her familiar touch, but I was still painfully aware of the possibility of being spotted each time we stopped in traffic in the light of a lamp post.
At last we pulled up outside the club. My face coloured as the valet came to take the car, but his face gave nothing away. Michael opened the doors and gave us permission to get out. I stood a little shakily, well aware that I was already wet between my legs. "Slut." Michael smiled cruelly as he pushed a hand against my damp pussy. "I have obviously gone too long without disciplining you. Your pleasure seems to come all too quickly these days.'
I said nothing but my mind raced. All I kept thinking were the words Fantasy 13. Michael left me for a moment, pushing the lead into Clara's hand, whilst he fetched something from the boot of the car.
His face looked triumphant as he brought out a long, slim wooden box. Then, carrying his prize, he took the lead and ordered me to my knees. I looked him in the eye for a split second before obeying. The cobbled path was incredibly uncomfortable and damp from recent rain. As he ushered me along my knees scraped roughly against the ground and layers of skin were pulled away as I struggled to keep up and not choke myself against the collar.
"Discreet" combined the attractions of an S&M club with a relatively safe house for the choosy and "specialist" working girl. The lighting was suitably subdued and the music was just on the quiet side of deafening. There was a vast hall with numerous tables and chairs dotted about, and a large square dance floor in the center. Along one side of the room the wall was studded with metal hoops, just big enough to fasten someone to via a selection of restraints which had been thoughtfully provided by the management.
I glanced around me, trying hard to look as if this situation was normal. After all, the lack of clothing wasn't going to turn a hair, but we were known here and my lowly position made it obvious to all that I was in trouble.
Michael marched us past several girls who'd already been attached to the walls. Some waiting for custom; others feeling the crack of a whip or a probing tongue between their legs. I could smell sex and sweat; it seemed to hang in the air. As we got deeper into the room I saw where Michael was heading - straight towards the club's proprietor. He took the large balding man to one side and began to have a whispered conversation. My heart seemed to beat faster by the minute, and when the owner turned to me with an unpleasant, half-smile playing around his lips I felt sick with nerves. Why me? Why not Clara?
The manager signalled to the DJ and the music stopped. All I could hear was the chatter, groans and steady rhythm of smacks from those too occupied to notice that the room was quieter than it had been. Those less involved in what they were doing looked toward us.
Michael took a step forward, pulling me hard so that my neck jerked towards his leg. "My bitch here is guilty of questioning my requests." Then the room really did go silent as everyone turned to see what was happening. I looked down at the dusty floor, bracing myself for whatever might come.
He opened the lid of his box and pulled out a large, folded, white card. As he unfolded it, he dragged me towards one of the unoccupied rings on the wall. He tied my lead so that I couldn't stray, and then stuck the card up on the wall next to me.
In bold, black type, the note read:
Do what you want to me, but I must not be satisfied. I have been very bad and I do not deserve it.
What?! I was barely taking in the words when, trying to ignore the laughter and jeering from the gathering crowd, I saw Michael take something else out of the box. I couldn't see it properly as he held it up to the growing audience. I knew he was in his element; the clubbers were hanging on his every word.
He knelt down in front of me, and grabbing a handful of my chestnut hair, hoisted my face up to show me his new toy. "Look Anna, isn't it pretty? I've had it especially made for you; aren't you lucky."
I didn't reply. I couldn't. I was looking at what seemed to be a ball gag with a thick black dildo sticking out of it. I could feel the sweat gathering between my breasts as they swung beneath me.
With an evil smile, which I'd never seen cross his voyeuristic face before, Michael pushed the gag into my mouth and fastened it behind my neck so that it flattened my cheeks. It was heavy, hard and unwieldy, the fake dick sticking out from my mouth like a reverse blow job. My jaw ached after only a few seconds and I had to concentrate hard to breathe properly. I hated to think what I looked like; no doubt I'd find out, for as I turned towards Michael I could see he was already filming the show.
As I crouched there, shaking, already unsteady on my hands and knees, I waited for it to start. I madly searched the room for Clara, but I didn't see her. What the hell had Michael ordered her to do?
"Begin!" Michael yelled out as his eyes fixed themselves into position behind the video camera.
I braced myself for an instant gang bang, but no one moved. Perhaps it was the camera; after all, this was a place for anonymity. The crowd thinned a little, but then I felt smooth hands across my backside. I clumsily turned my face to see a tall woman assessing me. She looked at Michael. "I think a blindfold might make this even more interesting. What do you think?"
Michael silently pointed to the poster. "Do what you want to me." The woman smiled and I was plunged into darkness behind a black velvet mask. Everything that happened to me after that was rather like a dream.
It began with the crack of a whip across my arse. I guessed it was the blindfold woman. Then came the hands. Hands everywhere: feeling, pinching, smacking, scratching. Anonymous mouths sucked at my nipples. My pussy quivered as tongues lapped against it, digits jammed into it, and vibrators buzzed against it. However, the moment I showed any sign of coming, it momentarily stopped.
The dildo I held in my mouth has so far been ignored. Just as I thought my arms and legs would give way under the constant assault, I felt pressure growing against my face and my jaw clicked painfully.
The smell of wet cunt was almost overpowering. My mind nearly exploded at the thought of the image I must me presenting. Hands and mouths were sucking, smacking and licking me to distraction, and now a woman had impaled herself onto my fake cock. I would have given pretty much anything to have my mouth free to taste the source of that beautiful aroma. I could imagine how hard Michael was as he watched the woman thrust against my face.
Despite my best efforts I was slipping down onto the hard wooden floor. There was a muffled shout as I fell and then silence. No one touched me, and a sudden chill came over me as I lay there, more desperate for an orgasm than I had ever been in my whole life. I took a deep breath through my nose and tried to rest my limbs while I could.
The minutes ticked by and a silence seemed to envelope my body. Then something trailed across my arsehole and my skin jumped. I shivered; waiting.
Two sets of hands began to push me back into the doggy position. I could feel them, roughly calloused, holding me up, supporting my exhausted body. Then someone slid beneath me and gently began to nibble my swollen tits. I bit into the hard gag, trying to stop myself from exploding.
Expert fingers were pumping into my pussy and parting my butt cheeks, and even before I could prepare myself for the obvious invasion to come, a cock was shafted into me. I silently screamed into my rubber guardian, as a second arse speared itself onto my fake dick, its owners weight pulling at my face and straining my neck.
It was just too much. I was filled in every orifice. I no longer cared about obeying Michael. He had created this spectacle; he knew damn well that I'd have to come at some point; I just kept hoping I'd managed to impress him by how long I'd lasted.
My head began to fill with all sorts of swirling shapes and colours as I finally allowed my abused body to stop fighting against the satisfaction it had been denied. Tongues, dicks, tits; they all blurred into a swarming mass as I bucked against them. I think I heard Michael cry out, but I had no idea whether he was angry or ecstatic as I sank into exhausted unconsciousness.
When I opened my eyes again, Clara was tenderly washing my sweat-soaked skin with a damp cloth. My blindfold, gag and lead had all been removed.
"You've been out for a long time. Are you alright?" She stroked my hair as I forced my body into a sitting position. I looked around, blinking against the unaccustomed light. The club was empty. Its interior was dull and eerily quiet without its exotic clientele.
I tried to sit up and winced, registering the ache in my bruised and strained arms and legs. Clara put a restraining arm hand on my shoulder. "It's okay, you rest."
I looked at her gratefully. "Michael?" I wasn't sure if I was asking where he was, or if he was happy with me.
"Michael is with the owner. He is rather pleased with you."
"He is?' I felt bizarrely happy. I lay there, cradled in Clara's arms until Michael reappeared. I scrambled to get up and stand meekly before him and he watched me.
He reached out and held my chin. There was tenderness in the gesture. "I am not to be questioned. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
"You enjoyed it didn't you?" His eyes bore into mine.
"Yes Sir, I did." And I had.
Later, as Clara and I lay in our slim beds I remembered that I still had no idea what part Clara had played in the evening's activities.
"Did you join in Clara?"
She understood the question. "No; I didn't."
"What happened to you then?"
Clara turned over and stretched an arm out across the gap between us, towards me. "I'll tell you when you're stronger. Sleep now."
I slept.
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Copyright January 2007, Kay Jaybee
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.
Originally published January 2007 - "Happy Nude Year!"