Stormy Night Publications Publishers of BDSM and Kink Erotica
I take one last look of his list of requirements, checking each one off in the bedroom mirror: Black hold-ups with a lacy trim, ridiculously short skirt, two-inch high heels and a spaghetti strap black top that hugs my figure. He hadn’t stipulated a brassiere and my nipples are visible like plum stones as they stretch out the taut fabric. I give my tits a wiggle and the nipples jiggle up and down. Sexy girl, I smile, pleased so far with my getup.
Under my skirt, which is so short it barely covers my bum, I’m wearing a thong. Underwear is compulsory, but I can get away with the itsy-bitsy knickers. Jeremy would have preferred nothing; however, he’s a stickler for rules and he’s happy to comply with Alan’s.
He asked for my hair to be braided and tied back, which I’ve managed to do. Also, red lipstick must be applied and I coat a thick veneer over my lips, licking the gloss about with my tongue. Finally, a dusting of mascara on my eyelashes. Oliver always liked the effect they’d given when during a hard spanking my eyes had become teary and the mascara splashed onto my cheeks.
However, I’m not with Oliver tonight. I’m Jeremy’s girl and this is our first trip to Alan’s monthly spanking event in his mammoth barn.
I collect my handbag by the front door and through the window, I can see his car parked up by the kerb. Shutting the door behind me, I totter on my heels before I establish the right stride length to get those hips swaying from side to side. The soft fabric of the skirt caresses my bare buttocks as each lobe rises and falls in tandem with my swinging hips.
I slide awkwardly into the car seat—it’s low to the ground and the skirt refuses to stay down. Jeremy leans across and fits the safety belt around me. As he passes my lips, he gifts me with a swift kiss. “Lovely,” he murmurs. I glow at his compliment.
He’s wearing black leather trousers and I wish my skirt were leather, too. What a pair we’d make. Over his chest, a white shirt with the top button undone and no tie, but a gold chain fills the gap. Even though it isn’t cold in the car, he’s sporting a black suede jacket. He’d combed his hair back, and for a brief second, I see his dark eyes dazzle. The man is super sexy whether he dresses up or down—even his work tunic highlights his broad shoulders.
He turns the key in the ignition and the engine purrs.
It’s still daylight, the luxury of long summer evenings and Jeremy knows the way. It will take twenty minutes or so, depending on how fast he drives. I fidget, pulling on the edge of my skirt—he hasn’t driven off yet.
“Lift your top up.”
I give him a wide-eyed stare and he clucks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. An impatient little sound and it has the desired effect. I raise the top up to uncover my belly. As soon as I let go, I know it’s not far enough. I give him my bashful eyes, under my fluttering mascara-laden lashes, as if it makes any difference.
“Higher, Megan. I want to see your tits.”
I want to make some sassy remark, but I curb my tongue. The inside of the car shrinks in size as he watches me bare my nipples. With the engine running, the air conditioning kicks in and a blast of cold air hits my breasts. So far, I’ve not said a word to him. He didn’t ask me to be silent, I’m just in awe of his dominance. Men don’t do this to me, make me all meek and drenched pussy in an instant—it shouldn’t be this easy!
He fishes two tweezer-style nipple clamps out of his jacket pocket and swings them before my eyes. A small chain links them together. I suck in a mouthful of air, wincing before he’s even put them on. I take a deep breath as he pinches one nipple between his finger and thumb.
The clamp stings for a second, then the pain settles to a duller version. I’m given no chance to adjust before the clamp assaults the other nipple. I gasp, knocking my knees together and gritting my teeth to stifle the ‘ouch.’
“There.” He sits back to admire. “Put the top back down.”
I lower the fabric over my nipples, holding my breath in parallel and let the material hang loosely across my front. He tut-tuts, snatches the hem, and yanks it down.
“Ow!” Now my nipples are stuck out and blatant; the cold chain presses against my skin, adding to the inconvenience, but not the discomfort. I’m not in pain, just super conscious of my exposed nipples.
“Better.” He’s grinning, the mean… I hold my tongue and give him a smile.
He revs the engine and pulls away. I breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived.
“Hitch up your skirt and pull down your knickers.”
Oh, man, do I have to? That’s what I want to say, but I can’t. I’m glued into my seat and desperate to obey him. It’s a drug, this thing I have inside me, it makes me do things that I shouldn’t. I love the naughtiness of the situation—being in a car with my man and unable to resist his tone of voice.
I lower the thong, wriggling it down my thighs.
“To your ankles.”
I shake my legs and the knickers rest around my ankles. I beam at him, feeling pleased with myself.
“Good. Keep that skirt hitched up.”
With trembling fingers, I carry out his request. No, not a request, he’s ordering me about and it’s hot. I need the air conditioning on, it’s keeping me from combusting. He glances over, taking a sneak between my legs and I know he can see them—my pussy lips.
He strokes my inner thigh with his hand before changing gear. I’m oblivious to the traffic around us. Soon we’ll leave town and be in the country, driving along narrow lanes and nobody will see what he’s doing to me.
“In the glove compartment, there’s a small pouch. Find it.”
I lean forward and open the compartment. The black pouch is at the top of the pile of car manuals. I take it out and open it up. A bullet vibrator.
I shoot a glance at him and he’s smirking.
“Use it to edge yourself, but don’t come. If you come before we reach Alan’s place, you will be punished.”
I drop the pouch back in the glove compartment and slam it shut. I freeze, wondering what I want to do. I don’t want to be punished, I want to be spanked. This is what this evening is all about: me and Jeremy in Alan’s barn and getting my arse whooped by my dom. Our first spanking party together. Trouble is, I’m so close to coming with the pinched nipples and my knickers around my ankles, the vibe is bound to send me spiralling out of control.
“Don’t hesitate. Do as you’re told, please.” He’s concentrating on the road and not looking at me, but he knows I’ve not switched the toy on.
“I don’t think…”
“Megan, stop thinking.” His tone is softer and he’s right, I’m overthinking it.
I slide my bum forward on the leather seat and switch the vibe on. It’s fully charged and buzzes noisily in my hand. Closing my eyes, I press it to my clit and slowly circle it. Oh, my! What a sensation. Cold leather under my butt, nipples pinched, and masturbating while the new man in my life listens—I do hope he’s not watching or else we’re in for a messy end in a ditch.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Don’t come, though.”
I groan as my clit aches for completion. I shift the vibe lower, poking it into my wet hole and smearing the juices up. The vibe with its tickling tip slips down my slit and labia, sliding between the folds. I avoid touching my clit—the trigger for my impending climax.
I curse, a soft swearword because I’m struggling. The muscles in my thighs are twitching and it makes me nervous.
“Megan, that vibe better be over your clit.”
How does he know! I reposition the vibrator, shifting it closer to my clit and I start to pant and tap my heels on the car mat, drumming them in frustration.
“I can’t…” I moan.
Jeremy pulls the car over into a layby and I think he’s going to rescue me, tell me to stop, but instead he reaches under my top, finds the chain, and gives it a tiny tug. While he twitches that damn chain, he seals his mouth around mine and starts kissing me super hard. He’s exhaling a delicious minty breath and the flavour swirls about my mouth as he whizzes his tongue along my teeth.
“Mmm,” he mutters, “nice clean teeth.”
I drop the vibe between my thighs and he glances down at my parted legs. “Pick it up,” he whispers.
I’m shaking, fumbling with the small object, trying to get a grip with my clammy fingers. “Please,” I whimper.
“Please, what?” He caresses my inner thigh, nudging the back of my hand, forcing it nearer to my clitoris.
“Please, may I come?” I slide my bottom as far back into the seat as I can, but it’s no use, I can’t escape the pressure of the buzzing vibe.
“You want me to change my mind?” He peppers my neck with kisses and gives the chain another little pull down.
My nipples are starting to go numb, which means one thing—once they come off, they’re going to hurt like crazy. “Shouldn’t we be going…” I stammer. “Don’t wanna be late.”
“Loads of time,” he says, without looking at his watch.
“Please, please.”
My fingers are cramping and my juices soak the vibe. I’m practically sucking it up my cunt with the clenching effect of my spasms. The vibe slips out of my wet fingers again. I can’t keep hold of it.
Jeremy picks it up and presses it hard against my clitoris, rubbing it, too, which is making things ten times worse.
I grip the edge of the seat tightly. “Can’t we keep going? I promise if you drive I won’t come.” It’s a forlorn promise and I doubt I can keep it.
“Mmm. Full of ideas, aren’t you? I’d call this topping.”
“Just a suggestion, sir,” I add quickly, arching my back.
He’s working my nub, making me squirm and I shriek in alarm when a car rattles past us.
“Perhaps,” he ceases nuzzling my bosom, “we should be going. Wouldn’t be polite to be late on our first night.” He sits upright and drops the vibe in my lap. As he pulls the car back on the road, I start to straighten my skirt out. “Oh, no. Keep going.”
What! I’m fighting my orgasm and there is no way I can win this battle. He’s pootling down the road at a snail’s pace and I’m willing him to speed, career around the corners and whittle away the last few miles. I’m more than on edge, I’m tipping over the brink and I can’t help but hold my breath in anticipation.
“Oh, oh, no…” I cry wretchedly. There I am, sitting next to a rather blasé Jeremy, who’s busy with his driving and I’m coming, convulsing on his leather seats, panting and writhing with the heat of the bullet on my clit.
The orgasm ripples on until I come to my senses. We’re pulling into Alan’s driveway—a long lane and generally used as a parking lot. Already there are other vehicles lining the side of the road.
The vibe is stuck between my thighs, which I’ve squashed together and I haven’t the will power to switch it off.
“Pity,” murmurs Jeremy, lining the car up behind another. “So close. Yards in fact.” He holds out a tissue and I chase the vibrator about the seat before handing it to him. He switches it off, wraps it up, and tosses it into the glove compartment. “Tidy yourself up.”
I put my thong back in place and immediately the gusset is soaked. I shake my cramping hand before replying the red lipstick, touching up the smears around my lips. Jeremy is patient, allowing me the time to prepare myself. I touch my stiff nipples and look at him expectantly.
“Leave them. Your punishment. I’ll get to take them off later.” He straightens the lapels of his jacket. “Let’s go.”
I stagger the first few steps up the driveway, clutching Jeremy’s hand and finding my legs have gone into jelly mode. I’m also quite spaced out and not forming cohesive thoughts—which is probably what he wants from me, as I’d confessed the previous evening how nervous I was about going to one of Alan’s spanking parties with my new dom. Jeremy had offered to spank me there and then to ‘help me relax’ and I’d guffawed at his suggestion, pointing out I’d rather attend tonight without an already sore bottom.
We’ve been waiting two weeks for this opportunity. Jeremy visited my place several times and occasionally took me out for dinner, and once to the movies. On the domestic front, we are finding our way. The sex just gets better and the kink, his dominance in the bedroom is taking shape at the right pace and then there are his scenes, the times he’s spanked me over his knee or bent me over the bottom of the bed for a spell with his leather belt. But, I haven’t yet experienced the nerves I feel as we walk hand in hand this evening.
We stroll past Alan’s house. It’s not our destination. We walk through a side gate, across a lawn towards the barn at the far end of the vast garden. Clad in black wood with a slate roof, it’s long and imposing. However, the interior is quite different. It’s a modern build, not a converted ancient barn. The wooden beams inside are unstained, light, and straight. The walls are lined with red brick, I suspect, to act as soundproofing. Above our heads, the space is open with the struts of the supporting beams visible.
It’s airy, echoing with the sound of soft voices and warm, too. At one end, there’s the small bar with a few tables and chairs and the other has access to the adjoining restrooms. Alan is thorough in his planning. The floor is tiled, but covered in matting. It dampens the sound of my high heels. What always catches my attention in the barn is the equipment.
Alan has three spanking benches of differing designs: the classic sawhorse with inverted v-shaped legs at either end; the kneeling whipping bench with the narrow support for the torso; and a flat long bench for those who like to be stretched out. There’s also a St. Andrew’s cross fixed to one of the brick walls and a solitary post for the more adventurous with the whips and floggers. My heart races whenever I see the benches. It’s always the same sensation and I embrace it. Or try to.
Something is holding me back. I look round the room, smiling at familiar faces, but they’re not paying me as much attention as they are to my companion. Jeremy is relatively new. This is his second visit and for many, the first time they’ve seen him. Here’s me, Megan, the committed non-committer, on the arm of a dashing man in leather drainpipe trousers and a jacket that doesn’t hide his biceps. Of course, I’m uncomfortable.
It gets weirder, the odd sensation of uneasiness. This place is my domain. Normally I’d bounce in, chat merrily with others, wait for a top to approach me and then I’d shift into bottom mode and be all compliant and demure, eager for a brisk spanking. Except, this evening, I’m not just a bottom, I’m Jeremy’s sub. It’s a different role. I’m not free. I can’t just natter or head to the bar for a drink of Alan’s famous non-alcoholic punch. I have to ask permission. That’s the agreement I have in place with Jeremy. He is most particular about the requirement—showing my submission to the others. I’m not just here for a spanking session.
Jeremy is relaxed, far more than I am. I’m among friends and he’s the one guiding me around the room, shaking hands and letting me do the introductions. A few names he remembers from his last visit. Alan comes over and I immediately get the impression he and Jeremy have been exchanging messages. The awkwardness continues. Jeremy fits right in, quite at home and I’m the shrinking violet.
I can’t see Oliver. It comes as a relief. I’m not sure how he’ll take Jeremy. Oliver always claimed he didn’t do dates, so I’d not told him about my new dominant. Yet, now, as I mingle and finally find my voice, I start to regret not keeping him informed.
Jeremy is complimentary about me, which makes me blush. He strokes his hand up and down my bottom, my barely covered arse and I’m hoping my drying juices aren’t visible on my thighs as my skirt rises and falls with his brisk rubs. It’s all spanking foreplay, like he’s reminding me my arse is his for the evening. I’m starting to need it. The nerves are settling and the benches are calling to me.
However, my nipples are desperate for release. The pinching is worsening and my nipples stick out so much I’m hunching my back, which it makes my breasts hang and the nipples hurt more. Jeremy touches my elbow and we do another circuit around the perimeter of the barn.
Alan is magnanimous with his parties. He doesn’t care about gender, whether woman spanks man, woman spanks woman, whatever. He loves spanking and kinky play. Sometimes he invites a specialist to do demos: wax play, bondage, how to use a whip, a cane, and so on. On a couple of occasions, I’ve volunteered to be the model.
Alan himself I’ve never seen participate. He patrols his barn with a wine glass in one hand, which I’m sure he rarely quaffs, wearing his tux and acting as monitor. Once the event ends, a select few will stay on and then, I gather, Alan and his wife will let their metaphorical hair down and have their own fun. Well, she would let her long tresses down, whereas Alan is bald with a fashionable goatee beard and carries before him a portly belly. Handsome, too, in his own way.
I take a bathroom break and when I return, things are starting to happen. Lynda is over the bench and Keith is smacking her with a paddle. She’s whooping and complaining, which she always does at first. She’s a pain slut and this will be the first of several spankings she’ll submit to during the evening.
I re-join Jeremy and he wraps an arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek. “How are you doing?”
He means my tits. I mask a scowl and plaster a fake smile on my face.
“That bad, heh?”
I nod, then my eyes pop open.
“One demerit. Remember, you don’t nod, you say—”
“Yes, sir,” I cap.
“Mmm, I think it’s time to take them off.”
This is why I’m in two minds about the clamps. On, they pinch and make my nipples ache, but coming off, they will hurt like crazy. How would he take them off?
He cocks his head to one side. “Fancy a spell on the bench?”
“Yes, please,” I whisper. It’s a pointless question because he knows I’ll say yes. Also, he expects me to say yes. I’m his compliant sub for the duration.
We wait for Lynda to finish her scene and Jeremy asks Alan for the next slot. Around us, people move about, talking quietly and not interfering with the middle of the barn where all the action happens.
The nerves hit straightaway. The jelly legs return with vengeance and my mouth goes paper dry. Jeremy squeezes my hand, kisses my lips, and walks me backwards towards the sawhorse bench. He parks me next to it and continues to give me his full attention, his eyes locked on mine. I keep him there. It’s a useful tactic; we’ve blocked out everyone else and it’s just him and me now.
“Hand me your clothes.”
The scene is on. He backs away and gives me space to strip. I wobble on my heels. These will stay on, as will the stockings and thong, but the skirt and top are coming off. It’s all agreed up front, the look he wants. I hold out the two items and he whisks them away to a nearby stool.
He comes back and stands behind me, closer enough for me to feel his chest move as he breathes. He slides his hands up my waist towards my breasts. I hold my breath.
“Naughty girl came without permission, didn’t she?”
“Yes, sir.”
We’re speaking quietly, so only he can hear my response. With any other man, I might accuse them of setting me up for a fall, but I don’t, because I know with practise I could learn to control my orgasms better. So far, nobody has ever asked me to do so. Jeremy knows this. It’s on his hit list for training me. So this punishment is acceptable. I’m not complaining because I have to learn to see his way and not mine and unsurprisingly for a dentist, he likes his protocols and deviations aren’t allowed.
He knocks the chain and I wince. “I could pull them off.”
“Uh,” I whimper. Everyone is watching, as he rests his chin on my shoulder, peering down at my purple nipples. “So?”
“I’m sorry I came.” I tense, screwing my eyes shut.
“Just a few yards, wasn’t it? So, let’s reduce the penalty. You can take them off.”
I open my eyes and he releases the chain. “Pull them off?” I ask.
“Not if you don’t want to.”
Want to? Fuck, no. My hands shake as I hover around the first clamp.
“Take a couple of deep breaths.”
“I can’t do it,” I can’t; self-inflicted pain isn’t my forte.
“I tell you what, if you take them off, I’ll give them a nice rub.” He nibbles on my earlobe.
“Okay,” I mumble. I suck in a breath, squeeze the ends of the clamp, and release the tweezer grip of my nipple. For a second the numbness remains, then the blood rushes in and the pain arrives. I shriek; the pain is intense, sudden. Jeremy circles his palm around the poor nipple, soothing the pain.
I look at the other breast. Quick, Meg, do it quick. I snatch at the clamp without taking the breath and pull it off. The pain is worse. I can’t even scream. I hop about, clutching my tit and double over. “Fuck,” I mutter.
Jeremy gives me a few seconds of my pain dance, then scoops me into his arms and massages my sore breasts. “Good girl. I’m impressed. Now, let’s have you over the bench.”
I need the distraction. I glance about and a few of my girlfriends wink or smile at me. I’m not sure if they’re envious of my nipple play or giving me sympathy. Jeremy takes my hand and positions me in front of the bench.
I bend, rather stiffly and shuffle my feet apart.
“A little more,” he instructs.
I slide them apart and touch the bench legs with my toes. Reaching forward, I grip the other two legs. There are straps for bondage play, but Jeremy ignores them. He expects me to hold position; another one of his challenges.
My thong is nothing when it comes to such an exposed position. A strip of fabric, which disappears between my crack, and a thin waistband. I’m effectively naked with my arse raised on display. Jeremy strokes his hand down my back, over my bum and circles each buttock. His hand is warm and calming. He keeps repeating the action and calmly tells me when to breathe. In, then out and it’s all in time with his caresses. I like the rhythm, it helps centre me.
I’d arrived in the barn pretty much in a spaced-out state, and now with Jeremy’s help, I’m returning to it. I relax and let the bench take my weight.
The first smack lands and I jolt; the tension is slipping back. About me, there is a soft hubbub of voices, the tinkling of glasses and the odd scrape of a chair. We’re the only ones playing. Sometimes, all three benches are in use at the same time and I’ve learnt to ignore the distraction. However, being the only couple in scene makes it harder to let go, to concentrate, knowing all eyes are on us two. Eventually, when I’m settled, I’ll probably enjoy the exhibitory nature of my spanking and it will add to the erotic thrill.
I suck in a breath and the next smack arrives. It stings, more than I expected. Jeremy has firm hands and a good swing. Another smack and I rise up onto my tiptoes. He presses me back down with his spare hand and leaves it there, resting on my lower back. I like it. It has a purpose and it brings intimacy; he’s not just a disembodied hand spanking me.
He keeps going, back and forth between my arse cheeks, and the stings start to burn, then the warmth grows, replacing the sharpness. He’s targeting low, close to my sit spot and the fleshy part of my bum. I release low grunts, not quite noises, more harsh exhales. He halts to rub my cheeks, spreading the heat and his palm is smooth, gliding over my butt with ease.
“Shall we try the crop?” Another superfluous question from Jeremy or so I believe.
Am I expected to give a verbal affirmative even when bent over? I grunt something inaudible.
“Megan, I asked a question. That mumble counts as another demerit. Speak clearly.”
Drat, it would appear I am expected to speak at all times. I wheeze a breathless, but clearly spoken, “Yes, sir.”
His leather pants creak as he strolls over to the collection of implements hanging on the wall. Lots of attendees bring their own, but Alan always provides an assortment of non-penetrative toys and implements. I peek up from under my fringe and watch him peruse. He picks a crop with a small tongue. He swooshes it through the air a couple of times, tapping it on his palm. He gives a nod and walks back towards me.
He touches my cleft with a finger, sliding it up and down. My thong is drenched again and the fabric offers no protection from the shame of wet knickers. He snaps the elastic of the waistband with a twang, but it remains in place. He mutters, “Slut,” and I squirm, my face hot and bothered, while secretly I enjoy his comment.
The crop is vicious. The tip is stiff and small, and Jeremy flicks it repeatedly at the same spot for a few blows, before shifting to target another.
Another little interlude. “Enough?” he teases.
“No, sir.”
“So?”
“Please, may I have some more,” I pant as he rubs my flaming arse.
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