Every pore of my body was screaming for more. I was getting pouty and petulant and sulky - playfully so but the undercurrent was very real. He was immovable. I love that as much as I hate it.
We moved downstairs to the smoking area. I could not think of anything but want. I begged him with my eyes, with my words. I lost count of how many times I asked to go back upstairs. His eyes were playful, enjoying my torment I think.
Interestingly talking with Sir afterward I remembered many of the same people as he had: the pretty little thing in the denim skirt with a huge mouth and gorgeous pouty lips. Not my cup of tea, though I did have one or two ideas of where I would like to see her mouth. The girl with long dyed-black hair, who was much more my style (despite her hair) and sat behind us talking loudly about true bisexuality - a conversation which did not go unnoticed by me...I actually would not mind going back to look for her one night. Another girl who was, as we were leaving, being spanked over the couch by two men...yes, much more my thing.
People moved around us, talking, laughing. There were couples pairing off, kissing and fondling, perhaps a lover, perhaps a partner, perhaps someone whose name they don't know. There were one or two people around I would normally give a second glance but really, I just wanted to cum endlessly, to feel some real pain. I was not interested in scoping. Sir would not have permitted it anyway so it just would have added to my torment.
Women swathed in too-short fake leather, cut-off shirts, plunging necklines and denim skirts that are only for this purpose - the purpose of picking-up. The different styles and choices of clothing suggesting different things. The clothes are there mainly for everyone else, what they think others want. The truth of a woman is in the way she carries herself. It is about whether they lean in, or back, touch your arm, look over, smile, touch their face, catch your eye. You can tell what sort of lover a woman will be by looking into her eyes. Stare one time into a woman's eyes who is lusty as fuck, who is smoldering, brimming with need and you will never forget it and always look for it. The problem with most men is that they get so caught in looking at breasts they never find that out.
The men in their jeans and t-shirts with a little too much aftershave all looked the same - except for their shoes. You can tell a lot about a man by his shoes. Experience has taught me what sort of lovers they will be and though not all conform, it is quite accurate. There are three main categories, all were on display that evening.
There are the trainer-boys. My guess for the record - all single. These boys, wearing their "going-out" trainers, stood uncomfortably around outside talking to each other. They were leaning against the wall, pretending they didn't care they hadn't picked up and that they weren't still hopeful (they were). No confidence, just quiet and wearing their eau-de-desperation like a foggy haze - enough to gas any passing, equally desperate girl.
Trainer-Boys = immaturity but malleability. As lovers they can be hit and miss. They are much easier to mold into what you want but ladies be warned, you will have to be very specific and patient. They need a map, a compass, GPS and will still get lost, however they make up for it in enthusiasm. Don't necessarily pass them by every time, but pick carefully. They are definitely a regular partner - takes a while to train one. One night is not worth it.
There are the Work-Shoes Guys. These ones are usually a little older, their shoes scuffed and worn, they are a little more forth-coming in terms of talking with women but with about the same success rate as Trainer-Boys. Downtrodden and reeking of selfish need, a few had come to the club with their wives, a few singles. I would hazard a guess that they are there most weeks with varying success. Their shoes beguile their lack of personal care, a need for someone to take care of them and somehow a lack of confidence. These guys won't talk to the other guys, except perhaps to retell an exceptionally bad joke for the third time and are exceptionally socially awkward (as opposed to trainer-guys who just lack confidence).
Work-Shoe-Guys = selfish and needy. Needing to be looked after (read as mummies boys) and wanting to have someone care for them makes them prime stalker candidates (of which I have had a few). One night stand means little to them because they are desperate for a carer. Their selfishness means that they can't find your clit and don't care if they do, and they don't believe in a g-spot. Two minute wonders, at best. They just want to get their end in and then for you to come over to their house and do their laundry. Steer clear at all costs.
Suave-Shoes-Man. Last but not least. This is the guy you need to look for. Actually, you don't. He will look for you. He will have good quality leather shoes, not the ones he wears to work. They can be exceptionally modern but don't have to be, they will be clean and not scuffed. He is the one that will stand back and watch for a while, he will talk to everyone. Once you have noted his shoes you can take in the rest of him, he can be younger or older but he has got-his-shit-together. He knows what he wants, he knows who he is. Not to be confused with the arrogant twin who is just a Trainer-Boy-in-Funky-Shoes. This guy is smooth and alluring.
Suave-Shoes-Man = fuck. This guy knows his way around the female form. He is a Man-Whore. Man-Whores are hopeless romantics who love lust and fucking and women (not to be confused with the Trainer-Boy-in-Funky-Shoes who is just a player, out to get his end in and does not know what to do with a woman). Suave-Shoes-Man is calm, confident and knows what he wants. He knows how to make a woman swoon. He will please you - because that is his mission. Don't walk, run to your nearest hotel suite.
I thought about how I must look in there, in amongst the meat-market. I dress a little like a sassy-school-teacher, an art I have been perfecting. Walk past me on the street and you would think sweet house-wife, proper but with an edge.
We sat and Kate was talking about my cumming-on-command and asking about what the orgasms felt like and commenting on the faces I pull. Sir asked her if she would like to see another face. He pulled my shirt down, pulled my bra down and grabbed my nipples - hard and commanded I cum. Gasping, breathy, desperate for more I was taking anything he had to give. I wanted it all and I loved it right there, infront of whoever was watching. I didn't care I just wanted what I wanted.
Showing posts with label Swingers-Club. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Swingers-Club. Show all posts
Sunday
Kinky Excursion Part Two - Want
We headed inside and I filled out membership forms. My bid for ease, (emailing to ask under what conditions I am to apply for membership) thwarted by a lack of clarity, so, standing at the front desk with increasing numbers of people waiting to get in, I had to state to three different people that I wanted to apply for membership for myself and my husband but that this was not my husband, this was my Dom and that I had had email confirmation that as long as I didn't come with both of them on the same night then it would be fine to only have one membership...yes, this certainly was a discomfort I did not need...details sorted, membership granted.
Being newbies we were required to take the guided tour. This consisted of us being met at the door by a woman who opened the door, walked us through and pointed at things from the doorway. We were standing on one side of a smallish warehouse space. It was quite warm and inviting. The flooring was black and white tiles (unless you looked closely, in which case it was white tiles with the alternate ones painted black) with a few mirrors and some framed pictures of gorgeous people up on the walls. There were a few couches set up in two U shapes, a small (tiny) stage with a pole, a set of stocks, a red fixed table with bench seating, a bar and pool table. There was one set of stairs which lead up to the bedrooms and a smoking area where another set of stairs lead to the bondage space. When I turned back to face the entrance I noticed two small rooms either side, one was a cloakroom and the other contained a massage chair, a plasma playing bad porn and a horse sort of thing. I did not venture in to have a look.
There were not many people inside. A few couples and quite a few single men. It was still fairly early. We sat, talked, flicked through a lingerie brochure. I noticed the stocks sitting quietly beside the stage. Sir pointed them out (like I wouldn't notice) and said he had been thinking about making some. (Yeah, because that sounds like a whole world of fun for me and my fellow collared sisters) We decided to head outside for a cigarette, eventually heading upstairs to check it out.
The BDSM area was small with not much equipment. Looking out over the main area, there was a saltire which is like an X with anchor points at all four corners for cuffs or ropes. There was a swing, two beds, a few ropes, two massage tables and one or two leather paddles. The odd bit of suspension equipment hung from the cage (the whole area was in a sort of cage). Next door was a room set up for live video streaming and chat. All in all I was not particularly impressed....but perhaps at the same time relieved. It was afterall a swingers club, not a dungeon.
Sir had me stand on the platform of the saltire for a second. I could tell he was assessing everyone, everything, finding his comfort within the space, trying to find where mine was. I stepped down and Sir walked Kate around explaining pieces of equipment which were of no interest to me. I was interested in the saltire and wishing I had brought my whip....and glad I hadn't.
Kate disappeared into the video room to chat with her husband. I sat up on one of the tables. He ran his hands over my legs, up my thighs (shiver) and down again. I wanted it. I wanted him. Every bit of me that cared about anything else was gone. I wanted what I wanted. I don't remember if we were talking at all. At that moment I no longer cared who was there, who was watching. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted him to tie me up and spank my arse. I desperately wanted him to rake his nails down my back until I came. I think as Kate got back I stepped back up on the saltire platform, still clothed. He moved to tie my wrists but decided to use the cuffs I had in my handbag instead (every girl should always carry cuffs, a ballgag and her collar wherever she goes). He unwound the paddle thonging from its hook which happened to be right in front of my eyes.
I haven't had one of those used on me before so I wasn't sure what to expect. I was not too sure what to think. It looked ouchies. It wasn't. Actually, I take that back. I reserve my judgement for a later time when I can have it thoroughly used on me.
He tapped it across my face a few times and I started that slow build to bliss where there is no one else, nothing else just the sensations and the words and his eyes. He tapped my arse. He whacked the backs of my calves. I wanted him to let loose. I wanted it harder. I wanted more - much more. I thought I was going to pass out with want. The sound echoed out over the space and I could see something was holding him back. There was something pulling him away from playing. He stepped in close, spoke softly landing the occasional soft whack. He was not comfortable. He stopped and hung the paddle. He bade me cum, until my legs were shaking but he was being so....nice.
He took me down and moved me over to the table where I sat egging him on, begging him for more, begging him to tie me up, to hurt me. He stood firm. Kate was there, somewhere, it didn't matter to me (sorry Kate). All I wanted was to be used.
I have decided I am not an exhibitionist - well a little but not much. I just didn't care. I wanted so badly to be fucked that he could have taken me out to the carpark and fucked me and I would have been happy. The other part of it is pride. I am proud to be with him, to be his. I want people to see it, to hate it, to be jealous, to be horrified, to be fascinated. He told me he could not. He said he was in such a filthy mood that he could not. He would be making me beg and he did not think I was ready for that in such a public setting. That he was making 100% sure that I would not do anything that I would regret.
He bade me cum, sitting there next to Kate, standing back, not touching me. He was just out of arms reach so I was clutching at the wall. My legs were shaking and I was gasping, wanting it, wanting him. He pulled them out of me, close together so that they were crashing over each other without a breath in between. I was there and he was nodding, commanding, quiet and then he was done.
Every pore of my body was screaming for more. I was getting pouty and petulant and sulky - playfully so but the undercurrent was very real. He was immovable. I love that as much as I hate it.
____________________________________________________________
Last night I spoke with him on the phone. He wound me up so tightly it was all I could do to not melt through into cumming. He said no. I was not to cum until 12:01. Four hours! I had to drive to the airport to collect a heartbroken girlfriend. My thoughts of cumming and fucking and him kept me company on the drive. I picked her up and hugged her, dried her tears and made soothing noises as she unburdened herself on the car ride. All the while my imagination was devoted to playing with what he had set up in my head. We got back to her place, smoked and drank coffee until 11. I went to bed and rested fitfully, waiting. My alarm set for midnight, I woke every 5 minutes to check if I had missed it. The alarm went off and at precisely 12:01 I came. Relief.
Being newbies we were required to take the guided tour. This consisted of us being met at the door by a woman who opened the door, walked us through and pointed at things from the doorway. We were standing on one side of a smallish warehouse space. It was quite warm and inviting. The flooring was black and white tiles (unless you looked closely, in which case it was white tiles with the alternate ones painted black) with a few mirrors and some framed pictures of gorgeous people up on the walls. There were a few couches set up in two U shapes, a small (tiny) stage with a pole, a set of stocks, a red fixed table with bench seating, a bar and pool table. There was one set of stairs which lead up to the bedrooms and a smoking area where another set of stairs lead to the bondage space. When I turned back to face the entrance I noticed two small rooms either side, one was a cloakroom and the other contained a massage chair, a plasma playing bad porn and a horse sort of thing. I did not venture in to have a look.
There were not many people inside. A few couples and quite a few single men. It was still fairly early. We sat, talked, flicked through a lingerie brochure. I noticed the stocks sitting quietly beside the stage. Sir pointed them out (like I wouldn't notice) and said he had been thinking about making some. (Yeah, because that sounds like a whole world of fun for me and my fellow collared sisters) We decided to head outside for a cigarette, eventually heading upstairs to check it out.
The BDSM area was small with not much equipment. Looking out over the main area, there was a saltire which is like an X with anchor points at all four corners for cuffs or ropes. There was a swing, two beds, a few ropes, two massage tables and one or two leather paddles. The odd bit of suspension equipment hung from the cage (the whole area was in a sort of cage). Next door was a room set up for live video streaming and chat. All in all I was not particularly impressed....but perhaps at the same time relieved. It was afterall a swingers club, not a dungeon.
Sir had me stand on the platform of the saltire for a second. I could tell he was assessing everyone, everything, finding his comfort within the space, trying to find where mine was. I stepped down and Sir walked Kate around explaining pieces of equipment which were of no interest to me. I was interested in the saltire and wishing I had brought my whip....and glad I hadn't.
Kate disappeared into the video room to chat with her husband. I sat up on one of the tables. He ran his hands over my legs, up my thighs (shiver) and down again. I wanted it. I wanted him. Every bit of me that cared about anything else was gone. I wanted what I wanted. I don't remember if we were talking at all. At that moment I no longer cared who was there, who was watching. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted him to tie me up and spank my arse. I desperately wanted him to rake his nails down my back until I came. I think as Kate got back I stepped back up on the saltire platform, still clothed. He moved to tie my wrists but decided to use the cuffs I had in my handbag instead (every girl should always carry cuffs, a ballgag and her collar wherever she goes). He unwound the paddle thonging from its hook which happened to be right in front of my eyes.
I haven't had one of those used on me before so I wasn't sure what to expect. I was not too sure what to think. It looked ouchies. It wasn't. Actually, I take that back. I reserve my judgement for a later time when I can have it thoroughly used on me.
He tapped it across my face a few times and I started that slow build to bliss where there is no one else, nothing else just the sensations and the words and his eyes. He tapped my arse. He whacked the backs of my calves. I wanted him to let loose. I wanted it harder. I wanted more - much more. I thought I was going to pass out with want. The sound echoed out over the space and I could see something was holding him back. There was something pulling him away from playing. He stepped in close, spoke softly landing the occasional soft whack. He was not comfortable. He stopped and hung the paddle. He bade me cum, until my legs were shaking but he was being so....nice.
He took me down and moved me over to the table where I sat egging him on, begging him for more, begging him to tie me up, to hurt me. He stood firm. Kate was there, somewhere, it didn't matter to me (sorry Kate). All I wanted was to be used.
I have decided I am not an exhibitionist - well a little but not much. I just didn't care. I wanted so badly to be fucked that he could have taken me out to the carpark and fucked me and I would have been happy. The other part of it is pride. I am proud to be with him, to be his. I want people to see it, to hate it, to be jealous, to be horrified, to be fascinated. He told me he could not. He said he was in such a filthy mood that he could not. He would be making me beg and he did not think I was ready for that in such a public setting. That he was making 100% sure that I would not do anything that I would regret.
He bade me cum, sitting there next to Kate, standing back, not touching me. He was just out of arms reach so I was clutching at the wall. My legs were shaking and I was gasping, wanting it, wanting him. He pulled them out of me, close together so that they were crashing over each other without a breath in between. I was there and he was nodding, commanding, quiet and then he was done.
Every pore of my body was screaming for more. I was getting pouty and petulant and sulky - playfully so but the undercurrent was very real. He was immovable. I love that as much as I hate it.
____________________________________________________________
Last night I spoke with him on the phone. He wound me up so tightly it was all I could do to not melt through into cumming. He said no. I was not to cum until 12:01. Four hours! I had to drive to the airport to collect a heartbroken girlfriend. My thoughts of cumming and fucking and him kept me company on the drive. I picked her up and hugged her, dried her tears and made soothing noises as she unburdened herself on the car ride. All the while my imagination was devoted to playing with what he had set up in my head. We got back to her place, smoked and drank coffee until 11. I went to bed and rested fitfully, waiting. My alarm set for midnight, I woke every 5 minutes to check if I had missed it. The alarm went off and at precisely 12:01 I came. Relief.
Kinky Excursion Part One - Discomfort
So I underestimated exactly how much discomfort I would experience when two of the worlds I juggle collided. Quite a bit it turns out. I had arranged with a girlfriend to go to check out a local swingers club to see if it would be a suitable place to take our husbands. Sir decided to chaperon as he deemed it inappropriate for us to go alone. I was thrilled
I was totally excited at the prospect of going out with Sir and Kate, first to dinner and then to the club. Around about 4 hours from meet time I thought about what I was actually doing. Kate is a gorgeous person, a supersmart woman who is trying to understand my brand of kink and exploring her own. Sir...well he is my Sir. How could someone who does not get it, however openminded, possibly be expected to react when confronted with ttwd? While I had asked for, begged for, prayed for best behavior from Sir, the only thing I am assured of is my lack of capacity to predict anything. In that regard he certainly came through.
I spoke with Sir and with Kate and calmed down somewhat but in all of my talking had run out of time to go through the self-waxing procedure I had decided to try. I love going and getting waxed. I have a bit of a 'thing' for my waxing girl (Serbian-Goddess with nipples that beg for teeth...sigh...back in the room...) BUT I decided I would do it myself just because I wanted to see if I could. I got about halfway done (yes I CAN do it - go me) and it was down to the wire. I was going to be running a fine line getting out the door. I had to stop and....shave....eeeeewwwww. I HATE shaving. I should point out for those who have missed it at this point that I am not talking about waxing my legs....mmmmkay? Waxing one leg and not the other would be strange and you would probably feel self conscious going out but it's likely no-one else would notice. Waxing half your cunt...well...I guess if you had done it in such a way that you had a landing strip then you would be fine but probably having one side waxed and the other not would be a somewhat unique look....shaving it was quicker, necessary and I am going to regret it in a week...well half of me will regret it...
Anyway, I dressed-up and make-upped and made the decision to wear some of my favorite (highly impractical) shoes because they are HOT. I was sweating bullets, worried that they would be there first but I arrived dead on, followed by Kate. We sat and chatted while I drank water and tried to swallow my nerves. Kate was just saying to me that she thought it was him behind me but I knew. I could feel him there.
The introduction was interesting. I was some kind of superstar. I seriously should be a professional meet-and-greet-er. "This is my friend Lil or she posts as Kate and um. Yeah which name should I say?" she shrugs and smiles. "Sorry....umm and um, Lil, this is aaaah...this um....this is my Sir. Um...yeah...my Sir...." FUCK I can't even say his FUCKING name. What. The. Fuck. It isn't like I don't know it. Fuck. Kate smiled and laughed. I noticed that he was amused. I think my bashful discomfort amuses him at times. I also noticed that he let "Sir" hang in the air and was not forthcoming with a name.
We tried uncomfortable small talk for a few minutes until it turned into comfortable banter...actually they were comfortable, I was not...even now as I write I feel my face heat with remembering. I turned into this ridiculous, blushing, quiet, giggling, blushing (yes I said it twice but that is because it is not something I do) girl.
The food was good. I didn't feel much like eating, I was too nervous but I listened and relaxed as I ate. Slowly, slowly I started to feel a little less like my chest would explode and my ability to be coherent returned. He was wonderful and funny and charming and honest. He opened doors and pulled out chairs and was the perfect gentleman.
We strolled to the car (my shoes, seriously were made for sitting, not walking). I am complaining but I think the walk was all of 20 meters. Kate came in my car (her husband dropped her off) and Sir went in his. We met up at the club. Sir could see how nervous I was. He stopped me just as we were walking up. "Are you sure you want to do this?" "Yes, Sir." "No. Stop and think about this. Are you sure?" Deep eyelock. My shoulders release, tension gone, "Yes, Sir."
We headed inside and I filled out membership forms. My bid for ease, (emailing to ask under what conditions I am to apply for membership) thwarted by a lack of clarity, so, standing at the front desk with increasing numbers of people waiting to get in, I had to state to three different people that I wanted to apply for membership for myself and my husband but that this was not my husband, this was my Dom and that I had had email confirmation that as long as I didn't come with both of them on the same night then it would be fine to only have one membership...yes, this certainly was an added discomfort I did not need...details sorted, membership granted and we were IN!
I was totally excited at the prospect of going out with Sir and Kate, first to dinner and then to the club. Around about 4 hours from meet time I thought about what I was actually doing. Kate is a gorgeous person, a supersmart woman who is trying to understand my brand of kink and exploring her own. Sir...well he is my Sir. How could someone who does not get it, however openminded, possibly be expected to react when confronted with ttwd? While I had asked for, begged for, prayed for best behavior from Sir, the only thing I am assured of is my lack of capacity to predict anything. In that regard he certainly came through.
I spoke with Sir and with Kate and calmed down somewhat but in all of my talking had run out of time to go through the self-waxing procedure I had decided to try. I love going and getting waxed. I have a bit of a 'thing' for my waxing girl (Serbian-Goddess with nipples that beg for teeth...sigh...back in the room...) BUT I decided I would do it myself just because I wanted to see if I could. I got about halfway done (yes I CAN do it - go me) and it was down to the wire. I was going to be running a fine line getting out the door. I had to stop and....shave....eeeeewwwww. I HATE shaving. I should point out for those who have missed it at this point that I am not talking about waxing my legs....mmmmkay? Waxing one leg and not the other would be strange and you would probably feel self conscious going out but it's likely no-one else would notice. Waxing half your cunt...well...I guess if you had done it in such a way that you had a landing strip then you would be fine but probably having one side waxed and the other not would be a somewhat unique look....shaving it was quicker, necessary and I am going to regret it in a week...well half of me will regret it...
Anyway, I dressed-up and make-upped and made the decision to wear some of my favorite (highly impractical) shoes because they are HOT. I was sweating bullets, worried that they would be there first but I arrived dead on, followed by Kate. We sat and chatted while I drank water and tried to swallow my nerves. Kate was just saying to me that she thought it was him behind me but I knew. I could feel him there.
The introduction was interesting. I was some kind of superstar. I seriously should be a professional meet-and-greet-er. "This is my friend Lil or she posts as Kate and um. Yeah which name should I say?" she shrugs and smiles. "Sorry....umm and um, Lil, this is aaaah...this um....this is my Sir. Um...yeah...my Sir...." FUCK I can't even say his FUCKING name. What. The. Fuck. It isn't like I don't know it. Fuck. Kate smiled and laughed. I noticed that he was amused. I think my bashful discomfort amuses him at times. I also noticed that he let "Sir" hang in the air and was not forthcoming with a name.
We tried uncomfortable small talk for a few minutes until it turned into comfortable banter...actually they were comfortable, I was not...even now as I write I feel my face heat with remembering. I turned into this ridiculous, blushing, quiet, giggling, blushing (yes I said it twice but that is because it is not something I do) girl.
The food was good. I didn't feel much like eating, I was too nervous but I listened and relaxed as I ate. Slowly, slowly I started to feel a little less like my chest would explode and my ability to be coherent returned. He was wonderful and funny and charming and honest. He opened doors and pulled out chairs and was the perfect gentleman.
We strolled to the car (my shoes, seriously were made for sitting, not walking). I am complaining but I think the walk was all of 20 meters. Kate came in my car (her husband dropped her off) and Sir went in his. We met up at the club. Sir could see how nervous I was. He stopped me just as we were walking up. "Are you sure you want to do this?" "Yes, Sir." "No. Stop and think about this. Are you sure?" Deep eyelock. My shoulders release, tension gone, "Yes, Sir."
We headed inside and I filled out membership forms. My bid for ease, (emailing to ask under what conditions I am to apply for membership) thwarted by a lack of clarity, so, standing at the front desk with increasing numbers of people waiting to get in, I had to state to three different people that I wanted to apply for membership for myself and my husband but that this was not my husband, this was my Dom and that I had had email confirmation that as long as I didn't come with both of them on the same night then it would be fine to only have one membership...yes, this certainly was an added discomfort I did not need...details sorted, membership granted and we were IN!
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