Annabelle didn’t really need
to go, although she did head to the bathroom downstairs. She wanted to get away from Ethan. It was their third date, and on the drive over, he had talked about collaring her. Not immediately—he wasn’t that crazy. But someday. And okay, it wasn’t quite like talking about what to name their kids, but it was still rushing things, especially considering she didn’t think their chemistry was particularly strong.
Ethan played hard, and she liked that. But there was something off about his motivation. When he mentioned wanting to do the fish-hook suspensions, it became clearer to her what bothered her. She got the feeling that for him it was a contest to be the baddest dude in town. She didn’t play hard because she wanted to prove she could take it. She knew she could take it. She’d discovered at a young age she had a taste for pain, and when she got older, she found that nothing got her off more than the combination of pain and sex. After a few bad choices and worse relationships, she found BDSM and hadn’t looked back.
Ethan wanted more than to dish out pain, though. He wanted a spectacle. He wanted a scene people looked at and got squicked by. Annabelle was fine with being watched. She liked to play in public because it was safe. People changed in private, often in scary ways—being alone in the car with a dom made her uneasy—so if a dom got off on being seen, that usually worked for her. On the other hand, Ethan seemed more concerned about what other people thought than what she did, and that was starting to grate on her nerves. Even the collaring discussion revolved around people “seeing that she was his” rather than what the collar meant to him or her.
She didn’t want his collar, and that was clearly where he wanted to head. Neither did she want to be suspended by hooks in her flesh. Could it be done safely? Apparently, because people did it. But it wasn’t for her. She didn’t need the biggest badass. She didn’t care what people thought either. She simply wanted someone who would enjoy giving pain as much as she enjoyed receiving it.
She hadn’t promised to play exclusively with him at the party, although he seemed to take it for granted. When she had pointed out that she might want to play with others, he had acted like she was just being a brat. It wasn’t her fault he hadn’t taken her seriously.
Washing her hands, she reached a conclusion. She didn’t feel like going upstairs and dealing with Ethan and Fred. Clint was nice enough, but he was so quiet and wasn’t the type to ask her to play in front of Ethan anyway. There were a few rooms downstairs with play stations set up, and she decided she’d stay and watch.
She exited the bathroom and heard moans and slapping sounds to her left, so she headed that way. There was a spanking bench in a side room, but it wasn’t being used for spanking. Instead, a curvy, dark-haired woman was sitting on the edge of it, her ankles tied. She was facing her dom, and her breasts were wrapped in electric-blue rope so that each large pink breast jutted out like a cupcake, her hard nipples reminding Annabelle of a cherry.
Her dom, dressed casually in jeans and a black T-shirt, had a short riding crop in his hand. He was flicking her breasts with light strokes, often catching the nipple. Clearly, however, they were very sensitive nipples, given how his sub moaned at each flick. Being tied up like that increased sensitivity. She supposed the tie was a way of showing off, but she doubted Ethan would hold back with the crop the way this dom did. In fact, Ethan wasn’t fond of rope anyway—he considered it too slow and time consuming.
The dom’s back was to her, but the sub smiled for a moment before the crop brought her focus back. Annabelle had considered backing away from the doorway, so as not to intrude on what was a very intimate scene, but instead she kept watching. The woman liked being watched, or maybe she was proud of her dom’s handiwork. The two of them seemed to have a wonderful chemistry.
A faster than normal strike grazed the sub’s nipple, followed by a sharp intake of breath. The dom stopped to let his sub gather herself. “Thank you, Master,” she said and then arched her back again, making herself easily available to him. Instead of another stroke with the crop, her master reached out and caressed her breasts. The way his hand glided on the surface indicated how firm and taut they had been made by the rope. They would mark easily, if that was her master’s desire, but so far, it didn’t seem to be.
“Good girl,” said the master. “You’re a good slave.”
“Thank you, Master,” said the woman.
Then he teased her with the crop some more.
“Hot,” said a quiet voice in her ear. She looked over and saw a man about her own height, with reddish-brown hair, standing next to her in the doorway. She’d seen him before at a munch. If she remembered correctly, his name was Jack.
She nodded. “I agree,” she said softly, so as not to disturb the two playing. He, too, said no more. Together they watched the scene unfold.
At one point, the master marked his slave, a small purple bruise forming on the left side of her left breast. Later he pressed his fingers into the bruise, producing a sharp moan from his sub, followed by a shiver and a gasp. He kept it up, manipulating her breast and the bruise, brushing his thumb across her poor abused nipple. The woman started panting.
She was, Annabelle realized, not merely dealing with the pain. She was coming, just from having her breast stimulated.
And then the two of them were done. The master held his girl for a long moment, cooing in her ear too softly for Annabelle to hear. The girl was nonverbal, leaning on her man for support. Eventually he let go and helped her straighten. He knelt to untie her ankles, then rose again to undo the bindings on her breasts. He gathered her in his arms to cuddle in the corner.
It was too intimate to watch, and Annabelle and Jack both withdrew into the hall.
“Hi. Annabelle, right?” Jack asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I’ve seen you at a few parties. I’m Jack. Listen, um, would you be interested in playing?”
Well, that would be one way to send Ethan a message. Although maybe he wouldn’t even notice. “I don’t know. What did you have in mind?”
“There’s an X-frame free in the other room. I was thinking some bondage. Some tickling. And spanking or flogging—I can go either way.”
Some of that sounded enticing. She didn’t have high hopes for Jack, but she knew that when she went to a party and nothing happened, she often felt down afterward. Her gut told her he was safe. And she felt safe in this space. She could yell out if something horrible happened, and help would come running. That, in turn, deterred most people from overstepping, even if it didn’t do that much to make her feel better after her consent had been violated.
In private, on the other hand— She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about the things that had happened to her in private. She was too trusting. She didn’t want to develop a hard heart. “I don’t like tickling, so that’s out. Some bondage is fine, but nothing that stops me from talking.”
“Got it. No tickling, no gags. I really just intended to cuff you to the frame.”
Quickly, she thought about what else she needed. Jack was little more than a stranger, after all. “Panties stay on, no penetration.” She looked Jack over. He wasn’t big, and even if he was stronger than he looked, it was unlikely he would give her the intensity she enjoyed with his hands alone. “Flogging rather than a spanking. You can use your hands for warm up if you like.”
He nodded. “Got it. Sounds good.”
She detected a moment’s hesitation, but then he nodded again. “Of course,” he said.
She wasn’t sure that it was an “of course” at all, but she liked to get to know someone better before she did that. Maybe it was strange, to let someone beat her before she let them touch her more sensually, but she was comfortable with her strangeness. Impact play was cathartic. It was undeniably sexy for her, and yet it didn’t have to feel sexual in the same way groping, touching, and kissing did.
“Let’s go before we lose the spot,” he said, turning away from her.
“Good idea.” She followed him down the hall to the larger downstairs room.
“Standard safe words,” he said. “Red. Yellow.”
“Sounds good.” Red meant stop right now. It often ended a scene. Yellow meant she was getting close to her limits and would have to say red unless something changed.
The other room had an X-frame at one end, which Jack headed toward. At the far end, away from the frame, a big, sturdy-looking man was tying up a naked, heavy girl. He had her in a chest harness that framed and accentuated her breasts, although not nearly as constrictive as the one in the scene she’d just watched. It also held her arms in place behind her back. A rope ran from the harness to a ring that was attached to a beam in the ceiling by a climbing strap.
There was also a set of ropes tied around the waist and hips of the woman, in a crisscross pattern, and another rope that led from the hip harness up to the ring. It was this set the man was pulling on, lifting the woman’s ass slowly but inexorably skyward. As she watched, the woman’s toes left the ground, and the woman laughed, delighted.
Jack cleared his throat. He was standing next to the X-frame. Ah, yes, I’m going to get a beating.
She smiled, although she didn’t expect much. It would be fun, at least. More fun than she’d have with Ethan at this point or hanging around talking. She walked over to join him. “Clothes off, except for my panties?”
“Yes, that would be nice,” said Jack.
Sindra van Yssel