This is a little bit clichéed, but is a fun story; not every tale will be 2,500 words plus. I got overenthusiastic!
They looked gorgeous.
Hotter than the filling of a toasted jam sandwich, yet more dangerously streetwise than a bunch of alleycats.
I’d been to see them a dozen times: The Luscious Ladies toured extensively and every show of female domination was crazier and more intense than the last. They were always exceptional: two “slaves” – one male and one female – dressed only in red masks were led onto the stage, and then the five ladies performed all manner of perversions onto the lucky individuals, having them screaming for withheld mercy.
My favourite was Lady Heather: a blonde haired, latex loving bitch of perfection. She had stolen my heart and attention from the moment I first saw her lattice a screaming slave’s rear into a bloodied mass of excruciating pain.
Then there was Lady Heidi: the diminutive German wearer of black leather and fishnets while furiously pegging a young man’s arse as she cried triumphantly. Is there anything hotter than her reducing a six-foot bodybuilder to a blubbering wreck with her leather paddle, her nipple clamps and her eight-inch dildo strap-on?
I went to see all five of the girls work their magic and their malevolence, and longed to speak to them. I’d tell them how much I loved their work, how I’d bought all their merchandise and how I’d love to visit their dungeon. Two minutes was all I need, just 120 seconds. Alas, the adult venues that hosted their debauched shows didn’t tend to encourage audience interaction, but I’d have done anything for their autographs on a Luscious Ladies branded leather paddle. I’d even brought it with me, desperate to have an opportunity for them to sign it.
I wanted to speak to them, and pondered ways of getting access. But alcohol always clouds judgement, and by the time the intermission had started I was feeling the foolhardy side of brave, and poor judgement reined supreme. I decided to knock on their dressing room door and ask them; surely they’d love to hear from a devoted fan?
Slipping past security was easy, finding the courage to knock was much harder; I could hear their sadistic laughter from behind the varnished wood, and listened intently, pressing my ear against the oak door.
It swung open slightly, barely making a sound as the five women drank bottled water and Lady Heather changed; she was even more gorgeous naked. I was spell-bound. Stopped in my tracks by her poise and her nakedness. The gorgeousness of her curves, sliding elegantly along her beautifully tanned body, snatched my attention; I forgot everything at that moment in time: my name, my address and even my reason for being there.
She was sheer perfection: an erection causer at a thousand paces and a delightful minx of sheer maleficent beauty. I adored her.
Which when she saw me, ogling her nudity and poise. Her glowing smile disappeared as her eyes locked on mine: staring and scowling on me. I was startled and shocked, blurting nonsense incoherently as I heard steps from behind me. My mouth motored as my brain panicked; I pleaded for their autograph as I held the paddle while the imposing boots thumped closer and closer.
The unfettered goddess stopped them with a wave of her hand as she crossed her arms over her bare breasts; they were obscenely perfect. Every part of her was, as she demanded an explanation.
I was talking to Lady Heather. My mind could not believe that she was speaking to me, as my stomach whirled itself into a knot and my feet shifted nervously. “This is our private time,” she explained calmly; her voice never boomed loudly, but she made me feel a few inches tall as her companions and herself glared angrily at the anxious pervert. “And you’ve come to peep.”
“Peeping Tom, string his fucking balls up,” Lady Heidi barked.
“No respect for us.”
“I do have respect,” I cried, glancing over my shoulder at three burly security men who were waiting to tear my flesh from my bones in front of five women who wanted them to. “I think you are all amazingly wonderful and I’m so sorry, but I just wanted to get your autographs as I’ve been to twelve of your shows and you are just the most incredible people and I dream so much of you and I’m …” I trialled off, as Lady Heather’s outstretched finger touched the top of her lip, to demand silence.
“You have a domme?” She enquired, waiting for me to mumble. My ex-girlfriend and I used to play, but Lady Heather’s smile broadened as she asked for a red hood. “Maybe if you are such a fan of the show then we could find a part for you.” She licked her lips, carefully, slowly and with a menacing grimace.
I recognised that look. I had seen the glint in her eye dozens of times, as she planned the torment she was about to inflict. She sized me up, just like she sized up her victims on stage before launching a tidal wave of pain through them with devastating slashes of her weapon.
It sent a chill through my body.
But I was ushered into a tiny adjacent room containing two naked people and had a red hood thrown at me. “Get naked,” Lady Heidi demanded. “We are going to beat into you some respect.”
I gulped: suddenly very scared and aware of my surroundings. “All I wanted was an autograph,” I muttered to the two “slaves”; they were younger than me, and shrugged, watching as I turned away to disrobe.
What had I let myself in for? My BDSM play was limited in the extreme, and Luscious Ladies fuelled my fantasies not relived my experiences. If they did a tenth of what the two people with the reddened skin and bloodied bottoms next to me received then I would be screaming for release in no time.
But arousal and excitement is powerful and it rode roughshod over any sound judgement I had. I was out of my depth, but it was the world I had dreamt of joining for years. I wanted it. And unlike the boys who dream of playing Premiership football, I was about to line up at my Old Trafford, only it wasn’t a devil with the trident, but five evil sadists.
A bang of the door was accompanied by some yells, as I slipped the red hood over my head. I felt hands lace it for me and muttered thanks as I stumbled forward into the bright light.
The ladies looked incredible, yet again. The latex of Lady Heather, the fishnets of Lady Heidi, the minimalist armour of Lady Georgina, the red leather of Lady Pauline and the long dark cloak of Lady Jasmine. They looked scary, divine and had my loins a-trembling.
I loved them; at that moment, I loved every inch of them. Looking up into their imposing frames, my insides quivered and my heart pounded.
Walking barefoot to the stage was intense; not a word was spoken and the atmosphere was foreboding. I was about to step towards my destiny and I knew everything and nothing what it contained. I could see the range of equipment on stage and froze as we approached the wings.
I felt my right hand taken from my side and Lady Heather clipped a small button onto the end of my index finger. “Press that and we’ll feel it,” she whispered. “We may slow down, we may not.” I gulped as she glanced at the stage; her companions were striding onto it, shoving their slaves in front of them. “Any limits we should know about?”
I spluttered, looking into her emerald eyes of evil, strangely reassuring me. “Don’t … know.”
“We’ll hurt you, we’ll break you but we won’t destroy you,” she promised, as she grabbed the back of my neck and flung me onto the stage.
I was expecting them to announce my arrival as a peeping tom, but Lady Heidi just announced that I needed to be taught a lesson and the Luscious Ladies were going to give me one.
It was blind faith. I was totally trusting the pro-dommes as one of the ladies, tugged me towards the St Andrews Cross, shackling my hands and feet to the X frame, my face looking at the back of the stage while the hundreds of punters were staring at my arse.
But I wasn’t concerned about them; they didn’t factor into my thinking at the time. I was restrained, yet almost relieved to be so. From this moment on, I couldn’t wimp out. I was ready for whatever they wanted to give me and the decision was no longer mine.
“Let’s look after his nips,” a voice cried into the microphone.
Fingers roughly tugged at my skin as clamps were applied, biting angrily into my nipples and sending pain tearing through my consciousness. My body boiled with sheer agony; it was unlike anything I had experienced. It was intensely overpowering, hearing myself yell with desperate cries. “Get ’em off, get ’em off,” I pleaded.
The lady cackled, crying out to the crowd. I recognised their baiting: “should we get ’em off?” She mimicked cruelly. The crowd jeered, just as I would have done if I was sat in my seat. They never did give respite; we all paid good money to see twisted evil and we wanted to see every last drop of pain inflicted. My fellow perverts did to me, what I had done dozens of times previously: they demanded sadistic torture and they got it, as my fingers clawed at the X-Frame and tears welled.
Yet, as I begged for a release from the constant burning of my nipples, the button never registered as an option. I wanted it, but I couldn’t take it. I felt as though my nipples were being ripped from my body, but in practice, two clips were tight against my nerves. That was all.
My yells continued: Lady Heather’s paddle found my displayed arse a welcome target and the first strike landed with an echo, pelting my white skin with a roaring slap. It was too much, causing me to yell again, begging for mercy to gleeful delight of the dominatrices.
They weren’t going to torment me with just pain, but their words punctured my soul: this was just the “warm-up” and I was being a “big baby.” They asked the crowd if I deserved mercy and when the baying mob of perverts offered me none, Lady Heather began a volley of pelts with her wooden weapon.
I was bombarded; my arse suffered as I felt more alive than at any point in my life. Every nerve sizzled with sensation, every pore burnt with the smacks of the paddle and every inch of my soul cried for mercy as I lived my deepest fantasies.
I was being tormented by the ladies I masturbated over every night. I was being tortured by my dream in public, as I struggled to be free of it. Only it wasn’t a dream, but a nightmare: I was hating every hard smack of the paddle against my raw bottom, but I loved their control. I needed it, I needed to see their act through to the conclusion, and I needed the Luscious Ladies to continue with their debauchery.
I wanted more.
I wanted the twisted, evil deviants to plunge their depraved imaginations and drag me into their world. And I got my wish.
For as my bottom glowed with pain, Lady Georgina, slashed a bullwhip against my shoulders, tearing stripes of red-hot pain into my back, and making me fill the soundsystem with my desperate yells.
Lady Jasmine unfastened me from the St. Andrews Cross and restrained me onto a bench, introducing searing hot wax onto my front. They laughed at my erection, teasing my size with searing insults.
My cheeks burnt as much as my rear, rubbing against the rough fabric of the bench as I wriggled with shock and pain as globules of hot wax splattered onto my thighs. My yelps entertained them: almost as much as the inflamed, desperate cries from the other slaves.
The ladies seemed to love the competition: the volume of our tormented pleas as our senses were overloaded with pain, and the spidering tingling of the angry wax, landing onto my thighs were insignificant to when Lady Jasmine played with her candle and my cock at the same time.
I had the wax spanked from my thighs, my anus penetrated with a ponytail butt plug, my balls stretched and my face pushed onto the dusty boots of Lady Heidi. They took me further and further.
Until the end, when all the ladies donned strap-ons. I whimpered, they were bigger than I had remembered, but Lady Heather stood behind me and slowly removed the butt plug.
I toyed with the button, this was too far, but the erection pressing against my abused skin told me I wanted them to, and the restraints digging into my wrists told me I had no choice.
My bud yielded to her toy as she pushed; the voices of the taunting grew louder and disappeared as I became only aware of what was happening to me. I was being fucked, taken on stage in front of a horny, drunk crowd. I felt the rub of her phallus against my prostate, the stretch of my anus to accommodate her toy and the bawdy screams of their psychological torment.
I knew I was being taken, but I was loving it. The glow of arousal spreading from my loins and engulfing my cock as pre-cum poured from it. It was covering my skin, soaking my body as Lady Heather rammed her thick cock into my rectum.
As I settled into the rhythm: rough and passionate pounding into my soul, Lady Heidi grabbed hold of my cheeks and pulled my face to one side, before filling my mouth with her black cock.
My humiliation was complete: spit-roasted in public with every part of my body glowing in pain and dozens of degrading words pelting my every pore. It was awesome.
The ladies bowed at the end, leaving us restrained to the equipment as the curtain fell and they walked off stage. They left us for a further ten minutes, squealing and begging for release until two of them came back and freed us, laughing as they did.
“You good?” Lady Heather asked cheerfully as I massaged my aching body.
I smiled, although she couldn’t see it behind the hood. “Incredible. But will you please sign my paddle now?” I begged, shivering on the cool stage as Lady Heather picked at her gloves.
“No,” she replied with a smirk. “We’re still annoyed with you. You can come back in the intermission tomorrow! I’ll give you free tickets to the show, but we’ll sign the paddle tomorrow night when you’ve earned it. If you’re brave enough to come back that is.”
Suddenly, I felt as though I was in their world. And that was exciting.
Featured image used under a CC-license from here