K&T, LLC Ch. 05

At that point, our food was served, so everyone was able to focus on something else. I asked CC to show me her tongue. Sure enough, it was blistered in two places. She also looked decidedly pleased with herself. I leaned over and said, "That was naughty. Do you know what happens to naughty girls?" Suddenly the smell of sex was in the air. Sheila said, "Siobhan, stop playing with your food. We're in public."

Both CC and I blushed at that one.

Sheila:

I had been hoping for a quiet meal and a start home. Such was not to be. I love oysters on the half shell, so I ordered a dozen as an appetizer. Naturally Francine bumped it to three dozen. That would have been fine, except Siobhan started to play pepper sauce chicken with Christine, or should I say, Tess. Two bites in, I could see where this game was headed. They started in the middle and quickly went up the scale. Clearly Siobhan was familiar and, just as clearly, Christine was not.

The problem with playing chicken is knowing when to flinch. Knowing Christine as I did, that would not happen. Hotter sauces were requested. One I recognized by brand, but two I did not. Siobhan did, because she requested gloves. Francine made the final attempt a scene for the whole restaurant. After Tess swallowed the bite, I recognized the expression on her face. It was the same glow she gets from a serious pussy whipping. Fortunately, our food was served. Less fortunately, Siobhan pursued the matter further. I told her to act her age.

The rest of the meal went without incident. My chicken and arugula salad was excellent. Siobhan made the mistake of trying a food race Francine, while wearing a corset. Duh. Francine devoured a large steak and both lobsters before Siobhan finished her lobster tail, much less the filet. Christine ate cautiously, which made me think her mouth had been burned. I needed to keep tabs on where Francine stepped over the line. I would get her, even if it took years. That thought had a calming effect.

After dinner, Francine said she wanted to walk a bit. I knew then that I should get Christine and leave. Perhaps, I am a bit gullible. We walked through the parking lot to a club, which had a black kitty cat clock above it's door. Le Chat Noir. How original. Francine led us in and past the bar. Either she had a room reserved or it was another of her businesses, possibly both. She had warned us that there was a party planned.

On the far side of the room was a door guarded by a bouncer. The door was marked "Kitten's Lair", along with a Dante quote: Abandon Hope all ye who Enter. That very much smacked of Francine. We had to pause a moment, while the bouncer announced us. Once again, I seriously thought of leaving, but I had come this far and I was getting curious. The references to cats should have warned me.

At the bottom of the stairs were two changing rooms. The four of us filed into the female side. Inside we found a girl in a latex cat suit, who handed us each a basket. Francine unceremoniously threw her top and skirt into hers. Christine eagerly followed suit, though Francine stopped her when her hands went to the corset strings. Nice. Corsets were the uniform de jour and I did not have one. Fortunately, there were masks. I stripped down to panties, bra and heels—and hoped for the best. Christine showed interest in the latex suit, which gave me possibilities for another day.

The last one to unclothe was Siobhan. That made sense, since her body modesty was, by far, the highest. Christine was helping her every step. In fact, there was a bounce in Christine's step, which indicated that she might know what was coming, no pun intended. Accordingly, I asked the attendant for a blindfold and gag. Unsurprisingly, she had both.

I handed them to Christine, then asked for her underwear. Need I mention that they reeked. I waved them under the catgirl's nose and asked her when she got off. That earned me a dirty look—and something else. Francine noticed as well. As we exited, she lingered with the room attendant. Francine was definitely one of the owners.

What can you say about a bondage club, that 10,000 erotic authors have not already butchered? Pithy quote: The problem with nudist colonies is no quality control. The problem with clubs is that subs with money can be half assed masters. I spent several minutes figuring out which was which. Christine, needless to say, was long gone. Tess was looking at the whipping post with lust in her eyes.

To give the denizen's credit, at least two of them noticed Tess' focus. Quite correctly, they approached Siobhan. I lay back and watched. At first, I suspected that Siobhan did not understand the dynamics of the club, but then I understood that she was negotiating for position. Tess was the juiciest morsel in the club, and Siobhan was not going to sell her short. Francine caught up with me, but had the good sense not to speak. This may not have been her intent, but we would be going with it.

Siobhan disposed of the first wave of greedy wannabes. I even awarded her points for style. Standing tall in her heels, Siobhan was imposing as hell and she used it. Some of the would be masters really wanted to be in Christine's place, so they did not move far. The genuine submissives and pain sluts were beginning to take notice. Perhaps the evening would not be wasted.

Our little group moved on. There was a scene in progress. An obvious hooker was tied naked on a St. Andrews cross. Her john was whipping her, with a distinct lack of understanding. I snorted a laugh and moved on. Oddly, that was the thing that got me noticed. A heavy German accent asked, "What is he doing wrong?" Francine answered. "What is he doing right? He wants to trade positions, so that they could both enjoy it. But, it will not work out that way. Because he is paying, neither will enjoy the event. Sad."

The large dark haired man stepped into our path. He said, "I am Lars Gunter. You the first to make sense of this are. How you say, scheiss." Francine grinned and said, "Miss Martel. Lars, please wait a while. We should get something interesting sorted out." I had a bad feeling. Francine raised her voice. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Doms and subs, we have in our midst the mistress for whom the club is named. I give you, Le Chat Noir, la Gata Negra, die Schwarze Katze—Mistress Cynthia."

What could I do? I went to the poor streetwalker that was tied to the big X. Leaning close, I said in a whisper, "I am going to give you an easy out. All you need to do is cum when my submissive eats you up. Make it look good, because I will be making a bet with your john." Oddly, that had her breathing faster.

I went to the dickwad with the lash. "I have a wager for you. If I tie you to that cross, I can make you cum faster than a submissive can lick your prostitute to orgasm—and I just told her that cumming would get her out of here." Maybe subs really can tell what I am, because he took the bet. I handed him the gag and blindfold. Always make the subs handle the restraints. In this case Mr. wannabe put them on without any sign of hesitation. I asked for help binding him to the cross.

Since this was the best theater of the evening, I had a great deal of help. In short order, little miss hooker was free and mister john was spread out on the cross. I went up to him, supposedly to test the bonds, but really to let him sense my presence and his inability to move. I had left him his jockey shorts, though a jockstrap would have been my first choice. I asked for a larger gag. As I fastened it around his head, someone said, "Oh my God. It is her. Look." I did not have to look. I knew that the catalog was in his hand. My mask had done no good at all.

Dear G_d, what next?

Chapter 13 -- The Little Drummer Girl

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy:

There was a lot of bonding that night. Mom, Aunt Frannie and Aunt Jo all say so. Nanny CC does not say anything, but she smiles and looks shy. Mom and my Aunts are all impressive women. CC was my nanny. Yet she was the center of the affair. Whatever she did must have been something else.

Author's Note: This chapter contains a graphic scene involving actions and devices that could cause serious injury. This is an experienced professional using great care. Do not attempt them yourself. If you wish to skip the chapter, there is a plot summary in italics at the the end of the section.

Francine:

I knew that dining with Sheila and Siobhan would not be dull, but ye Gods I never expected a pepper sauce showdown. I would swear that Schwartz' sub had never tried serious hot sauce before, but she went straight through the usual stuff without stopping. I sent for the prime stock. Some of these things cost like perfume, but I wanted them if I needed them. Even the heavy stuff did not stop CC.

I had to make a production of the last option. It is basically riot control spray in a bottle. Siobhan obviously knew exactly what she was holding, but that only added to the drama. CC took it, rolled it around and swallowed it. Blessed Mary, Mother of God. The applause was deafening. CC looked like the cat with yellow feathers in its mouth. That girl is a damned stage hog. I made an announcement. It served to drop the curtain, so we had a chance to eat our meal in peace. Sheila told Siobhan not to play with her food, meaning CC. Damn that girl was good.

Once dinner was over, I had to maneuver them to the Lair. I had named the club after Sheila years before. The private part had always been the Panther's Lair. Sean had given me the better name for my dungeon, so I had changed it last week. The best part was that Sheila was modest enough not to make the association. Unfortunately, it was Tuesday night. Most of my serious players have day jobs, so the clientele gets pretty thin during the week. I hoped for the best and led to to the changing room.

The Lair was everything I feared it might be: sparse and mismatched. There was one naked girl on the wall and she did not want to be there. Forget putting CC/CC up there; I had to fix the problem first. Fortunately a German tourist provided an opportunity. I put Sheila in the spotlight and watched her instincts take over. In less than a minute, Sheila had the hooker off the wall and people putting her john up in her place. Damn that girl was good.

Then someone recognized her. Shit. Sean's catalog had gone out in the Monday mail. I had not expected it to be delivered Tuesday, but there it was—Mistress Cynthia, in panties, bra and heels and a bound and gagged man hanging on the wall. The page even identified her by name. Shit a broomstick. Sheila bailed me out by playing to the crowd.

I have been told that, as a mistress, I lack patience. Schwartz proved everyone right. Where I would have gone straight to physicality, Sheila milked it for time. She fussed with the bonds. She requested a larger gag. She acknowledged her photo and, by relation, the session with Jason. All the time, mister wannabe master was stewing in his juice.

Then someone brought a riding crop. It made sense, since that is what Mistress Cynthia had used in the photo shoot, but it was not what she wanted. Cynthia had blindfolded her victim, but one of the denizens was giving him a running commentary. When the denizen mentioned the crop, the effect on the prisoner was dramatic. He obviously understood the kind of damage a crop could do.

Naturally, Cynthia played it for more time. She went through the whole box of whips, lashes and floggers. At one point she took out the single strand bullwhip, which requires disclosure documents and medical standby. Her gagged prisoner broke into a cold sweat. After several minutes she settled on a short, lightweight flogger. Basically, it was the same as the pompon Sheila had used on me. I felt the ends of my mouth force their way upward.

Before she began, Sheila had to position the hooker. Rather than tie her up, Sheila had Siobhan sit behind her and spread her out. The heels of Siobhan's pumps were set to a notch in the floor, while her ankles held the hooker's thighs open. Each of the hooker's wrists was held in one of Siobhan's hands. The hooker tried to move, but she was not going anywhere. Satisfied, Sheila snapped her fingers, pointed at the floor and said, "Second Position." CC was in place almost before Sheila had finished speaking. A murmur of comments ran through her audience.

Sheila told Siobhan to coach CC, whose duty was to force an orgasm on the hooker. Unspoken, but clearly understood, was that CC would be rewarded based on her service. Only then did Sheila pick up the lightweight flogger and turn her attention to her own victim. Mister john had been watching the preparations with interest. When Mistress Cynthia turned to him, the blood drained from his face. Sheila walked slowly to the correct position, trailing the strands of the lash through her fingers as she went. The john's color returned, and his soldier saluted. Damn, that girl was good.

Once she was in place, swishing the flogger back and forth, Sheila looked to our German friend: Lars Gunter. He had also been watching in fascination, but quickly shook it off. "Reaady, Setzen, Beginnen. Und eins, und zwei, und drei... Gott en Himmel. Wir haben einen Gewinner. Hurra Fräulein. Es ist unglaublich." God that was fast.

Sheila had swatted him once on each nipple. Then Sheila—or should I say Cynthia—gave him a minor flick on the prick and the john shot his wad into his jockeys. With that done, Sheila flowed over to where CC was buried in hooker muff. She stood over them, looking down as the hooker stared up. A slow smile came to Mistress Cynthia's lips. "Let me help you with that." With a negligent seeming flick of her wrist, the flogger stung the hooker's tit. She was rewarded with a screaming orgasm.

Everyone applauded. Cynthia took a bow. Then she reached out and helped the hooker to her feet. The hooker grabbed her in a fierce hug, which Sheila freely returned, then sent her to change. I had to admit, the girl had potential. I decided to offer her a way off the street and sent a message to stop her from leaving. Meanwhile, Cynthia was running the ends of the flogger across CC's shoulders. Act Two was about to start. Gradually, quiet returned as everyone else realized it.

Cynthia said to CC, "That was acceptable priming. I will give you a reward. You may choose your flogger, but choose well. I do not want you incapacitated." CC nodded her head vigorously. Someone brought her the box of floggers, but CC did not move to take it. This caused a moment of confusion, then people started whispering that she had not been given permission to break position. It was a telling point. Eventually, someone started going through them, one at a time, beginning with another short lash. CC chose a cat of nine tails.

In a venue named for a cat, there were options even in this category, pardon the pun. To her credit, CC chose the lightest one. It was still a dangerous device, requiring expert use—unless blood was the intent. I saw Sheila's jaw clench. CC had crossed a line. Cynthia raised an arm, pointed toward a road barricade and said, "Naked."

Her audience practically fell over themselves, getting CC up, stripping her down and carrying her to an oversized orange and white saw horse. Cynthia had CC bend double over the the middle of the horizontal bar. At Cynthia's direction, CC's hands and feet were bound to opposite riser pieces. CC's position was almost inverted. She hung so far down that her hair touched the floor. It was artistically done. Whatever else my clients were, they had knot skills.

The beauty of the position was that CC's weight was almost fully supported by the narrow cross piece of the barricade, placed under her midriff. The barricade was a popular restraint piece, but I doubt anyone had ever been completely off the floor before. I made a mental note that it would not happen again, unless there was prior approval. Just the sight made me wince.

Cynthia was not finished. Out came the clamps, which went on each nipple, both labia and the perineum. Weights were added. Then came the #4 ass spreader. Cynthia took her time and worked it in slowly. It was becoming clear to me that pace was critical to Cynthia's work. Pace and misdirection. While Cynthia worked the ass plug in, she also repeatedly brushed against the weights on CC's cunt.

Sheila dropped to her knee and spoke quietly to CC. I was startled when CC replied. In fact, both Cynthia and CC had stepped out of the scene. I do not know how I could tell, but I could. Having CC speak was startling enough, but what she said shook Sheila. She froze for a moment, then said something to CC. When she rose, she was playing Cynthia again. God, I love to work with professionals.

A cat 'o nine tails is a true whip. The damn things are dangerous, but I needed to have them. There are disclosure documents and release forms. The fact that none of that was in evidence would cause some hard questions later. In the mean time, we all had an artist to watch. The air reeked of arousal. It was a major challenge to keep my hand away from my pussy. Several of my clients were not even trying.

Everyone associates whips with cracking. That is actually the tip of the whip going supersonic. With skill and a single strand, that is possible. The sound of leather meeting flesh is different and very distinctive. It was a sound that would stay in my head for many weeks.

Cynthia took her position opposite the audience, facing CC's back. That meant that the strand ends would wrap over CC's ass and legs, leaving the greatest impact on the tenderest parts. Internally, I winced at what was coming. Cynthia started at one ankle and worked inward. Four strikes had CC's calf and lower thigh vivid red. Some of the ladies were whimpering. Yet, this was just the warmup. With two strokes in quick succession, Cynthia marked the inside of the knees. CC had not been gagged. At the first stoke she gave a small mewling sound. On the second she was silent, but tears streamed down her forehead.

There was a pause. Once again, Cynthia was using pace and anticipation. The pause lasted long enough that the crowd started to murmur. Cynthia said one word, "Come." The cat 'o nine tails slashed again—this time much sharper than before. Angry red welts appeared on CC's ass, but those were secondary. At least two strands of the whip ran up the crack between the glutes and between the open labia major, impacting wetly on the exposed clit and the labia minora. CC gave a single shriek and convulsed in a massive orgasm.

The room was stunned silent for a moment, then murmurs of appreciation, followed by outright applause. There were only about thirty people in the club, but all of them were packed into a tiny space. It was loud. Sheila raise the whip in acknowledgment, then she gestured at CC, who was still upended on the barricade. Several of the watchers ran forward to release her. Sheila dropped the whip and turned toward the wall, stumbling a bit on the way.

Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners. Sheila stumbled.

Siobhan:

Francine was a stage diva and it showed. I do not think the pepper sauce showdown was her idea, but she orchestrated it with an experienced hand. Once we had finished our meal, stuffed to the limits of our corsets, Francine suggested we walk. So we walked—across the parking lot to a club, then down some stairs to a bondage club. I had seen Martel use finesse, but none was showing.

The bondage club was a disappointment. Not even half full. Mostly it consisted of people, dressed for a part, standing around bragging. Christine was hanging on my side. Several of the patrons decided I was her Mistress and approached me. Please. I would not cheapen Christine's loyalty with the likes of this bunch. They were like undergrads wanting special treatment. I brushed them off like the flies they were. A couple of them tracked me, as if they wanted Pet's place, not her services. I did not choose to acknowledge them.