tagBDSMNights in Black Satin Ch. 01

Nights in Black Satin Ch. 01


She checks her lip gloss once more in the full length mirror she insisted on putting up in her bedroom and tucks a stray strand of her dark hair into place. Tonight it is down, falling glossy and straight over her back and she can feel it stroking her skin when she moves. She bends down to zip up her calf-length black stiletto boots, feeling her breath catch in her chest as the bones of her corset press in to her waist. Earlier she'd asked her flatmate to tighten it to get her waist as tiny as possible and to force her to breathe in to her chest. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath. Standing up, she smooths her skirt over her thighs. It's black, like the satin corset, and flares out when she twirls, which always makes her smile. Checking the time, she slips on her short leather jacket and grabs her bag off her bed. The knot of excitement in her stomach tightens a little more as she gives the room a final once over, picks up her keys and locks the door behind her.

The streets are dark, the orange glow of the street lamps giving the world an unreal feeling, reflecting off the wet tarmac and cars. Thankfully it is no longer raining as she strides towards her destination. A wolf whistle bolsters her confidence, much as she knows she's supposed to be offended by such things, and she begins to notice how the men she passes in the street stare just a little longer than normal. Her heart is thumping in her chest. Tonight everything changes. She's fearful of having no control, but drawn to it all the same.

The bar is set back from the pavement and, hips swaying, she walks down the path to the door, pays her fee and enters the dark and crowded rooms. Her palms are sweating, hands cold, as she walks to the side bar to order a drink. The music is loud enough the bass thumps in her chest, so she stands on tiptoe and leans her body over the bar to yell her order of two tumblers of scotch in the barman's ear. Suddenly she feels an arm round her waist pulling her down from the bar.

"The only person you're supposed to be bending over for tonight is me, my darling," a voice says by her ear. She can feel the material of his expensive suit against her arms and shoulders. Realising she can also feel it pressed against her ass, she reaches to push her skirt down, but he bats her hand away. "Half the bar just saw a lot more than that," he points out. "Leave it so they can see whose slut you are."

She drops her hands to her side and relaxes in to him. She feels him reach into his pocket and then over her shoulder to pay for the drinks and pick up the glasses. He releases his grip on her, steps back and waits for her to turn around before handing her her drink. She takes a sip, feeling the liquid burning down her throat and spreading warmth across her chest. Whisky always makes her feel more aware of physical sensations. Knowing this he places his hand on her chest, on the bare skin above the corset, and runs it slowly upward, holding her throat for a second, enjoying how delicate she feels, sliding on to tilt her chin towards him, holding her gaze the whole time. Keeping his hand on her neck, he downs his drink, puts the glass on the bar and takes hers from her hand. He places the glass to her lips and tilts it until she has swallowed the remaining spirit. She chokes a little, unused to drinking something so strong so quickly.

Glass disposed of, he runs his hand into her hair and pulls back sharply. She gasps at the sudden pain and yields, still looking at him, hips pressed harder against his as her back arches as far as the corset will allow. A few people at the bar look round trying to determine if they should intervene, when he leans down to kiss her and they realise that she is not trying to escape. His tongue presses against her lips and the grip on her hair increases till she opens her mouth to him with a moan deep in her throat. His other arm is round her waist, pulling her tight against him and when he releases her hair he maintains his hold on her body for a long moment before he takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor.

It's hot and crowded amidst the crush of bodies moving in time with the heavy beat. The lights flash across the crowd, never illuminating one spot for more than a second at a time. The whisky is having its effect on her. Things feel like they are happening in slow motion: she can see the glow of sweat on his forehead, making his sandy coloured hair seem darker brown; feel his strong hands grip her hips and his leg push her knees apart. He pushes her down so she's grinding against his thigh and caresses her ass as he watches her turn herself on, eyes closed, mouth open. He'd hear her moan, but for the music and it's then he decides it's time to leave. He wants from her than he can get here on the floor.

Taking her hand, he pulls her gently through the throng. She pulls back and looks questioningly at him, widening her hazel eyes. He leans in to explain, "I have bigger plans for us tonight, my darling. Follow me."

He leads her outside to the rank of black taxi cabs awaiting passengers and opens the door for her to slide in, climbing in after. He hands the driver a card, but she doesn't catch enough of a glance to see where to. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulls out a black satin blindfold and instructs her to turn around in her seat so he can tie it. She opens her mouth to protest, but he puts his finger to her lips and silences her. The journey passes in darkness for her and a blur of buildings and streetlamps for him. The car pulls to a halt, he pays the driver, climbs out and then reaches in to assist her, catching her when she stumbles slightly.

"Where are we?" she queries.

"Wait and see," he answers and she can hear the smile in his voice.

He stoops to pick her up, reasoning that this will be safer for her without spoiling the surprise. His arms under her legs and back easily support her weight and she rests her head against his shoulder, feeling simultaneously insecure and protected. Unbeknown to her, the doorman holds the door open and signals for the bellboy, who leads the way to their suite. He is pleased as ever by their discretion.

Setting her down, he tips the bell boy and waves him away. He watches her for a moment as she plays with the ends of her hair, a sure sign of nerves. Good, he thinks. I'd like to keep her nervous for a while. He steps forward and reaches out to untie the blindfold, slipping it back into his pocket for later. She blinks a few times and looks at her new surroundings.

The hotel room is dimly lit and plushly decorated in rich, dark colours with mahogany furniture including a large four poster bed. She walks to the centre of the room and hesitates, unsure of where he wants her.

"Stand here," he instructs abruptly, pointing to the foot of the bed, "and remove your knickers."

He watches, barely breathing, as she lifts her skirt, hooks her fingers through the waistband of her lacy black underwear and pulls them down slowly, reluctantly. She steps out of them and picks them up.

He crosses the room, pulling on his leather gloves, coming to a halt behind her. Running his hands gently from her shoulders to her wrists he takes them one at a time and wraps each one in a soft leather cuff, then joins the chain between them. Her breathing quickens as she realises what he has done, but she has only a second to struggle as he fixes his hand over her mouth and pulls her backwards to the floor, hooking his boots under her calves and stretching her legs wide.

She had cried out into his hand as she fell and now was breathing as heavily as his gloved grip and her tight corset would allow. "Shh...easy, little one, I've got you," he says huskily by her ear.

He runs his free hand over her chest, down her stomach and down to her skirt. He pushes it up to her waist, exposing her tight, shaven pussy and strokes his finger along her opening. The leather comes away glistening with her wetness. He pushes first one finger, then another into her, bigger and harder because of the gloves and she writhes against him as he uses his thumb to massage her clit. She's breathless with his hands over her mouth and in her cunt, the smell of the leather in her nose and his fingers stretching her apart, pushing in and out, over and over, stretching her almost to the point of pain.

Suddenly as he'd grabbed her, he removes his hands causing her to cry out, this time in frustration. His hand drops to her waist, holding her tight against him freeing her mouth for him to force his leather clad fingers, glistening with her juices, between her lips.

"Taste yourself for me, darling," he instructs.

"Taste how hot I get you."

She wraps her lips around the proffered digit and sucks, tasting herself over the strong scent of the material. When he is satisfied with her attempts he releases his grip and stands, smoothing out his suit.

He allows her a moment's respite before picking her up and throwing her back on the bed. She lands awkwardly, without her hands to break her fall, and wriggles herself over and into a sitting position, supporting herself on her elbows, bound wrists tucked underneath her back. He removes his gloves and pulls his tie out of his suit pocket. Leaning on the bed behind her, he instructs her to stay still as he wraps his silk tie around her head and pushes it into her mouth. He knots it tightly at the back effectively gagging her.

She tries to turn her head and look at him, but he moves away too fast and instructs her to face forward. She hears a few clicks behind her, buttons being pressed perhaps, she can't be sure. The urge to look is strong, but not as strong as the urge to do as she's been told. She is gratified when he sits on the bed beside her and reaches out to stroke the hair from her forehead.

"Now, my angel, I have a test for you," he says, smiling as he sees her eyes widen in apprehension.

"Just do exactly as I say. There is a penalty for disobedience and you are rather at a disadvantage if it comes to fighting back." He smiles again and she nods, fear clenching in her stomach, quelling the desire of a moment ago.

"Bend your knees and spread your legs," he instructs, watching the muscles flex in her toned legs as she complies. He looks her over again appreciatively: long, dark hair tousled, breasts heaving in the tight corset, skirt around her waist, boots serving to accentuate her naked pussy. His eyes are drawn to the glistening opening, framed by her shapely thighs. The intensity of his gaze makes her want to close her legs and he spots the muscle twitch that gives her thoughts away. There's a knock at the door.

"Keep them open," he orders firmly, pointing a finger at her as he crosses the room to open the door. Her breathing quickens as she realises he has every intention of allowing someone else into the room. She watches the bellboy push the trolley past the bed, focusing on not spilling the champagne, or upsetting the strawberries so much so that he does not notice her until he turns round. Well trained, he betrays only the smallest sign of shock at the sight of a beautiful girl bound and gagged before him.

"I can assure you she is a willing participant," says her lover, from his position leaning on the dressing table. The bellboy nods, but turns to her for confirmation.

"Is that true, Miss?" he queries. The blush glowing red in her cheeks, without thinking she brings her legs together, forces herself to meet his gaze and nods her answer. He gives a small nod of agreement, tinged with envy, and reluctantly leaves.

He remains still, watching her, wanting to witness her reaction as she realises what she has done. He wants to see his power over her. He is not disappointed taking in her sigh of relief at the boy's exit, quickly followed by a panicked glance at him and an indecision over what he might want her to do now.

She is surprised that she is genuinely fearful of his response, disproportionate to her wrongdoing. Her legs feel shaky as she returns them to his instructed position, feeling far more exposed now that she is no longer turned on. Her eyes are cast down and, satisfied she can't see him, he allows himself a smile -- she's a natural at this game, though he's sure it feels genuine to her and he intends to keep it that way...

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