Road Trip Ch. 10

"Oh, feminine intuition," I replied lightly, "Now, ask away."

He gulped then took the bull by the horns. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

I smiled. "Yes, and we're engaged to be married."

"And yet you're an escort and you sell your sexual favors," he replied incredulously.

"Yes. He does also."

Simon remained silent, digesting this piece of information. I waited a few minutes then asked the obvious question. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing, I had pictures of you as being my girlfriend, but I guess that's not gonna happen now, eh. Sorry."

I propped myself up on an elbow and looked down at him lying there, a sad look on his face.

"Darling, never assume. Firstly, once you got over the first few steps, you are wonderful lover. I definitely hope we spend time in bed together again. My fiancé, Hank, and I intend to marry this summer. We've discussed what vows we want to make. We're definitely not having a standard marriage. We're both open to having other partners, either spending time alone with them or having more than two in a bed. Maybe if you could see a way this arrangement could include you, then we might be willing to listen."

His face lit up at the last words, then he frowned. "So, you're saying that I could be your bit on the side?"

"If that's how you see yourself, that's a possibility. However, if you wanted, you could be far more than that."

"What? Like we live together? Like I sleep with you each night, or some nights? With Hank? What about your escort work?"

"Well, we're looking at other types of work, for example, sexual and relationship education. The sort of thing I was doing with you last evening at the beginning. Never think that what is now is all there is or that it will stay like that all the time. Situations change and sometimes you can be the change." I decided it was time to take the bull by the horns. "If you're interested in a continuing relationship with me, then I am also interested in one with you. Now, where this goes from here is entirely up to us."

It was obviously too hard a question to decide right now; there were all sorts of implications for both of us, but it certainly gave us something to think about and we decided to stay in touch. We climbed out of bed, showered together, then ate breakfast naked before I dressed, called a cab, kissed Simon goodbye, accepted his envelope and was driven home. Hank met me with open arms. We kissed and cuddled for a few minutes, then we sat on the sofa for our usual exchange of experiences.

I told him in detail about Simon, what a great lover he is, and my suggestion that he might like to consider becoming part of a polyamorous relationship with us.

"Yes, that's an interesting thought. Maybe I'll get a bit more sleep instead of being kept awake to meet your insatiable demands," he joked. I poked my tongue out at him and went to the kitchen to make coffee. Once I returned he told me of his night at home.

Right from the start his client had shown herself to be selfish and controlling. It seemed that she couldn't care less whether Hank got any satisfaction or not; as far as she was concerned he was simply a servant there to do her bidding. Unlike my own experience last night, there was no love making, it was simply sex. Hank had tried to point out and encourage his client to relax and let the love in, but she wouldn't listen and didn't care. He did, apparently, bring her to four fairly mechanical orgasms, and did manage to have one himself, which was a bit problematical as she would not allow him to use a condom but didn't want him to cum inside her. So, he withdrew as he came, spurting his cum on her stomach, which she then had him remove immediately with a towel. She left early this morning, having paid the agreed amount but without a tip. This reminded me to open my envelope, where I found my agreed price plus a $200 tip.

"So, I guess you're ready for some relief, honey," I said, standing up and sitting on his knee.

"Yes, darling, that would be great unless you're all fucked out."

"Me? Fucked out? Never, at least, not by humans, only vibrators," I replied, remembering Margarite's vibrator sessions, probably more appropriately called torture sessions. My mind went forward to the coming weekend, wondering what she'd get up to then. At least there would be more people there.

We gradually stripped each other then Hank pulled me onto him as he sat on the sofa, sliding his rampant cock into me as I sat on his lap. We kissed as we gently rocked back and forth, each feeling the delicious sensations of our intimate parts moving against one another, making sweet, gentle love. Hank was certainly primed and ready. After only a few minutes, I felt him tense and he nuzzled my neck and squeezed my nipples, then I felt his warmth flood into me. I held him tightly, following his lead, moving once again when he recommenced his rocking motion.

Gradually I felt myself approaching my climax, his cock moving inside me combined with the dragging of my clit over the base of his cock was enough to push me towards the edge of the abyss. I wanted to move faster, harder, but Hank kept up the same slow, deliberate movements which were so frustrating, so loving, so wonderful. Then I felt him speed up, thrusting harder, obviously almost ready to deposit his next load into me. I held him tightly, cupping his ass cheeks with my hands and he once again punished my breasts and nipples with his fingers, pushing me onwards, higher, my breathing faster, yet not adequate, then he made a final thrust and I felt his initial squirt against the end, which pushed me over the edge with a scream as my body shuddered and shook with my release. My consciousness faded until there was only a small bright spot, then it returned slowly as my heaving chest dragged in more oxygen and I returned to full reality.

We moved our bodies apart slightly, allowing me to breathe a little easier. "Oh, I love you, sweetheart," Hank murmured in my ear, "Thank you so much. Wonderful as always."

"Mmmm, yes, I thoroughly enjoy making love with you, darling, so wonderful."

After a short time, I stood and fetched a towel to wipe us up. Hank then looked at my corset critically.

"Time to tighten again?" he asked.

I thought of the twice I'd nearly passed out in the last few hours, then realized that a while ago I would have passed out. "Yes, Ok," I agreed.

Hank measured me with a tape, then, while I held a doorway, he pulled the laces tighter, working them from the ends to the middle then back again, up and down. I felt the restriction becoming greater, my breathing becoming more difficult, my internal organs being squeezed tighter. Finally, he was done and he remeasured my waist, a full inch smaller than it had been previously. I tried walking, feeling my hips take on quite a wiggle, as though I wasn't quite in control of them.

"I don't know how it feels, but it looks great," commented Hank appreciatively, "And your hips seem to wiggle very sexily."

"I'm pleased you like it," I replied, "It doesn't feel all that wonderful. I can't imagine what it'll be like in heels."

Hank went to the bedroom and returned with my five-inch heels. He knelt and I slipped them on with his help as I supported myself with my hand on his head. Then he stood up and held my hand as I took a few steps, wobbling all over the place uncontrollably.

"Well, I don't think I'll be wearing these anywhere soon with this corset setting," I commented.

"No, we'll just have to see how it is after a few days of simply being around here."

I put my hands around my waist; still two inches to go before my fingers touched. That meant I was 18 inches around. Maybe 16 inches was too small, I thought, maybe it could cause permanent damage, maybe even prevent me from having children. Perhaps I won't be able to achieve my goal.

"Perhaps I need to be prepared to adjust my goal, but I guess time will tell. After all, I might choose to become pregnant and then I'd go the opposite way," I laughed.

"Guess that's always a possibility. I wouldn't mind being a dad."

"Who said it has to be you?" I chuckled as I sat down and removed my heels. "I'll keep this on for a while and see how it goes."

The night of the toga party arrived and we dressed to await Harold's arrival with Margarite and Dietrich. It was a matter of only a few minutes to strip off and don our togas, although I took a little longer with hair and make-up. However, we were ready well before time, wondering what the night would bring. We knew it was a private party but had no idea how many people would be present or what activities would be undertaken. All we knew about the club was what was on the net, which was that it is a bdsm club which seemed to have excellent recommendations and a good safety record.

Hank responded to the doorbell and was immediately engulfed by Margarite, wearing her toga. They embraced and kissed for several minutes before we both accompanied her to the waiting limo, where we greeted Dietrich and Harold. During the short trip to The Crucible, Dietrich and I chatted as did Margarite and Hank.

"What are you most interested in with bdsm?" asked Dietrich.

"I don't really know. I've never been to a club like this one. One thing I do know, however, is that I have clients booked for next week so I can't go all out and be beaten to a pulp. So, it will need to be a moderate introduction, shall we say."

"Yes, I thought that might be the case. I'm quite keen to have a cock piercing, but again, I need to think about that and discuss it because I really don't want to have to go without making love to Margarite for the next little while. I head home to Germany soon so I want to be able to farewell her properly."

"I suspect she'll probably feel the same about farewelling you."

Harold pulled the car up outside the club and opened the doors to let us step out onto the kerb. We walked into the club with our partners and were greeted, names checked off a list, our cell phones were collected, then we were escorted to a large room which would more properly be called a dungeon. The were about ten couples already there, some with sodas, chatting in small groups, all dressed in a variety of styles of toga. We helped ourselves to the sodas from the trays held by the circulating, scantily-clad young women. A few people from another group joined us, introducing themselves and chatting a little about what would be happening. It appeared we were two of several first-timers who'd come as guests of existing members. One woman introduced herself as Pam.

"So, is there some form of initiation?" I asked Pam nervously.

"No, nothing like that. We're all very friendly here with a minimum of rituals. Most of the members will have worked out what they think they'd like to do or have done to them, some have already arranged partners for these activities. So, you can simply watch if you wish or participate or, if you really want to join in, just ask if you can and you'll find most people will be very accepting. The key here is consent. Never touch any person or piece of equipment being used without the consent of the person or people involved."

"Well, that's a relief," I replied, my fears of being coerced to do something now waning, "So what are you doing tonight?"

"Well, firstly I want to be caned on my ass and tits," she grinned at me, "Then I want to be fucked for a final time or many, then I want a ring inserted into my clit. Not my clit hood, my actual clit. I already have one in my hood."

"That all sounds incredibly painful," I replied, shuddering a little at the thought of the pain she was going to suffer, or enjoy, tonight.

"Yes, I hope it is. I'm a real pain slut. Ever since I began bdsm about eight years ago I've found I really enjoy pain, the more the better. I can cum just from pain, without any sex stim at all."

I wondered if I could. Maybe it was something to aspire to, once my waist challenge had been met. The Dungeon Mistress for the evening walked in accompanied by three slaves, each of whom was naked except for a tight crotch strap, who knelt at her feet as she began addressing us. She introduced herself as Mistress Astelia, welcomed us to the dungeon, and outlined the main rules, much like I'd already heard from Pam, and explained the safety words 'yellow' for caution, 'red' for stop and 'safeword' for immediate attention from a supervisor. Then she told those members who had brought guests to please introduce them. Several were introduced, then Margarite introduced Hank and Dietrich introduced me.

"Guests, you may take part in whatever you wish to do tonight. If you don't know what you want, please ask members, slaves or even myself for some suggestions. You are free to watch anything and anyone, as we all are. One final request is that what happens here tonight stays here tonight. You can, of course, discuss it amongst yourselves but no further. And, of course, absolutely no photography. If you want photos taken of yourselves on your cell, ask one of the slaves to collect your phone and take the photo. You must not use it yourself. Enjoy your evening."

Hank stepped over and stood beside me as people began moving to different pieces of equipment in pairs or groups. Margarite and Dietrich came over to us.

"Any ideas on what you want to do?" asked Margarite.

"Not yet. I think we'll just watch for a while, then possibly decide what to experience," replied Hank. "What're you guys doing?"

"I want you to cane me please, Hank," replied Margarite. She took his hand and led him to a piece of equipment. Dietrich and I followed and watched as Margarite selected a cane then showed Hank how she wanted to be caned. Hank removed her toga and placed it over a chair, then she bent over the bolster, her legs wide apart and her hands holding the straps on the floor.

"Do you want me to tie you down?" asked Hank.

"No, it's harder if you don't. If I move my feet or let go of the straps, that stroke doesn't count and you must apply it again. Now, I want ten strokes on my ass for a start."

Hank took the cane Margarite had selected and swung it a few times, getting the feel of the weight. He then selected a spot on another bolster, placed the cane on the spot, and swung, striking close to the spot. He repeated this several times, only happy when he could hit the spot for which he aimed.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes, cane my ass hard, please darling."

Hank placed the cane on her ass, then swung back and made the first stroke. Margarite tensed and then relaxed as a red line slowly formed across her ass.

"One," she intoned, "Harder please if you can."

Hank repeated the stroke, making it harder, hitting slightly lower, watching as Margarite's body responded and she finally gave the count when she was ready for the next stroke. It continued until she had received ten strokes, then she released the straps and stood up, smiling at Hank and pressing her body against him as she kissed and thanked him. She then looked at me.

"Your turn now?" she asked, raising her eyebrows to indicate a question.

Being caned on my ass hadn't really crossed my mind. Did I want this? Would the marks show after two days, when I had my next client? Would it matter if they did? Eventually pride won out; I couldn't refuse her first challenge, so I nodded.

"Wonderful," she replied, Dietrich can cane you. He canes really well, don't you darling."

"If you say so," he replied, noncommittedly.

"Oh, I do," she grinned.

I handed my toga to Hank and settled myself over the bolster in the same position as Margarite had occupied. I turned my head and indicated Dietrich could start. I felt him place the cane against my ass, then it moved away, I heard a swish then a stinging pain shot through my body. I convulsed, then I felt an amazing wave of something very pleasant sweep up from my stomach to my head. My body shook, not from the pain of the stroke but from the pleasure of the aftermath. I found myself panting and then remembered I was supposed to count.

"One."

I felt the cane touch my ass again, heard the swish then felt the pain as Dietrich struck me a second time. The pain shot through me but the pleasure wave only happened the first time, I remembered. Then I realized it was probably due to the endorphins my body would release the first time only.

"Two."

The remaining eight strokes continued regularly until after the tenth I relaxed and stood up, rubbing my ass with my hands, then tracing the ridges from the strokes with my fingers. I hugged Dietrich and thanked him.

"Now, Hank, I want my tits caned please."

Margarite selected a thinner, lighter cane and handed it to Hank, then took a deep cushion and placed it on the floor alongside the bolster. She sat on the cushion, and stretched her arms out each side along the bolster, tilting her head back to thrust her breasts up and out.

"Ten strokes please, Hank."

Again, Hank administered the ten strokes using the same system as before. He spread the strokes out, focusing on one breast at a time, two above, two below and one across the nipple, then the same on the other breast. By the time he'd finished, her breasts had red stripes across them and her nipples looked painfully sore from the strokes they had suffered.

Was I going to accept this challenge? What had I to gain? I hadn't asked for a competition, but this was what it had turned out to be. I could stop this at any time and what would I lose? Nothing except pride. Was it worth it? Just for pride? Then I realized that it wasn't only pride, it was also experience. And if life is the sum of our experiences, then what right have I to limit life? So, when she asked me if I was prepared to undergo the same treatment, I replied I was, with a smile.

Again, the strokes were extremely painful, stinging far more with the thinner cane. By the time I had received ten, I had learnt how to accept them and would probably have been able to take 100 or more, but I wasn't going to tell Margarite that. However, I did learn once again that I enjoyed pain. What would Margarite do next?

"Time for the guys to suffer a bit," she announced, "Over here, Dietrich," she told him.

He bent over the bolster and held the straps, as we had done earlier. Then Margarite handed me the heavier cane with instructions to cane his ass. As Hank had earlier, I practised a few swings, then applied my first stroke, finding that I enjoyed the satisfying feel of the cane pounding flesh. Dietrich winced, a red line slowly appeared and he counted "One".

I applied the following nine strokes to his ass, seeing the red stripes develop. Then Hank replaced Dietrich and Margarite applied ten strokes to him. At least we'd be even in that respect, I thought.

Then she positioned Hank on a padded table, with his ass at the edge, legs vertical and spread wide apart with his ankles resting in supports. Margarite selected a light multitailed whip and instructed him to count. Her first stroke hit him between his thighs, the strands covering his cock and balls. He grunted as the pain radiated from his crotch.

"One."

Margarite applied a further nine quite energetic strokes to Hank's poor genitals before she let him up. He twisted and sat on the edge of the table, gently inspecting his cock and balls visually and with his fingers. What was surprising was that his cock was still hard. He looked up at me and grinned a painful sort of grin.

"All still there and in working order, I think," he reassured me.

Dietrich took his place and I applied his ten strokes as hard as I could, knowing that he would probably do the same for me if the roles were reversed. I watched, fascinated, as each stroke of the light whip caused his genitals to become redder and, it seemed, his cock to become harder. Once he finished, I half expected that Margarite and I would be subjected to the same treatment for our pussies, but Margarite intervened.