Switching at KinkCon

"Mmm." He held his tea on the arm of the chair and leaned over me - I'd squeezed in next to him. He kissed me, and spoke quietly. "Thank you. For all that."

"The pleasure was at least half mine! Possibly more than half, actually. I don't think you were enjoying all of it, exactly..."

"I'm a satisfied customer, let's just put it that way."

"Oi! You calling me a whore?"

"Only if you want me to."

"I prefer slut."

"Yeah. Free, for starters."

I glared at him, and tweaked his nipple.

"OK! Pax! Easy on the tits, would you?"

"Now, yes. Sorry."

"Don't be. That scene was fucking brilliant. Both the private bit, and then in the dungeon. Really got me where I needed to go. Just... no more!"

"Sure. I'd reached my limit too, I think. Do you want your top back?"

"Nah. Don't want anything brushing on these for a bit. I'll just strut around topless."

"Like the tart you are."

"Yup." He downed his tea, totally back to his typical confident self, apart from the bruising and painful parts.

Cathy came past. "Nice work, Karen. I saw you flogging him and then finally pushing him with that pin-wheel! Look at him, he's all peaceful now," John jabbed a V-sign in her direction, "and I don't need to discipline him tonight! Wonderful!" She turned to him. "I'm going to watch Alice do fire play downstairs. Coming? Or catch you later?"

John shook his head. "I'll stay here. It was great, but I need a rest. Hard work, being submissive, don't you know. You guys go."

I got up. "Sure you're OK, resting, by yourself?"

"Yeah. Got tea. See you later. What are you going to do - watch the fire display?"

I shook my head. "Not my thing - all flash and no substance. I've seen Alice do fire before. No, I'll wander round, see if I can find any of the people willing to top me. Gareth might be free, now. Or Mary, if Alice is downstairs... You sure you're OK there? All right, I'll see you soon. See you later."

I was nearly out of the room when a deep voice called out, "Karen!"

I stopped. John bounded over to me and his hand gripped me hard around my wrist. "No," he said firmly.

"Huh?"

"If you're looking to play, be topped, I want to do it, be the one to do it," he gabbled. He dropped his voice to a mutter. "If you're OK with that, obviously...?"

"Well, yeah! I always am... But, only if you're up for it? Seriously, do you actually want to? Really? You were wanting a rest a minute ago, not to mention you were feeling the opposite earlier..." In the middle of the busy social space, I didn't want to share his unexpected subbiness with everyone.

"Funnily enough, seeing you leaving to find someone else to top you has given me a sudden burst of energy..." He let my hand fall. "And you've effectively dealt with my feelings, so now I'm back to what I like to think of as normal... your friendly sadistic geek pervert, with a list of fetishes a mile long... Given the choice between watching someone else beat you, or doing it myself..." He grinned, then paused, suddenly shy. "... I'd like to be the one?"

Yes! Given the option, John would certainly be my first choice.

"In that case, I will take you up on your kind offer, good sir."

"Excellent. I hesitate to say, 'good choice'."

"As long as you're not seeking revenge for earlier."

"Revenge? Hell no, you were brilliant! Will have to play that way round again sometime. No, right now, it's about your needs... OK, my fun, too... Actually, let's be honest here, mostly my fun!"

'All right, then. If you can give me what I need... " It was a terrible flirtatious line, but worked.

"What you need, what you want, what you deserve... I'll do my best - we've only got a couple hours..."

I stuck my tongue out at him. He tried to adopt a stern face, but found it easier to twist my arm behind my back so I couldn't see him. He pushed me up against a window-sill and bent me over it, shoving my legs apart with his knee. He leaned over to hiss into my ear.

"Behave, you. Or else. You know what harsh discipline is. It's coming to you. Got it?"

"Yes, John." He didn't like poncy titles, though I tended to use the word sir occasionally, for luck.

"Good. Enough of being a brat. You being a slut is quite enough for me to be dealing with!" I could tell from the humour in his voice that he was quite happy dealing with either or both, but if he wanted my obedience, then I'd best co-operate. I kept my mouth shut.

"First, I'm going to tighten your corset. I want you thinking about every breath you take." He let out the bow, tugged the corset downwards half an inch, and started re-tightening it, middle, top, bottom, top, middle again. I clung on to the window-sill for dear life, feeling my ribs and abdomen becoming ever more constricted. Simple breathing is fine even in a restrictive corset - it's taking deep breaths, or moving without thinking, that become difficult. Or impossible.

He pulled the lace tighter by a good couple inches around the top, and I was amazed at his strength, before I realised that extra play in the lace was available because my breasts were now uncovered and on display above the corset, pale and highlighted against the crimson and black. It felt much filthier than simply being topless. The stiff brocade and boning pressed against my sides, not uncomfortably, but I was certainly forced to keep a straight back.

Eventually he tied a bow. "Stay here," he ordered. "Don't let anyone touch her," he asked someone I couldn't see. "One moment - you really don't need these..."

He reached under my skirt and pulled my silk briefs down. I thought he would remove them, but he left them round my ankles, drawing everyone's attention to the fact that I was no longer wearing them. It was, of course, reminiscent of how I'd displayed him, earlier.

"Back in a mo. Don't move."

I rested my arms on the sill, trying to avoid thinking about the shortness of my skirt now exposing my bum to everyone in the room, how lewd it looked having underwear pulled down, damp patch on the gusset visible to all, and how obvious my breasts would be as soon as I stood up. John liked me as a sex object; therefore that was going to be my role.

A voice in my ear: "It's me. You look beautiful, by the way. Now, let's dress you up a bit more. Here's your collar... There. And a lead for you. I'm taking you downstairs." He lifted my feet in turn, removing my knickers, then pulled the leash attached to my neck and I followed, dutifully. True, he also had nipples exposed, a fetishistic collar and an outfit drawing attention to his arse and thighs, but it was very clear who was in charge. It wasn't me.

Down in the ground floor courtyard it was cooler. Most people were upstairs or outside watching the fire work. Which meant an enclosure was available. John flipped the sign to "occupied" - no lock - and pushed me inside, setting down his toy bag.

"How comfortable are you being gagged? Or hooded?" Straight to the point.

"Um. Well. By gagging, what do you mean? I'm happy to communicate in signs with you, but I can't cope with my jaw being uncomfortable, ball gags, that kind of thing..."

He pulled my knickers out from his crotch, where his leggings had sufficed as a pocket. "This kind of thing."

"I'll... try? Two taps is OK, lots or one isn't, yes? You promise to check, lots?" I was nervous.

"I'll look after you, pet. Here, drink first. Now..." He folded my pants into a small ball. When inserted into my mouth it expanded a bit but was perfectly comfortable. I could even speak, just not intelligibly.

I tapped my leg, twice.

"Beautiful. That should stop you answering back! Brat... Now, a hood... What I want to do, see, is parade you around a bit, showing off your tits and arse, and do a couple things that'll have you blushing. I think you'll find it easier with plausible deniability, and also, I want photos..." He pulled out a leather hood. It had a tiny nose hole and larger mouth hole, and a zip up the back.

I love the smell of leather. I'd never worn a hood of it before. I couldn't wait.

"Do you consent?"

I nodded, enthusiastically. He grinned. "Great!"

He put it carefully around my face, ensured the breathing holes were in the correct place, piled my hair on top of my head, and zipped it up. All was black. I couldn't see a thing other than a faint pin-stripe of light under my nose. It was snug against my cheeks and chin. I loved it.

And realised how vulnerable I was, blind and mute. I groped the air, reaching out for him desperately, and he took my hand. "Don't worry. I'll be right next to you at all times, usually holding you. OK?"

I nodded, and squeezed his hand twice.

"Here's your lipstick - can you touch it up by feel? Excellent. You look fucking gorgeous, by the way, and it won't just be kinky bastard me saying it... Yes, it'll be all the other kinky bastards and bitches loving you too," anticipating the response I couldn't make.

I gave a thumbs-up. I could hear through the leather better than expected.

He stuck his arm out next to me and instinctively I lay my forearm along his, like a blind friend of mine would do. We took a couple steps towards the door, then John muttered, "Fuck it," pulled my arms around him, and put his mouth to mine as best he could with the leather around, drawing me tight into his body for a full-on snog, his hands wandering all over, settling on my arse, one reaching round to my unguarded pussy. I must have been amazingly wet - the passionate kiss through leather was hitting me in new amazing ways. I tried squatting down a bit, the better to push against his hand, but he pulled away. Ah, well.

I heard the sound of him sucking his fingers.

"Mmm. Glorious. But let's not stay here all day, despite the temptation..." Another body-crunching hug - I was quite glad of the protection the corset offered - and he steered me carefully out of the stall to the stairs. Up one flight. I expected to be led up the next, but instead he escorted me into the dance area. He shimmied a minute with me on the dance floor, the noise making it quite the experience in sensory deprivation, but then pulled me to the side. He laid my hand onto the arm of a couch, and my other hand upon its seat. He pushed on my shoulders, indicating I should kneel. I obeyed.

I recalled it was only the social space that forbade actual play - apart from lack of space to swing anything, there was nothing stopping him spanking me right here, next to all the people dancing. Or worse.

A rummaging next to me. He'd clearly managed to bring a toy bag up with us. And then he put an object in each of my hands, both hard and plastic. It didn't take a second to figure out what they were. My butt plug and a pump-bottle of lube.

It didn't take any longer to figure out what he expected me to do with them, either.

I did, however, need a minute to find the courage to do so. I felt him pull up my skirt, just in case people couldn't see my arse well enough, and he stroked my bum with his palm. Then a couple sharp taps. The meaning was clear enough: get on with it.

I sighed, and pumped some lube onto the plug. My own Liquid Silk, probably. I smoothed it over the whole surface and squirted some more onto my hand, managing not to drop the plug in the process. I put the handful of lube into my arse-crack and pushed a dollop with two fingers towards where it was needed. OK. Time to spread my cheeks in front of a hundred people...

I felt John's warm hand on my shoulders. I could do this. I reached behind me with my right hand, pushed gently. Hole found. I smeared the side of the plug around the general area, then placed the point at my arsehole. I breathed in and felt my chest pushing against my corset immediately. Deep breathing was not going to happen.

Right. Slow, calm, breaths, then. Air out, plug in. I pushed. And again. Another push into my anus, starting to stretch myself. Another push and a slight twist, getting lubricant all round. Time to force it, a wobble and a push and a wobble and a push-push-push, and it popped in happily, six inches of hard perspex filling my arse.

It felt good, as always. Apparently the clitoris has branches spreading round internally and resting on the vagina and sometimes on the rectum, which is why it feels so good for some women getting fucked against their G-spot and, for some like me, pushing against walls of their arse...

"A perfect picture," John spoke loudly by my ear. The thump of the music helped the whole situation feel unreal. "Oh, you're so beautiful," he sang along to Blondie, misquoting as he helped me to stand up. "Tonight, you're magnificent, oh tonight..." We danced together through the rest of the song, me hanging blindly on to his body. "Now it's time to go upstairs."

Nothing like walking up stairs to make a plug felt with every step; John had planned his detour well. I clung on his arm again as he led me into the sudden silence of the landing, and then placed my hand on the bannister. We went up to the first corner.

"Lift your knees more, when you're walking. Higher." So I'd feel the plug fucking me harder each time. Very well. I did my best to obey. It was fun. Humiliatingly hot. But a relief when we reached the top. I expected to be steered right, towards the playroom, but he led me the other way, to the balcony. What more public humiliation could he inflict upon me?

John took my hand and placed it on the rail of the balcony, around waist-height. He reached in front of me for my other hand and did the same. A stroke down my back and over my bum, to confirm he was still there, and he spoke. "Exercise is an important part of discipline. I want to see you running on the spot, lifting your knees high. Two minutes. Or you'll be doing it again, with my inflatable plug. Start... now."

That tone of being timed. My mouth felt dry against the cloth inside it, and the leather around my head wasn't the only reason my cheeks felt hot. I needed to calm myself with a deep breath, though I couldn't breathe deeply because of the restrictive corset, but I did my best to obey. I couldn't have done it without the rail to hold, but I managed a high-kneed jog there, my breasts bouncing up and down over the ridge of my corset, the hard plug thrusting into me with every step. It was exhausting, embarrassing, and felt glorious.

I heard some tell-tale clicks of a phone. John must be taking pictures. Or video. I felt my face blushing hotly against the welcome nap inside the leather hood, and wondered what John would look like, watching a video of me.

"One minute." I was starting to flag. His hand stroking my bottom urged me to keep on, somewhat slower. Every lift of my knee was basically me fucking myself, pounding the plastic where it did most good. My arsehole began to quiver beautifully around the plug's stem.

"Thirty seconds." I could do this. What he wanted. I tried to inhale deeply through my nose, the gag impeding me breathing though my mouth, the tight-laced corset preventing my chest from expanding, and I started to get light-headed. I was relying on the bannister, now. My breasts hurt from swinging up and down and I was getting proper dizzy, so I concentrated on the feeling in my bottom. Full and fucked. I repeated that phrase over and over in my head as I tried to keep my legs moving, running nowhere through pitch blackness. Full and fucked, full and fucked.

"And stop! Good girl! Did you enjoy that?" I nodded. "Good. That crowd over there doing a play piercing party enjoyed it too."

I guessed he was winding me up about the audience, but then I heard a familiar voice calling out, "Nice tits! Whoever that is, John!" It was Gareth. Who would know damn well exactly who I was, my corset identifying me despite the hood, and I blessed him for his tact.

"Doesn't she just! And a nice arse, too!" John took my hands and spun me round. I prayed the rail would obstruct their view, or failing that, that the clear plug wouldn't be visible from the other side of the balcony. Assuming it was my transparent plug. I wouldn't put it past John to have a similar one in a bright colour, possibly with sparkles or jewels to catch the eye... Later, I recalled I'd rummaged through his bag and not seen one, but that didn't help me in the moment.

"Beautiful!" Couldn't tell, from that, what Gareth had seen.

"Just needs some marks on her," John called back. I wanted to say, "Who's she? The cat's mother?", but of course I couldn't. I was being forced to submit. Be a sex object, a fun toy. I liked it, but was starting to feel distinctly nervous. Thrilled, tingling, wet, but increasingly worried...

"Come on, Karen. Let's get you to the dungeon."

I held John's left arm again and he turned me round, pulled my skirt down slightly, to a parody of decency, and led me to the door of the dungeon. Or playroom, as I preferred to think of it. He swapped hands and put his left hand round me, protectively, steering me through the door. Despite seeing only blackness, I got the impression the room was somewhat less crowded than before, but from the varied thumps and lashes and moans I could hear, there were still multiple scenes being played out.

"D'you want that?" John spoke to someone.

A woman's voice. "Naah. Not quite sure what it does. You go ahead, if you want."

"OK, sweetie. We're up." He led me to the far right corner of the room, around various obstacles. I couldn't recall what was there. "It's meant to be a rack, but given I wasn't planning on dislocating your shoulders or anything, it's basically a huge solid bench with ideas. He sat me down on a flat surface, about the height of a massage table. "Now, lie back, while I study the attachment possibilities."

I was swivelled about, my entire mass weighing on the butt plug's flange. He lifted my legs and steadied my back, so I knew he was doing it on purpose. But my job was simply to remain silent and accept whatever he did to me. It was strangely relaxing. The gag, impeding any attempts to speak, really helped my brain submit to his wishes, as well as my body. And the warm leather around my face, its scent filling my nostrils, was a heady aphrodisiac. Add that to slight light-headedness from my corset, and I was well on the way to being able to welcome anything he inflicted upon me.

He laid me down on the table, on my back. Fur-lined cuffs were buckled around my ankles and wrists, which always makes me feel a scene has properly begun. I can say goodbye to any feeling that I ought to be in control. The familiar gzhunk-noise of rope being fed through various loops, again and again. My ankles were suddenly held down, about a foot apart. My arms reached back above my head and were similarly held down, with some slack in the system.

"Now, given this is a rack..." I heard the squeak of metal wheels. " My ankles were being gently pulled away from my body. "How taut can we make this without hurting? One moment..."

He walked back to the head end of the table, running his hand up my body as he went, and reached under my face. I cooperated by lifting my head, and he pulled out the gag, offering me water instead.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice not coming easily.

"Quite all right. I don't want to harm you." Then he hissed in my ear, "But I do want to hear you scream!"

Oh, fuck.

Another squeak. "How's that? I'm not sure any further would be a good idea."

I agreed. I was stretched out on my back about as straight as possible, my breasts arching upwards, a draught blowing across my nipples. They felt horribly vulnerable.

"Don't you look lovely. Hooded, collared, corseted, stockings... Tits out. And plugged, even. My perfect decorative object..." He paced around me as he mused, stroking me up and down, mostly nicely, but sneaking in some painful pinches, making me squirm. "Oi, stay still! What do you think bondage is for, eh?"