The Spot Ch. 01

Tom and Meg arrived at The Spot in the early evening. "Are you sure about this?" asked Tom, holding Meg by the shoulders of her pretty blue sundress. He looked down at his beautiful, demure young wife's green eyes. He brushed a blonde curl of hair from her cheek. Even in heels she was so much shorter and slighter than him that she sometimes worried that people would think he was her father. But she loved standing next to him. To feel his imposing presence tower over her made her naturally a little nervous, but ultimately she felt safe and protected like she did when she was very young. Despite Tom only being six years older, he had a rugged look to him from years of outdoor labor and physical exercise. He dressed well, and tonight he wore a dark gray suit, no tie, with the top three buttons of his impeccably white dress shirt undone. His light reddish hair was swept back in a wavy side part.

"I'm sure! I want to make you happy," assured Meg. She reached up and ran a hand along the thick scruff of his beard. She didn't want to admit it, but she was perhaps even more excited than Tom. Her pale cheeks flushed and her big green eyes twinkled. She felt a tightness in her stomach, a manifestation of the twisting conflict between her desire to come here and her fears about what would would happen to her, to Tom, and to their relationship. Meg looked down at Tom's crotch and saw his bulge twitch. Maybe she underestimated how excited her husband was to enter the sex club. She felt a dampness between her thick, soft thighs that betrayed her own excitement.

Inside the door, the bored looking door girl in the vestibule stopped them, looked over their STI test results, and gave them each their waivers to sign. Perusing through the lines, Meg read aloud some of the things they were expected to agree to.

"...agree that I consent to any sexual act upon entry to the premises... restraints, pain, anal and vaginal insertion...video and photography without verbal consent...humiliation and deprivation...potential impregnation" Meg gulped, nervous, terrified, excited butterflies erupting in her belly. She looked up at her husband who smiled down at her.

"Last chance to leave, but I think I know what you're going to choose," he replied.

Meg turned to the waiver, quickly signed it, and turned it over to the door girl before she could talk herself out of it. The butterflies in her stomach migrated south and her loins began to tingle. Her heart was beating through her chest. Nervous, excited energy coursed through her. Her thighs beaded sweat and her knees shook. She clenched her pelvic muscle hard, gripping the butt plug she secretly held in her ass like biting a bullet before surgery.

The door girl pushed open the next set of doors and led them into the main lounge of The Spot. The deep, loud bass pulses of devious sounding trap music hit them right away. The place smelled of sweaty sex, cum, ass, and some sort of candy scented fragrance used to try to mask it all. In front of them was a large, shining dance floor packed with people. The people were lit from below by low powered colored flourescent lights embedded in the dance floor. The floor was made of reflective mirror material which had a dizzying effect on the eyes, besides defeating any hope of retaining modesty in this place. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness and strobing lights they realized that unlike any other dance club they had seen, most of the dancers were at least partially nude, and the undulating movements of many folks in the crowd were indeed not from dancing. Meg and Tom looked around them and saw bodies intertwined everywhere. Couples and groups of two and three people. All forms of debauchery were on display. People of all colors and shapes clothed in all types of attire or none at all danced, fucked, sucked, and rode one another around the floor.

As Meg scanned the room, the strobe light created a slow-motion snapshot effect on the activities around her.

A flash: A fit, thin black man held upside down and off the ground by a thin, fit looking white man in an aerial 69 position.

Another flash: an asian woman knelt patiently in front of a fat, half-naked white guy. Her head thrown back, tongue sticking out of her smiling face as a huge spurt of semen arced through the air towards it from the tip of his dick.

Another flash: A blonde woman held in the air with her legs spread between two powerful looking men, their asses glistened as they pistoned their hips into her simultaneously. He eyes were closed and her mouth held into a wide "O" shape.

In the far back corner stood a large leather chair surrounded by several girls dressed as dominatrices and wearing black corsets. Each had a long, very sharp looking riding crop in one hand and a rope in the other. They all wore black thigh high boots and wore panties under their skirts. Meg spotted her among the bunch. "It's her," she pointed at the tall, tattoo covered dominatrix straddling the arm of the chair. "She's the one who slipped me the card at the hair salon." Meg felt a thrill as she remembered how the woman stared unflinching and seductively at her in the mirror while Meg got her hair done.

The beautiful dark haired woman made Meg feel like prey. She had to be over six feet tall, though the heels in her boots made her look almost as tall as Tom. There was something about the way she hung the frame of her obviously very fit and strong body. It was somehow masculine despite her obvious feminine beauty. Meg couldn't guess her age and stopped trying. She had this air of authority, confidence, patience, and determination that made her seem much older. But her body was incredible and her skin impeccable. Her large, natural breasts looked perfect and hung from her chest in a revealing leather bra. Meg calculated the evidence and determined her to be between fourty-five and fifty-five. Meg looked at the muscles in her long, ink-covered arms and knew that it would be painful and humiliating but there was no way she was going to say no. She had waited too long to do something so kinky and taboo.

As she walked toward the Dominatrix, the little jewel butt plug pushed deeper inside her tight hole as she clenched her muscles on it. She glanced over at Tom. His eyes widened as he looked at her encouragingly, and she took off without him. She squeezed her cheeks together to hold in her excitement. Her nipples hardened as she approached the dominatrix. She walked past a booth section along the wall that seemed to be glowing. Inside, she saw that it was light entirely by black lights. The sectional couches in and ottomans in the booth were occupied by sweaty bodies and covered in glowing splatter marks. She giggled when she saw what could only be glowing spurts of ejaculate fly through the air from one dark area to another like some sort of ghost cum She knew Tom would get a kick of out that.

When she passed through the dance floor she felt hands grabbing her buttocks. She turned to see an anonymous older couple fondling her, groping her ass, trying to get her attention. He was bald and short rather gross looking. His partner had curly blonde hair and way too much makeup. Meg's nipples peaked, becoming stiff points in her lacy black push up bra. Surprised by the reaction in her body, she swatted the couple away and bumped into the side of a huge, dark mountain of naked, black flesh. Someone crouched behind the massive fellow with their head between his muscular ass cheeks. In front of him was another person. One hand gripped the hair on the back of their head as he lazily fucked their face like a sex toy. His other hand held a cigar at his side. The man eyed Meg up and down with a sneer. He unsheathed his immense black cock from the feminine throat in front of him and waved it at Meg while he drew on his cigar. Meg's mouth hung open and she stated trance-like for a moment, oddly drawn to the massive glistening member swinging in front of her.

Meg shook herself free. This wasn't why she came here. She continued on towards the chair with the dominatrices on it. As she walked past the massive black man and his two genderless companions, he grabbed Meg's hip with his cigar hand and slid his finger under the elastic band of her panties. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to wiggle against his grip but he refused to let go. It wasn't until she had almost reached the dominatrix that he released her. Suddenly the dominant mistress' hand fell across her shoulder and jerked her around. Before she could protest, Meg felt a leather collar leather clasp around her neck and heard the jangle of her collar's chain.

Meg looked up as her gorgeous captor. She turned her sharp, angular face to one of the other dommes and said through plump, red tinted lips, "I got this one at the hair salon last week. I knew she'd come. Isn't she a cute little bitch?" The other domme nodded and licked her lips. Meg's domme said to her directly with fierce, intense blue eyes, "you are to call me Mistress Veronica, and you're going to be my good little girl and come with me."

As the tall, sexy domme led Meg away, she turned to look for her husband and made eye contact with him from across the room. Tom was receiving attention from three gorgeous women In various states of undress. One very big black girl was bent over in front of him her legs spread, her hands on the floor, and her bare ass shaking alluringly high in the air right in front of his crotch. She continued to twerk her big, rippling ass as the two others; a skinny, older blonde woman in a teddie and a very short, young athletic black girl who was very dark skinned and completely naked, stood on either side of him stroking his large muscles and kissing his neck. The black girl's hand was buried in the waste of his pants, clearly stroking his big, thick dick. Meg felt so jealous, but the jealousy only heightened her desire somehow. The pang of heartache weakened her will to fight against her new captor.

As mistress Veronica's swaying, fishnet and black thong covered ass led her down a datkened hallway, Meg was hit with many shocking sights. Along the walls were windows that looked into rooms occupied by nude bodies of all races, sizes, and genders. Some people were bound with ropes and gagged. Some people were masturbating, getting blowjobs, fucking, and having orgasms. The walls of the rooms were decorated with a multitude of colored dildos, vibrators, and bondage equipment. There were hanging hoods, blindfolds, canes, whips, clamps, bondage furniture, cages, and chastity belts. The walls were painted red and black. Black lace curtains and red fur carpets covered every surface. There were mirrors covering almost every wall of the rooms. The shadows were accentuated by black lighting.

As they continued they reached a large intersection of two hallways. In the middle sat a massive wooden table. On top of the table sat a boxy, glass cage with metal bars in the front. In the cage sat a woman with her hands bound behind her back and a hood over her head. Her legs were spread wide apart and secured to the floor of the cage with chains. From time to time she moaned softly and shifted in her cage. "Keep walking little girl, I have something else in mind for you." As she passed the bound, distressed woman. In the cage she saw that her legs were tied to the floor in such a manner that her red, gushing, convulsing pussy was pinning a vibrator against the floor. Terrified, Meg strained against the collar. "No, no little girl," her domme said with a quick jerk on the chain, "keep walking. We'll get to your punishment soon enough." Mistress Veronica led Meg down a staircase to a basement. They went down two flights of stairs.

When they arrived, Meg was taken aback by the elaborate dungeon. Regret filled her heart as she surveyed the opulent surroundings. The dungeon was lit with dozens of candles, their wax dripping onto the polished stone floor. The furniture was crafted from ebony wood, walnut, cherry, and mahogany. The walls were decorated with an assortment of masks, whips, clamps, chains, and toys. At least fifty different dildos of varying sizes were sitting on top of stands or scattered around the floor. Dozens of whips, floggers, crops, chains, leashes, collars, rings, blindfolds, paddles, canes, riding crops, vibrators, eggs, anal beads, butt plugs, nipple clamps, ball gags, lubricants, and massage oils were also spread out on display.

All of these items seemed to mock her and tell her that she was a filthy whore who came all this way to be used. She felt no better than any of the objects that hung waiting to give pleasure to others. This place was just more proof that she deserved whatever punishment she was about to receive. She couldn't be farther from the quiet suburban cul-de-sac where she was raised. Her throat swelled and tears of shame began dripping from her eyes.

"Aww, there there, little girl. You can cry but we both know why you came here; why you left your husband upstairs to come be with your mistress, right?"

Meg fell naturally into place, "yes, mistress."

"Now did you follow the instructions I wrote for you?" She asked.

"Yes, mistress," she replied.

"Show me," she commanded.

Meg turned her small body around sheepishly and lifted up the back of her dress. She bent her shapely ass forward and revealed to mistress veronica her jeweled butt plug beneath the tiny strand of black lace thong.

"Good," Mistress gestured to a wooden ottoman that was next to the table. "Lay down on your front."

Meg complied. When she laid down she noticed two pieces of rope attached to each corner of the ottoman. The ropes were at least five feet long. With fear in her heart, Meg understood what would happen next.

"No, please don't do this. I'm a married woman!" A weak protest born from her need to feel like she at least tried to fight.

Mistress waved a dismissive hand, "Of course you are. But dear, if it mattered that much to you, you wouldnt be here."

Meg didn't know what to do. She didn't want to displease her her new mistress, but she didn't want to be disloyal to her husband either. But Meg had been brought to this point through no fault of her own. A lifetime of repressed desires culminated in her decision to come to the club and submit herself to its strange pleasures. But deep down she was doing it because she wanted to do it. It was a desire that emanated from an itch somewhere deep in her core. And now she was experiencing one of those pleasures; intense guilt. She came here to satisfy her own dark desires, and for that she must be punished. It was too late anyway, she signed a waiver that said there were no safe-words.

Mistress quickly lashed the ropes around Meg's ankles and tied them taught against the ottoman so that she was helplessly immobilized. Then she forced Meg's knees together and bound them. She lifted Meg's ass up in the air and yanked her wrists around her back and tied them together. The way mistress veronica expertly used her ropes kept her ass high in the air with her back arched downward. Her chin and shoulders were flat on the ottoman. She was entirely helpless to move.

She was openly and pathetically weeping now but strangely her body was on fire with arousal. Mistress walked around her inspecting her for injuries and then ran her fingers over her wet slit. "You're horny aren't you?" she laughed.

"Yes Mistress," she whispered in a desperate tone.

She moved closer to her face and lowered her voice. "And it looks like you're about to cum."

Meg's body was at odds with her mental state. She was shuddering from both excitement and tears. "I don't..." she cried.

Mistress Veronica put a finger to her lips and shushed her. "I know, pet. You want so many things, but you feel like you can't have them," she was now wiping the black mascara streaked tears from Meg's trembling face. "You want to be used and fucked and filled with cum until that gorgeous little cunt of yours can't take anymore, but the thought of actually doing it disgusts you."

She slowly stood in front of meg's field of vision revealing a long, thick purple strap-on that pointed right at Meg's face. "You've always wanted to be used and bred and you want it all the time, and you feel like you should be punished for it." She reached towards meg's bottom and pulled up her dress. She gripped the jewel between meg's milky, soft cheeks and popped the butt plug out.

Meg shuddered intensely and cried out at the sudden discomfort. "But I don't do those things! I'm a good girl! You said so!" She cried. She felt a different, cool piece of metal probing her pretty pink asshole.

With a quick flick of the wrist, misstress Veronica inserted an anal hook into meg's rectum. She tied the rope through the hook's eye and around her own waist. "You don't look like such a good girl right now, slut." She jammed her strap-on into Meg's face until she opened her mouth to accept it. The huge dildo immediately went to the entrance of her throat and she resisted. Mistress Veronica pulled her hips back to try again and as she did the rope on her waist pulled the hook deep into Meg's colon. She arched her back and raised her ass higher off the ottoman to relieve the pressure on her anal ring. She squealed around the cock in her mouth. Mistress Veronica grabbed her chin and tilted her pretty face to hers. She looked into meg's fearful eyes and said with authority, "Don't struggle, it'll make it worse for you."

Meg was imbued with a determination not to let her mistress down, partly to make her happy, but mostly so she wouldn't pull on the hook in her ass again. She readied her throat for entrance as her mistress began to thrust her hips forward. When her cock finally slammed into the back of Meg's throat her entire body shook. Her tongue slid out of her mouth to suckle the cock inside. Mistress wrapped her hands around Meg's hips and continued pushing her cock into into meg's throat. Meg didn't notice anything until her nose touched mistress Veronica's leather panties. She inhaled deeply and moaned in delight. The full length of the massive purple dildo was implanted in her tender, virgin throat. "Yesss, pet! You may not be a good girl after all but you're certainly becoming a good little fuck toy."

It was this triumphant moment that got Meg over the hump, so to speak. The approval she received, demeaning as it was, for overcoming such a physical hurdle, all while smelling her mistress' undeniable arousal made her feel proud. She was good at being a slut, and maybe that was good enough.

Mistress Veronica kept her phallus lodged in meg's moaning throat for minutes allowing her to acclimate and learn to breath through her nose. Meg coughed, gagged, and sputtered around the rubber cock for a while but slowly began to overcome the reflex. When her lover's breathing returned to normal and she seemed capable of continuing, Veronica began slowly withdrawing the massive cock and thrusting it back to the hilt again. Meg was shocked at how easily the simulated veins and ridges slid down her esophagus. She could have taken more.

She felt a sudden shameful, irrepressable urge to stick her tongue out and see if she could make contact with the source of her mistress' fragrance that engulfed her. Veronica must have felt it because she stopped again with her cock buried as far as it could travel. "Mmmm. You like having your throat fucked, don't you? Good girl. Keep still for me." she commanded. She moved closer to the frightened woman and lowered her head until they were inches apart. "If you want to keep breathing, you will follow my orders." She began gently caressing Meg's throat and neck, running her hands along the bumpy length of the cock in her pet's throat.

As Meg's tongue lashed at her mistress' leather covered pussy, her perfume washed over her. "It smells good doesn't it? Like something naughty that needs to be fucked. And it's real sweet too. Like strawberries and cream." Meg was amazed at the randy image she was forming in her mind. She tried to focus on the way this woman was treating her, the pain in her wrists and ankles from the bindings, the awkward metal contraption in her anus. She shouldn't be enjoying this, she shouldn't want to please her.