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by otters

Chapter 1

This is a short story that covers very light BDSM and contains only limited sexual content. Special thanks to Xpoerotica for feedback and support.


"I suppose I first discovered it when I was seventeen." The ice clinks as I nervously toy with my large vodka and coke. The man on the other side of the table is wearing a three-piece suit and drinking tea from a fine china cup with a saucer. He gives off a priestly vibe, which is incongruous in this situation.

"Were you sexually active?" Not a question you expect to hear from a man you only just met. His voice is deep and well-spoken, with a hint of a smoker's burr. However, he looks extremely fit, with close-cropped hair shot through with silver. He might be anywhere from the late forties to early sixties.

"I'd been around the bases by then, but it was all very vanilla." A flicker of a smile crosses his face at my use of the term.

"I presume something triggered it. What happened?" If it was someone else, I might think he was prying for his own salacious ends. Instead, he asks in the same dispassionate way a doctor might ask for symptoms of an ailment.

Putting my glass down, I try to relax. I've never told anyone about it. Now, at thirty, I've finally decided to investigate why what I saw back then has stuck with me for so long. Why it's been lingering at the back of my mind all these years. At last, I have gathered sufficient courage to seek out somewhere I can learn about it. Which brings me to this club.

"My girlfriends and I were all dating older guys, mostly because we weren't old enough to drink legally. We'd go out in a gang to some dodgy pubs because the landlords were far less likely to throw us out. I was in the ladies' toilet upstairs and feeling frustrated. My boyfriend and I both lived with our parents, so opportunities for intimacy were limited.

"That night my boyfriend borrowed his dad's car and we were looking forward to some fun on the way home, but I got my timing off." I trail off embarrassed to be talking about this to a man and a stranger at that.

"Menstruation is nothing to be ashamed of. I've known women whose sex drive doubled when others are repulsed by the idea of sex on their period." It seemed strange to hear a man talk like this. "Proceed."

"Coming out of the bathroom I saw that the door to the room opposite was slightly open. I knew it was hired out sometimes, and my girlfriends had joked about the dozen or so middle-aged men who'd come in and furtively climb the stairs. Some claimed it was the local allotment of gardeners, others, a secret society with funny handshakes. I thought I'd peek inside to settle the argument."

"Nearing the door I heard a whirring sound and tinny, cheesy music. The lights were down and, as I looked around the door, I saw an old-fashioned projector. It was showing what my grandfather would call "stag movies". On the screen was a topless woman dancing on a table surrounded by men. She was twirling her nipple tassels most provocatively. It looked like it was from the sixties and I'd seen similar tame videos on the web since. 'Boys will be boys' I thought and started to leave when the projectionist noticed me. I rolled my eyes in amused exasperation and he broke into a giant grin and shrugged. As I turned back towards the door, the music changed and I looked back to see a new scene. A woman, with her hands, bound, struggling against two men in bed sheets trying to look like sinister Arabs. This film seemed to be from the twenties or thirties. I hesitated, curious what would happen. The projectionist gestured to some chairs behind the other men. I'm not sure why, but I sat. I supposed nobody would miss me for a few minutes."

"The woman was dragged before a man in a fancy headdress and a dialogue insert card in French showed the exchange between the pair. My French is awful, but the acting showed an argument. Guards attached her hands to ropes hanging from the ceiling, and then pulled them high above her head. The 'sultan' strode up drawing his curved knife and cut away her clothes. It was a shock to see her stripped completely naked. It looked like he was taunting her as he did it..."

"And that was your first introduction to BDSM?" His voice startled me from my reminiscence. I nod. "What happened next?"

"In the movie? The man pretended to whip the woman. In reality, the projectionist sat next to me and put his hand on my knee. It startled me so much; I jumped up and rushed off. My boyfriend was the only one who noticed I'd been gone a little too long and returned looking flushed. I made some excuse to drag him to the car park and gave him my most enthusiastic blow job in the back of his car.

Admitting how I sucked off my boyfriend, after watching vintage porn in a room full of middle-aged men, is not something I'd ever expected to admit to anyone, let alone a stranger. I'm embarrassed and excited at the same time. As I down most of my drink, he smiles.

"It's ok to be nervous. It's a very big step contacting a private club like ours." He finishes his tea and sets the cup aside. "Let me guess..." He looks at his manicured nails, before continuing in an elegantly relaxed manner. "You have been curious about what you saw, but you have never had the courage to do anything about it? It's more common than you think. Society creates many taboos, and this makes it difficult to talk to anyone else. There is the fear of rejection and the fear of being judged. Then there's the issue of timing." He pauses and brushes some imagined fluff from his trousers before continuing.

"With no personal experience, when do you talk to your partner about it? On your dating profile? Or a first date? Do you hope they bring it up in the early, experimental phase of the relationship? Alternatively, do you wait until you are entirely comfortable around them? Then that raises the question - where did the idea suddenly came from? '50 Shades of Grey' was so very useful. Because everyone was talking about the book, it gave people the opportunity to discuss this sort of thing." I had never considered that before.

"However, you do present something of a problem."


"Usually we only accept couples as members, and they must be personally recommended from a current member or from another recognised club..."

"I'm not sure I want to be a member," I reply quickly.

"So why are you here?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure." I slump in defeat.

"Honesty is the best starting point. And honesty is rare. Too often, when new people approach us, one partner has a far greater desire to join than the other. However, you still might be a reporter or some such. We have some prominent members who expect complete privacy."

"I'm not a reporter I promise, but I guess can't prove that, so I'll just go." Grabbing my purse, I start to slip from my seat.

"Wait!" Instantly I freeze. The command in his voice unquestionable.

"I think we can resolve both our issues. We are alone. If you walk out the door you came in, we can forget about this and go our separate ways. The only stipulation is that you can never come back. If you walk through the other door you might encounter something you've been curious about for a long time."

"I'm scared!" I admit, looking down at my hands.

"Understandably. But perhaps I can alleviate some of your concerns. Firstly, we need to set the parameters for today. That is if you wish to proceed? You can stop at any time and the safe word is 'Potato'. Not that I think you'll need it. Today's session is just to see how you react to certain things. I can promise there will be no pain or physical bondage."

That's a relief; those are a couple of my major concerns. "Neither is there any expectation of sex..." And that's the last one. However, I struggle to imagine what he has planned to do with those limits in place.

He points to a door in the corner. I've not agreed to anything yet, but he knows I'm going to do it. How does he know that, when I'm still unsure? Am I ready? I'm scared, I'm excited, and I'll do it!

"That door?" The tremble in my voice is obvious. He nods.

"Turn right into the changing room. Remove any jewellery and select something to wear from the racks." It's all happening so fast. I want to run, but his gaze keeps me glued to the spot. He looks at his ornate watch. "I'll give you fifteen minutes, as this is our first time." He flicks a finger and I find myself walking towards the door he'd gestured to. My feet and body seem to have decided, while my conscious mind is still struggling.

I wasn't sure what I'd find, certainly not a locker room that looks like my local gym. The only difference is the rack of clothing. Some almost non-existent strappy leather things, through to latex gear. Right up to clothes I might go out in myself. Putting my trust in ... shit, I realise I don't even know his name. This is madness. I should leave, but my fingers ignore my rational brain and start unbuttoning my blouse.

Soon I am slipping into some variation of a schoolgirl uniform. Somehow, it seems appropriate for my first time. Fortunately, there are packets of new underwear. I'm not sure I'd be comfortable knowing someone else had worn them, even if they have been washed. There is quite a selection grouped by colour. I reach for a pair of full cover navy blue panties, which would go with the uniform. However, I hesitate over a thong. I've never worn one before and was always curious what they'd felt like. I pick up a plastic packet containing a black thong with tiny sparkly black sequins stitched to the front.

A knock on the door startles me and I realise my fifteen minutes are up. Tearing open the packet, I slip them on. The pouch to cover my vulva seems tiny and I notice a button stitched on the inside for some reason. I nearly change my mind, change into something else, but remember he's waiting. Hurrying from the room, a light leads me down the corridor towards another room. He is standing at the door.

"I don't even know your name."

"Given your choice of costume, you can call me 'Headmaster' or simply 'Master'. Come in."

The room is mostly in shadows, but a spotlight shines over a low platform in the middle of the room. Grabbing my waist, he effortlessly lifts me onto the platform. I'm glad I didn't choose super high heels now. He steps back, then, with a practised flourish, grabs something from the gloom and pulls on a headmaster's cape. How did he know I'd choose a schoolgirl costume?

"Now missy, you've been sent to my office yet again. What is it this time? Cheeking the teachers or flirting with the boys? Or was it the other way round? However, we can deal with that after we ascertain how many school uniform infringements you have this time. Hands on top of your head." It's amusing, he has this role-play down pat and I suppress a grin, trying to keep to my role and follow his instructions.

He starts to circle the platform and pulls out a pen and small notepad. "Last time we had several rules broken. I warned you that if you came before me again, the consequences would be most severe. Let's start with that skirt. It certainly looks too short. Can you remember how we test it?" I'm rather proud of my legs, especially in short skirts. Looking up at him, I shake my head.

"Bend over and grab your ankles."

I'm shocked, but the command in his voice bypasses my middle-class social conventions. As I start to bend over, part of my brain is shouting out to stop. This game has gone too far, just walk out and forget it. Say 'potato' and go. Instead, the other part of my mind, the part I've been trying to ignore for years, takes charge.

I'm confused by what I'm doing. If a boyfriend had asked me to do this, I'd have told him to sod off. But now I'm doing it for a stranger and, for some reason that makes it exciting. He moves behind me and I watch, through my legs, as he studies how much the short skirt exposes.

"That skirt is definitely too short. Are you even wearing underwear?" Suddenly, I regret the choice of a thong. He bends forward and I shiver as I see his face is level with my bum and he can easily see up my skirt. With the tip of his pen, he lifts my skirt exposing me further. Then flips it all the way up onto my back.

"A thong... Well, I suppose some people might accept that as underwear. It is not, however, an accepted part of our uniform." I'm intensely aware of the thin string pulled tight and splitting my bum cheeks. Along with the tiny pouch that barely covers my vulva. Hopefully, the black material might disguise the effect all this was having on me.

"Stand up with your hands on your head." Standing up, my flushed face has little to do with having been bent over. He moves to stand in front of me, and I realise his eyes are directly level with my bust. Stepping close he reaches behind me and runs his fingertip gently down my spine from neck to buttocks. It gives me goose-bumps. Then using the tip of his pen, he places it into the 'V' of my blouse. Looking down to see him draw the thin cloth sideways to expose the upper swell of my left breast and, more noticeable, the lack of a bra strap. My breasts are fairly small, but proportionate to my build and normally I only wear a bra to cover my responsive nipples. Currently, they are showing prominently through the blouse. The tip of the pen moves down, closer to my nipple, but withdraws just before it makes contact.

"It seems you have neglected to wear a bra. As you are aware, the rules state that girls must wear a bra at all times. The only exceptions are girls with breasts of an 'A' cup or less. I do not think those qualify. Unbutton your blouse, so I can check."

Part of my mind fights back and rebels at this. I am a mature woman of thirty. I manage half a dozen people, both men and women. Yet here I am with trembling fingers unbuttoning my blouse and about to expose my breasts to a man I met less than an hour ago. It is wrong. Not something, I should be doing, but I don't want to stop. With the last button undone, I tug the blouse from the waistband of the skirt. I grip the middle of the blouse and open it whilst watching his face. A jolt of pleasure shoots towards my loins at the look of instant lust in his eyes. After lazy seconds, he eventually looks up at me.

"You have the most spectacular breasts I've seen in quite some time. What cup size?"

"Double 'B' edging towards a 'C'," I answer instantly, which shocks me. I never tell anyone my bust size, not even female shop assistants.

"Just the right size for your frame. However, I only ordered you to unbutton your blouse, not to expose your breasts to me." Uncertainty overwhelms me and, flustered, I quickly cover myself. I blush like the schoolgirl my costume suggests. "Do you normally expose yourself to strangers?" I shake my head, not looking him in the eye. "But I think you want to. In fact, I think you need to. Hand me your blouse. Don't pretend false modesty. Your body is too beautiful to keep hidden."

I've been flattered before, had men try to charm me out of my clothes, but this time it was working. It's almost a relief to slip off the cheap blouse. He holds out his hand, but I have to move to the edge of the platform and lean out before he takes it.

He circles the platform again.

"I struggle to find words to describe your nipples. They crown such perfect breasts, upturned and such a lovely colour. They look engorged and begging to be touched, licked and fondled. I'll bet they're sensitive. In the right hands, I'm sure a skilled person could bring you to orgasm after orgasm just by touching them. So many of our members, both men and women, would jump at the chance to try that. I'm told some of the ladies here are particularly skilled." I've never had any interest in women, but right now, the idea sends shivers through my loins. "They are especially enticing..." his hand reaches towards my breast, finger and thumb closing as if to grip my nipple. I find myself leaning forward, but his hand pulls back less than an inch from my breast. He turns away and I'm disappointed and off balanced, both emotionally and physically.

Tossing the blouse into the shadows, he turns to face me again.

"I need to see if the rest of your underwear is as non-existent as the back." I'd come this far, so grip the hem of the short skirt and lift it, holding it out horizontally. I've never been this blatant, even with long-term boyfriends. The thong feels positively swampy. It's a struggle to stand still. I want to touch myself. He steps closer. "They don't cover much do they? It looks as if your pussy is just begging to escape." He moves closer still and reaches out his hand. I hope it's to touch me, but instead, he lifts the skirt higher to improve his view. "If I let you remove your skirt will you follow my commands?" Nodding, I fumble with the button and tiny zip before he can stop me.

His self-assured smirk gives me goose-bumps over my entire body; I've never felt this alive; exhilarated and confused by why I am submitting like this. I step out of the skirt and he leans down to pick it up. His face is inches from my crotch.

"Take off your shoes, we don't want an accident." Obediently I kick them off and await my next command. "Now, stand with your toes gripping the opposite edges of the platform." It's a bit of a stretch; my feet are almost three feet apart. "Put your hands behind your back and bend at the waist until your back is parallel to the floor."

Fuck! I'll be so exposed. So vulnerable and right now I'm desperate to cum. I close my eyes and follow the commands. It's the wildest thing I've ever done. I have never given control to someone else, let alone a stranger. The footsteps tell me he's circling the platform again. I can only imagine how I look. My breasts hanging down, everything on display, my thighs spread, it feels like the thong has moved and is no longer providing any concealment. As his footsteps return towards my head, I open my eyes.

"That is almost the perfect position for you. It's just a shame this hides your pretty face." My hanging hair has created a curtain hiding my face. His hand pushes through, to gently caress my cheek. "Like this, you can only imagine the dozens of eyes that are watching you." A jolt of shock hits me until I realise we are still alone. Then, somehow, the fear of others seeing me like this morphs into disappointment they are not here. "The other members admiring your figure, desiring you. Image the lust from both men and women to do more to you than simply watch." Warmth floods through my loins and I close my eyes to prolong the sensations. "Would you want them to touch you?" My head bobs a definitive yes, and then I feel a slight warmth through one breast. I open my eyes to see his hand hovering just under it. He reads my mind again, and it drops away as I bend further to press my flesh onto his.

Surprised, I start to topple forward but his strong hands grasp my shoulders. Holding me up, until I regain my balance. He steps back and I watch his feet as he moves behind me.

"You know those panties do nothing to cover your modesty. Not that you seem very modest, standing like this and wearing only that. I can see your anus; the string just draws my attention to it. I imagine it is as sensitive as the rest of you." Something touches the small of my back and the string up my butt crack starts to tighten. He's pulling it up, proving to me just how sensitive my anus is. Then the cloth over my pussy pulls tight. Suddenly I feel something else and realise it's the button stitched into the inside of the thong. As it is dragged over my clit, I understand why it's there and try to suppress a gasp. The pressure reduces and the button travels back the other way. This time I cannot hide my shudder of pleasure. Now, he puts tension on my waistband and I feel the string pulled from between my buttocks. Then he peels back the damp cloth of the tiny pouch from my sodden pussy. It electrifies me, that he's seeing my most intimate places. The anticipation is killing me. The end


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