Authors: Audrey Grace
Tags: #bdsm erotica
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e meet in downtown Melbourne, two invisible people lost in the bobbing throng on a Friday night. We get a hotel room, the fancy one on Swanston. It has a nice cocktail bar, and we promise ourselves we’ll go to that later.
Though whether we will or not, we cannot say at this moment. It’s just a gesture, a promise of something more, should the night begin to ebb a little too early for our liking.
We’re dressed for one another, and that’s just the way I like it. Our meeting has no hidden meaning. It’s clear and obvious and plain to anyone who looks or sees or watches us.
I wear a black lace top and a long, dark velvet skirt. My lips are red and my eyes are dark.
You are in a black shirt, black trousers, black shoes, but your tie is green and striking. It reminds me of a snake in the sand, though I couldn’t really tell you why.
Casually you attach the collar, fix it around my neck. I crane a little to make it easier. And then you attach the leash to my collar, and we walk out into the night, amidst the crowded streets surging with people, with equal nonchalance.
You have not told me where we’re going, so I’m content to follow you. But more than that, it’s pretty clear that I
follow you. You have me in your grip; I’m tethered to your hand; to your command.
You light a cigarette. It’s one of the slim and feminine ones, flavored like vanilla. You smoke it as we walk, but occasionally you hold it in front of my lips, and I take a drag from the tiny thing and take the smoke inside me.
I can’t help but notice how erotic it is to share a cigarette with you. The way you hold it in front of me, just slightly too far, so I have to lean forward or walk quicker. The way you watch as I inhale the smoke and let it out through my nostrils as I’ve become accustomed.
I can’t help but notice the way you smoke, the way the puff of wispy gray attempts to escape your lips, peeking out for just a moment before its sucked back in. It reminds me of a riptide in the ocean.
Like the smoke I cannot escape your lips, your grip.
You bring me close and kiss me lightly on my head, but I hear you smell my hair.
“We’re here,” you say, and grin at me, and I realize we’re at a strip club. It’s called The Smell of Grass, which to me is a strange name, but I’ve never been to a strip club before, so perhaps I do not know.
It doesn’t look too sleazy, but it’s not a high-end place, either. It lies somewhere in between, and why I like that about you I do not know, but I just do.
It’s my first time to a strip club, and I feel excitement welling within me. What will it be like? Will the girls be naked? And do people really put money in the elastic band of their thongs?
I’m excited, in a naive way, but also excited to be with you, to see you in a place you like, a place that excites you too.
We’re at the door and the bouncer or guard or whatever he is looks at us and grins. He nods at me, and you nod back to him and detach the leash. In the moment that our tether is broken, I feel a strange and horrifying emptiness, but you take my hand, and our connection is reformed, and that cold and icy feeling melts away.
The bouncer smiles at me and winks, so I just smile and look away. I can see that you don’t really like it, but you joke with him in a good natured way, and just like that the ripples of tension are smoothed, and an understanding is formed.
I’m impressed by you. The bouncer does not look at me again.
I watch as you fold the leash, end on end, and put it in your pocket. You’re careful with the leather strap, and you finger the silver buckle briefly.
We walk into the club, and darkness swallows us fully.
We find a table that’s by a sofa, and sit together for a while. You place your hand onto my thigh, and it feels as if I have been touched in other places. Just that small touch, it drives me crazy, and I cannot stop thinking about it.
I purr in your ears, just softly and quietly, as you watch the girls.
Not much longer later you rise, and I think that we must be going. “No,” you say, “we’re not leaving yet,” and you tell me, “just stay put.”
I watch as you walk to one of the girls, a pretty, dainty thing. She’s got auburn hair that cascades down in perfect streamlined flatness. She’s a bit bigger, certainly curvier, than the rest of the women. But it suits her; she wears it well, and she’s undeniably sexy.
She’s also naked — completely naked, and for some reason that surprised me. I guess that’s because I’d never actually been to a strip club, and only seen the brief glimpses on the telly and in movies.
You tell her, “I want a lap dance,” and you tell me, “and you’re to watch.” I nod my head in diffidence, realizing the torture of what is to come.
I watch as this woman, her nude and voluptuous body, writhes it all around you. I watch as her hair brushes past your nose and I see you smell it. I watch as her nipples, large and stiff, are rubbed against your chest, and I watch as she turns and places her round, firm bum right in the crotch of your trousers.
I can see what she’s doing to you, how she’s turning you on. I can see your arousal, feel it even, as if it is an aura that surrounds your body, and even more, as if it was palpable.
But there’s more to your arousal, and I can see that, too. I can see what it’s doing to you to watch me watch her touch you.
“Good kitty,” you say, looking at me, and I purr at you. I am a good kitty, despite my desires, but I want to touch you so badly. But I cannot, not until you say, so I stay where I am and watch this women work her craft all over your perfect body.
So I stay where I am, and continue to want you badly.
The girl finishes and smiles at you, and you place a few bills into her outstretched hand. She takes it into her closed fist, and walks away and blows you a kiss, and you watch her as she walks, staring at that round, firm bum.
You suddenly reach over to me and grip me by my collar. You pull me toward you and kiss me deeply, all tongue and teeth and panting breath.
I devour it hungrily, and bite your lip, and suck your tongue, and taste your saliva.
But you break the kiss and pull me to my feet, and your hand dives into your pocket and out comes the leash.
You attach it to my collar once more, and lead me out of the strip club. I can see your excitement in your trousers, but gradually it subsides, and I’m left without a stimulating sight.
But a stimulating memory is formed.
I know the night is young, and will not ebb away just yet. I do not know where you are leading me, but I am content to follow.
And more than that, I
You lead me down the throbbing streets of Melbourne, past the gang of kids and crazies sitting outside Flinders, and through a set or narrow alleys to a little gem of a bar. It is like the so many others simply scattered and hidden around the city. You have to know where it is to find it.
This one is goth inspired, and in it exotic looking people in their blacks and chains and studs squirm and writhe under a red glowing light, thrash and whip to loud, cacophonous music.
“Stop,” you say, “stop right here,” and I dutifully obey. We are right outside the entrance to the bar, and the booming base thumps right out into the cool and open air to blast us with vibrations.
“Look inside and watch those people,” you whisper into my ear, and I smell the faint smell of smoke still lingering on your breath. It makes me want to kiss you.
I move to get a better look and you press your body up against mine. “Go inside,” you whisper softly. “Go inside and find a man, a man you find attractive.” I turn to look at you, a question in my eyes. “Don’t worry,” you say quickly, “I’ll follow right behind you. So go and find a man you like and start a conversation. Flirt with him and chat with him and let him buy you a drink. Dance with him and lean on him and let his hands roam on you. Let him touch you as you please, let him do what you wish, and watch me while I watch you.”
I nod and look at you once more and your eyes are hard and passionate. “Do not stop until I want to stop you.”
You unclasp my leash and fold it up and place it in your pocket, and gently then you usher me into the mouth of darkness.
The glow of red surrounds me and the thump of bass, it pounds me, and I walk into the goth-styled bar with you in tow behind me. The boys here are young and pretty, and I’m a little older. Which will only make the task I’ve been set that much easier.
But, as you said, I must find a man I like, and the pretty boys with perfect faces are not really my type. They are, instead, the kind of boys who would work well as decor, trapped in cages in the nude, their lithe and pale bodies showing.
I scan the bar for the kind of man that I find attractive, and there I find him, sitting alone, broad-shouldered and severe. He looks strong and muscular, but not in pretty perfection. Instead it is the kind of thickness and power that comes with work.
I walk to him near the back and look at him for a moment. He looks me up my legs and body, until his eye lock on my collar.
“Sit down,” he says, and he shuffles on the little sofa. “I’ll buy you a drink,” he offers me, and I accept it, like you told me. “What would you like?” he then asks, and I tell him exactly.
“I would like a Bloody Mary, with extra spice.”
“You like it hot,” he said to me, a grin spreading on his features.
“Red in the glass, hot on my tongue, it’s simply my favorite.”
He comes back with my drink, and I watch you watch me. I sip on the Bloody Mary, and feel my tongue ignite.
The man is talking to me, and I look at him quite briefly. He’s attractive and hard and powerful-looking, and he looks like he knows what he wants.
He’s kind of like you, in that way, except I’m not his kitten. But, then again, I am yours, and following your orders.
I watch you watch me here and there, stealing glances when I can. You’re sat in darkness at the bar, but your eyes, they twinkle hard and bright.
I take another sip from my hot red glass, and the man I’m sitting next to shuffles closer to me. He brushes his hand over my hair and leans his face toward me, and I feel his lips drag across my cheek, and the proximity is dizzying.
I look over to you once more, and in my eyes I tell you that I am so conflicted. This man before me, his presence is strong, and it’s making me want him. He’s attractive, his lips are soft, and he knows what he’s doing.
You look at me and nod your head and silently say “continue,” and so I do, I turn my face, and the man, he kisses me. It’s hesitant and light at first, he’s gingerly proceeding, but when I do not move away, his kiss it deepens and hardens.
His hand moves down onto my shoulder and he pulls me toward him, and my hand finds his thick arm, and I pull him toward me.
I kiss him back, and find his tongue and touch it ever so lightly, and I can feel my cheeks on fire and an ache in my belly. Not for the man I’m kissing, even though he is attractive. But it’s because I know you’re watching me and stewing in ferocity.
And then you are beside me and you’re jerking me away, and I’m pulled to my feet by your power and your strength. You drag me out of the bar, your fingers in my collar, and I look behind me at the man and offer him a smile. He can only return to me a confused and stupid look, and I wave at him, and blow him a kiss, and then you drag me outside.
You pull me roughly by my collar into a darkened alley. It’s a tiny space between two buildings, and metal piping surrounds us. You push me hard against the brick wall, and the force of it, it shocks me. And then you move in for a kiss, a kiss like no other could be.