Lady Barbwire that early Saturday morning
Her leash pull was refusal-immune. It’s like she just knew we would (at least I would) follow. And the way she moved her hips ensured that I would, every time. I loved seeing her titular tattoo peek out on her right ass cheeks. Her fluorescent red hair with black tips was up in her signature top ponytail and whisked like a kid on a swing. Fuck, she is so hot!
Real talk: I was not always into girls/women. I had chilled with a friend when we wanted to know what kissing felt like. We also learned to masturbate together and what porn we liked. Then it was guys for the next __ years. Lots of guys. Being hired at Flames meant I really had no choice. There had been girls who lost out on the job because lez love was a deal breaker. There was no such requirement for guys to be so inclined. (??) A thing I will change ‘when I own the joint,’ I would note internally, despite protests from Mom’s ghost.
For me, learning to have sex for money meant I had to switch off the thing in my brain that said, “only for love or babies.” I mean, come on, that is still drilled into girls to this day. It is unrealistic, and frankly, unfair. Penis owners are allowed to masturbate regularly, boys being boys BS. Stigmas stick…
Management actually encouraged me to watch a lot of FF porn, which I already loved. And I had a one-on-one with Miss Natasha, which was earth-shaking. She usually took about an hour to give you the “grand tour of a female body that is not yours.” Not bragging, but we went two.
I quickly and giddily learned to love sex for the pleasure and the power exchange.
Back to Lady B.
The room she reserved was a typical VIP Private. The room could be used for BDSM or straight sex; that is, non-restraint, non-impact sex. It had its own couch with extended chaise-style ends for bodies to lie out. There was a wing-backed chair with large arms that also had restraints attached. A sex bench and a St. Andrew’s were along one wall. There were several ceiling hooks. A felt-covered high table sat to one side of the room’s central rug, just below the hooks. A dominant could pre-order what particular instruments and restraints they wanted, or have a slave fetch them from the central supplies closet. Lady B brought her own. Most of it was monogrammed and carried in her “bad bag,” a Mark Jacobs number with special pouches.
She led me in and, without direct address, pointed to the rug. I dropped to my knees, hands behind my back, face lowered, heart thumping, cunt surging. She picked up a glass of champagne that was waiting. The good shit: French— costing more than my weekly net.
She placed the head of her personal crop under my chin and made me lift my gaze. “I need to use you, pet. I need to see you suffer and love it. Can you do that for me?” Her navel was at my eye level. I could smell her distinctive musk and Yves Saint Luscious perfume.
“Fuck yes,” was what I wanted to say. I swallowed. “It will be my pleasure to serve you, Miss.”
She smiled, and her eyes grew dark. I was in for it, and I was truly pumped.
We began with deep tongue-filled kisses where she rough-handled my body. I was only allowed to move my head. I almost came. Then I was strapped belly down on the bench, my wrists and ankles attached to the legs, thong abandoned to the early-morning cleaning crew. She began with smacks from her own hands. The impact spread evenly to assure maximum nerve engagement and minimal pain, comparatively. I was vocal as needed. She loved whimpers and gasps, and I didn’t have to fake any. She loved teasing me for being a little baby when I yelped. Fuck yes.
“Thank you, my lady,” was her required response that I willingly breathed out when she paused. We had a rhythm that was “exquisite in its madness.” A quote she liked to repeat.
Next came the crop. The deadly object of my affection.
When Lady Barbwire wields this tool, she is not unlike a musical virtuoso. She is so skilled at making the right air-slicing notes. Impeccable in her choices of target to create new melodies of whack. I was her instrument, and she played my range from high to low. That’s why she owned her own, custom-made like the finest cello bow.
She began with my thighs, back, and interior. The air rush sent unkind breezes to my weeping maw. My pink and tan lips would feel that stimulus a fraction of a second before the hit. It was incredible.
Working up my ass cheeks, she loved to go from top to bottom and from left to right. I knew the pattern so well that each subsequent area would already be aching for the pain before it was delivered.
She would end with my pussy being pelted. Needle Scratch!
Now, I know that some people are squeamish about vulva spanks and breast whacks. I get it. The ass is thick and made to take a slip and fall on an icy day. These other destinations were made to be sucked, rubbed, and soaked. But struck? That is not for everyone.
It was a delicious tiramisu for one B Class slave named Ryanne.
Lady B knew I could take it, love it, and be grateful. She also knew to do it on the Friday/Saturday shift, where I was also doing Sunday Brunch, so I had extended recovery time. She cares.
As she struck my pussy, I yelled out each number. It hurt so beautifully. By the fifth or sixth, the sound went from “Thwack!” to “Thwash!” as my lubrication spewed like a broken bathroom showerhead. She always quit at twelve. I wanted more; she knew the right number for complete arousal without release.
I am fucking obsessed!
“Cum, little pet! Cum NOW!” This was commanded when she would flip the sacred tool and push its custom-crafted, phallic handle into my swamp. The perfect finale to crop time. I had no problem complying.
Round three was a variety. Tonight (this morning) she was interested in oral pleasure. In a rare mood, she released me. I slid off to the floor in sweaty fatigue and forced my sore body to get to all fours. Fingers snapped, and I followed her to the chaise end of the couch. She sat, her heels on the edge, her legs wide open. Whatever she had been wearing over her crotch was gone. Before me was a mons masterpiece.
“You have pleased me.”
My voice was genuinely shaky. “Thank you, My Lady.”
“You may pleasure me now. Do not fail.”
I had no intention of doing so. What followed, I do not humbly say, was a mistress class in cunt eating.
I licked, I sucked, I bit.
I savored, I moaned, I hummed.
I’ve eaten a lot of pussy, and I mean a lot! Hers is not the sweetest, not even the juiciest, but for some reason, I love it the most. Taste, texture, and shape, all gold medal.
Her hands held my head, nails digging in my scalp with painful delight. She moved me and pulled me back whenever she got close. Then it was shove me in and hold me breathless.
“Ohhh, you fucking whooore!”
She then let me go, and I pulled back, a sweaty, lady juice-streaked, makeup mess. “May I pant? May I use my hands, My Lady?”
She nodded. Her cum was imminent, and I was all about it.
I used my fingers in her, on her, and behind her. She squirmed and writhed and was nearly there. She leaned forward and clamped her thighs. I felt her long nails on the small of my back. As they raked upwards, I shook and came without permission. The muffled scream I let loose sent her over the top. She shook, moaned, and cursed me. I was nearing blackout from lack of air, but never stopped sucking and licking.
Her hands coiled my curly blonde hair and violently ripped me away from her. My face shocked and soaked, I sucked in air like a drowning fool who just surfaced!
“FUUUCK yesss!” She screamed as her peak peaked. My own cunt-in-awe shook with shocks and shivers.
After an hour-long minute, she looked at me. Her eyes said gratitude, and I blushed. They quickly transformed to fierceness, and I went stiff.
“You came without permission, slut. That will cost you.”
Fuck…
I went home an hour later, sore, used, and playing remorseful for my indiscretion.
Not sorry.
But before I ended my shift, out of her bag she had produced her bottle of special healing lotion. It was homeopathic and secret. I think she could make bank if she mass-produced it. I think she didn’t give any fucks. I’m not good at describing scents, but I know there were a lot of notes of really good shit. She kindly applied it to my ass and cunt, and it started to work immediately with cooling heat. Usually, the marks mostly faded in about 24 hours as if they never happened. My memory remained deliciously red and swollen.
I thanked her, and she kissed me with genuine affection.
What made us work was the infrequency of these encounters.
***
I slept until two PM.
***
Sunday Brunch: my favorite day of the week at Flames!
After being thoroughly used and heading home early Saturday morning, I hung out with some friends Saturday night. My sleep schedule gets pretty fucked up on the weekends if I have to work the brunch, but I don’t mind. It is such a unique day of the week for the club that I am energized by its possibilities. And we were closed on Mondays.
The turnaround was faster as the shift started at 11:00 AM, doors opening at 11:30. Slave and other employee rotation was more aggressive from Saturday to Sunday. You never worked both unless there were significant absences and a lack of availability.
Brunch week was when you had to work with more C-class girls and guys. Part-timers coming in for two or three shifts a week. They wore a red arm band with flames on it so members and other employees could recognize their level of training. Another thing I would change once I own the place. We don’t need to have Scarlet letters; we have the whole fucking alphabet already.
The main reason for me crushing on Brunch was the different clientele on Sundays. They seem to be much more into sharing than using. Don’t get me wrong, for many of them this is the only day they have to be at the club, so they seem to be more voracious. Not just for the full buffet of food that is served in a large room on the second floor, but also voracious for exhibitionism to be on full display. And they tip like cuh-RAzy Good!
I am thoroughly poked, sucked, fucked, and used on Sundays. It just has a different feeling as there’s less alcohol.
Sunday Church is what we ridiculously call them, as they are often less arrogant and somewhat reverent: they recognize the uniqueness of the event.
Quick explanation— there are four levels of membership.
Virgin, a ridiculous label, is the least expensive. This means you had no experience in the lifestyle prior to mandatory training seminars (future chapter of my tale, I hope ), and you will be limited to only once a week. Cost: $800/month.
Lover, my favorite name of a level, gives you eight passes per month. This comes out to roughly 2400 bucks, so 300 per visit.
Slut, level three, is for those who want unlimited numbers of visits to the club. This goes for 6K per month. And includes two guest passes.
Finally, VIU, or very important user. This is the ultimate level of membership. Unlimited number of visits, access to the VIP rooms, first choice of slave to use, and you are allowed to host private events just like Mr. Happy in chapter 1. This is 20K/month. Yes, there are many people who spend a couple of hundred thousand dollars a year to be members of this private sex club.
Before anyone scoffs about how ridiculous this is, recognize that these are people whose lives and money can doubly afford this. They put it on the same level as the proper private school for their kids, a country club membership at their country home in Connecticut, or being a Guggenheim benefactor.
It’s prestige, its status, it’s platinum.
And all levels are guaranteed anonymous. Every employee, every delivery company, every member, every guest, signs an NDA. They all know what is at stake for them outside of the club. It is a level of trust that has to exist, yet still needs legal assurance.
Yes, we have a few celebrities, but also lots of politicians. You’d not be shocked and also shocked.
And men and women who smell like Wall Street and act like they own it.
Think about this: if you could have unlimited sex with willing, attractive people and have them do whatever you want (within reason), I bet you’d buy a membership as well. If you could afford it, of course.
Lucky me, I get the benefits and get paid for it!
When the doors open to brunch, we are in our familiar gauntlet formation but … happier. The atmosphere is different. The drapes are partially open, and the reflective windows allow for outside views without exterior intrusions. The sunlight makes the paintings of flames and fire on the walls look a little less intimidating.
We have nearly sixty members and guests booked today and a few always show up unexpectedly. I will have my work cut out for me.
I am at attention, smiling and responding with “Sir” or “Ma’am” only when addressed. Some are the VIUs, but most are other levels- lots of Lovers. I recognize many, and house management and security handle privileges checks- like keeping certain levels out of VIP rooms. As for us B and C class, we just treat everyone as equals.
Hear this: I am not into food play. I am allowed to refuse it. It only happens on Brunch Day and can involve insertions and saucy, desserty applications. Yuck, sticky-icky gross. That being said, if I am working the second floor where food is served, I will accept being fed things or feeding members. Nothing forced and nothing gross, like dipping pickles in chocolate sauce. (True story)
This time, a group of three couples asked for me. Two of the women had had me the week before, and cum was flowing, and moans were flying. They wanted their partners to get some of me as well.
Another note: We NEVER assume that the partners arriving are married or in committed relationships. Part of the NDA clearly states we will never use the terms “wife,” “husband,” or “partner” unless requested. Some want to encourage me to “suck their hubby like a cheap whore,” but I will never assume that’s who he really is. Our boy Greggy once made the mistake of calling a guest a “wife” only to find out that the guy’s sidepiece Greggy was fucking was clueless that her man was married. Greggy was fired…
My sextet today said they would eat later and wanted me to join them in Couch Area C. “As you wish, Miss,” I said to their leader, a mature brunette with huge fake tits and a killer cunt. It was long and very puffy when at full throttle. (I make it a practice of remembering bodies, parts, looks, and preferences. I was the top tip taker for B Class last month for a reason.) Her man was her husband, they liked that known. So, it was safe if I said it.
“I want my husband to fuck that tight hole of yours, Ryanne. It’s wonderful.”
“Thank you, Miss. Which hole?”
“Yes.”
Beat, laughter!
Funny lady. Horny slave. I pretended to blush.
The second woman was a mixed-race petite angel in her forties with the most intense green eyes. I think her light brown skin made them pop. She loved to 69 me while I’m being fucked. Last time it was the brunette with a strap-on. This week, Lady Brown Petite brought a chubby older black man who may or may not have been a relative. She called him “Pops.”
Third was a Virgin Member, a bossy blonde Domme wannabe whom I had played brat to because she liked to degrade me. Meh, whatever the kink, welcome to Church. “And when her hubby is done,” she snarled in my face, my eyes looking straight ahead, “I’ll lick out his cum and spit it on your face, whore. Then you can wear it while my boyfriend fucks your throat.”
She had her arm on his shoulder and was squeezing his crotch. He looked ridiculously “the one-percent” overconfident.
I rolled my eyes; she slapped my left boob. I looked down and played angrily. She sneered. I could hear the tip cha-ching as we spoke. I always pointed out the tip scanner on the table. No phones allowed, no phones needed. Just the bar code on my collar.
There was plenty of touching, kissing, and sucking. I was tasked with removing the men’s clothing and giving blowjobs in a crouch. They, like many, wanted me to finger myself while I sucked. It made me tingle, but it wasn’t going to get me over the top. Members first.
I had all three cocks in a circle around me. The women were exploring each other, all semi-wearing fabulous lingerie, the blonde riding the petite woman’s face. They were both behaving like they only did this at Flames. Not likely. The blonde’s man was especially turned on! I would find out later that it was his first time seeing her with another woman. Poor pompous stud came after my second round, sucking him. So much for “fucking my throat.” She looked disgusted, and he mumbled, wanting a drink and slunk away.
I was doing my professional best with the other two; the white guy was really nicely hung. I will love getting this in my pussy. Pops was average but had a great curve. He came next, with a tolerable flavor, a little thin, so easy to swallow. Hubby decided to wait for my pussy. He pulled out and lifted me by my wet chin. He kissed me hard, and I took his tongue. He then roughly led me to the couch and put me on all fours. No wasting time with the Church. They knew how to worship.
Another major difference with Brunch was the absence of the A Class performers. Instead, the three stages were overseen by Masters or Mistresses and available bulls. This was the only time during the week that a member could become the performer. It was a pricey request at 1K, yet the schedule of one per hour (that’s half an hour between each for cleanup and reset) was always sold out.
If you got a slot, the man or woman had to go through a preliminary interview/training. The management wanted no surprises and always wanted people to be safe…relatively.
I was getting nicely railed by hubby, his wife on the back of the couch, with my mouth on that incredible vulva. I was not fabricating any moans and grunts. These two were good!
Pops and his girl went off somewhere, and Blondie was setting up the BF for round two with a C Class girl I recognized as Kaywhy (lube humor). She has been here for a long time, but only slaves on weekends. I heard she’s a schoolteacher in Connecticut. Wild… She was older than me, closer to thirty, and a pale, full-figured redhead with fabulous, freckled tits. She was doing a Tony-award-worthy job of playing scared. Cocky-hub liked it almost as much as Blondie. They’d better tip her well.
They had her ankles attached to a spreader and secured her wrists to the wingback chair’s restraints. Blondie was smacking her no-longer-pale cheeks in between Loser-dick fucking her pussy. I could tell Kaywhy was enjoying it some, but we caught each other’s gaze and she eye rolled then winked. I smiled.
After cumming three times and making the happy couple happy with the same, I asked for a quick break. Seems counterintuitive, but I needed some water or an energy drink and a pee. They were happy to let me pop off. Hubby sucked out some of his cream and fed it to his sexy wife. She groaned, and they started making out like crazy. I heard him say as I walked off, “You were right, Babe. She’s incredible.” I smiled. Cha-ching!
On my way back to them, I spotted the performance on stage three. Holy fuck, it was Petite and Pops! She was suspended with her arms behind her back and her legs secured to the floor. A bull was drilling her ass, and Mistress Sersee was abusing her poor little boobies with weighted clips. Pops stood by and, with instructions, was smacking her stretched nips with a light cane. She cried out with each strike, and he repeatedly told her she was a “Good Girl.” She was in her element. Maybe they could hire her. Maybe I could one day be her.
Security JoAnn whistled, and I snapped back to reality. “Don’t dawdle, Ry!” Her tone was playful yet authoritative. She was doing her job, looking out for us. I blushed and headed back to C as Petite howled from a loud cane smack. Made my nipples plank.
I was with the foursome for another hour or so. Blondie had gotten some grapes and wanted me to put them in my pussy and drop them into her boyfriend‘s mouth. Hard pass. Instead, he did it to her while I licked her ass and pussy. She wanted to piss on my face, but I told her we’d have to go to the shower area.
She complained to her friend, the brunette, who was obviously the member hosting. The brunette just ignored her. She was in the middle of a lovely DP with one of the cuter Latino guys manned Free-D and my good friend BigTom: Six foot six and hung appropriately.
Hubby was watching from the chair, stroking himself and loving every second. His wife looked like she was in seventh heaven. Without asking, I bent over and took his cock in my mouth. It was really quite impressive. He took my hair in his hands and gave me a decent throat fuck. I was hoping that the cocky boyfriend was watching. Fucking loser missed out on some high-quality throat.
He abruptly pulled me off and turned me around. My face was now only a foot away from his wife’s bouncing fake boobs. She grabbed my head and slammed me in between. I actually laughed at how silly it was. So did she when I started to motorboat. Hubby was lining himself up with my ass, which had not been used yet tonight. I turned and saw him applying a decent amount of lube, so I knew we would be golden.
“Yes, Sir! Please fuck my slutty slave asshole!”
I didn’t ever need to say that. It was not required. It was just really good practice, and honestly, I fucking loved it! I like the name-calling. I like the spankings. And I love the cum that eventually filled up my back door.
I ended my time with them scooping up as much cum as I could from brunette’s ass and pussy and then swapping it with her and Blondie.
They thanked me, scanned my collar, and headed off to watch their friend, who was still performing and doing a really good job on top of a bull while her ass was being whipped.
Hubby asked me if we could have some private time, and I said, unfortunately, no. I mean, this guy was pretty good-looking for a guy around fifty who kept himself in shape. But that was frowned upon without permission from the person‘s partner. I offered him a resurrection blowjob in front of his wife, but he chose to go find some other opportunity. I had two hours left and would need to do a quick cleanup and find some new clientele.
Blondie‘s boyfriend had headed in the opposite direction earlier. I would see him half an hour later with two of the boys getting spit roasted. Yeah… That’s where he belonged. He looked absolutely joyful. Maybe Blondie didn’t know he was a cocksucker. Maybe this was his first time. Maybe it was not my place to judge.
I was lucky enough to find one of my favorite Yankees players and his current not-his-wife.
“Ryanne! My favorite white slut! Let’s do this!”
They invited me to the VIP room, and I ended up having more orgasms than I expected.
I got back to my apartment around 7 o’clock. Pizza, some TV, and a hot soak in the tub. Tomorrow was my day off! Hallelujah, I needed the time.
But would be ready for Tuesday night.
I loved my job.
TO BE CONTINUED First Year Fumbles And Goofs
Thank you so much for reading. If you liked it, hit the heart. If you really liked it, clean up first and then hit the Star.
And please leave a comment, I always try to respond to them all.
Peace, Matt
