The Bondage Club
My husband is a raunchy stud whom I love dearly, especially with my vagina. We've never pretended that sex was not the best part of our relationship, though we can keep ourselves somewhat in control under most circumstances. We also have what goes way beyond a merely open marriage.
That's something we keep secret from our neighbors and the other parents. Things may get complicated when the kids get old enough to figure out what's going on. But for now that isn't a problem.
I'm ten years younger than Frank, his child bride. My parents are in their fourties and mom loves taking care of the kids. She loves it when I leave them at her house for the weekend. Nor does she get tired of them when Frank and I go for a week long vacation. "Next time" she tells me, "take two weeks." I guess she's almost as young as some of the other parents we know. She has a lot of energy.
Mom knows I have kinky tastes and married a guy with similar inclinations. She never asks for specifics, but I've volunteered some. I tell her we usually vacation in nudist resorts, but not the fact that the ones we go to cater to swingers. She knows that before I married I often dated two guys at the same time and was probably having sex with both. But I never told her about the times I had both lovers in bed with me at the same time, nor that I had both of them inside me at the same time. DP is one of the kinky things I keep secret from her. But genital and anal sex have many risks, some I'm no longer willing to take now that I have children. If I do have sex with a man other than the three I trust, I insist on rubbers, for health reasons. I will have unprotected oral sex with any guy I'm willing to have an affair with. So that's sometimes all I do with a man.
And then there's the club.
We live in a big city. Actually the suburbs. New York City. We have to drive into Manhattan for most club activities, but sometimes they rent a place in Queens. A lot of things about the club are kept secret from the rank and file. I don't know how many people are in it, though I'd guess the number is less than one hundred. I call it the Bondage Club, capital letters, but it has no official name. At least none that I know of. I heard once that there is an official corporation. But we're not encouraged to ask those types of questions. I think the whole thing is probably legal, but this isn't the type of activity that tolerates a lot of publicity. As a participant I love the way it works. I certainly don't want to rock the boat.
It's possible that the club makes money, but not much. There are no membership dues. You get notified and invited to events by e-mail. I imagine if you stop attending for a while, you'd get dropped from the list.
You pay to attend an event, but the fees seem to just cover the expenses. Another rumor I heard is that we have a secret benefactor, that one of the board members is so rich that he underwrites the additional cost just to keep things going. Perhaps the corporation is listed as non-profit. Everyone at a club event is on a first name basis. Only. Mentioning last names is discouraged. Even the couple that recruited us we only refer to there as Bob and Nancy. We come seperately, leave seperately, and tell no one else that we know each other outside of club events. Nor do Bob and Nancy know that I recruited Karen, Sally, and Georgina. I have this collection of kinky girlfriends.
The club's main activity is providing a forum for females to entertain publicly doing the lewest things they can imagine not involving having intercourse with men. That doesn't mean she can't have intercourse with a dildo or someone's fingers. Sometimes there are men involved in a skit, but they never undress, so no bare cocks please. In fact, both on stage and in the audience the men are always required to stay fully clothed, while nudity is the most common attire for women. The difference is exciting. The audience is interested in my naked body, not that of a naked male beside me. The club would have no interest to homosexual males and probably very little to lesbians. The main reason women are there is so they can flaunt themselves either on stage or on the dance floor. The men are there to enjoy it.
If you're not actually getting fucked, if you don't have a naked lover available to wrap your pussy around, then the best way to get an orgasm is in bondage. The main skits don't always involve a woman tied up in a most compromising poses. Sometimes she just assumes the positions without the restraints. But usually she's cuffed or roped, made delightfully helpless while a master, male or female, abuses her sexually into having a number of orgasms. It's embarrassing and wonderful to feel your body suddenly let go, spraying the floor with your juices while half a hundred people watch you. When a girl has a climax with a man inside her, it feels so right, like going to church. With your genitals wide open and on display it feels delightfully naughty.
I remember my last time on stage perfectly. I remember every time perfectly. This last time I was once again lashed to the pole. This time Hank was my lover tormentor. One is never assigned a master she knows well. I'd met Hank only a few of times. After you've been a man's victim, you never again think of him as just a man. If he does a good job you'll remember him with more fondness than most of your lovers. Not that he hasn't become your lover. He just hasn't stuck his dick inside you. I think this is the main reason we aren't allowed to know other members outside. If I'd even known Hank's last name I'd have been on the net the next day trying to contact him, trying to get him to fuck me in private. After an episode with a male the girl really feels like her pussy and anus belong to him, and it's frustrating that she hasn't had the opportunity to prove it.
The pole is not bare. It has attachments, pads and rings and phalic protrusions. You can be strapped to it with your wrists and ankles pulled backwards, opening up your body much more than happens with a simple spread eagle. Hank made me push back first against a small disc with a dildo protruding from it's center. The dildo was lubed and impailed my anus with no effort at all, especially on my part. It was neither deep nor wide. I had no trouble accomodating it while positioning my derriere so that much of my weight was supported on the disc. The disc, however, was slanted slightly forward which pressed the the top side of the dildo against the upper sidewall of my rectum. It wasn't uncomfortable, except that I felt like a hooked fish, hooked by my asshole.
As Hank attached and pulled tight my arm restraints, I felt my arms being forced to support increasingly more of my weight from the well padded cuffs, my wrists now above my head, but wide apart and slightly back. I have medium size breasts, still shapely even after nursing two babies. At the club you don't discuss children. But I'm always naked, my belly usually on display. Anyone who knows what stretch marks are can see that I've had babies. In a very real way, I feel like letting people see my stretch marks makes me more naked than showing off my pussy lips. Seeing my pussy lips tells a man little about me, except that I like showing off my pussy lips. All women have pussies. Seeing my marks tells a man that I've had babies, that not only have I had sex, but I've also allowed myself to get knocked up, that I'm a mother.
At first my legs are straight below me. It is my tits that are being offered up, forced to protrude helplessly and erotically for the benifit of the audience. My benifit also. The position with everyone watching makes me intensely aware of them. My nipples feel like they want to swell up even more than they already have. Impossible. I feel my pussy warming up even more, my clit hardening with excitement, my pussy shaking like I could have an orgasm without anyone even touching me down there. Possible, but not desirable. In these games you want to offer your master at least a token bit of challenge. Squirting cume out your cunt just because your titties have been put on display is too slutty for words.
I read once that the average woman takes twenty minutes from initial penetration before she can orgasm. That's assuming she can orgasm. But why penetration? What about simple foreplay. Or not so simple foreplay? How about bondage like this? Nothing's been stuck inside me yet. But if Hank so much as tickles my clit once with a feather, I'll explode. It's all I can do to avoid a "premature" orgasm, one that occurs before my master has given me permission to enjoy myself.
I amend that statement. Nothing has been stuck inside my pussy. My anus has that dildo I've already gotten so comfortable with I almost forget it's there. But the people in the audience can see it very clearly sticking inside me. Even if you count the anal penetration it's only been about three minutes. I wonder if the women interviewed were all prudes. Or their lovers inexperienced in the ways of sexy foreplay. I doubt I'm the only girl around who can cume simply from clit stimulation. In fact I cume very easily when a guy sucks it. But lets suppose my lover enters me from the back. He thrusts himself into my pussy or anus but doesn't touch my clit or breasts. I can't remember this ever happening but I'd probably enjoy it. I can imagine myself just resting there letting him do what he wants waiting patiently for him to really turn me on by touching my erogenous zones. Of course, I'd only refraim from touching my clit myself if I'd been instructed not to. But this is the way dominance and bondage games are sometimes played. In the club the man would not be allowed to actually fuck me with his penis. But using other things to excite me while keeping me short of having a climax is often done. Hank, however, wasn't playing that particular game. He was letting me build toward a climax, perhaps too quickly.
Hank has now attached my ankles to the floor out to the sides and slightly back of my hips. It doesn't hurt much, but feels like it should. My pelvis protrudes in front of me. The ropes keep me from falling forward. My pussy lips are pulled apart, my clit popping out from under my hood. Hank walks around to inspect me. I am so helpless and open and empty, I could feel no more naked or exposed. I look at him with carnal lust and my pussy explodes. He is unprepared and only misses a hosing because he is standing slightly to one side.
Yet this is our secret. Hank smiles and acts like I have responded as he wishes. Part of the performance is for my benefit, part for his, but mostly for the audience. A slave in bondage is only supposed to cume when her master wishes. We both pretend this was his wish.
Hank is holding the feather I mentioned earlier. He touches it to my sensitive clit. Perhaps five minutes have passed before he does this. It feels to me like no time has passed. But some must have because my body responds again, my chamber refilled is now emptying again on the floor. I have no sense of time but Hank can tell when I'm again ready. The third time it only takes a touch on one of my nipples. But both of these times I have his permission, so I eagerly deliver my cume when the stimulus is applied. I couldn't be happier.
My lips are swollen, cume soaked, and ugly. Frank would say beautiful. Apparently the other men looking at me agree. I'm glad men think so.
Hank releases my ankles, pops my ass off the anal dildo, turns me around and pulls my wrists down to the floor draping my bent body over a padded "horse". I am told to keep my legs wide spread. I thank him for allowing me to do so. I don't know what I will enjoy more, displaying my open orifices or feeling them filled with various toys. Hank could skip the toys, since their use is very common. But there's a reason they get used so often when a girl is forced to assume this position. I smile and think of Frank's erection as I feel a large, rubbery object enter my pussy. Frank has told me that seeing me abused like this is more of a turn on for him than when it's other women because he's still as much in love with me as ever.
