Tell Me what You Want

I looked round the fetish club, full of friends and, presumably, friends-of-friends, there for celebrating someone's birthday-ending-in-zero. Any excuse, really, for hiring out the whole place and hugely reducing the quotient of bug-eyed newbies getting in the way.

More importantly, it eliminated that swarm of wanking blokes who always get too close to a scene, keep trying to 'accidentally' touch women, claim they didn't know the rules, and invariably get their dicks out so close you have to worry about spatter. There's probably men reading this, thinking "not all men", which is certainly true - decent men get equally annoyed by these tossers - but trust me, they are always men.

As a woman, especially one usually being the recipient of attention in a scene, the chances of my curvaceous arse and lovely large breasts being touched only by the person I want touching them, is key to whether I'm happy to play in a club or not.

But this place was great. Various respectful scenes happening in the main play space - I'd been in one, audience sitting or standing by the wall, quietly observing. Someone I didn't know was having... an experience? ... in the room with a swing, which I hadn't realised was actually physically possible. You live and learn.

A dozen people, mainly friends of mine, were enjoying themselves in the giant Jacuzzi, but I'd been in there earlier in the evening and didn't feel like it again.

What was a girl to do next?

I wandered to the bar for another drink, winced at the prices more than I had under my beating just before, and took an orange juice. Liquid and sugars, very important in the circs.

A tab set up with my wristband number was very handy, seeing as I was wearing nothing else. "How's it going?", my friend asked me. "Nice marks on your bottom, there..."

"Good, thanks. And yes, aren't they good? Just wondering what to do now... see who else is here, I suppose."

"Bunch of people from up north just arrived... They've mostly headed to the Jacuzzi... Oh, do you remember John, you know, black hair, energetic geek, lives with Cathy? He was asking if you were here. Looked quite pleased when I said you were, if you get my drift..."

I remembered him all right. Most decorative chap, reputedly a highly-skilled top, certainly with a filthy mind and wicked sense of humour. We'd never played, though; our negotiations had got as far as yes, we had compatible interests, but sadly, so little time...

I went to look for him.

As it turned out, I didn't need to. Just as I left the bar space to pass through the 'cuddling area' - a room full of huge wipe-clean beanbags and some similarly hygienic beds - I was grabbed round the shoulders.

"You're here!" A gleeful voice in my ear, and a firm kiss, central on my cheek. I could take this in any direction, dialling the situation up or down as I chose. I turned my head and kissed him back on the mouth, which, with him holding me tight, enabled an excellent full-on snog, my bare body pressed to his dressed one, from head to toe.

We stopped after a minute or two, possibly when he noticed my efforts to avoid spilling my drink. I knocked it back. He took the glass back to the bar for me, and returned, upon which his game was to hold me round the waist and try to push me against the wall.

"I'm not really up for anything standing, right now," I told him.

He nodded, and we fell sideways into a giant beanbag. We wrestled a bit, which from my much-weaker point of view was pointless but still fun, and soon he was lying on top of me.

A clothed man on a naked woman.

His leg, clad in black jodhpurs or similar, rested between my legs, the weight of his pelvis on mine, his chest's centre of gravity between my breasts, my arms somehow wedged by my sides, helpless.

He raised his chin to look into my eyes from a few inches above them.

"Happy?"

"Yes."

"Good."

It was all peaceful for a minute, as I enjoyed his body weighing on top of me, but also, I didn't know what to say. No-one else was entering this large room, other than to cross it at the far end. He broke the silence for me.

A quiet command, spoken clearly into my ear: "Tell me what you want."

How to even start to answer such a question?

"Um, well, this is good, uh, well, you know I like bottoming, bondage, being hit by thuddy things..."

"I know. And I'm feeling very toppy today, so we're sorted there. But I want to know what's in your head, before we do anything. You say bottoming, not sub?"

I shrugged, as much as I could in the circs.

"People laugh at the idea of me being submissive, go 'yeah, right'."

"Never asked you to sub to them?"

I shook my head. "Not in years. Loads of 'can I hit you like this or that' , 'shall we try blah and blah' ... But, expecting me to bend to their will... no."

He looked intrigued, and shrugged himself, as if changing the route his mind was going down. "Interesting... But back to you, me, now... You like being beaten," - he reached down to grope my arse cheeks with clawed fingers, and I moaned happily as his nails dug into my bruises there. "What do you like about it?"

"The feeling after, when someone touches me there... Yeah. Like that..." That was an easy question.

"How does that feel?"

"Oh! That's like being fucked hard, just from where you're pressing your thumb!"

He removed his thumb.

Bastard.

Then he rubbed the whole area gently, which was beautiful, so good on all that tender flesh, and I forgave him.

"And during it? Or before?"

"Oh, anticipation is... Good, yeah. You know. A bit scary, building up to both pain and pleasure..."

He smiled.

"I know." He drummed his fingers against my skin. "Do you like the fear? Or nervousness, anticipation?"

"Mm. I suppose."

"Think about it. Does waiting and anticipating arouse you?"

I pictured myself, standing toes and nose to a wall, waiting to be spanked. "OK, yes. Yes, it does."

"And when the pain starts - are you scared then? Do you worry it'll be too much, or really harm you, or you won't be able to take it?"

"A little." I exhaled, as his tapping made clear he expected more of an answer. "I suppose, I have to trust the person not to cause lasting harm or I wouldn't be with them in the first place?"

"Good. What about the fear of it being too intense, too much for you?"

"There's a bit of that, sometimes, but no, usually what happens is, they start slow and gentle and I relax, thinking this is nice, and then by the time it builds up, I'm managing to exist in the moment, nothing to worry about other than breathing, keeping going... I guess if the top decided to hurt me in other ways that I don't find at all... pleasurable, then I'd be worrying about that, but then that wouldn't be a scene, that would just be abuse and torture?"

"I get you. If its the right sort of pain, then your brain just accepts and there's no fear, and if it's the wrong sort, then you're not getting into a playing headspace anyway?"

"I guess."

"Don't worry. I'm sure I can hurt you in lots of the right ways you've told me about before."

OK, now I'm nervous...

"And do you like..." He stroked down my side, held me down firmly, "being...made... vulnerable?"

"Yes. It's why I don't play with just anyone - I need to trust so much... I love the way bondage forces me to relax, accept what is going to happen, and then all I have to do is let it happen, no decisions, no stress, you know what I mean?"

A far-off look in his eye suggested that yes, he did.

"All helpless, anything could happen," he murmured. "But what?" He wanted to find out the more secret parts of what turned me on, possibly never even admitted to myself, I later realised. "So... you might like to be tied down, somewhere like here, in that room there" - he gestured with his head.

"Yes."

"There would be people all around. Watching."

"Yes."

"Seeing you naked."

I laughed. "You might have noticed, I'm naked already."

"True, that. It didn't seem polite to mention it, but it's a very good look for you. I like it."

I don't mind being naked. It's not dirty, in itself. Especially when it's just friends around. I smiled. "It's just a body."

"But a nice one... Trust me, most people here are enjoying looking at it! Do you like being looked at, watched? It's just a body when you're walking around, sure, but once you're restrained, hurt, touched... You get turned on, don't you?"

I nodded.

"Am I right, the pain actually turns you on too?"

I nodded again, blushing, as it's not something I usually admit. It's the main reason I don't play with many people. It's always a sexual experience for me, even if it isn't for them.

"And then being played with helps you take more pain, yes? Especially when you're getting off on the bondage..."

"Yes..." He'd been talking to someone close to me, for sure.

"All aroused, tied up, helpless, and all those people watching... That's your big fantasy, right? I bet you squirm, wanting to come..."

I nodded again.

"But you can't. You just have to take it, the pain, whatever happens. And then you get touched between the legs -"

I opened mine further for him, so his leg pushed down further between them. I couldn't help it.

"And the pleasure is too brief..." He touched my cunt with one finger, brought it to his mouth and licked it, looking into my eyes as he did so. "And all those people watching you, seeing you beg for more. Knowing what a -" he watched my face intently as he said the word, checking how I'd take it - "slut you are..."

I like that word.

"Do you get off on people watching you? Watching you being a slut?"

I considered. "A bit. It adds to the sense of occasion, I suppose."

"A bit of an exhibitionist, then?"

"Mm. Not really. I don't get off at all on the idea of random strangers - actual members of the public - seeing me do anything. I like my filth with only... a friendly audience? In clubs, at parties, people who know about kink, then, I don't mind who sees." I stopped there, realising there were some things I kept private, but the general idea of a kink-friendly audience versus the real public was a good one.

"Only for the deserving. Makes sense. And when you're the object of attention, being tortured and teased, what do you want?"

"More of it." Duh.

"Specify." The voice was clipped, cold.

"Where do I start..."

"Parts of your body. Tell me, what do you want to happen to your breasts?"

"Um. Well, I like my nipples being pinched and pulled... Not scraped or brushed or anything, but clamps and stuff..."

"Sounds fun. Would you like a heavy chain between them, attached by clamps? I've got one of those..." He pinched both nipples gently, and I moaned.

"Yes... Tied with rope is good too. Partners like play piercing, it doesn't do anything for me, but pretty people playing with my tits, it's nice..."

He noted the word I'd used for my breasts. Nothing worse than a great scene disrupted by a word with bad connotations.

"And your stomach?"

I must have looked fairly clueless at him.

"I've seen you wear a lovely corset."

"Yes?"

"Do you like how they feel, holding you tight all the way round?"

"God, yes. And knowing it looks good, showing off my tits and arse to everyone, and holding up stockings, yeah, I like that - I'd love that look even if others didn't, but they so do - and of course you can run straps through it, underneath the corset I mean, to attach arms and legs to..."

For once, he looked startled. "Ooh, yes. One could! I like the way you think... But back to you... below your corset, that lovely arse of yours... what do you like there?"

I thought a moment, knowing that the reply 'everything' would only lead to demands for the detail of exactly what that included.

"Hands," I said finally. "I like hands on it. Warm hands. Flat and fondling, kneading, squeezing." I took a deep breath. Admitting to so many words seemed so much more intimate that simply asking to be beaten, or even just 'take it away, I'll tell you if it gets too much'. "Pinching and poking in the sensitive bruised bits. Making more bruised bits. Spanking, starting so gentle it's relaxing, building up so I hardly notice. Like boiling a frog... Spanking with a fist..."

"Punching?"

"I suppose, yes."

"Go on. Just hands, on your bottom?"

It was faked innocence. John knew damn well I'd been hit with implements many a time, including in the last hour, and loved it... well, found it satisfying, might be a rather better phrase...

"No. Other things too."

"Such as?" Such a patient voice, gentle, not in the least huffy, nor sarcastic, teacher-style. Coaxing more words out of me. He wanted words, I'd give him words...

"Paddles, hairbrushes, spatulas, soft suede floggers, heavy leather floggers, any flogger not at the stingy end, anything leather, a tawse, slipper, wooden bar, and of course canes. Heavy, for preference..."

"Mmm. How lovely. And where do you like those to be applied? One moment, let's roll over..."

He pulled himself off me and helped me turn over so I was comfortably prone on the beanbags, and then straddled my thighs. He stroked my shoulders. "Do you like being beaten here?"

I shook my head. "No. Too... Anything that looks like an Amnesty advert, no. Too much intrusive thoughts. I suppose a bit of really gentle stroking with a flogger can be nice, but that's just nice sensation play, so, really, no. And not the arms, either."

I could hear the mm-hm as he stroked down my body to the top of my bum. "Here?"

"That's really painful there! It's the start of the padded area, but not yet enough."

"I know that. So what would you do if you were all tied up, mid-scene, and a stroke landed there?"

I whimper.

"Would you safeword?"

I inhale. "Just one or two strokes and then back somewhere else?" A squeak had entered my voice.

"That's right," he responded gently, calmly. "Just one or two, that's all. Would you safeword, do you think?"

I'd never heard my voice so quiet, but it said, clearly, "No..."

"Lovely. Now, what about here?" He was fondling the top half of my buttocks as he said it, where it was red already. It was very nice.

"Oh yes!"

"You like to be hurt, here?"

It's always so difficult to imagine pain when you're receiving pure pleasure.

"Whatever," I responded, cheekily, and expected a slap, which didn't come.

"What about here?" Lower down on my arse. That fondling would have been nicer if it were a bit firmer...

"Same."

"Right. And round here?" He moved that firm hand down to my thigh, stroking the crease where bum turns to leg.

"More sensitive."

"I know. What I asked, was, what you liked to happen to it?"

"Well... Not much..." His silence as he waited got me speaking more. "People like caning there. The marks last a long time..."

"Does that make you proud? That you can take it, and prove it, for days?" The voice in my ear was nearly quiet as a breath.

I took a breath, suddenly embarrassed. "Yes."

The voice sounded pleased. "Good. You should be."

A little bit of me was made happy by that; goodness knows why I cared.

"What about here?" He slipped his firm, slightly rough hand between my very soft, tender thighs, not nearly as high up as I'd have liked. I tried to push myself downwards if he wouldn't move up, but with his weight across my legs, he could hold me in place effortlessly with the other hand.

"Don't you move. We'll get onto that soon enough. You were going to tell me what sort of pain you like here."

"I... don't... It's so tender..."

"But if you had to..."

I squeaked, not wanting to have to think about it. "I suppose, maybe, gentle scratching? ... a slow pinwheel... hot wax like on my breasts..."

"That's better. Now, what if a whack got you... here?"

He was holding my buttocks apart. The crease in between felt even more vulnerable as he blew on it and traced his finger up it.

"It happens. Don't like it."

"Poor poppet... What do you like, then, around here?" He licked his finger and slid it down the crease, to circulate round my arsehole, so close, so sensitive, and I tried to push up to him but again was denied.

"No, no, not yet. Tell me what you'd like, first."

To slap that smug grin off your face, I thought. I couldn't see his face, me being face down, but I knew he was smirking, the git.

The pressure stopped. He was serious. Teasing bastard.

"Oh, OK then! I'd like you to shove your finger back where it was, play round there, push it in my arsehole, add another one... Will that do for starters?"

"Mm. It's a good start, but I'd be most surprised if that's all you ever wanted happening there... Only a finger inside you? One?"

"I said another... Which you aren't doing."

"This is negotiation, sweetie, not playing... So tell me, is a couple fingers your limit, here?"

I was finding it hard to answer.

"That's fine. I just want to know..."

"Not my limit," I mumbled.

"Good! You're fun... What is your limit? Actually let's not worry about that, just tell me, what do you like in your arse?"

When he put it that way, it seemed less embarrassing, certainly like he was taking it for granted I'd like stuff... stuffed there.

Which I do.

"Hm? What do you like up your arsehole?"

I managed a little giggle. "'Anything."

"Clarify." Had he been taken hostage by Spock or something?

"Fingers." Of course. "Cock?"

"I'd have to do alot of negotiating before that one happened... In the meantime, what else?"

I remembered the question.

"Toys..."

"What sorts do you have? I know you do..."

I was tempted to tell him to tell me if he was so clever, but I started to list the contents of my bottom drawer, resigned to sharing the info.

"Your standard butt plug. A vibrating one, that's not very good. Silicon dildo, that's good. An inflatable butt plug... I got that to stop it sliding out at unfortunate moments..."

My face burned from giving out such intimate detail, no matter that that was clearly his plan.

"And what would be an unfortunate moment?"

He rolled off me, to the side, and pulled me about so we were facing each other. I forced myself to look into his brown eyes, which were gazing deep into mine, awaiting my answer.

"When, when I'm about to come."

"You wear them in your arse during sex?" He was trying to hide a bit of surprise, there. Heh.

"No! No - never had the chance, though would happily give it a go... I meant, playing with myself - it's nice to be all filled up, and then get the magic wand out..."

A slow smile covered his face. "And do you fill both your holes?"

"Sometimes..."

"How often? What with?"

"Blimey... OK... I probably use a butt plug every week or two, add the silicone cock once a month, maybe less?"

"And how often do you masturbate?"

"Depends. Every day for a few weeks, then not for a while..."

"Hormonal?"

"Probably. Though the magic wand is great for... assisting... with period pains..."

"Do you do it after sex?"

"Yeah. Sometimes. Even when I come with someone, which I usually do, I'm still left wanting more when I go to bed. No matter what their efforts..."

"Mmm. Insatiable... Lovely... Do you lie back and just leave it on your clit? Enjoying your... what do you like to call it, here? Cunt? Fantastic... your cunt and arsehole being stuffed at the same time?"

I shook my head. "I always have pants on. It holds the wand and other things in place, saves straining my hand..." I was blushing, in disbelief that I was sharing such intimate details.

He closed his eyes briefly, as if imagining the scene.

"That sounds beautiful. So hot. Like you said earlier, nudity is practically pure, but looking inside what is covered... discovering what is hidden..."