I don’t think that I give off a "BDSM Vibe" but apparently I do.

The real I think that I emit this peculiar wavelength comes from an incident at my first "real job" — one that wasn’t held down part time while attending classes, or where I had to wear a uniform. The company I worked for hired a new office manager, Marla Strom. She was an unimposing slip of a woman. She was likely in her fifties (but where I was in my twenties, I had yet to gauge what could be considered "middle aged"). She looked like she would have fit in best at one of my mother’s Book Club discussion.

There was little cause for me to interact with Marla. She spent most days on the phone in her office, managing supply vendors, repairmen, and who knows what else. Yet, occasionally Marla would play "Den Mother" to the pack of web developers. She’d make an appearance, going through the rank and file to socialize. I had engaged in a few pleasant conversations with Marla, nothing out of ordinary, until about two months after she’d been there when she was bemoaning how empty her social life had been since moving to our metropolitan area.

"I just don’t know where to find the kind of fun I’m used to," she said. I suggested that she take a gander at some of the free newspapers that were available at the record store (dating myself) in the neighborhood. This seemed to pique her interest. She asked if they had any "club listings" and I started to jaw on about the music establishments downtown. "No, not that kind of a club," she said. She left this door open wide, waiting for me to step into it. More than a statement, it was a question and she was awaiting my answer.

Oddly, I knew that I wasn’t reading too much into her question. Whatever wavelength I riding, I knew she was sharing the same ride. I don’t flaunt who or what I am, so the moment it took me to decide what to say next seemed to take an eternity. I felt like I was standing at a precipice.

I plunged over the side: "I think I know what kind of club you mean. There’s one downtown, The Grasshopper, at Debussy and Bartok. It’s only open Friday and Saturday night after eleven."

She nodded, knowingly. "And what night can I count on seeing you there?"

"I haven’t been in months but was thinking of going there this Friday, as a matter of fact." It wasn’t the most truthful answer. I had no prior plans of going there but now it seemed suddenly to be in my best interest.

"Great, hopefully I’ll see you there," she said, touching my arm as she walked past me on the way back to her office.

It didn’t take more than a second for a hot cold flush to come over me, one that made me question both my judgment and my sanity. I’d let the cat out of the bag about my proclivities and I got the image of Marla putting in a call to the Human Resources department in Washington to file a complaint about the pervert in her local office. My head was swimming with ill-fated scenarios but, still, in the back of my head I wondered if Marla were simply just a "freak" like me.

***

The rest of the week I didn’t see Marla in the office more than just catching a glimpse of her. The debate went on inside my head as to show up Friday night or not. Yet, somewhere inside, I knew that I would be doing so, no matter how many reasons I gave myself not to.

Friday found me in the smoky shadows of the Grasshopper with the thump, thump of house music matching the nervous patter in my chest. I was nursing a drink when I saw Marla across the room. She was talking to a rather striking, tall brunette. Marla was barely recognizable outside of the context of our office and in a rather revealing outfit that included a leather skirt and a blouse that revealed her brassiere from certain angles beneath translucent black material.

Before I could think to do anything, Marla noticed me and nodded. She flagged me down with a wave and I made my way through the crowd of twenty-to-sixtysomethings that comprised the Friday night crowd.

It was more than a little difficult to make conversation over the music. I caught that Marla was with her friend, Dee, and that they were glad out on a Friday night for a change. Dee wasn’t one for making much eye contact, I noticed, as I tried to listen to she and Marla. After one particularly lengthy speech, Marla leaned into my ear and asked, "You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?"

I sadly shook my head and she smiled wide. "Okay," she yelled. "Let’s get our of here." She said something to Marla who slugged down the last of her drink before adjusting her purse and nodding her ascent.

Outside in the crisp winter air Marla seemed happier than I’d ever seen her. I don’t throw this word around, but she seemed "giddy." The same couldn’t be said for Dee, who was far more reserved. After walking with the two women for a while I realized that I hadn’t a clue where we were headed. They were walking with a purpose and destination in mind and I tagged along like a puppy hoping to get a treat.

We walked for only a few blocks (though the uncertainty of the destination made it seem longer) to what looked like a warehouse. Marla produced a set of keys and unlocked the door saying, "The best thing about that club, it seems, is that it’s so close to my space."

She unlocked the door and we went inside. I still didn’t know what was in store for me, at least consciously, but I think I knew on some level that Marla’s ‘space’ was her ‘placespace’. An elevator ride later, my inkling was confirmed. Without even needing to explain, Marla and Dee ushered me into a large loft which sported a decorative theme somewhere between medieval torture chamber and college student apartment.

There was no negotiating or verbal sparring. There was no polite offer of tea, coffee, or wine. Things fell into place like a puzzle piece finding its slot.

Without ceremony, Dee began liberating herself of most of her outfit. Marla started to do the same, simply stating, "Put your clothes on the shelf by the radiator" as she did.

I had been trained well enough by the women that I had served previously to know better than to affect an attitude of shock and awe. I knew my place in this kind of situation, despite never having been in one before, and did what I was told, removing every inch of clothes and, with it, any artifice of control. Naked, I knew I was not in charge of anything any longer and belonged completely to these two ladies until told otherwise.

***

It was chilly in the loft at first. I wasn’t cold for very long after the blows began to fall. I was bound to the crux decussata. Marla and Dee took turns using various implements on my flesh, starting with a flogger and moving on to a riding crop, small belt, and even a wooden spoon. They started off slow but soon were determined to see how long and hard they could beat me until I begged for mercy.

Marla’s body was incredibly tight. Her gray hair was cut short in a spiky ‘do that gave her a lot of sass. Her blue eyes shone with glee as she administered blows to my ass; I could see the look reflected in the mirrored wall before me. I prayed that neither she nor Dee would blindfold me; it was wonderful seeing them strut their stuff, working up a sweat as they beat me. Occasionally Dee would opt out of the beating and stand in front of me, my eyes level with hers. She’d reach between the crux of the St. Andrew’s Cross to find my penis, half hard between being turned on and being in pain. She’d take me to full mast with her hand, staring me down while she manipulated me expertly.

"You like that, huh slut?" she hissed, her husky voice making me harder. "Did you get hard when you saw us at the club tonight? Did you think about getting down on your hands and knees right there and kissing our feet? Did you want to put your face between Marla’s asscheeks and lick her tight hole? Tell me, slut. Tell Miss Dee everything."

And, as the lash fell across my stinging, hot bottom, I confessed my sins. I admitted to how flush with excitement I was when I saw them and to the carnal sins I committed in my mind. Her skilled hands took me up the flights of stairs of my orgasm building but stopped just before I jumped off the roof. She repeated this process several times as Marla continued to redden my flesh.

The slap of the lash was replaced by an odd buzz. I looked in the mirrored wall to see Marla with a new toy — a long white-handled tool topped with a purplish globe at the end. She applied it to my backside and I wailed out of surprise and a newfound sensation of pain as electricity seemed to rip through me.

"Shhhhh," Marla chided as she put her cool hand on my warm neck. Her touch was reassuring. I realized that this was the first time she had touched me. Her hands were soft but firm. She grasped to steady me as she applied the violet wand once again to the backs of my thighs. I tried to not wail as loudly as before, pushing air through my clenched teeth as the electricity crackled over me.

She held the wand to my thighs, my low moan turned into a sharp cry and finally I begged for mercy. She continued to shock me as she decided if she would show me any or not… Finally, she stopped the current. She began unbuckling me from the cross while Dee did the same. Weakened, they lead me to a low table in the middle of the room, laying me down on the padded surface.

Dee moved my feet up so that my knees were bent and my legs were open. I stared dumbly at the ceiling until I felt something cold and hard pushing against my anus. I looked down to see Marla holding the full bag of an enema in one hand while she inserted the nozzle with the other. I felt so vulnerable and humiliated as she opened up the flow and allowed water to enter me, flooding my bowels. I was even more embarrassed when the sensation set off my cock, making it hard enough for she and Dee to comment about.

Dee lackadaisically masturbated me as I filled with fluid. I began moaning from the pleasure of Dee’s hand mixed with the pleasure / pain / discomfort of the enema. Marla squeezed the bag to flood me with the last of the liquid.

"Hold tight," she said, while slowly pulling the nozzle free. I clenched as tight as I could, trying to hold the liquid inside of myself.

After she put the equipment down, Marla moved to the head of the table. She put her hands on my cheeks, lightly caressing me as she looked down into my eyes. She could see my panic and excitement. "You’ll feel the pressure build, almost as if the water never ceased. When it gets to be too much for you to handle, you need to ask for release. When that time comes, I may or may not allow you to use the restroom by the entrance. Do you understand?"

I nodded my head as much as I could, my voice struggling to get out of my throat. She smiled and patted my cheek before walking out of my field of vision.

Despite Dee’s hand on my cock, I felt utterly isolated, staring up at the ceiling and thinking only of the rumbling in my gut. I was torn between the pleasure of manipulation and the discomfort building inside. Finally, I had to plead for release.

I was granted the privilege of using the loft’s restroom. I was mortified by the sounds that must have been coming out of that room but managed to get over it with the sheer relief of evacuating.

When I sheepishly returned, Marla had me get back on the table. This time she strapped me down; one across the chest, one at the waist, and one at the neck. My legs were free only momentarily before they were pushed back and Dee wrapped a strap around each ankle that were then put behind my thighs, effectively keeping my knees bent. She smiled at me after she did this, the first time I had seen her truly smile all evening.

Dee then removed her underwear, revealing a steadily hardening circumcised penis. She continued to smile at me and I jumped as I felt the cool wetness of lubrication being applied to my now-exposed opening by Marla’s sure hand.

Dee moved closer to me and ran her stiffening cock across my lips, pushing insistently against them until I opened my mouth and allowed her access the the warm wetness. I felt the smoothness of her hot flesh against my tongue as she grew inside of me. She took the back of my head in her hands and began pulling me, still restrained against the bonds, back and forth along her shaft as she effectively fucked my mouth.

Why this particular act of debauchery affected me so, I’m unsure. Being taken by Dee in this manner sent me reeling, especially to be used like this in front of Marla. I felt as if the rest of the night’s events could have been "laughed off" as an amusing bit of play but having my mouth violated like this took things to a different level…

Let’s not kid anyone, I loved the feel of Dee’s cock in my mouth, and hearing her breathe through her clenched teeth as I grew to suck her with as much vigor as my bonds allowed. Meanwhile, Marla teased and played with my asshole, opening it with her fingers until a signal passed between she and Dee at which time, Dee removed her cock from my mouth and made her way to the end of the table which was at the right height for her to enter my waiting rosebud.

As she pushed her cock towards my waiting hole, Marla climbed up onto the table and rested her pantied pudendum on my mouth and nose, allowing me to smell the heady aroma of her excitement. This helped ease the discomfort I felt as Dee entered my behind, her hands grabbing onto my legs and pulling me onto her. Around the sides of Marla’s thighs, I heard Dee grunt as she went deep inside of me sending a shudder of pain mixed with pleasure through my entire body. Someone, I’m not sure who, held on tight to my cock.

Marla pushed herself harder against my face until she reached a point where I knew my nose must have been against the clitoris under her panties. She pressed harder, then lighter, then harder again, fucking herself against my proboscis as her friend fucked my ass.

Dee began to get more intense, her thrusts harder and deeper, while Marla continued to bump her love button against my nose faster. The hand on my cock gripped tighter. I couldn’t take it anymore and, despite trying to ask permission against the gusset of Marla’s pants, I erupted. The hand on my cock squeezed and milked me through orgasm and soon my ears were filled with the muffle stutter cry of Marla as she reached her own climax on top of me. Dee followed suit just a second thereafter, her cock twitching and jerking inside of me.

The ladies slowly got off and out of me. I lay there, dazed, while Marla fetched a warm washcloth for me to clean up with. Play time over, she walked me downstairs and gave me directions back to my car. I was both turned around and boggled by the events of the previous two hours.

***

The following Monday at work, Marla didn’t say anything or act any differently towards me. We continued our pleasant working relationship from then on, but every Friday night (until the company relocated her) we would meet at Grasshopper and adjourn back to her loft for more extracurricular activity.

——————————-

As you should know by now, me and Porno Person are thick as thieves.  At least on occasion and let me tell you, what an occasion it is!  I like Porno person bunches and for a lot of reasons, one of which is that he can weave a mighty dirty story, and I like that it a person.  I like it a lot.  So sue me.  (or call me)

As I’ve noted before, I’m never sure which of his stories are "fantasy" and which are the real deal, because he is a practicing and mighty real-life-kinkster.  But I’m pretty sure this one actually happened.  So to my readers and callers who can only dream?  Eat your heart out.  *wink*

xo, Angela