Real life adventures: Fetish night defloration (part 1)

I had had a bad week, in fact the most appalling week – top 3 on my list of worst weeks of my life. Going out to my first ever Fetish night with my beautiful banshee friend was supposed to help get me “back on the horse” as my darling husband put it.

I wasn’t all that sure. My body was so chronically high on adrenaline on that Saturday morning that I could barely cope with daytime London crowds and the fearful nausea just didn’t seem to want to shift. At that point even meeting my wild friend seemed like more than I could handle. So when she didn’t make it, I had the perfect excuse. At least 50% of me just wanted to go back home and hide, the other 50%... well, the other 50% is easily lured by temptation and too stubborn to be beaten. It’s also the second 50% that got egged on by my husband to go and do it anyway. He didn’t seem to care that I was anxious about being left in London by myself or that I’d never been to a club on my own. He did know that once I was there, I’d be in good hands though. I was meeting a great couple we’d swung with before. Lovely, warm, safe and fun people – just what I needed. I also knew that he would give me the most beautiful athletic fucking and that she was keen to spank my arse in the process. So in the end I’d texted them to say that I was by myself, but still wanted to come out if they could give me a lift home afterwards. The text that came back said “No worries, just pleasure.” How can a girl resist that kind of invitation?

Nevertheless, as I wriggled into my G-string and black corset in the toilets of Waterloo station, I felt nervous. I decided to leave my beautiful virginal red suede and black leather collar in my handbag for a while longer. The rest I could disguise under my clothes, but the collar was a little too hardcore to be just an interesting fashion statement. I felt faintly guilty, when I encountered the lengthy queue outside my cubicle, but guilt wasn’t really an emotion I could afford that day. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. My husband’s picture flashed up frantically on its screen and it took a while for my shaky fingers to stop fumbling with the slider bar.

“Just making sure you are still going”, said his warm familiar voice.

“I’m here now. If I was going to chicken out, I would have come home with you.”

“Just checking.”

He gets such a thrill out of me being bad, even when he’s not part of it. He is comfortable being a little tamer – letting me be his wild child by proxy. A wild child he so badly and proudly encourages.

I needed a bit of encouragement that night, as I hailed a cab to take me to the club. The driver seemed intrigued by the peculiar address – a business park at 11 pm on a Saturday night?

“Are you going to one of those parties then? One of those secret swingers’ parties?”, he asked me from behind the screen.

“It’s fetish night tonight actually, but not so secret it seems.”

“Well, I’m a taxi driver….” He left his voice trailing.

I was feeling a little flirtatious now. “So as a taxi driver you know about parties…”

I saw him smile in the rear view mirror. “So where’s your outfit then?”

“Under my clothes… it’s not really suitable for streetwear. There’s not very much too it.”

He swallowed. “How are you getting home afterwards?”

Now I was smiling. “Don’t worry, some friends are taking me back.” He was silent then.

The block of the commercial unit that housed the club was probably one of the weirder club locations I’d been to. The brightly lit entrance door gave nothing away of what lay inside. I passed the friendly doorman and headed up the stairs, down the non-descript looking corridor and towards the reception desk. It was an oddly empowering feeling standing at the desk just by myself waiting to sign in. I let out an internal sigh. I’d got myself entirely too entangled lately. However, this was definitely not the time to dwell on that. I handed over my membership card and entrance fee.

The cute receptionist winked at me. “I’ll make sure that everybody properly misbehaves themselves.”

“Oh, I fully intend to”, I said smilingly.

My friends were waiting for me by the bar. A little chilled white wine and the demons of the previous days started to drift further and further away. My friend started to explain to me how much she wanted to learn some mistress-craft and would ask one of the experienced people to show her the ropes. For this mission I was to be her sub. Now, you should bear in mind here that whilst I had been dominated before, this had very much emerged out of the rough play with one person – no S&M equipment involved. Neither of us really knew what we were doing and whilst my face had been slapped hard and persistently enough to make me cry and eventually bruise, the rest of my body had stayed oddly untouched. This here however, surrounded by fetish-clad folk, sitting with a woman with a whip, this felt like the real thing. Hell, I had no idea, whether I even liked pain! But I was intrigued, excited – the potential for new discoveries as thrilling as ever. It wasn’t long before a busty statuesque dominatrix joined us for a chat.

“So are you all together, then?”

We nodded, as she looked at my friend.

“So you’re going to be the mistress.” Her eyes moved to me. “You’ll be the slave.” I nodded. “And what will you do?” she asked my friend’s husband.

“Oh, he does the fucking”, my friend said dryly.

“Ah, that’ll be quite useful for the climax of the scene”, the dominatrix said with that air of experienced expertise in her voice.

In part, this conversation was feeling very surreal to me, but it also started to conjure images and sensations that were gradually building my arousal. She took us to a quiet lockable room and talked to us about pain scores and how to keep checking them with your slave, about slapping lightly at first to bring the blood to the surface of the skin, about the pleasures of sensory deprivation – being tied to the wall of a dark room, not knowing when the next move is coming or what that move will be. She extolled the virtues of caressing someone with a silk stocking, of withholding slaps when they are wanted, of making your slave beg for them and finally of the feel of cold (blunt!) sword steel against your neck. It was the latter that made me inhale sharply through my teeth. She looked at me quizzically.

“No just carry on talking”, I said. I knew I had that aroused smile playing on my lips, my eyes getting slightly unfocused. Hey, I’m not a detached person – when I’m aroused you are going to know about it.

We had planned to drift back across into the dungeon area and watch for a little while, but you just can’t keep my guy friend from fucking for very long. Before long he was standing behind me, grinding his beautiful, hard cock against me, its size barely disguised by the tight latex he was wearing. Do I find that greedy or offensive? God, no! It’s glorious! And vastly compatible with me… So soon we returned to the quiet room: the mistress, the sex god and my own greedy self, hungry to pleasure, hungry to be pleasured.


I always struggle to stay away from a beautiful cock, so it wasn't long until  I dropped to my knees to slip my friend's impressive cock into my mouth. At the same time I was arching my back, holding up my arse as high as I could manage. As I sucked and worked him, his wife's whip started making contact with my arse, just lightly at first, patting, almost caressing, warming me up. This didn't feel so bad and the suspense of waiting for full hard contact added to my excitement. His cock had grown to its full size now, so wide it would not fit as deeply down my throat as I liked it. He grabbed my head by the hair and neck then, holding me down between his legs, pushing himself as deep as he would go, holding me, holding me longer. Swish! The first full blow fell on my arse, making me yelp with the shock. He started face fucking me, still holding me deep on his cock. I struggled to keep my arse in the air, arching more strongly yet, working hard to keep presenting my buttocks. Swish! Ah, that hurt! I moaned deeply into his pubes. I could feel nothing but his cock deep in my throat and my burning buttocks. His thighs were muffling the sound and I could see nothing as I was forced down on him. The patting resumed, fine slaps with the whip covering the most sensitive parts of my buttocks, always low down towards the tender tops of my thighs. Swish! I kept working his cock holding it deep, pulling up, using both my hands on it as well as my lips. I was concentrating so much, that the next move took me by surprise. I gasped. The cool leather end of the whip gently pressed itself against my outer lips. The feeling was exquisite. The whipping had increased the blood flow to my nether region enough to make me highly sensitive - and dripping wet.  The mistress started to move the whip gently, using the leather edge to caress my lips, edging forward towards my now prominent clit. I arched harder, spreading my legs, willing her to continue - and she withdrew. 


"Sit on him." came my mistress's voice from behind. He had already grabbed and deftly unrolled a condom, leaving him ready for me to mount. My wet pussy slid easily onto his cock. He was beautifully wide and long but not a comfortable fit. As my full weight sank down on him I could practically feel him hit my cervix. I started moving up and down on his cock, every deep movement hitting me hard. That alone was enough to make me moan with pleasure-pain, Swish! The whip landed on my left buttock. Swish, swish, swish! Ouch, not the same spot!!! 
"How much pain?" my mistress asked. 

"Seven", I gasped. "Before - four... or ...five." I was still riding him hard, getting out of breath now, both from the exertion and the whipping. I ground my pelvis into him, pushing him ever more deeply into me. He was piercing my insides that way, and I could not help but press one hand against my abdomen just to make it bearable.
"Smack." His hand landed on my face. Swish!  I was alternately moaning and screaming now, as I rode the deadly cock and blows were landing on my arse. He pulled me down towards him, holding on to me tightly, and started thrusting into me from below. This left my buttocks even more exposed. Swish. The next blow landed firmly on my upper thighs. "Eight!!!!"
"Suck him again!" ordered my mistress.
Now dizzy, I rose off his cock and dropped to my knees again. He quickly pushed me deeply down onto his cock yet again. He face-fucked me deeply but firmly, as the blows kept raining down on my arse. I was dizzy and light-headed now, arse and throat, throat and arse all that existed. Intense sensations. I felt him harden in my throat and then he was coming, salty cum splattering against the back of my throat. I swallowed and gasped, coming up for air, my arse finally sinking down on my thighs. Enough - at least for a little while...