Shall We Dance? free porn video

Shall We Dance?

Fresh from the shower, I pad out of the bathroom naked, trailing wisps ofsteam. I head toward the bedroom to see what you've selected for me this evening.The garter belt and stockings are no surprise. The dress you've selected is.It's a slinky cocktail dress with an off-the-shoulder black lycra top thatclings to my curves and then flares into a short, flouncy, skirt that barelyfalls to mid-thigh. I haven't worn that since New Years. The shoes next tothe bed are the Brazilian pair, dark, with short sturdy Cuban heels, just tallenough to lift and accentuate the curve of my bottom but comfortable enoughfor a long evening. I didn't even bother looking for a bra or panties, theywouldn't be here.

I put on the garter belt, roll the stockings up my legs clipping them ontothe garter belt and then slip into the dress thankful that it still fits. Witha giggle I playfully twirl before the dresser mirror, the skirt swirls up.I'd be ever so revealed to anyone watching. With a grin I sit before the mirrorand apply the rich red lip-gloss you've left out, you leave me no other makeupfor the evening.

I look up and see your reflection in the mirror. You're standing in the bedroomdoorway watching; for how long? . The clothing you wear is much more casualthan mine is. You're dressed in tan slacks, a light blue dress shirt open atthe neck, and a gray sports coat. When I stand, you close the distance betweenus until your body nearly presses against my back, your breath warm againstmy neck followed by the gentle flutter of a kiss. "We're ready? " youask but you really don't mean it as a question and you don't wait for me toanswer. I merely follow behind you, out of the bedroom, down the stairway andout to the car.

Ever the gentleman, you hold the car door open for me. I am very careful notto sit on my skirt. I shiver, my naked bottom coming to rest on cool vinylas I settle into my seat. You bend down to kiss me. Your lips possess minefully, hungrily, before you tie a black blindfold firmly into place and closethe car door. I listen as you enter the driver's side; you adjust my seat beltand your arm gently brushing against my breasts. Too quickly you pull awayand the car starts.

This is how it has always been. We only go to the club on weekends, at night,and I am always blindfolded. I could not tell anyone where the club is or evenhow long it takes to drive there. I sit quietly with my hands folded on mylap. I'm excited of course, feeling a bit like a bad little girl trying sovery hard to be good. The drive is mostly in silence, reflective. The radioplays soft gentle music, a soothing backdrop for my inner turmoil. You tellme casually we will be performing tonight, it makes me even more uneasy. WillI be clumsy? Look bad? Make you look bad?

I don't say a word but you understand my fear. You try to reassure me.

" You just have to follow my lead, It's my job to show them how beautifulyou are."

A grin crosses my lips, reassured that you will help me perform well.

We are an odd couple you and I. You are my master and yet for nearly a year,you've forbidden me the use of that particular word. It's my own fault. I amthe one who would use that word inappropriately, without thinking, and oftenI embarrassed you. When I unwittingly called you "Master" beforemy own parents it was the last straw.

My mother looked from me to you at first with shock and disbelief that slowlyturned to a bemused smile. I flushed with embarrassment; I could feel yourrising anger without even looking at you. My father barely noticed; thinking,no doubt it was a rare case of sarcasm on my part.

When we arrived home that dreadful evening you vented your pent-up anger.You tied me face down on the bed and you thoroughly punished my poor bottomwith a leather belt. It was the only time I've ever seriously thought aboutusing my safe word. I wonder if you would have stopped; I think so, but I'llnever know. Since that night I've not been allowed to use the word "Master".

You can forbid my saying the word but my thoughts will always know the truth.I am yours' a devoted slave and yet you use me like one all too rarely. Inour ordinary lives I must play the role of your independent wife, on thesespecial evenings I can become what I'll always long for, what I was meant tobe: yours completely.

The car continues through the night. Later, I really don't know how much later,perhaps a half-hour, no more than a full one, the car stops and we are there.Your warm patient hands guide me from the car and finally you remove the blindfoldonce we are safely inside.

It is a private club; we usually come here every week, but we've come at leasttwice a month, for years now. It's always at night, always on a weekend. Youhead toward our table and I follow behind. Miss Ruth waves a casual greetingfrom across the room and heads toward us.

Her two man-servants flank her. They were obviously selected for their looks.Both are tall, muscular, and completely shaven. They could almost be brothersexcept that one is the darkest ebony and the other is such a pale white thathe seems almost bloodless.

Everyone calls them the twins, Mistress Ruth has never revealed their truenames. They both wear nothing but leather chaps. The dark one dressed in glossywhite leather and the other wears burnished black. I peek at the open junctureof the leather leggings when I think (hope) no one is looking. They're nearlyidentical there as well. Neither shows the least sign of arousal, they aremuch too well trained. It is said that with a snap of her fingers they willboth become rock hard for Ruth, and if she orders them to they will cum spurtinginto the air with no stimulation other than her command. It is something Iwould love to see some day.

The club is hers of course; I don't know its name or even if it has one. Someof those I've heard talking here refer to it as "the power exchange" whichseems apt but is probably more a description than a title.

She is nearly at our table now. I look away toward the stage my eyes stealingone last glimpse of the two men who remain a respectful pace behind her. Onstage a demonstration of safe suspension techniques is taking place. A tinyoriental woman who I think is called Annie is bound to a massive eight-foothigh tripod constructed of metal poles and tubing. She is wearing nothing buther wrist and ankle bracelets and a pair of impossibly tall high heels butwith her hands bound high the heels barely allow her feet to touch the ground.A small crowd has gathered below the stage to listen as her owner explains,gesturing at her using his riding crop as a pointer.

" Mark! How delightful! You'll be able to use the stage in about a forty-fiveminutes. I hope that will be acceptable?"

You offer your assent. We sometimes perform on stage; it terrifies and yetperversely excites me to be displayed naked before these people we barely know.More importantly you want to reveal my submissiveness to them and that aloneallows my pride to swell. Last week I was allowed to grovel naked at your feet,my lips servicing you while you watched others perform on stage. Tonight wewill perform for them.

My belly clenches as I feel Mistress Ruth's eyes turn toward me. " My,Miss Sarah, you look positively ravishing tonight." I can not look ather; I dare not answer her. She always addresses me with this exaggerated politeness,pretending she doesn't know I am a fraud. I sit at the side of my lover clothedas if I was a free woman. It is what you want, but my discomfort certainlyamuses her.

She may be the one person who recognizes the true irony of my situation. Youare my master and you want me to act as an independent woman, it is what youdemand of me. Because I am your slave I acquiesce to that absurd demand. Whyyou must pretend that the woman who surrenders herself to your demands is freeI do not know. I will play that role as long as you want me to. I would ratherbe kneeling naked at the feet of my master, like so many others at this clubare allowed to do. You indulge me sometimes but what I desire is of no realconsequence. You know I wish to wear your collar, you deny me this for yourown reasons. I will do as my Master wishes, I will even pretend I can refuseyou.

"Can I get you a drink Mark?" Miss Ruth asks.

"Yes please, my regular." Master replies

" And Miss Sarah," her eyes swing toward me again and I hold mybreath.

" Perhaps I can get you a cup of tea to sooth those frazzled nerves."

She certainly doesn't expect me to respond; she knows my true nature. I shouldsit silently and accept whatever her servants bring me. I should demure toher desires. I definitely am not expected to speak up.

" No thank you Miss Ruth." I boldly proclaim," My nerves arequite fine and your tea might just makes me need to pee at an inconvenienttime."

God what is wrong with me? Her cloying manner just goads me on; I can't dealrationally with this woman. Mistress Ruth's eyes flash with anger and amusement,she seems to enjoy the challenge of my little rebellion. She turns to the paletwin and instructs him to fetch my lover's regular drink. He returns with Mark'sbottle of 12 year old Scotch and a glass. He pours about four fingers intothe tumbler. His duty finished he steps back to his place behind his Mistressleaving the bottle behind. Mark offers Ruth a drink but she declines. He raiseshis glass to salute me and I blush.

"You know Mark, you really ought to put a collar on that cute littlebitch before someone else does it for you." Miss Ruth speaks casuallyabout me as I fidgeted under her gaze.

" That cute little bitch is my wife Ruth so don't even think about tossingyour collar on her." Mark answers showing a flash of the possessivenessthat I long for.

" Oh I wasn't thinking about myself. There are others here who wouldn'tbe the least bit hesitant, married or not. But now that you mention it, maybewe could work something out between the two of us? if you'd like."

Her eyes sweep over me hungrily and I shrink down into my chair. I shouldbe grateful, I suppose, for Ruth is arguing for exactly what I desire! I shouldbe kneeling at my lover's feet. I want to wear his collar. Somehow the womanmanages to be irritating even when she speaks up for what I desire, but darenot plead for myself. The two of them continue to discuss me as if I can'thear them or more truthfully as if my hearing their thoughts about me is ofno consequence.

The demonstration on stage is in full swing now. The little Asian sub is suspendedoff the floor her wrists bound to one leg of the tripod her legs splayed widewith ankles bound to the other two legs. She is wearing a belt-like leatherharness around her waist now that is attached to the chain dangling from thetop of the tripod and it takes up some of her weight as her body sways suspended.The handle of her owner's crop is delving between her legs and she squirmsdelightfully.

" Gentlemen," Ruth addresses her two servants, " Would yoube so good as to take Miss Sarah to the Red room and prepare her. Perhaps giveher some of that ginger peach tea to help calm her. Make sure she is properlyattired, I'll expect you to have her on stage in" Their Mistress glancedat her watch " about a half hour."

They stand behind my chair now waiting for me to rise. The dark one pullsmy chair back for me as I stand and they both follow me into the changing room.Privacy is hardly a concern for me now. When the door to the red room closes.The dark twin stands at my side collecting my dress as I pull it off over myhead. He carefully folds it over the back of one of the spare chairs. The paletwin has begun heating water in a hot pot, Mistress Ruth will see that I havemy tea, one way or another.

I must remove my garter belt lest it become tangled during our presentation.I toss it onto the chair next to my dress. The dark twin kneels and slidesan elastic garter up my left leg to hold my stocking in place. My legs trembleat his intimate caress. His hands reach my upper thigh but he seems unawareof my discomfort. He moves over to my right leg. I barely keep from brushingmy hands over his bald scalp. With my stockings secure I stand stripped beforethese two uncaring men holding out my wrists to be cuffed. The dark twin bucklesfur lined leather cuffs onto my wrists and then kneels once more to attachthe ankle cuffs. His head is only inches from my bare pussy I perversely wantto grab his head and grind myself against it, but he is oblivious. He is everso careful not to put a run in my stockings as the cuffs are tightened aroundmy ankles. With a nod I am directed to sit at the small table.

My tea is ready and the two of them stand arms folded over their chests watchingme sip the hot beverage. The tea is actually quite good with a touch of honeyin it and I sit quietly sipping without complaint. I'm sure the two of themwould probably force the stuff down my throat if I refused it. Their Mistressgave them an order and they will no doubt go to any length to obey. I don'twant to cause them any trouble. When I'm finally done with the tea the timepasses in agonizingly slow silence.

At last it is time. The pale one gestures for me to stand and pulls my wriststogether clipping them together behind my back. The dark one drapes a shortcape over my shoulders closing it around my neck with a clasp that holds itin place. A blindfold is placed over my eyes and darkness swallows me oncemore. I am shivering now as I'm led back into the main room where our audiencewaits.

Two pairs of hands guide me forward; I mount the stairway leading to the stage.The darkness still engulfs me but I know what lies ahead, the eight-foot hightripod still commands the center of the stage. The hands stop me and unhookthe cape that covers me from neck to thigh. It carelessly drops to the floor.My breath becomes shorter and faster.

They applaud though most have seen me naked before. They saw me transformedfrom wife to slave just last week when I knelt naked at your feet. Now, I standnearly naked in my gartered stockings, and my ever so sensible Cuban heels.You have put me on display for them. They applaud in appreciation.

This is more than a private transformation that I perform for my lover; thisis panic-filled breathing in the darkness as these strangers drink in my nakedness.Their eyes claim me. I feel a trembling dread as they clap for me, I becometheirs for this moment, prey to their whims. The applause slowly fades. Theyare ready. I'm not sure I'm ready but I vow to you, I won't embarrass you.

The two pairs of unseen hands turn me away from the impatient crowd and Ifeel the heat of spotlights on my back. They walk me forward until my feetnudge the low metal crosspiece that braces the long legs of the tripod, Thebar is about three or four inches off the ground which allows me to slip myfeet underneath it, two points of support, a hard piece of reality. It's comforting.One of the twins kneels down, pushes my feet a little further apart beforehe attaches my ankle cuffs to the bar.

My thoughts are coming in quick gasps now, rapid and scattered like my breath.All too soon these flickering thoughts will be forcefully driven away and Iwill only feel. Now I can feel sheen of sweat forming along my back even asI shiver. The leather cuffs that hold my hands bound behind my back are uncoupled,but only to bring my hands forward. The two men separate. The one in frontof me gathers up my hands pulling me forward as he raises my arms toward thechain that dangles from the peak of the tripod. I'm forced forward but a secondcrosspiece just shy of hip height forces me to bend at the waist: my balanceis shifting, breasts swaying and my upper body tips downward only to be pulledup short by the length of chain. The other man behind me stands and his handsgrasp my naked hips, He pulls me back toward him but his only interest is tosteady me. I am pulled back off the cross bar and forced to stand bent forward.

It is disconcerting to have these two men handle my body with such indifference.A woman should be lusted after when she is bound naked and helpless in thehands of these men. If their Mistress gave them the slightest signal they wouldboth be instantly ravaging me, pummeling my depths with enthusiasm while myhelpless body is buffeted between them. They would do this to me, not for theirown pleasure and certainly not for mine, but only for the pleasure their Mistressmight derive from my helpless plight.

I shudder. It is something that I need not fear. You would not allow it. I'mnot sure if my shudder is for my ephemeral cravings, or actually for the guiltI feel for those passing desires.

I envy these two men that bind me. I envy them the discipline they possesand the discipline they endured to gain it. I smile inwardly knowing that onlya true slave would envy these two slaves. My wrists are secured now and theymove away.

The chain is attached running up the front of each wrist cuff. I grasp thecold links pulling them hard against my palms. The chain supports my upperbody's weight. It becomes another bit of cold reality. This too is comforting.I adjust my footing as much as my binding allows. I am keenly aware that mytorso and hips rock seductively as I sway bent forward before my audience.

There will be only forty lashes; I've handled that before. The club has itsrules. Only my shoulders and bottom will be struck. I wish it were happeningalready. Where are you? Why are you making me wait?

Chairs scrape against the hard wood floor, more people gather to watch meperform, someone coughs. They are growing impatient at the delay too. Willthey want to hear my anguished shrieks as the flogging makes me writhe in agony?

Undoubtedly!

Will you want to wring those dreadful screams from me as I twist and turnunder your lash?

Dark panic and thick sickening fear engulf me as I realize I don't know whatyou want.

I will not, I can not, fail you.

A recollection of your words

"? follow my lead. It is up to me to show them your beauty."

Relief! A weight is lifted with the memory. A flicker of a smile crosses myface with this newfound certainty. I have no need to worry. You will lead me.

It is a gift you've given me, like my safe word. A precious present that youbestowed on me. I will cherish it but I know I will never need to use it. Ihope you choose the crop, it will hurt a bit more than the six-tailed floggerwill but the crop is much more accurate and precise; far easier directionsto follow.

The crowd is making restless noises, I strain to hear your approach but Ican only hear my own ragged breathing and the wild beating of my heart. A hand,your hand, reaches over my leaning back and brushes against my swaying side.I gasp joyfully. You are beside me now, so close I can feel your body's heat.Your hand brushes along my back and over the curve of my squirming bottom.Unbidden, moisture seeps between my lower lips and my body quivers at yourtouch. Surely you can smell my desire as you bend closer. I feel the six thinleather straps casually caress my thigh. Your free hand is beneath me now runningalong my quaking belly, soothing, petting, and preparing me as it descends.

It is too much; I want you, no need you, to begin. My heart thumps louderand I can barely hear your whisper before you step back.

" Shall we dance?"

and we dance.

The whistle of the knotted leather tips slicing the air gives me a fractionof a second to prepare, muscles begin to tighten and my bottom clenches. Painshrieks out slashing from right to left and my hips twist instinctively awayto the left. I can hear the crowds murmur but before I can steady myself andreturn to my center the leather lashes from left to right with your backstroke.My body lurches to the right as I cling to the chain that holds my torso up.Already tears are forming but I've yet to make a sound. Again you lash outfrom left to right then back again. My body twists at your command And I gaspat the sheer agony, but you follow without letup another pair of blows andat last I cry out in pain as my body swings wildly back and forth.

With a few flicks of your wrist you have reduced me to an unthinking primalcreature. Your will is all I respond to. You have demonstrated your ownershipto all these others even if you won't admit it to yourself. You can make mecry out on so many levels. I am yours to do with what you will. I accept thisat the most visceral level, one that is beyond all thought. I have known thisfor as long as I have known you, but it is only times like these when I cantruly feel it.

You must be standing directly behind me, blocking their view of my glowingbottom except when I twist from side to side. You allow me just a moment, timeenough to fill my lungs. You follow with two more hard blows and I cry outpitifully, again a moment's respite while I beg for your forgiveness. Yourwhip flicks out, another pair and I'm reduced to a blubbering sob as I tryto regain my breath and remember a moment before this darkness and pain.

And then you stop.

You are next to me, your cool hands roaming across the tender, burning fleshof my bottom. You are whispering in my ear but it takes me a few moments toconcentrate, and your precious words are lost. The crowd is a buzzing noisefar off in the background, Your hand is coolness and heaven and my bottom greedilyfollows it squirming in delight as your fingers caress the throbbing heat.A finger probes lower and I raise myself toward it pressing back with a wantonhunger. I haven't begun to make sense of your words but your tone is full ofdesire and need. If we were alone I'm sure you would be inside me by now. Thewhipping interrupted for a moment to allow you to slake your desires. I whimpermy own need but you have already stepped back.

We are here for the others now, not ourselves.

Again the whistle of knotted leather, from my left this time. My legs stiffenmuscles tense and then a gasp of surprise. Agony erupts in my right shoulderas the knotted tips rain down. I whimper and twist as the whip pulls away.Time hangs silent for a moment then the whistle comes again, I am preparednow as pain explodes across my left shoulder. My chest twists downward, breastssway below. I am gasping as the breath is driven from me. And I hear the damnablewhistle of leather again. I brace myself for the pain but the leather bitesinto my bottom from behind, just above my straining thighs. My legs tug againstthe ankle cuffs as I bounce upward and lurch forward. You will give me no peace,no chance to prepare. I will dance as you see fit. The crowd seems pleasantlyamused, Some are clapping at what seems a slow rhythmic pace shouting wordsof encouragement to you and bellowing out suggestions that are both imaginativeand obscene.

For now I do nothing but feel the pain and react as best as my limited movementallows. You linger a bit now, allowing some time between the flicks of yourflogger. It strikes with a harsh anger that marks my flesh without breakingthe skin but at this moment I could hardly swear to that. I'm sure I can feelblood dripping from my lacerated back and bottom though it is in fact onlymy dripping sweat.

Most often the whip manages to fall exactly where I don't expect. If thereis a pattern you follow I never will figure it out. I have lost all track ofthe number of blows. The flesh of my upper back and my shoulders is ablaze.My bottom and upper thighs scream out in hot desperation. I am sure this agonywill never end. A particularly vicious blow lands across my buttocks pushingme forward as I cling to the chain that holds me up. Without pause a secondthen a third blow land across my bottom. Each blow sends me lurching forward,my thighs banging against the cross brace. My screams are a primal plea butI still push my bottom back toward you each time. There's a split second pausethen the fourth angry blow and I howl like a wounded beast.

"Forty"

The voice is one of the twins they have never left the stage and have beensilently counting while I twisted under the lash. The crowd mutters its disappointmentthat my torment is ending, but many continue to applaud our performance. Ihear the whip clatter to the ground as you drop it and then you are behindme holding me gently, cool hands gingerly caress my breast supporting me raisingme from below with your strength while you try not to brush against tenderbottom. Slowly you straighten me while four hands swiftly go to work looseningmy cuffs from the metal structure.

When I am free and standing upright I lean backward pressing my burning skinagainst you. I sigh feeling the rough scratchy texture of your clothes on mypunished flesh. I tilt my head backward my neck arching as my head comes torests on your shoulder. You tenderly kiss my proffered neck. I can feel yourbody tremble with your desire. You grip my shoulders and turn me toward thecrowd.

About twenty people have gathered in front of the stage, near the stairway.With a little prodding you make me bow to them. I don't want to look, I reallywish I could close my eyes and ignore this noisy group but they continue toclap, stamp, and whistle until I'm blushing. My face must be nearly as redas my bottom. The twins move past me clearing the crowd from the stairs. Youhave released your grip and stand behind me. I don't want to move down intothe crowd but there is no choice.

With a courage I don't really feel my feet move forward, one step at a timeI approach the stairs leading down onto the floor. I glance back and you arethere, following a pace behind me. When I turn my head toward the crowd again,it has grown and there seem to be about thirty people crowding the base ofthe stage arms outstretched trying to reach me. The twins have opened a narrowpassage for me and I descend into the waiting throng.

Hands reach for me, there is no stopping it. People are petting, grabbing,and stroking my abused body. I truly do belong to them now. In my helplessnakedness I am now stripped of my last shreds of pride. Some wish to feel thewarmth of my glowing flesh, others feel a need to add a final swat to my bruisedbottom. These strangers feel no compunction about my dignity as the grab atmy breasts, twist my nipples, and poke fingers at my most intimate openings.

I silently pray for rescue but you allow this. Coming up from behind me youbend me forward holding my hips in place, your foot pushing my legs apart.Opening me to make their exploration easier. My tears flow, not for the shameyou are forcing upon me but for my reaction to it.

While my legs may be trembling it is with desire not fear. My swollen lowerlips part as moisture weeps from them. My hips twist and jerk spasmodicallyas they search for new hands willing to caress me. I feel shameless and atthe same time I'm full of shame. I have followed your lead, I am what you'vecreated, and I've become your willing slut.

Even the other subs feel entitled to abuse me. I watch a naked young womancrawling to my open legs her tongue licking the length of my upper thigh. Icry out in yearning and despair.

You are in front of me now, taking my right hand. You lead me forward, throughthe crowd of groping hands toward the safety of the changing room. You areanxious, and swiftly you rush me into the room closing the door sharply onthe final few followers. I anxiously fall to my knees before you and struggleto undo your belt You gently push me back and loosen your pants letting themdrop and then step free of them. I lean forward, my ravenous lips demanding,but again you restrain me.

I feel hurt and perplexed until I realize you are lowering yourself to theground, stretching out on your back, Your thick shaft throbbing as it waitsfor me. I joyfully straddle your hips. My hand reaches down between my legsto guide your firm flesh toward my hungry lips. Your cool hands are on my throbbingbottom supporting my weight. I try to sink down on you but your hands are unyielding.I groan in frustration.

You arch your hips pushing upward and I feel you deep inside, slowly you slideout again teasing me. I try to understand but my lust is making it difficultto concentrate. Your hands still support my bottom preventing me from sinkingdown, keeping me from danc?

At last I think I know what it is you want. I raise my arms my hands joinedbehind my neck. This pose always shows my breasts to their best advantage.Your smile is one of delight and I am rewarded. Your hands reach up to supportmy breasts and I slowly sink down. You fill my every need.

And we dance once again.

Copyright © Mad Lews 2005

Authors notes: My thanks to Sally whose inspirational little bottom may yetlaunch a thousand tales. To poor overworked OS whose helpful suggestions keptmy focus tight, and of course much gratitude and appreciation for the helpfulsuggestions and editing work of chksng19 which hopefully made the whole storya bit more readable.