Chapter 2

I don't know how long we went at it that night.

All I know is that it was great.

It was new for me, this cruelty—this pain mixed with the pleasure.

I remember straddling Diane as she lay on my bed bound by the wrists to the bedposts.

I loved watching her amusedly as her legs kicked and shook under the tempting teases I tossed her way.

Sometimes I would bite her nipples or her pussy lips and then let up, just watching her as she begged me to fuck her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks when I was finally ready to shove it in.

My cock was hard.

Harder than it had ever been before.

And it was dripping with gobs of love juice, that clear pre-orgasmic dropping that always signals sweet sex—and really turned this chick on.

"Beg me."

"Please fuck me? Please, "she blathered, so caught up in the ecstatic pleasure of being dominated and humiliated that her speech was slurred.

"You cunt," I said, spitting venom with every syllable. I was really into it. I couldn't understand it at first. I mean, I really liked this chick.

But that was part of it, I suppose.

I rammed my hard cock into her wet pussy.

Her cunt tightened around my stiff dick as I slid in it.

The massage of her hot, wet interior was heaven.

She moaned and groaned.

It must have felt pretty intense from her point of view—first having her pussy lips tortured with biting teeth—and then soothed with the stroking of a hot, hard prick like mine.

I jammed my cock in all the way.

Her eyes widened, and she lay there motionless for the first time since we had started making love.

She shook.

She quivered.

She came.

Again and again.

I gripped her tits in my palms and squeezed so hard that I thought my fingertips would rend her flesh.

I pulled my cock out—all but the head.

The slippery wetness made squishing noises as I jammed my cock in and out, in and out.

Harder and harder I fucked her.

She screamed.

Not a moan or a grunt—but a scream—like the shrill piercing scream of a woman whose very being was being torn apart.

Yeah.

Diane was in ecstasy.

So was I.

I felt my muscles tighten and my thoughts go blank as the all-pervading joy of male orgasm came over me.

I shot.

I could feel the rush of semen through my penis.

It felt good.

Damn good.

I thrust my cock back and forth, in and out, even as I shot my wad.

Then I slammed it inside her for one last time.

"Best goddamn fuck of my life," I muttered as I finally collapsed in a heap on top of her and we fell asleep.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"I like 'em poached—but most guys don't know how to poach eggs."

"I'm not most guys," I said to Diane, who sat across from me at the breakfast table, and prepared her poached eggs.

She was wearing an old bathrobe of mine. It was an old terrycloth number—hut it looked cute on her, all floppy and oversized and sexy as hell.

She knew how to wear it, too.

Her tits were only partially obscured by the fold of the lapels.

"You were great last night," Diane said.

"You were too," I said, kissing her on the forehead as I served her eggs and poured us another couple of cups of coffee.

We sat down to eat our breakfast. The sun was shining in through the window. It was a great morning.

She still had little red marks around her wrists where the satin underwear had bit into her flesh.

Then came the heavy moment.

It started with a casual remark.

"Uhm, do you ever go to any sex clubs, Mark?"

"Once. Never again."

"There's one I've heard about that I want to go to, but it's for couples only. And; to be honest with you—"

"Yes?"

"I've never met I guy I thought I could take to this place. Before I met you, that is."

Shit.

My one experience with a sex club before I had met Diane was one of the seediest, most disappointing nights of my life—and one of the most expensive.

I was not keen on this idea—but she kept talking, and I was crazy enough about this chick to listen.

"It's on the East Side, a really nice address. My friend Kate and a couple of girls I know swear that it's a terrific place."

"So how come I'm the first guy you'd want to take to this place," I asked her, fishing for a compliment for my insatiable ego.

"Because it's kind of an S-and-M club."

"Kind of?"

"Ok. It's an S-and-M club. But it's not full of weird fags in chains and leather. Honest. It's supposed to be really neat."

"I don't know, Diane. Sounds kind of heavy—especially because we just met."

She looked disappointed and got real quiet.

She just sipped her coffee.

A few minutes passed. She nibbled her toast while I filled the air with some stupid conversation about politics.

I could see she wasn't listening.

Then she spoke again.

"Got something against S-and-M?"

"It kinda freaks me out, to be honest."

"It didn't seem to freak you out last night."

She had a point there.

"Yeah, well, that was different."

She got up from the table.

"Hey, what's wrong? What did I say?"

She dressed in the other room, and the next I saw of her, she had her coat on and was about to exit my apartment.

"Meet me here on Friday night," she said and handed me a small card. A business card.

She kissed me on the neck right below my ear, opened the door, and left.

I stood there in my bathrobe, dumbfounded.

I read the card.

Hideaway with Hume

Providing discriminating adults with exotic pleasures for over ten years

227 East 68 Street

By appointment only

Major credit cards honored.

I couldn't take my mind off Diane or this card for the whole week.

Friday night came.

I showed up at the door.

Decent looking place at first.

There was the usual bouncer at the door, and the coat check room, and the front corridor. It looked pretty much like any other New York City nightclub.

As soon as I was about to enter the main part of this underground den of cruel fun, two women appeared at my sides to escort me to, I assumed, my table.

One of them was short and small-about five foot three. She was stacked, though—two huge tits were squeezed into her leather halter top, and an ass that could stop traffic threatened to tear a short leather skirt apart.

Her head was shaved in a spiked Mohawk, dyed blonde with bright red tips.

Concentric lines of bright green and Day-Glo pink eyeliner surrounded her eyes.

Bright blue lipstick—and more earrings on either ear than I could count. No two of them matched, by the way.

She wore a dog collar around her neck, and high heeled leather boots on her feet.

A small diamond stud pierced the side of her nose.

Her skin was pale, and somehow shiny.

The chick had the look of a hot sex goddess in heat.

The other babe who grabbed me gently by the arm was taller.

She was bare-chested—that's right, she proudly wore her naked tits in the line of performing her club.

Half of her head was shaved short, and the other half hung down in a sweep of bright-orange curls down her naked shoulder.

She wore a pair of black jeans.

And bright red sequined shoes.

The kind that turn me on.

As these two luscious babes escorted me into the center "chamber," the introduced themselves.

"I'm Heather, and this is Cucumber."

"Nice to meet you, girls. My name is ... uhm ... Mark."

It took me a second to figure out if I wanted to give them my real name or not—but somehow everyone was anonymous and equally respected in this land of no apologies.

Hey, it was cool.

I guess everyone is nervous at first, right.

"Table for how many?" Heather asked me.

"Well, two."

"This way," she said.

As these two hot babes escorted me to my table, my cock bulged underneath my pants in the sproutings of a hard-on.

How could I help but get hard?

Cucumber kept pressing her naked tits into my shoulder, and I could feel those erect nipples poke through my shirt.

And Heather's ass bumping next to mine made me feel even hornier.

They sat me down at a nice little cocktail table.

In the middle of this room was a stage, surrounded by tables.

Some of the other people at the tables were in various stages of undress.

The sweet smoky smell of reefer could be detected.

There was nobody on stage—in fact, the stage was dark.

I wondered in my mind about what kind of entertainment we would be witness to this evening!

Heather—she was the short one—bent over the table as Cucumber pulled my chair out so that I could sit down.

As she bent over, her tits swung low in front of my face.

I thought they were going to fall right out of that leather top.

"Now if there's anything you need, we're your hostesses this evening, just ask, and we'll provide whatever we can."

"Thank you," I said, and pulled out a five dollar bill. I rolled the five dollar bill up into a tight cylinder and jammed it right between her tits.

"First, I'd like a vodka and tonic. Also, please leave word at the door for my date that I've already arrived. Her name is Diane."

Cucumber smiled.

"Oh, yes! We know Diane. Sure."

They knew Diane? That bitch! She lied to me! She led me to believe that she had never been here before! She even told me that she was waiting for the right guy to take here!

I ran through our whole breakfast conversation in my mind.

I was ticked off—and that chick was gonna have some explaining to do.

But I did not want to get so angry that I would spoil a good time. I smiled up at Heather, who was still bent over the table.

Heather said "Thanks, relax, and we'll see ya," and kissed me right on the lips.

That made me forget all about being angry at Diane! Shit! One kiss from that little fox and my cock was thundering to watch some hot sex—and the meaner the action, the better.

The music came on.

Madonna. "Talk to Me."

The way I like my music. Danceable. Hot. The beat came bumping up through the stereo system, not too loud, just enough to bolster the erotic atmosphere.

The houselights grew dim as Heather brought me my drink. She slinked away from my table, but not before she gave the back of my ear a quick lick with her fully extended tongue.

I wondered if there was something special about me she liked or if she treated all her customers that way.

Red and blue lights lit the stage as the music got louder and three dancers strode onstage.

They were pretty good.

Two black chicks and a black guy.

The black chicks were of course big-breasted and rocked their hips on perfect synchrony.

The black guy strode out onto the stage and paced around them to the beat of the music.

He was a muscular fucking dude.

He wore a black leotard and his head was shaved.

I had never really had much homosexual leaning in my life—in fact, I had always found the idea of sex between men distasteful—but I remember what my most immediate thought was.

Shit, I thought. I wouldn't mind fucking this guy.

He was that sexy.

His muscles rippled and his sinews popped through his sleek brown skin under the heat of the nightclub stage lights.

The dance steps began to tell a story—whoever choreographed this thing was no slouch.

The chicks bent in supplication in front of the guy as he uncoiled a leather whip and threatened them with it.

Some asshole from the audience yelled out "do it!"

But every pass of the whip—or the back of the guy's arm—turned out only to be a tease.

It was building—I wanted to see him draw a little blood.

I was really caught up in the entertainment.

I remember I reached down under the table and started to feel my cock through my pants.

It took a lot of will power to keep from just jerking myself off right then and there.

The two black chicks got down on the floor on their backs.

The black dud flexed his whip.

Crack!

At first I thought he had really delivered a searing blow.

But all that happened was that this one black girl's leotard popped open in front—and her tits came tumbling out.

Great bit, I thought to myself.

Great bit.

Then I heard a voice, through the music and the noise of the crowd.

"Hey, lover!"

It was Diane.

She strode in, and walked toward my table, where she sat down.

She looked dynamite.

She wore a black leather jacket with zippered pockets up and down the front and both sleeves.

Her hair enveloped her face.

She was all smiled and energy.

And, that I could tell, she wasn't wearing any thing underneath that leather jacket except a heavy silver crucifix around her neck.

"Like the place so far?"

Like a kid who had just been presented with a tray of candy, I couldn't think of much to say that was witty or conversational.

"Seems all right so far," I said, smiling broadly. "Let's get you a drink."

Diane looked up and Heather came over to our table.

The girls didn't exchange hellos, but you could tell that they had met many times before.

"Vodka and tonic."

"Cucumber tell me you're a regular," I said, breaching the subject.

Diane looked sheepish.

"Ok, I admit it. I used a line on you."

"A line? Yeah, right."

"I just wanted to you come along here, and I didn't want you to think I was—well, you know."

"I'll let it pass, Diane, this time," I said, "But only because you're giving me the rock hard erection of my life."

She pulled her chair closer to mine and rested her hand on my thigh.

"Shouldn't of told me that!" she said, and gave me a kiss.

As we watched the dancers onstage, I could feel Diane fingering my erect penis through my pants.

The music changed, and with it, the dance got a little bit more ... intense.

The black dude pulled a long white rope out of a bag he wore at his waist.

The two black women—now almost totally naked—met back to back in the middle of the stage, where they shook their hot asses together.

In time to the music, the guy wrapped the white rope around the women as they twirled slowly around and around.

I remember the feelings I experienced as I watched it.

As I watched the black guy tie the women together.

As I watched the rope dig in to the soft, black tits.

This was no video.

This was live.

In front of me. Me and Diane.

I watched the rope make its indentations— folding in against that black tit.

Pressing in against that dark brown nipple.

Diane's hand was on my penis.

She was gently rubbing my hard on.

I let my hand creep down into her crotch under the table.

Even through her tight jeans, her crotch was warm.

Hot.

I jammed my fingers down in there.

She responded by uncrossing her legs and spreading her thighs a little wider open.

I spread my palm flat across the expanse of her inner thigh.

I slowly massaged her thighs.

Even as we watched the black dancer knot the rope that bound one Negress to the other.

I could feel Diane pressing the heel of her hand harder and harder into the base of my cock.

She knew her hand-job technique, all right.

This way she could drive me wilder and wilder with lust—and at the same time stave off the flow of semen that would have me cum too soon.

God, it was great.

I didn't want it to end.

So what if she had lied to me? I forgave her.

The black dancer made a double knot.

Then he brought the rope up between the women's legs.

That's right.

We watched in hard, horny fascination as the rope cleaved the cunts of the back-to-back Nubians.

I watched the look of pain—of exquisite agony on the one girl's face while Diane whispered something into my ear.

"Look, Mark-the guy has a hard-on."

Sure enough I caught the bulge underneath the guy's leotard.

I saw the shape of it under the clinging garment.

I saw the outline of his erect penis.

It was huge.

It was pressed back against his crotch, pointed outward toward the side of his leg.

I felt Diane take her hand off my own stiff rod.

I realized what she was doing.

I felt the pressure of my pants ease up.

She was unzipping my fly.

Then she popped the top button of my pants open.

She dug her hand slowly into my open fly.

I felt her warm, loving fingers caress my hard cock.

She whispered into my ear.

With hot, heavy breath.

"Mmm, I love your cock."

If she hadn't started squeezing me a little bit harder, I would have shot right then and there.

And harder.

I felt her fingers curl underneath the tube of my penis.

I felt her nails start to dig in a little bit.

It hurt a little.

A sweet, seductive little hurt.

The kind of pain that makes it serious sex.

Slowly she grabbed my hard on tighter.

I wondered if she would go beyond my threshold of pain.

I wondered how sadistic this chick really could be.

I had the briefest flash of a fantasy that she wanted to rip my cock right off.

And my balls?

My hot, stinging balls?

They wanted her as much as the rest of me.

They wanted her tits—her flesh, her pussy.

The music swelled, and soon the dancers were finished.

Without warning, Diane took her hand off my hard prick, and started to applaud the dancers as if nothing between the two of us had ever happened.

Say, this WAS a teasing bitch.

But I couldn't complain.

I was into it.

I wanted more—more—MORE.

I wanted to be humiliated-^-degraded—abused.

I wanted the kind of sex that I came here for.

I pulled my hand up from underneath thee table and joined the rest of the audience in applauding the S-and-M dancers.

When the applause died down, the announcement came that the next show would be at midnight.

"The midnight show here is really fine," Diane whispered to me.

I took advantage of the moment to zip back up my fly and tuck my hard on away for the moment.

Diane and I looked at each other.

"You look great, you sexy bastard," she said to me and kissed me.

"How've you been?"

"All right. Bitchy week, though. I'm ready to unwind and have some fun."

"Me too."

"Good. Wanna come upstairs and try the place out?"

We finished our drinks and stood up.

As the music came up again—this time, another fast moving number with a driving beat and a chorus of backup singers that wailed about true love—Diane led me by the hand through the crowd to the back of the club.

She led me over to a spiral staircase.

A wrought iron spiral staircase.

I looked up the winding steps.

Every few feet or so on the stone walls that encased the stairway, I could see things hanging on hooks on the walls.

Things like paddles.

Whips.

Nasty things.

For nasty little girls like Diane to use on nasty little boys like me.