Emily & Ellen's Bet Ch. 08

This is a re-write of Emily & Ellen's Bet, originally posted in April of 2011. The effort is part of re-writing the entire continuous story arc of Ellen's Bet > Roberta's Bet > Dani's Bet > Emily's Bet > Ellen & David's Bet > Emily & Ellen's Bet. I re-wrote these stories for two reasons. First, I wanted to clean up some sloppiness in the writing. Second, I wanted to take the six stories, only two of which were planned to any degree at the beginning of Ellen's Bet with the others conceived and added later, and create better internal consistencies, and plot and character consistency, between them. At this point I think a reader could look at these stories as one tale comprising a six-part novel. Emily and Ellen: Emily & Ellen's Bet - Chapter Eight Ellen I don't know what I'd expected. I'm not sure I could have reasonably had any expectations. David and I were settled into the cushions of a leather couch in the social area of a club called Leather & Lace. We sipped wine -- I had for some reason thought a merlot might be appropriate to the occasion, although I haven't the remotest clue why -- and snuggled together. Our mission this evening was observation. It was Saturday evening, May 15th, the Saturday after I'd won my Cubs bet against Emily and she'd put on her exhibitions for Gary at the fountain and a bar full of appreciative voyeurs. At the moment I was looking at a nude man who was bent almost double, his head and wrists secured in a sturdy pillory. The position looked as if it would become uncomfortable very quickly. The neck and wrist holes were large enough to comfortably accommodate those body parts, but they were also small enough that drawing a hand or head back through them would be impossible. He was going nowhere until someone released him. Of course, you'll remember how David had finally revealed to me his interest in bondage and discipline, sadism and masochism. That interest had been central to me serving out an appropriate punishment to atone for the sins I'd carried home from Baton Rouge. That atonement had allowed me to forgive myself. David, his love for me complete and unconditional, hadn't at all needed the ceremony I'd contrived in order to bestow his forgiveness. The need was all mine. Once we were past that event David and I decided to explore his previously secret fetish. I wasn't sure how I'd react to the reality of those activities, but David is my husband, so there was no way I wasn't going to explore this enthusiasm of his. Reflecting on some of my experiences in the recent past, however, I suspected this whole scene just might appeal to me. I recalled how I'd lost a bet a few weeks back to Emily. I recalled having been compelled by the terms of that bet to remove my panties right in the middle of my office, and how close I'd come to getting caught. I recalled the feel of my unaccustomed nudity under my skirt all that day at work. I recalled having to put my panties back on at the bar after work, just as Emily had been obligated to do just five days ago, and giving the waitress a show she'd not been expecting. I recalled my desperate need to be fucked, my overwhelming craving for sexual release, the minute David walked in the door at home. That was probably the most unexpected part of the entire experience. I also recalled the feelings Emily's little show in the bar had educed in me. That was a bet I'd won, and watching Emily have to embarrass herself twice, at lunch and after work at the bar, had given me a sexual charge too. Ordering Emily to sit so as to seem to unintentionally reveal her most personal treasures to Gary had started my engine. After choosing to make Emily go through the embarrassing spectacle of putting her panties back on in the middle of the bar had put that engine into overdrive. When David arrived home I got the girls busy with something and dragged him off (Christina asking again, "More oo-mox?"). This time I'd told him about my experience as we fucked. The verbalizing of my exploit, in broken sentences interrupted by sexual lust and heavy breathing, took my excitement to new heights and to an orgasm so intense I felt for a moment like I might faint. I supposed I could go either way with these scenes, but I suspected being on top was what I'd find most satisfying. I know I was getting a charge from watching the unnamed man over in the stocks. Twenty minutes ago I'd watched as he and a woman approached the pillory. One aspect of this experience that had surprised me was that most of the people here were dressed in relatively ordinary fashion. A few had on fetish costumes of leather or PVC. A handful of attendees, both men and women, were nude, some led by a leash attached to a collar around their neck, or for some of the men around their cock and balls. They were the exceptions rather than the norm. So when this man and the woman he was with walked up to the pillory dressed in ordinary fashion there was no way to know which one was subordinate to the other, or even if such a relationship existed between them. Then she spoke to him. I couldn't hear the words but I could tell the words were sharp and demanding: an order rather than a suggestion or request. The man began to shed his clothes immediately, stopping to fold each garment and place each in a pile on the arm of a nearby love seat. When he was nude the woman grasped his half-hard cock and pulled him over to the pillory. She stepped onto the low platform the device was on and pulled him after her. She opened the device and without argument or hesitation the man placed his neck and wrists in the half circles of the lower part of the apparatus. The woman lowered the upper half and flipped the catch at the side which would prevent the man from opening the pillory. Then she went to a rack on the nearby wall and took down a long bar of some sort. She stooped and worked at the man's feet for half a minute. I'd never seen a device like that but it quickly became apparent to me that it was what the catalogs I'd been looking through some weeks ago called a spreader bar. The man's ankles were buckled into leather restraints at either end of the bar, spreading his ankles three to four feet apart and making his feet essentially immobile. The woman moved to the man's front and fastened a dark orange collar around his neck. Then she fitted a pink card, one that looked to be just an ordinary colored index card, in a slot at the top of the pillory. She gathered his clothes and took them away. I assumed she took them to the small locker room near the entrance where members could leave and secure outerwear, clothing, and valuables. I wasn't surprised to observe that while she was gone a pair of women stopped at either side of the pillory and examined the trapped man. While they laughed and took in the man's predicament they occasionally slapped his ass with their open hands or took turns stroking his cock. After just a few moments his dick had transformed from half hard to entirely rigid. David and I had chatted with others at the club earlier in the evening. In so doing we'd had a chance to engage this evening's dungeon master in conversation, a distinctive maroon vest indicating her status, and she answered many questions. So I wasn't surprised to observe the two women toying with the man. The orange necklace, we'd learned, meant that he could be teased or tormented or humiliated as they saw fit. This included punishing him or engaging in minor sexual teasing such as stroking a penis or fingering a vagina, clitoris, or anus. The slaps the women had administered to his ass were the least of the punishments they were permitted to mete out. They were also perfectly free to dispense a paddling, whipping, or caning if they chose, and the severity could be monitored or restricted by the man's top. The pink card indicated that participation was limited to women. A blue card would have signaled that participation only by men was permitted. The absence of such a card would open play to both sexes. Had his collar been red then the man would have been open to visual inspection or verbal mockery only. Were his collar yellow he would have been open to punishment and could be used for sexual gratification, though not including heterosexual oral sex or intercourse. Of course, with a yellow collar also a card could restrict his use to one sex or the other. Were his collar green then anyone would have been entirely free to use the captive as they chose: for sex of any kind, or to receive punishment under his top's supervision or limitations. I watched as the women, both dressed in ordinary shorts and tank tops, continued to administer slaps to the man's ass and toy with his erection. The slaps didn't seem particularly hard or discomforting. The stroking of his cock, though, must have been causing the poor fellow some serious frustration. While one of the women continued to stroke the man, the other woman took a few steps to the same rack from which the man's top had obtained the spreader bar. She looked among the punishment implements for a moment before selecting a long riding crop. She stepped back to the man. She stood in front of him and played the end of the crop over his face, her eyes alight with delight. As she did this the man's hips began to move as he pushed his cock against the other woman's hand, seeking better friction. The woman with the crop again held the instrument to the man's mouth and said something to him. He puckered his lips and kissed the punishment device. Then the woman stepped behind him. A small knot of a dozen or so spectators stood and watched from a short distance, among them the man's top who looked on with approval and exchanged occasional comments with those around her. Others took in the scene from more distant seated positions. The woman pulled the crop back and a loud noise, a combination of a slap and a whir, reached my ears. The man reacted immediately trying to pull his ass away from the pain, but the spreader severely limited his movement. He began to move his hips more firmly. The woman with the crop applied five more hard thwacks to the man's ass, and each time the movement of his hips and cock became more frenzied. I just had my thirty-ninth birthday so I'm plenty old enough to recognize the sounds a man makes when an orgasm is about to overtake him. I heard those sounds now. Apparently the women who were ministering to his cock and ass were savvy enough to know those indicators too. The woman in back gave his ass one more harder swat with the crop, and the woman to his side gave his cock a few more pulls. Then the one woman was replacing the crop in the rack and the other had released his cock and joined her. The man seemed lost in his desire for release. He must have been a very new and undisciplined sub, because even at the distance I was sitting I could hear him release in a muttering voice the words, "Fucking bitches!" His top was immediately in front of him, squatting down, her nose to his nose, his chin in her hands. She was shaking his face, occasionally slapping him, and speaking stern words. Then she was at the side of the pillory and loosening the latch. She brought the top of the device up and immediately grabbed the man's hair, pulling him out of the indentations. She let the pillory close again. She removed the bar from his ankles, grabbed his cock, and pulled the man away to some other part of the facility, presumably for some sort of more extensive punishment for his insubordinate speech and attitude. David and I had been at the club for a couple of hours. Our bottle of wine was empty: just the vino in our glasses left. The club did not have a liquor license and so could not serve alcoholic beverages. Members were permitted to bring their own wine or beer, no hard liquor, and imbibe in moderation. The dungeon master had the authority to ask those he felt were any more than a little tipsy to leave the premises. David had suggested we explore this experience a couple of weeks ago; in fact it was on his mind the morning after my whipping. He showed me the website of The Leather & Lace Club. The site explained that it was a private, members club where those so inclined could indulge their passion for bondage and discipline, sado-masochism, master/slave scenes and other similar fetishes in a 'safe, sane, consentual way'. I now suggested to David that we begin to head toward the exit, taking our time to finish our wine and observe a scene or two along the way. The club had a quite open floor plan. There were several rooms with a door that would close for private scenes, but most of the building's play areas were openly accessible, most of the activities readily viewable. We walked down a short, wide corridor that, like the rest of the club, had walls of painted brick: black, maroon, forest green, navy, purple: all dark and moody colors. We passed an alcove on our left. In it about twenty men and women watched as a male dominant whipped his nude female sub. Whether this was for pleasure or discipline or both there was no way to know without stopping to observe for a while. The woman's arms were stretched far above her head, her pointed toes her only points of contact with the floor. She was both immobile and helpless. Her master was using a flogger to whip her breasts. They were already quite red, and the woman whimpered through her ball gag. I couldn't tell for certain whether the sounds were of pleasure or pain, or a combination of the two. To me she had a slightly panicked look in her eyes. Perhaps she was realizing that her transgression had earned her more punishment than was her usual due? We came out of the hallway. In an open area to our right a similar scene was unfolding. A nude woman was secured to a foot-wide floor to ceiling post, her wrist cuffs clipped to metal rings attached to the post above her head on opposite sides. A woman in a leather skirt and halter was standing near her. The front of the captive's body was crisscrossed with red welts: across her thighs, tummy, and breasts. Now the woman in leather had a buzzing magic wand held tightly to the woman's clitoris. The woman's breathing was ragged and her face flushed, her eyes closed, oblivious to the crowd of people watching the scene. Little bits of phrases escaped her mouth almost constantly: 'Oh, God', 'Please, please', 'let me, let me', 'mistress'. She seemed to be trying to hold her sex back from the wand, which was impossible: she couldn't move more than inches and the device was deeply buried in her vulva. Finally I perceived that the restrained woman was being tortured with pleasure by her mistress. The bliss emanating from her clit must have been overwhelming, but apparently she must receive permission to orgasm. As I watched, the top whispered in the woman's ear. Immediately the captive's attitude went from trying to somehow avoid the vibrating wand to thrusting her pelvis into it. Insensible to all else the woman let a high-pitched screech leave her mouth as the orgasm that had been building in her, and which she'd been obliged to heroically repressed, ripped through her body and mind. I saw these two scenes in passing, as David and I walked slowly and casually by them. We did not stop to really watch or turn our full attention on them. As we came in view of the exit, in a wide area immediately behind the entry foyer, I became mesmerized by an unfolding scene. Three young women, all quite young, perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three, stood before another woman who was much older, well launched into her forties. The older woman was nude, her pubic region shaved bare. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and she wore an orange collar about her neck: a signal she was available for play by others to torment or punish or humiliate, and only for very limited sexual stimulation. I didn't see anyone in the immediate vicinity who seemed to be in charge of the older woman. I put my hand on David's elbow: a signal to stop so I could watch this unfolding event for a few minutes. I looked at the three women who stood in a row before the captive. The two on the sides seemed benign enough: they just sniggled, showing either their amusement or embarrassment at the nude, middle-aged woman's predicament. The one in the middle, I sensed, had a streak of cruelty in her that was barely disguised. The middle woman was thin, with jet black hair, some inches long on top but almost as short as a buzz cut around the sides and back. She wore tight jeans, open-toed heels, and a leather halter. She regarded the nude woman with open contempt. In return the nude woman dropped her face. It was clear her humiliation was trebled by the fact of being nude, bound, and at the mercy of these three women who were young enough to be her daughters. The dark haired woman reached out and began to play with the older woman's nipples. They were slightly erect. The dark haired woman tugged on them lightly: not enough to cause pain, just enough to let the nude woman know she was subject to the whims of the woman who now held her nipples between her fingers. "So you like this subbie scene, do ya, Skank?" the dark haired woman asked. The nude woman made an unintelligible noise. Suddenly her eyes flew open and she seemed to be trying to withdraw her breasts from the dark haired woman's grasp. The action just distended her nipples, as they continued to be held tightly. I could tell she wasn't in pain, but apparently the dark haired woman was applying pressure and creating considerable discomfort. "You better talk so I can hear you, Skank," the dark haired woman said with a warning tone in her voice. "And get your face up here and look at me," she commanded. The nude woman hesitantly obeyed. She looked up into the dark haired woman's eyes. Then she looked away and nodded her head weakly. Again she reacted to heightened discomfort as the dark haired woman said, "You better speak up or I'll pull these things right the fuck off." "Yes," the nude woman said softly. "Yes, what?" the dark haired woman asked. "Yes. Yes, I love to be a sub," the nude woman said. Now she put her head up and shook her blonde hair, cut in a shag style that almost reached the nape of her neck, and looked the younger woman in the eye. I had a bit of admiration for the older woman: it was a bold attitude to display when naked, cuffed, and with the fingers of a woman who exuded cruelty holding your nipples firmly. What did she do for a living? From her hairstyle I thought she worked in some professional field. Office manager? Attorney? Financial services? I idly considered how I'd react in that situation. Would I brass it out as this woman was, or seek safety by retreating into apathy or submission? "Well, I'm glad to hear that, Skank," the dark haired woman said. Then she nudged one of the women at her side and said, "Watch this," as she suppressed a snicker. "I'll bet you just love to lick toes don't ya, Skank." Again the woman didn't retreat, but shook her head again slightly and said, "I do what I'm ordered to do." "Oh, yeah? Well, then how about you get down there and start lickin' mine," the dark haired woman said in a no nonsense way, withdrawing her hands from the woman's breasts. The nude woman immediately stepped back a couple of paces and sank to her knees. With her wrists cuffed behind her back it was difficult to do, but she came forward and brought her face down to the dark haired woman's right foot. The woman's toes extended through the front of the shoe, her toes pressed slightly fatter and redder than normal. The older woman began to kiss and nibble at the toes before her. "I said 'lick', Skank," the dark haired woman said loudly. "If you don't start licking me real good I'm gonna chain you up to the Saint Andrew's cross in there and you'll be damned sorry by the time I'm done with you." Immediately the older woman stuck her tongue out and began to paint it all over the dark haired woman's toes, weaving her head back and forth as she did so. The dark haired woman looked in turn at her two companions and said, "Remember that old fuckin' cunt in the elevator?" Both the women laughed and nodded their heads. Apparently it was a treasured memory. For me the reference nudged some obscure recollection. "Yeah, yeah, enough, Skank," the dark haired woman said, looking down at the subordinate woman at her feet. "Now do the other one." The older woman shifted her attentions to the dark haired woman's left foot and resumed swiping her tongue back and forth. I watched as the older woman continued her humiliating attentions to the dark haired woman's lower digits. I sensed a presence beside me and looked to the side. A woman of a similar age as the nude woman had come to stand beside me. She had long reddish hair half way down her back, and was dressed casually in dark slacks tucked into attractive and expensive looking knee-high leather boots. She wore an off-white, short-sleeved blouse. Other than the boots, the only sign she might be into what was going on at the club was the riding crop she held casually in one hand. Otherwise she looked as if she might be at any other, more conventional, social gathering. She'd look entirely natural dressed like that at a cocktail party with a martini in her hand. The dark haired woman spoke again to the older woman at her toes. "You sure can lick those toes good. That's about all I've ever found you old fuckin' skanks to be good for. You're just an old fuckin' cow who wouldn't know what to do with a good hard dick if you grew one yourself. I just hate you stupid fuckin' old bitches. I'll tell you what I'm gonna do next with you." The woman beside me muttered, "Fuck that," and boldly strode into the center of the action. It now became apparent to me she was the nude woman's top. When she stood next to the dark haired woman without explanation or apology I think it took a moment for the young woman to come to the same realization. "Her name is Maggie," said the woman in the boots. "You will address her by her name only." The dark haired woman looked for a moment like she might haul off and take a swing at the woman, but immediately restrained herself. She gave her a stern look and suppressed whatever comment was forming behind her lips. "Maggie," the woman in boots said, "you will minister to me now." Instantly the nude woman shifted her head and tongue to the woman's boots and began to place light kisses and licks on them. "Go away," the woman in boots said to the dark haired woman. The young woman looked as if she was preparing some retort, but then just gave the woman in boots a black look and withdrew with a "C'mon" to her two companions. A moment later the three of them disappeared farther into the club. I gave David's arm a gentle tug to let him know I was ready to go, and we strolled to the exit. My pussy had leaked in a big way, although I was trying for the rest of the night and all through sex with David to figure out what aspect of the scenes I'd witnessed had caused that reaction. 3462 1.08/512345