Musical Beds (19 page)

“Lovely. So lovely,” said von Ritter.

He handed her a pair of knickers made from the same material, puffed up and decorated with elasticated lace. The cold material felt strange against her skin, especially the way it brushed and clung to her pussy.

The final touches were a pair of thigh-high hold-up stockings and some ribbon-tied heels that forced her to jut her bottom out when she walked in them.

“What do you think?” Von Ritter showed her her reflection in the full-length mirror.

“I don’t know how to describe it. I mean, it’s blatantly tarty but strangely demure at the same time. I think it’s the lacy knickers, or shorts, or whatever they are. Hot pants?”

“They certainly are hot,” he said with a smile, running his palm over one latex covered bum cheek. “And I think everyone at the club will agree with me.”

Lydia bit her lip and grimaced.

“I’m nervous,” she confessed. “Going out dressed like this… I don’t really like being looked at, especially by lots of people.”

“
Liebchen
, you won’t stand out as much as you think. There will be much more outlandish people than you at the club. More nudity, some completely covered from head to toe, the wildest costumes you can imagine. You are quite tame in comparison.”

And he was right.

As Lydia walked through the large double doors at the top of the stairs, into a spacious bar area, she barely knew where to look. Everywhere, visual stimuli struck her eye so that her gaze zigzagged wildly around the room. Body paint, full frontal nudity, multiple piercings, carnival costumes, masks, feathers, whips, chains—everything you’d expect to see at a stereotypical orgy and more. Lydia wasn’t aware that her mouth was hanging open until von Ritter nudged her and told her to stop staring.

“It’s quite amazing, though,” she said, with a little shiver. “And a bit scary. Some of these looks are quite…extreme.”

“Everyone has their own level,
Liebchen
. Their comfort zone. In this place, we live and let live. Or rather, we whip and let whip.” He chuckled.

“Hey, Karl-Heinz.” He was greeted by a man at the bar—Lydia recognised his face but couldn’t place him. She was pretty sure he hadn’t been wearing leather trousers and a fishnet vest last time she’d seen him. Nor had he been holding a riding crop. “And this is your new sub, right?”

The man’s accent was similar to von Ritter’s.

“Allow me to present Lydia,” said von Ritter, holding her shoulder and nudging her into a servile little bow. “She’s very new to the scene but she’s a fast learner. This is her first public outing, so be nice.”

“I’m always nice. I love the outfit.” He put out a hand towards the latex, looking up at von Ritter as if for permission.

Von Ritter nodded.

Lydia gasped as the man’s hand traced the curve of her waist and hips, tugging at the knicker elastic.

“I’d like something like this for my sub,” he commented. “Not that I have one at the moment.”

“You’re here alone?”

“No, no, I have a companion, but she’s here out of curiosity. She isn’t really submissive. She might even have a Domme streak. Where the hell is she? She went for a look around twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, why don’t you accompany us to the boudoir? I think Lydia is nervous, and perhaps she might appreciate getting her first public spanking over and done with. What do you think, Lydia?”

“Oh, er, okay.”

“Julius has seen it all before. You mustn’t mind him.”

Julius! It’s Julius Hackmeyer, the conductor.

Leading her up some stairs, von Ritter explained that he thought it too early for the dungeon, where all the hardcore action went on, but that the boudoir was a nice place to ease her in. Besides, most of the people in there would be too busy fucking to take much notice of a girl getting her tail reddened.

Hackmeyer laughed in agreement and they walked through some splendid golden doors, upholstered with red buttoned velvet, into a sumptuous, Oriental-themed room. Beautiful, tactile fabrics were everywhere, scattered over the large selection of beds and divans. Wherever Lydia looked, she saw writhing bodies. Some screened themselves off behind curtains, but most were indifferent to the strangers’ gazes, taking their pleasure in full view. Low, sultry music played, mingling with the scents of incense and sex, forming a kind of aural and olfactory drug. Lydia felt her inhibitions slowly dissolve, replaced by fascinated arousal.

“Would you like to lie down on one of those couches and be pleasured until you are exhausted?” asked Hackmeyer lightly.

Lydia couldn’t answer. She was absorbed in the sight of a beautiful girl in a spangled bikini top and nothing else, sitting astride one man while another thrust into her bottom.

“Never mind them.” Von Ritter led her onward, to a low divan that lay unoccupied in a corner of the room. “This looks like a good spot. Suitably obscure. Will this do, Lydia?”

She looked around. No eyes were upon them. She nodded.

“Good. Now I want you to get onto the bed on your hands and knees.”

Lydia, averting her eyes from Hackmeyer, whose presence lent extra butterflies to her stomach, did as von Ritter commanded. The divan was lusciously soft, its velvet caressing her knees and palms. She felt the tight latex strain around her bottom as she pushed it out, presenting as von Ritter had taught her.

“That’s perfect,” he said in a low, reassuring voice. He put his hand on her rear and patted it. “I think we’ll start with these on, since they’re so cute.”

“Very cute,” said Hackmeyer approvingly. “Lovely ass, too.”

Lydia felt all the blood rush to her cheeks. Well, not all of it rushed to her cheeks. Some of it ended up between her legs, too.

She breathed in the heavy incense and let it go to her head. She was embracing a new experience, flying into a fantasy. No harm would come to her.

Von Ritter’s hand fell on her tightly cased bottom. The latex gave the smack a gloriously crisp sound and she felt sure it would attract attention. From the corner of her eye, she saw a couple engaged in energetic shagging look up and try to find the source of the noise. As for the pain, it was negligible, even when von Ritter carried on at a languid pace. The rubber was so thin it offered little protection, but what it did accentuate, after only a few strokes, was the heat. Pretty soon, Lydia was feeling very hot. And not just on her spanked cheeks—her pussy soon radiated an uncomfortable level of warmth, her clit throbbing against the tight, constricting material.

“You’re taking it very slow,” remarked Hackmeyer. “She hasn’t made a squeak yet.”

“It’s her first time,” von Ritter reminded him, but his friend’s words seemed to lend impetus to his hand, which sped up and landed more heavily from that point onwards.

Lydia moved from sensual pleasure to sensual pleasure mixed with sharp sting. She began to flinch and twitch under the inexorable fall of his palm, though she tried her hardest to maintain her position the way he liked her to. Her breath escaped her in little gasps. In amongst the struggle to take her spanking like a good girl, she noticed people drifting towards them in ones and twos—curious observers. She screwed her eyes shut, holding on to her safeword in her mind, even though the pain was nowhere near her threshold.

It was so hot, though. She almost thought she might scorch a hole in the shining blackness so that patches of scarlet skin would show through.

Before this could happen, von Ritter paused and lowered the knickers, exposing her bare bottom to the room.

There was a collective murmur as the onlookers took in her rounded, reddened curves.

“Nice work,” said a female voice.

Lydia swallowed and clenched her pussy. It was like a dream, but it wasn’t. She was really here, getting her bum smacked good and hard in a public place. What a bad, bad girl she was. She deserved all of this and more.

She kept her bottom obediently pushed out, wanting to feel von Ritter’s hand on her again, no matter how hard he laid it on her. She felt a little drunk with the power of the experience, the depth of her submission. She was crossing a line, moving to another level of intimacy with von Ritter. She was making him proud of her.

He recommenced the spanking, the slap of his hand on her skin echoing around the chamber, drowning out the music and the grunts and groans of the copulating couples. Now there were people commenting on the scene, egging von Ritter on with words of admiration and encouragement, talking about Lydia as if she weren’t there. The exquisite humiliation turned her on all the more.

“She’s getting nice and red.”

“Is it hurting you, sweetie? Poor thing.” A tinkly laugh, devoid of real sympathy.

“She’s very good, not to move at all. You’ve trained her well, Karl-Heinz.”

“Does she take anything harder? Paddles? Whips?”

“Yes,” said Karl-Heinz, still spanking hard and fast.

Lydia began to whimper and make the smallest of squirms.

“But, as this is her first time, we thought a hand spanking only.”

Only
, thought Lydia ruefully. This was worse than the strapping he’d given her the other day. His hand could be the most fiendish weapon in his entire spanking armament, when the mood took him.

“Fair enough. Oh, she’s starting to struggle. Look at that little face. Aww.”

Laughter.

“I’m very proud of you,” said von Ritter. “If you need to use your safeword, use it. Don’t worry. Nobody will judge you.”

I will. I will judge myself.

He began to spank her thighs instead, all the way down to the lace tops of her stockings. She was gasping now and flexing her ankles and clinging to a cushion, determined to make it to the end. When would it end? Oh, please, could it end?

It ended.

The crowd—considerable in number now—applauded and uttered congratulatory phrases.

Lydia glowed, weirdly feeling the way she had when she’d won first prize at a music festival. She basked in their approval, though she still couldn’t look at them.

“Lucky man, Karl-Heinz,” said somebody.

Karl-Heinz’s face appeared at her shoulder, his voice in her ear.

“You are wonderful,” he whispered. “So wonderful. You make me very happy. Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“Would you like these people to go?”

She nodded again.

“Okay,” said Karl-Heinz, straightening up. “The show’s over. My girl and I need to debrief. Thank you so much.”

He drew the curtains around the divan and joined Lydia, who knelt up on her heels and fell gratefully into his strong embrace. His hands roamed all over her hot bottom, squeezing it, fingers prising open the cheeks and delving into the space within.

“You are so brave,” he told her, slipping a hand down between her pussy lips, which flowed with her juices. “And so wet,” he exclaimed. “That turned you on, then?”

“Mmm. It was better than the fantasy. It was just so… I don’t know. It was like jumping out of a plane or something. The fear and the exhilaration. It takes you to a higher level.”

“You gorgeous, amazing girl.”

He kissed her soundly, all the time manipulating her clit between firm fingers, rubbing and stroking, giving her an outlet for all the heat that had built up in her during the spanking.

When her orgasm came it was powerful, quaking through her while she slumped against von Ritter’s chest, waiting for her body to come back to her.

He ruffled her hair, kissing her forehead.

“Please, Sir, would you like me to suck you?” she asked shyly, looking down at his tented suit trousers.

“Perhaps later.”

“But aren’t you uncomfortable?”

He lay down, settling her into his arms, making no reply.

She had to ask. This was getting ridiculous now.

“Look, Karl-Heinz, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but will we… Are we ever going to… I don’t know how to phrase it…”

“You were perfectly able to offer oral sex.”

“I wasn’t nervous about what the answer might be.”

“It’s all right, Lydia. I know what you’re asking. You want to know if we’ll ever have conventional, penetrative sex.” He smiled at her, a little sadly, as if he thought she was disappointed in him.

“Well, yeah. I’m not saying I’m unhappy with what we—”

“I know, I know.” He kissed her. “Although lots of women would be. Perhaps it’s not fair on you.”

“Is there a reason why you don’t want to?”

“Yes, there is, but it’s not to do with you. It’s not that I don’t want to. I suppose I’m just a very strange person.”

“Oh, Karl-Heinz. If you’re strange, then so am I. What do you mean?”

He stared at the ceiling, at the plaster cherubs on the cornicing.

“It’s to do with control. I try to hold out to the very last, until I absolutely can’t resist. I suppose it’s a test I set myself. It’s become a little…shall we say…pathological. It’s so stupid of me, but I can’t seem to lose the habit.”

“It sounds almost like an anxiety thing.” She held his hand, wondering what could have happened to this man to bring him to this.

“Yes. I’m sure you’re right.”

“And it’s about self-control rather than control of your lover?”

“Yes, completely. I don’t kid myself that I really have any control over you. What we do is purely consensual. I couldn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to. The only person I can really control is myself.”

“Is that why you don’t want a blow job?”

He chuckled. “I do want one. Very much. But yes, you’re right. I’m testing myself again.”

“It is a bit strange, I must admit. A man turning down a blow job. Get the
Guinness Book of Records
on the phone.”

“I want to look around a bit first. Maybe you can give it to me in the dungeon with your wrists cuffed. I like the idea of that.”

He sat up, taking her by the arm.

“Come on. There’s a lot we haven’t seen yet.”

Lydia followed him through the curtains. She didn’t want to be irritated or frustrated with von Ritter, but she couldn’t help a tiny voice inside her mind asking,
Why can’t I just meet someone normal?

They stepped over people making out or getting it on and made their way out of the boudoir. On the stairs, two men in harnesses were engaging in vigorous anal sex, necessitating some care being taken with the descent.