Hellooo.
My cock has gone from interested to a painfully raging hard-on.
This isdefinitelythe right place.
Wanting an unobstructed view of their scene, I move around the people gathering to watch. The woman on the cross is dressed only in a G-string, and there’s a tidy pile of clothes on the floor next to the cross. Her brown hair is pulled up off her back into a messy bun, which reveals the leather collar buckled around her neck. Leather cuffs around her wrists are clipped to rings on the uprights of the cross.
The woman doing the flogging wears a leather corset, a short leather skirt, and knee-high leather boots with three-inch heels. She’s tall to start with, probably five-ten, at least, in addition to the heels. Her long, red hair hangs down almost to the middle of her back, and her tight clothes don’t leave much to the imagination in terms of her body. She’s fucking gorgeous, the leather hugging her slender curves.
I can’t tell how old either woman is from my vantage point, but I’m nearly desperate to have a chance to talk to the Dominatrix after they finish. That means I stay right where I am and hope I get my chance. She uses a variety of implements on the woman’s back, ass, and legs, from floggers to canes. They’re speaking German, and while my high-school German didn’t cover sexy-time situations, I can understand most of what they’re saying, and what I don’t sort of makes it through with the context.
As I watch the scene, I find myself wanting to drop to my knees, and I haven’t even gotten a good look at the Dominatrix’s face. But I have a mind full of memories and porn and really want a chance to make some of that come true. I don’t know how, yet, but I’m hoping she’d be willing to help me out with that.
The commanding tone the Dominatrix uses while topping the woman has hardened my cock to a painfully erect level I’ve honestly never felt before.
They’re almost done when I feel the hand on my shoulder, startling me.
“You look…interested,” she says in German. Her icy blue gaze pierces straight through me and makes my cock throb even more. She has long, jet-black hair braided down her back and is clad in a black latex corset and latex skirt.
I nod. “Ja.”
Her gaze narrows and carefully looks me up and down before she switches to English. “You’re American?”
I nervously nod. “How did you know?”
When the toe of her patent leather stiletto pump touches my right sneaker, my cock twitches. “Those are worn,” she says. “Can’t buy that brand here, except at the PX, and you’ve had them a while. I work with a lot of Americans.”
“Oh.”
She cocks her head as she looks at me, studying me. “Army?”
I nod.
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
A slow smile spreads across her face, making me shiver. “First time at a place like this?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She touches the collar around my neck with one perfectly lacquered finger. “Does that belong to anyone in particular?”
“No, ma’am.”
She looks at my wristband, her gaze narrowing a little. She wears the same wristband.
There’s a bag at her feet, a small rolling suitcase, like a carryon size, black. She points at it. “Bring that.” Then she turns and walks away.
It takes me a second to realize that was an order, and I scramble to comply, grabbing the suitcase’s handle as I scurry along behind her.
Like hell am I going to say no.
This is my dream come true, and losing Pete and Tom taught me early that life is short, sometimes brutally so.
That means I need to make as much of this life as I can, while I can.
And I plan to.
