Monday, April 6, 2015

Kinky Short Story by Leandra Vane: "D"


The pulsing techno music faded and the crack of a whip cut the beat of silence that followed. I jumped, even though I knew better. A giggle jingled across the room and the next track revved up, drowning out the commotion.

I rolled my eyes. Natasha was such a brat. Not only was she a brat because she happily invited punishment, she was a brat for talking me into coming back.

Nearly a year had passed since my last play party. There had been a time when I felt connected, when I knew what I wanted and got what I asked for. But somewhere along the road, life happened, and the bottom fell out of everything. I let my garden go. Outings to the movies with friends left me feeling hollow and unproductive. Books no longer felt magical in my hands.

Natasha gave me my space, but eventually enough was enough. Everyone missed me, she insisted. Even if getting back in the scene wouldn’t solve all my problems, it would at least, in her words, “get your ass off the damn sofa, Stephanie.”

Natasha surprised me at the event with a black lace body-conforming dress in my size. I had to admit I felt a stirring of excitement as I went into the bathroom, stripped, and pulled the lace over the contours of my body. I hadn’t donned anything sexier than a sports bra in months and the clinging touch was refreshing. But when I pulled on my trusty thigh high boots it was as though I was standing in a stranger’s shoes. I could still walk in them, but instead of giving me a grounded confidence I felt like I was walking awkwardly on air.

The dinner had been nice. Fantastic food, hugs, and kisses. For awhile it felt like old times. Then the lights went out, the music turned up, and I blurred once again into the background.

Even so, I had always possessed voyeuristic tendencies and a new member caught my attention. She was a shorter woman, curvy, with spiky dark hair. In between scenes I had asked Natasha who she was. All Natasha had said was the woman was a fiend for the electric wand and everyone called her “D.” I surmised this nickname was due to the fact that she was walking around boasting an impossibly large, hot pink strap-on.

She was hanging out with a fairly average looking guy with blonde hair and a beard. I couldn’t tell right off if she was his top or not, but there was certainly something captivating in the way she held herself.

My gaze dropped down to the tips of my boots, pointed together, like an apology. It’s not like I was feeling disappointed that the night wasn’t shaping up into anything special. I hadn’t been terribly hopeful in the first place. I decided I would go snag a piece of cheesecake. Then after Natasha was finished I would say goodbye and skip out early.

On my way over, I glanced up and saw D was being suspended in a hammock of leather straps and a small group was gathering. A twinge of interest greater than my craving for dessert steered me away from the kitchenette.

The music pounded in the soles of my shoes and a nervous tingle pooled in my gut. The man with the beard was securing cuffs onto D’s wrists. She was naked, her pink dildo nowhere in sight. There was a strap under each leg and one slung behind her back to keep her up in a sadistic swing. I was surprised to feel a tug of jealousy, as though we were kids at recess and she had gotten to the play set first.

The man fastened the cuffs to the chains hanging above D’s head. That’s when I noticed Marianne, who was setting out her kit of needles on a nearby stool. Marianne was the resident expert in Hematolagnia and was affectionately referred to as Bloody Marianne.

Marianne was talking softly to D, asking her questions and caressing her shoulder now and again. The conversation revealed this was D’s first time playing with needles. Marianne donned rubber gloves and tore open an alcohol swab. The sterile sting passed before me and my heartbeat lurched to a faster pace. Marianne ran the swab over D’s taught nipples.

I shifted my weight. I imagined the alcohol was cold on D’s sensitive skin and Goosebumps rushed down my legs.

Pulling a needle from its casing, Marianne positioned herself over D. She pinched the left nipple plump between two fingers and with a quick, expert motion, slid the needle through.

My mind instantly flashed to a swell of pain in my own nipple, like a mini-firework. I licked my lips and anticipated the following insertion. The action was repeated, but this time D’s knees jerked a little in the restraints. Her right nipple must be more sensitive. I felt a tickle of warmth between my legs at this thought.

Marianne stuck three more needles into the curve of D’s left breast. I watched D’s face as work was began on her right. Her brow was knitted and just after each plunge the corners of her mouth turned down, so slight the move was nearly imperceptible. I would have given the whole cheesecake I was going to eat to know what thoughts and sensations were erupting through D’s mind and body. The lace that sheathed my own hardened nipples felt cool and delicious.

Having finished, Marianne pressed at the needles firmly with two fingers, making D’s tits bounce. Satisfied, Marianne turned D over to the bearded man. He had an electric wand fired up and he stepped in close to whisper into D’s ear.

Her eyes fluttered closed and serenity relaxed her features.

He moved in, slowly inching the wand to the soft skin of her thigh. The first zap sent a jolt through my joints, though D didn’t even respond. The man began to draw the wand upward, the electricity lapping over her hips, across her abdomen, and up between her breasts.

My legs were trembling. Each cackle the sparked her skin echoed along the hem of my dress. I was suddenly very sensitive to the angles of my ankles in my boots as my toes curled with delight.

The man began the assault on her pierced tits and D could no longer keep up the fa├žade. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, just a helpless gasp of air. Her wrists twisted in the cuffs and her fingers wrestled the chains.

The man lifted the wand, silencing the fervor. I swore I heard my own heart beat. Everything else – the bystanders, the music, Natasha’s brattiness – was forgotten as I focused all my being on one question: Was D going to make it?

The wand was passed over again and D’s revolt escalated to a thrashing that rocked the swing. A cry escaped her lips and she instantly clamped her mouth shut. The man varied the movements, concentrating on her thighs, her ankles, her stomach. But when he went once again for her punctured tits, her back arched in agonized ecstasy.

The man was watching her and, as he moved the wand between her two tortured mounds, she kicked and gyrated and my whole body teetered on the edge of possibility that the next sound to fly from her would be the word “red.”

Three final cracks issued from the wand and the man withdrew the instrument. A panic welled in my heart as he reached out and gently ran his hand across her forehead.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

I wanted to collapse in a throbbing puddle of nerves. She did it.

The onlookers began to disband but I was still shaking and couldn’t move. I feigned polite interest as Marianne removed the needles, depositing them safely in her biohazard container, and helped the man release D from the swing.

A towel was wrapped around D’s waist and she was led to sit on a bench against the wall. Pretending to adjust my boot, I sat on the bench a couple feet away.

D paid no attention to me, but I focused all of mine on her from the corner of my eye. The man approached and undid the cuffs. As the restraint fell away from her left wrist, I spotted a hospital bracelet that had been nestled beneath the leather. The bracelet had been kept together by a piece of duct tape. As the man draped a blanket over her shoulders D inserted her thumb beneath the bracelet. With a quick twist the bracelet came undone and dropped to the floor.

In that moment, she smiled. It was over in a flash, nothing more than a quiver. But it was enough to show she had found what she was looking for that night.

I stood and took my first secure steps in a long while. She wasn’t the only one.

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