London Calling (Part Two)

Matched in North London

When I find myself in North London again, the city is still reeling post the pandemic. I am craving touch, I want to lick the sweat from someone’s face. Feel their dangerous breath on my lips, inhale everything. A flick of the screen and I find apps, and parties and I fall into the scene, reckless and ravenous for it. I let a fireman bind me with rope, and fuck my face, in a hotel on a Tuesday afternoon, his sweat dripping on my eye lids as he held my head still, my throat filling with his cum. I vet Doms, and turn down ENM rock climbers, take off for whole weekends with friends who own spanking benches and teach me shibari. There are parties that require masks, or vetted entry or both. A joyful frenzy of leather and latex and late nights. The glitter skirt returns. Paired with corsets, and lace.

And then I met Him.

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Read Part One here

London Calling (Part One)

Like all my liasons at this stage of my dating career, I meet him online. He is not the first Dom I have vetted, having found myself in hotel rooms all over London over the last few years, flogged, and flattered and fucked. The Producer who initaited me and had me at his feet for months, strict and high protocol at times but a primal Dom too, ravaging and roaring through our scenes - but never using my name. Just my sub, a well trained sub and mine.

The Theatre Director, a big Daddy Dom who liked to hold me by the scruff of my neck, like a naughty kitten, and attach a zipper of pegs to my overly sensitive skin, hushing me as I winced and wimpered when he whipped them off, the snaps and the flare of heat. His voicenotes sent me over the edge, his gruff voice charged with sex and need, whispering what he was going to do to me next, grunting my name as he came, Good ..good… good girl Katie, oh you perfect little.. fuck.

The Finance Man who met me at a dungeon social, tied me to a spanking bench and then edged me to tears, wet and slick on the leather. His fingers ever so light on my clit, as the whip came down on my ass. Misery sticks too, the sheer white pain ripping through me with every flick. He’d trace the tiger stripes he’d made with his tongue in hotel rooms, days later, allowing me to come, and then efficiently finishing on my tits. Like clock work. He never told me anything about himself. Just business. We fuck. We fuck well. That’s enough

The Creative Director who had me on the floor of a his photography studio, bound and gagged, a wand against my clit, who forced orgasm after orgasm after orgasm out of me while his friend made my plus one squirt so hard we had to find a mop to clean it up. We needn’t have bothered as he did the same to me half an hour later, bound to a bench, my legs roughly pulled apart with a spreader as I flooded the floor and wept, his fingers bringing on the wave, my head tilted all the way back, his friend shoving his cock down my throat. The best long weekend in years..!

All of this glorious filth, my spare weekends filling up if I wanted them too, a new social scene blooming on the fringes of socially acceptable dinner table conversation. I cover my delicious bruises, my rope burns on my wrists and ankles modestly adressed with longer sleeves and tights. A few of my friends have some of an idea of where I go on random Thursdays. I tell one or two of them a little more, but never the full story. Their eyes wide as I mention the bare basics of play parties. I keep the delightfully sordid details for my friends I have met on the scene.

And yet. I am missing something deeper. The Producer lives too far away to develop into a more intimate connection. We descalate our dynamic to that of friends, or he becomes more of a mentor of sorts, sometimes gently helping me vet new partners. Sometimes sharing with me his scenes with news subs. The Theatre Director finds his polycule tricky to negotiate and so do I. The admin is tiresome. The Creative Director ghosts and the Finance Man falls in love. I focus on my career, and take a little step back from password protected parties.

The mood takes me one Sunday night, I promise myself I’ll delete the app after this last look. A ping. A match. There he is.

The courtship is intense. He has a veracity of thought and intellect that cuts his predecessors at the knees. He’s not on the scene much, and has little interest in black tie masked balls which he curtly passes off as the ‘live, laugh, love of the kink arena’. The first time we kiss, on the street as I am rushing off to make a meeting, he pulls me back by my arm, wraps his fingers around my scarf and scoops me into him, deep and long, biting my bottom lip hard enough to make it bloom and swell.

I want to make you cry beautiful, but first we need to understand each other a little better - he whispers into my ear as he releases me. And he will.

No brutual efficiency here. He weaponises romance. He dates me, voraciously. And slowly. It takes weeks before I am standing in his apartment, my underwear already in his trouser pocket, having slipped it to him under the table when we were eating dessert. I linger by the doorway taking in his space, the book on the shelves, spilling over each other. Big leather sofa, coffee table with huge full colour books, heavy and expensive. A cigar box. His black cat quietly judging me from the seat nearest the window, absolutely aware I am standing there with no panties on under my dress. Like a common slut. She blinks at me and looks away.

He gestures for me to sit. Lights a cigar, pours some whiskey for us both. The cool glass on my thigh a good distraction from the pooling heat between my legs. I feel like he has been edging me for weeks. The playfulness of his dominance. The way he knows what I like, the way he pushes for more explanation, articulation. The way he holds my gaze with a surety and confidence that makes me feel grounded. We talk, he puts on something from his vinyl collection. The ice in the glass melting, a top up next. He lights my cigarette, his hands cupping mine as I dip into the flame. I think I may combust in the moment.

I excuse myself to dash water on my face, reapply my lipstick and freshen up. My cunt already slick, my thighs slippery. I clean myself up as much as I can, knowing full well, the slightest touch from him will make me drip. The suspender clips are digging into me a little now too, I am desparate from him to unclip every one. Rip off any remaining buttons and devour me in one go. But he won’t. He will take his time.

I make my way back to the living room, hes standing looking out the window, the natural swagger of him. He turns to look at me, grinning. He knows what a state I am in. He can see the flush in my cheeks. The way my breath is shallower. He takes another sip of his drink before setting it aside.

Now, Kate.

He steps towards me, slowly, still grinning

Are you ready to fuck?

I nod. Please. Yes Please.

I am so embarrased by how needy I sound. How desparate. He holds out his hand.

Task please

My first one. I scramble through my thoughts, already slipping away from me as I feel his gaze on me. I hunt through my bag, a brief moment of terror thinking I may have left it at home. But no. Its there. A very unassuming A4 piece of paper folded up, which he now unfolds and only glances at very briefly before handing it back to me.

You’re going to read that to me. Out loud please.

What? ... no. I can’t

My cheeks burning with shame now, and my cunt too, the slickness, a sticky mess between my legs.

He shrugs

Well, it’s that or I can call you a cab

He gestures for me to join him on the sofa. I hestitate, and then let my pulsing cunt lead the way. Never before have I wanted someone as much as I want this man. I’ll do as he says, even if that means reading my cringe worthy fantasy, out loud. I move to sit next to him and he shakes his head.

No. I don’t think so.

He laughs, and points between his legs.

Here. Over my knee. You’ll read that out loud while I spank you. Hard. And then maybe I will fuck you. But only if you’re good.

My whole body is on fire. The shame and desire merging into one and the same thing. I position myself as requested. He hitches my dress up to my waist, revealing my bare ass, framed by the suspenders still clinging to the nylon stockings. He runs his hands over me. Slowly. I whimper. His touch is almost too much

You may start reading now

Its quite a pedestrian fantasy, to be fucked by your high-school headmaster, and all of the prefects too. I’m almost ashamed at how pedestrian, and he knows it, and he also knows its not the one I am the most afraid to share. But he lets that go, this being our first scene. We can build up to that

I want to be bent over his big desk, my panties pulled down to my… ah!

I cry out the first time his hand lands. Its hard and fast. In quick succession

I didn’t say stop

… to my thighs, his cock dripping and slick from one of the head boys sucking him off.. oh shit ah!… I want him to part my pussy lips with the cane he uses to belt the boys… ooff…. I .. I want.. each one of those prefects looking at my dripping…oww!… pussy, cocks in hand, hoping they get to.. ooh GOD.. fuck.. have a go at it.. have a go at it while its filled with his… Jesus Christ.. ow. His cum. Sometimes.. ooooh my god… it hurts…. I am the head master watching my cock sink into this pretty little pussy. Someone holding her still. While I thrust in… Oh .. my god… .please…!

My ass burns red hot as he holds my jaw with his one hand and then lets the fingers of his other explore my aching cunt. It’s a revelation the way he find the spot I am craving from him to hit almost immediately. I sob. Tears rolling down my cheeks, knowing the release is coming. His fingers brutual and precise. The sound of it, slick and wet, making me burn. I moan and gasp as I feel the release, and I soak his hands, he pulls me up and flicks the wetness in my face. Like a slap

Such a needy pussy, look at this. She loves being humiliated.

He smears it across my face, mixing it with tears, my smudged mascara and lipstick.

Now you’re ready to fuck

He lifts me up and directs me to the bedroom, pushes me on the linen. Crisp and cool against my burning skin. My face flat, my ass up. The swish of his belt escaping the loops of his trousers. The cool leather on my wrists as he uses it to restrain my hands behind my back. I hear him step out of his clothes, his shirt still on and rolled up at the sleeve. I gasp as I feel the head of his cock push into me. Slowly at first. He groans as he slides inside me, the heat of my pussy opening up, wet and warm. He pulls on the belt lifting me up little so he can drive deeper into me. The slick sound of his thrusts. He spits on to my ass and plunges his thumb inside making me buck hard against him

Ohh good she likes her ass toyed with.. Oh baby girl you and I are going to have so much fun

There are moments I think I may dissolve, where he pulls out and gags me with cock. Where he makes me come, with his fingers, then his mouth, then his cock. Where I am undone. A ragdoll for his needs. Where he pushes into me again and again, his filthy words making me open wider, come harder. His dominance allowing me the space to let go. I don’t think. When he comes it with a roar, he thrusts so hard I think we may have dented the wall. His sweat a river on my chest. My bound hands red raw. My pussy swollen and satisfied.

We’re going to have so much fun…

And we still are.