textfiles/sex/EROTICA/I/inpublic.txt

Dion here.  

This is the story of my first public scene.  My top insists she remain
anonymous, but that I may tell everything that happened.  

I arrived at her bungalow at 6:00 pm as previously instructed.  She was
still tall and beautiful, but sans makeup and in old torn clothes looked
more human than when I had seen her last.  I asked cheerfully if I could
help her get dinner, to which she replied, "I don't like it when people
help me cook."

So I pulled out a coke, poured us each a glass and sat down.  Shortly
afterward we ate together in her room, the warm spagetti and garlic was
excellent, a result of her obvious Catholic background.  There were
several jesus's on the walls, I now noticed by daylight.  The last time I
had seen her room was face down by red neon at 2 am...

After dinner I offered to light her cigarette and she gave me that duty
for the remainder of the evening.  She got out the hair supplies and told
me to sit at her feet, facing the mirror.  She plugged things in and was
soon crimping my hair, teasing my hair, and playing in my hair.  My hair
is mid-waist length and it felt heavenly.  It also was a fantasy come true
to be sitting at her feet, her legs gently against my head, while she
played in my long hair.  We passed a bottle of beer back and forth.

The phone rang and I knew by her voice it was a lover.  She stayed on the
phone for about 20 minutes, all the while doing my hair.  She mentioned me
to him, in a soft low voice, and waited for the expected jealousy, which
she said later she was pleased not to hear.  She said he is a cool guy but
not into the scene, but she wants to show him what she does to me
sometime.  I wonder about that...

So after that she attacked my eyebrows, painted my eyes and gave me strict
instructions "not to touch my hair."  I laughed... She and I then got into
our clothes...

I wore black biker boots, fishnet stockings on my longish, somewhat
muscular legs.  I had on a shiny latex brief, g string really, and see
through mesh top sleeveless.  I showed her the collar I picked out and she
put it on me.. A large, much chromed belt hung low on my waist.  We
decided to forgo cuffs since we weren't sure what kind of scene we were in
for at the club.

She wore her hair teased up, a mixture of blood red and jet black.  Her
face was painted to perfection.  Bare shoulders, long gloves and less
jewelry than usual, but still an Egyptian style necklace.  Spandex shorts,
black hose, and very toppish shiny latex boots she says were a present
from a boy who owed her money.  She looked stunning as the smoke curled
out her lips...  She showed me a wrist collar and lock and said if I
continued to please her it would be mine.. not tonight, but some day.

We drank some more beer and finally got a cab down to the club (Warhol
reference: $5.00).  Upon arrival I wore torn jeans over my legs, again
just in case the scene turned out to be weird.
 
We got there about 11:00 and she found an old friend, who led us around
through the many black clad trendies and weekend warriors.  I had to laugh
at one guy who I recognized from a DnD group, but who did not see or
recognize me.

Her friend led us through a corridor lined with beautiful creatures to a
smallish area in the back, the flogging area.  We were told that etiquette
was simply to stay around and go ahead when nobody else was going.  At
11:00 the first pair, two men, began their scene as we watched.  She told
me that she wanted me to go next...

I went into the bathroom and removed my jeans.  My head was beginning to spin.

The scene ahead of us was two pros at work.. the top knew how to take his
charge right up to the brink, let him down, then take him up again.. it
was a feeling I was to envy throughout the evening..

Suddenly they were embracing and were done.  My master told me I was
next.. She led me by the hand out of the safety of the crowd and into the
flogging area.  She whispered to me that she wanted it to be hard.

I turned from her and she grabbed my face, spun me around and looked me in
the eye.  "Ask me for it," she demanded.  I did.  She then let her hand
down and I turned, slowly, and walked to the wall.

The whip she used on me was a plastic one of the kind described by Layla
here.  A really sharp sting, it on the other hand isn't very heavy.  We
were the only ones that night who were using anything other than leather
floggers... I wonder if we broke a local taboo?

I stood ready.  My top said hard, but nothing prepared me for her first
stroke.  *jesus*, she wasn't even going to warm me up.  I braced for the
next one, which crossed the other shoulder.  I shuddered... 

She has this anticipation technique that she uses often.. I had to
sometimes stand there for 5.. 10 seconds while she just played with her
whip..  I heard one person gasp and I felt the reason a second later.  I
had had enough!  I dropped all composure and ran to her.. kneeling in
front of her.

The theatre was spontaneous.. We had played together only once before and
this was scaring me good.. I did not know if I could continue.  She looked
at me.. and told me to stand.  I did, and she asked if I wanted to
continue.  I said yes, but not as hard if she could.  She asked me if I
wanted her to walk out right now.  I said please, anything but that.  She
told me to return to my spot on the wall.. 

I did, determined to reclaim some dignity.  As the blows fell, the music,
which had been loud all along, seemed to become my guide.  I began to
brace, to repeat over and over to myself, "come on, come on, COME ON"
until she whipped that cruel thing across my skin again.  

I began to laugh.  I was taking it!  I fucking was in front of strangers
getting whipped and I was taking it.  I felt truly victorious then and
began to respond to her blows.. presenting my ass or back out for her to
strike.  She naturally obliged.

After a while of this I was beginning to shudder, stamp my feet and clench
my fists.. I am truly sorry I could not take it as well as I expected I
could.  She saw this and ran to me, embraced me and asked if I was
alright.  I said I was.  She said she was going to take me over the edge.

She stepped back and waited.. and waited.. finally when she began the
blows were hard, harder than anything.. all over my back, my sides, my
ass.. she whipped me with complete abandon.  I screamed and tensed, then
sort of slumped.. 

The next thing I remember was being in her arms.. I think we hugged for a
minute on the floor.  I quickly came back to this planet when she felt my
back, which was on fire but cooling down nicely.  I felt a rush of
emotions then.. sad that I had not taken more, yet completely proud of my
performance.  I straightened up and looked her in the eyes, thanking her,
my beautiful mistress, for giving me what I had needed.

Later she said that people asked her if we were from LA.  Our looks
certainly suggested that, but it was also "do you play that hard in LA?" 
When she said that I felt a surge of pride, like I had succeeded in
impressing her.  Her eyes told me that she felt the same about me.

She took my hand and led me slowly from the scene, through the bar, past
many beautiful people, some who were giving us admiring looks.  We stopped
and she asked me if there was anything she could give me.  I said,
"Please, if you may, I'd like to get something to drink..."  She led me to
the bar and got a beer, I think it was a Guiness, cold.  She led me again,
her proud and well worked beast, back to the dance floor where we stood,
mistress and slave, her arms around my body and gently massaging my
punished shoulders.  We shared the beer as we watched the pretty people
dance.

The night lasted until closing time, 3 hours later.  I got to watch and
learn from several experienced floggers and their bottoms.  I danced with
several beautiful people and showed off my ass for the crowd a few times,
which was *really* fun for me!  My mistress gave me the freedom to roam
and mingle, only occasionally finding me and dragging me back to her side
for a quick bit of gossip or an embrace.  Once I got to lick the sweat off
her glistening shoulders and neck.  I lit her cigarettes and held her
beer, I was "the best help she ever had," she told me laughingly.

Finally it was over, we got a cab (mysteriously a dollar more back up than
down?  Warhol must have gone crazy worrying about this stuff) and headed
back to her bungalow at the foot of the hill overlooking the city.  I
changed back into my street clothes, deliberately leaving my clothing out
in the kitchen so I could come out in just my fishnets once, and I was
delighted when she turned to look at my ass one last time.

She and I sat up and talked, minorly squicking a roommate, who after
seeing the lash marks on my back put on headphones and ignored us.  She
whistled low and asked me if it hurt.  I said that it did, and that it was
wonderful.


Thanks for listening..

Regards,

Dion