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Prologue - Joshua
Clichés become that way for a reason. Several reasons, actually, but in particular because there is usually at least a kernel of truth to them. So it was with the phrase “the boredom of the idle rich.” Cliché to the bone, but also entirely true. It was the modern, democratic version of “heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
The phrase was particularly true for those idle rich who didn’t have any friends. Or at least very few true ones. It was sometimes hard to tell the difference some days.
There even came a point, usually around ten in the evening, when Scotch on the rocks, no matter how well aged, was of little comfort. When what was most needed was the company of another. In a very particular manner.
Women had never been a problem for me. Usually whenever the urge stuck, I could take the Jag down to the BDSM club. Club Lush, to be precise— Manhattan’s premier fetish establishment.
I was one of the first to get a membership when they first opened about five years prior. Having me on their client list was as beneficial to them as their services were to me. They were always happy to give me whatever I asked for. And they were never short of female members willing to step in and assist whenever I needed release.
My proclivities were actually quite mild, everything being relative. There were some things in the community that even made me a bit queasy, but to each their own. My particular play had more to do with domination than pain. Though pain would be applied as punishment for disobedience.
The furthest I’d ever gone was nipple clamps and flogging. Though I would never do the first again. There was a general code, at least among some masters, that the more delicate parts of the body were to be treated gently. In my particular case, it meant that nipples, clits, lips of both the pussy and the mouth, as well as tongues, were to be spared affliction.
I was something of a traditionalist and my preferred method of punishment was spanking.
Nothing too fancy, certainly no whips or chains.
Nothing that could cause bleeding.
Usually I just used an open palm resounding deliciously against a bare, delicate ass, laid across my lap. Offered up for my delicious punishment.
I would sometimes use paddles and, on one memorable occasion, a cricket bat, but I tended to try and keep the human touch, so to speak.
There was also never a partner I didn’t bind in some way. It was the main feature of my kink. Power exchange to the maximum degree. My sweet little submissive giving all of her agency and autonomy over to me to do with as I pleased. A sacred trust if there ever was one. Which was why I never took things to where I considered them to be too far. I possessed a very clear idea as to the line between hurt and harm.
The other major mainstay of my play, my style, if you will, was anal. This was a fact well known and soon expected among the New York fetish set. As was my particular, fairly unique, approach, always making sure the asshole was nice and warmed up with butt plugs and lots of lovely lube before I even attempted penetration.
Whoever I was with almost always asked for it before I had a chance to get there on my own. Sometimes it was the only thing I did with particular partners. Especially if they wanted to preserve their virginity.
It became difficult to tell who were my fellow ass fetishists and who were the curious ones who always wanted to know how it felt but were afraid it might hurt in a bad way. A surprising number of the other members were experimenters.
There was a core group of serious BDSM folks like me and my friends but almost more who thought they might be into it and decided to find out. There were few things better than helping a latent submissive reach her full potential. It was probably why a lot of them came to call me ‘daddy.’ Not only was I often older than the newbies, I was nurturing them into their new life.
My glass again empty as is always the way of the cruel, cruel, world, I got up, only a bit tipsy, and went to replenish the troops. You aren’t supposed to drink before or during play. Alcohol causes your blood to thin and can make it really dangerous.
Not that that was going to be a problem for a while, though, because NYC had just gone into city-wide lock-down mode because of the fucking pandemic. It looked like it was going to be a while before I could get to the club again.
There was a time when this might have caused a crushing sense of existential dread, but I had become a lot more zen once I reached the saner side of 30. Replenished glass in hand, I went to the office, sipping every couple of steps. It was a feat that was getting to be as bedevilling as rubbing my belly while patting my head.
