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“What’s the dress code?” I asked.
“What you might expect,” he said. “Fetish lingerie. Don’t worry, it’s nothing extreme.” His hand traced the curve of my waist, then slid back up to my breasts, pinching my sensitive and very hard nipples. “We use a private costumer. If you decide you want to go, I’ll give you the address so you can get measured and fitted. They’ll send me the bill.”
“How will they know—”
“I’ll arrange everything. You’d just show up.”
My hips moved as he fingered my nipples, then pinched, resurrecting the lingering soreness from our last session. “You’re really turning me on right now,” I said.
“Keep reading. One last thing.” He read it instead, lowering his voice for emphasis. “Any submissive not agreeing to these terms may not be admitted to The Gallery. Any resistance or refusal of these rules is cause for immediate expulsion from the premises.”
“So if I decide in the middle to disobey some guy or put on some other outfit, I’m out of there. If I yell out a safe word—”
“Then I’ll punish you for being a brat,” he said, giving the side of my leg a spank. “Joking aside, if you disagree with any of these rules, don’t agree to attend as my submissive. That’s the point of spelling things out like this. The Gallery only works if everyone plays along.”
His erection grew thicker and more insistent against my ass cheeks. “I think maybe I could do this Gallery thing if you’re there to keep me safe.”
“I’d keep you safe.” His breath feathered the back of my hair. “And I’d hurt you while we were there. But you seem to enjoy that well enough.”
Goosebumps rose along my arms and neck as bite followed breath. His teeth closed on my nape, making me shiver. I reached back to caress his bulging cock through his jeans, then searched for the button.
“No,” he said. “Naughty girl. You don’t take. I give.”
He spread my legs and shoved hard fingers against my pussy. I was so wet, so soaked. I was sure he could feel it through my panties. He made a guttural lust noise that proved me correct. I wanted him. I wanted The Gallery. I wanted whatever he wanted, even if it was perverse and unnatural.
He pushed me onto my knees and undid his jeans. While I took him in my mouth, he unzipped my dress and pushed it down over my shoulders. My breasts were in his hands, then my nipples were pinched and tormented, driving me on. It wasn’t fun giving him blowjobs. It was an exercise in lack of control, in submitting to greedy dominance. When he shoved his hips forward, I took his cock as deep as I could, and still my nipples were punished. When I whined in protest, his only answer was a satisfied growl.
I gagged and he chuckled, a low, sadistic rumble. “It’s okay, Sparkles. That’ll happen a lot. Get used to it.” He pulled out of my throat and made me stand, then bent me over, facing the table, so my hands were braced on its edge. My soaked panties were yanked down, my skirt flipped up to bare my welted backside. “This beautiful ass,” he said, parting my cheeks. “And these gorgeous marks.” He traced along the lingering welts and bruises, then spanked me, making me jump.
“Jesus, I need to spank your ass,” he said, moving me again, manipulating me until I was bent over his lap in the dining room chair. I looked up, looked out his window at the city’s lights as he ran his fingers over my quivering butt. An old-fashioned over-the-knee spanking. How quaint. How naughty and patriarchal. I had a ten-second reprieve before the first blows fell.
Ow. Ow. Ow.Oh God, it wasn’t quaint at all. It stung like hell.
“That—really—hurts,” I gasped, between jerking and flailing.
He tightened his arm around my waist and continued his assault. I struggled, finding it hard to breathe through the overload of sensation. His hands were huge and the spanks were hard and resonant, one after the other. “My ass still hurts from before. Please!”
“It’s good to have a hurting ass. It makes everything better for you, Juliet. I know.”
“Oh God!”
“I know from this.” He paused, his fingers probing my drenched, hot cleft. “Are you ready to be fucked?”
“Yes. Please!”
I was hauled about again by his huge, firm fingers, and deposited astride his lap with my dress bunched at my waist. He pulled at his fly and a moment later he slipped inside me, shoving his hips upward to fill me to the hilt. “How’s that?” he asked. “Feel better?”
“Yes, Sir. It feels wonderful.”
“Even with your sore ass?” He added a smack on each side for emphasis. It smarted like heck but also felt so good—I’d gotten to the point where I didn’t question why. I rode Fort’s cock, my pleasure heightened by the throbbing scarlet handprints on my ass. I tried not to think about how connected I felt to him, how perfect it felt to be fed by him, held by him, hurt by him in this room above the city, and brought to a climax that blurred my eyes.
*
I had toget up early on Wednesday to make the appointment for my Gallery fitting. I couldn’t believe they had their own costumer. The woman was soft spoken on the phone, agreeing to meet me at her Soho studio. When I got there and rang the bell, she ushered me inside with a smile.
“What a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “You’re Juliet Pope?”
A flush rose in my cheeks. I thought this might all be conducted by pseudonym. “Yes, I am.”
