Orders To Clean Up After BDSM Party
Clean-up after the party was a bitch…the wages of sin. We started late-morning, around eleven, once Mr. Thompson and Mistress Charlotte had collected us from the cabins, sixteen bleary-eyed and sexually-spent slaves. We were handed toga-like garments and disposable sandals to wear while we worked. Mercifully, upon arrival at the barn, Mistress Charlotte gave us coffee, doughnuts and muffins before we tackled the job.
I was reminded of the joke about hell, where the devil tells the newest arrival he has three choices: Door #1 opens to a pit of fire and brimstone, where sinners burn for eternity. No thanks. Door #2 opens to a sheer cliff off which sinners must leap, smashing on the rocks below for eternity. Another no thanks. Door #3 opens to a vast sea of shit where sinners stand waist-deep in offal and feces.
The Surprise Ending To The Joke From Hell
It smells horrid; however, they’re drinking coffee and eating doughnuts. The new guy figures he’ll get used to the smell. He tells the devil he’ll take the third choice. He wades it out. A demon flies down and hands him his coffee and doughnut. He takes his first bite and is washing it down when a booming satanic voice announces, “Attention, sinners, your bicentennial coffee break is over . . . back on your heads.”
Sinners we might be, but at least we escaped that fate. Still, it felt like punishment. It was a long, tedious job; as the saying goes, you have to take it one cup, one plate, one table at a time. We didn’t finish until after three. As we worked, I heard snippets of stories, ribald BDSM escapades. I realized I had lucked out with a newbie couple, the Downings, who were essentially clueless and asked me to show them the ropes. More about that in a moment.
As we finished up in the barn, the other male subs told me they had been promised that they would be back in Alexandria by eight p.m., so there was speculation on what might be in store for us between now and a probable round-up at five p.m.
Cleaning The BDSM Dungeon
Well, there was something in store for us: we were sent back to our respective cabins, now vacated, to clean them from top to bottom. Slapping a rattan cane in the palm of her hand, Mistress Charlotte told us to expect a white-glove inspection when we were finished. If we did not meet her standards, we would be punished before loading the truck for the ride home.
Still wincing from the lashing I endured at Mistress Hunter’s hand while stud-servicing Lillian, I was in no mood for corporal punishment. I threw myself into cleaning, and had the bedroom, bathroom and living room spotless in an hour. The kitchen had barely been used, so that was quick work, ten minutes.
That left the dungeon, an unfinished basement under the kitchen and bedroom, with cement walls, a ceiling of floor joists and plywood, a crossbar hanging from one joist for suspended bondage, a utility washbasin and toilet in the corner, with a large, double-door metal locker stocked with every imaginable toy for kinky play—rattan canes, chains, crops, dildos, floggers, riding crops, strapon cocks, whips, you name it. (Of course, the locker was padlocked when the cabin rented for vanilla weddings).
A Night With The Downings
It was here that I had introduced Mr. and Mrs. Downing to serious BDSM play. Surveying the room, I saw that I had a major cleaning job ahead of me. I was set to work, my mind flashing back to the events that had transpired to create such a mess. Most of it was not my doing; the Downings had obviously engaged in some hard-core play after I left the room. Good for them, I thought, since they had started from essentially zero.
The biggest challenge with the Downings was that as a couple, they had no obvious polarity; they had yet to determine who was the top and who was the bottom. It fell to me to help them figure it out. As first, I was at a loss. Should I let them practice on me? I realized that wouldn’t work, since they didn’t even know the rudiments of BDSM.
Finding Out Their Natural Roles
I decided I would assume the role of top, with Mrs. Downing (Doris) the first bottom, coaching Mr. Downing (William) as her top, and then reversing the roles, making William the bottom, coaching Mrs. Downing as his top. I had an intuition about who might be the more dominant, but hoped they would organically gravitate to their natural roles on their own.
I found that the time I had spent as Dabney’s bull helped. It was not that hard to tell William to stand in the corner and observe. First, I blindfolded his wife, and then slowly, sensuously, I stripped off her gown, bra and panties, leaving her standing naked, trembling in high heels. I cuffed her wrists to the overhead suspension bar, and lifted it up so that she was forced up on her toes, just slightly higher than she naturally stood in her heels. Next, I cuffed her ankles and snapped them to a spreader bar.
Admiring The Beautiful Woman In Front Of Me
I stepped back and admired for a moment: she was a beautiful woman, a little extra padding but curvy in all the right places, with voluptuous breasts. I exchanged a glance with William, nodding with appreciation—he had a beautiful wife. He smiled back at me. Fist bump. I proceeded.
I stepped behind her and cupped her breasts, pressing my bare chest against her back, letting her feel my hard-on, barely contained by the leather pouch that I pressed against her ass. She shuddered; her breath came in short, sharp gasps. I whispered in her ear, told her to breathe slow and deep. I slid my hands down her belly to her crotch, glided my fingers into her cunt. She was dripping wet.
I looked over at William and put a finger to my lips, then waved him over to join me. I stepped back, motioning him to fondle her. While he got busy with his hands, I selected a flogger and stood in front of her, held the strands under her nose. “This is a buffalo hide flogger, Doris, inhale the scent,” I told her. For a moment she was confused, processing that it was her husband’s hands caressing her body, and me standing before her. She inhaled in the scent.
“Have you ever been flogged before, Doris?” “No,” she replied. I stepped back and gave her breasts a brisk swat with the flogger. She flinched. “That’s, ‘No sir,’ Doris,” I corrected her. “Now say it.” “No, sir,” she replied apologetically. I swatted her again, this time a little harder. “Rate that, Doris.” “I beg . . . I beg your pardon, sir?” “I said, rate it. Rate it from one to ten, Doris. How hard was the blow?”
“Uh . . . a five, sir.” “Very well.” I motioned William to step back. I began flogging his wife, first her breasts and stomach, then circling around to her backside, her plump, heart-shaped rear and remarkably well-muscled back. From time to time I would have her rate the blows, gradually homing in on the 7 to 8 range.
Of course, all this was exactly as Mistress Hunter had done to me. I realized she had made me an expert, whether I had realized it or not. Once I had Doris dialed in and panting in the throes of sexual arousal, I handed the flogger to her husband and let him have a try. He was tentative, and not very enthusiastic. More importantly, I saw that his cock was limp in his pants—no sign of a bulge. As I suspected.
Aching To Be Fucked
I took the flogger and resumed flogging Doris, who was moaning with pleasure, obviously heating up, aching to be fucked. I whispered into her husband’s ear that he should strip off his pants and get ready to fuck his wife. Condoms in the locker. Lowering the suspension bar, I put her down on her hands and knees and continued to flog her. William stripped off his pants and underwear, but I saw he was completely limp, his dick a noodle. I, on the other hand, was bursting out of my cock pouch, my dick pushing uncomfortably out like a python escaping the tent.
A delicate moment . . . Doris ached to be fucked, but her husband clearly wasn’t up to the task. Command decision: I pointed to the wall, and dutifully, he stepped back to watch. I unsnapped the cock pouch and freed my throbbing member, grabbed a condom from the locker, slid it on. Looking over at William, who watched transfixed, I pointed to my cock, and then to Doris. He nodded approval.
Time For Some Role Reversal
Just as I suspected, they both wanted this . . . this, and maybe more. I took Mrs. Downing hard, from behind, fucking her doggy style until she screamed with an orgasm. To my amazement, I found I couldn’t join her; I had spent myself earlier in the day, and even as aroused as I was, there simply wasn’t an orgasm left in me. Interesting. First time for everything, I guess.
When we had finished, I had Mrs. Downing lay down on her belly. I gave her a gentle back massage and removed her wrist and ankle cuffs. She relaxed into the floor. I looked over at her husband; he still stood obediently against the wall. I leaned over, put my mouth to Doris’ ear, and whispered, so that only she could hear me, “Thank you, Mrs. Downing, that was a privilege. And now I suspect that you would like to try a role reversal, perhaps try dominating your husband? Is that right?”
The Moment A Woman Discovers She Is Dominant
She turned her head and looked me in the eye. “He couldn’t get it up, could he?” I shook my head with the faintest of motions. “No ma’am.” “Coming here tonight was his idea,” she said. “I think he wants to be fucked—fucked by a woman. Could you show me how to do that, Mr. Green?” “Yes.” “But first I want him strung up and helpless like I was,” she said. “I want to whip his sorry ass until he screams like a little girl. Will you show me how to do that, too?” “Of course, Mrs. Downing.”
I’ll spare you the details, as I’m sure the reader is familiar with that erotic, fearsome moment when a woman finds her feminine power and discovers that she enjoys dominating her man. Leave it to say, Mr. and Mrs. Downing got their money’s worth before the night was through. And then some. Me, I got to clean up their mess.
Next: The Price of Love