I am trying to write about my most recent experience playing in public with Sir. It’s hard, because it was so intense. There’s so much to write about. Where we are as a couple- just that part is a (very serious, not so horny) post on its own. It’s been difficult recently, very difficult. We have both lost our mothers within the last two months, and that shit will test a bond, you know?
But when our relationship is at its hardest the quickest way for us to reconnect is in play, preferably public. It takes us both to such a space of forgetfulness and escapism, and even in a room with dozens of people it feels like just the two of us. Even when he’s pushing me to perform, to smile or stay silent as he beats me, even as he’s humiliating me, on one level it’s just us. We move together and dance and kiss deeply, croon and laugh and exchange endearments, and it’s just us.
At the same time, on Saturday, there was a new edge to things. He is making me a collar, and I am over the fucking moon at the idea of wearing it, but have been dying to know what it would be like to be led around on a leash by him for ages. In the pocket of his trousers he had a little roll of baler’s twine, a long thin blue plastic strand, which he tied around my neck, loosely enough to be safe. I followed him up and down the stairs, my arms cuffed behind my back, naked except for a tiny black lace thong and black rubber heels, with the leather strap of my handmade whip hanging from between my teeth.
Every now and again he would loop the twine around a coatpeg and tell me to stand still as he beat my breasts with the hard leather. If I moved too far forward the twine would be too tight around my neck; if I reared back I would bump into the hard metal coat book. When he had his fill for the moment of this joyous jeopardy he attached hairpins to my nipples and twisted them savagely until I cried out for mercy.
My favourite thing was when he bent me over at the waist and led me around by the hair, walking me to the toilet where he sat me on the loo and unzipped his trousers, pulling out his hard cock for me to suck. Then while he peed he had me stand at the toilet door, with its busted lock and frosted glass window panes, and stand with my pink bruised tits pressed to the glass, serving as his doorstop so no one would push their way in. On the other side of the door a man laughingly pretended to grope my breasts, and I felt like such a delicious, hopeless little object.
This club allows fucking in the dungeon, and while he’s not particularly into the idea of public sex, he knows I am. At one point he asked if I was ready for a cocksucking break, and led me on my twine leash to a corner where we found a gurney. He lay on his back and undid his trousers, and I sucked his cock and licked his balls, for a while desperately trying to find a comfortable position in which to do so and then giving that up as a bad job and accepting that this was probably not going to be me at my most elegant, but that I was probably proving watchable nonetheless.
I knew that there were several angles from which I could be seen, that when I bent over my thong was small enough to show off most of my cunt, that my breasts were swinging with each bob of my head. And while it wasn’t much of an extra turn- on for him, it was a moment for me- a first, somewhat awkward, somewhat uncomfortable, still glorious glimpse of that long aspired- to state: unashamed sluttiness.
He knows what I want- to be used, in public, in front of an audience. Just as much as I have come to realise my desire to be humiliated and degraded and hurt in front of watching eyes, I have always known on some level that my exhibitionism had as its logical extension a desire to be witnessed by strangers getting fucked. I don’t know if that’s something he’ll ever be up for doing himself, but it’s a sincere hope of mine that he’ll one day at least see fit to share his property and let that sharing be seen.
Later, in the early hours of the morning, he and I lay on the sofa watching a man tonguing and fingering another. He lazily struck at my right thigh with the leather strap while a man to my left stroked and fondled my breasts. After a pause I asked if he would hit my arse with his belt, and he had my lie on my front and pull my knickers down. With every stroke I felt myself get wetter between the legs, until the last, when the leather wrapped around my hips agonisingly. He pulled me to a sitting position, hugged me, and ordered me to get dressed. We walked out into the warm night air, and an hour later were in bed, curled around each other, breathing each other’s breath.