Carousel Maidenbow - 2nd part of Third diary entry Friday 11th January 2013
8.25pm Annabelles bar, Lower Rooms, Central Brighton
Weight 8 stone 2 (need to pee)
Alcohol units 41
Orgasms 2
Coffee 5
Carbs 19 (not inc alcohol)
Steps 1702 (watch obviously on the blink)
Regrets connected to boss Marianne 18
Inside the Dungeon the music was muted and temperature cold. Other than a few black candles that sat ensconced in the walls, the room was dark. They’d filled it with objects, wand massagers, restraints of all sizes, gags, collars, electro sex wands, various coloured dildos and clamps.
We swallowed hard, our eyes falling on two ceiling swings. Something that looked like old gym equipment and a commode with a small platform beneath it. ‘Urgh’.
A blonde woman in a rubber mask and a kilt crossed the chambers metal floor, heels echoing, she was completely naked her slender toned body bathed in flickering orange light, a rosary swung between her small breasts, she took Claude’s hand and led her away towards a set of wooden stocks, a whip trailing the floor behind her.
Beth was with the woman in red heels who was nudging an enormous dildo against her thigh. Fingers fumbling with the zipper on the front of the black woman’s outfit. Beth threw back her head porn star style as the client poured vodka across her chest. They commenced to lick it off her tits. ‘Set fire to it” we thought ‘That’d surprise her’.
A little dog scampered across and plopped itself next to, tail wagging.
“Hi,” we said. It glanced up, body trembling, and we were about to bend to pet it when the figure of Countess Aulendof teetered over, her aged sinewy chest on display. “Bose Manfred,” she snapped. “Bose!” grasping up the animal and berating it in hushed German.
We caught sight of Marianne through the gathering. Sat on a big throne and sucking on her vape, looking aloof. “Cow,” we snarled shaking. For a second, we contemplated turning and leaving, but noticed that we were being watched.
The German woman stood by the far wall, her hair falling across her shoulders. Breasts heaving beneath a tight leather bodice, she strode across the chamber atop high boots. Interrupting the candle flames that danced for a second as she passed, the light playing on her olive skin. “I want you over there,” she instructed, the words “Schones Madchen” could be heard.
Guiding me to a space by Mariannes ‘bitch throne’, we obliged, facing the wall padding. We saw that the Blonde woman had Claude bent over in the wooden stocks and was lubing up her arse greedily, and Beth was on her knees, a huge rubber dick being forced into mouth in mock fellatio. We decided to leave. ‘fuck this’, we decided. But the big German held our shoulders gently.
“Do you mind if I blindfold her?” She was looking at Marianne and indicating the silk scarf. Marianne could see our panic and so said she would do it.
She inquired if we were alright, but I couldn’t catch our breath enough to speak. Marianne removed our mask and untied the knot.
“I, I’m not sure I can d, do this Marianne, I’m sorry,” I stuttered, and she stopped.
She asked the client to give her two minutes.
“You wanna bale?” she touched our cheek. “If you do, it’s fine” eyeing the other girls antics, reassured us “I’ve said penetration is not an option,” she held our gaze. “But we can call it off, you don’t have to be embarrassed, I can just walk you out. It’s ok“
I glanced over, catching Violet kissing the old countess lightly, and smoothing the old woman’s hair, the little dog licking her cheek. The scene was so Rated PG it calmed me. “No, I’m fine, a bit overwhelmed that’s all. “
“Ok” she smiled, and smoothed a hand down my arm “I’ll see you in a minute,” she smiled sweetly before soft fabric covered our eyes. She’d obviously forgiven me for my earlier outburst.
Then we were blind. Marianne’s warm hand graced our face, and she was gone. I listened to the sounds of the room, our other senses heightened. Heels clattering on metal, the scent and creak of leather, the sound of wet kissing and the sharp scent of sweat. Someone Beth probably was gagging and a low moan followed the rhythmic slapping of flesh. The client’s bodice grazed our backside. She was allowing the tension to build, and we had to admit; it was kinda nice. She tugged at the cords of my basque, loosening it until it fell open and our breasts dropped slightly. Her cold hands cupping them, thumbs teasing our nipples.
Hair brushed against us. “I love your body,” she hissed into our ear.
I shuddered, our pulse quickening as she pressed into me, forcing me into the wall padding. We made little fists, battling mild panic.
“Shhh my little bird,” she soothed, stroking our hair. “I won’t hurt you”. There was the an unbuckling sound. Our arms lifted and wide straps tightened across each wrist.
“Comfortable?” Came a voice.
I wiggled my fingers, embarrassed by my feelings of fear and excitement. From time to time, she touched our waist and cooed in German. “I’ll pull my strokes, she’ll be ok” she must have been addressing Marianne.
“Had she expressed a concern?” I wondered and thought “Strokes?”. Heels were walking to the right. Something unhooked and slapped the ground, and then a trailing sound.
There was an excruciating wait and then a whistle and light strap across my buttocks. ‘Oh, that wasn’t too bad,” we mused. The second one stung, and we flinched. Someone near give a light gasp. It must have been Marianne.
The third blow was harder, the whip edge catching the soft skin of our legs. Another lash stung, and we cried out, more out of surprise than hurt. The German was there in seconds, touching where it hurt, whispering strange words. She kissed our neck, and slid the whip up and down our body, the long strands rubbing against the honeyed wetness of our underwear. She slapped at my buttocks, and squeezed them harder, her breathing becoming louder, more insistent.
“She’s a dream,” she announced.
We frowned. “A dream? We’d done nothing but stand here like an idiot”
She grunted and there was a singing through the air, it struck hard. We screamed out, this time in actual pain. But it was oddly exhilarating. She was there in an instant to soothe “Du bist so sexy” - We understood that. The fabric of Mariannes thrown creaked and she hushed a low, “Caris are you ok?”
“Yes, fine. AGAIN,” I barked to the German who was squeezing my arm gave a low rumbling laugh.
A faint hiss and another strike. I cried out, imagining the red marks that were growing on my skin. This was honest, raw, inner pain exposed on flesh. This was socially acceptable self harm, I liked it.
Again the whip fell, over and over. Our wrists turned in the straps, the leather squeaking. Another blow curled up our thigh, cutting tender skin and we yelped, legs buckling. Not wishing to appear weak, we corrected our balance.
A faint conversation in German started up, Mariannes tone had a level of urgency and the client appeared to be arguing her case. We strained to listen in case we could make anything out, but Beth was moaning ‘Fuck me yes oh fuck’ and someone we supposed Claude was making a high pitched keening noise as a paddle slapped.
Suddenly we were aware of a little wet tongue on our leg, and fur against our shin. “Christ, it’s the dog. it can smell honey”. We tried to shake it off, lifting our knees and glancing over our shoulder in the direction of anyone who might be looking for it. “Shooo.. go.. naughty…Marvin…” ‘Argh what was the things name” we twisted in the straps, obviously looking ridiculous. Beth would be kicking herself she didn’t have her iPhone.
The German arrived and the dog left.
There was a trickling on our leg. “Was it blood?” At this juncture, I really hoped so.
“Your boss is worried about you, vogelchen” the German cooed.
“Is she?” We imaged Mariannes flushed cheeks.
“Luckily, I have many games we can play that don’t call for whips?” The word ‘Whips’ sounded deeply erotic, and she grazed cheek with her lips “You still want to play with me?” She asked, fingertips brushing over what we guessed were raw red welts. Her touch made me flinch. We nodded, and she cooed a low “Das ist gut”.
‘God, I didn’t even know we liked German,’ I considered ‘this evening was turning out to be Vunderbar.’
“Kann ich Klemmen am Karussell Verwenden?” She was asking Marianne. We wished we could see her expression. It had to be something filthy. “Is this how you saw this panning out, Marianne?” We thought.
Something removed from the wall, her fingers slide down over our crotch, lingering on a now expansive wet patch. Then our basque released, fell and underwear slid down over our heels. We were naked.
Our heart fluttered as her hair graced our back. “Omg fuck me you sexy bitch,” my brain screamed. Her warm mouth kissing skin and fingers kneading into the underside of our buttocks, pulling us open. Her hot breath on our ass. I wanted her inside it. ‘She was actually going to make me cum, and Marianne had to watch. An unexpected bonus.’
But something pressed at the lips of our cunt and there was a tugging sensation. A little nip, but not unpleasant, more weird. Something bumped against our inner thigh, bump - bumpity - bump.
Her fingers were at our waist again, breath at our cheek. We turned, opening our mouth and hoping she would respond, she did. Kissing us deeply and moaning as she pressed against us, making the weights swing.
“God, you’re like Caramel,” she sang, her fingers running through our hair, gripping it. We were so wet, our head reeling as she pulled at the delicate skin of our clit. She pushed her tongue so far into my mouth, she almost made me wretch. She was excited and boundaries were being crossed. “Do you taste this good all over?” She panted.
“Why don’t you get on your fucking knees and find out!,” we snarled and she drew back a fraction. There was a long where we feared we’d overstepped. But seconds later, she was sliding down the wall. Lowering herself, her black mane against our stomach. She lifted each leg over her strong shoulders. Lips kissing gently at our skin.
As her face buried deep between our legs, we moaned and strained against the leather straps. Rocking forward into her face, the weights pulled us open wider; we gasped. We guessed she was fingering herself, breathy words of German being swallowed by our cunt.
The hard tip of her tongue tickled at our clit hood as her big, hot lips mouthed. She sucked hungrily at our warm wetness; pressing in deeper. The flavour was driving her crazy. Guess she likes honey, we surmised, groaning as our cunt twitched around her long tongue.
The orgasm when it came seemed to last forever. The tingling heat racing through our leg muscles, causing them to stiffen and contract. We pulled at the restraints and bellowed, a sound not something we had expected, and the chihuahua yipped. The sound came again and a wetness gushed, our host gasped and gobbled it down.
We hung there limply, arms aching, the spasms coursing. She kissed the inside of our thighs, she licked long strokes over our swollen cunt, making us flinch. Then, out of the blue, she hugged us. Her brawny arms gripped around our waist. She kissed at our belly and pulled us in harder. Muttering more words we didn’t understand, but that we guessed Marianne did.
Moments later, the scarf removed. We smiled at her. She was an extremely handsome woman, strong jaw and dark brown eyes. A detailed tattoo decorated the length of one arm and we stroked it, fascinated by the intricate weaving lines.
Cheeks glistening, she undid the restrains; she looked flushed and had a sparkle in her eyes that had not been there before. The deep flavours of honey and cunt on her lips as she kissed us. She cupped our face and smiled. “You’re a dangerous one, Caramel Karussell,” Then saying a courteous thank you to Marianne, like she’d been given instructions to the lavatory, left.
We caught the resentment in Beth’s face, her lipstick smeared clownishly. Claude was busy counting out what looked to be a stack of fifties. The Countess was smiling thinly, settling an exquisite necklace around Violet’s slender neck, the girl gave a shriek of surprise ‘the one we’d heard her practice in the bathroom about a million times’, and clasping the woman’s shaking hand, planting a dramatic kiss to her papery cheek. ‘How many precious heirlooms ended up around the necks of whores? We thought. And amused ourselves by trying to guess where it might have been hidden during the occupation.
Staring down, I found a thin trail of blood on my thigh, and taking a tissue from a hostile-looking Marianne. Spat and dabbed at the little graze. Bending to pick up my basque I winced, my body ached all over. Marianne snatched it up, refusing to meet my gaze and helped me dress.
Tightening the ribbons at the back roughly, she adjusted the scarf around my neck. Then, catching my gaze, handed me a card. “Here!”
I frowned. “What’s this?”
She snarled, “You can read, can’t you!” and marched off towards the exit. “And eat something. You look fucking emaciated.”
I stared at the embossed card and wonder. The name on it read - Clara Von Furstenberg - Conceptual Artist. Soho.