An Account of Sundry Adventures
In other areas of the house too, water was seeking its own level. Amiable acquaintances who knew of each other’s scene interests but had never played together, as well as a collection of friendly exes, began pairing up, forming three ways or quartets in every room in the house.
William Random lingered in the rose sitting room, somewhat melancholy after Laura left him without agreeing to a definite future play date. The insatiable Marion Craig happened past the open door on her way back from her adventure with Ambrose Bartlett in the exam room and paused to chat with William. Within three minutes, they were locking the door and Marion was going down on her knees to him. She had been on her knees a good deal that night, but they were strong, well exercised knees and she enjoyed nothing more than testing their limits in this manner.
Tonight Marion was finally getting what she had dreamed about for years, her own private Chateau Roissy, full of good looking, well-endowed men who were happy to thrash her and use her at the first invitation. She had been to many BDSM parties and support groups over the past dozen or so years, but they had always been painfully light on attractive male tops. These men were not only good looking, but they wore beautifully cut suits, a sight to gladden her sensibilities. And not one of them was asking her to spank them, which was a great relief to her, as she had no interest in playing mommy. Her fantasy was to be used as a sexual resource, by as many men as any particular evening could reasonably hold. She didn’t need to go to this type of excess all the time. Once a month was sufficient, with a random Friday evening pick up to take the edge off the other three weeks. She did belong to swingers clubs in both Manhattan and Boston, and there were virile men to choose from, but not the spanking kind.
This had been the perfect party. She’d begun it with the satisfying scene in the Ball and Feather with college boy Colby. After the tire-changing incident, Hugo invited Colby to shower and change into clean clothes at his house while he escorted Marion to the party. It was the first time that Hugo and Marion had met. In June, while on his honeymoon with Laura in Italy, Hugo had left Amanda and Colby in charge of the New Rod magazine editorial office. They had divided up the duties and it fell to Colby to answer the reader correspondence. This happened to be the month Marion discovered The New Rod Quarterly and she wrote both as a new fan and a frustrated female submissive. She and Colby began emailing and soon a meeting was arranged. Marion frankly admitted to Hugo that at first she took Colby for a hustler and was ready to pay him for spanking and servicing her. That turned out not to be necessary but once she was hooked on a spanking man, it was difficult to think about anyone or thing else. So Amanda had suggested that Colby bring her into the Random Point circle. And most recently, there was talk of her working at the club. Just to burn off some of her surplus sexual energy. It wasn’t about the money. She made sufficient money for her needs as an attorney. Though of course, she could always use more Louboutins.
Once she was in the car with Hugo, Marion confided that she had gotten every available back issue of his magazine and read them voraciously all summer. She was on fire to play with the editor of that publication, and the sooner the better. Being Hugo, he drove Marion to his shop in the village, took her back to his lounge and spanked her. He did not, however, accept her offer of oral sex. Marion was very attractive but Hugo was newly married to the woman he had been pursuing for years and in any case, blow jobs didn’t make his world go round. He told Marion to behave and took her to the party.
At the party, Marion had first enjoyed a thorough schoolroom discipline scene with David Lawrence, which had in fact ended in her servicing the teacher. Then, after the smallest of snacks and a couple of flutes of champagne, she joined Ambrose Bartlett in the sexy exam room, where he strapped her, she gave him head and then let him sodomize her. Not only had it been a divine scene, but he had also given her allowance, being under the impression that she was already a club girl there. Marion had never been paid for going submissive to a man before and the sensation was thrilling.
At the very end of the evening, she walked by the open door of the rose parlor and saw William there. She never hesitated a moment in telling him her fantasy, which was to be thrashed for not giving good enough head. Nor did William hesitate a moment in accepting the offer. Up until then, he had been enjoying the evening, happy in the praise he was receiving from everyone on the job that he and his crew had done in restoring the house and making it club ready. But something had been missing. Some form of illicit excitement. He had sought to kindle it with his ex-wife, Laura, but she had put him off. Marion wasn’t Laura, but she was an entirely new submissive girl and apparently her boundaries were non-existent. He could only see this small interlude as a gift to make up for the previous disappointment. And everyone likes a gift.
In her glittering metallic gown, platinum blonde Polyxena Guzman, owner of the Random Point gym and mistress of department store owner Ambrose Bartlett, strolled through the party with an ease and lack of self-consciousness that indicated how much at home she had come to feel amidst her new scene friends in her adopted country. The former Dutch mistress had made a pact with Ambrose regarding their mutual behavior during the evening. He would be escorting his new wife, Pamela and although Pamela was aware of and not hostile to the relationship that had recently developed between himself and Polyxena, Ambrose told Polyxena he would not be asking her to play that evening and Polyxena agreed to pretend that their romance did not exist. By now she knew Ambrose Bartlett well enough to know that he would be more interested in spending the bulk of the party with the new women who would be visiting for the evening only anyway. At any rate, this left her free to please herself. Feeling hyper alpha in the magnetic dress, Polyxena looked around for a pretty boy or man to dominate. She fixed on Anthony’s man Friday, Dennis Cowper, as the young man passed her in the hall carrying a tray of wine and glasses into another room. She waited in the hall until he came out and quite consciously extended her extremely pretty foot, shod in a pair of bejeweled five inch stiletto pumps, ever so slightly, and then met his eyes. The English boy’s blue eyes met the Dutch siren’s blue eyes and he quivered all over. Polyxena knew her little village and all of its scene gossip by now. And she knew very well that Anthony Newton’s man was a foot fetishist.
She led him back to the terra cotta salon, which was vacant, and locked the door behind them. They spent a half hour within, with Dennis down on his knees to Polyxena, taking her shoes off, touching her feet, adoring them and herself. She didn’t give him permission to lick, kiss or suck her toes, but held these favors in reserve for their next meeting, when she said he was to book a proper session with her here at the club, the next time his master brought him back to the village. And then, paradoxically, because she was utterly charmed by the polite English boy, she bent over a console table and encouraged him to raise her skirt and now worship her bottom through the sheer panty hose she had on. Under the pantyhose Polyxena wore gold lace panties, which she allowed him to lower so that he might have full access to her fair charms.
Since Dennis was only slightly into his thirties, he was fully prepared for this type of adventure, and had a condom in his hand as soon as she made the sweetly breathless suggestion that he carry on now however it suited him to. He had primed her with his tongue and now he produced a strapping hard-on to continue pleasuring her with. He wanted it to be all for her, but the excitement was too much and he feared he came too soon. But Polyxena was pleased. It gave her control over him. She ended the scene then and there, promising that the next time would be even more delightful.
After having been paid homage to by the handsome Dennis, who left her flustered and covered in blushes, Polyxena refreshed herself with champagne, in the company of Marguerite Alexander Flagg, when the two ladies met in the lounge. Polyxena confided about what had just transpired between herself and Dennis and Marguerite confessed that she too had been thinking about topping someone that night, her golden gown being just too elegant to go over someone’s lap in. And anyway, she had little desire to sub to anyone but her handsome, hard won husband, Michael Flagg. Polyxena suggested that Marguerite do a good deed and take advantage of Dieter being at the party. This was Polyxena’s ex-lover and ex-slave but still the man who was her business partner at the gym and also the popular masseur who had used his strong, clever fingers to relieve the stress of half the women in the room in his professional guise.
Marguerite smiled with approval at the suggestion. She liked Dieter very much but had never played with him. It was an interesting idea. But what did he like? Polyxena told her that Dieter would like whatever she wanted him to like. The girls clicked glasses and Marguerite strode out of the room on her own five-inch heels to track down the Dutch immigrant sub. She found him pacing on the screened porch that faced the woods, smoking a cigarette and moodily contemplating the rain. Marguerite scolded her masseur for smoking a terrible cigarette when he could be smoking wonderful weed and produced a joint from a tiny golden purse. After each taking a few hits, she took him to the room called Cape Cod, at the northwest corner of the house, where there was a whipping post and floggers in a cabinet. She told him she would punish him for smoking tobacco, but it became a highly therapeutic session for the trim, fit and attractive gym owner. Dieter was accustomed to removing stress from his client’s bodies through his fingertips. Marguerite, during her several adventures as a mistress, had learned to provide similar relief to her own submissive male clients through whipping. Every other fetish she also understood, but whipping was her specialty when topping men. She was sure that the European bred Dieter was accustomed to harder and much more explicit usage in a dungeon, but Marguerite liked to whip and that was what his session would consist of and not a jot more. Marguerite might move in close to her captive, to lightly stroke a hard pec topped with an even harder nipple, she might lightly nibble an ear lobe or squeeze a firm buttock, but even when Dieter was stark naked, she affected to barely notice his throbbing erection and touched it not at all. She did know he would have loved for her to have taken it in one of her graceful and capable hands, gloved to the elbow in gold satin, but this was much too good for a slave, even if that slave were the worthy Dieter Brandt. A whipping was what Marguerite was giving out that night and a whipping was all Dieter received, but it was a very good whipping, a cathartic whipping, a whipping that allowed him to feel cared for and appreciated.
Once Polyxena had gotten the toppiness out of her system for the evening, she looked around for something more in line with her current orientation and happily almost immediately locked gazes with Freddie Johanson, one of her first intimate acquaintances in Random Point, and the first American to spank her in her adopted land. Freddie had been looking around in vain for his girlfriend, Alison Albrecht. Polyxena was able to tell him that she had just seen Alison being led into the exam room by Ambrose Bartlett. Bartlett had staked out the exam room as his personal playroom all night. It suited him perfectly, with its adjustable exam table and chair, and cabinets full of new toys in boxes. Ambrose had seen Polyxena looking at him as he drew his latest prey by the hand with him down the hall to the exam room. He had winked at her and she had winked back. She would dine with him the following evening and he would stay with her in the lighthouse all night. For Pamela was leaving first thing tomorrow for Fashion Week in Manhattan and Ambrose was not to join her there for several days.
Freddie looked somewhat worried at the thought of Bartlett with Alison but also relieved to be able to talk freely to Polyxena without his lover in earshot. He was naturally bowled over seeing her in the glittering gown that clove to every inch of her shapely torso like metallic stardust. Polyxena was no sylph like Pamela or Amanda or even Alison, to whom thinness was a mantra. Polyxena was a luscious and voluptuous size 8, albeit slowly and surely being coaxed down to a six by Ambrose Bartlett, who was tiny waist obsessed. She had round arms, a full bosom, strong swimmer’s legs and a firm, plump bottom. Of course her waist was small. She ran a gym and exercised every day. But she loved cream tarts and spaetzle. So she was slim and yet full, lithe and yet round, with more of a 1950’s shape than that a 21st century one. Freddie loved Polyxena’s figure. He was a tall, husky young man who wished his own girlfriend were just a bit juicier too. To Freddie, Polyxena was a goddess of love. She had been kind to him once and seemed inclined to repeat that kindness now. Re-commandeering the terra cotta salon, Polyxena took Freddie by the hand, led him inside and once again, locked the door. Telling him now that she craved a good, long, sound spanking over his monumental lap, she turned her back to him and told him to unzip her from the platinum gown, so as to save it from being destroyed through rough usage. When he had done this, she stood before him in only a tiny lace G-string and her wonderfully high, platinum heels. However, he still managed to be almost a half-foot taller than her and when over his lap, she felt a small girl again.
Meanwhile, back in the exam room, Ambrose Bartlett prepared to devastate his third girl of the night. His adventures had begun with the college coed B&D call girl, Thalia, one of Amanda’s best friends in Boston. He had had his eye on the leggy rebel for some time, but tonight had afforded him his first opportunity to top her. Thalia was a charismatic twenty-year-old beauty, very irreverent and insolently proud of being a playful prostitute. Getting her to talk about herself, he soon discovered that she was nurturing an ongoing passion for Hugo Sands and was anxious for any chance to visit Random Point, either to shoot for his magazine or work at this new club. Ambrose promised to see her whenever she came to the village and gifted her generously for the beating he subsequently gave her. Amanda had told Thalia in detail what she could expect from her first session with Bartlett, who was always awful the first time. So Thalia had made sure to drink three champagne cocktails and smoke herself glassy eyed before going in the exam room with him. The encounter had been mutually satisfactory, with Thalia calling upon her histrionic abilities to temper Bartlett’s severity and actually succeeding where others failed. She cried almost immediately and that worked in her favor.
Bartlett’s next playmate had been the insatiable Marion Craig, whose appetite for corporal punishment and rough sex amazed even Ambrose. His harsh style of discipline enchanted Marion, who finally found what she was looking for when she initially wrote to the New Rod Quarterly and Colby answered her letter. When she told Ambrose Bartlett to treat her like a slut, he didn’t question the gift. Wearing his belt out on her and then having her sink to her knees before him was like Christmas morning for the well-dressed sadist who had been kept in check more or less by the sensitive submissive girls of Random Point for years.
And then came the final gift of the night, Alison Albrecht, that slim and nervous girl who he had been watching as an interesting store patron her entire life. Initially he sat behind the consulting desk, with Alison in the patient’s chair as they conversed.
“We’ve never formally met,” he said, “but I’ve known of you and your family for years. In fact your father was the principal of my junior high school when you were born.”
“Please don’t hold that against me,” said Alison with a faint smile. She was a slender brunette of medium height, well dressed in a pleated skirt, wool blazer and white shirt, her pretty feet shod in oxblood stack heeled brogues and her legs hosed to the knee in clocked stockings.
“I’ve been working at Bartlett’s since I was a kid, sometimes part time, sometimes full time, during the summers. Your mother was a regular shopper. She would come in every other Saturday without fail. Your first ballet slippers, your first riding boots, your graduation and prom dresses, were all selected at my store, under your exacting mother’s watchful eye. She was a very fashionable woman. Is she enjoying her retirement in Florida?”
“Yes, and thank you for remembering her,” said Alison, greatly surprised by Bartlett’s affability and warmth.
“My condolences on your father’s passing,” Bartlett adding.
She looked at him and said, “Thank you, but if he was your principal, you can probably figure out how I felt about him.”
“Him being your father almost makes me want to spare you more punishment,” Ambrose said.
“But not quite?”
“Well, seeing as you’re so cute, with that little waist, no.”
All his girls tonight had had small waists. Marion had been downright scrawny, which he found very attractive. Ambrose traced the origins of his fascination with delicate waists to his extreme childhood. From his toddlerhood, he was brought to Bartlett’s, to play in the stock room of the lingerie department where his smart Aunt Clary was the manager. Even though it was the late 1970’s, foundation garments still had their own section of the elegant lingerie department and the very young Ambrose saw many a young matron come out into the hall of the dressing room to view her torso reflected in the biggest three way mirror. He was especially riveted by the ladies with the smallest waists. And then, one Christmas, before he was quite six years old, he witnessed a tiny scene before the lingerie department, where the loveliest new negligees were displayed on mannequins. This department was the jewel of Bartlett’s, a perfumed bastion of silk, nylon, velvet and lace, edged with armoires full of challis, voile, cashmere and the finest embroidered Italian cotton sleepwear, and filled with every dainty garment designed to cling closely to or float about the bare skin of a woman or girl.
The scene that Ambrose witnessed was of a handsome young businessman, escorting a young beauty who was obviously his girlfriend or wife around the store. As they paused before a mannequin clad in a luxurious cashmere robe trimmed with fur, the pretty girl pressed closer to her man and expressed an interested in the expensive dressing gown. She insisted in trying the robe on. The young man scolded her roundly, telling her that she knew very well he couldn’t afford to spend that much money on her. She pouted and seemed to refuse to take the becoming robe off. She looked at herself in the mirror and preened until he warned her that if she continued behaving like a brat he’d have to spank her. She stuck her tongue out at him and he responded by turning her under his arm, the cashmere robe snugly outlining the shape of her trim bottom, and administering five or six sharp but by no means severe spanks. She protested indignantly and when he allowed her to regain her footing, her face was pink with embarrassment. She took off the robe and stamped her foot at her boyfriend, who laughed at her and led her by the hand into the lingerie department to buy her a gown set for a hundred instead of nine hundred dollars.
From that day on, Ambrose Bartlett was not only fixated on women with dainty figures, but on spanking their bottoms. And he had also noticed how much the idea of wearing a cashmere robe had excited the spankable lady. After noticing this he began to be aware of the way in which shopping seemed to affect the moods of women, how they seemed to move in a dream world, yet hone in on exactly the colors and shapes that interested them the most and flush with pleasure as they did, as though they had unexpectedly met with a favorite lover. He studied those colors and shapes and remembered them years later, when he began to go on buying tours with the buyers for Bartlett’s. The lessons he took away were multiple, that new clothes made girls happy, that when girls were happy, they were flirtatious and sexual susceptible, and that the clothes that made them the happiest were always the ones that made them look the smartest, sleekest and sexiest. Thus his fetishes entwined with his managerial career at the store, which came entirely under his control while he was still in his early thirties.
“Do you still work at Braemar?” Ambrose asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you good friends with my ex-wife?
“Yes, Paula and I are best friends.”
“Oh!” he was startled. “Best friends, is it?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t we be? We have lunch together every day.”
“I suppose you’ll be telling her about whatever we do in this room together tonight?” Ambrose asked.
“Should I not do that?” Alison replied.
“Do you usually confide your adventures to Paula?”
“I don’t usually have adventures. This is the first big spanking party I’ve ever been to.”
“Have you played with anyone so far?”
“Yes. David Lawrence.”
“That’s good. Hope has been trying to convince him that this is a nice place to work. So the more perks he gets off the club, the better.”
Alison smiled to think of herself as a perk.
“Who are you seeing?” he asked.
“Freddie Johanson. He works at Braemar too.”
“Good match for you?” Ambrose asked.
“Yes, he’s a darling man.”
“But tonight is for being crazy, right?”
“Sure, why not?” Alison replied, excited to be with the sophisticated Bartlett, in spite of his reputation as a severe spanker.
“Don’t worry, it won’t be anything bad. I have too much compassion for you being raised by Lionel Albrecht to want to punish you anymore. But have you ever been forced to orgasm?”
“Forced to orgasm, how?”
“We’re in an exam room and that cabinet is full of anal probes, vibrators, dildos, lube, all factory sealed. You see where I’m going with this?”
“It sounds so very explicit,” Alison reflected.
“I know. But what do you expect people to think of when you dress like that? Whenever I fantasize about playing doctor with a girl, she’s dressed preppie.”
“If you plan use all those things on me, don’t worry, I’d be too embarrassed to tell anyone about it, ever. As far as the world is concerned, you will have merely spanked me tonight.”
“It is going to be extreme. As I said, you may even climax. I think it would make you feel more relaxed about the whole thing if I bribed you to accept my proposal. I’m sure you could use a shopping spree at Bartlett’s before the school year commences. Come in tomorrow and pick out a half dozen dresses on me.”
“Seriously?” Alison grinned, delighted at the thought of being bribed to submit to the delicious indignities he was proposing.
“You barely know me, and I have a bad reputation. I want you to be completely at ease. I’ve discovered nothing calms a woman’s anxieties like shopping.”
“You seem so nice. Why did Paula leave you again?”
Ambrose sighed. “Because I pressured her to be skinny for me.”
“Oh, right. I remember. Something about a Christmas torte,” Alison said.
“Ironically, she slimmed down beautifully as soon as she moved in with Sloan,” Ambrose said.
“With me, you’d be a terrible enabler,” Alison said. “I already obsess about my weight. But Freddie couldn’t care less.”
“You know, if you were to submit to a purge tonight, you would probably find yourself a good two pounds lighter tomorrow for trying on clothes.”
“You don’t have to oversell it,” said Alison, getting up to make sure the door was locked. “I’m the assistant comptroller at a high school. I don’t get that much excitement in my life. Anyway, I know my boyfriend has already been bad and come here to play. So, why I shouldn’t I? And it’s okay to be perverse with me. As you say, I barely know you and I’m told these things are always better done with a stranger.”
In one of the powder rooms, Marguerite asked Paula whether she and Sloan might fancy playing as a couple with herself and Michael. It was the end of the evening and Marguerite had drunk enough champagne and talked enough, now she was in the mood to play. She had played with her handsome partner in the bookstore once, years before, but not since. Marguerite took it for granted that Michael would very much enjoy playing with Paula Taylor. Who would not be interested in spanking a good looking, shapely, discreet and charming blonde? Paula grinned at the idea of being spanked by Michael Flagg. She was probably the only lady in the Venus Club who hadn’t played with the tavern owner, but she had fantasized about it.
The girls found Michael and Sloan and put the idea to them. The husbands both nodded in agreement. All the rooms on that floor were currently occupied, but Michael knew the layout of the club well, having installed its security system, and led his wife and friends down to the large, semi-finished basement, currently partitioned into a series of shooting sets. Hugo had been shooting and filming all week there and each of the rooms contained key pieces of furniture and equipment.
Marguerite and Paula discovered an armoire full of leather and a trunk full of boots. They instantly decided to exchange their delicate gowns for snug fitting zip leather dresses with pleated gladiator skirts. Their bejeweled heels were changed for butter soft black leather thigh boots. Emerging from behind their dressing screen in their sexy but sturdy leather outfits, they looked much more playful than when they had gone behind it in their glittering gowns.
No one else came downstairs to intrude upon their private games and the two couples separated after trading up partners, putting whole sets between them, which created an even more private atmosphere at either end of the basement. Marguerite and Paula were both sensitive ladies who were at the moment unwilling to be observed playing. Marguerite loved to show off her own dominant skills in front of an audience, but wasn’t the slightest bit inclined to be watched while slipping into subspace over Sloan Taylor’s elegantly trousered lap. While that was happening, she planned to bury her face in her arms and simply enjoy the sensations rather than worry about playing to an audience. And Paula Taylor was similarly glad that she could give herself up to a sort of well-behaved physical ravishment by the muscular Michael Flagg, without her husband looking on. That would have distracted her to the point of the whole venture being a waste of all their time. Of course she wanted to play with Michael. Every girl did, but in private.