The Society of the Golden Rose
Things have changed.
I’ve been told that learning something new can be a painful experience. For me at least, this seems more true than usual. I learned a lot last weekend, more than I probably wanted or needed to know. Things have changed a lot. But Kari seemed happy with me, with my performance, with my willingness to accept things, and of course for not embarrassing her. Like I would ever do that!
As the cost for one of my more recent sexual escapades in which Kari very kindly assisted, I found myself agreeing to accompany her to a party. Now in general I like parties. There’s usually good food, opportunities to get into mischief of one kind or another, and I usually end up having multiple orgasms. Of course, I’ve been to parties that sucked too, or that ended with me having some rather negative feelings afterward. I remember one truth or dare game at a party that resulted in me and a…
Uh. Never mind. Bad memory.
Kari was invited to a BDSM party, a private social affair for affluent and wealthy people who enjoyed the darker aspects of the lifestyle. But most importantly, it was a lesbian BDSM party. To be honest, I’m surprised Kari was even invited. She doesn’t make a show of possessing Robert, her current (and longest lasting!) boy toy, and while Kari is definitely bi-sexual, her preference for cock is certainly apparent. It’s one of the reasons I was no longer one of her permanent toys. When I asked her about it, she confessed that she was invited because she was presumed to be a lesbian and because she fit in so well with the other ladies.
And that was readily apparent too. In hindsight, I’m glad I was naked and collared and cuffed, because I would have felt so out of place, so uncomfortable, and so awkward in Kari’s shoes. Kari pulled it off though. These women were clients, but also in a way, peers. Kari herself could easily afford to live in an expensive house. Hell, she makes six figures a year. She lives in a luxury condo. On a GOLF Course.
I went with a few preconceptions as well. I went thinking “I’m gonna have fun!” and “I wonder how many times I’m going explode?” I never suspected that I was getting into something that went way beyond a single evening of submission to my best friend. I’ve been Kari’s submissive before. In fact from the age of 15 to 20 I was her friend, lover, and toy. In high school Kari regulated my sexual activities, which is to say I had far more sexually charged moments than MOST high school girls.
Except when I was at home, she chose what I was going to wear, what sex toy I would have up inside me, how often I came, and even who I fucked. And trust me; that was a long list. I had a reputation in high school as a slut, but the key to fucking me wasn’t a flower or chocolates or words. It was getting on Kari’s good side. In college things were much simpler. I lived with Kari. Her father paid for an apartment and I got my first real taste of 24/7 submission. I wasn’t allowed to wear clothes at the apartment. That caused quite a few issues when we ordered pizza and Kari ordered me to answer the door, pay the delivery guy, and tip him. Going to class was a trial as well. Kari had me dress in provocative slutty outfits, knowing that wearing them embarrassed me. Short skirts, sans panties and bra, with tee shirts declaring I was a “porn star in training” or “don’t stare! Touch!” written across my bosom was the norm. Then there was the actual training. She taught me to wear high heels properly, how to sit submissively, how to serve drinks to a master or mistress, how to put condoms on a guy with just my mouth, and how to be considerate of everyone else’s needs first. She taught me to love cumming and she capitalized on those two little quirks that make me a nympho humiliation pain slut. I’m almost always wet, and I cum much much harder when it hurts.
That first year we went to a lot of parties. I was instantly popular. Well… name me a girl who publically fucks beer bottles and then does half the party guests who ISN’T popular? Our second year Kari moved from public spectacles to private ones. She developed a taste for bringing guys back to our apartment where we would torture them sexually, they would torture ME sexually, or we would just have a general ménage a trios that usually left me sore, tired, and very satisfied.
But all good things must come to an end. During the summer between our sophomore and junior years Kari and I decided to end our sexual relationship. Sort of. I moved out. Sure, there were other issues at stake. I’m a bit… disorderly. Kari is obsessive compulsive and a neat freak that would drive anyone banana crackers. I like playing computer games. Kari doesn’t even have a SOCIAL email address, only one for her business. She uses her phone… despite having an iPhone… as a PHONE for god sakes! And ONLY a phone! Kari likes driving fast. I’m more sedate. Kari likes muscular guys with blond hair. My preference is for rugged looks, like hikers and campers – who are wirier. And I like dark hair. You see our issues?
We’re still best friends. We’re still occasional lovers. I still occasionally submit to her sexually. But our relationship is simple and uncomplicated. I’m a submissive who sometimes submits to Kari, and Kari is a dominatrix who sometimes is willing to give me what I want in exchange for something she wants. See the difference here? It’s me and MY wants that are generally first. Granted Kari has Robert, her now somewhat permanent boy toy. I know she prefers guys, just like I do, despite the fact we are both bi-sexual. But sometimes I feel the loss for what I had with Kari and wish we could go back to those days when I was hers, all the time.
Kari picked me up Saturday afternoon at around 3pm. I waved bye to my mother and hopped into Kari’s convertible, sinking into the plush leather seat. The top was down thanks to the nice weather and the breeze blew my auburn hair back over my shoulders. It was amazing. About halfway to the highway, Kari pulled off the road into the parking lot of a closed business and asked me to get dressed. I was more than a little nervous but I got out my bag and moved to the front of the car. Kari likes it when I strip out in the open, despite the fact that no one was around.
I started with my boots and managed to get them off without much trouble. My socks went next and I then went to my middle and pulled up my tee shirt. Kari grinned at me through the windshield as my lace bra came into view and then I was carefully folding my shirt and laying it on the hood. The bra went next of course, because if you’re going to strip in public, you really should give the public as much opportunity as possible to see you. So once my bra joined the shirt and my boobs were bouncing around carefree, I started working on my jeans. It didn’t take long to get those down either and I peeled them off and over my ass. Then I casually stepped out of them. I did a little playful wiggle for Kari dressed in just my panties, a pair of pink (with flowers) bikini style panties that barely covered my ass. She likes that.
Moments later I was naked and pulling out the outfit Kari had asked me to wear. Some of it was old. Some of it was new. I started with the skirt, a black latex rubber mini skirt that fit snuggly at my hips, covered everything up so that I wouldn’t be arrested, but had enough elasticity to withstand a quick removal. I pulled this up with some awkwardness. You try putting on latex sometime and see how easy it is for you to do it. Actually, maybe someone will buy me one of those full body latex cat suits someday. I want to cover myself in grapeseed oil, stuff in the ben wa balls and anal beads, put on the butterfly vibrator and see what happens.
Once the skirt was in place I pulled out my own latex shirt. This was also bought for me by Kari, but several years ago, when we were still in college. I’m much older now… and it’s been about five years. It doesn’t quite fit any more and no matter how I try to smush, mash, compress, or stuff my boobs into the damn thing, I still can’t get it zipped up. The zipper comes up right under my breasts and just sits there, with my entire cleavage on display. It’s ostentatious, though admittedly it does catch the eye. So with just the edges of the shirt covering my nipples, I bent down and started putting on the high heels. Kari, despite never having me buy a set of “stripper shoes”, as I call them, certainly has warmed up to them now that I have a pair. I’m pretty sure though it’s not that she likes me wearing them. She knows that having them on embarrasses me and she likes me thoroughly humiliated like that.
No doubt you’re wondering about Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #1, right? What sex toy I had inside me? I can understand that. That afternoon I had my ben wa balls in. Something simple right? I didn’t want to get things complicated and I knew that if I lost the ben wa balls it wouldn’t cost much to replace them. So with my pussy wet, dressed in black slut latex, I wobbled my way back to the passenger seat.
Yes. I wobbled. No, it’s not because of the shoes. It was because I was walking on gravel! During my freshman year of college Kari had bought me a pair of four inch heels, made me wear them in the apartment, and forced me to walk back and forth across the living room in hour long sessions with her judging every step. A single wobble or trip resulted in an immediate spanking followed by me having to turn up the vibroballs I had stuffed up inside me. Trust me, when you’re trying to focus on HOW to walk in high heels, having two golf ball sized vibrators stuck up inside your pussy, vibrating like mad, doesn’t exactly make things easy. Thank God the sessions were only an hour at a time. My ass was so sore that semester that I sometimes had to take a pillow to class with me.
So I’m relatively used to walking in my platform heels, otherwise knows as my “stripper shoes”, also known as my “fuck me” shoes. Yes. I call them all of those things. Why? Because I hate them. They’re uncomfortable. They make my back and feet hurt. And I look like a two bit whore when I wear them. It’s like hanging a sign around my neck that says “Hey, this girl is good for nothing but fucking!”
Maybe it’s because that sign is half right that bothers me…
I got back in Kari’s convertible and we took off down the road until we got to the freeway. Kari insisted that I spend the time affixing all four leather cuffs to my wrists and ankles followed by the thick and heavy bondage collar I owned. I did as she asked, tilting my head as the collar uncomfortably settled around my throat. Forty windblown minutes later we were in the Woodlands and my eyes were progressively getting bigger and bigger as we went down well paved roads into areas that people like me just don’t go! You should have SEEN the houses! I’m not poor or anything and I grew up being able to buy the clothes I wanted and stuff, as long as it wasn’t name brand labels. Kari always gave me a shopping trip at Christmas when we were teenagers in order for me to get the “Old Navy” shirt I wanted, or the Abercrombie & Fitch halter. Trust me; shopping with Kari is an experience you never forget.
We finally pulled up to a well maintained motorized gate and Kari typed in a code. Wow. A code. All we have at my farm is a mailbox. We drove up this long concrete driveway to the house and I did my impression of a country bumpkin. The damn thing had turrets. Seriously. The corners of the house had fucking turrets! The grass was green. There were flowers and fountains and everything looked so perfect.
The drive way was actually a circle in front of the house with the fountain garden in the center. It was wide as well, in order to facilitate parking and Kari pulled up between a Lexus and another BMW that I’d never be able to afford to drive much less own.
“Now remember, only speak if spoken too,” Kari reminded me as she pulled a leash out of her bag.
“Do you want me to crawl?” I asked nonchalantly. Kari’s eyes flashed dangerously for a moment, but then she smiled.
“Don’t give me a reason to punish you tonight.” The inherent threat in that statement was enough to settle me and I nodded meekly and fell into step behind her as we headed toward the house.
We stepped up onto the porch and Kari rang the bell. A moment later the door opened and I kid you not, an honest to goodness little French maid answered the door.
She was brunette, with close cropped hair, or maybe it was pinned up under the stupid hat or net thingy she was wearing. To my surprise, she wasn’t indecent. The dress was sexy, absolutely, but it wasn’t slutty. I got the feeling the girl in front of me was actually a maid or house servant of some kind. Her actions were too rote to be some submissive girl yielding to another. Kari and I stepped into the foyer and I had to concentrate to keep my jaw from dropping. Overhead was this amazing chandelier and there was a stairway in front of us that lead upstairs.
Did I say stairway? I should say stair highway. Like four lanes. At least. And it was all wood. Don’t ask me what kind. It glowed though. It was easy enough to picture Ms. Little French Maid on her knees polishing the steps while Mistress Davenport hovered, waiting for an opportunity to cane the girl. I glanced at her, wondering if she were wearing panties.
“Kari! It’s so good to see you again!” A thin, graying woman came into the foyer from down the hall and I again had to steel myself. She was handsome. Not pretty. Around late forties or early fifties, Mistress Davenport had short brunette hair and was glittering with jewels. Her fingers sparkled. Her ears sparkled. Her neck really sparkled. Her dress was simple and black and looked elegant. She snapped her fingers once at the little French maid girl who nodded obediently and disappeared. Mistress Davenport embraced Kari in one of those European non-hugs complete with the non-kiss on the cheek. Kari did it expertly and I stiffened at the thought of being next. After a few pleasantries, Mistress Davenport turned toward me, though she still spoke to Kari.
“And whom is this scrumptious morsel?” Davenport asked. It sounded pleasant, but I thought I detected an icy tone underneath.
Kari smiled. “Ellen, this is Breanne.”
She studied me, and not in a good way. It was a hungry look. I’m used to being a sex object, even a desirable one. Mistress Davenport gave me goose bumps. I looked down, not wanting to meet her gaze.
I heard Davenport let out a deep breath. “I see why you are so smitten with her, Kari. She is indeed a beauty. However, I do not allow slave girls the luxury of clothing in my house. She must be stripped, here, now, if she is to remain.” The tone was dark and very strict.
And Kari took it. She didn’t object. She didn’t argue. She just turned toward me. “Strip right now,” she said.
ng to hide my surprise at Kari’s attitude toward Mistress Davenport I immediately unzipped my latex top and bared my breasts. Both nipples puckered under the cool appraising gaze of Mistress Davenport. My skirt went next and my shaven pussy tingled as I stood there, hands to my sides, holding the plastic wardrobe I had just removed. Davenport walked around me, then reached around from behind and cupped my right breast. I stiffened slightly as her fingers pinched at my nipple, tugging it gently, but then with more strength. Slowly the pressure increased until it became a sharp pinch. I withstood it as long as I could, suspecting this was a test. Pain radiated up through my breast and I grit my teeth.
Davenport let go and moved back around in front of me. “Impressive,” she said, reaching out with one hand. Her fingers touched me between the legs and I spread my thighs a bit more to give her unfettered access. Obviously Kari wanted me to be touched by this women. Mistress Davenport stroked my labia, rubbed at my clit with a fingernail, and then inserted a single finger into my dripping cunt. I moaned a bit, but tried to keep it dignified. My eyes were closed as she swirled her knuckles in a circle, grinding against my clit. Instantly I felt the need to orgasm, to cum. And all from being stripped in the foyer by stranger who was finger fucking me.
My God, it felt good.
“What is this?” demanded Mistress Davenport. Kari smiled. “Breanne is required to keep a sex toy inside her at all times in order to facilitate her readiness. She is not allowed to wear the same toy two days in a row, so that she does not become accustomed to the sensations of one particular toy, thus decreasing it’s effectiveness as a stimulation,” Kari explained.
Mistress Davenport felt between my legs again. “I see,” she said. “What a splendid concept! Perhaps we should make that part of our own society’s rules. It’s something to think about.”
Mistress Davenport extracted her hand from between my legs and presented me the sticky juice coated nail. Dutifully I sucked her clean, tasting my own desire, strong and pungent. Davenport smiled and patted my cheek fondly.
“I look forward to her initiation, Kari. You’ve got quite a winner here. The whole circle will enjoy her.”
I blinked but wisely kept my mouth shut. The first thing that went through my mind was “cool! I get to participate in an orgy tonight!” Oh, if only I had known!
venport turned away from us with an imperious gesture and began walking away. Kari followed Davenport. I was a step or two behind Kari. The leash that was still attached to my collar pulled me forward. As we moved down the hall, the little French maid reappeared momentarily and snagged my latex top and skirt from me, giving me a warm smile under half closed lids before disappearing down a different hall.
We were led to an elegantly appointed room, rich in gold colors and natural woods, easily the size of my family’s kitchen, dining room, family room, and den all combined. There were plants everywhere, interspersed amongst silver and gold tea sets, table lamps, settees, lounge chairs, and a few couches. The center of the room was empty, the furniture arranged artfully around it.
And everywhere lounged naked girls and their mistresses.
There must have been a dozen of us, each accompanied by our own dominatrix. The clothed women ran the gauntlet from narrow and hawk faced to indecently plump. But regardless of shape and size, every domme was dressed impeccably, makeup perfect, dripping with jewelry. I couldn’t help feeling that it was all a show. Kneeling or laying or sitting quietly at the foot of each dominatrix was a girl. I saw blond and brunette, and even another redhead. Some of the girls were indecently thin. There were a few whose plumpness made them look even more delicious and overripe. Every one of them sported marks of abuse. Whip lines were visible practically everywhere, complete with dark bruises. Some girls sported red splotches on their rumps, clearly evidence of brutal spankings. Every single girl stayed still and silent, waiting for the next command or torment. I felt awkward again, as if I were the only submissive girl in the room who still had a will left. It disturbed me.
Davenport motioned Kari over to an empty seat, a richly appointed armchair with wings that looked like it belonged in the Vanderbilt Mansion. I think it might actually have dated back to the eighteen hundreds, but I’m no expert. All I know is that Kari looked regal sitting in it. Her dark blue suit was just as impeccable as the other dominatrixes in the room and I knelt down at her feet, eyes down, trying to subtly survey my surroundings.
The Society of the Golden Rose
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