Story: The First Time

The following is not entirely fiction. In fact, it's not fiction at all. But I shall classify it as such nonetheless, as that's the style it's in. This is my own writing, please do not reproduce elsewhere without my permission.

The sounds of the other scenes around the club were distracting, to say the least. They pressed in on me, confining me to the awareness of where I was. I didn't need to open my eyes, to look around me, to know what was happening only a few scant yards away; the snap of a singletail, the crack of a paddle, the various whimpers and moans all reminded me most strongly of the nightclub's purpose and clientele in the dim light.

A random breeze floated across my bare skin, leaving me with tingling gooseflesh in its wake. Everything but the crops, I repeated to myself silently as I finished re-packing the contents of my bag. The two crops were left lying on the table in front of me. Naked, then, I stood and waited, my task accomplished. I didn't wait long.

"Lie down on the table, face down."

I did so, somewhat awkwardly. How can you possibly move gracefully, when your nerves are jangling like a shimmying belly dancer's coin belt? Fortunately, the table was not so high that I couldn't stand up on tip-toe and slide my bottom onto it, then swing around to roll over on my stomach. I resumed my waiting.

It wasn't long, perhaps a minute, perhaps another, before I felt warm hands touching me, inspecting me, probing each inch of my pliant flesh from my head to my toes and back. Without warning, the warmth of his hand was replaced with the cool smoothness of a loop of leather – one of the crops I'd been instructed to leave out of the bag. As with the exploring hand, the leather crop caressed me unhurriedly, one end to the other.

Tap-tap-tap, a few experimental slaps on my upraised bottom sounded deafeningly loud to my ears. I startled, my muscles clenching in a brief, light spasm all over – and more from the sound than anything else. The slaps certainly didn't hurt. I tried to calm my nerves, I tried to relax. I longed for a blindfold. The comfort of that darkness, though, was not offered me. Nor did I ask for it.

Warm breath on my neck summoned my thoughts back to the present, and a voice growled low into my ear.

"There is no one else here, no one but you… and I. And nothing else."

My mind tumbled the words around and around, like a rock polishing container. In my thoughts, the words sank deeper and deeper into my conscious and sub-conscious. I needed little else in the way of instruction or assistance, the distracting sounds and thoughts of 'who's watching us?' quickly receded into a distant recess of my awareness. Focus returned, to the touches upon my skin of both flesh and instrument.

I was aware of his location, then, he'd moved around to the other side of me but was not yet touching me again. I waited, quivering faintly with anticipation. I'd already felt the almost teasing light slap of the crop's end, I expected at any moment to hear the warning whistle and then feel the stinging welt left by its visit. I expected it, and quivered all the more for it.

It never came. What next delighted my senses was the long, slow stroke all the way down my back of something cool, with a slightly blunted edge. It was metallic. I squirmed minimally, a low moan rising in the back of my throat like a cat's instinctive purr. There was another stroke, and then another, and on the final stroke four more blades touched my back, sending me into another fit of squirming and moaning. I knew, then, what it was at my back – metal claws, long and wickedly curved, gleaming despite the low lighting of the area.

Icy fire licked its way down my back, my skin tingling wildly in its wake. I shivered, I whimpered, and then the talons touched down within my hair. The back of my head sprang to life, tingling in such a way as never before. The intensity took my thoughts entirely from me, I sucked air into my lungs and squeezed my eyes tighter shut.

Over and over, the cool metal talons attacked me, sometimes stroking me gently, sometimes wickedly tempting my ticklish spots. I didn't know, at times, whether to scream or to let loose my peals of giggles. He was devilishly clever, and he played me like a musical instrument.

I turned to my back, exposing my belly to him at his command. The tickling was worse on this side, but no less intense than the sensuous torture of my back. I squirmed, I giggled, and at times I did finally scream.

"You please me," the voice entered my consciousness from my right ear. I grinned, and again had the urge to purr like a well-satisfied cat. Again, I was told to turn over – so it was to be my back again, evidently.

I re-settled myself on my stomach, letting my forehead rest against the padded tabletop while trying to catch my breath. My pants were ragged, tinged with desperation and raw emotion. The walls I'd built so carefully over the years had come down, I'd surrendered entirely to the sound of his voice, the feel of the talons, the patterns in which they moved over my skin. I shuddered uncontrollably now, and writhed as again and again the talons moved over my flesh, from my head down the entire length of my back.

My fists clenched, but I held them still where they were. I needed no bonds to hold me in place when he positioned me as he wished, it was as if they were there already. With the next onslaught of sensation, I gripped the table's edge tightly, my knuckles whitened. My back arched, following the trail of the talons and even anticipating its course near the end. My legs were open, and I knew if he touched me in that sweetest of spots, surely I'd explode instantaneously.

"I can smell you. I can smell how bad you want it."

How true! There was no hiding the wetness between my legs, I fairly hummed with the need for it at that point. I opened my mouth, intending to plead, but stopped myself. No, not yet. I wasn't ready at that point – not quite, anyways.

I sailed higher and higher into the shadows of sensation, unable even to form thoughts for a time. I could only react in various ways to his touch, be it a squirm, a wiggle, a moan or whimper. I didn't know how much more of it I could stand, the urge to say 'stop!' driving my lips to begin to form the word. It never came. How could I stop something so deliciously torturous? No, I reveled in it. I embraced it, and delighted in it. I shivered continually, spasmodically at times.

In time, the cool touch of the talons was replaced with a warm hand. It jolted me, at first, but then I sank into this new feeling with a small grin and a throaty, low moan. My eyes had been tightly shut the whole time, I'd refused to try and look to see who was there, and what else was going on around me. I was vaguely aware of others, close by, but I didn't care. I ignored them.

"Welcome back to the world that you've missed."

I have missed it, it's true. Much more than I was willing to permit myself to admit. But, I do freely admit it now. After the moments spent in the hands of an artisan such as that, I would gladly throw myself to his mercy again and again.

As my thoughts became more and more coherent, and awareness of my surroundings began to truly return, I felt his arms slip around me. I curled myself in to him, feeling his warmth leech into my tingling, humming skin. So open, it was then that I felt my own final release – tears coursed down my face, and I let them come. When the tears no longer ran free, my smile again emerged, the sun coming from behind the clouds after a quenching spring shower. Content, exhausted, I simply lay still in his arms.