Friday Night at Mephisto's

by dweaver999

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Fiction, BDSM, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Public Sex, Teacher/Student, .

Desc: BDSM Sex Story: Join the gang at the Mephisto Club for a typical Friday night of fun, pain and sex.

Betsy Flanagan looked at the image in the mirror. The woman that stared back at her smiled. “Betsy, when you’ve got it, you’ve most definitely got it,” she whispered to herself. Her five foot eight inch form was encased, at least partially, in black leather that hugged her curves like a second skin. The pants were a mesh weave below her crotch, showing plenty of her freshly shaved legs. The leather halter was almost more of a thick bra, coming down to just under the swell of her breasts. Her arms were encased, up to the elbows, in black suede. The ends of the long gloves left her fingers free, much like a driving glove, but oh so much more sensual. Her black hair was tied back in a severe bun.

“You look dangerously sexy, hon,” her husband, Frank, complimented as her came out of the en suite bathroom. “What will you be doing tonight?”

“I’m on floor patrol.”

“Ah, you get to whip the degenerates into line.”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

Betsy knew that Frank meant no disrespect for the people that frequented The Mephisto Club. He would never dream of saying such things where someone else could hear. Like many vanillas, he didn’t really understand the attraction of BDSM. Not even a wife who indulged was able to bring understanding to his mind.

Frank and Betsy couldn’t be any more different in personality or appearance. Betsy was a lithe, pretty, black haired daughter of Russian emigrants. She was one of the most outgoing and accepting people in the world. That personality served her well in her interactions with the incredibly diverse customers of the club. Frank was a big boned, six foot five inch Irishman (fifth generation). While he was opinionated, he’d learned to keep those opinions to himself and those few close friends who knew him well enough to know he meant no harm. The only reason he didn’t think of Betsy as crazy was that he was deeply and madly in love with her. That love and her ability to accept him for who he was, opinions and all, enabled them to remain together the seven years they had.

“When are you off tonight?” she asked.

“Unless something goes wrong, around three.”

“Then I suspect that you’ll be home by five, right?”

“Probably. It is Friday, after all.”

One would be hard pressed to decide which of the two worked at the crazier job; Betsy with her job at Mephisto’s, the premier bondage and fetish club in the region, or Frank, with his night shift at 7-11. Until Frank started working there, the convenience store suffered a robbery at least once a month. Frank, an ex-marine, had broken the wrist of the first man to pull a gun on him, doing it before the gun had cleared the perp’s coat. The word spread quickly and the lowlifes moved onto safer pastures.

Betsy continued with the conversation. “Pamela called earlier. She wanted to know if I could do her tonight. Will you be okay with that?”

“Sure, I won’t be up for anything until tomorrow. Then I’ll reap the benefits,” he added with a lustful grin.

Frank, while he didn’t understand D/s, knew two things. For Betsy, domination wasn’t about sex; she never had sex with her submissives. The second was that she was always horny after a session and he was the one who she chose to satiate herself with. If whipping other people made his wife horny enough to fuck his brains out for four or more hours, he was all for it! She never brought her kink to their bed, so he had no beef.

Betsy drove her car while Frank took off on his bike. Twenty minutes later, she was in the parking lot of the club. By the time she’d crossed the lot (employees had to park in the far reaches of the lot), she was shivering from the cool winter air. Several regulars complimented her on her outfit. Most of the people in line waiting to enter were dressed in heavy winter coats, though a few slaves were only wearing their fetish clothes, submitting to the cold at the command of their dominants. Betsy shook her head at what some people thought was appropriate.

“Afternoon, Malcolm. Anything special I should know?”

“Hi Betsy. Andrew wants you to help with the door first. Some of the subs will be needing into the warmth as fast as possible.”

“I saw that. What are they thinking? I wasn’t aware that hypothermia was a fetish.”

“Now Betsy, the subs are consenting.”

“I know, but still, standing in 35 degree weather in micros and short halters? Come on!”

Malcolm didn’t say anything else. He knew that this was just Betsy being Betsy. Betsy believed that there were some things one just didn’t do with a submissive, no matter how much consent you had. She didn’t let it spill over to her job, so no one complained much.

“They have safe words, Betsy. Haven’t you heard of ice play? I have to check on the specialty rooms upstairs. Start filing them in in 5 minutes.”

“I will.” Betsy turned to the lady beside her. “Mary, do you want the till or ID?”

“I’ll take the till. I don’t have your sixth sense on fake IDs.”

“Right. I noticed a couple of new people in the line, one of whom looks very young. Could be age play, but you can’t be too careful.”

Three minutes later, Betsy took the keys and unlocked the front doors after lifting the arms of the turnstile. With practiced ease, Betsy and Mary fed the crowd into the building. Betsy’s experienced eye scanned IDs, verifying the adult status of the players seeking entrance. The girl she had noted earlier had been 19, dressed to appear much younger, a classic age play couple. Several of the subs were shivering from the cold as they entered.

It took 15 minutes to feed the initial line into the club. Once that was done, Betsy left Mary, the regular doorman, behind and started her usual job, wandering the floor, making sure that no one was violating any of the club’s rules. Those rules weren’t many in number, allowing for the incredible variety of activity that made up the BDSM scene. Most of the rules were designed to make sure the club didn’t violate the local and state laws governing clubs that allowed sexual activity; no alcohol, no drugs, no blood play, no water sports, no scat. The club did allow enema play, just so long as things were kept hygienic.

Play was light so far. A few subs were being bound at play stations around the perimeter of the main floor, but the center stage had yet to be taken by anyone. Betsy spotted a couple she knew and wandered over.

“Hi, Andrew. What’s Chuck in for tonight?”

The blond man, arms already bound behind his back, smiled ruefully as the hood slipped over his head. Andrew finished zipping the back of the hood, rendering Chuck blind and speechless.

“Evening, Betsy. Chuck is in for some harsh bondage and a little stranger play. Of course, he’s not allowed an orgasm tonight.”

“So who can play with him?”

“Anyone. He won’t know if it’s a man or a woman.”

“Oh, that’ll drive him crazy.”

“That’s the plan. I love watching him flinch every time someone touches him.”

Chuck was solidly gay, having no attraction for women what so ever. Knowing that women would be touching him in any number of ways would have him on a roller coaster of arousal and anxiety. Add that to his strong submissive tendencies and the bound man would be lucky if he could obey his orders to not cum. Andrew was particularly harsh about his no orgasm orders.

Betsy continued to wander the floor, her eyes taking in the various scenes developing as people continued to show up. Except for the monthly Saturday charity auction, Friday nights were the busiest nights for the club. Betsy estimated that just over half the people who paid the $25 cover charge wouldn’t participate in any activities at all. She could certainly understand the draw of being able to watch a wide variety of, essentially, sex shows for that one low price.

So far the play was light. Most of the more intense players wouldn’t be in until later. Some of the costumes people wore to Mephisto’s were quite elaborate and needed time to prepare. Seeing two, well one and a half, familiar faces, Betsy wandered over towards a couple of women. The larger one, heavy set with a blindfold, earplugs and gag (but nothing else), was being led on a leash attached to her gag by a much more petite lady dressed in harsh leather.

“Rachael, it’s good to see you again. What are you doing to poor Giggy tonight?”

“Not much tonight. I’m just putting her on display.”

Betsy looked the submissive over and noticed a slight trembling and quite a bit of arousal. “And what did you tell her was going to happen?”

“Am I that obvious? She thinks we’re going to do a safe word whipping scene on stage tonight. I’ll spend a few hours disorientating her then take her to a private room and whip her up a bit there. I want to take her to subspace for a while.”

“Nice. I wish I could see it. I’ll be seeing Pam tonight after we close. She’s had a stressful week and needs some winding down.”

“Funny, I thought that kind of thing was winding up,” Rachael replied with a smile.

“Well, she’ll wind down eventually.” Betsy noticed something out of the corner of her eye and added, “Oops, got to work. Give my regards to Giggy.”

“I will. Call me, we have to get a play date together sometime.”

“I will.”

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