It was my two-month anniversary at the club – not that anybody noticed or had any reason to. While I’d quickly become a regular here, I had also learned that it seemed just as difficult to make contact with interested men as it was in my vanilla life. It wasn’t for my lack of trying. Fresh out of college, I had wasted my meager savings and almost all of my first two wages on kinky outfits, and damn was that stuff expensive. The purple satin choker I was wearing alone had cost almost hundred bucks. But it was supposedly pretty durable and had an artful buckle at the back. It was a collar for the uncollared.

It’s not like nobody talked to me. People were pretty friendly here in the club. I often was pulled into conversations by subs, living vicariously through their naughty adventures, and I had talked to quite a number of dominants. The problem was that the ones that attracted me, usually of the taller, muscular type, tended to be either a bit too single minded for my taste or, unfortunately, monogamous and already attached. My need was apparent, in hindsight, and I grew intense, too intense. Both subs and dominants lately tended to act too engrossed in their conversations to take notice of me.

Soft music was playing, and I leaned back in my plush leather chair and let my eyes roam. It was still early, and the club was slowly filling up, as usual on a Friday when people got home from work, and it took them time to have dinner and get ready. In the many stories I read, it had always seemed like you entered a BDSM club and were immediately right in the middle of debauched sex. But that wasn’t my reality. There were a few private rooms, but besides getting the tour on my first visit, I had never stepped a foot inside one. In the public areas, there was of course some nudity and a bit of touching here and there, but nothing too overt. This was for meeting, not playing, for most of the guests.

I’d have been happy to just meet, if it was Mr. Right Guy. But my hopes that his would happen had gone from roaring flames to dying embers over the last two months.

I sighed, and then I realized that I had been staring at a woman. She had entered my line of sight and sat down on a bar stool next to one of the many cocktail tables. It was her outfit that caught my attention and puzzled me a little, like a swimsuit made from thin rubber, cut high on the sides and exhibiting her prominent hip bones. My first impression was that of a sub with a poor choice of clothes. She was thin like a rail, and her chest was almost completely flat, just two tiny bumps where I thought her nipples would be reflecting the light differently. She was pale. Her long legs were bare. The platform shoes were a weird mix of ankle shoe and military boot. The short cut of her black hair with the longer strands near the front reminded me of a Resident Evil movie, though I was unable to pinpoint which one.

Her gaze suddenly met mine, and felt caught. Blushing, I quickly shifted my eyes away and pretended to let it roam over the room. Everybody here tried so hard to look their best and play their assets to the maximum. So why was she exposing her lack of breasts so brazenly?

I spotted Master Rodger next to the dance floor and waved at him, earning myself a smile and wave back. He had a cute sub, Lucy, and they were totally in love. They both worked in a large real estate company, and Lucy was actually his boss and ten years older. I had no idea how that worked in everyday life, but they seemed to have no problem with it.

A rubber gloved hand suddenly slid a glass with orange something in front of me, and I almost yelped.

“I startled you.”

My head jerked around, and I found myself face to face with the woman who had caught me staring. She pulled another leather chair close to mine at a bit of an angle and sat down.

I felt caught, and guilty, and taken off guard, and before I could think, I heard myself stammer, “I’m sorry.”

She held my gaze for a moment, then she laughed softly. “Nice,” she said, winking at me, and reached for the other glass on the table. “I am Jazz.” She held up her glass, and I finally managed to move again and took the one she had brought me.

I clinked the rim to hers and took a deep breath. “I’m Sarah-Marie.”

We both sucked on our straws. I was feeling strange.

She gave me a quick smile and leaned back. “That’s a mouthful. Your name, I mean. I think I’ll call you Sam. You can call me Miss.”

Don’t gawk, I told myself. She most definitely wasn’t a sub, then. “I’m not looking for a woman,” I told her, then felt bad. “Sorry. I’m being overly blunt.”

That made her laugh again. “You’re funny, Sam,” she said. “Do you mind me calling you Sam?”

I had to set the glass down. “I’d rather you call me by my real name.”

“If you can keep from staring at my chest for five minutes.”

I gulped hard, and my gaze moved up to her face again. My cheeks went up in flames. “I’m sorry,” I said again. The third time I was apologizing within little more than a minute, I realized.

“I don’t really mind it, you know,” she said. “Don’t sit so straight, that gives me back pain just from looking at you.”

She was right. I was sitting here all tense and upright like a schoolgirl waiting for a bad grade. I forced my shoulders to relax and leaned back, taking care to keep my eyes on her face. God, I was acting all passive. It was so not my normal self. I needed to get on the initiative at least for a moment. “I’m not sure what to make of you,” I told her, then pointed to my drink. “Or this.”

“Afraid I might be coming onto you?”

“Not afraid, but...”

“The thought crossed my mind, I admit.” She swirled her drink. “You have lovely lips. The way you were staring at my chest, I couldn’t help wondering what they would feel like on my nipples. I love having my nipples licked and sucked, I can sometimes do that for hours. Yours look like they’d be a perfect fit.”

I blushed. I mean, it’s not like this was something I’d even consider, but I couldn’t help picturing her nearly flat chest with prominent nipples and felt a strange curiosity what it would look like to see soft, female lips caressing them. “Well, I’m not into girls,” I said a little defensively and instantly rued it. “I’m-”

“Sorry, yes, I know that by now. If you were my sub, you’d get five with the cane for every time you need to apologize for being rude, and then you’d thank me by sucking these nipples.”

It was just because I’d been running hollow the last two months, with just my fingers and me for the night, I swear. That little needy moan at the thought of feeling a cane across my poor backside had nothing to do with her.

She laughed softly. She had such a melodic voice. She tweaked her nipples through the thin rubber, then tapped them with her glossy red nails. “I believe this was less than five minutes, Sam,” she said.

I so wanted to die, but she was right. “Yes, Miss,” I admitted, then I bit my lip for a second before looking at her face. My heart was hammering madly for a reason unknown to me. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll leave you to your man hunt, Sam,” she said, getting up. She leaned over me and put her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to crane my neck to meet her gaze. “But I promise you, if you’re here tomorrow and still haven’t found your master, I’m going to claim you as mine. You know what that means.”

I got a last glimpse of her chest from up close. Her nipples were probably huge under the tight layer of rubber. Then I realized what I had been thinking, and I felt like crying while I watched her walk away because it all didn’t make a tiny bit of sense.

My mind was all over the place for the rest of that evening. I headed home early, the first time I did that. I had tried to talk up one of the doms, but I had been unable to focus, and most of them had been preoccupied anyway.

~~*

I told my reflection that she was being stupid. Then I tugged the purple tube dress in place and winced at the lewd woman who stared back at me. I would be constantly pulling it up so my girls didn’t get exposed, the lack of a bra equating to a lack of friction, and the fabric too smooth to stay in place. Just as with the cleavage, I’d have to pull down the hem to keep it from riding up my ass. But I was getting desperate. I needed to be noticed by a master, before...”

“You’re being stupid!” I said again. Why was I getting worked up about Jazz? It wasn’t like she could force me to submit to her. I was straight. Everything at the club was consensual.

I slipped into my torture heels. They were just slutty, high heeled sandals with transparent straps, but I didn’t normally wear heels, so they always started to hurt after about two hours. The advantage was that they shaped my legs nicely and tightened my butt, that’s why I decided on them for tonight. Slipping my credit card and driver’s license into the small pocket in the dress, I only needed to finish my makeup, then I was ready to head out.

~~*

I’d been on the prowl for two hours. On Saturdays, the club filled up quickly. There were a few new faces, but finding a willing master turned out as elusive as ever.

I was just walking along the packed dance floor on my way to the restroom when a hand grabbed my arm out of nowhere and pulled me into a group of women.

“Hey!” I gasped, stumbling a little, but a second hand gripped my shoulder and steadied me. “Oh.”

“Girls, this is Sam,” Jazz said, wearing the same outfit as yesterday. “She’s been staring holes in my chest all of yesterday.”

My face started burning. The women around me all seemed to be dominants like her. Well, not exactly like her. Their clothes and appearances fit the unofficial dress code more closely. Most of them had knee-high boots, heavy leather dresses and strict buns announcing their preference.

“That’s not true, Jazz!” I said hotly.

“You’re calling me a liar?” she asked, her voice suddenly like ice. “In front of my friends? You’re telling them you didn’t stare at my chest for ages?” Her eyes narrowed, and she stared hard at me.

“Uh-oh,” someone whispered close by.

Oh fuck! “It’s not-” I stammered. Her eyes narrowed even more. “I didn’t-” She puckered her lips. “I’m sorry, Miss,” I whimpered, and I felt a wave of relief wash through me when her expression softened.

“That’s better,” she said. “But you I told you what happens to rude girls.”

Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. Our gazes locked, and I could read the message clear as the day. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and there wasn’t the tiniest doubt in them that she would do what she had promised. “Where’s your master, honey?” she asked, taking my hand in hers.

“I – I haven’t found one,” I admitted.

She took my other hand too, clucked her tongue and shook her head slowly. “That’s too bad, Sam. You know what that means.”

I could have said no. I could have run. Yet, something about this situation, something in the way she took control, wiped away all sense of self preservation. “Yes, Miss,” I said, my knees nearly giving out, a strange heat rushing through my lower body.

She let out a joyful laugh and gripped my left hand tighter. “Time for a bit of fun, ladies. Who wants to see me cane her virgin ass?”

“No!” I yelped in shock. “You can’t-”

She whirled around and glared at me.

“Not in front of-”

Her eyes turned to slits.

“I’m sorry, Miss!”

She lightly patted my cheek. “It’s okay, honey. Ten is a much nicer number anyway, don’t you think so?”

I stared, and fought to breathe, and squeezed my thighs together. “Yes, Miss.”

~~*

She was so clinical! The private room had all kinds of bondage devices and benches, but she had me walk to the center and bend over so the others could stand in a half circle behind me. Then she pulled up my dress, tugged my panties down to my knees and fetched the cane.

“Please,” I whispered. “I haven’t...”

“I know, honey,” she said and ran her soft hand over my exposed rump. “I know it’s your first time, and I know you’re so incredibly embarrassed right now. But there’s no helping it. You were rude, weren’t you?”

“Yes, Miss,” I admitted once more, dying with shame, trying to ignore the chuckles and giggles. The blood was rushing in my ears, and I hated that her touch felt so good and made me moist.

“You don’t have to count or thank me this time,” Jazz said warmly. “Just focus on staying like you are.”

I expected a sharp swishing sound like in the stories I had read, but there was no audible warning, just a quiet snapping sound followed by a line of fire on my right butt cheek.

I yelped.

The cane snapped down again, maybe an inch lower, and I yelped louder. Three more swats fell, and my poor butt cheek glowed and throbbed.

Then I heard her change to my other side. “Ready?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes, Miss.”

It hurt. Not like ‘fuck, I can’t scream loud enough’ bad, but enough to add a little blur to my vision. Even when she was done, I could still feel each individual line.

She slid my panties back into place and pulled my dress down. “Good girl,” she said softly. “You can stand up now.”

Once I was upright, she took my hand, led me to a leather padded bench and had me kneel on it. I avoided the stares from the others – and in doing so, I found myself once more staring at her rubber clad chest. She wiggled her arms through the top opening and rolled the rubber down.

She really had no breasts at all. But she had two large, round, dark red areolae, and each was crowned with a huge nipple, thicker than my middle finger and over an inch long. She stepped close, put one foot on the bench next to my hip and cupped the back of my head. My breath started racing when she pulled my head closer and closer towards her left nipple.

“What do you say, Sam?” she suddenly asked. I could feel the heat in my face that radiated from her body and smelled the flowery scent of her soap and a hint of sweat.

At first, I was at a loss, but then I remembered. “Thank you, Miss,” I said obediently and licked my lips.

Her nipple slipped between my lips, and a lightheaded feeling washed over me. I wasn’t bi – was I? Why did this feel so right, then? I gently sucked, feeling her nipple get even stiffer between my lips, and she honored that with a soft sigh. After a little while, I got more daring and used my tongue too, which drew another deep sigh from her.

I licked and sucked. After a few minutes, she guided me to her right nipple, and I started anew.

Her breathing grew faster. Her chest started shivering. I heard quiet, wet slapping and needed a minute to realize she was playing with her pussy.

When she came, it was a quiet event. She exhaled with a gasp, and her hand pushed me tightly against her chest. She shivered for a few seconds, then I felt her relax, and her breathing evened out.

She stepped away and slipped her arms into the rubber once more. “You’ve got drool here,” she said with a grin and touched the corner of her mouth.

I hastily wiped my face with my forearm and blushed.

“Show’s over, ladies,” she declared, and the others filed out.

“So,” she said.

“So,” I echoed, my voice meek, the effort it took me to meet her eyes almost killing me.

“Can you stay here for a few minutes while I fetch something?”

I let out a shuddering breath. “Sure, Miss.”

“Be right back.”

~~*

It really didn’t take her long. When she approached, she held something behind her. “I got you a present. But first a question. Would you like me to stop calling you Sam?”

I bit my lip. For a moment, I wasn’t sure. Sarah-Marie would never have done what I just did with a woman, but Sam did. But that was stupid. I was still me. “I think I’d like that.”

“I’d been thinking, you know. Sam is still such an ordinary name. So I came up with a pet name for you. How do you like the name Peeper?”

I think you could have heard a pin drop. “Peeper?” I asked, my cheeks blushing.

“Because,” she said, moving her hands to her front, “you’ve been peeping at my titties all of yesterday. I’d like you to wear this.” She placed a supple black leather collar into my hands.

I stared at her. Then I stared at the collar. Up to this, it had been a one-time thing, a crazy, temporary excursion from reality. From sanity. Jazz had bought a collar for me! It looked shiny and sturdy, but it was so pliable and soft inside. It had to have cost a fortune. My heart started hammering madly, and my fingers shook a little. I had trouble holding the oval plate at the front steady. In large, flowery golden letters, it said ‘Peeper’.

I gulped hard.

“Turn it around,” she whispered. Our eyes met, and I didn’t see her usual bravado. For a short moment, she was vulnerable, and it changed everything, because I was rendered breathless by the realization how much she wanted me.

My fingers shook harder. The backside was inscribed too. “Nipple Sucker. Property of Miss Jazz.”

Property of Miss Jazz. No looking for a master anymore. No large cock fucking me into oblivion. Hell, Miss Jazz hadn’t even touched my private parts yet. This was so far from everything I had expected and hoped for when I started my foray into the BDSM scene.

“This must have been fucking expensive,” I said quietly, putting the collar on my lap so I could undo my choker. “Would you please help me with the buckle, Miss?”

“Of course, my little Peeper,” she said with a radiant smile.

I whimpered when she closed the buckle and ran finger along the leather. It was tight but comfortable.

“You said ‘fucking’. Don’t you think swear words are rude, Peeper?” she asked after stepping back appreciating the view for a while.

“I guess they are,” I said. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

By the time she had fetched the cane, my naked ass was sticking up into the air. The swats she gave me were harder than before and covered both cheeks, eliciting a sharp grunt from me each time before I could announce the count and thank her.

This time, she didn’t fix my clothes. I knelt with my pussy and ass exposed while I demonstrated my appreciation.

“Straighten your clothes, Peeper,” she said when she had come down from her climax. “Let’s get a drink. Then we’ll have a long talk about stupid newbies and little things like safe words.”

I froze for a long minute, the reality that I completely forgotten about this fundamental rule a harsh slap to my face. Hastily, I wiggled up my panties, pulled down my dress and climbed off the bench. “I’m sorry, Miss,” I said, cowed. “I guess I do need that talk.”

~~*

I stared at my reflection and bit my lip. Normally, I wouldn’t want to be caught dead in a getup like this, but it was what Miss Jazz had selected. We’d had that talk about safety protocols and communication, and she had peeled away layer after layer of ignorance from my naive mind like band-aids from an itching scab. I had been lucky. I had been desperate and so horny that I had been easy snatching. I had folded so easily to a little pressure and accepted everything that was handed to me. I had set myself up for abuse. And I had not given her a safe word, nor talked with her about limits. She could have tied me up and gagged me, and I would have willingly gone along with it, letting her put me in a position where it would have been too late.

The clothes she selected were my punishment for that stupidity. I had been ready to give her my address, but she had insisted to deposit it at a small store in my neighborhood, reminding me that we had just met and that trust, no matter how readily given, needed some time to mature.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t demand every bit of trust you have and the some when we meet again,” she had said, and the memory made my cheeks blush and my pussy throb.

I glared at my reflection once more. Fucking pink! I wouldn’t have thought they even made Hello Kitty bikinis in my size. The shoes with four inch heels were a perfect match. To finish the pink horror, she had even found matching opaque thigh-highs. I looked ridiculous.

My nipples pushed prominently through the thin fabric. She had cut out the padding, both from the top and from the bottom, and I had to bow to her keen eye. The sizing was just perfect, the bottoms so tight that all my tugging and shifting couldn’t get rid of the camel toe.

I prayed that I wouldn’t get pulled over when I drove to the club. Her instructions had been clear. I wasn’t allowed to cover up on my way there.

~~*

We were sitting in a circle of leather armchairs. I was half lying on the armrest of Miss Jazz’s chair, listening to their conversation and feeling deliciously awkward. Her hand was idly stroking up and down the inside of my thigh, keeping that flame of arousal burning between my legs.

I wasn’t the only sub. Jenny was sitting on Mistress Donna’s knee. Lyra was kneeling next to Miss Rose and staring adoringly and unblinking up at her face. Romy, Miss Clare’s sub, and Mistress Jessica’s sub whom everybody called Puppet, were cuddling on a large cushion on the floor, whispering and giggling.

At some point, the dommes got into a discussion whether the size of a clit was in any way related to its sensitivity. The talk turned a bit heated.

I stiffened. Miss Jazz’s fingers slipped inside my bottoms and parted my lips. My breath hitched when her fingertip touched my clit. The finger stopped moving, and I heard a quiet, surprised, “Oh!”

She pulled out her hand, and I thought for a moment that was it, but then she sat up, put the hand against my tummy and reached for the waistband with her other hand.

“Miss Jazz!” I hissed in panic when she leaned closer and pulled the waistband down, but she ignored me.

Within a second, my pubic mound was exposed to all the women, and then her hand slid down and her fingers spread my pussy lips. My already aroused clit swelled even more, and I wanted to die on the spot when her loud gasp drew all eyes towards my genitals and the one part of my body I had always been self-conscious about, ever since I had realized that I was different than my friends. They called their clits ‘pearls’ or ‘tiny nubs’. Mine, when completely stiff, was over an inch long and thicker than my pinkie finger.

“Oh my god,” Mistress Jessica gasped, covering her mouth with one hand and pointing between my legs with the other. “You’ve got to see this!”

I whimpered, but after a sharp look from Miss Jazz I stayed still while the dommes and even a few of the subs took close-up looks of my freaky clit, all of them gasping and staring.

The last one was Romy. She was a cute blond girl, a little on the chubby side but it was well distributed. The first thing I had noticed about her were her large, blue eyes. Those eyes were now staring at my bean, and she tentatively reached out towards it.

“If you touch her, you have to bring her off,” Miss Jazz said sharply.

My mind screeched to a halt. I stared into Jazz’s eyes. There was a challenge there. She lifted a brow for a moment, narrowed her eyes, and I realized she was reminding me of the talk we’d had a week ago.

I forced my eyes back on Romy. “Please don’t!” I pleaded meekly.

I had told Jazz how much a rush it had been when she exposed my ass to everybody, and she had asked me how I felt about the idea of being touched by others.

No fantasy could have come close to the emotional roller coaster I found myself in. I was terrified, aroused, excited beyond belief and dying with shame, all at the same time.

A strangled sound escaped my throat when Romy guided her fingers to her mouth and let a big wad of drool roll over her lip. She rubbed her fingertips together to spread the drool, then she reached out once more.

I had a few boyfriends play with my clits before, but it was nothing like this. My nerves were super charged, and her touch was that of a girl knowing exactly how sensitive a female’s parts were. Her fingertips spread the moisture over my bean with flighty dexterity, and then she formed a perfect little sleeve with her fingers that she slid over it without exerting any pressure.

Her eyes moved to my face.

I groaned and started trembling. Like a tiny vagina around a matching cock, she fucked my clit. It felt unbelievable.

When I touched myself, I used a single finger, any more was too much, too fast, and I had to back down. I didn’t know how she knew, but not doing it myself opened me up to an intensity I otherwise wouldn’t be able to stand. I heard myself moan in time with her finger’s sliding motion, sparks shooting through my center and lighting me on fire.

My moans got louder, started sounding desperate. I realized I was making a spectacle and tried to keep quiet, but I couldn’t. The whole club would soon be aware of my debauched display! That revelation made it even worse, the breathless fear of discovery like an injection of an aphrodisiac to my lust addled brain. My moans turned even louder and rose in pitch, got faster and faster. I was squeaking and whining, losing all sense of orientation.

All of a sudden, Romy pulled her fingers away, leaned forward, captured my clit with her lips and started flicking it hard with her tongue.

For what felt like a minute, I couldn’t breathe. Pleasure built around my clit which I had never felt. It was too much. I was going to die from pleasure. Romy stared up at my face, her eyes wide, her cheeks sucked in, and I lost it.

“Ooooooooohhhh fffffuuuuccckkkkkk yyyeeeessssss!” I screamed, clamping my thighs tightly around her head and shaking with these incredible waves of pleasure. It felt like I came and came forever, Romy’s tongue never stopping, never slowing, pushing me to the very limits of pleasure that my body could provide.

Then it got too much, painful in its intensity, and I opened my legs and pushed against her forehead. “Stop, please!” I whimpered urgently.

Thankfully, she withdrew, and I could finally take a real breath again.

She stood up, a shy grin on her lips that made her look adorable. “Thank you so much, Romy,” I whispered, and her grin got wider.

A little pinch on my butt cheek almost made me yelp and brought me a bit closer to reality. “Thank you, Miss Jazz,” I said, meaning it. She was the one who allowed or denied others to play with me.

~~*

It was our two months anniversary. Two months since I had given up my futile search for a master and accepted her collar. I knelt next to the door and watched her inspect my bedroom, opening doors, sliding out drawers, rummaging through my clothes. It felt embarrassing. She grinned, frowned, judged, approved and dismissed. She went to the bedside table on the far end and opened the drawer. Her hands found the leather bound book and took it out. She ran a finger over the front, then turned to me. “This is your diary, Peeper.”

“Yes, Miss Jazz.”

Her gaze kept focused on my eyes while she slowly opened her purse. There would have been all the time in the world to stop her, but I kept silent and watched her slip it inside, shivering a little when it was swallowed and the zipper closed over it.

Suddenly, she sat down on the edge of the bed, facing away from me.

“Miss Jazz?” I asked, getting worried when she didn’t make a sound for more than a minute.

A strange, strangled sound escaped her throat. She slowly got up, walked around the bed and sat down again so I could see her face. This time, I recognized that strangled sound as a guilt-laden chuckle. “Some Mistress I am,” she said.

Was that a tear on her cheek? I grew really worried now.

“Giving you hell about rules and proper communication. But you were just so sweet and clueless, and I thought I’d guide you the first few steps, and then you’d meet the master you were looking for and both of us could look back on a great time.”

“Miss Jazz?”

“Oh, Peeper. I’m a bad Mistress. I want to do so many things with you. To you. But I haven’t been upfront, and it’s my kink, I can’t just switch it off.”

She looked so apologetic and terrified. Whatever it was, it had to be serious. “Why – why don’t you just tell me what this is about?”

She took a few shaking breaths. “We talked about it,” she said quietly and gulped hard. “You made it clear that pee games are a hard limit. I should have told you then. I shouldn’t have led you on.”

I understood. In the last two months, I had witnessed all kinds of kinks. Some were just funny games. Others were integral parts of personalities. Like my need to be embarrassed. Jazz’s kink, besides having her nipples worshiped, seemed to be wet games.

“You dream of peeing on me?”

She gulped again. “On you,” she said quietly and looked away. “And also...” She bit her lip, then let out a dejected sigh.

If felt strangely calm all of a sudden, and a warmth bloomed in my chest that made my heart stumble, a feeling that exceeded attraction and trust. I gasped, and a tear suddenly trickled down my cheek. She took my reaction for something different and hid her face.