Her First Fan

The attention directed at her and the possibility of participation became too real, so she excused herself and wandered over to a private room where a doctor in blue scrubs and a face mask stood admiring his patient. The patient, a young and voluptuous woman, was half-undressed, hands bound in saran wrap, suspended from the ceiling. He administered lashes to her curved ass with a belt as Layla slipped into a corner to observe.

But the doctor turned his gaze and once again Layla was the focus of someone’s attention. The doctor extended his belt to her, respecting her as an equal, a top, and inviting her to participate in the torture of this willing patient. Layla rose to her feet, a bit unsteady, belt in her right hand and looked at the doctor. As he nodded, she drew back the belt and released it with all her might onto the patient’s right ass cheek. Crack. So that’s what it felt like to be on top.

With every whipping, Layla’s confidence and precision built, but it was too much for her and she returned the belt after just four cracks. It was time for a bit of fresh air.

On her way outside, Layla passed an interrogation scene where three men were spanking, grabbing and cutting a young woman suspended from the ceiling. One of them crawled underneath the woman’s legs and pressed a vibrator against her aroused pussy, letting everyone know that this was a classy woman.

It was too much for Layla. The cutting, the pain, the tortuous play – she was used to loving touch – hugging friends, group cuddles, massage – and those loving and caressing touches were nowhere in sight.

She pushed her way onto the outside porch, putting up with the cigarette smoke for the opportunity to momentarily escape the intensity. She struck up a conversation with two men outside and shared what she had been feeling. Though sympathetic to her overloaded senses, they couldn’t really empathize and admitted that they had recently been in “vanilla” relationships that bored them in comparison to kink.

After five minutes had passed, Layla moved to return inside and invited the men to join her. Jon followed. Jon was 6’5” tall and strong with long blonde locks bound in ponytails extending toward his hips. He was an adventurer, an explorer from England who had spent years on ships, ranches, islands – as a deckhand, a herder and a seaman who had made multiple treks across the Atlantic and Pacific. He was everything that the men she grew up with were not and everything that she never thought she would want.

They sat close, his leg touching hers, and she grateful for the soothing physical contact not associated with the SM world. Layla asked if she could hold his hand, and their fingers gracefully danced back and forth to the music until she drew his fingers to her lips. First, she licked, then sucked, then bit. This continued for some time until their faces drew close and they kissed – lips against lips.

Layla withdrew– so many feelings were coursing through her mind and body that she could hardly breathe. Though sex ed had never been offered in her Jewish day school growing up, she knew what to ask. And once the preliminary safety conversation was out of the way, she crawled onto his lap, legs splayed on either side of him. He grabbed her by the hair, blissfully directing her head toward his neck and she bit – hard – sending chills down his body. He used her hair to bring her head exactly where he wanted it, but she resisted – feeling frisky, ready for a romp.

Layla had seen someone wrestling early that evening. Wrestling was something she knew about. It was something she could do – part of a common vocabulary. As the interrogation scene in front of them drew to a close, Jon gave Layla a knowing smile and then threw her to the floor by her hair.

Layla resisted and their bodies contorted together, she using all of her strength to occasionally get the upper hand and he waiting her out until she was weakened. As he felt her strength leaving her, he mounted her, pinning her arms above her head and looking at her with an evil grin.

“Spank me,” Layla said, half-breathless. That was all the direction he needed. He turned her over, planted a leg firmly over her back and began to administer the beatings. With each slap, her back arched in pain and pleasure and soon a large audience had been drawn in. Her dress was pulled up, her baby pink silk thong was ripped down to her ankles and the slaps now targeted her bare ass, which was rising and falling on the floor in the center of the room.

Her sighs and moans became louder and louder, until he flipped her onto her back and stared intently. Not breaking her gaze and with a hand still pinning down her hips, he wet his long thick finger and drew it slowly down and over her clitoris, lining the lips of her pussy as he felt for her entrance. She released an inescapable noise that only served to draw more viewers, not that she noticed a single other soul as she contorted on the floor – performing in center stage.

His finger slowly penetrated her and his movement became more and more forceful until he was vigorously finger fucking her, his finger expertly stroking her g-spot, screams building until her entire body contracted and she collapsed back onto the floor, unmoving.

He lay on top of her, savoring the post-climax moment, their hearts beating together. Moments passed, minutes past and Layla opened her eyes. It was close to 3 am and – in the relaxation that followed the scene – the party had dissolved around her.

She gathered her things, quietly gave Jon her number and headed toward the door to reclaim her husband when she felt a hand on her arm. Jon pulled Layla back and began to whisper in her ear, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath and body against her.

“When I see you next, I am going to hold you against me from behind and run my hand over your breast – teasing your nipple with my fingers until it hardens. With my other hand, I will begin tracing the curve of your inner thigh as I reach up between your legs and stroke the top of your clit, bringing you –“

Not realizing she was holding her breath this whole time, Layla quickly exhaled and with it came a sound distinctly similar to a moan.

“Bringing me what?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” he replied.

“God, I’m so wet,” Layla breathed.

Jon paused, and smiled. “Don’t leave a puddle. I’ll see you soon.”

He walked out the door and she stood, transfixed.

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