Page 7 of Taunting Tarran
‘He was telling his mate on the other end of the phone, how I never give him head, so he went to this club where he asked one of the girls to, and I quote “suck his cock like a good girl”.’
‘So gross,’ Anna muttered. I could see her sticking out hertongue in the rearview mirror.
‘Wait!’ Emma interjected. ‘What do you mean you never give head?’
‘Emma!’ Anna nudged, ‘you should be more concerned why he went to a fucking club. But that is a good point. Why aren’tyousucking his cock, Sarah?’
‘Ahem,’ I added. ‘Are we going to let Sarah finish?’
‘Thanks, Tarran. So, yeah…It doesn’t end there, apparently it was one ofthoseclubs…you know…’
‘Those clubs? Like a whore house?’ Emma urged.
‘No…’ Sarah shook her head.
‘Well, spit it out, woman!’ Anna barked.
‘One of those dominatrix places.’ Sarah’s cheeks flushed, reacting like someone had just slapped her. For two agonising minutes there was silence. No one spoke a word.
‘Then?’ I asked.
‘He ended up strapped to the floor with her standing on his cock in a pair of black stilettos. He said he thought she’d punctured his sack.’
‘Holy shit!’ Emma gasped, as Anna burst into laughter.
After dropping off all the girls, I headed home, my mind fixated on finding that elusive club.
I started frequenting The Lickerish Lounge three days a week after meeting Jake on my first visit.
Jake had invited me to a drink and explained that he once played with a girl at primary school that would spank him if he misbehaved – she expected him to behave like a very obedientpuppy, and head-over-heels Jake complied. He says, since joining an all boys’ school he was a late starter, preferring to study and get into university than focus on losing his virginity, and when he did, he stayed with the same woman all his adult life. He eventually met up with a Domme he had found advertised in the back pages of a London newspaper. She tied him to a chair and beat him so hard the bruises lasted a fortnight. He says he’s more of a masochist than a submissive, preferring the pain more than humiliation. And explains it’s like having a sore tooth that you can’t help but bite onto. You know the pain is there, but you can’t help yourself, andthatI could definitely relate to.
I asked him whether there was such a thing for me at The Lickerish Lounge, and he said there was. Just the one room though – mostly where married couples would go so the husband could take part in a cuckold session being forced to watch his wife have sex with another man.
The club’s décor is opulent yet edgy, with plush velvet seating in dark, rich colours and sleek, modern lines. Private alcoves and VIP sections hide behind sheer curtains that offer glimpses of intimate encounters if you are the type to get off with being watched. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light, adding to the mysterious allure even though I always wore a lace mask.
The bar is definitely the focal point, lined with bottles of the finest spirits and staffed by scantily clad women who craft cocktails that are both visually stunning and decadentlydelicious. In the months I have been visiting, I had seen a varied clientele, all dressed to impress, and exuding confidence. I quickly realised that in this world every glance, every touch, is charged with anticipation. It’s a place where whispered promises are exchanged, fantasies become reality, where boundaries are tested and pushed to breaking point. But for me, it’s also a place of punishment – a reminder of what I left behind, of the people I failed to save. Here, I can try and repent my sins, and seek some refuge from the echoes of the boy I let die, and countless others whose lives were lost as I fled in selfish desperation. This is where I come to try and seek redemption for my sins.
A warm blush spreads across my cheeks, and like the first sip of a potent drink, I’m craving more with every step I take. I find myself here several nights a week, lured back by its intoxicating allure, unable to resist the pull. I sip my drink, smiling to myself as I prepare myself to seehimagain, but then a familiar voice shatters my dreams.
‘Tarran! Is that you?’ a man asks dumbly, but it’s too late to look away. He’s walking towards me. Despite my mask, he recognises me.Shit. Shit. Shit. It was a risk I knew could happen, but thought never would.
‘I knew it!’ he slurs. Steve stares at me in bewilderment. ‘If I knew you were into a bit of slap and tickle I needn’t bother wasting my money here. I always thought you were Steve’s ABC factor.’
‘A what?’ I scoff.
‘Appearance, brains, and character. Steve’s ABC factor,’ he nods.
‘Go away, Steve. Go home.’ He ignores me, sipping his drink. Then unsteady on his feet, he leans forward, to glide his nose past my hair.
‘Seriously, Steve?’
‘What?’ he asks wide eyed. ‘I’ve always known you were a freaky bitch.’ He steps towards me even closer, lips puckered. I recoil, but the bar stops me leaning back any further. ‘Just a little kiss,’ he whispers as he blows his alcoholic and cigarette infused breath into my face, his tongue flickering out to lick my lips.
‘Oh, that’s my cue to leave. See you around, Tarran,’ he smirks before walking off.
My heart pounds as the manager nods me over after calling Steve away for his session. My heart beats with a passion I thought I had lost long ago. I pass rooms, several doors left open not minding the odd voyeur. Naked bodies slap and slurp and pound into each other. I pause for a moment seeing a man chained to the bed, both arms and legs spread as a domme straddling his groin slaps his face one way, then the other.
‘Hey! You watch, you pay!’ she yells.
