Page 2 of Dirty Little Virgin
Several clicks later, I find out this place is a haven for those types of people, and there are many clubs in that city. It’s the number one city in America to find things of this nature. And it seems like the perfect place to begin my search for people who might be helpful enough to be truthful with me and offer me more insight into the dark world that’s shrouded in mystery.
Another click sends me to a picture of a naughty young woman wearing leather clothing and holding her hand to her mouth as she looks surprised. I suppose she never saw the man coming who’s behind her. Hard to believe, as he has a whip in his hand, and it’s aimed for her round and firm ass. Somehow, he’s surprised her with what he’s about to do.
No fear is in her eyes. No tears from pain. Only a surprised look covers her pretty face. The man wears a firm expression on his ruggedly handsome facade. I can hear him now, in my mind, “Gertie, you have this coming to you. You forgot the salt in my soup again.”
I giggle to myself, as that was an actual line in one of the novels I read, recently. Even then I thought it was silly and dimwitted. If a man told me I was about to get whipped with an actual whip because of something so small and easily fixed with the jiggle of a salt shaker, I’d most likely laugh and walk away. He would obviously be an idiot and not worth my attention or time.
My mind is too strong, and so is my will, to ever be involved in any of that stuff. But it’s such a fantasy for many women that it bears investigating. My first novel in the erotic realm should have more than a grain of truth to it. I want some real grit mixing in with the fairy tale of a story I will create. None of that phony crap!
I wonder if I can find a real Dom or Master to ask questions to. I wonder if any of them would even want to take time away from whipping asses to talk to a lowly, vanilla virgin about things she knows little to nothing about.
Doubt clouds my vision as I sit back and gaze at the next thing that’s popped up on my screen. A couple of women, clad in nothing but black panties, stand with their backs to a whip-wielding man who wears a black mask and looks like he’s about to bring down the rain on them both.
“Run, you morons,” I say out loud, as I notice an open door to their right.
Is it humanly possible to stand still and take the pain of a whip when you’re steps away from escape?
Is it possible that, in some people, the need to feel pain is overwhelming, like a drug addict who hates the after effects of a certain drug but can’t stop taking it?
The sharp eyes of the women as they look over their shoulders while holding hands, waiting for the whip to meet one of their bodies, haunt me. How can they be so bright eyed with pain on the way?
If I see a hot burner on the stove, I don’t touch it. If I saw a man running wildly down the street with his belt in his hand, striking out at people, I’d hide. So why do some seek this out?
And what chance do I have of finding even one of the people who practice BDSM who would be willing to help me understand them? And why would they want to?
I’m offering no compensation for their time. I’m offering nothing. I merely want to satisfy my own curiosity, nothing more than that. I want to use what I’m given to make money, as a matter of fact.
No, it’s doubtful that I will be able to find anyone in the BDSM scene to answer my questions. Perhaps I should end this silliness. Maybe I should put this idea to rest and focus on romantic comedy, instead. That would be so much easier, wouldn’t it?
Pierce
Her ass sways as she leaves the room. Strands of leather cover it, and red marks cover the places the straps don’t. After an hour of cuddling my sub for the evening, Tasha, she feels safe enough to leave my company in the private room I rented at The Dungeon of Decorum. She wanted no sex, only punishment. And I gave her what she asked for, like any good Dom would.
Relaxing on the small bed in the room made for torturing the flesh of submissives, I can’t help but recall the first time I came here. It was a mere three years ago, yet it feels like a century.
Bogged down in business, I was burning out fast. Being the new CEO of Waterson Mutual, a business finance company in Portland, Oregon, I was trying to prove my worth to the board, busting my ass far more than I needed to. And it was catching up to me.
Grant Jamison became my friend and eventual hero. Older than me by five years, he took me under his wing and taught me that work is great, but one should always leave time for play.
Grant’s idea of play was very different from what my idea was. I thought he was suggesting playing racquetball with him and the friends he talked about. What he brought me into was far more serious than a ballgame.
In the matter of one month, I was inducted into the brotherhood of the Dominants at a local BDSM club, aptly named The Dungeon of Decorum, a place I now visit often.
Being a Dom comes naturally to me, as if I was born to lead, teach, and rule women. At thirty- five, I’ve been told I should be settling down and finding a woman to marry. I’ve been told I can keep my dark hobby a secret and lead a normal life in every other way, but that sounds boring to me.
Being a part of the club I belong to means I can’t divulge any information about myself or any other members. We’re an eclectic group of men, who happen to all be wealthy. With that in common, we all have to hide our secret lives. After all, who would want a mayor, a banker, or a statesman who’s into such dark things?
I was astonished by the faces I saw upon visiting the club for the first time. Men from all over the U.S. come to the club. Auctions are especially busy, as not only men come from everywhere, but so do the women who are auctioned off.
Personally, I’ve never bought a woman. I’ve never had an ongoing thing with any of the subs. I prefer one-time scenes. I follow up with the women I’ve played with for about a week’s time, then it’s on to other things. Things like other women with other needs, fetishes, and desires.
Studying techniques extensively has earned me the reputation for being one of the best Doms if one is looking for an excellent experience in bondage. My kinks are bondage, suspension, cupping, impact play, and power exchange, all of which I am particularly good at.
More than once, I’ve been called driven— in business, in bed, and in my personal kinks. If it interests me, I dive into it head first and don’t come up until I’m saturated in knowledge.
I’ve had three serious relationships in my life. Two of them ended because of my incessant drive. Janet, in college, said I was too into my studies and not enough into her. So, she dumped me.
Leah, my second girl, lived with me when I first started working in the finance world. I had to devote most of my time to work. I wanted to move up quickly. After a year, she called it quits too, another woman who told me I didn’t spend enough time with her.
