The Club Dress

12 min read

photo: MetArt

You bought the dress for taking pictures, but Sir caught you checking yourself out in the mirror. You blushed and said it was too small to wear out but he said, “Oh no, Princess. You’re wearing it to the club tonight. I love how it just covers your ass.” His hands ran along the bottom hem, teasing your skin.

So, hours later you are in a cab wearing the dress under a long overcoat. The driver can’t see your dress, but Sir slips his hand inside your coat and teases your nipple piercing through the lace. The cab driver watches in the rear view mirror and you curl into Sir.

Sir’s hand squeezes yours, he knows you have a spectator. “A lot more people will see a lot more of you tonight,” he whispers.

He pays the driver before he gets out of the car, holding your hand to help you out. Your heels click on the sidewalk under you as you head for the club. You’ve been here before, but never exposed like this.

Inside the front doors, Sir says, “I’ll check our coats.”

You shake your head. “I’m not ready.” Your legs almost crash you to the floor.

He leans closer. “Princess, if you don’t take it off I’ll drag you straight to the back and take a flogger to your pretty little ass.”

You grasp the sash around your waist and untie it slowly. Your eyes grab a piece of the floor as your shaking fingers push the buttons from their holes. Sir stands behind you and eases the covering off your shoulders. As he exposes the dress you expect to be cold, but the club air is warm. And your body flushes with aroused discomfort.

Sir checks your coat at the front desk then puts his hand on your back and pushes you forward. You walk into the club and all eyes are on you; the ones involved in more lascivious activities only glance at you as you pass them. But the ones who are casually chatting or observing the action roam your all-but-naked body with greedy eyes. This dress leaves nothing to the imagination.

Your body is hot from the embarrassment and the feeling of pure sex as Sir points you to a table. You sit against the wall, legs sticky on the vinyl booth from sweat and arousal. Crossing your arms over your chest, your eyes land on Sir as he heads to the bar to get your drinks. He leans on the bar holding your gaze. His head shakes as he returns, drinks in hand.

“You’re a bad girl,” he whispers. “Hands at your sides. I want everyone to see what I own.”

Your eyes dart around the room as your arms lower. Several sets of eyes skim your exposed flesh; most people have returned to their own partners. Sir’s hand teases your piercing for the new audience.

He uses his free hand to sip his drink. “I don’t think they can see enough of you.” He grabs your thigh and pulls it over his leg. His hand slides between your legs, his fingers cool from the glass as he brushes over your heated skin. Your eyes fall on a couple across the bar, they are making out, hot and heavy, his hands are all over her breasts, squeezing and pressing into her soft flesh. He pulls down a cup of her brassiere and the pink center of her nipple draws your gaze before it disappears into his mouth and she arches her back, a silent plea for more.

Sir’s finger teases your clit and the combination of watching the couple and his contact makes you shiver. “So wet already. You’re either going to come often tonight or spend the night on edge.” His finger brushes the throbbing nub. “I can’t decide which.”

Your eyes jerk to him. “Please Sir.”

“Keep watching them, Princess. He’s fingering her behind that table.” Sir’s fingers pinch your clit. Then he removes his hand and drinks from his glass. “You haven’t touched your drink.”

You spare a quick glare to him. When your gaze returns to the couple the woman rocks her hips as her partner fingers her in the shadow. His hand disappears under her skirt. She clings to him, her mouth lax as she pants. She’s close, you decide. And then her moans break through the hum of conversation, and others turn to watch the display of passion.

Neither of them heed their audience, as her moans pitch higher, her mouth tightens, her movements turn frantic. Then she goes limp in his arms, her sigh of relief echoing through the voyeurs as she climaxes on his fingers.

They hold for a bit longer, then pull apart, returning to their drinks. She echoes your flush of awkwardness and keeps her eyes on the table, but he grins with triumph as he looks around. He meets your eyes for a moment and winks, but you look away.

How will you feel when you are the one having an orgasm in front of their rapacious eyes?

You pick up your drink and sip it, grabbing a piece of ice with your tongue to cool your heated body. Your body is on edge and you want to jump on Sir and rub against his hard cock until you come. That would surely get a harsh punishment, but it might be worth it.

When you set your drink down, a woman walks by. You grab your drink again because her sex appeal leaves your mouth dry.

Sir pulls you closer and kisses your ear and neck. His fingers pluck at your nipple piercing, teasing then twisting until you gasp. But he refuses to touch you where you are hottest, needy, desperate. He holds your leg over his, keeping you on display and from any hint of satisfaction.

You refuse to beg, knowing it will only make it worse. Sir cannot be cajoled or pushed. In this mood, not even begging on your knees makes a difference.

You watch the woman as she goes to the bar and orders a drink. She leans on the bar and looks around, her eyes falling on you and the air squeezes from your lungs.

“She’s looking at you,” he whispers, squeezing your thigh.

You shake your head. “She’s not.”

“She is.” He grabs your chin and kisses you hard, his tongue using your gasp to gain entry. And as quick as it started, he breaks it off and crosses the bar to her. They talk, looking at you a couple times. A smile crosses her face, and she taps the bar. Sir pays for her drink and she follows him back to your table.

“Princess this is Sugar. She’s visiting the club with friends she plays with sometimes. But they are okay with her exploring.”

Sugar points to a couple in the corner. The woman is in a variation of a schoolgirl uniform and he’s in a suit and tie with a fedora of all things. You draw your eyes back to the woman in front of you. She’s wearing a revealing outfit without revealing anything. The whole thing is mesh, except the parts covering her nipples and anything below her belly button.

“Nice to meet you.” You hold out your hand.

She shakes it, with a firm grip, then kisses the back of your hand. She giggles and blushes before she says, “Nice to meet you, Princess. May I have a seat?” she asks Sir.

“Yes, please.” He points to the other side of you and she sits next to you. Her thighs press against yours.

“I love your dress. I could never wear something that revealing.”

Sir smirks at your squirm. “Princess didn’t think she could either. She’s only wearing it under duress. She thought she’d buy it for my eyes only, but I’m a brute and forced her out tonight to show off what I own.”

You want to hide, now that you are cool after Sir’s teasing, but you remember your body is on display. There’s nowhere to hide here, you could burrow your face in Sir’s neck but he’ll open your legs again and tease you until you don’t care.

“She’s a beautiful sight in that dress. Do you ever share with others?”

“Sometimes. It’s rare, but my Princess was watching you and I hate to deny her what she wants.” He strokes your hair. “She’s always such a good girl.”

You lean against him, a purr coming from your throat involuntarily. He’s trained you well. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I teased her and she soaked her pussy.” Sir cups your breast and teases your nipple with his thumb.

You pick up your glass and finish the sweet mix, letting the warmth of the alcohol wash down your throat. The churn of self-consciousness wars with the thrill of his touch, until his diversion takes over your body.

“We were all teased by that performance,” Sugar nods to the now empty table across from you. The couple likely in a private playroom now, fucking — pity you can’t watch. “What does she like?”

He fishes a piece of ice from your glass and rubs it on your mouth. “She likes ice and she enjoys teasing.”

“I wouldn’t say I like it,” you grumble.

“Are you complaining Princess?” His voice lashes you for the moment of sass.

“Sorry, Sir. I like when you tease me.” You look at your hands folded on your lap.

He rubs the ice on your non-pierced nipple. The heat melts it quickly and he grabs another piece. “You tease her other side, the pierced side is more sensitive.” Sugar takes the ice and rubs it on your pierced nipple through the lace, then Sir rubs another against the frozen side.

Your nipples tighten until your attention is nothing more than a pinpoint of lust. The ice freezes the last of your apprehension and propels you into wanting. Waves of arousal grip your body from the inside, rocking your hips.

“She likes it,” Sugar says.

Sir presses the rest of his ice into your gaping mouth and you close on it, letting the cold take your being. “If you could lift her leg over yours and hold it while you keep teasing her.”

Sugar complies and Sir pulls your other leg over his spreading you for easier access. Your body is lax, wanting whatever lascivious actions they perform on you, as long as you can come soon. He pulls you for a deep kiss, then his cold fingers brush against your inner thighs. And you gasp as he presses a cube of ice against your clit. “Fuck,” you moan. Your body shivers from the dual sensation of freezing overwhelming you, a quick orgasm.

But as the stimulation doesn’t end, everything builds again. The ice melts away, but the cold fingers don’t stop teasing. Sugar pulls your head towards her, soft lips brush over yours, teeth nipping your bottom lip. You lean back, closing your eyes as two sets of fingers fondle between your legs. You ignore the murmurs of negotiation between Sugar and Sir. Sugar has a glove on her finger as she flicks your clit, and Sir thrusts two fingers into your pussy. Two sets of lips close on your breasts and you can’t stop the deep moan that must draw attention.

Knowing you are being watched like the couple who had your attention only moments earlier heightens your arousal. In response to your moans and rocking hips, they move harder and faster against you, pushing and pulling you to an orgasm that races through you setting off a cascade of pleasure from head to toe.

Sir kisses you, his tongue licking at the tingles on your tongue, trying to lap up the pleasure. Then Sugar’s lips are on yours, her tongue exploring the softness of your mouth.

“Play room?” Sugar says.

Sir pulls you to your feet, unsteady on the high heels in the immediate aftershocks of the orgasm. “Playroom. So much more I want to do to my sweet Princess.”

You lean on Sir as he helps you through the club to a private room. Your knees too weak, your body too shaky, and your mind too drunk on lust.

The hallway to the playrooms is dimly lit. But you find one that is empty and Sir pushes you inside. You look at the bed, the St. Andrew’s cross in the corner makes you shiver. “Still cold from the ice?” Sir asks, mocking you.

Sir sits on a chair and pulls you onto his lap. “So Miss Sugar, what sort of play do you enjoy?” He cups your breast and teases your nipple.

She walks around the room, her fingers caressing the edges of the cross. “A good flogger session always gets me going.” She checks her hair in the mirrors behind the bed, then runs her hand across the black sheets. “Being tied or having someone tied spread eagle, totally at the mercy of the others in the room.” Her eyes bore into yours and you bite your bottom lip. Is she insinuating you should be restrained?

“You aren’t a submissive?”

The waves of her brown curls brush her shoulders as she shakes off the label. “A switch. I don’t want to kneel, but I enjoy being hurt. I will hurt someone if they ask.” She closes in on you, perched on Sir’s lap, her sultry words spinning a web of desire around you, pulling you toward her, willing prey for her dirty games.

Even Sir, who swears he’s seen everything, is caught up in the pictures she paints. His breath catches in his chest and you only notice because you stopped breathing.

Sugar stops in front of you. “I enjoy fucking. Every way you can imagine and some you may not have thought of.” She puts her hands on your face and her teeth grab your bottom lip. She dents your soft flesh, making you gasp, so she can sweep your mouth with her tongue, making your head swirl. One hand on each leg, both hers, push your legs apart. Sir shifts to accommodate her, two fingers drag across your slit, parting the velvet lips, and gathering the slick between your legs, the same two fingers splitting you in two, curling against your inner walls. She pulls back and examines the wetness, your wetness on her fingers. “The only one more wet than Princess slut here, is me.”

Sugar paints your lips with your desire, her eyes scorch yours as she sucks her fingers. “Hold her open for me would you good sir?” Her eyes flicked to his and he parts your thighs.

This is new, Sir following someone’s orders. But you don’t have time to dwell because Sugar’s sultry mouth skims your inner thigh, her heat closes on your pussy. Her tongue parts your velvet lips, scalding your clit with its softness.

Need spills from you, in a roll of your hips, a raw moan from your throat. Hunger for release pulls you apart, a sudden fever in contrast with the cold from earlier.

Sir’s voice slices through the heat with cold steel in his voice. “Don’t let her come yet.”

Sugar snatches your orgasm away, leaving you throbbing with unrealized elation. Ecstasy pulses through your body, demanding satisfaction beyond your relief.

“We need more ice to cool her down,” Sugar drawls, her eyes glowing with eagerness.

“Need a bloody ice bath then,” you mutter.

Sir urges you to your feet. “You need to remove your dress and stand at the cross, back to the room.” The cool of his voice licks at your skin, pulling at your submissive nature. Your needs become secondary to his commands.

You leave the lace of your dress on the floor. You look at the flimsy material lying there. Is it even a dress? You walk to the cross and stare at the wall, your pulse racing.

“Pain will cool her better. We’ll cuff her first.” He binds your left side with the restraints attached to the cross. Sugar does your right at wrist and ankle.

Anticipation spools in you, rekindling the fire from before. You close your eyes, wondering what they will do to you, what implements they will hurt you with.

They discuss options: flogger, crop, cane, settling on hands — good old fashioned skin-to-skin spanking.

Sugar lights the fire under your skin with her softer hands. Her slaps sting and you moan, your skin heating. Sir watches beside you, his eyes drifting from her actions to your reactions.

“I like this view. We will do this again.” But he stops Sugar and takes over. His blows are heavier, stiffer. And he waits as each hit travels through your nerves, like electricity down the wire until it fizzles, then — crack! — another smack sparks a new wave of pain, settling in between your thighs.

You lose track of how long his prolonged torture lasts. He pulls you back into the room by the hair, his accusation harsh, biting, “She loves and hates the pain. My favorite game is to hurt her while pleasuring her.”

“Confuse the mind so pain is pleasurable but pleasure feels painful.” Sugar’s voice cuts through your haze.

His hands grab your ass, making you hiss. “Exactly. Princess, how are you?”

“However you want me to be Sir.” Your mind is too far in subspace. “Amazing.”

“Will you fuck her now? She looks as if she’s ready to be fucked.” Sugar’s voice drips with eagerness.

Sir bites your shoulder making you gasp. He tugs your head back further, your back bending, arms straining between his force and the restraints. “She does, but I think I’d like to watch her pleasure you.”

Your eyes close as you relax in the restraints, not fighting it. You are their toy now, following their commands, used for their pleasure. And knowing all that brings joy to your submissive body right to the core. Sir kisses you harshly but briefly. Your body sags against the restraints.

When he releases the ties, Sugar is on the bed, reclining on the pillows. Sir puts his hand on your neck, fingers pressing on the edge of bruising. But he won’t leave any lasting marks here.

“Show us where you want my Princess to touch you.” Sir moves you closer to the bed. He stands behind you, his hands cover your breasts. Here he can leave marks, he can bruise you, leave stripes with a flogger or cane. And his fingers press into you roughly.

Sugar pulls up her dress. Her fingers spread her outer pussy lips, revealing the soft inner folds and her clit. “Right here, Princess.” Her finger taps the nub.

Sir’s fingers tease your nipples gently. “You’re going to lick her until she comes.”

You nod, licking your dry lips. “Yes, Sir.”

He pushes you onto the bed, your head between her legs. You don’t dare hesitate, so you extend your tongue and slick it over her inner lips, satin on velvet, heat on fire.

Sir’s weight pushes the bed down as he slides beside you, his hand on your head reminding you not to let up for a moment. Sugar’s eyes are on you, her legs boxing you in, her moans pushing you faster. Your heartbeat and breathing match her writing hips, chaotic and untethered. Your body feels on edge with hers, your thighs rub together as you suck her clit.

Sir slaps your ass. “You may not come again until everyone else has.”

Sugar’s thighs shake and close on you. Sir holds your head and she rides your face through her moaning, writhing, trembling climax. As she comes down from the peak, Sir leaves the bed. You should worry about his plan, but the need to come overpowers any thoughts. He can do whatever he wants as long as you can come.

He pulls you to the edge of the bed and slams into your pussy. Your body is limp as he thrusts into you, driving for pleasure.

“Don’t come,” he hisses. “I don’t want to punish you.”

“Hurry please,” you moan.

He pounds you and you feel his surrender. He slumps against you, but his fingers grip your clit, pinching and pulling, flooding you with pain, but you come anyway, jerking against the bed.

“Princess, buying the dress was a very good idea,” Sir says. You lie limp, exhausted, but satisfied from a good night out.

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