It was a thing that she had never dared to do. The monthly munch often had contests, and she had thought from time to time of trying them. But she didn’t have a regular Dom, she didn’t have a big “exhibitionist” fetish, and she wasn’t at all into public play.
She could blame it on the drinking, maybe. The weather was cold and raw and wet, the week had been long and frustrating and busy. Here, at last, was a chance to unwind and just be. Not the good little office machine…but just a woman.
Okay, a slut, but still a woman.
The sign on the door had made her roll her eyes.
“A Tip for a Tit”
Tit Contest Tonight!
Are you “sub” enough to submit to titty torment? Are you Dom enough to make them squeal?
Sign up at the bar!
(all proceeds donated to Breast Cancer Research:
October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month!)
She’d had a drink. And another. And the fine print under the sign read “all proceeds to go to breast cancer research”. And somehow her name and a $20 bill had gone across the bar to Mick, who had collected both with a smile and a “good luck, lass!”
Which explained why she was standing here, hands tied behind her back and her shirt neatly folded over them. A Domme paced before the group, gearing them up. She’d flick a nipple here, encourage good posture there. Twelve women, all the same as her, wrists bound, tits thrust forward. A crowd had gathered, and Jess didn’t know if it was the giggles and pointing, or the drinks, but she felt a rush of lust between her legs that shocked her.
She was not an exhibitionist!
The Master of Ceremonies, Sir Malcolm, came to the front of the stage to face the twelve women.
“You have chosen of your own free will to submit?”
Twelve heads nodded nearly simultaneously.
“You have all paid the price of admission, and I thank you for your donations. Soon you will pay an even dearer price,” and he turned to the audience with a snicker. They laughed.
“Bids have been taken from Masters and Mistresses who have chosen to winnow you down from the twelve, to the one. The One will receive a special prize, but I won’t go into detail now. You have chosen to submit…and so you shall.”
He paused a moment, looking at each woman carefully.
“The safeword for tonight’s contest is RED. R-E-D. Got it? When you’ve had enough, bow out by saying the safeword. You can safeword at any point in the contest. The contest is over when the last of the two safewords. Understood, subgirls?”
Again, all twelve heads nodded, nearly at the same time. She almost rolled her eyes, a dozen dumb sluts- it was the makings of a joke, somewhere. Yet there she was, smiling and nodding along with the rest of them.
Okay, it was more of a grimace. What the fuck had she been thinking? Geezuz. Blame it on the alcohol, but when she saw the first Dom step up with the wicked-looking riding crop, it shocked her sober.
He went down the line, smacking each tit firmly. Twelve girls, 24 quick slaps of the quirt. And He paced back, hitting a bit faster, a bit harder. Two girls down from her, a tiny-breasted brunette gasped as He hit her nipple and yelped “RED!” loud enough to be heard in Wisconsin.
Clarissa almost rolled her eyes. Yet, everyone’s pain was different. Mistress Nyte released the sub, catching Clarissa’s half-frown and winking at her, out of view of the audience. The crowd had doubled, avid eyes staring at the women bound on the stage. All of them had pink slashes on their tits. The Master was allowed one more forward and return trek across the stage. She hissed a terse ‘fuck’ as he struck her nipple firmly, and felt the answering jolt in her pussy.
She’d always been turned on by nipple pain.
Each Dom or Mistress had paid for a chance to titty-whip the volunteers on stage. One by one they dropped subs, some trying valiantly to not cry, others holding their beaten boobs as they went off-stage, drooling snot and tears down their faces.
Clarissa hissed as a Domme hit her hard, cross-hatching over her first pass. There was no rule as to which tit, or how many blows they could land as they moved down the line, and this Domme had hit her quite a few extra times.
The proof of that lay, not only in the red cords of welts, but in the trail of sex juice that was leaking from her in a steady stream. She’d had two orgasms already. The Domme leaned close to speak into her ear.
“You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? Cumming like a slut all over the stage floor? Tsk.” With a smile, she struck hard across Clarissa’s left nipple, rousing a surge of lust and a loud yelp from her. Blessedly, she moved on, finishing her pass on the stage. A loud moan at the far end of the group made her look down there. She was surprised to see that there were only four girls left, including herself, and one was even now safewording out.
“REally?” drawled the Domme? “Say it again so all can hear you, girl.”
“Red.” Her voice faint with pain, the blonde at the end with what had to be triple E knockers gave up. There was a rousing cheer for her effort, as she was escorted from the stage.
“And then there were three.” Sir Malcolm faced the audience, waving at the three girls with a flourish.
“Shall we take bids on which one leaves first? Silent bids please, and the girls will now be blindfolded.” At his words, three of the participants slid blindfolds over the remaining sluts, blinding them to the proceedings.
Clarissa hated blindfolds, she much preferred to see what was coming at her. But she wasn’t writing the rulebook here. There was assorted shuffling up on stage, and the sudden and shocking feeling of a fiery explosion on her right tit.
She yelped, even as she was struck again.
“Fucking ass!” She hollered. There was a second of shocked silence, then hilarity as her words were repeated. She heard feet, and another girl yelling. And the third girl, once struck, crying “Red, RED, RED!”
How was it even possible that she was one of the two finalists? The thought came and went as a series of slashes against her thrust out tits took her breath away.
The orgasm was vibrant, and vocal. She was lost in sensation, even as fingers came to touch her.
“What a slut you are! Dirty girl…cumming all over my stage?” He spoke quietly, but she recognized Sir Malcolm. Another sharp blow made her cry out in a sharp ululation of pain. Then he moved off and she heard the other girl cry as well. She wasn’t sure what the fuck he was using, but it fucking A hurt!
And suddenly, the other girl cried out “RED! FUcking RED!”
The crowd was wildly chanting, and hands came and tangled in her hair as her mouth was resoundingly kissed. A hand rubbed at her pussy as a tongue claimed her mouth, and she came, hard against the probing fingers. That hand rubbed her wetness on her tits, making the welts sting.
Her hands were freed, and her blindfold removed.
“Congratulate our winning slut! Thank you for your generous donations; we’ve raised $1000 for breast cancer research. A portion of that is going to buy wax for several of the whips used tonight…”
The crowd laughed. Sir Malcolm had a way of making everyone happy.
“and you, my dear little slut,” He looked down at her, “have won an evening with me as your boon companion.”
She swallowed hard. Sir Malcolm was a very popular fixture at these events. And he was going to stay with her? And here she’d been thinking about leaving soon…
“Your obligations for tomorrow?”
She blinked. Tomorrow?
“I..uh…” Geezes, she sounded like a stupid teeny bopper. She was dazzled. And pain-high. And horny as fuck-all. Her brain had fallen out somewhere. She shook her head.
“I have no idea. I…”
He smiled down at her, tolerant.
“It was brave of you to come out of your shell that way and try something new. I’ve been watching you for quite a while. I would never have guessed that tonight would be your blossoming, but you did good, girl.”
“I’d like to take you home. Or to your home. Get to know you better. You never stay long at the play parties, or the munches, but I would like you to be my companion. That is your reward, little one. For coming out of your shell. For baring far more than your tits.”
Dazzled, she nodded up at him. Who would have thought that showing her boobs, and getting titty-beaten would have brought her to this place?
This she no longer “blamed” on the alcohol.
He pinched one bruised nipple, and lead her across the floor to the bar. Pushing her into a stool, he stood looking down at her as the bartender offered two glasses of wine.
“To new adventures, little one,” he said, his eyes intense. She smiled, tipped her glass to his, and sipped.
“And to fucking good times ahead, Sir,” she said impudently.
“Indeed,” He replied with a grin.
And pinched her nipple until she squealed.