Orgasmic Stranger (2)

Wedding-BDSM Style

by Ebony Onyx Black

While not for everyone, a wedding in submissive style has its own traditional elements.

Ebony pushed away from her computer, and rose, pacing around the room. She had tried multiple times to write the article, rereading her texts to remind herself of what she was feeling at each critical moment.

What she remembered most was the mysterious stranger who had tormented her breasts and nipples until she had an orgasm. Arriving home last night, she’d stripped, blushing at the condition of her panties. Her nipples were pink-bruised, and she’d stroked them gently, watching in the mirror, imagining his hands there. So lost had she been that she’d crawled into bed, sans shower, pleasuring herself, and for the first time ever, hurting herself. Squeezing her nipples wasn’t the same as his touch had been, but the poignant reminder made her cum hard, her pussy squeezing around her thrusting fingers as she’d exploded.

Walking to the window, hands thrust into the pockets of her jeans, she fingered the smooth agate she kept there to help her think. Smoothing it round and round her fingers, she looked out to her front yard, not really seeing what lay beyond the glass. In her mind’s eye she saw the woman tied in rough rope, the bright slashes of red welts on her fair skin.

What she really needed was to visit the club in the day. To see …whatever there was to see. How could she possibly do her article any justice at all without more facts?

She who was usually so meticulous and organized, never even thought to call ahead. One moment she was writing, the next she was sitting in her car, parked in front of the innocuous entry to Club Crop.

It looked…like any other old brick building in the city. The windows were high up, the door was heavy metal. It looked just like what it was, an old warehouse on the edge of town. She wondered if anyone was even there. She’d be pissed at herself if there wasn’t. Why hadn’t she called first?

Her heart raced. She knew why….and refused to admit it.

She was not nervous.

“Get ahold of yourself, woman!” she told herself sternly. Sliding from her car, she hitched her micropurse over her shoulder, and walked with purpose up the walkway to the door. She knocked. Waited. Knocked.

Turning she gazed across the parking lot. Though there wasn’t a car in the back lot, there were cars on the street. Surely someone was here. Looking back at the door she saw a small sign on the tiny window inset in the door.

Ring bell for entry.

“Duh,” she said aloud, depressing the black button.

“Yes?” came a voice.

She peered around. Where had that come from?

“I’m Ebony Onyx Black and…”

“Right-the reporter. C’mon up.” There was a dull buzzzz and a click as the door lock was released. As she pulled it open she looked up and saw the small speaker inset above the door. She was not paying attention today!

She stepped in, allowing a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness.  Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that she was here to follow up on her story. Nothing else.  She blinked, looking around. To the right was a set of wooden stairs. At the landing, a sign said “OFFICE” with an arrow pointing up and to the left. Putting on her best “I’m a reporter don’t fuck with me” attitude, she climbed the stairs to the second floor.


“What can I do for you, Ms. Black?”

He was young, certainly under 30. The tee-shirt he wore fit like a second skin, showing muscular arms and torso that might have made a weaker woman drool. His eyes were blue, his hair a sandy blonde. He looked like a surfer dude, somewhat grown up.

He was cocky, too.

He smiled at her in that way that young people did when tolerating an older person. It grated.

“I’m doing some follow-up on the story I’m working on. I came to the wedding last night- I was invited by Charlie Dunn – and I think I need some more information.”

Charlie Dunn owned the building, the business, and was a well-respected member of the community. She had agreed to keep his name out of the article. But he’d wanted her to be objective.  They’d been friends since high school, yet she had never known this side of him. It certainly made sense, now. He’d always been a leader. People listened when he spoke.

He had presence.

“Ah. Charlie sent you. Gotcha. Well, feel free to wander around. There are a few people here, just so you’re not surprised when you see someone on the cross or something.”

She nodded.

“I’ll round someone up in a few minutes to guide you around, but you can go down to the main floor and see what’s up.”

“Thanks.” Rising, she took the man’s hand, shook it firmly. It seemed to amuse him that she squeezed him so hard, but he was gentle when he squeezed back.

‘Cocky prick,’ she thought. He must be what they called a ‘dom’ because he certainly was a ….confident sort of fellow. That kind of attitude could be wearing after a bit, she mused as she ka-thunked her way downstairs in her heels. Wondering where to go, what to look at first, she wandered to the far doorway. Inside here is where the wedding took place, if she remembered correctly.

On the wall directly inside was a rack containing more than a dozen kinds of whips. Ones that looked like the kinds that horse racers used, and long coiled ones that made her very nervous. Such was the style that the man had used on his bride last night. Trailing a finger down the intricately braided handle, she was startled by a voice directly behind her.

“So, you’ve come back then, little girl?”