Winning Ticket

“Ticket 363872,” called  Le Domme from the middle of the main stage. “C’mon folks, check your ticket stubs and don’t be shy!”

There was a commotion from down front and a cute puppy girl raised her paw.

“C’mon down, pup,” called Leda. To the amusement of the audience, the girl dropped to all fours and did indeed scamper down to the stage, then up the steps to claim her prize. Leda turned to the table and took the certificate to the girl, putting it in her mouth with an admonishment to take it to her master, pronto. She followed that with a quick swat of the crop on the girls rump.

“Puppy lisa and her owner have won a lovely meal at Mystique,” Leda announced, and the crowd applauded. “And next,” she gestured with her crop to her boy to bring the fishbowl forward again. Withdrawing another ticket the process was repeated several times. Prizes were awarded, and each time Serenity breathed a sigh of relief. She sat in jeans and a tee-shirt, looking by far the strangest in her street clothing than any of the others in their assorted “fringe elements” attire. She hadn’t known that her entry ticket to Tops ‘n bottoms would include a lottery ticket, which had been pressed into her hand by an insistent “nun” at the door. She wasn’t even sure why she still kept it, really. Or why she had come to the club in the first place.

Okay that was a lie. She knew why. She was just like these people. Just–you couldn’t tell by looking at her. Despite the feeling of “I kind of fit here” she also felt a bit weird, too. She had never done anything so overtly “open” before. Reading, masturbating, ad on those websites with a hopeful kind of feeling of “maybe”, sure. But go out? To a BDSM club? Well that kind of took balls, didn’t it?

“Number 363553…I KNOW you’re out there. Everyone got a ticket, so don’t be shy…”

With something akin to horror Serenity realized that the winning ticket was hers. Oh. Shit. She rose, though she wasn’t sure how as her legs wobbled terribly.

“There’s our winner!” announced Leda, and all eyes turned to her. Serenity wanted to melt into the floor, but instead found herself walking. She made it to the stage steps, then stood helplessly wondering how to lift her foot and take the next step.

“Need help?” a soft voice spoke just behind her. The honeyed tones sent a shiver up her spine. She shook her head, but already his hand was on her elbow. His voice whispered against her left lobe. “Step. That’s right. Good girl. Another…” and somehow she was up on the stage standing next to the imposing form of Le Domme. Her tits were amazing, almost spilling over the top of the pleather corset that was so shiny it looked liquid. Serenity didn’t mean to stare at them but there they were, right there in her face.

“Congratulations dear, you won the grand prize.”

“I-I did?”

“An evening with Master Roarke, you lucky slut you.” Lena turned to the man who held Serenity’s elbow still, gave a regal nod of her head to him. “I’m given to understand that part of the prize is a public demonstration of orgasm overload?”

He leaned forward to speak into the proffered mic.

“Yes indeed. We need some time to prepare, and we’ll see you all on Stage B in an  hour or so.”

The crowd went wild, cheering and clapping, even as Serenity’s mouth opened and closed. There had to be someone else who could claim this prize. She was a newbie. She wasn’t up for…

“Come along, little girl, we have much to do in an hour…”

His grasp on her elbow tightened as he led her backstage.

************************************************************************************

 

She’d argued. Cajoled. Whined a tad, which she wasn’t really proud of. Yet here she was, clad only in a slippery, thin miniskirt, and a sash of fabric across her breasts. All but naked, and soon to be so in a very public setting.

Yet, didn’t part of her simply thrill at this? That he had taken full control of the situation of her, had been a turn on of epic proportions. Fear, that slippery beast, had turned her pussy into a molten hotspot. Her nipples rose yet again as she tried to figure out what was going to happen when that curtain rose, and how she would react to it.

“There is no thinking, little one.”

The guy was a fucking mind reader. Another turn on, and yet so aggravating too!

“There is only feeling and going along for the ride. You have a safeword, though you won’t need it. This is new, exciting, yes?” At her nod he continued.

“I’m going to push you, push past where you think your boundaries are. For your first public scene (and didn’t she hate that he said “first” as if implying that there would be more?) I want to you cease to think and merely experience. Relax while you can.” He smiled at her, the quick grin making her belly tremble. She knew nothing about him. Was he a sadist? A sensualist? A combination? Would she hate this? What if she had one of those freeze-ups and couldn’t perform as he wanted her to?

There was no more time for worries. His gesture was impatient, and she roused herself from her tiny pity/fear party and moved over to where he stood. She saw the length of black silk in his hand and almost balked. Somehow, docility flowed through her as he affixed the blindfold over her eyes.

“Stealing your vision…but enhancing your experience,” he said. She relaxed as his hands moved over her hair, wrapping the long length around her eyes twice before tying it off.

“Let the fun begin,” he said taking her wrist and lifting it over her head. There was a snap, the chill of metal against her skin, as first one, then the other of her hands were contained. Her feet were kicked apart, secured, her back resting on a wooden frame of some sort. There was an odd scraping sound, a cough, and the sudden realization that the curtains had opened, that everyone there was looking at her.

And then he tugged on the fabric covering her tits, her skirt, and she was naked before the crowd.

 

About vanillamom

For over 8 years--(EIGHT?!) nilla and M have been a D/s couple. I'm the "small s" side of that designation, as he often reminds me. I'm silly and prone to giggling at inopportune times. He's a wicked Sadist, who feeds me my drug of choice--pain. My brain is always spinning dirty and dark little fantasies, which I sometimes share with the world. Welcome to the nilla-verse. It's wet and slippery here...with a dragon or two lurking.
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19 Responses to Winning Ticket

  1. Kayla Lords says:

    Oh jeez. I *really* need there to be more to this…

  2. sofia says:

    Omg, keep going, don’t stop now!!

    • vanillamom says:

      It was very mean of me to stop like that, wasn’t it? (especially since part two was already written and waiting in the wings, so to speak…!)

      nilla
      ps so glad you enjoyed it!

  3. Wow! I Think it is time to hold a raffle.

  4. mouse says:

    Oh please say there will be more of this????

  5. LadyP says:

    Whimper…

  6. ewoman88 says:

    HEY! YOU CANT STOP THERE!!

    • vanillamom says:

      E!!!!!!!!

      Eeeeee! SOOOOO good to hear your voice!
      and your comment made me giggle …. I know, it was really mean of me to stop there, especially since I had part two written and waiting…

      😀

      nilla

  7. Pingback: Winning Ticket (2) | Vanillamom's Blog

  8. willcrimson says:

    “There was an odd scraping sound, a cough…”

    Ya; know. Perfect. Isn’t it the truth? What is it about coughing?

    “In November, the guest conductor Michael Tilson Thomas famously dealt with a bronchial audience at a Chicago Symphony Orchestra concert by lobbing cough drops into the crowd during Mahler’s Ninth. Earlier that month, pianist Andras Schiff stopped in the middle of an encore in Boston to scold an audience member who had coughed. Less demonstrative performers usually opt to ride it out.”

    “The pianist Alfred Brendel once warned his audience: “Either you stop coughing or I stop playing,” while Baritone Thomas Quasthoff said: “Do not cough until the concert is ended. Because I love this music so much.”

    I mean, here you are. It’s no easy feat to get invited to a private BDSM session among connoisseurs. Trust me. There she is. A work of art. The curtain is drawn. The dom, ready to display years of training, craftsmanship and the pursuit of the exquisitely painful orgasm, is greeted by a cough. You know, Tentacle is left the room for less.

    • vanillamom says:

      you totally crack me up…

      nilla

      *head pops up*…oh…did you say *Tentacle*? I guess I wasn’t aware he was still…you know…uhm…*scuffs floor with toe*..around anymore…

  9. Wordwytch says:

    I haven’t had time to read in ages and now I read this… Oh oh oh damn! I feel like that orphan … More?

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