As we dress for the club, Mister simply says “No panties.”

He doesn’t elaborate.  It unnerves me to wear even less than the fishnet top and the teensy black skirt I have on. Mister gestures towards the pair of fishnets in my hand. I pass them over, he rips a hole in the crotch, then gives them back to me. I wriggle into them, then pull on a pair of black knee high boots. Mister fastens a belt made of restraint cables around his black kilt. A little rubber whip dangles from one side. “Let’s go,” says Mister.

The club is packed. Music throbs like a giant heartbeat, the cigarette smoke swells and recedes like a collective deep breath. Mister heads for the bar, knowing to bring me a vodka and cranberry juice. I stand in the corner alone and wait, still feeling shy after years of being nothing but background noise. Odd to think only a year ago leaving the top button on my blouse open felt too revealing.

Mister sneaks up behind a short pretty blonde at the bar, yanking her hair hard. She turns angrily to see Mister standing there. She brightens,  kissing him long and deep as he runs his hands across her breasts. The bartender stands there a moment holding the drinks, then sets them on the bar, moving on. Mister talks to the blonde a moment, gestures towards me, grabs the drinks and leaves.

“Who was that?” I ask. “Some brat,” Mister flashes me an evil grin, “don’t worry about it.”

Mister leads me to a section of the bar overlooking the dance floor, pulls me to him, my back pressing against his front. I feel his hand snaking up my short skirt, searching for the hole he ripped earlier. I start to squirm and he smacks my ass. “Stand still,” he orders, grabbing the back of my neck with one hand. I try not to drop my drink as he works his fingers into me. I arch into him, we rock back and forth together, his hot breath on my ear.

Suddenly, we notice a young man with long brown dreadlocks watching us. He looks alarmed, like he thought he was invisible. “I just wanted to tell you…” he stammers, “I just wanted to tell you that you’re the first girl I’ve ever seen that can really pull off wearing fishnets.” He turns a deep crimson. I smile at him and he flees in terror.

“Awwww,” says Mister, “that was so cute.” He takes his fingers out of my pussy and pops them into my mouth. I obediently suck them clean, tasting my own essence mixed with the salt of his skin. Mister says he’s ready for another drink. I turn around to watch the mass of people on the dance floor, the lights flashing  blue and purple illuminating the clouds of cigarette smoke. Soft green lights of glow sticks scatter through out the heaving crowd. A voluptuous girl wearing nothing but strategically placed X’s of black tape and a pair of battered angel wings twirls alone in a corner.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Lift your skirt up and grab the rail,” Mister says in my ear. I don’t turn around. I flip up my skirt and grab the rails with both hands, not knowing what to expect. I hear the whistle of the whip just a moment before it lands across my ass. I brace for the next one. Mister leans against the rail next to me. I’m confused.

“Harder,” he barks. “She can take it.” The whip stings lightly across my thighs a few times, then hits my ass with a solid thwack. My hands feel slippery against the railing. I desperately concentrate on the peeling yellow paint, trying to not look behind me. I wonder how much of my pussy is exposed from the long tear in my fishnets. The warm fluid seeping from between my legs feels odd in contrast to the cold sweat trickling down my back.

Mister says “Give it to me,” then I feel his familiar stroke. I relax a little, even though it stings like a motherfucker. He flicks the whip up and down my legs, and across my ass some more until I’m moaning out loud. Mister’s lashing is nowhere near as gentle or tentative. My knees turn to jelly and I start to tremble all over.  “Good little brat,” he says as he spins me around. I’m shocked to find everyone sitting at the bar is frozen, watching our little game.

The little blonde from earlier stands next to Mister. Gliding over, she takes my burning face in her hand and gives me a long smooth kiss that tastes like an expensive cocktail. She bends me over, smacks me hard on the ass one final time, kisses Mister on the cheek and flounces towards the dance floor. “Good little slut,” Mister says as he hands me a fresh drink, “that was very, very good.”

Daisy’s note: This post was featured on!