She doesn't remember exactly when it started, but she does remember when she noticed it. Fourteen years old and running around outside with some of the kids from the neighborhood. Colin had pulled up a spring onion with its long, thin green leaves and was chasing the girls around trying to whip them. He got her right on the ass, and it hurt, but it sent that tingle right to where she had recently started to get tingles when she liked something. She doesn't remember when it started, but she does remember when she noticed that she liked the pain.
It's moved on from that of course, and now she's twenty-four and living in the greatest city on Earth, only she's having problems finding the right man to fill the role she needs. She's tried to find the right person, but anytime she brings up the possibility of enjoying sexual domination, it ruins the relationship entirely. So now she has a revised plan.
It's all Santana's fault really. Because girlhood friends who end up becoming adulthood friends know way too much about you and give you the worst kinds of ideas. And during Tuesday's obligatory best-friend-lunch Rachel had been bemoaning the lack of male companionship willing to fulfill her sexual needs when Santana had suggested what should have been the obvious (what was probably obvious to anyone other than Rachel). Why not start looking in the area that men always failed her?
And that's why she finds herself with her best friend in one of the hottest BDSM clubs in New York City. She's wearing a borrowed bustier that, let's face it, is a little loose on her chest because it's borrowed from Santana, but the lacing allows it to be just tight enough. Rachel doesn't own clothing sexy enough to be seen in a place like this, and Santana had been sure to dress her properly for the occasion.
Santana has no interest in this lifestyle, but her sense of style says otherwise, and she fits in perfectly with the leather-clad crowd. She looks like she stepped out of the pages of an erotic novel, and Rachel tries not to be jealous of her friend who will no doubt have had at least five advances before they leave the club. There's no cover-charge for females and the place is dry to promote safety but there is erotic furniture set up everywhere on small stages. The music is loud but not too loud to hear a safeword and Rachel finds a booth. All around it's like live porn, with men and women attached to the different equipment in various stages of sexual depravity. She's wet and they've barely been here for five minutes.
There's a small menu on the table, similar to the drink list at a restaurant and it lists the various services offered as well as the measly drink menu on the other side. One of the servers comes up and asks them if they'd like anything to drink. Rachel declines, and Santana orders the mojito complaining about the lack of rum. The difference between the staff and customers is made obvious by the uniform. Staff are dressed in black slacks and button-downs making them look very professional. Rachel reads through the list of services offered in twenty minute increments and comments on it to Santana. "Huh, you can pay to have one of their 'specialists' whip you. That sounds… interesting." She wishes that she was bold enough to do it. The rate isn't bad, and it's been ages since she's gotten the right level of satisfaction from anything self-inflicted.
Taking the menu from her Santana looks over it herself. Their server comes back with Santana's drink and Rachel gets a sudden burst of courage, speaking up, "I'd—I'd like forty minutes in a private room please. A-and," her voice sticks and her throat is suddenly dry, "Could you please try and get someone who's good with a whip." Her palms are sweating and her heartbeat is erratic but she's done it. Santana gives her a look of approval that makes her think this might be a bad idea after all. Anything Santana approves usually is.
"Of course, we do require payment before services are delivered so if I could just have a card it's easiest to put it on that." Rachel knows that she wants it. She craves the humiliation of getting naked in front of a stranger. Being tied to a wall and whipped until she's dripping down her thighs. She craves the rush and the slow burn, the cloud of endorphins that she can float away on for hours afterwards. She hands the man her card and he walks away again.
"I hate you. I hope you know that." If Santana hadn't drug her out tonight, this wouldn't be happening. This is clearly Santana's fault for forcing Rachel to go and get what she really wants. And they both know that Rachel is only teasing because if it weren't for Santana Rachel wouldn't do half of the things she actually wants to do. She's the play it safe type.
"Uh-huh. I'll be here when you're done and dopey with those endorphins you go on and on and on about." It's why their friendship works. Balance and understanding that goes deeper than is comfortable but is necessary nonetheless.
The man comes back with her card and asks her to follow him. As she rises Rachel sticks her tongue out at Santana, who simply waves her off sipping on her drink. Rachel's heart is pounding and her hands are shaking so hard as she follows the guy into one of the private rooms. It's quieter inside and there's a smaller set up. She'd been expecting more of a "torture chamber" feel and instead it's comfortable and modern. The whipping bench is padded and the lights are dim enough to make her feel a little more relaxed. There's a storage cabinet hanging on the wall and she wonders exactly what implements of torture are stored within. The man who'd led her in gestures to the couch and she sits. "If you'll just wait here, I'll send someone in. There's going to be a small interview so that you two don't go into this blind. The usual stuff, discussion of a safeword and limits. We have the best staff but if at any time you feel uncomfortable or unsafe with your dominant you just have to yell the word "kazoo" and a member of our security team will come in. Your safety and pleasure is what's important." Rachel absorbs all of this and the nervousness comes back.
What if this guy is a total creep? What if he's fifty and gross and tries to pull something while he has her completely at his mercy? This is a bad idea. This is a very bad idea. She toys with the ring on her finger spinning it constantly until the door opens.
The man who enters is tall and svelte with a smile that makes her think that this might have been a good decision after all. He walks over to the corner where she's sitting and sits down in the chair across from her. His voice is very level and soothing as he speaks to her. "Hi, I'm Finn. When we're playing I prefer that you call me Sir, but for now please feel free to call me Finn." His smile is doing something to her, and she's not sure if it's relaxing or just making her more tense.
"R-Rachel. My name is Rachel," she speaks with a slight stutter and straightens her bustier self-consciously.
"It's nice to meet you, Rachel. Now, all that I know is that you want forty minutes and someone who's good with a whip. Would you mind telling me what you actually had in mind, and what your experience is? I need to know what I'm working with to make this as pleasurable for you as possible. And please don't feel rushed answering, the forty minutes doesn't start until we've started the scene."
He can't be much older than her, but he seems almost paternal with his steady voice and calming manner. She knows that he can tell she's nervous, and she takes a deep breath trying to organize herself as best as possible. "I would like…" her voice trails off and she thinks about what she would really like. Her deepest fantasy. The one she's never been able to act out properly. "I want to be tied up. Spread eagle in the middle of a room so that I can be whipped from all sides." Her nipples are hard against the fabric of her shirt already, and she knows her panties are on their way to being ruined. She licks her lips. "I have some experience. It's all self-inflicted though, I-I've never found someone who's willing to go as far as I want them to."
"Well, I can do that for you, Rachel. That's my job tonight. To give you that fantasy. Do you have a safeword that you would like to use?" When she shakes her head, he suggests the basic red, yellow system, and she agrees. "Okay, Rachel," she likes the way he says her name, it's different somehow, "You can take off as much or as little clothing as you want but for something like this I suggest complete nudity. I promise I'm a complete professional about all of this. I've seen everything and then some already."
He tells her that he's going to start setting up, and shakes her hand again before walking over to the cabinet. His hand is warm and large around her small, clammy one. He's a professional. He's a professional Rachel so stop being such a damn pussy and just take off your stupid clothes—Santana's stupid clothes. She tries to ignore his movements as he pulls out rope and a flogger, and she faces away from him as she undresses.
Her face is bright red as she approaches with her arms crossed over her chest her pussy exposed to the air and making her shake with embarrassment and nervousness. He's looping some rope through a rigging system suspended in the ceiling seemingly oblivious to her nudity. "Alright Rachel, we're just going to loop both of your wrists together and above your head because it's an easier predicament and it's not as hard on your body since you'll be like this for quite a while." She nods. "If you're okay with that you say 'Yes Sir.' Do you understand that, Rachel?"
She responds to him immediately, "Yes Sir."
"That's a good girl. Give me your wrists, Rachel." His knots are expert as he wraps the rope around her and attaches it to the metal pole hanging down from the rigging. He goes over to the hook on the wall and tugs on some things until her arms are held tightly above her head by the rope around her wrists. She's fully exposed now without her hands to cover her body. "What are your safe words?
"Yellow if I want to slow down play and red if I want to stop it, Sir." He walks away from her and grabs the flogger that he'd laid out on the bed before.
"Good." He's quiet then as he walks back toward her, and the smile on his face lets her know exactly how much he enjoys his job. Finn drags the tassels across her overheated skin and makes it break out in goose bumps as he teases her. The flogger is suede. The first strike is on her ass, and she cries out her muscles tensing. The restraints don't allow her to move of course, and that just adds to the sensation that's making her pussy clench.
It's only a slight burn at first, but he keeps it up with expert rotations of his wrist, hitting her in a steady rhythm before he moved to the other cheek. Next it's her stomach, leaving her tits jealous and lonely. "Please Sir," she whines, and he stops completely.
"Please what you little slut? Please whip that dripping wet pussy? Or what about those perky little tits? Can't stand a little build up?" He's teasing her and humiliating her, and it's just making her arousal stronger.
"All of it, Sir. Please just keep whipping me, Sir." The feeling of each tendril kissing her skin individually is divine. Suede stinging against pert nipples and leaving her skin warm and alive.
He walks away for a few seconds to let the rope loose a little and tells her to spread her legs. Rachel obeys without a second thought letting her hot pussy exposed to the air. Finn walks in front of her a look of concentration on his face. "Keep them spread, and you might just come." She's on edge from at least half an hour of constant pleasure, her endorphins are running as high as they ever have, and her entire sex is swollen and needy as he finally lets the flogger hit her slit. The blows are softer and just enough to make her moan instead of gasp.
Rachel can feel her thighs tensing, her pussy clenching with each blow until it's one too many and she's tumbling over the edge of ecstasy at the hands of a man she'd met only forty minutes before. He stops to let her come and walks away again, letting her arms down completely before untying her. She's pliant in his hands and lets him pick her up to carry her over to the bed, the purpose of which she thinks she understands more clearly now because her limbs are useless.
Finn covers with a blanket before stroking her hair in what is clearly a practiced gesture. He walks over to the small fridge she hadn't noticed until now and grabs a water bottle. "Drink some water, Rachel. That was really intense for you." He rubs her back, and she trusts him to rub her back because somehow, he'd known exactly what she needed. He stays with her for a few more minutes until he's suitably convinced that she's ok. "Now I know you came with your friend so please make sure she understands enough about aftercare to help if you end up going into sub drop. We don't like to send subs home alone especially after a scene like that."
"Of course. Thank you, Finn. Really, thank you."
"Just doing my job." His smile melts her heart.
AN: I'm back with another multi-chap fic. This is all M-rated (think 50 Shades but realistically characterized and well-researched and not stupid) so please join me for the ride :). I need to thank Sam (sdl90) and Kelsey (formerly a GleeTwin) for excellent collaboration and beta work.
