Mistress of Ceremonies Read online

  Title Page

  MISTRESS OF CEREMONIES

  Adrienne Maitresse

  Publisher Information

  Mistress of Ceremonies

  published in 2015 by House of Erotica

  an imprint of Andrews UK Limited

  www.houseoferoticabooks.com

  The right of Adrienne Maitresse has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Copyright © Adrienne Maitresse 2015

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Mistress of Ceremonies

  Cherry’s club was characteristically cunning, cleverly concealed in the very core of a boring business park and camouflaged by its latent location. The faded yet functional frontage separated the venue from the conventional suburbia that surrounded it, but for those in the know the tell-tale red door was the covert confirmation they needed. It was indeed an optimal locale, donning a devilish disguise during the daytime and transforming in to a fetish façade after dark. Whilst it was effortlessly part of the periphery for most, thanks to successful sexual subterfuge, for some it was the kink filled crux of their fetish world and the opportunity for dalliance with a danger zone of escapism. Cherry had affectionately named the venue, the Inside Out Club, which was a brilliantly canny play on words, as she wanted it to be a place where your inner fantasies could become an outer realism.

  It was also a luxurious and lavishly appointed fetish venue, where lustful libertines could gather and explore their own sexuality and where innate deep-seated desires could be outed. More often than not it was a hot and steamy sanctuary where being inquisitive was not going to get you in trouble. As Cherry often said, in her club curiosity never killed the cat, and on this particular night the only pussy in the house belonged to Mistress Bibi.

  Ms Cherry D’Light - a fetish rubber wearing CD/TV with a penchant for tight shiny clothes, whose 6’ 2” towering stature sported a killer pair of legs and an alluring Australian accent, that appeared to have somewhat absconded over the years. Sometimes blonde and often brunette, Cherry liked to imagine herself as one of the cast from Priscilla Queen of the Desert, but in her own words she ‘sadly couldn’t fit her giant Choo shoe on her sports car’. Ever elusive, always aloof and easily evasive, we went back far too many years to admit to, and yet I still only knew her as Cherry and she only knew me as Bibi.

  A Complete Diva and Total Vamp, my inaugural encounter with Cherry had been in the powder room of a long since obsolete kink club, when she had summonsed me to her side and asked if I could give her latex a good old buff before she made her way outside to greet her adoring public. I had commented on how great her outfit was, a black cheongsam style rubber mini dress with back zipper and red qipao buttons, which was suitably accessorised with black and red pvc thigh length boots. Cherry was sexy and sassy, having decided long before that night that in her opinion she looked miles better as a slender girl as opposed to a somewhat slim and narrow shouldered guy. She had honed her slutty tart look down to a tee and swore blind that it confused men but attracted women. It proved to be an astute observation, as I found out later that same night, when she had unforgettably fucked my ass off, I might add, for the one and only occasion ever. In addition, my initial impression of an effeminate frame was proven to be a delightful deception because in actual fact Cherry packed a full eight inches of pure pleasure.

  Another irresistible quality that Cherry exuded was her utterly filthy as fuck mind. Unequivocally bi-sexual, Cherry absolutely adored playing with other good looking TV’s, girls, and bi- couples, and never tired of reminding me that “Bibi darling, there are just so many more buttons to push and that’s right up my alley”. She unquestionably loved sex and often informed me “well who doesn’t!”, and she fed her huge appetite and undiminished libido with hard core fucking whether it be via oral, anal, a pussy, or to Cherry’s delight all three if she could manage it. She also loved nothing more than luxuriating in a hot creamy facial from a titillating TV or the dominant dick in a bi couple, and I meanwhile cherished her steadfast style tips, professional advice and ever present make-up and nail tech skills. Moreover though, I adored Cherry’s unfaltering friendship and for being my constant confidant. That’s why we never fucked again after the first, and ultimately last time. We were firm friends and devoted divas, in a scene where fucking may be careful but is also quite correctly non-committal.

  Cherry’s club nights for bi and bi-curious guys were always libidinously lavish affairs, a banquet of buggery if you please, complete with celebratory cocktails and cocks, and usually concluding in some overtly obscene way, often with one big orgy full of consensual carousal. Silver platters garnished with small sachets of luxurious lube, copious amounts of condoms in a furore of fabulous flavours and colours, and brand new butt plugs still sleeping in their shrink-wrap all gave an alternative meaning to the term amuse-bouche. Indeed, true to her name Cherry always managed to delight all those involved. Bi nights at Inside Out were designed to allow bi and bi-curious, non-cross and cross dressing guys to find their place on the continuum line linking heterosexuality and bisexuality. The clientele also included serial transvestites and closet queens all meticulously selected by Cherry herself, alongside interesting individuals who were all in some way connected to, or active in the kink, fetish, TV and BDSM scene. You could say it was far more fetterati than glitterati.

  Even though the venue effectively evaded the prying eyes of the outside world, inside it was ostentatious and extravagant, but never pretentious, and it was only ever the activities that could be classed as vulgar, not the decor. For the bi and bi-curious guys that ventured forth, the inconspicuous entrance acted as a vanilla gateway to what had up until that moment often only been a futile fantasy. Taking those first tentative steps across the threshold opened up a portal of full-on fetish and fucking in a usually forbidden vault. These were suburban soirees with a subversive twist, and whilst not everyone’s cup of tea like an olive in a martini, they were definitely mine. And because such circus worthy performances necessitated a Master or rather a Mistress of Ceremonies, here I was as Ring Mistress Bibi.

  Dressed to impress as always, that night I decided to rock an edgy leather ensemble which would elicit both chic and a kinky confidence. The carefully chosen costume comprised of a bespoke black and white leather corset which was fully steel boned and exclusively designed, and had from repeated wear become a wonderful waist trainer cinching in the curves to extoll the inflection points of the perfect hour-glass figure beneath. This was teamed with a naughty but very nice nubuck monochrome mini skirt with fabulous lace-up side fastening and a gorgeous pair of Giaro Italian black patent leather thigh highs supported by smoking hot super-high stiletto heels. Of course, as a Mistress I make it a rule never to travel to any event without some form of whip or flogger thus the whole outfit was completed with a matching ebony and ivory taws braided flogger, that boasted beautiful nineteen inch braids, each hand wound using black and white leather straps.

  The club itself was spread out over two fantastic floors that were filled with handsome hunks and their pleasing pricks, vibrant cross-dressing vixens and tremendous TV’s. The floors were linked by a series of steep stairs and poles which led the carnal
ly charged customers through a multicursal maze in which it was easy to lose yourself, your inhibitions and for many your anal virginity. With ceilings of the deepest charcoal, walls of rich ruby red and highly polished but essentially very practical floors of moulin patterned parquet it resembled an erotic rendition of giant snakes and ladders in a bigger nocturnal playground.

  As with any play, there are specific rules and regulations, but within a fetish club there are also strict codes of conduct that govern the principles of behaviour. The vital role of a House Mistress is to ensure that these are respected and stringently enforced without exception:

  No touching anyone without permission.

  Any form of harassment is strictly forbidden.

  Do not indulge in any activity already ensuing without individual invitation.

  And any one daring to violate these would be the worthy recipient of my hand crafted buckskin twenty four tailed flogger!

  From my initial introductions earlier in the evening, I had deduced that a decadent variety of guests had already arrived in volume and that the club like many of the accommodating asses was filling up nicely. My first port of call was ‘GHR’ or the Grope n’ Glory Hole room, which for many was a salacious yet safe harbour of anonymity. The room was bisected, with one side designed for giving and the other for receiving. In the middle there was a stud wall partition from ceiling to floor, only perpetrated by a single but sublime circular hole, whose circumference was easily big enough for a penis to be inserted, but barely big enough for even the daintiest of hands. Access was gained to the half of choice via a solid wooden door in each section. Thus, regardless of which side a willing participant chose, their own identity remained firmly undisclosed to the other. The surreptitious space was already being fully utilised on my arrival by a couple of glory hole divas, or as Cherry liked to call them ‘GHD’s’, and the opening already offered a free and lewd luncheon of hard wet cock. The recipient was dining on the anonymous offering. He was a middle of the road middle aged guy, who with his jeans around his ankles was sucking cock like it was a lemonade lolly. A fellatious creature, he was fastidiously flicking his tongue around the swollen glans of his private play partner, whose muffled moans could faintly be heard from next door.

  As MC, I felt it only fitting to offer further encouragement, enthusiastically suggesting he should take it like a man, with the instruction of “suck like the fucking sissy you are”. Devoid of any doubt he responded, instantaneously taking the exposed length in his mouth, sucking and deep throating as he went. Slowly but surely his mouth became fuller with the erect cock and he was barely breaking for breath, as he began to increase the speed, his head bobbing up and down along the now gleaming manhood. His own sexual fulfilment was blatantly obvious from the growing bulge in his jocks, and a brief respite was instigated only by blow job boy removing his own member from its chastity. As he resumed his grip on the now rock hard dick, he interspersed stronger and longer sucks with light licks around the rim of the penis, happily lapping up all the sticky pre-cum on offer. With his right hand he began to work his own dick, daring to manoeuvre the foreskin back and forth. His glistening eyes made fleeting contact with mine and it was clear that there would soon be a mutually impending climax.

  “Make him cum cock sucker” I commanded, “and then make yourself shoot”.

  Cock sucker was courteously compliant and engulfed the erection fully, intensifying the suction so that he was assured of extracting the maximum load. Almost instantaneously the cuckolded prick gave forth a huge thrust and offloaded its silky hot spunk all over his face. As strands of the creamy cum trickled down towards his lips the unknown and now milked member withdrew, departing the glory hole and disappearing from view. This appeared to go unnoticed however, because all too soon the gratification of having given such good head was simply too much for BJ boy, and the fruits of his own manual labour erupted, with lashings of succulent semen spurting from the confines of his dick all over the polished floor. Dick sucker retracted from the partition and fell to his knees, empty and exhausted.

  “I trust you’re not going to leave that fucking mess there” I enquired, the question being purely rhetorical, as I placed my perfectly clean Giaro heel in the puddle of pole milk.

  “Mistress, of course not” came the requisite reply, as an embarrassed but somehow confused expression became visible on his cum covered face.

  “Now look at what’s happened” I retorted, “my fucking Italian imports are covered in your spunk” I gestured at the now semen soaked heel.

  “But Mistress, I have no tissue or wipes to clean up the mess” he proposed pitifully.

  “Not my fucking problem that prior preparation doesn’t seem to be your forte cock sucker”. With the obviously aggrieved tone in my voice, the remark reduced him to further submission.

  “No Mistress, of course not”, his obedience was obvious as was his uncertainty, and he was clearly wondering what my next suggestion would be.

  “Well given the fact that these hands are jewels and not tools sub, I strongly suggest that you get down further and eat up all the spunk that you’ve spilled over Ms D’Light’s floor”. My ruby red index figure gestured to the wooden boards, reminiscent of the wand of a wicked witch.

  “But Mistress...” cock sucker protested, but his protestations were pointless.

  “Fucking clean up your mess, do I need to tell you again?”. The ceremonious cracking of my whip proved the perfect comeback as this particular participant dutifully started to lick the semen splattered stiletto tip.

  Once my heel had been attended to, cock sucker obeyed orders and turned his attention to the remaining pool of sticky residue.

  “That’s it, eat it all up because I don’t want to see any speck of your spunk or my footprint” I decreed. The now somewhat sheepish but obliging sub started to devour mouthful after mouthful of delicious cum from the deck, and with that Mistress and her sassy superiority exited the room.

  The magnificent thing about Chery’s club was that there was always so much debauchery to explore and experience, and as resident agent provocateur, it was like being a courtesan in a kinky candy store. Every club night brought in a different clientele and with them came new possibilities for more enticing depravity. Never more so than in the TV/TV room.

  As a self-appointed purveyor of the very finest porn, Cherry had aptly christened her favourite chamber such, because it housed the latest 65” flat screen high definition television. This in itself would have been impressive but the icing on top of Cherry’s cake was that it proudly projected the very best porn films available. Indeed, the vast panel was so big it was like looking through a window on a wicked world where players appeared almost life-size and the astonishing picture clarity beamed the action directly into the dimly lit space. It was the epitome of an ultimate cinema-style erotic experience, and consequently the scene in the room often mirrored the fucking on screen like some giant lecherous looking glass. It was also the space where TV’s loved to hang out, offering up Oscar winning performances in their own X-rated feature films, hence the TV/TV room title. Cherry had been keen to ensure that the room also represented some kind of carnal chill-out zone, and so it was the singular space in the whole venue that boasted a carpeted floor. As Cherry announced when she had given me the grand tour, “Darling if guests are going to get down and dirty then they really do deserve a nice bit of shag to shag on!”.

  The walls were painted a subtle shade of grey, and along one of them sat a huge black leather porn film style sofa. On each of the other two walls lay long love seats, fashioned from ox-blood buttoned leather with arms and back of the same height. A bespoke accompaniment which was definitely more couture Chesterfield than it was a dirty Davenport. In the corner was Cherry’s toy box, full of curios and buried treasure, a pirate’s chest where XXX really did mark the spot. The trunk was only penetrable by way of a key of which
there were two, one which Cherry always kept either in her latex corselette or nylon stocking top, and the other of which I was the guardian. When unlocked it became a box of kinky delights that Cherry often utilised as part of our tag team taking. The entrance to the room was almost incognito with a heavy duty highly polished aluminium chain mail screen, or rather on this occasion ‘chain-male’, which obscured part of the entry into what was regularly a hedonism of hard-ons and premiership penises. No wonder it was Cherry’s prized playroom.

  So leaving the grope room firmly behind, down the corridor and around the bend came the striking and unmistakeable scent of Coco Mademoiselle, a fragrant fore telling that Ms D’Light was somewhere nearby. Peering through the steely curtain of the TV/TV room and abetted by the hue emanating from the television screen I could just about make out the silhouettes of three figures. It was no secret that Cherry was widely regarded as the original aficionado of anal adventures, so it was no surprise that she had taken up residence accompanied by two bi-sexual charmers, wanting and willing as they awaited their sexual awakening. Cherry was adept at cogently caressing any cock until it came, or as she referred to it ‘a stiffy in a jiffy’. This was mainly from years of diligent practice honing the perfect pulling technique and additionally due to her amazing ambidexterity, so these latest phallic propositions stood no chance in her grip.

  It was Cherry’s androgynous appearance that lured in the bi-curious boys every time. Oozing both femininity and masculinity the double-gaited draw for guys was that it was essentially easier to fuck and be fucked by a TV girl when you’re going to have your anal cherry popped as it were. Continuously, Ms Cherry had managed to convert even the most self-identifying straight beaus over the years.

  Unsurprisingly Cherry was to be discovered centre stage in the middle of the largest of the sofas. She was on her knees, head held high and the skirt of her latex dress suitably hitched up even higher to reveal her erect cock, midway between two naked males, whose ‘civilian’ clothes lay scattered amongst the shag pile. One plaything was standing up, his cock up close and personal with Cherry’s YSL Candy clad lips. He was tall and dark, and his fading tan could still be admired on his toned olive skin. His ecru eyes looked down through his sorrel shabby chic haircut at Cherry’s sumptuous lips adoringly. From time to time, fuck-boy one would obligingly tilt his head to one side in order to follow the path of Cherry’s wet and warm tongue courting the end of his throbbing hard on.