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From: The Bawdy Bloke <john@bawdybloke.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Angry Birds (FDom, public)
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Date: Tue, 03 Jun 2014 05:10:02 -0400
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This is part of my spanking A-to-Z challenge; please drop me some 
feedback or go to my site and leave a comment 
(http://bawdybloke.com/spank-z-fiction-angry-birds/). Thanks!


They looked gorgeous.

Hotter than the filling of a toasted jam sandwich, yet more dangerously 
streetwise than a bunch of alleycats.

I'd been to see them a dozen times: The Luscious Ladies toured 
extensively and every show of female domination was crazier and more 
intense than the last. They were always exceptional: two "slaves" - one 
male and one female - dressed only in red masks were led onto the stage, 
and then the five ladies performed all manner of perversions onto the 
lucky individuals, having them screaming for withheld mercy.

My favourite was Lady Heather: a blonde haired, latex loving bitch of 
perfection. She had stolen my heart and attention from the moment I 
first saw her lattice a screaming slave's rear into a bloodied mass of 
excruciating pain.

Then there was Lady Heidi: the diminutive German wearer of black leather 
and fishnets while furiously pegging a young man's arse as she cried 
triumphantly. Is there anything hotter than her reducing a six-foot 
bodybuilder to a blubbering wreck with her leather paddle, her nipple 
clamps and her eight-inch dildo strap-on?

I went to see all five of the girls work their magic and their 
malevolence, and longed to speak to them. I'd tell them how much I loved 
their work, how I'd bought all their merchandise and how I'd love to 
visit their dungeon. Two minutes was all I need, just 120 seconds. Alas, 
the adult venues that hosted their debauched shows didn't tend to 
encourage audience interaction, but I'd have done anything for their 
autographs on a Luscious Ladies branded leather paddle. I'd even brought 
it with me, desperate to have an opportunity for them to sign it.

I wanted to speak to them, and pondered ways of getting access. But 
alcohol always clouds judgement, and by the time the intermission had 
started I was feeling the foolhardy side of brave, and poor judgement 
reined supreme. I decided to knock on their dressing room door and ask 
them; surely they'd love to hear from a devoted fan?

Slipping past security was easy, finding the courage to knock was much 
harder; I could hear their sadistic laughter from behind the varnished 
wood, and listened intently, pressing my ear against the oak door.

It swung open slightly, barely making a sound as the five women drank 
bottled water and Lady Heather changed; she was even more gorgeous 
naked. I was spell-bound. Stopped in my tracks by her poise and her 
nakedness. The gorgeousness of her curves, sliding elegantly along her 
beautifully tanned body, snatched my attention; I forgot everything at 
that moment in time: my name, my address and even my reason for being there.

She was sheer perfection: an erection causer at a thousand paces and a 
delightful minx of sheer maleficent beauty. I adored her.

Which when she saw me, ogling her nudity and poise. Her glowing smile 
disappeared as her eyes locked on mine: staring and scowling on me. I 
was startled and shocked, blurting nonsense incoherently as I heard 
steps from behind me. My mouth motored as my brain panicked; I pleaded 
for their autograph as I held the paddle while the imposing boots 
thumped closer and closer.

The unfettered goddess stopped them with a wave of her hand as she 
crossed her arms over her bare breasts; they were obscenely perfect. 
Every part of her was, as she demanded an explanation.

I was talking to Lady Heather. My mind could not believe that she was 
speaking to me, as my stomach whirled itself into a knot and my feet 
shifted nervously. "This is our private time," she explained calmly; her 
voice never boomed loudly, but she made me feel a few inches tall as her 
companions and herself glared angrily at the anxious pervert. "And 
you've come to peep."

"Peeping Tom, string his fucking balls up," Lady Heidi barked.

"No respect for us."

"I do have respect," I cried, glancing over my shoulder at three burly 
security men who were waiting to tear my flesh from my bones in front of 
five women who wanted them to. "I think you are all amazingly wonderful 
and I'm so sorry, but I just wanted to get your autographs as I've been 
to twelve of your shows and you are just the most incredible people and 
I dream so much of you and I'm ..." I trialled off, as Lady Heather's 
outstretched finger touched the top of her lip, to demand silence.

"You have a domme?" She enquired, waiting for me to mumble. My 
ex-girlfriend and I used to play, but Lady Heather's smile broadened as 
she asked for a red hood. "Maybe if you are such a fan of the show then 
we could find a part for you." She licked her lips, carefully, slowly 
and with a menacing grimace.

I recognised that look. I had seen the glint in her eye dozens of times, 
as she planned the torment she was about to inflict. She sized me up, 
just like she sized up her victims on stage before launching a tidal 
wave of pain through them with devastating slashes of her weapon.

It sent a chill through my body.

But I was ushered into a tiny adjacent room containing two naked people 
and had a red hood thrown at me. "Get naked," Lady Heidi demanded. "We 
are going to beat into you some respect."

I gulped: suddenly very scared and aware of my surroundings. "All I 
wanted was an autograph," I muttered to the two "slaves"; they were 
younger than me, and shrugged, watching as I turned away to disrobe.

What had I let myself in for? My BDSM play was limited in the extreme, 
and Luscious Ladies fuelled my fantasies not relived my experiences. If 
they did a tenth of what the two people with the reddened skin and 
bloodied bottoms next to me received then I would be screaming for 
release in no time.

But arousal and excitement is powerful and it rode roughshod over any 
sound judgement I had. I was out of my depth, but it was the world I had 
dreamt of joining for years. I wanted it. And unlike the boys who dream 
of playing Premiership football, I was about to line up at my Old 
Trafford, only it wasn't a devil with the trident, but five evil sadists.

A bang of the door was accompanied by some yells, as I slipped the red 
hood over my head. I felt hands lace it for me and muttered thanks as I 
stumbled forward into the bright light.

The ladies looked incredible, yet again. The latex of Lady Heather, the 
fishnets of Lady Heidi, the minimalist armour of Lady Georgina, the red 
leather of Lady Pauline and the long dark cloak of Lady Jasmine. They 
looked scary, divine and had my loins a-trembling.

I loved them; at that moment, I loved every inch of them. Looking up 
into their imposing frames, my insides quivered and my heart pounded.

Walking barefoot to the stage was intense; not a word was spoken and the 
atmosphere was foreboding. I was about to step towards my destiny and I 
knew everything and nothing what it contained. I could see the range of 
equipment on stage and froze as we approached the wings.

I felt my right hand taken from my side and Lady Heather clipped a small 
button onto the end of my index finger. "Press that and we'll feel it," 
she whispered. "We may slow down, we may not." I gulped as she glanced 
at the stage; her companions were striding onto it, shoving their slaves 
in front of them. "Any limits we should know about?"

I spluttered, looking into her emerald eyes of evil, strangely 
reassuring me. "Don't ... know."

"We'll hurt you, we'll break you but we won't destroy you," she 
promised, as she grabbed the back of my neck and flung me onto the stage.

I was expecting them to announce my arrival as a peeping tom, but Lady 
Heidi just announced that I needed to be taught a lesson and the 
Luscious Ladies were going to give me one.

It was blind faith. I was totally trusting the pro-dommes as one of the 
ladies, tugged me towards the St Andrews Cross, shackling my hands and 
feet to the X frame, my face looking at the back of the stage while the 
hundreds of punters were staring at my arse.

But I wasn't concerned about them; they didn't factor into my thinking 
at the time. I was restrained, yet almost relieved to be so. From this 
moment on, I couldn't wimp out. I was ready for whatever they wanted to 
give me and the decision was no longer mine.

"Let's look after his nips," a voice cried into the microphone.

Fingers roughly tugged at my skin as clamps were applied, biting angrily 
into my nipples and sending pain tearing through my consciousness. My 
body boiled with sheer agony; it was unlike anything I had experienced. 
It was intensely overpowering, hearing myself yell with desperate cries. 
"Get `em off, get `em off," I pleaded.

The lady cackled, crying out to the crowd. I recognised their baiting: 
"should we get `em off?" She mimicked cruelly. The crowd jeered, just as 
I would have done if I was sat in my seat. They never did give respite; 
we all paid good money to see twisted evil and we wanted to see every 
last drop of pain inflicted. My fellow perverts did to me, what I had 
done dozens of times previously: they demanded sadistic torture and they 
got it, as my fingers clawed at the X-Frame and tears welled.

Yet, as I begged for a release from the constant burning of my nipples, 
the button never registered as an option. I wanted it, but I couldn't 
take it. I felt as though my nipples were being ripped from my body, but 
in practice, two clips were tight against my nerves. That was all.

My yells continued: Lady Heather's paddle found my displayed arse a 
welcome target and the first strike landed with an echo, pelting my 
white skin with a roaring slap. It was too much, causing me to yell 
again, begging for mercy to gleeful delight of the dominatrices.

They weren't going to torment me with just pain, but their words 
punctured my soul: this was just the "warm-up" and I was being a "big 
baby." They asked the crowd if I deserved mercy and when the baying mob 
of perverts offered me none, Lady Heather began a volley of pelts with 
her wooden weapon.

I was bombarded; my arse suffered as I felt more alive than at any point 
in my life. Every nerve sizzled with sensation, every pore burnt with 
the smacks of the paddle and every inch of my soul cried for mercy as I 
lived my deepest fantasies.

I was being tormented by the ladies I masturbated over every night. I 
was being tortured by my dream in public, as I struggled to be free of 
it. Only it wasn't a dream, but a nightmare: I was hating every hard 
smack of the paddle against my raw bottom, but I loved their control. I 
needed it, I needed to see their act through to the conclusion, and I 
needed the Luscious Ladies to continue with their debauchery.

I wanted more.

I wanted the twisted, evil deviants to plunge their depraved 
imaginations and drag me into their world. And I got my wish.

For as my bottom glowed with pain, Lady Georgina, slashed a bullwhip 
against my shoulders, tearing stripes of red-hot pain into my back, and 
making me fill the soundsystem with my desperate yells.

Lady Jasmine unfastened me from the St. Andrews Cross and restrained me 
onto a bench, introducing searing hot wax onto my front. They laughed at 
my erection, teasing my size with searing insults.

My cheeks burnt as much as my rear, rubbing against the rough fabric of 
the bench as I wriggled with shock and pain as globules of hot wax 
splattered onto my thighs. My yelps entertained them: almost as much as 
the inflamed, desperate cries from the other slaves.

The ladies seemed to love the competition: the volume of our tormented 
pleas as our senses were overloaded with pain, and the spidering 
tingling of the angry wax, landing onto my thighs were insignificant to 
when Lady Jasmine played with her candle and my cock at the same time.

I had the wax spanked from my thighs, my anus penetrated with a ponytail 
butt plug, my balls stretched and my face pushed onto the dusty boots of 
Lady Heidi. They took me further and further.

Until the end, when all the ladies donned strap-ons. I whimpered, they 
were bigger than I had remembered, but Lady Heather stood behind me and 
slowly removed the butt plug.

I toyed with the button, this was too far, but the erection pressing 
against my abused skin told me I wanted them to, and the restraints 
digging into my wrists told me I had no choice.

My bud yielded to her toy as she pushed; the voices of the taunting grew 
louder and disappeared as I became only aware of what was happening to 
me. I was being fucked, taken on stage in front of a horny, drunk crowd. 
I felt the rub of her phallus against my prostate, the stretch of my 
anus to accommodate her toy and the bawdy screams of their psychological 
torment.

I knew I was being taken, but I was loving it. The glow of arousal 
spreading from my loins and engulfing my cock as pre-cum poured from it. 
It was covering my skin, soaking my body as Lady Heather rammed her 
thick cock into my rectum.

As I settled into the rhythm: rough and passionate pounding into my 
soul, Lady Heidi grabbed hold of my cheeks and pulled my face to one 
side, before filling my mouth with her black cock.

My humiliation was complete: spit-roasted in public with every part of 
my body glowing in pain and dozens of degrading words pelting my every 
pore. It was awesome.

The ladies bowed at the end, leaving us restrained to the equipment as 
the curtain fell and they walked off stage. They left us for a further 
ten minutes, squealing and begging for release until two of them came 
back and freed us, laughing as they did.

"You good?" Lady Heather asked cheerfully as I massaged my aching body.

I smiled, although she couldn't see it behind the hood. "Incredible. But 
will you please sign my paddle now?" I begged, shivering on the cool 
stage as Lady Heather picked at her gloves.

"No," she replied with a smirk. "We're still annoyed with you. You can 
come back in the intermission tomorrow! I'll give you free tickets to 
the show, but we'll sign the paddle tomorrow night when you've earned 
it. If you're brave enough to come back that is."

Suddenly, I felt as though I was in their world. And that was exciting.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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