Hot Tales: Ready to Be Told

The club smells of new leather, sweat, expensive incense, and raw sex. Red neon lights flicker like racing heartbeats; deep techno music vibrates in the chest. In the center, a circular stage with poles, suspension swings, and black vinyl sofas where couples (or trios, quartets) watch each other, negotiate with gazes, and touch without asking for verbal permission.

You walk in with a firm step on 15cm stiletto heels that dig into the floor like claws. The leather catsuit is a second skin: matte black on the outside, lined in blood red on the inside, with an invisible zipper running from the nape of the neck to the coccyx. But what everyone stares at are “the holes”:

Two perfect circles on the breasts, right where the nipples peek out hard, swollen by the cold of the leather and the excitement.

An oval cut in the crotch, wide enough to show the wet glisten of your shaved cunt, exposed lips and a clitoris already swollen, begging for attention.

In the back, another round hole that leaves the ass open, cheeks separated by the taut leather, a pink anus visible and tempting.

You walk slowly down the hallway of mirrors, feeling eyes pinned to every exposed inch. A woman in a latex mask brushes against your arm and whispers: “Beautiful... exchange or just exhibiting?” You smile, without answering yet. The scene has already begun: every step makes the leather rub against your exposed nipples, sending sparks straight to the clitoris.

You are stopped in a “free play” zone. A tall, tattooed Dom, wearing a chest harness and leather gloves, approaches. He looks you up and down, lingering on the holes.

“May I try?” he asks, his voice husky.

You nod. He runs a gloved finger through the breast hole, pinching the nipple hard until you moan. Another finger slides down to the central hole, brushing the clitoris in slow circles, then enters two fingers without warning. You are soaking wet; the leather makes every movement sound damp, obscene.

Suddenly, another couple joins: she, a blonde in a whalebone corset; he, wearing a dog mask. She kneels in front of you, tongue direct to the cunt hole while he paddles your exposed ass with a leather slapper. Every blow makes the leather vibrate against your skin, amplifying the pleasure-pain. The Dom from before pulls out his hard cock and rubs it against the back hole, lubricated by your own moisture dripping down your thighs.

“Do you want them to fill all three holes at once, leather doll?” he growls.

Gasping, you only say: “Yes... but first, whip me until I beg.”

The whip falls. Red mark after red mark on the buttocks peeking through the hole. Every lash pushes you closer to the edge. The blonde sucks your clitoris as if it were the last piece of candy in the world. The Dom enters from behind, slow at first, then deep, while the other fucks your mouth with controlled force.

The club spins around you: moans, low laughter, soft applause from those watching. The leather sticks to your sweaty skin; the holes are now portals of infinite pleasure. Cum after cum, they fill you, they mark you, they use you... until you are left trembling, leaning against a pole, leather shining with fluids, holes throbbing, satisfied and still hungry.

Part 2

The tattooed Dom has you gripped by the back zipper of the catsuit, as if it were a rein. He pulls upward with force, making the leather tighten against your exposed clitoris, wrenching a choked moan from you. The blonde in the corset is already on her knees again, flat tongue licking from your anus to your clitoris in long, wet strokes, while her partner (the one in the dog mask) places metal clamps on the nipples peeking through the chest holes.

The clamps have a chain: he pulls it every time the Dom pushes deeper from behind. Every tug sends an electric shock straight to your cunt, which drips down your thighs and stains the shiny leather. The pain is exquisite; the pleasure multiplies it tenfold.

“How much can you take, doll?” the Dom growls, pulling out for a second just to swat your exposed ass with an open palm. The sound is sharp, echoing through the club. An instant red mark surrounds the back hole.

“Everything you give me,” you answer between gasps, your voice raspy from the cock that was fucking your mouth moments ago.

Suddenly, the DJ lowers the music for a second and announces over the microphone:

“Open scene in the center! The girl in black leather invites anyone who wants to try her holes. No condom if she says yes, with clear boundaries!”

The crowd approaches. Five, six people form a semicircle. A brunette with a strapon harness steps forward first. She lubricates the toy with your own moisture (two fingers inside the center hole, pulling them out glistening) and penetrates your cunt with a firm thrust. At the same time, the Dom re-enters from behind: a slow, coordinated double penetration, the leather creaking with every movement.

The blonde stands in front of you, grabs the chain of the clamps, and forces you to look at her while she licks your pinched nipples. “Tell me you want more,” she whispers.

“I want more… fill all three of my holes,” you moan.

The one in the dog mask climbs onto the stage, hard cock in hand. He shoves it into your mouth without warning, deep into your throat. Now it’s real: all three holes occupied at the same time. The strapon in the cunt, the Dom in the ass, the cock in the mouth. A brutal rhythm, synchronized by moans and slaps.

The leather clings to your sweaty skin, holes stretched to the limit, fluids running everywhere. Every thrust makes the clamps pull harder, the pleasure-pain taking you to the brink over and over again. The brunette accelerates, fucking you hard while pinching your exposed clitoris with her fingers. The Dom grabs your hips and enters to the hilt, growling: “Cum, you leather slut, cum...”

And you explode.

The orgasm tears through you like lightning: cunt contracting around the strapon, ass squeezing the Dom, throat swallowing as the cock in your mouth cums first. Hot jets fill you from behind and in front; the blonde licks what overflows from the center hole, swallowing hungrily.

You are left trembling in the center of the stage, legs weak, leather gleaming with semen, sweat, and your own cream. The holes throb open, red, used. The crowd applauds softly. Someone hands you a bottle of water; another strokes your back over the leather.

But it doesn’t end there. The brunette leans into your ear: “Round two? There’s a free suspension swing… and more people waiting to try those perfect holes.”

They hoist you onto the suspension swing so the club can watch you burn beautifully. They tie you with red ropes: wrists up, ankles separated by a cold metal bar. The leather catsuit is still on, but now the holes seem designed specifically for what’s coming: hard nipples poking out like red buttons, cunt open and shining from previous rounds, ass still throbbing from the double you took earlier.

The tattooed Dom appears with a thick black candle, made of low-temperature wax that burns just enough. He lights it in front of your face. The flame dances, reflected in your watery, excited eyes.

“Take a deep breath, doll… this is going to hurt good.”

The first drop. Straight onto the left nipple peeking through the hole. Plof! The heat explodes; you arch into the ropes, a scream-moan that makes half the club turn to look. The wax hardens quickly, forming a shiny red crust over your sensitive skin. A second drop on the right. Third, fourth… he plays, letting it fall from higher up so the impact is sharper before the heat. Your nipples are covered in thick, red layers; every movement of the ropes makes them tug and ache deliciously.

Then he lowers the candle. The club holds its breath. A thick drop falls right onto your exposed clitoris. Fuck! The heat shock is brutal, straight to the most sensitive nerve. Your legs tremble against the bar; you try to close them but you can’t. Streams of squirt shoot out as you scream.

The Dom smiles, tilting the candle further: now the wax falls in a continuous thread over your labia, covering the cunt hole as if he were sealing you with liquid fire. Every new layer burns over the last; the pain builds into a pleasure so intense you are crying and laughing at the same time.

And when he thinks you can’t take any more… he turns the candle and drops a fat bead straight into the anus opened by the back hole. The sphincter contracts around the heat; you writhe completely, another orgasm tearing through you without anyone touching you, just the wax and the delicious humiliation of thirty people watching you cum while hanging like an incinerated leather slut.

In the end, you are left like this: body trembling in the ropes, shiny black catsuit, breasts, cunt, and ass covered in hardened red layers that look like frozen blood, tears of pleasure running down your mask.

The Dom approaches, blows out the candle, and whispers in your ear as he slowly peels the first crust of wax from your nipple (new pain, renewed pleasure): “...and the night has only just begun.”

They lower you slowly from the swing (the ropes release with a whisper of silk), but they don’t let you touch the ground yet: two strong hands hold you by the waist, the leather of the catsuit sticky and hot against their palms. Your nipples are still covered in hardened red crusts, the cunt and ass sealed with thick layers of wax that throb with every heartbeat.

They take you to a padded table in the darkest corner of the club, cold blue lights contrasting with the neon red of the rest. They lay you on your back, legs spread and tied to the ends with soft leather straps. The holes in the catsuit are perfectly exposed again: hard nipples under the wax, clitoris swollen and red, anus still dilated and gleaming.

The tattooed Dom returns with a bucket of crushed ice and a perverse smile. “First the fire… now the ice. Let’s see how much you tremble, doll.”

He starts with the nipples. He takes a large cube, pressing it against the wax crust of the left one. The contrast is brutal: the residual heat of the wax crashes against the glacial cold. The wax cracks and splinters, pieces falling like red frost while the ice melts and runs down your chest in freezing rivulets. The nipple, suddenly freed, becomes rock hard, sensitive to the extreme. You moan loudly, arching your back; the cold burns you in a different way.

He lowers the ice to the center hole. He runs the cube over your labia, brushing the already inflamed clitoris. The direct contact makes you scream: it’s like icy electricity straight to the nerve. The ice slides into the cunt, slow, deep… melting fast from your internal heat, turning into cold water that drips mixed with your moisture. Every drop that falls makes you contract; the pleasure-pain takes you to the edge again without anyone touching you.

Then the ass. A smaller cube, lubricated with saliva, is pushed into the back hole. You feel it slide, cold burning the sensitive walls, dilating you again as it melts and fills you with icy water that leaks out through the leather. The contrast with the previous wax makes you convulse: an orgasm without friction, purely from the thermal shock, icy squirt splashing the table.

The blonde in the corset joins: she takes two small cubes and presses one to each nipple at the same time, twisting them like frozen jewels. Meanwhile, the one in the dog mask shoves cold fingers (fresh from the ice) into your cunt, fucking you with them while the interior ice melts and floods you.

“Can you feel how I’m freezing you from the inside, leather slut?” the Dom whispers, shoving another cube into your mouth for you to suck and melt with your tongue. The cold water runs down your chin, mixing with tears of pleasure.

You end up trembling all over:

Red and swollen nipples, free of wax but frozen.

Cunt and ass dripping with icy water and cum.

Body covered in droplets that glisten under the blue lights.

The catsuit now sticky with broken wax, sweat, melted ice, and fluids.

The club applauds low. Someone shouts: “Round three! Pass her around!” They untie you, but they don’t let you rest. They put you on your knees on the floor, still trembling from the cold and residual heat, holes exposed and sensitive to the limit. The crowd approaches again—hands, tongues, cocks, toys… ready to use what the fire and ice left behind: a hypersensitive leather doll, open and begging for more.

You remain on your knees in the center of the club, the leather catsuit turned into a rag glistening with fluids, holes red and swollen, begging (or screaming) for more. The tattooed Dom puts a thin chain around your neck as a makeshift collar and tugs gently to keep you upright, exposed. The crowd doesn’t wait for permission anymore: it’s total free turn.

Four arrive at the same time this time:

A tall one with tribal tattoos grabs you by the jaw and shoves his thick cock into your mouth, fucking your throat with slow but deep thrusts, until tears run down your cheeks and your mascara streaks black.

Behind you, a woman with a massive strapon (matte black, veiny) lubricates it with your own saliva (makes you spit into her hand) and enters your cunt with a dry shove. The thickness stretches you to the limit; the walls, still sensitive from the ice and wax, contract around it, pulling a muffled moan from you against the cock in your mouth.

To the side, a guy with black latex gloves shoves three fingers into your ass without warning, opening you wider while rubbing your G-spot from behind with his other hand. Every movement makes you squirt residual icy droplets onto the floor.

The fourth is a redhead with clamps on her own nipples; she kneels in front of you, grabs your exposed nipples (still bruised from the cold and wax) and tugs on them like reins while she licks the clitoris peeking through the center hole, sucking hard, biting softly.

The rhythm becomes chaotic: The strapon fucks your cunt with force, making the leather vibrate and rub your clitoris every time it enters. The one at your throat pulls out for a second to let you breathe, then shoves back in, cumming deep in your mouth; you swallow what you can, the rest drips down your chin and falls onto your breasts covered in wax remnants. The fingers in the ass become a cock: the one in latex swaps for his member, entering slow at first (so you feel every inch stretching you), then accelerates until the wet sound of flesh against leather fills the air. Anal-cunt double penetration again, but now with your mouth full of another cock arriving in relief.

The redhead stands up, forcing you to lick her cunt while she pinches your nipples harder, pulling until you scream against her flesh. Another man joins: he shoves his cock between your breasts (even if they are covered in leather and wax, he uses the holes as a guide) and rubs up and down, cumming hot over the remaining red crusts.

The round drags on: bodies change, but the holes do not rest. Someone puts a vibrating plug in your ass (thick, with a remote control); they turn it to the maximum while another fucks your cunt. The vibrations make you convulse, orgasm after orgasm without pause. A couple uses you as a “human table”: she sits on your face (cunt over your mouth, forcing you to lick while she breathes heavily), he penetrates your cunt from below while you are on your knees. Another whips your exposed ass with a leather flogger every time someone enters, the strips hitting right around the back hole, leaving fresh red marks that contrast with the old wax.

In the end (after who knows how many), you are left lying on your side on the padded floor, gasping, your whole body trembling.

Nipples: bruised, swollen, with remnants of wax and dried semen.

Cunt: bright red, lips open, dripping a thick mixture of cum and squirt.

Ass: dilated, throbbing, with the plug still vibrating low (someone left it on).

Face: marked with semen, saliva, black mascara tears.

Catsuit: destroyed, sticky, smelling of raw sex and hot leather.

The tattooed Dom crouches by your side, carefully removes the chain from your neck, and passes you a bottle of cold water. He strokes your sweaty hair and whispers: “Good girl… we broke you beautifully tonight. Do you want us to take you out of the club, clean you up in private and let you sleep… or do you want to stay for the after, where only the toughest are left?”

—Now leave me alone... now I want to watch.

No rush, no brutality. Just sensations that slide like silk over skin, breaths that intermingle, the world reduced to textures, smells, and whispers that envelop you without demanding anything more.

You are sitting on that black velvet sofa, deep and warm against your back. The leather of the catsuit no longer creaks with violence; now it only brushes softly every time you take a deep breath, a delicate reminder of everything your body has already given. The wax remnants have cooled and crack slightly with movement, releasing a faint scent of burnt vanilla that mixes with the musky smell of the club: clean sweat, new leather, expensive perfume, and sex that no longer hurries.

The red light has softened to a dim amber, like embers slowly dying out. The music lowers its volume until it becomes a distant pulse, almost a shared heartbeat with yours. No one approaches. No one touches you. You just watch.

From your elevated corner, the stage seems like a distant dream. A couple enters the circle of soft light. She wears a sheer black chiffon dress that floats around her curves like smoke. He, only loose leather pants and a bare torso, skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. They move slowly, without words. He strokes her neck with his fingertips, moving down the collarbone, tracing slow circles around her nipples that harden under the fine fabric. She closes her eyes, head back, a long sigh that you can feel in your own throat.

His hands move lower, lifting the chiffon with delicacy, exposing soft thighs. He kneels in front of her, kisses the inside of her knees first, then moves up slowly, lips barely brushing skin. When he reaches her center, there is no rush: a flat tongue, circular movements, as if he were savoring warm honey. She tangles her fingers in his hair, she doesn’t pull… she just caresses, guiding with tenderness. You can smell it from where you are: the sweet scent of her excitement, mixed with the leather of his pants and his perfume, something woody and warm.

When she shudders, it isn’t a scream; it’s a low, prolonged moan that vibrates in the air like a cello note. He stands up, kisses her on the mouth sharing her own taste, and penetrates her slowly, inch by inch, letting both feel every rub, every pulse. They move together as if dancing: undulating hips, synchronized breaths, intertwined hands. There are no blows, no whips. Just soft friction, heat that builds slowly, inevitably. When they reach climax, it is almost silent: she arches her back with a deep sigh, he sinks in one last time and stays there, trembling inside her, forehead to forehead. They stay embraced for a long time, rocking slightly, as if the whole world had stopped to let them breathe together.

You close your eyes for a second, feeling the echo in your own body: the velvet against your back, the leather still warm brushing your sensitive nipples, the slow pulse between your legs that no longer asks for more, only remembers. The air is heavy with that post-orgasmic sweetness: the smell of hot skin, of soft sex, of residual vanilla from the wax. Another couple takes over, but the rhythm remains the same: long caresses, kisses that last for minutes, bodies that explore each other with fingers and lips without urgency. You stay there, a quiet spectator, wrapped in soft sensations: the touch of the velvet on your thighs, the heat still throbbing under the leather, the aroma floating like mist, the music caressing your ears. There are no more rounds for you tonight. Just this: watching, feeling the echo of others’ pleasure on your tired skin, and letting the softness wrap around you like a warm blanket until the dawn begins to filter through the cracks.

I call you softly from the sofa where you are sitting, my voice low, still raspy from everything that happened tonight.

—Come on, my queen… it’s time to go.

I approach slowly, reaching out my hand. Your fingers entwine with mine, cold at first from the ice still on your skin, but warm when you squeeze. I help you up carefully, as if you were fine crystal after so much fire. The catsuit creaks softly against your body, sticky and warm, but it no longer feels heavy… it’s just a soft memory of the night. I wrap you in a long, soft wool coat someone left nearby, covering you entirely so no one else sees what belongs only to us. We walk through the club hallway, low lights, distant murmurs fading behind us. I help you change and we head out. The fresh street air brushes your face as we exit, a delicious contrast with the heat you still carry inside.

We arrive home in silence, only the brush of our hands and the sound of your breathing calming down. I take you straight to the bathroom. The light is dim, only a pink salt lamp tinting everything warm. I turn on the shower: the water begins to fall softly, hot but not burning, steam rising slowly like early morning mist. I stand in front of you, looking into your eyes as my hands move slowly up your arms.

—Do you want me to take your clothes off, baby?

You nod, barely a movement, but enough. The steam from the shower already envelops you, droplets condensing on your skin like pearls. I take your hand and enter the water first. The hot stream falls over you like a long caress: it washes away the sweat, the fluids, the echoes of the night. The water runs down your neck, between your breasts, over your belly, cleaning everything but the fire that remains inside.

I pull you close, chest to chest, water falling between us. My hands travel down your back slowly, without rush, just feeling every curve, every muscle relaxing under my palms. I kiss your neck, soft, lips barely brushing, then move down to the collarbone, savoring the warm water mixed with your skin. I press you harder against the warm tile wall, one of your legs hooking around my hip. My hands move down to your buttocks, lifting you slightly so we fit perfectly. I enter slowly, very slowly, letting you feel every inch, the heat of the water amplifying everything.

We move together as if dancing under the hot rain: slow, deep, breaths mixed with the sound of the water. My lips on yours, long, wet kisses, without words. Your nails in my back, but soft, just marking the rhythm. The orgasm arrives like a soft wave, not explosive: it travels through you entirely, making you tremble against me, a low moan lost in the steam. I follow you seconds later, holding you tight as the water washes us both. We stay like that for a long time: water falling, bodies pressed together, breathing at the same pace. I kiss your forehead, your wet hair, and whisper into your ear:

—I love you.

The shower water has cooled a bit now, but your skin remains warm, soft, marked with that sweetness left by the night. I wrap you in a huge, fluffy towel that smells of fresh lavender. I dry you slowly: first the hair, running my fingers through the wet strands, then the neck, the shoulders, moving down the back with long caresses that make you sigh.

I take you to the bed. The sheets are fresh, white, crisp. I lay you face down, naked, with only the dim light of the salt lamp tinting everything soft pink. The air smells of you: of clean sex, of hot water, of us. I sit astride your thighs, without weight, just so you feel my heat close. I pour a generous stream of warm oil into my hands (coconut oil with a touch of vanilla and jasmine, the kind that makes your skin prickle before I even touch you). I rub my palms to warm it more and I begin.

First the shoulders: I press with my fingertips, slow, deep circles, undoing every knot the night left behind. Moving down the back, following the spine with my thumbs, clearing a path as if I were drawing a secret map on your skin. Every pressure is a kiss without lips. You feel how the oil slides, hot, slippery, and how my hands travel over every vertebra, every rib, until reaching the curve of your waist.

I move lower. The buttocks: I caress them first with open palms, just brushing, letting the oil make them shine. Then I knead softly, deeply, opening slightly so the fresh air brushes your still-sensitive center. I don’t enter, I just surround, massaging the muscles that were so tense before, releasing them drop by drop. Your sighs become longer, raspier. The legs: from the thighs downward, pressing with full palms, moving up and down in long strokes, like waves. The calves, the ankles, even the feet: every toe, every sole, until you melt entirely into the bed.

I move back up. I ask you to turn over. Now you are on your back, breasts rising and falling with every deep breath, nipples still pink and sensitive. I pour more oil between my hands and start with the neck: I massage the sides, under the ears, where your fast pulse beats. Then the chest: I circle the breasts without touching the nipples at first, just the contour, making circles closer and closer until I brush them with my fingertips, soft, barely, but enough to make you arch your back and a little moan escapes you. I move down the belly: I press with flat palms, wide circular movements that awaken everything beneath. The hips, the sides, until reaching the mount of Venus. There I stop for a second, just breathing over your skin, letting the heat of my breath brush your clitoris without touching it.

And then… you ask for it.

—Daddy… give me your milk… I can’t take it anymore… I want to feel you in my mouth while you keep massaging me…

I smile against your skin, moving up slowly until I’m kneeling by your side. My cock is already hard, heavy, throbbing for you. I bring it to your lips, without rush. You open your mouth, tongue first, licking the tip slowly, savoring every drop of pre-cum that emerges.

—Slowly… enjoy it… it’s yours…

You take it all, slow, deep, without hurry. Your lips close around it, tongue swirling softly, sucking with a steady pace while my hands continue massaging you: one on your breast, softly pinching the nipple, the other moving down your belly until brushing your clitoris with slow circles, without penetrating, just accompanying the pleasure you are building yourself. Every sigh of yours vibrates around my cock. Every moan makes me tremble. I look at you: eyes closed, cheeks sunken, enjoying every inch as if it were the first. I move up and down slowly in your mouth, letting you set the pace, savoring me, making me yours.

When I feel I can’t hold back anymore, I warn you with a husky voice:

—Baby… I’m cumming… take it all…

And I explode. Hot, thick milk, jet after jet in your mouth. You swallow slowly, savoring, moaning around it while your hips move against my hand that doesn’t stop caressing you. The orgasm hits you softly but deeply, a tremor that travels through you entirely, while you continue sucking the last remnants, cleaning me with your tongue, kissing the tip as if it were a treasure.

We stay like that: me breathing hard, you with swollen lips and a satisfied smile, my hand still on your belly, caressing softly to bring you all the way down. I kiss your forehead, your nose, your lips that taste like me.

—My queen… my everything… rest now.