Opening the heavy door we are hit by a wall of pulsing light, smoke, heat, and music

that instantly fills, floods us we feel a quickening, a moment of exhilaration - a rush of memories of friendship, music, dancing with sweat soaked abandon.

Focusing, our eyes adjusted we take in the rather glorious scene unfolding before us, for we are late to this particular party and it is in full, wonderful flow. The bar packed deep, the dance floor so full it is a mass of writhing bodies, booths lining the walls, full of laughing, draping people, tables loaded with bottles and glasses and above it all mezzanine floor with shadowed bodies just visible.

We can’t keep still, the music has shifted, a  wistful, gorgeous vocal, backwards warping chords, a switched up kinetic beat that is drawing us in, but we need to find the cloakroom, shed our modesty, for we are still overdressed for this crowd. We push ourselves through the mass, finding the doorway to the much quieter cloakroom, falling through into a dimly lit but far quieter space.

I turn to him, my impossibly handsome man, lean close and place my lips against his neck, he thinks I am just reaching to kiss him and his hands are already rising to hold me steady as I breathe into his ear  in ‘that’ voice that he knows means business…

‘put your hands by your side… stand still’

His hands drop, and I step back, two, three paces. There is a couch, I sit on it and watch him. From my bag I take out my heels, his collar, lead and my crop and I place them slowly and deliberately beside me. I slip off my heels and meet his eyes as I unbutton my coat, slowly, then stand up, letting it fall. I know that he will like the little I am wearing, but this is the first time I’m dressing like this, for him, outside of our bedroom.

In my stockinged feet I stand and close the gap between us, under his long coat he’s naked but for a leather thong and a chain body harness. I place my hands on his chest, and tell him to look at me, locking our gaze as I unbutton it and, without touching his skin at all, slide it from him.

I wait, he’s exposed and it is a moment I want to savour. I love his body, beautifully proportioned, his ink striking against his pale skin, his shoulders, his torso, solid and strong.

‘Go and kneel by the couch and wait for me. Keep your eyes down’.

Checking in our coats and my bag takes only moments but I watch him throughout. He is trying to obey, but the cloakroom door cracks open bringing an explosion of thumping sound as another couple stumble through the heavy door into the room. His head jerks towards the sound and is caught by the scene they present…I want to watch them too. The man is barely dressed, but certainly wearing an evident and substantial erection, albeit covered, she is in a startling red pvc catsuit, leashed tightly, like a dog and with the most imperceptible gesture from him she is down, on all fours at his side. It’s incredibly hot watching them both.

The door closed the quiet returned, I rejoin OH, sitting beside him I lift the crop and guide his head down so that the back of his neck is exposed. I collar him, stroking his neck with my fingertips and nails, as I slide it around his throat. It’s a half choke, mainly leather but a few inches of chain looped to allow me to bring him to heel should I need to with a quick and slightly uncomfortable, noisy, tightening. I know, as I buckle him in, that he is getting hard.

I place my foot on his lap, resting it on his erection, using it to feel him. I move it up…using my toes, stroking first his stomach then tracing my way up to his nipple then his neck. With my toes under his chin I lift his face - ‘put my shoes on for me’.

He knows this is permission to touch, he takes my foot in both of his hands, stroking it, lifting it to his mouth he kisses my instep, I feel his teeth graze then his hand is replaced by the shoe as he guides first my toes in, then eases the heel on.

I uncross my legs, lift my other foot and he repeats. Still kneeling.

I stand to connect his lead to his collar and allow him to join me on the couch, giving him a chance to recover from kneeling.

I cuff his wrists, again slowly. As I take each hand I kiss a finger, a palm, looking into his eyes I circle his finger with my lips, drawing it into my mouth, stroking it with my tongue. He knows I am thinking of his cock, how much I love to sink my mouth down the length of him, feel his shape and taste him with my tongue.

I choose not to pin his wrists to his harness, at his sides for I want him to be able to navigate through the crowd, to drink, dance, touch. I chain them together instead using a metre chain - enough that I can draw him to me. That he can feel some constraint and that I can satisfy my need to control him, force him.

I take his hands in mind and lean in to kiss him. We have already spoken about this evening, he knows he is free to touch and feel, look and do as he pleases… but he wants to please me and knowing this excites me. I know that I will have whatever I want from him and there are so many places I need to feel his hands, his tongue, his teeth, in public.

We stand, connected by not only the leash but also how we feel about each other, wanting each other but more, wanting to be in that room, with that music, and as the door starts to open and the music surrounds us, our entrance perfectly timed to catch that wonderful polyrhythmic magic as one track segues with artful complexity onto another the pull, the exhilaration as with two, three, four beats of the new, like a lover drawing you into an intoxicating embrace we recognise the distorted and unforgettable 303 bass line - Pump Panel’s chewy acid techno remix of Confusion, and suddenly the evening is ours, familiar from old…smoke, strobes, pints, and as the percussion swells the riff we push into the room.

Beside us, around us as we people are dancing, arms in the air, draped over bodies, touching, if it wasn’t for the outfits, the degree of naked flesh and our own exposure this could have been any night from our respective pasts. But it isn’t, elevated by the outfits, erections obvious through minimal clothing, some breasts exposed , chains, studs, collars, masks, yet the sexually charged atmosphere while evident is somehow in check, relaxed. There are rules to be observed, and the bodies up on the floor are here to dance, albeit some merging together, but focused on the music, buzzing.

I have his leash wrapped around my hand, only a couple of feet of play in it, enough for him to feel me drawing him around, and in places through, the crowded pulsing dance floor.  The music fills us, pulls us, making it easy to find a rhythm that matches the press of bodies around us.  We take our time to reach the bar, the distance between us both closing when the crowd is denser, and in those moments his hands are stroking me, my hip, my thighs, I’m conscious of the chain between them as it touches my skin. At times as I move ahead I’m placing my hands on twisting, writhing bodies naked shoulders, backs, upper arms to gently push our way though, and each time the response is a returned touch, strokes, smiles, occasionally an embrace, one, two, three seconds of connection, matching a rhythm we are all moving to.

When we are closer together with each pause in our progress through the crowd I’m conscious of OHs hands on me, the pulse of the music feels centred in my clit and I am so very in need of his fingers there.  We reach the edge of the dance floor, the bar ahead just as the lyrics shift and the crowd surges, an explosion of energy, and I turn to OH tighten his leash, locking eyes until he is pulled towards me. It’s a relief to be able to stand still, lean into each other. OH puts his arms around me, and suddenly it is just the two of us, as he kisses me, deeply, his hands pressed into my hips, his thumb stroking my thigh above my stocking. I press against him but we are already connected though the music vibrating through us both, our tongues together, stroking, teeth on lips. He is mine, completely, and I need him with a heat and a fury that I can’t satisfy with my hands and my body alone. I need chains, I need whips, I need to bite and scratch my name into him. I need him to bleed, to break open, to burn, I need to brand him, possess every part of him. Does he know that I feel this way? Does he know that when he is fucking me so hard, slamming, grinding, forcing his cock so deep in me, that the sounds he makes, his face, his strength as his muscles lock, in the moments of his release, the throbbing buck of his cock and the heat and pulse of his cum all overwhelm me and in that moment I become HIS slave, his to use, his to hurt, that I want him to brand me, hurt me too? That I have never wanted to be anyone’s as much as I want to be his, please anyone as I want to please him. Be possessed and  used.

While it’s a loss, a wrench when the music changes, the swooping intro and soothing vocals of the Camelphat’s Breathe releases us long enough for us to move apart. I take advantage of the new, surging beat to twist away from him, raising his leash above my head, drawing him with me, pushing my way into to the crush around the bar.

When we finally reach the bar OH is standing close behind me, the press of bodies easier than on the dance floor  but affording us the privacy I was after, for if I can’t touch him soon I think I will explode with frustration. I pull his leash hard closing any space between us and locking one free hand behind my head, behind him, wrapped in his hair. I part my legs, just enough, balanced on my heels and against his body. My other hand reaches, pushes between my back and his stomach, feeling down to cup his balls and cock, gently stroking, squeezing, grazing him with my nails in time with the music. I lean back my mouth turned towards his ear.  ‘I need your fingers in me, NOW’.

His hand cups my bottom, it’s not obvious, there isn’t that much clear space around us. He has me pressed against the bar and as he slides one finger inside me I almost cry out with the pleasure and relief. I can’t help myself as I release his cock and lift it to press between my legs, my heels giving me the height I need, I move my wet knickers aside . His hands move to my hips and I gently rub my pussy along the length of his hard cock. I need him inside me but that would be impossible here. While we are served, all smiles and conversation above the line of the bar, I get off on him, below. Moving in time to the music, and we stay there minutes longer than we need to while I slide along his length. I have OH’s head pressed against my neck, my hand still twisted in his hair so he cannot see what I can. On our left stands another couple, he notices us our intimacy and shows his girlfriend, who turns around from her spot beside me at the bar. He gestures at us, smiling warmly, slowly and I can almost see him thinking out loud. She must do too for she smiles, leans towards him and kisses him, watching them, their shared, knowing purpose I’m not surprised as her hand reaches my breast then trails down to my open thighs. Her fingers stroke my clit, must be touching the head of OH’s cock, he must think it’s me. I slowly release my hold on his hair, aware that he must now be watching as she leans around to face me and I turn my face to hers, and we kiss, softly, then with more passion as her fingers find and pinch my clit, rubbing me, alternately stroking OH’s cock, I move both my hands visibly to the bar so he understands it is her not me. Her boyfriend watches, still smiling.

OH puts his mouth to my ear whispers  ‘bad girl’ and I can’t help myself as I his words push me over the edge. He can feel me shudder as I cum and moments later feel the gushing warm liquid over his cock, her hand, running down my thighs, soaking into my stockings.

Whether or not we are observed as we straighten ourselves doesn’t really seem to matter, our three bodies affords a little triangle of privacy for OH to cover his cock, forcing it somehow back into his suddenly far too small briefs. Before we have even  picked up our drinks off the bar the couple have melted away. Beside the bar is the staircase to the mezzanine floor and I lead OH towards it, we climb away from the strobing light into relative darkness.

I’m feeling wonderful, the hungry need I had for him is giving way to something softer as the music  changes, just as we reach the top of the staircase. The opening bars of Angel’ Massive Attack, perfectly matching our a lower pace as we take on the scene.  There are booths lining the walls, some empty, some occupied with writhing bodies, more than two in places. We are both watching as a woman, bent over a table, her hair draped over her back, wrists and ankles shackled to the table legs,  is spanked with a large paddle. her cry just audible as we pass by.

We find a booth and I press him down onto the couch, straddling him, on my knees, my breasts in his face. I’m desperate for his tongue on my nipples and his hands between my legs. I can’t talk, my mouth is dry with longing, smoke and need. As he teases my breast free I can’t help catching , wrapping my hand with his lead, locking him in place. I free his cock, I need to ride him, as I sink onto him, I grind down, the swell of the music dictating the pace and his mouth finds mine as my fingers grip his shoulders, my nails digging into him, I know as his arms tighten around me and I feel all of his strength through his arms, that he wants me to hurt him, wants to feel that pain as we push, force, ourselves together as hard and as deep as we can. I move my mouth to his neck, his shoulder and as the music crests and my orgasm builds with each beat,  I bite down, and hear him groan, feel all of him tense until I can’t tell where he begins and I end - we cum, rocking together as the track slows, quiets and hold each other. I know in that moment he is branded on me, the memory of him burned into me in ways I can’t even describe.

The rest of our evening is spent at our little booth, kissing, laughing, watching, drinking. No one interrupts us, we come down together, relaxed, unhurried until finally the music dims and the lights return, and we spill gritty eyed, wrapped in our coats, and each other’s arms, out into the now grey light of morning.