More Brunette babe bent over the bath and spanked photo samples here!
A little something I threw together to pass the time. I hope you enjoy it.


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I enter the club, giving the bouncers a nod. The big men nod back then resume checking membership cards and guest passes. As I hand my leather trench coat to the hat check girl she gives me a stunning smile. We’ve shared some good times together and we remember them rather fondly. Going to the inner door, I open it and step into Club Macabre.



Like most Friday nights, the joint is jumping. Thrashing bass hammers at the air filling the interior space with an erotic quiver. All the tables are full, mostly couples with a few groups interspersed. Leather is the standard material of their attire, usually paint tight, covering chests, breasts and asses. A fair number of patrons are collared to their chairs. Rings are set in the furniture for just such an eventuality.



The bar is lined with singles. They get their drinks, lean back and hunt. Most are wearing street clothes but their preference is usually marked by their choice of colour and style. Some are in uniform.



One of these catches my eye. A small, fair skinned woman with wavy chestnut hair. The garb she wears is a latex bikini with straps connecting the upper and lower portions. Her firm ass peeks around the thong and very sweet legs with stiletto pumps are displayed nicely. Knuckles of shiny metal dot the garment. There is a crop riding at her right hip.



I have to chuckle at her amateur attempt at a domme. PVC isn’t, in my opinion, the fabric of choice for a dominant. The shoes don’t work either. She’s very ornamental though.



Easing my way through the press around the bar, I smile and nod at Paula, the bartender. She smiles back and draws my standard draft. With many years of practice I move back through the crowd. As I head across the club to my reserved table I look at the stage. Per usual, it’s in use.



A tall, buxom, red headed woman is chained to the ceiling and her feet locked to a spreader bar. Her dom, a bit shorter than her, muscular and heavy set, stands behind her. He strokes her ass with a leather flogger. I can hear her cries over the music. Tears run down her face. Her shaven pussy glistens, the slit twitching. Thin lines of her hot slipperiness track over her inner thighs.



A small crowd stands at the edge of the stage and watches. Two people are getting oral pleasure. And most everyone else has hands placed over an erogenous zone, their own or others. No eyes leave the stage and the amusing tableaux unfolding on it.



I seat myself on the couch at my table, gaze out at the goings on, and smile with satisfaction. This is what I wanted when I opened this place. A venue where people at the outer edge of sexuality could disport, show off their skill and their property. In a city this size, and with so few meeting places for people like myself I knew it would do well. I’m making a very tidy living from this place.



Where I’m sitting is quiet compared to the rest of my club. I had the speakers set up to keep their focus away from me. Honestly, I prefer classical and blues to what we play here, but I had to make some nod towards my public.



Because of the relatively low noise level, I can hear a voice speak to me. “Well, what have we here?”



Turning my head to the person who spoke I find it’s the ornamental girl I noticed at the bar. Her front reflects the beauty of her back. Her breasts aren’t overly large but do stuff her top nicely. Hazel eyes look at me from a sweet face. Her full lips are garish in bright red lipstick. The crop is in her right hand and she taps it against her thigh.



“I think we have some little worm I can play with,” she goes on. “Would you like that, worm?”



An amused, somewhat disbelieving grin forms on my face. She really is inexperienced. A dominant has to be sharp. My clothes, neatly pressed dark shirt and jeans, are hardly a uniform but should give some clue. I wear glasses, true, which might be misdirecting. They don’t hide my eyes though and those dark brown irises show what I am. And the fact that I am sitting at a reserved spot alone is another telltale she’s overlooked. Missing all this means she’s heading into dangerous territory.



A moment’s blankness softens her face. She’s confused by my reaction and doesn’t know what to do. Then her eyes harden and her mouth slits. Like too many people, her reaction to uncertainty is anger. “Did I give you permission to smile?” she asks. She’s trying to growl, but there is no real strength in her words. Her hand with the crop rises and descends quickly towards me.



I grab her arm on the way down and yank her into my lap. My legs lock her into position, ass presented for playing. I twist her right arm behind her back, nearly to her shoulder blades. The crop is removed from her now nerveless hand.



“Young lady,” I say to her, “your ignorance and lack of perception astound me. You must know what you are doing before you act!”



She squirms, trying to get free. A shove on her imprisoned arm ends that.



I go on. “I’ve always regarded myself as a teacher. Tonight, lucky you, are going to be my student.”



I bring her crop down, laying sharply across one firm buttock. I don’t put a lot of force in into the blow. Very little will be needed to teach this one. I don’t care much for pain anyway. It’s useful for discipline, arousing as a facet of my power, but of little interest to me in itself.



A light welt appears and my victim gives a yelp. I can feel the start of warmth inside me. My cock stirs slightly. “So, what did you do wrong?” I ask her.



“I… I…” she groans.



Another stripe is laid across the opposite cheek. A high pitched “Eee!” comes from her. I harden a little bit more. “Well?” I inquire.



“I don’t know!” she cries.



I give her another light smack. “Ow!” bursts out. I can feel the warmth suffusing my face now. I grow hard enough that she must feel it against her thigh. “We’ll be here all night unless you answer,” I explain to her. Her skin is flushed slightly, pinpricks of sweat show on her back.



“I didn’t know what I was doing,” she responds.



“Good.” I remark. “And why didn’t you know?” I give her another snap of the crop to drive the lesson home. “Ah!” explodes forth. My lust increases yet again. Such a responsive lady she is.



She squirms a little as the pain runs through her system. “I, I don’t know why,” the sweet woman admits.



“Very good,” I inform her. I can feel her relax slightly. “Admission of ignorance is the first step to ending it.



“I will tell you what you missed. Pay attention.



“First, I am sitting at a reserved table, alone. If I was the type of person you thought I was, I would not be alone.” I bring the crop down. She makes a pleasant little “Eek!” A shiver of pure arousal goes through me at the sound.



“My clothes are a signal as well. A person of the type you were seeking wouldn’t have such hard edges.” Her lovely ass gains another stripe. I draw a sharp breath at the erotic pattern I’m drawing on her canvas.



“And always, always, check the face and eyes. Nothing is more of a indicator. It’s an instrument panel to the soul.” And I stroke her once more. My student whines and I smile.



“So, will you make that mistake again?” Another kiss of leather is applied. Her free hand goes to her mouth and she bites her finger to stifle her reaction. A shiver of pleasure runs through me.



“No,” she tells me. That gains her another stroke. She nips her hand again.



“There’s an honorific required at the end of that statement,” I inform her.



“No, sir.”



“Close enough,” I remark. I let her up and she stands in front of me, shaking, her eyes teary. I point with the crop at the sofa, directing her to sit to the left of me.



She leans back slightly, lips grim.



I slap the stiff strip of leather into my left palm and frown at her.



That’s enough of a message. The beautiful woman sits quickly. There’s a quick grimace of pain as her scored ass hits the seat.



I look at her, smiling. She really is lovely. Her brow is shiny with sweat, her eyes glazed slightly. Not all of the shine is from pain, I can tell.



She stares back at me, her expression that of a prey animal in the sight of a predator.



I place the crop in my left hand, reversed. Tapping the tip against her thigh, I direct her to open her legs a bit.



She does so unwillingly, but once she does I gently tease the skin of her limbs with the point of her implement. My quarry’s eyes slit and her mouth opens in a quiet gasp. Her breasts strain against the cups of her bra as her lungs fill. I can see the crotch of her bikini move as she clenches.



Chuckling, I ask her, “What’s your name, little one?”



“Gillian,” she tells me with a quaver.



I twist my wrist, smacking the length of leather I hold against her left thigh. “You forgot something.”



Her face twitches at the stroke. She quickly corrects herself. “Gillian, sir.”



“Very good. I’m Nick. I own Club Macabre.”



Her eyes widen in shock. Gillian realises she has inadvertently wandered into the big leagues.



“Have you ever read Eric Fromme?” I go on.



Her face grows puzzled. What I’ve said seems a complete non-sequiter to her.



“He wrote a book entitled Escape From Freedom. It was about why people often turn to rather nasty dictators for leadership. An understandable subject since he had to flee Nazi Germany.



“But he touched briefly on the D/s relationship. Being a follower of Freud he couched this in terms of ego. His hypothesis was that dominance and submission is founded on a weak ego. The dominant absorbs the submissive’s ego, strengthening their own. The submissive reinforces their ego by being absorbed.



“It’s not a completely satisfying idea. Human beings are too complex for such simple categorisation. Myself, for example, am strong enough to get my own way.



“However, there is an interesting conundrum bought forth by Fromme’s premise. It seems to me that if a person plays at D/s for reasons of ego support, it doesn’t matter which role they play.



“So tonight I’m going to test my hypothesis. You’re going to be the test subject. You tried being a domme, and not very well. Let’s see if the sub role suits you better.”



Gillian’s face makes an interesting display of emotions. The first expression is blank as she tries to process what I’ve said. Next, almost too fast to be seen, her eyes light up in excitement and her mouth smiles in anticipation. Fear rushes in, washing those signs away. She makes to rise from the sofa.



I snap the tine of the crop against her covered pussy. The blow can’t be hard with my off hand and no windup, but she grits her teeth against the sensation and returns to her seat.



“Sit still,” I order her. Gillian gives me a look like a small child expecting punishment, fearful and anticipatory. Her breathing becomes shallow.



“You don’t believe me,” I say to her. “Perhaps I should offer some evidence. Show me your tits.”



Her eyes expand in trepidation and gives a tiny shake of negation. I switch the crop to my right hand, properly seating it, and give a light stroke on her tummy, just above the material covering her pussy. “Show me your tits, slave!”



My beautiful chattel’s hands go up and peel the cups of her top away from her firm mounds. They pop into view, pushed together by the garment pressing against them. She looks down and her face turns red. Her nipples are stiff.



With the crop under her chin, I raise her eyes to mine. My face holds a knowing smile. Her hazel irises glaze in a mixture of emotions I find so tasty. Fear, embarrassment and lust shines on her face.



I snap the crop down and the tip smacks against her left nipple.



The little nubbin grows hard at the sharp caress. An “Eep” comes from Gillian and she draws a sharp hiss.



I give her other breast the same treatment. I like balance.



She gives a gasping “Oh!” Her forehead sheens with a sudden slick of sweat. Her mouth falls open and she gives out a soft moan.



I motion a waitress over and whisper instructions in her ear. When I’m done, my employee pulls back, gives Gillian a wicked smile and goes off to fulfill my orders. The seated, exposed woman gets that deer in the headlights look on her face again.



I look out over my domain, making sure I can watch my new toy while I’m at it. There’s a different couple on stage now. A blonde, zaftig woman is face up on a bench, strapped to it at her waist. Sitting astride her face a domme, black hair cut short and trimly built, works a greedy quim over gluttonous lips.



Gillian’s mouth gapes as she watches the show. I can see how all her focus is concentrated on the erotic display. Her tongue emerges and licks her upper lip.



Something catches her attention then and she moves her head slightly. The glaze in her eyes grows brighter and and a flush of passion colours her cheeks. I hear a tiny gulp come from her mouth. Following her line of vision I find Caitlin at the other end.



There’s no mistaking Caitlin as anything but a domme. Her medium brown hair is trimmed close and frames a round face. She approaches robust in build, her breasts aren’t big and seem smaller compared to the wide chest they sit on. Caitlin’s a committed body builder with all her muscles well defined. Her garb is a black sleeveless leather jacket, zipped tight up her front. Hips are covered with very short shorts of the same material, zips on each side for quick removal. Calf high boots with four inch heels are fitted on her legs. Bands of leather cover Caitlin’s upper arms, straining from the pressure her well molded flesh places on them. She wears fingerless gloves on her hands.



“Interesting,” I think to myself, and modify my plans slightly.



The waitress returns with my order. Garments are placed on my table in a neat stack; a white blouse, a tartan skirt and a pair of white knee socks. A black leather collar with a four foot leash is set next to them. Turning to my student I tell her mildly, “Get your uniform on, child.”



Gillian grows stock still and her eyes become moist.



I bring my crop down, smack her right thigh. “Get dressed, now!”



She moves quickly at my firm command. Standing, she draws her bikini down her body. It slides over her beautiful legs and she steps from it as it hits the floor.



As her pussy comes into view I sound a rumble of appreciation. Her bush is closely trimmed, her lips swell sweetly and there’s a slight sheen of lubrication on them. She looks very tasty. However I won’t savour her until she’s more than ready for it.



As her outfit falls from her Gillian stops moving.



I look at her face and she’s wide eyed, staring out at the club. Glancing in that direction I find that several of my patrons are looking towards us. All show great interest at what’s going on here.



“That’s not your concern,” I apprise her. I give her bum a quick snap. Her buttocks clench at my touch. “From now on all you need to worry about is following my orders. Is that clear?”



A plaintive “Yes, sir,” is her reply.



Good, she does learn quickly.



She picks up the blouse, slithers into the arms then buttons it closed. Wrapping the skirt around her hips she pins it into place with the broach provided for that use. Gillian steps from her shoes one at a time, pulls the socks on and replaces her feet inside her footwear.



She makes no move to sit when she’s done dressing. There’s an innocent, fearful expression on her face.



I smile at her and give her praise. “Well done. You’re ready for your lessons.” Gillian’s face lifts into an almost smile.



I come to my feet and pick up the collar. Loosening it I reach for Gillian’s throat. She grows teary, but has the sense to stand still. I wrap the leather strip around her and cinch it closed, not too tight. I pick up the leash in my left hand and check the stage.



The couple using it are leaving. The sub has a large vibrator stuffed in her cunt and is being supported by her domme. The femme is moaning and her legs are shaking. She’s hardly able to move with the obvious euphoria blazing through her.



“Head for the stage,” I order Gillian. She starts to walk, me two paces behind her. As we move to the stairs at the end of the performance area the people at the tables turn to watch us. All their faces light in expectation. They know I put on a good show.



The crowd at the stage moves aside to let us pass. Caitlin is standing right next to the steps. She gets a feral look on her face when she sees what a sweet piece I’m leading. My student stumbles slightly at that gaze as a shiver runs through her body. Gillian’s head swivels as she walks, unable to take her eyes from Caitlin’s strong form.



I reach forward with the crop and push her face straight. “You only move how and when I tell you,” is my directive to her. I follow that with a swat on her ass to drive the point home.



As we mount the stage, the music dies. Standing orders are I get the complete attention of the room when I’m up here. There are mikes set above us to make sure every word we say can be heard.



I take the lead now and guide my student to the centre of the stage. I turn her to face our audience. Her eyes are downcast and her legs tremble. But I can smell, ever so slightly, the odour of her arousal. And her nipples make tiny peaks in the fabric of her blouse.



“Good evening,” I greet my patrons. There’s a murmur in return. The group in front of the stage grows larger. The press by the bar thins out as people drift over for a better view. Few people from the tables join them, but the dominants there make sure their subs’ attention is focused on me.



I place the crop under one of Gillian’s breasts and run the stiff implement over her. Her shoulders flinch but she makes no other move. “Good girl,” I praise. Her serious look lightens a little.



Turning back to my audience I start my opening remarks. “This lovely young lady has caught my attention tonight. The lucky woman.” A ripple of laughter sounds. Gillian’s face grows red in embarrassment.



“She tried to dominate me.” The laughter approaches hilarity in volume. Two small tears run down my student’s cheeks.



I hold my hand up for silence. “Don’t be too hard on her. She wasn’t really aware of what she is and what she wanted. Which is why she is up here and dressed the way she is. I intend to teach her.”



I can see Caitlin elbowing her way to the front of the audience. She places herself right in front of Gillian and grins. Glancing at my pupil, I notice she is looking back, her mouth open to let extra air in. The audience has faded for the moment from her perception.



“So,” I announce, snapping Gillian back to the here and now, “it’s time for the lessons to begin.



“Take your blouse off,” is my first order to her.



She looks at me, eyes going wide in shock. Her lips quiver as she tries to stifle a sob. Her knees weaken for a moment before she can catch herself.



I give her a glare of disapproval and raise the crop. In an instant she starts undoing the buttons. Her upper garment is on the floor mere seconds after that.



Gillian’s face grows bright red as she reveals herself. Two more tears run down her cheeks. But her nipples are hard and her aureola swollen. Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths.



“She is beautiful, isn’t she people?” I say to the audience. There is a collection of wolf whistles and cheers. Gillian’s shoulders draw in slightly, but her mouth twitches upwards for a brief moment.



I give my trull her next order. “Play with your tits, slave.”



There’s no pause this time. Her hands come up and she pets herself. Gillian’s mouth drops and the mikes pick up the birth of a groan. She tickles her stiff nubbins, the speed of her motions increasing as sharp pleasure fills her. Her knees start to shake.



Deciding to push her a little more I give another command. “Grip them, squeeze them, hard.”