Clubbing

Jennifer stood in the bedroom, her small frame trembling under John’s scrutinizing gaze, her shaved pussy bare and hypersensitive, her clit pronounced and throbbing from the fresh shave he’d given her that evening. It was only a few weeks since she’d flushed the ring, sealing her fate as Jennifer, John’s collared bimbo slut, and the weight of that choice still pressed on her, a mix of doubt and regret that never fully faded and only seemed to enhance her constant arousal.

She was tiny, weak, compliant, and undeniably cute, her feminine form a stark contrast to Jeff’s lean strength, and she thought of herself as she now, the last echoes of her old identity dissolving into her new role. Her pussy constantly ached with need, but her arousal really spiked when John dominated her properly, tied her up, or fucked her doggy style. The shame of her surrender burned, a constant reminder of what she’d lost.

John held out a leather collar, its silver buckle glinting in the lamplight, a leash dangling from his other hand. “Time to show you off, pet,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. “You and I know you’re mine, and tonight, everyone else is gonna see it.” Her heart raced, embarrassment flooding her at the thought of being displayed, but her betraying little clit pulsed, her body evidently eager for his control. He fastened the collar around her slim neck, snug and possessive, the leash clipping on with a soft click that felt like a final vow. She whimpered, the leather a physical mark of her submission, both humiliating and grounding.

He handed her a pair of crotchless panties, black lace that framed her shaved pussy, leaving her clit exposed and ****. “Put these on,” he ordered, and she obeyed, her small hands shaking as she stepped into them, the fabric teasing her sensitive skin. Next came a translucent brassiere, its sheer material revealing her pert breasts, her nipples hardening under his gaze. She felt like a doll, dressed for his pleasure, and the shame of it made her pussy wetter. He slipped a pair of high heels onto her tiny feet, their height making her feel even smaller, her steps wobbly and compliant. Finally, he draped a long, dark coat over her, concealing the skimpy outfit but promising exposure. “You’ll keep this on until I say,” he said, his tone firm. “But you know what’s underneath, don’t you, slut?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling with arousal and nerves. The formality of their BDSM dynamic, the constant use of “Sir,” humiliated her, a reminder of her fall from Jeff’s equality to this weak, submissive role. Doubt gnawed—had she given up too much, become too dependent on his approval?—but her clit throbbed, her body craving the night ahead. She loved this and her constant doubts were an integral part of how much she loved being his girl.

He tugged the leash, leading her to the car, her heels clicking on the pavement, the coat brushing her bare thighs. The drive to the BDSM club was silent, her mind churning with anticipation and regret. She’d heard of the club, a discreet venue in Melbourne’s underbelly, but Jeff had never gone, too vanilla for such scenes. Now, as Jennifer, she was John’s pet, about to be paraded before strangers—and, worse, possibly people she knew. The thought made her face burn, but her pussy clenched, the collar and leash and her virtual nakedness under her coat a constant reminder of her surrender.

The club was a dimly lit maze of velvet curtains and leather furniture, the air thick with the scent of incense and musk. John removed her coat at the entrance, revealing her outfit, and she blushed, her small frame exposed under the flickering lights. Her crotchless panties framed her pronounced clit, her translucent brassiere barely concealing her nipples and breasts, and the collar and leash marking her as an owned sub. Heads turned, eyes lingering, and she shrank under the scrutiny, embarrassment flooding her. But John’s hand on her leash was steady, his dominance a lifeline, and her arousal surged, her tiny clit pulsing with every step.

He led her to a private booth, the leash taut, her heels forcing her to take small, compliant steps. As they settled, her knees pressed together, her pussy wet and aching, she scanned the room—and froze.

Kylie was there, leaning against the bar, her dark hair pulled back, her leather corset and boots exuding confidence. Kylie, Jeff’s ex-girlfriend, who’d dated him briefly before their breakup over his **** to explore her dominant side. Jennifer’s heart pounded, memories of Jeff’s time with Kylie mixing with her new reality. As Jennifer, she’d encountered Kylie once since the transformation, at a café, and the dynamic had shifted—Kylie had sensed her submissiveness, teasing her with a knowing smile, and Jennifer had melted, her clit throbbing under the woman’s gaze. Their Dom/sub dynamic was unspoken but potent, and the thought of facing her now, collared and exposed, filled Jennifer with dread and desire.

John noticed her reaction, his smirk widening. “Well, look who’s here,” he said, tugging the leash to pull her closer. “Your old flame, Kylie. She’s gonna love seeing you like this, pet.” His amusement was palpable, and Jennifer’s cheeks burned, embarrassment warring with arousal. Before she could respond, Kylie approached, her eyes locking onto Jennifer, a predatory glint in them.

“John,” Kylie said, nodding to him, then turning to Jennifer. “And Jennifer. My, you’ve changed.” Her voice was smooth, commanding, and Jennifer shivered, her clit pulsing at the dominance in her tone. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest,” John said, his tone laced with mischief. He handed Kylie the leash, a gesture that made Jennifer’s stomach flip. “She’s all yours for a bit. Show her what a real Domme can do.” The casual betrayal stung, but it also ignited her, her pussy dripping at the thought of Kylie’s control. Doubt surged—could she handle this, being passed to another?—but her body was eager, her submission a ****.

Kylie took the leash from John, her grip firm and deliberate, her eyes never leaving Jennifer’s flushed face. “Come, pet,” she said, her voice a velvet command that made Jennifer’s knees weaken. She led her to a small stage, a platform for public scenes, the crowd’s murmurs amplifying Jennifer’s embarrassment. Her tiny frame trembled, her high heels making her steps unsteady, her crotchless panties exposing her pronounced clit, her translucent brassiere revealing her hardened nipples. The leash tugged her forward, a reminder of her compliance, and she felt both trapped and alive, her pussy dripping despite the regret gnawing at her—Jeff would never have submitted like this.

Kylie secured Jennifer’s wrists with a silk scarf, tying them above her head to a ceiling hook, stretching her small body until her toes barely touched the floor. The bondage was light but effective, her arms taut, her pregnant potential not yet confirmed but her body already John’s creation. “Look at you,” Kylie murmured, circling her like a predator, her fingers trailing along Jennifer’s collar. “So tiny, so weak, so cute. My perfect little sub.” The words were a lash, humiliating and arousing, and Jennifer whimpered, her clit throbbing under Kylie’s gaze. “I’ve wanted to do this with you forever Jen.”

Kylie stopped in front of her, close enough for Jennifer to feel her breath. “You’re wet already, aren’t you, pet?” she asked, her tone teasing, her fingers brushing Jennifer’s inner thigh, inches from her pussy. Jennifer’s face burned, the public exposure overwhelming, but she nodded, unable to lie. “Yes, Ma’am,” she whispered, the title slipping out, her compliance absolute. Kylie’s smirk widened, her dominance a mirror to John’s but sharper, more psychological, and it pushed Jennifer deeper into subspace.

Kylie’s fingers slid higher, grazing the edge of Jennifer’s crotchless panties, teasing the sensitive skin around her shaved pussy. “Such a pretty clit,” she said, her voice low, her fingertip circling the pronounced bud without touching it directly. Jennifer moaned, her hips twitching, **** for contact, but Kylie pulled back, her laugh soft and cruel. “Not yet, pet. You don’t get to cum until I say.” The teasing was ****, Jennifer’s pussy clenching, her wetness dripping down her thigh, her embarrassment acute as the crowd watched. It was made all the more intense by the memory that she had been a man that had broken up with Kylie to avoid this very dominance… or a dominance like this.

Kylie’s other hand moved to Jennifer’s brassiere, slipping beneath the sheer fabric to pinch her nipple, rolling it between her fingers. The sensation was electric, Jennifer’s nipples hypersensitive, and she gasped, her small body arching against the scarf. “So responsive,” Kylie purred, twisting the nipple just enough to sting, the pain blending with pleasure. “You love being controlled, don’t you? My cute little slut, all tied up and needy.” Jennifer’s head spun, regret for Jeff’s independence sharp but fleeting, her arousal drowning it out as Kylie’s dominance consumed her.

Kylie’s fingers finally reached Jennifer’s pussy, parting her slick folds, teasing her entrance with slow, deliberate strokes. “So wet,” she said, her voice dripping with approval. “You’re practically begging for it.” She slid one finger inside, curling it to press against Jennifer’s G-spot, the pressure precise and overwhelming. Jennifer moaned, her legs trembling, her clit aching for attention. Kylie added a second finger, pumping slowly, her thumb brushing Jennifer’s clit in fleeting, maddening touches. “Please, Ma’am,” Jennifer whimpered, her voice raw, her body straining against the scarf. “Please, I need…”

“Need what, pet?” Kylie asked, her tone sharp, her fingers stilling inside Jennifer’s pussy, leaving her on the edge. “Tell me. Beg for it.”

Jennifer’s face burned, the humiliation of begging in front of strangers crushing, but her pussy throbbed, her clit ****. “Please, Ma’am,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Please touch my clit, make me cum. I’m your slut, your pet, please.” The words were a surrender, exposing her need, and Kylie’s eyes gleamed, her dominance absolute.

“Good girl,” Kylie said, her thumb pressing firmly on Jennifer’s clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles while her fingers thrust deeper, hitting her G-spot with every stroke. Jennifer’s moans grew louder, her small body shaking, her nipples tingling from Kylie’s earlier touch, her pussy clenching around the fingers inside her. The crowd’s eyes, John’s amusement, the leash—all faded, her world narrowing to Kylie’s touch, her command. “Cum for me, pet,” Kylie ordered, her voice a whip, and Jennifer obeyed, her orgasm crashing through her, her pussy pulsing, her cries echoing in the club as her body bucked against the scarf.

Kylie untied her, catching her as she sagged, her tiny frame trembling with aftershocks. She kissed Jennifer’s forehead, a soft aftercare that grounded her, and led her back to the booth, the leash loose but ever-present. Jennifer’s legs were weak, her clit still throbbing, her embarrassment acute as the crowd’s eyes followed her. John clapped slowly, his grin wide. “Well done, Kylie,” he said, taking the leash. “She’s a natural, isn’t she?”

“Absolutely,” Kylie replied, her smile knowing, and Jennifer’s cheeks burned, her arousal lingering despite the shame. Doubt surged—had she become too much of a toy, passed between Dominants?—but her pussy ached, her submission her truth.

another figure approached—Fred, Jeff’s old frenemy, a smug lawyer who’d always competed with him. Fred’s eyes widened, then narrowed with recognition, though he couldn’t know Jennifer was Jeff. “Well, well,” he said, his gaze raking over her exposed body, lingering on her clit. “Jennifer, right? You look… familiar. We should catch up sometime. Grab a coffee, or something more.” His tone was suggestive, his smirk cruel, and Jennifer’s stomach twisted, embarrassment and regret surging. Fred had always been a rival, and now he saw her as a plaything, a weak, cute girl to pursue.

John chuckled, his hand resting on Jennifer’s leash. “I like that idea,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “What do you say, pet? A little reunion with Fred?” The suggestion was a test, a push of her boundaries, and Jennifer’s face burned, her clit throbbing despite her shame. She wanted to refuse, to cling to John’s protection, but her compliance won, her submission too deep.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her regret for Jeff’s strength sharp. Fred grinned, handing John his card, and Jennifer felt trapped, her role as John’s slut extending beyond their dynamic. Kylie watched, her smile knowing, and Jennifer’s pussy ached, her arousal tied to the humiliation of being shared, controlled, desired.

Back home, John fucked her doggy style, her collared neck pulled back by the leash, her bound wrists straining, her clit rubbing against the sheets. “You loved it, didn’t you?” he growled, his cock filling her. “Kylie’s hands, Fred’s eyes, everyone wanting my slut.”

She came, screaming “Yes, Sir,” her regret buried under her submission. She was Jennifer, tiny, weak, compliant, and cute, lost to her role, collared and leashed, forever his bimbo slut.