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The Lodge - ebook

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The Lodge by Gregory Allen

Paul is clipped by Destiny, his favorite dancer at The Lodge, a club where the entertainers carry leashes and target patrons wearing collars to lead to the private dance area. Collar boys pay double the usual rate to kneel while the dancers perform towering over them. Destiny teases Paul about how long it her to see him with a collar on. As his dance ends, she spanks him while he stoops and kisses her foot. She assigns Paul to be a regular on a weeknight for more time with her when the club is less crowded. He pays a leash fee for the privilege. He fetches her water, massages her feet, and crawls at the end of her leash through the club to aid her in attracting more collar boys. For her birthday, Destiny has Paul assist her in a stage show. She leads him around the stage, rides him for $50 by sitting on his face, and has him stand in for her birthday belting.

He willingly endures intense humiliation and punishment to remain graced as Destiny's favorite club customer. When he upsets her, he purchases time with her in the champagne room, where he is stripped naked and displayed to her fellow dancers. Destiny permits them to punish Paul before delivering his final punishment herself, and then allowing him to demonstrate his contrition by kneeling behind her and reverently kissing her ass. When Destiny discovers Paul has been spending money on her beyond his means, he is punished again, but some surprising commands demonstrate to Paul that his hired mistress is a caring guide in his life.    

Includes: female domination, spanking, club scenes, ass play, foot worship, humiliation, masturbation, collars, degradation, pole dancing, and lap dances.

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Destiny stooped toward him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Leaning far over, she placed one of her breasts—now cupped in her other hand—so close to his face it was nearly out of focus. She touched the side of her head to the side of his and exhaled into his ear. Paul shivered.
She pressed on his shoulder and rose and moved to his side. The leash tugged hard, snapping him to attention. Destiny smiled and pointed to the floor. She pulled him onto all fours. Stretching her left foot out in front of him, she pulled him down until he could no longer strain against the leash and see her. He could only trail his gaze along her extended leg as he was propelled toward her heeled shoe on the floor. The thick sole was made of a clear plastic and he could see her tightly encased toes, the nails polished a blazing red. He was inches from her foot when he began to pull up, straining against the leash, again, but he felt Destiny shift her weight beside him. A hard material he knew to be her other shoe pressed on the back of his head and he submitted. She pushed him down farther. As his mouth touched her foot, he pursed his lips.
Her other foot slipped off, but he remained, stooped before her, his lips pressed affectionately to her skin. He would have never dreamed he would be permitted to kiss her, but he couldn’t help, after a while, imagining the picture they must have made: her towering over his crouched and prostrate form, probably catching the attention of the other dancers and exchanging glances of amusement.
The leash went slack and she withdrew her foot, but she told him to stay. He felt her move behind him. Felt the light touch of her hand on the small of his back, and then a painful sting on his butt cheek. He knew she had delivered a spank, but he could hardly believe she could hurt him that badly with only her hand. Dancers commonly incorporated slapping their bottom cheeks with their hands into their stage routines, but Destiny had elevated the practice to an art form. She would crouch low and draw her hand high into the air behind her, letting it hang, poised there—with her flair for show womanship—before delivering a flat stroke to her taut cheek. The sound on her bare skin carried over the club music. The force of them always captured the attention of even the patrons far from the stage, drew applause and cheers from the men around the stage, and invoked in Paul a hopeless urge to be in her place receiving the spank instead of watching her give it to herself.
Now that he was, he was surprised to realize they produced a quite intense sting, even through his clothes. She landed another on his other cheek, and Paul remained stooped over with his butt in the air, as her hand still rested gently on the small of his back indicating he wasn’t to rise. The first song came to an end. Between songs came a few seconds of quiet. The dancers always took advantage of these respites for a chance to be still and gather themselves before the next song put them into motion again. They remained naked and in plain view of the men, most of whom were too lulled into trances to notice the break in the thumping dance grooves, but the attention of the women seemed focused on Paul. He could see them—with his head lifted slightly from the floor—their naked legs from their knees down, their bulky plastic heels pointed toward him. Just as he realized he’d regained their attention, a third spank resounded in the space of quiet. The clap of Destiny’s flat palm against his cheek seemed to fill the private dance area. Even more humiliating was the instinctive brief moan he emitted from the sting that had been inaudible over the house music but now carried loudly enough for the nearby dancers to hear. A twittering of laughter followed. A heavy bass from the next song began to pound and the pairs of legs returned between the splayed legs of the men sitting on couches.
Destiny, leaving her hand to spin on the small of his back, stepped around him. She pulled on the leash, and Paul knelt up. Destiny faced him and stooped over. She caressed the sides of her breasts and gave a slow shimmy that made the pert nipples at the round ends of her breasts swing, tightly, side to side. She drew her hands down her sides, and Paul’s gaze followed. He traversed her smooth stomach, admiring the cute delicacy of her belly button, down, following her hands, to the swells of her hips her teensy skirt clung around. She swayed to the beat of the music. Teasing the skirt up and giving Paul flashes of the thong underneath encasing the mound of her pussy. She lifted the skirt all the way up, and Paul watched it rise. The elastic tugged on her breasts, lifting them slightly before gravity returned them to place with a single bounce. She raised her arms to lift the skirt over her head, fully extending them as her entire body stretched above Paul, who knelt up admiring everything, to the shadowed curves in the pits of her arms. She tossed the skirt behind her and glanced down, seeming surprised to find Paul gazing up at her face. She smiled and looked into his eyes. Her hands grazed down her body, over her breasts, across her belly, to her hips. Taking hold of the strings of her thong, she pulled them down to mid-thigh. The triangle slipped down, revealing a tiny patch of dark hair and a flash of the folds of her pussy that, even in the dimmed lights of the private dance area, showed a fleshy pink. Paul felt his tongue push against the lips of his agape mouth. Destiny made several loops with the strings of her thong beyond her hips as she swayed to the music, and her flashing kept Paul entranced. She pulled up on the strings and wedged the thong tight to her body. The folds and swells of her pussy were accentuated through the thin material. She swayed to the right, twisted slightly, and spun around and faced the couch.
She alternated tugging on the two strings stretched high above her hips. The buried string produced slight shifts in her firm butt cheeks. She bent forward and pulled the bikini bottoms down to mid-thigh. Her naked ass was right in Paul’s face. The mound of her pussy hung snugly between her legs. She did a slow wiggle of her hips, and Paul moved his head slightly back to give her room. It was the only way he could combat his urge to dive his face forward.
She brought her bikini bottoms back up. The string slipped out of sight between her cheeks. Returning to the couch, she picked her end of the leash up off the floor and pulled. Paul crawled forward till his face was between her knees. She slid a heel off and hooked a bare foot behind his head and thrust her pelvis up off the couch, as she stretched back and drew her hand up her thigh. Her index finger pressed into the triangle of material encasing her pussy, and she tossed her head back with her mouth open in ecstasy.
She immediately fell back onto the couch and grinned, breaking Paul’s fleeting delusion that she wasn’t miming her arousal. He was only slightly disappointed; it had been a wonderful show. The final beats of the song faded out. Destiny brought her foot off his shoulder but instead of dropping it to the floor, she brought it toward him. Paul instinctively started to back away, but she held the leash taut, restraining him, and slowly, maintaining eye contact with him, brought the bottom of her foot closer and closer to his face. Paul gave a slight nod. She smiled and touched her instep to his lips, which pursed to receive it. She left it there a few, interminably long, seconds, and Paul could see the pairs of couples on either side of Destiny staring at him. Yet he kept his lips tightly clinging to Destiny’s foot, slowly drawing breath through his nostrils—her big toe touched to the tip of his nose—until he felt her foot begin to move, and then he kissed before it got away.
Destiny slipped her heel back on. Leaning down toward Paul, she unclipped him and moved to one side of the couch with her top piled in her lap. She patted the seat next to her. Paul rose to a crouch and spun half around and sat. His erection poked against the fly of his pants. Destiny pulled her top on and her breasts slipped out of sight. “So, what did you think?”
She reached behind her and found her skirt, fed her feet through, and tugged it past her knees and over her hips. Even though she was redressing, these movements contained such intimacy, Paul held his breath as she casually performed them.
“That was…nicely orchestrated.”
Destiny laughed. “You think? I’m still developing a routine, still tweaking it.”
“I didn’t realize you were going to spank me.”
“All my boys get spanked. They seem to like it. Didn’t you?”
“It was fine.”
“It was fine?” She nudged him with her body. The cool, soft feel of her bare arm permeated the cotton sleeve of his shirt. He glanced shyly down and his gaze dropped into her lap. Her far leg was crossed over her near one and her pair of thighs made a soft trench of skin that ran from her knees to the triangle of her bikini bottoms wedged between her legs.
“I liked it.” He made himself look up at her. “Thank you.”

Artist Credit

Vasilchenko Nikita

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