WBDP - Brianna Delivers Pt. 17

"I just orgasmed, Sam," Dawn said. "You did it to me again, although this time I was visualizing what Marcia went through, feeling what she must have felt, exposed like she was. I was already aroused at my own near nudity. To imagine myself in her position was all it took to send me over the top."

"Good for you, Dawn. We didn't even have to find a quiet corner to fuck you in. We could do it in broad daylight in front of everyone. How about you Chantelle? Are you close to cumming?"

"I am close, Sam, but I heard the story previously. It has not had quite the impact this time as it did the first. I know I climaxed hard and often after hearing it the first time."

"Please continue," Dawn said, "I want to know more."

"Armed with the information from this little slave girl, I entered Marcia in sponsored contests with cash prizes, all of them involving Marcia having orgasms. Before it was time for Marcia to compete, I would whisper in her ear all the things the slave told me. To look around at all the people watching her, to know how hungry they were for her, how much they'd all like to fuck her, to use her in every way possible and she would be demonstrating to all of them in the clearest possible way, what a fucking slut she was, what a perfect little slave. She would go off like a firecracker and she made us a lot of money. Almost paid for the whole trip, though not for all the stuff I bought there. I learned from the experience how important it is to include the brain in sex.

"Every time I thought it would be useful to me, I would do the same thing before an act of sex I wanted to be memorable, engage the mind of the person. I did it with others as well as Marcia, even people I wasn't going to fuck, but who I thought needed to be fully engaged in the sex act. It worked every time. I had never tried making anyone cum before only with words, but I was thinking, if it worked to enhance an orgasm, why couldn't it give you an orgasm as well, all by itself? So with you, Dawn, and later with both you and Chantelle, I tried to engage your minds fully into the sex act. We remember scents and sounds and tastes and touches; how they make us feel. Some things we remember for years afterward, as clearly as if it happened yesterday. I remember the first blow job I ever received where the woman swallowed, as clear as day. I remember everything about it, the day; a hot day in June not unlike this one. The place; a field near an abandoned farm house. The sights; trees and overgrown bushes, weeds near the house, big bales of hay in the field. The sounds; birds singing in the trees, cows lowing in a pasture, cars driving by on a nearby road. The scents; the hay, the dust from the gravel road and the passing cars, the scent of her cunt as I pleasured her too, the soap she used to shower with, the salt of her sweat in the heat. If I can remember it so clearly, to feel it so completely, why couldn't you? If you remember the pleasure, how something felt, why can't you feel it again in your mind, so clearly it almost feels like it's happening again?

"I took things I knew you were familiar with. You were already aroused. You wanted to cum. We'd teased you, touched you, made you suck my cock and Chantelle's cunt. You had to be close and needing it so bad. I tried the images of room service first, you tied to the bed, but that required imagination, not memory. It was a mistake. I'm not saying your imagination is poor, but you have to invent everything, the sights, sounds, scents instead of recalling it from memory. You didn't have an actual experience to draw on. That's when I thought about Joe. Chantelle had described your experiences so I knew some of what went on. And I knew the experience was memorable to you. Your first anal sex. Being used by both a man and a woman. So I switched gears and made you think about that experience instead. It was all you needed."

"And when it was both of us," Dawn said, "you made us think about each other. To close our eyes and remember the details of our sexual encounters, everything from touch to taste."

"Exactly, and enhanced because you were close, could still smell each other, feel your body heat. I even let you have a quick taste of each other, to make it immediate, store the sensations in core memory, not the hard drive. Your minds did the rest. You didn't cum on command. Not really. I kept saying it often enough it was mostly coincidence you climaxed when you did. I mean it might have provided the last little push because you're both accustomed to following my orders now, but you were ready anyway."

"Sam, have you ever cum strictly from memory?" Chantelle asked.

"Close, but I it wasn't memory as much as imagination and there was some touch involved, but no rubbing. I was lying with Marcia in bed one night, curled up against her back and I was thinking of something I wanted to do with her during her next slavery. My cock got hard and it was up against the crease of her ass. I didn't rub against it, but it kept pulsing with my heartbeat, moving it just enough to keep me stimulated. It didn't even wake her up, it was so slight, but eventually, I orgasmed on her buttocks."

They both laughed. "You ejaculated on Marcia's ass in her sleep," Dawn said. "Did she ever find out?"

"Well, she wondered why her ass was so sticky and crusty the next morning so I told her."

"What did she say, Monsieur?"

"What could she say? I think she said something to the effect that if I was going to have a good time to the point of cumming on her, the least I could do is wake her up so she could enjoy it too. I said I wanted to, but it was after two AM and I knew she had to work the next morning and I didn't want to wake her. I did tell her since it was an idea for her next slavery, I was sure she'd enjoy the fruits of my imagination in the very near future."

"Did she?" Dawn asked.

"Of course, multiple times. I always show Marcia a good time when she's my slave. If she doesn't enjoy it, she wouldn't have a reason to keep doing it. I want her to have every reason in the world to sign up for another month."

"Isn't she obligated to keep doing it?" Dawn asked. "Isn't it part of your agreement that as long as you keep your weight off, she has to be your slave a certain number of days per month?"

"It would be a reason to continue," Chantelle reminded her, "but it is not an iron clad obligation. Marcia always has her safe word. If her slavery becomes onerous and no longer meets her needs, she does not have to continue, no more than you do. Being his wife does not increase her obligation more than yours. There must be a benefit to both parties for a slavery relationship to continue."

"Even becoming old," I said, "may cause us to rethink our relationship. What is pleasurable now in our relative youth, may not be so pleasurable as we get older. Suspensions can be more painful to your joints, spankings might hurt more, or cause more bruising or injury. Take something like ass fucking which we both enjoy, as an example. If Marcia got a hemorrhoid, does she have to continue with ass fucking even if it pains her more? We discovered we enjoyed this play, the dominance and submission, almost by accident, but if either or both of us no longer enjoys it, why continue. As my slave, Marcia does receive some share of painful experiences, but she tolerates them much better because she has far more pleasurable experiences. If she didn't experience some pleasure during a spanking, wouldn't it just be a form of brutality. She may not get one every time, but it should be more frequently than not. You haven't even been a slave for long, but if all your experiences were negative, would you have agreed to become Brianna's slave? You might be better off financially signing up for your slavery, but would it be worth it to you if all you experienced was pain? You don't seem like that kind of girl to me."

"The bond of slave to Master or Mistress is very complex," Chantelle said. "There is the obligation placed upon the slave to satisfy the dominant and comply in all ways with their commands, but there is an equal obligation on the dominant to satisfy the needs of the slave, whatever those needs are. Mistress has had issues arise due to her motherhood, her marriage, her business expansion, and even the motherhood of others of her slaves recently. We become accustomed to a certain amount of attention from Mistress and having children and expanding her business has reduced the attention we received from her. We try to be understanding of the changed circumstances, but slaves are needy. There is a certain amount of attention we require, whether it be pleasure or discipline. You witnessed what happened to Zoe. She acted out when she felt bereft of the normal attention she desired and had to be punished with humiliation and a spanking. I have done the same at times. Sometimes any attention from Mistress is better than no attention. There is a possibility some slaves may leave as a result. Their needs are not being met. It is unfortunate, because Mistress certainly deserves to have children if she wishes them and we all benefit from her growing business, but not all adjust easily. I welcomed the opportunity to serve Master because I could receive more of what I need from him currently than Mistress. In a way, you may have been chosen to fill a space which may become open due to the potential loss of some members of our community who are dissatisfied. You are lucky to be learning your slavery from Sam. He has the time and patience to train you well."

"Thank you, Chantelle. I appreciate your kind words."

"Well deserved, Monsieur."

"It looks like we're getting close," I said. "Dawn, put your cover-up on until we've spoken to a police officer about the risk of going around dressed as you are."

"Sir, it's so hot," Dawn said. "Wearing something more will make it even more uncomfortable."

I kissed her. "Spoken like a true slave. You'd rather be naked than hot."

"Most everyone on the boat has seen me like this. I'm getting used to being this exposed. What difference if a couple thousand others see me this way. Didn't you mention something about barely covered being permissible if you remained in a certain part of the city?"

"Only during Fantasy Fest which is in October. It doesn't apply the rest of the year."

"Too bad," Dawn said. She reluctantly put her cover-up on.

We docked shortly afterward and the first place we went was Bien, an unassuming and out of the way Cuban and Caribbean food restaurant near the landing. I'd been there before. Out of over 1900 reviews on Trip Advisor, 82% had rated it a five and 14% a four. It had no indoor seating. You ordered at a window and took a seat at one of the outdoor tables. They brought out your food.

"If you want to taste the best grilled corn you've ever had, order some. I don't know how they do it but it's fantastic stuff."

"What else is good?" Dawn asked.

"I've never had a bad meal here. It depends what you're taste buds are in the mood for. I like all the sandwiches. I'm going to get 'The Press." If you want to try a little bit of everything, we could all order something different and share bites."

"I would like to do it, Sam, if everyone is agreeable," Chantelle said. "I always like to try new food."

In the end, we got two orders of the corn to share, Dawn got the pressed ham and cheese and Chantelle got the chicken breast. We all ordered cold beers to go with the sandwiches. When we got our food, we cut off two portions to share and a larger one to keep. When Chantelle took a bite of the corn, she started to identify the flavors.

"Oh, this is good. I never would have thought to combine these ingredients. No wonder you raved about it."

"What's on it?" I asked.

"I see cilantro and paprika, and I taste aioli and parmesan cheese and there's definitely lime juice in there. I could make this."

"If you do, I'd kiss you full on the lips."

"Which lips?" Chantelle asked saucily.

"Whichever lips you want, Chantelle. You know me."

"Then you can probably guess which lips I would ache for you to kiss, as you know me as well."

"Get a room, you guys. Christ, you're making me hornier, if that's possible," Dawn said.

"What else are we going to do today, Sam?" Chantelle asked.

"Most of the action occurs at night, and unfortunately, we'll be gone by six. There's a burlesque theater, but they don't have matinee's on Tuesday. Mallory Square is a crowded sea of people at sunset with street performers of all kinds, jugglers, musicians, magicians, all waiting for a hint of a green flash, but we're going to miss that too. There are bars galore, but none of us are really big drinkers. We could take a trolley tour which when you pay for it, will drop you off any place they stop and pick you up later. We could go to the Hemingway House, where Ernest Hemingway lived the last years of his life before committing suicide and see all his six toed cats. We can just walk around and people watch. It's a good place for people watching because you see all types here. I'm open to whatever you'd like to do."

"I would like to go to Hemingway House," Chantelle said.

"I could be my own burlesque show," Dawn said. "I'm dressed for it if I can take this cover-up off."

"Fine. I'll ask the first officer we see."

We left and headed for the Hemingway House. We did see a police officer on the way and we stopped.

"Excuse me, officer. We have a question."

"What is it?"

"This young lady dressed in an outfit this morning, not realizing how revealing it would be when she started sweating. She's got this cover-up on, but it's so hot and she'd like to remove it if she wouldn't get into any trouble by doing so. Could you look and tell us if it meets community standards?"

"Sure, why not. Show me."

Dawn pulled up the top layer and I swear, she could not have been more naked looking than if she didn't have a stitch on. It was apparent he appreciated what he saw as he slowly looked her over for a few seconds.

"I'd like to tell you it's okay," he said, "because she looks amazing, but I'd have to tell you no. It's too revealing. She looks like she's naked. You'd better cover up again." Dawn pulled her cover back down.

"I was afraid of that. Thanks for the help, officer," I said. "I'm sure she's disappointed, but it's better to know."

"No problem. It was better you asked. Are you just here for the day?"

"Yes, we came on the ferry. Leaving this afternoon."

"You folks have a pleasant day. Enjoy Key West."

"Thank you." We left and continued on our way.

"Damn," Dawn said, "I was afraid he was going to say that."

"You're becoming quite the exhibitionist, aren't you?" I commented. "You wanted to cover yourself up this morning."

"But you wouldn't let me and I found I enjoyed it. It excites me."

I took a quick glance around and seeing no one nearby, I pushed her up against a tree and ran a hand up her leg to her bare pussy. She gasped when I touched her and spasmed into an orgasm. If she wasn't wet before, she was soaking now.

"I can see that's true," I said, pulling my hand out. "The evidence is obvious." I fed my fingers to her mouth for her to clean off. I released her, then had to put my hand back on her when she almost fell, still overwhelmed by the suddenness and strength of her climax. We gave her a few more moments to recover, then continued on our way.

Hemingway House was a few blocks away. We got there and there were at least a dozen cats wandering around. All of them with six toes instead of five. Apparently it was a fairly strong genetic anomaly, or the estate found other homes for the five toed ones. Chantelle found a kitten which was no more than a couple months old. He looked funny with his big feet.

"Mon petit minou," she said. "N'êtes-vous pas la jolie." She was petting it, stroking the head, rubbing it's cheek. "Such a cute kitten. Look how big it's paws are?"

"It's the extra toe which makes their feet look bigger."

"Why do they have six toes?" Dawn asked.

"Hemingway had a cat with six toes. Apparently it's a strong genetic trait because it keeps popping up in succeeding generations. I don't know if they're all born with six toes or if they find other homes for the normal ones. There's a sign or something around here explaining."

"It is darling," Chantelle said. "I love kittens."

We toured the house looking at the exhibits. When we finished, I asked what they wanted to do next.

"What is the most famous place in Key West?" Chantelle asked.

"Sloppy Joe's Bar is probably the one thing most people know about. But it has Mile Marker Zero of US Highway One which runs from here to the Canadian Border along the Eastern Seaboard. It also has a marker showing the southern most point in the continental US. Those are relatively famous as well. We can hit Mile Marker Zero on the way back to the ferry. The southern most point is in the opposite direction."

"Have you ever been to Sloppy Joe's?" Dawn asked.

"I think 99% of the people who have ever come to Key West have been to Sloppy Joe's."

"Since this is my first and probably only time I'm going to be in Key West, I'd like to be part of the 99% and go to Sloppy Joe's."

"Chantelle?"

"Sloppy Joe's is fine with me."

"Sloppy Joe's it is."

A few blocks later we were walking into Sloppy Joe's. As we reached the door, I told them to turn and face the street and wave. They both did so, but Dawn asked why we did it and I said they have a live web cam and if anyone was watching we should be friendly. I said they also had a web cam on the stage and another on the crowd. We took a seat and the waitress came for our orders.

"The rum runner is the original drink of the Key's going back to when smugglers would smuggle rum into the country during Prohibition," I said. "Would you all like to try one?"

"Sure," Dawn replied. "Certainement," Chantelle answered.

"Three rum runners, please."

"Coming right up."

There was a live band playing and Dawn asked if there was always a band playing since it was 2:30 in the afternoon.

"Pretty much morning to night," I said. "They use four or five bands every day. Would either of you like a Sloppy Joe's souvenir?"

"I wouldn't mind a shirt," Dawn said.

"I'm fine," Chantelle replied. "If anything, I have more clothes than I normally use anyway."

I told Dawn to pick one out and ask the waitress for one when she returned with our drinks. She got up and wandered over to the display, going through the different women's shirts. She came back and when our waitress returned, ordered a medium classic guitar V-neck in heather. The waitress said she'd bring one with our bill.

"Drink up, ladies. We still have to eat before catching the ferry back."

"We could eat here, can't we?" Dawn asked.

"If all you want is bar type food, we could. If you want something a little classier, we'll need to go somewhere else."

"Where would you recommend, Monsieur?"

"I like 'Latitudes' on Sunset Key right out in the bay, but you have to take a quick ferry ride to get there and I don't think we have time. I'd go with La Te Da or Bliss. Both have a small selection of well prepared dishes."

"We have to be back at the ferry between 5:00 and 5:30, do we not?" Chantelle asked.

"We do."

"Is either of them close or on the way back to the Ferry?" Chantelle asked.

"Bliss is the closest. It's a couple blocks back toward Hemingway's, but it won't take more than five or ten minutes to walk to."

"I suggest Bliss then. I don't want to rush."

"Fine by me."

We listened to the band for about a half hour, sipping on our rum runners. I told them what I knew about the area including the prison in the Dry Tortuga's where they held Dr. Samuel Mudd, who'd been convicted of conspiracy in the assassination of Abraham Lincoln because he'd treated John Wilkes Booth. There were a couple events which helped convict him; his statements changed several times when questioned. He lied about how many times he'd met with Booth before the assassination. He didn't report treating Booth for several days after the assassination, and Booth's boot was hidden in Mudd's attic. He was granted a pardon by President Andrew Johnson in 1869 after he helped with a Yellow Fever Epidemic when the prison doctor died, but his crime itself was never pardoned despite attempts by his ancestors to have his name cleared.