Amsterdam Ch. 01

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As I mention from time to time, my Mother was born in The Netherlands where her parents and her sister and her family still live. Over the years we have made an effort to get together every two years, alternating between us going there and them coming here. Now that we are older, I’m pushing thirty three as I write this, the participants have changed a bit. The original set of cousins now have jobs and families of their own. This sometimes makes it harder to get away but has also provided more money to fly people back and forth, since more of us work, and there are more people to fly back and forth, given the presence of spouses and a new generation.

There are a variety of cultural differences twixt their family and ours. We are all kind of jocks but I was always amazed at the intensity my female cousins show toward exercise. The Winter Olympics are just wrapping up as I write and the Dutch speed skaters displayed incredible dominance for such a small country. My female cousins don’t skate but they do bicycle and their devotion to working out shows in their beautiful bodies, the pride they take in them and their willingness to freely share them, at least visually.

On the subject of sharing bodies, I know my cousins find Americans rather prudish but I admit it seemed to us that they seemed to spend a lot of time walking around about half naked, and maybe even more than half naked. I was somewhat used to this from my mother who retained a lot of the habits she formed growing up. She would sunbathe topless in our yard and nude on her porch. If she needed to undress or change she would undress or change and the audience made little difference. If one of us encountered her when she was naked she would keep right on being naked until it was time to get unnaked, if that’s a word.

Given all of this I was not surprised when we arrived in Delft in the year I turned EIGHTEEN for our bi-annual get together and found that my cousins Eefje and Dieuwke, girls my own age, had taken jobs in one of the kinky clubs in Amsterdam. Basically what they did was welcome people at the front entrance and participate in various entertainments such as wrestling, getting tied up and being whipped. But mostly they handled the entrance and they invited me to come with them and apply for a similar job for the duration of my visit. The only qualifications needed were to be young and pretty, which I flatter myself I was, and to be willing to take your shirt off, which I also was. So next afternoon we headed up the A4 to Amsterdam, about 60km away to visit the club.

The club was right off the A10 in the main part of town, a four story building including dancing, a restaurant, assorted facilities for putting on shows and private, members only, areas where the really serious BDSM activities took place. The clientele included the general public as well as members of the private club. Customers were about two thirds male with a fair percentage of gays. As this was summer there were lots of tourists floating in.

Dieuwke showed me the outfit girls wore at the front door: black boots, black boy shorts, black wrist bands and upper arm bands, each equipped with a metal ring to facilitate tying you to stuff, and a black scrunchie for a ponytail so your hair stayed up to show maximum girl. There was no shirt. I met a few of the bouncers who manned the front door, large hairy guys who all spoke English and were very welcoming. Things seemed fine so we went to see the manager so I could be interviewed.

The interview went fine. As I say there were few qualifications, some of which could not be evaluated while the applicant had her clothes on. I was reasonably personable, reasonably pretty, spoke good English, but nothing else, though that was not a barrier because THEY all spoke English. As I mentioned, one manned (or girled) the door sans a shirt so it made sense that as a part of the interview I would have to strip to the waist. As I expressed interest in some of the entertainments which were done in the nude, like wrestling, sometimes other girls and sometimes boys, getting hogtied by a professional rigger for the bartın escort enjoyment of the general public and possibly being whipped, I was asked to strip buck naked.

So here I was, just eighteen, five thousand miles from home with three men at least twice my age whom I had met five minutes ago and I was taking off all my clothes. It was Kafkaesque, but we were, after all in Europe and Kafka was Russian. I think. I maintained a pleasant countenance and as much eye contact as I could to show I was perfectly comfy baring my ass, not to mention everything else, in front of three strange men.

I removed my running shoes and socks and slipped off my jeans. I opened my shirt and removed that too. I reached in back and unhooked my bra, pulled it off my shoulders and bared my breasts, snow white against my summer tan. The manager smiled approvingly. I’m a big B cup small C and my nipples were hard as rocks. Boys usually like my boobs. Without hesitation I hooked my thumbs in the band of my panties and pulled them down and I was naked. My bum is small and soft and snow white like my tits, my hair shaved clean and my pussy lips pink against the white skin surrounding them. I held my head up to belie my nervousness and the heat building in my boobs and my lower tummy just above my bunny hole.

Usually I love stripping for guys, of course usually they are my own age. When you’re finally nude every part of you is offered to them, boobs, pussy, ass, everything. They take with them a little part of you you can never have back. A little bit of your innocence. They forever have an intimate connection with you because they’ve seen you naked. You can never totally erase the connection you have with him. That he’s seen you naked and you’ve let him into your own private world. I kind of threw my hair back and stuck my tits out and ground my hips a little. I squeezed my thighs together and felt the warm wetness of my cunt and the tightness in my abdomen that, under other circumstances, would lead to my getting off.

The manager stood up and walked around his desk in front of me and looked closely at my body, then slowly circled in back of me and stood there, presumably evaluating my bare ass. I figured this was a part of the interview. He wanted to know if having men stare at my naked body would make me shy. It didn’t. Well, maybe a little it did. He reached out and put his fingers lightly on my lower back, then lowered his hand and kind of caressed my bare ass. I stood stock still. Satisfied he went back and sat down. If it was a test, I passed. I think.

He summoned the rigger. He was pleasant and friendly and wanted to see how I’d react to being tied up. I told him I had some experience being tied but nothing professional. He wanted to do a few simple ties on me with some pieces of hemp he had brought with him. I don’t really care for hemp, finding it too scratchy but I had no choice. He had me put my arms behind me crossing my wrists together and taking a three meter rope doubled over tied my wrists together. Tight. It hurt and as he continued I gathered it was supposed to. Tight or not I could feel my engine rev because now I was sort of helpless to resist with my hands tied.

Next he did a fairly simple rope bra during which I thought he was deliberately taking advantage of me right there in front of the others. I know the rope bra requires more hand contact with your boobs than a few other chest wraps and I think that’s why he chose it but even so he took every opportunity to cop a little feel. Anyway he put a loop of rope around my body just under my boobs and ran the free end through the bite in the middle of my back. Then he came right around and did a loop up over my boobs pulling it real tight. Doing it that way squishes your boobs together. If you start in back pulling the rope up maybe fifteen cm. then around in front and pull the free end around back and connect with the part that’s up that fifteen cm it’s a little looser on the boobs but that’s not what he wanted. Anyway my boobs were squished. At least so far he hadn’t been able to feel me up.

Next bartın escort bayan he brought the working end up over my shoulder and twisted it round the upper loop just above the corresponding boob where he copped his first good feel then down over my nipple and around the lower loop just under my boob and scrunched it tight copping another feel. Then up between the boobs and around the top loop. Feel. Scrunch. Then down below the other boob and around the lower loop. Scrunch. Feel. And up over the other boob and around the top loop. Feel, scrunch. By now it hurt like hell, tight and scratchy hemp surrounding both boobs and I could feel my pussy moisten with all this tit feeling. Then up over the second shoulder and pulled down, scrunch, and tied in the middle of my back. There was a half meter or so left over so he pulled it down and through my bound wrists and pulled them up as far as I could manage and tied them off half way up my back. Then he came around front and adjusted things and copped a few more feels.

One more piece of rope meant one more tie and you didn’t have to be Einstein or de Sade to figure out where it was going to go. A loop around my waist just above my belly button pulling the rest of the rope through the bite so it lay just over my bellybutton pulled it really, really tight against my bare skin. Then it was a straight shot down between my by now eager thighs positioning the rope right between my pussy lips pulled way tight out the back with his left hand. Then he put his hand right on top of my privates under the guise of marking the quintessential spot in which to tie a knot. Bingo, I had to react physically but I said nothing but no doubt he could feel the wet down there.

He took the rope out from between my legs and tied a double knot in it at what he now knew was the critical spot then put it back through my legs and up in back around the rope passing around my middle pulling tightest of all. If you don’t think that hemp knot hurt against my little pink girlhood you’re wrong and they all could tell. If this was a test I almost flunked. In any case he tied the rope off and back and he was done. He seemed to approve of his handiwork. If it was supposed to hurt it did, on my wrists, around my body and over my boobs, around my body and in between my legs.

At any rate we were almost done. A wrestling guy was summoned, a young German fellow with a nice build who greeted me politely as I stood there still bound naked and helpless. He thought I would do, although how I was supposed to wrestle him I don’t know but it looked like it might be more satisfying than simply being tied up. A whipping guy came by and he was evidently unimpressed by my brown, puppy body or my prospects as a stalwart whipping subject. He suggested we might try a private session in the private club rather than the public session for paying tourists and he left. Finally the manager ordered me untied, told me I could get dressed and that I was hired. I left the office, the marks of the ropes still on my soft young, but EIGHTEEN year old body and Eefje and I went to wardrobing to get me my doorgirl outfit, what there was of it.

Eefje was already dressed in her outfit, which I had tried out at home. My feet were bigger than hers, her bum a tad bigger than mine. I stripped to my panties and tried on boots which were one size bigger and they fit and boy shorts that were one size smaller and they fit. I kept my panties and my socks and Eefje fitted me for my wrist and upper arm cuffs and my collar and we were set. We powdered our noses and headed to the main entrance to get me oriented, my bare tits ready to greet the good people of Amsterdam, my nipples so stiff they might put somebody’s eye out. Well, if they were only four feet tall.

Greeting was easy. We stood behind a counter, the better to minimize groping, and smiled as people came in. Members showed their card, non-members paid a fee which included the price of two drinks. Ninety per cent of the men were clearly happy to greet us, less so with the women. A shift lasted six hours, including breaks, not unreasonable escort bartın considering they were open eighteen hours a day. We had to spend one hour a shift doing window duty which was designed to help attract customers. At all times one of us had to stand in a window facing the street next to the entrance bound to a pole, clad only in our collar and wrist and arm cuffs. That’s where Dieuwke had been all this time, tied naked to this post, no doubt helping prove it pays to advertise.

At any rate the time passed quickly. We got pee breaks and were fed three hours into our shift. The presence of the bouncers guaranteed our physical safety, as did frequent visits from members of the gendarmerie. I quickly forgot about not having a shirt on, unless, as occasionally happened, some one stared too long. The bouncers and the cops especially seemed to enjoy the pretty young wench (small W here) from America who smiled and laughed at their jokes, provided they remembered to tell them in English.

I enjoyed myself thoroughly. Being bare breasted in public was a trip. I have always marveled at the sensuality of my own boobs. I love the way they look and feel and all the pleasure they had brought me and the boys I’ve shared them with. I’ll always remember the first time I willingly bared my chest for a boy, as opposed to being stripped for some game. And the first time a boy felt me up, really felt me up like a boyfriend, not while I was tied to a tree or something by the neighborhood guys. I loved the way my nipples got hard and how it felt and how the feelings spread inside me down over my tummy to my cunt and how my body exploded minutes later and how I learned to reproduce it all alone in my bed, either my hand or my favorite teddy between my legs. What a trip indeed.

Right after our lunch break I did my turn in the window, tied naked to the post. We weren’t tied tight and nobody touched us. I saw no sign of the rigger who had felt me up earlier. The lights between us and the street were so bright we could see nothing outside unless someone stood an inch from the window, which occasionally they did, some just staring, some trying to figure out if the girl they were looking at was real. Many took photos, diluting the value of the nudes Harry took of me and sold at more or less outrageous prices. I closed my eyes and imagined I don’t know what and felt the fire inside me raging. When I was done with my hour I went to the ladies and finished myself with my hand.

Before I knew it we were done. We had to wait for Dieuwke who wrestled a girl on a large rug for the assembled masses right after midnight. They started in bikinis and ended up naked. There was no sex, at least nothing overt like fooling around with dildos or tribadism. It was like high school wrestling in that they would get down on the mat and then get back up and like fake pro wrestling in that they made sure a certain interval of time passed before getting more naked. There WAS a certain amount of tit and ass grabbing, they just just stayed away from each others genitals.

Next day we talked my experiences over. I thought I could do the wrestling and was interested in trying it with a guy. As long as there was only incidental genital contact I thought I could hack it. I decided I had had enough of the rigging guy. You could get tied up by a customer who was willing to pay a fee but only the most experienced, or desperate, girls messed with people off the street. I really wanted to try the whipping. I had never been really whipped, I mean outside of a controlled situation like in The Wenches. I resolved to talk to the whipping guy about setting up something with the private members.

We had a day off and headed back to the club the day after that. The only cloud on the horizon was that our fathers had expressed an interest in seeing the club. Seeing it when we were there, of course. There was nothing we could do to stop them. I could live with my Dad seeing my bare breasts while I was doing entry duty but never completely nude when I was doing my nightly window session. So each night we girls went I did the first hour we were there in the window, confident the men would not show up early. If I ended up doing the whipping in the private club I was clear because he was not a member. If I did the wrestling and was scheduled with a guy the night they came I was of course screwed.

END OF PART ONE

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32