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Dinner Party (bd)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Archive-name: dinner-party
This is a story that I got from the adult board of a popular commercial
computer network. Warning. The following material contains graphic text.
The Party
By Aeron
My Master came over early to prepare me for the party. He began by
removing all of my clothes and possessing himself coldly and alternately of
all my entrances. Then he made me crouch in a bathtub for a thorough enema
and douche. After that he bathe me and shaved my genital area. He even
brushed my teeth. His steady hand applied my make-up and roughed my nipples
to match my lips. Throughout I was forbidden to touch either him or myself;
nor was I allowed to speak.
Before putting on the clothes he had brought for me, he locked on
stainless steel wristbands and a matching choker. All three had rings
imbedded in them. From my genital rings he depended his initials. The weight
of them stretched my already pendulous lips. This added burden made me hyper-
aware of my shaven pussy. He laced me tightly into a black merry widow that
thrust my breasts up and out, but left them bare. My ass, too, was available.
His hands indifferently slid the black seamed stockings up my long legs,
making sure they were straight before attaching the garters. High black
spikes with silver hells were the last item. He pushed my hair this way and
that, then just fluffed the curls and let it go as it would. When he was
done, he made me stand for his inspection.
In the car I wore a long coat for propriety's sake, certainly not for
mine. When we reached the house where the party was, but before we exited the
vehicle, he added a blindfold and snapped a leash onto the collar. The coat,
of course, remained in the car. And so I was led, reduced to sexual chattel,
across the parking area to the house. It took an enormous amount of trust to
walk blind in such high heels at the end of a lead. At the house, I felt his
hand on my elbow, indicating steps up. Otherwise my only guide was the pull
on my collar.
It was disconcerting to be in a room with an unknown number of people.
The noise level indicated there were many. I knew that it was a mix of
strangers and familiars because I recognized some of the voices. Because I
was sightless, I had nothing to guide me to any awareness of who was touching
me and who was merely looking. For I was touched and pinched and prodded.
When I was not being used as a dance partner, I had a variety of inanimate
articles inserted into my pussy and anus. But not one word was addressed to
me by any of these people. This lack of verbal communication increased the
feeling that I was isolated behind my blindfold.
There was music, a live band. I was passed from arms to arms as a
partner. None spoke, all held me closely, keeping my leash in hand. Each took
advantage of my naked flesh, caressing me, squeezing my ass and breasts. Some
held me to them with a finger or mor in my anus. Sometimes it was a woman. At
times it was my Master; I knew the feel of his body, the scent of him. I was
very aware that everyone but I was in evening dress. When I was not
partnered, I was used standing or kneeling, bent over tables, chairs and
hassocks or pushed against the wall. They used their hands, dildoes and
vibrators. They used things I did not recognized. Whenever I approached
orgasm, the stimulation was stopped.
Because I could not see and was never addressed directly, my other
senses were magnified. The body odours and perfumes were sharp and clear,
arousing me as much as the handling and my sense of deep submission. The
manipulation of my erect nipples, taut buttocks and damp, shaved pussy was
electric. The probing was intimate and invasive yet indifferent to me as an
individual. It was as though I had never been touched before, yet it was not
me; it was only my flesh that was of any importance. My sense of hearing was
acute. The music was astonishingly beautiful, yet I could hear conversations
far from me and pick out voices. I knew above the others when my Master
spoke. I was able to pinpoint where he was in relation to me. Yet the sounds
seemed to move in only one direction. They entered me with no sense of
communication. I was not a part of any of it. It was like being high on
mescaline. Intensely aware, yet detached.
It came time to sit down for supper. Someone came and let me to the
table. Hands assisted me to my seat, then shackled my writs to my genital
rings; tightly so that my hands were in my crotch. I could feel the
unreleased heat of my desire and each point of the velvet chair covering
against my skin. On one side of me someone stood and fed me. I had no idea
whom it was--a servant, a friend, a stranger?
At first I was lost in the cacophony of tinkling, scrapings, voices and
scents. I was completely disoriented. It was so strange to be fed by another,
to have no feeling of "breaking bread" with the others. I did not know what
would be next on the fork or spoon, or when it would be a glass of wine held
to my lips. Soon, though, I was able to close myself off from the seeming
chaos outside of me. It was a remarkable way to enjoy a meal. Each mouthful
was a vivid sensory experience of flavour and texture. As I withdrew further
into myself and the moment, I got so I could tell what would be place in my
mouth by the approaching aroma. That only heightened my sense of taste. I
became lost in the experience. I also felt absolutely helpless and childlike.
My sexual arousal was in no way diminished. Indeed, it was further quickened
by my enhanced sense of smell and taste.
Between every bit of food I was given a drink of wine or water. When any
dribbled down my chin or dripped onto my chest a tongue would lap it up.
When the meal was over, I felt a tug on my leash. I rose carefully,
hands still nestled against my mor than naked sex. I followed the pull. I was
taken in a different direction from which I had come in. The room we entered
smelled of wood, lemon oil and leather. It felt masculine after the other
rooms I had been in. There was a faint aroma of pipe tobacco, as though
someone several days before had been smoking.
I was led into the room. Hands pressed my shoulders. I expected a chair
and nearly lost my balance as my body continued down past where I had
expected support. I found myself sitting on something cold, round--ah, a
chamber pot. I thought I would did of embarrassment as I suddenly came out of
myself and remembered there were people all around me. I also realized that
this was the reason for all the wine and water at the meal. The dessert had
been a fruit ice. I determined that I would not submit to this, though it
took great control. But a hand forced itself between my thighs and began to
irritate my urethra. I was not able to stay the gush of urine. He or she
pulled away, but not before I had wet the fingers. The room was silent,
deepening my shame as I heard the "water" splash against the bottom of the
pot. I could smell it; sweet and acrid. I felt we fingers against my mouth,
forced in and I tasted myself as I was made to clean them. Again, sweet. I
felt myself sliding back down and in as I sucked and savoured the unique
taste.
I was lifted to my feet, my writs disconnected from my rings. A hand in
the centre of my back urged me forward until my thighs came up against an
object--a table or desk, I don't know which. I was pushed across it, bent at
the waist, ass proffered. My arms were pulled tight in opposite directions
and hooked to something. My legs were spread too and bound so that I was
stretched uncomfortable. I heard things being laid close to my face. I
smelled leather and hemp and plastics. Some objects sounded hard, others soft
and flexible. I could even tell that one was flat and some long and thin. I
began to tremble in anticipation and dread. I was not gagged, so I knew that
they wanted to hear my screams of pain. The idea of that increased my fear.
It also heightened my sense of being trapped alone inside my body. I would
not be able to make contact with them because they were indifferent to me. My
cries and pleas would be no more than an outcome of their own experiences,
their own desires. They would be deaf to my attempts to reach them. The
familiar sensation of terror and desire gripped me. I knew that my pussy
would be visible wet, even dripping.
As I lay spread out and ready, they discussed the implements that had
been laid out. I heard them pick things up and lay them down. Sometimes I
would hear a swish or a crack as a person tested the objects on air. A few
struck the table I was on near my body. I tensed, but was too harshly bound
to move. It was all I could do not to cry out. It seemed like hours that I
lay there waiting, terrified, wanting. Drinks were poured, glasses chimed
with ice. Someone touched my upper back with a cold glass and laughed as the
muscles rippled in shock. People sat, moved, talked. The conversations were
meaningless to me. I tried to follow them but could not. I was encased in
tension. The long separation from others, wrapped in physical sensation,
drawn tightly by my bindings, awaiting torment at unknown hands was having
its effect on me. Deprivation was making me long to be beaten. I needed the
emotional and physical release it would provide. I was read to beg for it to
begin. I needed the known to make me real.
Then it began. What I took to be another tease ended in a knifing, then
burning agony across my buttocks. I creamed and tore uselessly against my
bindings. I was tied so tightly that I could not even squirm. My muscles
seemed to tear. It struck again. As I was not caught off guard, I managed to
stifle the cry. Again and again. It was a riding crop. I knew the feeling
well. I was almost certain that it was my Master. It was his style. It had
his expertise. He would begin to show the others that they need not hold
back. I was sobbing by the time he stopped. I could feel the tear-wet
blindfold clinging to the contours of my face.
I heard the crop being laid down and something else swish as it was
picked up. When it hit, I knew it for a cat-o-nine tails. It stung widely and
made a lot of noise, but the leather was soft. It gives a great deal of
satisfaction to a beginner with a whip, but it does not hurt like a crop.
There is not that deep agony that goes to the bone and back. Indeed, it is
quite pleasurable. I knew it could not be my Master. He is not interested in
this "toy". unless he is in a loving mood, because I enjoy it .My cries
turned to moans of hunger for more. The person wielding it either did not
know this or did not care, for it was some time before he stopped. By then I
was approaching orgasm.
The next thing that was used on me was a paddle of some sort. It was
flat and stung. Like a hand. It was lovely. I came hard as I was being
spanked; going higher, deeper. I fought to control it, but it was not
possible. I shook with multiple orgasms. I didn't want to. I didn't want
anyone to see, but it was out of my hands. I must have sounded like I was
dying. I felt like I was. The beating continued after I came. My reactions
were irrelevant.
By the time it stopped I was hysterical, screaming "Stop, stop, oh, god,
p[lease stop." It was fear of losing touch with reality altogether that drove
me to beg, not the pain. They were far from finished playing. I heard a long
whip slide across the table. I was filled with horror. Not now. Oh, not that.
I heard people move back, well away from whomever had the thing. The person;
I assumed it was a man as women tend to prefer to be closer to their victim;
made a few trial snaps with it in the air near me. I was still sobbing and,
now, seriously trying to break free. My body would try what my mind knew was
impossible. Then the vicious thing bit me. I screamed like an animal in a
trap. Even after the agony rose, peaked then fell I kept screaming. I felt
like my flesh had been ripped from me. Again and again it stuck,
rhythmically. The waves of pain became a physical chant that carried me out
and away from my body. I floated beyond. It was as though I heard the
shrieking from a long way off, felt the warm blood run and body jerking but
was not a part of it. I went well beyond the threshold. All sounds dimmed and
I began to hallucinate. Then everything went black.
When I came to I was still tied and someone was bathing my torn and
burning ass with salt water. I was still distanced from my body, only vaguely
aware of the stinging. I was high on endorphines. The touch was almost
pleasant. I was quietly floating, sure I'd be set free now. I was untied,
given a cold drink of water, lightly salted. My throat was raw from
screaming, flesh dehydrated from sweating and crying. I drank in gulps,
hurting my throat and spilling it on myself. Free!
But no. Oh, no! Not yet. I was now laid on my back. What more could
they, would they do.? My arms were spread out to the sides and tied down. My
legs were lifted up and spread apart then tied to either side, well above my
shoulders. Oh, no. Now I knew. I began whimpering. A strap of some sort was
placed across my abdomen and pulled tightly, forcing my hips down. The
ensuing stretching was itself excruciating.
There was a swish in the air and the flat end of a riding crop landed
full on my pussy lips. I flinched as it struck over and over. Then it hit my
inner thigh and I began to shriek. The person alternated between cunt and
thighs. The strength of the blows as well as the speed increased. Then
someone else began to whip my breasts with a like instrument. One then the
other. The two timed the blows such that pain shot down through my nipples
then back up from my genitals. It was one continuous agony flowing through my
sexual pathways. My head was all I could move and I tossed it wildly in my
torment until hands took it and held me. The immobility, the blindness, the
screaming that filled my mind but did not touch theirs...I was utterly alone
and riding the waves, the spiral of chaos, swirling into a vortex that went
beyond emotions and sensations. I could feel myself starting to pass out
again when it stopped.
Hands on me, all over me, pulled me back. Then hands forced my buttocks
apart and held them while another forced in a vibrator. Another, with a
clitoral attachment entered my pussy. Teeth took both my nipples, rand and
engorged. I was caged in a body inflamed with overwrought emotions, every
nerve ending sensitized. I came again and again keening like a female cat. I
thought it would never end, then I thought not at all.
I became aware, from the place where they had driven me, of arms and
legs being released, of the agony of taut tendons being relaxed and blood
rushing back. Hands helped me down. I hurt everywhere> I was placed on my
knees on the floor, sitting on my heels. I almost collapsed, but was held in
place. My hands were shackled to my collar.
"Open your mouth!" The first words directed at me. My Master. I did,
feeling myself rush back into contact with the world outside my sensory
prison through the door opened by his voice. I took his beautiful cock full
into my mouth and relished its familiarity, the taste and feel of him--of
another. Every part of me was focused on that act, that reaching out to
another again. From solitary sensuality to conjunction, his cock filling my
mouth welcomed me back. His cum in my throat was a sacrament. Communion.
He released my wrists from my neck and helped me to my feet. I was weak
with exhaustion and pain. As I stood people came to me. Some took my hand,
others kissed me. When they had done, my Master encircled my waist with his
arm and led me from the room. I held my head high, proud for him.
We left the house. The chill felt good on my hot skin. The smell of dew
on the lawns and trees, the perfume of night blooming flowers was like a
renewal of life. I was surprised to see, when the blindfold was removed at
the car, that dawn was just breaking. He tipped my face up to his with his
hands and kissed me long and tenderly.
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*This story is the property of Sandra V. Clements. *
*It is not public domain. It may be downloaded for *
*personal use only and one hard copy made. It may be *
*displayed on other BBSs with this notice attached and *
*so long as no changes are made to the text. It may not *
*published, other than as above noted, or sold without *
*the express permission of the author. *
*GEnie S.clements Internet [email protected] *
*Majornet Aeron@nuc *
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