I love to read individuals stories about kinky play and dark erotic fantasies, where everything and anything can happen. Our sexual imagination once triggered becomes a self perpetuating kinky frenzy as our fantasies unfold in our mind.
What better way than to encapsulate it in the written form, creating your own personal screenplay . The story line is only limited by your imagination! Writing about your fantasies can be very liberating and enlightening. Especially when you cast your eye back on the piece!
Below is a submission by ‘ L ‘. Beautifully written and sexually charged and apparently an inspired response to one of my recent blogs.
The Party Piece
As I am led into the room, naked, blind-folded and gagged, my arms tightly bound behind my back and my slave chain tugging hard at the leather collar around my neck, the babble of voices I had heard from outside is suddenly hushed. Even though I cannot see, I know that all eyes have turned towards me.
It is Madame C who had led me here, up from her dungeon, and it is her soft voice in my ear that instructs me to stand still, as she drops my chain and checks the straps that bind my arms. As her body brushes against me, mine shudders is response, and I hear soft murmurs of appreciation, suppressed giggles and whispered exchanges from those gathered around.
Who are these people, how many are there, and what is going on?
‘Do not move’. My mistress’s voice is steely soft, her instruction unambiguous.
I feel the palm of her hand against my cheek, in what seems a gesture of tenderness. But then her fingers are pressing at my lips, and when I part them for her she pushes deep into my mouth, forcing it wide open. She is showing these people that my body (inside and out) is for her to handle (and mishandle) as she pleases.
I suck on her delicate fingers and lick them, and when she withdraws them my tongue follows, still wanting to savour my mistress’s touch. I hear open laughter now, and I realise how comical and abject I must look.
Then I feel her hand passing down over my naked body, further displaying me to the assembled gathering, trailing my saliva across my chest and stomach. Then she moves behind me and I feel her hands cupping my buttocks, and spreading them apart.
‘Ooh, yes!’ A woman’s voice, then laughter, and the clapping of hands. ‘I’ll have some of that!’ More shrieks of delight.
How many people? Five? Ten? More? But from the voices I can hear, all are women it seems. That at least brings some relief, but also immediate arousal, and I feel my cock jerking into life, swelling, hardening, lifting. It doesn’t go unnoticed.
‘Not so small after all,’ someone quips, followed by further chuckles.
Madame C cups my balls, gently squeezing them, then with her other hand grips my swollen cock and pulls down hard, drawing back tight the skin as far as it will go. I cannot help it, and groan loudly with pleasure, through the gag, at my mistress’s firm but exquisite touch.
For which I am rewarded with a sharp tug on my chain.
And then she is gone. And I am left standing. Waiting.
And within seconds, the conversation resumes, a chatter of indistinguishable voices, random laughter, drinks being poured, party sounds, and it is as if I am not even here. I feel people move around me, but I seem to be ignored – just an object, some piece of decoration, part of the furniture.
Many minutes pass, and still nothing. The voices seem to drift away from me. How big is this room? Then I hear the clink of plates and cutlery, the scrape of chairs on a wooden floor, and I realise that Madame C’s guests are sitting down to dine. And still I stand there, almost forgotten, it seems. I hear laughter and the hubbub of conversation, but nothing that I can make out. I wait, and wait.
I feel a sense almost of disappointment, because I had come to Madame C in the expectation of some corrective therapy, and it seems now I am to be no more than an ornament at a party. I know I should accept this, because I wish only to serve my mistress, and for her to use me in whatever way she wishes. But I had been hoping for something a little more intimate than this, more sensual and more carnal, and (I must admit) more physically invasive.
As soon as I had arrived this evening she had been very business-like, almost distracted, instructing me to undress without any preamble, then blind-folding me, fixing my collar and binding my arms; and finally, before inserting the rubber gag in my mouth, making me sip a measure of some sickly sweet liquid. Then, pulling on my chain, she had led me directly up to her guests.
And now (it must be over an hour later) I have an idea what it was she made me drink – some form of erection sustaining concoction – for my cock is not just hard but rock solid, and swollen, it feels, almost to the point of bursting.
The meal seems to be finished. I don’t hear her approach, but suddenly it’s her voice in my ear, ‘Come’, and again my mistress pulls my chain. She leads me across the room towards the diners who I can sense (my hearing heightened my lack of vision) are seated in a semicircle facing me. There are, I discern, at least seven women here, maybe more, and, despite my anxiety about what my role is to be, I am intensely aroused by their proximity to my naked body.
Madame C pushes me forward until the edge of the table presses against the tops of my thigh, so that my shaved balls are almost resting of the tablecloth, and my rampant cock erect.
‘Ooh, yummy’, someone says.
‘And now.’ It’s Madame C’s voice, addressing one of her guests. She starts to sing ‘Happy Birthday to you….’ and they all join in. And when the singing ends, she says, ‘And this, my dear, is for you.’
I hear the tearing of paper, then gasps, and laughter.
‘Oh my god,’ someone says, ‘It’s fucking huge.’
‘Ouch!!’, says another.
‘May I?’ – a different voice, a quiver of excitement in her voice.
‘Of course, my dear,’ says Madame C. ‘Let me just get this thing ready for you, while you take those off and strap it on.’
And then she is behind me, releasing my arms, and pushing me firmly forward, my chest and head down onto the dining table, a clatter of plates and glasses swiftly pushed to one side. Hands grab at my wrists and pull me forward, and I feel Madame C spreading my legs wide apart. I cannot move.
Without ado she parts my buttocks and I feel something narrow penetrating me and a squirt of cool liquid flooding inside. Then her finger is pushing into me, in and out, opening and easing me, relaxing and lubricating me, then two fingers, then three stretching, thrusting deep into me.
‘It’s all yours’, she says to the birthday girl.
I hear someone walk round behind me, and stop. She has warm hands, and a delicate touch, the tips of her fingers running softly down my sides, making my skin shiver. I feel her hair on my back, and she place a kiss at the very base of my spine. She grabs my buttocks, spreading them wide apart, and rakes her fingernails across my slipper hole and my balls.
‘Just fuck it,’ someone says, and they all laugh. For that’s all I am to them – an ‘it’.
And she does. Grasping my hips, she eases gently into me at first, just the head of the strap-on cock opening me up. But with each stroke she goes in deeper, and I realise that the cock gets thicker and thicker down its roughly textured shaft, so that with every push she is stretching me wider open, causing me the most agonising pleasure. I take it all, until I feel the skin of her thighs slapping against my buttocks at the end of each thrust.
They are shouting now, cheering her on, their voices almost drowning out the animalistic groans struggling out of my gagged, drooling mouth. But I can hear her moaning too, and I realise the pressure and friction on her pussy from the strap-on harness is arousing her as well. My prostate is now inflamed by this punishment and know I am incapable of preventing myself from coming. But just before I do I feel her shudder, and her nails digging hard into my flesh, as she climaxes and cries out. I cannot hold back any more, and as I orgasm I feel my cock releasing hot spurts of cum onto the table cloth.
She withdraws carefully from me, and I hear Madame C’s voice, ‘Well done my dear, a perfect fit I think’. And, from the birthday girl, ‘Well thank you, my love.’ I hear them embrace and kiss.
The other women release my wrists, and I feel my mistress pulling back on my chain and standing me up straight.
‘What a mess you have made.’
‘Let me,’ – another voice. Someone approaches. ‘Oh, you’re so wet and sticky, I better clean you up.’
Despite just coming, my cock is still rock hard, and I feel the woman’s fingers close around it. She spits on it and smears the mix of cum and saliva over the head and down the shaft. First she pumps it, gripping it hard, then takes me in her mouth, sucking and slurping and doing unbelievable things with her snaking tongue. And as she does someone else is behind me, and I feel fingers pressing in between my buttocks again, finding my still gaping hole, then thrusting into me, homing in on my prostate and massaging it with unbearable precision. I feel yet more hands on me, some caressing, some scratching, some slapping, and mouths, biting and licking, so that every part of my body is being used in an orgy of sexual violation. My gag is stripped off and a naked breast is pressed into my face, then someone’s fingers are thrust into my mouth, and on them I can taste the unmistakable flavour and slickness of a woman’s sex.
It’s a free-for-all, and again I feel the approach of orgasm. I cannot contain it, and I come with even greater intensity, with fingers wrapped tight around my cock. The woman smears the hot sticky wetness over my stomach, and immediately I feel her pushed aside and some other tongue lapping it up.
There is no stopping these ravenous and unabashed women, and for hours they play with me, tying me however they want me, fucking me, toying mercilessly with my unflagging erection, until every part of my body is raw. I sense too, from the loud moans of pleasure, that they are enjoying each other’s bodies as well, as they take turns with mine.
But Madame C, it seems, takes no further part in the proceedings, and I imagine her watching from a distance, satisfied to have provided such dirty and debauched entertainment for her deviant and dominant friends.
Only at the end, do I get a sense of her presence.
By now, my body, drained and battered and abused, is lying exhausted on the carpeted floor. A sudden hush comes over the gathering, as if one of them has indicated ‘Silence’, by a finger to her lips.
I feel someone close, then carefully manoeuvring herself so that she is kneeling directly over my upturned head. Suddenly I feel skin of the most exquisite silky softness gently settling onto my face, the smoothest and gentlest of curves of thigh and buttock, and at their centre the most intimate and delicate of fleshy petals, sweetly scented and honey-dewed. Whoever this woman is, she presses her sex gently onto my face, and my tongue darts out to caress and lick, and to gently part and probe.
As she moves against me, there is absolute silence from those gathered around. At first I do not understand, but in an instant I have a feeling, which I cannot dispel, that this is her.
It’s her! Oh heaven. Can it be?
Of course I cannot tell, it could be any of these women. But I have a second sense, and so I take the greatest of care in ministering to what I am now convinced is my mistress’s divine body, responding to the growing heat radiating from her, her ever more urgent movements against my face and her quickening breath, by varying the pressure and precision of my tongue, probing as deep as I can into the warm tight wetness of her pussy, and sucking and nibbling on the firm delicate pearl of her clitoris, savouring her taste.
And when she comes (and again it is in absolute silence) I feel her spasm and shake, as she presses down hard onto me and her body’s fragrant juices flood over my face.
Only when she has lifted herself off me are there cheers from those around, and clapping, and whoops and whistles. Do they sense that something special has happened? Was it her?
And I am left there, as the guests depart.
I feel a pull again on my chain, and my mistress leads me staggering back down to her dungeon, only then, in the near-darkness, removing my blind-fold. She stands silently in front of me, and tenderly places a hand on my chest, looking deep into my eyes. And in the dim light I see a subtle smile on her beautiful face – something intensely intimate being communicated between us.
I dare not ask, or voice what I think. If it ever happened I know it must remain unsaid. Forever.
I am dismissed.