The man looked back at me. “The roses,” he said, “are magnificent.”
I smiled and felt shivery all over.
The man and his slave moved away. Daniel and Karen led Amanda and me off in different directions so they could circulate among the guests. Near me, the blond girl I’d seen at the earlier party was cuffed to the cross and gagged with tape, and her Dom was torturing her clit with a vibrator that looked strangely like an electric toothbrush. Moaning loudly, she gave me a pleading look, and I smiled, wishing I could talk to her and tell her how much her performance at that earlier party had meant to me.
Daniel glanced at his watch and at the central table, which no one was using at the moment. “It’s time,” he said, and led me to the table. Karen brought Amanda a few moments later. Curious and fluttery, I glanced at Amanda, who shrugged.
Daniel pulled another bag from under the table and took out a collection of devices. He and Karen went to work attaching them to us. We leaned back, bent over, whatever we were told to do to help out. At the end of the process we were each wearing nipple clamps, a dildo, a butterfly that fastened to our harnesses, and a butt plug. All these things were vibrators.
They lay us side by side on the table, Amanda on my right. They connected our harnesses together, my right side to her left, and cuffed my right hand to her left and my ankle to hers. They cuffed our free hands and ankles to the corners of the table. We’d drawn a little crowd by this time. Sensing the people looking at my naked, penetrated body, I was embarrassed, squirmy, and turned on, not to mention incredibly filled up. I looked at Amanda, who turned to look at me. I opened my mouth and touched my tongue to my upper lip.
She mouthed, “I love you.”
Daniel took a paper bag from his gym bag and poured a little pile of black remotes onto the table. Then he turned towards the part of the room where the crowd of partygoers was thickest, raised his hands, and shouted, “Friends! Your attention, please!”
Chapter 6. On display
The room’s so cold; I have to pee so bad. Master spanks me with the paddle, and every blow jars my bladder like a punch.
I’m so aroused it’s painful, there in my pussy, just at the opening—it’s an ache. My whole body’s heavy with desire.
Master’s still wearing his suit. Why won’t he take it off and fuck me? I can see his trousers and black polished shoes. If I weren’t hanging from the ceiling, if my legs weren’t tied, I’d crawl to him. The thought is exciting.
I say, “Master, I want—”
“You want to piss?” he says. “You want an orgasm?”
“No. . . . Yes! But—I want to lick your shoes.”
My mind isn’t working right. My thoughts are foggy, my desires muddled. But the sight of his shoes, black and polished, nearly overwhelms me with desire.
“No, Emily,” he says. “I won’t let you lick my shoes.” He hits my ass with the paddle, and it’s like an explosion inside me.
“I’ll do anything, Master.”
“That’s not true,” he says. “We haven’t gotten to the point where you’ll do anything. Not yet.”
He hits me again.
* * *
People tapped their glasses, and the noise in the room slowly died away.
“Friends!” Daniel called. “Bound to the table here beside me are two beautiful slave-girls, Mouche and Famula.”
The partygoers craned to get a look at us. I felt hot all over.
He continued, “Each of them is wearing four vibrators: one in her vagina, one on her clit, one in her ass, and one—a pair, actually—on her nipples. They’re operated by remote control.”
He held up two of the black remotes.
“But these aren’t the remotes that came with the vibrators. These are universal remotes, and they all look the same. So when you turn one on—”
He pushed a button on one of them, and the butterfly vibrator on my clit began to buzz, making me gasp and squirm. The people standing near enough to see and hear laughed. I wished I could become invisible.
“When you turn one on, you won’t know quite what’s going to happen. Notice that there are also dials on these remotes, so the vibrators can be turned up or down.”
He turned my vibrator off, and I relaxed in my bonds.
Karen spoke up now, and her strong voice carried through the crowd. “Now you all know the rules about subs and slaves at parties. You don’t touch any but your own. But you have our permission to play with the remotes.”
She grabbed one and pushed the button, and Amanda drew a sharp breath. She set the remote down among the others and jumbled them together.
“When you push a button, you won’t know if you’re turning a device on or off. If you want to know what you’ve done, you can ask the slaves. Just observe this rule: Don’t push the same button twice. If you turn a vibrator on or off, you have to leave it that way.”
Daniel continued, “The slaves are forbidden to come . . . until they’re called” (titters in the crowd). “If one of them has an orgasm without permission, she’ll be severely punished. But that’s not your concern. Your concern is simply to have fun.”
Karen said, “Here are the slaves, and here are the remotes. Experiment, play, and have a good time.”
Karen and Daniel left and mixed with the partygoers.
I whispered, “Where is it?”
“Ass,” she said.
“Ooh,” I said, and shivered, half wishing the vibrator in my ass were going.
The blond I’d seen gagged on the cross came to the table with her leather-clad Dom.
“Pick one,” the Dom said. She pointed to a remote, and the Dom picked it up and pressed the button. It was my nipple clamps: the vibration was mild, but the clamps had already sensitized my nipples, and I closed my eyes and sighed, enjoying the sensation.
When I opened my eyes again, the blond was leaning in, close to me. “Your nipples?” she said.
“Mm hm,” I said.
“I love vibrators on my nipples,” she sighed.
I said “Oh!”—her Dom had dialed up the intensity.
“Is it embarrassing, being on display like this?”
“You could say,” I said, noticing a man at the end of the table staring intently between my legs.
She said, “I wish—”
But her Dom said, “Let’s go, babydoll,” and they moved away.
Our hands and feet were cuffed together loosely enough for me to take Amanda’s hand and squeeze her fingers. I had a little time to look around the room, though I couldn’t see a lot lying on my back at table height. People had resumed their conversations and returned to their scenes, or started new ones. Amanda and I were an attraction, but not the only one in the room.
A redheaded woman, magnificent in a skimpy red leather dress, came to the table. She hardly looked at us, but jabbed at one of the vibrators with a red-nailed finger and stalked away.
Amanda squeezed my hand. “She just turned my ass off,” she whispered.
Now I could see Master near me, talking to the gray-haired man who’d complimented my tattoos. He was urbane and graceful: I caught myself wishing he’d come and turn on all my vibrators. Master was looking over the man’s slave and saying something with a smile—was he complimenting her? I felt a little stab of jealousy but suppressed it. After all, he hadn’t been jealous of Amanda. Master and the man laughed at something, and then someone blocked my view.
I twitched as my butterfly started to buzz. I turned my head to see a heavyset man in latex holding one of the remotes and grinning at me.
“Took you by surprise, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” I gasped, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by the vibrators on my nipples and clit going at once.
“Let’s see now,” he said. Moving a finger over the collection of remotes, he muttered, “Eeny meeny miny moe . . .” and jabbed at another.
“Ah!” I cried, as my ass started to vibrate.
“Not that one,” he said, turni
ng it off (and breaking a rule of the game—not that I minded). “Gotta find one for the other girl.” He picked up another, pushed a button, and Amanda mewed loudly. The man leaned in to listen. “Get your cunt there?” he asked.
Amanda nodded.
“Bull’s eye!” he said, dialed the intensity up, and wandered off.
Over the next half hour or so, people came by our table, sometimes turning on vibrators and sometimes turning them off. It was becoming more and more difficult for Amanda and me to keep our bodies under control. By the time Master paid a visit to the table, we were a mess. I could barely focus on things people were saying to me.
He said, “It’s an ingenious game, Famula. How are you liking it?”
“It’s intense,” I gasped. “Promise you’ll give me an orgasm tonight, Master? Please?”
He studied me for a moment. “Yes, I promise. Which vibrators are on?”
“Clit and nipples, Master. Amanda’s clit.”
“Let’s see,” said Master, studying the little collection of remotes. “This one’s lying off to the side. Maybe no one’s used it in a while.” He picked it up and pushed the button. Amanda whined.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Tits!” she squeaked.
The gray-haired man joined Master now. His slave came up beside him and pressed in close to him.
“Christopher,” Master said, “this is Famula. Christopher’s been raving about your roses.”
The words seemed to be coming from a great distance, but I managed to say, “Thank you.”
Christopher’s slave had no tattoos that I could see, and she was looking sour. I couldn’t blame her: most Doms wouldn’t make a sub or even a slave get a big tattoo like mine, but she was learning, if she hadn’t known it before, that her Dom loved tattoos.
Master said, “You should try a remote. I promise it’s fun.”
Christopher selected one and pushed the button. My nipples turned off, and I relaxed a little.
“Did he turn one off, Famula?” Master asked.
“My nipples, Master.”
“Better see if you can turn one on,” Master said.
Christopher picked up another one and pushed the button. Amanda said “Mnff.”
“What was that, Mouche?” Master asked.
“Pussy,” she whispered. “Oh—”
“Are we allowed to do three?” Christopher asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Master said.
Christopher said, “You choose, Pipit.”
She grabbed one of the remotes and pushed the button. The vibrator in my vagina started to buzz, and I gasped and squeezed Amanda’s hand hard.
Master smiled benignly and said, “Have fun, girls.”
He and Christopher moved away together. Pipit lingered till they were a few steps away, then snatched up the remote for my vagina, gave the dial a vicious twist, threw it onto the table, made a “take that!” face at me, and scampered away after her Master.
Now both my clitoral and vaginal vibrators were on, and the vaginal one was going full tilt. For the moment, Amanda and I were alone. I felt like my body was about to blast off for Jupiter. I squeezed Amanda’s hand hard and whispered, “I can’t last much longer.”
A man wearing only a leather jock strap came and turned on a remote. “Eeee!” said Amanda. The man stood and watched her squirm.
“Ass,” she whispered. “They’re all on—I’m going to come.”
“Let’s do it together if we can,” I said. It felt like I was proposing a suicide pact.
“How?” she whispered.
I whispered, “I’ve thought about you every hour for three weeks. You’re so beautiful, I go weak whenever I’m near you. Your white skin, your black hair, your brown eyes, your tiny pierced nipples, I get wet every time I see them. I want to kiss your lips. I want to lick inside your mouth and bite your nipples. I’ll eat the lint out of your belly button. I’ll nibble my way down to your clit and suck it; I’ll bite your labia and lick your slit until you’re wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. I’ll spank your pussy. I’ll get on top of you and piss in your mouth while I eat you out, then I’ll shit in your—Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”
My orgasm was a tornado inside me, laying me waste. My body heaved on the table, and my cries echoed in the room. I don’t know if Amanda was tipped into orgasm by the word “shit” or my cries, but she came with a piercing screech. Everybody stopped what they were doing and turned to look at us.
Someone shouted, “Happy New Year!” People cheered, and those who were holding glasses raised them for a toast.
By the time the cheering had died away, Karen was looming over us, face gleeful. In a loud voice, she announced, “Our slaves have had orgasms, disregarding their instructions. They’ll have to be punished.”
Daniel appeared beside her and said, “Plan C, dear?”
“Definitely Plan C,” she said.
Amanda and I both whimpered and pleaded for mercy, though mercy was the last thing either of us wanted—but we had fun begging and weeping.
As a crowd gathered, Karen and Daniel removed our cuffs and devices. It felt strange to have no vibrators going and nothing in my pussy or ass. They lay me spreadeagled on my front and positioned Amanda on top of me so both our asses were exposed, one above the other. They cuffed me to the table and Amanda to me. Karen stood on the table beside us with a cat and yelled, “How many lashes?”
People called out numbers from twenty to a million.
Karen had a nasty bark, but her bite was tasty. She counted the blows until she got to sixty—thirty for each of us—each one a little more intense than the last. She knew how to give pleasure with the pain—and with Amanda’s warm skin on mine, her cries in my ear, and the exclamations of the people in the crowd, I was soon as hot as I’d been before our orgasms, though by the end both of us were howling with each blow.
Karen released our bonds and said, “Stay on the table till we come for you.”
People started to drift away as Amanda climbed off my back. We lay facing each other. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Karen’s good, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” I said, touching her face. “I’m really hot.”
“What you said to make us come,” she said. “Did you mean it?”
“I guess I don’t really want to shit in your mouth,” I said.
“That’s okay,” she said. “But . . . some of it?”
“Kiss me,” I said, and pulled her to me. Her mouth was warm and soft, her breath fresh and good. She put her arms around me and let her hands slide down my back till they scalded the raw skin of my ass.
“Yes,” I breathed. “A lot.” I urged her onto her back, knelt above her head, bent down, and kissed her forehead, nose, mouth, chin. I browsed down to her breasts, bit her nipples, and licked her lovely barbells. I probed into her belly button, cleaning it out (but finding no lint). I made my way down to her mound, and, knees on either side of her head, lowered myself to her mouth.
Someone nearby said, “Whoa! Check this out!”
Fuck, I’d forgotten the people. But it didn’t matter; her labia, dark pink, damp, open, hungry, drew me in, and I closed my lips around her engorged clit and sucked gently. Oh, how could I ever have been repulsed by this?
I wrapped my arms around her raised legs and paused to enjoy her tongue licking the length of my tender slit—it was delightful—warm, wet and healing. I could feel her breath in my crack.
There was a loud slap and searing pain, and I shouted “Ow!” I looked around: it was Daniel, standing behind me on the table with a paddle. He grinned and said, “Don’t mind me. That’s a command.”
I sank my lips into Amanda’s pussy again, ass hot and stinging, and waited for the next blow, which came just as I was no longer bracing for it. “Ow!” I cried, thinking how good oral sex was with a sore ass. Amanda could look between my legs and see the paddle descending, and she squeaked with every b
low.
Daniel must have given me five good spanks with the paddle before Karen, standing by the table, said, “What about Mouche? Plan G? Turn them over?”
Daniel said, “Plan F. Make Famula paddle her.”
I didn’t want to do it: I was a slave and it wasn’t my place to hold a whip or paddle. I lifted my head and said, “No, I—”
Karen said, “Mouche wants you to do it, don’t you, Mouche?”
She mewed between my legs.
I stood up, feeling heavy. Still lying on her back, Amanda raised her feet and wrapped her arms around her legs, behind the knees. Karen found a cushion under the table and put it under Amanda’s bottom. Daniel handed me the paddle and climbed down from the table.
I looked around: I could see everything in the room now. A little crowd of partygoers was waiting eagerly for Amanda’s paddling. Farther off, people were performing their own scenes. My blond friend was getting face-fucked again. Pipit, Christopher’s slave, was in the frame, and my Master was flogging her.
Anger surged inside me. The bitch! I thought, and gave Amanda’s bottom a savage whack. She made a noise like a referee’s whistle, and I instantly felt horrible: what did my sweet Amanda have to do with that evil bitch in the frame? The people around us cheered, and I hit Amanda again, softer this time.
Someone shouted, “Hit her hard, slave!” and Amanda whispered, “Harder!” It wasn’t easy to do despite my anger, but I hit her hard again. She screeched, the crowd clapped, and pleasure surged inside me. So this was how a Dom felt holding the whip! I wished she was tied up.
I gave her three more blows before someone shouted, “Paddle her pussy!” She moaned and pulled her knees apart. But I was timid again. How hard should I hit her?
I stood beside her, aimed carefully, and gave her a gentle tap. She hiccuped and twitched a little. I looked at her face, and she gave me a pleading look. I decided to take that as encouragement and hit her a little harder. I straightened up and looked over at the frame. Master was putting his back into it now, and that filthy cunt Pipit was writhing and sobbing: I could see the welts on her back from where I was. I gave Amanda a solid whack, and she screamed, closed her legs, and flopped onto her side.
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