by D. A. Maddox
And there—over by the table with the mostly-empty punchbowls—one of the pigs was bent over, holding his ankles apart as Brandy drew, one ball at a time, a whole string of balls out of his dilated asshole. On top of that table, between the lemon and the lime, lay Ritchie the Fainter, servicing a female Neutral as she sat on his face and also a female Domme riding his cock.
Feather ticklers on a blindfolded fem-sub. A vibrating, lubricated sheath with prongs on the inside for an immobilized man-sub, who stood straight and shivering, hooded, cuffed behind the back and at the ankles. His legs, Savannah thought, were hairy enough that she thought it might be Huey. What a night he’d had…
Moans of pleasure, shouts of pain, howling, laughing; pops and crackles echoed off the walls. There was no music, only a symphony of forbidden sound effects wrought by transitionals doing things to other transitionals that were illegal, never causing one another permanent harm.
And as she watched, Lorna the waitress passed her wearing a strap-on that sprouted not one but two black latex penises. The one on the bottom was considerably longer and thicker, and it curled up—quite a lot like Scott’s. The one over it was smaller, thinner, and perfectly straight.
Beside her, Scott couldn’t help himself. Keeping his lips as still as possible, as though casting his voice for a puppet on his knee, he said through his teeth, “What in the world is that?”
Savannah answered him, following his method, “I don’t know, but only half the people in this room are equipped to appreciate it.”
The last two to apply ministrations were Zeke and Rusty themselves. And, of course, it was Rusty who came to Savannah. He worked some oil into her left shoulder. “Before this started,” he said, working her with his fingers, rhythmically kneading her muscles, “I told you that you’d be okay as long as you didn’t win the lottery. So … are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, and found it true. A little short on breath, though, and she tingled everywhere. “What do we do about clothes, leaving this place?”
“Still shy after tonight?” he teased her. “Don’t want to streak home?”
“Rather not. Thanks for the option, though.”
He sniffed. “It’s covered. You’ll be covered. Nothing fancy: jeans and a plan white tee for you both when you say goodbye. You can keep them.”
Generous, she thought, but chose not to express the sarcasm. She probably would keep them, come to think of it. Sort of an “I Survived the Fete” souvenir. Would they be pissed if she put that on the shirt?
“Not yet,” Scott said, easing out of Zeke’s ministrations and taking Savannah by the arm. She let him. She saw it in his eyes.
This is happening, she thought. Oh, Mom, this is really happening. This is it.
And, thinking with her mother’s voice, or receiving it from afar, Don’t talk, Vanna. If this is the way you want it—if you want him to claim you, for tonight if not forever, do it right. Say nothing. Be claimed.
But I’m scared.
He loves you. Don’t be.
He turned her toward the harness. “How do we use that?” he asked his friends.
“Oh, hell, yeah,” Zeke said. “That’s for Malcolm to show. The important thing is, one of you is the master, one of you is the sub—not permanently, not for The Select, but for positioning in the harness. It’s—”
“I’m the master,” Scott cut him off. “Call Malcolm.”
“Thought you wanted to be the old school country gentleman, Scotty,” Rusty reminded him with a sly smile.
“I will be,” Scott assured him in return. “Every day. But first we’re going to do this.”
“Strictly speaking,” Zeke bracingly said, “she has to at least say ‘yes,’ dude.”
His hand on her arm. He was so strong.
“She says yes,” Scott said.
Savannah hung her head under renewed scrutiny from both Rusty and Zeke. She neither nodded her head nor shook it. She awaited her fate, feeling a fresh heat blossom between her legs.
“I’m the master,” Scott repeated. “She’s mine. I’m taking her. Call Malcolm.”
****
Malcolm was busy fucking Melody again, this time from standing, holding her legs apart, his arms wrapped under them, pounding her with her back against the tower of the soundboard. Her lovely, resilient twat dripped raindrops of cum between his feet. Her arms slicked sweat over the back of his neck.
“Master is cruel,” she said, huffing onto his shoulder. “Master shows … sub-Melody no mercy.”
“Does sub-Melody ask for mercy?”
“No, Master!” she said, now holding him by his dreadlocks. “Uh … oh … no … mercy for … sub-Melody.”
He kissed her cheek, never missing his rhythm. “I fucking love you,” he said. “I must be out of my fucking mind. I would slay dragons for you, my captive princess.”
“I can see it…” she said, eyes wide and blind, “My master, my prince … I can see it!”
She fucked him back, hard as she could with her legs and her ass in the air, rocking her hips like an experienced woman—and yet she was still so sweet, so innocent. Malcolm had no doubt she really was seeing him kill dragons for her right now.
Be nobody’s but mine, he thought. I’ll be no one’s but yours.
He didn’t say it, though. He wanted to. He’d have meant it. His eyes watered just thinking about it, because he knew she would say yes. But it was too soon—he’d only met her tonight. She had put herself forward as a sub in The Select, which could not be undone, and he was a Skull.
Such a proposition would have to wait.
“Is my captive princess ready?” he asked, increasing his pace. “Has she been sufficiently … subjugated? Are you conquered, Princess Melody?”
She couldn’t make words, but she shook her head vigorously up and down, eyes rolling in wonder and pleasure and torment.
He leaned into her and filled her, and he listened to her scream. He stayed inside her, kept holding her. Her left leg spasmed and twitched, and then she stilled as well.
When the time came, he hoped her parents would like him. He’d gotten along well with the two sisters of hers that had shared time with him in The Select before her. It was enough to give him hope. Family rapport was important, long term.
As a future guidance counselor, Malcolm knew all about the power of positive relationships.
From behind him: “Master Malcolm?”
He looked up, turning his head. Blue-Hair and Nipple Ring—otherwise known as Missy and Courtney, respectively—awaited his audience. They’d crept up on him and waited for him to finish, dutifully on their knees, hands behind head. It was Missy who had spoken. He didn’t respond. He was rather out of breath. He waited.
Missy said, “If it pleases Master, your fellow masters Rusty and Zeke need you at the harness.”
He raised his eyebrows, inviting more. There was no way that—
“Pig-slut Scott requests instruction, Master,” Courtney chipped in eagerly. “Pig-slut Savannah waits only to see what he will do with her.”
He turned back to Melody. “You gotta be—”
“Kidding me,” Melody finished for him with a giggle, easing back onto her feet as Malcolm gently let her down. Then, smiling brightly, “Can we watch?”
****
Through the Great Sea of Fucking they came for her, Malcolm and Melody from the steps at Stage Left, Missy and Courtney from the steps at Stage Right. They were as naked as she, and yet a wave of helplessness washed over her so tall and so vast and so deep that she felt it could obliterate her at any second. They were here to bind her and secure her for Scott—who, at a gesture, hurried over to Malcolm and Melody, leaving her at the mercy of Missy and Courtney, along with their fully clothed boyfriends Rusty and Zeke. The rustling of their loose, karate-style vests and pants as they reached for her only amplified her feeling of vulnerability, her awareness of her own complete nudity.
They’ve been looking at you half the night, she re
minded herself.
It didn’t matter; she still felt it.
Zeke took one arm, Rusty the other. They turned her to face the harness.
Doesn’t look so bad, she thought, being led to it step by hesitant step. The cords and straps were black, bedecked with the pink feathering and the fake black orchids she had noted earlier. The restraints were adjustable pink leather, the buckles and rings polished chrome. But the cords for her suspension, leading from the restraints, went all the way up to the ceiling.
To a cage.
It was spherical, the bars shimmering steel. She could see where it opened at the bottom. It would be like a mouth opening for her. Would it come down from the ceiling to swallow her, or would she be raised up to it like a sacrifice? And how did Scott figure into this?
As Missy and Courtney ran ahead of her to the harness, she looked back to where her man was having just the friendliest and most cordial conversation ever with Malcolm, none of which she could hear. But she could see a small black box—or remote—in Malcolm’s right hand. Little silver buttons and switches. Malcolm pointed and talked. Scott listened and watched.
Rusty let go of her arm, then softly took her by both sides of the head and turned her to face the harness again, which was now right in front of her. In moments, Missy and Courtney were each at an ankle, cinching the pink leather restraints around them tight, buckling them in place.
“It’ll be uncomfortable, at first,” Rusty said. “Don’t freak out. There’s a support system in the Control Globe—magnetism and repulsion at the flick of a switch. My boy Scotty’s a quick study with this kind of shit. You won’t dislocate or break anything, I promise.”
She made no effort at an answer, either verbal or nonverbal. They would do what they would do. They were doing it already.
The tiny hairs on her arms stood right up when the restraints went over her wrists.
Courtney gave her inner elbow a squeeze. “Deep breath, girlfriend.”
Savannah took one. Then the cords fixed to the restraints went taut; her arms left her sides to a T-stretch—Scott was pointing the remote at her, still from a distance—and her feet left the ground. From above her, she could hear the cords hiss like smoke through unseen pulleys in the rafters. Her upper body lowered, like falling backwards in slow motion, and her feet came up, up. She was lifted, parallel to the ground, four feet above it, bent slightly at the waist. The cords pulled tighter, straightening her body flat. Then the restraints spread her legs, opening her wide. Her head was so heavy, she let it hang back over her shoulders like dead weight. From this position, she was looking fairly straight at Missy’s smallish breasts with their evidently well air-conditioned nipples, seeing her upside-down. Instantly, the muscles in her shoulders started to complain.
The girls worked quickly. Missy leaned over her. Courtney strode right into the V of her spread legs. They took turns, alternately supporting her from underneath and crossing the harness straps over the middle of her body until she was fully trussed.
Savannah could feel the sparse, prickly brown hairs waiting to be reborn on Courtney’s shaven snatch over the thin, neatly groomed blonde thatch of her own. Her legs kicked reflexively in the chain, spasmodically, then stilled. She forced her head up and looked down over herself. The harness was, essentially, an X with a belt in the middle, just over her belly button. It left absolutely nothing important (or private) to the imagination.
On both sides of the belt, at her lower back and her tummy, was a wide, flat metal disk.
“We’re going to let you go,” Missy said. “Wait’ll you see what happens. Relax. Don’t try to hold yourself up—you’ll pull your shoulders out. Trust.”
They waited. Savannah realized she still had her arms at full tension, her corded muscles tight as fully pumped blood pressure cuffs. She wanted to say something, to protest. Instead, she closed her eyes and willed herself loose, hanging relaxed in the cords and restraints, and in their arms.
They stepped back from her. Let her go. Apart from a very slight dip in her very middle, Savannah’s body didn’t move, didn’t stretch. Didn’t rely on the strength of her arms and legs to keep her straight.
She hovered in place, like lying on a soft table shaped from invisible rubber.
An electronic humming. It had been there for minutes. Only now in the fresh silence—broken only by the background noise of the orgy out on the floor, which suddenly seemed a distant thing, part of another world—did she become fully conscious of it. She had a more specific sense, now, of her support, like a hand pressing up against the small of her back, fingers hooked into every metal loop in the harness—but of course there was no hand, only…
“Reverse magnetism,” Rusty said. “Repulsion, like I told you. From the floor. Regular magnetism from the top of the Control Globe when it comes down. You’ll see.”
This is so cool, she thought, opening her eyes again.
Courtney and Missy switched positions, invading her space again. “Try to break free,” Missy said, tipping a small, clear bottle into her palm, gathering lubricant and working it with her fingers.
Savannah clenched her teeth, then gave a mighty pull with both arms. Useless. She didn’t have an inch of leverage. She tried with her legs, particularly when Missy pressed against her as Courtney had done before. Nothing. She laughed a little, allowing a single tear to escape as Courtney’s hands lightly traveled over her arms, then her underarms, then brushed over her breasts, rolling a nipple tip.
Missy bent for closeup of Savannah’s vagina. Looking at that, not her face, she asked. “Is this your first time taking a man up here? Look, the quiet thing is sexy—I get it, if you and your master are into that kind of thing—but I need you to answer me.”
Then she started lubing her, right from the top at the clit with her middle finger, up from the bottom of her slit with her thumb.
“Y-yes,” Savannah managed, feeling the flush take her over again. She was paralyzed, hyper-sensitized. There was nothing, no secret too precious to keep, that couldn’t be gotten out of her now.
“He’s here, Savannah,” Courtney said, brushing the tear away, then running her fingernails up both sides of Savannah’s neck as Missy parted her pussy lips and delicately worked her interior. “Look to your left.”
There he stood, five feet away, staring at her, head cocked to one side, his boner tall enough to hide his belly button.
“Tell him you’re a maiden, Savannah.”
“I’m a … maiden, Scott.” Her voice caught in the middle. She couldn’t help herself.
“Tell him you freely offer up your virginity to him.”
“I offer you my virginity, Scott. Freely.”
“Say, ‘I want you to put it in me. Please fuck me’.”
“Scott … I want you to put it in me. I want it so bad. P-please … fuck me, Scott.”
Missy withdrew her hand, which was wetter now than when she had started with a fistful of lube. “Okay, you can stop talking now. I’ll just leave you to your master, shall I? Courtney?”
Missy and Courtney stepped away. Savannah watched them go—back to their boyfriends, who leashed them, knelt them, and walked them like dogs down the steps at Stage Right back out onto the floor. Along the way, they’d passed Melody, who alone had stayed at stage right. Malcolm was nowhere to be seen.
At her left, she felt Scott’s shadow pass over her, the ambient heat of his lust preceding him by two feet or more.
Melody sat, legs crossed, and waved. “You don’t mind, do you? I’m so happy for you.”
Scott’s hand on her chin, turning her to him. “She can stay,” he said. “For tonight, Savannah—just tonight—I don’t care if the whole world watches.”
Savannah peered into his eyes, seeking truth, needing to know how much of this was real and how much of it was a role he was playing. Her breath quickened. She could see it there, the way he peered back at her, unblinking. It was obvious. For now, this was all very real to him, or the role had become
him.
In one hand, he held the black control box. The other passed over the straps, giving a little pull here, a little tug there. “Who can blame her?” he asked, leaning in, stealing a kiss. “You are the most beautiful woman alive on this earth. Just to look on you is a gift beyond price, Savannah—but I’ll have more from you than that. Much more.”
He pushed a button, and Savannah’s body rose still higher from the floor, past Scott, higher than him. Higher still.
From above her, at the same time, the Control Globe began its descent. As it drew closer, Savannah felt the magnetic tug at her middle and at the buckles on the restraints. Simultaneously, she was being repulsed by the floor and drawn up by the ceiling, moved by remote control, like a toy car or robot in the hands of a little kid at Christmas.
Good thing gold isn’t magnetic, she thought, feeling her pendant against her sternum, grateful for its presence—and grateful, too, that it wasn’t straining up against the ceiling, the chain at the back of her neck eventually snapping free…
As the cage engulfed her, she experienced a half-second of sheer terror when the cords leading from her restraints came free from the ceiling winches—and from the rings in her restraints. They uncoiled with an awful whiz—leaving her in midair, supported only by forces that could push and pull but not grab or hold, her body tipping backward and forward like a seesaw. But then, the cage itself magnetized, or parts of it did—parts that lit up and pulled at every scrap of metal on the harness and restraints. Currently, there were four of these bars, stabilizing her just as she was, spread-eagled in open space.
Savannah screamed—then laughed. Ten feet beneath her, Scott only chuckled.
She’d read somewhere that kids in Space Camp used a dome like this to simulate zero-G. They should have this in an amusement park, she thought.
The rafter pulleys still holding the cage continued to hiss, lowering it and Savannah back toward the floor.