HisIndecentBoxSetpub

by Sky Corgan

  It was all the queue Damien needed.

  He put me on all fours and entered me from behind, causing the nipple clamps to swing beneath me with every thrust. It was painful, but a pleasurable kind of pain when mixed in with the fullness of his cock tunneling into my wanton pussy. I moaned and pressed back against him, my body a shameless slave to his fucking.

  When Damien tired of pounding me from behind, he laid down on the bed, guiding me up onto him in reverse cowgirl. His cock slid in easily enough at first, but then he pulled me back, and the pressure became incredible. I held myself up while he thrust into me. My muscles ached from it, but my cunt was satisfied, and that's all that mattered.

  Damien reached a hand around me and spanked my clit, sending fireworks shooting off between my legs. It only took a dozen good slaps before contractions were rolling through me so intense that I had to rest on top of him. He dug his fingers into my sensitive little pleasure nub, milking out what was left of my orgasm until I was completely breathless. Then he turned me onto my side and fucked me until he came. I watched as he pulled out, his glorious member spilling its seed onto my stomach and tits.

  Damien hadn't come inside of me since the night that he had professed his love. It was probably better that he always pulled out. The last thing I needed was to wind up pregnant. Still, I would love a good cream pie every once in a while. He had been so fucking sexy, the expression on his face when he pressed deep into me. I hadn't felt his semen spray inside of me, but I had known that it was, and that was enough. Not to mention the aftermath when he pulled out. So deliciously sticky.

  Damien went to the bathroom to get a towel to clean me off with, then he laid down beside me for a few minutes, pulling me into his arms. He had been a lot better with the aftercare since I made all of my demands. Cuddling hadn't been one of them, but I was happy that he figured out it would have been if I thought of it at the time.

  “Did you like it?” he asked.

  “I always like it,” I replied. “But could you take these nipple clamps off of me? My nipples feel like they're on fire.”

  He gave a short laugh, leaning over me to remove the clamps. “I had almost forgotten they were there.”

  “It's good I said something then.” I frowned, though my expression contorted the second the pressure was off of the first nipple. Dear God, it hurt. Who would have thought that taking them off would hurt more than having them on?

  As the blood rushed back to my abused nipples, Damien sucked on them, though the sensitivity they once held had been nearly destroyed from the crushing pressure. Still, it was a nice gesture, and I enjoyed having Damien's mouth on me whenever I could get it. Lovingly, I stroked his hair until he finished, then pulled him up for a series of gentle kisses. Mmm Romantic Damien.

  PLAY PARTY

  When Damien opened the door to me on the evening of the play party, I almost couldn't believe my eyes. My mouth fell open as I took him in from top to bottom. His dark hair was neatly combed; his typical five o'clock shadow was almost invisible. He was wearing a skin-tight black graphic T-shirt with a set of silver handcuffs going down the torso and a pair of black vinyl pants that were complemented by a studded belt and nice black leather boots. I wanted to rape him.

  “Sex, now,” I said, feeling almost robotic about it.

  Damien grinned. “No, Chey. We don't have time for that.”

  “Why do you look like that, if not to make me want sex?” I quirked my head to the side.

  “Because Sir Martin has a dress code for his play party. Come inside. I have something for you too.”

  He moved away from the door to let me in, but I just stood there, staring at him, tugging at one of his belt loops. “Can't wait. Sex now.”

  “Behave.” He gave me a stern look, and I knew better than to press my luck.

  When we walked back to the classroom, I found my outfit laid out across the bed, if you could call it an outfit. It looked more like a few pieces of vinyl pieced together to resemble a skimpy bathing suit, barely enough to cover anything. I was thankful that there was a large vinyl trench coat right next to it, which I could only assume I would be wearing to cover myself up until we got to the party. On the floor were the evil six-inch stilettos I had worn at the dinner party. I scowled at them, anticipating another night of pain.

  “Get dressed and meet me in the living room,” Damien said, giving me a soft slap on the ass before taking his leave.

  I quickly shimmied out of my blouse and skirt, then folded them and placed them on the chest of drawers. Trying to figure out how my new outfit worked took a minute, but I finally got it on, and when I went to admire myself in the closet mirror, I was rather impressed. Damien had good taste. The halter teddy accentuated my assets perfectly. While the cups were big enough to hold my generously sized boobs, they didn't cover everything. Laces across my chest offered more support, giving my breasts that sexy pushed up look. A small strip of corset laced vinyl connected the top to the bottoms, which were just an arrow-shaped patch of fabric covering my mound and pussy. There was a string that went around my hips, but I figured it was more of aesthetic purposes than anything else. All in all, it was a sexy little number.

  I slipped the horrid shoes on, then threw on the coat and was out the door, wobbling a bit as I went. Damien wasn't in the living room like he said he would be. Instead, I found him outside, putting a leather duffle bag in the trunk of his Corvette.

  “What's that?” I asked.

  “Stuff for scene play. The host provides the furniture, but you have to bring your own paddles and riding crops and what not,” he replied.

  I blushed at the bag. “Are we really going to use that stuff?”

  “We might. I figured we'd discuss it on the way.”

  I stepped back as he closed the trunk.

  “How do you like the outfit I bought you?” Damien looked me up and down, though the trench coat hid everything.

  “It fit good. Want to see?”

  He nodded.

  When I opened up the trench coat to expose what was underneath, a lecherous grin spread across his face. Damien stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my side, though he stayed far enough away so he could admire the costume.

  “Very sexy,” he practically growled.

  “I thought so too,” I replied, teasingly pulling away from him to close the trench coat. “No sex for you til we get back.”

  He laughed, walking past me to lock up the house. I climbed into the passenger’s seat and waited for Damien. It wasn't until we were out on the road that he began to give me the run down.

  “I suppose I should prepare you for what to expect.”

  “That would be helpful.” I nodded.

  “While I'm not sure exactly what Sir Martin's setup is, usually there's a place for socializing and a place for scene play. It's not required that you participate in the scene play, but it is required that you keep a respectful distance from those who are participating.

  “Penetrative sex is allowed at this party, so you're probably going to get to see other people fucking. I'm not sure how well that sits with you.” He glanced at me.

  “It's fine.”

  “Sir Martin is a fan of bringing new people into the fold, so there will likely be people there who you've never met before. If anyone approaches you to ask if you'd like to join a scene, you are to ask me first.”

  “What if I don't want to join?”

  “Then respectfully decline the invitation. I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do.”

  “I don't want to do anything if it's not with you.”

  “You may change your mind when we get there.”

  “I won't,” I insisted.

  “Before we arrive, I'd like to know the things you will be willing to do. I brought an assortment of toys, many of which we haven't played with before.”

  “I'm up for anything,” I replied, trying to keep the excitement in my voice to a minimum.

  “Alright. We
ll, know that your safety words still apply, so if I do anything to you that you don't like, you can use them. Once you're restrained though, I don't want you saying anything other than your safety words. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Sir Martin's house was about a twenty-minute drive away. Not surprisingly, it was massive, a mansion, maybe even larger than Damien's. The two-story building loomed before us, it's long circular driveway ringed with vehicles. I could feel my palms beginning to sweat as Damien put the car in park.

  A tall bulky man dressed in leathers greeted us at the door. He was obviously a bouncer of some sorts, though he smiled and welcomed Damien like an old friend. This was not like Damien's dinner party at all. Shouldn't Sir Martin's submissive have come to escort us? Instead, it was the bouncer who took my coat and then informed us that everyone was in the back.

  Damien guided me through the house like he owned it. My eyes were everywhere, taking in the expensive looking paintings, the mahogany furniture, the marble tile, and stone pillars. There was a fireplace in the living room that was taller than Damien, though there was no fire blazing inside. Was everyone who practiced BDSM wealthy?

  Finally, we reached a sliding glass door that opened into an expansive backyard. There was a ring of chairs around a fire pit crowded with people. A cart sat to the side where a bartender was busy mixing cocktails for the guests. Toward the back of the yard was a large building with double doors. Cries of pain and pleasure were coming from inside, so I could only imagine it was the new dungeon. The smells of fresh paint and burning wood filled the air, creating a pleasant aroma that mingled with the sounds of conversation and laughter and sexual noises.

  I was especially timid as we approached the fire pit, sticking close to Damien's side. Normally, I would have felt awkward wearing something so skimpy, but many of the other female submissives were dressed similarly. There were even a few scantily clad male submissives. It was like an all out fleshfest.

  Danica was there, as well as a few other Doms, Dommes, and submissives that I remembered seeing at the munch and Damien's dinner party. There were more unfamiliar faces though. While everyone who knew us welcomed us with friendly words, Danica was the only one who walked over to give Damien a hug. She looked me up and down with an approving smile, then helped us find a place to sit and talk with the others.

  I stayed silent, trying to keep my eyes low but still looking around in my peripheral vision. Danica was more covered up than usual, wearing a full vinyl body suit that was zipped down past her cleavage and revealed a matching vinyl bikini top beneath. Some of the other Dommes were dressed far more sexily. The majority of skin showing came from the submissives though.

  There was a surprising number of people in attendance, far more than I had expected. Not including those in the dungeon, I estimated there were close to thirty people. All the chatter between them was so loud that I could barely hear myself think, and I was glad when Damien nudged for me to stand and follow him away from the group.

  “Let's go check out the dungeon,” he said.

  The building that Sir Martin called his dungeon was absolutely massive. It looked like a small warehouse. Lining the walls inside was an assortment of furniture, most of which I had never seen before and couldn't identify. Of those I could, there was a bondage table, a stockade, and a Saint Andrew's cross. Surprisingly, there were almost as many people inside the dungeon as there had been outside, both participants and voyeurs, and all the furniture was in use.

  Damien pulled me into an unoccupied corner of the room and set his duffle bag down. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  I wanted to ask for what, but instead I replied, “Yes, Sir,” too afraid of screwing up and embarrassing him to say anything else.

  “Stand,” he ordered, and I quickly assumed the position, placing my legs shoulder-width apart, lacing my fingers behind my back, and tilting my head toward the floor, keeping my eyes down.

  I watched as Damien knelt to unzip his bag. Much like the furniture in the room, there were a lot of things I couldn't identify inside. Apparently, he was far from out of new tricks to show me.

  The first thing Damien extracted was a riding crop. Once in hand, he promptly stood, circling me and giving me a slap on the ass. I jumped as the cold leather slapper hit my skin.

  “You looked as restless as me,” he commented. “This should spice things up a bit.”

  Damien disappeared behind me, and all I could do was wait for what was to come. Each swat made my breath hitch, the small stinging of it warming my backside. It was hard to focus when there was so much going on around us. To my right, a woman was being paddled while she leaned across a wooden sawhorse. To my left, a Domme was cracking a bullwhip against her male submissive's back. He cried out with each strike, and I winced right along with him, practically forgetting about my own pain. A crowd had gathered around them to watch, making me feel like nothing more than a sideshow. I wished we were further away from the action, though there really wasn't anywhere else to go.

  After Damien had placed a few slaps on each of my ass cheeks, he put the riding crop away, rummaging through his duffle bag for some rope. While I had seen some submissives wearing harnesses made of rope, I didn't see any actual bondage involving it. The vast majority of the restraints in the room were either leather or metal.

  “Outstretch your arms,” Damien instructed, and I did as I was told.

  He undid the clasp that held my halter top up and pulled it down over my breasts. They spilled out, making me feel exposed. For some reason, my nipples were already perked. Maybe it was because it was cold inside the dungeon. Or perhaps I was already aroused from everything going on around me. I couldn't really tell. All I knew was I was nervous.

  Damien pulled the rope around me, laying the first doubled up length of it above my breasts. The second two strands went beneath them. Each time he pulled a length across my chest, he paused behind me, and I could feel the scratching of rope against my back as he tied knots. Next, he separated the strands, pulling one over each shoulder and moving my hair aside so that it didn't get tangled in the rope. He joined the strands together between my breasts, sliding them beneath the bottom rope, then pulling it over the top. With a final tug, my breasts were bound, squeezed tight by the rope. I blushed from the sight of them, the way my skin bulged. The knot he had placed between them was artfully done, though I didn't know why I was surprised. Knot tying was a large part of rope bondage in BDSM. It made sense Damien would know how to do it. With my breasts secure, he took the strands and crossed them over my ribs, moving behind me to fix a few more knots.

  “Put your arms behind your back,” he said.

  As soon as my wrists brushed over the knots, Damien was grabbing them, positioning them to his satisfaction before he began looping the rope around them. I could feel that he had gone back to using two strands, making sure I was well secured. At that point, a few of the Domme's voyeurs had turned their attention in our direction, stepping around me to watch Damien finish his rope bondage. Someone even complemented him on it.

  When he was done tying me up, he went to the duffle bag and brought out a flogger. I eyed it nervously, hoping he didn't plan on hitting me half as hard as some of the other people in the room were going at it. The cries of pain all around me made me feel like I was in a torture chamber, an actual mid-evil dungeon where I was about to get punished for committing some kind of crime. It was hard for me to remember that all these people were doing this for pleasure.

  Before I had too much time to think about it, the first slap was landing on my ass. Damien was mercifully gentle, and instead of feeling a million blood-curdling stings, it was more like rough tongues licking over my skin. There was a slight air of discomfort to it, but nothing that even bordered painful. Still, each unexpected lash made me jump a bit, tensing.

  He moved the flogger over my body, focusing mainly on my ass, but occasionally traveling up to my back and shoulders. To my surprise, I was actua
lly beginning to enjoy it. It was nice to be getting some kind of stimulation in a room full of so much sexuality.

  “Do you think you can handle more?” Damien asked.

  I wanted to question how much more, but again, I was too afraid to say anything other than, “Yes, Sir.” He knew my body well, and I trusted him not to go too far. Besides, I always had my safety words.

  I expected Damien to start flogging me harder, but instead, he grabbed my halter and pulled it down the rest of the way, letting it fall to my ankles. My cheeks turned pink from the fact that I was naked in front of so many people, so many strangers, but at least I didn't have to look at their faces. With my head tilted downward, I could avoid all the eyes upon me, and judging by the feet I saw, there were quite a few sets of eyes.

  Damien slid his hand between my thighs, and I felt his finger burrow through my folds, aiming for my moist hole. My clit fired off when his fingertip grazed it, though the stimulation was far from what I needed to come. His finger pressed inside, almost painfully rough.

  “I think you're beginning to enjoy being watched,” he whispered against my ear.

  I couldn't agree or disagree. My body was hot one moment and cold the next, though the fingering helped to bring me more over to the warm side. Almost as soon as he had put it inside of me though, he was pulling away, leaving my cunt pulsing and wanting more.

  Damien knelt before me, rummaging through the bag again. When he stood back up, he had two floggers in hand. At first, he doubled them up, giving my ass another round of soft slaps. To be honest, I preferred one flogger over two. With so many leather strips landing across my skin at once, the sensation of individual tongues faded away. Now it felt more like he was throwing a wet towel across my backside—a very heavy wet towel that had a bite to it.

  After a few more strokes, he stepped to my side, taking a flogger in each hand and flogging both sides of me at once. My breath hitched from the first impact, though the pressure that he used was gentle as ever. It felt more strange than anything else, but I enjoyed it, jumping slightly with each soft blow.