by Anneke Jacob
‘It’s time, is it?’ Garid pushed the woman to her knees, and gave Therin his chair. Therin took out his rigid cock, and gave himself over to the pleasure of an unfamiliar mouth surrounding it. Garid had taught her a lot. Therin used the woman’s mouth in a leisurely way, holding her firmly by the head and taking his time, before he abandoned himself to the first orgasm of the day.
I was still on my knees in the grass when a man’s voice called, and people on the lawn began to move toward the house. The woman in the saddle and her master were long gone. My master ran his hands roughly over my red breasts and thighs, and talked and laughed with his friend. He clipped my leash back to my nose ring, always a painful experience, but even so I was very happy that he was the one holding it. If my master wanted to share me, I would do my absolute best to please. But I knew who owned me.
He replaced my ball gag – it was in my mouth before I knew I had opened up for it – and led me through the veranda and into the house. As I crawled the welts on my thighs rubbed against each other, and my breasts were brushing painfully against my arms. I tried to ignore this, but I must have been a little slow, because I got some hard and painful tugs on my nose. We went into a large, warmly lit room. There was a big dining table near one wall, partially set. My master picked up a large bag by the handles and pushed me off into an alcove.
The room was full of people walking around, and slaves on leashes, but we were out of the way of the bustle. In a moment the kneepads were off and I was fastened by the wrists on tiptoe to a hook in the alcove ceiling. I stretched my legs gratefully. He brushed off remaining bits of grass with a warm hand. Then he removed my belt. He was very quick at this, though unlocking my labia rings was a bit complicated. He’d had a lot of practice. I shuddered when the plugs were drawn out with the belt. I could hear the hiss of the sana box cleaning them, while he drew more equipment from the bag.
He stood behind me, talking with men in a nearby corner who were working on their slaves, or watching each other’s work. I watched one man who was tying his slave’s breasts together; he kept looking at my naked, shaven cunt. His hand dropped the rope and slid down the woman’s belly, and then he plunged it into her cunt, watching me intently all the while. My face burned.
My master began to tighten a black leather corset around me, squeezing me tighter and tighter, until I was breathing in little shallow gasps around my gag and groaning out my incredible arousal. The woman with breasts tied was moaning too, her cunt full of hand. He was whispering in her ear, holding her hard. I whimpered. My multi-colored breasts were embraced and pushed up on three sides by the corset. Then the belt went back on over my swollen pussy, plugs and all. The cries of the other woman’s climax were punctuated by the sound of a lock snapping shut, and the sound of my own breathing.
My master joined my ankles with a short hobble. Then he took my arms down and secured them into a single sleeve from mitts to elbows. Then an odd, crescent-shaped tray was fastened round my waist and supported at each front corner by a chain that hooked to my nipple rings. Fortunately the waist fastening took most of the weight; I was loaded with hors d’oeuvres and sent round the room.
With the short hobble, and with my arms locked behind me, I had to move with great care and deliberation so as not to spill anything, or trip myself up. But for me this was relative freedom; I was on my feet and I wasn’t actually tethered to anything. Oddly enough, this was a new humiliation, in that it made what I did feel almost voluntary. Theoretically, walking away was a possibility. That meant I was choosing to offer my bound body and foolish tray for the men’s enjoyment. As I circulated with my tray I had to endure constant tweaks and pinches, and the weight on my nipples was painful. As I wasn’t tethered I was actually starting to think of looking around for exits – just in case. It was a terrifying thought, quite irresistible. Fortunately I saw my master’s eye on me, and knew with relief that escape wasn’t on the agenda.
The other slaves were providing entertainment as well. One was fastened upside down with her legs wide, her juices being used for dip. The woman I’d seen earlier, hands tied back, was offering some kind of pâté warmed in the hollow between her bound-together breasts. Some slaves were kneeling next to their masters and being fed by hand. One was lying supine across her master’s lap; he was eating off her belly as if it were a plate, and resting his wineglass on her breast.
The oddest was Teats, the slave against whom I sometimes won a race. She was placed behind the side table with the drinks and hors-d’oeuvres. Her arms were pulled up behind her back, so that she was bent over the table at a right angle. Her chest was resting on a kind of wooden shelf fastened parallel to the table by two vertical supports, her big breasts forced down through round holes in the shelf. I was puzzled until I noticed that milk was dripping from her long nipples. How had that gotten started? She wasn’t having any babies here, that was for sure. A man came over, took hold of her breasts and started pulling and squeezing them rhythmically, milking her into a cup he’d placed there, ignoring her whimpers of discomfort. Large as they were, her breasts, enveloped by those big hands, looked like the udders they resembled. It seemed to me the man had spent some time on a farm, for he looked like he knew what he was doing.
‘Here, jeedy!’ my master called from across the room. I tore my eyes away and shuffled carefully to him, feeling very vertical and precarious in my restraints. My tray was almost empty, and people had begun to move to the table.
On my right was a slave with her arms and legs extended like an ‘X’, being decorated with long, narrow, multi-colored translucent tubes wrapping all around her body, not quite touching her but being bent to follow her shape. I was impressed that she was able to hold so still, until I noticed that she was fixed to an inconspicuous light frame. Two men made final swirls with the tubes around each breast, ending past their tips with tight spirals of the same material, and what looked like odd-shaped bulbs. I was almost across the room to my master when I saw them hoist her over the table, face down, and hang her from the ceiling. My master took me by the collar and let me watch. Suddenly all the colored tubes and the two hanging bulbs lit up with a soft glow. She was a chandelier – very pretty. I hoped she’d had something to eat first.
My master had brought my bowl from home, and I sighed. I watched enviously out of the corner of my eye at lucky slaves being fed tidbits at the table. I wanted to kneel prettily and beg, too, but I was locked securely in my mitts to my bowl in the corner. The food they gave me was almost as bland as what I was normally fed, but at least it was a different flavor of bland. Fortunately they didn’t give me much, as the corset didn’t leave a lot of space.
I did get to see the woman brought in on her back on a big platter. I thought for a moment that I was looking at a cake in the shape of a woman, but it was a real slave covered in confectionery, with fruit and nuts and icing arranged decoratively in strategic places. This seems to have been a surprise; there was a roar of laughter from the men when she was set down on the table. They immediately began tucking in with spoons, and soon fingers, and eventually tongues.
After dinner, wiped off, the ball gag fastened into my bridle again, I crawled over to the couch at my master’s bidding. I felt a big weight descend across my back, and a clear, heavy, horizontal slab of plastic was being fastened to me. There was a convex curve in its outline for my head, which was pulled into the curve and fastened back by the bridle. I could see men from the corner of my eye, on the couch at my side, and before long I heard the clink of glasses on the slab. I was a coffee table. Again, I did my best not to move.
Off to my left I could see a slave hanging upside down by her widely spread ankles. Two men were comparing whips and began experimenting, pausing to examine the results before getting down to work more seriously. I felt sorry for the woman, as she had it from both directions. Her long dark hair hung several feet off the floor. She was gagged, but eventually I recognized her: the woman with the South Xanszey eyes. My master’s frien
d owned her, the one who had used me before dinner. He and the other man talked as they worked her over, apparently commenting on each other’s work or giving each other advice. Her muffled screams increased in volume, and several people stopped what they were doing to watch.
One man was whipping her breasts with a flogger, slowly and steadily, and gradually they reddened as they bounced and rebounded. Occasionally she gave a louder shriek, and I knew that this was when her nipples were struck. My own nipples, sore themselves, tingled in sympathy. The other man was concentrating at first on her ass and then her thighs. Then he moved to the inside of her thighs, and at last to her cunt, lashing her there with a smacking sound that made me wince.
Two women were kneeling between men’s thighs, their heads moving rhythmically up and down. The men, through half-closed eyes, watched the slaves being whipped. I couldn’t see my master. The room seemed full of people, naked or semi-naked or clothed.
Then the men took the dark-haired woman down, but only momentarily. Soon she was suspended between them by the wrists, still gagged. They began to fondle and lick her body. Her voice, hoarse with screaming, now purred in a choked way under the gag. Soon they were standing with her sandwiched between them. The purrs changed to moans. One lifted her up and held her above his rigid cock. The other man exposed his cock also and rubbed it with lubricant. Then he assisted his partner to support her. Both of them held her by the thighs or ass, high up between them. The two cocks touched for a moment as the three of them swayed together, rubbed, gasped. Then the men lowered the slave’s body, cunt and asshole, onto their two cocks, and she let out a groan that went on and on. It increased in volume as they worked her down over their two erect rods. It was evidently a tight fit. They began a slow, coordinated pumping, holding her and each other, a confusion of arms and hands, sweating torsos, squirming flesh.
A whip burned over my ass cheeks, and I realized I had let my rigid posture buckle at the sight of the trio. I tried again to stay still as I watched the three of them writhe together. The men’s tongues were entwined above the woman’s dark head. Each of them held her up with one hand, and with the other they twisted her nipples or squeezed her ass. Their hands were all over her, leaving marks. Then she was crying out, wailing her pleasure. The men lost their slow rhythm, accelerating their movements, thrusting her to and fro, growling. One exploded, then the other, jerking their hips with great groans. The woman almost disappeared for a moment or two between the two big men. But their movements seemed to trigger another series of cries from her, higher than the first.
When at last they separated, panting, the woman was left hanging there, fluid dripping down her legs, while the men sat and laughed and got their breath, arms across each other’s shoulders. Eventually someone took her down, and she collapsed on the floor in a puddle of semen.
I don’t know much about what happened next, because they took the tabletop off my back, and I spent the next hour or so in the dark, in a full hood. I was kneeling, my ankles clamped to the floor, my wrists attached wide apart to chains hung from the ceiling, well forward from my center of gravity so that I strained forward as I hung, my back arched as far as the tight corset allowed, my tits thrust out. My ass must have presented a perfect target, for it was certainly used as one. There were hands everywhere, squeezing and striking me, smacking my tits and ass and thighs. The cords of an unfamiliar whip scorched a path across my ass, while hands fondled my breasts. Then clamps closed on my nipples, and I could do nothing but cry my pain against the gag and hood. Chains and weights were soon hanging from the clamps, and someone began deliberately swinging and smacking them. I could hear little but my own shrill voice inside my ears.
Then my gag was yanked out and a cock took its place, then another, and another. My master was letting me be used for other men’s pleasure, and he wanted this, so it was right. I thought I recognized his hand on the flogger still punishing my sore ass. I was glad he was nearby, but I wanted him in my mouth so much…
Then my chastity belt was removed. I felt the air on my swollen cunt, so swollen and hot that a touch would have set off a firestorm. I was terribly afraid that someone would touch it by accident and make me come. I was one moment from the edge, as I had been hundreds of times; it could happen so fast; a breath could do it. But it was forbidden; I didn’t deserve it, and I knew my master would be terribly angry. The breath was suddenly pushed out of me with a whimpering groan as the corset was tightened, hard. I was relieved that he was behind me; I knew there’d be no accident with him there. Then I felt him up my ass, and I moaned intensely around the cock I was sucking. He owned me, no one else could own me like this, no matter what they did to me. Oh, yes… hands were pulling on clamps, making my nipples ache and sting, my master smacked my ass and thrust deeper. I sucked the cock in front of me, blind and deaf, gorged and stuffed full. Except my cunt, of course, which was burning, swollen, dripping, unused, in this orgiastic pile of female flesh. Undeserving.
When everyone was finished with me my ankles were released, but my arms remained at a painful stretch above my head. Someone took off my hood, and when my eyes adjusted to the light I could see my master approaching with the chastity belt. He made me kiss it in front of everyone, and lick the place where my cunt belonged. I could hear the moans and laughter surging around me. I bowed my head between my up-stretched arms. Large hands grasped my thighs and hips and held them rigid. His fingers behind me were positioning the belt, the plugs at my openings. Eyes everywhere were watching my face as he pushed the plugs into me, very slowly and with great care. I was panting hard, unable to control the sound of my breathing. I saw the pity on the women’s faces till I hung my head again and gasped and wept. I couldn’t help a convulsive shudder as the belt was closed. The snap of the lock was loud in the quiet room.
Then there was movement and noise again and I was on my hands and knees, my nipple decorations scraping the floor. Instead of a leash there was a long rod fastened to my collar, which my master used to direct me to where he wanted me to go. I was surrounded by female flesh, striped, harnessed, bound, but free enough to wriggle and crawl. Torsos pressed against each other, breasts rubbed, tongues intertwined. The rod forced me over to small breasts with painful looking stripes and erect nipples. I took a deep breath, and began to suck.
I was back for a moment on Raniz, having sex with Morat. She had loved her nipples sucked, and her cunt licked, and all I wanted was to have her take me, my eyes closed, her hip shoving into my crotch. My few sex partners couldn’t understand how such a wicked girl could be so uselessly passive in bed. I hadn’t even bothered after a while; it had been nothing but mutual disappointment.
But now, of course, I had no choice. My head was pushed to the next woman’s crotch, and I licked for all I was worth. All around me slaves were gasping and purring and screaming with pleasure. Bound women were rolling, sweating, writhing around each other, trying without hands to get the hair out of their faces by rubbing against the nearest body, so they could dive in with their tongues again. The little clit I was looking after was red and slick, retreating under its hood. Thighs locked around my head, rigid and shaking. My clit swelled helplessly under its transparent prison, visible to all, out of bounds. I licked the woman till she came, so in thrall to the voluptuous sensations all around that I almost inhabited the body under my tongue, felt a phantom tongue on my own clit. I transferred my attentions to another as directed, and then another after that. I think every one of the women there got my tongue at least once, and that of several others.
Finally, I lay exhausted on the floor, the rod on my collar gone. Six women licked me all over. Two of them slowly pulled the nipple clamps off with their teeth. I screamed as the blood returned. The women sucked the pain away, flicked my rings with their tongues, stroked the tender insides of my thighs, licked the welts on my ass, licked the juices from between my belt and legs, and even licked the unfeeling belt itself. I thought I would die. Everything was touched, everything
done to give me pleasure, but the one touch I needed to come. My clit, locked high in a keep, watched in despair from her lonely window. I sobbed quietly, writhing against their bodies and tongues, watching them begin to giggle as their torments increased. When one of them slid her tongue theatrically all the way along the belt between my legs, the whole room began laughing. I wept and squirmed with humiliation and agony, balanced excruciatingly on a knife’s edge.
Then all at once the hands and mouths fell away from me, wet leaves falling from a trembling tree. Everyone was looking in one direction, and my eyes followed. My master was speaking. He held me with his eyes, and moved his head slightly in a gesture I knew well. I raised myself to my hands and knees and crawled to him through the crowd, over tangled legs, around bodies shining with sweat and sticky with sex. I began to kiss his feet. The room went quiet. I kissed up his legs, slowly, reverently, and moaned with gratitude as he let me take him in my mouth. This familiar posture felt calming, although in my center was still a star about to go nova. I took all of that fusion heat and focused it into the finest, most exquisite blowjob of all time. With every touch to every nerve I tried to convey that I knew what we each deserved. He deserved anything, everything. I deserved whatever pain, shame or frustration he wanted to give me. I deserved nothing more, and I trusted him not to give it.
And he didn’t.
Home Again
Garid piloted the aircar home, his jeedy safe in the crate behind him. It felt late. The deep midnight blue of the sky was clear and full of stars. The party had still been in full swing when he hoisted up his pet and said his farewells. The experience had been exciting, but his essentially solitary nature reached its limit.
He wanted to be alone with his possession.
The extent to which she’d been used had exhausted her temporarily, and he sensed that she was asleep in her crate. But she had been unable to control her movements as he had settled her in there, soft, squirming, her breasts seeming to offer themselves without her volition, her eyes closing over dilated and luminous pupils. She was begging for contact, even though she had been saturated with it in the course of the evening. Saturated with touching of every kind, but of course never reaching fulfillment, so she could not stop, could not help needing more. Needing him. He had touched her with his hands very little in the course of the day. He had restrained her, whipped her, used her ass and her mouth, but he had let others caress her. He enjoyed watching this, seeing her from a distance, writhing under their hands and mouths, unfulfilled. Their hands were an extension of his. The key to her fulfillment was literally in his pocket.