Everyone started arriving for the party and I noticed one thing in the people you’d invited. They were all women. You’d had presented the party as an afternoon get together – time by the pool, casual conversation, etc. You’d asked me to don my very best attire (think dress shorts and a sleeveless tux shirt and bowtie) and provide drinks for everyone, playing up the service side to have some fun. Nothing overt, just a ladies day at the pool, with service.
All day long, you make quick little comments, pointing out how great the service is, how nice it is for everyone to just wave a finger and they get a refreshed drink. I’m having fun doing it too – it’s a challenge to keep up. This becomes especially true as the booze continues to flow and the ladies start to lay it on thick about signaling for me. I also get the occasional grab as a thanks. Normally I’d jump out of my skin and call them on it, but … not today. Today I have a tray of drinks and have been sworn to silence.
This continues on and the ladies eventually get tired and overheated and head indoors for food and more talking – the stereo is on and up, though not loud enough to make it hard to talk, still loud enough that it’s never silent. The drinks keep flowing and you get flirtier and more suggestive of your use of me. It never directly comes out that we have a D/s relationship, but I think anyone would have to be blind by now, at the very least in the scenario of the party, to not know.
As the party moves into the evening, you’ve circled the chairs and everyone’s chatting and just having fun. I’ve been able to keep up with the service pretty well, though the shows of gratitude have certainly been stepping up their game as well. You see it all, give them grief about it and start making suggestions about giving them something to grab…
At a lull in the conversation, you come over, kiss me and tell me to go back to our room. That something is waiting for me. I should take advantage of it and sit and wait quietly, until you arrive.
When I get back to the room, you have the hood, a set of headphones and my cuffs and collar out on the bed.
And a note.
Please strip. Put on the hood, your cuffs. I’ll put on your collar when I come get you. Please put on the headphones and turn them up to the point where you cannot hear anything except your favorite playlist.
I stop cold on “when I come get you.” I feel a rush of adrenaline and fear wash over me. You wouldn’t really expect me to come out like that, right?
I admit that I’m waffling between “no, nope, not gonna happen” and curiosity. The mind-fuck is the worst aspect of this. I am frozen, trying to figure out what to do. I finally give in and decide, essentially, there’s no time like the present.
I undress. I nervously put on my cuffs and take a deep breath and put on the hood. It’s extremely tight and I can’t see anything, which of course is the point. I hear a howling laughter and new noise from the other room as I pull the headphones on and nervously crank up the music to try to calm my thoughts.
Instead, all it does it put me in a room with my head. Swirling, imagining, guessing at what you’re doing. I kneel, feeling myself pulled into the hood, the music, the cuffs, I feel myself slipping deeper into it. I also feel my adrenaline surging.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been kneeling, but it seems like it’s been awhile. I suddenly feel your hand at my chin, pulling up slightly, and feel my collar being placed on me and attached. You pull me up to standing and attach my cuffs in front so you can lead me out.
I feel my insides shaking. There is so much adrenaline, fear and fight or flight going on that I am having a hard time controlling it. I try desperately to hear them, to hear comments, anything, but the music is too loud – when my music pauses between songs, I hear the music from the room for a split second. I have no idea what people are saying or doing.
I have a sense that I’m standing in the middle of the room, waiting. There, cage on, all the world to see. I feel you at me, unlocking my cage, taking it off, massaging me. It takes all of about 1.5 seconds and my body betrays my fear and I’m standing at full attention, hard. You begin stroking me slowly, lightly but enough that I start to care a whole lot less where I am and a whole lot more what’s going on down there.
I feel your hand running the length of me, then pausing, squeezing me, massaging me almost, before picking up where you left off.
Then you stop.
I’m standing there, stabbing at the air, looking for more attention, having given myself over to the fact that I’m a toy for the moment, a toy for all to see.
Suddenly this bizarre “pop” registers in my brain and for a split second I find myself wondering what that was? Then I realize, just as another registers, it’s your crop. It’s connecting with me over and over. I’m doing a little jig I suppose, responding to the crop, crying out a bit with each impact. I realize I don’t want to be hit anywhere you’re not intending, so try to regain some control just as the hits stop.
You’re back at me, stroking… or, I should say, someone is. The feeling is completely different, it’s rough and colder and firmer and then squeezing between strokes. Sometimes it feels like everything is just going to be pulled right off of me, the grip is firm to say the least.
Again I feel myself picking up a bit of speed in sensations. I’m trying desperately not to let on how it feels and how I’m responding. I feel my throat vibrate a bit and realize that, even though I can’t even hear myself, I must be loudly growling through the mask. I swear I hear laughter at this, but I’m beyond being able to stop it.
The hand stops again and I suddenly feel clamps attach and bite into my chest. As soon as one is on, the other is attached and the tension of the chain is tested. I know I’m yelping and growling and probably making all sorts of new noises as I chase down the pain and try to get back ahold of myself.
I feel another hand, another sensation take hold of me – must have used a ton of lube because it’s incredibly slippery. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 strokes… YANK on the chain, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 strokes, YANK on the chain. I feel myself doubling over, then stabbing at the air with my cock, looking for attention, then doubling over. It’s almost too much.
I register another POP as I feel a solid, large paddle of some sort connect with me, then a yank on the chain, and another hit. My head is reeling, my body is shaking and I suddenly feeling warmth surround my cock.
I’m being licked and sucked and slowly, painfully slowly brought closer to the brink.
In the mask, I’m on the verge of tears from the mix of pain, the clips still on me and the attention to my cock, now throbbing for release.
The mouth continues, then a chain yank and the white-hot pain again screams from my chest to my brain and back again. It’s almost more than I can take but I’m bound and determined to stay with it, to see it through, wherever this is going.
Then everything stops. Everything. There is complete and absolute silence.
I’m standing there, shaking, turning my head, trying to hear. My headphones are on my head, but no music. I’m turning my head like a puppy would, looking for sound, looking to understand.
The headphones are lifted off my head and I hear you whisper to me.
“Thank you for such amazing service today. We all had a great time. Thank you.”
You pull my hood off and kiss me, then step back.
I’m expecting to see everyone, but instead, the room is empty. I see your crop, the wooden paddle, and I chuckle. I also see gloves. I see lace gloves, rubber gloves. I realize what you just did – that no one was here, that this was just us, for us.
I grin at you and you grin back that evil smile.
“Gotcha” is all you say.