[short] Feast

Copyright © 2012 Olivia Dromen

I’ve collapsed in a rumpled heap on the damp, leaf covered earth. Mistress and her dark-haired friend are standing over me, looking down over my bloody, beaten body. I feel fantastic, riding the wave of endorphins and orgasms. I start to come back to earth, getting ready to give up the freeing, floating feeling.

Mistress hooks a finger in the ring on my collar and jerks me to my knees. “Get up, fucktoy. It’s time to go inside. We have a feast to prepare.”

My eyes widen. I thought we were done.

I stumble to my feet, holding my bound wrists in front of me. They walk on either side of me, steadying me as we head back to the house. The walk is hazy, filled with half-trips and stubbed toes. At one point they’ve hooked their arms under my shoulders and are halfway dragging me through the doorway, into the downstairs bathroom.

They’ve stripped me down the rest of the way. The rope on my wrist is untied and coiled up carefully. My shoes and socks are tossed aside into the corner to be taken care of later. My beloved collar is unbuckled and left on the sink as I’m shoved into the shower. A moment later there are two naked bodies in there with me scrubbing me down roughly and kissing and fondling me gently. I let them do it, getting me cleaned up and presentable, unable to think or move coherently.

By the time we’re done, I’m mostly back to myself. I’m handed a towel and told to get dry and put my collar back on, then wait. Mistress and her friend head off to the bedroom to finish their own preparations.

I dry my hair and put on my collar. I can hear activity in the house. People are talking in the living room and dining room. It’s a party. I start getting nervous. She talked to me about the possibility of a large group, but I didn’t expect it to be more than a couple of people. I’m not sure how to feel about this.

I take a few deep breaths and decide to trust her.

Soft music floats through the door as Mistress opens it. She stands in front of me in an elegant dress. I open my mouth in amazement. She’s gorgeous. She looks me in the eye and says softly, “Come with me, kitten.”

I nod. She leads me to the dining room, pushing me forward—in front of the guests. The room is filled with a dozen women. I know about half of them already. I don’t meet their eyes. Women I’ve sat with and talked to—who I will see again. I tense up. Mistress stands behind me, her hands proprietarily on my shoulders. She whispers in my ear, “I want you to lay down on the table. You are the main course.”

I nod nervously.

A few people move things out of the way as a blindfold is tied around my eyes. I am lifted onto the table by many hands, arranging me like a centerpiece. My arms are placed softly at my sides; my legs are spread apart a couple of feet. I am open and vulnerable to the roomful of people.

“Please,” Mistress says to her guests, “Feel free to start.”

Hands start roaming over me. They are tentative at first, but that changes quickly. The touches get more firm. Wet lips press on my skin. Tongues probe between my toes. Teeth tear into my leg. Fingers are shoved into my cunt.

I start moaning. All the attention is overwhelming. Another set of teeth latches onto my nipple, tugging at it fiercely. A set of fingers press into my mouth—Mistress’ fingers. I recognize the taste and shape. I open wide, greedily sucking them deep into my mouth. My tongue slides around them, encouraging her. Another hand cups my head, tilting it back. I open my mouth wider and push up gently to feel her fingers deeper.

My hand is lifted and placed against skin. I slide my fingers around, finding a wet pussy. I let out a moan as I start to rub.

More bites on my legs and sides. My other hand is guided to a breast.

Whoever is fingering my cunt opens me wider, shoving more fingers into me. I can’t even tell if it’s just one person. It could be two or even three. Cool liquid drips onto me. Fingers rub it into my clit—it’s lube. The fingers start moving faster, more furiously.

I’m writhing. So many people, doing so many things—using me like a toy.

The experience is broken into flashes of sensation: a bite—harder than the others—on my inner thigh, fingers shoved into me, other fingers rubbing my clit insistently, Mistress’ hand filling my mouth, teeth on my nipple.

I gag on Mistress’ fingers and suck in as much breath as I can. My cunt spasms uncontrollably and I’m coming, moaning and screaming into the fingers shoved in my throat.

Mistress’s lips brush my ear as she whispers without stopping the brutal assault on my mouth, “Happy anniversary.”

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