The Party by Lykaina

The slave waited nervously in her silk for the guests to arrive. She looked around the living room at the cleared floor. Any unnecessary furniture had been moved into the garage for the night. Mostly all that was left were a couch and some chairs… and the bondage bench in the center of the floor, spotlit in a dim room. She shuddered, chilled and apprehensive of the night’s activities.

Her master was finishing his preparations in the bedroom. She had already prepared the hors d’oeuvres and chilled the drinks. Stacks of towels awaited in the bathroom for guests choosing to use them. She had spent hours earlier that day preparing. In the bath, she carefully shaved her legs and her mons, then washed her hair in the shower. She smoothed oil onto her sensitive flesh, and scented her skin sweetly with perfume. To finish her toilette, the slave applied rouge to her cheeks, nipples and lips, and waterproof mascara to her eyelashes. Now she stood at the door, more naked than naked in her sheer red silk and steel collar, waiting for the guests to arrive.

"Master? What time is it?" she called to the bedroom.

"Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira," was the teasing reply. "It’s almost time, girl. Are you nervous?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good. But you know you have nothing to fear, do you not?"

"Yes, Master."

Just then, the first knock came. The slave jumped, and opened the door. "Good evening, Master. Please come in," she told the man standing outside. The man walked in, but she stared only at his shoes, not daring to meet his eyes, and blushed from her head to her toes, knowing she was being assessed. She closed the door behind him, and assisted him in removing his coat. "By your leave, Master, I will put this away."

"Yes, slave, that’s fine. Mitch! You lucky bastard, where are you?" the man called.

She passed her master in the hall, on the way to put their guest’s coat on the bed. He slapped her ass sharply and she yelped in surprise, making the man in the living room laugh. She could hear their deep voices in the other room, and she paused in the little privacy she could have before returning to her station at the door.

The men were looking at the bench, talking about its construction; man talk. She was ignored. There came another knock on the door, and she admitted two more guests, took more coats, and bore the mortification of being exposed in the growing crowd of men she must call "master."

Finally, all the expected guests had arrived, and she moved from the door to the kitchen, to serve them drinks and appetizers. When she came back into the room, her master said "Table." He took the tray of food and drinks from her, and she dropped to all fours, leveling her back to receive the tray. She felt the cool tray come to rest on her back and tried to keep from shaking and spilling it. She would be punished if she dropped the tray.

The six men each took a drink, lightening the tray, and making her a little less nervous… at least she wouldn’t spill the drinks. As the men relaxed and laughed with their man talk, she grew more and more nervous, waiting for it to start. She didn’t know when the command would come. Her mind flashed to an image of her strapped onto the bench, and the men all taking their turn on her. She could smell the sharp odor of her own juices, and theirs, she could feel the heat of their skin, taste the semen on her tongue. She closed her eyes and moaned helplessly, which caused the men to focus on her. She blushed when she felt the weight of their combined gaze. She could feel herself become wet.

A hand slid between her legs and brushed her bare pussy, stroking her clit briefly before moving away. "Gentlemen, I believe that our slave is ready for the party to begin!" said her master’s voice. A coarse cheer went up and she trembled at the sound of it.

The tray was removed from her back, and she was pulled gently to her feet. She looked up into her master’s eyes, and he kissed her softly before gesturing towards the bench. Without a word, she climbed into position, and he strapped her firmly in place. A friendly slap fell on her ass and she could feel his hot handprint there.

"Look on the bottom of your cups. You will see a number there, number one is first, naturally. And you get to choose your pleasure." The men looked at their cups, and one man exclaimed his satisfaction. There was the sound of clothing being removed, and then there was a half-hard cock thrust into her face and a hand in her hair. "Suck me hard, slave," she was commanded.

And so the evening began. The slave never had fewer than two cocks inside of her, once the winner had moved behind her to thrust forcefully into her wet pussy. As time passed, the details blurred. All she could think was cock. All she could taste and smell and see and feel was cock. All she could hear was the blood roaring in her ears, and dimly, the sounds of their satisfaction as they pumped semen onto or into her. She lost track of how many times each man used her. She could no longer distinguish between the men, and was too exhausted to try.

She was released from the bench by her smiling master. "You have performed beautifully, my kajira," he told her, as he stroked her matted hair back from her face. He led her to the bathroom, and helped her into the shower, and turned the warm spray on, but not closing the curtain. As she let the water cleanse her skin, she became aware of the small group of men watching her. One of them stepped forward. "I won," he said simply, as he climbed in with her. Exhausted, she reached for the soap, and started to wash him. Gently, he took the soap from her, and began using it on her.

"Master?" she asked.

"Let me, little slave." With that, he slowly and carefully washed her. His strong and gentle hands awakened the fires she thought long extinguished. She moaned softly as she arched into his touch. "Exquisite!" he murmured. Then he turned her to face the wall and thrust his hard cock into her again, taking her slowly in the spray of the shower. Quickly, he brought her to climax. More slowly, he found his own.

Standing in the cooling spray, she slid to her knees, automatically kneeling in a posture of submission. He reached behind her and turned the water off, then stepped out to dry. He casually tossed her a towel, which landed in her lap. "Dry yourself," he told her.

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

She began to dry, but was still too tired to stand. Her master came in to check on her and found her half-asleep, shivering and damp. "Come here, girl," he said gruffly. "You’ll get a chill like that." Roughly, he scrubbed her dry, picked her up, and took her into the bedroom. Dimly she was aware that the coats were gone. She looked up, and asked, "Where are the men, Master?"

"They’ve all gone, slave, the party is over, and everyone is too tired for more. Are you satisfied, slave? Do you need more?"

"No, Master," she whispered.

"I do," he said. "Open your legs."

With a quiet moan of protest, she opened her thighs wide to accommodate her master. She felt his hard length slide into her, felt him thrust deeply into her belly. She fell asleep just as she felt him come inside her.