- 1 month ago
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She made it clear from the beginning that she was an exhibitionist. As a Dom, that worked perfectly for him when it came to his love of public sex. Not so much when it came to her fantasy of attending a masquerade orgy.
“You are mine. No one will ever touch you or fuck you but me.” She nodded eagerly. “Of course. I don’t want anyone else but you. But maybe there is a way we could attend together? And I just be naked on display? Or you could fuck me in front of a crowd?”
He paused, not liking the idea of anyone looking at his prize, even at the sort of establishment he knew existed. “Perhaps. But I will have to train you slowly. You will respond only to me. And it won’t be for awhile.” She nodded, lowering her eyes. Over the next year or two she never brought it up again but he did train her, wrapping his mind around the idea and how he would set it up. He knew of a place but she wasn’t ready…
Until tonight, as he told her when the limo approached the grounds, her eyes widening in that way which meant her pussy was instantly wet. Clearly she thought they were going to play in the car as they sometimes did, her naked and him clothed. Instead he produced a cape and a massive feather mask, escorting her on shaking legs into the foyer. The crowd gathered round. He was known from years back but he had never brought a sub here…ever.
“I will be by your side the entire night, always within arms reach. No one will touch you. And I will control you,” he whispered. She nodded and he stepped back slightly, allowing the maitresse of the party to pull off her cape and reveal her to hundred of hungry eyes. The crowd murmured. He looked only at her, reading her body carefully. Her nipples were tight into nubs and the gooseflesh raised on her arms. He came close enough to smell her arousal, then took her hand and escorted her through the anterooms.
“These are the newcomers,” he whispered, slowly leading her past the groups grunting and fucking. “All they want to do is fuck and leave. It takes years to get back to the deeper rooms.” She wobbled and he caught her. “Are you all right?” he asked with concern, stopping her.
“Yes,” she whispered, adjusting her mask. “It’s a little overwhelming, is all. I never thought you would bring me here.”
He pulled her close and put his forehead to the mask, finding her eyes. “It’s your fantasy. I’ve trained you for this. You are safe with me. If you want to stop at any time, you have your word.” She nodded and squeezed his hand, then they continued.
Rooms in the hall were full of partygoers. The light got dimmer, the air thicker and more hushed as they explored the depths of the endless mansion. He could feel her pulse bounding in her wrist, tight and vibrant as a violin string. Under his own cape he was thick and heavy, aching for what he had planned.
He came to a dark vestibule and took off her mask, presenting a harness he had arranged for earlier. “Put this on. It is a signal that you are not to be touched, as if you are my slave here, even though you aren’t. It is to keep you safe.” She nodded and slipped it on, then he led her further into the labyrinth. There was only an occasional light now and sounds from the rooms were muffled screams and groans. They came to one room where an ornate jester’s mask hung on the door. He put it on and paused with her.
“Do you want to continue?” She nodded, wide-eyed, and they stepped in.
There were about ten other people in the room, both men and women, all masked. She was the only one without one. He held her in front of him, making sure his hands ran over her possessively, grinding himself into her ass. She moaned and arched, trembling under his touch like a bird.
“This one is mine,” he announced to the room, his voice clear and demanding. He felt her relax. This was the tone he used when he trained her. “No one touches her but me. You are here for her, to watch her and learn from her skills.” Murmurs of assent from the group. He stood her up, firmly turning her face to his, catching her eyes.
“Is there anything you want to say?” She shook her head and squeezed his wrist, their little signal. He squeezed hers back and took a deep breath.
“Go to the other end of the table. Crawl to me on it.” She slowly walked to the end, riveted her eyes on him and started crawling on hands and knees. “Slowly,” he added. “Good sluts like to be watched.” She moved sinuously now, her leg and ass muscles rippling in the dim light. Mine, he thought. All mine.
She came to him and waited, eyes upraised. “Open your mouth.” She opened and waited as he slowly unzipped and pulled himself out, thick and straight for her. One of the watchers made a hungry sound. He felt a flash of heat, then focused on her again. “Keep it open,” he said, and started to feed her, gripping her hair firmly in a knot.
Up and down he moved her head until her saliva dripped onto the floor. Now she was ready. “Keep your hands on the table, eyes on me,” he ordered. Blue eyes fastened on his and he started to fuck her mouth, timing with her breathing. For several minutes he kept her like this, the stamina of her training showing through. It seemed he was feeding her breath with his cock, going deep just long enough then pulling back. He saw her eyes glaze and knew she was dripping wet.
“What are you?” he demanded, pulling out suddenly, long strings of saliva hanging from her mouth.
“I’m…I’m your slut, Sir,” she panted. Still she kept her hands on the table.
“And what does my slut get?” So good with her eyes, so attentive.
“Your slut gets your cock, Sir.”
“And what else?”
“Your slut gets to cum on your cock.” A murmur from the group. He glared at them through his mask, then lay down on the table, his cock standing up proud and shiny from his waist. Her saliva was everywhere all over his front.
“Ride me,” he ordered. She began to straddle him. “No,” he said. “Reverse, so you will be seen. Up on your feet.” She turned around and he supported her back, her hands on his shoulders. “On it,” he said in the same firm tone. Immediately she lowered herself and let out a sharp moan as he pushed up into her, then forced her hips further, locking himself inside. Her pussy quivered on him and he sensed the string of orgasms just waiting to be released.
“Fuck,” he ordered her flatly, urging her motions with her hands. “Look at my cock going in and out of you. That is the only thing that matters to you now.” Eagerly she pumped up and down, her hips tipped forward so the room could see the entire penetration. Their smell, their sounds, their heat wafted from the table and almost made a haze. “Faster,” he ordered. She was close, her legs buckling. He angled himself slightly and felt the first tremors. Grimly he held on. Here it comes, he thought.
“Do you want to cum?” he asked, harshly.
“Yes, please Sir, let me cum!” She was panting and whimpering now, her strokes short and erratic on his cock. He drove up into her and slammed her hips down at the same time. She screamed and gyrated on him, barely holding her position. Immediately he flipped her back down to the table and she instinctively held her legs wide, eyes struggling open, shaking from her orgasm.
“Eyes on me. Don’t stop. Stay open.” With those strident orders he began fucking her in earnest, hitting her spot each time with the head. Her pussy was one long continuous squeeze now and he fucked through her muscles, covered in sweat and cursing his mask. Still she came again and he fucked her limp, her eyes rolling back and legs shaking. The standing watchers were nothing but shapeless blobs around them, surrounding the hurricane on the table.
“Look at me!” he roared, grabbing her hair. Blue eyes flew open obediently. “Who do you belong to?”
“I belong to you, Sir!” Long, harsh, deep strokes, bearing down into her. She screamed, looking down and back up. “Whose pussy is this?”
“It’s your pussy, Sir!” She was sobbing now, a dripping limp mess.
“Open your mouth!” It was a grating demand. Her mouth flew open and he pulled out, almost instantaneously erupting on her with jets of cum, hitting her face, breasts and shoulders. “FUCK!” Still he came, a week of pent-up orgasms painting her. Immediately she began rubbing and tasting it, licking her fingers, eyes still fastened on him.
“You’re always mine,” he panted. “I’ve marked you.”
“Yes, always,” she whispered back, spreading it over her stomach now. He placed his hand over hers and they stared at each other for the space of a breath, rubbing each other’s wrist. Around them the observers slowly shuffled away. This was the custom. After the couple orgasmed, they were to be left alone.
As the door closed he tore off the jesters mask and pulled her into his arms, sitting on the edge of the table. She shook against him and clutched at his neck as he covered her face with kisses. “I can’t believe we did that, Sir, in front of everyone like that. But there was only you. And you fucked me so perfectly.” There was a sob in her voice.
“My darling,” he whispered, rocking her slightly. “My sweet sexy darling. You were amazing. You did everything I asked. Such a good girl.” His words flowed over her like honey and she relaxed, threading her fingers in his hair. They stayed like that for awhile, whispering and cuddling.
“It’s cold in here, sweetheart,” he said, noticing her shiver. “Too cold for you. Let’s go to the showers and there are hot tubs, too, private ones.” He gently helped her down.
“What about clothes?” she asked.
“I already have clothes for you here, everything is taken care of.”
She looked up at him with adoring eyes. “And after? We can go home and be in our own bed?” He paused. There were plush rooms available here but he understood.
“Of course, my darling. We can go home and shower there again if you want. And nothing but kisses and snuggles all weekend.” Her eyes softened even more and she touched his face lightly.
“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered.