by Ella Ford
I went home that night, not even thinking about Imelda or her party, and settled back into rebuilding my life after the trauma of my breakup with Josh.
For the rest of the week, I didn’t hear from Karen at all and the conversation faded from my mind completely. Then, on the Saturday morning, my phone chirped, indicating a text message had arrived. I flicked it on and read the text - it was from Karen:
It’s on. Imelda will send a car to pick you up at 7pm. Be ready. Enjoy yourself hun xoxo
I blinked and read the message again, at first unsure about what she was referring to. Then the conversation came flooding back to me and I descended into a blind panic!
I couldn’t go to a lesbian sex party! I wasn’t even a lesbian … surely they would spot that? What did lesbians even do with each other? I had a vague idea, some fleeting glimpse of porn that a previous boyfriend had made me watch with him. It seemed to be a flurry of tongues and hands, but I had no idea about the mechanics of the act! Oh god, I couldn’t do that!
I picked up my phone again and tapped out a reply to Karen, apologising and making some lame excuse or other. My finger hovered above the “send” button, trembling with nerves and fear. But something held me back, something prevented me from sending the message and escaping from that curiously compelling fate. What was it? Was it desire? Curiosity? Lust? Had I harbored a secret lesbian nature for my entire life?
It seemed to make sense to me. My lack of success with men, my attraction to relationships that were doomed to fail, the feeling that something was missing with the losers that I dated. And more, the way I saw women, the way that I made Karen tell me every sordid detail of her sapphic encounters. Could it be that my entire life had been leading up to this moment, that my earlier casual speculation about “trying women” was merely my subconscious nudging me in the right direction? Oh god, what was I about to do?
With trembling hands, I hit the delete key and erased the message.
I spent the rest of the day in a whirlwind of activity. After recovering my wits, I nearly sprinted downstairs from my apartment and hailed a taxi, then headed downtown to pretty myself up. If I was about to enter the world of lesbian society, I sure as hell wanted to look my best! I started with my hair, tidying up my cute blonde bob. Then I had my nails done - fingers and toes - with a seductive red polish. Finally, and most traumatic of all, I waxed my pussy. It wasn’t the first time I’d suffered through such a procedure, but it was by far the most comprehensive. I decided to treat myself (and the other party guests) with a full Brazilian. Oh fuck, it hurt like hell, but the result was worth it! My pussy was completely bald and as smooth as the day I was born.
For the rest of the day, I stressed about what I was going to wear. What on earth did you wear to a lesbian sex party? Dungarees? I had no idea. After tearing apart my entire wardrobe until the floor of my bedroom was lost beneath discarded piles of dresses and skirts, I finally settled on a loose summer dress with a pretty floral print. I finished off the outfit with a pair of gorgeous wedge sandals that I’d been saving for a special occasion. Hell, if this wasn’t special enough, then I don’t know what would be!
I stepped back and studied myself in the mirror, fussing over details and tweaking my accessories until I was certain that I was the best rookie lesbian I possibly could be!
As it turns out, for all the time that I spent wearing it, I needn’t have spent half as long on my outfit!
---
“Take off your clothes and get on the table,” said Imelda. The stern looking, middle-aged woman hadn’t even said hello as I was ushered into the dining room by a pretty looking blonde maid.
“Excuse me?” I managed to reply, slightly flustered after the long car ride across town to Imelda’s apartment. The whole day had seemed like a whirlwind of activity, culminating in this terse greeting and odd request. I wasn’t quite sure whether she was serious or not.
Imelda sat back in the burgundy leather chesterfield and crossed her legs. At first glance, you might have mistaken her for a school teacher or some other disciplinarian figure. She wore a smart beige business suit with a black satin blouse. Her hair was gathered behind her head in a neat bun, and she wore delicate glasses on her shapely nose. Her face was serious and businesslike, with high cheekbones and penetrating eyes. Yet for all her strict appearance, there was something seductive and sensual about her.
Her blouse appeared one size too small, stretching across her ample breasts with a tension that stretched at the buttons. Her skirt was short, ending well above the knee and revealing long legs that were clad in seamed, nylon stockings. The shoes she wore were precipitous and tall, slender stilettos that would have crippled me within five minutes of putting them on. But most of all, there was something in the way that she peered at me over the tops of her librarian glasses. The way her eyes crawled over my body, glowing with hunger and desire.
“Katrina isn’t it?” she asked pleasantly, and I nodded my reply. “Katrina, I’m not sure if Karen explained how my parties work, but we have certain expectations from our first-time guests. Call it an offering if you like … kind of like bringing a casserole to a bake sale. Only, you’re the casserole!” she said, smiling at her witticism.
“I … yes, Karen mentioned it … but I thought …” I stammered, not really sure what to say, and suddenly realizing that in my flap about settling on an outfit, I had barely even thought about what it meant to be the “centerpiece”.
“If you don’t want to be here, then I can call back the car …” she purred, teasing me with the prospect of escape.
“I … no, it’s fine … I’ll do it,” I replied, suddenly resolute but still quivering with nerves.
She clapped her hands together and smiled warmly. “Excellent! Then take your clothes off and climb up on the table. Let’s get you strapped in, the first guests will be arriving shortly!”
And with that, I became the centerpiece. A willing toy for the amusement of Imelda’s insatiable guests.
---
After the twins left me, the ice appeared to be broken in the dining room. Women approached me without any of the earlier apprehension about using my body in whichever way they saw fit. For the next few hours, my awareness became fuzzy, leaping from encounter to encounter, a seemingly endless parade of women who had only one thing in mind: pleasure - either theirs or mine. The guests blurred into one, fractured glimpses of beautiful women, touching me, caressing me, entering me, smothering me.
I was dimly aware of activity around me. The earlier polite conversation had descended into frantic coupling, naked flesh and roaming hands. The air in the dining room became thick with the scent of desire, rich and vital, a heady cocktail of sex and perfume. The moans of the fucking women rose to a cacophony of lust, cries of pleasure, cries of pain. And as the bacchanalian orgy gathered pace, my body was teased to the very limits of my tolerance. Each sordid encounter imprinting on my mind in flashes of intense ecstasy.
A tall blonde woman who could have been a supermodel approached the table and leaned down, kissing me deeply. I opened my mouth, allowing her tongue to probe me, relishing the suffocating smell and taste of her, the feeling of being completely at her mercy. She kissed me for endless minutes, then was dragged away by a petite brunette.
An older woman, demure and refined, lingered beside my body, eyeing me warily, seemingly hesitant about going further. She seemed embarrassed, out of place, yet brimming over with unfulfilled desire. I met her gaze, and smiled at her as warmly as I could, tacitly granting her the permission she sought. With trembling hands, she caressed my warm skin, lightly stroking my stomach up to my breasts. Then, with a deep breath, she leaned over and licked my nipple. I moaned, urging her forward, desperate for the release I craved. With growing confidence, she sucked me, her hands exploring further afield until her fingers found my pussy. I writhed beneath her, forcing my hips upwards in an attempt to guide her hand. Then she stood up straight, looked slightly flushed and wandered off.
I came almost immediately. The attention of the party guests had left me wound tighter than a clockspring and the unexpected intensity of the girl’s mouth nudged me over the edge and beyond. My pussy exploded and a bafflingly intense wave of pleasure rushed outwards to fill my entire body. Every muscle in my arms and legs spasmed and I tugged frantically at the wrist and ankle restraints that held me in place, suddenly needing to be free, to expend the energy that had build up inside me but unable to do so because of my prone state. And then the orgasm released me. My body went limp, a discarded ragdoll with no life left at all.
The girl stood up and wiped her mouth, then took a sip of her drink. A voice from across the room called out and caught her attention, then she staggered off and left me, breathless and exhausted.
My vision shrank down to a dark tunnel and I felt the sweet kiss of oblivion and surrendered myself to it.
---
An unknown time later, I was woken by a light tapping on my stomach. I struggled back to consciousness, forcing my eyes open and blinking rapidly to focus.
Standing to my left was a tall brunette. She was heavily made-up and her raven hair was slicked back into a very tight ponytail. Her features were sharp and well defined, high cheekbones and dark eyes, emphasized by the thick blush of her makeup. Her lips were dark and intimidating, deep scarlet and pouting. She wore a leather corset that was tied tightly and pulled down to reveal her modest breasts. The twinkle of a piercing caught my eye in the hard nub of her nipples.
In one hand, she clutched a riding crop, which she was using to lightly stroke my body. In the other, she held a pair of leashes. At the other end of the leather cords was a pair of naked girls, a blonde and a redhead. Each girl wore a thick, leather collar, to which their leash was attached, and each was blindfolded with a soft, black, satin mask.
The mistress teased her riding crop up to my breasts and lightly traced around my nipples. Then she raised her hand and brought the crop down on me, causing a sharp crack as it landed on my flesh. I squealed and struggled in the restraints, suddenly confused and fearful at this harsh awakening.
Before I could recover, the mistress continued to lightly stroke me once more, then raised her hand, higher this time. I tensed my body and held my breath. The crop fell on me once more, producing the same sharp crack. I held back my cry this time, instead gasping at the stinging pain on my sensitive nipples. It hurt awfully, and I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Yet beneath the pain, there was something else. I found myself craving the next strike, and the contrast of the light caress. My mind raced, struggling to process the complex emotions that were flooding through my head.
“Pet, up,” said the mistress, her tone commanding and dominant. She tugged on one of the leashes and the blonde girl stepped forward, unsure about where she was stepping. She groped before her until she found the edge of the table, then hopped up to perch on the edge.
“Good girl,” said the mistress, reaching forward to stroke the girl’s cheek. The blonde girl purred and leaned into her mistress’s touch. “Now, behind you is a girl. I want you to sixty-nine her. There’s a good pet.”
Without hesitation, the blonde turned her body and rose to her knees on the surface of the table. I studied her with eager eyes. Her body was young and fresh, still possessing the perfection of youth. Her pussy was bald, a perfect pink slit that disappeared between her creamy thighs, and her breasts were high and perky, with puffy nipples that demanded attention.
She reached ahead of her, patting the table as she sought my body. Then she found me and I shuddered as her manicured fingers worked their way up my warm skin. Her touch was hesitant and halting, exploring me as she attempt to orient herself. She found my face and lightly caressed my cheek, then shuffled forwards and swung her leg over my head, facing in the direction of my legs.
I gazed upwards, peering into the neat folds of her pink pussy. She was highly aroused and dripping wet. Whatever her relationship with the mistress was, she clearly enjoyed it. I found myself wondering what it would be like to live such a life - to be a collared pet, the property of another, an object for pleasure and amusement. I felt a flush rise up through my body, filling me with feelings of longing that I had never experienced. Perhaps it was the blonde slave and her perfect pussy, or perhaps it was the intensity of the whole experience, but I found myself succumbing to a depth of desire that I couldn’t have imagined possible.
The girl spread her legs and lowered herself down on to my face, and I eagerly rose to meet her. My tongue flicked out and I lapped at her young lips, savoring the exquisite taste of her passion. She moaned, the first sound I’d heard her make, and squirmed down further so that my head was pinned against the table. Then she leaned forwards, laying herself over my body, her breasts pushed against my stomach, and plunged her tongue into my pussy.
I gasped, simultaneously surprised that I had any feeling down there after the frantic attention that my loins had seen and delighted by the feeling of the blonde pet’s warm touch.
“Pet, lick her asshole,” I heard from my left, and became dimly aware of another set of hands groping my body, feeling their way down my legs. I braced myself, distantly aware of what was about to happen, faintly curious about what it would feel like, any apprehension I may have ordinarily felt lost with the remains of my modesty.
I felt soft hands grip my ass cheeks and spread them apart. All the while, the blonde continued to lap at my clitoris, working my throbbing pussy unrelentingly. I struggled to remain focused on my own task, struggled to keep my own tongue moving in rhythm.
And then the redhead probed my ass and my mind exploded. It was intolerably pleasant, like nothing I’d ever experienced before or since. She pushed forward without hesitation or fear, driven by the will of her mistress, hungry for the taste of my ass. My entire body shook as the twin motions of the blonde and the redhead worked my pussy and asshole, and I momentarily stopped working on the delicious pussy that covered my face. The blonde moaned indignantly and wiggled her hips, pressing down on my nose and mouth. I took the hint and got back to work, mind racing with the intoxicating feelings that were washing over me.
Suddenly, there was a sharp crack and the blonde’s body tensed. “Thank you mistress,” I heard her whisper as she raised her head from my pussy. Then without hesitation she got back to work.
Again, another crack, this time from the other end of the table. The frantic licking of my asshole stopped and the redhead cried out her surprise. “Thank you mistress!” she said, then plunged forward once more into my ass.
I braced myself, knowing what was coming next. Sure enough, the swish of the riding crop and a sharp crack, then a sting of pain on my thigh. I gasped, body tense and shaking from the mixture of sensations. “Th-thank you mistress,” I managed to stutter, then continued working the blonde’s clit.
On it went, a heady mix of pleasure and pain. The endlessly pleasant feelings from my pussy and ass, the frantic rhythm of the two pets as they devoured me, and the periodic crack of the riding crop against my tender skin. My mind began to slip, my sense of self started to evaporate as the orgasm built in my body. I longed to reach up and pull the blonde pet close to me, to feel her against me as much as possible, to merge ourselves into one endless loop of pleasure. But I was hel
d fast, strapped to the table by the leather straps, arms unable to move even an inch. All I could move was my head, so I redoubled my efforts, plunging forward, working her exquisite pussy as with endless enthusiasm. I stopped only to thank the mistress for the gift of pain as she brought the crop down on my feet, my arms, my ass.
And slowly, my climax approached. Not as urgent as before, my tired body had been pushed to its limits and the response was sluggish and labored, but it built within me nevertheless. This slow build up, this gentle escalation, made it seem all the more intense. And when my body reached that point of no return, the looming release seemed all encompassing and vast. I felt myself shying away from it, attempting to pull my body away from the two pets as they worked my ass and pussy. But I was trapped, fastened to the table and locked to my fate. I relented and turned to face the coming onslaught, releasing myself into the approaching storm.
Then the blonde girl’s body went tense. I felt her legs squeeze my upper body, her arms wrapped around my thighs and gripped them tightly. She screamed out, “Oh yes! Oh yes!” and her head lifted from my pussy. But it was too late, the constant probing of my asshole and the unfolding orgasm above me pushed me over my own precipice.
I allowed it to wash over me, marvelling at the force of feeling as it rose through my body, engulfing every sense and firing my nerve endings with an electric intensity. I felt myself slipping away, ripped apart by the wave of pleasure, reduced to nothing by the raging inferno. I became aware that someone was screaming uncontrollably, then realized that it was me. I kicked out, pulling at the ropes on the ceiling. My body arched upwards, straining the leather straps and slamming my breasts into the stomach of the blonde girl. Every muscle fibre in my body sang with joy, and I feared that it would never end. Hoped it would never end.
