Adventures in Wonderland

"Good girl," he croons in her ear. "So quiet, and so very wet. Now that I've fucked you with my fingers I'm going to fuck you with my mouth. Remember that you mustn't make a sound, no matter what."

With that, his head is buried between her thighs and it's all she can do not to scream. He plunges his tongue deep, then licks the whole length of her pussy, from the sensitive spot just above her anus all the way to the tip of her swollen clit, over and over until her whole body arches, pushing her cunt against his mouth. He switches then, wrapping his lips around the hard little nub of her sex and sucking at it, gently at first and then harder. She gasps and grabs the back of his head, thrusting and bucking against his mouth, her juices flowing over his lips and tongue.

"That's my good little sex kitten," he whispers. "But you must wait for me. Don't come yet."

His words almost come too late, but with a supreme effort she holds back the waves of pleasure threatening to sweep her away. If he demands it, she can wait, although the strain has set her blood pounding in her head and her muscles are knotted like iron bands. She knows he can sense her strain because he lets her rest for a few minutes, merely stroking her back and hips gently in the moonlight as the shudders wracking her body slowly subside.

At some point he must have removed his clothes, although she wasn't aware of it, because now she can feel the warm lean length of his body pressed up against her back. Then he stretches up one hand and grips her wrist again, making her gasp anew with the awareness of his power over her. His other hand wraps around her breast, squeezing and pulling her nipple, as he shifts his hips and she feels the hard throbbing pulse of his penis slide between her thighs, slipping into the hot wetness there and then withdrawing. She lets out a small gasping sob of hopeless desire.

Rolling her over onto her stomach, he grabs a pillow and slips it under her hips, raising her dripping wet cunt to the moonlight like a chalice. Face thrust against the bedspread, arms outstretched, knees wide, she is completely open to him. Without another word he is upon her, his long hard cock thrusting deep, stroking the inside of her cunt while his fingers continue to caress her clit. She has forgotten the source of her desire, forgotten the spanking downstairs, forgotten everything but the fact of her own need. Gasping and writhing, she grinds her ass against him as though she wants to pull not just his cock but his whole body inside her.

Just when she thinks she can't stand any more, he leans forward and whispers softly, "Now. Come for me now, my love." She does, and the world explodes in light.

Tuesday

"Mark is going to 'top' Jen and we've been invited."

Maybe.

She sleeps gloriously late the next morning, and wakes to discover that the night's planned festivities may be put on hold, as hangovers reign, a sure sign of poorly mixed drinks. She's surprised to find that she's more relieved than disappointed. The intensity of her reaction last night, combined with the fact that it was all so public, makes her uneasy. Previously unconsidered facts now come bubbling to the surface of her mind.

I hardly know anything about Mark and Susan, aside from the fact that they come to this party every year.

I've never had a sexual encounter with more than two other people, and now I don't even know how many people will be there.

I'm not entirely sure what "topping" might entail. What if it involves...?

She's not even sure how to end that last thought. Her imagination is entirely too vivid. She confesses some of her fears to Benton and he is not immediately reassuring. "Last night was only a taste of what's to come. If that made you uncomfortable...." He leaves the sentence unfinished, but she knows what the words would have been: "...you'd better rethink."

The part upstairs last night was wonderful. Maybe she should just stick to what she knows.

On the other hand, Benton is really excited about the whole prospect, and she knows he would be disappointed if she backed out, although he might not say so.

Maybe it will be postponed and she won't have to decide right away.

She finds herself on a kind of hyper-alert all morning. On one hand, she is listening for any hint about whether Mark plans to go ahead tonight or postpone to later in the week. On the other hand, she is watching feverishly for clues as to who this man is and what she might expect from him. She has never dealt well with uncertainty, and right now she feels uncertain about so many things.

Throughout the morning she watches him. He was relatively abstemious the night before, and spends the morning tending to child and hung-over wife, to all appearances the quiet, dutiful husband. Nobody else notices that smile, which flits across his face when he thinks nobody is looking. Damn, he's hot! Handsome in much the same way as her own husband – long and lean – but more devilish. With his deep-set eyes, his strong nose and his aura of mischief, he reminds her a little of Vincent Price. And sometimes she can see his mind wander: his eyes become slightly unfocused and his mouth curls into a wicked, crooked grin that says all too clearly that he has had "a wonderful, awful idea." She realizes she is fascinated by his mouth – not only the deliciously dirty mind she suspects is revealing itself in that smile – but by the thought of the naughty tricks that mouth might know. Damn! There's that shiver again.

By lunch time it is clear that the plan is on. She's going to have to make a decision. And she's still not sure how she feels about this man, the one in charge of the night's planned festivities, this Master of Ceremonies. Sexy, yes, undoubtedly. But can he be trusted when faced with a woman helpless with desire? How much ceremony, and how much master?

She feels slightly dizzy, a little out of control. She realizes that she doesn't know what she wants, and that's scary in itself. Deliciously scary.

When they go out for lunch, Benton reminds her that they have been invited to watch, and that Jen will be the focus of Mark's attention, not her. She finds this reassuring and at the same time curiously disappointing, but she tries to hide her confusion. After lunch Benton takes her shopping, as a little reminder that they will be together and he will be in charge of her. They wander around the store for a while, enjoying the gentle titillation of discussing fantasies and plans in a public place, and have fun discussing which of the many outfits there Jen – who once expressed intense interest in seeing her wear a full fishnet bodysuit – might like best. With that in mind, they pick out some fishnet, some elbow-length satin gloves, some cloth restraints that are more token than restraint but which come with a blindfold, and a thin leather collar. "To remind everyone that you are mine," Benton murmurs, as he picks it out, and she realizes that there's no way she is going to miss this night.

Now she just has to wait until midnight.

Downstairs

"Mark is going to 'top' Jen and we've been invited."

It's almost midnight. Tingling with anticipation, and more than a little nervousness, she goes into the bathroom to get ready. The thin leather collar has a comfortingly familiar feel, and the satin gloves make her feel elegant. The new fishnet bodysuit is merely a V, with chains that ring cold against her chest, making her nipples hard, and a thong that runs up the back. She's never worn a thong before, and it is both surprisingly comfortable and extremely erotic, like having a leash laid alongside her pussy. She feels that she might follow no matter who tugs at her string, and wonders with a tiny shiver where she will be led tonight. She covers herself with her sweats, pulls up her hood to hide the collar, and opens the bathroom door to find Benton waiting. With a gesture, he makes it clear that she is not to speak, and she follows him mutely down the back stairs to the basement.

It is dark and cold and musty-smelling, like the basement of any old New England house. It is surprisingly large as well, and she willingly gives herself up to the feeling of being led through a dark maze to an unknown destination. Benton leads her through several dank rooms, around corners, and up and down steps, until she is thoroughly disoriented. Suddenly he pauses next to a large tarp.

Behind the tarp is a slightly warmer, candle-lit space with some blankets and cushions scattered around on benches, surrounding a central mattress. At first, all she can see is chains. Over the mattress there hangs a set of very bright, very strong-looking chains, with cuffs attached. With an effort, she tears her eyes away from that sight to see Jen, huddled on one of the benches, wrapped in a blanket and looking soft and vulnerable. She feels a stab of pity, thinking her friend might be sorry she'd come, then the lovely dark head rises at their entrance, and Jen lets the blanket fall open. Their eyes meet and she can see the fierce flame of desire burning deep in Jen's eyes, the naked body underneath the black chiffon baby-doll dress, the full breasts with their dark nipples, already hard from cold or excitement.

Benton leads her to a bench near Jen, and silently gestures for her to disrobe while Jen watches, hungrily. As she removes her clothes, she shivers at the touch of the cold, dank air on her back and the links of chain across her breasts give off a tiny shimmering sound. Benton has disappeared behind her somewhere and it is just her and Jen. She has never been sexually drawn to women, but Jen's eyes are alight with a fierce, burning desire that strikes a deep chord of recognition within her.

I've known this woman half my life, but I've never seen her like this. She's gorgeous.

She realizes suddenly that Mark has entered the room, that he is stripped to the waist, and that the smile is back. Her whole body seems to come more awake in his presence, and the subtle straightening of bodies around her suggests that everyone else in the room has the same reaction to this man. Master of Ceremonies, indeed. She can feel the sense of command radiating from him, and it makes her dizzy.

Mark steps forward and checks the chains, then grasps both of Jen's hands in his own and pulls her up from her bench so that the blanket falls to the ground. He watches with apparent pleasure as the touch of cold air causes a shiver to pass over her, contracting her nipples even more and raising gooseflesh on the skin of her back. With a solemn look and clearly some pressure of his hands he makes it clear that Jen is to kneel at his feet. He then leans over and whispers the words she must repeat, urging her to speak loudly enough for all to hear:

"I give myself to you utterly, such that your demand is my desire."

Watching her transformed friend, hearing her say these words, she lets out a small gasp that no-one else hears, as an electric shock courses through her body, setting all her nerve endings aflame with an erotic charge more powerful than anything she has felt before. This cannot be all her own excitement. Somehow she is feeling Jen's arousal as well, echoing and amplifying her own in unexpected ways.

Susan has entered the basement room now as well (when did she come in?), and Mark's first command to his new slave is to help Susan dress in her new leather bustier and strip off her pants to reveal her g-string. Although she herself has been given no command – no permission – to help, she can't resist the excuse to touch. What's happening to her? She's never been interested in women's bodies, not sexually. But the skin of Susan's belly is like a magnet, and to help wrap it in stiff leather her only desire at the moment. And although she can't see his face, she knows that Benton is behind her and appreciates the sight of her, nearly naked, on her knees, with her face next to Susan's warmth.

When Susan is dressed, and has seated herself where she can easily see the proceedings, Mark grabs Jen's wrists and pushes them into the manacles, chaining her up in a standing position before the others. Then he grips the thin black nylon of Jen's shift in his vice-like fingers and tears it like tissue, leaving her naked and exposed, vulnerable and beautiful. Her skin is golden in the candlelight, her raven locks are tumbling over her breasts, and the curve of her belly is nothing less than a gift from the gods. There is a gasp, and a tremor of desire ripples across the amber flesh and is echoed around the room. He grabs Jen's long black hair, gives it a tug to bend her head back, and reaches between her legs with his other hand. "She's so wet," he murmurs. From the sound of the gasps he must have thrust a long finger deep inside once, twice, then he's gone, leaving Jen moaning, hanging in her chains.

Her awareness slowly expands beyond Jen's face and she realizes that she and Susan are both sitting on the benches, staring hungrily at the panting woman in the chains. Her breathing is ragged, her nipples aching, her pussy dripping wet. She is nearly helpless with desire, and nobody has touched her. Nobody has even looked at her, she thinks, except Jen. For a moment she thinks she is alone in her helpless lust, then she glimpses Susan's face and knows they are joined in the sisterhood of desire.

Suddenly Benton rises from where he's been sitting quietly and approaches Jen. Like Mark, he is stripped to the waist, and he is lean and pale in the candlelight. Without a word, he goes to stand directly behind Jen, puts a hand in the middle of her back and simply pushes her gently forward – demanding that she surrender even her balance to his desire – until she is on her toes, her whole weight hanging by the chains, helpless. Silently, he leaves her there and steps away, perhaps not even knowing that he is leaving three women hanging, waiting helplessly for the Master to return.

Mark is back, and he's got a paddle in his hand. He smiles devilishly when he sees Jen hanging, off-balance and vulnerable, her long dark hair falling forward over her flushed face, and the other two women watching her with glazed eyes. Benton steps back and kneels down where he can see Jen's face as Mark steps forward and raises the paddle, looking back over his shoulder to make sure Susan has a good view.

CRACK! The paddle comes down and she can feel it, somehow, in her own flesh, the cringing and the shock of it. The double gasps she hears suggests that she is not alone in this sexual telepathy, and the realization heightens her own arousal. Mark is clearly aware of the effect he is having, and the sense of power seems to inflame him. Again and again he strikes, until all three women are panting and flushed.

Benton is kneeling in front of Jen. Gently, he reaches out and takes her chin in his hand, whispering, "Look at me." She shakes her head and keeps her eyes lowered, until Mark says harshly, "Do what he tells you." She looks up then and appears to be instantly paralyzed by Benton's intense blue eyes, a deer caught in the headlights, a rabbit in the predatory gaze of the fox.

"Does it hurt?" he whispers, sounding vaguely curious.

"Yes," Jen moans.

"Good." The faintest of smiles touches his lips. And then, "Do you like it?"

At this question Jen freezes, motionless despite the continued crack of the paddle against her buttocks. A look of purest terror comes into her eyes as he locks his gaze on hers, willing her to tell the truth, pulling out her deepest secrets and sharing them with everyone present.

"Yes," she breathes, finally. He gives a tiny nod, approving.

"It doesn't matter if she likes it," says Mark matter-of-factly. "She's only a sex toy, after all." As if his words are a release, Jen relaxes with a shudder of relief that shakes her whole body, and the other two women quiver in sympathy.

Mark throws down the paddle and reaches up to unhook the manacles, but only to re-hook them lower, so that Jen is kneeling with her arms bent and her hands over her head. Benton slides slowly back on to the bench, seemingly content to watch what will happen next, but his breathing is rapid and shallow and the heat is coming off his skin in palpable waves.

Mark steps in front of Jen and pauses. He looks up at Susan, who nods, glowing. With this assurance, he unzips his pants. His cock, when he takes it out, is beautiful. Long and large and firm, it dances in the air in front of Jen's face as he murmurs, "Suck it, my slave. Give me pleasure." With a little moan of delight, Jen lunges forward to the length of her chains and slides her moist, full lips around the firm round tip, pausing for a moment to do something with her tongue that makes him gasp. He grips Jen's hair and thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock deep into her mouth until he hears her breath stop. He pulls back, then pushes forward again, slightly less deep, and Jen whimpers, sucking desperately and trying to swallow all he offers her.

As the rhythmic dance continues, she realizes suddenly that she is straining forward, as though she is the one sucking that magnificent penis while in fact she is aching to be the one on her knees before it. She is gasping in rhythm with the thrusts and is barely aware of Benton's hand on her back, feeling her excitement. As Mark suddenly pulls out and steps back, she shudders, licking her lips as though her tongue could taste his pleasure.

Mark unhooks the manacles and lets Jen down gently on to the mattress, where she lies quivering and panting, licking her own lips, hands still bound over her head. Susan comes down off her bench and kneels next to Jen, reaching out a hand to stroke the quivering breast, suddenly pinching the nipple and eliciting a sharp intake of breath. Mark kneels on Jen's other side, reaching behind him with one hand and picking up an enormous double dildo he has stashed there, holding it up so all can see and clearly reveling in the gasps and murmurs as all imaginations race ahead to the possibilities. Jen is writhing and twisting in her bonds, but Susan's grip is tight on her nipple and she can't move far. Benton is by Jen's feet now, one hand resting on a knee.

Knee. Her knees hurt. She realizes she has fallen forward, and there is only a thin comforter between her knees and the cold cement floor, but she doesn't care. All she can see is Jen, gloriously golden and black before her, aflame with passion and writhing with pleasure, wet and pink before her eyes as Mark thrusts the dildo deep into her throbbing pussy. She *is* Jen, riding high on waves of desire.

Over and over Mark plunges his tool into the core of the woman before him, making each penetration vibrant and passionate, drawing out moans and squeals of pleasure and longing. Everyone has drawn close to the fire of Jen's passion now, warming themselves at her flame and burning with her.

She herself can hardly breathe. She can feel the arousal of the woman beneath her hands, but also of Susan next to her on one side, of Benton on the other. She can even feel the heat radiating from Mark. The waves of tension and partial release are building to an almost unbearable peak. It seems the combined sexual tension of many people across many years is rising to a crescendo in the body of the woman writhing and moaning in the center of the circle. She is nearly helpless with desire but she is not alone in her delicious torment.

Suddenly there is a collective intake of breath. Jen's body arches, and there is a collective moan as an orgasmic wave washes out from her to sweep them all up in its depths. Jen contracts into a fetal ball with a shudder and then relaxes, and there is a collective sigh of satiation.