The Card Game

I could, however, sense that some of the original 7 men had quietly left the room. Perhaps not able to muster another raging hard-on, they wouldn't take the risk in front of their friends; Or in front of me. But there were still many breaths in that room, and I knew that they would not remain silent for long.

Suddenly, a sharp tingle of pain shot across my bound breasts, stretching from the outside edge of the bindings on my left tit, up over the painfully engorged nipple, slightly down into the valley between the two and back up onto the right breast, peaking at the nipple. The straight line of this pain indicated a strap, and the slightly rough texture as it was withdrawn told me that it was leather. Snap- another strike, this time across my belly and up the underside of my right tit. Immediately, another stroke followed, this time catching the left tit first, causing me to gasp in pain. I wasn't being beaten, exactly, but I was definitely being strapped without regard to the tender condition of every exposed bit of my flesh.

There was movement, sensed but not seen. As a fourth stroke of the strap crossed both nipples, distracting me from any other movement, hands grasped me, evidently untying the upper bonds. Supported by these unseen hands, I was suddenly bent forward; arms outstretched, and positioned face-first into the lap of someone who possessed a hard, large and growing cock. Of course, this dick was immediately plunged into my mouth, as I was barely aware that the ties on my wrists were being fastened again, this time somewhere beyond the man whose cock was swelling in my mouth. My legs and knees were still locked to the chair, my ass was exposed high in the air, and my face was impaled on yet another unfamiliar cock. And, throbbing as they swung, my tits were now hanging down between my bondage-master's strap and the man pinning my face to his dick.

Snap! The strap came down stronger now, lying fully across my exposed ass cheeks. I moaned, and as I did, became aware that men were also moaning a bit, but in obvious arousal as they repositioned themselves. A new phase had started, that was obvious...Snap! Another sting across my ass.

A guttural voice that I nonetheless recognized as my man's voice in full arousal caught everyone's attention.

"The rules of bukaki are simple. I get to control the spanking, whatever I choose to spank with. You get one more shot to dump your wads on her or in her before I choose where I'm going to sink my dick. And I'll keep spanking when and what I want until you assholes can get it up enough to coat her, inside or out. "

I could feel the movement as hands went to dicks. Movement under my suspended body indicated at least one man was heading back to my tits, perhaps aiming to dump his last load there or on my belly. Snap! Again the strap smacked into my ass. And immediately following, it laid across the other cheek.

I could feel and hear my man's heavy breath as he laid the strap across my ass, then reached for something. Zing! A different feel, a different instrument, but no doubt also wielded by my man. This time, a starburst of light pain collided with my left breast, stinging the side and across the nipple. He must have picked up a brush-ended piece of...what? A rope, a cord, a riding crop? Whatever it was, it was being applied across both my breasts, and though the strokes were light, their repetition was beginning to make me wince deeply. It hurt, especially when those threads of something slightly stiff, slightly brushy contacted my nipples. I could feel my tits swinging below me, and the increasing pace of what was now most likely 3 or 4 men aiming their dicks at those tits and jerking off for all they were worth. As I jerked with each stroke, my pendulous boobs were occasionally bumped by dicks in full hard-on mode.

Evidently my man had this new spanking instrument in one hand, but had kept the strap in his other. Just as my tits felt like they were going to explode from the pain, I was distracted by a stroke across my ass from his other hand. I moaned and struggled against my bonds. I yelped in pain as a stoke landed in one place or another.

And with each movement, I could feel the hardness and heat from the dick belonging to the man holding my head and shoulders in his lap. He wasn't stroking his own dick- he was letting me keep it at full attention, woven into my hair and pushed hard against my head. And it was having the same effect on him that the other guys were getting from the visual stimulation of my reddening breasts and ass, and my total helplessness, and from the auditory input of my moans, yelps, little screams and even the smacks and zings of the spankings.

His dick was not in my mouth. He'd dipped into that warmth, but at my man's words, had withdrawn. But suddenly, his cock was pushing roughly against my mouth, my face, my hair. His grip on my shoulders tightened, and I could feel his body tense. Now the moans were not only my own- the man in front of me, and several around and under me, were making noises to accompany their pursuit of pleasure and the closeness of their goal.

The first streams of cum, hot and thick, hit my face forcefully, just as another stroke was laid across my ass and tits simultaneously. I could feel it coursing down my cheeks, taste it on my lips, and feel the hot sticky liquid coating and pooling in my hair. He kept coming and coming, perhaps not spilling as much fluid as the first time that particular man- who, I couldn't begin to tell- had emptied himself in and on me tonight, but making up for it in how long he could draw out the orgasm.

The spanking was just irregular enough that I couldn't predict or prepare for any rhythm. My writhing continued- I couldn't help myself. My ass was glowing hot, ringing with pain and trying to escape the next blow. My tits were heavily swinging, partly through my movements, partly through the strokes of the brushy whip, and partly because the men below me were anything but careful to avoid my flesh while they reached toward yet another orgasm. Cocks bumped raw nipples, speared against my cheeks and face, and made little waves of breeze as man after man sought that pinnacle of release yet again.

I wasn't expecting the wet stickiness that suddenly hit my left titty. Another guy was shooting his last as a surprise shot, not touching me with his dick, but letting the results of this hot sticky scene drive his pulsing cum. He was grunting with pleasure, somewhere between the many hot breaths, pistoning hands and slaps of the ongoing spanking.

From the right, another stream of wet cum was jetting onto my ass cheek. The strap now splatted a bit as cum pooled on my ass, and began to run down my crack and into the raw opening of my over-handled pussy. My man was slowing his strokes with the whips, but still letting me know he was there, was in control and was ready to make good on his promise to impale me with his dick wherever he chose, once these guys had spilled any cum they had left on any part of my body they chose.

It was almost beyond comprehending, the amount of man-juices that were being spilled on my body. I couldn't count. There was cum hitting my titties, cum sliding down my belly, cum spattering my face, cum sliding across my ass. I was covered in the hot, sticky substance, and as the strap stopped hitting my skin, perhaps because there were no more spots not made slippery by the onslaught of male cum, I could begin to hear groans of completion in every direction. Men breathed heavily, but I could tell by the ahs and ohs that they were finally running out of steam, however steamy the scene and the atmosphere continued.

If my man wanted to enjoy displaying me to these men, he had certainly gotten his fantasies' worth. I was bound and helpless to his desires, with cum coating and flowing across my body. I could not imagine, even if I could see beyond the blindfold, a single spot on my torso and thighs that did not have someone's cum pooling on it. My face was cum-streaked and covered with a blindfold, my lips swollen after what, 4? or more men had battered my mouth and dumped their cum down my throat. My hair was wild with their hands running through it, and stiff with the cum that had, intentionally or not, been spilled into it.

My tits were still bound with silken ties into peaks that stood straight into the air and swelled with the restrictions on their soft flesh. My nipples were so sore that even the air against them hurt, having been pinched, bitten, sucked, flicked, pulled and whipped. My ass had also been strapped and spanked with countless hands. It glowed still, and also ached from the best pounding it had ever endured, an ass-fuck to beat all ass-fucks. Cum slid down the cheeks, and teeth marks branded both sides.

My pussy had been handled and stroked, most expertly. And I had lost count of the number of orgasms that had burst from it. The whole long evening, one man after another had not only taken his own pleasure but had also had given me a share of that sexual satisfaction. Fingers, fabric, tongues and dicks had stroked against my clit, and while no cock had managed to make its way to spilling a load within my pussy yet, plenty of cum had been spilled or aimed at its lips and its entrance.

The minutes stretched, and the atmosphere turned from a hands-on search for repeated satisfaction from all seven men to one of a show, a performance. And I was the performance art, still displayed for them. But while interest in the show remained high, I could tell that need for release, desire for immediate gratification of their carnal desires had move into a satisfied and slaked mode. Bottles clinked, caps popped as the men started to feel and fill another thirst, beyond their thirst to explore, experiment and conquer me sexually. But as each drank deeply, they turned their attention back to the body on display.

My entire being was exhausted, raw and consumed with the "don't touch it" tingling of repeated and thorough orgasms. Dimly, I was aware of running water in the background. Another glass touched my lips, and I drank deeply of the good champagne. I was drifting, not really aware of the several hands that gently were loosening the ties on my feet, knees, arms. I felt the release and rush of blood at the unwrapping of the ties that bound my tits into their unnatural peaks.

Strong arms lifted me from the ottoman. My arms and legs were stiff from being contorted in bondage. My man, who I recognized with some primal understanding of his scent and the feel of his arms, lifted me. Slowly, he was lowering me into a warm bath. I floated for a moment, then sank slightly. Leaning my head back, I felt the tangled hair release the fluids that had been spilled into it. As if in a dream, my hyper-sensitized skin was washed clean with gentle strokes. Limbs that had been pulled and stretched were now being massaged gently, while my head was lifted to drink yet again of the champagne.

This time, as I was helped from the bath, I became vaguely aware that my man's dick was again beginning to stir. Although it had pumped what seemed to be a gallon of cum into my tight and cramping ass only a little while ago, I sensed that there was more on his mind.

As I was guided back into the room, the layout had changed. The chair, the ottoman was no longer present. The strong table where we'd played cards what seemed forever ago was now cleared of glasses, bottles and the other debris of the debauchery that had occurred. Now the table was covered in some kind of a throw, something that looked slightly soft and sensual.

The men were all there, in various attitudes of relaxation. Some sprawled on soft chairs, sofas, some leaned against the bar and wall. I was guided to the table, without a shred of resistance. Indeed, I had no energy to resist, to even think. Submission to my man's hands and will were absolute.

My man left me naked and leaning against the table, half supported by it. One of the other men handed me the champagne glass, taking the time to run his hands over my tits as if to remind me, and everyone in the room, that at least HE still wanted to touch those tits again and again. Another man stepped forward to wrap me in a soft, fluffy towel, and to blot the last of the water from my body. Still another pressed a towel to my dripping hair, wrapping and squeezing it to begin to dry my red strands.

Master had moved to the bar. A line of shot glasses appeared, and a bottle of Patron was on the bar next to them. One man filled the shots, as my man picked up a dish of salt, and a bowl of cut limes. Ah, the next piece of our performance art: body shots.

I winced at the thought of my raw nipples being doused in lime and salt, but I knew my role. Several hands lifted me onto the table. A cushion was positioned where it would support the middle of my back, thrusting my tits once again into the air above my now-prone body.

"The slave girl is my vessel for drinking, and the receptacle of my cum. She opens to you only at my choosing. She opens to me at my whim. Spread her!"

With that, firm hands grasped my ankles and wrists. Once again, I was spread-eagled, open to their eyes. But there was no doubt; the visual treats were at my man's commands. Any further treats they wished would also be at his command and his control. No doubt who ran this show.

"Pin her", and the hands exerted enough pressure that I could no longer move. My breasts, still swollen, still hard and still with bright red, raw nipples, pressed into the air. The drip of each drop of lime teased my left nipple, stinging painfully but also stimulating it into even more hardness. I could feel this hardness from within.

His fingers pinched a bit of salt, then sprinkled it slowly over my nipple. Again, pain, but in a mix of pleasure. And slowly, he bent and licked from the base of my tit, far from the lime and salt. He traced up the swell of my mountain of boob with a firm tongue, and by the time he reached the tracing of lime and salt, I was anticipating the touch of his tongue on my nipple. He took his time, barely tasting the edge of the salt, lapping slowly at it, as the sexual tingle in the room took a renewed if detached hold.

Finally circling the little mound of nipple, he savored the salt and lime on his tongue. Then, grasping my boob in his hand, he bent the nipple to dip it into the shot glass of tequila he pressed into the breast. I jumped at the sharp twinge of the alcohol touching my rawness, but the heat it created also soothed. He bent his mouth to taste the salty swell of my tit beyond where the nipple soaked in the tequila, then shifted his lips enough to take the shot without removing my nipple from the shot glass. He seemed to take the liquor and my nipple in the same moment, sucking hard on my tit.

A movement to the left, and another lime wedge was being dripped on my left tit, while my man still sucked the right one with his tequila-warmed mouth. Someone else was involved now, at least setting up the shots. This time, the lime was being rubbed against my nipple, and the friction as well as the acid of the lime was stinging my nipple into painful erection. I noticed that the man's fingers were also becoming involved, rubbing my nipple along with the lime.

But quickly the fingers moved on to the salt.

This time, a hand firmly grasped my whole left tit, and dipped it into the salt dish. Another shot glass was pushed hard into my tit, indenting it deeply. With the salt-encrusted nipple now dipping toward the shot, my man shifted himself to this tit and licked again. Again, his tongue circled my nipple; again nipple and tequila were consumed in one movement.

I realized that my man had now slaked his thirst, for tequila at least. However, the clink of glasses continued, as shots were being poured amid the spectators. Just as if they were a group of intense fans bonding over a shared event, they were now enjoying my performance at the slight distance created by the fact that most were no longer "in the game", but it did not diminish their evident enjoyment. In fact, they lapped it up as if they were storing the experience for future visitation during their solo fantasies.

And I suspected that was exactly what was on their minds.

A few, however, Louis, Steve, and Ted all came to where I lay and partook of "Titties and Tequila" as my man called it. All ran the stinging lime over my nipples and coated them with the burning salt. Both men dipped my nipples in the tequila and sucked them down his throat, or at least tried t with my tits. Louis stepped away while Steve took his turn and came back with margarita glass full of tequila. He looked at my man and said,

"We still good with this?" and my guy answered.

"You know we are, my brother."

With that Louis slid his huge black cock into my mouth and fucked it for at least 10 minutes. Finally, as sweat poured off his body, ran down my face and onto my tits, he grunted loudly and spilled a last massive load of sperm into my mouth. There was so much, that I couldn't swallow it all and some ran out the corners of my mouth and even out my nose, causing me to choke a bit.

When he finished, Louis pulled his rapidly deflating cock out of my mouth, wiped the last drops across my face and then held my head up while I took several mouthfuls of Patron, feeling it burn down my throat and into my stomach, and then he laid my head back down as he took my left breast and stuck it into the margarita glass. He lowered his lips to the glass and inhaled my nipple and the remaining tequila. Then, he and my guy licked my tits from nipple to cleavage, doing their very best to clean any remaining tequila from them.

While all of that was happening, Ted had decided to take a shot off of my pussy mound. While he was setting it up, he slid his fingers between the lips of my cunt and teased my worn clit again. I was moaning softly as he slid one finger into my sex and slowly pumped me as he took his shot. When he was finished, another hand replaced his and I felt a tongue lapping at my pussy. Its soft touch was soothing, but it made me squirm, making it more difficult for those who were enjoying my splayed tits.

But, my man's ideas beyond letting them finger fuck me and lick my pussy. What was on my man's mind was displaying his ownership of the body that had been revealed to them, used by them and now was displayed again for their enjoyment. Part of that ownership was the right to take his pleasure. And he was going to display that, too.

"On your knees."

Not un-gently, I was released and immediately sank to my knees in front of him. He gestured, and of course I understood. I grasped his dick and balls gently, and sank my mouth over his erect but not yet rigid cock. Tongue, lips, fingers worked in synchronicity, and my mouth stretched to hold his growing mass. Faster I bobbed my head, circled the head of his dick with my tongue. And shortly, he reached down and cupped a tit in each hand, lifting me. I arose without hesitation, and allowed him to position me on the table, my ass resting on the cushion that had earlier supported my back while my tits reached skyward.

Every man in the room was intent on us. No longer ready, and in most cases, no longer able to consider another immediate cum, they acknowledged my man as my master, my owner, and the man ready to mount me. But their involvement continued: they all had seen every bit of me, explored my flesh and had their needs aroused and then met in some way over the last several hours. They were now ready to watch my man take his own pleasure. It was not exactly sloppy seconds, as I'd been used and then bathed prior to this last performance of pleasure. No one had actually filled my pussy to this point, but I had certainly been coated with all of their cum. They had each had a piece of me; now they would watch my master complete the domination and somehow still own part of that domination.