Good to go.
Ain’t those the damndest words for a modern sex slave?
Max has prepared me well.
I am a wearing a dog collar, but I’m not attached to a leash. Max has inserted an anal plug with a white, furry dog tail that sprouts out of my butthole like a . . . well, tail. For extra stimulation, he has clipped two metal clamps in the shape of dog paws on my nipples. These are connected by a mesh of silver chains to two similar clamps on both my outer labial lips.
The anal plug is slender and triangular in shape, and it sits snugly in my rectum like an old friend. It amazes me that I have become so comfortable with plugs and clamps that I actually relish the substance and feel of them upon and inside me.
It’s a venerating mix of emotions when I’m decorated this way. It’s the comfort of humiliation and debasement . . . I know, I know. It sounds awful and screwed-up. But it’s the truth. I have come to accept that I find a weird sort of inner peace in my humiliation. It’s like I’ve in my personal sexual Nirvana.
But I’m not visible to anyone. I’m under a boardroom table – one that is bedecked with an expensively-textured tablecloth. Ordinarily, boardroom tables aren’t covered (I mean, from what I know about boardroom tables). But I know why this one is. It’s because I’m underneath – as some kind of cake/stripper-style surprise.
Up there, voices drone on. Russell Devlin is having a client meeting. I haven’t met those clients, of course. And they are all talking shop.
“ – oil-gas piping is necessary under the Pacific Basin – ”
“ – signed contract, of course – ”
“ – the terms and conditions aren’t favorable – ”
And yadda yadda yadda. Not exactly the most interesting stuff to me, so I find myself studying their accents instead.
Russell is with his three clients, wrapping some sort of major deal that involves billions and shareholders and stuff I can’t even wrap my head around. There’s a man with a Russian accent, though – unlike Russian movie stereotypes – he speaks very good English. There’s another with a Southern drawl, and yet another with an upper crust British accent, who sounds remarkably like Colin Firth. I study their expensive patent leather shoes and the hems of their trousers as I sit upon my folded calves, contemplating what I must do.
It’s the only way I can sit comfortably with my tail. The tablecloth is tented with their knees, and I’m reminded of the time when I was seven years old and scurrying under the table at a wedding with Karyn. That was back when both of us were innocent and playful in the way only children can be.
Russian guy taps his feet a lot, while English gentleman keeps very, very still, so that I have to keep checking if he’s still alive.
I have also been given a cue.
Russell Devlin says in his characteristically gregarious manner, “And now, to cap our agreement off, I’ve arranged a little surprise.”
There comes the sound of a door opening. Footsteps pad into the boardroom, and I can see the shiny black shoes of the waiter in the narrow space afforded between the tablecloth’s tasseled fringe and the plush carpet with Arabian motifs.
There are murmurs of appreciation.
“Dom Perignon, Russell?” says the Russian.
“1945. A very good year. No, please sit. Brady will come around to pour.”
Brady’s feet move from client to client – pausing beside each pair of shoes.
This is my cue.
I crawl on my hands and knees to the Russian. Raising the tablecloth so that his knees and lap are uncovered, I kneel before him. As soon as I place my fingers upon his fly, he jumps and almost falls out of his chair.
“Relax, Nikolai,” Russell drawls. “Just sit back and enjoy the entertainment.”
The Russian pauses for a minute, and then begins to laugh. He has a loud booming laugh, which is so infectious that the rest of the room begins to laugh right along with him. My fingers and thumbs are shaking as I pull down his zipper. At least he keeps still enough for me to do this. Behind me, the tablecloth is being raised. I assume that Russell’s other clients would like to see what the ‘entertainment’ is all about.
Light seeps in all around me. There is an audible gasp from the Southerner.
“What has she got back there?”
“Crawl in and find out for yourself,” the Englishman rasps.
“Awww, why don’t you come out, sugar?”
“All in good time,” Russell promises. “There’s plenty to go around, trust me.”
The Russian is wearing green silk boxers, and as I pull down its waistband from the front, he lifts the tablecloth and folds it back upon the table’s surface so that his crotch and my face are revealed. My heart skips several beats as his bright blue eyes stare down at me. I find myself staring back. The blood thrums in my ears.
What if he doesn’t want me?
We lock gazes for what seems like an eternity. Then the Russian’s wide mouth curls in a lopsided grin.
“Go on,” he tells me.
I lower my eyes to his semi-erect cock in front of my face. It is medium-sized but thick, something I can easily take into my mouth. I slide my lips around its shaft, flicking my tongue around its large triangular head. The cock grows turgid inside my mouth, and I squeeze my cheek muscles around its length.
The Russian begins to breathe harder. He doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“I’m gonna have to watch this,” says the Southern man.
There are scrapes of chairs being pushed back. I can sense the press of bodies gathering around the Russian although I keep my eyes firmly trained on his pubic hair. The temperature in the boardroom soars. I suck and lick with all my strength in my cheeks. I am quite the expert by now at sucking cock, and so I take his rod fully into my mouth, swallowing the tip of it down my throat.
“Marvelous,” The Englishman breathes.
They are right beside me. From the periphery of my restricted vision, I can see their dark woolen pants and jackets and feel their radiated body warmth.
“Haven’t seen any girl who can do that yet,” says the Southerner.
“Then you haven’t been watching enough porno, Timmy.”
I suppress my gag reflex as I start to pump his cock in and out of my throat. I fashion my mouth into a fleshy tunnel so that Nikolai can get maximal friction out of my fellatio. I bob my head – vivid back and forth movements that allow my lips to polish the full length of his shaft. In goes his head to the back of my tonsils, and then out again up till the ridge that circles his crown.
In the midst of it all, I let my tongue roam all over his meat. I make circular, butterfly and zigzagging movements. I’m gratified to hear Nikolai groan.
“You can see how good she is at this,” the Englishman says. “Where did you find her, Russell?”
“She’s a contracted slave.”
There are surprised murmurs. I pay them no heed as I continue to suckle Nikolai’s hard cock. Some part of me glows with the praise. I like being told I’m good at something.
“A slave? Are you serious?”
“Yes, very. She’s yours to use as you please.”
“ No shit.”
From Nikolai’s increasingly labored breathing, I can tell that he’s close to coming. He lays his hands on my head now, and his fingers dig into my thick mahogany hair.
“Can I fuck her?”
“Of course.”
Nikolai grunts as his fingers rake my scalp. I pull with all my might with my cheek muscles, and he cries out as he releases his hot semen into my mouth. The spurts catch me on my hard palate, and I quickly withdraw my mouth halfway so that I can taste his load on my tongue. His sperm tastes of bitter almonds and sour cream and everything a man’s sperm should taste like.
“My God,” Timmy, the Southern gentleman, says breathlessly, “she swallows too.”
“Let’s have a look at her.”
Hands pull me up, and Nikolai’s now limp and very wet cock slips out of my mouth. I find myself staring into the eager and flushed faces of three other middle-aged men, all of whom are beyond forty-five. Their crotches wear obvious bulges.
“Stand up straight and let these gentlemen have a look at you, Gina,” Russell orders.
I raise my palms to the back of my neck as Russell taught me. It’s the best position to display myself, especially as I place my feet moderately apart so that they can see and touch my pussy better.
“My word.” The Englishman toggles the dog tail in my ass.
Timmy tugs at my nipple clamps.
“Beautiful,” he breathes. “I want to fuck her here, right now.”
His hand reaches down for my labial clamps. He pulls at the shivering chains adjoining my nipples to my pussy lips, and I shudder as two of his fingers dip into the furrows around my clit. A trickle of pussy juice leaks out from my vulva.
He massages my clit as he parts my outer pussy lips.
“Ohhhh,” I moan.
“You’re a right sensual creature,” he says to me in a low voice.
As he continues to erotically stroke my pussy, the Englishman behind me gropes my buttocks. His fingers probe around my anal ring, feeling the way the plug fits within my tight sphincter. He tries to prize the tip of his index finger in between the hard plug and my tender flesh, but there’s barely room to maneuver.
I spread my legs wider to accommodate both men. Russell gives me a nod of approval. Somehow, this sends a course of satisfaction flooding through me. I’m becoming such a docile sex slave. I have only one mission in this room – to serve Russell, my ultimate master, and do whatever it is he tells me.
Timmy withdraws his fingers, sticky with my creams, and puts them on my lips. I eagerly open my mouth to suck them. I must admit to becoming excited by all this attention. The adulation and desire for my body is evident in the room. Nikolai gets up from his chair, and instead of pulling up his boxers, slips them wholly off instead.
Russell clears a space on the boardroom table, which is cluttered with documents, folders and pens.
“Just push her down and take her there.”
The men in the boardroom have begun to undress. Yes, even Russell. Ties are eased off. Jackets and shirts shrugged off. Shoes and socks unlaced and abandoned. To help them, I sit upon the table in an attempt to lie back. It’s a fairly difficult task since the tail is a bouncy distraction.
“Come, let me help you.”
Russell supports my shoulder and waist as he presses my back and head down against the hard wooden surface. The tail juts uncomfortably out of my ass, raising my entire groin, and my clamps pull hard on my nipples and labia. It feels like sitting on a doorknob. My legs trail down and I have to clamber at the table for purchase.
I don’t have to let them trail for long, however. Timmy, now fully naked, comes to me and grasps both my knees. He’s fairly nice-looking, even if his face is weather-beaten and the corners of his eyes are crinkled. He reminds me a little of Bill Clinton, actually, with his whitish hair and big smile.
“You’re a pretty little thing, sugar,” he says as he raises my thighs. His naked body has become between the wide arc created by my legs.
I hold his gaze as his cock rubs against my vulva. His irises are a clear brown, and he appears amused as he pushes his tubular rod into me. I am being double penetrated, with the tail in my asshole and his nicely proportioned shaft sliding soundlessly inside my pussy, and it feels just right – the way it’s meant to be. The way I’m meant to be.
“How old are you, sugar?”
He spears me all the way to my cervix so that his hairy pubis slams against my clit and the tight clamps that squeeze my labia so exquisitely. My taut nipple and labial chains shiver. From my view, my body is a beautiful latticework of silver.
I gasp at his intrusion.
“Old enough,” Russell Devlin replies with a grin.
The Englishman holds his erect cock in one hand and begins to pump it vigorously. With his other hand, he strokes my right breast, tweaking the naughty clamp that clenches my reddened nipple so snugly.
Timmy begins to rock against my hips as well. He is rough and discordant, grunting with every thrust. His cock spreads my vagina and pulses with every jerk. His thick head pummels my thin vaginal walls – here, there, everywhere. The plug in my ass jostles with the rigor my groin is subjected to. It’s good, rough sex. Maybe even cowboy sex, I would like to think – though I have never really made out with a cowboy.
The door opens. I turn my head. My eyes flutter wide in surprise as I see Greg – naked, a dog chain around his neck. He’s nervous, and he immediately notes my encumbered position and the state of general nudity in the room.
“Come in, son.” Russell waves.
Greg steps in, licking his lips, and for the first time, I notice that he is holding a taut leash. To my further amazement, that leash is attached to another dog collar – studded and red – which is fastened around the slender white neck of a very naked and flushed Alice.
Alice!
My mouth falls open in an ‘O’ of shock.
Alice is decorated as I am – with dog paw clamps on her nipples which are in turn connected by gold chain filigree to her pussy. But instead of dividing into two separate labial clamps like mine, hers terminates in a single clit clamp. By the looks of her reddened clit and pinched cheeks, it’s a very tight clamp too. Her body is slim and beautiful in a way that only supermodels or people who live on salads can be. Her breasts are large and firm, and her areolas are darker than mine.
Oh yes, she is beautiful. I can see why Greg desires her.
I can also see why Max desires her, even though my suspicions are wrought only by glimpses of the covert touches they give one another, and half-whispered conversations that have so much hidden meaning.
Down at my own clamped pussy, Timmy continues to viciously drive his cock into me.
“And who’s this?” the Englishman asks, pointing his cock towards Alice.
My heart squeezes in my chest. Surely Russell isn’t going to fuck his own daughter in front of his clients? I wouldn’t put anything pass this whacked-out family, but it’s still . . . weird. And sick. And kind of erotically stimulating in some twisted, whacked-out way.
Russell says, “Just think of her as another contracted sex slave . . . for the day. Bring her in, Greg.”
I can see the lump moving in Greg’s throat as he yanks at Alice’s chain. He doesn’t want to be doing this, I realize, even if he’s upset with Alice over what happened to me. Alice shuffles reluctantly behind him, and I can see that she has the same dog tail sprouting out of her asshole like me.
“What did I tell you, Greg? Make sure she’s on her hands and knees like a real dog.”
Alice glares at her father balefully. Greg is clearly distressed as he turns to her and tugs her neck downward.
“You can do this,” he whispers in concern.
Tears glisten in Alice’s eyes as she gets on her hands and knees. I’m not sure if the men in the room other than family are aware of the undercurrents or the tenuous relationships that connect four of us. I’m willing to bet not. Greg leads Alice to an open part of the boardroom just before the sliding projection screen. Nikolai and the Englishman immediately crowd around her fragile body.
Russell nods to Greg. “Leave us. That will be all for today.”
“Please, sir . . . be gentle with her.” Greg glances at me. “With both of them.”
“I did not give you permission to talk, slave. You will be punished for this later. Now leave us.”
Timmy gives both my tits a sharp squeeze as Greg – ashen-faced – walks out of the room. “You keep your eyes on my cock, sugar.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the Englishman mount Alice from behind. As he penetrates her pussy, slamming his pubis hard against the protuberant tail in her asshole so that the anal plug is driven even deeper inside her, she lets out a harsh cry. This is quickly engulfed as a kneeling Nikolas quickly shoves his hardening cock – the very one which I have milked dry earlier in my mouth – between Alice’s open lips.
Both men start to fuck both her orifices hard, even as Russell taps Timmy on the back.
“Why don’t you slide her over to the corner of the table, Timmy?”
Grinning, Timmy pulls his wet cock out of my soaking pussy to comply. I can see what they have in mind. Even as Alice is being triply penetrated against her innermost will, they position me diagonally across one edge of the table near to where Alice is being taken. This way, both my head and hips dangle over the side.
Timmy immediately impales me with his cock again as Russell moves to my back-flung and very vulnerable head. My long mahogany hair trails to the floor. His massive cock is very straight and flagpole hard as he edges to my face. From my upside down vantage, I can see his smiling lips.
His eyes . . . they are watching his daughter get fucked from all entrances as he grabs my hair – not gently.
“Open your mouth, Gina.”
I obey, and before I can take any further deep breaths, he crams his large cock into my mouth. The intrusion is so sudden and alarming that I choke and gag. He does not allow me any leeway, though, and he holds my head in a steel grip as I attempt to recover.
“Breathe through your nose, girl,” he says kindly, even though his touch is anything but solicitous.
I attempt to steady my breathing. He does not let my hair go as he starts to jerk his huge penis in and out of my mouth. There is no way I can swallow the length of his shaft – he is too huge – and so I settle for grazing the tip of my teeth against his tight skin instead. His girth is such that my tongue has no room to maneuver. I can only allow my jaw muscles to surrender to his brutal fellatio.
We make very strange threesomes – agonizingly side by side – as the men grunt and fuck their way into the depths of our erotic holes. Skin slides against sweaty skin. Barks are uttered, and moans burst frequently from parched throats . . . throats that are not stuffed with human meat, that is. Squishy sounds squelch from wet pegs in dripping passages, and the air is redolent with the smell of lust, sperm and pheromones.
I can’t really see anything beyond Russell’s balls pressed against my nose and cheeks, of course, but I know he is not watching me, but Alice.
I can’t tell how long this continues, but my cheek and jaw muscles have begun to ache as Timmy finally gives a long-drawn cry. His liquid heat ejaculates into my much-massaged pussy. I can feel the warm gush of fluid flooding my every crevice – sticky and pliant and viscous. It laps at the puckered mouth of my cervix, and I arch my back into the table and allow my own orgasm to mount.
“That’s right, sugar.”
Timmy’s fingers squeeze my clit – the very clit that is imprisoned between my two tortured labia. Despite myself, I ascend into my climax – a climax that has long been denied me. My pelvic muscles go into a blitzkrieg of spasms and shudders, and I can feel my bones rattling in their casings. It has been so long . . . so long.
I scream into the copious flesh of Russell’s cock. I scream against the tubular head wedged in my throat. I scream against the pounding in my head, and the hands on my pussy and breasts and stomach. All of a sudden, I find myself screaming into the air, because Russell has withdrawn his cock from my mouth and he’s spurting his hot semen all over my face – where it runs down my cheeks and nose and eyes and into my screaming mouth.
The sperm tide continues to geyser from both sides, until I’m so filled with sperm that I don’t know where I begin or where I end.
I’m hoarse and tired and wet and satiated. My muscles judder their final jolts, and then go slack. I can taste Russell’s sperm on tongue, but I’m too sore and fatigued to swallow.
And through it all, I can see that his eyes have never left Alice – naked and on all fours like a dog, and being fucked in the mouth and pussy by two of his clients.
It’s sick, I know. And so twisted.
“You know,” Timmy says between pants, “it might be a good idea to bring Gina here to the auction. What do y’all think?”
Auction? My ears prick out despite being deafened by my own screams.
Russell’s beautiful mouth spreads in a slow smile.
“Why just Gina? We’ll bring the both of them.”
