At Your Disposal

Crawling across the floor, hands and knees making quiet thuds as I am driven forward by your voice. Embarrassment raging through me when I enter the room, the half dozen or so voices around us falling silent, expectation humming along in the air. Your hand in my hair lifting my head, not allowing me to hide my face, then your hand swatting firmly against my ass. Tugging and commanding me into nadu, then moving in front of me and ordering me to remove the shirt I am wearing. My gaze focusing on your feet, my fingers gripping the material of your shirt as I peel it off my shoulders, knowing full well that I will be reprimanded for wearing your clothing later. Taking care to fold the shirt neatly, using it as both a shield from the openly curious eyes and a way of delaying what I fear is to come. Finally laying the material aside, returning to nadu, my arms twitching only once with the need to cover myself, before my chin lifts, eyes still lowered. I lift my ribcage, lengthening my spine, shaking my hair back just slightly so the flame-colored curls brush between my shoulder blades. My back arching just the slightest so my breasts are more displayed, my thighs parted, palms face down on them, toes curling under in a balancing act, ready to react to your slightest whims. Feeling your gaze on me heavily, the eyes of others sliding over me, taking in each detail.

Your voice cuts through the rustling and murmuring in the room as you casually offer me, my services to any who wish. The knot in my stomach grows, twists when you casually turn on your heel and move away from my field of vision. My pulse races, my heart pounds, and all I can do is wait. There is movement around me, the conversations and discussions resume. Listening, but not concentrating on words, focusing on your voice, and waiting. Studiously ignoring the few women present who shamelessly flaunt themselves to you, tamping down on my jealous reactions.

A short time passes, two men and woman approach me. Standing in front of me, discussing me as though I was no more than a coffee table or chair. One man moves behind me, studying. His fingers trace over my shoulder, the woman steps forward and lifts a handful of my hair. My skin tingles, warning of your approach, and you pull me into a standing position. Your foot knocks my feet apart, your hand pulls my hair back from my face. One finger traces my spine lightly, possessively before you cross your arms and stand, entertaining questions.

Bodies circling around me, hands reaching out to test the texture of my skin, tug on a nipple to gauge my responsiveness. As though I was no more than a horse at auction, being checked over and discussed for stamina, endurance, flexibility- my face flames brightly in embarrassment. I am on edge, waiting...I can feel myself responding, mostly to you. Quick glances at your face show your eyes dark, hot, watching others touch meas you are discussing me with them. My eyes meet yours once, a quick smirk crossing my lips when you are heavily complimented on me, but that sardonic lift of your brows, that narrowed expression on your face has me hurriedly dropping my gaze again.

The woman who was there first is the last to move away, her fingers flicking roughly at my nipples before she leaves. I stand, my eyes lowered but watching you. With one quick hand gesture you command me to the center of the semi-circle and back in nadu. Waiting quietly, for a very long time, my mind wandering, ignoring the talk of men and flirtations of women. The lash of your flogger against my thighs snaps me back to attention, and I realize that I was spoken to, commanded, and wasn't obeying. My head bows in apology, but you are already up, moving around me. Your hand on the back of my head pushes me down on all fours, murmurs rippling through your guests. Your flogger whips lightly against my side, barely skimming, more of a tickle, then the other side, before you whip it against the backs of my thighs, my ass. Stinging, tickling, pleasure and pain, my skin heating as your work around me, flicking it lightly, then sharply over me. Building, always building into a faster pace, faster lashes. My throat stings with tears, but whimpers and moans and tiny cries forced out by you keep them at bay. My hips begin a rhythm of their own, both rocking away from you and towards you. You know my arousal, you know me better than I know myself...You stop suddenly, press the handle of the flogger between my legs, making me yelp and shudder. Sliding it over my sex, my body responding to the hard slide of it against me, hips rocking back with intent, a shuddering groan pushed out of me. You move, lift my chin, look at my face and see what you wanted to see- your finger points, whether randomly or by specific choice, and you simply say "service".

I crawl, arms shaking, legs trembling, to the man you pointed to. In a daze pulling on his clothes, freeing his cock to my mouth and hands, and obeying. Taking him in, nearly functioning on a strictly automatic level, but too aware of you watching, too aware of your conversations and flirtations with others. My body on an edge, held there, hovering.

His taste is not yours, his scent not yours. He is gentler, his hands on my head, he is quicker to come. I barely rock back on my heels, turning my head, moving so that he is not coming into me, on me, before another is standing in front of me, commanding me himself. He is rougher, harsher, more vulgar. Using me- but when I start to pull away in displeasure, your booted foot against my ass keeps me from moving. On all fours, exposed, skin heated and sensitized. Hands stroking over me, pinching, pulling, tugging. Smacks against my ass, not by your hand- smaller, more delicate. Two hands pulling my ass open, a finger trailing down and against my clit, then back up to press inside me. My mouth working steadily, body starting to become overwhelmed with sensation.

Behind me is the unmistakable sound of clothing rustling, dropping. Voices murmuring, the smack of kisses and quiet giggles, sultry laughs, soft moans. Your growling laugh. I move, but not fast enough, and the man in front of me comes, smearing it across my chest. I lean back, nearly into nadu again, but your hand is pushing me down to the floor. I glance at you in surprise, but lower my mouth to her. I hear your growl again, but whether it is from my actions or the bare-breasted woman in your arms trying to charm her way into your bedroom, I can't be sure.

The woman in front of me, under my mouth comes hard, quickly, then again, then a third. Other hands stroke over her, I move backwards, returning to nadu. The third man, to the relief of my aching jaw, is otherwise occupied.

Your hands scoop under my arms, dragging me backward and onto your lap. Facing sideways, turning my head to look at you, I see your eyes move over my tousled hair, my lips, still damp and swollen from use. My chest, smeared, breasts heavy and aching and nipples throbbing, my thighs damp and trembling and you just taking it all in. Feeling you hard under your clothes, pressing against me, wiggling to find more pressure where I need it, but being shoved off your lap, told to crawl back to the bedroom, clean up, wait for you.

Trembling, needy, crawling back down the hall. Quickly showering, the hot water stinging my skin, raising all the lashes back to vivid memory, nerves singing. Toweling off carefully, sitting quietly on the bed, the sheet wrapped around me. Waiting, wanting to touch, to find quick relief from the ache, the need, but obeying. Sort of. Laying back on the mattress, letting my forearms brush over my nipples, teasing. Twisting them gently, making me squirm. Closing my eyes, one ear tuned to your foot steps coming down the hall, letting my hand drift over my stomach, fingertips just barely at the red curls between my thighs. Hand sliding lower, fingers curving inward just enough to glide a fingertip over my clit, my hips bucking instantly. Wanting more, needing release, but forcing myself to turn on my side, no touching.

Drifting off into a light sleep, waking to find your hands on me, over me, pulling the sheet away again. Arching up, into your touch, sinking into a haze of pleasure, then snapping back when you snap the cuffs on my wrists, then lift me bodily off the bed and place me on the floor, snapping the locks into place on the bed post. I sit on the floor, tugging once, twice on the short chain in frustration as you drop a pillow and blanket on the floor and turn on your heel and walk away, laughing as I curse.