Centerpiece

This story features a fully consensual BDSM scene, involving bondage, group sex, and minor pain, including a burn.

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"Beautiful," my Dom says, almost to himself.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Well you too of course, though I was talking about my ropework," he teases.

While I'm certain the intricate ropework crisscrossing my chest is gorgeous, my blindfold means I have to take his word for it.

"Then thank you, Sir, for the beautiful ropework."

My shoulders are bound to one end of his coffee table, my knees are bent up, heels to butt, to tie my feet to the other end, and I am indeed grateful for these ropes.

"You're welcome, bunny. But you just reminded me."

He doesn't finish the sentence, I just feel something press against my lips.

Obediently, I open my mouth to accept it. The taste of metal surprises me, but before I can wonder about it, the ring flips into place, my Dom pulling it tight behind my teeth. He secures the gag with a buckle, rendering me speechless and incredibly helpless- and aroused.

I feel a throb between my legs as my jaw is forced and then held open. It doesn't matter what or even if he puts something in my mouth; the knowledge I wouldn't be able to stop him has me wet already.

"There now, that's better. Horny little sluts should be seen and not heard, isn't that right?"

I don't know whether I'm meant to reply, so I stick to an obedient silence.

"I said: 'Isn't that right?'"

I try to moan a "Yes, Sir," around the gag, but it is of course completely unintelligible.

"I didn't hear you, slut. I asked you a question."

I let out a pleading whine.

"Disobedient whore, you answer me when I talk to you," he reprimands.

The flogger flashes lightly over my breasts. My core tenses involuntarily and my eyes roll back; I love when he punishes for things that aren't my fault. He strikes me several times, but we're still just warming up.

"Look at these perfect breasts," he sighs, massaging one with appreciation. "These perfect nipples..."

I feel his tongue, then his lips, then his teeth working over my nipple, coaxing it out and then making me gasp.

"Ohhh there we go." He attaches a clamp, but doesn't close it as tightly as usual. My hips still arch off the table just a bit as he adds the second one the same way.

The thwack! of the flogger between my legs surprises me. What did I do?

"Hold still!" Dom commands. I'm being punished for lifting my hips? "You're my toy tonight, and you don't move unless you're using a safeword. Understood?"

Gagged, I nod my head, but it earns my pussy several more strokes. "That looks like moving to me," he growls. I stay still. But then,

"Would you look at that. This horny, dripping wet cunt got my flogger all wet. Disgraceful, we'll have to punish you for that, too."

My Dom steadily works the flogger over my exposed lips with increasing strength. The cords of leather work my skin hot and raw- and I only grow wetter. But my confusion is also becoming aroused, unsure why he's making up so many things to punish me for.

"There, I think we're almost ready."

Ready? A zing of excitement slices through the uncertainty. What are we ready for? I hold my breath, anticipating what new games he has for us to try.

"Oh, but one last thing," is the warning I get before I feel a well-lubed butt plug start to press inside me.

"We want you looking your best for the guests! Put on all your best jewelry, have a shiny little gem to cover your asshole, like a modest little whore."

My excitement tenses into anxiety. Guests?! I knew he planned to take me to a party later, but I thought we'd be done with our scene before then, and I didn't know he was hosting!

My heart races at the thought of what that could mean for me. The house parties I've been to have always stayed just on the safe side of an orgy: a spinning bottle excuses shy kisses, bolder caresses restrain themselves to quiet corners, memories deliberately hidden inside liquor bottles. But this, this was so different in so many ways.

I'm just not certain how different, or in exactly which ways. Not only am I completely naked and tied down before anyone arrives, they knew this was coming when I didn't. Nor do I know how far this is supposed to go, but I imagine the guests do (I know my Dom would never involve anyone in a scene without their consent). The mental dynamic is another way I am made to feel powerless, since the only thing I can do is wait and see.

I am, however, grateful for the plug. Not only do I enjoy the degradation of having my asshole dressed up with the jewel, it is also a silent promise that anal play is not on the table tonight. I need that reassurance, because my ring gag makes a very different promise.

I'm grateful, too, that he blessed me with a blindfold to mask my face and help me submit to the night. The gag and ropes are another blessing: they relieve me of the responsibility of having to meet anyone, obey any orders, or respond to any questions. I just have to accept whatever is done to my body- my silence and immobility reducing me to an object.

This would also strip away the sliver of control I always maintain: my safewords. So, we adapt the trusty traffic-light code to two colored balls. My arms were left free from the ropes, and with a red ball in my left hand and a yellow one in my right, I can always drop them if anything starts to become too much.

"Excited for the party now? I am, I'm excited to show off my new centerpiece!"

When the first couple arrives, they act surprised to see me. But instead of being drawn to my naked form by curiosity, they feign discomfort. This drives me wild, allowing me to pretend that he really did just throw a party with me unexpectedly displayed in the middle of the living room. I also feel warmed by the care it shows that my Dom put so much effort into preparing such an elaborate scene for me, indulging my long-time fantasy.

As the rest of the guests arrive, the more they ignore me, the wetter I become. He called me his centerpiece, and I find that I really am more of a decoration than entertainment. Dom is all too happy to show off his gorgeous prize, but it is being both the center of attention while simultaneously reduced to an ornament that thrills me. It is this duality that says, "Even the shiniest toy is only a toy."

It's only about an hour, maybe more, before I stop hearing the doorbell, and it feels like there are a couple dozen people milling around. The voices are mostly male, but not entirely. Drinks are poured and music is queued in the kitchen and on the patio; a movie plays in the background across from me in the living room. Friends talk and flirt on the couch next to me, the conversation becoming louder and more intimate as empty bottles collect. Laughter from a hearty game of beer pong in the dining room occasionally cuts through the game of Cards Against Humanity played over my naked body.

My arousal from the humiliation is just starting to give way to irritation with being sober, immobile, and left out of the party, when I finally hear someone call to my Dom,

"Hey, are we allowed to touch your little table-topper here?"

I can hear the curl of his lips as he answers, "Of course, I thought you'd never ask."

Immediately I feel an eager hand clutching my breast. I gasp as a stray finger bumps the clamp still on my nipple.

"Oh, you poor thing! Here, let me help you out of those."

I moan with urgency against my gag, but the stranger removes the clamp anyway. Fortunately it wasn't set too tight, but still my back arches with the pang of returning blood flow.

The stranger only acknowledges me with a cruel chuckle. But then soft lips tenderly massage my aching nipples, and a familiar voice asks, "Would you like something to take the edge off?"

I nod, and my Dom rests the neck of the liquor bottle against the side of my mouth before carefully tipping it in, making sure to let me breathe around the two shots he pours down my throat.

"Liquor always does make my toy pretty horny, doesn't it?" he drawls.

The ice broken, I start to feel more venturing hands, mostly squeezing my breasts and butt cheeks. Tonight's unpredictability is renewed, and once again fear and anticipation drip between my legs.

"Hey! We should play spin the bottle," someone giggles, and after some debating, I feel a cool bottle balanced on my midsection. Nervous laughter and encouraging cheers erupt when the spinning stops, the first couple prompted to kiss. They lean in over my body. I don't know their genders, but two sets of hips press against me, four hands bracing themselves on me and the table as their lips meet above me. I moan, and one of the hands tightens.

As the game continues, I feel a finger start to trail up from my ankle. My pulse quickens as it rises to the peak of my knee, then descends down the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, the touch light but purposeful. I try to pull my hips away, but with my shoulders locked into place, I have mere inches of wiggle room. The finger traces the edge where my thigh meets my torso, playing in the corner between leg and lip. A nail drags along this line as the finger pulls away, leaving every nerve quivering.

The bottle slows again, and I think I feel it align perfectly straight up and down in the hollow between my ribs. I feel the energy in the room shift, and I have little time to wonder what happened before I feel a tongue delve into my mouth! Their lips press into mine, but with the ring I'm helpless to kiss back, so they content themselves with licking the inside of my mouth with a crude, harsh dominance. I think that the bottle must have pointed straight up at my head, and the spinner decided I was their partner this turn.

Someone else rolls a nipple, perhaps bored of waiting their turn. They delight in my squeaks of pain, drunk on their power over me. Fingers are followed by lips, followed by teeth. Nails drag slowly up my ribs, vertical streaks burning in their wake.

A hand tightens around my throat, its grip as unmistakable as it is familiar. I feel my Dom's breath hot on my ear as he purrs,

"How are you holding up, little one?"

My arms unbound, I bring my hands to my chest, still tightly clutching the red and yellow balls. I indicate that I know I have the power to drop them if I need to, and hopefully also that quite the contrary, I'm enjoying this. I curl my wrists into myself, silently begging, "More, please."

He chuckles, and his hand releases my throat, skipping over mine and trailing down my belly. "Then if you're comfortable, I'm stepping out to entertain the guests on the patio. I just packed a bowl, want some shotgun before I go?"

I nod and after a long pause, his mouth closes over mine. There's something so erotic about the intimacy of smoke pressed into my lungs with a kiss, his open mouth sealing over mine, penetrating me with only his breath. He does it again, and I feel already intoxicated as I inhale the drug.

"Be good," he instructs as he gathers himself to leave. "Who knows what this lot will get up to while I'm gone..."

The soft threat makes my eyes roll, and I arch my back just a little to give a confirmation he can see. He slips the fingers on my belly just a bit lower, playing over my wetness with an agonizingly quick brush of the fingers. The touch is just enough to keep me on the edge of arousal as he leaves me unattended.

The party-goers break out a new card game, and it ups the ante, daring the players to do more than kiss. Those venturing hands become more bold, someone else's fingers following where my Dom's had just teased, sliding easily between my lips.

Someone draws a new card, and the dare has them kneeling by my feet. Their hesitant breath tickles, setting every one of my hairs on end. I feel their mouth press against me, and I can't help a moan at the soft warmth. Their tongue works smoothly up as they close their mouth around my clit, giving it a delicious suck before pulling away.

More hands begin to work over me with more enthusiasm, but the erotic card game is interrupted when we are joined by the raucous beer pong crowd. The room is reanimated with noise and commotion, but the developing sexual charge lingers, the newcomers aroused by the sights that greeted them.

Some people start a new game, a modified version of pong tossing the balls from either side of me, each team assigned to aim either for my open mouth or open legs. Mostly the balls bounce lightly off my belly, players groping indulgently as they chase errant throws. Being reduced to an object in their perverse games has my clit throbbing like nothing else ever has before.

Those still sitting on the couch beside me continue to torment me, taking sadistic pleasure in pulling my hair. Someone giggles, and I feel a searing pain as a cigarette is pressed into the front of my shoulder, just at the end of my collarbone. I gasp and convulse, reveling in my role as play-thing. I love that I can allow them to relax into their innate cruelty, their whims, whether outright sadistic or just lacking in empathy, being valued above any pain it may inflict on me.

My Dom doesn't allow any permanent marks, so I also feel mostly safe in knowing these minor burns won't escalate to any greater harm. I miss him, want him back to check on me, but also tingle with the excitement of being left to the whims of this group of strangers, who grow more intoxicated and rowdy by the minute. They're trusted to behave themselves, but there's still the risk of unpredictability that makes it truly exciting.

A cheer erupts as a ball lands squarely between my legs, and I choke in surprise on the celebratory shot poured into my open mouth. The winning thrower slips a finger inside me, searching for my g-spot, unsuccessfully, but getting me impossibly aroused. The next player to score a ball finds the nipple clamps, and snaps one over my clit. I squeal with the sharp pain, but they soothe it with their tongue, and I writhe with the mind-bending combination of pain and pleasure. No one keeps score, and the game once again devolves into people approaching me with increasing confidence, amusing themselves with my helpless nakedness.

Inebriated and distractible, they start to lose interest after a while. Things wind down while snacks are fetched and drinks refilled, fingers less curious. Cheers soften into chatter, and I wonder if the night is drawing to a close.

Suddenly, my blindfold is removed. I feel exposed without it, pinned under a spotlight as it becomes possible for someone to meet my eye. But no one is looking at me, and I watch as it's tied around someone else's eyes. A man, with his erection in his hand!

A small group spins him around in a circle before releasing him to stumble forward, while another girl sets a timer. One hand reaching blindly in front of him, he staggers toward a group of people that shriek and dive out of the way in a titillating mix of terror and delight.

He bumps into the side of the coffee table just as the timer goes off. He admits his loss sportingly, but gropes me firmly, not to be disappointed entirely. I think I see where the game is headed, and the anticipation is killing me.

Tilting my head back, I have an upside-down view of the kitchen. My Dom is back in from the patio, leaning against the doorframe and watching the room. I catch his eye, and he gives me a reassuring nod that says, "It's ok. I made sure this is safe."

The partiers don't notice him, their antics bringing erect penises closer and closer to me, until finally someone finds their way blindly to my hips before the timer sounds. The onlookers cheer drunkenly as someone helps him into a condom. He lines himself up with my entrance, slick with anticipation, and sinks into me with a gratified groan.

I close my eyes and breathe in the ecstasy of being filled at last, his warm, thick cock buried deep inside me. My pussy still burns from the flogging I received earlier, and I finally understand why Dom had thrashed me so soundly: so every time anyone's hips meet mine, the pain sears through me all over again. Hours of teasing and waiting finally reach a sexual crescendo, and the pain added to this stranger thrusting roughly over my g-spot brings me quickly to the edge.

Chest tight, eyes rolling, pelvis squeezing, I tip my head back to look at Dom for permission to cum. He holds my gaze, making me beg. The noises I can make around the gag rise in pitch and urgency, I'm barely able to hold it back, until finally his tiniest nod releases my orgasm with a snap. A tidal wave crashes through me with the strength achieved only by this type of delay, leaving me panting and my whole body trembling.

The man slamming his hips against mine climaxes just as I come down from mine, no match for the powerful spasms of my cunt tight around his cock. I love watching him shudder in a moment he can't control, his body convulsing, too, as he finishes inside me, his jaw slack, driving into me in a moment of animalistic need.

He pulls himself from me and sits back on his heels. He pushes up the blindfold, panting and grinning with satisfaction. After this graphic show, the excitement in the crowd becomes a frenzy of sharks catching the scent of blood.

My Dom takes a turn being blindfolded and spun, and I am relieved that he's the first one to find my head. He smiles as he places his hands on either side of my face, adjusting my pillow to tilt my head off the edge of the table.

Mouth bound open, my clit throbbing with the thrill, I am acutely aware of my helplessness. My breath quickens with the delicious fear bubbling in my chest.

No need for a condom with him, Dom gently slides himself into my mouth. Hanging upside down, my tongue washes over the head of his penis, licking and welcoming him as well as I'm able. He slowly pushes past my gag reflex, trying not to hurt me, but unyielding as he presses down my throat.

Surrendering control so completely is like a free-fall into the void, knowing full well nothing will catch you, yet neither will you hit the ground. It requires absolute trust in one's partner: simultaneously submitting yourself to whatever they choose to inflict, while knowing they won't let you come to any true harm. Risk is nevertheless inexorable, so you accept that too, embrace it.

Dom moves in and out of my throat gently, working the moisture around until we're comfortable, finding a rhythm, telling me things that make my eyes roll back.

"That's a good slut, you're doing so good tonight. Such a wonderful table ornament. So obedient. God, your tight little throat feels amazing! I'm glad I get a turn to enjoy my personal cocksleeve tonight."

All I can see are his balls, but I hear a new round of laughter and cheers, and my Dom telling me softly, "Oh look, we have company."

A pair of powerful hands closes around my hips, lifting them up off the table, pulling them high into an arc. The edge of the table cuts into the soles of my feet. Still standing, he sets one knee on the table, leaning in to pound a fresh cock into me.

My body seizes with the pleasure of being filled from both ends at once. It's the first time I experience this sensation of two men using me for their pleasure. The way they each claim one side of me reduces me to a toy to be shared evenly between them. The bejeweled plug still in my ass, I savor the airtight feeling.

My Dom picks up speed, forcing deeper, starting to relax control of himself, giving himself over to the pleasure. I start to choke and though my left hand rests with the red ball against my ribs, I raise my right hand in the air, clutching the yellow one with white knuckles, warning that soon I'll need to drop it. With a disappointed sigh he slows down, working smoothly in and out, still reveling in the sensations but unable to chase an orgasm.