Dinner Party

****This story includes trans and disabled people whose language for their bodies is their own. The way that they and their bodies are referred to by themselves and others in this scene is exactly how they want to be referred to. It might not be the way you want to be called; proceed with whatever caution you need to take care of yourself.****

I knew there was going to be trouble when I got home. I could hear voices through the door as I drew my keys out of my bag. I unlocked the door and entered the hall, peering into the formal dining room to see a large party; Mister's dinner guests had empty plates but lots of wine was still flowing. I stood for a moment in the entrance way, uncertain. I had made up my mind and was headed towards the bathroom when I heard his voice. "You're really going to enter our home without greeting me?" he boomed over the laughter. I froze at his words, torn between my affection and the twinging of my bladder. It felt like it took forever to decide, but eventually figured that I couldn't risk it. I veered from my course to the bathroom to step into the dining room and greet Mister.

"Where have you been?" he asked, as I leaned in to kiss his left cheek. I didn't want to stay and chat, I wanted to use the bathroom. And I certainly didn't want to announce my bodily functions to this room of Mister's friends and colleagues, so I just shook my head and turned away. I guess Mister took this as a sign I had something to hide, because that's when things started to spiral out of control. "I guess I'll have to find out for myself." He turned a knowing grin to his guests, who seemed vaguely interested. He snapped his fingers and declared, "Inspection time." Although I had grown accustomed to the possibility of an inspection anytime, anywhere, Mister was careful about who I was exposed to and I was shocked to hear the words. I thought of bolting, but it was too late. The lean for the kiss had me off balance and it was easy for Mister to grab my wrist and pull me to a half straddle over him, one leg stumbling forward between his bent knees and the other rigid next to the chair, my belly squished against his chest. He promptly let go of my wrist and bent his left arm to hold my upper body into his shoulder, securing my torso against his, several inches about the level of the table.

"No! Mister, there are people here." I protested, desperately trying to bat him off as his right arm snaked between our bodies and unbuttoned my fly. After the soft zip and a few firm, one-handed tugs, my jeans were bunched on Mister's lap and my boxer briefs exposed. The table of guests was rowdy, but some shrieks and giggles seemed to erupt, and I panickedly swung my head over my shoulder, peering through my floppy pomp to see if they were looking. Chairs and torsos were turning towards me and while some pairs of eyes were averted, one person looked at my underwear with a smirk before turning to the woman sitting next to her to make some quiet joke. An unfamiliar bearded man's gaze was moving from my briefs to my face. I flushed and turned my head back in panic, as though I would be more hidden if I didn't meet his eyes. My hands flailed towards my jeans, trying to hide my butt and pull up my pants simultaneously, but my arms were part tangled and part pinned by Mister's body and my efforts were futile. "Wait no I" I stuttered as I felt Mister's hand slip into my underwear, beginning to quest towards a hole.

"Did you just tell me 'no' again?" Mister asked with soft disapproval in his voice. I stuttered "I...no, I just meant I have to go to the..." but that third no was too much and Mister yanked my underwear down, tipped me sideways and knocked my leg out from under me to drop me across his lap. He immediately began spanking my bare butt, and I would have noticed the music turn down, but I was too busy trying to somehow stop him. He beat my ass for several long minutes, well past the warm up and pleasurable stages, until I was wailing and kicking (as much as I could kick with the bad leg and my ankles all caught in my pants) and could think of nothing but stopping the stinging pain. He then stood me back up, still facing him. My spanked butt was hot and swollen and it felt like it pulsed with each beat of my heart. I sniffed, uncertain what was happening but glad the blows had stopped and eager to avoid more. He said nothing and I stared at him, waiting, when a voice behind me remarked in the surprising quiet, "they color excellently from a spanking." My eyes widened and my stomach dropped as I remembered the guests, but Mister caught my wrists before I could reach back to cover my naked ass. I turned to see a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on my naked, exposed butt.

The entire party was turned towards us, chairs and bodies repositioned, fingers pointing and eyes devouring me, neighbors murmuring in each other ears. "So red...," a man muttered, and his laughing companion held out their hands as though to warm them on my naked rear. A woman in a green dress at the end of the table asked "Do they need disciplining frequently?" I locked eyes with her, tears brimming with the shame, as Mister loudly replied, "They were being a bad boy, resisting their hole inspection. They usually know better. Open." I was so embarrassed to be called out in front of all these people, my mouth opened more out of habit than will. His hand suddenly in front of my face, he slid his thick first finger into my mouth in a long straight line until his wide hand pressed my cheeks inwards and his finger lightly flicked the back of my throat. I gagged a little and flushed in shame, then restrained myself and let him thrust again and again into my wet mouth.

I held the gaze of the woman in green as my mouth was used. Then Mister hoisted me up several inches over his shoulder, tipping my weight back with my good knee on his lap and the bad leg spread, and he slid that wet finger right into my front hole. His hands are thick and wide and his pianist's fingers are so long that it felt like his finger never stopped entering me, touching me far deeper inside myself than I thought it possible to feel the sensation of touch. Leaving me to brace my own self from falling, he used his other hand to pull me apart wider because my bunched clothes prevented me from spreading my legs and he wanted his guests to have a better view. He wriggled the finger around, testing me for use. I grunted a little at the pain and surprise and shame of it, and the room had fallen so silent that they all heard me; a laugh rippled out. "Sounds like they actually enjoy being inspected in front of all of us" a different voice chimed in.

"There's a good boy," Mister said with too much honey, like you would say to a dog, with one hand patting my flank like an animal as he drew the finger of the other out with a wet noise. The crowd laughed, and some started making animal noises. I heard a few pig snorts and the word "fetch", dissolved in laughter and growing conversation. I flamed, but got ready to stand up. I'd passed, unbelievably.

"I just have to check your back hole. Then you can go clean yourself up and join us for after-dinner drinks." I started to try to get up, despite the spanking, which must have pissed Mister off further because he pushed me firmly back over his shoulder and used his fat thumb for my back hole, pushing it in dry. I thought about what I must look like to the dinner party as my head dangled over Mister's back and I stared at the floor and tried not to squirm away from the invading digit: underwear and jeans slipping off my legs to pool on the floor, and my fat butt perched on his shoulder, burning and red with Mister's handprints. The swollen, beaten flesh of my ass and upper thighs would be framing my holes, one of which was indented and stretched by the penetrating force of Mister's arm behind his thick thumb. Maybe they could see the redness of that hole, or the residual lube, now that Mister had spread my flaming cheeks. Maybe they could even see my fat little dickclit pressing into Mister's shoulder, because I was swollen hard as steel and leaking precum down my thighs. A groan of defeat and humiliation ripped out of my throat, and the table laughed again, perhaps thinking it another groan of pleasure.

Mister paused, probably in disbelief, because although it hurt to be reamed by his thick thumb, the greasy lube-cum remnants that I had been hoping to clean out before I greeted him this evening had eased his way in. "Really??" he exclaimed, pulling his thumb out of me with an audible pop and letting me down from his shoulder to face him for a moment. He gripped my shoulders as I averted my gaze, unable to admit that he had caught me. In a blur he pulled my shirts up and over my head, spun me around, and bent me over the table, squishing my full bladder between my weight and the wood. One leg had stepped out of my pants which permitted him to spread me wide, cracking my cheeks to look closer at my red and swollen, recently used asshole. "I don't believe this. No, you don't get to hide," he said, his breath cool and shockingly close to my holes.

I had immediately sunk to the table, both to raise my ass for inspection and to hide my suddenly naked chest and face from the group. Now he grabbed my pomp and pulled my head up by that hair, so I was forced to hold myself up on my arms, my tits and belly swinging free and loose, my head pulled back, and my sight line even with the faces around the table. "But Mister" I cried in shock at the exposure and being caught, trying and failing to hold myself up and cover myself at the same time. My nipples seemed to stand at attention.

"Oh now you're too precious to show off for strangers? But I bet your hole was available to any stranger around this afternoon," Mister growled, as he began to beat my ass again. It was so sore that every spank was an agony, yet as he berated me he punctuated each of the words with a firm whack. "Do you even know whose dick was in your butt? If you feel humiliated you can think about how you've humiliated ME, coming in here with a used asshole. You always act like such a free use slut." I couldn't help but make eye contact with some of the guests who were staring at me as Mister chastised me. Some of them looked on in interest, others in barely concealed disgust. One man reached down and adjusted his hard cock through his pants, making no effort to hide his arousal. A woman shook her head in disapproval as Mister added "And you didn't even clean yourself up after. Filthy."

He must have taken his cock out when he stopped spanking, because when he reamed me again it was with something much, much bigger, hot and solid and of course more painful. I cried out as he thrust slowly into my used butthole. He was thick and unlubricated and I was already well-used. As he entered me he said slowly, "You're going to look my guests in the eyes and apologize to them one by one, and tell them what happens to dirty theys like you." I grunted as the friction from his cock tugged my anal ring inwards, and he used my hair as a rein to turn my head to the first guest on his right, who was sitting back with arms crossed across his chest. Through the haze of my shame and arousal I recognized him as a work colleague of Mister's, who I had interacted and chatted with (clothes on) on a regular basis. My stomach dropped as somehow my shame deepened with recognition; meanwhile Mister dragged his cock slowly out of me. "I'm sorry, Steven!" I yelped out quickly, louder than I intended.

"For what?" prodded Mister, fucking firmly and deeply into my asshole again.

It was difficult to put a sentence together as my rectum stretched under the slow, unrelenting penetration from his thick cock, but I finally managed it. "I..am sorry for ...coming to your party...with a used asshole."

"And?" he asked, dragging his cock out. He was so thick the walls of my butthole clung to him.

"And for not cleaning...UH...cleaning...up first!" Mister's cock had shoved in again. Steven shook his head in condescending disapproval, looking like he'd caught a student plagiarizing and not like an acquaintance was tits out, impaled on a massive log, less than a foot in front of him.

A tear dripped down my cheek, and Mister began to steadily and painfully penetrate me, forcing me to bounce and grunt on his dick for a minute before saying, "Tell Steven what's happening to your hole, the hole you let anyone use." I grimaced. "Ah! ...Ah! ...My hole...my hole is...being punished!!" I choked out.

After a few more deep thrusts Mister's voice was tight as he asked, "And is that the kind of tone my guests deserve, for you ruining our party?" He pulled my hair back to force me to hold myself up with my fingertips as he impaled me. "I think you can be more polite than that. Try again," Mister said, thrusting and withdrawing ceaselessly. It was hard to think, as the force of his hand on my hair and his fat dick pistoning in and out of me made my body jerk and bounce, jostling my swollen bladder and pushing into my spanked ass flesh. Focus. Mister liked to make a good impression. Mister liked me to be a welcoming co-host. Mister was focused on his guests. Finally, I strung out a forced-bright voice, interrupted by the occasional loud grunt: "I'm sorry for coming to your...uh!... your party with a used asshole. My hole is...UH.. being punished. Please...UH!... enjoy!" A few tears were starting to leak down my face, as the humiliation and pleasure washed over me in an intense wave.

Mister paused and withdrew his cock, and as I struggled to control the tears and catch my breath, I dared to let out a little hope. Perhaps my punishment was over. As I stared at Steven with tear-brimming eyes, hoping for relief, Mister spit and a glob hit my back. "Whoops," he said, and my face flamed. "Let me," a voice behind me said from somewhere near my junk, and I felt more spit drool onto the inside of my ass cheek. Then the woman to my immediate left spit too, her saliva hitting my face. Suddenly everyone was spitting on me, onto my back, and butt, and whatever they could reach. Unfortunately, most of the guests had a hard time pointing their lubricant where it could help, and most of it ended up on my back or sides, my face, and even in my hair.

Mister gathered some of the collected spit on his cockhead and smeared it around my asshole, before pulling my pomp like a handle, forcing me to crawl a bit on my hands to turn to the woman who had first spit in my face. "Next!" he said, and sunk his member back into my ass. The woman leaned in close and grabbed my face as I apologized to her. She watched my punishment as she let another river of hot, stringy saliva pour out of her mouth onto my forehead and down my left eye. As I finished apologizing, her spit had leaked down and over my cheek and into my mouth; another glop jiggled back and forth off of my chin until it broke, spattering on the table.

Mister fucked my butt roughly as he made me go around the table and address each guest in turn. "I'm sorry for coming to your party with a used asshole. My hole is being punished. Please enjoy!" One guest pinched my nipples and held them tight, as my tit flesh pulled against their grip; another slapped my face back and forth, back and forth, until my cheeks were burning. One even put his face up to my torso so my belly and chest jiggled into him as I was fucked. Several masturbated openly while they watched me; another whispered what they would do to me when it was their turn. The steady bouncing from Mister's dick and the incessant pressure on my scalp increased the agony of my hole as well as the pressure on my bladder. It also increased my pounding arousal at the violation of having his guests watch me as I experienced and processed the brutal use of my body.

At last I made eye contact with the person on Mister's left, who was the last in the group and, I realized, had been face to face with my junk for most of the time. "I'm sorry for coming to your party with a used asshole. My hole is being punished. Please enjoy!" I sobbed. They silently watched me make my proclamation, which had become no less humiliating with repetition. Mister pistoned in and out of my asshole. The last stranger let their eyes roam over my jerking body. They reached out to pinch my right nipple, HARD, then snaked their other arm between my tits and across my stomach towards my junk. They were tall and long-limbed, yet this still put our faces near each other; my tits smacked their shoulder as Mister continued to pound into me steadily. Their hand splayed over my privates, spreading through the precum that was oozing out of me and resting near the head of my dickclit. They looked past me and spoke to Mister, while I bounced and grunted against their left ear.

"They are so wet and hard. They really seem to be enjoying being punished."

They'd hit on a sore spot of Mister's, and he started right into a familiar rant. "Right?!! It's really the only downside of this particular cumdump. They're just bounce-udders connected to some insatiable hump holes. They require at least 3 orgasms a day, plus several more thorough cum-sessions per month. Just as general maintenance! Without it they diddle themselves constantly, hump the furniture, fuck the neighbors; hell, I'm sure they'd fuck their own brother without the upkeep attention I give them." I was shamed and somehow even more aroused; how could they talk about me like this, like I wasn't even there? The stranger was flirting with Mister now, alternating between pinching my clitdick and pushing on my bladder as I yelped, tried to wriggle away from him, and clenched my pelvic floor trying to keep ahold of my urine. "You're such a busy man," they flattered Mister. "How do you make time with all the work that [Mister's workplace] demands of you? Obviously your cock does a lot of the work for you."

Mister smiled appreciatively before answering, "Thank you, I'm happy with it and so is this free use whore." He smacked my ass hard with the insult. "But when I don't have the time, I take them to the club, or make them work for the attention at home. Honestly sometimes I think about just leaving them out somewhere for public use. Like having stocks fitted to the post of our building's mailbox. Anyone could use them for orgasm relief. "At the very least the neighborhood dogs will appreciate a new piss-post," the stranger joked.

At that, Mister snorted his approval. It's rude to interrupt, but I was so horny I couldn't wait any longer to beg permission. "Please...oh god...Mister may I cum?" With the stranger's insistent fingers, and with so much of my attention on keeping control of my full bladder, sloshing painfully as my body was jostled back and forth, it was increasingly difficult to hold back my orgasm.

Mister seemed somewhat outraged. "You want to cum from this? From your punishment? I've barely touched your dickclit at all. Keep your eyes on Kal, and don't come or you'll be punished much worse." The stranger, who must be Kal, commented mildly, "I think a community cumdump will improve our building's collective wellness, really a public service." Mister replied thoughtfully, "public use might not be a bad solution, with enough lubrication nearby. I could get my work done and anyone nearby can get off in these holes, or using these udders or belly." They continued to discuss me as though I were not there, and each thrust wobbling my overfull bladder and knocking my dick into the tight crevice between Karl's clutching fingers, threatening to push me over the edge.

Kal smiled evilly as they watched me pant and struggle and bounce and try to focus. They let go of my nipple and wrapped their hand around my chin and throat, holding my face even more firmly towards them. Looking me dead in the eye, the thumb of their other hand suddenly starting thrumming the base of my dickclit with intensity. Mister didn't seem to notice, and continued to thrust into me and talk about what he would like (or did like) to do to my body.