Sarah: Party Bondage Ch. 02

Author's note:

As promised in the first instalment, I wrote this because I got some good feedback. Some of it was good enough to result in a character :)

I am always open to taking submissions from people who want to be in one of my stories. Not that this has happened before, but I liked doing it, so I'd like to do it again.

I wrote this in essentially three sittings, which is a bit of a record for me, and there should be enough hints here to lead in any sort of direction when I feel like doing the next one.

If you haven't read the first "Sarah: Party Bondage", this will still be a hot story (I promise, really!) but a few things may be explained for you if you go back and read that first.

I hope you enjoy it!

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The party had been on Friday night.

Saturday, after Clay dropped me home at 11:00am, had been spent between the bed, couch, kitchen, toilet and bathroom. I moved for biological need only, and that included chips and ice cream.

Sunday, Catherine gave me until the afternoon before coming by, looking as breezy as ever, but with an added wicked glint to her eye this time.

I was still in my dressing gown when I opened the door, and intended to remain in it until I went to bed.

I got a hug, a kiss and a fleeting impression of air movement as she went past into the kitchen, and had herself lounging in one of my chairs before I got the door closed.

"Coffee?" She asked hopefully as I shuffled back into the kitchen with the absolute minimum of effort. "You're not still tired, are you?" she asked as I flicked the Gaggia on and poured more water into it.

"Have a little faith, please, darling," I replied as I fished the jar of coffee out of the fridge. "This is my weekend off. Be glad I answered the door at all."

She raised her eyebrows at me but had the grace to wait until I had measured, tamped and had turned on the infernally noisy old espresso maker before she tried to say anything. I pulled a shot, turned it off and waited patiently for her to repeat herself.

"I said," she enunciated with exaggerated clarity, "That I hope you'll be coming to our next party."

"How long, exactly, do I have to recover?"

"Two weeks. Every second Friday, until further notice."

"What happens on the other Fridays?"

"Private time," she said with such relish in her voice that I quailed from asking exactly what that might mean.

"Maybe," I extemporised as I prepared a shot for myself, and then drowned out what she said next.

She waited until I had presented her with her usual cappuccino - double strength, heavy froth, chocolate sprinkled on top and not too hot - before repeating herself this time.

"I hope you'll come," she said, taking a sip and nodding in approval, which is our ritual way of ensuring that she's welcome in my kitchen ever again, "I've got a friend staying from America."

"Oh?"

"Yes." A wicked light slid sideways into her eyes, and I prepared myself for the worst. "Suzanne. The biggest little slut I have ever had the pleasure of."

"Just to clarify here," I said, sliding a question in edgeways, "Because I don't think we've ever actually mentioned this. Just how bisexual are you?"

"Anything with a pulse," she said promptly, before going back to her story. "Suzanne is short, green-eyed, and I really hope that she'll live up to her promise of being the house slut next - which is to say, this - time. It's coincidence that James and I won't have her to ourselves, but she will be staying over the party weekend and, well, I intend to make sure that we make full use of her particular talents."

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and a swallow of coffee, and kept my eyes closed as I asked "What special talents?"

"Everything with a pulse." I swear, Catherine's voice had so much lascivious enjoyment in it that my skin crawled right off my body and slunk into the bathroom to have a shower.

"Ahah," I said flatly.

"Available for all," Catherine continued, before I held up my hand to stop her.

"You do want me to come to this second party, don't you?" I asked.

She gave me a look of wide-eyed hurt. "Whyever wouldn't you?"

"Look, darling, when I decided to come to a meat market, no offence intended, I wasn't expecting to be strapped to a chair as public property. You could at least have warned me. Whatever might happen next I dread to think, but I am not, at this particular point in time, interested in anything except cock, and I'll suffer you to remember that, okay?"

The bitch just sat there grinning at me and drinking my special blend.

The next party was, actually, on a night I both had off and was feeling horny. Possibly, truth be told, because both Catherine and Clay, who I saw once more the next weekend, talked me, sorry, my body, into it.

So I presented, wearing pretty much the same thing as before - black lace G-string, no bra under a loose blouse because I had a bit more self-confidence this time, and pleated short skirt. I had my tallest pair of boots on, and polished them until you could almost see all the way up my legs in the toes.

Catherine opened the door, and she was wearing a red and black corset that gave her a cleavage you could crack walnuts in. If I had been shorter, I might have smothered to death when she hugged me, but instead I just got bruised nipples off the whalebone.

"Catherine," I asked, managing the extremely rare trick of plowing into her train of thought and derailing it, "Where the hell did you get that?"

"$700," she replied promptly, before ushering me in and closing the door. Possibly so her legs, which were bare all the way south of her leather g-string to her strappy 4" heels, didn't catch a chill.

I found myself steered inexorably in the direction of the lounge, and managed to twist my way sideways to the kitchen, snaffling a beer for each of us before anything else happened. Holding it in front of me like an ice-cold shield, I let myself be lead the rest of the way to a room which was, despite my suspicions, surprisingly quiet still.

It had been rearranged a little, and now had a square table in the middle. The top was covered in a thick blanket, not a cloth, and I mentally heaved a sigh and cast my gaze around the rest of the room. Specifically to the corner I was being steered towards.

"Suzanne, Sarah. Sarah, Suzanne." Catherine, for once, was the sole of brevity as the girl curled up in the armchair waved her beer at me and grinned hello from the middle of her ring of casually present men.

"Hello," she said in an enticingly soft drawl that Mark Twain could have written down, from a face that, with eyes that actually were green and short hair that was on the brown side of auburn in the dim party lighting, screamed Ireland. Dammit, if she had been a boy I would have sat in her lap and fought off all comers. "Pull up a boy and join me," she continued, causing a flurry of widely grinning men to offer their laps from where they sat on the chair arm, foot-stalls or even the floor.

With a struggle, I avoided slipping into a travesty of her accent - I'm a vocal lyrebird, and not deliberately so - and gave a curtsy before I said "Well, I would love to, but I've only just arrived and I need to circulate. I'm sure I'll see more of you later."

"Oh, I hope you'll see all of me later!" She called after me with a wave as Catherine and I retreated to pastures new.

"The setup is a little different, this time," she informed me as we headed back to the kitchen. "We're not having a display in the kitchen this time, it's just for chatting, the lounge is public displays and group sex if wanted, there are a couple of heavy BDSM couples who asked to come, so they get the garage. The rooms are still private, of course."

We got to the kitchen. There were now people in it, and within thirty seconds of walking into the door, four of them had said hello and told me that they were glad I had come back. I'm not sure if my face went crimson or just pink as I tried to hide behind my beer, and then Catherine helpfully pointed out that the loose blouse I was wearing was doing fabulous things with my nipples.

I looked down, startled, and saw two rigid tuning knobs staring straight back at me. I cleared my throat, and felt the evidence of my own sexuality flip me straight back into self-confidence.

"I like my nipples," I said defiantly, rolling my shoulders back a little to pull my blouse tighter over my breasts, "And so does everyone else, by the looks of it."

That laugh was on my side, and Catherine gave me a half-smug, half-beaming smile.

"What exactly is happening in the garage?" I asked, wanting to know exactly what 'heavy BDSM' meant.

"Come and have a look," Catherine said, deftly managing to swap my beer with a fresh one and take my other hand without putting her own bottle down.

The garage was against the house, but due to the vagaries of the existing architecture when it had been built, and the lack of funds of the owners who had done it, there isn't a door directly through to it. There are two ways in - the automatic door for the cars, and a side door for humans, leading into the back yard. We took the door for humans, passing three couples in various states of passionate sprawl about the yard and the garden furniture and, it turned out, this was at least partly because the automatic doors were inaccessible because of the extra sound-proofing against them, and the extremely solid wooden cross set up in front of them. There were shackles on it, and with a flashback to the kitchen chair I felt my pussy spasm when I looked at it, but any possibility of getting involved was chilled by the three couples who were there.

The first one consisted of a tall, soft-faced but hard-eyed woman barely dressed in well-worn leather G-string, thigh-high boots and low-cut corset, sitting on the back of a stocky man, wearing only a gimp-mask, sturdy collar with attached chain, and leather G-string, who was on hands and knees on the floor.

The second couple was the other way around - an entirely naked woman with thin chains linking her collar with her nipple piercings sat with rigidly straight back, eyes downcast and arms behind her at the foot of a lanky, tough-seeming man with piratically cocky eyes and grin, who wore a leather biker vest and dusty leather trousers and chunky boots.

The third couple was lesbian, and I could barely take my eyes off the sub, who was what I can only describe as a pony-girl. She had a sturdy bit in her mouth, long hair held back in what looked just like a show-horse's tail plait, and was standing on painfully high-looking boots with no heels and actual horseshoes under the toes. Her girlfriend, who carried a riding crop - there were pink marks across the pony-girl's thighs and bare belly, below breasts which were framed but not actually covered by a bra consisting of studded leather straps in a net arrangement - was actually wearing black leather jodhpurs, and a corset that gave her both the narrowest waist I have ever seen in real life, and a cleavage she could hide a beer bottle in.

"Oh good, you got here!" Catherine exclaimed to the lesbians, and got a warm hug from the, well, "rider" as the domme and the -atrix looked me up and down with a calculating air and the half-humorous smiles of people who know that you were hoping to be entertained, but don't have the balls to go through with it.

Catherine, of course, the gracious hostess, had to introduce me around and I promptly forgot everyone's name. Except for the rider, who was called Kate, and who asked me if I was really the Sarah who had given such a good show the previous party, would I like to be strapped to the St Andrews Cross with a vibrator inside me?

I managed to say something about not being warmed up yet.

"Well," she said, turning to run the head of the riding crop over her pony's crotch, and then snap it sharply against the leather boy-leg shorts, making the girl jump with a squeal, "The offer stays open. I'd love to attach clover clamps to those delicious nipples of yours."

I may have been in shock when I left. "Okay," I said as soon as we were out of earshot. "I had no idea that people actually did that!"

"That extreme? Honey, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Ever heard of blood-work?"

"Don't want to!"

So I may have been a little flustered when we walked back into the lounge, and I got my second look at Suzanne.

The American girl had been wearing a vinyl mini-skirt and a shockingly pink tube-top. Both had been pushed upwards. She had a man kneeling in front of her with his head in her crotch, and both breasts were being fondled by two other men, one of whom had his swollen cock energetically wanked by her left hand, and the other had his even more swollen cock energetically sucked as her right hand groped his balls.

At this point I made my crucial tactical error.

I turned to Catherine and said, without thinking about it, "Now that's more my thing!"

By the time my brain had caught up with my mouth via my ears, Suzanne had popped her lips off the cock and said "There's plenty of spare cocks here, girlfriend!"

It was only then that I noticed that all the men in the room were naked, and none of them were limp. Well, how could you blame them?

I froze, frantically re-running that sentence through my mind to see if it gave me an out, when the nearest man began walking towards me, held out his hand and said "May I help you out of your clothes?"

In the back of my head, a little voice said "Fuck it, then him."

I grabbed the bottom of my blouse and pulled it up over my head, noticing his eyes slide south from my eyes to my breasts and his grin widen. "You can help me with my skirt," I said with a deliberately excessive flutter of eyelashes, "And my boots."

"But the boots look so sexy!" He exclaimed as he dropped to his knees in front of me. "Can't we leave them on?"

"Whatever you sa..." I started to say, but as his expert hands found the zip behind my back and undid my skirt, pushing it down off my hips with his thumbs hooked into my G-string to take it along for the ride, I got a burst of horniness that closed up my throat and choked off the rest of the sentence.

I felt the world accelerating, and the two beers I had drunk went straight to my prefrontal cortex and sat there whooping with glee. I suddenly remembered the previous party, and the chair, and Clay's cock in my mouth as the vibrator made me climax, and that memory sat in my cunt and begged for more. Suddenly I didn't care what happened so long as it involved sex.

My skirt and my G-string reached my ankles, and he reached up to slide two fingers straight into my cunt, I had got wet so fast. "What would you like?" He asked with a wicked grin on his face as he knelt there, looked up at me and with two fingers soaking in my juices.

"A chair," I replied before my knees buckled. He caught me with ease, and put me down not on a chair but the blanket-covered table, with my head hanging off one side and my legs hanging off the other, leaving my back slightly arched and my pussy feeling more open and exposed than it ever had before.

While my head was digesting this, I felt his hands pushing my thighs apart and the first, burning lap of his tongue along my lips.

"Just fuck me," I groaned, the ceiling swimming in front of my eyes, and for some reason he didn't try and argue. I heard the unmistakable sound of a condom packet being opened, and about two seconds later he pushed into me smoothly and, although with care, firmly.

"Oh FUCK yes," I gasped as he settled into a smooth, slow rhythm obviously meant to keep us both going for hours.

I heard Suzanne say something I couldn't quite make out, and a moment later I found her next to me, four men, one on each limb, carrying her from the chair and laying her on the table.

I rolled my head towards her, more an automatic gesture than a conscious one, and found her strangely distorted, half-upside down face grinning at me, auburn hair hanging below her, lips already cum-streaked. She looked as though she was about to say something, then gasped with the cross-eyed look of someone who has just been shafted in the good way, giggled, and twisted her head back, opening her mouth wide and taking in, almost before I had blinked, a cock which slid between her lips and swelled her throat until her nose was blocked by his scrotum.

He began a smooth stroke in and out of her throat as her eyes glazed over with the sort of brainless happiness that I used to think was only available from a needle.

A masculine finger stroked my cheek and I rolled my eyes backwards, staring up past the head of a cock to a smiling face far above me. He looked a question at me.

"Not yet," I gasped. He bent down to kiss me, then trailed his mouth down my neck and towards my breast. I bit my lip and whimpered in anticipatory pleasure until he got to my nipple and begun sucking gently, and I gasped with real pleasure. I felt a hand upon my other breast, seeking out my nipple blindly, capturing it and rolling and tugging upon it, making me whimper again, but...

"Is that you, Suzanne?" I asked, twisting my neck to look at her. She couldn't exactly talk, or nod, but her eyes rolled towards me and twinkled with glee. I let my head drop back, and closed my eyes in pleasure. I am being touched by a woman, I thought, And I don't care.

Suddenly there was a sprinkling of applause and admiring sounds above the rising gasping of the three men with their cocks buried inside us.

I opened my eyes again, and saw, upside down, Catherine walking slowly into the room with a strange contraption floating above her hand. My brain corrected its perspective with a wrench, and at the same time I saw what she jad dangling below her hand. There was a long, thin perspex rod. Through the middle, ran a much thinner metal rod. At one end was a flat plate, at the other end, a perspex knob. She was holding the knob, and dangling from each end of the thick perspex rod was a complicated little metal device I had never seen before.

"This," she said as she approached and saw the confusion in my eyes, "Is a Tower of Pain." I heard the capitals slot into place, and I heard desperate, begging qualities enter the low murmurs of pleasure that had been coming from Suzanne's stuffed throat. Glancing sideways I saw her eyes wide open, with a pleading look in them.

Catherine, who heard the same noises and was grinning madly in response, moved to the other side of Suzanne, and out of my frame of reference.

My neck, unused to this position, couldn't lift my head, but I felt a hand do it for me, so I could watch as she placed the plate, which was loosely figure-8 shaped, between Suzanne's gravity-flattened breasts. Each metal contraption dangled down over a nipple, and I suddenly understood what they were.

"These," Catherine continued, smoothly, "Are clover clamps. Another wonderful invention by those fiendish Japanese." Balancing the contraption carefully on Suzanne's gently rocking torso, she pinched one nipple firmly between finger and thumb, pulled it upwards and, with a twist of her fingers, opened the bizarre clamp and closed it over Suzanne's most sensitive flesh.

The sound she made was almost orgasmic and her fingers tightened painfully on my nipple, making me jerk and nearly shout with a sensation that was pain but was also a completely unexpected pleasure. I heard two shuddering male groans and felt the man inside me slam hard into me and then stop, and saw Suzanne stop rocking for an instant. The men in both our cunts had cum together. I felt him withdraw, heard shuffling noises, and I felt another condomed cock press into me as I saw a pleasure in Suzanne's eyes that mirrored what I was feeling.

"The thing about a clover clamp," Catherine continued as she fastened the other nipple, "Is that the more you pull on this end, the more the jaws at that end, tighten." She began to twist the knob, and I saw that the metal rod was threaded, and that it was lifting the perspex bar, and the clamps, further from Suzanne's chest, taking her nipples with it, slowly pulling her breasts back into a breast shape as they rose from her chest.