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She nearly screamed when hands caught hold of her, separating her from Kelly. She wondered how they could be so unerring as she was led deeper into the black room, and then after someone put her hand on a table standing before her, gestures made it plain she was to disrobe. She did so, leaving her clothing and purse on the table before being led away. At the next stop, she was handed something... feeling it, she could identify legs including zippers at the calf. The material was heavy and stiff. She reluctantly pulled them on, unsurprised to find they were crotchless, and trying not to be affected at how tightly the material clung to her skin everywhere it touched. Hands pulled a zipper at the back she had not seen, and Sharon imagined she could never get it off without help.
She was nudged along, and at the next stop a similar top was tugged into place... long sleeved, with harder pockets into which her hands came to rest, offering her no means of gripping anything. More hidden zippers were tugged, and she felt real fear, knowing that it was not just a sense of helplessness-- her only way out of the clothing would be with someone's help. She tried to see through the blackness... was this happening to Kelly, too? At least she had not heard her friend protest, and so Sharon resolved to be as brave.
At the next station a heavy cloak was draped over her shoulders, followed by what felt like an equally heavy and oppressive helmet or hood. The material smelled oily, and abruptly Sharon realized it was rubber, like the wet suit she had worn when she had gone scuba diving with Chris and the kids several years before. The material was so tight against her ears that it was hard to hear anything beyond a roar that reminded her of listening to a seashell. And there was pressure against her eyes, her lashes brushing against something that was in front of them. There was a dulled but clearly metallic 'snap' and then something tugged at the front of her neck; not painful, but nothing she could ignore...
The white housewife padded along, keeping slack in the line, for a longer time than had been true before. She was almost sure there was light around her; it seemed like a small amount of light leaked around the tight seal of the rubber pressed against her eyes. She was more aware of the touch of air where the rubber did not cover, and knew that the top she wore had open cups, her breasts only partially covered by the shifting robe that had been put on before the mask. She tried to stay calm as hands yanked her hair though some defect in the rubber above and behind her ears. Hands caught her right calf, lifting her leg, then setting it into the well, she guessed of boots. The angle her foot took was just short of painful, and she could not imagine how high the heel had to be, but she was powerless to stop it from happening as zips or buckles cinched the shoe into place and the calf of her leggings was zipped closed over it.
At a tug from the leash, Sharon moved forward, feeling very like an insect as she carefully moved each foot, unsure how much contact she had with the ground. Much of her weight was on the fronts of her shins, the shoes were so severely angled. She became aware others were moving in the same way to either side. They were stopped once again, and a straw was pushed to her mouth. She took a sip, then at a yank of the leash she began to drink as quickly as she could, by then reassured at the sweet familiar taste of a Mind Eraser. She realized she was smelling weed, and inhaled hungrily, having not been high since returning for break. She had finished a second drink and had been enjoying the smoke for several minutes before she was led forward once again... or maybe sideways, she thought and giggled. When she stopped moving, make up was applied almost brusquely, including something cold applied to her breasts and sex before she and the others were again brought along by their leashes.
Though muffled by the mask, the sounds changed as she and at least two others carefully moved up in a spiral... a ramp, she realized, glad they were not taking steps... and the next moment having to carefully negotiate three wide low steps before being brought to a halt. There were echoes, and Sharon was certain she had been brought into the main room... the sanctuary, she thought with a giggle that a yank on the leash cut off short. She was aware of the others... more than just two, shifting nervously beside her.
The air felt alive with pulsing sound... low chanting and a rhythmic beat. Helpless before it, the overwhelming feeling Sharon got was of sexual potency. She gasped as her nipples and clit began to burn, the sensation triggering a series of the deeper 'TWANG' she was long used to, each pushing her arousal a notch higher. The was led forward again, the light so bright when they stopped that Sharon could make out movement around her. Her thighs came to a stop against a rail, higher than the communion rail she remembered being in most churches. Her feet were kicked apart, and the blonde housewife struggled to maintain her balance on the tiny footprints of the heels as her feet were forcibly placed slightly more than shoulder width. There was a tug on the leash, and Sharon bent at the waist over the rail.
When the tugging on the leash stopped, she tried to raise up, but found that the lead had been fixed somewhere ahead of her, anchoring her in the lewd straight legged bent over position. She already wished it was more of a table than the rail, her abdominal muscles protesting holding her torso in that position. There was movement around her, the same pressure, air currents, and rhythm, vibrating up from the floor. Hands came to rest on the sides of her mask after another minute, and abruptly the smoked lenses were lifted, unblocking her vision.
Sharon winced at the kaleidoscope of light. There were bright fluorescent lights being shone through stained glass panels that were rotating, casting an eerie spectral color show over everything. Other lights reflected off of a mirror ball like those she remembered from the roller rink, where it was rotating on the floor. All of it was painfully bright, even the candles she could see flickering around the room.
And the movement she had seen before was she assumed BZ members, though they were dressed in strange feather and leather costumes, which reminded her of the International Geographic pictures of African tribes. The men-- they were all men, she quickly noted-- moved in a steady choreographed manner, clapping hands, slapping one another's hands, and stomping, then spinning, muscular legs describing intricate patterns before there was more clapping. There was a steady low chant she heard through the mask, the overall impression so powerfully sexual her burning nipples and sex seemed to pulse in time with their language.
The men were masked, and Sharon could see that there were more women than she had thought arrayed in a circle in various positions... Every other woman was bent at the waist as she was. The intervening women leaned on their backs against the rail, or lay on their belly or back on the floor. There were markings on the forehead of each of the women Sharon could see... 9 of them without turning her head, which she chose not to do, not wanting to earn any punishment. The symbols were small, but they were clearly different, and she wondered if this was representative Sisters from other regional frats. Between each pair of posing women stood a Sister in a black hooded robe. They kept their heads down, the hood masking their identities.
There was a gap in the rail between the woman across from her and the semi-reclining woman to her immediate left. Sharon noticed the men were moving purposefully, circling one clockwise, the next counterclockwise around the inside of the circle of women, maintaining their careful movement, following the drum cadence. Glistening black skin interrupted the light hitting the mirror ball, changing the shadows, the light somehow emphasizing the color of their skin, even in the swirling colored lighting. It was erotic, and Sharon's need to get off was taking over her focus.
The cadence changed after a minute, and the men passing before Sharon swung short leather braids on wooden sticks in planned arcs, one after another. She gasped at the tickle, and then the subsequent sting as the men moving behind her began to land the tip on her ass...
And then the crops were stretching out, slapping at her bare, hanging breasts, as well. She missed the change because of that the first time one of the dancers moved past close behind, his thighs brushing her ass. She shivered, trying to push back, welcoming the contact, wanting more. The men smoothly pivoting in front of her, she realized were no longer wearing their loin cloths.. Her eyes saw bobbing, swinging black cocks... most at least semi-erect, and the pressure of the masculine hips pressing against her ass every few seconds quickly made the white housewife anxious for more.
She did not have long to wait... With impressive synchronicity the men moving behind the circled bound women pivoted, stepping forward, and unerringly hammering their erections into the helpless BZ Bitches. A mewling cry rose from 16 female throats, though Sharon was only aware of her own scream. She nearly came on that first incredible stroke, but then the man was gone, her sex empty and hungry for contact. A few rhythmic beats later, and the process was repeated by a different cock. Sharon pressed back, her body responding to the invasion, hungry for more. He was already gone, though.
She struggled to ignore that need, focused on the beat... counted. On the eighth a new shaft drove into her, the brutal thrust of the man opposite the circle into one of her sisters an exact reflection. It continued, a single full thrust every eight beats, maddeningly slow. Sharon twitched her bottom, hungry for the contact as the fourth or fifth cock prepared to lance into her. Her initiative was punished, the silent woman she had forgotten standing out of sight to her side smartly whipping the bare edge of her ass with a crop. Sharon froze, and the thrust an instant later was more overwhelming because of it. She barely managed to keep from crying out, and on the next eight beat, there was a plaintive cry from across the circle to her left. The hooded female sentinel spun and almost magically affixed a ball gag over the helpless woman's mouth, then snapped the goggles back into place as an added punishment. Sharon guessed that most of the other women could see that, and somehow even the girls to either side, who could not have seen, somehow realized that their silence was demanded for the strange ceremony.
She wondered if they were supposed to be trying to get the men off, 'weeding them out' as she had at the Christmas party, but even being able to anticipate each thrust, the men were inside of her too briefly for her to really work them with her pelvic floor muscles, and she was afraid to shift after being punished and having seen how one of her sister's had been corrected. She knew the men were moving in a pattern, around the outside and crossing through the middle in both directions, a sort of figure 8 or yin and yang pattern. For a time she tried to count how many, but with the costumes, and the lights and the movement none looked so different that she could be certain of the number... She guessed there were 16 women in the circle, and with nearly that many men crossing the center, it could easily be 40 men.
For a moment Sharon was horrified to find herself thinking that 40 was not such a big number. The tingling of her nipples and sex, though, made keeping such thoughts for more than a few moments difficult, as did the periodic forceful penetrations. Sharon wondered how long it would last, having long since lost count of the number of times a cock had been driven home. Her focus shrank to that second when she would be filled...
Then on a seven count there was a strange noise... a ringing bell. The anticipated-- welcomed-- thrust of a hard cock fully into her dripping sex did not occur. Sharon's eyes moved side to side, verifying that it was true as far around the circle as she could see. The blindfolded girl wavered... or shimmied. The beat resumed, but with a doublet repeated for the first beat of the cadence, and with it, the young man behind Sharon drove into her twice. Only to be gone again. She bit her lip, struggling not to cry out at how delicious the second unexpected thrust had been.
She realized after the next double thrust that the tempo had increased as well... it was less than a second between the beats, whereas before... She trembled at the next delicious invasion. Across from her, the blindfolded girl spasmed visibly and went on shaking when the man who had been beside her moved away. The silent woman standing to her side lifted her right arm, after exchanging the crop she had been holding for the peacock feather that had been in her left hand. For a moment Sharon envied the girl, wishing she could get off as easily. Her body was trembling, too, desperate for release, and thinking about anything else was getting harder to do. The moments she was not reveling in being penetrated, she spent desperately trying to be quiet and still.
There was a plaintive 'No!' barely audible over the drums after the next doublet, and while she could not see what was happening, Sharon knew, having seen it before. The steady beat, the symmetric movement of the young men was beautiful, though, and Sharon wanted to watch it. At some point, after coherent thought and reason had fled, there was another change, 'taka-at-taka' immediately after the doublet. Sharon was barely aware of it, until she was again impaled, but after only four beats, and only once. The alternating single and doublet went on, building her nearly to a climax. She watched the girl ahead and to her right begin to twitch, obviously cumming. There was commotion to her right, and she guessed another girl was finding relief. She threw bitter curses at them, wishing it was her for a few seconds before realizing what a spiteful bitch she was. The woman standing across the circle to her right remained in place, the feather and crop now raised, held out slightly over the girl to either side.
The men were nearly running through the circle, maintaining the appropriate spacing to go on with the maddening dance. The bell rang again on count three, and it was a double spearing every four beats, the delicious pressure and friction building Sharon to the edge of her orgasm, without pushing her over. She wished her hands were free, sure she could trigger her release before the woman watching over her could react. Instead, she remained helpless to do more than anxiously welcome each thrust. Around her, the sentinels were 'correcting' more of the women. Sharon shuddered at the thought of the kaleidoscope of color and muscle and skin being stolen away, even as she ground her teeth at the effort it took to keep from crying out.
There was a shocking jangle of bells, and the tempo changed yet again, the maddening doublet at the 4 beat, with three slower strokes beginning between the seventh and eighth beats, and carrying into the space between the first and second. On the first such series, there was a cry of relief to Sharon's right that sounded very much like Kelly. Sharon was nearly there as well, she knew, praying for a repetition of the triple stroke. The double thrust at the middle of the series, though, was not enough, and then the three slower thrusts seemed just a tease... She wanted to be fucked hard and fast, like the quick pair of thrusts.
And then the strange jangle of several bells or cymbals was repeated. The men stopped moving, except to stomp in place, and Sharon realized that the majority of what she had been hearing... was physically feeling, was from the impact of dozens of feet on the floor in rhythm. The men in the center of the circle marched out to either side, leaving it vacant except for the silently revolving mirror ball. The bright lights hitting it were redirected, and Sharon gasped at the raw power emanating from the man that stepped into the circle from the space to her left, out of her line of sight. He was at least seven feet tall, wearing a headdress that would not have looked out of place on a Native American chief. He used a twisted wooden cane as jet black as the darkest participant's skin, a heavy bulb at the tip polished to a gleaming ebony.
His stride matched the still moving feet of the others, but his steps were longer, and then he was moving around the mirror ball, raising his arms, to thrust his fists at the sky at which point all was silent.
"It is done," his deep baritone echoed in the large sanctuary, "You have proven yourselves the master of all but one... who will be mine to claim." The men she could see on the outside of the circle dropped to one knee, heads bowed. The figure at the middle of the circle lifted a silver coil from his right hip. He shook it out, still holding the oversized cane in his left hand, and expertly flicked the coil, which rattled like a fine chain against the marble floor, as it snaked out almost directly at Sharon. She barely contained her gasp of surprise when the women to either side of her caught her shoulders, the woman to her left catching the free end and rising, replacing the lead anchoring Sharon into place on the collar of her mask. Holding her by the shoulders, Sharon was brusquely moved upright, the change making her back protest at how long she had been in the awkward position, even as her abdominal muscles unclenched for the first time since she had forgotten they were cramped and hurting.
She raised her head, not wanting anyone to see subservience or pain, and hobbled along between the guides as gracefully as she could manage, the discomfort of her weight settling on her calves a welcome relief compared to what her torso had been enduring... at least for a moment. They moved around the rail at which she had been imprisoned, the lead now attached to her collar being taken in by the huge man standing in the middle of the circle. Sharon shuddered, wondering how any human could be so large. When they came to a stop in front of him, though, Sharon stared defiantly upward, a challenge, despite the persistent buzz of her nipples and clit, that need for release momentarily blocked by pain and fear and steroid amplified will.
"Spirit," the man intoned, and up close she could see that he was older... Not the oldest BZ member she had met, but older than most. "I like that." He held out a hand and one of the silent women to her side held out the crop , handle first. The man took it, swirling it expertly in a figure eight before the women. Sharon did not flinch. He studied the crop, "Ah, from a local chapter," he smiled, showing bright white teeth, "I see the stories about you have some merit." Sharon felt proud but did not let her expression change. "Nevertheless, you are a BZ Bitch... You need to be reminded who is your master." He had brought the cane, taller than Sharon was, in close as he spoke, and abruptly thrust it to the side in the direction that he had entered the circle.
The women responded immediately, herding the helpless white housewife through a left turn and out of the circle. Having come in blinded to what was happening, Sharon had not seen the sanctuary beyond the wide flat expanse of marble where the circle had been formed. It had obviously been where the pews had once been arrayed, she thought absently as she approached the same type of low wide marble steps that led to the paired black wood pulpits and between them, the ornate black wood and jeweled throne. Behind her, the beat of pounding feet resumed, at some unseen signal. Sharon wondered if she was going to be draped over the wide arm of the throne to be pummeled by the giant she had just met... part of her welcomed the possibility, still aroused and anxious to cum, while part worried he would truly destroy her if he was at all proportionate.
