Absolute black. Cool air teasing my flesh and raising goose bumps. Discretely whispered voices in the distance told me I was not alone.
A light flashed on above and I looked up to see the woman on the monitor. On her hands and knees like an animal, her chin lifted uncomfortably, back arched, and ass forced in the air. Dangerous, beautiful men plugging each end, treating her like a toy, using her with no concern for her comfort or pleasure.
She was dressed in gleaming rubber stockings and gloves, a matching corset clinching her waist to surrealistically tiny proportions. The titanium stiletto heels strapped to her ankles were like an invitation to all perverts and sex maniacs for a free ride. Her hairless flesh glistened with a combination of lube, sweat, and spittle, and her ruby red lips were spread wide and her cheeks bulged at the intrusion of a massive cock. Looking like that, she could be nothing but an object, custom designed for men's pleasure and intended for their repeated use. She had no choice but to serve.
I couldn't believe I was looking at myself.
Okay, so my girlfriend likes to play. She's a brilliant artist whose mind never rests, and typical of truly creative types, she needs constant stimulation and continual escalation. She has a relentless craving for new and ever more extreme experiences. She always takes me along for the ride, uses me in her experiments. She often embarrasses me, sometimes humiliates me. She sometimes hurts me, and always scares me. I could leave her, sure. But I am as addicted to her as she is to her games.
She draws my fantasies out of me. As I lie beside her, my desires feverishly provoked, she listens. Her silence coaxes me to go on and on.
It always seems that she has forgotten my whispered confessions. I should have more faith! It might be months later, and I might have forgotten the particular fantasy, but then she springs it on me. Teasing me in a bar by flirting in front of me. Dragging a new lover into a public bathroom while I console myself with another round, then returning with him to proudly insist I feel the slushy dampness between her legs. I've found myself a piece of furniture at her parties, and a human toilet for her catty friends. A literal whipping boy when she needs to vent her frustrations (why couldn't I keep my mouth shut about that one? I still bear the scars). I've been on my knees in filthy allies while she fingered herself, and I've blushed as I handed her number to handsome men on the street.
One night I whispered something so lavish and ornate...something so intricate and detailed it really couldn't be possible to organize. I would be drugged, captured, put on display, and transformed against my will. Trained overnight to be the pet and showpiece of cruel owners.
Months later, enjoying dinner in an elegant restaurant, my limbs began to tingle. A powerful rush of energy swept through my body. My glass floated to the floor in slow motion and the sparkling pattern of shattered glass, mingled with the puddle of red wine, reminded me of stars above the ocean. "How did the stars get on the floor? Why is the sky blood red?" She stepped behind me, cradled my head, and eased me to the ground.
I woke to blackness. I kept thinking, "It was only a fantasy, I didn't mean it!" But trussed like a pig on a spit, an oversized ball gag in my mouth and thick spittle splashing on my chest, I wasn't able to tell her. She ignored the pleas in my eyes. A discrete light flickered on and illuminated me. While unconscious my entire body had been waxed and my head shaved. A thin film of oil enveloped my skin and I was scented with a delicate perfume. Tight rubber stockings were rolled up my legs, long gloves placed on my arms, and that devilish corset clamped on. Ridiculously high heels were slipped on my feet and the dainty straps fastened around my ankles.
I realized how I must look. I began to get hard at the thought but the metal chastity device put a stop to that. I continued to swell a bit, my tender flesh digging into the cold steel. A strange sensation, too abrupt and too painful to immediately identify, caused me to bolt in the chair and fight against my restraints. Great! An electronic, remote-controlled chastity device. How fucking ingenious. My cock admitted defeat and shrunk to the size of a child's thumb.
She sat on my lap, facing me. "Don't move, hon...we gotta fix your face." Lipstick, eye-liner, the works. She held up my wig for me to admire: Jet black and Louise Brooks-style, just like I like. I knew I looked good—she's an artist, after all.
She unfastened the restraints and removed the gag. Dressed like that, she knew I wasn't going to run off. She told me to stand. I was never very graceful or prone to good balance, even when not drunk and drugged and perched on insane heels. I teetered to my feet and knew walking would be out of the question for me. "Better to crawl," she said. I took her advice and slipped down to hands and knees.
And that's when they entered. Two powerful men, dismissively arrogant, probably prone to violence. The type sensitive women claim to loathe and secretly adore. They were naked, cocks extended like weapons. So impossibly huge that I looked for evidence that they were prosthetics. But no, she wouldn't resort to cheap tricks; she had her resources. I bowed my head; I could never compete with such living gods. They deserved everything they were about to take.
They drew closer and my fear grew. I wanted it, yeah, but I was terrified of it. She cooed in my ear, "For me, baby. I know you can. You're so good...so obedient." I opened my mouth and let one in, but I was tense...there was no way I could service more than a few inches of that thing. She read my thoughts. She caressed my neck, purred in my ear, and my muscles instantly relaxed. Her touch always filled me with comfort, made me feel safe. "Make me proud. Show me you can do it. For me...for me, darling." My throat opened and I heard a collective gasp from the outer darkness as his weapon vanished to the hilt.
That's when I felt the man behind me. First the tingling of what seemed a gallon of oil on my ass, easing down my thighs. His hand, gently caressing, soon roughly exploring. One finger...two...three. Then the invasion. Another excited murmur from the crowd as he disappeared inside of me.
Such a strange sensation, to be so thoroughly filled. To know you're on display. To imagine a room full of anonymous observers, flushed with desire, touching themselves as they focus only on you. I gave them the best show I could.
My lips spread wider and I timed my oral service with the momentum of my body as I was fucked from behind. Thick fingers bruised my hips as he clutched me for leverage, and the man in front held my face in the position he preferred. As I glanced at my lover, saw the lust in her own eyes, watched her fingers exploring her slit, noted the puddle at her feet, I knew I'd made her proud, knew I'd held her interest for at least one more day.
The drugs kicked in with a second life. The room became a blur and I seemed to leave my body. "Look at that slut on the floor! I'll bet she's enjoying those two delicious studs treating her like a throwaway whore. How lovely their cocks look as they rape her!"
The cheeks of the cheap tart expanded and her eyes grew wide. "He's coming in her mouth! She's swallowing it all...well, not quite all...some is leaking out now, dripping down her chin and splashing onto the floor."
The man in back increased his pace and his six-pack rippled with the effort. "Oh, he's coming too! I wonder what that hot load feels like spraying inside of her. By her distracted smile, it must be heaven."
The men marched away without another glance. I slipped back into my body and felt myself stretch out across the floor. My lover eased down too, breathlessly lying beside me. I heard excited applause from the crowd. I passed out.
I woke in our bathroom. Candles lit the room and delicate shadows animated the walls. My lover tenderly bathed me, dried me off, and guided me to bed. I drifted to sleep in her arms, murmuring a new fantasy in the dark of the night.