tagBDSMThe Dinner

The Dinner


Three stories precede this one, in temporal order:

Christine. A tale of lust.
Angela. Teased and pleased.
Adrian. A night of torment, or Angela's revenge.

For North American readers these stories are written in British English so the vocabulary used may be a little different, as are lots of the spellings; we specialise in colour photographs fixed with thiosulphates. So no tushes and fanny refers to the female genitalia; external, internal, or both, dependent upon context. Garter belts are suspenders, bathrooms are commonly loos or toilets especially when they don't actually contain a bath, johns are bogs, we the British often wee, pee or even 'spend a penny' (I'm not too sure what polite North Americans usually do, but Literotica characters definately piss). If you think anything else could be usefully included in this brief Anglo – North American Dictionary, or if some of it is redundant, please let me know.

The dinner.

The anticipation of having to taste your own white slippery seed as your canapé is actually worse than the deed itself, though I could now understand why Christine reserved sucking me to orgasm as an exceptional treat. After Angela's initial salty embrace I hardly noticed the tang of my own semen when I kissed Christine; whose vigorous tongue thrusting intimated that she would like my tongue elsewhere, followed by a lot of thrusting, also elsewhere: if you kiss Christine when she is really fired up she tries to eat you alive.

When we broke apart Angela said, "Before we go down stairs I have a gift for our humble slave to remind it of its servitude. Here's your very own collar my little, obedient pet; admire it, then put it on." It was a large leather dog collar, it even had a name engraved upon it, 'big boy': very humorous. Angela also had a leash. Once I was collared and leashed they put on dressing gowns, yes pink ones, and we all trooped down for dinner; whilst remaining naked, at least I was not made to go on all fours: though probably only because neither of them had thought of it.

We sat at the table, at least Angela and I did, Christine scurried off to do something in the kitchen. "Right my obedient little slave here are your orders," Angela hissed, "after my dessert I am going to lure Christine back to the bedroom: there you will spread her legs over the arms of the chair as if preparing to give her a good licking and humping but then, instead, kiss her on the mouth as you gradually put all you weight on her. With her legs splayed like that she has no leverage there, so if you get her arms right she will be pretty well helpless. Next, keep you weight on her, but also assist me in tying her hands behind the chair, then stay put until I've tied her ankles. Only then do you get off her, when you stand to attention and await my further orders."

"You're going to do her after dinner?"

"Let's be clear about one thing," she snapped, "obedient slaves simply obey, they never dare to question their mistress. Imagine what it would feel like to have a mistress grab one of your nipples, squeeze it hard and then twist it as violently as she could?"

I stayed silent. Christine returned with three small plates on a tray. On each were a few leaves of lettuce, three tiny strips of meat and a minute finger of bread, which turned out to be a miniature garlic bread; well just as long as we all ate it. Eat slowly, I reminded myself, eat slowly; there was, by my reckoning, three mouthfuls there.

"So slave how was it? How was your little tease?"

"Unbearable. Absolute bloody hell, torture really: in the end the entire fabric of your being is consumed with coming, you think orgasm, you breath orgasm, the whole point of your existence is to be driven to come; climaxistentialism. Your balls are screaming with tension, you pray for your nipples to be left alone, tickling and licking them makes every other sensation feel that much more intense, and most of all you long for anything to speed up, just a tiny fraction, because that's all you need to push you over into joyous squirting. That's why that, you called it 'slow masturbation', is so very effective. The slow strokes build the tension alright, they're what makes everything throb with a desire so desperate, a need so pressing. The quick strokes, they offer a promise that is broken so quickly that it breaks your heart."

"And your orgasm, bottom a little sore, eh?"

"It was ecstasy, my brain and balls exploded with the intensity of it all; throbbing, aching penis screaming urgency, the intensity of these signals hugely amplified by your nipples, and... I cannot described the other: when you do explode that makes the difference between a tap and a water-cannon; a puddle and a lake. What did you do?"

"Christine?" queried Angela.

"I stuck a well-greased finger in your bum and stroked your prostate," she replied matter-of-factly.

I blushed, but she could do that again anytime: as a boost to orgasm the sensation was out of this world. Incidentally, so was the meat; there was not very much but there were three different sorts, each quite distinct and each grilled to juicy succulence. One of the advantages, in those bygone days, of living where game was plentiful and, as a bonus in the shooting season, it was also dirt-cheap. This was both the end of the first course and, to my relief, the end of my embarrassing questioning.

Second course was two dishes done in slow-cookers, the food and Christine herself. Christine apologised for the simplicity of the dish, but she did not know how long we would be and her casserole could not be spoilt. It was the rest of the game cooked up with veg., but no potatoes, rice or pasta: the pleasures of gluttony were not going to be permitted to interfere with the delights of vanquishing lusts. "Slave, the fickle finger of truth is pointing at Christine, ask her a deeply probing question, something to keep us entertained whilst we tuck-in."

I thought and I thought. Then inspiration, "Christine, you and Angela are pretty uninhibited, really close friends and both man-free zones for years, did you ever, well... well, have sex together?"

"Once," Christine confided. "It didn't work. Angela's divorce went, sour: rancid in fact. She came round in floods of tears, totally distraught; he had collected the kids from school and the three of them had simply vanished. I cuddled her, comforted her and eventually, slightly pissed, we ended up in bed together. I kissed Angela, chastely, it was supposed to be a consoling goodnight kiss. Next thing I know I'm pinned on my back by a lioness attempting to prise my jaws apart with its huge, slick, hot, wet tongue. As you said, I'm broad minded and Angela needed a lift, right then I knew she needed me really badly; so I did to her all the things that I would have liked a man to do to me: well all the things I was physically capable of. Angela loves women, perhaps more so than men, she was suddenly sky-rocketed from destitution to riches and she responded. Oh my, I had enjoyed sex in my time, but I had no idea that a woman could come that many times, that quickly, and keep coming back for more. Of course, Angela wanted to pay her debts and return my caresses: she'd unveiled bliss in the middle of despair. It turned out to be hopeless, I just could not get started, she tried everything and anything: it was totally useless. It was nice, all of it was really pleasant and delightfully soothing, but it didn't set my pulse racing and my juices flowing. I could give, whole-heartedly, without reservation, but favours returned just did nothing for me: pleasure but no passion. So we put it down to experience, didn't try again but stayed best of friends. We've shared a bed since, but never again one another."

"Such close friends that Christine even persuaded her newly discovered and much treasured man to screw me, as my birthday surprise" Angela was in tears. "She really is my very best friend." She dabbed her eyes, we appeared to have finished eating, no one was for seconds.

Christine had sounded wistful – I'm not particularly good at relationships, well not some parts of them; I cannot, for example, ever pass a compliment convincingly, even when I know I really ought to: I freeze up, my mind goes blank, my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth – yet even I caught the melancholy in Christine's tone: she desperately wanted to, and could not, share with Angela. "Christine my cheesecake will make us all smile again," the recipe I follow cheers, heartens, warms, increases obesity and hardens arteries with each and every single spoonful. Christine collected our plates and disappeared into the kitchen. As soon as she was gone I hissed, "Angela. No just drop all that slave stuff for five seconds, there's no time! Shall we tease Christine together, work as a team, fingers and tongues united in a common cause. I'll get her started, then once she is good and randy you can join in too? You might not be able to set her fire alight but I'm certain that you can assist with piling on the fuel and fanning the flames."

Men do nothing for me, nothing what-so-ever, not even one secret adolescent erection I'm too ashamed or embarrassed to admit to: simply nothing. And it's not lack of opportunity, at university I had a wide circle of gay friends as my, then current, girlfriend was bi-sexual. But during the long slow session of masturbation I had just endured I knew that if Angela had swapped her place with a man I would have begged and pleaded him just the same as her and promised anything to anyone if they would just stop and suck me off.

Angela nodded her consent, vigorously, "Now I can see what Christine found in you. You're the same as she is, you can give without asking what, if anything, you will get in return."

"Don't ever trust to that with money," I admonished.

Angela laughed, Christine returned, the tension evaporated and we re-entered our roles. "Big boy, my little lap-dog, my obedient slave, my subjugated chattel, why the hell is your head not buried between my thighs, your tongue sunk deep into my fanny and licking for dear life itself? I told you, you are to eat pussy for pudding: so get cracking." I dived under the table. A few minutes later Angela spoke, "You know Chrissy, cheesecake is delicious; but cheese-cake whilst you cream, that's exquisite. I'm enjoying mine right now, but there will be plenty left over when I am gorged, won't there 'big boy'? My mouth was too full to reply.

"Christine, as this seems to be your confessional, tell me do you really enjoy anal sex?" Angela quizzed. I'm not sure how much of the answer Angela took in, as she kept having another orgasm, but I got Christine's message.

"It's no big deal, if your man's gentle, and he's not too big; in fact it's really quite nice. If Adrian has been good we normally finish off doggy style, it's fun, he gets to watch – grandstand view in fact – but it doesn't make me come. If Adrian's performance has been exceptional, or I want him to agree to something, I suck him off at the end: for him that's a real treat but, truth to tell, I would prefer not to. How do you think I paid for your birthday present? Now anal sex: most men adore it, I find it more exhilarating than doggy, you can't get pregnant, it's good if your period's heavy and your man's also randy and it's an absolute life saver after you've had a baby. I thought I'd see how Adrian reacted, he's never seemed that keen but, once sampled oft' returned to." At this point I probed Angela's slurping slot with the tips of two fingers, she thrust forwards, impaling herself upon them and as a consequence lost all self-control: the following morning we had, literally, to scrape half chewed cheesecake from the wall opposite to where she was sitting.

Once Angela was thinking clearly once more, the rest was a doddle. Angela talked Christine upstairs for a drop of Irish whiskey and a comprehensive licking, 'Christine's Irish cream' she named it: she had even brought a bottle of Jameson's as bait – until then we had shared a large bottle of local dry perry, equal to about half a bottle of wine, so we were all quite sober; sobriety is essential when you play games of bondage, no good the teaser nodding off, or worse, turning nasty. We secured Christine with no perceptible difficulty; once you are sitting in an arm chair with your legs splayed over the arms, you're pretty well immobilised anyway. Despite the earlier conversational switch-back, she was still incredibly randy, indeed raring to go, so it only took a matter of minutes to return her to a state of desperation and not much longer to extend this to a state of uncontrolled depravity. I did the full body lick and settled down to the basics, lick Christine's clit, finger her fanny, lick the sensitive strip between her two holes for a while longer.

Angela had blindfolded Christine early on and, under my tender ministrations, she was soon trying to struggle violently and making a proper rumpus. "Well, 'big boy', she was happy to extend your torment to fifty minutes; we'll give her, what? Say a round hour?" The rumpus metamorphosed into hysteria. "We'll start off with five minutes and then offer her the opportunity to exchange time for perversion." Angela gagged her. As I now knew, as one who had been on the receiving end of a comprehensive teasing, at this stage being gagged and blindfolded is truly terrible, any hope of influencing what happens is gone: but, worse still, you really do not trust those bastards not to run over time and as, for you, subjective time is almost stationary, your anxieties are fuelled with a nervous tension that verges upon the paranoid.

"Five minutes up. If I you agree to me assisting Adrian we will knock fifteen minutes off your time, nod if you wish this." A very firm and emphatic yes. For the next five minutes I worked on Christine's fanny whilst Angela concentrated upon her nipples. The way Christine was slurping out lubricant told us both that Angela's contribution was not turning her off in the slightest. "Let's change ends," I don't know what Angela was doing but Christine was beginning to struggle with frenetic energy. Then I had an inspiration. I swapped my attentions from her nipples to her ear lobes. Christine's manic struggling increase ten-fold, until one ear suddenly and unexpectedly dribbled wax onto my tongue. Let me tell you, ear wax tastes vile, it is disgusting, it is an abomination. I went to find out what Angela was up to.

Angela was concentrating on Christine's clit, or more precisely the area around it. If Christine relaxed, she went in closer with the occasional direct swipe of her tongue over that sensitive little button, when Christine tensed up Angela licked further out, deploying both an increase in firmness and an increase in tempo. Moreover, she had a single finger inserted in Christine's fanny almost up to the knuckle. As best as I could tell she was rotating this really gently. "let's swap, 'big boy'."

We swapped and swapped about, approximately every three minutes, until Christine had endured precisely twenty nine minutes of our ministrations. "Now listen carefully," Angela commanded. "It's your turn to decide. We can stop now and Adrian will shaft you stupid, as only he knows how to, but at the same time you will have to kiss me with serious passion. This will continue until Adrian and I cannot wring another climax out of your over-sensitised flesh. Then I get to sit in the chair, you kneel on all fours before me, you lick my slit and Adrian takes his pleasure in your bum. Nod if you agree.

Christine nodded her assent, frantically. As I pierced her hot damp sex, repetitively, Christine orgasmed regularly until I became really worried about my ability to hold myself back continuing. I had to shaft her pathetically slowly which, of course, made her ability to climax last all the longer. When Christine's responses finally began to diminish Angela broke off that long passionate kiss and attacked her nipples instead, allowing us to wring a last couple of orgasms out of her before she slumped, languid as a rag doll. We untied her and even before we could massage her arms and legs she shoved Angela into the chair, grabbed the stool – thatched with pink fluffy stuff –from in front of her dressing table, placed it before Angela and bent over it, rump stuck up high in the air. She commenced sucking Angela's slick slit with a gusto that appeared unbridled, almost manic. I took up my allotted position behind her, smeared her anus with Vaseline, which lived on the dressing table, and eased into her very slowly; Christine did not even seem to notice me invading her. Her 'spit-roast' was extraordinarily short lived; she was right, her rear was significantly more constricted than her pussy; the sensation was far more intense, I was desperately randy anyway and I came almost immediately. Anal sex is curious; unless you really want to hurt your partner you have to go gently so your climax is, instantaneously, less intense but then it lasts so much longer and you've to be very careful not to thrust hard, reflexly. An interesting variant but, despite Christine's opinions, I'd rather have done her doggy any day: a compromise would have to be negotiated. Satisfying Angela took rather longer, so I went to assist.

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