The Summerhouse Ch. 02: Chantelle

Her belly rested on mine; her fingers tapped on the inside of my thigh, as my lips swept along her slit. I flicked her clit and rolled her sensitive button around my tongue, as Carlos speared her cunt. He opened her up and ploughed his prick into the stranger bareback.

My hands massaged her tits; my tongue sucked on her slippery clit and touched his sweaty balls and cock. She blew on my erect cock and groaned as I sucked on her pearl, while Carlos pistonned his short, thick prick into her unguarded hole.

She writhed under our touch. She grunted and sighed, and her thighs gripped the side of my head with fevered abandon. She rolled her hips to the same rhythm as her lover and pushed her body into mine.

I stared at the sagging balls smashing against her crotch. Waiting. Hoping. Desperate for that taste of his cum. Wanting to suck his seed from the pregnant woman's cunt. A degrading task that I was desperate to do. Every slap of flesh took them closer to that moment. Every grunt, groan, squeal, cry and thrust was nearer to the time when his prick would shoot his seed into her pussy and it would leak onto my face.

Onto my lips.

Carlos smashed his cock deep into the woman and held it as his thighs shook and his crotch pulsated. I heard her gasp. She groaned. She felt the waves of his cum enter her body and as he withdrew it, several globules of his seed dripped onto me.

I didn't ask for permission, but I buried my face in her well-fucked cunt and licked. I sucked, and I rolled my tongue around her pussy as she squealed. She begged and moaned until Carlos stuck his cum-covered prick in her mouth to silence the vocal proclamations from the horny harlot.

She made muffled yells as I tasted the delicious creamy goo. The musky, familiar taste of masculinity imbibed with her sweet notes was a heavenly cocktail. A humiliating, degrading, filthy mixture that slipped across my tongue like a fine wine.

She groaned as I swept over her clit, and quivered as she orgasmed, expelling the last remnants of Carlos's seed when she passionately bucked her hips.

She smiled at me as she stood up and then kissed Carlos on the lips as I got to my feet. "You better clean yourself, cuck!" She warned, and I thanked her before washing my face and hair in a bathroom.

The sex party was huge. I had lost Martin and could not see Simon, Clare or Victoria. The lack of protection between Carlos and the pregnant woman worried me, and I wanted to find my fiancée.

Martin was on his knees, servicing an elder, Latex-covered woman. His mouth glued to her cunt as she writhed on the gilded throne. Victoria was underneath Simon on the lawn. Her legs were vertical as he ploughed into her unguarded cunt with wild abandon.

I finally found Clare in the dungeon, holding a long cane as she took it in turns with another dominant to lacerate a tied underling's backside. The red collared gentleman yelled with every strike on his striped bottom, begging for mercy from the two torturers.

I stood at the back of the dark space and watched. Stopping to admire the majesty of my fiancée as she inflicted exquisite agony on the restrained man. "Enough?" Clare asked.

Her sadistic partner shook her head and launched into a vicious salvo of strikes against the backs of the screaming man's thighs. "Now that's enough. Who said you could watch me?"

"No-one, Mistress," he blubbed.

"Quite, and what did you do?"

"I watched you get fucked, Mistress."

"And then what?"

"I touched my winky." I sniggered at his description and his partner smashed the implement once more into his bare flesh.

"Pathetic! What do you say to Clare who helped me punish you?"

"Thank you, Miss Clare."

Clare smiled and passed the cane to her new friend, and backed away. She caught me watching from the back of the dungeon. "Do you know what we do to ogling cucks?"

"I was looking for you," I told her and then met her eyes. "Miss Clare."

"Ooh, Miss Clare. I like that. Perhaps I'll keep that." A bell rang out as we reached the top of the stairs and Clare giggled. "Oh wow. They're doing it. Victoria said they would! C'mon, you'll be needed!"

"What?"

"Martin's birthday. This will be fun."

"What do you mean, 'I'll be needed!'?"

"Stop worrying," Clare hissed and patted my bare bottom. "Just c'mon!"

We followed the masses of the bodies filing into the large hall which was crammed with naked and semi-naked adults. Martin was nude, helpless, and fastened to a St Andrews Cross in the centre of the large hall. He whimpered loudly as Victoria held a whip menacingly alongside another, elder, lady.

"One of our elite members has turned forty today," she shouted. "And it is our tradition, that he shall be whipped."

Victoria smiled. "But we have a little game for him to play. He can take forty strikes with the whip, forty strikes on the cane, forty strikes with the tawse, forty hits with paddle and finally forty strikes to his balls. Or he can keep being struck with those implements until a cucky friend has sucked off Evelyn. So should he take the hits, or should he gamble?"

"Gamble!" Clare yelled beside me. "Gamble!" Others around us echoed this, and Victoria traced her whip over his abused flesh. The welts from earlier in the day were clearly visible.

"Gamble?" Victoria asked and turned on her heels to speak directly to her restrained husband. "Hey Martin? Gamble or not?"

"OK," he cried. "I'll gamble." A cheer went up.

"Pick your cuck partner," Victoria told him. "And just so you know, we will tie you both to the rape bench afterwards until I am ready to go home."

Clare squeezed my hand. "He might call for you."

"I haven't blown that many men," I whispered back.

"You've done a few," Clare replied. "And I know you like it."

"So many more have men will have more experience than me."

Martin sighed. "Jonathan, is he here?" Clare squealed in excitement and pushed me forward. My cheeks burnt as I made small steps through the crowd to the centre of the large crowd.

Victoria beamed and ran her whip up my body, causing me to shiver. "You know what you have to do?"

"Um ..." I hesitated.

"When a dick, of my choosing, comes in your slutty mouth, I'll stop whipping your friend. And then we'll tie you to the rape bench in the stables for anyone to use until we leave. Agree to that?"

I squeaked as I replied. "Yes."

"Horny already!" Victoria joked. "OK, Jonathan. This is the guy you need to suck. His real name is Evelyn, but he prefers Chantelle. And he is one very lucky cuck!" The lithe, hairless man stood in front of me, with black fishnet stockings, a lacy black suspender belt and a padded bra that was stuffed with big oval pads. He was younger than me, with long black hair and deep blue eyes. And a red collar.

I knelt in front of him, oblivious to the surrounding chattering. I made eye contact with the sissy cuckold, and then, as the first strike hit Martin's skin, my lips surrounded his circumcised cock.

My hands gripped his hosiery-encased buttocks as his prick glided into my mouth. It quickly grew. Long swirls against his sensitive glans that had been teased all evening, and I drained the sapid pre-cum down my throat.

Martin screamed in pain. Intense strikes on his abused backside as my tongue worked the crossdresser's prick. Victoria played to her audience with her taunting and gloating comments. Martin's wife gleefully abused and degraded him in public.

My hands parted the buttocks of the submissive cuckold and I massaged my finger against his butthole. I pulled his body closer, pushing his cock deeper into my mouth as my tongue flicked his cock head. I bobbed on his skinny dick that tickled the back of my throat.

I couldn't ignore the humiliation. I couldn't avoid the laughter or the enjoyment the crowd of perverts were gaining from the submissive act. I was fellating the crossdressing sissy. I was seeking to extract the cum from the most beta of beta males. My dick bobbed as I desperately and frantically worked the cock of the fishnet-clad man in front of me.

Victoria dropped the whip and picked up the cane. "Your friend isn't doing too well," she yelled as the long, thin implement whistled through the air and landed on his skin. Martin screamed. Loud, piercing yells of excruciating pain that echoed in the hall. "I will make your backside sore until your next birthday," Victoria promised him.

I increased the pace on the epicene submissive. I rammed my mouth faster and faster on his cock, desperate to taste his creamy cum in my mouth. Both Martin and I needed it. I gagged on his hairless tool as I stroked his anus, pressing against the whorl of his backside as I pulled his hips towards me.

"Jonathan," Martin squealed as Victoria moved onto the paddle. "Hurry up!"

I couldn't reply. I couldn't respond. I was sucking the transvestite as fast as I could, skewering his prick deep into my mouth as Victoria abused her husband. Repeated strikes smashed against his flesh with increasingly loud yells and whimpers. An intense display, with screams that rattled around my conscious.

I needed to block him out. I had to concentrate on the long, thin dick between my lips. I needed to kiss, caress, worship and adore the cock sliding out of my mouth and stimulate it.

I sucked the tip of his prick and rolled my tongue around his corona until he whimpered. He squealed, and he bucked his hips. His prick trembled and the smallest squirt of cum landed on my lips.

"He's come," I yelled, just as Victoria flicked her cane into her husband's testicles for the first time. The howl was deafening. He hollered and screamed as the sharp pain smashed into his sensitive orbs.

Victoria scowled and dropped her implement. "Tie 'em up on the bench," she ordered and turned to the room. "And boys and girls, please use my husband. It's his special day." I panted with deep breaths as the taste of Chantelle's burst of semen slipped down my throat. Victoria knelt down beside me. "C'mon, Jon. You don't escape the birthday celebrations," she whispered in my ear.

"But it's Martin's day, not mine."

"And we are sharing it with you and Clare. Don't worry, it's my husband who will get most of the fucking." She guided me behind her partner, out of the manor house and into the floodlit gardens, to a small stable block to the rear of the property. In the dimly lit cold building were two jet black steel bondage benches.

The spartan room smelt musky. There was straw on the floor that cut into my bare feet as Victoria took me to the furthest bench. The black metal frame had lockable wrist restraints, ankle restraints and a neck restraint, which Victoria guided me into. My arse was presented to anyone who entered the room; I was ready to be "raped" doggy-style with only a tiny amount of padding under my chest and knees.

I looked across at Martin, restrained like me. Victoria's heels echoed on the stone floor as she strode to the rear of the room, and she picked up a black rubber hood, which she put over her husband's constrained head. When she fastened the straps on the black leather garment, under his chain and at the base of his neck, I noticed a funnel on a nine inch hose protruding from his mouth.

"Hey, hun," Clare whispered in my ear. "We have one for you too. Unless you want to suck cocks instead." She giggled and ran her hands through my hair affectionately.

The buttplug was gently removed from my butthole and I heard footsteps leave the room. They left us, alone. Waiting. "You OK?" I asked Martin, but the full head hood and muzzled mouth meant he gave just a grunt in return.

The first three visitors went to the birthday boy. A tall, black man urinated in his funnel, causing the bound cuckold to jerk as the liquid flowed into his mouth and then I heard the rough sounds of slapping flesh. Martin's groans were explicit. The deep grunts of the top were obvious.

One of the naked hosts, holding a blue blindfold, visited next. The young lady stepped on a stool, pushed the funnel underneath her tantalising cunt and let a stream of piss flow into Martin's throat. He gurgled as the pee slipped past his lips and the delicate wisp left the stables with a chuckle.

The following visitor was an elder, mature woman, donning a large black strap-on. In real life, she could have been a part-time librarian, or a retired primary school teacher, but she came to plunder the backside of the multi-millionaire. She made brief eye contact with me and then shifted from my vision as she roughly fucked our host until he squealed and cried. His body jerked forward with every powerful thrust into his vulnerable arse.

I wanted something. Watching Martin receive all the attention had left my cock straining underneath the bondage bench, and my butt tingled with anticipation. Horniness flowed through me. Desperation.

The buttplug had stretched my hole, and I needed to have it re-plugged. Taken. Plundered.

Two giggling female voices perked my hopes. The gentle parting of my buttocks raised them further, as a smooth, slippery dildo slipped between by cheeks. My mind relaxed, and I swam through the desperate feelings of submission. Her lubricated cock stretched me.

Wondrous, delightful pressure around my ring. Across my body. A soft warm glow.

But as she finished, still giggling, it felt empty and shallow. She wasn't a dominatrix. It wasn't intimate.

The thick prick that followed her, driven into my butt was. The unknown man was a delight, pulling on my waist as he roughly rammed his meat into my unguarded hole.

Intense, passionate, flexible and erotic. He slammed his flesh against mine, radiating a power that left me gasping and squealing. I couldn't think about anything other than the dominant top plundering my body. My crotch sizzled towards an explosion, my body tensing and relaxing as he gave me the pleasure I needed.

I saw the crest of my arousal in the distance. I felt the impending peak gathering pace as the alpha male slammed his dick harder and harder into my hole.

And then it stopped.

I squeezed my muscles, as his prick pulsed, desperate to wring a last drop of sensation. But it was no good.

A guy twenty minutes later did the same, taking me so close to my anal orgasm, before shooting into his condom. Martin though, got five times more visitors than me. I lost count of the times his hole was ploughed, or the times he was forced to drink from the funnel. He pissed twice into a bucket underneath the bench and came at least once.

Victoria untied us just before 11pm, and we arrived back at the Braithwaite's mansion after midnight. Martin and I were teased in the taxi journey back, with Simon looking exhausted.

"Before, you go to bed," I asked Clare. "I wouldn't mind fifteen minutes alone with you."

"Really," Clare mumbled.

"You said Victoria and Martin have a dungeon with restraints. Can I have a look in there? With you?"

"It's late, Jon," Clare soothed. "And I am sure Martin and Victoria want to rest."

"No, I don't mind," Martin replied, smiling at me. He must have read my mind, as the moment I saw the vast array of bondage equipment in the large dungeon, that Clare had described to me on the car journey north, I made a bee-line for the bench. It was similar to what I had been strapped into for half the evening.

"Haven't you had enough of that?" Victoria giggled and I shook my head. I pulled Clare over it, and our eyes met. "Err ... I don't think cucks should be doing that to their ladies."

"She can punish me later," I snapped. "I need to fuck my fiancée. She's teased me all fucking night." Clare sniggered as I fastened the cuffs around her ankles and wrists.

"Someone's very horny," Clare chuckled. "It's OK. Just this once, Victoria."

Her mesh dress had already ridden upwards and my erect cock slipped inside her sopping wet cunt. Victoria stood beside me. "Is that good?"

"Fantastic," I muttered.

"About twenty men have fucked your girl today. She's very slutty. Very, very slutty. And while the waiter ploughed your arse, she was doing a spit roast." I grunted as my prick pistonned into her. Victoria cackled. "And she ate out six women. She's a real Grade-A slut. So do you think a little cuck is going to make her satisfied? This is a pity fuck."

I didn't care. My hands gripped her waist as I plundered my fiancée relentlessly. Every touch was a sweet caress from her cunt on my cock. Every word from Victoria, a tonic to my submission.

My orgasm neared. I jack-hammered into Clare's maidenhood and without warning, had the most intense, all-encompassing climax I had ever had with Clare.

Victoria ran her hands over my shoulder. "Now you've reclaimed your woman, perhaps you should clean her up and then take her back to Simon."

"Can I reclaim you?" Martin asked and his young wife snorted derisively.

She looked at her watch. "Sex? With you? It's not your birthday any more. Try again in 364 days."

"But ..."

She glared at him. "Do you want to sleep in the bedroom or the garden?" She laughed at his expression and patted him on the butt. "OK, you can have a pity fuck too. Once, you've had a shower. Just this once."