Alex, our next door neighbor, asked me to write about my evening. He said to be very frank. I feel strange asking you to take this seriously, but here it goes . . .
Alex was an inexperienced driver, I closed my eyes and held my breath a couple of times during the trip. After he exited the highway, I replayed the afternoon’s events in my head. A small part of me thought I should resist and obfuscate any way I could, but I knew that was pointless—Alex’s hormones were taking us all for a ride, even Alex. Another part of me, a part that’s embarrassing to talk about, was excited and aroused. I felt the pressure of the butt plug and shifted my hips against the seat to move it in me.
I’d fantasized about bondage. I have a dog eared copy of ‘Carrie’s Story’ by Molly Weatherfield in my nightstand drawer. That part of me responds to Alex. When he led me by a leash past my son’s room, and Sam saw me in the dog collar, the humiliation drenched me in arousal. I was as much a mess from the day’s events as it sounds, and I really needed release. Really, really.
Alex, taking directions from his phone, drove us down side roads until we were in a neighborhood of quiet, shady streets with big houses behind privacy walls. The streets were empty except the occasional Land Rover or Audi SUV. At a stop sign, I heard the click of Alex texting, and before pulling away he said, “You can take off your leash and carry it, but not the collar.”
I folded the leash and held it in my hands. He hadn’t given me a chance to grab my purse. I asked him, “Alex, where are we going?” I was nervous about that.
“I have a dominatrix friend named Sandra who throws crazy sex parties,” he said, and I guessed that he was trying to sound experienced and worldly. My suspicion was that he was a virgin and that’s why we hadn’t had sex. We were going to make an odd pair wherever we ended up. Alex was in jeans and I, old enough to be his mom, was in my slinkiest femme fatale cocktail dress. In the less sensible part of my mind, I was imaged Alex displaying me helpless and naked for his friends. I hoped he wasn’t reading my mind and shivered.
“Alex,” I said “STDs are no joke for you or us girls. Unless your powers work on micro-organisms, I will never forgive you if any of us gets really sick.” I used my most authoritarian ‘mom’ voice knowing that the threat was empty. But I saw the chagrin on his face. It gave me hope that he wouldn’t let anything too crazy happen.
We rode in silence for a couple more minutes before turning onto a driveway through a wide green yard spotted with old willows. A dry-stone fence ran along the drive with a brick colonial house at the end. We passed Bentleys, a silver Jaguar, an Italian sports car, and jet-black chopper. The chopper looked very out of place, but I could imagine a dominatrix on it weaving through traffic as though she were Motor City’s answer to the Wicked Witch of the West.
We parked after the chopper and walked up the sidewalk. Through the windows were preppy, 30-somethings laughing and drinking. It looked like a photo shoot for a Home and Garden house-party edition, except I noticed many of the women and some of the men were barefoot.
The very pretty girl who opened the front door had curly blond hair with toasted golden skin. She was holding a glass of red wine and bangles swung on her wrists.
“Oh!” she said smiling as though he were a long lost friend, “I’m Hillary. You must Alex. Sandra mentioned you were coming.”
She turned to me and Alex made introductions, “This is Chelsea, she’s my, my, . . . date.” He made awkward puppy dog eyes at Hillary. Instant crush, I couldn’t blame him.
“Pleased to meet you.” she said, extending her hand to me. The bangles jingled against each other and I took the opportunity to look at her more closely. She was wearing a comfortable blue romper that her slender figure made elegant. It was easy to imagine her riding a horse, playing tennis, or sailing. She was probably not much older than Alex. Teen girl or not, when I met her blue eyes, I felt butterflies in my stomach and below.
“Those are dazzling earrings. Tiffanies, aren’t they?” Hillary said, stepping out from the light of the doorway and reaching her hand out toward my neck. I turned my head to the side for her and she touched my earlobe between her thumb and forefinger. I couldn’t see her smile, but I felt it’s warmth like a radiator.
“Yes”, I said feeling myself smile back, “My sorority sisters got them for me as a marriage gift. Green emerald.” When she withdrew her hand, I noticed blue crystals twinkling in Hillary’s ears. We had both chosen earrings to match our eyes, but I didn’t have a chance to bond over that before Hillary invited us in.
“Let’s go say hi to Sandra, she’s been wanting to see you all night,” Hillary said, stepping back and opening the door widely for us. I followed her in, and we stood in a tall, white paneled foyer lined with paintings of pastoral landscapes.
“Can I ask you to indulge in one of Sandra’s little rules?” asked Hillary.
“Of course,” Alex and I said together.
“Subs, I mean submissives, are supposed to forgo shoes at the door, just so everyone can see who everyone is,” said Hillary apologetically. I glanced down at Hillary’s bare feet, and her eyes were laughing at me when I looked back up at her. I felt my face flush.
“Of course,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. An image popped into my head of Hillary’s bare brown stomach pressed against mine for the viewing pleasure of shadowy spectators. I fumbled self-consciously with my flats by the door. Hillary put her hand on my arm, “Oh, I can take those,” she said, and held her hand out. “I can also take the leash for now, it’s not really the time for that yet. But I love the choker. Wicked.” She put my things in a hall closet. I couldn’t meet her eyes for a while and I was self conscious of our bare feet and what that meant for me here.
Hillary led us through some double doors into the conversational hum of the party. In clumps of twos and threes, people laughed at each other’s jokes and were absorbed by stories. They seemed a charming and sophisticated bunch, mingling with them was not going to be much less intimidating than a sex party.
“Darlings!” said an extraordinarily tall woman in what would have been a sun dress if it weren’t charcoal. We joined her by a stone fireplace. The mantle was carved with little gremlin faces. Hillary introduced me to Sandra as Alex’s “date,” emphasizing his choice of words to tease him.
“Two in one day,” Sandra said to Alex, leaning down for him to kiss her on the cheek. He did kiss her, but only after after a moment of confused indecision. I felt proud of him for treading the unfamiliar social waters and wondered how I would do. Sandra took my hands in hers, she had to stoop to reach them. She looked me up and down like a show horse. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Alex was as nervous and self conscious as I was.
“Gorgeous!” Sandra concluded, addressing herself to Alex. “You’re happy with my plan?”
He coughed, “Yes.”
Addressing me directly for the first time Sandra said conversationally, “Dear, you are overdressed. Please strip for me.”
I looked at her blankly, “I’m sorry?”
“Uh,” said Alex almost apologetic, “Simon says take off your dress.”
Even as my hands moved to slip the straps off of my shoulders, I couldn’t believe it was happening. When my dress slipped below my breasts, in my mind, the party stopped and the guests turned to look at me in shock. I had to close my eyes in shame when the dress fell below my ridiculous, pink bunny tail.
I felt warm hands on my bare waist and opened my eyes to Hillary’s friendly face. “I remember my fist time,” she was saying. “You’re much braver than I was. I ran to the bathroom and hid.” Out of the corner of my vision, I saw that conversations had not stopped, although men and women were sneaking appreciative glances. Hillary moved her hands up to cup my face. She stepped close so that her blue eyes in her golden-browm face were all I could see. “It’s ok to feel overwhelmed here, but I think you’ll have fun,” she said and then pulled away. I had thought for a moment she was going to kiss me, and the disappointment that she did not helped distract me from my anxiety.
Sandra steered the conversation away from me and I was left with nothing to do but try and participate in the nude. No one stared, but I felt stolen peeks in all my nooks and crannies. The pounding of my heart slowed from a jackhammer to a marching band drum, and I was able to look at the room and people.
Outside, light from the tall windows made squares of yellow on the grass in the dark. Above the windows, intricately carved moulding rose into tall ceilings. I must have looked strange among the slacks, skirts, dark wood, and paintings—like a stray pet tilting my head as though I were people. Then I made myself stand straight, uncross my my arms, and took a drink from a tray. With a glass in my hand, I felt more confident and less absurd.
Sandra left to meet a couple of late guests and Hillary introduced us to a collection of silver haired men who were talking about the misery and cost of boat ownership. A broad shouldered, paunchy man who had had too much to drink introduced himself to Alex. “Kerfield, Thomas Kerfield. Pleased to meet you. Your friend is lovely, do you mind?” Alex said no, and Thomas began to touch me.
I’ve been grabbed by men at parties before, but Thomas examined me like a judge at an animal show. I turned around at his request. Cupping and lifting my ass, Thomas said, “Just fabulous. you don’t usually see muscle tone like that past twenty-two.” Around me, the other men nodded. I decided to think positively and take the remark as a compliment.
“Is she responsive?” Thomas asked Alex.
Alex said, “Uh”, not understanding.
“I mean sometimes mature women need assistance,” said Thomas helpfully.
I felt my face burn, half with outrage and half with embarrassment. Hillary came to my rescue. “Thomas,” she said laughing, “are women not responding to you?”
He caught her playful mockery and rejoined, “Sandra does, dear.” The conversation was back on polite footing.
Hillary made the rounds with us until we had met everyone. I was examined by touch a couple more times. Once a young woman, twenty something, had lightly pinched my labia around my clit. I gasped and said, “oh!” nearly spilling my drink and feeling exposed again. Hillary gave the woman a firm pat on the face, not quite a slap. I guessed she had violated one of Sandra’s ‘little rules’. Mostly, I tried to pretended I was not naked, and everyone else, Alex included, tried to pretend they were not looking. My body began to show signs of “responsiveness”.
Around midnight, the conversations slowed and stalled. A couple of guests left and the rest migrated to a smoking room. Grim, old men watched us from paintings between stag heads. In the center curled an iron chandelier on a heavy chain above a Turkish carpet. Chairs were arranged in a half circle on the carpet, as though for an intimate concert. Sandra stopped Alex by the door. She held my leash and a long birch cane that I recognized as a switch from an uncomfortable summer on my grandparents’ farm.
“We’ll take some photos,” Sandra said to Alex, “but you’ll get them all on a drive. Just send me the ones I can share.” She turned to me and took my drink, “Dear, from here on out you are not to speak, only obey.” She clipped the leash to my collar and pulled down on it. In my imagination, I heard the whistle of the switch coming down on my unprotected rear, so I knelt. The hard wood floor hurt my knees and Sandra continued to pull until I also dropped my hands to the floor. She said something to Alex I couldn’t hear, and he knelt down next to my head. I recognized this party from my fantasies and decided Alex was recreating for me what he had seen in my mind. But if that were true, the real me, the me who went home to a husband and kids, had to stop this from going any further.
“Alex,” I said, about to try and argue, but I felt the tip of the switch rest against my ass and closed my mouth. “Open,” Alex said. He held a plastic ring on a strap. I tried to plead with my eyes, which got me a gentle stroke on the cheek from his hand before he slipped the ring behind my teeth forcing my jaws uncomfortably wide.
Sandra made me crawl to the carpet, and I had to wipe drool from the ring with the back of my hand. From the corner of my eye, I saw barefoot guests sitting in laps or on the floor. I guess submissives don’t get chairs. Alex sat in a chair. Hillary hugged Alex’s legs from beside him on the ground, and he had his hand on the back of her neck. I felt a prick of jealousy, but didn’t know for which of them. Both? A girl young enough to be Thomas’s daughter sat in Thomas’s lap. She was laughing and he was whispering in her ear with his hand up her short pink skirt. But his eyes, like most of the guests’, were on me.
Sandra guided me with the switch to lie on my stomach, face turned away from the audience with my legs spread. She tied my hands together in a complicated spiral of knots from my wrists to my elbows and from there down my sides. The rope was soft and Sandra was firm and dexterous. I lost track of time and relaxed as she worked her way from my arms, to my shoulders, waist, thighs, and calves. Behind me from the audience came furtive moans and embarrassed giggles. I felt a puddle of drool form under my gag, but I couldn’t move to clean myself. My self and will dissolve into delicious helplessness.
After what could have been twenty minutes or hours, the moans from the audience became bolder and Sandra struggled with what sounded like ropes and pulleys. My bonds began to tighten, they pulled my back into a bow-like arch, my legs open into a scissor shape, and finally I was hoisted a few feet above the ground as a string of drool swung from my mouth. Then I heard the sound of the camera shutter capturing the display of me. My body pushed my mind over a tipping point of desire, I would have touched myself if I could have or begged someone else to.
I felt Sandra’s hand on my ankle turn me in the air so I could see the audience. While I had been immobilized, the preppy, charming crowd had degenerated. They were civilized enough not to abandon the seating plan or strip naked, but every pair had their hands under buttons and zippers. Shirts hung open over bare tits and cocks protruded from slacks.
Hillary’s romper hung down from her waist, exposing small breasts and svelte waist that reminded me of a cello’s curve. She had Alex’s cock out of his pants and sat with her head in his lap as though ready to kiss it. But he was controlling her head by a handful of blond curls so that she could only touch it with her hands. If it were me, I thought, I wouldn’t have found the will to stop her.
Bound and gagged, I could only try to communicate my willingness to Alex with my eyes. I saw the lust in his face for me and I felt myself pulse inside in anticipation. Sandra ran her fingers over my bare back, thighs, and tail. Then her fingers slipped in and out of my sex while we watched Hillary stroke Alex.
When a drip of precum formed on Alex’s penis, Sandra tapped him on the shoulder with the switch. He stood, forcing Hillary to release him. Sandra took his seat and guided Hillary up onto her lap. Hillary sat facing forward and met my eyes. Sandra slid her fingers down Hillary’s stomach into her romper. To me, Sandra seemed to stroke her like a musician playing an instrument. Hillary leaned her head back onto Sandra’s shoulder and whimpered, her blue eyes watching me.
But then I couldn’t see her because Alex stood in front of me. After Sandra’s foreplay, I wanted to inhaled him. But instead, he placed the tip of his cock in the edge of the ring at my mouth and held it there. I tasted the salty bitterness of his head and strained to look up at his face. He ran his hands through my hair.
“I’m going to make you come when I do,” he said, and slid into my mouth. When he reached my throat, I couldn’t help struggling a little against my ropes. His cock throbbed, and I tipped over the edge into an orgasm. My body shook, and I tried to swallow as much cum as I could. But when he pulled out, I was leaking from both ends and gasping. A few people in the audience clapped and Thomas’s girl yelled, “bravo!” Hillary, head lying against Sandra’s shoulder and moaning, was still watching me from the corner of her eye. I saw Alex furrow his brow for a moment, and she crested making a beautiful, silent “O” with her mouth. I had never been with a woman, but I wanted Hillary and hoped Alex was listening in.
Hillary would tell me later that she has never enjoyed ruining one of her parents’ rugs more. And that is the story of how I took Alex’s virginity.