6 comments/ 24066 views/ 4 favorites Bells By: voluptuary_manque Deserea looked out the car window feeling slightly dazed. She sat very still trying to keep the tiny gold bells that hung from her necklace, bracelets, anklets and earrings still. Every time she shifted the slight "ching" reminded her of the other bells on the belt that circled her slender hips just above her mons and those that dangled unseen from the silk loops around her erect nipples. These, in turn, would remind her of the narrow oxblood silk band that ran down over her sex, up between her buttocks and down front and back over the metal-lace. With her full, kissable lips painted to match her breechcloth and the rest of her professionally made up face, Deserea would have felt very sexily turned out under the concealing caftan if only she wasn't sitting in the back seat of her parents' Jaguar. They were going to a party, a party of her parents' friends, a party of middle-aged professional people and she was dressed like a fantasy harem girl! Unable to remain perfectly motionless, each small squirm or shift she made rubbed the rough silk against her newly bare pussy or pulled on the captured nipples of her C-cup breasts. The arousing sensations fought with her embarrassment and left her feeling oddly conflicted about the coming evening. She was repelled, yet increasingly excited by the thought that her parents, of all people, regularly attended "that" kind of party and that they were compelling their only daughter to accompany them. Who would have thought that dropping out of college could have such an unsettling result? Deserea had dreaded breaking the news to her mother at Winter Break that there was no returning to the prized university she'd attended the previous fall. Still, her mother had almost always been patient and understanding with the angst Deserea had managed to display in excessive amounts all of her life and so she'd hoped that the plea of "personal, really personal, reasons" would be sufficient. It wasn't. At rare times the patient and understanding mother she was used to would suddenly be replaced with a figure that seemed more like an avatar of Gaia or the Mother Goddess herself. Victoria Smyth-Jefferson would lift her chin, raise one eyebrow and drive a lightning glance from her golden eyes into Deserea's dark brown ones and suck truth out of the girl. And so she'd been forced to explain that she'd fallen with "the wrong crowd". Not a bad crowd, mind, just . . . the wrong one. It was a crowd where the girls spent all their waking hours either trying to hook up with boys or telling, usually in the most unflattering terms possible, about the boys they'd hooked up with the previous night or weekend. And those unflattering terms they used on the boys were, Deserea had to admit, perfectly apt! The entire bunch seemed to consist of losers and users and not much else and Des simply could not return. It wasn't her lost virginity that mattered so much but that it had happened so trivially. That hurt. "You do know that one of the reasons you were sent to a Catholic girls' high school was the hope that you would get enough theoretical knowledge of sex from the older students to protect yourself from this sort of thing?" Victoria queried. "Uh, I guess I never thought of it that way, Mother," came the trembling reply. Deserea pushed out a full, lush lower lip in hopes of sympathy but began to suspect that she wasn't going to get any. It was the way her mother's impressive cleavage rose and fell along with the tapping of the elegant long nails on the onyx desktop that made the girl's stomach start to butterfly. "But at least I haven't caught anything or gotten pregnant!" Victoria's face softened just a bit. "I suppose that is something in your favor but I am disappointed that you chose to play with boys rather than meeting men. We shall have to correct your view of the opposite sex, child, before you reach womanhood." Her mother reached out and gently took Deserea's dark jaw in her caramel-colored hand and lifted the girl's eyes back to her own. "And just what kind of woman will my little girl become, hmmm? We will have to give that some thought, your father and I." The next morning Deserea was sitting in one of their Maloof rockers sipping a morning espresso as her father prepared to leave for the law firm where he was a senior partner. Charles Smyth-Jefferson wore his tailored three-piece suit and Borsolino hat the way a lesser man might wear an ermine-trimmed robe and crown. It was, in addition to a world-class intellect, the almost overwhelming confidence he radiated that had sent him sky-rocketing to the pinnacle of his profession and of the city's social order. Why he had no ambition for political office baffled many but in the face of the man's sometimes withering glance, none had dared to ask. Now he turned his gaze onto his youngest child. "You and your mother are going out today," he rumbled with crisp diction, "and whatever she decides to do, you will not question nor will you argue. Understood?" "Yes, Daddy!" Deserea adored her tall, dark, broad-shouldered sire and from infancy had simply accepted as natural law anything he said. Whatever he and her mother had in mind for their daughter was now going to happen and she would simply have to endure it, no matter how unpleasant it might be. Deserea felt that she had screwed up badly and was going to have to pay for her errors. She was surprised to discover, when her mother came downstairs that punishment didn't seem to be in the offing. "There will be a Gathering tomorrow evening and you will accompany us," Victoria announced between bites of fresh croissant. "Therefore you and I will spend the day in preparation. A visit to Mario & Gina's is in order and then we will go shopping." Mario & Gina's? The most exclusive day spa in the southern half of the state? Deserea knew her father was very well-off but had no idea that her mother could loll away the hours is so decadent a manner. And apparently Victoria was a regular at the spa because they were welcomed warmly and by name upon arrival. Deserea, especially, was the center of comment and compliment by the attentive staff. She was beginning to feel that perhaps nothing "terrible" was going to happen to her, after all. The visit began with a sit in the sauna where the heat and steam began to relax the girl from her earlier anxiety; though sharing the hot room and cedar benches with her naked mother was a little disturbing, at first. Where Deserea was sylph-like and slender, her mother was deep bosomed and broad hipped, a perfect and perfectly luscious size 16. Other women might have wanted to reduce that size but Victoria, once nude, swayed like an ancient Hindu temple dancer, her DD breasts bouncing liquidly and her flexed thighs seeming always about to break into the most lascivious dance imaginable. After the sauna came a facial, a manicure and pedicure, the hair relaxation and installation of a long braid so that her locks now came clear down to the dimples above her ass. This was followed by a whole body Brazilian waxing! The sharp sensation of every hair below her eyebrows being pulled both hurt and stimulated the girl. So did the amazing thought that her mother; her mother, was smooth "down there" and apparently had been for years. Victoria then announced that for the finale, a long massage was in order. The attendant's fingers worked magic up and down Deserea's spine sending her into a languid sense of relaxation. The little Vietnamese masseuse then rolled the girl onto her back and worked her magic on the front side for a while until, when it seemed that she was finished, she casually reached down and gave Deserea's large, dark nipple a slow, twisting pull. "No, no! I don't go that way!" protested the girl, but her mother's voice cut her complaint off in mid-stream. "Des, Jasmine is the best there is and worth whatever tip she wants. Today it seems she wants you . . . so lie back and enjoy!" Remembering her father's orders to neither question nor argue, the girl apprehensively did as directed. To her astonishment, Jasmine unzipped her crisp, white uniform and, letting it drop to the floor, stood completely nude. Climbing up onto the massage table she lay full length on Deserea's body, pressed her lips against Des' and forced her tongue between them. Between fierce kisses she took the girl's breasts in both oily, slippery hands and began to twist, tug and knead her nipples until they stood straight up. As Jasmine writhed atop her, an electrifying warmth spread down Deserea's body to the joining of her thighs until she clawed at the small woman's back and her juices began to flow. The moisture combined with the massage oil and the masseuse's own fluids to make an exquisitely slippery blend that only added to the girl's heat. Blood rushed into her nether regions and out of her brain as she let go of all thought and released herself to glorious sensation, panting and moaning with desire. After squeezing, pulling and slapping the mahogany globes back and forth, Jasmine next sat up, spread Deserea's unresisting thighs wide, lifted one over her shoulder and slid between them. Scooting forward and displaying remarkable flexibility, the panting masseuse managed to seize an erect nipple in her mouth (and bite down hard enough to make the girl cry out) thrust her hips up and down, pounding Deserea in a frenzy of frottage. "Oh! Oh! Oh, God! Oh! Ahhhhhhh . . .!" they screamed in duet as the orgasm swept over them and subsided into whimpers of relief. "My little chocolate bar, you really are the most delicious thing," Jasmine purred when they both regained their breath. She pulled a light blanket over Deserea and let her slip into happy slumber. Just as the girl drifted off, she heard Jasmine leer and quietly announce, "Now I'm going to have your mother!" Over lunch, both women regarded each other with satisfied smiles as Victoria explained, "You see, dear, this nonsense of gay vs. straight is unnatural. The terms 'homosexual' and 'heterosexual' didn't even exist until the late 19th Century and the prejudice against same-sex contact didn't exist until the 14th. No one even knows how it came about. Other mammals and many birds swing both ways and there is no reason why people shouldn't as well. I love your father dearly but wouldn't want to give up Jasmine for all the tea in China . . . or Vietnam, as the case may be." "Does Jasmine understand all this?" queried her daughter. "She seems to be kind of . . . single-minded?" "Theoretically she does," responded Victoria "but not personally, not yet. I'm just waiting for the proper moment to turn your father loose on her. That will convince her, let me tell you! He is the most delightfully virile man . . . And now, let's go shopping!" The shopping, it turned out, was to be done in the local Little India part of town in a shop that looked like many others, full of brass tables, carved elephants and gewgaws of many sorts. Ms. Smyth-Jefferson hardly slowed down upon arrival, as a cell phone call from the Jaguar had the proprietor waiting for them at the door. He bowed them into a cool, dark inner room and brought out black, velvet lined boxes of what looked superficially like the brass belly-dance jewelry in the front but which gleamed with that unmistakable quality of real, high-carat gold. "These are just what I want, Rajeev," Victoria murmured, "Visually, that is. However, the sound must be right as well. They will be no good for dancing if they only rattle and tinkle a bit. We must be able to hear them ring!" "Ah, Ms. Smyth-Jefferson that is a problem I knew you would be concerned about and which I have, after some investigation, solved." Mr. Singh smiled through his black, curly mustache and beard. He opened another box. "Here," the man offered, "We have bells that are of true instrument quality bronze but which have been plated with 22 carat in just the correct amount to make them gleam but not with so much as to dampen the sound. Listen!" Rajeev took out a string of the little bells and holding them up near his turban, shook them gently. Deserea felt that somehow a band of fairies had wandered into the shop just after them. Ching-a-ching! The sound was brilliant, nearly intoxicating. "For a most reasonable fee, we can substitute all the original little tinklers with these real bells and the effect should be electrifying." "Rajeev, you are a complete scoundrel and the greatest salesman on the planet! Fortunately, you are unique, as well. If there were many more like you Charles would take away all my credit cards and I would have to work for my money!" Victoria smiled. "Please do as you suggest but make sure they are delivered tomorrow morning, eh? We will want the necklace, a 34" belt, two different sets of earrings and matching bracelets and anklets. And just put it on the house tab. Charles knows what I'm doing today so it won't come as any surprise when the bill hits the bank." "Madam," the jeweler intoned as he bowed, "Your wish is our command. Expect a currier no later than 9:00 am. That should give you plenty of time for tomorrow evening." Deserea sat quietly in the car as they returned home. Deciding that a comment was neither a question nor an argument she blurted out, "Mommy, you just dropped over $130,000 in hand-wrought gold!" The answer came as a sigh. "Deserea, my love, it simply has never sunk into your lovely little head just how good a lawyer you father really is, has it? He can easily take off for weeks to fly-fish with his friends and the retainers fees from people and businesses who want to make sure he's on their side can support us in luxury. Remember the York Financial collapse and settlement, the one with that horrifying number of zeros in the total value? Your father's fee for managing to salvage the company and satisfy the creditors, (without hurting anyone's pension fund, may I add) came to 1%. If he handed over the firm to McAllister and retired this afternoon we could continue to live the same way we do now and still be richer next year than we are today. Yes, I know exactly how much I spent and so will Daddy. We also know exactly what we're doing. What did he tell you this morning, neither question nor argue?" "Yes, mother," replied her daughter and that was the last word. As the memories faded, the Jaguar pulled up and parked in an almost painfully respectable neighborhood. The Smyth-Jefferson's disembarked and strolled casually to a house that was distinguished for its subtle Japanese landscaping and for its forecourt that completely obscured the front door. When the door was opened, the reason became obvious as before them; laughing with delight and clad in not one stitch more than Deserea had on under her caftan was Elizabeth Oppenheimer, her Advanced Placement English teacher. Ms. Oppenheimer was notorious for her insistence on proper deportment in the classroom and the sight of her near-naked body almost made Deserea faint. Not that there was anything wrong with the body. It seemed that under her severe blouses and skirts, Ms. Oppenheimer kept herself fit and trim, but still . . . her teacher? "Darlings, you've arrived at last! We're so very glad to see you!" With a ringing flurry of her own bells, Ms. Oppenheimer launched herself into Charles' arms and planted a long, hard kiss on his mouth while running her hands down his neck and across his shoulders. Deserea remembered her mother's admonition, "At the Gathering you will be greeted by every member with a kiss and a caress. It will be neither a clumsy grope nor an impassioned fondling, it will be an affectionate caress and you will either respond in kind or with a little flirting. I normally use the former on the women and the latter on the men but the choice is yours." Charles' obviously shared his wife's preferences, for he returned Ms. Oppenheimer's touch by running his hands slowly down her ribs to her waist and bare hips, lingering there until the hostess turned her attention to Victoria. The women embraced warmly, stroking the undersides of each other's left breasts to more tinkling and then her previously fierce and stern teacher turned her attention to Deserea. "Dearest little Deserea! It's wonderful to see you here. Now quick, out of that cover and let me see your body." Stunned, the girl unzipped the caftan with shaking hands and handed it to her mother who was already out of hers. Now all three women stood regarding each other wearing nothing but makeup, jewelry and a silk band between their thighs. "Lovely, just lovely," murmured Ms. Oppenheimer, "you are obviously your mother's daughter. Where else could you have gotten such elegant breasts and thighs? Turn around and let me see your bottom . . . delightful!" she exclaimed, giving the bare ass a pinch; "My dear, you will be the hit of the evening. Oh, Victoria, did I let you know that Sonya McAllister has brought Justin? She says that he has made good progress in his muscle control and will need a surrogate to complete his training. Perhaps the two of you have already discussed . . .?" Justin McAllister? Oh, God, no! Her father's major partner's son was the shy, gawky and prodigiously talented captain of their high school's swimming and water polo teams and had been since his sophomore year. All expectations were that the rippling McAllister muscles would be representing the US at the next summer Olympics but for unstated reasons, Justin had shrugged off the multiple offers of athletic scholarships and stayed at home to attend Junior College. And now he was here at the Gathering and there was no way Deserea could avoid being seen by him, nearly naked, in public. Given the probable course of the evening she might even be expected to . . . Ms. Oppenheimer was still speaking to Deserea, "First, dearest, my name is Elizabeth and that is how you address me. All the women address each other by first name and the men formally. So your mother is Victoria and your father Mr. Smyth-Jefferson. The only exception will be Justin, whom you will mostly keep away from until his training is complete, and Master Harold, our senior adept. Now take your luscious little self outside where the food is and meet everyone else." A gentle push on her butt propelled the girl out into the huge, tree-sheltered yard. She didn't notice that the conversation behind her had dropped in volume but doubled in intensity as the adults conferred. And as (bad) luck would have it the first people she met under the gas heaters and between the fireplaces were the McAllisters. Sonya was a tiny, birdlike woman whose pixie-ish little breasts still stood high and proud on her ribcage. She was a couple of years older than Deserea's mother and it was almost impossible to believe that this animated sprite was the mother of four strapping sons, of whom Justin was the last. She trilled a happy, Hungarian-accented greeting and kissed the girl soundly, cuddling her face as she did so. Deserea responded in like manner then turned to Angus McAllister. It was obvious where Justin got both his height and his shoulders but where the boy was lean and six-packed, his father was massive. Angus had been a near professional quality rugby player in the UK before coming to the States to attend law school and to end up as senior partner to Mr. Smyth-Jefferson. He still looked as though he could still run over anyone unlucky enough to get between him and the goal. He, too, kissed Dezzie soundly and warmly while running his huge hands down her back and over her buttocks. The girl decided that perhaps a little flirting was in order so she winked and stuck out the tip of her tongue at him before turning with sinking heart to their son. It was in that moment Deserea realized that just perhaps she wasn't the most put-upon person there. If anything, Justin was more embarrassed and unsure of himself than she was. He tried to kiss her on the mouth but missed, hitting her left eye instead. His attempt at a caress consisted of taking one of her hands in both of his and holding it while gawking at her helplessly. Suddenly her heart went out to him and her loins melted. The poor boy was well known to be very shy outside of a pool and now he stood, flaming with embarrassment, in a backyard of nearly naked women. Worst of all, one of them was his mother! Deciding that firm action was needed here, Deserea took both of Justin's hands and placed one solidly on each of her ass cheeks. Then, throwing her arms around his neck, she pressed her bejeweled body against his and kissed him long and soundly rubbing her gold-adorned nipples across his bare chest. She felt his manhood rise through the baggy pants that all the men seemed to be wearing that night and responded by grinding her pelvis against it. As moisture began to dampen the silk between Deserea's thighs, Sonya gently placed her hands between the young people and pushed them apart. Bells at the Ball Story 01 The bells ring and the crowd cheers. The bells ring and Mistress is disappointed. A fine, silk blindfold covered my eyes. A ruffle of big skirts under big dresses, the click of heels on the marble floor and the whipping of capes against men's backs are all I hear. The smell of sex, sweat and champagne fills my nostrils. The bells mustn't move. I mustn't move. I mustn't displease my Mistress. My chant, mantra: no movement, no sound, no punishment, no pain. The muscles in my arms pull and burn, bound and tightened almost unnaturally across my back. My knees are pulled high and wide, forcing me to squat low atop a plinth just wide enough to stand on. My toes grip the edge painfully. My unseeing eyes guess the height and hope the fall is not too far. Had I fallen, the humiliation would be unbearable. The pain I could take, but the crying laughter of the outnumbering audience if my bound body drops into an exposing heap ... I could not stand it. The harsh bonds linked around my knees and elbows hold me beautifully, making it impossible for my muscles to relax, yet depend on them for balance. A thick knotted rope hangs from a hook at the back my collar -- a sign that I am my Mistress', tamed and obedient and favoured -- it runs down my spine, through my parted buttocks, around and up between my breasts and latched onto a hook under my chin. With each intake of breath two knots rub and press against my exposed clit and cunt causing shivers, as I command my twitching hips to be still. Don't let the bells chimes. Please no! No movement, no sound, no punishment, no pain. I breathe in time with each internal command. Sweat and tears wet my blindfold. The bells had silenced since I was placed on my pedestal, wrapped carefully around my body on invisible strings, by invisible hands. Their cold mental -- balanced on my neck, above and below my breasts, across my back, hanging from my navel, around my parted legs and dangling from my knees -- no longer swayed, desperately silent. Don't move! Cannot move! Mustn't move! I chant again secretly in my mind. A curtain is lifted around me and I am seen by the unseen. Why couldn't Mistress have gagged me? To cry out now would be disastrous. Gags were a security, something to focus on. She was testing me again as she always did. The crowd -- Lord and Ladies -- were in silent awe. Some sighed or gasped. Some began to whisper. A clap of hands sounded then another and another. Soon the whole audience joined in and were cheering. My heart fluttered at their pride and pleasure, overriding the deep humiliation. The roar deafened my ears but I endured, I had no choice. In this opportunity I could have moved, adjusted my feet to stop the pain. I dared not, Mistress would notice. My heart no longer beat, but vibrated. I had been exposed thoroughly by Mistress in the past, alone and amongst all the other pets she possessed. Now however, was entirely different. I was her prize, the one she wanted to show off. All her high ranking friends of society were here to see the entertainment. I could not fail her, I would not. She had made me subservient and beautiful and I loved her for it. Fear was always present, but never allowed to consume. I stood strong and firm, holding my tongue and letting the silent tears fall freely. "Why Mistress Merrick, you've out done yourself." A voice called out clear through the rabble. I strained my ears for a response. Where are you Mistress? Let me hear you. "Beautiful. Simply beautiful." "You're too kind Lady Leopold." Mistress! Speak again I beg you. "May I ask what purpose the bells serve?" Before my Mistress could respond another Lady interjected. "Why I believe it is a game of endurance and temptation, is it not Mistress Merrick? This ravishing girl has been instructed to be unmoving, lest she make the bells chime, am I right?" "Perceptive as always, Lady Hancock." "But how is that a fair game? This girl belongs to you, Mistress Merrick. She could be there for hours with your instruction." "Ah! Mistress! Does this mean you're allowing us to play with your pet? She endures as we tempt?" I held my breath. "As I said Lady Hancock: very perceptive." A girly squeal came from Lady Leopold, "Ah, Mistress Merrick, you're too wonderful, too kind." With a great ruffle of skirts she approached. Terror's hold tightened on my throat. Others had touched me, played with me. I had fucked and been fucked by every man and woman in Mistress' possession, but they had been pets, these were men and women with the same, or if possible, higher expectations than Mistress. They knew and experienced pleasure as she did. Well, almost. Mistress was the queen as her kind, so it was said and I knew it to be true. "I'm not sure I dare ... such a precious thing ..." Lady Leopold breathed, warming my face. I inhaled her perfume. Champagne fizzed near my ear. "May I, Mistress Merrick?" Silence. "Of course." My heart thrashed in my ribcage, but the bells didn't ring. The aching in my feet, my muscles and my open straining legs were becoming more unbearable by the second. I was painfully aware of how much I craved the touch of this woman. Any woman. Anyone. Touch me! Make me feel something other than the bonds and the ropes and the fear of the bells. Unable to plead with my voice, my body or even my eyes I screamed inside my head. Lady Leopold's fingers made contact, carefully tracing the flesh of my inner thigh, avoiding the bells. Nothing coy about Lady Leopold. Her hands seemed uncommonly cold against my sweating skin. Cold from holding her drink maybe? Her fingertips glided around to the back of my straining legs, teasing the tender flesh. I ground my teeth. Her hand continued to travel, reaching and grasping my left buttock firmly in one hand and a breast in the other. "Such beautiful fruit ... I want to taste ..." Her Ladyship's tongue gently flicked my hardened nipple, so hot compared to her hands. Her thumb came back and hooked around the knotted rope and pulled. My toes were numb, pressing harder to the edge of my plinth, against the feel of the knots rubbing my sensitive clit, already dripping cunt and exposed arsehole. I didn't flinch. "No fair." Lady Leopold's teeth bit down on my nipple and her lips pulled the breast high then let it go sharply. My heart stopped. The bells rang. No! It wasn't me Mistress! Everywhere was silent. "Now, now Lady Leopold. No cheating." Mistress! Small laughter broke out in the crowd. With a swaying of her dress Lady Leopold was gone. "Let the party continue." Somewhere an orchestra started up, quiet enough for the bells to be heard. No chiming instruments. Over the course of the party many more fingers, hands and mouths sort to seduce me, move me, make me cry out, come. But after, what seemed like hours, the bells remained silent. The knotted rope cutting up my body was soaked with my fluids, guests' saliva and the champagne a guest had poured over my face. Through the low music I heard the cries and moans of the doubtless other present slaves that served the Lords and Ladies. They served naked, wearing only a collar about their necks, offering drinks, food or themselves and judging from the sounds of their crying voices, the odd swish of a whip through the air and the laughter and insults or praise of the guests, the ball room was no doubt filled with them. In my bondage I envied them as they allowed the Lords and Ladies to bend them over tables or sit them between their legs or sit them on their lap. I was the prize of this party I reassured myself, proof of my worth and obedience. "I yield to you Mistress." The voice of Lord Berthwood sounded, "You truly are a master, maybe the best I've ever encountered." I'd have breathed a sigh of relief had I dared. Was it over? Had I succeeded? A round of applause broke out. I had done it. But the clapping stopped as quickly as it had started. Fear crept closer to me again. "It's Lady Blackmore." A voice whispered. Fresh tears filled from my eyes. Lady Blackmore! She was known well by the gentry and the pets. All spoke of her harshness and cruelty with her pets. She thought herself above the rules and no one questioned her. Her results were unquestionable and her slaves were proud to belong to her, but some considered her methods inhumane. Only the real pain seekers went to her and unfortunately, for the time being, she had many powerful clients of that persuasion. She was Mistress' only competition, but she was nothing compared to Mistress. Mistress was refined and beautiful and loved by all her pets. "I'm glad to see that you made it Lady Blackmore." My Mistress said. I was instantly calmed by her sincere sounding words. "Always a pleasure, Mistress Merrick," Unlike Mistress, Lady Blackmore's words stunk with obvious falseness. I hated her and I was petrified. All was silent. The music had stopped. The lazy chatter had died. Steps echoed off the floor. She was approaching slowly. A throaty chuckle came from her. "A pretty exhibition Mistress Merrick, the best you can offer, I suppose." Lady Blackmore's followers joined in her laughter; some did so out of fear, ex-slaves of hers no doubt. "Lady Blackmore," A man's voice this time, "come now, do not mock things you have not tried for yourself. Let's see you rise to the challenge laid out by Mistress Merrick." Supporters of my Mistress cheered in agreement. Silence again. I hadn't moved, barely breathing in fear of dishonouring Mistress in front of this woman, but terror still gripped me. Surely the beat of my heart could have shaken the flesh atop it, causing the bells to sing out my fear to Lady Blackmore, betraying my Mistress. "Well," Lady Blackmore again, "I was never one to back down from a challenge, though I use the word 'challenge' in its broadest term." She let loose another chuckle, but all else was silent in apprehension. Her clicking heels grew louder, as did the thumping in my chest. I was still. My tears fell. I longed once again for a gag. Her heat was on me fast, her hot breath. She was examining me closely, carefully. She brushed the fallen tendrils of my hair through her fingers. She breathed in my champagne soaked skin. Her lips were on mine, sucking hard, licking my clenched teeth. I longed to kiss her back, but feared the seduction of a single kiss, wanting to taste the inside of her mouth, sample its earlier delights: food and drink, men and women. I would have taken it all. I didn't falter. Lady Blackmore lived up to her reputation. She was cold and firm, handling me roughly, whilst at all times keeping my mouth covered with her own. She pinched my nipples between her thumb and forefingers, causing pain, but no sound. She rolled and pulled hard at the small bud, pressing it with her nails. My jaw began to ache as I clamped harder. She would force a reaction out of me. She wanted to shame me and Mistress. Never! Next she moved to something that the other guests had only teased. She leaned in close, not touching the bells, reached for the knotted rope, round to my backside and entered, dry, rough and dangerous. Of course, this was not my first experience of such a thing. Mistress had thoroughly opened me to all and any sexual activity that she deemed acceptable for me and I had loved it. But this was for pain to make me move. Two fingers were forced into me, hard and deep within seconds. In fear of falling from my pedestal I kept my muscles tight. I had to take the pain. But I was weak with exhaustion, weak from sexual tension, overwhelmed by the torturing fingers inside me. Please give in, I wanted to cry, screaming it in my mind, but she wouldn't have it. Lady Blackmore's fingers parted and I felt the flesh burn. My blindfold was soaked to my face with fresh tears and sweat. Mistress let it end. I toyed with the idea of letting her win. End my suffering. But that subjected my Mistress to the wrath of the mob and me to the wrath of Mistress. She had chosen me for this. She knew I was ready, that I could take it, that I would enjoy it, and that I would grow to love it. She was right. I loved it: the pain in my aching muscles, the humiliation of being anyone's plaything, yet having them love me for it. Oh yes, she knew me very well. Further and further Lady Blackmore pushed and probed and pinched. She bit down hard on my lower lip, pinched the lips of my sex, pulled hard at my nipple and widened my hole further. I tasted blood. She had made me bleed. A cardinal sin in our world when playing and fucking in large groups. Oh yes, our games had rules. Never break the skin. Beat to bruise not to bleed. Too obvious, too unskilled, too dangerous. She lapped up the blood. No one spoke out. The game continued. She tugged at the knotted rope as Lady Leopold had done, but with more skill, rubbing both holes and clit simultaneously with added brutal pressure. The pain was becoming too much, the torturing pleasure too intense. I was sore inside and out. My legs had begun to tremble. The bells gave me away. They jingled lightly against my thighs. I'm sorry Mistress. I failed you. Trembling all over as my orgasm rippled through me, my body falling, unseen hands catching my limbs, I cried out hurting my aching jaw. The waves of pleasure caused through me and each wave bought with it the shameful jiggling of bells until I stilled, but my heaving chest rolled the bells around my breasts. It was over. I failed. The bells went on unheard as an applause rolled out through the audience. I heard nothing but the clanging of the bells, as if they were inside my head. At some point the curtain concealed me again. Unknown arms lifted me and removed me from that place. Hands loosened some, but not all, of my bonds. The damned blindfold and the leather that held my arms and ankles together remained. At last the bells were gone, but I still heard them sounding my humiliation, my failure. I was carried somewhere else. For a moment I was lost until I smelt Parisian rose water perfume, in the patterned Persian rug in which my face was pressed -- Mistress' bed chamber. Naked and bound on the floor. Momentarily relieved, I breathed in deeply, savouring the familiar smells and picturing my surroundings. Gilded black and blood red draped and laced curtains covering the windows. Golden candelabras lit the room. The smell of candle wax filled my nostrils. The walls were littered with numerous toys and contraptions for different types of play. You could fill two walls with the toys Mistress had used with me, for my training and her amusement. A King sized, oak, four-poster-bed took up most of the floor space, this too had many levels and added mechanics -- none of course visible under the Venetian bedspread. Hooks chains, robes and leathers, wrapped themselves around the bed's posts and roof. Giant, gilded frames hung between the larger toys, sometimes holding positioned, naked slaves as the main subject matter, strapped to the canvas. I knew all this, but was unable to see it. Had Mistress set something up for me? I couldn't help but squirm in excitement of being alone again with my Mistress. My flesh was still on fire from my earlier torments, ready and wet, but unfinished. Suddenly a terrifying thought choked me. What if I was ignored? What if Mistress shunned me? Starved and wanting, a useless heap on the floor, whilst she amused herself with other slaves, unable to see, only able to hear and smell and guess. It was maddening. I lay there for what seemed like hours. I felt the vibration of music coming up through the floorboards. The party continued. No doubt that the guests were now all nicely drunk on drinks served by the slaves Mistress had provided. I grew jealous once more of the slaves downstairs, they would serve as the guests saw fit. Men and women pulled powerlessly into a variety of different games, plays and positions by the Lords and Ladies. All slaves wore colour coded collars, indicated the levels in which the guests could indulge. Greens were the terrified fledglings, in their first weeks of training, handled by junior trainers and always a favourite at these events. Red collar wearers were sent to senior trainers -- the marks of their training far more evident. Some would serve under higher level slaves. Red lead to black, far more privileged, for they began their training with Mistress, but they still belonged to the senior trainers or the Lord and Ladies and some stayed with them. Some Lords and Ladies owned their own slaves, but sent them to Mistress to receive the best training before going back to them or staying with my Mistress. Most followed my Mistress' example of coloured coding their slave by their collars and sought her advice regularly. I was among the highest class. After three years since I entered slavery, Mistress presented me with my fur lined sterling silver collar, with her and my name carved beautifully into it. I was hers. Mistress had many slaves. She favoured no particular sex. Men and women were equal. Though I noticed she had a strong taste for men with other men. She could spend hours watching an orgy, whilst I knelt hidden under her skirts, applying lips, tongue and fingers to her slit. She liked to watch her most subservient slaves transform into rampant, aggressive animals fighting or pleading to fuck or be fucked. Oh yes, she liked it very much, the taste on my tongue could testify to that. I think I slept, unsure in the constant darkness. The clip-clopping of horse hooves and the crunch of gravel startled me. The guests were leaving. The click of the door being unlocked. Mistress! I squirmed helplessly, remembering my bonds. The small squeak of hinges and a second click, followed by the heavy steps of heeled slippers proved me right. I lay still, unwilling to move. Complete submission. I even lowered my hidden gaze should she rip the blindfold from me. She was close. Was she looking at me? Please look at me. Don't spurn me Mistress. Forgive me. Layered skirts swept over my legs before they dropped, covering my lower half. She was undressing. Such a rare thing and I was unable to witness it. Usually she left the job up to silver collared slaves like me. Mostly she stayed clothed when she tortured and fucked. Another demonstration of control: power over the naked and vulnerable. Simple but effective. God damn those bells! Damn Lady Blackmore! My mind's eye saw what I could only hear. Mistress' legs were beautiful, pale and slender, but strong with powerful thighs. Next came the loosening of lace holding her corset in place. Fine lace, most likely blue or red, her favourite colours. Maybe gold to match the occasion. That too fell on top of me. Mistress' warmth clung to the fabric. I breathed in her heavenly scent. Next she would sit back on the bed -- indeed, the matrass squeaked under her small weight -- slowly rolling down her stockings. More unthreading. Her under garments were thrown over me. I breathed in deeper. Her breasts were delicious, pale like the rest of her, maybe a little too large for her small frame, with rose nipples the same colour as her lips. Surprisingly sensitive and always beautiful. It was unbearable. I could picture and hear it all. Mistress continued to ignore my presence. I expected the wardrobe door to open and she would dress for bed or for another pet. But what happened was much worse. Mistress moaned. The slick wetness of her fingers or a toy pleasuring her tortured my ears. I let out a whimper of desperation, legs squirming, muscles clenching, clit twitching. Breathing in, smelling her again. My hips bucked against my bonds. Bells at the Ball Story 01 Let me see. Let me feel. Let me taste. Please, Mistress! She had instructed me in the ways she liked to be pleasured. I had been quick at study. But to see her stimulating her own body, to see her open mouthed, eyes tearing, chest heaving with complete abandon ... A low whining escaped my lips, betraying my existence. "Georgiana" I tensed hearing my Mistress call my name, "Come to me." Stumbling as I struggled to obey in my bonds, I fell heavily and hated myself for it. A slave is taught to be graceful in all demands, no matter how difficult. I tasted blood again from Lady Blackmore's earlier ministrations. Whimpering, I moved like an injured animal, using my nose to find the bed, smelling Mistress' Parisian perfume, the sweet smell of her sweat, her sex. I kept my sore muscles tensed, unwilling to fall again. The previous one had opened my torn lip. I licked the blood away wanting only to smell Mistress, not wanting to dirty her or the beautiful bedding. The soft sheets caressed my hot face. Panting, struggling as carefully as possible onto the bed without the use of my hands, using my mouth, shoulders and knees. Success. Mistress' feet were against my lips. I kissed and sucked each toe gratefully, which she allowed. Forgive me Mistress. I kissed and teased her sole with my tongue. Please forgive me. I wanted to call her name, but wanted to be obedient. "Enough. Come here Georgiana. Good girl." She crossed her legs, knocking my chin gently. I kept my head as low as possible, feeling my way with my lips, not losing contact for a second. Ah, the taste of her. I couldn't control my voice, "I'm sorry. Please forgive me Mistress." "Forgive you?" Her hand was on my throat. Her grip tightened as she pulled me into a kiss. Her mouth sucked hard and rough, just as Lady Blackmore had done. But her lips and tongue knew mine, knowing what I needed. Pressing hard and drawing back when she liked, making me want more, leaning in, wanting her, needing her. I drew back as she bit down sharp and hard on my lower lip. My wound oozed blood again. I licked it away, fresh tears soaking the blindfold. She knew. She knew I bled. Had she known it at the time? "My poor Georgiana," She tugged me back by my hair, the tingling pain on my scalp was delicious. "She cheated and you remained silent." Her voice was calm. I began to tremble. "You endured well. You were beautiful. However," Her quick strong fingers dug into my arm and leg, pulling me over her lap. My hot face forced into the pillows, nipples brushed along her smooth naked legs, "your silence allowed her to win. The mob saw it." She whispered, "You failed." The wet blindfold stung my face as the calm tone in Mistress' voice sent my mind and body into chaos. The fear, the pain and the anticipation worried at the edges of my sanity, heightening my arousal. Her palm came crashing down onto my raised arse. The smacking sound echoing into my ears hid my whimpering cry. I held my breath until the next smack forced it out of me. Her fingers dug into the burning flesh before the next hit, my hips held high in readiness. Again and again, countless, numberless spanks ... I lost control. I cried out at each contact until Mistress stuffed my mouth with her fingers, holding my tongue. At last her hand was still, resting on my swelling welts, but my skin still vibrated expecting another blow. She moved and I fell into the mattress. She released my bonds. My muscles were finally able to move, to stretch, but I remained still waiting for instruction. "Turn over." I did, lying on my sore cheeks. "Lower your head." The slap across the face stung, "lift up and hold your legs apart." I didn't hesitate. Her hands spread me further, "Look at this unskilful work. That woman will do anything." She tut, "I'm surprised I can't still see her fingernail imprints." I heard the unscrewing of mental and was spread again. Cold ointment was applied. Mistress' finger rubbed and probed the ring of muscle, entering, twisting slowly. I moaned at the soreness, but couldn't help rocking my hips to toward her. Her sudden gentleness was infuriating. Slow and easy. Clit twitching. Muscles clenching. "Ah! Mistress." A sharp slap. "Quiet." "Please ..." My hips bucked high, shaking to stay still. "So impatient." Her finger remained inside me, "Get on your knees and sit back on your heels. Good girl. Hands on the back of your neck. Keep your legs apart." A slap on each thigh. She moved up behind me. I leaned into as her feeling her nipples touch my back. Her free hand spread the lips between my legs. "Mistress ... please ..." Her finger pulled out sharply. I hissed through my teeth. "Please!" A back handed whip across my arse, knuckles bruising. "Mistress!" "Silence!" Her hand around my throat. It hurt to swallow my cries. Fear and hunger for her. Forcing me back onto my elbows, she played lazily with my clit. Hitting and missing on purposes, drawing it out, making it last. Wet and slow. I squirmed and choked, mouthing the sheets, her heat against my beaten skin. "Don't push the limits of my kindness. I treat you how I wish because you are mine. My property. I shall beat and reward you as I see fit. Beg and you will be punished, unless I tell you to. You have no power, you have no control. You are mine. Understand?" Yes. Yours, all yours! I wanted to proclaim my love and understanding, telling of how I worshipped her, but she wouldn't have approved. "Yes Mistress." "Now," she leant over me, barely touching, "get off the bed and bring me the two pieces from the top left corner on the wall." A small tug and the blindfold fell from my eyes. Finally. I blinked away the blurring tears and set about my task, not daring to look back at my naked Mistress. As taught in my earlier years, I went to the floor on hands and knees and crawled to my directed destination. Once there I had to stretch up on my toes to reach, pulling my sore limbs. I placed to the two chosen toys in my mouth, holding the leather straps in my teeth. I crawled back to the bed like a cat, shoulder blades gliding, hips high, my gaze low. "Up." I sat back on my heels. "Remember why you wear this." She ran her index finger along the fur lining of my collar, nearly choking me. I forced my gaze to stay on the floor. She held out her hand and I dropped the toys. I had used both before, on both male and female slaves. The first: a leather bound dildo, with attachments to strap to one's self. The last time I wore it Mistress had picked me out a beautiful red collared male slave, who I fucked from the front, forcing him to hold his legs high and wide. The second was much the same apart from the reversed position of the dildo. "Put them on." I did. Inside and out. Gloriously filling and magnificently powerful. To fuck and be fucked all at once. To hold her. To fill her. To fuck her. To draw each and every sensation out of her, whilst she fucked me with her body, her movement gridding the fake cock inside me. Lying back she opened her legs to me, her breasts high and heaving on her chest. "This is your reward for your endurance tonight. You will pleasure me until I am satisfied, you will pleasure me because I am you Mistress and my happiness is yours. Yes?" "Yes Mistress." "Fuck me." "Yes Mistress." Bells "None of that, yet, you two," she smiled. "We have a long evening ahead and you two are too important a part of it to be wearing yourselves out so early. I know you are young and vigorous but stamina is what is called for tonight, not enthusiasm!" She took her son's elbow and pulled him off in the direction of a tall, blond Amazon and her even taller red-headed husband while Mr. McAllister, palming Deserea's entire left ass-cheek in one hand, directed her towards a slim, white-haired gentleman sitting in a full lotus position off to one side. "Master-r-r Har-r-rold," Angus' lowland burr rolled like a well-tuned motorcycle, "May Ah pr-r-sent t' ya Deser-rea Smythe-Jeffer-r-rson." Master Harold opened his eyes and smiled up at Des. In an incredible, but unconscious demonstration of strength, he smoothly rose to a standing position by merely pushing up from his ankles then stepped forward and took her in his arms. "Sweet Deserea," he murmured, "the stories of your beauty are completely understated. I don't think any of us had the slightest idea of just how utterly gorgeous you really are. Joining with you will be an honor we will cherish for a long time to come." With that, he put one hand behind her head and one on her bottom and pulled her into the warmest and longest kiss so far. When the clinch finally ended, she was left gasping for breath and the heat that had begun with Justin was like a furnace. She felt the silk between her thighs go from slightly moist to nearly sopping. Her parents' friends, it was turning out, were really hot! From Master Harold she was handed off to the diminutive Nguyen's, who kissed her together while running their hands over her belly and butt simultaneously. Deserea, feeling both bolder and now quite turned on, squeezed Chelsea's backside in response and slipped her fingers just inside the front of Mark's trousers. That brought a belly laugh from the bespectacled mathematician and an appreciative giggle from his wife. "Our Novice is really getting into the swing of things, Mark" teased Chelsea, shaking her shoulders to make her jewelry ring, "You'd better get into her early before she's completely worn out!" "Hush, woman, you've had too much champagne!" Mark chided his elfin wife and turned to Deserea, "Pay her no mind, dear, at a Gathering you only do what you want with whomever you want. This is a sharing, not some crude gangbang." Deserea blushed. "I began to figure out at the spa that I was being brought here to get laid. Mom was upset with my choice of males at school and I have to admit that I was, too. Now I find out how vast her experience really is. Given how happy she always seems to be, I guess what's good for the goose should be good for the gosling. I was told that Justin was off-limits for some reason but I guess the rest of you are going to do me up properly, except for Daddy, of course." Chelsea reached up and took each of Deserea's dark breasts in a hand and began to stroke them. "Except for Daddy? Maybe for your first Gathering, dear, but your father's amatory skills are not to be missed, even by his offspring. Eventually you will do just like all the rest of us. You'll walk up to him and purr 'I'm yours' and he will respond 'You're mine' and, believe me, you will be! Just like you will be for every other man here, even Justin in time. And in time you will belong to the women, too, just like you did to Jasmine and just like we all belong to each other. Tonight, though, only the men will sample your abundant delights. Start with Master Harold. He will bring you into the fold the way he has for all of us. Now just one question . . . have you ever been sodomized?" "Uh, no, I've never had anyone ask me to take it back there," came the reply, "but if someone took it slow . . . " "No!" Both the Nguyen's were emphatic. "At a proper time, with a proper person you will submit but tonight you will remain a virgin there. We'll pass the word. Now go get some more to eat and meet everyone else. Try it on your own. You know how it's done now." Between nibbling samosas, slices of rare beef with horseradish, delicate egg rolls, and the crispest and sweetest of baby vegetables in vinaigrette, Deserea exchanged kisses and increasingly intimate caresses with the towering Andersons and the smoldering Ramirez's. She thought that if Sven's phallus matched the rest of his 6'4" Viking build, her pussy was in for a serious workout tonight. As for Raul Ramirez, the Argentine looked ready to tango as well horizontally as he could on his feet. She imagined that neat mustache rubbing her left and right labia while his tongue cha-cha'd up and down the cleft between. By now the champagne and the atmosphere had done their work well. The silk between her thighs was completely wet and she was sure that if anyone had looked, they'd have seen the dark area of damp expanding with each step she took. If only she could get some time alone with Justin . . . Throbbing, exotic music started from somewhere and Maria Ramirez stepped out into the center of the patio. Flashing her eyes around the group, she began to sway to the beat and to roll her hips while running her hands slowly and sensuously over her torso. Deserea saw that Justin, who had just been told by Victoria to go refill their champagne, was transfixed. Maria saw it too and cocked her head to one side, stuck out just the tip of her tongue and licked her lips at him. Her bells rang louder as her hip rolls grew more lascivious. Justin took a deep breath and drew on deeper layers of duty to refill his and Victoria's flutes. He turned to walk back to her . . . and froze. While the boy was watching the erotic Cuban, Ms. Smythe-Jefferson had unfastened her belt, removed the only piece of cloth she still wore and refastened the belt around her. Utterly naked except for her jewelry, she dropped her chin and raised a predatory eyebrow. Taking her glass from Justin's right hand she pushed him gently down onto a comfortable bench and settled herself across his lap. "Left hand for the alcohol, my darling," she murmured, "and right hand for the lady. You're mine!" She pulled the youth's right hand over to her waiting breast, squeezed it to start him fondling, and took the boy's face in both hands. She opened her mouth and kissed him with such fervor that Deserea thought steam might erupt from his ears. Her voyeurism was interrupted by a strong pair of hands that firmly grasped the cheeks of her butt then rose to her belt. She felt the clasp being opened and the silk pulled away before her accoster refastened the belt. Master Harold reached around Deserea and pinned her arms to her sides while grabbing a breast in each hand. Her jewelry jingled as he bounced and squeezed the mahogany globes, while rubbing the underside of the darker nipples. The girl slid her hands behind her and fondled his member through the loose trousers. Then, as she felt his right hand descend from her chest to the folds between her thighs, she tugged down on the older man's waistband and thrust her hand inside it to catch hold of his manhood. She leaned against him with arched back and turned her head to look up through half-closed eyes murmuring, "I'm yours." "Yes, Deserea, you're mine for now. Fortunately the night is young because you have much to learn." His finger slid into her slit and delicately stroked the swollen labia and the clitoris between to bring bell-ringing shudders from her. Squatting down he lifted her in his arms and carried her across the yard to a large cushion near a heater. He put her down and taking her back in his arms kissed her long and hard. He sucked her lips and licked the inside of her mouth until she could hardly stand and hung from him whimpering softly. Again his fingers entered her. "Yes, you are ready," he smiled, "come." Slipping his trousers off, Master Harold sat with his legs again crossed in the open lotus. His cock stuck up, hard and glistening. The adept reached over to one of the many dispensers scattered around the yard, removed a packaged condom and handed it to Deserea. "No one here uses birth control pills, Deserea, as we find they reduce desire. Instead a large supply of these provides sufficient safety. Put it on me, please. Then sit on my lap facing me. We will ride the Wave." Doing as instructed, the girl spread her nether lips with eager fingers to accept him and in a single movement dropped onto him. "Ooooooh . . . ", she moaned, and closed her eyes. All her suspicions were confirmed. She had been brought to the Gathering for sex and would be "laying a train" as her cruder friends put it. It seemed a lot better idea now than it had at first. "Open your eyes, Deserea", instructed Master Harold. "Put your arms around my neck and focus on my right eye. Do not let your mind wander, but concentrate on my eye. This is very important. Now rock your hips up and down. You will be rubbing your clitoris against my pubic bone. As you do, breathe very deeply and slowly. Inhale through your nose; exhale through your mouth." Ching! Ching! Ching! Ching! Every time she pushed down on his wonderful penis the bells rang on the jewelry. Now she understood why her mother had been so particular. Their music added an ethereal note to the sensations flooding up from her pussy. Locking her eyes on her instructor/lover's, she saw that he was matching her breathing. Wetter and wetter she got as she moved faster and faster. "When you feel yourself close, lover, start to pant." Close? She was almost there, already! "Uh, uh, uh, uh . . ." Harold's eye and member became her complete world as she rocked faster and faster until she screamed and stars flew through her head. Again and again the climax roared over her until she sat sobbing with her head on Master Harold's chest. "That was very good, dear," her mother's voice came from behind her, "Now do it again. Only this time, when the orgasm hits let yourself relax completely. Master Harold will hold you up so you won't fall off. Get it right and eventually you will cum and keep cumming for a long time." "Yes, do it again," instructed Master Harold, "and remember, keep looking at my right eye." Do it again? And maybe again? All evening long? The obedient girl rocked, breathed and stared at her Master's eye until just as the first tremors hit, went completely limp. The sensations were like nothing she'd ever even heard of. Lights seemed to flash around her, tears flowed down her cheeks and more than anything else in the world, she loved Master Harold. "I love you, I love you," she blubbered, covering his face with kisses. "I love you, too," came the soothing reply and Master Harold cradled her in his arms, stroking her hair and kissing her face. Victoria's voice came warm over her shoulder. "Which is, beloved, exactly the idea. Of course you love him. It is the Wave of Bliss, the most intimate thing two people can to with each other. You were not brought here for sex, but for love. By the end of the night you will have a harem of men who absolutely adore you just as all of them have a complete set of wives who worship the ground they walk on. Now up you get. Professor Nguyen is next and he is positively drooling in anticipation. Besides, it's my turn with Master Harold, now." Reluctantly Deserea pulled herself up and off the adept's still solid manhood and out of his embrace. Irrational as she knew it to be, she felt abandoned and more than a little jealous that that gorgeous cock would soon be buried in her mother's love canal instead of her own. Victoria hopped over onto her hands and knees, arching her back and thrusting swollen, glistening, wet labia back at Master Harold while her daughter turned into the waiting arms of Mark Nguyen. "You're mine" came the now familiar phrase as he bent her backwards lifting her up onto her toes. His mouth was hot and his tongue seemed hard as oak as it thrust down her throat before she could even respond. Amazed that she could be so wanton with a new man when she had just fallen in love with another, Deserea sucked eagerly and flattened her belly against his. His fingers dug into her buttocks and he pulled her free of the ground grinding his hips into her. Finally, her relaxed his grip and lowered her body back to earth, her head still swimming with the passion of the kiss. "I'm yours," Deserea gasped, "God, am I yours! Let me onto you, make me love you. And you wife was right, get into me quick!" She pushed him down onto the bench then dropped to her knees. Grabbing his erection she shoved it into her mouth and sucked. The helmet felt like velvet to her tongue and she ran it around the entire head paying especial attention to the frenulum, flicking her it back and forth with the tip. She was not stranger to oral sex from the late, unlamented first semester at college but the blowjobs her hookups insisted on had no comparison with this. ". . . not for sex, but for love," her mother had told her and she believed it now, oh did she believe. Just as it seemed time to slip on the fresh condom and ride her new lover into ecstasy, a sound broke through her blissful concentration. Ching-a-ling, Ching! Ching-a-ling, Ching! Master Harold was plunging into Victoria's vagina in a rhythm, making her jewelry ring. He was playing her like a musical instrument! Deserea's vision swept past her mother's glazed eyes to find all the women on hands and knees in a circle around her with men behind them joining in the beat. Ching-a-ling, Ching! Elizabeth was managing both Charles in her mouth and the horse-hung Sven behind, spit-roasted fore and aft, the only one who didn't seem to be watching her. Before the girl could wonder what had happened to Justin, Professor Nguyen pulled her to her feet and commanded "Dance for us, Deserea. Dance, girl!" Elizabeth had said she would be the hit of the evening, Des recalled, and now seemed the time to show what she could do. Raising her hands above her head and shaking her shoulders in time to make her bells join the others she slapped her feet on the pavement and swung her hips. Ching-a-ling, Ching! With bent knees she spread her thighs to show off the swollen labia and protruding clitoris, a promise to all the men what delights they would soon be enjoying. Turning slowly she arched her back and pushed her butt backwards as though to say, "It may be virgin tonight, but soon, guys, soon it will be yours!" Orgasmic cries erupted from the impaled women again and again as she danced and spasms shook the men's bodies in response but still they kept the rhythm. Ching-a-ling, Ching! Ching-a-ling, Ching! At last, with sweat pouring off her skin and lubrication flowing from her pussy, she stepped over the bench and buried the mathematician's phallus into her dripping womanhood. Staring deeply into his right eye and breathing deeply, she began to rock until the Wave broke over her again and again. "I love you, I love you . . ." Midnight had passed and most of the Gathering had gone home. The Oppenheimer's were riding the Wave on an ottoman beside the fireplace, reinforcing their marriage. Deserea sat across Angus McAllister's lap with her legs across Sonya's while the big Scot stroked her back with his left hand and quietly fondled tiny wife's backside with his right. Justin held Victoria Smyth-Jefferson's voluptuous figure tightly across his thighs, a stunned-ox expression on his face, while Charles looked on proudly and massaged his wife's feet. "So now you know the secret, kids," he rumbled "Mac and I are too fond of our polyamorous life-style to risk having it exposed all over town. That's why neither of us has ever run for office and why neither of us ever will." "And now you know the other secret, as well," Sonya McAllister chirped, "men are just a capable of multiple orgasms as we are. When they learn how to have them, they can make love for hours, either driving us to heights of ecstasy few women ever experience or enjoying woman after woman in series." "Women, in tur-r-rn, can have or-r-rgasms that last half an hour-r or-r mor-re," responded Alex, "so y'might say it all evens oot in th'end. It just takes instr-ruction, pr-ractice and lots o' muscle contr-rol." Victoria stopped happily rubbing her face across Justin's forehead and raised that fateful eyebrow, again. "The next Gathering is in six weeks, by luck of the calendar, and that is plenty of time. Tonight you and dear Justin will trade bedrooms and for the next month and a half both of you will get daily instruction in the Tantric arts. He will learn to be multi-orgasmic and to hold himself on the very edge of coming for hours, if necessary. You, in turn, will learn to relax and extend your climaxes out, and to control your vaginal muscles until you can stroke a man to orgasm without moving another muscle in your body." There was an edge in Sonya's voice as she added "After this evening's performance, she will also perfect her dance until it matches yours, Victoria Smyth-Jefferson! If anyone had any doubts just who Deserea's mother is, they were erased tonight. Poor Elizabeth could hardly finish Charles off, she was so distracted." Charles dark chocolate chuckle came back "Given that she now has Victoria's coach, it shouldn't take long. And it wasn't only Elizabeth that was distracted, my daughter; I was having very un-paternal thoughts myself! Now, back into the caftan and into that pretentious Rolls your new 'parent's' drive while we pour Justin into the Jag. We're looking forward to seeing both your transformed selves in six weeks." Deserea watched the Jaguar drive away. She settled into the back seat of the Silver Cloud for the short ride to her new home/training ground. Sonya had been quite clear that there would be no need for her to worry about clothes, for the next six weeks she wouldn't wear any. "After rising, you will practice yoga for two hours. You will then breakfast and spend time exercising your vaginal muscles. I have several bio-feedback devices for that purpose that will make your mastery of them easier. You will swim for an hour, then lunch. After a nap, you will go upstairs into the studio and practice dancing. We have a good selection of videos of your mother to project life-size next to your image on the wide-screen. Again, this is a bio-feedback technique. In six weeks, you will, like your mother, be able to arouse the entire Gathering to a fever pitch without any of us even touching each other. It is a gift, a true gift. After cooling off and showering, you will have sex in the evening with either me or with Angus, practicing relaxed orgasms. Then a light supper and off to bed. Be assured that you will sleep soundly." Four hours earlier, such instructions would have outraged the nineteen-year-old. Now they seemed perfectly fine. Now, she was in love.