Collar Me

Chapter 5: Party Time.

As master grabbed the handle on the door, he looked back and said. "But no whips."

The large man asked "How 'bout a crop then?"

"Dan..." growled my master. I was split between trying to blast Dan into cinders with the Evil Eye, while sending my master looks of gratitude, almost of love.

I was watching him walk out of the room when I felt hands grab my feet and spread them wide, I flashed my gaze down and saw the skinny guy with his pants already down. Before I could fully register, he was sliding into me.

"NO!" I screamed, and flailed desperately, tugging against my shackles, thrashing my hips, and trying to pull my legs away. But his hands held me solidly in place and the cuffs were unyielding. He paused for a second, his eyes wide at my squirming, but then he chuckled and shoved hard all the way in. The room went silent except for the slither of skin on silk as I writhed to get away and my panting. I looked around the room; all eyes were wide and fixed on me.

My master walked back over and with a finger wiped a tear from my cheek. There was a rasp in to his voice as he said "What's the matter—you don't want to serve my friends? I gave you to them."

"Master, I'm sorry. He surprised me. All I could think was that he was raping me."

A cheerful voice came from the foot of the bed, "I am!" And with that, the jerk started moving inside me again. He chuckled and said "And I love it."

My master said, "You are mine and you will serve them as you serve me. Do you understand?"

"Yes Master," I said, "I was just surprised." I'm sure I sounded like a petulant child. "I will serve your friends gladly."

To try to show that I meant it, I lifted my head and looked toward the skinny asshole still moving between my legs; I forced my eyes to meet his, and said "I'm sorry, please rape me some more."

I lay back and stared up at my master. He bent down, whispered "Good girl," pecked me on the lips, stood up, looked at the guy happily fucking me, and said "Have fun Ken." With that he walked out, leaving me to the mercies of his friends.

I closed my eyes and let go. There was a cock moving within me, taking me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I didn't want it there, but he was fucking steadily, with a rhythm that could go on for a long time. I wished he'd speed up and reach the frantic pounding that showed he was about to come...but, then—he'd come.

I tried to retreat into a safer mental state and regain the focus that this was my sex fantasy and not my rape when I felt the bed shift. My eyes snapped open to see the big man, Dan, swinging one leg across my body. He was naked, with black hair thick on his arms and chest, thinning only slightly on his belly and around his cock. He was much more of a fire hydrant than my master. And that fire hydrant was bobbing above my face.

He looked down at me, as he settled lightly to drop himself between my breasts, and chuckled "Rape? You can't rape a slave." With that, he grabbed my breasts and squeezed them up and around his cock as he started sliding back and forth, tit-fucking me.

I closed my eyes and let them take me.

Only once before had I done a threesome. I liked sex but had kept it simple; kink of any sort veered too close to my harem slave fantasy, which hovered around my life and psyche, taunting, tempting, and terrifying me. In college I never went near a frat kegger for fear I'd end up naked in the basement begging to be gangbanged.

At a party last year, though, I met two guys I was sure were gay. They were clever, witty, and danced terrifically—I was having a great time. As the evening drew on, though, it became clear that they were at least Bi, and interested in a threesome. I surprised myself by not immediately bolting for the exit as I always had with anything sexually scary. I screwed myself up to go for it, had one extra drink so that I could lie to myself later that I "hadn't been myself," and as one of my favorite slow tunes came on, latched onto both of them and shimmied out onto the dance floor. I pulled them both in close and whispered "Take me away and take me."

The night had been grand. The guys were funny and sensual, and having a tongue on each tit—no neglected nipples—was amazing. As I walked home, spotlighted by the thin streaks of dawn, I was wobbly and glowing, but dissatisfied. The sex was wonderful, but it hadn't felt close to the "being taken" I'd hoped or imagined. From my smeared makeup, tousled hair, wrinkled dress and late-night stilettos, no one could mistake that I was on the "Walk of Shame," but I had wanted to feel more like I had earned one.

Now I really was being taken by two guys and it wasn't wonderful. It wasn't even scary or erotic. I'd pulled back from feeling raped and now it was just annoying. Dan was sort of right—I was here because I'd asked for it. Not this perhaps—I was still handcuffed to the bed and the skinny dick fucking me was still pumping away—but this was part of the deal. The man who owned me for the night gave me to these jerks. He had seemed nice but these were his friends?

Dan's hands, suddenly rough on my breasts grabbed my concentration back. His swelling cock was still sliding between my breasts, and both men were panting, but had he said something to me? I opened my eyes to look up at him.

"That's better" he grunted, "You have pretty eyes."

Ken piped up, "Hey Dan—I'm almost there, and I really don't want to come staring at your hairy back instead of at her pretty front. Why are you fucking her tits anyhow instead of her mouth?"

"Cause with her arms out like that, I'm afraid I'd break them."

"Well," said Ken, "Would you mind getting off for a second—then you can have her however you want."

"Sure, Keno, I didn't really want to do the money shot anyhow" and with that he swung off me, leaving me to look down toward Ken who was sheened with sweat; his long hair flipped round his face as he fucked.

"Thanks! Much nicer" said Ken, who took three more strokes and added "Jesus I'm so tight that if I pull out I'll bet I'd hit the wall!" Then, looking at me, he said "Hey sexy, you ready to take my load?"

"As my Master's, uhhnnhah, friend, uh...uh...wishes" I forced through gritted teeth, trying to make it sound like I was struggling to talk through the throes of sex, rather that the throes of disgust—was he really going to splash all over my face?

With that though, he planted himself all the way inside, tensed up, and his cock spasmed as he came, pumping his load into me.

As he stood there gasping and leaning on the bedframe, hair hanging around his face, I wondered about these guys—all of them. I'd been so sure Dan wanted to whip me—but maybe his comment about the crop was a joke? He didn't seem a sadist. And Ken was a big talker but...

I looked over to Dan, who was leaning against the St. Andrew's Cross watching the action intently. I have friends who'd like his bearish look—I wasn't, however, one of them. But he was still mostly erect, and I was going to have to deal with that.

Casting my voice as low and sultrily as I could, I asked "Would Master Dan like to take his pleasure of my body now?" And I sashayed my hips a little.

He looked at me, laughed lightly, came over, unlatched my wrists and said "I'd rather have you use that body to

give

me pleasure." Then he stepped over to the cross, leaned against it, reached up, grabbed hold of the straps and looked toward me expectantly.

Could I get that thing in my mouth? It's clearly what he wanted. I got up and stretched, unkinking my muscles, and took a few slow steps over to him. I reached up and touched his shoulders, pressed my breasts against him, and nibbled his ear, getting a little tongue into the action. I caressed his chest, tweaked his nipple and let one hand drift down toward his cock.

I whispered in his ear: "Master Dan wants me to pleasure him? Perhaps instead of holding those straps, he'd like to slide into them—I'm sure I could pleasure him for hours."

With that I let my nails drift toward his underarm and my lips toward the nape of his neck. "Is Master Dan ticklish?" I asked as I scratched gently. He quivered.

"Or perhaps I could just work his nipples?" I asked as my lips slid down to give a little nip. I licked his right nipple and flicked his left with my fingernail. He growled:

"Down, girl. All that might be fun, but right now my cock needs attention."

I slid down his body to my knees and glanced up at him. He was smug, expectant and enjoying the view: my collared throat and my breasts framing his cock—the cock he knew my lips would soon be framing.

I had never done this before—it wasn't that I didn't like sucking cock, it was because the sense of subservience was too complete. I could do 69 for hours, and lying between a boyfriend's legs pleasuring him was great fun; I liked the control. But on my knees to give a blowjob? I hadn't been able to do that—it felt too much like where I was right now. Yet, now the guy I was supposed to service I found unattractive, with a cock so large it scared me, and I was here because the man who bought me gave me to this guy? This was no game—the collar was heavy on my neck and felt very, very, real. Did I like this? Did this turn me on? Was this what I'd signed on for? I eyed his sweaty, hairy crotch, and the thought flashed to refuse, to just get up and walk out. What would happen if I said I just couldn't do this anymore? Collar or no, they surely couldn't hold me to this? Slavery isn't really legal, after all.

I flicked a glance up past the rug of his chest toward his dark face. Then I wrapped my hands around his fire hydrant of a phallus, took a deep breath, licked my lips, and leant forward to take it into my mouth. Like it or not, this

is

what I had signed on for. I could get the head into my mouth and I swirled my tongue, sucking, licking. I let him slide out, and while stroking him with my fingers, licked from his ball sack all the long way to his tip. Sideways like an ear of corn, head-on like a hotdog. I tried sucking on one of his balls—I wanted to cack it out like a cat with a hairball, but it caused him to shudder and grow, and it brought a slight gasp from his throat. So I worked his balls for a minute before diving onto the head of his cock. Up and down, bobbing on him, caressing his balls and shaft, giving the best blowjob I knew how to. I don't think I'm head of the class at oral sex, I guess I might only earn a B, but I'm sure his attitude was the same as every other man I'd ever met—the perfect blowjob is whichever mouth your cock is in right then.

Periodically I glanced up—sometimes he was gazing down in fascination or lust, sometimes his eyes were closed. But he continued to hold the straps on the cross. To steady himself, or because he was imagining what this would be like if he had slid his arms into them and let me snug them down?

It only took a few minutes before his breathing became increasingly gaspy and ragged, his legs started shaking, and his cock swelled and then with one loud groan, he stiffened completely. I just had time to pull back a little to make room, and to grab tight hold before he erupted into my mouth. I swallowed as best I could and then the aftershocks of hot, sticky, salty semen that pulsed into my mouth. Dan rated "OK" for taste, but for me, that scale goes from inoffensive to downright gross. Watching the play of pleasure swirl across a boyfriend's face as I suck him, and knowing how much he enjoys my ministrations is terrific fun and gets me dripping, but I've never met a man whose cream was a flavor I'd want in my coffee.

I rose slowly to my feet, trickling kisses up his bearish body, letting go of his cock but sliding my palms up his chest. It felt like petting a poodle. As I reached my full height I leaned in toward him and said quietly "Was Master Dan fantasizing that he was naked on this cross, feeling the leather holding him immobile, maybe even wearing

my

collar? Would I now be about to feed him a mouthful of his own cum? Maybe Master Dan would like to taste it on my lips? I swallowed all I could, but Master Dan has big balls."

I let my mouth float closer to his as I said those words, wondering whether he would let me kiss him and exhaling so he could catch the aroma of his cum. Instead, his eyes snapped opened and they were glaring; he grabbed my wrists and pulled away from my nearing mouth.

With a quick step and a tug, he pirouetted me 180 degrees and slammed me up against the cross. He held me there, pinioning my hands above my shoulders, with a dark ursine look in his eyes.

"Don't play with someone's mind when they own your body."