Tess Uk Gratitude

Author's note: This story was written with anonymous Literotica member "Tess (UK)" in mind, who seems to be particularly enjoying my stories (thank you for your comments, Tess), but it's obviously for anyone else to enjoy too. I've made some gender and taste assumptions about Tess in writing this, which hopefully I can be forgiven for if I've got any wrong.

--

February in the UK is generally cold - single figures in celsius - and damp, and gray. This year there seems to be a band of snow about to envelop us. People from warmer or drier, or just more consistent climates, might not understand the simple, natural pleasures of the changing seasons. It's effectively the start of Spring. New life is about to emerge. New beginnings. The long-awaited sunshine and warmth is on the horizon, at least metaphorically.

This day specifically though was still blustery and chilly. Outside the wind whips past the trees and rooftops, and it feels like living in Aesop's fable. Indoors, protected from the elements, we wrap ourselves in the luxuries of heated homes, and comfort food, and familiar TV. The simple comforts of a life.

Ordinarily, that is. Today is a new beginning for you, Tess. And whilst the room is comfortably warm, your situation is far from your usual. You kneel, head bowed, on the rug in the centre of the room. Naked, apart from a simple blindfold, and a collar that feels stiff and new around your neck.

Facing you, a quiet audience waits patiently. This is not their first time, like it is yours. They've sat many times in these comfortable armchairs, encircling that particular rug, and waiting expectantly. But despite their understandable excitement, they know that this induction requires patience from them. Manners. Consideration. Care.

A gong rings out. A soft low ringing that brings to mind elegant banquets of a bygone era. Everyone has taken their seats, and a hush descends on the room.

Footsteps approach from your side. Casually stepping up, and then crouching beside you. They pick up your leash, to the gentle metallic sounds of its chain, and this unknown person stands upright again by your side.

"Tess, it's decision time," a faceless voice in front of her, "so I'm going to lead you through some simple questions."

"Are you here before us without duress, and of your own free will?"

Without lifting your face you reply, "I am."

"Has your Advocate beside you explained to you the sorts of things we expect during your initiation?"

Again, eyes down, "He has."

"Very good. Then this is the final, and the most important question... Do you still wish to join our group? If you say No then you will immediately be released to go about your life, with no negative consequences nor any ill will on our part whatsoever. Do you wish to join us, Tess?"

"I do."

"Very good, Tess. Very good. Then we can begin."

Your Advocate crouches beside you again. "You did so well, Tess. I'm very proud of you."

Only now, in the silence of that decision, does your heart really start to race. This is something you've longed for, despite not knowing exactly what it will be. A journey wholly unknown, but calling you nonetheless for many years. That moment has arrived.

You feel just a gentle nudge against your arm, and their hand remains there, offering you the object in their fist. As you reach to take it they whisper, "Take your time. Enjoy yourself. You're such a good girl, I'm so proud."

The gong sounds again.

The object is a tapered cylinder, which you immediately recognise from the round head atop its flexible neck. The surface is textured. The weight of it is familiar. You turn it over in your hands, in search of the button that will activate it.

Your voice is surprisingly steady, almost confident - "Sirs, and Madam, with this demonstration I submit my application to become a member of your club."

Keeping your head bowed low you open your knees. Spreading your thighs wider. Exposing yourself to the audience, for everyone's mutual enjoyment. And slowly, smoothly you lower the wand between your thighs, and turn it on. In the quiet of the room even the wand sounds subdued.

Tentatively touching it to your skin you begin soft sweeps of the toy across your skin. You know how effective these things are, so you take your time to warm up a little first. Moving in a leisurely trail you draw the wand across the tops of your thighs, briefly across your lower belly, and down the other thigh. Never stopping, but never hurried either. Each time the wand passes close to your groin the tingling sensation increases, and with it you can feel your arousal growing.

You lean backwards, your backside rests on your heels, and your left arm extends behind you. Supporting you, albeit unsteadily. And you open your thighs a little wider, and you move the wand a little slower each time it crosses your mons.

And now, more confident in your ability to impress your audience, and more motivated by the wand itself, you move the toy vertically. From the top of your mound, in a steady fluid motion, down between your open thighs. Up and down. Little pressure, just a consistent glide over your increasingly perspiring skin.

And further still. The wand raising your heartbeat with each pass. Your clit urges you to focus there. You apply slightly more pressure and move just slightly more slowly. Circling across your mound, and around the outsides of your lips. Resisting the temptation to apply it directly where you most want it. But nobody can resist forever. You start resting it above your clit for longer with each pass. You trail the bulbous head between your lips, opening yourself, and in the process allowing your wetness to spread.

And onwards. Your hips are starting to jerk upwards with each touch of the wand. Your arm is becoming tired from supporting your upper body. You feel yourself building, and on the brink of collapse at the same time. Your resolve weakening alongside your muscles. And the wand is moving in very small circles now, staying close to your clit, only occasionally dropping down to press delicately against your opening and spread the glow across you.

You become aware of your own breathing, and the frustrated grunts and moans you're making. Behind the blindfold you can tell yourself that you remain anonymous. You're an enthusiastic participant. Eager to push yourself, and to test yourself. Your hips raised high, and the wand held close to your core, you're fast approaching the pinnacle.

The gong sounds again.

You sound a disappointed groan, and withdraw the wand reluctantly. Another minute, maybe 2 at most, would have been enough.

Your Advocate steps up, supports your shoulders, and settles you back into your kneeling position. He takes the wand. Gives you precious moments to pause. To take a breath.

"You were exquisite, Tess. Just mesmerising." He whispers. Always whispering encouragement. "You looked so beautiful kneeling there like that."

He's attaching cuffs to your wrists as he soothes you. Broad, leather cuffs, with noisy buckles. A short chain joins them together, allowing you some small flexibility.

"Such a good girl, Tess."

The lights of the dim room seem startlingly bright as he lifts the blindfold from your head. You turn your head and blink away the glare. Across from you, in a semicircle are the 5 armchairs, all but one occupied while your Advocate prepares you. The occupants' faces hidden in shadow cast by the lights behind them. Each sits, facing you directly.

"Are you ready to proceed, Tess?" asks the lady to your right. The first time she's spoken, and her voice is just as light and breezy as if she was asking you if you'd like more tea.

You pause, to make sure your voice will be steady and assured, "I am."

Your Advocate helps you to your feet, guiding you by your elbow, taking just a few shuffling steps forward.

In front of you stands a low wooden bench. Barely 2 feet high and 12 inches wide, if that. Along its length you can see, more from the shadows they cast than the objects themselves, 8 objects spaced widely apart. Toys. Dildos, of varying sizes and shapes. Growing in stature along the length of the bench. The one nearest you is a comparatively modest 5 inches tall, and the thickness of your thumb. The next is taller, and wider, and with ridges from the base almost to its tip. Each one in line is taller, and thicker, and more textured than the last. The final toy appears to be at least 18 inches tall, and the wide ribs making it nearly as thick as your fist.

"Would you like your Advocate's assistance with this part, Tess?"

"Yes, please."

Without any hesitation he steps to your side, and he resumes the encouraging words. "Such a good girl, Tess. I'm so pleased for you. So very proud."

He may have seen some nervousness in your eyes, but your face shone with gratitude.

The gong sounds again, and the lady says simply "You may begin now, Tess. Impress us."

That afternoon he held you steady. He supported you as you shuffled forward. He whispered encouragement as you lowered yourself onto each toy. He praised you as you groaned and pressed yourself downwards, and as you rode each one with increasing fever. He led you down the bench, from toy to toy. He brushed the hair from your brow, and reminded you not to cum. "Don't cum, Tess. Don't cum.". Until the final toy. And there he held your shaking frame, as you sank down, wide-eyed and determined. He held your gaze as it lost focus, and your eyes rolled back.