The Fools

"Hey look!" Jack said as we were finishing our breakfast, each with our attention on our phones, checking what was happening in the world.

He waved his phone at me, open on his emails.

"We've finally been members at Liberty for long enough to get an invite to the tournament!"

I took his phone, scanning the email, but stopped at the price. "£8000! I know most of it goes to charity, but that's a lot of money for one weekend... Maybe we should think about it before we sign up."

We'd joined Liberty a few years ago, unable to resist the attraction of the exclusive kink club where everybody was a switch. Although it wasn't cheap, the number of scenes and conversations that'd sparked ideas to feed into our neverending game of mutual destruction was well worth it and over time we'd built an amazing group of friends and collaborators for our kinky shinanigans. Our club had become our extended family.

The tournament was the only event each year that wasn't open to every member. Held at midwinter it raised funds for the local hospital, while also crowning that year's rubber king and queen. The event was also reportedly the source of the Fools - a put into chastity the night of the tournament and only released the next year. We'd often see them around at events, dribbling and fidgeting with arousal, and made the guinea pigs during demos just to give us all a good laugh.

Rubber wasn't really our thing. We'd been to the monthly event once or twice but mostly stuck to the more mainstream BDSM themed parties, so we'd not really spent much time around the royals, but they were the reason that the tournament wasn't open to the newbies. It wasn't just a ceremonial role. They were visible members of club, handing out roles like mentorships and nominating dungeon monitors. They were also Master of Fools, presiding over their torture while they were in chastity. It was crucial that all the club members who won 'special' roles during the tournament were well known and respected within the club, one set to make decisions and the other to laugh at because jeez those folks suffered a downfall, so the rules excluded people during the first two years of their membership. It was an important event for the club and a cause I wanted to support, I just wasn't sure we had £8000 of support to share.

Running late for work I largely forgot our conversation, trusting that Jack would bring it up again closer to the time when we'd know if we had the ticket price to spare.

----

Three months later I came home to a parcel on the doorstep. I wasn't expecting anything but as I wandered in I noticed that it was addressed to both of us, so I tore into the plastic to see what we had. The contents - a pile of white fabric and a very heavy cream envelope fell onto the table.

Opening the envelope I found a ticket to the tournament, a letter giving instructions and a form for both of us to sign, to show that we had understood and consented to the rules of the game. The letter explained that before attending we needed to decide who was the Dom(me) for the evening. The tops would attend in black tie, share a banquet and then play knock-out rounds of poker. The bottoms would serve the party until the end of the meal and then be blindfolded and edged during the tournament, building their tension while they waited to find out what consequences their partners had won them during the game.

The white garment was a light sleeveless shift with a hood that could be pulled all the way forward to cover the wearer's face. Although it was quite long, it had a split up the back going almost to groin level that would show off someone's legs as they walked. The instructions were for the bottom to come wearing that and only that.

It all seemed straightforward, there was an outline of what consequences there would be for people knocked out in each round of the tournament and a summary of all the good last year's funds had achieved. There was a web address for the club's page explaining the roles of the Royals and the Fools, but I'd seen them around enough to know I didn't want to be either!

"Never mind", I thought, "I'm terrible at poker and Jack's never mentioned playing in all the time we've known each other. We'll go, lose in the first couple of rounds and then enjoy the orgy!"

Later I regretted the decision not to visit the website before I signed the consent, but I guess I earned my new title.

---

"We have to choose!"

It was the night before the party. We'd had our latest health checks, I'd got a new IUD and we'd both updated our limits in the club database. All that was left was for us to pick who would hold all the cards.

"We could just toss a coin" Jack shrugged as I stirred the last few ingredients into our meal. A pregnant pause later I looked over my shoulder to see a sly grin creeping up his face.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

"We could fuck for it. First to orgasm loses, winner gets to play cards but doesn't get to cum until the party."

"Deal" I smiled, bringing our plates to the table.

Later that evening we both fell into bed, tounges clashing and hands roaming, our clothes in a trail from the kitchen table.

I went to straddle him, his cock already hard and glistening with precum begging for attention. He stopped me, nipping my bottom lip and laughing as he said "you really think I'd let you get away with that?! We both know you don't usually get off when I fuck your pussy. Flip yourself round. A sixty-nine will be fairer..."

Sniggering I slid back to his side and then twisted so that my feet were near my pillow, my hands teasing down his happy trail as I rearranged myself to nip his inner thigh.

"Ready?" I asked before licking his straining cock from base to tip.

Fondling his balls with one hand, I paused with my lips around his glans to moan as Jack started to fight back with all he had, sucking rythmically on my clit while two fingers curled upwards, catching my g-spot in the same rythm.

I swore at him, the sensations too intense as he went straight for the prize, but then realised I'd got distracted and started drawing him further into my mouth.

In the end it was over in a few minutes, my orgasm crashing over me almost without warning just as his thighs started to tense and warn me his own release was close.

I pulled away as I tensed and cried out, leaving him bobbing, hips flexing, unthinkingly searching for more attention.

When I regained my senses, head on his thigh, his cockhead a few centimetres from my face, I blew. The sudden stream of cool air over his balls drew his attention and his flinch made me giggle.

"It's hard to believe that you're the winner when I've left you hanging like that! Would you like any more attention my love? We can't let you cum, but I can make you nice and grumpy for all the subbies you'll get to play with tomorrow!"

He cupped his cock protectively with a hand, stopping me from playing with him any more, while failing to resist a few slow teases of his own hand over this shaft.

"Desist!" he laughed. "You'll get your punishment and I'll get my fun tomorrow."

He shifted me to lay with my head on the pillow next to his.

"In the meantime we should probably both have a soak in the tub" he said, ruefully scratching his short beard. "The instructions said we all have to be hairless from the eyes down for the party. I guess that's what we get for hanging out with the latex-lovers... They like everything smooth."

I got a few more fondles in while we smoothed razors over each other trying to eliminate any speck of stubble, but then so did he.

----

That Friday as we drove up to the mansion felt different. Normally we were impulsive, leaving what we did to chance depending on who else was around and what inspired us in the moment.

This weekend we came with an overnight bag, checking into one of the chalets on the mansion's grounds before filing into the ballroom with the other couples all at the same time. There was a tense anticipation running through us all.

Jack was purely sinful in his suit, the black wool tailored just for him, his shirt cut to show off his muscular chest and the posture and confidence of someone who went to a ball every weekend.

My shift was light enough to leave nothing to the imagination, breasts swaying and nipples pointing clearly through the fabric after my walk through the grounds. The cut was unisex, showing off men's muscular arms and the hood making it look more like a robe than a dress. Walking in Jack and I were given a tag with the same number - thirty eight - our number in the tournament so that everyone could track their places on the leaderboard.

As we walked further into the room my fellow bottoms flitted around bringing their tops drinks and snacks. I pecked Jack demurely on the cheek, asked him what he wanted to drink and left him to find his seat as I collected it.

There was a cushion between each seat at the table, leaving space for the bottoms to kneel next to their partners when not needed to fetch something. Each course came with a side plate of cubed morsels served without sauce for the tops to hand feed us. As we wandered the room filling glasses and carrying plates, the tops smoothed hands over us, patted or pinched, physically acknowledging us without making eye contact or pausing in their conversations. We were objects more than people while we walked around, only regaining ourselves when we were kneeling and cared for at our partners' sides.

As the meal wound up we were collected one by one by the event organisers and led to our positions around the room. Professionals swooped in to clear the tables and transform the room into a gambling den as I joined a line of white-shifted people waiting to be installed.

At the nearest table plates and glasses were replaced by a green baize. A croupier was handing out a small number of chips to each player - the games were short so that the whole tournament could be played in an evening. Each player had their numbered tag on display, helping other players compare who they were up against with the leader board.

Suddenly the person in front of me moved, led a few steps away to be installed for the evening. I realised I'd got distracted and hadn't watched what was about to happen to me.

The woman put white leather cuffs on his wrists and, securing his hands behind his back, lined him up with a small dildo sticking up from the bench. As she sat him down she lifted the shift a little, the slit rising to his lower back so that his bare arse would make contact with the bench. A white harness made sure he couldn't lift himself from the intrusion and his hardening cock was lubed and slid into a fleshlight that was then clipped onto the harness. His arms fit into a void in the seat back and she pulled another white leather strap over his torso just below his collar bone. As a final touch she placed a white collar with his number tag around his neck before pulling his hood fully over his face so that the extra fabric pooled around his neck.

Leaving him anonymous, covered from head to shin by his white shift, she turned to look at me, her next task. Leading me towards my place I noticed she was leaving 4 feet and a spare dildo between each bottom.

The cuffs were made of soft leather, feeling more like they cupped my wrists than restrained me, but the connector between them was real enough, trapping my hands behind me.

I looked down as she pushed me backwards, forcing me to take a step and feel the bench against the back of my legs. My spot had two dildoes, the same short one as the man had been impaled on and a longer fatter one in front. Close up I was relieved to see they'd already been liberally coated in lube. As I sat the woman lifted my shift, but also held my shoulders, helping me to penetrate myself at my own pace. After a few moments my bum hit the cold leather of the bench and she synched the harness around me, making sure that a butterfly vibe was strategically placed and not leaving me more than a couple of millimetres of movement on the seat. I also got a belt fastened around my torso, forcing me to sit back in the seat, which pushed more of my weight into the anal intruder. Then without having looked me in the eye once she buckled my collar and pulled the hood over my face. My cold tag swinging slightly and touching my neck was the only movement across my entire body as she walked away.

A while later the room went quiet around me. Over the sound system the voice of this year's rubber queen announced "Ladies and gentlefolks! Now that we've had the sustenance required to keep us going let's get down to business! Before we begin the tournament, let me reintroduce you to our Fools!"

The curtains behind her swished as they opened revealing to the tops a predicament very similar to my own. Two women were bound to a bench, hands behind their backs, held by a strap across their torsos and a harness around their hips. The similarities ended there however. They were dark to our light, decked out head to toe in black rubber, that covered the chastity belts we all knew were there. Their hoods were featureless, their heads looking more like footballs than masks, an inch-wide breathing hole, supporting a rigid tube that was held in the wearer's mouth, the only break in the black shiny surface.

Unlike us, the black rubber dolls weren't still. They both writhed in their restraints, attempting fruitlessly to get just one more sensation that might help them over the edge. They both knew it wasn't coming but a year hadn't taught them to stop trying.

After a quick titter from the audience that I couldn't decipher from beneath my hood, the rubber queen began her spiel again.

"Tonight we will continue or tradition of choosing new Royals and Fools through a battle of luck and skill."

"There will be four rounds. Half of the people here will leave the tournament in the first round. The first to leave each table will consign themselves and their partners to a weekend without orgasm. They'll be our cucks, our cum buckets and everyone's to torment until sunset on Sunday."

"The other couples to leave the tournament in the first round will face a small penalty of being spanked or edged at the start of every scene this weekend, they'll be our bottoms but will otherwise be allowed to enjoy themselves."

"In the second round all those leaving will be put in a predicament this evening that will either allow them to become a top for the weekend or, if they fail, demite them to join the subs."

"The third round will be small and anyone leaving the tournament at this level will spend the weekend being worshipped as they please by the submissives of their choice."

"Gosh, this spiel is long! Before I finish my explanation, let's give our bottoms something to enjoy."

She waved a hand at the helpers spread around the room and from every direction a humming sound started as the dildoes, fleshlights, and butterflies sprung to life, followed by a few wimpers.

For anyone who could see, the queen's expression changed as she prepared to explain the fourth round. A sly smile telling us that reaching that round wasn't necessarily a win.

"In the fourth round only the two strongest players reach the grand finale. They are joined by their partners and each time one partner loses a hand the other partner will gain a... distraction. That means that each round three of the four will gain a handicap going into the next hand. Eventually someone will win. That person and their partner will be crowned Rubber Royals, the losing couple will become our new Fools and our weekend-long celebration will commence!"

A few moments later the intensity of the vibrations to my nether-regions was lowered from toe-curling to a slow crawl that would keep me simmering without allowing anyone to reach a climax.

I zoned back into the queen's speech.

"... and we'll have some lovely events scheduled throughout the weekend to make sure everyone gets the most out of their hard-earned roles! Now without further ado, let's deal the first hand!"

With that announcement there was a small round of applause and the room got louder again, people chatting amongst themselves as they gambled for the weekend's orgasms.

I zoned out, barely noticing the applause as the first round ended, cocooned in my white and teasing prison.

The losers were led away as the remaining players rearranged themselves onto fewer tables, closer to the stage.

Our helper pulled down the trousers of my neighbour's partner and impaled him between us, giving him the same restraints but leaving him exposed, trousers and boxers around his knees, as she slid a black satin bag over his head. Once all of the losers were restrained the helpers removed the extra tables and chairs, clearing space so that the party could begin as soon as the tournament was over.

Time blurred more and more as I was teased, the intensity varying from barely noticeable to not quite enough. My attention was only pulled back to the room when a larger round of applause was followed by lots of people moving around and the sound of furniture dragging. I went back to my mindless wiggling when nothing immediately happened.

A few minutes later our helper raised my hood, unbuckling the restraints that held me to the bench and lifting me gently to my feet. While I was still blinking she led me across the room and sat me at a table, uncuffing my hands from behind my back and locking me to the edge of the table instead.

I had no idea why I was there. I'd missed the entire description of the fourth round because of the timely distraction our queen had dealt us. Having not read up about the club's special roles I didn't know that the Fools were the runners up, not the first ones out of the tournament. I just smiled blearily as I spotted Jack to my left. Around the room the helpers were removing the hoods of all the tournament's losers so that they could watch how the last round played out. Play-by-play accounts would be a big part of the club members' conversations for the next few weeks!

Ceremoniously the King and Queen each leant over a player's shoulder closing a pair of golden handcuffs on each player's wrists so that we were all four attached to the table.

Taking the mic from the Queen the King started "in the past we've had a few sore losers who don't want to admit that they'll get off playing the Fool."

"I don't blame them," he's said, winking and looking over at the still writhing sex dolls, "nobody gets off playing the Fool, but these days we like to make sure they can't try and run away when reality hits!"

Laughter from around the room gave me time to think as I desperately tried to pull together my thoughts. Cassie, the woman opposite me was an acquaintance more than a friend. She'd been in the club for longer and was more composed, probably having experienced a tournament before and knowing what was happening. I shifted my foot to tap Jack's trying to get his attention. He just patted my knee dismissively, still looking at the King.

My sense of foreboding grew. I wasn't sure I even remembered how to play poker it'd been so long. My mind felt heavy and slow after hours of edging and looking at the writhing featureless women on stage reminded me how high the stakes were.

The King continued, "when we get to this stage we know we've got two good players so we throw in some wildcards and load the dice. We don't want this last game to last all night, do we folks?"

The crowd roared at this, looking forward to seeing the new Royals crowned and starting to party.

"Each player will be playing alongside their mussed up, horny sidekick. I guess we'll find out if they've got any braincells left! There will be a forfeit at the end of each hand, drawn from this hat. Those forfeits will be for the person who won the last hand and the couple who lost, because it's down to your partner to protect you! The winners partner will go into the next round with the advantage of no forfeit and all distractions will remain until the end of the game."