The Story of L

It was the heightened sense of awareness she noticed most. There was an intensity to the anticipation. The imagination of impending touch was so real that she could feel ripples through her skin. She couldn't reach her pussy but she could sense how wet she was. As her mind went to that place, she clenched. A tingle at the top of the inside of her thigh, and the unmistakable sensation of a drop of liquid tracking slowly, erratically downwards, like a raindrop on a window pane.

She noticed her breathing, slightly faster, deeper than usual. Perhaps it was a consequence of being bent over, her diaphragm compressed. She felt an urge to say something, but didn't know what there was to say. She yearned for that moment when her vocal chords would be unleashed in involuntary screams of pleasure. She had wanted this for so long. Had dreamed of it since her adolescence, reading the opening of "The Story of O". Still today just the thought of it was her

fastest route to orgasm. And now it was imminent, perhaps. What exactly was going to happen, she didn't quite know.

The bar had been cool when her palms had first wrapped around it. Now it was warm and damp from her protracted grasp. Why was she gripping it so hard? There was no need. She wasn't able to move from it anyway. But it felt right to maintain that tension, braced to absorb whatever was to come. The tension ran up her arms, through her shoulders and down her back to her exposed cheeks and down through her locked knees to the soles of her feet, tipped forward hard in the high heels.

What would come first? Would it be a gentle touch - just a finger, starting on her leg, her rounded, taut, bottom or going straight to caress her pussy lips? Would it be invasive, territorial, pushing

straight into her soaking hole, maybe two fingers, roughly turning and opening her up? Would it be instantly depraved - hands grasping her cheeks and a tongue straight to her asshole? Or a finger, hopefully lubricated, straight in there? She shuddered. She wanted that, but could she take it straight away? Or would all pretence to foreplay be dispensed with? Would it be hands gripping her haunches and a hard cock straight up to the hilt in her pussy? Could a cock go straight into her asshole from this position? Maybe. Or...

What conversations had preceded her agreeing, excitedly, to do this? Her mind searched in vain for clarity on what she had indicated as her boundaries. Had she been clear? The harder she tried to remember those exchanges, the less she could recall. Some had been over WhatsApp, some in bed lying side by side in post-orgasmic bliss, some when her brain was fogged by the sensation of the erection thrusting inside her. They had discussed pain, discussed flogging, discussed paddles, discussed being marked. But what had she agreed? Could the first thing she would feel be the sharp smack of a hand, or a whip? She shuddered again. Her skin was tight. Sweating. The pain and pleasure of not knowing, what or when.

Her breasts felt heavy. Gravity was pulling them down. She liked the exposure of them, emphasised so strongly by the pink corset that wrapped elegantly under them. No! Like was not the word. She

loved

the exposure. When she had first walked into that room, and had felt all the eyes on her, she had revelled in that. Her nipples were hard with the excitement. Her pussy was exposed too, but not in the way it was now. The eyes that were devouring her were drawn to her confidence, the sexuality she exuded, and perhaps, her impending submission. But also her beautiful, perfect breasts, shimmering in the dimmed light.

She had taken in as much as she could before the blindfold went on, but that wasn't long. Enough to understand the nature of the room she was in. Enough to get a sense of the number of men in there, which was a lot. Were there women too? She thought so, but now she couldn't be sure. Naked

chests. Some smooth, some hairy. Men with their cocks in their hands already. How many hands had touched her as the blindfold went on? She couldn't be sure. Most just smoothing her hair, caressing her bare shoulders, enjoying the feel of the fabric of her corset. Some running fingers down the suspender straps, and over her bottom. Bolder hands taking a furtive first opportunity to take a glancing feel of the hardness of her nipples.

Her wrists were warm. The leather cuffs had been drawn tight but were wide enough that they didn't cut into her skin. She had no desire to try to wriggle her hands out of them but it would have been in vain to try. She didn't know quite how they had been anchored to the bar but it had been done so thoroughly that she couldn't slide her hands sideways. So her arms were fixed shoulder- width apart. She could bend her elbows but as well as releasing the tension through her body it would certainly arch her bottom up higher, presenting her asshole more directly to gaze or touch. Perhaps she should. Or would that be too demanding? She was ready to submit, to allow the room to place her as they wanted, take her as they wanted, use her as they wanted.

She closed her eyes. With the blindfold she couldn't see anyway, but it seemed that having her lids lightly together, opened up even more sensation. She took in the smell. There was a certain mustiness, unsurprising of a room in a basement with no windows. But the more powerful aroma was men. Even now, so early in the night, it was pronounced. Sweat, yes, some traces of aftershave and perfume, but also that inescapable smell of male arousal. Her lips opened, on auto-pilot, expecting to feel the hardness of the head of a cock pushing between them. Moist lips, ready to be forced to slide wider to accommodate the bell shaped end, and over the ridge. Her tongue ready to welcome the intruder. Her throat primed not to gag if it was forced that far. But for now no cock made its entrance. How long had passed? Was it many minutes she had been exposed, on offer, or had time stopped? Please would someone take her now, hard, roughly, fuck her like she wanted so much. She wanted cum in her mouth, in her pussy, dripping from her asshole.

Her legs suddenly felt weak. Her ankles were bound too, each with a leather strap, and shackled in a way that forced them to be parted perhaps twice as wide as would feel natural. It spread open her cunt, and made access to her asshole easier too. Her heels were white, patent leather, and reflected the dim light of the room to form a pair of landing lights to the runway to her inner sanctum. She involuntarily clenched again, expectant with desire, and mentally wishing for someone to take the weight off her legs, whether with strong arms wrapped under her waist, or simply mounting her up on their cock, she didn't care.

And then the waiting was over.