The Superbowl Party

I was preoccupied.

Slowly I leaned back against the shower wall and let the steamy torrent beat down upon my reddening flesh. What if they didn’t like me, I worried? What if I failed to live up to my Master’s expectations and humiliated him in front of his friends? How could I live with that?

Lost in the convolutions of my own mind, I squirted bath gel into my palm and began to “soap” my body…running my hands over the firm upthrust of my breasts…feeling the nipples harden and extend beneath my touch.

I lowered my gaze to the small tattoo…a tiny rosebud, positioned just over the left nipple…over my heart. It was my Master’s mark…this rose…a sign that I, his slave, belonged to him alone. I, in all the world, belonged to William Rosemont…to do his bidding unquestioningly, to serve at his pleasure.

By day, my Master worked in an office…one of the many seemingly invisible minions of the business world. But once his feet crossed the threshold of our home, here on the outskirts of New York, he became “Master” of all he surveyed…his desires my own…his needs my command.

I am his.

Softly, gently I finish my ablutions…lathering the fuzzy bath “puff” with aromatic gel and stroking it sensuously between my thighs. Should I shave…there…for this evening, I wonder? Will he want me in my natural state, or smooth and bare…totally naked…exposed?

Uncertainly, I reach for the small safety razor on the side of the shower caddy, then lean once more against the wall for support. My Master will be displeased when he finds that I’ve taken this cherished ritual from him this time…taken the right to lay bare my pink flesh with his long straight razor…but I have no choice. He’s not here. I’ll have to take my punishment on this one. Gladly.

Slowly, carefully, I work my way around the edges, feeling the blade slide across my trembling flesh. I musn’t nick…no razor burn. Whatever fate awaits me tonight…whatever my Master’s wishes…I must be as perfect as I can be.

Gently, I slide the fingers of my left hand between my nether lips…offering them to the blade. This is the hard part, the part where I could err, make a mistake, mar my Master’s delicate property.

I slide to the floor, my knees upraised, my thighs spread wide and concentrate on my task. The razor slides almost unhindered across the silken flesh of my opening. It hasn’t been long since I, bound to the headboard by the restraints which I love so dearly, felt my Master’s blade removing the tight, auburn curls from my quivering form…not long…not long.

The memory…so erotic, causes my finger to slip still farther, to press against the hardening treasure which hides beneath my newly bared flesh. I stroke…massage…and begin immediately to feel the moisture that lies perpetually just beneath the surface…tempting my hand…flooding once again between my thighs. I’m like a coffee machine, I muse. Just press the button, and out comes…

I laugh. I have to stop this!

My indelicate musings will have to be delayed until another day…the delicious touch that feeds my hunger must wait. Today…now, I have work to do. I must choose my clothing carefully for the gathering that my Master has deemed to give this evening…this “Superbowl Party” to which he has invited his closest friends. What does one wear to such an event, I wonder. Should I cloth myself casually or elegantly. Would my Master prefer me to appear pristine and untouchable…or warm and willing? Am I to be his “trophy”, or a handmaiden to serve at His every whim?

My role there is uncertain, and I vacillate over my preparation for what is to come. Briskly, I run the towel over my pink, moist flesh, reveling in the feel of its abrasivness. One last time I pass the nubby texture over my dusky nipples, my lips parting with the memory of my Master’s touch, and then I cross to my vanity table to choose a scent for the festivities to come. A floral…a spice…a musk perhaps? And then I spot it…my “Tea Rose”…His favorite. I smile…a good choice. His mouth will water tonight as I pass before him…hungering for the moment when we may once more be alone together, bound intimately by our mutual passions.

Smiling, I place a single drop on the tip of my finger, one dab, and the hollows of my throat are transformed into an English rose garden. A second dab, between my breasts this time, knowing His penchant for my rounded orbs, and a third rubbed between my wrists (to leave a scent on my leather cuffs, perhaps?). A fourth and fifth behind my knees…who knows where it might be needed, I muse. Then the last, and most important…one tiny drop imbedded deeply inside the heart of my sex, my passionate core…just a hint…enough to heighten but not overwhelm the delicate scent he loves so much.

Again my juices flow, this time into my palm. I must stop. I must! I have things to do…preparations to make. Time is fleeing, and so must I.

Quickly, I remove the pins from the thick, wavy strands of my long, red hair, brushing it briskly down the length of my back, watching with satisfaction as it curls across the curve of my buttocks. “Will”, my Master, loves it loose… long… dragged tantalizingly over his rigid flesh, and so I leave it unpinned.

It tickles between my shoulder blades as I cross to take my short, silver slip-dress from the hanger and lay it on the bed…so soft and silky. A bra? Perhaps not. Confusion again. How am I to appear? What is expected of me tonight?

Undecided, I select a bra and panty duo, black lace…flimsy, then search the drawer for a pair of pantyhose. But no…He prefers my legs bare, and the region between accessible…always accessible. This choice was easy.

Quickly I add a pair of heels to the ensemble...high…four inch, then begin to reach for the dress. I must be dressed in less than half an hour. I have to hurry.

It’s only then that I hear him behind me, my Will, my Master.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice amused…teasing. “Why so formal? This is a Superbowl party, Keri, not an evening on the town. This is overkill. Let me choose for you.”

I sigh in relief as he removes the tortured decision from my grasp. Everything will be all right now. My Master is here. He’ll know what to do…what I should do. How can I help but please him when the decision has been his very own all along?

Brushing aside the dress, he opens my dresser drawers one by one, and selects a pair of shorts, my shortest, the red ones that expose the undercurve of my buttocks when I bend, and places them on the bed. To this he adds the pale pink t-shirt he bought for me last week…very tight…scoop necked…cropped just below my breasts.

He fondles the silken underwear between his large and rugged palms, then discards them on the pile with the dress. “No Underwear,” he orders briefly. “But keep the heels…I like those.”

I raise my eyes. A question. Is this what I am to wear in front of Your closest friends, my glance conveys? This?

Immediately He understands my confusion. “This is what I want,” He confirms, “…what I want you to wear. We’ll have five guests tonight…five men that I’ve known for most of my life. I want them to enjoy themselves. You’re to give them full deference. But always remember…you have one Master. Your orders come from me alone. Do you understand?”

Yet uncertain, I nod, causing Him to smile almost paternally once more. He wraps His arms around my naked body, drawing me tight against Him. Is he preoccupied? Thoughts of this evening must be filling his mind. He hasn’t noticed my “alteration” yet…he hasn’t seen. Perhaps my breach of discipline will go unnoticed after all.

“You’re going to do fine, Keri. Just do what you’re asked, and the party’ll go perfectly.”

Mutely, He brushes his lips against my hair, inhaling its scent, running His hands down the length of my spine…cupping my buttocks. The fingers of His right hand circle my hip, pressing between us…between my thighs. Greedily they probe…thrusting deep inside of my body.

“You’re wet already,” he observes, a slow grin caressing his lips. “Have you been touching yourself?”

I pause, a muted tension building deep in my intimate core.

He continues, “You’ll have to be punished for that, Keri. I didn’t give you permission…but maybe this time I’ll let it go. These are special circumstances. I understand.”

He chuckles as the brief flame of anticipation dwindles in my eyes. “You’re incorrigible, my little Slut…you want it don’t you? All right then. Leave the wrist and ankle cuffs beside the bed…I’ll let you choose…either the riding crop or the paddle. We’ll begin after the party. You’ve been very bad, you know. This may take a while.”

I smile…I’ve been “bad” again. The mere thought of my Master’s “punishment” sends shivers of passion through my body. Perhaps if I please Him enough tonight, we can dispense with the whip eventually, and I’ll know, instead, the pure ecstasy of his bare hands on my tender flesh. One can only hope.

And then He leaves me alone to dress, taking all the air out of the room in His passing. There is no world...no existence without Him in it. I know that I am His. Does he know that he’s mine as well?

Quickly I slide the few brief wisps of clothing onto my body…more flesh exposed than hidden, then make my way to the kitchen to prepare the snacks He’s chosen for tonight. Chips…dips…imported beer in curiously labeled bottles…and a huge 6 foot long sub sandwich, looking for all the world like a massive phallic symbol. I begin to prepare the cheese and jalapenos for the nachos he likes so much, and then the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it!” I call, tossing my apron on the counter. “Just stay where you are…I aim to please!” I smile.

Quickly I cross the tile entryway and fling open the door. “Hi! I’m Kerilynn,” I greet, “Just call me Keri,” I begin to say…but the words freeze in my throat.

At the head of the merry throng stands the largest man I’ve ever seen…a virtual giant. This must be “Angel”, my Master’s old football buddy. Even in four-inch heels, my diminutive height of 5’4” is insufficient. I crane my neck upwards, and offer him my hand. He must be at least 6’10 or more, I imagine, and well over 300 pounds. A formidable presence between one’s thighs I would think…enough man for two women…too much for one.

The gentle giant smiles, his eyes stroking the low cleavage of my tight shirt, his hand swallowing my own in its large, moist grip. “I’m Angel,” he says, “Thanks for having me.”

Trembling slightly, I stand aside as the boisterous group passes before me, each in turn pressing my hand in theirs, offering the names by which I’m to address them this evening. Carlos…Mike…Ali…and Shawn, (with his dark, red beard and moustache), make their way into the room.

Angel, who leads the parade, trips over the footstool as he backs into the living room, his eyes still scanning my scantily clad frame.

“Let me get that!” I gasp, my desire to make this a perfect evening more than evident.

Quickly I bend, sliding the offending piece toward the sofa, then notice that our guests have yet to enter the living room. I turn. A flush works its way upward from the tips of my toes. They’ve been watching me, and the barely disguised distortion in Mike’s slacks conveys the idea that they’ve enjoyed the view.

Quickly I glance at my Master. Has he noticed? Did he anticipate this? Am I merely to tantalize, or to satisfy as well? Once more I assess Angle’s enormous dimensions… awestruck…tremulous. I couldn’t…I can’t!

“Can I get anyone anything?” I ask, my voice cracked and uneven. “Beer? Sandwiches? Chips? I have nachos in the works in the kitchen…they’ll be ready soon…” I continue to ramble, until my Master caresses my thigh with the palm of his hand.

“Why don’t you put the food on the buffet, and just bring us a couple of beers, Keri. Then come in and enjoy the game.”

Tentatively, I nod, wondering which game we’re discussing…wondering if I’m to be an observer, a player or the prize.

Quickly I return with a tray, heavy-laden with domestic and imported brews…all icy-cold, their condensation wetting my already clinging shirt. One by one I make the rounds to each guest, either twisting off the caps with the hem of my crop top, or gripping them between my thighs as I ply the bottle opener.

Ali gazes heatedly at his bottle of Gernam lager, pressed tightly between my legs, and reaches forward to relieve me of my task.

“Let me do that, Keri,” he offers, his hand extending to grasp his libation, “I have plenty of experience!” He laughs, his hand (inadvertently?) brushing the pale flesh of my inner thigh. “At your service, Ma’am.”

Again I blush. How should I respond? What should I do? What does my Master wish of me this evening? I cover my uncertainty with my brightest smile. These are my Master’s best friends…I must make sure they feel welcome. I want to be what He needs…I need to be what He wants. Tonight I’ll be anything…everything. He has but to command.

Finally, my tasks concluded, my Master pats the couch beside him. “Come here, Keri…sit down. We can help ourselves from now on. Relax and enjoy.”

Gratefully I sink onto the soft cushions beside Him, the warmth of his nearness seeping through the thin cover of my clothing. He runs his eyes down my body…His approval apparent, then slips His arm around my naked waist and draws me against him.

“You look good tonight,” He murmurs, his hand sliding upward, exploring beneath my shirt….”Just right.”

Nervously, I glance about the room, aware that all eyes are now focussed on my Master…and on me. I try to hide the rosy flush that suffuses my cheeks, but to no avail. I glance upward into my Master’s eyes. Surely not now? Not here? Not in front of…

And yet his hand continues to caress, pinch, tug mercilessly at my painfully erect nipple until a soft moan escapes my lips.

“Take off your top, Keri, “ my Master commands, “We want to watch your nipples harden.”

I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly as dry as cotton…but I obey. I must…my Master has given me an order, and I must submit. I have no choice.

Slowly, I peel the brief scrap of fabric from my body, baring my full and heavy breasts, grazing the dusky rose of my tortured nipples.

Groans of appreciation rise from the seats nearby. I glance at Angel…his growing bulge threatening to overwhelm the fragile fabric of his trousers…his swollen member stretching the seams almost to the knee. I turn to my Master for assurance…but find none.

Instead, his eyes have taken on a spark that I’ve never seen before…an intensity that even our most impassioned interplay has left absent.

In his hand he plies an ice cube…one solitary cube, with which he begins to rub my already screaming nipples. I bite my lip, feeling my juices begin to flow, my moans rising in pitch and intensity.

Panting, I lean back against the sofa, my heels resting upon the coffee table before me, my knees thrust in an unladylike posture for all the room to see. I want to touch…to touch…to touch…

But I can’t. This body doesn’t belong to me…the wet patch between my thighs is not mine. I am the property of my Master…and I have no right to trespass without permission.

Slowly the ice melts, leaving the room tense and silent…alert to the deep and sonorous breathing that fills each and every corner.

I sigh…my trial is over at last. The cold torture to which my Master chose to subject me has passed…or so I think. Then, suddenly, I feel a second cube…this time sliding up the bare expanse of my inner thigh.

I gasp.

Surely he wouldn’t…not here!!

But the look in his eyes says that he would…and will. Slowly he raises his hand, fingers outstretched, the ice cube following obediently…up and under the wide cuff of my shorts…and between the slit of my intimate petals. Seductively, he massages it against my clit, my body seizing in a spasm that I can’t control.

“Oh….Will….” I breathe, my voice raw and ragged. “I….I….can’t! Oh, please…I can’t! Not here!”

But he only smiles and continues his ministrations, offering no succor as he watches my composure vanish before him. Instead he removes his hand briefly and returns with a large, unmelted cube which he thrusts, full force, deep into my shivering core…and then a third, this time into the narrower passage. I scream in pain and frustration.

“Hold them there, Keri. Don’t let them escape until I give you permission,” He warns. “If you fail, you’ll be punished severely…I’ll have to…”

And then he stops…his face stern and foreboding. “Take off your pants, Keri. What have you done!”

Trembling, I rise, my body fighting desperately to dispel the icy torture which even now runs down my legs…but I hold it…all of it…I must!

Standing before my Master, I unzip my shorts and lower them to the floor. A hush falls over the room, and then a groan fills the air. My Master reaches out his hand and strokes the bared surface of my shaven sex. He’s angry…I can tell. I’ve displeased Him. My punishment will be monumental and well deserved. I’ve taken something that was his…abused his trust…my sin is unforgivable. I must atone.

His voice now is colder than the icy water that flows copiously down my legs and onto the floor between my feet.

“Lay down on the coffee table, Keri…on your back. This breech is inexcusable. I’ll have to punish you severely. You need to prepare yourself… tonight is going be unbearable. Will you give yourself willingly?”

Tears form in my eyes. My lips tremble…but for what I’ve done there can be no other way.

“Yes, Master,” I whisper, my voice low and quivering. “All that I have is yours. Do whatever you need to do. I submit willingly.”

Then, turning, I lay my body atop the coffee table, legs spread as a mad gush of icy water seeps humiliatingly from my intimate recesses.

Stern and menacing, my lover, my Master, rises above me, stripping his clothing quickly and kneeling between my trembling thighs.

“You need to learn, Little One...you need to obey. This choice isn’t just yours or mine…but it has to be done. Do you understand?”

Nodding, I close my eyes, gasping as my Master hilts himself within me, forcing the last of the ice deep into my body. Mercilessly he plunges….over and over, until my tortured flesh screams for relief. And then I feel his sweet release filling me…washing over me, and my body trembles with the overwhelming desire to follow.

“No!” He commands. “Not yet. Not until I give you permission. You’re being punished, Kerilynn. Your pleasure has to wait until I’ve allowed you that privilege. You have to learn!”

My eyes open, dark with humiliation. I’ve shamed myself…but worse than that…I’ve shamed my Master. All around me I see the tense and heated gazes of the men who have watched my undoing. I turn my head…but not for long.

Rigid once more, my Master is ready to administer yet another lesson in this night of tortured surprise. Gently, he straddles my face, cradling it between his palms, forcing my lips apart with the pressure of his thumbs.

He thrusts…plunging deeply…far beyond the heated limitations of my mouth and deep into the recesses of my throat. He groans. “Caress it, Keri…make love to it…show me how sorry you are.”

And then he turns to his friends.

“Angel…do you want her? Don’t hold back, then. She’s so wet down there that even you should be able to slide in without too much trouble!”

I struggle, attempting to cry out my objection, but my throat is filled by my Master’s plundering assault. “This is what I expect of you tonight, Keri,” my Master murmurs. ”I want your obedience. I need to know that you surrender your will to mine.”

Helplessly I nod…pinned as I feel my thighs spread wide once again…the massive shaft of the giant pressing against my vulnerable aperture.

And then I feel him, this giant…one massive lunge and he fills me, rending me, his thrust, sending waves of pain throughout my quivering form.