DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS HEREIN ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18. I do not condone any abuse of any kind IRL, and everything herein is just fantasy. Do not attempt to re-enact anything you read here.
Pearls of laughter rang out from the dining area, where the Feather Clique were enjoying late afternoon tea. Each of the ladies was a long term Club member, their set having been some of the major contributors to the Club's initial investments. As such, even among the near-dictatorial levels of luxury Club membership afforded, the Feather Clique -- who just referred to themselves as the Feathers -- were royalty among court.
They were known as the Feather Clique, or more accurately, referred to in hushed tones by assistants in their dormitories at night, for a variety of reasons. Most obviously, for their affectation of wearing sheer, silky, feathery and fluffy clothing which was in all practical terms near useless as clothing. Indeed, if not for the feathers which donned their scantily dimensioned attire, they would be entirely transparent. Such tiny fragments of clothing did practically nothing to veil their utterly voluptuous forms. Indeed, they took great joy in the feeling of being more naked than nudity when wearing such scandalous, thin, velvety smooth and glossy garb.
It had a similar effect to the pouch panties of the male assistants in that respect, serving to force their cocks to protrude out due to their tight and deliberate design, doing nothing to provide even a modicum of dignity, and indeed, served only to grind down and eradicate any shred of pride which remained by forcing them into a constantly semi-aroused state as the delicate materials eternally tickled at their sensitive spots, feeling almost like a slick tongue or teasing fingertip to the maddeningly over-aroused employees.
Each of the Feathers took time to enjoy this aspect of the males serving them in particular, their hands delicately tracing the contours of the silken-cocooned cocks with painted nails and soft fingertips, which stood proudly and unwittingly for torturous attention. No doubt their owners wished against all hope that their cocks would listen to them as they internally screamed and pleaded with them to soften, and not the temptations of the sultry temptresses seated around. they held trays aloft with both hands affixed to them in bondage mittens, utterly helpless to protect their poor suffering members. Not that they would have been able to regardless, nor wished to, as even the first hint of even a thought of resistance would have undoubtedly resulted in the far more involved attentions of all of the ladies present, a fate which each of the males shakily yet obediently holding trays aloft was hoping was not to be theirs.
Another reason for their name, of course, was their love of the teasing touch, like that of a feather. Both figuratively and literally, the teasing, ticklish touch of a finger or a feather was something each of the ladies shared a deep seated passion for. Indeed, as the boys were casually and yet so effortlessly molested in their helpless states, that passion was making itself very well known, as those who were not laughing in mocking and haughty conversation -- the topic of which had as always strayed back to the utterly vulgar and sexual precisely to elicit the reaction from the assistants they were getting -- were quite blatantly masturbating themselves as they either watched or participated in the abuse.
The sheer frustration they could evoke from their decades of experience with cock-teasing was truly masterful. They delighted, indeed they were extremely aroused, by the sight of the internal war raging within each of the boys as they fought to keep their tray upright, each suspecting that the first to fail to hold up their tray, or worse, to cum, would be their new victim.
As knees shook and buckled, the Feathers delighted in competing to see who could provoke the most response from their four male charges. They would beckon the males to each other, taking turns, with a single finger instructing them to turn and present their cocks for the lascivious attentions of their cruel teases. Through gritted teeth, they would each obediently turn from one woman to the other, trying to ignore the way their toes played up the back of the males' calves, or fingers ran up and down their thighs, curling around behind to play with their rears... although of course there was no way they could possibly ignore the excruciating games being played on their poor dicks. Usually, when one was toying with a boy, the other would just enjoy the show, fingers delving greedily into their sodden clefts, wet and pudgy vaginal lips echoing moist sounds throughout the room as tittering conversation gave way to the steady crescendo of oncoming female orgasms. They delighted in being able to so freely and unashamedly play with themselves even as their poor assistants suffered in agonizing indecision, between both the desperate desire to, and to not, splurt the thick loads of cum which boiled away within their balls. Unbeknownst to the boys, the ladies had decided in advance that they would compete to make a boy cum, with some as-of-yet-undecided fate awaiting whoever proved most susceptible to their wiles.
Biting their lips, each boy was trying so very hard not to move, even though they inevitably wound up rocking up onto the balls of their feet, subconsciously chasing the desire which seemed to float just out of reach, instead finding only increased and more eager teasing at these obvious signs of how close they were getting. Shifting their weight from one foot to the other, each so desperately would have loved nothing more than to thrust into those ladies hands, to fuck their fingers until they blew their minds out with the churning load of cum bubbling away, so close to tipping over the edge. However, again and again, even as they kept failing their own promise to themselves by humping the air and chasing the teasing touches, the boys promised themselves they would not cum.
Each of the ladies was equally determined to be the one to drive them over the edge, however. They delighted in seeing which would weep more, a boys tears or his cock, and they delighted in ever so delicately tracing a finger in circles under their heads, collecting the dripping clear honeyed nectar of their pre-cum, only to overly-exaggeratedly loll out their tongues, sucking their fingertips into their mouths before lavishing upon them the very attention each boy would have sold their souls to have at that moment. Whenever they did this the boys' mouths would gape open, leaning closer unwittingly as they watched in rapt attention at the oral display, even as their cocks were being teased by the other lady within reach.
The feathers took it as a point of pride to see how little stimulation they could use to make a boy cum. Indeed, they constantly competed to get a boy as close to the edge as they could, and hold them there as long as possible, before tipping him over the edge, like a flicked pebble starting a landslide. Staring into the eyes of a boy as the battle to disobey rages within them, only to finally accept how truly helpless they were when in the arms of their female betters, was something the Feathers truly loved more than anything else.
To this end one of the ladies had, at last, decided to take things to the next level. Grace, the raven haired minx, had begun to trace her hands up and down her own breasts, tracing along the lining of her totally ineffectual lingerie, outlining the swell of her breasts for the sake of the young man before her. He was so close to cumming now that both she and he knew it was just a matter of time. She had him right where she wanted him. But she wanted to take him right to the edge with just her breasts alone. Deftly, slowly, she jiggled them back and forth, her huge mammaries like a Newton's cradle, one would squish into the other in physics defying ways, knocking the other to slowly shift to the side, only before it swelled back like the tide, to bump back into its neighbour, and repeat the cycle. Her neighbour, Deirdre, recognizing Grace's plan, had two fingers rocking across her clit as they plunged into the wet, gasping cavern between her now-clenched thighs.
