The Darness Yields a Question

"...naked and fearless..."

James Maynard Keenan—Tool

Chapter 1

"Where am I?"

At first, Grace simply knew it was dark. Then she realized that she was blindfolded. In a moment she became aware that her hands were bound behind her back, and then that her ankles were restrained as well. The ground she sat upon was cold and hard against her naked butt and against the backs of her thighs and calves. All naked.

The air stank a bit. The unmistakable aroma of fermented grapes.

They had been planning this for a while. She immediately remembered her safe word: doorknob. Everyone involved would know it, and all she had to do in the event anything exceeded her comfort level was say it. And then it would end. And so she was in control. But, now that it was actually happening, she was surprised by how nervous she was. Excited, too.

It seems she had passed out. That wasn't exactly according to plan, but not beyond the working parameters, either. Having lowered her inhibitions with drink more than once, the experiences usually enjoyable, she had let herself go a bit. It had been such a glorious day, sunny and warm with a slight breeze, and they had all been having such a great time, drinking so many fabulous wines, laughing and taking festive photos of one another in the large limo they hired. Perhaps she had had one too many, but...

Where had she been when she passed out? Where was she now? How long had she been out? It was all somewhat unclear. And so her mind began to backtrack, piecing together the events of the day, leading up to this moment as best she could.

They had been wine tasting in Sonoma, a special outing with new friends. But the destination had been changed at the last minute, to someone named Gordon's house. And so that's where she must be. Gordon must own a winery. It was all according to plan. She was fairly sure.

She'd lost track of the wineries they'd visited. They just seemed to go on and on, one tasting room after another, one tiny glass of this followed by a thimble-full of that, and so on, and so forth, and it was impossible to know exactly how many of those tiny sips of wine she had consumed. She couldn't even be sure how many different tasting rooms she'd been in. But, judging by the pressure she was feeling in her bladder, they'd been to quite a few. Grace was still very buzzed, her head throbbing slightly from too much drink, but the shock of her newfound bondage was spilling some clarity into the alcohol's dull haze.

Outside temperatures had been in the mid-eighties, but the floor upon which she sat, legs out straight and spread slightly apart, was cool and comfortable. She could not feel the sun on her pale skin; she was clearly inside, somewhere.

The floor was uneven and slightly rough, maybe bricks, or pavers. The inside of a winery, right. Gordon's winery. Who was Gordon? Maybe this was one of those underground caves where they store the wine barrels. Or a room for some other stage of the process. She briefly tried to remember the things she had learned in that viticulture course she had taken in college. What was that? Grace thought she heard something, like water splashing, but then it was quiet but for the buzzing in her ears.

She and Sam had discussed this scene in great detail. No gags, no pain, but hardly any other non-obvious limits. So, mostly comfortable this explanation of her situation, she did not panic. There was no gag in her mouth, after all.

Still, she couldn't deny that she was nervous, and maybe a little scared. How long had she been out? How had she gotten tied up. Who was Gordon? Where was everyone? Where was Sam?

Grace opened her mouth, perhaps to say something like, "Hello?" or "Is anyone there?" or "Sam?" but as soon as it opened, it was filled with a soft, fleshy knob.

"My husband's cock," Grace thought to herself and relaxed a little as its hard length filled her mouth. Suddenly comforted by a familiar sensation, she laved her tongue around its spongy tip and sucked on it wetly, confident and excited as the naughty game was now beginning in earnest. She considered asking for a bathroom-break to relieve some pressure, but that would have broken the spell. So she bore down on her bladder and focused on the cock in her mouth.

All day Sam had been groping her discretely whenever the opportunity had presented itself, which was fairly often. He would slide his hand up her white, sleeveless blouse to cup a breast (no bra), tweak the 12 gauge circular barbells piercing each of her nipples, or up her pink, pleated skirt (nearly see-through) to cup her mons (no panties), flicking the purple sapphire gem dangling from the ring through the hood of her clitoris. One time, taking advantage of his plantar fasciitis, he arranged for a chair in the tasting room where everyone else was standing. Sitting in this way with Grace right next to him, Sam had actually pushed two fingers up inside her wet pussy while they stood, chatting, glasses of zinfandel in hand. Grace was pretty sure not everyone was completely ignorant of Sam's boldness, but she was too buzzed and excited at that point to care. As her cunt drooled its delicious and fragrant juice onto the talented fingers of her dirty-minded husband, she had barely been able to stand; her speech had become clumsy.

Beyond that, she couldn't remember much. And now here she was naked, blindfolded, bound, and sucking cock in a dungeon. Her body tingled and her cunt juiced at the realization.

Grace's pussy was very wet, and getting wetter as her husband's cock began to push with greater urgency into her mouth, banging against the back of her throat, gently but firmly. Like it wanted in. Was he going to throat-fuck her? Could she swallow it? They had talked about deep-throat before, and she had practiced a bit with one of her more slender and soft dildos, occasionally succeeding with a lot of tears and drool and coughing. But the rhythmic, gentle and insistent thrusting was leaving little room for misunderstanding. And there was something about her current situation, being bound and blindfolded, that allowed her a calm, intense focus, making her feel bold, confident. Focused on the cock and its violation of her mouth, she became familiar with its rhythm and after a short while stopped gagging when it hit the back of her throat. Shortly after that, the collision actually sent a small spasm of anticipation through her, from her mouth to her torso, to her pussy, to the tips of her toes. And then she did it.

At precisely the right moment, she relaxed her throat and swallowed, and the head pushed its way in, filling her, thrilling her. As the rush of accomplishment became a mild euphoria, she began to relish her newfound skill. Out it slid and then back in a steady rhythm, a sense of pride growing within her for conquering this invader. Her cunt juicing even more as the penis again slid gently down her throat and then slowly pulled back out until the head rested on her tongue, giving her a chance to catch her breath before pushing its way back inside.

But then another thought occurred to her: length. She had definitely swallowed more cock already than her husband had to offer and she had yet to feel any pubic hair tickling her nose, no balls slapping her chin. In short, this cock was considerably longer than her husband's. Excited, but now nervous, too, she became a bit stressed and thought again of her bladder.

Again she swallowed it, drops of spit drooling from her lower lip and landing on her exposed breasts, as this great cock slid itself all the way down her throat, bottoming out. And instead of pubic hair or even skin, soft, nylon straps pressed against her nose.

And then she panicked.

A jolt of adrenaline constricted her throat, she began to gag hard. Immediately the cock left her mouth with a 'pop.' Grace leaned her head forward and coughed into her own lap, drooling copiously onto her naked thighs. Apprehension scrambled her thoughts; her brain spun and... her bladder emptied. A puddle quickly formed around her butt and between her outstretched thighs as she coughed and drooled and tried to catch her breath.

"Oh my." Grace heard a voice come from just above her. It was a female voice, and while not particularly high-pitched, still inappropriate for the owner of such a large dick, which, of course, made sense, because... And then, as her mind spun with realizations and the warm, wet feel of her own piss against her ass and legs, the blindfold was removed.

Before her stood a mostly naked mulatto woman of average height and narrow build with close-cropped, kinky hair. While perhaps not glamorous by the superficial standards of popular culture, Maude Sinclair possessed an air of confidence and a coolness to her gaze that made her otherwise modest features arresting. Her flattish breasts hung against her chest with big, hard nipples jutting out from small aureole, swollen and suckable. A pattern of stretch marks radiated out from her belly-button across her pale tan skin like the rays of the sun. The soft flesh of her womanly hips bulged enticingly around the nylon straps of the dildo's harness and her slender legs jutted out beneath. The dildo was flesh-colored, but not hers, the contrast of pink dick against brown skin lending an additional lewdness to an already obscene display. Her piercing eyes watched Grace with concern as she removed the strap-on.

Maude identified as lesbian. But she was fairly cavalier about her partners and was known to show affection to members of both sexes from time to time. Charismatic and approachable, she bore the responsibilities of leadership with good cheer. She conducted herself with integrity and goodwill, and she had a good time, too. She was the well-loved and respected head of the Moistened Bint Winery.

It had started out as an anarcho-syndicalist commune back in the early 90s. But over the years the commune had devolved into a kind of semi-communistic capitalist venture. Mainly because everyone just wanted to fuck and make wine. And Maude was good at running the show.

Behind Maude, Grace saw several people sitting in chairs, who, Grace flushed with embarrassment to consider, must have been watching her all along. She thought she recognized some of them (all of them? from earlier in the day?) but now she couldn't quite remember anyone's name. She perceived a smaller group off to one side but couldn't make out what they were doing. What was going on? Where was Sam? Her mouth opened once again to ask questions, and once again her opportunity for demands was preempted, this time by Maude's kinky-haired and dripping wet cunt that was nearing Grace's face, lowering onto her mouth, the harness having been removed.

The questions would have to wait.