The Birthday Party
This is a sequel to "The Fishbowl".
Jane dozed the morning away. Every once in a while she'd get fidgety. She hadn't drunk much at the party, but enough to mess up her sleep. That and the fact she was naked and locked in a giant fishbowl. She had lost the dart game and had agreed to spend the week with him, with Geoffrey.
Jane slapped her hand on the glass.
Diddle for the middle means diddle for the MIDDLE, not diddle for the highest score and she had thrown a double bullseye. She had won the right to first throw. Of course, he'd have beaten her anyway. He didn't even look at the board when he threw the winning dart, just gazed at her. She'd felt a touch of vertigo looking into the dark pools that were his eyes. Still, Jane smiled at the realization.
I'm on to you Geoffrey.
She walked around in a slow circle, peering through the glass, trying to take the measure of the room - the furniture, the bookshelves, the fireplace.
And then she caught a movement, a reflection in the glass. Jane spun, dropped to her knees, opened her legs, crossed her wrists behind her back, and bowed her head. Geoffrey paused, stood before her for a long moment, then disappeared. When he didn't return, Jane crawled over to the other wall, plopped down on her stomach. The surfers were gone, but there were people on the beach. Someone had set up a volleyball net.
The sound startled her awake. She was momentarily disoriented until she found the source. Jane looked up.
The lid to the bowl was moving up and away, the ladder was descending. She couldn't see him, but he was up there somewhere. Jane knelt.
Jane climbed the narrow stairs. When she emerged he embraced her. He didn't kiss her, didn't caress her, just held her. It wasn't a hug, necessarily. He had one hand on her back, one on her ass. He really didn't exert any pressure, but she could feel his warmth, the strength in his arms. The embrace lasted a long time, but ended way too soon.
He turned, descended the spiral stairs, Jane followed. He went into the kitchen. Jane could smell something, something curry. Geoffrey pulled a bowl from a cabinet, reached a wine glass from another, filled it. He set a spoon and napkin on the table. Jane knelt at his feet while he stirred the stew.
He filled his bowl and sat at the small, kitchen table. Jane shuffled closer. She was hungry. She couldn't hear her stomach growl, but she could feel it. Geoffrey stepped over to the stove and refilled his bowl.
When he'd finished he handed the bowl down to Jane. He tore off a piece of crusty bread, added it to the bowl. She had no spoon. It became immediately obvious that she was reduced to fingers. She popped a cube of chicken into her mouth. She had two reactions. One - it was delicious! Two - She felt humiliated. Kneeling, eating his leftovers with her fingers she felt .. owned. He was treating her as if she was already his slave, already collared. She felt a twinge of humiliation - and that was a good thing.
"I'm having guests. A birthday party actually. Go bathe and put on some makeup. Overdo it a bit. Not gaudy. About how you'd do it if you were going to a club, say. That kind of thing."
Jane showered. She hadn't washed her hair because it would take a long time to dry and, though he hadn't said anything, she thought it best not to dawdle, so she just ran the comb through it several times. She did her makeup. Normally all she used was a bit of mascara and some lip gloss, but today she went with eyeliner, some color on her lids, a gold blending into brown. She applied some color to her cheeks. She did her lips in a rust colored red and outlined them in a darker red, maroon, almost brown. She blinked at her reflection. A stranger blinked back.
Well, he asked for it.
Jane couldn't find him. Then she glanced through the French doors. The door to the pool house was open. She walked across the patio. It registered somewhere in her brain that she was naked in a stranger's house and he was ordering her about and she was obeying like it was the most natural thing. Jane chuckled. She stepped into the room, and came up short.
It was a dungeon! Not a dark, stone-floor kind of thing. It was light and airy, but it was a dungeon none the less. At one end was a rack. Against the wall was a large X frame. There were three metal cages, one roughly human shaped. There was some thing in the middle, something like a saw horse, but padded. A cabinet and table graced one wall. At the other end of the room were two columns. Jane's brain registered the rings set high and low and she flashed on an image from the movie, The Story of O, where O was stretched, arms and legs wide. A girl wielded a whip. O screamed, writhed under the lash, her hair matted, her body soaked with sweat. Jane felt a tremor, then blinked the vision away.
Geoffrey was standing before the cabinet. Jane could see whips and straps, paddles and canes hanging on hooks inside. He turned.
She was about to kneel when he took her arm, held her. He gave her an approving nod.
"There are things on my bed for you to wear."
There was an emerald green corset, made of some kind of shiny material. A long skirt, a darker green, almost hunter green, not shiny, but it did have a sheen to it. Black stockings and black pumps with impossibly high heels. There was no blouse. She wrapped the corset around her and instantly realized that it had no bra cups. Well, not bra cups per se, kind of like half cups, padded shelves that supported her breasts, held them up as an offering. She laced it - three times. Made it tighter each time, shrinking her waist, making it hard to breathe. Jane adjusted her breasts in the cups. She looked down. God! They looked like twin pillows with nipples!
She pulled on the hose, then stepped into the skirt. It was snug around the waist, the waistband was wide with several buttons, and it hung nearly to the floor. It didn't cover her legs at all. In fact, it was more like a cape than a skirt.
She stepped into the shoes, almost fell. She walked around the room for a few minutes trying to find her center of balance. It took a while, but eventually she found that if she focused and walked slowly she could almost navigate a straight line. She headed out the door. The skirt flared, floated behind, exposing her nearly to the waist.
He was in the den, standing by the fishbowl. She started to kneel, but realized she'd never make it. Not in those shoes.
"It's okay. The kneeling thing is on hold for now."
"Thank you, Sir."
He picked up a strip, a heavy, black leather thing with chrome findings. He removed her plain dog collar and wrapped the new collar around her throat, buckled it. It was distinctly uncomfortable. Heavy, thick, and wide. Jane suddenly felt very owned. The grip on her throat, like a strong hand, made her feel very, very vulnerable.
Next came the wrist cuffs made of the same heavy, black leather.
The last item was a black rubber ball gag. She opened her mouth and he easily popped it into place, wedging it behind her teeth. It was big, but not jaw dislocating big. Still, when he cinched the chin strap, the ball filled her mouth. She had to breathe through her nose.
He nodded again.
As if on cue the doorbell rang.
"Get that, please."
Jane turned and left.
"You will answer me when I speak to you, even gagged, understand?"
Jane nodded, mmf'd twice.
She got the door, escorted the couple into the sun room. Geoffrey gave each a hug.
"Drinks? Wine? Beer? Something stronger?"
"Sure. Wine is fine."
"J, two glass of white wine please. There's a case in the walk-in cooler. Open a fresh bottle. Glasses are in the cabinet up and to the left of the fridge."
Jane mmf'd and left the room.
First she was a stranger at a kinky spring break party, then she was naked and collared sleeping in a fishbowl, and now she was J?
Two more couples arrived. When the fourth walked in a cheer went up.
"Woohoo! There's the birthday girl. The big 3-0. That's almost a third of a century."
There was laughter. The woman stuck out her tongue. She had this Goth thing going on - pale, white skin, black makeup, black blouse, a black skirt. The only color was in her hair. It was red, impossibly red. A color not found in nature Jane realized. It hung in ringlets, kinky little things, well past her shoulders.
The guests sipped wine and chatted. Jane stayed close to Geoffrey, left his side only to refill wine glasses. The last couple arrived.
One round of drinks later Geoffrey led the guests to the pool house. The birthday girl (Jane didn't know her name) began removing her clothes. When she as naked her partner retrieved a set of cuffs that lay on the table, white leather that were in total contrast to the Goth thing, but he buckled them to her wrists and ankles. He positioned her between the columns and clipped them to rings, high and low.
"There's cake in the walk-in. Go fetch it."
Jane mmf'd, left the pool-house/dungeon.
She found the cake. It was on a dolly of sorts, a thing on wheels. On the bottom shelf were two champagne bottles and some glasses. She wheeled it out of the fridge.
"Serve the wine."
Jane popped a bottle, filled and handed out glasses. The birthday girl's partner lit the three candles. The group sang Happy Birthday (her name was Brittany). They raised their glasses in toast. Her partner held up the cake. Brittany blew out the candles. He held the glass to her lips and she drained it. Jane refilled it and she drained that one, too.
Geoffrey handed him a wooden paddle. He brought it down on her ass with a crack that sounded like a gunshot. The woman writhed, clenched her fists, made small, gasping sounds, composed herself, and nodded. He handed the paddle to a guest.
The spanking continued as each guest had their turn. The crowd chanted the count at each stroke. Someone handed Jane the paddle. She had never spanked anyone, well not seriously anyway. She swung the paddle.
"Boo! Do over!"
The guests laughed. Jane hauled back and swung again. If the woman hadn't been bound she'd have leapt across the room.
"Much better! 18! Woohoo!"
Jane handed the paddle off. She was trembling. She went to Geoffrey and took his hand. He let her keep it.
Jane watched the woman, bound to the columns. She recalled the image form earlier. Except it wasn't O, it was her, Jane ... J?
She was cuffed, stretched between the columns. And it wasn't a girl whipping her, it was Geoffrey. She had no concept of the pain, had never been seriously whipped, but she saw herself, writhing in her bonds, sweat-soaked, hair matted. And then he was standing before her. He chucked her under the chin. She met his eyes, only briefly. Lowered her gaze.
"Thank you, Master," she said, the words unintelligible through her gag.
Jane blinked, shook her head. She gripped Geoffrey's hand all the tighter.
At 30 the crowd whooped and cheered.
Brittany's partner produced a gold box. He opened it, Brittany smiled and nodded. He handed the box to Jane.
Fish hooks! The box was full of fish hooks!
He took one from the box, placed the tip against Brittany's skin just below her shoulder blade, pierced her. Brittany flinched.
He took another and another until she had twelve metal hooks in her back, six on each side of her spine.
The last item in the box was a spool of black ribbon. He pulled off a length, pulled off a bit more and cut it. Jane set the box on the table, stepped over to Geoffrey, and took his hand again. She liked holding his hand. He gave hers a squeeze, a proprietary squeeze that sent a shiver through her body. She wanted to look up at him, to kiss him, but she dared not.
Brittany's partner laced the eyes of the fish hooks. There was very little blood and whatever he dabbed on the blood spots stopped the bleeding. Soon Brittany's back was neatly laced and knotted. Her partner clipped the ends of the ribbon. He unhooked her wrists and ankles, removed the cuffs. The group clapped and cheered. Brittany made a small pirouette and bow, although Jane noted that she flinched with the movement.
Brittany dressed. She moved effortlessly through the small crowd. Jane had to remind herself that the red-haired woman had just had her back pierced.
The group finished their wine, discussed dinner. Jane showed them out. Geoffrey told her to strip. She did. She climbed the stairs up to and then down into the fishbowl. She was still cuffed, collared, and gagged.
It felt distinctly uncomfortable, but distinctly right. He was exerting ownership and Jane decided she liked it.
The sun went down, the moon came up. Jane lay, head cradled in her arms, watching the silver glimmer on the wavelets below. The light came on.
Jane pushed herself to her knees. She didn't see him, but soon the lid swung open and the ladder descended.
Again Jane climbed the steps. Again he held her in the softest embrace before leading her down into the den. He settled on the couch.
"Fetch me a drink, please. Vodka, neat. The glasses are in the cabinet in the sun room. Vodka's in the freezer."
Jane mmf'd and nodded, rocked back onto her heels.
"Have something for yourself."
Jane nodded and left the room.
She wasn't big on vodka, but she had seen a bottle of sparking water in the fridge, some citrus thing. That would work. She found the glasses and the booze. She splashed some into two glasses, splashed a bit more into his, added ice, poured in a generous dollop of fizzy water into hers.
Back in the den, Geoffrey removed her gag. She worked her jaw up and down, back and forth.
He had drawn the drapes, lit the fire, a gas fire, very realistic. Jane started to kneel when he pulled her up onto the couch, draped his arm over her shoulder, drew her to him.
Jane took a sip of her drink and purred - literally.
Geoffrey kissed her hair and chuckled.
He fucked her on the couch.
At first they sipped their drinks, then he pulled her into his lap. He fished a small padlock from the end table draw and locked her wrists behind her back. He nudged her legs apart. If the collar made her feel vulnerable, well this just brought it to a whole 'nother level. Naked, legs open, helpless - yep.
His caress was neither gentle, nor harsh. It was ... insistent. Jane's body responded, but not the way she wanted.
In the last day (had it been ONLY a day?!) the sexual tension was palpable. At any moment she half expected him to throw her to the floor. He hadn't. The tension grew. Every touch sent a chill, a thrill through her. At times, when he was away and she was alone in the fishbowl, she found her hand between her legs, but it was no good. No good at all.
He caressed her. Jane was reduced to squirming whimpers. Her body demanded release, but none came. It was like a sneeze that got stuck part way. She tried to force it, but that never works.
But Geoffrey was nothing if not patient. Finally, Jane came. Nothing earth shattering. Actually, midway through her rational brain kicked back in, cut the thing short. She cursed herself. But the next orgasm was better, and by the third she was on autopilot. He mounted her.
Jane loved being bound and helpless during sex. Maybe she was selfish, but she found freedom in bondage. She didn't have to worry about pleasing her partner, she had only to experience whatever he wanted her to experience - and usually it was very, very good. If she was gagged she could even make all the noise she wanted to.
She wasn't gagged and she made noise, but it didn't seem to matter. The collar on her throat, the cuffs on her wrists, the weight of him on her, the sense of helplessness, well, as first sex goes, it went pretty darn well.
Copyright© 2012 by Jo. All rights reserved.