Angela’s slave Isla is always a good girl, even when Angela is making her do very bad things. I told you about one of their games a while ago in this story: On display: orgasm denial for Angela’s slave.
Another of the games Angela likes to play with Isla is to dress her inappropriately, so she feels embarrassed and uncomfortable. Tonight they are at an upscale dinner party. The men are all dressed in expensive suits, the women in elegant evening wear. Isla is wearing a short, skintight halterneck dress that leaves her back bare. It’s more suited to a nightclub — or a street corner. On her face is a black and red Venetian half-mask. She looks ridiculously out of place, but also very sexy. It’s clear Angela intends all eyes to be on her, and they are. There’s a palpable thrum of anticipation in the air.
When the plates have been cleared and everyone’s drunk enough to be pleasantly relaxed and receptive, Angela makes her move.
“Isla, darling. Sit back from the table so everyone can see you.” Angela’s tone is mild, but there’s no mistaking the fact that it’s an order, not a request. Not that Isla would ever dream of disobeying. The chatter around the table dies down, faces turned towards Isla expectantly. She puts down her wine glass and shuffles her chair back, then sits passively, awaiting Angela’s next instruction.
“Spread your thighs wider. That’s it. Skirt higher.” There’s a pleased hum of approval from all sides as Isla inches her skirt up to the top of her thighs and it becomes apparent she’s not wearing panties. Her pussy is waxed bare, plump lips smooth. It’s a very pretty pussy. Some of those seated around the table have seen it before, and the flood of memories raises a collective sigh of happy recollection.
“Wider. Let them all see your cunt opening up.” Angela chooses her words carefully, pushing Isla deeper into submission with the pointed vulgarity, which sounds so much filthier in Angela’s cut-glass accent. A flush of mortified excitement begins to spread over the pale skin of Isla’s cleavage as she tilts her pelvis back and spreads her legs right over the sides of her chair. Sure enough, her pussy lips peel apart, revealing the shiny inner pinkness. Around the table, the other guests’ hands are discreetly moving to laps; their own, and each other’s. Only Angela is motionless, her eyes focused like a laser on Isla’s face, ready to pounce on any sign of reluctance to obey.
“Touch yourself,” she says. Isla hesitates for just a second before her hand slides up her thigh. She flushes a deeper red, already knowing Angela will have noticed.
“One,” says Angela, coldly. A shiver of schadenfreude sweeps through the room; everyone knows Angela keeps score of Isla’s misdemeanors, and will ensure she is punished for them later.
A tremor passes through Isla’s body, and then her fingers resume their steady slide over the pale skin of her inner thigh, to her pussy. She doesn’t need any instruction for this part; she has masturbated for Angela a hundred times, and she knows the rules. She must spread her pussy open with the fingers of one hand, and fuck herself with the fingers of the other, keeping her hand to the side so she doesn’t obscure the view. After all, this is for her audience’s pleasure, not her own; and yet there’s no mistaking the sheen of wetness that begins to coat her fingers as she glides them in and out. The flush rises to her cheeks, eyes fluttering closed as her hips rock up subtly to meet the thrusts of her fingers. Wet squelching sounds rise about the furtive rustling and whispering from the other guests. Isla is slipping into her own space, lost in the swelling sensations flooding her body.
Angela has no intention of letting her mentally disengage from the room, though. “That’s enough, Isla,” she commands. Everyone can see Isla shaking with frustration, feel the willpower it takes her to slide her fingers slowly, so slowly, out of her puffed-up pussy. They rest against her inner thigh, leaving a wet smear.
“Who would like to be first?” Angela asks, conversationally. “Gentlemen, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you may look but not touch. Ladies, you may do whatever you desire.”
“Me first!” calls a tall, buxom redhead, standing and moving around the table towards Isla. She’s attended one of Angela’s parties before, and knows how skilfully Isla eats pussy; she also knows that it tends to be a bit of a free-for-all once people start getting carried away. Hiking up her long skirt and pulling off her lacy panties, she plants her ass on the table right in front of Isla, lifting one spike-heeled foot up onto the arm of her neighbor’s chair to give Isla better access.
“You may remove your mask, Isla,” Angela says. Isla does as she’s told, revealing her pretty face, which raises an approving murmur, then leans in and nuzzles her face into the woman’s flame-haired crotch. The woman is vocal in her pleasure as Isla licks her clit with long, flat strokes of her tongue; several of the watchers are openly masturbating now, fists wrapped around pricks, hands shoved in panties. Isla licks harder, deeper, and there’s a pool of wetness on the chair between her spread thighs. She grinds against the seat for friction, sucking and stroking and licking until with a shriek and a shudder, the redhead grabs her hair and climaxes loudly.
“Bravo, Isla!” exclaims one of the men, ejaculating ebulliently over the tablecloth. He subsides when Angela frowns disapprovingly. She thinks the presence of the gentlemen adds a little spice to proceedings — so long as they keep their dirty hands off Isla — but she expects them to keep quiet. It’s up to her to give her slave praise or punishment.
Isla licks the redhead right through the aftershocks of her orgasm, then sits back and waits expectantly, her mouth and chin shiny with juice. The redhead moves aside and is immediately replaced by a sultry brunette, who bends forward over the table and presents her beautiful bottom to Isla’s face.
If Isla is excited by the idea of eating out this attractive woman, only her quickening pulse betrays it; her hands are steady as she grips the brunette’s cheeks and prises them apart. The woman gasps when Isla’s tongue makes contact with her asshole. Soon she’s a moaning, twitching mess, fingers clawing at the tablecloth as Isla tongue-fucks her tight hole. After she’s cum, rocking back rhythmically against Isla’s face to deepen the penetration, she goes and sits on her husband’s cock, rising and falling slowly, watching the show.
By the time Isla has eaten a third guest to orgasm, the others are starting to get impatient.
“Angela, may we play with Isla now?” asks one. “Look how wet she is!”
Angela takes a moment to consider the request, although she’s perfectly aware watching Isla come apart is the best part of the game. When she nods briskly, everyone springs into action, clearing a space on the table, and then lifting Isla onto it. Isla remains passive as several pairs of hands go to work on her, peeling off her dress, placing her on her back with her arms above her head and her legs spread apart. She’s beautiful; bright-eyed and flushed, the tops of her thighs shiny with evidence of her arousal. They all gaze at her, mesmerized.
Then one of the women reaches for a tray of berries and whipped cream. “I think Isla looks sweet enough to make a lovely dessert, don’t you?” she smiles, dipping a finger in the cream and smearing it over one of Isla’s hard nipples. A powerful shiver goes through Isla’s body as the woman bends to lick it off. Immediately, another does the same to her other nipple, and as they dab, lick, suck and flick at her nipples with tongues and fingers, Isla starts to shake apart, hips rocking up against nothing, desperately seeking release.
She’s moaning and gasping with blind lust and frustration when another guest, who up to this point has just watched quietly, not taking part, finally relents and slides two fingers into Isla’s drenched pussy. Isla clenches her thighs around the woman’s hand at once, back arching up off the table as she shrieks out her orgasm.
Now the floodgates are opened, there’s no holding back. Hands touch Isla everywhere, exploring her mouth, her pussy and ass, stroking and probing and cramming inside her. She’s smeared with cream and licked clean, fucked with sticky fingers and tongues, thoroughly violated. One woman climbs up onto the table, straddling Isla’s face and grinding her pussy down on it as they fuck Isla with a peeled banana, taking turns to shove it into her until she loses control completely and squirts all over the tablecloth. It’s the most utterly debauched scene imaginable, couples masturbating and fucking each other as they watch, the women grabbing at every part of Isla they can reach, squeezing and rubbing and pinching. And in the middle of it all, Isla is a ball of pure sexual energy, all inhibitions melted by the heat of her excitement, nerve endings aflame as she climaxes over and over in one continual stream of carnal pleasure.
Only Angela stays detached — on the surface at least — observing the scene objectively, as if committing each detail to memory for later use. It’s the early hours of the morning when all the guests are finally spent and sated, puddles of cum and cream and spilt wine marring the white tablecloth, discarded clothing littering the floor.
“Time to go now, Isla,” Angela says, tossing the skimpy black dress to her slave. “Don’t forget you still need to be punished for earlier…”
Author’s note: Regular readers will probably be aware that I usually write about my own experiences, but this story isn’t something that happened to me. Angela and Isla are friends of mine — well, Isla is, Angela is somewhat unapproachable — and Isla told me about this. She’s a very unreliable narrator, so it’s impossible for me to be sure how much of this actually happened, and how much is her fantasy; and Angela is being typically close-lipped on the matter. So draw your own conclusions.
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More confessions from me here — if you think you can handle it! Maybe have a cold shower first…