The thumping of loud music filters through the solid cement foundation above me. A clear sign that the party is still going on. It’s been 2 hours since the party has begun and I’m beginning to doubt that anyone would care to look for me. My friends are probably too busy getting themselves drunk that to search for a petite blond girl among the enormous crowd. Seriously, who would throw a party catered for 200 people? Well, I know Richard does. Because this is his party.
But I guess such a feat for him is not an impossibility since he’s rich and has way too much money to even give a rat ass about his villa getting trashed by the party goers. Worst case scenario, a fire might burn down the building to its foundation and he would probably build a new one immediately, paying the contractor off one shot with a cheque freshly out from his Armani coat pocket. But the down side of that would be me being burnt alive while strapped onto a chair in a very humiliating posture with a melted dildo fastened to a contraption moving in and out of my crisp pussy. I’m not joking! I’m sure should that happen and the fireman found my corpse, I would definitely be in the front page of a newspaper and Richard would be charged with criminal offences of false imprisonment and sexual assault.
Well, let’s just hope that doesn’t happen. Let’s just hope that no fire would erupt and no one would find me because if they do, I wouldn’t want to live anymore. The last thing I want is to be discovered with my limps frogtied, hands bound behind my back, eyes blindfolded, mouth gagged, and pussy tortured by this slow moving dildo easing its way in and out of me. I swear I can feel my juice leaking out of me and probably staining the wooden floor panels of this enormous wine cellar.
I can’t believe I actually agreed on this. I mean, who the fuck in their right minds would agreed to such endeavor. Certainly not me. Must be those alcohol I consumed. I did have a couple of Margaritas an hour ago. I’m pretty sure it’s the alcohol that had me wound up here. Not my masochist side, or the fact that I like to be tied up, or the fact that I would do anything for my crush, the most handsomest, gorgeous looking alpha male in my school.
Shit! Who am I kidding? Yes, I want this as much as a glut wants cake. I want to be owned and be forced to do something I normally don’t and now I’m beginning to hate that idea. At first I thought that after tying me up, he would make love to me. Or fuck me hard and rough! I don’t fucking care. I just want to be screwed till my brain blows up, you know. Girls are horny too. Sometimes we want rough, hot, uncontrolled sex as must as the next guy.
But what I didn’t expect is him tying me in his cellar, where only he can access, and had me bound to a plush chair, with my ass hanging out of the edge, my back on the seat, my head cradled by the backrest, and my pussy fucked by a mechanized dildo. It’s not very uncomfortable per say, but it makes me feel exposed. In fact, too expose for my comfort. And God, my exposed hoohah is facing the door. I know only he can enter, but that doesn’t make me feel anymore better since he can very well let someone to come down here. He’s a fucking sadist, that much is clear. And I’m a fucking masochist because no matter how much I hate it, my body seems to be overindulged by the sweet penetration of the dildo, that isn’t too fast to bring me over the edge, nor it is slow enough for me to ignore it.
Oh shit, is that the lock? Someone’s coming in. I try to focus, filtering out the thumps of the loud music above me, and hope that I can hear some footsteps. None! And this is what, the fifth time? I beginning to wonder if he did that on purpose, unlocking and locking the door so that I would snap to attention. With my eyes blindfolded, I can only rely on sound. The door’s hinges are, unfortunately, very well lubricated. I can’t know if the door has been opened or not. He may be standing there right now, watching me squirm as the dildo deliciously tortures me. Hell, he may be standing there with a couple of friends, all wearing stockings to muff their footsteps and swearing to be quiet at all times, as he proudly presents his fine catch while his friends marvel at how pink and wet my pussy is.
DAMN! My mind is killing me! Okay, I have to calm down. He isn’t that kind of guy to share his ‘catch’. He promised me before that he wouldn’t and I kind of trust him on that. He is an alpha male after all. Like to keep his women to himself and himself only. You know. But what if he’s not presenting me to his guy friends but to his platoon of readily available sluts that would literally unfasten their jeans at the snap of a finger. Would he, hopefully not, be showing off to his fuck mates how classy they are, that they aren’t like me, strapped down and fucked by plastic toys instead of the real thing? Are they stifling their annoying giggles while looking at the degraded me? Are plans of exposing my indulgence to the world being thought up right now at this instant. And why the fuck am I more aroused than ever just thinking all of that. Shit! I’m going to come.
The dildo, as if it senses my impending orgasm, gradually slows to a halt. I whine at the sudden lost of pleasure. And then it occurs to me that the dildo isn’t that smart for it to detect an incoming orgasm. It can’t be, right? What kind of evil invention that would automatically shut down so that you can never enjoy the orgasm you so desperately seek? He must have shut it down. I muffle his name through the gag to confirm my speculation.
“It seems you’ve over enjoyed yourself, haven’t you?” a sultry, patronizing voice speaks, and that confirms my hypothesis. It’s Richard. He fucking turn it off! Sick fucking bastard. I would have scold all those if my mouth isn’t gagged and my breath isn’t too ragged for me to even protest.
“Didn’t I tell you not to come until I said so?” he whispers into my ear. A sense of threat pings across my exposed body. Only he can make me feel so threatened and aroused at the same time. “What if I hadn’t come in to check on you? You would have come and then I would have to punish you.” He licks my earlobe and the bites it lightly. I moan at the contact.
He tenderly palms my redden flesh and caresses it lightly. It feels kind of weird and if it weren’t for the straps that hold me, I would have clamped my legs shut.
“You are so warm and wet down here. Do you want to come?”
I nod vigorously, like a starving man begging for food.
“But I still have guest to attend. It wouldn’t be nice if I were to leave them now, would it?”
How about me? How about not leaving me here alone and my pussy teased by a machine?
“It’s only 10. And it still has another couple of hours before I can give myself to you.”
I whimper at disappointment. I thought for sure he is going to fuck me right now. It hurts me that he can’t be with me even though that had never bothered me, until now. I treat him like a superstar. You know. People that you marvel from far and their absence from your life doesn’t really bother you that much other than a little ache in the chest.
“How about we cool this little pussy down first?” his words snap me back to attention. And before I know what has happened, I hear a plopping sound, the kind of sound made by a cork pulled out from a bottle.
I squeal when cool liquid splashes onto my exposed pussy. The stream of fine wine, which I know because he was so keen on showing off during the tour, stings quite a bit. I’m not sure if it is the coolness or the sterilizing effect of the alcohol. All of the built up tension from the constant penetration vanishes just like that. The ache between my legs is washed away and when he’s done wasting a thousand dollar wine washing my pussy, it feels fresh and cool. I’m not sure if I cherish that feeling or not because I know he isn’t going to stop with just that.
And have I ever been more correct. That sick bastard turns on the machine and the dildo once again enters me with the same agonizing speed as before. He’s not planning to have me start all over again, is he? Fuck! He is. That sick bastard has left the room and has the door locked almost as soon as he turns it on. Fuck!
And it happens all over again. The warmth between my legs slowly grows, erasing the coolness. Fuzzy feelings invade my mind, and my nipples probably has hardened again from this. I whimper and moan and groan, squirming around like a dying fish moving on top of a cutting board. I wish he had not tied those legs so tightly. It would be better if I could move at least an inch to edge myself faster. But I guess the sadist had that in mind and made sure I wouldn’t have the chance to do so. I’m bound tightly, with no way of moving myself, other than having that dildo mercilessly and gradually edges me into oblivion. My only hope is that no one is reading my mind now. Because I’m one horny little bitch and I can’t wait for the few hours to end so that he can fuck me to orgasm several times.