To Be Used

I am here to fulfill a fantasy. I remind myself of that as you lead me into the room on the end of a leash. You were kind enough to pick me up at the airport in person, making it more comfortable coming to a strange city for the first time. Dinner was lovely, relaxing, your manner warm and reassuring. You even showed me around the city, taking me places the regular tourists don't find on visitors maps. Your place is wonderful as well, with a view of the bay that I lounged in front of all last evening. But that is not why I am here. That is not what you paid my tickets for.

You have given me two magnificent days, have spent the time making me laugh, ensuring that I feel safe and content beside you. You are a stranger, after all, as strange as the other men in the room. And you are far older than the men I would typically respond to, but much younger in appearance than I would have expected from your ad. It is a good thing. It makes me feel secure as I understand your maturity, yet I tingle at your attractiveness. Every time your fingers brush my skin or graze the hair from my eyes, I shiver with excitement. I still know why I am here.

When the evening arrives, it is still a surprise. The encounter had been set up long before I boarded the plane. You planned it all in advance, and even knowing, I find myself shuddering at the prospect. But you seduced me into complicity with a little wine and a hint of incense. The soft music distracted me, lowered my guard. I thought you were merely coming on to me, easing me into your arms. The kisses at my neck are warm enough, they linger on my skin even after you move on to my lips. I know you are older, but I don't care. You are masculine enough, virile enough. I can feel it beneath your slacks, waiting eagerly.

So I let you undress me. You take your time, prolong the tension beautifully. Another hint at your maturity does not go unnoticed. I am young, and most my age would not wait so long to see my breasts revealed. You, however, unbutton my blouse but leave it in place. You slip my belt from my waist and gently set it aside. While I stand waiting, you kindly remove each of my sandals and place them with care near the foot of the sofa. Then inch by slow inch you lower my pants to the floor. By the time I step out of them, I am already intoxicated with desire.

Running your hands up my legs, you kiss my thighs, making me flush with excitement. I want your mouth on me, want you to bury it in my mound, but I say nothing. I let you explore my body as you will. You reach up and grab my panties, tugging them tenderly past my hips. The fresh scent of sex is in the air. I am already moist, and I know you can smell it. I get even more excited knowing that I cannot hide it from you.

But still you don not taste me as I would have thought. You leave that for another time. Standing, you brush fingers over my mound, making me shiver, and you kiss me once more so that I melt against your body. This is nothing like what I would have expected, not from you, not from myself. The subtle hint of grey in your hair seems far more endearing to me than ever.

Now at last you slip the blouse from my shoulders, and my bosom heaves upwards towards you waiting to be released. Your fingers toy some more with my flesh, tickle my hips and my waist, then finally move to my back. When my bra is undone, I feel like putty in your hands. You have me, and I know that you can have me in any way you want me. I am yours now to mould, yours to control. I cannot even remember the purpose for my being here.

You tell me to wait, to stand where I am. I remain standing and naked and trembling with an itch I should not have as you gather all my things and place them carefully in a small chest to the side of the sofa. I wait, wanting to smile, giddy with excitement, yet fearful not to displease, not to break the atmosphere of the moment. When you come back you have something else in your hands, I hear it rattle through your fingers.

Without asking me, you place the simple leather band around my throat. My nerves jump in sudden apprehension, but I allow you to continue without interference. I have known this much about you from your profile, and I understand what your intentions are. I start to remember why I am here.

You secure the collar to my neck, and the slender chain leash to the collar. You tell my what I beautiful pet I make. You kiss me once more, not on the lips, but on the cheek. I wonder if I am no longer worthy to be kissed on the mouth.

Once more you tell me to remain standing. The excitement in me builds, the nervous flicker of anticipation courses through my limbs as you leave me alone I the room. The music muffles my ability to listen for you, to hear what sounds you make from down the hall. I feel the chain cool and delicate as it hangs loose between the bare curves of my buttocks. I know that I am free to leave if I want. I contemplate moving towards the chest, retrieving my things and stepping out. My conscious reminds me that you are a stranger, that I have nothing more than two days and a string of messages by which to contemplate your full intentions. I remember what we talked about, the things I wanted to explore. I remember the wicked and wild ideas I discussed regarding my fantasies. I remember precisely why I am here. Regardless of my racing thoughts, I remain in place, standing precisely where you left me when you return to the room.

You come back dressed far differently than I would have thought. You have only a leather vest, but your muscles show clearly that you still work out with some consistency. Your pants are also leather, black and snug. I see you bulging with as much anticipation as I. You take my leash up and explain a few things to me. You call them rules. I am suddenly aware that I have transitioned into submission, and your are my master.

You tell me I cannot speak unless spoken to. I am not allowed to move without permission. I am to obey whatever instructions are given. If I don't like what I am asked to do, that is too damn bad. My only safe word I am given is 'cunt'. If I use it, then everything will be over. I am asked to repeat the word just so I know I can say it. I repeat it several times at your command.

You explain that once the evening is over, only then will I be given back my clothes. I am to remain obedient so long as I posses my collar. You tug harshly on the leash to remind my of my place. Then you jerk me forward, leading my down the hall.

The collar and leash send shivers down my spine whenever you pull on it. The sudden jolt upsets my balance, makes me feel helpless, even though my hands and feet are unbound. I am amazed by how much control is gained over me by something so simple. But as I reach the stair and you yank on my throat once to prompt me downward, I comply without complaint or protest. I fear what I am being led into as much as I fear attempting to get away.

At the base of the steps I find myself now in a wide, paneled room, with chairs and sofas along the walls. There are others there, as I detect immediately, but you slap my ass fiercely when I hesitate with a gasp. Therefore I am compelled forward with a small squeak of alarm, and I step forward nakedly into the ring of strange men. I remember why I am here. I remind myself of it as you lead me into the room.

I am here to fulfill a fantasy.

The men are all sitting when I enter, and I see appreciative smiles cross their faces. I feel overcome with shame, standing alone among them wearing nothing but a collar around my neck. There are four of them, and all are dressed in shirts and slacks. I am the only one naked, but that is of little comfort. They all seem closer to your age than to mine. One of them is black, which is a of little matter to me, but still I cannot help but wonder at popular myth.

In the center of all these men you stop me. I feel far to exposed and vulnerable. I fumble for the safe word, and remember it in time. Still I do not utter it aloud, but it tumbles over and over in my mind. You introduce me to them. You tell them my name is Slut. You tell me to get on my knees, Slut, and you jerk the collar once as a reminder. I am naked already, so I cannot conceal my shame. I cannot protest the name you have given me. While you have hold of the leash I obey your command. I drop to my knees as if I had no choice, and somehow I begin to feel as if I have none anyway.

It seems futile to resist. The weight of eyes upon me makes every choice now a matter of pride and humiliation, open to ridicule should I decide incorrectly. But I am on my knees, and the men smile. The name seems fitting as you walk in front of me, face me with your authority. I stare openly at the bulge inside your pants.

You instruct me to take it out, to suck your cock. You want to show everyone. I reach cautiously for your zipper. I tingle at the first hint of flesh. When I spread the leather folds, the shaft starts to press outward, already inflated and eager. Still I am forced to handle it, the assist it with my small fingers, until it stands semi-hard, bobbing towards my face.

The others are watching intently. I fell impressed upon to perform, to show myself as something more than the novice that I am. I have only done this a limited number of times, and never under the scrutiny of strangers. As I wrap my fingers around the shaft, guiding the head to my lips, I remember that you are a stranger as well.

While you look down intently and the others stare eagerly, I place my lips over the tip and suck on it as if savoring candy. I feel you twitch excitedly. The warm shaft grows more rigid in my grasp. I am what you have named me. I am a crosskicking slut, and I have no way to deny it. Everyone in the room knows it now. So I slide my mouth up and down your length, wrapping my tongue around your girth, savoring the delicious effect of having cock in my mouth.

My insides burst with new enthusiasm. I cannot resist the warm pleasure growing within me. With so many faces watching, I feel foolish to pretend at modesty or to feign indignation. I embrace my shame wholeheartedly. I rush into humiliation with every bob of my head, every stroke of my fist. Both hands grip your manhood, and I suck and slurp on it, twisting and rolling my mouth around the swollen end until the hole of it is standing hard and stiff like a meaty pole.

I am pleased by my own progress, and I look up to see that you are as well. I have not fallen short in my abilities as I feared I might. I feel competent in my performance, confident in my obedience. And still you want more, so I keep sucking as you request. I lick the shaft up and down, stroke the tip with my fingers, throw my mouth over it until I salivate out of control. I fondle the heavy set of balls beneath, even suck on a testicle at your bidding. I do all that you ask without question, and still you want more.

I continue sucking your cock in the presence of these men for more minutes than I can attempt to count. It is a whorish display of subservience, I know, and every one of them bears witness to my willingness to please. When finally you permit me to stop, I can see in their faces their eagerness to participate, the anticipation of feeling my mouth on each one of them as well. I see the excitement in their eyes. I can neither deny nor hide the arousal within me. I am bound to this course, whether I like it or not. With the collar as a reminder, you urge me to fall forward, drop me further into disgrace upon my hands and knees.

I see only the feet and legs of those around me now. I dare not look up any further. On your knees now behind me, I feel your hands spread my cheeks, the end of the leash still wrapped around one of your palms. I am here for your use, to be used as you would like me to be. I get a thrill at knowing I have no choice anymore, no decisions by which to reveal my inner desires. You will bring them to the surface. You will expose them for me, where I am afraid to. So I wait on all fours like the thing you have named me. I make a pretty little pet for you, and I dare not move from my place.

I moan aloud as you enter me from behind, kneeling, thrusting your dominance into my submissive folds. I am more tight than perhaps either of us would have guessed, but my channel is already moist, and after only a few probing thrusts your shaft is fully coated with my eager lotion. I let you fuck me. I remain in position as you pump in and out slowly, driving me mad with your deliberate restraint. I want you to take me harder, want to feel you pounding in my depths. But you are too mature for that, too seasoned to be seduced into recklessness by even my young pussy.

Instead you build my desire slowly, encourage it with every gentle rock and surge of your hips. You are showing off, I know, letting all four men see how easily and willingly I accept you inside me. And they cannot help but see my face. I redden with the shame at what I am doing, blushing simply because they all know the truth about me. Still, your restraint falters, and soon your tempo quickens. I feel you cock harden as your pace picks up. You want me more than ever, and my round ass stares up at you like a tease. But you are watching you cock impale me, and you know you can have me however you want.

I start to fondle my clit with one hand, but you tell me to stop. When I turn to see you over one shoulder, you slap my ass until I face forward once more. I squeal and moan, panting now and sweating. My fingers dig into the soft carpet. My toes cur up behind me. When I shout out for you to fuck me, fuck me harder, you only spank me even harder than before. You tell me to shut the fuck up, Slut. I keep my mouth closed as I groan with desire.

It feels like forever, but I know it is not. Only a dozen minutes perhaps at most. But you are pounding e forcefully now, rocking my whole body with your efforts. I can only imagine that you are close as I hear you grunting mingling with my own. The others are watching happily, and I stare up at one. He is smiling. I know he wants to do the same as you are doing. I look at another, and I realize the choice is not mine. Four cocks surround me besides the one now driving me hard, and all are simply waiting their turn at my sex. A reckless excitement consumes me at the very thought of it.

You pull out abruptly and tug me around by my leash. You instruct me to suck you once more. You remain on your knees and I crawl forward to take you in my mouth without thinking. My naked ass sways towards the men in their seats as my lips close around your glistening erection. The shaft is coated by my own juices, and immediately I taste them, savoring the joy of my own passion.

Your cock is impressively hard, and you pump my face as if I was still turned in reverse. I feel the heavy knob hammering my throat so that fresh saliva drools from my lips. I moan around the meaty stick, desirous for one of the strangers to enter my empty hole. But no one else moves. We remain the only two on the floor together; me on all fours sucking like a slave, and you thrusting your manhood down my throat as if you owned me.

Soon you tell me to drink you. You command me to swallow your load. You add a name I choose not to remember. I am dizzy with lust, but I am empty at the moment and still able to cringe at the idea. With my mouth on your pole, my lips locked around your throbbing flesh, I struggle to regain my senses. I contemplate pulling away, protesting the notion, but I feel your hand in my hair. My mind races to think of a way out of what I have gotten into. I moan audibly, more of a whine than anything else. Every second, every thrust, brings you closer to release, and I wonder how much time I have left to prepare myself for it to happen.

I realize how late I am already as a single hot gush floods my mouth. You hold my head in place now as you squirt several times. I feel the mass pooling at the base of my tongue, but still I do not release you. Nor do I swallow what is already there. I let you drain yourself, then allow you the liberty to rock in and out of my lips several more times as you spend the last of your seed. I am at a loss for what to do, but I try to hold it all in my mouth while I consider my options. I feel it frothing over my tongue, trickling helplessly from the edges of my lips. I can taste it like a mark of domination.

In the end I swallow. I do it as much by reflex as anything else. When you pull out of me at last, I see nothing but carpet at hand, and so I do as you want me to. It feels only natural, and it goes down smoothly, without the shudder of revulsion I might have imagined. For some reason I feel it necessary to open my mouth and show you my accomplishment. There is only a sticky residue of shame on my lips, but the flavor of cum lingers for a while more.

When you stand, you leave me on my knees. I watch you hand the leash to someone else. You call him Mark and you tell him, she's all yours. Then you take a seat nearby, leaving your pants unzipped as you gently stroke your tender, deflating shaft.

Mark looks genuinely pleased to hold the end of my chain, but now I am shivering with anxiety, or perhaps excitement. The others stay contentedly in their seats, but he sits forward on the edge of his chair. He snaps the chain once so that the slender links bounce against my shoulder. He commands me to stand, instructs me to come to him. I do as I am told. I no longer consider any other choice.

Walking forward, I stand facing him. Instantly his hands grope my hips, my buttocks. His lips and tongue roam my quivering belly. His hair is dark and curly, Italian I suppose of him. Then he spins me around, tells me to bend forward. I comply without objection, though a thousand questions storm my mind. He parts my legs to a wider stance, and I lean over until my hands reach my knees. He slaps at my upturned rear, my sex hovering inches from his smile. He tells me to touch the floor, and soon I am positioned like a tripod with my legs splayed and my fingertips entrenched in the carpet below my face. The leash lays draped over one of my thighs.

A minute later, I feel his fingers inside me. They probe my wet folds, making me quiver in place. My legs tremble slightly as he finds my eager button. I pant when his tongue darts out to savor my wetness. I cannot conceal any of my arousal from this man, this utter stranger. He licks my juices, buries his mouth in my folds. My little tits are rock hard as they hang from my chest. Bent over, I cannot move as he probes me with his fingers, reaching my inner spots without difficulty. I am his now, just as I was yours. However he would like to use me, I will have to wait to discover.

But I do not have to wait long. After keeping me aroused with his fingers and his tongue, he has me in a state of trembling need in only a few minutes. I am bent forward, staring at my fingers splayed against the carpet. Looking up past my breasts and through my own thighs, I see his chin wedged in my cleft. My legs tremble and I fear I cannot hold my stance much longer, but I endure it. I remember I was commanded not to move without permission.

With that in mind, I do nothing as I see him stand behind me, sliding his seat back a little with his legs. I watch him take down his zipper, watch his pants fall to his ankles. I see the long erection pop out from its confinement, see it spring towards my wet hole. From my awkward position I watch him press the thick cockhead into my folds and see the enormous ball sac hanging heavily behind the shaft like a bomb ready to burst.

I gasp as he enters me. Another stranger's cock takes advantage of my depths while I do nothing. It seems to reach all of my inner sensitivities at once, and I can barely keep standing with the surge of erotic energy charging through me. Then he draws up on my chain, lifts my neck by the collar. I have no choice but to let myself get dragged upward by the throat and by his strength. I am pinned on his manhood and find no other leverage to hold myself upright.