eenslaved: The chain that ran from her collar to the spreader bar ensured that his girl would remain

eenslaved: The chain that ran from her collar to the spreader bar ensured that his girl would remain with her head bowed, eyes directed to the floor, and her legs spread wide. When they arrived at their host’s earlier in the evening, he had guided her to a sofa against the wall and secured the spreader to her cuffed ankles, then chained her collar to it for good measure. This guaranteed she would remain where he put her, unable to rise on her own. The other guests milled around her. From her position, she could watch their shoes moving about her spot on the sofa. A couple of her Master’s friends posed beside her on the sofa for a photograph that her Master helped them take. Her hands had been left untethered, and she kept them obediently on the outside of each thigh for the most part. And they touched her. Not many of them engaged her in conversation; the fact that her head was bowed and her face turned down seemed to turn her into a faceless object for them. Besides, her Master had removed his permission for her to speak, so she couldn’t reply anyway. They made quite free with her body, rubbing their fingers across her pussy, which was only thinly-covered by a scrap of lace, some of them even pushing their fingers through the cloth up inside her cunt. They pinched the tender insides of her thighs, and several different mouths covered her nipples through her gauzy blouse, sucking and even teething a little until she whimpered. She couldn’t see their faces except out of her peripheral vision if they squatted or took a seat by her, so they were just an endless succession of hands coming to manipulate her flesh.  Though she couldn’t see him without looking up, her Master stayed near her. At several points in the evening, he gave her his wine glass to hold for him. When he wanted to drink or when toasts were being made, he would take the glass from her, and after, he would put it back in her hand again. She held his glass near her face but couldn’t do anything with it other than hold and smell it. Being quite unable to sip from a glass, he dipped his fingers in the vintage and let her suck the droplets from his fingers. At one point she was holding a glass of red for him when a stranger sat by her and put his hand between her legs. He started to rub her pussy, concentrating on her clit, applying a firm pressure that had her rocking minutely in place and jerking anxiously at her ankle cuffs. Without permission to speak, she couldn’t ask for permission to come, and the male stranger’s expert tending to her cunt made her nervous.  Then a woman, lightly perfumed and wearing a white dress, came to sit on her other side. The woman in the white dress pressed both her crossed legs along the girl’s side and draped a soft arm over the girl’s bent neck, curling her hand to stroke the girl’s ear with a manicured fingertip. The girl shivered.  The man on her right side had peeled aside her panties to access her bare flesh. His finger brushed over the girl’s clit, toying with the little bud. The woman on her left kept stroking the girl’s ear with one hand, tracing pleasurable spirals into the shell, while she rested her arm across the girl’s shoulders. The woman’s other hand came up to fondle the girl’s breasts. “Elise has beautiful tits, Peter,” the woman said to the girl’s Master, who was standing not too far away. “Yes. They’re very responsive.” “I can tell!” The woman tinkled with light laughter as her fingers pulled at the girl’s nipple. “She’s a bit small for my personal tastes, but her nipples are a nice length. Quite large relative to her breasts. Easy to clamp.” The girl twitched under the woman’s arm as her nipple was pinched firmly. Another stranger’s voice interjected, “If you breed her, that will increase the size of both.” The man at the girl’s side offered, “It’s true, and once milk is induced, you can keep her producing it continually if you keep milking her. My wife and I tried it for several months.” “Oh really?” The girl’s Master sounded intrigued. The girl lost the thread of the conversation. The woman’s fingers changed from a cruel clamp to a vigorous milking of her nipple from root to tip. The girl panted wordlessly over her open lap, where she watched the man’s fingers curl in and out of her cunt while the heel of his hand pressed against her clit. She shuddered violently as her hips involuntarily tried to buck upwards. The woman’s hand dropped from torturing her breast to pull the girl’s free hand into her own lap, under the white dress. “Be a dear and make me feel as good as I’m making you feel,” the woman told the girl. “That’s it. Put your fingers inside me. Oh, that’s very good.” Her hand returned to milk the girl’s breast. The woman’s cunt was very wet. Her sheath was slick around the girl’s fingers. The girl felt like she was going crazy. The low murmur of conversation continued without ceasing around the room. She couldn’t see anyone’s expressions, couldn’t see how many people might be watching their tableau. She could only see the woman’s hand upon her breast and the man pumping his fingers in and out of her pussy. She was so wet his fingers made a sloppy, liquid sound each time they penetrated her. Her voice was frozen in her throat. You’re not allowed to speak tonight, her Master had said simply. He knew how humiliating she felt when she had to beg for her own release, but this was worse. Her entire body seethed with arousal, and she couldn’t ask for his permission to come. The woman said in a throaty voice, her lips right against the girl’s ear while her hand continued to trace the shell of her other ear. “I grew up on a farm, you know. I have plenty of experience drawing milk from udders. You would make such a good little milk cow, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t that please your Master? I’m sure he wouldn’t allow you to express your milk on your own. You would be dependent on him to relieve you. Imagine having to beg to come and beg to be milked. You would owe all your pleasure to your Master. Oh yes. I think he’d like that very much.” The man could hear everything. He reported, “Elise just clenched hard ‘round my fingers. She’s juicing up my hand thoroughly. Elise certainly seems to like the idea.” “I’ll be sure to speak to your Master on your behalf,” the woman promised. The girl pressed her lips together but still the desperate moan she let out was loud. For a brief moment, everyone in the room quieted. Her cheeks burned with humiliation at having draw everyone’s attention, even as she stared blindly at the hands working her nipple and cunt. The woman squeezed the girl’s breast forcefully. The girl’s breathing was quite rapid. Her nipples ached. She wanted to scream. She wanted to come. More than anything, she wanted to come. Her Master surely knew her dilemma. By not allowing her to ask for permission to come, it was clearly demonstrated to the girl that the humiliation of begging was a thousand times better than not being able to beg at all. If she had been able, the girl would have crawled on her belly to her Master, sucked off everyone in the room, splayed her body open for a flogging, if only to ask him to grant her permission to climax. Instead, she quivered on the couch between two strangers, her numb fingers still, somehow, holding onto her Master’s wine glass. Even the way he had tied her meant she couldn’t even beg him silently with her eyes. The man frigged the girl harder, faster. He remarked to the woman, his partner in torturously toying the girl, that it was too bad they couldn’t play with Elise’s ass, and that he could feel her Master had plugged her bottom hole. It made her cunt tighter.  The girl’s Master overheard and said, “I’m saving that for later.” The girl’s head alternately sagged and snapped up against the chain. She was hunched over on herself, straining to keep from coming, but the urge grew stronger with each breath.  The woman climaxed on the girl’s fingers. “Again, dear girl!” she cried. “Again, Elise!” The girl moved her fingers inside the woman again. In response, the woman slid her arm from resting over the girl’s shoulders to wrap around her back so she could fill both hands with the girl’s swollen breasts. “If you were my little cow, Elise, I would strap your limbs doubled back. You would crawl to me on elbows and knees, swinging these distended udders at me, rubbing and dragging these long teats on the floor. You’ll lick up any drop of milk that leaks from your udders later.” With a loud cry, the girl climaxed, her posture stiffening even as her fingers went momentarily lax. Every muscle in her body strained. She was locked into her forbidden pleasure, though the man and woman kept groping her body. She watched the woman’s hands milk her teats. It was too much. Her climax was long; there was no mistaking it. When she recovered herself somewhat, a surge of anxiety electrified her. Her nerveless hand had tipped the wine glass just a bit — several drops of wine had splattered on the woman’s white dress. The blood red stains were blatant. Her Master stood before her; she recognized his shoes. “Bad Elise,” he said in his soft voice. “You didn’t have permission to come, did you? And you’ve spoiled Caroline’s dress.” The girl trembled. -- source link

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