Griff was on her way to the showers. She was wearing her boots, chaps and harness — and a fair amount of mud. Damp earth streaked her normally immaculate leather. Mud decorated all of her body that was left bare. All the important parts were. Her ass still stung deliciously from the spanking she’d just taken. She was hurrying to get a cleaning rag, under orders to clean the steel plates and spikes of the heavy collar locked around her neck. She could wallow in mud like a pig, the Baroness decreed, but that collar had to sparkle. After all, it was a very ornate collar, a mark of the high regard in which her Mistress held her. Griff lowered her eyes at the complement, but secretly she had to agree. And she hoped she’d have to clean that collar often. In her personal estimation, only someone like the Baroness was qualified, had the wit, imagination, elegance to take over Daddy Griffin and turn her into Griffin boy.
She brushed mud off her cheek. The reason her collar was muddy was that another top, Storm by name, had at her Mistress’ invitation, rested her boot on Griffin’s neck. Pressing her face into the ground while the Baroness Tricia displayed her boy to the grinning, coffee-slurping leatherwomen breakfasting at Camp Fist. Her long thighs jacking her ass high into the air for her Owner’s pleasure.
The strong, feminine hands knew just where to go. Slapping her pussy lightly, tugging gently on her labia rings, stinging her tight-stretched buttocks. The clever fingers knew how to pinch an unprotected clit in a way that made her howl — and crave more. The warm voice taunted her for being a slut, a hound, a muddy pig. The snap of a rubber glove. The Baroness didn’t feel like clipping her nails for the sake of her toy. A thumb slid into Griffin’s ass. Griffin agreed that she was a slut, a pig. Prompted by that delicious invasion, she could agree to almost anything.
Storm’s boot seemed to make itself right at home. The wet earth felt deliciously cool and silky against her face and tits. All the rest of the gloved fingers went into her cunt and the Baroness let the assembly know just how wet the slut was. It was generally agreed that the Baroness’s boy needed a hot ass, for her sluttishness, and the Baroness gave her one. Griff would have liked a pig’s tail protruding from her ass, to make graphic to all just how low she was willing to sink.
The whole session lasted perhaps ten minutes, no more. She was allowed no orgasm. She was allowed to sit up at the table to eat. She was a little disappointed at that. She would have liked to eat on all fours, at her Mistress’s feet. Well, time enough for that. A whole weekend, three precious days full of crickets and cicadas celebrating the last weeks of summer.
Griffin wiped off her collar. She debated wiping off her cream-smeared crotch, as well. But just then, a whip cracked, echoing through the pines, and a woman’s scream rang out in response. Two women in military garb tramped past her, leading a girlish prisoner of war on a rope. The tattered remains of a little black dress fluttered gaily as their captive, her hands bound together, stumbled along on her teetering high heels. Griffin decided that trying to dry her pussy was hardly worth while.
The log-built Lodge was open on all sides to the summer weather. Leather Women from all up and down the East Coast gathered under this shelter, where, for their use, slings, ropes and chains festooned the rafters. After breakfast was Market time. Trish gave her boy all the time she needed to show her wares, chat and meet new people. Griff was grateful for this. But at the same time, she begrudged the economic necessity that took her away from her proper place- and on this weekend, that meant on her knees at the Baroness’ feet. She was glad to pack up her wares and get back to that very spot. And she was proud to bring lunch for her mistress and serve her during that meal. And, because she’d mentioned her thoughts about the breakfast scene, she ate her food on hands and knees, getting to her feet only to attend Madam.
She was allowed to walk, as she followed the Baroness back to the tent, for Madam’s afternoon repose. It was important, the Baroness explained, that she orgasm before the start of afternoon’s activities. Trish lay back on the nest of air mattresses, sleeping bags and down comforters. Her face, that of a fallen angel with its blond halo, lost none of its haughteur, her blue eyes glowed warm in the blue light that filtered through the canvas. Her long fingers pulled Griffin’s collar to bring her down for a kiss. Her grip tightened as Griff lingered over her teasing her with her tongue. Trish, titillated by the torments she would be visiting on her slave, moaned, commanded Griffin to her pleasure.
Griff took control. She paid homage to her Mistress’ body, sculpted by time and her own excesses, and then turned into a Frankenstein’s creature of long running scars, by the reshaping surgeons. She ran her fingers along the scar lines, kissing the soft skin. Her fingers slid between long legs that opened eagerly, slid along an eager cunt. But she went no further. Trish lifted her head up, questioningly. Griff, knowing quite well the peculiar needs of this woman, allowed a ferocious light to kindle in her eyes. The Baroness spoke haughtily; The slave slapped her for it. Between the legs. Trish gasped in shock, threatened, was slapped again, and surrendered. She wanted to know what her slave meant to do to her.
At Griffin’s suggestion, she reached for a pair of clamps next to the bed and applied them to her own nipples with brutal haste. She placed the chain that linked them between her own teeth, craning to do so, and lay her head back tugging them tight. Griffin lubed a butt-plug, distended her mistress’s asshole with it. Trish’s labia thickened, turned red, began to drip. The Mistress reached for her own ankles, pulled them wide. Begged to be fucked. Griffin told her she was a worthless slut. The Baroness was eager to admit it. At Griffin’s command she plucked her labia and pulled them apart, quivering in eager fear for the pussy-whipping to begin.
Griff cupped the hot mound, feeling it pulse against her palm. And raised her hand and brought it down. Trish gasped at the stinging, shocking sensation. Griffin held her hand up again, watched Trish decide not to flinch away. Instead, as if reluctantly, her legs fell wider, and she isolated her own clitoris, to be slapped. And cried out when the blow hit her, and begged for more. Begged for something to fill her womb and agreed that she didn’t deserve it.
Griffin brought out a dildo that she had made herself as a homage to Trish; She had turned it of old Oak wood. It was elegantly shaped, but Trish moaned at the sight of it, in her frenzy, as if it hurt her when in fact it slid home gently, filling her. The base of it had a lion’s head holding a ring in its mouth.
Griffin hooked a finger through the ring to move it deep in the Baroness’s body. Bitted by the nipple chain, she tossed her head from side to side and whimpered at the pain she caused herself. Her fingers pulled harder on her labia. Griff dipped her head and sucked her clit into her mouth- so gently that Trish could barely feel it. She held still, waiting. She could feel nothing. She rocked her body up — and Griffin tugged gently. Trish relaxed her body and felt nothing again. She quickly learned that she had to pull against Griffin’s immobile mouth, and thereby jack herself off. Griffin increased the suction steadily as Trish plunged frantically until her quivering body settled into a steady pull for a moment and Griff felt the energy surge of the other woman’s orgasm as if it had been her own.
Trish relaxed laying in her nest before Griffin. Griff slid the butt plug out gently, but the Lion’s head gleaming between her cunt’s lips was such a beautiful sight; she didn’t want to end it. A fingertip pressing gently onto Trish’s clit brought on a further spasm of pleasure, until the Baroness reached down and tore the thing from her body with her own hands. Trish said thank you very nicely, pulled Griffin up to be kissed and drowsed off. Griffin opened her eyes sleepily. The Baroness was up, dressed in black leather and authority. The Toybox stood open while whips and other items of torture were being transferred to a bag. Griffin got awake very suddenly. She crawled on her hands and knees to her Mistress’ feet. Trish thundered that her slave had been rebellious and must be made to atone, and her humiliations would be very public. Griffin smirked, with her head down. This was going to be a lot of fun.
Many if not most of the women at the camp were known to Trish. She decreed that she would invite anyone she pleased to take part in the scene that lay ahead. Griff thought that sounded great.
She made haste to adorn herself as per her Mistress’s orders and trotted at heel towards the lodge. They passed a woman getting fisted as she thrashed in the dust at the side of the path. The wailing cry of pain and pleasure followed them up the way.
Griffin stood with her back to one of the wooden pillars; her collar was securely padlocked to a chain wrapped around it. A thick black cock harnessed her hips. A pit-bull on a short leash; Griff’s favorite description of a willful bottom she once had. Well, that’s what she would be for Trish. A devoted pit-bull. Her Mistress was talking to a little group across the room. She pulled against her collar; it was, wonderfully, not going to give way to her desire to be over there.
A young lady tsk-ed about the choke hazard of a collar and leash used that way. Griffin sneered out loud. Novices, she said, were entirely welcome to interfere in her scenes, provided they were willing to learn a thing or two. Then, thrusting her hips at the girl, she invited her to climb aboard for a ride to ecstasy. The novice’s friends came to the rescue, and Trish, as Griff had hoped, strode back to deal with her. She stood to attention, hurriedly put her hands behind her back.
The Baroness said she did not approve of that kind of impertinence; but the sparkle in Trish’s eye told a different story. The Baroness’s boy had better remember who she belonged to. The Baroness gripped her by her black silicone cock, and reminded her jaw with a series of sweet, stinging slaps, that made Griffin blink, seeing her Mistress through a soft, hazy filter. If she couldn’t control her mouth, a gag would control it for her. Whose cock was it? M’am, yours, M’am. My property is not allowed to scare novices, let it be understood. Damn. Of course, M’am.
The Baroness took her slave with her, at the end of that five foot chain. She only had two feet of it in play, though. Then, abruptly, she had less than that, when her Mistress slid it under her boot and pulled, forcing Griffin to her hands and knees. She crouched there, her cheek brushing her Mistress’s leather-clad leg. The conversation went on over her head, a negotiation for her services. A hand slid over her ass, slapped it lightly; not Trish’s. Griffin grunted and jerked; but carefully, not to trip The Baroness by pulling too hard on her chain. Trish’s hand went into her hair, soothing her down again.
The two tops were in agreement on the final details of the scene. Griff was pulled up straight by her leash, told to clasp her hands behind her neck. A hand on her collar in front kept her head high, while the other Top ran her hands over her body as if she were a horse for sale. A pit-bull… Slapping lightly at her thighs, squeezing her biceps. Tapping her sternum. No athlete, she hoped she could accomplish her task, wondered just what it would be.
The Top beckoned her girl over. Griffin had an impression of a little flowered sundress. Small round face, big round eyes, light brown hair, tucked into a pair of rather short pigtails. Mae quivered her lower lip, Mae didn’t want anyone but her darling Daddy. Darling Daddy wasn’t having it. Daddy reached under Mae’s sundress and pulled her panties down around her knees. Griff strained forward dragging the Baroness with her, two ringing boot-steps, until she was yanked back. Griff growled, got slapped on the ass, howled, and got pulled down to her knees.
Mae began backing up, a covert smile hovering around the corner of her lips. Daddy spoke to her warningly, but let her escape, step by sly step, until she hit the edge of the lodge floor and turned and ran into the field, hauling at her panties with one hand as she went.
Her bare feet flashed their heels; that was what Griff went after, the moment the Baroness slipped her from her chain. A raucous shout went up from the lodge.
Griffin hoped the little minx wouldn’t make her run till she lost her wind. Nope; it took an easy trot to get near Mae, circle around and herd her back towards the lodge. As the structure loomed nearer, Mae dodged Griffin’s grab, nimbly, embarrassing her somewhat. Which is why Mae’s sundress got torn a little, when the capture was made, some three yards outside the lodge. She was a little girl; Griffin picked her up around the waist, up-ending her as she protested shrilly. It wasn’t easy to get her jackknife out of her chaps pocket and hold onto her struggling captive, but she managed, and snicked the elastic of the cheap little cotton panties. Considerate; pulling panties off a pair of kicking legs can scrape those legs up, unless the fabric can tear apart in the process.
There was a generous handful of wet, but Griffin thought a little foreplay would be nice; She bunched the sundress up tightly under Mae’s armpits in one fist, and teased her nipples for a while. It wasn’t fair, Griff thought, that they hadn’t given her a pair of handcuffs or some rope; Mae fought back, earnestly but carefully ineffectively, until Griffin noticed the discarded panties laying nearby, and used them to tie the girl’s hands before her; they weren’t long enough for a real good job, but she pulled the knot tight, and figured she’d given Mae something to gnaw at. Mae got her nipples pulled; she seemed to like it. She liked having them slapped, too, a good thing since Griffin liked slapping girl’s tits.
She liked letting her captive almost escape, and then tripping her as she turned to flee. The sundress stayed in Griffin’s hand when Mae sat down, suddenly and hard, on the ground. Griff stood over a naked girl, getting her breath back, and felt, in her chaps etcetera, fully dressed, and as if she were carrying a raging hard-on. They were closer to the lodge, now; Catcalls and comments let her know the women ranged alongside were expecting a show. Mae blinked up at her captor, and squirmed uncomfortably on the rocky ground. Chivalrously, Griffin hauled her up, onto her knees. A slap warned her not to bite into the silicone, and Griffin pulled Mae’s head into her crotch, gagging her while she fished for a condom in the pocket, and noted that her jackknife wasn’t where it belonged. But a rubber was, and Griffin invited the girl to wrap her dick. She accomplished this with her bound hands, guided by a grip on her hair, and Griff pushed her down, between her own legs, stepped over her and got into position at her back.
It was, of course, a pure coincidence that the little dress happened to be under Mae, giving her some cushion for her elbows, and that Griffin cleared rocks out from under her pink little knees before she grabbed two handfuls of hip and slid into a very wet little cunt. And it was coincidental, too, that they were giving a nice sideways view for the audience, Griffin figuring that would please most people at once. But, again, Griff was considerate; It seemed like two little, rockless spaces for Mae’s knees would be easier to find than a big clear spot for her back. Griff’s knees were protected anyway by her chaps — and it seemed appropriate for her to fuck this bitch doggy-style.
She mentioned this thought to Mae, who took to the idea considerably, begging her Daddy at the top of her lungs that she’d be good, if only daddy would not make her fuck this dog. Griffin barked, pumping. Mae’s Daddy strode out to the fray, to tell her girl that she was worthless except to keep the hounds happy while Griff whined like a coon hound and reached under to play with Mae’s clit. When Daddy gave her some details about keeping her in the kennel with the whole pack, and letting the dogs eat their Alpo off her pussy, Mae came, with the groaning and yelling that signifies the real thing. Griffin yelled some, too. She thought Mae’s Daddy had some really good ideas. Daddy’s little girl collapsed on the ground. Daddy made her turn around and clean Griffin’s dick with her tongue, craning her head under Griff’s all fours position to do so. Griff noticed her knife glittering a few feet away, and crawled out to retrieve it.
Mae’s Daddy put Griffin back on her chain and brought her back to the Baroness. Trish wanted to know if she had come. Griffin debated; It seemed that if she said no, she would be lying to stay out of trouble. If she said yes, she would be lying, to get into trouble. She decided to tell the Baroness exactly that. She told Trish, too, that she had sucked a lot of energy out of the girl when she came. Trish, a vampire herself, understood. The Baroness decided that Griffin’s answer was a little ingenious, and that a little more torment would be nice.
She produced a pair of clamps for her pussy, and reached for the harness buckles. This lead to some hasty negotiations; Griff was worried that any abrasion of her pussy would put her out of play, for the Baroness’ benefit. The clamps went onto her nipples instead, and Griffin’s dick remained harnessed where it was. Then, while she crouched once again with her ass high and her head low, the Baroness worked a buttplug into her rectum. No way was Griff going to negotiate her way out of this one. Trish knew just what Griffin found comfortable — and picked a size just a shade larger than that. As an added pleasantry, she touched the neck of the thing with Tiger Balm, which soon spread its icy heat over Griffin’s senses. Griffin’s chain passed under her body, between her legs, behind the bench the Baroness rested on, and pulled tight. Her clamped nipples rested on the ground, while the Baroness rested her boots on her boy’s buttocks. One heel tapped occasionally at the plug, jarring it. Griff humped her back, pumping her dick into empty air. Trish promised she’d be allowed to come, eventually.
A pair of women came over, to beg a favor of the Baroness. The Baroness wanted in on this one; She personally brought Griffin over to the third woman, comfortable in a sling. Griff was eager to show her cocksmanship but it was not to be; her hands were twisted behind her and bound wrist to elbow. The pair walked Griffin forward, rolled a condom over her dick and put her into position; Trish reached around and used Griffin’s cock to tease the supine woman’s clit and labia. It drove Griff crazy, not to be in control of that very thing. The woman announced she was ready; the two women at her sides slid her into their friend and pushed and pulled her to move her dick in and out. She was allowed very little movement of her own. Her Mistress held her chain, while the woman in the sling panted her directions, and her two attendants carried them out — using Griffin as a fucking machine.
‘Sublime Humiliation’ That came pretty close to the point, although she would bite her tongue before using a phrase as old and tired as that one. Her rectum convulsed on the buttplug with each guided thrust. The woman in the sling thrashed and writhed, her pussy jerking as she neared orgasm. If she could only put her mouth to the hot little clit, it would be over in a second. But the women weren’t in that kind of hurry. The fucking machine was going to be running for a while longer. One of the two attendants left Griffin and went around to tend to the woman’s neck and breasts. Griff, having demonstrated that she understood the rhythm that was needed, was allowed to proceed on her own. Until she was pulled away, suddenly, and the women brought their friend to climax. Griff heard her deep, satisfied moans as she was being tethered, once again, to the pillar. She scratched at the wood behind her, with her bound arms, in frustration.
The Baroness stood by her, though. Time for a little personal attention. The Baroness raised one hand, menacingly, and stroked her face. And slapped it. Griff sighed in pleasure, lifted her head for the next one. During the volley that followed, Trish freed her nipples from the clamps. She would have buckled over if she could; as it was she nearly strangled herself, while the Baroness watched. The Baroness picked up a heavy soft flogger and worked over her slave’s frontside with it, then switched to a different, stingier one. Griff arched voluptuously into it. She rubbed the tail of the butt-plug against the post, sending vibrations deep inside her, and making her dick bob, tattle-tale-wise. The Baroness smirked, and walloped her cock cruelly, not to mention the inside of her thighs. Griffin struggled to spread her legs to facilitate this, until she was nearly hanging from her collar, jerking her hips towards the lash, but the stars she was seeing convinced her to stand up properly.
There was a sudden diversion. Someone wanted to feel a single-tail whip, and the Baroness generously offered her slave’s services as top. Griffin blinked. This was more switching than she had ever experienced, and she had to lean forward and draw a breath or two till she felt a little less shaky. Her Joe Wheeler blacksnake was placed in her hands and she wandered out into the meadow to warm up her arm. In a short time she was producing gunshot cracks and came back to do her duty.
Her subject stood in the center of the lodge, holding on to a loop of chain that pulled her arms high over her head. The femme standing by introduced herself as Jess, her Daddy as Gloria. Daddy G, under some duress, was wearing Jess’s corset. It pulled her waist in somewhat, and lifted her tits high, and contrasted with her ash blond butch shag, and the bike boots and jeans that lay neatly folded nearby.
Commanded to begin, Griffin cracked her whip overhead. Then she lowered her aim and landed a stinging blow on Gloria’s ass. Her range was just right. She waited for a yelp. She didn’t get one. Daddy G seemed thoughtful. Griffin, after a second’s pause, threw a second shot, and then, since no one told her to stop, she threw in earnest. Purple welts began to raise, in spots and streaks and Gloria grunted and twisted, her hands clenched until her knuckles showed white. Griffin stalked around her, aiming for her upper thighs. The sound she elicited from Gloria didn’t seem to be a safeword. Griffin looked over to Jess, watching with glee. Jess raised one arm and ran her other hand along its underside, meaningfully and with a grace that fogged Griff’s brain momentarily. Griff signaled frantically with her eyebrows. When Jess nodded, she shrugged and raised her aim. That hit caused Gloria to sag at the knees, so Griffin got the second in quick. While Gloria got her voice back, the marks slowly went livid, one on each tricep.
Griffin asked Jess if it was stopping time.
Gloria, still roaring, informed her that she hadn’t said any safeword, boy. Jess indicated that she wanted Griffin to hit Daddy’s tits, causing Gloria to turn her wrath in her partner’s direction. Griffin was doubtful, both of her aim in such a delicate area, and of Daddy G’s continued co-operation, but Jess insisted.
Trish came up while the negotiations went on, and slid an arm around Griff from the back. Dire threats were whispered, of what would happen if Griffin failed to give satisfaction to this very well respected top from California. Trish also wondered if her boy was starting to feel a little too daddyish. Griff didn’t think so. Not while the boy was having this much fun.
The partners agreed that Gloria should experience the whip on her tits. Two hits on each, which Griffin delivered with a great deal of anxious care. Her instinct was to flee the scene immediately thereafter, while Daddy G unclenched her fingers from the chain, and reclenched them into fists. Jess flung herself into Gloria’s arms, and the big-knuckled, scarred hands relaxed and grabbed handfuls of delectable girl, instead. Griff knelt and watched. Gloria stepped over, and glared down at her to declare that she did a fine job, boy.
Griffin said thank you, Ma’am.
Gloria stood there for a moment longer, looking her over, thoughtfully, until Jess came to unlace the corset, and put her back into butch gear.
Griffin took her flogging on her hands and knees, while a woman sang out, suddenly, in a pure, operatic low ‘A’ that made everyone turn. Griffin looked longingly towards the slings. Trish had promised her a turn in one. It seemed so nice, just to lay back in a leather cradle like that. Her pussy lips were beginning to ache. The flogger thumped and stung over her back, and Trish now and again wrapped the ribbons of elk hide under to sting her tits, belly or thighs. Then she switched to something stingy and clattery, that turned her ass into a tingling needy mess. Trish made her crawl over to a padded bench and lifted her onto it, for a rest.
Griffin was supported across her middle, in some comfort. Trish deftly roped each wrist to a knee, under the bench, and each knee to a bench leg. She gave a succinct description of Griff’s upturned ass, the black plug surrounded by cherry-red cheeks, her swollen pussy shiny with juice, and the whole thing framed by the black straps of the cock harness. She wondered if some dyke might take pity on such displayed need, and rub a gentle hand where Griffin needed it most. Or, would she possibly find herself assaulted, pinched, invaded? Probably not. Trish was leaving, and few women would be so bold as to mess with the Baroness’ boy without the Baroness’ say-so. Still, one never knew. Trish thought a touch of Tiger balm on her pussy would help her while away the tedium till she returned. Griff watched her walk off, and saw the Top named Storm offer her an arm. The two of them strolled towards the tents, out of Griffin’s sight.
Griffin enjoyed nearly an hour of enforced rest. The only interruption came in the form of a slap on her rump. As she was craning her head to see who was behind her, a feminine wail arose, and little Mae was pushed down to her knees in front of Griffin. Guided by her Daddy’s hand in her hair, she apologized profusely for her impertinence. Griffin admitted that she forgave the girl. The girl gave her a sweet, lingering kiss in gratitude. Mae’s daddy led Mae over to a bench nearby, and gave her a little spanking. Griffin noticed that Mae’s daddy was a tall, dark and handsome woman, and possessed of a firm hand. Her pussy was ready to explode. She tried to close her legs, and discovered that her thighs wouldn’t meet. A fruitless struggle ensued, while she called her mistress every evil name she could think of — but silently. She gave up and lost herself in reverie, imagining what she as a Top would do to some hapless bottom served up as she herself in fact was. The Power of Positive Thought brought on a (little) orgasm, easing the tension somewhat.
Trish returned, looking smug. Her line of questioning indicated that she expected Griffin to beg to come. Griff was only too happy to oblige her, putting just the right whine into her voice, and promising eternal devotion in return. She felt her strap loosen and come off, exposing her clit to Trish’s ministrations. The Baroness wanted to make this orgasm memorable. She started with her leather-clad knee, pressed against Griffin’s asshole. Griffin yelled, and came. The Baroness loosed her from the bench, put her on her hands and knees on the floor. In this familiar position, she was allowed to back up and masturbate against the Baroness’s gleaming leather boot.
Griffin sat alone near the edge of the field. Aside from her collar, she was wearing nothing at all, and, dreamily, contemplating nothing. The afternoon had gently given way to an evening sky of ethereal blues and cherubic pinks. Songbirds proclaimed their territories in the treetops. Griffin noted a Sulphur Butterfly thrumming its wings near some mustard blooms, a few small, red, Dragonflies, and a single blue Dragonfly, swooping over the grass in solitary splendor. She scanned the treeline for emerging bats. And slapped away a whining mosquito. Across the field, women were setting logs in the firepit. She waved back at them, but didn’t go to help. Instead she sighed, stretched out on the blanket to watch the sky darken. Her chain clinked as it fell against the tie-out stake it was secured to. Trish had taken a liking to the pitbull on a short leash idea. Wolf-howls arose from the tenting area; leatherwomen greeting the rising moon. Griff added her voice to the chorus. The moon showed herself a moment later, tangled in an elegant little dogwood. About the time she lifted free from the branches, Storm came striding across the grass.
Ordered to heel, Griffin was led to the kitchen to help prepare a supper for some fifty hungry leatherwomen. The kitchen hut rang with comraderie, as women in various conditions of dress peeled potatoes, scrubbed pots and simmered spaghetti sauce. She helped carry the big pots across the field to the lodge, ladled sauce over pasta behind a table.
She brought a plate to the Baroness, deserting her station at her mistress’s signal. Trish gestured towards Griffin’s leather, piled beside her; in a short while the familiar weight of leather and silicone tugged at her hips. She crouched to provide the Baroness with a table for her meal. The warmth of the tin plate felt good on her back. Like the rest of the kitchen detail, as she explained to Trish, she had nibbled and tasted her fill during the cooking process. Trish smirked. That was good since, she believed, Griffin could be put to better use at this time. Was she up for a little bondage? Yes M’am.
It was simple enough. Griffin lay in great comfort on her back on one of the big tables. Plastic wrap held her there, wrapped over her and the table together. A band immobilized her shoulders, more held her forearms precisely positioned near the table’s edge. Her legs were wrapped in the clear film, spread wide and anchored snug. Women were still eating, from plates set next to her head, in her armpits, between her legs. The only thing Griff could think of was that soon they would begin throwing spaghetti on her. She imagined the sticky wet stuff on her belly, imagined how they would rub it into her pubes. Her cunt began to throb. She looked down her body at her cock, standing high and insouciant as ever.
Gloria and Jess were approaching the table with their plates. Trish invited Gloria to sit next to her. It was discovered that no room was left for Jessamine. Gloria wasn’t going to stand. Her bum knee hurt. Moreover, there was a seat, and it happened to be Jess’s favorite kind, wasn’t it little girl? Jess didn’t know what Daddy meant, all the while raking Griffin over with her eyes. The Baroness fished out a condom, handed it to Gloria, who tossed it to her girl. A short negotiation ensued before Jess slipped it down over Griffin’s dildo and climbed onto the table and hesitated. She was dry, she complained. She was instructed to scramble up to Griff’s head. She complied, women grabbing their plates out of the way as she went, and lowered herself onto Griffin’s face. Griff discovered that Jess had been lying about being dry, and that sucking at a fragrant, auburn pussy could make one’s legs ache if they were bound apart. All too soon, the thighs encircling Griffin’s head left her and moved back down. Jess fitted herself over the black cock and settled herself comfortably, laid her plate on Griffin’s belly and began to eat.
Griff lay helpless and felt the universe tilt out of kilter. Jessamine was the kind of woman that Griffin had never even thought of wishing for. And here she was, her cinnamon eyes burning, her cinnamon mane tumbled into her face. Griffin wanted to bite at those sultry lips, and couldn’t. Perfect breasts swayed out of reach. Jess seemed to like being impaled as she ate. Griff wondered if she could make it more interesting for her. The plastic wrap around her hips was tight, but Griff could achieve a little motion if she worked at it. Jess didn’t appreciate it. It made it hard to finish her meal. Gleaming eyes all along the table encouraged Griffin’s efforts and Jess managed to eat a little more of her spaghetti off of Griffin’s trembling stomach before Gloria pulled the plate out of harm’s way. The women applauded the show. Griff fought against the wrap in an effort to give this dream come true her full measure. The stuff would not loosen. Jessamine began to provide motion of her own, as her skin began to flush. Griff wanted to help her with a finger to the clit, perhaps- and there was another furtive struggle. Jess lowered her mouth to Griff’s, whose tongue obediantly entered Jess’ mouth to be pulled deep into the hungry throat. Jess squirmed and whimpered over her, clutched at Griff’s short hair, thudded down onto her hips, ground her breasts against Griff’s wrapped chest. Ecstacy and torture had never been so intertwined. Tears of frustration stung her eyes, and Jessamine gently licked them away
Griffin had had enough. She was wrung out, exhausted. Trish led her over, at last, to the slings, cradled her into one, gently lifted her feet into the stirrups- and locked her in. The Top, Storm came over, smirked and dropped her trousers to reveal a silicone dick easily the size of Griffin’s own. Trish tenderly rolled a condom over it. The sight of Storm’s cock sliding home, behind Griffin’s own was remarkable. Griffin suddenly found one, last reserve of energy, as Storm, a consumate cockswoman, fucked her, gently lovingly, into oblivion. Trish had to wake her up, after her orgasm, and she and Storm helped her along the pathway to the tent.405