Dirty Bad Secrets(91)

“You won’t need to walk, beautiful magpie,” he laughs. “Don’t worry, soon you will be feeling just fine, my sweet one.”

I want to believe him, but the noise of the party is too loud, too raucous. “You’ll be there?” I ask. “You’ll watch over me?”

“I’ll be watching with all the love and pride a soul can offer.” He kisses my hand. “You make my heart soar, my northern star. You make me more than just a man. You make me a master.”

I smile as brightly as I can manage.

“Here,” he says, passing me a glass. “Drink this, it will help you relax.”

The taste of the alcohol is so strong it burns my throat, but I drink it anyway. There’s something strange about it, something bitter, but I don’t question him. I never question him.

He pulls the ribbon on my robe, and it falls loose. He brushes it from my shoulders until it pools at my feet, and his hands are on my skin, palms rough and needy.

“Look at you, beautiful bird. You truly are a gift. Our guests will be honoured for a taste of something as delicious as you.”

The collar he places around my neck is heavy and thick. He buckles it tight, and clips on the chain before he cuffs my wrists and ankles, the leather is rough and bites me, and the chains jangle as he threads them through my bonds. I jangle as I walk, the chains dragging along the ground as I follow him through the curtains. The room is busy, so busy, but the noise stops. The crowd is silent as he leads me amongst them.

He raises a glass and clears his throat. “My guests, my wonderful guests, it is an honour to entertain you this evening, but alas it is not my presence that shall be regaling you on this occasion.” He steps away from me, gesturing to my naked body like I’m a prize piece of meat, and I feel so many eyes on me, so many eyes that I wrap an arm across my naked breasts and cross my legs to hide my privacy before Vincent yanks me into a more pleasing position. “She is yours,” he says, “as she is mine. Please enjoy. It will give me no greater pleasure than to see my pretty bird loved by so many. Her beautiful submission is a great gift, her pain is a beautiful sacrifice, and she wears it so perfectly well.”

The shakes are easing off, and the alcohol must be kicking in, because I feel floaty and distant. I feel happy.

“Tell our guests how grateful you are for their love, Magpie. Tell them what an honour it will be to be loved at their hands.”

“An honour,” I whisper and my voice is far away. “A great honour, Vincent, Master.”

“Tell them how willingly you give your body to their pleasure, sweet bird. Tell them how great a gift it is to surrender to so many beautiful people.”

“A gift.” I’m smiling, but my eyes are wet. “A beautiful gift.”

He leans in close, his mouth against my ear. “You will remember to say thank you, Magpie, no matter what gift they present. You will always be grateful.”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Thank you.”

The crowd parts for him, and he takes me by the hand, and there’s a mattress there, a bed raised on a platform. The sheets are crisp and white, soft against my back as he lays me down like a baby. I hear wheels, and there are shadows over me. A rack full of pain, of crops and whips and floggers, of paddles and canes and straps, all dangling, all for me. Someone raises my legs, holding them high, and the soft sheet is replaced by plastic, it crumples underneath me, sticks to my skin. Bodies gather, the calm before the storm, faces and eyes bearing down on me, a sea of masks, twisting and rippling, with big pointed noses and smiling mouths. I’m smiling up at them, smiling as warm hands reach for me. They pull my legs wide, tug my arms to the side, and my hands are filled with hard flesh, pulsing hard cocks under twisted faces. Something hits my pussy, a hand, with long nails, a female hand. She pinches me, pulls at my clit, and already I’m calling ‘thank you, thank you’. Fingers twist inside me, fighting for depth, many fingers, in and out, stretching and tugging and flicking my hard little clit and it hurts. ‘Thank you.’

A flogger on my breasts, lashing at my nipples, and I’d move if I could, but arms are pinning me. Someone pulls my hair, fingers force my mouth open, and I can no longer say thank you, it comes out like a grunt. A dribble of spit, from another’s mouth to mine, and I gag and retch before I grunt out a thank you. They choke me with fingers, then fill my mouth with dick, two dicks, making my cheeks pop, and another slaps at my cheek, waiting, always another waiting.

Thank you.

I think it, even though I cannot speak.

Fingers in my asshole, and it burns, it stings.