Allison’s Addiction Ch. 05

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Friday night Natasha showed up at my apartment with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. She had a beaming smile and her enthusiasm was potent. She very nearly swept me up in it.

“Goth party tonight,” she exclaimed, gushing with youthful enthusiasm, “Could you just die? Seriously, speaking on behalf of everybody who is like me in this building right now, we’re very excited.”

Natasha was a teenager and she was going to a party. That explained why she was so excited, however, I left my teenage years behind several years ago.

“And speaking on behalf of everybody who is going to be paraded around naked, handcuffed, and on a leash in front of a bunch of total strangers, we are less than thrilled.”

“Hey, don’t be like that, they’re all gonna be jealous of you,” Natasha said as she leaned in to envelop me in a hug, “One look at your taut, slender body and they’ll know that you’re in a completely different league than them. You’ve got a tiny waist, a firm butt and incredibly strong, lean legs.”

“And very firm breasts,” Chloe added, “If any of them were to strip naked and stand beside you, you’d make them look disappointing and saggy by comparison.”

I was swept up in a sea of emotions. There were the normal feelings of dread and foreboding that you would expect any sane person to feel at the impending prospect of being forced to exhibit their naked body in front of a crowd of total strangers, however, there was also a confusing feeling of intense sexual excitement.

My pride prevented me from telling Chloe or Natasha about the insistent throbbing in my loins or the fact that my whole body felt feverish. Good girls didn’t get aroused at the prospect of being ogled, fondled and sexually objectified by a room full of strangers.

* * *

The goth party was being thrown by Morticia. Morticia is eager to be accepted and liked by the goth community in Fairhaven however, she’s fighting an uphill battle. Morticia’s real name is Ellie and she’s a network security engineer with very few social skills.

Having failed in her previous attempts to look cool, she invited some goth types over to her apartment to meet the naked lesbian sex-slave that Mistress Natasha was bringing over.

Apparently bondage, black leather, sex slaves and lesbians are popular in the goth community. Who could have guessed?

“Natasha! Allison! I was starting to worry that you weren’t gonna make it,” Morticia said when we arrived, “The first of my guests are down in the lobby right now! They’ll be here any minute!”

“Calm down,” Natasha said, using a soothing, measured tone of voice, “We’re here. Your guests are going to be very pleased with this party tonight. When your guests get here, just stall them by getting them some drinks. While you’re doing that, Allison and I will be getting ready.”

Morticia wasn’t very good with social situations. She needed someone like Natasha to walk her through social conventions and deal with social anxieties.

Once she had Morticia calmed down, she asked if there was a place we could change. We were allowed to use Morticia’s bedroom, and once we locked the door behind us, Natasha worked my hair into a ponytail and then ordered me to strip naked.

As I divested myself of my clothing, Natasha gave an intense, smoldering look.

I wasn’t wearing much, so stripping didn’t take long. And once I was naked, Natasha looked me over and said, “Before we go out there, let’s go over the ground rules for tonight.”

“Okay,” I said agreeably.

“First off, you can’t respond to me like that. It’s yes Mistress. Every time you talk to me tonight, you have to call me Mistress. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said obediently.

“All the other females you talk to at this party you address as Ma’am. That includes Morticia. Every male you talk to, you address as Sir. But, I’m the only one who gets addressed as Mistress. I own your cute, little ass, so I get the highest title.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, and I felt a soft, wet pulse in my loins. I was naked and exposed, while Natasha was fully clothed and giving me orders. It made me feel vulnerable, inferior and submissive, and something about that was stirring up my libido and making me feel deliciously controlled.

I was so intent on savoring these feelings of exquisite nakedness and utter submission that I almost failed to pay attention to the other rules Natasha had planned for the evening.

I was not to speak unless spoken to. I was to be polite and respectful to Natasha, Morticia and all of Morticia’s guests. I would be handcuffed all night long and would be unable to touch anyone, however, Natasha would give other people permission to touch me. I was expected to accept their hands on my naked body without complaining or pulling away.

Emotions collided inside of me as Natasha explained the rules for the evening. My heart beat intensely fast and I felt Kartal Yabancı Escort overwhelmed with fear, but it was a delicious kind of fear. It was the kind of fear that heated my loins and caused me to breath funny. There was an alluring, potent libidinousness to the fear. It was the kind of fear that made me feverish and inflamed my libido.

Then Natasha held up a pair of stainless-steel handcuffs and ordered me to turn around and cross my wrists behind my back.

And when I felt the cold metal of the handcuffs clicking tightly on my wrists and pinning my hands helplessly behind my back, it evoked even more acute feelings of lust. A sharp, agonizing wave of desire passed through my lower body, causing my sex to throb in hungry spasms and I stifled a moan, not wanting Natasha to realize that I got an erotic thrill when she made me helpless.

While I was naked and bound, Natasha changed into her own outfit. She wore her black, leather boots and a black, leather (or possibly faux leather) bodysuit. It was incredibly tight and hugged her curves perfectly. Something about her outfit suddenly made Natasha seem more intimidating. And then to top it off, Natasha pulled a riding crop out of her duffle bag and swung it around, making “swish” sounds as she experimentally struck imaginary targets.

“That thing looks scary,” I observed, wondering if Natasha would use it on me. Part of me was afraid of her leather riding crop and hoped she wouldn’t use it to hurt my naked, helpless body. Another part of me was curious to see how much it stung and was hoping she would use it on me.

My emotions were a conflicted and confusing mess.

“You were told not to speak unless spoken to,” Natasha admonished me, and then her crop swished through the air and slashed across my vulnerable, right breast, causing a delicious stinging sensation across my swollen, pink nipple. I gasped and trembled in response.

“And you were also told to address me as mistress,” she added in a stern tone of voice and her crop lashed out again, this time she struck at my left breast, searing my other nipple with a scalding fire that rivaled the pain the first.

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” I said, realizing too late I’d broken her rules. The way my hands were bound forced me to pull my shoulders back and thrust my breasts forward, making them very vulnerable targets. My breasts were already burning with a persistent, throbbing heat and I resolved to not give Natasha a reason to punish my breasts again.

A leather collar was buckled around my throat and a leash was attached to my collar. Satisfied that she had done all she could to make me look exposed and helpless, Natasha led me back out into the main part of Morticia’s apartment.

I was filled with a delicious dread and nameless sort of anxiety as I was led naked and handcuffed to meet the goths. As I expected they were all pale, skinny and dressed in black. One of them wore black lipstick and they all wore black eyeliner. All of them had black hair that was so dark it seemed unnatural.

The guests stared fixedly at my naked body and the air in the room practically thrummed with sexual tension. There had been a conversation going on as I was entering the room, however, the room fell silent as I was led forward on my leash and everyone got a good look at me.

I was naked, handcuffed and on a leash, while every goth wore black, leather boots, black, leather jackets and one of them was wearing a long, black, leather trench coat that probably cost as much as my monthly car payment.

The difference between my status and theirs was immediately obvious. In a room with five fully-clothed people, I was the only one naked. And my vulva thoroughly shaved, I was even more exposed, as the swollen folds of my public lips were clearly visible and available for everyone to examine.

Only one of the goths was male, everyone else was female, however, everyone in the room took a good, long look at my exposed labia as if they had never seen such a thing before. I reflexively struggled against the tight handcuffs that bound my wrists together and I felt a shortness of breath. I had never exposed myself this way to a room full of strangers before, and I suddenly felt overwhelmed.

I felt like there was a heavy weight on my chest as almost half a dozen pairs of eyes examined my naked body with looks of hunger and longing. My heart was throbbing in my throat until all I could hear was my blood pulsing inside my head.

“Attention everyone,” Natasha said in a loud, rousing voice that somehow cut through my emotional haze and grabbed the attention of my frontal lobe, “I am Mistress Natasha! This is my slave! If you have any requests for her, address them to me! I will speak for her, as I am the authority that decides what she can and cannot do!”

I focused on Natasha’s voice and looked to her for guidance. My emotions were too confused, potent and turbulent Kartal Yeni Escort right now to think for myself. I fixated on Natasha as my island refuge of order in a sea of dark and stormy chaos.

There was a tall, skinny male goth with dark, black hair that looked like it had been styled with a hand grenade. He raised his hand and asked, “Can I touch her?”

“No, you can’t,” Natasha replied firmly, “She’s heterosexually inclined, and I’m trying to break her of that. I’ve got her on sapphic training, so I’m not allowing her any physical contact with men.”

That was something of a surprise. Natasha and I had never discussed this sapphic training before. When did she come up with this idea?

A goth female wearing an expensive-looking black corset and black, leather pants raised up her drink-glass and said, “If she’s undergoing sapphic training, does that mean that females are allowed to touch her?”

It was an obvious question, and Natasha gave an obvious answer.

“Of course. She needs to get used to having female hands touching her naked body. That’s a large part of her training.”

And then, Natasha added clarifying remark that I found to be an alarming disappointment.

“You can touch her anywhere you want, but whatever you do, don’t let her climax. I’m rationing her orgasms.”

“Ooh, that is cruel,” Morticia said, however, she didn’t argue that Natasha had the right to do that to me.

“If you control a slave’s orgasms, it helps to make them more obedient to you,” Natasha replied, “Deny them sexual release for four or five days, and they’ll do anything you say to have the orgasm that their body is craving. It’s a powerful training technique.”

Two of the goth women advanced on me, and I felt a certain degree of trepidation. I wasn’t used to being fondled by women. The one with the black corset licked her lips and moved closer until she was in my personal space. I was naked and handcuffed, and my breasts were thrust forward as if I was offering them up to her. It was a very vulnerable situation for me to be in and I was very embarrassed and self-conscious about the way everyone in the room was openly appraising my naked body.

However, the more they feasted their eyes on my helpless nudity, the more I felt a powerful throbbing between my legs. I don’t think that I was an exhibitionist so much as I craved the feelings of helplessness and humiliation that came from Natasha forcing me to display my naked body to a room full of prurient strangers.

The goth woman faced me and placed her hands on my bare breasts and cupped them, feeling me up. I trembled slightly at the physical contact but did nothing to dissuade her from touching me. That seemed to make her bolder, and then she firmly trapped my nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

“Aaaghh,” I exclaimed inarticulately as her grasp on my poor, sensitive nipples felt like my poor, pink nubs were being gnawed on by carnivorous rodents.

“Seriously?” the woman asked, “Are your nipples really all that sensitive?”

“Not normally, ma’am,” I replied, “My mistress whipped them with a riding crop earlier and they’re still very tender.”

The goth woman gave me a look, then she turned and made eye contact with Natasha. She paused for a moment, then she smiled and said, “Kinky.”

There was another woman behind me, who asked, “Did she whip your cute little butt with a riding crop too?”

I didn’t immediately deduce the implications behind that question and honestly answered, “No, ma’am.”

About two seconds later I felt two hands on my buttocks, cupping them, fondling them and squeezing them, and even exploring the tight furrow in between. After her hands spent several minutes roaming all over my bare buttocks, she moved on to fondling my thighs and then said, “Your ass is really amazing. It’s nice and firm. You must exercise a lot.”

“Ballet, ma’am,” I replied.

“I never even thought to ask,” Morticia said, “but, those are definitely dancer’s legs.”

More goth women showed up and Morticia made introductions so everybody knew that I was Natasha’s slave and that all the women were invited to caress, examine, fondle, pinch and stroke my naked body to their heart’s content.

There was a brief pause as some people stared in disbelief, thinking that it was a joke or a tease, but once they ascertained that it was a serious offer, female hands were all over me.

“I love the way her pubes are totally hairless,” one of the women said, “Her pubic lips are so exposed and visible. She looks twice as naked as any woman I’ve ever slept with.”

One of the women stood behind me and her hand slid in between my legs, cupping my pubic lips and then giving them a firm, intimate squeeze. I gasped and made an inarticulate sound of surprise, which seemed to delight and entertain the other people in the room.

“She’s wet,” said the woman who had just Kartal Masaj Salonu grabbed me between the legs, “I think she’s enjoying this too much.”

I felt my face go hot with embarrassment, then the woman in the black, leather corset announced that I was blushing. This also seemed to delight and entertain Morticia’s guests for some reason. My visible embarrassment caused the goth women to break out into a fit of laughter.

I was being ogled, objectified and fondled and I was finding the whole experience overwhelming. I felt fear, anxiety, embarrassment, lightheaded, feverish and I couldn’t get my breathing under control. I was so overwhelmed with physical and emotional sensations that I feared I might pass out.

However, at the same time, my loins were feverish, my nipples were hard, and my sex was wet and throbbing with hungry spasms. My feelings of fear and humiliation battled with my feelings of arousal and desire. Neither side seemed to be able to achieve a clear victory and the two sides just continued to escalate and become more viciously aggressive as the evening continued.

By the middle of the evening, there were seven women in the room (not including Morticia, Natasha and me) and they all had names like Darkling, Wednesday, Raven or Nyx. One of them called herself Ilyana Dark-Cloak. They were the palest women I had ever seen, and they were all dressed in black. They had a severe, spooky look to them that made them somewhat frightening. Of course, the fact that I was naked, handcuffed and on a leash, while they were fully-clothed helped to add to my feelings that these women were dangerous and intimidating.

The one who called herself Nyx had been fondling my breasts, making my nipples throb with both pain and erotic desire. Then, while I was concentrating on what she was doing to my nipples, she grabbed my ponytail and yanked on it forcefully, pulling my head back.

I let out a startled, feminine yelp of surprise and indignation, however it was quickly silenced when Nyx covered my mouth with hers, and forced me into a kiss.

It was a long, protracted kiss, and I soon stopped trying to protest and melted into it. I could hear the sound of Nyx’s breathing and my own heart pounding, however, the sounds of other people in the room seemed to fade away into insignificance.

I felt Nyx’s tongue as it attempted to invade my mouth, and I parted my lips wider to allow her access. This woman was tall and intimidating and I wanted to surrender to her and feel helpless in her arms. And as she pulled my head back, my back arched even more, thus causing me to thrust my breasts out to an even greater extent.

Natasha was my mistress and girlfriend; however, I felt a sudden urgent need to be just as obedient and submissive to Nyx as I was to Natasha. In my mind, Nyx became like an extension of Natasha, an instrument of Natasha’s will. By submitting to Nyx, I was submitting to Natasha.

I moaned into Nyx’s mouth as her tongue slid intimately across my tongue and explored. I allowed her to explore as much as she desired and felt my pussy throb more urgently as I allowed her more and more access to my body.

Other woman explored my naked body with their inquisitive hands while Nyx and I kissed, however, I was barely aware of them as Nyx occupied the vast majority of my attention.

Her lips were doing enchanting and captivating things to mine, making me feel more emotionally connected and drawn to her. I wanted to hold her in my arms, however my wrists were still bound helplessly behind my back in tight, metal bondage. And while Nyx held tightly onto my hair with one hand, the other hand returned to my chest and firmly grabbed one of my sensitive nipples between her thumb and index finger.

I whimpered into her mouth as Nyx played with my tender, throbbing, abused nipple and reignited the pain of being struck with Natasha’s riding crop. My nipple throbbed with intense pain as she grasped it and stroked it between her fingers, however the pain felt delicious and agonizing at the same time, leaving me in a state of utter confusion.

I shoved away confusing questions about exquisite pain and focused on just being a sexual creature that responded to physical stimuli.

One of the women had worked her fingers in between my thighs and was rubbing the seam between my swollen labia, making me whimper and squirm. I had spent almost my entire life asserting my identity as a heterosexual, however, I was now certain that sexuality was much more fluid than I had originally suspected. My naked body was being fondled and explored by women, and I was eager for them to continue.

I hypothesized that maybe I was responding so eagerly to the caressing, grabbing and squeezing of female hands, because they understood the female anatomy better than men, and understood implicitly how to stimulate female nerve endings.

At any rate, my breathing was labored and my loins were wet, and filled with a raging fire. Scientific explanations weren’t important at that time. What was important was the way that my body was screaming out for more. I wanted those hands to grab me, stroke me, pinch me, rub me and explore my naked body with much greater intensity and frequency.

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