The second drawing took place in ordered silence precisely at ten pm. The guests found things to do for the next two hours. Those who had drawn black tokens, the masters for the evening, whispered amongst themselves and made deals. The slaves guessed nervously and waited.
There was a pool table in the basement. Arthur was beating Evan. Dianne watched them, admiring the ripples in Arthur’s back and arms as he played. Evan glanced at her occasionally and spoke, asking polite questions. Evan was nice. Dianne wondered briefly why she didn’t want him as she wanted Arthur.
Michael was in the kitchen alone with Melissa, whispering.
“You drew Rosie, didn’t you?”
Melissa smiled. “I shouldn’t tell you that, should I? You’ll find out at midnight.”
Michael bit his lip in exasperation. “I know you have her. It’s hardly fair, given the ratio, for you to have one of the women.”
Melissa’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps then Michael should have noticed his danger and backed off. Or maybe he did see it but paid no attention.
“So trade me. Your slave for mine. I’ll see you in my room at two a.m. for the payoff. Got it?”
“Got it.”
How bad could it be, Michael thought. Besides, Melissa was so hot herself, even with her attitude problem. Michael wouldn’t mind serving her.
The rule of the Destiny Game was this: as long as the master did not endanger the health of the slave, or leave any marks that would still show on Monday, the slave was constrained to obey. Condoms and gloves were stashed in the bathrooms and bedrooms of the house. Safe sex was mandatory. Masters who damaged slaves were dismissed from the game. The slaves had no safeword, except for one. If they used that word, they would be asked to leave. In neither case would a player be granted a return invitation. That Jackson had never once dismissed a player was a credit to his organizational talents and taste in party guests.
At five minutes midnight all had assembled in the living room once more. Conversation had died softly. Jackson was smiling as he made some last-minute announcements about the toy supply in his study, the restraints, clamps, candles and lubricants available to the masters.
The clock, a modern and far-too-precise replica of an older instrument, struck midnight. A shiver rippled the company from one end of the room to the other.
Melissa stood up. Her heels clicked loudly on the uncarpeted bits of the floor as she walked to stand over Max, who turned rather pale.
She didn’t say anything, just pointed down the hall.
As Melissa and her victim for the night vanished, a collective sigh of relief, or perhaps regret, rustled the air, barely audible Tomeath the air conditioner. Jackson fed another CD to the player, watching as Michael returned from the study with a box.
Michael was a performance artist. His displays were for some the favorite part of the party, even for his desperately exposed victims.
His eyes met Rosie’s. She blushed.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
She did, taking a hesitant step on her four-inch heels. Michael reached down and unbuttoned her blouse. Rosie was trembling, eyes closed, hands clenched at her sides. She flinched as he unfastened the front closure on her bra and pinched her nipples hard.
“Very pretty,” Michael murmured as he massaged her breasts a bit roughly. “We must display you to best advantage.”
Michael discarded her bra and blouse and unzipped her skirt. Rosie stood there in nothing but panty hose, her high heels, and an ever-deepening blush. He tugged on one of her nipples.
“Hose? That won’t do at all. Next time you attend such a party, wear stockings and a garter belt.”
Michael tore the nylon with his fingers, quickly exposing her crotch, and then left her Tomt over while he fetched something from the box.
The rest of the people in the room were rapt, eating up the unexpected treat of Rosie’s body bared for them, painfully aware that any of them could have stood in her place. Jackson watched them with an ever-deepening smile.
Michael had returned to Rosie with a medium-sized assplug and a tube of toothpaste. He spread her round buttocks with one hand and gently inserted the lubricated plug.
“Stand in the center of the room. Spread your legs. Wider. Put your hands at the back of your neck.”
Rosie complied. She stood there precariously in her heels and ripped stockings, her legs just beginning to tremble as the itch of the toothpaste worked its way into her plugged ass. Her nipples were very hard, her mouth panting, and her eyes tightly shut.
Michael pulled a strap out of the box. It was a used piece of horse tack, heavy, dark, and well-seasoned with soap and oil.
“Pay attention,” Michael snapped, reaching out to tug Rosie’s pubic hair.
Rosie’s eyes opened. Michael’s fingers were probing between her legs and into her pubic lips. She squirmed. Most of the room squirmed with her.
“I’m going to whip you. Quite hard, in fact. Do not move your feet or stumble, or I’ll be quite upset. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Michael took up position behind her. He swung his arm experimentally. There was a wide doorway behind Michael, giving him plenty of room.
The first crack of the strap startled everyone, especially Rosie. She nearly lost her balance, then planted her feet more firmly. A wide stripe across her ass was fast turning red. She moaned softly, Tomding over and thrusting her hips out to meet the next stroke.
“Scratches your itch, doesn’t it?” Michael asked. “That’s a good bitch. Show me how much you like it.”
And Rosie did. She spread her legs just a touch wider and leaned over further, until her breasts swung with every stroke. Her noises grew louder and more insistent, even coherent, as she begged to be whipped harder. Her nylons tore further as Michael strapped her thighs and calves.
There was a dance to Michael’s beating that drew all watchers into the scene. Without drama, showmanship, or role-playing, his utilitarian punishments wrought the most fascinating changes upon Rosie’s body. As she trembled, so the audience trembled with her on the brink of orgasm.
Michael paused for a moment. “Jackson, will you steady her for me, please?”
Jackson snapped out of the spell of the scene, stood up, and went to grip Rosie’s ribs with his hands.
Michael resumed action with the strap, falling into a vicious rhythm. Rosie was leaning into Jackson’s hands as sweat spattered from her body.
Evan watched from the chair where he sat as Rosie was inescapably driven towards climax. A hand fell upon Evan’s shoulder. A large hand. Evan glanced up and saw Tom standing over him. He started to say something, then shut his mouth as a finger pressed against his lips.
Rosie came, screaming, as Michael whipped her bright red ass and Jackson steadied her. Evan watched her nervously, entranced by the spectacle she made, cowed by the hand that claimed him.
Tom had clearly had enough of the public scene. He tugged on Evan’s arm, propelling him down the hall to one of the remaining empty rooms.
Evan glanced at Tom and found himself forced to crane his neck upwards. He was so much taller. The hand on Evan’s arm was inescapable. Tom’s body was well muscled and completely functional. Evan swallowed nervously.
Once inside the room, Tom pushed Evan back onto the edge of the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. Rosie’s loud squeal penetrated from the living room.
“Have you done this before?” Tom asked.
“Yes.”
Evan shivered as his chest was bared to the cool inside air. His body was handsome in its own way, soft and graceful with a minimum of hair.
Tom dropped the shirt on the floor and stroked Evan’s nipples. “This isn’t your favorite, is it?”
“No.”
Evan held as still as he could until a pinch made him twitch.
“Are you going to beg?”
Tom was watching the slender body that shrank almost imperceptibly from his hands. Evan was very beautiful, especially like this, fearful and uncertain and vulnerable.
“No,” Evan said, closing his eyes. “I will not beg.”
Tom leaned forward, tipping Evan’s head back with one hand. The kiss was forceful. Tom pressed his tongue in between Evan’s teeth, holding his head still as he kissed more deeply. Evan squirmed, then relaxed and let his mouth be taken, but offered no gesture of lovemaking in return.
Tom stood up. He sought to meet Evan’s gaze, but the other turned away.
The slap came too fast for Evan to duck. He gasped, struggling, as Tom clasped first one wrist and then the other into a pair of Smith and Wesson handcuffs.
“Why?”
Tom was on top of him, pinning his arms over his head and unbuttoning his trousers. A hand, surprisingly gentle, sought his limp penis and began stroking it.
“If you won’t enjoy it, then you may consider yourself forced.”
“If I am forced,” Evan answered, “then I will resist.”
Fingers pinched the head of Evan’s penis. He yelped and threw himself sideways across the bed.
Tom locked Evan’s cuffs to the head of the bed, then pulled off the rest of his clothes. Kneeling between Evan’s legs, Tom started stroking Evan to full erection, occasionally pinching a nipple or the tender flesh behind the balls.
Evan kept his eyes closed and his teeth clenched as he fought against arousal. He was losing, though. Soon enough he was moaning and thrusting his hips up to meet the hands that grew ever more coy and teasing. Evan looked up to see the demonic grin on Tom’s face and the rather impressive erection filling his pants.
“You want it now, don’t you?” Tom asked.
When Evan didn’t answer, Tom roughly flipped him over onto his stomach. There was a brief pause. Evan heard the sound of clothing being removed, then the familiar crinkle of a condom package.
Evan fought and kicked wildly, uselessly, as fingers pried his ass open and applied lubricant. Then Evan was too exhausted to fight. The head of Tom’s penis pressed against him, then inside him.
Evan cried out, then froze as every whisper of movement only brought him greater pain. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself that he could have used the safeword, and that now he had better yield his body to this other man. Acting on a tickle of conscious thought, Evan arched his back against Tom, opening himself up for the full invasion of an impressively-sized penis.
“That’s better,” Tom whispered.
Evan wept softly, dazed and drunk with pain, as Tom pulled out and thrust back in. Teeth closed gently on his neck. Tom’s arms wrapped around and under Evan’s, his sharply-defined muscles rippling against Evan’s skin. Hands reached Tomeath Evan to touch his nipples and play with his flagging erection. The moments lengthened as Tom found his own rhythm. The man clearly had immense self-control, and Evan wondered if he could be lying here Tomeath him for hours. The thought made Evan sob again. Then he lost himself in the scent of the sweat of the one who had taken him.
Michael had lifted Rosie up onto the table, then tied her ankles to her wrists and pushed her over on her back. He offered her to Jackson, who declined politely.
Dianne summoned her most confident almost-swagger as she went to stand before Arthur. He glanced up at her serenely.
“You’re mine,” she said.
The corners of his mouth twitched in a gesture as dismissing and contemptuous as an outright laugh.
Max was in dire straits. He lay tied spread-eagled upon a bed, wearing nothing but a cock ring and two condoms. These adornments conspired to keep him hard and desensitize him enough so that he couldn’t quite come, no matter how hard he squirmed.
Melissa wore nothing at all. She sat astride Max, her marvelously toned body and tight vaginal muscles working to bring him close to orgasm, but not close enough. One hand lazily played with her clit. The other hand held a lit candle.
Max watched in terror as another drop of wax collected under the wick, and then fell with a distinct splat upon his chest.
“Quit moving,” she said. “You’re messing up my aim.”
Dianne and Arthur had vanished. Michael was vigorously fucking Rosie as she lay bound on the table.
It was one-thirty AM and the most deadly serious part of the game had begun. Jackson had stopped drinking wine and started in on tea. He would be awake, possibly all night, alert to an eccentric need or sound of trouble. The real fun hadn’t even started.
Tom had come once, then untied Evan and jerked him off slowly. Evan was still very sore and now had long claw-marks down his back. The relief was sweet, though, both of his own orgasm and at last being out from under Tom’s body. Evan wondered if Rosie were enjoying herself.
They had both heard clearly the sounds of Melissa hurting Max in the room next door. At two AM, however, someone entered the next room. Tom grinned wickedly and gestured for Evan to be quiet as they listened.
Melissa drew herself up to her full height of five-foot-two. She was still wearing nothing but the diamonds in her ears. Her hair was still perfect as only short hair can be, and her breasts rippled appealingly as she moved. Michael looked like he was already starting to drool.
Max lay on the bed as before, wearing a new and fresh condom, still desperately hard. The wax, and quite a bit of Max’s chest hair, had been peeled off with a knife.
Melissa picked up a vicious-looking dressage whip and gestured towards Max.
“My slave for the evening has been very good,” she said. “So I’m giving him a reward. In trade for Rosie, Michael, you will suck him off.”
Michael’s jaw dropped.
The whip twitched in her hand. “Move it!”
Trade deals like the one between Michael and Melissa weren’t covered by the same rules as the relationships between the masters and the slaves of the evening. Yet if Michael were so foolish as to back out, no one would ever trade with him again, and Jackson would probably stop inviting him back. Therefore Michael hastily climbed upon the bed and brought his mouth down to Max’s desperate loins.
Melissa watched, frequently snapping out corrections and criticisms. When Michael seemed lax, she clipped him across the ass with the dressage whip. He clearly felt it even through his clothes.
“You’re dreadful at this,” Melissa told Michael when he had finished and Max lay back groaning upon the bed. “I doubt I’ll ever have need of your services again. Get lost.”
In the next room Tom and Evan each had a hand wrapped around the other’s mouth as they laughed silently and helplessly.
Jackson was in his study reading when Dianne came in at four.
“So how’d it go?” he asked, though her face told him clearly.
“He didn’t even get it up.” She sat down in one of the arm chairs and curled her legs up to her body.
Jackson sighed. “Reciting C code in his head, no doubt. Arthur is just an asshole. He’s too good for anyone who wants him.”
“So why do you invite him?”
“Amusement value.”
“Well, I’m not amused,” she said bitterly.
“I didn’t make you try to fuck Arthur. Maybe now you’ll be cured of your inconvenient crush.”
“Hardly. He’s so beautiful. But then I don’t think I’ll try this again soon.” She looked away. “I’m tired. Can I go have a nap?”
“I’m not tired. I have a full morning planned for us. After a snack, I’m going to reward your impertinence by Tomding you over the desk and spanking you until you are sore. Then I’m going to teach you what tired really is. Have I mentioned that you give amazing head?”
Dianne turned to Jackson and grinned. “No. And I think maybe I’m going to enjoy this. Must have been a lucky draw on my part.”
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