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From: begonespam@aol.comdom (Adrian Hunter)
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Subject: {ASSM} The Game by Chelsea Shepard (Adrian Hunter) (bd)
Date: Tue,  6 Feb 2001 23:10:06 -0500
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A short story from my co-author Chelsea while we finish up our imminent epic,
"Once Bitten." For more of the same, as well as the newly-updated Bondage
Jukebox, please visit our web site at:

http://www.adrianhunter.com

Regards,
Adrian Hunter

***********************************
The Game
By Chelsea Shepard

"Laura, tonight, we're going to a game party."

A "game" party? A boring evening of Trivial Pursuit springs to mind. Then I see
the glitter in Jeremy's eyes. I understand. This is not going to be a normal
game party. This is what we've been talking about for years.

We're going public.

He's ready. I suppose I am, too.

While he selects my clothes in the closet (a short black dress and matching
high heels), I try to guess what he's prepared and, more importantly, whom
we're going to "play" with. We've met a few bdsmers over the last couple of
years: people we've met in bars, shared emails, even chatted. I think of
another M/f couple that shares many of our ideas on how to blend our particular
kinks into our lives, but we've never discussed a scene with them. At least I
haven't. Has he?  

I slip on the heels as my heart races at the thought that he might have
misunderstood my feelings and fantasies. There are so many ways of going
public --then again, we've talked about our fantasies a lot, so I simply have
to trust him. I do.

Confirming my silent observations, he asks me to spread my legs and inserts a
plug in my ass. I hate this; he knows it. But this is an old routine. I suppose
this is why we call ourselves s/m.  

He adds another item, this time one I love to wear. To an outsider, the black
leather collar might pass for an uncommon piece of jewelry, but thin as it is,
it is solid enough to keep me from moving once the ring hidden beneath my hair
is chained to any anchoring spot he fancies. It also forces me to move when he
connects a leash to it. But tonight, he simply clicks the collar behind my neck
and lets my hair hang loose behind it.  

I take a look at him. He wears his leather pants, a white shirt, and a black
jacket. I instinctively lean over to kiss him, wishing we could cancel the
party and stay here, all by ourselves. Who needs the others? But I know we have
to try this, at least once. To see how it feels.

Apparently, we're ready to go. He phones for a taxi, helps me put on my coat,
and we're out the door. The cold air brushes against my naked ass and makes me
shiver, but not as much as the anticipation of what is to come.

As soon as he presses the bell, the door opens onto a large hallway. Coats hang
on one side, casting their reflections in a tall antique mirror on the opposite
wall. At the end of the hallway, another door is closed. No one to welcome us.
This is weird.

Weirder still, he undresses me and leaves me completely naked, save for the
heels, the collar and the invisible plug. From his pocket, he retrieves a pair
of cuffs that soon connect my hands behind my back. Now I'm scared. And so wet
already, I hope I'm not dripping.

"Are you ready for this?" he asks, his voice gentle and reassuring, his hands
holding me steady.

Even though I've never stopped anything he's planned before, I appreciate his
question. I know I could end it here if I wanted to. But if he's decided we're
ready, then I am. I give him the only two words he need to hear. A code that
tells him I've already entered my submissive mode.  

"Yes, please."

He's fully in charge now.

He opens the door and gives me a slight push forward.  

My face turns red instantly and my eyes take shelter toward the floor as I feel
a series of eyes staring at me. Strangers. Seeing me naked, collared, and
cuffed. I need his arm on my hips to keep walking, and I convince myself that
these people are like us, not offended at all, just amused by my fears, that
all this has been planned by him. Still, it doesn't make me feel any better,
and I almost turn around to ask him to leave. I can't do this.

"Hi, Jeremy. Nice to see you again. Hi, Laura!"

Are they talking to me? I look up, still unable to stop the shivering in my
body, and give the man who's just spoken a weak smile, turning to Jeremy with a
question mark on my face. He grins. My god, he's already enjoying this!

"This is Thomas, our host for the evening. And you already know Bill and Mary."

The couple we met on the Internet. Bill's sitting on the sofa. Mary's kneeling
at his feet, as naked as I am. Somehow that makes me feel a lot better,
especially when I realize she's adorned with nipple clamps. Why have I escaped
that?

Thomas introduces us to another man, Andrew, who gets up briefly from his
armchair to shake Jeremy's hand and nod to me. I nod in return, knowing all too
well that not many words will pass my lips tonight. Strangely, I don't mind the
limitation, as my voice would probably sound too shaky for my liking.

When Jeremy sits down next to Bill, I naturally assume the kneeling position
everyone seems to expect. He strokes my shoulder. Mary smiles at me. I relax.
We're obviously all on the bus. Three male doms, two female subs. This could be
fun.

As drinks are served (he orders for me), I realize everyone knew about this
party except me. Jeremy must have met Thomas before, too. And I thought I knew
everything --we'll have a talk tonight, darling.

It isn't until our host mentions the game for the first time that I notice the
low table in the center of our small circle. It's a sturdy wooden table on four
legs. Nothing too special, except for the iron bolts at the bottom of each leg,
and a series of eyelets running along the sides. Being the bondage freak I am,
I imagine how it must feel like to be tied up on it. The table extends beyond
the legs over 30 centimeters on both sides, meaning the arms and legs of any
person lying on it can be restrained in a not-too-distorted fashion. Arms
simply lying down, legs spread out and bent to a natural angle, leaving the
body well exposed and utterly defenseless. A wonderful design. And the dark
wooden surface seems so smooth, too.

I'm so intrigued by the table, I haven't noticed that everyone is looking at
me. Damn, I must have missed an important moment here. I blush and look up at
Jeremy, relieved to see he fights an urge to laugh. I feel like winking, but I
don't. After all, we're in public here. A sub doesn't wink to her dom, does
she?

He makes a move and I understand I must stand up. He removes my metal cuffs.
Following his indications, I lie on the table. Totally mesmerized.

While he places leather restraints on my limbs and locks them to the legs of
the table, just as I imagined they would be a few minutes ago, I try to pay
attention to Thomas's explanations of the rules. Obviously, he is speaking for
my benefit, as everyone else seems very much aware of them. Even Jeremy.  

I lose a number of details, but I've got the general concept. I'm not sure
whether I like it or not.

There's a huge board game placed on an easel in front of me. Squares with
various drawings and shades make up a long spiral leading to a big purple star
in the middle of the board. Three magnetic pawns (blue, red, yellow) are
waiting on the start square. I automatically assume that Mary won't get to
play. At least not with a pawn.

"The rules are fairly simple," says Thomas. "After rolling a dice, the player
moves forward on the spiral. The number he obtains not only indicates how far
he may go, but also the intensity of the action he'll take."  

"Intensity of the action." My heart accelerates again.

Squares are divided into three categories that indicate the type of action to
be taken: cuffs drawn on brown squares (bondage), clamps on blue (pain),
feather on yellow (teasing), dildo on red (direct stimulation). I quickly see
that the colors are not distributed fairly through the spiral. Brown dominates
the outer ring, red dominates the inner ring. Blue and yellow are everywhere,
but with a marked concentration in the middle sections. Whoever invented this
game was a perverted genius.

"One more rule," adds our grinning host. "Any player who makes our willing
victim come before the end of the game is eliminated. The winner, however, has
total freedom on how to end her predicament. And for how long."

My chest heaves up and down, in rhythm with my wild breathing, as the
realization of what is going to happen to me sinks in. I gaze to the right,
where Jeremy has resumed his seat. Immediately, the look in his eyes calms me
down. He'll take care of me. He knows how far I can go and he'll make sure my
limits are respected.  

Again, I try to relax. After all, I've been dreaming of this for years. Funny
how fantasies turned real can be terrifying. I only hope he'll be the winner.
But I know he has the best chance. He knows so well how not to make me come.
And how to.

The game starts when he rolls the dice on my stomach, indicating a new unspoken
rule: I'm not supposed to move and let it fall.

He gets a four, and Andrew, who's sitting next to the easel, moves the blue
pawn accordingly. He reaches a brown square. Bondage. Intensity four. Whatever
that means.

He gets up to walk behind me, where, he'll tell me much later, an impressive
assortment of bondage material and toys has been laid down for everyone to use.
I see him return with a penis gag. He expertly places it into my mouth and
buckles the wide leather strap around my head. Then he sits, and it's Thomas's
turn to roll the dice.

When each player has rolled twice, I'm already well on my way to subland. Ropes
have been wrapped quite redundantly around my legs and hips, while earplugs cut
me out of the general discussion and laughter (nothing like a bad pun to spoil
the mood, if you ask me). Someone landed on "pain - level 1" and tickled me
mercilessly with a long black feather, an easy ordeal I soon regretted when I
felt the bites of clothespins on my tender nipples. If I hadn't been gagged, I
would have expressed my disagreement on this being qualified as "level 3"
only.  

However, my treacherous sex reacts in clear opposition to my mind, and when the
dice roll again, it more than welcomes the vibrator that Jeremy inserts as a
result of his "tease - 5" draw. He keeps the remote on his lap and plays the
tune like the connoisseur he is, bringing me higher and higher each time. Yet
never high enough.  

When he must play again (by then, tweezer clamps have replaced the clothespins
on my nipples, weights have been added, and rubber mittens have turned my hands
into fists), Jeremy hits a blue square with a winning 6. My heart skips a beat.

After removing the vibrator, he coats the inside of my vagina with what feels
like lubricant, but is not. I know that for sure because I'm already dripping
and don't need further help to get wet. And also because the area his finger is
just touched is now burning cruelly, and I'm powerless to stop the fire from
the athletic salve eating me alive. Tears spring to my eyes and I moan with
despair, until the heat turns into a more bearable warmth, and my muscles
instinctively clench at nothing. I've now reached the point of no return. I
want more, I need more, I'm ready for anything.  

And the dice roll again.

I am thoroughly enjoying the escalating bondage and torment, when the
unexpected happens. Bill's pawn stops on "tease - 6" and he gestures for Mary
to move forward. As she lowers her head between my quite immobilized legs, and
her tiny tongue barely brushes my clitoris, a shockwave ripples through my
body, and I panic. This wasn't my fantasy. I have never mentioned being touched
by another woman, and certainly not another sub!  

M heartbeat frantically pounding in my head--the only sound I can hear--I look
at my lover with all the anguish I can convey through my eyes. I'm not ready
for this. Please, will you stop it?

He seems to hesitate for a second, says a few words I don't hear, then walks
behind me and --places a blindfold over my eyes.

Oh, good, like this will help me forget there's a woman licking me!  

Now I'm angry, and squirm and whimper enough to show it. But the game doesn't
stop. Nor does Mary.

At first, I oppose her touch defiantly, refusing its subtle approach, its
amazing softness, its undeniable expertise. But I'm addicted to pleasure, and
this is a golden source. So I let go.

The blindfold does make it easier. I can enter my own world and forget all
those people watching me as I become aroused from another woman's tongue.  

It also occurs to me that someone else--Jeremy?--could have taken Mary's place
between my legs. The touch is so perfectly adjusted to my body, triggering all
the reactions I expect. As a woman, Mary must know all the tricks. However
Jeremy knows me even better.

And yet whoever is touching me no longer matters. I'm past caring now.  

Soon, the sensations turn so powerful that tears roll down my cheeks again,
this time drawn by too much pleasure. I try to bring my body closer to the
evasive touch, but all I can do is bang the legs of the table with my fists and
sigh in frustration.

When my body tenses in anticipation of the upcoming relief, Mary stops.  

And it's as if the world has abandoned me.

Not for long, though. Without giving me any time to breathe my way back to a
semblance of normality, different hands adorn and torment my helpless body. A
trainer is molded to my head and fixed at the top to the end of the table,
depriving me of a last tension-relieving move. My breasts are squeezed between
yards of rope. My toes are tied up together--I have no doubt this is Jeremy's
doing--and tiny vibrators massage my soles until I manage to kick them off.
This earns me a thorough spanking on the inside of my thighs and a few more
clothespins in strategic places. When the vibrators are stuck back to my feet,
I force my legs to keep still and almost die with the effort.

Pain and teasing take turns to send me deeper and deeper into this mode where I
no longer function normally. I'm obsessed with one single thought: Please, make
me come. How that is achieved hardly matters. The primary question is: How long
will it take? The secondary question is: How long will it last? But the
conviction of reaching the ultimate goal is, in itself, already mind-blowing.

Before losing my mind and giving up to pleasure, I smile under the gag.  

In this game, I'm the only one certain to win.
*******************
Please note new web address:
http://www.adrianhunter.com

Correspondence:
adrian_hunter - at - hotmail.com
chelsea_shepard - at - hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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