Starfucking Goes Wrong

By The Qmoq (c) 2008

A tale with three distinct parts, so if you don’t like what’s in one part, you can skip that bit. It’s partly inspired by, though not a copy of, a story called “Casino”.

Prologue – general smuttiness

Part I – M/f, F/f, semi-consensual, toys

Part II - M/f, non-consensual, watersports, toys

Part III - M/f, F/f, non-consensual, serious

Prologue

They were being tracked. The security cameras picked up the three intruders from the moment they had sneaked through the fence. Angelina, Cassie and Gemma were most naïve to think they would have been able to get through all the barriers when twenty pressmen were being rebuffed, but this did not cross their mind. They had to meet Johnny Brown and his girlfriend, Sammy – they wanted to brush with fame. Though their giddiness at having got so far made them confide in each other that they craved more than a brush.

Gemma:        Wonder what his cock’s like?

Angelina:        I bet it’s bent. You know, like he said in that film he made about Woodrow Wilson. You’d let him fuck you?

Gemma:        I didn’t dress like a fricking Bratz doll to play bridge with the bastard. Where are we? Yeah, get through that fire exit. ‘Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted’. Life fuck they will. It’s great this, isn’t it? I feel born again! It’s like we’re Lara fucking Croft or something!

Cassie:        So coarse. What you need to do is get to him through his girlfriend – that’s what I’m going to do. It’s common knowledge that she’s bi, so if I can get a chance at her clit, she’s bound to let me have a play with his ding-dong.

Angelina:        I just want to see what he’s like. I’d be happy having a few drinks and a dance with him. Course, if one of his chums is there, I’d be happy to... well, y’know...

Gemma:        ... fuck him till he makes your fillings rattle.

Angelina:        Yeah. Heh.

The entire exchange was being watched on a large plasma screen by Johnny, Sammy, and twenty or thirty other partygoers. A lawyer, dressed in a fashionable black suit, advised the couple that their plan was watertight. Hearing the women confirm that they knew that trespassers would be prosecuted ensured that they would be compelled to sign the agreement. His advice was delivered most calmly, especially considering the fact that he was being fellated throughout by a curvy blonde waitress in a tight purple cotton dress. Johnny pulled the waitress off the lawyer by her ponytail and pushed her face into Sammy’s crotch. Sammy smiled, lifted her own short skirt, and allowed the waitress clearer access.

Their party was a roaring success, both inside and out. It was Sammy’s idea to have a kinky theme; BDSM was very ‘in’ at the moment so that was her preference. Johnny wanted to play some poker, so he chipped in with the idea of a casino. From there, it was a quick but inspired decision to combine the themes. Losers at the gaming tables were compelled to earn money by offering services in exchange for chips. Typically these involved a spanking or a swift blow-job, but as the evening had progressed, paddles, floggers and even caning were demanded. Those with money wanted value. Johnny and Sammy had the most money, and Sammy in particular seemed to relish torturing young men. She loved to hear them moan as she squeezed their testicles in a firm, fingernailed grip. Johnny preferred a less dramatic control; he was most at home with a big-breasted woman next to him, wearing fierce clover clamps. He would take a chain linked to the clamps, and watch her face as he pulled the chain up and down, dragging her to her knees and onto all fours, before lifting her up to her tip-toes.

The most unwise gamblers were forced to become “purple” waiters and waitresses. Dressed in revealing but flattering purple outfits, these unfortunates had almost no rights, and were in sexual servitude for a period that depended on their debt. After the period was over, they would be allowed to gamble again, albeit more carefully.

The lawyers had drawn up clear contracts for all the guests to sign; as well as the guest’s consent, there was a firm and unambiguous privacy clause. No blabbermouth would be able to run to the newspapers with tales of Johnny and Sammy.

Sammy leaned forwards and placed both hands behind the blonde waitress’s head, and smothered her with her pussy. “Bring those girls in,” she told the lawyer. “I’ve got just the thing for them.”

The young women were seized by four burly doorstaff, who unceremoniously dragged them to a small office. They were locked in and left unattended for ten minutes, although they were under constant surveillance.

The short delay was due to Sammy organising a punishment for the waitress for what she perceived was ‘lacklustre cunt-licking’. The unfortunate waitress, close to tears with humiliation and frustration, was dragged to a small three-foot cube cage in the middle of the large hall; her hands were locked outside of the cage, and patrons were invited to finger her as roughly as they could. A sign was hung from the waitress’s neck. It read ‘Make Me Scream And Earn £10’. Sammy told the waitress that any £10 gifts would be added to her own debt. The tears of desperation and the pleading made Sammy feel alive. She was ready to face the intruders.

She burst into the office, holding hands with Johnny Brown. “Ladies, ladies, ladies, welcome!” she said.

Angelina was the first to react. “Sammy! Sammy! Oh my god! Oh my god!” Cassie and Gemma responded with similar exultations, particularly when they spotted Johnny. The superstar couple invited the trio to sit down. After checking their ages; Gemma was 22, Cassie and Angelina were both 21; they set to business. The choice for the women was clear; either sign a contract to take part in the party’s activities, or be charged with wilful trespassing and face ninety days in prison.

“That’s no choice! Let us into the party!” smiled Gemma.

Sammy wanted to keep as much from the women as she could, but felt obliged – morally and legally – to explain that the party’s activities could involve ‘demanding sexual proclivities’ which the women might not like. “But nothing that would physically scar you for life,” she added.

The girls signed.

Immediately after the signatures were verified, Sammy’s attitude changed. She stood, and gave the girls two orders. “Take off all of your clothes,” was the first. Gemma willingly stripped; the other two hesitated, then realised they had been warned. They complied. The second instruction was perfectly timed, coming so soon after the first.

“We have three scenarios for three women. All are rather, well, strenuous. Two are particularly unpleasant, and one of those is significantly worse than the others. Between you, decide who gets the bad, worse and worst scenario.”

Johnny and Sammy left the room to give the girls a moment to decide. “Whose fucking idea was it to come here?” asked Angelina.

Part One – The Waitress

A well-built young man, a year or two older than Cassie, handed her a costume. Cassie dressed quickly; she was happy to have been voted for the least onerous scenario, and did not want to anger her hosts. The two-piece costume was a purple cotton waitress outfit, tight around the bosom which made her large breasts swell over its low cut. The short skirt was slightly deeper but still purple; its hem was well up the thigh and it was light enough to float when she walked. She would not be covering too much.

“And these,” said the man. He gave her a piece of latex underwear – purple, naturally – with two prongs on the inside. Cassie knew its purpose; she was young but not so naïve. She asked for, and was given, some lubricant for the anal plug. Its large bulb was inserted first, and she winced as it filled her. She was not prepared for this. The dildo was a moderate seven inches, but thick; when she inserted it all the way, she could feel the two prongs pressing against each other inside her. Carefully, she pulled the remainder of the underwear over her body – it went up to her waist like a pair of hot-pants, but it was tight, warm, and filling.

“Hang on,” said the man. He lifted the front of Cassie’s skirt, and rubbed her panties at the front. Cassie moaned softly. The feel of the latex was stimulating, but the main reason for the involuntary moan was when she realised that there was a knobbly patch of nodules pressing against her clitoris.

“Now listen,” he frowned, fastening an inch-wide purple collar around Cassie’s neck. “You’ve got to obey anyone who is not wearing a collar. You’re allowed one transgression. If you don’t obey once, we’ll cuff your wrists behind your back. If you don’t obey after that, we’ll throw you into a place we call the ‘mudpit’. You don’t want to do that. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

The gentleman smiled. “Good. You don’t have to call people ‘sir’ or ‘miss’ but it’s safer to do so, I think. Here. Put on these boots.”

The boots were the lighter shade of purple to match her top, calf-length, with a dangerous five-inch heel. Cassie felt as though she was losing her balance.

The man leered at the ensemble. “Get me hard,” he said quietly.

Nervous, Cassie tottered over to him. Even with the heels, she was still an inch or two shorter than him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Her breasts pressed into his chest, and she kissed him warmly. Her hands moved down to his buttocks, where they squeezed him. She could not feel any firmness in his loose-fitting trousers, so moved her hands round to the front. She slid them inside, and grabbed his lazy cock. Two firm squeezes, combined with a deeper kiss, and he was hard.

“Suck me,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she replied. She dropped to her knees carefully, not wanting to scuff the toes of her boots. She unzipped his trousers, and took him inside.

“Rub your clit.”

She obeyed. It was impossible not to be aroused, and for the first time since being caught, she was enjoying herself. And then, he seemed to be thrusting deeper into her mouth. It was less pleasant. It felt abusive and intrusive.

“Gag on me. Keep rubbing your clit.”

Cassie shook her head. She felt unable to comply with the first order. She tried once to gag, but pressed him out with her tongue. She pulled away. His reaction was instant.

“Stand up. Put your hands behind your back.”

Cassie scrambled to her feet, as though an extra willingness to comply with this order would compensate for her inability to gag on him. It was no use. He snapped a pair of handcuffs to her wrists. To add insult to humiliation, he fastened a leash to her collar. She had used her one chance already. He took her by the leash, and without looking behind himself, walked out of the door. Cassie struggled to find the pace; she was not used to such heels, but she did not want to fall behind too far. When she saw where she was being led, she was astonished.

The large hall was peppered with gaming tables; mostly blackjack and various types of poker, but also the occasional roulette table for the real suckers. To the right, a young man was taking off his shirt and passing it to a woman dressed as a schoolgirl, who had just beaten him on a coin toss. On the left, a couple were performing a sixty-nine, surrounded by a baying circle of men and women, betting wildly on who would come first. Dotted around the floor were men and women in purple; constant, vivid reminders of the penalties of excessive gambling.

Cassie was hardly the centre of attention, but there was a flutter of excitement as she was led to the far side of the hall. Many onlookers jeered her, calling her ‘Lara Croft’, making lewd suggestions of what they were going to do to her. As it was, Sammy had her own plans. She took the lead from Cassie’s male friend, who wandered away into the throng. Sammy smiled at Cassie’s nervous grin. A tug on the leash. A kiss. Cassie did not pull away; quite the opposite, and Sammy broke off the embrace. She lifted Cassie’s top to her shoulders, revealing Cassie’s generous bosom. Johnny, sitting at the table behind Sammy, leaned forwards for a better look.

She turned behind to the table and picked up a basket of pegs. For once, Sammy was silent, letting her million-dollar smile reflect her emotions. She opened a peg in front of Cassie’s eyes, who was able to see that it had been whittled slightly; it had a wooden point on one side of it. She clipped that peg to Cassie’s left nipple.

“Oowww!”

“Shhhh,” whispered Sammy. “That’s an order. Make another sound, and you go to the mudpit. Keep quiet, and I’ll take those cuffs off your wrists.”

Cassie nodded. She bit her lip. She did not like the sound of that mudpit. A second peg on the right nipple. Sammy’s smile broadened. She rubbed Cassie’s clit, knowing that the friction would make her skin extra-sensitive, and then quickly added another half-dozen pegs to each breast. Cassie’s breath quickened. She could feel herself becoming damp, but each peg added to an unpleasant pain in her breasts. She began to feel a little faint. The effort was overwhelming; her head span. She could have coped with the arousal and the humiliation, but the pain was too much. Plus... he was there. Johnny Brown. Each time Sammy touched her, she wished it was him. Another salvo of pegs pinched her breasts. Seeing him watch her with such apparent lack of emotion only made her want him more. He was so cool; it made his next comment such a surprise.

“Let’s see how well it sucks cock,” he said, his voice filled with lust.

Sammy quickly tugged the leash downwards, but Johnny quietly said that he wanted Cassie face-up on the table. This caused a minor problem; Cassie had to have her wrists unlocked and relocked in front of her. She was then ushered into a position where her head was hanging over the edge of the table. Her body felt more vulnerable, because she could not see who was hovering over it.

Johnny pushed his member into Cassie’s mouth. It was a dream come true, but she could not moan or sigh or pant. She could make no sound at all. She felt a deep temptation to give up and cry out, and take the shadowy mudpit, but then a determination came over her. She chose to obey. She craved Johnny’s and Sammy’s approval. She wanted to show all of the watching perverts that she was a strong, able woman.

“It’s got a talented mouth,” said Johnny. “Add some more pegs, Sam. And rub that cunt of hers.”

Sammy’s touch became rougher. She liked to see Johnny enjoy himself, but felt a little insecure when he enjoyed sex with another. She finished adding all the pegs, and then swatted each breast once. Cassie bucked in pain as several pegs snapped off her skin. She then felt Sammy rubbing her clitoris through the soaked panties, but the heel of Sammy’s hand pressed hard against the base of the dildo. It scared Cassie; she knew she couldn’t climax without making a sound. She sucked harder, scraping her teeth gently against Johnny’s cock. He bucked once, and then came without warning.

“Done,” he said, and withdrew. He wiped himself clean with Cassie’s hair, turned, and left the table. Sammy followed him, arm in arm, after waving lazily at a redheaded waitress to clean up the mess, and remove the handcuffs. Cassie was triumphant. She licked her lips proudly, and beamed at the waitress who began to help remove the pegs. It had been a good evening. Only one question remained: if she had received the ‘best’ treatment, whatever were Angelina and Gemma going through?

End of Part I

Part II

Angelina waited patiently in her own holding area. She thought herself lucky that they had not decided that she was due for the worst punishment; the break-in to the party had been her idea.

The door opened. “This way,” said a sweet-faced young woman in a purple outfit. Angelina followed her to a dingy female lavatory. In there was a basin and plastic bag. “That’s an enema bag,” said the woman. “Do you know how to use it?”

“Yes, I’ve done them once or twice. Do I have a choice?”

“Of course not,” said the purple-clad girl.

“Am I being filmed?”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter, because you have no choice.”

With that, the helpful but ominous woman left Angelina to clean herself out with the enema kit. She performed the duty without any flourishes; if she was being filmed, as she suspected, then she wanted to make the show as lacklustre as possible.

Two men entered the lavatory. They were wearing loose-fitting shorts, and nothing else. Angelina braced herself for a rough ride, but they were not there to fuck her. One stepped around her and looped his arms up under hers, leaving her body unprotected. The other held a thin piece of rope, which he looped around the base of her left breast, then the right, and around each breast before being tied off in the middle. The loops were cinched reasonably tightly; there was no pain where the rope touched the skin, but there was no way that it was coming off.

Angelina was even more embarrassed by the following events. The man who held her, let go of her arms, then grabbed her around the waist. He bodily lifted her up into the air, before twisting her so her legs were in the air. Instinctively she put her hands out to the floor to steady herself. This meant that she was completely unprotected, and found herself being examined for cleanliness. They had wanted her ass cleaned for a reason.

She felt a large piece of metal being inserted into her pussy; it was thick and she presumed it was a dildo, but after about three inches, it stopped. Two firm fingers pushed it deep into her; she then heard some tape being ripped off and felt it being placed to cover her up. A similar ‘bullet’ was inserted into her ass, though this one felt colder due to the lubricant. This second bullet was not taped, though Angelina guessed that she would be in trouble if she expelled that particular device.

The final item was a strange gag. Mostly rubber, it completely covered Angelina’s mouth, with a two-inch element inside her mouth. However, it was not a ball or a cloth; it was a hollow tube. This enabled her to breathe as normal and make almost-normal sounds, which was not what she expected at all.

She was led out of the room. As she walked, she realised there were insulated wires hanging down from her bullets. She naively assumed they were there so the bullets could be withdrawn quickly.

“In here,” said one of her escorts, pushing Angelina into a small cubicle. The cubicle appeared to be empty at first glance, but there were a few items inside. Principally, there was a transparent wall of Perspex halfway into the room, four feet high. It was not quite vertical; at a height of about two and a half feet, it tilted at 45 degrees towards Angelina for a foot or so, before becoming vertical again. “Kneel,” said the guard. Angelina knelt. She was a little nervous; she expected to have to put on a private dance show for patrons of the club, so was confused by the order.

The other of Angelina’s guards appeared on the other side of the Perspex, holding a large funnel. He slid the funnel’s tube into a flush hole in the tilted pane of Perspex. The first guard then held Angelina’s head up to the tube, and for the first time, Angelina realised that she would be part of an interactive element. The tube of the funnel had a thread, which matched a receptive thread in Angelina’s gag. She was in the position of an animal, looking slightly upwards.

Unable to move her head, she could only feel as her arms and legs were firmly shackled; both wide apart. She could support herself – her weight was not being held by the funnel, which was a small blessing. She was then reminded of her helplessness by the guard feeling her bound breasts from behind. Firm, unpleasant squeezes brought tears to her eyes. In fact, he was checking her circulation, which was acceptable enough for him to add the clamps.

“Nooo!” she sighed. The clamps were not too severe – they did not feel sharp, but her knowing that she could not remove them was dispiriting. She sagged, and found that her crotch brushed against something which had a thick, round head. With such little movement, she could not find out any more about it; she was still struggling to touch it when she heard the guard leave.

She was alone for only a few minutes, however. On the other side of the Perspex, an unfamiliar man walked in. He raised his eyebrows when he saw her, and smiled menacingly. “Hello, Lara,” he said.

“Hello,” replied Angelina, weakly but politely.

He unzipped his trousers, removed a half-erect penis. She was still so inexperienced that she assumed he was going to masturbate at the sight of her, naked and bound. It was only when he moved to the funnel did she realise.

“Nooooooo,” she whined through the tube. She shook and tried to pull away, but it was no use. He released a confident stream of clear piss. Most of it went straight down the tube into her mouth; there was almost little need for the funnel.

As it hit her, she retched. The taste was not the problem; it was the knowledge of what it was, and how she had no choice. It was warm and sweet-smelling, and filled her mouth completely, with no seepage out of the sides. She did not swallow initially, hoping somehow that it would end. There was no help. He kept pissing. Thirty seconds. He stopped, and waited. He was not moving. She had to swallow. Tears streamed down her cheeks, partly due to the gag and retch, but mostly through feeling wretched. Having chosen the moment to swallow, she gulped it down as quickly as she could.

“Good girl,” he said quietly. He zipped up, his cock significantly harder than when she had first seen it. He then reached into his pocket, and pulled out a casino chip. He slipped it into a small slot near his door.

“Oh my,” Angelina whispered. The round head that pressed against her crotch began to vibrate. Had she known it was a Hitatchi, she would have paced herself, but finding a spark of pleasure, she rotated her hips such that it pushed hard against her taped clitoris. “Mmmm.” Her eyes flashed a moment’s thanks to the man, who was crouching next to the Perspex to watch her reactions.

It seemed like seconds, but in fact the vibrator lasted for two full minutes before it stopped without warning. In that short time, Angelina got close to a completely unexpected orgasm, but then felt equal frustration that she was denied. She ignored the private audience, and wiggled frantically to try to get a little more pleasure.

The man laughed, left and almost immediately, another man walked in. Angelina assumed the full scenario had been revealed; she would have to swallow piss for as long as they wanted, receiving short bursts of pleasure in exchange. As such, when this gentleman urinated, she was not paying attention to him; she focused on her clitoris, and kept her eyes shut.

“Look at me,” said the man. She opened her eyes. He was holding a chip over the slot. “Bad girl,” he said, and let the chip drop. She had not seen that he chose a different slot.

There was no vibration. Instead, there was pain. Severe pain, from her pussy, her bottom, and both nipples. The bullets and the clamps had sprung to life, and were shooting volts into her flesh. She shook. She screamed. The shackles rattled as she tried to escape. It stopped. She cried; snotty tears. Then she swore. “Fucker!”

“Don’t swear,” said the man. He inserted another chip.

Knowing the pain was coming was not worse than the pain itself, but the brief moment between the point at which he dropped the chip and the electricity came to life. She roared. The sound was amplified by the funnel and echoed in the tiled chamber. The man began to laugh now. She did not understand how someone could enjoy her being in pain more than her being in pleasure.

Between his departure and the next man’s arrival, she wondered what the difference was. It was not difficult; she had paid full attention to the first man, and concentrated on herself with the second. She would fix that. She beamed at number three, before realising he could not see her mouth. “Hello!” she cooed. The piss was stronger; it meant she did not need to act disgusted to please him. It was bitter and hurt her throat, so her juddering, shaking and reluctance were genuine.

Angelina received a ‘pleasurable’ chip from him. It gave her two minutes of stimulation. She ground her hips, groaning loudly with arousal. Again, she lost herself in the moment. The orgasm, when it hit, almost made her faint. When she came in the past, she was always able to wrap her legs around the man, or to clench her thighs on her hand. Being denied that, while feeling the juice trickle down her thighs while the taste lingered in her mouth; she was depraved. Satisfied, number three left.

The fourth man was the first bastard. Angelina gave him more attention than anyone – the vibrator had taken her most of the way towards a second orgasm, and she couldn’t wait. She hated waiting. But, after giving him her wide, pretty eyes, another genuine retch as she drank, he still put a chip into the slot that gave her pain.

They continued coming. She actually received a mixture of pleasure and pain, though it was impossible to predict what each man would do. Orgasm followed torture followed torture followed orgasm. And then... the orgasms began to hurt. Her clitoris was too sensitive. At first, this manifested itself when she got two ‘pleasures’ in a row, but eventually each vibration hurt and aroused her equally. She counted fifteen men, when the sixteenth entered. No faking was needed with him.

“Johnny!” she screamed.

With a swagger, he approached, reaching deep into his loose trousers to pull out... it was average. She expected a huge member, but it was normal. His piss was normal, except it was Johnny Brown’s piss. She gulped as heartily as she could manage, and he seemed to enjoy her performance.

She ached to find out what slot he would use. In fact, he used both; a lot. He placed three or four chips into each slot simultaneously, and watched intently as she squirmed and shuddered. She came harder than before because he was there, and felt more wretched for the same reason.

“We’ll clean you up, give you a rest, then bring you back here,” he said. “I’d like to see how you do with something tight around your neck, next time.”

He left. Angelina sank as low as she could in her bonds, but one question came to mind. If Gemma was in something worse than her position, whatever could it be?

End of Part II

Part III

Gemma received a gentle start to her ordeal; she was allowed to shower, encouraged to stretch, and ordered to give herself an enema. She needed a little instruction on this, which was quite fortunate as she would have used cold water. The instructor, a cute black lass called Chelsea, warned Gemma of how it would feel and how her body would react. As a result, although unfamiliar, it was neither foreboding nor unpleasant.

Suitably cleaned and dressed in a robe, she waited for several minutes alone in the bathroom, wondering whether she had done the right thing by volunteering for the worst ordeal. She expected to get fucked in all holes, that much was clear. If that was all, that would be fine. She had had threesomes in the past, and while it was a guy at each end, a fourth chap would be bearable. The problem was that this gang-bang scenario was the baseline – that was the least worst thing she expected.

She heard a knock on the door. It was Chelsea, who was a little more formal this time, mainly due to the collar she brandished. Gemma could tell that Chelsea would have been strict, had Gemma not obeyed nicely. She cast the robe to the floor before Chelsea even asked, and smiled coquettishly as Chelsea clipped on the collar. There was no leash; Chelsea simply extended a hand, and led Gemma out of the bathroom, down the corridors towards the main hall.

At the last moment, they turned to a secondary hall, almost as large as the main hall, perhaps forty paces by twenty. Unlike the airy, gaudy main hall, this was cluttered, low-ceilinged and subtly lit, making it appear claustrophobic despite its size. Gemma could only see one person in the room; upon Sammy’s orders, the blonde waitress was standing naked, uniquely restrained in the centre. She wore a blindfold, ear-defenders, and her mouth was taped over, presumably with something inside. A heavy iron collar hung around her neck, heavy enough to rest at the top of her chest. An equally weighty chain trailed from it to the ceiling. Her wrists were shackled to that same chain. Her legs were unrestrained, and she did not appear to be in any distress.

Gemma saw all this from the door, as Chelsea did not enter with her. Before she departed, Chelsea quietly advised Gemma to hide, as “it would be in your best interests to avoid them for as long as possible”. There were plenty of places where she could not be seen; aside from a ten-foot wide circle around the waitress, there were stacks of chairs, unwanted tables, plants, ladders, party scenery and other detritus not required by Sammy for the main hall. Gemma squatted behind a low stack of chairs, wedged between two tables on their sides, waited, and watched. The waitress was not struggling; Gemma guessed that it was because she knew there was no escape, and not because the waitress was happy to be there. Gemma imagined herself in that position, unable to hear, see or cry out. The fact that she was in no pain was little consolation.

The door opened again. Predictably, Sammy walked in with Johnny Brown, followed by four others, two men and two women. Gemma gasped quietly as she saw what they were wearing. The men were dressed only in loose-fitting shorts, but Gemma could see their impressive bulges twitch when they saw the waitress. Aside from that, they were barefoot, bare-chested, but masked in cotton balaclavas. Johnny wore similar shorts, but chose to go without a mask.

“Hello Gemma,” Sammy shouted. “I don’t know where you are, but I’m going to find you!”

Gemma ignored the taunt, but again felt glad to have had Chelsea’s advice. Instead, she looked at the women. As with the men, they were masked except for the star, but their masks were latex. Indeed, their matching outfits generally appeared to be more fetishistic than the men’s shorts; they wore tight black latex corsets, matching boots, and fierce black strap-ons, with springy, flexible phalluses larger than any Gemma had experienced. Instinctively, Gemma placed a hand on her own rear, and inserted a finger, then a second. She wanted to be ready, if and when she was caught.

“Gemma! When you come out or when we drag you out, Blondie’s pain stops. Your choice.”

From Sammy’s second comment, Gemma guessed that it was a twisted game. The longer that Gemma watched the waitress endure torture, the shorter her own pain would be. She decided to wait and see. If nothing else, it would prepare her for what she would have to face. From where she was, she had side-on view of the waitress, but could clearly see Sammy’s gleeful face as the first blow was struck. With a heavy strap, Sammy lashed hard on the waitress’s left breast. The waitress spun, unknowingly to face Gemma, and a red blotch could already be seen. Sammy grasped Blondie by the shoulder to return her to her position, and then matched the blow with one even harder, on the right breast. Blondie kicked out her feet to keep her foes at bay, and received a languid low blow from a flogger, held by one of the masked women. Gemma winced as the flogging continued; the masked woman’s red hair tossed with each wide swing of her arm. The feet stopped kicking. Sammy began to strap the breasts more rhythmically; slightly less hard, but Gemma guessed that it was more painful to have blow after blow rained down upon her flesh.

Still she waited. Johnny Brown and most of the others moved into the clutter, looking for Gemma. Only Sammy and the flogger-wielding redhead remained by Blondie, who continued to writhe. Sammy seemed annoyed by the constant movement, so snapped a quiet instruction to the redhead. Gemma squinted. The redhead moved behind Blondie, then held the strap-on to the waitress’s rear. As there was no scream from the gagged woman, and no sign of fear, arousal or pain in her hidden eyes, Gemma found herself wondering how she would feel in that position. She loved to be fingered there; being fucked was less pleasant, so she forced herself to think that it was more like the former. For a brief moment, she wanted to be in Blondie’s position, and almost spoke out. It was then that she saw Sammy testing the cattle prod.

“Nooo,” she hissed to herself. They wouldn’t, she thought. But there it was. The redhead shoved her knees between Blondie’s and bounced her up and down a little. The mild fucking appeared to send the waitress into a reverie. Her struggling lessened. The prod changed that. Sammy pressed it against the waitress’s exposed thigh. Even through the gag, the scream was horrible. All of Gemma’s pursuers turned to see what had happened, before quickly returning to their search.

The waitress seemed to have found new strength. She almost lifted herself off of the redhead’s dildo, and only a firm bear-hug from the redhead, combined with two fierce hands on her breasts, kept the blonde under control. The redhead moved her hands to surround the waitress’s waist, allowing Sammy to pick up the strap again. This time, the waitress would not be able to twist away.

Any notion that Gemma would enjoy being fucked by the redhead had gone. The brutality combined with the inevitability, turned her off completely. She still debated whether to speak out and stop the blonde’s torture, but it would be out of sacrifice, not curiosity.

“Hello,” said a male voice behind her. It was instantaneously followed by a firm grip on her shoulders. “Found her!” he shouted.

Sammy looked up from the strapping of the waitress. “Fuck her mouth,” Sammy called back.

“You heard the lady,” said the man. Still pressing down on Gemma’s shoulders, he moved in front of her. It was not Johnny – it was one of the masked men, in his flattering shorts. He pulled the waistband out and over his cock, revealing the largest manhood Gemma had ever seen. Her mouth opened, more through shock than acceptance.

“Good girl,” he snarled, and forced the head against her lips. One of his hands moved to the back of her head.

“No,” she whined. “Get the fuck-”

“This is the least that you’ll have to face, missy. Now open your fucking mouth before I... that’s it. Knew you’d understand. Don’t be a silly little cunt and bite down, will you?”

She stretched her jaw as wide as it would go; it was still a squeeze. He pushed in, filling her mouth comprehensively. After only an inch or two, Gemma felt tears trickle down her cheeks. They weren’t the tears of a captured or degraded woman; they were simply the automatic reaction to her face being stretched, her mouth being filled.

“Suck it then, y’little whore!”

His words stung. Gemma realised it was because they were intended. They weren’t idle dirty talk or orders from Sammy; this man believed that she was a whore and a cunt. These were the people that Sammy had asked to accompany them. What if he was the most gentle? What would the redhead say and do to her?

He pushed deeper. His cock touched the back of her tongue, and she gagged. He withdrew a little, then pushed forward again. A second gag. Insults followed. She noticed that the other two men, including Johnny, and the second masked woman had appeared by them. They began to move the clutter away for a clearer view, and the mundane sound of the scraping of chairs contrasted with the retching and the name-calling. The other masked man wondered aloud how tight Gemma’s pussy was. The masked woman asked civilly if she could be the first to ream her ass. Only Johnny remained quiet.

“See if her cunt’s wet, Jilly.”

The woman called Jilly crouched next to the kneeling Gemma and forced two fingers into her pussy. It took a little persuasion, for the flutter of arousal Gemma experienced earlier had vanished. Jilly acted. She placed her first two fingers against Gemma’s clit, and rubbed. Her other hand reached around from behind and probed her slit. She had done this on other girls before, Gemma knew; there was a certainty in the way she rubbed, firmness in the wrists. She moaned softly. The face-fucking had found a rhythm, which made it no less pleasant for Gemma. Each thrust brought a painful gag reflex. But the fingers against her pussy and clit were insistent, the beauty and blatant sexuality appealed to her baser instincts, and she became increasingly aroused. The thought of what Sammy might do faded temporarily.

As suddenly as Gemma realised what was happening to her, the fingering stopped. The man withdrew. Jilly stood, and then pulled Gemma to her feet by grabbing her roughly by the hair. “This way, cunt.” She was dragged to the central area, where she was pushed to her knees once more. She could hear the redhead continue to fuck the waitress, but the beating from Sammy had stopped.

“Lick,” was the one word instruction from Sammy, who patted her crotch softly to add a direction for Gemma. Nervously, Gemma leant in. Sammy pulled her panties to one side to allow Gemma’s tongue full access to her pussy. Gemma lapped. There was no unpleasant taste – in fact Sammy was scrupulously clean, almost fastidious, as though she took as much care of what could not be seen as her public image. It helped Gemma settle into the role. She sucked a labium, scraped her teeth across Sammy’s clitoris, and visualised someone doing the same to her. She heard Sammy’s breath quicken, and her voice wavered a little when she spoke. Although Gemma was not bisexual to any material degree, she was pleased that she was getting a reaction.

“You... and you,” Sammy barked to the two masked men. “Grab one of Blondie’s legs each. Make a wish, but hold her tight.”

They did so. The unseeing waitress flinched at the fresh touch. The men lifted her feet such that her legs were horizontal and spread. They experimented, stretching her close to a split, but settled on an uncomfortably wide, but bearable angle.

“Red, keep fucking her. Guys, hold her tight,” Sammy repeated. She slowly stepped from Gemma, until she was three feet from the waitress. Gemma shuffled across, and continued to lick. “Pass me the prod.”

Gemma winced. She expected to get a jolt in the back or thigh, but a deep survival instinct told her that if she continued to lick, her pain would be less. She heard the button of the prod press down, and... nothing.

The cattle prod had been placed at the top of the waitress’s thigh. Unlike the previous brief jolt, this was longer. The men struggled to keep hold of the waitress as she writhed in agony, but after a moment, they kept her solidly in place. Sammy stopped the prod, but only to move it to the other thigh, where another firm blast made the waitress shudder.

Gemma continued to lick, satisfied that she was not going to be prodded, but curious. It almost seemed as though she was being underused. Perhaps, she smiled, it was because she was doing such a good job. Sammy’s juice began to dribble down her chin, and Gemma suspected that Sammy was close to coming. A brief hand on the back of her head confirmed this; it was removed so that Sammy could hold the prod with both hands.

“Any more and she’ll faint,” hissed the redhead. Her comment related to the waitress. Even though she could not cry out, nor could her eyes be seen, the waitress had been monitored closely by the redhead. The breathing had been so short, the movements so unnatural, she knew that something was close to being wrong. Sammy nodded, and told the redhead and the men to let go of her. The waitress hung limply in her bonds; her legs struggled to hold her upright.

Gemma saw none of this. Her whole concentration was on making Sammy come. She looked up and saw Sammy’s own breathing quicken, and then she came. Dropping the prod, Sammy placed both hands on Gemma’s head, and pulled her mouth closely against her mound. Gemma half-bit instinctively, and the sharp pain in Sammy’s cunt brought a second orgasm. “Yes, you fucking slut, yes!”

And then Gemma was pushed away. She rolled onto her bottom, brushing against the waitress’s legs, wearing a damp smile of satisfaction in a job well done. She was surprised when Jilly lunged for her and pulled her to her feet. A second surprise was that the waitress’s bonds were finally being removed by Johnny. His touch was tender as he removed the collar, cuffs, ear-defenders and gag. Only the blindfold remained.

“Open your eyes carefully,” he cooed to the waitress. “The light’s not strong but it still might hurt.”

As the blindfold was removed, Sammy picked up the cattle prod. ‘Oh no, they’re going to torture her again’ was Gemma’s thought. Instead, Sammy placed it into Gemma’s hands. Jilly, standing close to Gemma, warned her not to drop it.

The blonde blinked open her puffy, reddened eyes. She wiped away tears with the back of her hand, and then focused. The first thing she saw was Gemma holding the cattle prod. Her face changed from a sobbing mess into a fierce snarl. “You fucking cunt,” she snarled. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”

“What?” Gemma replied. “I’ve been... I’m not...”

“It’s partly my fault,” Sammy explained casually to the waitress. “I was the one who flogged you, and that redhead was the one who fucked you. And... I also used the prod that first time. I saw it was too tough, and would have left it at that. I’m sorry, I really am, but it was Gemma here who had the idea that you could be held and prodded. I should have stopped them, I’m sorry, but I was curious.”

The waitress digested the key point that it was Gemma’s fault. She lunged for her, and only Johnny’s efforts prevented a catfight.

“The problem was that we had no idea it was so bad,” Sammy continued, wrapping an arm around the waitress’s shoulder. “Care to experiment for us? We’ll hold her down, and you can prod her where we can hear her. Because it’s kinda shocking, I don’t want you going near any organs or the spine, which basically means you can do anything on her legs.”

“No!” Gemma shouted. “She’s the one! Sammy! She did it!”

“I only have one request,” Sammy concluded. “I want to fuck her.”

She laced a strap-on onto her, and handed Blondie the prod without waiting for an answer. Sammy then stood behind Gemma and politely asked Johnny to cuff Gemma’s arms behind both their backs. The massive dildo pressed flat against Gemma’s pussy. The men lifted her up, and Sammy pushed the head against Gemma’s rear. Gemma continued to protest in words, but her movements were becoming so restricted that wriggling was futile.

Once inside, Sammy moved her hands to Gemma’s breasts, pulling and twisting the nipples. Still Blondie had not used the prod. The internal debate continued. She was not sadistic by nature, but she had a strong sense of justice. Despite Gemma’s cries and tears, only Blondie knew that these torments were nothing compared to the cattle prod.

“Hold her tight,” said the waitress. Sammy bit her lip, knowing that she had said exactly the same thing. She pressed the metal tips halfway down Gemma’s left thigh, and pressed.

“NoooOOOOO!” Gemma screamed as the savage pain hit home. It felt strong enough to jolt an unconscious body to life. She sensed movement behind her. It was Johnny, standing beside Sammy. They leaned into her. Sammy clamped her mouth on the left side of Gemma’s neck, and bit. Johnny bit the other side. They were not vampiric, but were more severe than mere love-bites. The prod moved to the other thigh and Gemma screamed again. Jilly, looking for something to do, held Gemma’s head in place so her head-bobbing did not hurt the stars.

“You missed a chance, bitch,” Blondie snarled. “You never did my cunt, did you?”

“No... no... noooo!” whined Gemma. It was not a bluff. The waitress pressed the cattle prod with one prong on either side of her slit. The electricity duly sparked between them. The mild dampness from Jilly’s rubbing amplified the charge, and Gemma bucked so hard that she almost broke free from the clutches of the men.

Three more times she was shocked there, each time longer than the last, before the waitress said that Gemma had suffered enough, and the waitress was led by the redhead out of the room. The men released Gemma’s legs, knowing that she would not kick out. By that point, Gemma was beyond pain. She felt swollen. She could feel her pulse throb in her wrists. It was too much.

The hungry biting of her neck continued. Predictably, Sammy was the fiercer, but Johnny made his share of deep red marks. He moved around to Gemma’s front, and pulled his cock out of his shorts. Jilly obediently slipped a condom onto him, and guided him into Gemma’s swollen pussy.

Gemma hung limply. She was being fucked by her favourite movie star and his fiancée, but she was spent. Each thrust made her loll and grunt; each grunt made Sammy smile. Sammy’s smile made Johnny hard. Johnny leaned over Gemma’s shoulder and kissed Sammy deeply, a genuine, warm, loving kiss for the only woman he truly adored. It had, he thought, been a thoroughly enjoyable party.

The End