It’s My Party - Sex Stories

It’s My Party

... to push my fingers into my cunt when I was going so high, but now it was a strain to keep my back curled enough to hold them there. I found myself grunting and even sweating with the exertion. Every so often I could hear Mistress J somewhere behind me laughing softly.

Finally the timer went “Ding,” and I pulled my hands out of my cunt and lay back exhausted on the floor.

“Seven,” Mistress J said flatly.

“Seven what?” I asked and she responded, “That’s how many cars drove by while slut zara was lewdly displaying her body to the world.”

I felt my body burning once again, but this time it was not the heat of lust, it was the fire of shame.

“You’ve made a mess on the floor,” Mistress J said sternly. “Go get the mop from the kitchen and clean everything up.”

I had to leave the front door open while I cleaned up the smears on the floor. Then Mistress J let me close the door. Everything basically repeated itself a day later when we ordered a pizza delivered except that it was night. I answered the door naked and paid for the pizza. The delivery boy didn’t seem surprised and acted almost like nothing was different. I gave him an extra big tip and told him to have a good night.

After he answered “I will,” and drove off, I turned and gave the pizza to Mistress J. She looked deeply into my eyes and said, “Yes, if you need it.” I flopped down onto the floor and put my feet against the open doorjamb. The explosion came even quicker. Maybe that was because I knew that ...

... with the light on I was absolutely visible to anyone who drove past. This time Mistress J didn’t make me lay there afterwards. Instead, once I had floated out of my post orgasmic high she said curtly, “Go wash your hands. Your pizza is getting cold.” I didn’t wash my hands. For some reason I wanted the smell... and taste... of my pussy to mix with the cheese and pepperoni.

I had to work all day today to get the house ready for the party while Mistress J went into town and did all the shopping. While I was cleaning, I noticed that the covers were off the chains in the arch. There was also a new piece of furniture in the living room. The coffee table was pushed over against one wall and in the middle of the room was a spanking– or fucking– bench.

After I had cleaned up the floors and dusted everything, I got out the leather cleaner and cleaned the couch and the recliner. I thought about cleaning the leather on the spanking bench. The bench itself is a padded shelf that is adjustable to match a person’s size. The very front of it drops down in case you want to get to a woman’s breasts while she is strapped to the bench. There is also leather on the small pads that you kneel on. Those narrow pads are just high enough off the ground so your feet can point down as you kneel on them. There is a gap beneath the pads so a leather restraint can be wrapped around your ankles or calf. The legs of the bench angle outward slightly to make it more stable. That also allows your wrists ...