Our Entertainment. The dining room buzzes with chatter and the clink of wine glasses as you step inside. Your eyes snag on it immediately... your seat. It’s parked at the head of the table, a sleek, sturdy thing with a matte black finish, and jutting up from the chair is a thick, glossy dildo, shameless and impossible to ignore. My friends are already here, interspersed around the table, half drunk and grinning, their curiosity pinging between me and that obscene piece of furniture.
"What’s with the setup?" one of them asks, jerking his chin toward the chair. His smirk says he’s already got a guess.
I don’t dodge it. "It’s for her," I say, locking eyes with you. "Keeps her cunt busy while we drink. She’s the night’s entertainment."
Their laughter ripples through the room, and you feel the heat crawl up your neck. You’re still standing there, frozen for a second, but I nod towards it. "Go on. Sit."
You hesitate, but the pull’s too strong — my voice, their stares, the promise of what's waiting for you. You ease yourself down, and the dildo slides in slow, stretching you open with a dull, insistent pressure. A ragged little sound slips out of you, and someone across the table snickers. I work quickly, looping rope around your wrists and ankles, tethering you to the chair’s frame. Your arms flex, testing the give, but there’s none. Your legs are splayed, locked wide, and that dildo’s buried deep now, pinning you in place.
"Can’t have you pawing at yourself," I say, loud enough for everyone to hear. “That'd ruin the fun.”
I step back, letting them see you. All of you. Your thighs twitch, muscles jumping under your skin as you adjust to the fullness. I dip my fingers between your legs, brushing the edge of where the dildo’s sunk into you, and pull them back glistening. "Look at that," I say, holding up the evidence. "Soaked already!"
They lean in, eyes glinting, and the questions start flying at you. "Does it feel good?" one asks, teasing. "You like being stuck like that?" Another chimes in, as if he's just discussing the weather.
You try to answer, but your words come out fragmented, sliced up by the shudders rolling through you. "It’s... mmphhh... it’s a lot," you manage, and then your breath gets caught as the first orgasm slams into you, yet another uninvited guest. Your head tips back, lips parting, and a moan spills out, raw and loud. The table erupts with laughter, a few claps, someone muttering, "Wow, that fast?"
I don’t let you settle. I circle behind you, resting my hands on your shoulders, and nod at the man closest. "Go ahead. Touch her." He doesn’t need telling twice. His fingers graze your chest, finding a nipple and tugging hard. You yelp, a high, desperate sound, and your body jerks against the ropes. Another hand joins in — someone’s pressing two fingers into your mouth, sliding them along your tongue. You choke a little, drool pooling at the corners, and they laugh at you, delighted.
"She’s a mess," they say, impressed. "You trained her well."
"She’s a good fuck doll," I agree, casual as anything. "Watch this." I remove their fingers, grip your jaw, tilting your head back, and shove my cock into your mouth. You whimper; eyes glassy. "See? She’ll take whatever you give her."
You’re fighting the restraints now, hips shifting, chasing friction that isn’t there. The initial entrance pushed you to orgasm, but now that you’ve settled in, it’s not enough. The dildo is filling you up but not moving, not giving you what you need. It’s maddening, and I can tell. I see your breath turn shallow, the way your fingers curl into fists. I love it. They love it. The whole room is feeding off your desperation.
Another hand snakes out, latching onto one of your nipples, pinching it tight and rolling it slow between their fingertips. Your moan comes out choked, garbled around my thick cock shoved deep in your mouth. "She’s loud," one says, grinning at me. "Is that the only way you can shut her up?"
"Pretty much," I say back, voice flat and smug. "Only keeps quiet when I’ve got her throat stuffed" That earns a burst of rowdy yells, glasses clinking in approval. "Don’t be shy now, I’m the only one that can fuck her, but you all can touch!"
And just like that, they swarm you. Hands everywhere, a frenzy of grabbing, stroking, yanking at your skin. Fingers are digging into your thighs, palms smacking your chest, someone raking nails down your side. It’s a flood of sensation, too much to track, hitting you like a shockwave that leaves you squirming, ropes creaking as you strain against them.
You’re trembling now, sweat beading on your forehead, and I can see the strain in your arms as you pull against the ropes. Another orgasm is building. Your thighs clenching, the little gasps you can’t hold back. Even more of the tells that I've learned to track. "Go on," I mutter. "Show them how greedy you are." It hits you hard, your whole body locking up as you cum again, a strangled cry breaking free. The table’s a chaos of noise. More cheers, filthy comments, a fist on the table. You’re panting, chest heaving, and I slide a hand down between your legs, stopping just short of where you want it. "Good girl," I say, voice carrying over the racket. "Keeping us entertained."
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