The gleam in her eye speaks of an even deeper level of diabolicalness.
I’m not clear on the specifics on the plan, only that there needs to be more rope. Whatever Miss Kitty’s evil switchy twin has dreamt up must be particularly cruel and unusual as she’s now practically bouncing with the excitement of worsening my predicament.
My continued attempts to hide my shame face prove as futile as they have from the start. My wrists are bound to the ceiling, stretching me out, making it impossible to conceal my blushes.
As she calls on the assistance of Lien and they both come towards me I drop my gaze to the floor. Overwhelmingly aware that once again, everyone else in the room is fully clothed and decent.
I’m naked, vulnerable and exposed.
I don’t even try to squirm away; I know I’m held fast. Securely lashed, both to the ceiling by my wrists and to the walls by my thighs, rope tied firmly around each one. My ankles are fixed by a spreader bar holding my legs apart. I’m on display.
There are splashes of my own filth around my feet, puddles of shame that glisten on the floorboards as I fix my eyes down there, away from the activity in front of me. More rope is being added to the rig, looped up and around and placed into her hands.
I couldn’t help making a mess. The spreader bar is attached to a dildo, a large one that is still inside me and must stay inside. She’d forced me to squat on it, a show for our friends. “Come on, you’re always saying you should do all the squats…show us…”
Repeated penetration, over and over until I couldn’t help but lose myself: my animal noises filling the room. The metal bar that’s forcing my legs open slams noisily against the floor as I judder uncontrollably, stamping my heels.
I’d pushed it out during one particularly explosive climax, the upright bar clattering to the floor, adding to the crescendo. She’d reprimanded me, forced it back inside with a warning. “Push it out again and it’s going in your arse…and there’s no lube…” pausing to photograph my petulant face, pouting at her threats.
She means it. She will push me and she knows I’ll do as I’m told. This was all her idea to begin with; her simple suggestion “We should get the impaler” has turned into an exhibition, a show for the audience.
I look up and try to catch her eye, to figure out what devious plot she is realising but she backs away from me and towards the sofa, still holding the rope in her hand. Her sadistic glee face makes me both dread what’s coming and go gooey with adoration.
She’s a genius, and she’s using her genius to torment me, lucky me.
The thought is drowned out by the flush of humiliation as I feel movement.
The dildo is moving inside me.
She’s fucking me.
She’s fucking me from the comfort of the sofa, beaming at her own ingenuity and relishing watching me squirm as I realise what she’s done.
Evil kitty has rigged up a pulley system. The rope attached to the impaler loops up and over the suspension point, giving her complete control of my violation.
She continues to fuck me with a steady determined pace, watching my vain attempts to squirm away, hide and deny what’s happening. I am completely immobilised and being fucked for a crowd. A crowd that are now playing an interactive part in my humiliation as the rope is passed from person to person.
Each one fucks me by proxy with their own unique style, tugging repeatedly on the rope handle and looking suitably impressed at the skill Evil Kitty has engineered. I avoid eye contact, certain my shame face is burning like a furnace, heating the room. Trying and failing to control the orgasms being forced out of my body. Each one her doing, displayed as her fuck toy, impaled, for her entertainment.