It’s early, guests still arriving, music on low, small talk being exchanged, costumes admired.
“Have you been here before? No…well, this is the dungeon and over there the medical room, put your drinks behind the bar…”
I’m sure it’s wrong to already be in this predicament.
I try to focus on drowning out the sounds of the party, my denial working to persuade me that this is perfectly normal, my dress is a perfectly acceptable length and I’m not at all exposed to every new person who enters the room.
My denial is a liar.
Not that it matters if I’m blushing anyway; no one can see my face, bent at the hips, nose against my knees, arse in the air.
I give one more pathetic attempt to dislodge the hand around my neck and return to standing but I’m held fast. Friends around me continuing with their polite chit chat, ignoring the squirming girl and her whimpering.
They have the benefit of acting in accordance with party etiquette, catching up over drinks before negotiating and finding space for a scene. All in good time. Not immediately on arrival in jarring contrast with new-comers still easing into the party vibe.
But then it’s to be expected of me, isn’t it? Filthy slut-puppy
Whipped upright in a heady spin I find myself still unable to move, sandwiched between two bodies and face to face with a barrage of slurs confirming that yes, this is exactly what people expect of me.
“Dirty girl, everyone can see you as they come in. Everyone’s looking at your cunt. You’re pure filth, you know that…?”
An unrelenting monologue that drowns out my denial until I am made of squirm and objections.
Fingers force their way inside, roughly penetrating me from both sides. They use their free hands to keep me held in place as I writhe against the pressure, unable to dislodge either of them. My body’s pleasure response at odds with the humiliation washing over me like cold water, desperate for them to stop.
I am a noisy bundle of “no” that is suitably ignored. I am theirs to make a spectacle of, to provide entertainment for the guests.
I can’t deny my arousal any more than I can deny how clearly I see the faces of friends smirking at my circumstance, amused by my plight.
“I can feel his fingers grinding against mine” his words inject me with fresh shame and I drop my head, aiming to distance myself from his gleeful expression at this new discovery.
“Look at me” a demand forced out of me with a hand round my neck. I know what’s coming but brace too late, showered with his spit directly into my pouting face.
“Can you feel it convulse when I do that?”
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it? I think it likes it….”
Their conversation continues over my head. It’s about me, not for me. I’ve been reduced to a plaything, just an object, push this button, see what reaction you can get. Can everyone see? Look what we made it do. Oh it’s struggling to get away. How cute.
The room is filling up. I catch glimpses as I thrash, trying to move my head away from the fingers that are now invading my mouth. The digits forced down on my tongue muffling my moans. Three holes filled up like a good like whore.
He tells me so, they both do. Drawing attention to my misfortune. Streams of words highlighting my humiliation. Everyone at this party now knows what a cheap dirty slut I am, letting boys put their fingers anywhere, covering me in their spit, displaying me for all new arrivals. They keep talking at me as their hands slip away, wet fingers leaving trails on my thighs, moistened by my treacherous arousal.
In that moment of relative quiet I catch the eye of a friend who waves, giggles and raises her eyebrows with a look that is equal parts “lucky you” and “filth-puppy” I blush and squirm and awkwardly return her wave, quite unsure of whether this is an offence that will see me subjected to more punishment.
I needn’t have worried because focus is elsewhere. Focus has been taken to the alien object being forcibly inserted. Something hard but forgiving, bending slightly as it enters my cunt. A movement at my back starts to force it up and down, fucking me with…what is that?
I realise. I work it out and I want to be swallowed up by the floor. Have it open into a vortex and suck me away from the scrutiny of everyone in the room.
I’m being fucked with my own fancy-dress costume.
Violation of the ‘evil fairy’, penetrated by the bottom of her own wings.
I become very aware that I have the rest of the night to walk around with my costume smeared in my own juices. Maybe it’s because they tell me so, the voices are blurring into one and I’m only picking up snippets too focussed on fighting not get off on what’s happening…and failing.
I hear one voice above the others, a warm familiar, slut-puppy supportive “I could hear her and knew where she was…“ My noises renowned and celebrated in a sex-positive environment.
Welcome to the party, it seems I’ve got it started.