Monday, February 26, 2018

The Bell by Cam

Cam and Rob's companion stories are inspired by this image:

She takes her phone from her ear and looks at it, smiling. Tapping the screen to end the call, she looks at us both.

"I know it's a bit short notice but I'm having a little soirée tonight, boys."

"Yes Mistress," we both chime in unison, looking up at her from our kneeling position.

"I'll need service," she says. "Which of you is going to do that for me?"

"I will, Mistress," replies my fellow boy, eagerly. Perhaps he's thinking he'll get played with. I bow my head, being a little too slow off the mark.

"Good. That's settled," she says. "Go get into your maid's outfit.". He crawls on all floors out to get dressed. I watch him go, grateful for not having to wear the maid's outfit, but regretting that I'm not going to be serving.

"What would you like me to do, Mistress?" I ask, nose scraping the floor. I'm hoping it will just be a caging for the night. Boring, but not too harsh a punishment for my lack of speed.

"Oh. Well," she chuckles. "I've been meaning to get my bell fixed. How can I summon the maid without a bell? But it's still not working." She taps a finger on her chin. "I shall need...a bell boy!"

I'm puzzled by this, so I kneel upright and look at her quizzically.

"A bell boy, Mistress?"

"Yes! Stay here. No, wait...go get yourself clean and meet me back here in five minutes."

I crawl out to the bathroom, prepare myself and head back to the lounge. Mistress comes in a moment later, carrying a large metal contraption; a heavy metal plate with a pole sticking up from it, some rope and a large metal ring, about 20cm across.  She noisily thumps the plate and pole down between the two sofas and throws the ring and rope down onto one of the chairs.

She pulls a large dildo out of one pocket, and a bottle of lube out of the other. "Lube up," she commands, throwing the bottle down to the floor in front of me. While I busy myself, she screws the dildo into the top of the pole and undoes a screw, dropping it down with a loud clang.

The dildo pole is now at a height I can squat onto. It's clear what Mistress has in mind, so I position myself over the pole and slowly squat down onto the dildo, easing it into my ass.

It feels good; well lubed, and I moan softly. My brief pleasure doesn't last long though, as she grabs the pole between my legs and starts to lift, forcing me to stand. As I reach my full height, she thrusts the pole up into me until there's no chance I can get myself off. Mistress locks off the pole with a screw, leaving me impaled on the pole in the middle of the room.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she chuckles. "It's a girl's night in. So you won't be allowed to see or hear." She turns tail and heads out of the room, leaving me there. Returning a few minutes later, she cuffs my legs, chaining them together, my hands, secured behind my back, before rolling foam plugs and pushing them into my ears.  They make a crackling sound as they expand, filling my ear canal, and muffling the outside world almost completely. The hood is next, blinding me and sealing me inside, I feel a little dizzy as the laces tighten round the back of my head.

Resigned to my evening, being put out as an ornament, I'm then shocked and aroused by the feeling of her hands around my balls, as the rope is tied around them, stretching them. I can feel some weight pulling the rope taut, pulling my balls down, making them swing gently between my legs. I'm puzzled as to what this is, but cannot ask.

I drift off, alone, into subspace, and time passes. After a while, I feel the heat and presence of people in the room, some 'accidentally' brushing past me, making my cock throb and stiffen. I wonder what's going to happen, and why I've been placed on display in the middle of the room.

Things get imperceptibly louder inside the hood, within the earplugs. Several people in the room. Suddenly, there's a sharp pain in my crotch. Someone pulled hard on the rope. I howl in pain. Moments later, I dimly hear the clink of glasses.

More time passes, terminated by another sharp pull, another yell. And again the muffled tinkle of glasses.

The evening is punctuated by yanks on my balls, my yells filling my hood. It slowly dawns on me.

I am the bell.


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