A night of high-class humiliation

Tonight’s filth is dedicated to the truly wonderful Amy who I has give me so many blushing subby feelings this week. The setting for this erotica is a fantasy ballroom, where a kinky party is taking place and a pretty girl is getting humiliated in ways that I find very hot.

One second I’m standing there, excitement bubbling up in me like those in the flute of champagne I’m holding.   She’d helped me pick out the underwear earlier: green satin and green and blue embroidered lace. I was wearing a thin robe, white chiffon and lace, over it, with the golden bracelets on my wrist I felt glamourous and elegant.

All of that changed in a second.

“Pretty girl!” I turned quickly, spinning beneath the shining lights in the high-ceilinged ballroom, grinning at her. When I look at her, though, she’s smiling that wicked smile that has lets me know she has a devious plan in mind. All at once, there is arousal and fear, and I’m not sure how I thought this was going to be a simple evening of delightful pleasure, and not a game to make me squirm in shame.

“Did my girl think she could get away with doing whatever she wanted to? Did she forget who she belongs to? Come here.”

In one fluid movement, she’s taken the champagne glass from my hand and placed it on the tray of a passing attendant. (On another day, my eyes would have followed her across the room, because she’s in a tight corset and burlesque ruffled pants and looks gorgeous, but right now my Mistress has all of my attention.) With her other hand, she slaps my face, and I don’t understand why the stunning blow makes me so wet.

“Give me your hands,” she says, and I obey wordlessly. The gorgeous metal-link cuffs that seemed like an innocent gift when she fastened them on to my wrists earlier now become a symbol of something quite different. I hadn’t noticed the little rings on them before, rings that she was now clipping together with a narrow gold chain. My hands are cuffed together, less than six inches apart, and I look up at her as I realise how helpless I am.

And – as she smiles oh-so-sweetly at me – how much I like it.

She leans in and gently kisses the cheek she slapped, and then takes hold of the chain that joins my cuffed hands. I’m forced to walk behind her as she crosses the sparkling room, and I can feel the blush rising in my cheeks. She nods hellos to other guests as we pass them, and on one occasion stops to greet a friend. I sneak a look at the girl standing behind him, and send up a silent prayer of thanks that my Mistress has allowed me to keep some of my dignity in my bra and knickers and lacy dress, as opposed to the fishnet-body-stocking and nipple piercings my counterpart is wearing.

When their conversation turns to me, I hastily cast my eyes downwards. However, I’m not able to stop the flush that fills my cheeks as he examines me. He compliments my Mistress on how prettily I’m dressed and how obediently stand behind her. She thanks him, and makes me even redder by relating the story of the spanking I had earned two days ago. He asks her if she’ll be playing later, and when she answers yes assures her that he’ll be looking out for her at the card tables.

“Don’t worry pretty girl,” she whispers to me as they part ways, leading me to the dessert table. “I saw you looking at his sub and know you were envious of how much of her he was displaying. You’ll have your chance to undress and be exposed before the end of the evening too.”

I open my mouth to protest that really isn’t what I was thinking, but she has picked up a tiny chocolate cake and popped it into my mouth, tapping my chin so I close my mouth. She smirks at the pleading look in my eyes, and holds my eyes as she places a honey cake on her tongue and chews slowly, licking her lips. Arousal settles, low and hot, between my legs. Her smile tells me that she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. She steps closer, and uses her thumb to wipe away a smudge of chocolate on my lip. Her finger is warm on my plum lips, and for a second I think she’s going to tug on my cuffs and pull me in for a kiss.

Instead, though, she turns and walks away, but I’m so captivated that I forget how short the chain I’m on is and end up stumbling forward when she pulls. She looks at me with stern eyes, and gently lifts my head. A reminder that I am hers tonight, and any mistake on my part will reflect badly on her. I don’t want to let her down.

I follow her through the crowded room, pouting a little as she takes a glass of wine from another attendant. I’m half sure she can tell though, because she whips around and I quickly rearrange my features into a mask of innocence. At least, as much innocence as it’s possible to pretend to have when you can feel your own wetness trickling down your legs.

“I don’t think I explained how this evening works, pretty girl. It’s quite simple. To play, a dominant takes a seat at one of the tables, with their toy – that’s you – standing behind them. When I wish to make a bet or raise the stakes, I do so in terms of the number of strikes you will receive with the implement of my opponents’ choice. So, pretty girl, you’re going to have to be a good girl and take all your spankings for me.”

At this moment, we step through a curtain into a side-chamber, and the sight that greets me makes me gasp. Dominant men and women – identifiable not only because they were mostly clothed, but also by the ever-so-hot air of cool indifference they have adopted – are sitting around small tables holding cards or dice or other gaming pieces. Behind them stand their subs, stripped to their underwear and taking beatings with floggers, canes and paddles. Their cries fill the air, pain mingling with pleasure.

“As you can see, all of them are so proud to serve their owners.”

She hasn’t touched me, but I come. A hard, fast unsatisfying orgasm that rips through me with a strangled scream. Everyone is looking at me, but it’s my Mistress’ eyes I seek. She’s smiling and I feel a glow of pride.

“Such a good girl, but if you come again without permission you will regret it.”

Image sourced through Pixabay.

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