There was a kneeling bench free and I wanted to be tied down to it. We stood around trying to figure out how to tie a rope so that it would go through my ass crack and also tie me to the loops at the bottom of the bench. Mister Hazel Eyes flagged down the DM/rope teacher, who, with a few deft loops and ties, ran the rope around my waist and through my crotch, leaving tails to tie me to the bench with. Fantastic. Except I should’ve taken my shorts off first—of course I was wearing adorable purple undies.
I knelt down and Mister Hazel Eyes tied me to the bench. The ropes made a handle so that he could pull the crotch rope back and forth, rubbing up against my clit and ass. I’ve never been vocal in a public scene before, but MHE knows how to get gorgeous moans out of me as he’d tug, spank, tug, spank. I buried my face in my blanket, on top of the bench cushion, which smelled unpleasantly of cigarettes. He pulled and pushed and whacked all kinds of lovely oohs and aaaaahs and oofs and sighs.
A crowd gathered nearby, whether by choice or by coincidence, so I leaned up as much as I could and asked him to get my blindfold. It’s a soft, cottony light pink scarf, and before he tied it on, he ran it up and down my back, sweet and gentle. He bent his head down to kiss me and then knotted the scarf through my hair, an interesting touch.
Now, between good, hard spanks, (This was the most pain I’ve taken since Bill, although I’m sure it seems very mild to most of my fellow bottoms.) his fingers worked between my legs, over the underwear so that it was (I think) still within the party’s rules, but it was the dirtiest I’ve ever (recreationally) felt. It was AWESOME. It was PERFECT. I was being such a very, very bad girl. A hard thwack and then his fingers insistent on my clit, a stab of shame, of getting away with something terrible, the exhilarating humiliation I’d been dying for. They could all see his hands between my legs. I wasn’t sure if we’d get in trouble, but I sure wasn’t going to stop him.
“You know how much I want to fuck you, make love to you? How much I adore you?”
Make love to me? I don’t think I’ve ever had that said to me as an adult. I have a knee-jerk ironic reaction to it, but it’s really so naïve and sweet. Jeez I’m gonna miss him if he’s gone.
“You’re so beautiful; I don’t think you know how much you turn me on, how much I want you. You are so fucking hot and everybody’s looking at you. You put on a good show.”
He stood in front of the bench and pulled me up into his arms to kiss me. I was still topless so his body felt protective. We were perfectly in sync and I felt happily famous with everybody watching, a moment of true connection. I was filled up with him, humming and jittering with desire and affection. I loved feeling so attended to and cared for.
I made a little hint of a struggle, a false play at getting away. He pushed my head down onto the kneeler, grabbed my hair and held my head still. I let out a long, low groan; this was exactly what I wanted. He held my arm behind my back, pulled my hair, kissed my cheek.
“Yeah, you like that? Are you gonna be good?”
He unraveled my blindfold from my hair and used it to tie my wrists back. I checked my thumbs to make sure that my nerves were okay. He spanked some more, harder and harder, with more and more insistent fingers between my legs, the fabric making me hurt and raw. He stood against me so that I could feel how hard his cock was. He held out my wine so that I could drink it without my hands. I did feel adored. I felt his undivided attention without trouble or worry. I felt like he was mine and mine forever in that moment. Nothing can ever change what was happening, even if we never see each other again, I belonged to him and we were a perfect work of art, no matter what happens next.
Next: I think I figured out what this story is about.