“Hi, I’m Rachel, and yeah… I guess you can call me a sex addict,” I giggled as I looked at the expectant faces surrounding me.

I thought about that statement for a minute. Of course, I’d never called myself a sex addict out loud, but the idea of it sounded almost kind of sexy. Of course I knew I was supposed to be all serious standing there in the classroom at The Belleview Retreat for Sexual Health. But really, how can you find the seriousness of group therapy at all?

They were a miscellaneous collection of odd personalities from different walks of life sharing intimate and intense details of their sex lives with complete strangers. And we were supposed to be listening with rapt concentration, pretending that we were learning from all these stories, when it was clear that everyone was just getting more and more turned on. Three girls had already given their confessions before mine and they all seemed distracted, as though they were mentally reliving their own stories whenever there was a lull in the classroom or when we were on break. It seemed like sharing them out loud had given them life again, which seemed to be somewhat counterproductive to the point of therapy. It was a highly undisciplined group, and I guess that was where I saw the fun in it. The subtle flirting and long glances kept a high level of sexual tension in the room.

I was about to begin introducing myself when the unmistakable hum of a buzzing vibration broke the silence. Everyone began looking at each other with wide eyes and I could hear the various protests of “don’t look at me, it’s not me” ripple through the crowd.

“Wow, did someone bring their vibrator to class?” Brooklyn finally said with a sarcastic laugh. The edgy brunette was the owner of her own sex shop, and she certainly seemed to know her toys.

“Uhm, nah not a vibrator,” came the voice from the least vocal member of the classroom. “Blackberry,” he said, casually reaching into his pocket to check the screen display. “Can I take this?”

“No Dexter, you may certainly not take it,” Dr Clark, our resident therapist, snapped. “Now let’s redirect out attention to Rachel, shall we.”

The offending member of our therapy group gave a rueful grin and stuffed it back into his pocket and pulled his cap down lower over his face. With his dark sunglasses that he refused to take off and his mysterious aura combined with a certain kind of standoffish arrogance, he definitely seemed to be the outsider of the group.

I might have been the only one that was intrigued rather than put off by him. I had always felt like an outside myself while I was growing up.

“Now Rachel, why don’t you give us an idea of who you are.”

I sighed and shuffled back and forth on my feet, wondering how exactly I was supposed to define myself to these strangers. Certainly there was the Rachel that they’d see just from outward appearances that was very different from the darker personality inside. I was a petite girl, a little over five feet tall with big blue animated eyes and an infectious laugh that some people tell me sounds deceptively innocent until they get to know me. I was born a blonde, but often colored my hair at whim to suit my mood, and now it was a fiery red and spilled just over my shoulders in waves. I liked being a chameleon of sorts that way. It helped disguise the real Rachel, because in the world I lived in, the real Rachel held no valid place.

I remembered when my father, the esteemed politician who had ambitions to run for Governor saw me come home from school one day with black spiky hair and a crystal nose-ring.

“No daughter of mine is going to run around like some kind of punk kid,” he had roared. “Haven’t you ever stopped to think how this will reflect on me and my campaign?”

I smirked to myself as I remembered that moment because certainly a daughter with a goth-punk look would be the least of his worries once I was done with exploring the darker side of my personality.

“You were such a lovely sweet little blonde angel when you were younger,” he would say in a softer tone. “Where has that girl gone? No more costumes and piercings and trying to be something that you are not. Be who you are, Rachel, don’t hide behind these masks.”

Of course I would refrain from explaining the irony of the situation. That sweet little blonde princess he wanted me to be had been the biggest charade of all. Most of my high school years had been confusing times for me, having to live the farce of being the socialite daughter of an important political figure. My family was conservative and well bred, and always played by the rules. Unfortunately being the youngest of three girls, dirty little Rachel, did not.

I started to tell the class about my teenage years surfing BDSM websites and alternative porn online and my renowned bisexuality among the girls at the sorority my mother had insisted I join. I carefully hid every aspect of my secret life. My computer was password protected and I had a hollowed out bench that sat by my bedroom windowsill where I stored all the things I knew they wouldn’t approve of. My sex toys, some pot and ecstasy tabs, a few wigs and role-play costumes, and fishnets and black latex panties with the nipple clamps. To say that I couldn’t find what I sexually craved in our conservative community was an understatement.

But things changed the day that I saw the profile on the alternative sex site I frequented.

“Highly discriminating couple seeks obedient slut willing to devote herself to our pleasure and demands for one night of ultra-hedonistic slavery beyond her wildest imagination at our annual Nuit Noir Party. Obedient whores who are interested should be petite, beautiful, with a sybaritic spirit and well inclined to the pursuit of extremes.”

I had soaked my panties well before I had finished reading the posting, and my mind began to spin as it always did, considering all of the delicious implications. At the time, I didn’t even know what my limitations where (if any), but the idea of submitting myself to the unknown had heightened my curiosity. Like a cat playing with a ball of string, I was immediately lured into the fantasy.

Back in the classroom at the treatment centre, our therapist seemed perplexed.

“So, you were willing to just forgo any thoughts to safety and logical reasoning,” Dr Clark deduced. She therapist crossed her long legs and looked down at the note pad she was writing on. She seemed suddenly uncomfortable, as though not wanting to meet my eyes. “Well, that’s a classic sign of a sex addict,” she went on hastily. “The willingness to pursue one’s own pleasure at the cost of everything else.”

“Well I didn’t know the final cost of my decision, Dr Clark,” I reminded her. “Not until that night was over. Sometimes I think about whether I regret responding to that ad. But if you want to know the real truth, I don’t. It was the dirtiest and most erotic night of my life.”

Dr Clark drew in her breath, and I watched her subtle movements with wide-eyed amusement as she shifted in the chair she was sitting on. I couldn’t believe it! She was turned on by my admission!

“Well, I guess we’ll have to hear your account of this… party,” she conceded, “before we consider the concept of regret.”

I opened the diary notebook we had been told to write our confessions into during orientation, and stared down at my girly scrawl. My pussy began to throb in instant response to seeing those words and knowing I was going to relive the story again by reading it aloud. The panties in my low-slung jeans were wet and I could feel the material rubbing deliciously against my clit, wishing I could slide one hand down the front of my jeans and masturbate while I told my tale. I guess I was an exhibitionist that way. And certainly that was part of what had made The Nuit Noir as intensely erotic as it had turned out to be.

I took a deep breath and began to read.

After responding to that online ad, and corresponding with the couple on MSN, we traded photos and eventually talked over the phone. It had become clear that I was meant to be their sex slut that night. The deep commanding baritone of Conrad’s voice had tapped into my inner submissive side, and I was ready to devote myself to whatever their plans might be. He was pleased with the fact that I didn’t ask too many questions.

“The key is to not question pleasure, but to submit to the experience,” he had said. “When you place limitations and clauses on this pursuit, then you miss the startling beauty of it. The ‘not knowing’ should always be part of the thrill.”

I had listened breathlessly on the phone while he detailed my instructions. I was intrigued by the location he gave to an exclusive part of town about an hour away from the city that housed the estates of the wealthy. Clearly they were in a far different echelon than my own family’s upper class roots. Beyond that the instructions were simple. I was to arrive at dusk, and from there, the transformation would begin.

“From the moment you step inside our world, remember that we own you for that night; your body, your desires, and even your moral compass. You will submit to our demands and become our whore. And in turn we will provide you with pleasures you have only ever dreamed of. But for the seven days leading up to this night, you are not to touch yourself or even so much as entertain the idea of an orgasm. You will submit your entire sexuality to us, ripe and unaffected.”

And indeed, during the nights leading up to The Nuit Noir, all I did was dream of what might happen. I was in a constant state of arousal. I didn’t dare masturbate for fear they would somehow know, even though I knew it was irrational to think such things. Yet there was something about Conrad’s demeanor that conveyed a sense of power that went beyond anything I’d known before. It was as intimidating as it was exciting.

On the night of the party I snuck out of the house and went to a local coffee shop to wait for the limo that was to pick me up and take me out to the estate. I didn’t want to risk any member of my family seeing me. He said there would be something for me to wear once I arrived, so I was dressed indiscriminately in jeans and a tight black sweater, with my finger and toenails painted blue, and my red hair straight and slithering over my shoulders like a curtain of silk. My nerves were on edge, making me jittery on the ride through the city. The unexpected offered a sense of titillation but also a sense of anxiety. I had no idea what to expect, other than taking that first step into their world and knowing I had agreed to do anything they demanded of me. I would become their sexual plaything, but in reality what did that even mean? I could feel my heart pounding as we pulled into the long expansive driveway of one of the most exclusive estates I had ever seen. The house was large and imposing, made of dark brick with windows covered with ornate wrought iron bars. I felt even smaller and more vulnerable as I made my way up the cobblestone walkway. I lifted the doorknocker and let it fall with a loud thud, making me take a few steps back, anticipating what was to come.

The door opened slowly and there they stood, with slow easy smiles on their faces, as though their prey had just arrived at their lair. Conrad was an imposing man at just over six feet tall, strong, and with a musculature that reminded me of someone that might have once been in the military. He appeared to be his late thirties, and had a hard dominant energy about him, something that seemed far more masculine and overwhelming in person, than had been apparent in his photos. He had very short dark blonde hair and startling blue eyes, and wore dark pants and a black crew necked shirt that showed off the definition in his arms and chest. He spoke with a faint German accent, as did his wife Tamara who lingered behind him. She seemed close to the same age, if not slightly older, but was strikingly beautiful in an intimidating way. She was sinewy and long limbed, like an ex European fashion model with her short jet black hair and heavy bangs and perfect ruby-stained lips.

She smiled when she saw me, but I sensed that it was a smile meant to elicit discomfort rather than reassurance.

“We’re going to have fun playing with you tonight.”

Conrad moved back, and invited me to walk inside. Reluctantly I looked behind me as the cool October air swirled around me and rustled leaves along the grass. I don’t know what I was looking for, in retrospect. Maybe I was hoping for a sign, or maybe I was just stalling for time. Yet the limo had already pulled away and there was no turning back now. I took a deep breath and reluctantly stepped inside their world.

The house was expansive and opulent and I could almost hear an echo as I walked behind them in my silver stiletto sandals. I watched the deliberate sway of Tamara’s willowy figure in her black patent leather boots that put her almost at the same height as Conrad. I felt diminutive in their presence, further emphasizing the absence of any physical control I had over the situation, even if I were to change my mind along the way.

“First you’ll hear the rules,” Tamara said throwing me a glance over her shoulder. “You are only to speak when spoken to, and your interaction with our guests will otherwise be physical and initiated by them or one of us.”

They led me into the library that was set with dark mahogany wood and walled with heavy bookcases. The space was lit by candle sconces and a blazing fireplace, throwing off enough heat to warm me in the otherwise cold estate. Tamara leaned against the desk and appraised me thoughtfully before perching herself on the end of it and crossing her long slender legs.

“You’re a tiny little thing aren’t you,” she said as she raked her pale blue eyes over my body. “I’ll bet you’re tight in all the right places too.”

A blush spread across my cheeks, as I stood there awkwardly in the room, uncertain as to what I was supposed to do. I tilted my chin downward, and glanced up at her submissively through long lashes. I could feel the dampness in my panties beginning to spread as Conrad deliberately walked in circles around me, appraising my every curve.

“Yes, as my wife has already wisely assessed, you are a striking little thing. Almost like a pixie or woodland sprite. It’s almost as though you were hand drawn by an artist to the exact specifications of what we wanted tonight.”

His hand reached out to stroke my flame red hair thoughtfully for a moment. “Now Rachel, we’re going to have to prepare you for the party.” He stopped to grin at me wickedly before tilting my chin upward to meet his steely blue eyes. “Take off your clothes.”

I could feel the tightness in my belly burning its way down to my pussy that felt electric with anticipation. I don’t know what I had been expecting, but as he stepped away from me to watch just as intently as his wife, I could feel my body reacting in response to their demands. There was a vulnerability to being naked, and I knew they wanted to establish their dominance immediately.

I unbuttoned my jeans and slowly slid them down over the narrow curve of my hips, revealing the tiny royal blue bikini panties beneath that were already quickly soaking through. I slid my jeans off as gracefully as I could manage, unnerved by the way they watched me, as though I was the most fascinating thing they had ever seen.

My breasts were firm and upturned with pert pink nipples that always seemed hard. They jutted out defiantly, as though seeking to be noticed. For that reason, I hadn’t bothered with a bra that day, and in one movement, I quickly removed my top until I was standing there in just my panties.

“Take off everything,” Tamara commanded before I had time to second-guess the original instructions.

My panties were soaked and I was conscious of no longer having anything to stop those juices from running down my thighs, which was probably their intention. I slid them off, and set them down beside my clothes on the floor. I began to turn around slowly as Conrad motioned for me to do, showing them my smooth bare pussy and round firm heart-shaped ass.

“Very nice Rachel,” Conrad said approvingly. “Now get on your knees.”

Obediently I sank down in front of them and sat back on my ankles, feeling the flames from the fireplace warming my naked body. Tamara took something out of a black velvet bag on the library desk and I watched it glimmer seductively in the dim lighting. It was a silver collar trimmed in what looked like diamonds and a long matching leash. She walked towards me purposefully and slid the collar around my neck, pulling it just tight enough for me to feel it squeezing at my soft skin.

“A little slut like you won’t be roaming free tonight. No, we prefer our pets to be kept collared and leashed, and caged when unattended.” She raised an eyebrow for dramatic effect when she felt me squirm at the mention of a cage. “Are you clear about the rules?”

“Yes,” I whispered meekly, feeling the wetness coating the folds of my pussy, and feeling distinctly slippery with juices as I crawled after her obediently. She tugged on the leash, forcing me to keep moving down the long hallway as Conrad watched my bare ass from behind. She led me into what looked like a ballroom with dark marble floors. There was a bar set up and chaise lounges upholstered in rich velvet tapestries. I tried to take in more of my surroundings but every time I moved my head, Tamara snapped the leash and I could feel the bite of the collar tighten around my neck.

“Eyes forward, little slut,” she demanded.

In the centre of the room was a small gold-colored cage, barred on all four sides, and not unlike a crate one would use for an animal.

She led me up to it and then stopped as Conrad moved to open the door, signaling that I was to crawl inside. Anxiety and arousal combined to flame within me and my heart was pounding loudly in my ears. With obedient trust in their intentions, I found myself crawling naked into the cage. The metal felt cold under my knees and I positioned them on the two small wooden slats that were obviously meant for that purpose. I looked out at my captors through the gold bars, hearing the latch close behind me, and effectively imprisoning me within it.

“We still have preparations to make,” Conrad explained. “So we’ll leave you to anticipate what the evening holds ahead.”

He threw a large dark covering over the cage of a thin breathable fabric that mostly blocked out my ability to see anything around me, and for a moment I felt panicked by the sudden sensory deprivation. I could hear the sound of their shoes over the floor as they left me alone in the room. I knelt there, quiet with only my thoughts to distract me. My hands impulsively slid down to my wet pussy, slippery with juices, trying to resist the urge to rub my clit. I was already turned on, alive with energy and excitement and the waiting and orgasm denial suddenly felt excruciating.

I don’t know how long I was in that cage, but eventually I began to hear noises as people began to enter the space surrounding me. There were heels clicking against the marble floors, and hushed voices and conversations going on around me, some in languages that I couldn’t understand. The dark tribal house beats began to flood the room, creating a heavy rhythm that seemed to elevate my heart rate and instinctively create a kind of tightness in my belly. The music was aggressive and intense, and would potentially frame the activities of the evening. But what kind of evening awaited me? I had given myself over to become an enslaved slut; a spectacle for their hedonistic entertainment, but I still had no idea how far things would really go. It was a leap of faith I had taken. But I realized that without taking chances like these, how else can we really feel alive?

Finally I could hear movement close to my cage and the sound of metal latches clicking together and I drew in my breath sharply as I suddenly felt the cage suddenly start to move. I yelped and grabbed hold of the bars on either side of me as a surge of adrenaline rushed through my veins. I saw the ground pulling away from me through the floor of the cage and I realized it was being hoisted into the air by some kind of mechanical pulley. My breathing became rapid as my uncertainty began to grow. I steadied my knees on the wooden rests on the bottom of the cage. Because of my small stature and their placement, they were set far enough apart to force my thighs to spread in order to stay on them. Finally, the cage reached a height of just over six feet off the floor, and without warning the covering of the cage was pulled away. I blinked several times, trying to adjust to the sudden assault of visual stimuli surrounding me.

The room was alive with a blur of faces all staring up at me. I couldn’t count how many of them there were, with all the men dressed in crisp tuxedos and the women in identical provocative black silk dresses. The dresses were backless, with the fabric loosely attached to round silver cable-necklaces that narrowed and slithered down between their breasts, leaving them completely bare, before widening again to drape around their hips in short liquid black skirts.

They stared up at me with a combination of amusement and desire, and I froze, naked and vulnerable, imprisoned in this gold birdcage suspended from the ceiling. Flutes of champagne were nonchalantly being passed out among the guests and the heavy bass of the music continued to flood the darkened room that was centrally lit with soft spotlights that at that moment seemed focused entirely on me. The cage swung just slightly back and forth with the after effects of the momentum of its rise off the floor. It seemed to tease the party-goers, like a dangling plum being waved back and forth just over their greedy tongues.

As nerves began to prickle the back of my neck, I suddenly saw a face appear below me, between my legs.

Conrad smiled wickedly up at me, and I gasped audibly.

“Oh my god,” I cried with panic.

“Shut that pretty mouth,” he snapped, grabbing both sides of the cage to steady it as it swung just above his face. He moved in closer, as though to inspect my pussy as it hovered just above the bars of the cage floor. “Show me.”

I felt my skin flush under the watchful and expectant eyes of the spectators surrounding us, and his obscene demands. My hands slid down to the smooth lips of my cunt and I spread the labia apart, giving him a view of my juicy pink folds and my stiff little clit that began to throb under his intense gaze. My breathing quickened. It was a heady combination of feeling vulnerable and yet still having an overwhelming desire to be the object of his sexual desires and demands. One of his hands left the edge of the cage and moved closer to the heat of my sex. Reaching into the cage with two fingers I felt the first touch of his fingers as he began to leisurely run them along the length of my exposed slit.

Having obediently refrained from pleasuring myself for a week, my eyelids fluttered, half-lidded with lust and need that felt like it was balled up tight within my belly. Instinctively I pushed myself down against his probing fingers, and with a teasing grin, he began to move his fingers away just enough to keep me frustrated and wanting more. I gripped the sides of the cage and spread my thighs further apart, lewdly trying to find a way to press my cunt towards him. He seemed to delight in my torment, watching me wriggle in that cage, desperate for some kind of sexual release.

Finally I could feel the cold bars of metal against either side of my mound, and the flesh of my labia pushing through the space in between. He seemed pleased by my eagerness, having coaxed me like a baited animal.

“Good girl,” he said approvingly.

Then, in one quick movement he gripped both sides of the cage and moved until I felt the long thickness of his tongue engulf my little pussy in one quick movement. I felt my entire body shudder, as I exhaled a long tortured moan. Eagerly I began to grind my cunt against his mouth, his invasive tongue wasting no time pushing into the core of my wetness. He began to deliberately tongue-fuck me with a length and thickness and seemed to know no bounds. I could feel my juices dripping freely and covering his lips and face as he relentlessly thrust into me. My eyes closed and I tilted my head back, reveling in each sensation. I moved against him as well as I could despite the bars between us that dug into my flesh because of my enthusiasm to achieve the release I desired.

Somewhere beyond the rush of pleasure of the moment I could see Tamara standing nearby, watching the scene unfold with an unusual kind of focus. There was obviously a perverse pleasure she enjoyed as she watched her husband devour my dripping pussy between the bars of that cage.

“Are you enjoying that, little slut?” she mused, taking a sip of champagne.

“Yes,” I gasped, boldly continuing to grind against his lips, eager for his tongue even as she watched us.

She smiled, her red lips curling with a slow kind of satisfaction. “This is just a taste of what’s to come, so to speak. But let it be known, you will not fare well if you indulge in selfish orgasms. You are not to come until I allow it. Bare that in mind as our guests play with you.”

“B..but… what if I can’t help it?” I stammered.

“It’s all a learning experience Rachel,” she assured me. “It’s about restraint. We’re all in gilded cages, aren’t we? We’re all told forced to subdue our passions and desires in life by one thing or another. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” I said meekly, thinking of my father’s rules and how I had always been held captive by his expectations.

“Isn’t that why you sought us out in the first place, Rachel?”

Somehow I couldn’t find the right words.

“Imprisonment of lust is very much like this cage that holds you now,” she continued smoothly. “Think of it as the training of your willpower. And remember that a good student will always get her reward… when the timing is right.”

Suddenly I felt the cool air against my pussy as Conrad stepped away from the cage and I was left alone in the centre of the room, suspended from the ceiling by cables, at the mercy of whatever perverse lessons they intended me to learn.

As the music began to pulse through the room, louder and more urgently, I saw guests begin to come closer to the cage, not with curiosity, but with assured purpose. My hands gripped the side bars, white-knuckled as frissons of excitement rippled through me. They circled me like sharks in an open ocean and the cage swung gently from side to side for a few moments as each contemplated making the first move.

Finally I felt the cage seized by strong hands as a tall powerful looking man appeared beneath me, pulling the bars towards his face. The motion caused my thighs to splay out again and my pussy to push against the bottom row of bars, enough for his tongue to quickly find my wet folds in an urgent and aggressive way. I felt my entire body come alive with desire to be touched, licked, sucked and teased by the faces and hands of the surrounding guests that had come closer to watch. They were licking their lips as they awaited their turn.

As the cage was moved lower on the pulley system of cables, I became accessible to more eager guests. Beautiful women, their naked breasts swinging and jiggling freely in those silk dresses came closer to reach into the cage with small hands. I could hear their soft sighs as they touched my nipples, flicking them with long fingernails and rubbing the hard little nubs. They were insatiable with their desire to explore my body, reaching in as far as they could and then drawing my fingers into their mouths, sucking on them like carnivorous Sapphic beings. I felt hot little mouths on my toes being pulled through the sides of the bars, as men and women took turns under the cage licking my pussy and devouring the endless flow of juices that rushed from my over-excited cunt. I felt pulled in so many directions with the cage being the only thing to secure me in one place, the over stimulation causing me to lapse into a kind of drunken hedonistic haze of pleasure. I was no longer concerned with who was doing what but just that I was being touched and teased and sucked and penetrated with tongues and fingers.

Slender dildos were passed around next, and they too found their way into the cage. They easily slipped into my slick pussy and then were passed to someone else to push through the front bars of the cage into my small eager mouth that opened immediately, welcoming the taste of my warm sweet juices.. One beautiful girl with a cascading mane of long blonde hair took a toy that had been dipped into my snatch and used it to slide over her exposed nipples. They were stiff and swollen, and when she pressed herself against the cool metal of the bars, my lips were drawn towards them like a bee to a budding flower. I licked my own nectar off her nipples and heard her pleasured sighs as I sucked them into my mouth, her soft flesh pressing into the bars eagerly.

I don’t know how long I spent in that suspended cage being pleasured and tasted and probed by the hedonistic guests, but eventually it was Conrad that halted the free for all, signaling for the cage to be lowered. Slowly the cables were relaxed more and more until the object of my confinement was finally resting on the ground. He unlatched the door and clicked the leash back onto my diamond collar. I already felt drugged by the sensuality of the night and I looked up at him with heavy-lidded blue eyes as he pulled me forward. My pussy felt swollen and ripe with arousal and the frustration of not submitting to an orgasm had left my juices running down my inner thighs. I would have otherwise been embarrassed but in that moment, there was a kind of perverse pleasure I took in crawling on that leash behind this powerful brute of a man. I swayed my ass seductively, knowing all those eyes were on me, watching the cream of my juices glazing my thighs and dripping down my legs.

He led me across the floor to a long chaise lounge where Tamara was elegantly sprawled. Her red lips curled up in amusement to see me so at ease with my submissive gait.

“You’re being such a good little slut,” she purred. “I could swear this has not been your first time.”

“I’ve thought of it often,” I admitted shyly, feeling myself flush under the confidence of her gaze.

“You’ve dreamed of being led around on a leash like this and being served up as a sexual plaything?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Have you spent many nights over the past several weeks imagining this moment when you would be ours to use and defile as we pleased?”

I nodded. My eyes were on her long slim legs so elegantly crossed just inches from my face. She wore black stiletto boots with silver metal heels and she smiled and pushed one of her feet forward to that it nudged in between my legs, and then pointed up just enough to press the toe of her boot into my swollen pussy. The leather was hard and smooth and created just enough pressure against my clit to make me want to cum right there. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her pale blue eyes watched every imperceptible body reaction as she teased me to the brink of orgasm and then brought me down again with a series of excruciating crescendos of sexual control.

“You’re trying very hard to follow the rules,” she acknowledged. “It’s impressive. And believe me, I will let you come. But your mistress comes first tonight, and I have incredible restraint. So when you make me come, I’ll let you enjoy the same pleasures. But it’s going to be a challenge for you. Because my husband is going to be mercilessly fucking that slutty little pussy of yours the entire time.”

I stared up at her wordlessly. Tamara’s skin seemed to glow from within and while she was undoubtedly not a young woman, she almost gave the impression of being preternaturally flawless, as though she bathed in virgin’s blood every night. I could feel my heart hammering inside as she pulled the slippery black silk skirt up her slender thighs. For a moment I was awe to finally glimpse her snatch. She was perfectly smooth except for a very thin landing strip of jet-black hair. Her body was feline and graceful from head to toe, with small dark ruby nipples on sculpted tanned breasts, and unsurprisingly her pussy was just as immaculate. Her mysterious beauty was compelling and I was eager to taste her and she knew it. Leisurely she spread her legs wide and slid further down on the chaise so that her ass was on the edge of it. She wasn’t offering herself to me; she was issuing a demand.

I crawled towards her and put my small hands on her warm skin, sliding them up her thighs until they reached the pink lips of her pussy. I spread the orchid lips apart, seeing the shine of her inner folds before leaning into her. I inhaled the delicious musk of her scent before running my tongue along the length of her slit. With each long deliberate flick of my tongue, I pushed further into her warm slippery folds. She tasted sweet and I drank her juices eagerly, licking her pussy with an enthusiasm that usually had girls squirming against my mouth. Rubbing her clit between my lips, I looked up into her face, and she smiled and raised an eyebrow as if to mock my attempts at arousing her.

Undeterred, my tongue continued to undulate against her clit rhythmically, alternately sucking it, while my fingers pushed the outer folds of her pussy apart to give me better access. It was then that I began to feel Conrad’s hands roving over my ass, grabbing both cheeks in two handfuls and squeezing them as though appraising my diminutive size with obvious enjoyment. He was so much larger in stature than I was and I had no idea how big he might be. I didn’t dare to look behind me as I heard a belt buckle being undone and the swish of fabric as his pants dropped to the floor. My pussy began to drip with anticipation as I renewed my efforts on Tamara’s cunt, licking and sucking and trying to focus on getting a reaction from her.

My mind was a blur of thoughts as each sensation sought to steal my attention.

Why won’t she come? I wondered, as frustration began to give way to panic.

I could feel his large slippery head of his cock running up my little slit, as though teasing me by giving me more time. I buried my face in his wife’s pussy, sliding the entire length of my tongue up her hot wet cunt at the same time as I felt his large shaft push roughly inside me. His cock impaled me, stretching me to a point that might have hurt if I hadn’t already been so slick with juices. I could have climaxed right then and there, having been so perfectly filled by his size.

I paused for a moment, releasing a long pent-up moan as I panted on my hands and knees, feeling like a true slut as the entire room witnessed the delicious violation I had been waiting for. He grabbed my slender hips and almost drew his cock out completely before slamming it back into me, almost knocking me flat on the floor. He thrust into me without mercy, fucking me like a rag doll while I clawed at his wife’s thighs to try to steady the momentum of each vicious thrust. His cock was huge; it felt like it was splitting me apart and I perversely loved every minute of it. With my pussy stretched tight around his shaft, I knew he would feel every spasm when I came. There would be no fooling them. It was only when I looked into Tamara’s icy blue eyes as she watched me get fucked and used by her husband that I managed to calm my raging libido. It was just enough to resist letting myself get pushed over that brink of pleasure I had been forbidden to.

“You love getting fucked like that, don’t you?” she said, obviously taking some kind of pleasure in watching her husband fucking me as roughly as he was. His hands held my hips steady, not letting me get away, making my pussy a slave to the demands of his cock. I could hear his heavy breathing and muffled groans of pleasure as he pounded away at me.

“Is she very tight, Conrad?” she mused, almost as an after thought.

“She might be the tightest little slut I’ve ever fucked,” he moaned. “Her cunt feels like a vise.”

“Mmm….good,” Tamara said, obviously pleased by his assessment. “Now stick a finger into her asshole and fill her up completely.”

“Uhhh…” I moaned. “Wait, not yet. I’m going to come, I can’t help it! I can’t stop…”

“If you want to come, then you’d better get to work, my little whore,” she reminded me.

She grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my face into my cunt, thrusting herself upward to grind into my mouth as though she was using my tongue to her own specifications. My tongue thrust into her as I desperately fucked her with it, feeling the beginnings of my reward as I felt her pussy begin to lubricate with juices and soak my lips.

“That’s it, lick my cunt… do you really think you can make me cum, you little slut? You’d better try harder,” she hissed, pushing my face into her pussy urgently.

I could feel a wet finger twisting against the tiny knot of my asshole as Conrad paused, balls deep inside my pussy. Oh god, I thought, there is no way he’s going to be able to…

“He can’t… I’m too tight,” I cried, still muffled by Tamara’s pussy.

“Yes, he can,” she assured me. “I want to see that finger working in and out of that little ass while he fucks you.”

Her fixation on his efforts to push inside me had obviously spurred something in her and when she relaxed her hand on my hair to watch his attempts to violate my hole, I took the opportunity to use all my strength to pull her further off the edge of the chaise, pushing her legs up high in the air and obviously catching her off guard. She gasped out loud, before I heard her gasp turn into a pleasured sigh as my mouth found the perfect pink star of her asshole. I licked it enthusiastically, running my tongue around her hole before pushing against her. My tongue was small but very long, and her asshole opened up around the forced intrusion as it slithered inside her.

“Oh yessss,” Tamara purred, immediately drunk with pleasure. “You dirty little ass-licking slut.”

My heart began to pound as I realized I had found a true pleasure source. I licked her ass and tongue fucked her rhythmically. I had now reached a new level of desperation to be allowed to climax. The fire in my pussy seemed to flare into my depths of my belly, pulsing there urgently. I needed the release and my toes curled, trying to prevent the inevitable as Conrad’s cock continued to pound away at me, his finger now buried in my ass and thrusting in and out at will.

My hand reached up to Tamara’s pussy and I began to rub her clit vigorously with two fingers while simultaneously hooking my thumb into her pussy as far as it would go. I pushed it up against her g-spot, massaging it and vigorously stimulating her as I licked her ass. I could feel her squirming and noticed her labored breathing as she urged Conrad to fuck my slutty little pussy harder. We were all driving forward to a single dynamic climax. I was on the edge, oh so close, my body tensed with delayed torture. Come , I thought desperately, please come for me.

Finally with a long winded sob that sounded like a mixture of a sigh and moan, I felt Tamara’s asshole contract around my tongue as her pussy almost clamped down around my thumb, contracting rhythmically and unleashing a flood of warm juices as she squirted over my face in several short streams of warm liquid. I lapped it up like a starved slut, the satisfaction of having brought her to such an intense orgasm immediately setting me off into my own climax. It screamed through my body as my pussy clenched her husband’s cock, milking the cum right out of him. He thrust one more time deeply inside me and flooded my insides with his thick hot seed. My body continued to convulse with the aftereffects of the best orgasm of my life and his strong hands held me tight and impaled on his cock, enjoying every delicious spasm.

As I began to come out of my haze, I could hear the low rumble of excitement through the crowd of partygoers as they’d watched the incredible scene unfold. Tamara lay back, finally satiated on the sofa. Her eyes told the story; she had been impressed by my efforts. Not to be outdone by the moment, I smiled at her as I felt Conrad’s softening cock slide out of my pussy, releasing a stream of cum that dripped from my pussy and began to puddle onto the marble floors.

Tamara smirked and I knew what she wanted. Like a good little slut, I leaned forward and lapped at her pussy in long strokes, like a dirty little kitty that could never be satisfied. I draw the juices from her folds and her soft skin and then leaned into the floor to lick the puddle of clear juices that I’d missed. Then I turned, still on my hands and knees and afforded her a view of my sore and raw pussy that her husband had just ravaged. I looked up at Conrad who was looming over me.

“Don’t waste a single drop, Rachel,” he reminded me.

I leaned down to the puddle of his cum and my juices still slick on the floor and ran my tongue, back and forth, sucking the warm cream up into my mouth until it was gone. Somehow, on my hands and knees in that room, collard and leashed, my face still glistening with juices and the taste of cum on my lips, I felt entirely free. My sexuality had finally come into its own. I was able to be who I really was and experience desires that had always been of my own choosing.

I looked around at the sea of faces, of men and women in various stages of undress. They were primal with bodies undulating and flushed skin and they looked at me with obvious arousal. I didn’t have to say it; Conrad spoke for me.

“Enjoy her,” he said to them.

From there, the night looses focus in my memory. I remember the hedonistic tangle of limbs, the tongues on my skin, the cum flooding my face and breasts and dripping down my belly. My fingers were pushed into warm wet pussies, and my cunt was filled with cock over and over again. I was a pleasure toy for everyone to use to fulfill urges and needs, and it was absolutely perfect.

So perfect that by the time the party had ended, I had entirely lost track of time and space. The goodbyes were unnecessary. We had all enjoyed every moment that had been shared that night.

The sun was almost rising by the time the limo dropped me off, a block away from my family home so as to not arouse suspicions. I run the remainder of the way home, enjoying the cold sting of air against my face, helping to cool the heat that had been burning within me all night. I quietly crept inside and snuck up the stairs without anyone noticing. It felt strange being back in that room as though the entire experience had been just a dream. I slept most of the next day, and when I came down the stairs, I was surprised to see my parents sitting at the kitchen table. My mother looked ashen and my father appeared furious.

“What is it?” I asked with concern.

“Where were you last night?” my father snapped.

“At a club… with my friends,” I lied. “Look I know I got in a little late but…”

“Getting in late is the least of your problems, Rachel,” he said, setting his blackberry down in front of me. “I received anonymous photos today from someone who wants money in exchange for not selling them to the media.”

I stared at him blankly. “What?”

He pushed the phone towards me and I immediately opened the first couple of attachments and gasped at the shocking images of me from the previous night. There I was, naked in a cage, on my hands and knees and being led around by a leash with my face buried in Tamara’s cunt while her husband fucked me from behind. Oh my god.

My eyes widened with shock as I looked back at my father’s scornful expression.

“Do you realize what this will do to my campaign? To have lewd photos of a politician’s daughter acting like a slut whore at some kind of pervert party? What were you thinking, Rachel? Even if I pay the blackmail money, there’s always the possibility of these photos or some others leaking out at some point. To say nothing of the possibility that someone might have filmed this on their cell phone. No, we need to circumvent any potential damage that might result from this going public.”

Guilty tears sprang to my eyes. “But how? What can I do?”

“You’re going into Sex Rehab,” he said with sudden finality. “If any of this leaks, we’ll have to put on a united front as a family. We’ll say that you had issues that you needed to deal with. You’ll got treatment for your deviancy, and we can say that you’re cured.”

“Cured?” I cried incredulously, fighting back the urge to laugh.

“Rachel, this is not a matter of discussion. You will obey me.”

I thought back to the previous evening, when I’d submitted to obeying a different kind of dominant force. One that had allowed me to indulge and even celebrate the real me. The resentment in me began to grow, even though I knew I had no choice but to go through with the charade of group therapy. The truth for me has always been simple. If repression is the cure, then quite simply, I didn’t want it.

Back in the classroom at The Belleview Retreat for Sexual Health, I looked up from the pages of paper I was reading from. I felt bold with my resolution, feeling renewed frustration after having relived those moments being of being told to subjugate my feelings and desires once again.

“Some of you might think that that sex party cage was degrading,” I said out loud. “But the cage I’ve been forced to live in for the sake of everyone else in my life has been the far more destructive force.”

“Hell yes,” the guy with the dark sunglasses shouted enthusiastically. “Fuck the rules, babygirl! This is your life. How can anyone else tell you how to live it?”

“Dexter,” Dr Clark interrupted. “That’s the wrong attitude to take here. Society’s expectations are not the enemy. We are here to learn to work with them instead of against them.”

“Look, with all due respect Doc, none of us have done anything wrong in this classroom. The only thing wrong is that we got caught… by friends, significant others, jilted wives, family, and in my case the almighty media machine.”

“Media machine?” I echoed. I looked at him a little more carefully. There was something about Dexter that seemed strangely familiar. And then suddenly, hearing his name again made things click. Oh my god! Was that really Dexter Lloyd, the famous Hollywood actor? The one with the infamous party lifestyle and the crazy media personality?

“Dexter, you’ll have plenty of time to share your story tomorrow,” Dr Clark said, quickly standing up as though to take control of the classroom again. “Thank you Rachel, you can sit down for now. But let me assure you, group therapy is meant to help you, not to restrict who you really are.”

Dexter chuckled. “Right,” he muttered dryly, eliciting a look of disdain from Dr Clark.

I went back to my seat, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I couldn’t believe someone like him was in our group therapy class. I was immediately intrigued and excited to hear him tell his story next.

Dr Clark smiled. “Until our next class, please don’t forget that sexual addiction is an affliction. And there is a cure. And I promise that you will find it here, so I congratulate you all for finally taking the step towards the path to recovery.”

I barely even heard what she said; I was too happily distracted. Blah blah, group therapy and cures… I looked at Dexter and we both shared a rueful grin.

And just like that… our fourth therapy session was adjourned.

*** The End ***

Author’s Note: The Sex Rehab Diaries is an ongoing series, featuring the intimate confessions of the patients of Dr Clark’s group therapy class for sexual addictions at The Belleview Retreat for Sexual Health. Dexter’s story is next…

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