Centerpiece (2) [bondage] [bdsm] [drugs] [drug use]

“Excited for the party now?” my Dom asks. “I am, I’m excited to show off my new Centerpiece!”

When the first couple arrives, they act surprised to see me. But instead of being drawn to my naked form by curiosity, they feign discomfort. This drives me wild, allowing me to pretend that my Dom really did just throw a party with me unexpectedly displayed in the middle of the living room. I also feel warmed by the care it shows that my Dom put so much effort into preparing such an elaborate scene for me, indulging my long-time fantasy.

As the rest of the guests arrive, the more they ignore me, the wetter I become. He called me his Centerpiece, and I find that I really am more of a decoration than entertainment. Dom is all too happy to show off his gorgeous prize, but it is being both the center of attention while simultaneously reduced to an ornament that thrills me. It is this duality that says, “Even the shiniest toy is only a toy.”

It’s only about an hour, maybe more, before I stop hearing the doorbell, and it feels like there are a couple dozen people milling around. The voices are mostly male, but not entirely. Drinks are poured and music is queued in the kitchen and on the patio; a movie plays in the background across from me in the living room. Friends talk and flirt on the couch next to me, the conversation becoming louder and more intimate as empty bottles collect. Laughter from a hearty game of beer pong in the dining room occasionally cuts through the game of Cards Against Humanity played over my naked body.

My arousal from the humiliation is just starting to give way to irritation with being sober, immobile, and left out of the party, when I finally hear someone call to my Dom,

“Hey, are we allowed to touch your little table-topper here?”

I can hear the curl of his lips as he answers, “Of course, I thought you’d never ask.”

Immediately I feel an eager hand clutching my breast. I gasp as a stray finger bumps a clamp Sir had once again returned to my nipples.

“Oh, you poor thing! Here, let me help you out of those.”

I moan with urgency against my gag, but the stranger removes the clamp anyway. Fortunately it wasn’t set too tight, but still my back arches with the pang of returning blood flow.

The stranger only acknowledges me with a cruel chuckle. But then soft lips tenderly massage my aching nipples, and a familiar voice asks, “Would you like something to take the edge off?”

I nod, and my Dom rests the neck of the liquor bottle against the side of my mouth before carefully tipping it in, making sure to let me breathe around the two shots he pours down my throat.

“Liquor always does make my toy pretty horny, doesn’t it?” he drawls.

The ice broken, I start to feel more venturing hands, mostly squeezing my breasts and butt cheeks. Tonight’s unpredictability is renewed, and once again fear and anticipation drip between my legs.

“Hey! We should play spin the bottle,” someone giggles, and after some debating, I feel a cool bottle balanced on my midsection. Nervous laughter and encouraging cheers erupt when the spinning stops, the first couple prompted to kiss. They lean in over my body. I don’t know their genders, but two sets of hips press against me, four hands bracing themselves on me and the table as their lips meet above me. I moan, and one of the hands tightens.

As the game continues, I feel a finger start to trail up from my ankle. My pulse quickens as it rises to the peak of my knee, then descends down the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, the touch light but purposeful. I try to pull my hips away, but with my shoulders locked into place, I have mere inches of wiggle room. The finger traces the edge where my thigh meets my torso, playing in the corner between leg and lip. A nail drags along this line as the finger pulls away, leaving every nerve quivering.

The bottle slows again, and I think I feel it align perfectly straight up and down in the hollow between my ribs. I feel the energy in the room shift, and I have little time to wonder what happened before I feel a tongue delve into my mouth! Their lips press into mine, but with the ring I’m helpless to kiss back, so they content themselves with licking the inside of my mouth with a crude, harsh dominance. I think that the bottle must have pointed straight up at my head, and the spinner decided I was their partner this turn.

Someone else rolls a nipple, perhaps bored of waiting their turn. They delight in my squeaks of pain, drunk on their power over me. Fingers are followed by lips, followed by teeth. Nails drag slowly up my ribs, vertical streaks burning in their wake.

A hand tightens around my throat, its grip as unmistakable as it is familiar. I feel my Dom’s breath hot on my ear as he purrs,

“How are you holding up, little one?”

My arms unbound, I bring my hands to my chest, still tightly clutching the red and yellow balls. I indicate that I know I have the power to drop them if I need to, and hopefully also that quite the contrary, I’m enjoying this. I curl my wrists into myself, silently begging, “More, please.”

He chuckles, and his hand releases my throat, skipping over mine and trailing down my belly. “Then if you’re comfortable, I’m stepping out to entertain the guests on the patio. I just packed a bowl, want some shotgun before I go?”

I nod and after a long pause, his mouth closes over mine. There’s something so erotic about the intimacy of smoke pressed into my lungs with a kiss, his open mouth sealing over mine, penetrating me with only his breath. He does it again, and I feel already intoxicated as I inhale the drug.

“Be good,” he instructs as he gathers himself to leave. “Who knows what this lot will get up to while I’m gone…”

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/kszf9h/centerpiece_2_bondage_bdsm_drugs_drug_use