An envelope: inside it an invitation to my own birthday party, and placed on top of a plain box.
‘You are the present‘ the tag reads.
I tentatively opened the box. I was unsure how I could be a present whilst also receiving a present, but it became clear within a matter of seconds as I ran the lead through my hand. It was delicate, silver and attached to a collar. I could break it quite easily under strain, but when I caught his eye we both know I would not be straining to go anywhere other than where I was instructed that evening.
It was a small gathering and I quickly scanned the room. People I love, people I recognised, a couple who I always wish I’d seen more of and a few strangers. And they scanned me too. They all do. Of course they do. I am, after all, their present. Their heads looked up from their conversations and drinks to run their eyes over me as I nervously fiddle with my immaculately pinned hair. He was clever- as the silver chain ran from my neck to his hand its presence was almost ethereal. More symbolic than anything- a reminder that both I was under instruction but also his protection.
I had never worn a floor length dress party before, of which I must admit was a surprise when it was given to me earlier that day. But on this occasion more did turn out to be more, as I was instructed to turn around and the dress was almost peeled, achingly slowly, from my heels to just above my arse. It was a show: I was the attraction and they were the spectators.
It wasn’t long before I was being touched, but not by him. The spectators quickly became participants as hands cupped my arse, warming it with light slaps. A woman planted kisses on my bare neck as she had thirteen days ago when I straddled her on my sofa. It was enjoyable, and I almost felt as ethereal as the the chain of silver, floating away into another place.
I was quickly reminded of my position as he led me to the table in the middle of the room, and forced me over it. My dress was pulled up again, but with a greater sense of urgency and someone started hitting me with real purpose. The tie of my dress was undone to expose my breasts, and immediately after my nipples were being pulled. I felt tears welling up behind my eyes. He gave a tug on the lead and I looked up to his delicious, but twisted, smile and moments later I melted as his cock was in the back of my throat, to the laughter of the rest of the room. Most of them knew how much I loved a messy mouth fuck, and those who didn’t were about to find out.
All other sensations stopped as they simply watched. He pushed me onto his cock, held me there and waited for me to gag- making a mess of both of us which was then spread all over my face. He then fucked my throat until I gagged again, giving me a moment to breathe which was rapidly taken away by someone pulling my underwear down and forcing their cock inside my cunt. My nipples were being pinched. The participants were rapidly becoming competitors. I was no longer a present, they were fighting for their prize. Vying for a space on the scoreboard which was my body.
I look back at the photo taken at my birthday party very fondly. Black smudges streaked down my face, the remnants of my lipstick smeared across my cheek. My hair was pulled from its pins and lay knotted around my shoulders, full of everything but hairspray. The collar providing a burst of purple, with the leather handle of the ethereal silver chain beneath my teeth. And two words written across the mess: Birthday Girl.
It wasn’t one for the album.
Written as part of Smutathon 2018– a fundraiser for Abortion Support Network. Donate below, enter the raffle and follow the conversation on Twitter under the hashtags #Smutathon2018 and #SmutForChoice.