No lively orgasm can continue for long to be suppressed sanely under conditions of absolute sensuality; even Catholics and Puritans are supposed, by some, to wet dream. The Yates Estate, not chaste, stood by itself against its vineyards, holding arousal within; it had stood for eight years and might stand for eighty more. Within, girl-dicks twitched upright, cheeks clapped neatly, titties were firm, and mouths hung senselessly open; moans rang steadily against the wood and stone of The Yates Estate, and whoever nutted there, did not nut alone.
Felicity Yates held private tastings for only her inner circle and most esteemed guests. To many, such events were naught but a rumor, but for those select few permitted into her private tasting room, they were a chance to sample the most delectable of her reserve. Behind those closed and bolted doors, a handful of chosen guests gathered. Felicia, of course, led the experience, her knowledge of such subjects unparalleled. One by one, she guided her company from vintage to vintage; every sample had its own story, and special flavor. Among opulence, she, and her guests stood, making small talk between sweep sips of succulent substance. And along the back wall, each ready and waiting for their turn, lay the stock.
Staring out at the world through glassy, uncomprehending eyes, laid the newest addition to Felicity’s showcase. She rested up a lace pillow, nude with her legs splayed out. Her lips were parted, drool tickling from her mouth as her needy girlcock twitched from lack of stimulation. Faint buzzing could be heard, rumbling from her core, no doubt caused by the toy stuffed into her ass, keeping her on edge at all times. Silken rope, colored a deep red bound her wrist and ankles in pretty bows, though such measures were unnecessary; the brainwashed little toy barely had a thought in her head, the idea of standing up and leaving would never occur to her. Movement at the edge of her vision scraped together the few shreds of thought left in her empty, dazed mind.
Mistress Felicity approached, her guests in tow. She stopped before the pretty toy, and smiled down at her. Just the feeling of her Mistress’ eyes brushing her delicate flesh had the toy shivering and shuddering in pleasure. And that was only the beginning, all those eyes, all on her. She was a good toy: a good, pretty object on display for Mistress Felicity. Every pair of lustful, hungry eyes upon her served as just another reminder of what a perfect little decoration she was. Her Mistress stopped before her, and waited for her guests to gather, before addressing them. “And this, my lovelies, is my newest toy. Leanor here was poking around where she didn’t belong, looking for secrets. Now she has a front row seat to the main event.”
Any scraps of thought Leanor would have—or could have—used to process her owner’s words was long gone, drowned by the bliss of feeling so many eyes on her: admiring her, lusting over her, drinking in every inch of her body. And yet, they offered no relief, serving only to simmer her arousal, her lust, her need. “We’ve already gotten a lovely harvest from her, and soon she’ll be mixed in with our newest batches. So please, enjoy this prelude to next season.” Felicity nodded to her guests. An attractive, mature looking woman wearing a well-fitting blazer approached Leanor. Her breath quickened at the approach. Would she play with Leanor? Pleasure her? Leanor hoped so with every part of her left conscious enough to conceive of hope, and many more parts of her that were now lost to simple, primal need. Those eyes on her, so many of them, all of them sweeping across her like fire, consuming her with a burning need. She had to be touched, she needed it the same way she needed air. That need condensed and multiplied at the centerpiece of Leanor’s new life: her aching girl cock.
The woman drew closer. On instinct, Leanor began to rock her hips in eager anticipation. A condescending smile, Leanor was far too gone to understand humiliation. She just needed to be touched. She was a needy fucktoy who couldn’t go a moment longer without those lips around her cock. As the woman knelt down, Leanor’s breath came in heaving pants; she needed to be touched. Oh please Miss, please please please how terribly she needed to be touched. The woman leaned forward; if Leanor weren’t such a good, docile toy she would have leapt up to meet the woman’s lips. Every moment stewing and squirming in all that attention without having her cock touched was delicious, sweet agony, sweet agony Leanor simply could not bear any longer. The woman pressed her nose to Leanore’s crotch and took a slow, deep breath, shuddering as she savored the scent. Then, after one last, brief pause, those lips wrapped around her limp, twitching cock. Leanor’s entire world melted away into release, and pleasure.
No sound escaped her lips, good decorations like her remained quiet. In fact, the outside observer would likely have no idea the difference that little bit of contact had made. She simply stared out beyond the walls surrounding her and off into nothing, a placid, lazy, almost drooping smile tracing a crooked curve across her face. Nonetheless, past those empty eyes Leanor was consumed by electric bliss. That warm mouth around her cock lit up every hungry, eager nerve in her body, urging forth waves of pure, delightful sensation which swelled and churned across her motionless form. But in truth, the physical pleasure was not even the half of it.
Leanore, or at least what was left of her, laid there, motionless on an ornate pillow, out on display, saturated by stillness, basking in serene separation from all but sensation. Her body was heavy, so very heavy: every muscle loose and limp. As she was now, Leanor had been so thoroughly stripped: stripped of ambition, of passion, of will, initiative, motivation. All she had left was one singular purpose: to be used, enjoyed by others. A perfect, pretty, pliant thing for her Mistress to do with as she saw fit; that was all she could ever be. Someone—something—so wholly reduced as Leanor could not so much as conceive of another possible purpose; even her name meant nothing at all to her save the word which her owner referred to her with. That was all Leanor needed.
And so, as one of Mistress Felicity’s guests kneeled before Leanor, bobbing her head up and down the unimpressive length of Leanor’s leaking dick, Leanore was filled with the most profound sense of fulfillment and satisfaction. The pretty little decoration was being good, was doing the one thing she was meant to do and doing it well. No, not doing it well, that was a grave understatement. Because Leanor was more than just any old thing to be enjoyed. An entire crowd of other attractive, wealthy, important women—the most important women possible, really, as all of them had been hand picked by Mistress Felicity—were all lined up to use Leanore. Because Leanor was special. Leanor was a delicacy: a thing to be tasted, and savored, and coveted: a commodity sought after by everyone who was anyone. She was as desirable, and coveted as any pretty prized possession ever could be. And that, more than anything else, fueled the fires of her ever swelling ecstasy.
Leanor could spend a thousand years meditating on the matter—if not for her already entirely fried brain—and she would never come close to conceiving of something so profoundly satisfying as an entire crowd of women all lined up and eagerly awaiting the chance to suck her dick, the chance—no, the privilege—of to milk even one single drop of her sweet, delicious cum. Somewhere far away, a tongue ran the length of her cock, tracing up to her tip, and Leanor fell over the edge, yielding a spurting eruption of Felicity’s most coveted harvest. The anonymous epicure spent several moments lapping up every last drop with slow, savoring strokes of her tongue, while Leanor basked in that lustful gluttony. Her work complete, the woman stood, her mouth still full of Leanor’s nectar. She paused, remaining still and holding the flavor within her mouth for uncounted seconds. Then, with a flutter of her eyelashes, the woman swallowed. For some, this would be an enormous faux paus. After all, the more discerning of wine tasters should know it is best to spit out their samples, to prevent the dulling effects of alcohol from affecting subsequent tastings. Felicity’s tasting rooms however, did not have spit buckets. And, while spitting out the product was not discouraged, Felicity’s guests often preferred swallowing like a good girl.
Smacking her lips, and running her tongue along her teeth, the woman hummed to herself, looking deep in thought for a moment, before speaking. “That’s really something,” she said. “Quite a silky texture, really just smooth the whole way down. Perfect ripeness too. Some delightfully fruity top notes, and with such a rich, toast, almost chocolatey body. And the finish is just—mmmhh—it’s so fresh and nutty. What did year did you say this was? `96? Mmh, of course,” she nodded sagely. “That was a good year.”
“What do you think about tannins?” Felicity asked.
“Oh delightful tannins as always, Felicity,” the woman agreed. The crowd behind her all murmured in agreement. “You really do tannins better than anyone. I’ve never had more delicious tannins than the ones I get on your tours.”
With that, the woman moved on, making room for the next taster. And as she did, the anticipation began to build once more. Just as before, she approached Leanor, knelt down, took a moment to savor her while Leanor stewed in simmering want, then got to work. Each and every tasting was just as wonderful as the last, plunging Leanor into the depths of erotic bliss, and shooting gooey spurts of hot, sticky fulfillment right into her aching purpose until Leanor deposited her delicious elixir into eager mouth after eager mouth. Most of Felicity’s guests swallowed Leanor’s loads, however, from time to time one would elect to instead spit their sample back out onto Leanor’s face, or her chest, or her crotch.
By the time the last of Mistress Felicity’s guests had finished, Leanor was a twitching mess. Her eyes, cloudier and more unfocused than ever betrayed not even a hint of thought beyond the overwhelming pleasure of a drooling, well-used toy. She laid still and spent, coated in her own nectar, her flaccid dick dribbling a slow trickle of cum onto her display pillow. The tasting had finished, but her day was not over yet. Head held high, Felicity approached Leanor, and stopped before her. Clearing her throat, Felicity clapped her hands, then called out into the back room, “Kara dear, the tasting is over, could you please come in hear and clean up?”
From her place on the floor, Leanor saw—but did not comprehend—a waifish girl in a frilly maid uniform scurry into the room. She walked with a slight natural bow, keeping her head and eyes down and her shoulders bent inward, giving the impression of being even smaller than she already was. The maid stopped just beside Mistress Felicity, tugged at the hem of her skirt, then curtsied. “Y-yes Miss Yates?” Kara stammered. “You called for me?”
“Yes dear,” Felicity answered. “As you can see, some of the equipment in this room has gotten rather dirty,” she gestured toward Leanor. “Would you be a doll and clean it up for me?”
Following her Mistress, Kara’s eyes fell upon Leanor. A bright, burning blush swept over her cheeks, as Kara drew a sudden, sharp intake of breath, and began to shiver. “M-Mistress,” she whimpered. “That—that girl she’s… she’s n-naked and c-covered in… in.” Kara shook her head but her eyes remained locked on Leanor.
A slow chuckle tumbled from Felicity’s lips. “Covered in what, dear?” She asked, giving Kara’s cheek a soft stroke. “In cum? Is there something wrong?”
“I… I…” Kara shuddered. She hadn’t blinked, she hadn’t looked away, not once. Her mouth seemed to hang open just a little bit more with every word. “Miss Yates I appreciate you giving me this j-job and all but I didn’t know it was going to involve anything so… so…” she trailed off, her voice fading into a quiet little whine as she began to pant, while her hips began to roll, humping the air in front of her.
“So what, dear? So lewd?” Felicity purred into her ear, positioning herself behind the girl and grinding into her. Kara simply gave a meek, quiet nod. She had gone completely slack jawed, her tongue idly rolling in her mouth, reaching and lapping at air. “I know you want it, my dear. I’ve trained you so very well.” Kara whined, not even hearing the words, just the commanding, lecherous tone. Felicity laughed. “Look at those eyes, getting cloudier and emptier and needier by the second. I do so love watching your mind slip away in real time.” Kara’s breath hitched in her throat. She blushed and squirmed. Her lips moved in what seemed to be some attempt at a reply, but she simply could not keep her eager tongue under control, and instead babbled a mess of incoherent, needy gibberish, soon devolving into pathetic whines. “Aww,” Felicity cooed, “Look at you. Like a needy puppy begging for a treat.” Kara ground herself into Felicity, and nodded. “Well then, go on, clean up Mistress’ toys.”
Without another word, Felicity released Kara from her hold, and the maid scrambled forward in eager, blind desperation. She threw herself to the floor, and without wasting a moment, ran her tongue all up and down her prize. Seized by a primal, mindless need, she licked every inch of Leanor’s body, savoring every last drop of cum with all the ecstacy of an addict getting her latest hit. Legs, dick, belly, tits, face, mouth, Kara’s tongue found every nook and cranny of Leanor’s body left coated in her most favorite treat, until the pretty toy glistened all over from the shine of the ‘maid’s’ saliva. When all that was left was Leanor’s limp little cock, still leaking a the faintest trickle, Kara wrapped herself around one of Leanor’s legs, sealed her lips around Leanor’s dick, and began to idly suck, humping the girl’s leg as her eyes closed in mindless bliss.
Standing above the pair, Felicity gave a satisfied smile. Through it all, not a hint of recognition had dawned on either of the reunited pair, but that was okay. They could share a new sort of affection for one another. And, as more and more of the world got addickted to her delicious creations, her collection would only grow. Also, just because subtext is for cowards, she’s a hot cum vampire. That's been the thing the whole time.
Also, just because subtext is for cowards, she's a hot cum vampire. That's been the thing the whole time.
Zhis might look a tad better as its own paragraph.
Also, as iffy as it actually is, I'd be tempted to sign up at that place.
This was quite the ride, thank you!
OMG the end