Saturday, June 8-Sunday, June 9, 1974
“Who gives this virgin to be deflowered?” asked Reverend Gaia, her lithe nude body enticingly draped in see-through vestments.
My mother and I stood before her on the left, Mom holding my leash. Felicity stood opposite us on the right. She was the very picture of the irresistible dominatrix: the fire of resolution in her eyes, a riding crop in her hands.
“I do,” replied Mom, “his mother…” she paused for effect, “…and his lover.”
The guests all applauded. If anyone had not been aware of my incestuous love affair with my mother, they were now.
With these words, Mom passed my leash to Felicity and stepped off the platform, joining my father and the rest of the “parents”: Frances, Lawrence, and Marianne.
Gaia stood on the dais, facing the congregation, one step above Felicity and me. Behind her, one step higher again was the stage, with a bed in the center. This was clearly the site of the evening’s main event.
What Felicity had in mind for foreplay, fun and games before our sacred coupling, I could only imagine. Between us and the bed stood an ominous pair of posts, full of hooks and rings and chains.
Ever since I discovered bondage porn, the dream of personally experiencing domination had been a huge turn-on. And here was Felicity about to deliver on my deepest fantasies. It was uncanny, the way she perceived what seethed within me. And she had only met one time, a mere four days earlier.
My heart pounded, equal parts fear and arousal. I hardly knew her, and yet I felt complete trust. Besides, I had fallen madly in love with her; that meant, whatever she chose to do to me, pleasing her, submitting to her every wish, was my heart’s desire.
Our gazes met, and for just an instant, something flashed in her eyes: not quite a smile, but a reassuring look, as if to say everything planned for tonight was geared for my most exquisite pleasure. Extreme public degradation and humiliation in front of family and friends? I couldn’t dream of a better way of celebrating this rite of passage.
Gaia continued: “As befits this sacred moment, I would like to present a reading.”
She opened a leather-bound tome. A Bible? No, an inspirational text of a different kind.
“I am reading today from the book of Emmanuelle, chapter two, titled “Green Paradise.” To set the scene, this passage is part of a conversation between two young women—teenagers—the heroine Emmanuelle and her new sexy young friend Marie-Anne. They are sitting, talking, and masturbating together, and Marie-Anne asks Emmanuelle about her deflowering:
“How did you begin with men?”
“It was John who deflowered me.”
“You hadn’t had anyone before that?” exclaimed Marie-Anne.
She was so obviously scandalized that Emmanuelle answered apologetically. “No. Well, not really. Boys used to caress me, of course, but they didn’t know how to go about it very well!”
She recovered her self-assurance.
“Jean made love with me from the start. That’s why I loved him.”
“From the start?”
“Yes, the day after I met him. The first day, he came to our house—he was a friend of my parents. He kept looking at me with an amused expression. He managed to be alone with me and asked me questions about everything—how many boyfriends I had, whether I liked to make love. I was terribly embarrassed, but I couldn’t help telling him the truth. It was almost the same as with you!”
“And he wanted all kinds of details, too. The next afternoon he invited me to go for a ride in his beautiful car. He told me to sit close to him and immediately he caressed my shoulders, then my breasts, while he was driving. Finally, he stopped on a little road in the Fontainebleau forest and kissed me for the first time. He said to me, in a way that completely assured me about what was going to happen. ‘You’re a virgin and I’m going to take you.’”
“It was happening exactly as I might have dreamed it would. Although actually, I’d never dreamed about it. Jean told me to take off my panties myself, and I quickly did so because I wanted to participate in my defloration, not submit to it passively. He made me lie on the seat of the car. He didn’t begin by caressing me. He entered me immediately, but in such a way that I don’t remember feeling any pain. Far from it! I came so much that I fainted or fell asleep… It was wonderful. Afterward Jean asked for a room, and we went on making love until midnight. It didn’t take me long to learn!”
Felicity looked straight at me and declared for all to hear: “Martin Chandler Covington, you are a virgin, and I am going to take you.”
Gaia smiled and closed the book. “Let the festivities begin,” she proclaimed, and she left the stage to Felicity and me. Across the room, Beverly began playing the piano in the background, something improvised and appropriate to the mood. Also, something I had not noticed before: both a still photographer and a movie camera capturing the ceremony for posterity.
Felicity took charge and snapped her fingers, making hardly a sound with her gloved hand. But on signal, someone approached from the back entrance. It was Zoe, Felicity’s personal assistant. She was similarly adorned in black leather, breasts and pussy exposed, something between a fellow sub and a vice-domme.
She brought a bag of equipment and from it pulled out four cuffs, which she clasped to my ankles and wrists. Then she hooked my ankles and wrists together behind my back.
“Tell her thank you,” said Felicity.
“Thank you, Zoe,” I said.
“I understand you’d like to fuck her,” she said to me quietly.
“Yes, please,” I replied.
She resumed her stage voice: “We’ll see. Maybe I’ll let you, provided you’re a good little slut and do exactly as I tell you.”
“Yes, mistress,” I answered, improvising.
“Aren’t you in love with your mistress?”
“Yes, I am, Mistress. Passionately.”
“Then you will address me as ‘darling.’”
“Yes, darling.”
“Very good. Now go down on your knees and kiss Zoe’s feet.”
“Yes, darling.” I obeyed, as fast as I could with my hands bound behind my back and began covering Zoe’s bare feet with kisses.
“French kisses, sweetheart. Get your tongue into it.”
I did, and I bathed Zoe’s feet with my tongue, down between her toes, and then sucked each of them, one by one.
“Enough. I think her toes get the message. Now, turn and kiss my feet.”
This was a different matter, all boot leather and she had me do a thorough job, including the soles and sucking on her stiletto heels.
“Move up my leg. That’s right. Keep coming.”
I continued climbing and soon passed from the boots to the bare legs. Next, I was licking and kissing her knees. Then her thighs.
“Keep going, darling,” Felicity instructed. I did just as she told me, finally running out of leg.
“Now, eat me.”
Only too happy to oblige, I buried my face in her shaved pussy and plunged my tongue into her slit. I was mostly flying blind; I had never performed cunnilingus before that week, and then only on my mother. I hoped my performance was decent—for a newbie—and looked forward to proper pussy-eating instruction from my amica. Her bald twat quickly made me a believer; I loved Mom’s full bush, but not all those hairs in my mouth.
“Free his hands,” I heard her say, and Zoe unhooked my wrist cuffs. Happy for the relief, I kept munching without missing a beat, imagining she had decided to take pity on my tired muscles.
“Yes, now,” I heard her say, and I felt Zoe’s fingers in my ass crack and the sensation of a cold substance being applied.
“So, Martin dear, I want you to take a deep breath, hold it, now let it out.”
As I exhaled, I felt pressure at my asshole, a brief sting, and then a strange fullness inside me.
Felicity pulled her pussy away from my mouth. “That, my dear, was a butt plug being inserted. You’re going to become very familiar with that process, believe me. And look, you have a beautiful new tail.”
I tried to look, but I could only see shiny gold strands.
“Thank you, darling. Thank you, Zoe.” I blushed with shame, but my heart bounded with pride at my new adornment.
“Turn around, now. There’s a good horsey.” Next thing I knew the wet warmth of her pussy lay on my back, and her legs were straddling me. I felt her take my leash like reins, and she squeezed with her thighs. “Giddy up!”.
The guests had formed a circle all around the ballroom, and Felicity rode me out to the edge of the crowd. Then, as in an equestrian arena, she steered me around and around the room. The people were near enough to touch me, and a few dared to caress my butt or finger my tail.
The third time around, we stopped at the parent section, and she turned me so my face was just above Mom’s feet. I guessed what was coming next, and I wasn’t wrong.
“Kiss her feet,” said Felicity.
Only too happy to obey, for the love of my beautiful mother, I set to work with lips and tongue. The sensation was different again, a little shoe but lots of stocking.
“Good boy,” she said as she pulled up my head by the reins and steered me to the left again. I found myself at the feet of some other woman—no idea who. “You know what to do, my dear.”’
Whoever the woman was, I did my best to worship her feet. Then to another woman and more foot kissing. And then a third.
Next, we came to more feet, only this time I was looking down at a pair of men’s patent leather slip-ons. “Really?” I thought.
Whap! Her riding cock answered my question on my butt. “What are you waiting for? Kiss his feet!”
“Oh, well,” I thought. “It’s only feet. Nothing really sexual.” And I started doing it, kissing and licking a man’s feet. Yeah, it felt totally weird.
In a minute it was over, and we were at a woman again. But then another man, and next another woman.
I wondered how long she would keep to this pattern, but I sensed the audience was enjoying it. She brought me to a man again, and I adored his shoes as expected.
Except for Mom, these all had been anonymous to me. This was hot, of course, making oral love to the feet of strangers, but still I found myself picturing the possibilities of who each one could be.
Then she did something completely unexpected. “Now, Martin, I want you to kiss his groin.”
I was stunned, though I lifted my head up to the level of the man’s zipper. “No fucking way!” I thought. “I didn’t sign up for this!” Then I realized, oh yes, I did. Anything and everything she demanded.
I moved my lips to an inch from the man’s fly. “Anyway,” I told myself, “It’s not gay if I’m only following orders.”
So, I did it. A peck over his pecker, anyway. I didn’t need to be told this wasn’t satisfactory, and I kissed him again more convincingly, and again, and again.
“Hmm,” Felicity commented. “It looks from here like the man’s a fan. He’s turned on for sure. It might be because of me, but my guess is it’s you, Martin. Yes, I’d say the gentleman has a hard-on for you. That’s not a pickle in his pocket!”
She wasn’t telling me anything my lips and tongue didn’t already know. A couple of layers of fabric below, a dick was standing long and straight and tall, and I was the one making it so.
Then I felt his hand on the back of my head, gently pressing me toward his erection. I heard sighs from overhead, and then moans. His hips began to gyrate as I worked and worked.
I swear I tried to take it easy, but Felicity kept me at it, no telling how long. All of a sudden, the man voiced a groan, and simultaneously I felt twitching against my mouth. An instant later, a familiar aroma told me it had happened: I had just satisfied the unknown gentleman.
The audience clapped again, and Felicity now rode me on a path away from the edge of the crowd, and now I could see more than just legs and feet. I was dying for a look at whoever that was I just semi-fellated. I’m sure that was just what she intended because she turned me around so I had a full view.
My jaw dropped in horror. No! It couldn’t be! But it was! It was Dr. Raleigh—Sylvia’s father! He was the man I dreamed would one day be my father-in-law. Now, how could I even look him in the face? I had been prepared for some amusing humiliation, but nothing like that.
How could Felicity do that to me? I made myself take a deep breath and told myself I just had to trust her. No matter what.
She dismounted, as Zoe performed the reverse procedure and removed my butt plug. Then she had me rise to my feet, transformed into a biped again. What next?
What next was she and Zoe chaining me by the wrists and ankles between the two posts, arms straight out and legs spread wide, like the Vitruvian man.
Spread-eagle, bound, utterly exposed, helpless: the stuff of my wet dreams! Everyone looking at me, particularly my cock and balls—the center of attention. Total fucking absolute bliss!
Even with what had to come next: what was a BDSM scene without a damn good spanking? Could I take what Felicity was about to dish out? Who the fuck knew? But this was my time to make a good showing—for my public.
Felicity remained next to me but sent Zoe to bring my father and mother to the stage. Zoe reached into the bag and pulled out something which she handed to my father. She held out something flat, a bit like a backgammon board. Dad threw the objects in: they were dice, five of them, in five different colors.
Zoe read out the results: “Five, two, six, three, and another six—twenty-two!”
“Thank you, Tony,” said Felicity, and she sent Zoe to bring a long, black case from behind the stage. Felicity opened it, to reveal a veritable arsenal of whips and paddles and floggers, painful-looking implements all. I cringed at the sight.
“Caroline,” Felicity called to my mother, “would you do the honors?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. If it was only Mom doing the flogging, how bad could it be? I’d better make it look convincing, I said to myself.
Mom looked through the options and pulled out a multi-thong flogger, to start with. Felicity gave her some instructions on how to proceed. Then she whispered to me the classic safe word: “red.” Mom reared back to swing, and I prepared my best grimace face.
Thwack! Goddamn!! That hurt! Wow, Mom wasn’t playing. The audience called out “One!”
Okay, she was no professional. Maybe she veered on the too-vigorous side. Maybe Felicity would tone her down. But…
Thwack! The audience yelled “Two!” This one wasn’t any better, maybe worse.
Again thwack! And they all cried “Three!”
Nineteen more to go, and Mom selected another play toy, a broad paddle. Maybe this one would be…
Thwack! Nope! It hurt just as bad, only in a different way. “Four!” they cried.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I discovered something then and there: pain was not fun for me.
Thwack! “Five!”
All the bondage, the domination, even the sadism of BDSM—I really was getting off on. But a masochist, strictly speaking, I was not.
“Thwack!” “Six!”
Yet I realized what did make me happy about it: taking it for love. If it pleased Mom or Felicity to subject me to… strong sensations… I found pleasure in enduring for their sake.
Thwack! “Seven!” Mom changed to a small whip.
I filled my mind with tender devotion for my sweet mother—and drank in lustful craving for her luscious body: those breasts, those legs, those lips!
Thwack! “Eight!”
Oh, yeah, the lust/love combo made it all much better. I was hard again. I guessed I could be conditioned, eventually, to associate arousal with pain—the way humiliation already did.
Thwack! “Nine!” Now it was working for me. Bring it on!
I found my bliss, the sexual thrill, in suffering for love and for lust, for my mother and for my amica. Through thirteen more blows, ten to twenty-two—they hurt like hell—but I took it like a man.
As the whole room rang with “twenty-two!” I let out a deep groan, so glad it was all over.
“What do you say?” asked Felicity.
“Thank you! Thank you, mother darling!”
“My poor sweetheart! Did it hurt very much?” She wiped tears from my cheeks and wrapped her arms around me.
“Yes, it did, but I love you, Mom.”
She kissed me, probing my mouth with her tongue. Gently, she caressed my aching buttocks. Her hands felt soft and cool over my burning flesh. With her other hand, she fondled my cock and balls, making me gasp with pleasure.
Felicity stepped up and took over my post-punishment comforting. My heart melted in adoration as we kissed and as she too played with my—very public—private parts.
Next came beautiful Zoe, who I was only too glad to kiss. She laid her fingers on my rock-hard cock. “Mmmm. I’ve been dying to touch this!” she whispered in my ear. “So thick! So hard! I am so looking forward to feeling it inside me!”
I wished I could touch her back, but I was still chained in position. But wait! There was another woman in line to provide comfort, middle-aged, average looks. I had no idea who she was, but she kissed and groped me, and I wasn’t about to complain.
Behind her was another; in fact, a whole line of people, face after face, some familiar, some not. One by one they each kissed me and had their way with my captive body.
Nine out of ten, I am happy to report, were women. But… that left ten percent… men!
The first one I didn’t recognize at first, but as he began running…
