The Ornament

Julie sat in the back of the limousine as it made its way slowly through the evening traffic.  Raindrops ran down the outside of the window obscuring and distorting the world as she watched it go by.  She gazed out on people as they made their way home from work in the half-light of a London winter evening.  They used umbrellas, bags and papers to try and keep themselves dry, but for the most part failed.  None seemed happy to be out on the street on this cold February day.  Coats seemed to offer little protection from a sly wind that pushed the rain around in gusts.  The people seemed like unhappy automones, going through their routine unaware that they were trapped into a system that would never allow them to truly live.

Her mind slowly mulled over the various inhumanities which humans inflicted on their fellow humans.  The ingenious torments society invents for those who did not follow its rules, accept its beliefs, and live as it tells them to live.  Society was never lenient on those it considered abnormal, those who thought or acted in ways that did not conform.  Julie knew that most people would certainly consider her abnormal.  What she was unsure of was whether that mattered to her.  Did she care if they thought her abnormal, thought her a freak, or some form of pervert?  She could not quite answer.  This, she mused, probably meant that somewhere inside herself she did care, in some ways at least.

The limousine had picked her up outside her apartment in Sheppard’s Bush and was slowly taking her to her destination in Islington.  The traffic was thick and slow, made worse by the rain, and the journey seemed to take forever.  She did not mind though, she rather enjoyed the opportunity to quietly sit and think.  Her life had been full of late, so full that she often had no time to think about what she was doing and why, she simply had to act on instinct.  Recently though, her instincts had certainly been pushing her in new directions.

Julie had not even seen the driver.  The car had arrived outside her door at the appointed time, she had got in without questioning and the car had moved on.  Limousines were not that common in her section of town that one stopped outside her door was likely to be for someone else.  It had been for her.  The windows of the stretched car were made so that she could look out but others could not look in, the partition to the driver’s section was not see-through.  She sat in her own private world, hidden away from the curious eyes of others.  It was warm inside the vehicle, and the noise of the traffic outside was only a dull murmur.  It was very soothing; under different circumstances she may have even drifted into sleep.  Outside the sun had set, the light gray day giving way to dark gray night, London never really gets truly dark.

Eventually the limousine turned into a dark and quiet alley, drew up to a large steel doorway, and stopped.  Julie stepped out of the warm comfort of the limousine into the cold and rain.  She shut the door behind her, and watched the car as it immediately pulled away and quickly disappeared around the corner of the alley.  For a moment the noise of the engine was loud in her ears, but it soon was gone and she was left standing alone.  The rain was coming down more gently in the protection of the alley, and she stood a moment looking around her.  The rain muted the sounds of the city, the sound of falling raindrops and drips from the building louder than anything else, it was quite peaceful.  As she had anticipated there was no one in sight.

Julie stepped up to the steel door.  Taking a deep breath she knocked twice, the noise loud in the quiet alley, then stepped back from the door.  With another deep breath she let her overcoat slip from her shoulders and fall to the ground; she would not need it any more.  She stood revealed in the dim light of the alley, naked accept for her shoes and a small black leather collar which circled her neck.  She briefly looked around her, then slowly knelt down on the cold wet cobblestones of the alley and let her gaze fall to the ground in front of her.  Hands behind her back she waited in the cold air, a chill running through her body as the rain wet her skin and soaked into her hair.

Julie knew there was a chance that someone would walk around the corner and see her kneeling naked in the rain.  Her heart thumped at the prospect, but her master had told her to wait in this position, in this attire; so she waited.  The cold air and rain quickly became very uncomfortable, her nipples contracted and hardened, goose bumps appeared on her skin, she shivered.  Looking down she spread her knees wider apart; she knew he would want her open.

She could not dismiss the thought of how dangerous her position was - alone and naked in a dark alley at night.  Her deepest instincts told her to get up, quickly put her coat on and leave.  At the same time there was another feeling present, one fairly new to her; trust in her master.  Over the preceding months she had come to trust him, not just as a friend and a lover, but as someone she could ultimately trust.  Trust to ensure that she would be safe, whatever the way they led their lives.  Trust that if he told her to kneel naked in a dark alley at night, then it would be safe.

After what seemed to Julie an eternity of kneeling naked in the cold rain the door opened.  It was not her master, but he had told her that someone else would greet her so when he beckoned she crawled to where he stood and lowered her head to his shoes.  She had no idea what her master had planned for the evening; she suspected that much of it might involve some amount of discomfort for her, maybe large amounts of discomfort.  She suspected it might involve other men, maybe many other men.  Whatever it was she tried to prepare herself for it.  Whatever it was he wanted it, so she wanted it, so it would happen.

She had been his for some number of months now.  He had taught her how it was he wanted her to be.  She had been hesitant at first, but now, in only a few months, she knew that she was his - his to do what he wanted with.  Sometimes he was gentle with her, other times he was not; it simply depended on his mood.  He had many times previously given her to another man for their pleasure, and expected her to not question his action and to work hard to pleasure his guest.  For his guest not to enjoy her was a poor reflection on him.  His kiss could thrill her and quicken her down to her sex, so could the slap of his palm across her breast, or the tight grip of his fingers on her nipple as he looked into her eyes.

She was happier than she had ever been.  She knew exactly what her position was, and she knew how to act in this new world she had discovered; she did whatever he asked, no matter how unusual or uncomfortable it was for her.  He gave her more confidence in her own beauty, abilities, and character than she had ever had before.  She trusted him like she had never trusted anyone; he had no reason to ever lie, why would he lie to her? Would he lie to his pet, or to some inanimate object he owned? No, there would be no reason.  She knew he always said exactly what he wished to say to her, and asked of her exactly what he wanted her to do.  No guessing, no being unsure of whether her actions pleased him.  She knew that in this relationship she had lost some of the independence that many people treasured, but in return she had been truly liberated.  She had traded the ability to choose for the ability to feel.  She had traded an existence based on guesswork and subterfuge for one of certainty and trust.  If you are controlling something you must always be one step back from it to be able to see the whole, if you are not controlling it you are free to completely immerse yourself in it.  Now she could immerse herself in whatever was occurring to her, never worrying about appearances.  She had only to react to the way things made her feel.  She did not have to wonder whether he liked what she was wearing, if he did not he said so, then told her what he wanted her to wear and she changed her clothes appropriately.  She did not have to worry what actions would please him and what would not; she knew if he asked something of her it was because it pleased him.  If he told her to sit naked so that he could enjoy the sight of her, she knew that by doing that she pleased him.  Equally if he told her to masturbate in front of his friends she knew he asked it because he wanted it to occur and it would please him.  Sometimes he wished to see not only her pleasure but also her pain, this she also knew he wanted and pleased him, so this she gave him freely as well.  She supposed most people would have thought her a slave, but she thought of herself as more free within his control than she had been before it.  Before she was subject to the changing and unknowable whims of society, now she was only subject to him.

Because of this she had known more and greater pleasure in the last few months than in all the rest of her life.  She had never before felt the freedom to scream out loud as she came, or the confidence to do any of a myriad of things that previously in her life she would never have had the courage to do.

After several moments the man spoke, ‘Good.  Stand and follow me.’  Julie lifted herself from her knees and followed him into the building.  He led her to a small dressing room.  ‘Dry yourself off and fix your make-up.  Tie your hair back.’  With that he left.  Julie looked around the small room.  There was a mirror, a hairdryer, combs and brushes, and her make-up.  Her master must have had it delivered she thought with a smile; he seemed capable of thinking of everything.  He did not like her to wear heavy make-up so it did not take long before she was ready.  She checked that her hair was neatly tied back; that the little pubic hair which he allowed her to keep was neatly trimmed; that her patent leather stiletto heeled shoes showed no sign of the rain or mud from outside; then knelt down on the floor facing the door and waited.  As she waited she contemplated the love that she felt for him, and the pleasure she got from being controlled by him, she also thought of his love for her and the pride she knew he felt when watching her obey his requests.  She knew that the more difficult he considered the task to be, the more pleasure she gave him by obeying.  In many ways she hoped for his requests to be difficult so that she could better show him how much she wished to please him, how much she wished to obey.  One day several weeks ago he had said that he wished to see tears sparkle in her eyes, he told her to lie on her stomach as he was going to cane her.  As they were in a small hotel in the country he told her not to cry out.  He used the cane on her presented bottom fifty times.  She did not cry out.  Afterwards when he looked into her tear filled eyes she could see the pleasure that she had given him, she felt proud to have provided him with so much pleasure.

After several minutes the man returned.  Again Julie lowered her head to his feet.  After a moment he said ‘Good.  Stand and follow me.’  Julie did as he asked.  He led her through a number of corridors and finally into a medium sized room.  The room was a warm older style entertaining room, with rich wood paneled walls, a tall ornate ceiling, and an impressive hanging chandelier filling the room with a warm light.  It was set out with tables around the edges laden with glasses, bottles of wine, spirits and plates of hors-d’oeuvres.  It looked enough for well over fifty people.  Julie’s mouth went dry and her heart pounded in anticipation of what her part in the gathering might be.

A number of men dressed in serving uniforms moved in and out of the room, but apart from the occasional glance they ignored the woman standing naked in the centre of the room.  The man indicated for Julie to stand next to a small square polished wooden table that stood in the centre of the room.  On it were a number of pieces of leather and rope.  Picking up one piece of shiny leather he turned to Julie and indicated for her to remove her small collar.  He replaced it with a large shiny black collar that was at least six inches high.  Julie had seen one before; it was called a posture collar.  It buckled around her neck and ensured that her neck was held in place, extended with her face looking forward and slightly up; she could neither turn her head to the side nor lower her head to look at the ground.  He buckled it firmly into place, and then carefully checked that it was firm enough to hold her head still, but not so tight as to restrict her breathing.

Next he picked up another piece of leather that turned out to be a sleeve into which both her arms were placed, behind her back.  He laced it tight so that her wrists were pressed together, and her elbows almost touching.  It took him some time to ensure that the lacing was tight enough that it ensured she had no movement in her arms.  The sleeve had the effect of forcing her shoulders back and thrusting her breasts forward.  The man spent some time adjusting the tightness of the lacing at the top to ensure that her breasts were displayed to their best.  He pinched her nipples to make sure they were firm and erect.

Next he motioned for her to slide onto the table.  He positioned her so she was sitting cross-legged on the table.  He then took a piece of rope and tied her ankles together in a crossed position.  He worked carefully with the thick white rope so that the loops that surrounded her legs were neat and the knots hidden.  The position opened her sex, her labia slowly parted as he tied the ropes.  Finally another piece of rope was then tied around both of her calves then tied off tightly to a D ring on her posture collar.  He pulled it tight so there was only six inches between her legs and her chest.  The effect was to pull both her legs up towards her chest, she could not help but roll back onto her bound arms.  This pushed her open and exposed sex up and onto full display.  It would be the first thing anyone would see of her.

Julie realized what the man was doing.  He was carefully and skillfully turning her into a table ornament.  She would be a tightly bound package beautifully displayed for whoever came in the door, a living sculpture.  He used small pieces of cushion behind her arms to ensure she was at a perfect angle for displaying her sex to the room, and aligned her so that her sex faced the entrance door to the room.  As a final touch he placed a ring gag into her mouth to keep it wide open and buckled the gag tightly behind her head.  In this position Julie could not help but look at the ceiling, the collar ensured it.  While she could see some of the room, most of her view was up; only if someone stood next to her head could she clearly see them.  Certainly she had no view of that which everyone else would have such a clear view, her sex.

He stepped back to admire his artistic creation, wandering around to make sure that the view was good from all angles.  He adjusted her arms slightly to improve the lines, and pulled on her labia to make them sit as he wanted.  After a moment he stepped forward and used his hand to briskly smack Julie’s sex a number of times.  It achieved the result he wanted as the lips of Julie’s sex swelled with blood and opened slightly further.  He walked around her a number of times, pinched her nipples again, and then satisfied with his work left the room.

Julie had never felt so exposed in her life.  For all purposes she was simply a sex openly displayed.  Her sex was parted, inviting anyone who passed to both admire it and use it.  The thought of her exposure bought a shudder to her breath, and added a drop of moisture to her beautifully displayed sex.  The serving men continued to prepare the room around her, ignoring her.  She on the other hand could not ignore them; she had never been so naked in the company of so many men.  She was more than naked, more than exposed, she was presented for the viewing pleasure of others, no part of her body unavailable to their glance, and she knew, their touch.

Slowly the men finished their work and left the room.  Eventually she was alone.  It felt somehow even more unusual to be alone in her position.  Her body so displayed, but no one to make use of it, to enjoy it.  Like a beautiful flower which blooms in the forest but is never seen or admired; it seemed a waste.  However, she knew that somewhere her master knew of her position, of the way she was displayed, and she knew he would be pleased with her.  This thought bought renewed moisture to her sex.

She was a piece of art.  A finely cast sculpture - a rare piece that any artist would be proud of.  She was proud of herself, she knew that her body must look beautiful, that her sex would appear as a crimson flower for all to admire.  She thought how rarely people were able to actually take their time to admire a presented human form in all its glory.  How rarely they could view a displayed sex; enjoy its beauty; note all its detail; take their time over it without concern for anything or anyone.  In her previous life she never could have believed that she would be presented thus.  It would have seemed both conceited to assume that her body was worthy, and perverted to display it.  But it was worthy, and it was displayed; and it could be only because of her new life. 

The position was not a comfortable one though.  The ropes dug into her flesh, and the arched position caused her back to ache.  The collar around her neck ensured that she did not have to hold her head erect, but it did not allow her to twist her neck to relieve the stress.  She did not know how long she would have to stay in the position, but however long it was she was sure it would only get more difficult.  She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the feeling of the gentle movement of air across her vagina, and the tight safe feeling of her bonds, rather than the discomfort in her muscles.

Minutes seemed hours.  Julie wanted to stretch her limbs, to move her muscles, but she knew it would ruin the look of her bound figure, and that her master, Richard, would not want that.  So she waited in the stillness of the room.

The doors were opened and people began to filter into the room in ones and twos.  She could not see them, but she could hear the tread of their shoes and their quite discussions as a hum in the room.  She could tell when they stood close to her, admiring her displayed form.  She could hear the occasional comment on her: how well she was displayed; the beauty of her labia; the colour of her inner lips, the quality of the rope work holding her; the way the moisture on her vagina glistened in the light, the texture of her pubic hair, the shape of her bottom, the subtle rise of her pubic mound, even the way her anus complimented her sex.  She could tell that some men only gave her a passing glance, while others spent many long minutes in viewing.  Like any work of art she appealed to the tastes of some more than others.

None of the people touched her.  Her bonds held her tightly, not allowing her to view the room; so instead of focusing on what she could see her mind focused on what others could see.  The sensations within her exposed sex were heightened; she felt every movement of air; she was sure that she could feel the presence of the men near her as heat on her skin.  The thought of so much attention on her sex excited her, she longed for one of the men to reach out and touch her.  The desire in her was like a physical ache, a pain that could only be satisfied by the touch of another.  The muscles of her sex contracted, she could not help herself as small muscle spasms raced through her.

The men nearby noticed the movements and commented.  They could easily tell that these were not movements of discomfort, but rather movements of desire.  They spoke of what must be going on in her mind to create such reactions without any physical contact; they commented that if this resulted from lack of contact how much more would be the result of contact.  Julie heard all the comments; they only served to push her excitement even higher.  Her breath became shorter.  She knew that now she was not a still cold piece of sculpture, but a hot quivering portrait of suppressed desire, her wants and desires made clear to all in the room.  Not only was her body exposed, so was her mind.  She could smell her own excitement as a strong perfume.  She could feel her clitoris grow with excitement; she knew that as it expanded it would become more and more visible.  She could feel the blood rushing to her sex, filling it, engorging it.  In her minds eye she saw that it was enflamed, swollen, wet with desire, moving with the heavy pulse of her heart.

After about an hour, somewhere in the room a glass was struck several times and the hum of conversation quickly disappeared.  In the moment of silence Julie’s heavy breath was audible over all else.  Somewhere in the room a man spoke.  ‘Friends.  Welcome again, I’m pleased to see so many attending our gatherings.  I will not disturb your conversations for long.  As you will notice our friend Richard has improved the evening by providing the artwork from his private collection.  I am told she is yours to enjoy for the night.  I think we have James, the resident artist, to thank for her arrangement.  Enjoy the evening, I am sure I will get a chance to talk with you all.  Thank You.’

The hum of conversation returned.  Julie’s mind spun - ‘yours to enjoy for the night’, what did that mean.  She shivered with anticipation, that was what she was – theirs to enjoy, to use.  Her clitoris seemed to throb with desire, it ached to be touched.  The need was almost painful.  Her muscles quivered.  She could sense several men standing next to her presented, exposed, open sex; she wished for at least one of them to reach out and touch her.  She could feel minor spasms running through her sex; surely one of the men would notice its state, realise how desperately she needed attention.

As if on cue someone reached out a single finger and ran it up the length of her sex, starting just above her anus, sliding slowly over the entrance to her vagina, and then up to flick her clitoris.  It was more than Julie could contain.  The suppressed desire in Julie exploded into Orgasm.  She could not help but cry out through her gag as the pleasure ripped through her body, shaking her in her bondage.  Her muscles spasmed as her vaginal muscles clamped down forcing small spurts of her juice from deep inside her to slide out and down to the table top.  It seemed to last forever, wave after wave of pleasure swept through her, bringing cries and groans to her gagged lips.  Conversation in the room stopped as the men turned and watched as she reached her vocal orgasm while bound on the table

Eventually it subsided; she was left panting in her bondage.  She could feel the new moisture that coated her sex and ran down over her anus.  A discrete applause broke out from the men in the room.  Julie panted in her bondage, aware that she had just reached orgasm in front of fifty or more complete strangers from the single touch of one finger on her sex.  She was sure that her master was somewhere in the room, and that he would be pleased.

**

More of the men gathered around her, enjoying the sight of her now sweat glistened body.  Several of them now played with her; stroking her sex, sliding their fingers into her vagina and anus, running their hands over her skin.  To their pleasure she did not try and evade their hands but rather moved her hips around to give best access to whoever was using her at any point. 

Richard moved around the room, talking to friends and acquaintances, accepting numerous compliments on Julie.  All the time he kept at least half of his attention on her.  He could not help but be proud of how beautiful she looked.  He was tempted to take her from the table and whisk her away to somewhere where she could be his alone, but he got immense pleasure from seeing the way others enjoyed her, and how she responded to them.  He loved the sound of her orgasm as it periodically silenced the room, quickening his own heart beat, as he knew it must do to everyone in the room.  Only once did he move up to her and let his hand slid down her leg to touch her sex; she responded, but he doubted she could tell it was him.  With her eyes closed she seemed oblivious to anything except the sensations which washed through her body.

Time seemed to loose meaning to Julie as her world focused down to the sensation that flooded her body again and again.  It could have lasted an hour, two, three.   All she knew was the rush of sensation, the touch of foreign hands, and the bonds that seemed to magnify her orgasms as her muscles fought against them.  There was no time when Julie was not being enjoyed, as one group of men followed by another would approach her to entertain themselves with her body.  The time blurred for her into a constant rise and fall from Orgasm, her mind constantly filled with the buzz of pleasure so intense it was close to pain.  She had no idea how many times she was bought to orgasm, of how many hands slid inside her or stroked across her clitoris.  By the end of the evening when the last of the guests departed leaving only her master standing over her smiling she could barely remember anything accept the constant rush and pound of orgasm.  Her sex and the table below it were soaked with her juices; she seemed to have produced litres of it.

As she came down from the high she noticed a heavy ache coming from her sex, the muscles having clenched and released so many times through the night were sore and tired.  Her stomach muscles also ached from the contractions that had rippled through them so often.  Somehow she had almost forgotten the ache of her arms and legs in their bondage, but these returned with a rush.  She was exhausted.

Richard slowly released her bonds, careful to allow the muscles of her legs to slowly extend from the position they had held for so long, rubbing them down to ensure that her circulation was fully restored.  He slowly removed the gag, rubbing her jaw to ensure the muscles began to work again.  He carefully removed the collar, cradling her exhausted head, and kissing her while telling her how much she had pleased him.  He gave her a glass of water to refresh her mouth that had been open for so long.  He carefully removed the sleeve from her arms and massaged her shoulders to ease the pain. 

As he released her he admired the beauty of the marks left by the rope on the skin of her legs.  He knew the marks would be quickly gone, but as the rope was pulled away it left a perfect imprint of its weave pressed into the canvas of her skin.  As she slowly unfolded herself from the bondage it was like watching a butterfly emerge.  Her small groans of mixed pain and pleasure as she stretched out limbs and muscles that had too long been constrained delighted him.

Eventually she tried to stand, but her fatigued legs would not hold her.  He wrapped her in a blanket and carried her to his car.  He carefully laid her in the seat, reaching across to fasten the seat belt.  Once finished he looked down at his most treasured possession and smiled at her beauty, at the complete exhaustion that was evident in her every movement.  She fell asleep before he had gone to his side of the car and started the engine.

The next day she could still barely walk, the muscles of her entire body ached, but those of her sex felt like they had been pummeled for hours, rather than simply over orgasmed.  Her legs were still weak from their bondage, threatening to collapse if she tried to climb stairs or walk at more than a shuffle.  But she knew it had pleased him, and she knew that she would do it again tonight if he asked.  She had been used as an object for the pleasure of fifty people, but one man in particular; they had used her body as a plaything to amuse them; clapped every time she had reached orgasm.  The thought made her instantly wet, wanting it to happen again.  She was happy and looked forward to the next time she would see her master and he would ask of her something that before hand would seem an impossible and unimaginable feat.