#Butt Plug

A couple of years ago, I split from my spouse and moved back to my old stomping grounds, settling into a cozy loft while I rebuilt my life from scratch. My place was just a short walk from my sister's house, and we were tight. She's a tiny thing, a pediatric nurse with a baby face that makes her look barely 25, even though she's pushing 40. She's about 4'10", with fair skin, a pixie cut, and an innocent charm that hides her wild side. Her standout feature? A sprawling tattoo of a dragon coiling around her left thigh, its tail snaking up toward her hip, vibrant and bold. Here's the deal: I was on the prowl for some casual fun, maybe even a spark that could turn into something real. I started poking around online, scrolling through forums and local Reddit threads, until I stumbled on a group for the city's underground party scene. I joined, mostly lurking, only showing up to the occasional event. Then they announced a big masquerade bash for Mardi Gras, and since singles had to pay a fee, I threw together a costume - a Phantom of the Opera getup, complete with a half-mask and a velvet cape. The party was electric, and by 1 a.m., the costume contest was in full swing. The winner stole the show: a woman dressed as a sultry fortune teller, with a sheer, beaded skirt that hugged her curves, a low-cut corset, and a glittering choker that screamed seduction. She was petite, with a tight, toned body and a mischievous grin that had me weak in the knees. The host hyped up the crowd, yelling, "Turn around, show it off! " They tugged off her shawl, revealing a glimpse of lacy lingerie beneath. My heart raced, and my body reacted instantly, heat rushing through me as she spun, her skirt riding up to tease a jeweled plug nestled between her cheeks, catching the light as she moved. The crowd roared, and I was completely captivated by her confidence, her hips swaying like she owned the room. The host upped the ante, calling up the top two guys from the contest - one dressed as a pirate, the other a masked Zorro. They were told to "unwrap" her, and they didn't hesitate. The pirate lifted her skirt higher, spreading her thighs just enough to show off that sparkling plug, while Zorro's hands roamed her waist, teasing the crowd. Her breasts, full but not oversized, spilled slightly from the corset, her nipples hard and visible through the thin fabric, begging for attention. When the host asked what she wanted as her prize, she pointed at the pirate with a wicked smile and said, "I want him." The room erupted in cheers, the tension thick enough to choke on. The host wheeled out a semi-sheer curtained booth, and with a quick glance at their partners for approval, the two were ushered inside. I looked around for my brother-in-law, a paramedic who was mingling nearby, his hand casually brushing the arm of another woman as they laughed with her partner. The vibe in the room was pure chaos, electric and raw. The lights dimmed, and a spotlight hit the booth, the curtains just sheer enough to let us see silhouettes and flashes of skin. She dropped to her knees, her hands working the pirate's belt with practiced ease. Her lips wrapped around him, slow at first, teasing, then taking him deeper, her head bobbing rhythmically as she swallowed him whole. The crowd was hushed, mesmerized, as she worked him with expert precision, her tongue flicking out to trace every inch before pulling him in again, her throat constricting around him in a way that made my own breath catch. Couples around me were getting handsy, some slipping off to dark corners, others making out right there, no shame. Then, in a move that sent a jolt through me, she stood, hiked up her skirt, and straddled a velvet chair, spreading her legs wide. The pirate knelt before her, his face buried between her thighs, his tongue lapping at her with slow, deliberate strokes. She arched back, her fingers gripping the chair, moaning loud enough for us to hear through the booth's thin walls. He sucked and teased, his hands spreading her wider, his lips and tongue working her clit until her hips bucked, her breath hitching in sharp gasps. After what felt like an eternity of her writhing under his mouth, she stood, turned, and bent over the chair, offering herself. The pirate didn't waste a second. He positioned himself behind her, gripping her hips as he thrust in, slow at first, then harder, deeper, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing faintly. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as he pounded into her, lifting her small frame off the ground with each thrust. Her breasts bounced free from the corset, her nipples grazing the chair's edge as she braced herself. Within minutes, he pulled out, spinning her around to finish across her lips and chin, her tongue darting out to catch what she could as she knelt, panting, her eyes locked on his. The lights cut out, and when they flickered back on, she stood there in just her lacy thong, her hair wild, beads of sweat glistening on her skin. The host called for applause, giving her a firm smack on the ass as she strutted back to her table, her hips swaying with every step. I inched closer, watching her weave through the crowd. Hands reached out, groping her thighs, her breasts, and she didn't flinch - she slowed her walk, letting them touch, even pausing to press herself into a stranger's palm. My pulse pounded, and I couldn't stop myself. I reached out, my fingers brushing her inner thigh, slipping briefly into her slick heat before pulling back. I brought my hand to my lips, tasting her - sweet, musky, like a drug I didn't know I needed. She glanced at me, then slid onto the lap of another guy, kissing him with sloppy, hungry intensity while her husband was busy nibbling at another woman's neck. The four of them stood, heading toward what I figured was a private suite they'd reserved. That night burned itself into my brain. I couldn't shake the image of her, the taste of her, the way she gave herself over so completely. I started hanging out with my sister more, dropping by their place with excuses - a barbecue, a boxing match on TV, anything to get us drinking together. I'd pour the bourbon, waiting for the moment to muster the nerve to tell her how much I wanted her, how I'd planned it all in my head. And yeah, it paid off - not how they saw it coming, but for me, it was a fantasy I'd been crafting for months...

Friday afternoon finally rolls around, and I'm out of the office as fast as I can manage, tossing my stuff into my bag and practically sprinting to freedom. As I head to my car, I catch a few lingering stares sliding over me, sizing me up. A little shiver runs through me - I love dressing to turn heads, though I keep it tame for work. Nothing too wild, just sharp and fitted. Today, I went with a knee-length pencil skirt, ankle boots, and a tucked-in blouse, all topped off with a cropped denim jacket. Everything's in deep navy, my go-to color. In my rush this morning, though, I forgot to put on any underwear - oops. Driving home, my mind bounces between random nonsense and those stares from earlier. The thought of them sends a slow heat pooling between my legs, and I can feel myself getting wet. God, I love how turned on I get. Once I'm home, I head straight for the shower. I strip down, step under the hot water, and let it soak into me. The steam amps up my arousal, and I can't resist - my hands slide up to my chest, squeezing hard, tugging at my nipples. The sharp sting feels so good. My fingers drift lower, finding myself already dripping. I give myself a few firm slaps down there, then slip two fingers inside, pumping fast. My other hand explores further back, and soon I've got two fingers there too. I'm so close, teetering on the edge, but I stop myself. "Not yet, you greedy little slut, " I mutter, stepping out to dry off. Still buzzing with need, I head to my computer, naked, and fire it up. I'm itching to watch something filthy to push me further. I settle into my chair, legs parted, teasing myself lightly as the screen glows to life. Then a message pings in. Stranger: Hey, slut, you horny too? It's a cheesy line, but the way he names me hits just right. Me: Yeah, as usual. You? Stranger: A little. You submissive? Me: Oh, very. Stranger: You follow orders? Me: Yes, I do. Stranger: Even at your computer? Me: Yep, right here. Stranger: Good, you filthy little thing. Go grab some stuff - rope, handcuffs, a dildo or vibe, an anal plug if you've got one, clothespins, a collar, a pair of your worn panties. Then put on some heels, slut, and hurry up. I'm already a mess of want, and tearing myself away from the screen feels like torture, but I'm a good girl - eager and obedient - so I scramble to gather everything. On the way back, I slip into my favorite red stilettos, 4-inch heels with a slight platform. They make me feel powerful and dirty all at once. I plop back down at the computer. Me: Your dirty girl's got everything. Stranger: Nice. Shove that plug up your ass and tie your tits tight. I lick the plug quick and ease it in - my breath hitches as it settles, and I'm leaking now, crazy for anything anal. Then I wrap the rope around my chest, cinching it hard. The ache is delicious, and it's all I can do not to touch myself. Me: Done, just like you wanted, Sir. Stranger: Tell me where you're sitting, you nasty pig, and clip four clothespins around each nipple, one right on each tip. I attach the pins as ordered - the pain's sharp and perfect, and I'm losing myself to the haze of it. Me: Sir, the pins are on. I'm in a cushy office chair at my desk. Stranger: Describe the chair, every detail, you brainless trash. Me: Sorry for being so dumb, Sir. It's a black cushioned chair on wheels, with armrests on both sides. Stranger: Perfect, slut. Hook your legs through the armrests so you're spread wide, showing off that wet mess. Stuff those filthy panties in your mouth and gag yourself with them. This guy's driving me wild - his tone, his demands. I shove the panties in, tying a rope around my head to keep them there. The humiliation's intoxicating. I position myself as he wants, legs splayed, the plug sinking deeper as I shift. A muffled moan escapes me. Me: I'm ready, Sir. Stranger: Good, you worthless toy. Now take a rope and bind your legs together. I grab the rope, loop it around my left ankle, and pull tight. It's tricky with my legs spread like this, but I manage after a minute. The helplessness feels incredible. My chair's already slick beneath me - I'm a dripping mess, a blessing and a curse. Guys love it, but it's a liability in the wrong outfit. Me: Sir, my legs are tied. Please, can I touch myself? I'm so wet, I'm begging. Stranger: No, you disgusting piece of trash, not yet. Put on your collar and tighten it till you can barely breathe. I slip the collar on, yanking it snug like he says. How does he know I get off on this? The choke of it, the way it mimics a hand on my throat during sex - it's a rush, a reminder of how little I matter. I love it. Me: Collar's on, Sir. Stranger: Such an obedient bitch. Does it have rings, slut? Me: Yes, Sir, three - two on the sides, one in front. Stranger: Excellent, you pathetic thing. You've earned this. Time for the big finish. Me: Thank you, Sir! I'm a desperate slut and so grateful for what's coming. Stranger: Turn on your vibe and wedge it against your clit, let it drive you wild. But pull it away right before you come, you filthy pig, and report back. Me: Yes, Sir. I flick the vibe on and press it where he wants it. Holy hell, it's intense - my whole world narrows to that buzzing spot. I'm panting, barely breathing through the collar, the pain in my chest stoking the fire. I'm seconds from exploding when I rip it away, groaning in frustration. Me: Sir, I obeyed. Please, I need to come - I'm nothing but need. Please, I'm begging. Stranger: Alright, slut. Do this - vibe back on your clit, drape the keyboard over your lap, thread your arms through the armrests from outside in, and cuff yourself. Me: Thank you, Sir! I slide the vibe back, position the keyboard, and snap the cuffs on. I'm trapped now, and it's pure bliss. The vibe does its work fast - I scream as much as the gag allows, shattering into release. Slowly, I come back to earth. Me: Thank you for my orgasm, Sir. Stranger: You're welcome, you good little slut. Quick question - where's the key to those cuffs? lol I blink, confused. It's right there on the desk - wait, no, it's just out of reach. I lunge forward, but I'm stuck. Panic creeps in as I squirm uselessly. Stranger: Trouble, slut? lol Me: Yeah, looks like I'm trapped. Stranger: Oh, really? lol Guess you're a proper dumbass, huh? Me: Seems that way. Stranger: Where you at, slut? Me: I'm in Portland. My head's spinning. I can't call for help, can't reach my phone or the damn key. I'm at my own mercy, screwed by my own horniness. The vibe's still going, pushing me toward another edge. Stranger: Here's your options, slut. Give me the number of whoever's got your spare key, or I'll call a locksmith for you, or you hand over your address and I'll grab the key myself and swing by. Don't dawdle, or I'm gone. lol My mind races. A locksmith finding me like this? No way. My sister with the spare key? Even worse. I've got no choice but to give him what he wants - and I know he's after more than just playing hero. My arousal surges back, deciding for me. I type out my full name, address, my sister's address, and the details he'd need to convince her. I'm all in now. His last message pops up. Stranger: Nice, you stupid slut. Gonna be a fun weekend. lol See you in about 3 hours. I'm stunned - three hours? As I sit there, reeling at my own recklessness, wondering what I've unleashed, the vibe drags me into another orgasm...