The Night I Served as the Dinner Entertainment

I walk into the dining room and my feet stop before my mind has even processed what I’m seeing.

The table is set: candles lit, six place settings, crystal glasses catching the lamplight. Everything elegant, everything normal. Except for the chair at the head of the table.

Sticking out of that chair is a thick, black, glossy dildo, secured to the seat with some kind of harness. It occupies the space with total shamelessness, impossible to ignore, impossible to misread. The tip is lubricated and reflects the candlelight. It’s huge: longer and thicker than Rodrigo’s cock, and that’s saying a lot.

I recognize that chair. It’s mine.

Rodrigo comes out of the kitchen with a bottle of wine in his hand. He looks me straight in the eyes when he appears, with that calm, possessive smile I’ve learned to read over the years.

“They’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” he says. “Take a quick shower and put on the red dress. No panties.”

I wonder whether I want to refuse.

I don’t. I’m already dripping wet just from looking at the chair.

I get into the shower with the water as cold as I can stand, trying to calm something that clearly has no intention of calming down. I slip my fingers between my thighs and confirm what I already knew: I’m soaked, the flesh swollen, my clit pulsing like a second heart. I put on the dress, the one Rodrigo picked for tonight, the one that fits me one size tighter than I’d wear in other circumstances. My nipples show through the fabric. I look at myself in the mirror for a second before going out. I’m nervous and I’m turned on, and the two things are not incompatible.

Rodrigo waits for me by the chair. Without saying a word, he hikes my dress up to my waist, has me put my hands on the backrest, and adds another squeeze of lubricant to the tip of the dildo. He parts my ass cheeks with one hand and with the other guides the black cock toward my pussy.

“Lower yourself slowly,” he orders. “I want to see you swallow it whole.”

I bend my knees. The thick head opens my lips and I feel the first couple of centimeters sink in. I stop, gasping. Rodrigo puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes me down, unhurried but with no allowance for retreat. The dildo goes in, goes in, goes in, stretching me open, forcing my pussy to make room for every millimeter of silicone. When my ass finally touches the seat, a long moan slips out through my clenched teeth.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and adjusts my dress to cover the scene. “Now no one knows what you’ve got down there. Just you and me.”

When Rodrigo’s friends arrive, I’m already seated at the head of the table with that cock buried all the way inside me and my hands resting on the tabletop as if this were any ordinary evening. Only it isn’t. Every tiny movement shifts it inside me, reminds me it’s there, drives it back against that spot Rodrigo knows so well. Rodrigo introduces us one by one with that conspiratorial smile of his, and they all look at me with a mixture of disbelief and anticipation that sends heat up my neck into my cheeks.

There are four of them. Rafael, shirt sleeves rolled up and forearms crossed, studies me as if I were an interesting problem to solve. Damián, younger than the others, tries to hide the fact that he doesn’t know where to look. Marcos and Tomás settle into their chairs with the calm of men who already know what’s going to happen.

“Wine,” Rodrigo says, and fills the glasses.

The conversation starts as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Soccer, work, a trip someone took last month. I try to follow the thread while adjusting to the constant pressure inside me, while learning to breathe with that cock in me, while my cheeks burn and I pretend they don’t. Every time someone laughs, the vibration of the table transfers to the chair, and I have to press my lips together to keep from making a sound. I can feel my pussy contracting rhythmically around the dildo, my own slick starting to run down the base and wet the wood of the seat.

“Are you comfortable?” Rafael asks me at one point, in the neutral tone of someone making a polite inquiry.

“Fairly,” I answer, and my voice only trembles a little.

They laugh. Not cruelly, but with that complicity of people sharing the same secret and knowing exactly what the joke is.

The first orgasm hits me during the first course, without warning. Rodrigo plants his foot on the chair frame from under the table and sends a subtle vibration through it that I hadn’t expected. The black cock starts trembling inside me, a low hum spreading through the walls of my pussy and shooting straight up into my belly. I bite down hard on my lip. I clamp my thighs against the wood. I try to control the trembling in my shoulders, the way my breathing speeds up. But it’s useless: the climax surges from the soles of my feet, tears through my hips, and explodes inside me. A short, strangled gasp cuts through the conversation for a second. I can feel myself gushing around the dildo, my belly shuddering in waves against the edge of the table.

Everyone turns to look at me.

“Excuse her,” Rodrigo says, never taking his eyes off mine. “Go on, Marcos, I was listening.”

And the conversation goes on. But the looks have changed. Rafael props his chin in his hand and watches me with something that isn’t mockery. Damián takes a long sip of wine, and I can see the hard bulge pressing against the seam of his trousers. I try to pull myself together while the aftershocks still run through my thighs and sweat sticks the dress to my back, with my nipples now fully erect pushing against the fabric.

The time until the main plates are cleared is the strangest of the whole night. I converse, or try to. I answer questions. I laugh at the right moments. And all the while I’ve got that silicone cock driven into me, and four pairs of eyes that no longer look at me exactly the same way. Every so often Rodrigo switches the vibration on for two seconds, three, and leaves me on the edge again without letting me finish.

***

When the plates are taken away, Rodrigo stands up and walks around the table until he’s behind me. He pulls a rope from his jacket pocket. Thin, black, the kind that doesn’t leave marks but has no intention of loosening on its own.

“Stretch out your arms,” he says in my ear.

I stretch them out. He ties them to the sides of the chair with knots that aren’t too tight but are completely useless if I try to undo them without help. Then, with the same methodical calm, he secures my ankles to the frame, spreading my legs wide, forcing me to stay open and impaled.

Now I’m completely immobilized.

With a sharp tug, Rodrigo hikes my dress up to my waist and leaves it folded there, exposing my open thighs, the base of the black dildo shining wetly between my legs, my swollen red pussy wrapped around the silicone.

“Look,” he says, his voice calm. “She’s been like this for almost two hours.”

I can feel the wood against the backs of my thighs, the cold metal on my ankles, the weight of four pairs of eyes moving over me with a new freedom. There’s nothing left to cross or adjust or hide. I am exactly where I am, and I stay there, my cunt speared and exposed for all of them.

“You can touch her now,” Rodrigo says, and goes back to his seat.

Rafael stands first. He goes around the table with his glass in hand, sets the glass on the wood when he reaches me, and looks me over from above for a few seconds before sliding his fingers down the neckline of my dress. With a confident motion he pulls the dress off my shoulders until my tits are bare, round and heavy, my nipples so hard they hurt. He isn’t looking for anything in particular. He’s just exploring, with the patience of a man who has all the time in the world. When he finds a nipple and pinches it between thumb and forefinger, the sound I make is halfway between a moan and a protest.

“Sensitive,” he comments, never looking away.

“Very,” Rodrigo confirms from the other end of the table. “She’ll come just from that if you keep at it.”

Rafael smiles. He lowers his head and sucks my right nipple, tugging it with his lips, biting it with calculated care, while his fingers twist the left one until my back arches as far as the ropes allow. I moan out loud, unable to hold back. Every pull on my tits tightens my pussy around the dildo, and every contraction tears another gasp from me.

Damián comes over from the other side. Slower, with more hesitation, but he comes over. His hands are colder and less sure, but when he finds the rhythm there’s something about that awkwardness that unsettles me in a different way. Different textures, different intentions, different speeds. He puts one hand on my inner thigh, slowly moving upward, and stops just two fingers away from where the silicone is forcing its way into me.

“Can I...?” he starts.

“Whatever you want,” Rodrigo says. “Touch her, lick her, put your fingers in her, put your cock in her mouth. Just don’t untie her. And don’t fuck her. That cunt is exclusively mine.”

They laugh. So do I, or something like laughter: a sound that comes out of my throat without me deciding to let it out.

Damián breathes in deeply and runs two fingers over my clit, over the buried dildo. I cry out. It’s a short, raw cry, unbidden. He does it again, with more confidence, drawing slow circles over the swollen little bud while the dildo stays planted in me, unmoving. Marcos, who’s been watching until now, gets up too and grabs my other breast with one big, warm hand, squeezing it, kneading it, while Rafael keeps sucking my first nipple.

***

What follows doesn’t have a clean narrative. It’s sensations layered over one another without order: hands in my hair tilting my head back, a flat firm palm pressing on my chest, fingers tracing the edge of my thigh and now crossing it, fingers sinking in beside the dildo, trying to figure out how they fit next to the silicone inside my already full cunt.

Someone—I think it’s Marcos—slides two fingers in beside the dildo and finds that yes, they fit, that I can stretch more. The stretch tears a long howl from me. They laugh again, satisfied. Damián keeps working my clit, now faster, and Rafael alternates bites between both nipples without pause.

At one point I lose count of how many hands there are. Two on my chest, one in my hair, another circling my clit, two fingers inside my cunt pushing in alongside the silicone. My brain stops cataloguing and just processes the heat, the pressure, the constant motion. There’s nothing to do with my hands tied except clench my fists, open them, clench them again.

At some point in that chaos Rodrigo stands up and grabs my jaw with one hand. He tilts my head back even farther until my neck is completely exposed. He slips his fingers into my mouth slowly.

I wrap my tongue around them by reflex, without thinking. I suck them greedily, circling my tongue around his knuckles, blowing him like he’s a cock.

I hear the murmur of approval moving around the table.

“Just like that,” Rodrigo says, in that tone that doesn’t need volume to take over the whole room. “Exactly like that.”

He withdraws them slowly, with a thread of saliva breaking between my lips and his fingers. There’s spit at the corners of my mouth. I can’t wipe it away with my hands tied, and he makes no move to help me.

“See?” he says, looking at the others. “She takes whatever you give her.”

He unzips his fly without taking his eyes off me, pulls out his hard cock and rubs it across my lips without actually putting it in, marking my mouth with his wet tip.

“Open,” he tells me.

I open my mouth. He drives his cock all the way down my throat in one thrust, no courtesies, and stays there a second before pulling back and thrusting in again. He fucks my mouth slowly but deeply, letting me swallow each time, while Damián keeps rubbing my clit and Marcos keeps sliding his fingers in beside the dildo. Rafael pulls my hair from behind to keep my head in the position Rodrigo wants.

A comment I don’t manage to process runs around the table because at that moment Tomás, who until now has stayed at the back in silence, comes over and crouches beside my chair. Rodrigo pulls his cock out of my mouth then, leaving a thread of saliva hanging from my chin, and lets me gasp for air. Tomás looks me in the eyes for a long second from below.

“Are you okay?” he asks, just for me, in the tone of someone who genuinely wants to know.

“Yes,” I say, my voice hoarse from having my throat stuffed.

This time he doesn’t hesitate. And we both know it.

He nods. He puts a hand on my knee and leaves it there, with no other intention than contact, weight, presence. For some reason that simple gesture throws me off balance more than everything else put together.

***

The second orgasm has no single trigger, but the accumulation of everything.

The heat of four people paying attention to every variation in my breathing. The dildo that’s been inside me for more than two hours and that Rodrigo chooses right then to turn up to maximum power again. The black cock vibrating hard against my G-spot while Marcos keeps his fingers inside me and Damián doesn’t let up on my clit for even a second. Hands on different parts of my body with different intentions. Rodrigo’s cock coming back to rest against my lips, this time only so I can lick it without swallowing, so I can work it wet while I come.

When it hits, I don’t try to muffle it.

My head falls back. My arms pull against the ropes without accomplishing anything. A long, broken sound escapes my throat and fills the silence that has suddenly settled over the room. I feel the hot gush pouring out of my cunt around the silicone, soaking the seat, sliding down the insides of my thighs. I shake all over, arched against the ropes, and keep coming for what feels like a full half minute, wave after wave, with Damián still rubbing my clit to stretch it out as much as possible.

Rodrigo is behind me at that moment. He puts his hands on my shoulders while the trembling runs through my whole body, top to bottom, like a current that takes time to die down. I can feel his satisfaction in the pressure of his fingers, in the way he holds his breath to listen to me.

“There it is,” he says, very softly.

The table stays silent for a few seconds.

Then someone clinks their glass against someone else’s.

“Impressive,” Rafael says, and there’s something in his voice that sounds more like respect than mockery.

I’m gasping. Sweat has stuck my dress to my back. My nipples are swollen from all those mouths and fingers, marked red. My thighs are glossy with slick all the way down to my knees. My muscles have been tense for so long I can’t tell whether I’m controlling them or they’ve simply stopped obeying me. My eyes are wet and I’m not exactly sure why.

“Do you want me to untie you?” Rodrigo asks in my ear.

“No,” I say.

He doesn’t repeat my answer out loud. He just goes back to his chair, leans on the backrest with his arms crossed, and looks at the others.

“We’ve got time,” he says.

Damián takes less than three seconds to bring his hand back down to my clit. Marcos grabs one of my tits again. Rafael comes over this time with his cock out of his trousers, thick and dripping, and places it against my lips without saying anything. I glance at Rodrigo out of the corner of my eye. Rodrigo nods once.

I open my mouth.

Rafael slides into me slowly, savoring every centimeter. Marcos comes in from the other side with his own, and Rodrigo takes my right hand, unties it just enough for me to close it around Marcos’s shaft, then ties it back in that position. Now I’ve got a cock in my mouth, another in my hand, two men playing with my tits and clit, and the dildo vibrating inside my soaked cunt. My head spins. I don’t know how many times I come in the hour that follows. I lose count before the third.

When Rafael finishes, he does it on my face. A thick spray of hot semen crosses my cheek and runs down my chin. Marcos, shortly after, comes on my tits, white spurts marking my chest and belly. Damián can’t hold back any longer and comes in my hand when Rodrigo gives him his turn. Tomás doesn’t take part: he stays seated, glass in hand, watching me with that blend of respect and something else harder to name. Rodrigo is the last. He makes me get down from the chair, still with the dildo inside me, and fucks me from behind in my mouth while I’m kneeling in front of the others, coming on my tongue and forcing me to swallow every drop while he holds my head.

***

Later, when I no longer have any orgasms pending but still don’t want the night to end, Rodrigo unties the ropes with the same calm he used to knot them. My wrists are red. My ankles too. Carefully he helps me rise off the dildo; the silicone comes out of me followed by a final gush of thick fluid, and I feel the sudden emptiness in my pussy like a loss. I stand up slowly, clumsy from having stayed in the same position too long, and he holds me by the elbow until I get my balance back. He wipes my face and chest with a white napkin, unhurried, almost tenderly.

The others are finishing their drinks. Rafael looks at me with that half-smile he’s worn from the start. Damián has recovered some of his initial composure. Tomás lifts his glass briefly in my direction, a small, discreet gesture no one else seems to catch.

Rodrigo hands me my glass of wine, which has been sitting cold on the table since the first course.

“Sit wherever you want,” he says.

I sit in one of the normal chairs. The cool leather against my naked, still-sticky thighs feels strangely ordinary after everything. I take the glass, sip, and listen as the conversation picks up again as if nothing had interrupted its flow.

Someone says something about tomorrow’s match. Someone else answers. More wine is poured.

I keep trembling, very slightly, where no one can see it.