Summer Garden Party: Fountain of Relief
“Anything you want.”
If the teasingly questioning tone wasn’t enough of a hint at the thoughts crossing his mind, the evil twinkle in his dark eyes certainly was. In that moment I just knew D was determined to take full advantage of my birthday gift promise to him this year.
The day of his birthday dawned hot and sunny, blossoming into a beautiful July morning. Perfect weather for the garden party he’d requested, which had been duly arranged and was only just beginning. Although the expansive lawns were already dotted with timely guests, yet more were arriving in the queue of cars slowly trundling through the large gates to his country manor.
Through the excited hum of chatter from the other guests, snatches of his conversation with a good friend drifted to my ears. The duet of masculine bass tones resonated through the heat’s airwaves, punctuated by the deep laughter of a shared joke or amusing anecdote.
As D moved towards my position I could make out more of what was being said; he was relaying the exciting news of a new installation in the gardens – a fountain.
“…as my beloved promised me anything I wanted, and I’ve been thinking about an eye-catching centrepiece for the lawns for some time…”
“Well it’s certainly that,” his friend replied, obviously amused.
“I’m glad you approve,” D smugly retorted. I could hear the wide smile in his voice. “I opted for a realistic style, and I’m sure you’ll agree it’s an exquisite piece of art.”
There were sounds of enthusiastic agreement.
The new fountain had indeed been installed, that very morning in fact. A realistic sculpture of three nubile women, inverted. Legs spread akimbo not quite at a right angle with their bodies. More a 45-degree angle, so their toes pointed up and outwards, as if in a radial salute.
The women faced outwards, whilst being upside-down, with each of their spread legs connected to the next girl’s, so it seemed the radial foot salute connected each woman by their ankle. In true classical style, the women and their curves were presented au naturel. Their naked forms held an undoubtedly pleasurable allure for the growing, celebratory crowd.
No detail had been overlooked on the women’s bare-skinned bodies. Neither could the guests overlook even the most intimate details of their open and exposed private areas. They were hairless, spread and presenting outward for easy delectation.
The long, unrestrained tresses of each woman fell downwards, of course, within the circle -perhaps as a nod toward the traditional cascade of a fountain. Faces faced out to the lawns at waist-height. When eyes could be torn away from the allure of those unashamedly exposed private parts, it became apparent that each woman was gagged in a wide open-mouth style, with each wrist cuffed to a solid metal ring forming the foundation of the structure. The three women were kept in place by way of this resilient scaffold piece, with similar metal rods securing and keeping each leg unbending and pointed at the correct angle, as well as utilising subtle yet unyielding harnessing details to safely bear the weight.
The fountain was, without a doubt, resplendently beautiful. A gloriously vulgar and explicit spectacle, the party centrepiece, a triumphant triad of perverse nudity.
Not simply realistic or a sculpture, in fact… but real.
I know this, because I’m one third of his fountain of fuckery.
The waves of masochistic mortification ebbed and flowed through my harnessed, exposed, upside-down body as they had been doing ever since he erected me on this sadistic creation a short while earlier. My arse was almost unbearably full from where he roughly lubed me and shoved in the large and long phallic plug.
Thanks to the stern but necessary neck brace, it’s only from peripheral glimpses that I can tell my fountain companions are also women. Only from the choked sounds of feminine frustration on the cruel dental gags can I tell there are three of us. I can only assume they are as fully plugged as I am. I give wordless thanks that my breasts, which swing free in the increasingly hot summer sun, aren’t so enormous as to entirely restrict my vision. I have no idea if my companions are as lucky.
We touch only at the outsides of our ankles, where we risk becoming chafed from our skin rubbing as we writhe in our public bonds. It’s our only connection – that, and the almost silent but undoubtedly raging humiliation burning from each set of cheeks. An intoxicating humiliation which fuels the fires of arousal, ready to be released in a torrent at any time.
At the touch of a button, one might say.
A main control pad with various buttons resides on the fountain’s rim. Alongside the control pad, entering my narrow field of vision, come two sets of boots and a cloud of lust and testosterone.
“And as you can see, there are various controls to help you get the refreshment you need,” D explained.
“Mm-hmm. Very impressive. So, what does this one do…”
A blast of cold water shot from the jet I hadn’t known was in front of my upside-down face, hitting the back of my exposed throat and causing me to gag and splutter wildly.
“Well the girls will need regular hydration, especially on such a hot summer’s day,” D replied. “I’m not a complete bastard, you know.”
He reached down to caress my sodden and newly shocked face with a teasing chuckle.
“Make the most of your opportunities to drink, my dear,” he continued to me in a more intimate tone. “I would hate to see you going thirsty.”
“And then if you press one of these, here…” D addressed his friend jovially once more, “…you may see them dance for you, if you’re lucky.”
The low rumble of a hum began somewhere deep inside me and grew increasingly stronger, until there was no ambiguity as to the cause. The phallus plugging my tight hole right up to the hilt was being controlled remotely, and my back began to strain and arch involuntarily as the vibrations grew to a mind-searingly arousing level.
I was glad of the recent splash of water on my tonsils; I screamed as best I could with the wide dental gag restricting my yelps. From the surge in chafing at each ankle connection with my fountain partners, I guessed the button had brought their phallic anal plugs to life, too. My nipples went taut with desire and that electric cord of orgasmic need connected my throat and newly exposed clit. I felt sure I’d only need a few more seconds…
The men could barely contain themselves laughing as my shocked scream tailed off into a low wail of desperate misery, their press of a button depriving me of those taunting vibrations.
“Oh my, that really is something,” the unfamiliar voice stated, clearly impressed. I could almost hear the whirling of cogs in his mind, wondering what else this fountain could offer.
“Now press that one next to it,” D urged his friend.
My vision jolted into a jagged blur. A frisson of tingles where the thrumming vibration had been, cajoling my desperate, slutty lusts, encouraging my arousal to return with tendrils of a different flavour. It had been no ordinary phallus he’d shoved deep inside me that morning; as well as long and wide, it was fitted with electro plates. The thick smearing of cold lube hadn’t simply been for ease of insertion, I realised, but to conduct the electro pulses safely and readily to my sensitive internal membrane.
I could feel myself once again involuntarily clenching round the phallus as the electro pulses fucked me with increasingly stronger stimulation, while my nipples felt like they too were electrified discs at the end of my bobbing breasts.
The fountain elicited a chorus of open-mouthed wails. The heat of the sun and humiliation hit my exposed clit and spread labia, slicking them with hungry need. My body kept forgetting it was in such secure bondage; each leg kept pointed upwards and outwards, unable to bend. How I wished I could arch my back completely, then curl into a ball and keep this feeling of humiliation-fuelled hot desire as my own private masturbatory tool. Instead, all I and my companions could do was sing our urgent need with throaty cries, mash our ankles together in a show of sisterly solidarity, and endure the tortuously slow emission of liquid longing between spread legs.
I was becoming unashamedly desperate for the electro-anal stimulation to continue. The bondage was all that was keeping me from thrashing wildly, touching myself as only I knew how, bringing myself to a magnificent orgasm thanks to the highly erotic psychological -not to mention physical- stimulation.
“Please, please, don’t stop,” I tried to command of my captors –which, due to the open-mouth gag, simply resulted in a half-choked gurgling in between my wails.
“Thirsty again, is she?” a mocking voice questioned from above me.
“She’s used to regular hydration,” D confirmed.
The water from the jet hit my throat and this time I was able to calm enough to swallow some of it, rather than splutter. I marvelled at how I didn’t drown, so distracting and persistent were the electric pulses in my rear.
“I mean, you can always provide and receive a more… direct relief, if you like. It’s up to you, but you’ve got my permission.”
Wait, what? What did he mean by that?
Hot, unfamiliar skin pushed urgently against mine. It was a mind-blowing double-whammy.
This strange man’s tongue probed at my non-concealable wetness above, tasting me, drinking me… offered to him like a water fountain with its very own button. While lower down, in my topsy-turvy state, the scent of his clothing then the unmistakeable tang of aroused manhood… as he unzipped, revealed and thrust himself between my stretched wide lips.
I felt rough fingers brush against my hanging-down breasts, seeking and finding my scrunched-up sensitive nipples and rolling them tightly until my vision turned white.
I had no idea if other guests were being welcomed to take refreshment in a similar vein from my fountain companions, but I imagined it was unlikely I was the only source of relief for the birthday party guests.
The next thought hit me like a bolt. D was quite likely taking his pleasure from a woman next to me, who I was in ankle contact with, whose writhing and chafing and suffering now came directly from his hand.
No… Mouth. Cock.
I shied away from the knowledge, the images, but I couldn’t help it; they were already there, settled and refusing to leave. I realised with surprise that they were feeding my arousal rather than dampening it, like unexpected guests you end up wishing didn’t have to leave.
Eventually, the sensation of this new, strange man’s tongue on my exposed and screaming clitoris and his new, fat cock bashing against my silently wailing tonsils, and the raw truth of D probably doing the exact same to some nameless, faceless woman right next to me brought upon my orgasm with a soundless roar.
The guy’s tongue slipped deeper inside my spread cunt above me, my puffy labia welcoming his face home as my sugar walls danced the cha-cha tightly round his eager fuck-tool.
My orgasmic massage of his tongue triggered his own release; I sensed his balls tightening; I felt his cock reach its largest and firmest state, feeling huge in my already sorely stretched mouth. His head was completely exposed against my ready and thirsty tonsils, jacking off a final volley against them before exploding his quenching torrent down my throat with a hearty moan against my newly-tender, quivering quim.
A reasonably sated yet muffled “fuck, yes,” followed shortly after. I would have heartily and vocally agreed with that sentiment were I able to speak.
As my vision returned, along with renewed awareness of the reality within which I found myself, I could tell a large crowd had gathered around the fountain. And no wonder. Centre-piece of the party indeed. Crowd, or queue? Time would tell.
I had no time to lazily recover from my exquisite, if oddly upside-down, orgasm. D would never have allowed that, as I should have known. Being inverted was seriously starting to affect my brain, or perhaps it was the insistent sunshine. Or maybe it was the fact that I was entirely naked and spread and being publicly abused at a large celebratory gathering.
“The refreshing relief doesn’t have to stop there,” came D’s voice from somewhere nearby. He was now clearly addressing the assembled crowd, rather than using the light conversational tone he had with his friend earlier.
“This is a party after all… my birthday party. So I invite you all to celebrate, dance, take your pleasure…” the pause at this point was telling. I assumed he was gesturing as to how he and his friend had just demonstrated taking theirs.
“…and drink your fill. And when you require relief?”
Familiar fingers were back on me. D’s fingers threaded through my hair, holding the back of my neck despite my head already being secure in the safe neck brace. His beautiful cock, the one I knew intimately and loved, slipped into my recently-abused mouth. His scent suffused me, comforting me with its familiarity and safety.
His cock, however, was still slick with smears of a potent mixture of his spent cum and a mystery woman’s drool. The tastes and smells and knowledge and images mingled in my mind, while the unrelenting humiliation took a firm hold of my clitoris and nipples once more.
His golden deluge of hydration burst forth, and I had no choice but to try and gulp it down, or else surely drown right there in his piss. Not only were we, the tortured triad, a fountain of orgasmic refreshment; we doubled as birthday party urinals. I thought I may pass out. Not from the torrential stream he was dispensing directly down my throat, but because he was now taking me to a previously undiscovered level of erotic stimulation.
I gave myself over to the moment, to him, to whatever he wanted from me right now, and completely surrendered.
Finally he finished, wiped a few drops off against my cheek simply for added humiliation, and zipped himself back up. I tried to prepare myself for what awaited me through the rest of his party. He lowered his face to mine, then, in what I assumed was a move to provide some private reassurance, some shared intimacy to see me through.
“Don’t worry about overfilling the vessels. Once their bladders are full we’ll enjoy the spectacle of golden cascades from my very own fountain of relief.”
With that monstrous announcement, just before I passed out from the realisation and shame, he thrust three fingers into my saliva-slicked slit. With his thick thumb over my gluttonous clit, and his expert internal motions caressing my g-spot, I came once again right there on his hand with a piercing cry of pleasure and relief. It was his signal to the crowd.
A multitude of hands surged forwards; towards the control panel, towards me, towards us.
The party had officially started.