New Years Eve. I should have been drinking, dancing and laughing with my friends, waiting for the stroke of midnight, but I‘d cried off the party. I had to know if it was true.
There’d been rumours for years. I’d grown up listening to them; always making sure I was within ear shot, but out of sight. Now, as the New Year approached, my skin glistened with damp air and anticipation, as my eyes searched the clearing below me for any signs of life.
I glanced at my watch. 11.30pm. Disappointment crept over me. Maybe it was all some sort of weird joke. Perhaps I’d got the wrong place. Ten more minutes and I’d give it up.
Faint at first, the eerie sound of a flute wafted through the trees. I pushed my back against the oak’s trunk and held my breath.
Candle light and shadows flickered closer. A host of people were approaching the clearing. Twenty or so men and women, dressed in medieval costume, each wearing an ornate mask, each carrying a lantern, which they placed on the ground, forming a large well-lit arena.
A trio of musicians established themselves beneath an ice covered beech tree, and soon the strains of a lyre joined the flute, and hummed through the trees. I hardly dared move. The cold was beginning to defeat my coat and seep into my bones, but fear of discovery stopped me rubbing warmth into my limbs.
They began to dance. Neat medieval dances in sets of 8 or 10, flaming candles passing between the performers, as they swirled and stepped in complex loops and patterns. There was a certain ritual about it. The women in rich gowns, with figure hugging bodices and flared skirts, overlaid with thick winter hooded cloaks, moved gracefully around the men in belted hose, felt tunics and hooded jackets. I wondered if I knew any of them, but my distance from the group, and the intricate masks they wore, kept each dancer anonymous.
It was truly amazing, but my voyeuristic heart was disappointed. This was not the bacchanal sight that the urgent whispers and furtive knowing glances in the late night bars of the town promised. There had been mutters of ‘orgy,’ ‘uncontrollable lust’ ‘submission,’ and ‘willing debasement.’ All I could see was dancing.
As I held my hands beneath my armpits, trying to defrost my circulation, the dancers took their places for another round. Forming two lines in the very centre of the clearing, men opposite women, they stood, waiting for the music to re-start.
When it did, it was slower, more sensual. Then, suddenly, despite the freezing temperatures, the men moved forward, threw back their partner’s hoods, and with precision timing, pushed each heavy velvet cloak to the ground.
I leaned forward slightly, anxious for a better view. The undressing continued. In perfect time to the dominating beat of a single skin drum, the men stepped behind the women and unbuttoned their dresses. I couldn’t contain a gasp as, with an extra loud bang of the drum, the line of gowns dropped to the ground, revealing some far from medieval underwear.
I could feel my silk knickers stick to my pussy as my sex gushed, wetting me mercilessly. My desire to reach the sight before me was now desperate. I hungrily eyed the row of matching red tit harnesses, black stockings, red suspender belts and masks. My chest throbbed and my throat went dry, and although my brain registered that the women must be freezing, my body wanted to see more and really didn’t care.
The music increased in tempo, as the men returned to their line before the women. Then, linking hands, the male dancers formed a ring, and slowly encircled the women, as if they were no longer partners in the game, but prey waiting to be stalked. The flute and lyre ceased, leaving just the reverberation of the solitary drum. Its relentless stroke felt like a cane rebounding against my flesh as, on each beat, the men took a step closer to the women.
Transfixed by the delicious row of harnessed breasts, my mouth moistened as I imagined their taste; picturing myself taking each perked nib in turn between my lips. The combination of cold and extreme arousal had caused every nipple to pucker to attention, prepared for whatever the dance ordained.
The men dropped their hoods back, and produced something that had been hooked beneath their tunics. I couldn’t see what they held at first, so I inched along to a narrower part of the branch. Holding on tightly lest I fall, I cursed the fact that I’d forgotten my binoculars, and was forced to risk exposure.
Collars and leads. Bright red. As the men moved towards the women a shouted order filled the air. ‘Kneel bitches!’ Without hesitation, every female knelt down on the hard, silver cold ground. The soft snap of clasps being fastened around slender necks was almost drowned out by my own heart thudding.
I searched the clearing, but failed to see where the voice was coming from. My own frustration was rising. I needed to be touched almost as keenly as I imagined the dancers themselves did.
The thud of the drum continued. I glanced at my watch.
Four minutes until midnight.
The women were still on their knees, but now the men were stripping. For the first time some of the timing was a little out, their urgency to reach the next stage of the evening overtaking the ritual at last. Tension hung in the frozen air as my breath quickened with the beat.
A bell began to ring, and the anonymous voice boomed out, ‘One minute to the end and the beginning!’ A green velvet cloaked figure strode, seemingly from nowhere, into the very centre of the circle. ‘Worship your Masters now as you will for the year ahead!’ Nothing stirred. It was as if, for a split second, time itself had frozen.
Then the drum beat started again. It was counting down as the voice commanded.
‘Ten’- The women lowered their heads.
‘Nine’ - Pulling hard on the leads, each man dragged his slave to a space of their own.
‘Eight’- The women’s shivering bodies were moulded into their Master’s required position. Some remained on all fours; others lay face up, face down, stood, or were pushed roughly against a tree.
‘Seven’ - The candles were blown out. Panic rose within me. I forgot my silence and scrambled down the tree. I had to see.
‘Six’ - I hit the ground and crept as close as I dare, just in time to see the men kneeling upon the ground, offering up some whispered words to whoever it was these people worshipped.
‘Five’ - A rustle in the twigs to my left caused me to move backwards, my own hand pressed firmly over my mouth so my frosted breath wouldn’t give me away.
‘Four’ - I was on my knees in the middle of the circle, all eyes on my intrusive presence. My body shook with more than cold: fear, lust.
‘Three’ - I was quickly and roughly stripped down to my silk, the hungry eyes of the dancers filling my mind, body and soul.
‘Two’- The voice was next to me. Its shout of ‘Positions!’ echoed around the clearing as the men got closer to their women. I stood, shivering, watching.
‘One’ - A frenzy erupted around me as the patience of the dancers was rewarded with the impalement of stiff cocks into pussy’s, arses and mouths.
‘Happy New Year.’ The cloaked figure before me spoke softly now as I stared, wide eyed, at the orgy around me. A hand appeared from the velvet folds, a smooth female hand, which slid between my shaking legs. ‘Now my slave, step forward.’ Despite the gentle nature of her voice, there was no doubt it was a command, and I didn’t need telling twice. I was desperate to be enveloped in the warmth of her cloak. Desperate to be used, ordered, fucked. I pressed my body against her flawless bare chest, and buried my face into the long red hair which hung freely down her proud porcelain neck.
I have no idea how long I stayed beneath the Mistress’s cloak. She kept me captive there, my eyes blinded to the debauchery around us by her naked flesh, leaving my tortured imagination to fill in the gaps between the groans, screams, sighs and moans that filled the clearing.
The cold that had invaded my bones had melted away, and despite my lack of clothing, I began to sweat in her tight grasp. Engrossed by her intoxicating scent, I was taken by surprise when the noise all around us abruptly ceased. The arms that held me relaxed, and my warm haven was removed as the cloak dropped to the ground. My eyes blinked against the glare of candle light.
As I focussed, I realised that the Mistress and I were surrounded; the centre point of a large circle, man, woman, man, woman; all now re-wrapped in their warm cloaks and clothes, each holding a lantern, watching me from the safety of their hidden faces.
I began to shake as I wondered what would be expected of me. A signal from the Mistress to the circle caused a man to step forward. In his arms he carried a harness. My eyes flicked from it to the feet of my captor. I somehow knew that it would be a mistake to look her in the eye. No words were spoken as she removed the last vestiges of my underwear, leaving my goose pimpled skin to shake from cold and fear all over again.
Unlike the women encircling us, my harness was green to match the Mistress’ cloak. The man pulled it over my chest, roughly handling my tits until they were squeezed through the tight loops of leather. I couldn’t prevent a cry of discomfort as my chest was yanked up as high as it could possibly go. Once satisfied that my breasts were safely trussed, the man returned to his place, a movement which seemed to act as a signal for the dancing to begin again.
The music, softer now, and the graceful steps of the dancers, belied the night’s activities, but for my vulnerable presence, no sign of the last few minute’s excesses existed.
The Mistress spoke to me, ‘You will be cold.’ It was neither a question nor an accusation, but simply a statement of fact. She signalled again, and a woman came forward carrying a wide leather belt which had two hoops hanging from it at the front and back. Securing it tightly around my waist, the woman retreated, her mask hiding all emotion, but her short intakes of breath giving her lecherous state away, as her partner came forward holding a strip of fur. It was about two inches wide and had a hook sewn into each end. My stomach lurched as I concentrated hard on not coming as the soft ticklish strap was pulled between my legs, and fastened to the belts hoops.
The Mistress tested the fur pad that seemed to be warming, not just my pussy and arse, but my whole body, as the orgasm that had been threatening all evening teetered closer. First she ran her hands along its length, sticking the fur firmly to my juices, before she teased a single finger beneath the straps length.
I have no idea how I contained the scream that was close to erupting from my throat, but the sharp note in her voice as she instructed someone to tighten my strap further made me swallow it back and hold my breath. The nearest dancer complied with her wishes, pulling the fur so tight that it was almost sucked up into my body.
‘Kneel, my slave.’ The Mistress pressed me to the floor, and now I knew just how icy and uncomfortable the forest ground was as I crouched, submissive before her. Unhooking the velvet hood from her cloak, she wrapped it around her hand like a glove and silently began to stroke my already swollen tits.
Tears began to gather in my eyes as the leather harness dug deeper into my breasts with every swipe of the cloth, causing my already tight nipples to harden to stone. My body began to shake as each brush of velvet shot shivers between my legs, forcing my clit to vibrate against the damp fur’s caress.
Despite a voice at the back of my mind telling me that I probably had to ask permission before I came, I couldn’t hold off any longer, and in front of them all, I let out a cry of ecstasy and defeat. The visions of the night, and the agonisingly incredible sensations that coursed through me, were just too much. I sank to the ground, a quivering mass of relief.
I was punished then. Before them all. By them all.
This is how it should have been; how it should be.
For now I am slave to the Mistress of the Dancers.
~
~
Originally published January 2008: Expectant
Copyright January 2008, Kay Jaybee
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.