a sexual fantasy

the dark sexual fantasy of a teenaged girl

rich, upper class girls have a formal cotillion ball to turn them out in society. but my cotillion won’t be a formal ball because i’m not rich or an upper class girl. i’m just the needy daughter of a single mother, a girl who’s become addicted to sexual abuse and degradation. so i imagine my cotillion will be like this:

two older men will pick me up in a big suv, maybe a black cadillac escalade, with dark tinted windows these two men—my chaperones, so to speak—will take me to a big, luxurious home or an elegant hotel or any place common girl can satisfy monied-men’s desires. when we arrive, my chaperones will take me first to a private room to prepare me. they will strip my clothes off and give me a fitting costume—a leather dog collar around my neck and a matching leather leash, to make sure i behave properly, .and a spider gag with leather straps around my head to keep my mouth always open. they will use hemp rope to bind my hands tightly behind my back so i can’t push away and so it will hurt me if a man grabs my arms because i don’t cooperate or because a man just wants to hurt me a little. my chaperones will explain all this to me. then they will each pour a small bottle of vodka into my mouth to relax me a little. i know i will feel their hands and fingers all over my naked body—, everywhere—my hair and lips and mouth and face and tits and nipples and cunt and ass. and i know i will hear their dirty words for me, promises of what’s in store for me, of what’s expected of me.

then they each will want to show me how things will work, to make sure i understand my debutantes role before i enter the party. one of them will hold the leash tight and push me down on my knees. they will each take turns showing me how men will want to use the spider gag. i will look up at them when they tell me to and they each will spit thickly into my mouth before each will, in turn, push his cock into my mouth. i will realize it’s hard to swallow wearing a spider gag because i can’t close my mouth. i need to swallow with my throat or let things pool in my mouth—vodka and spit and semen, maybe even piss—everything the invited men may want to serve me at my party.

then they will pull me up and put me on a bed, kneeling so my face is on a pillow and my ass and pussy are up higher. helpless with my hands tied behind me, my arms and shoulders and neck painfully stretched, my chaperones will each penetrate me with their fingers first, but then i will feel each cock hard inside me, one cock and then the other cock, the two men will take turns with me. each will push deep into my cunt a few times, each will sample my now wet vagina, and then slide up and press his cock into my ass, just a little so i whimper each time. they will say they know it hurts sometimes. they will tell me it’s okay to cry. they will say there are no safe words for me at this party, but vodka and other things will help me enjoy everything that will happen. and there will be lube, if men want to use it.

then my chaperones will give me more vodka, and maybe some other things to get me in the right frame of mind, and will walk me to the door and take me into the adjoining room. this will be a much bigger room, with big chairs, a couple big sofas, a low flat table, and a bar gleaming with bottles. there will be music and party favors. and, of course, there will be a group of men, mostly older men with money. i don’t know exactly how many men there will be, but i know there will be at least a dozen, probably more. they all will be there to make a cotillion for me (so to speak) and i will be a sort of debutante—a naked teenaged girl, collared, leashed, bound, and properly gagged—for every man’s enjoyment.

my cotillion will be three hours of limitless possibilities.

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