The Cost of Admission

Continued from: Across the Pond

Watersports aren't really my thing. I guess the same could be said for Russell, as he dropped off the elegantly-dressed, Sarah Jane on the night of the piss party. He was about to leave and just pick her up later, but since Summer and I were sitting this one out too, I offered a little "Netflix and chill". To which he graciously accepted. 

I was set to do the "opening ceremonies" for these golden Olympics and explain the cost of admission to the silly men. I can change into comfies later. I still had a job to do...

A Sarah Jane story 

After Mistress broke the news to the poor male attendees, they reluctantly began stripping naked, removing layer upon layer of fancy suits, silk ties and expensive shoes. With Cassandra involved, it came as no surprise to me that the men would not have a free ride during this party. Based on their gender alone, there was a cost of admission. 

As I stood in the piano lounge, sipping my drink and observing the surreal scene unfold, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of fascination. 

The naked, collared men paraded before Cassandra and Carley, attempting to muster sufficient arousal to pass the toilet roll test. Some succeeded, their impressive cocks granting them access to the unbridled hedonism that awaited. 

Others faltered, their inadequacies exposed for all to see. Tears flowed from some of them, as they tried to vigorously masturbate for Cassandra and Carley, who seemed rather aloof and more interested in each other, than the humiliation playing out before them. 

Even with the assistance of some visual aids, on the rack behind these raven-haired beauties, some of the poor men just didn't measure up, literally. 

With swift intervention, the girls produced chastity cages as the men reluctantly accepted, their evening reduced to a dull thud of frustration. I was intrigued by the psychology at play - the performance anxiety, the quest for validation, and the crushing defeat that followed failure. Leave it to Cassie to crawl right in there and completely mind-fuck these poor boys. 

With the men squared-away and now, some of them locked away, they returned to their suits and formal attire and began mingling about at the bar. I watched as Cassie and Carley slinked toward me and a few of the other women, circling us like sharks. 

I tried to force a brave face, but I knew what was in store for me tonight, as the butterflies kept reminding my with their sickening flutters. 

The two minions of degradation explained to the submissive guests, men and women alike, that we would be rotating through a variety of stations, each more humiliating than the last. I reached my elegant gloved hand into a silk top-hat, and trembled as I retrieved the little strip of paper that would determine my first, horrifying experience. 

T O L I E T  B R U S H

I ran my thumb across the paper, no larger than something you'd pull from a fortune cookie. The letters were typed neatly and clearly, leaving no room for misinterpretation but plenty of room for panic. I was almost relieved when I was fitted with the gag, part of me thought I would be made to clean the toilets with my tongue. 

The mouth-gag padlocked in place, adorned with its crude toilet brush appendage. I was led, docile and compliant, to the row of urinals, my high heels clicking against the marble floors. 

Kneeling before the porcelain receptacles in my gown, I peered up at Cassandra, her expression an unreadable mask of indifference. With a curt gesture, she indicated my task: clean the urinals with toilet brush gag...

As I was left alone to scrub the urinals, my gaze darted sideways, drawn to the sight of another woman, equally as elegant in her attire, yet appeared to be restrained between the porcelain fixtures. A man soon entered the washroom and yanked down the front her dress, causing her tits to flop free and bare. He began slapping them rhythmically and calling her a piss whore, as the open-mouth gag forced her lips wide.

The man directed a stream of hot piss into her mouth. His cock followed, sliding between the bars of her metal gag as her throat constricted in a futile attempt to swallow. The raw display of debasement and domination stirred something within me - revulsion mixed with arousal, a twisted paradox of wanting to take her place and dreading taking her place. 

My fingers trembled as I reached between my legs, to feel the throbbing of my own cunt as I slipped deeper into this abyss of humiliation. 

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: The Belle of the Ball