I write for a living. My crime novels sell quite well.  

I also write erotic BDSM stories, under an alias, that are not nearly as profitable, but do get me invited to some very interesting gatherings, such as the monthly orgies at the Montserrat Manor. 

These parties are the most extravagant and exclusive in the world, where the brash and beautiful, the rich and risqué, cavort in devilish debauchery.   

Much of the luxurious mansion is devoted to basic swinging and revelry, but one wing is a well-equipped bondage haven. I have gotten some great ideas for my sexually-oriented stories there, and a few of my own favorite fantasies have been recreated by the hosts and guests within these halls.  

I try to never miss a single gathering there. Let me tell you about the latest one. 

As I entered the mansion, my exquisitely erotic friend Christina invited me to join her later in the Hourglass Room, a time-locked bondage vault, for a tryst.   

Per tradition, she would be already be bound, and I would have sixty uninterrupted minutes to do anything I wanted to her—within reasonable limits, we’re not savages—after our hosts sealed us in the well-equipped BDSM room.  

Christina was a lusty, busty, chestnut-haired beauty that had shared my bed in the past, so of course I said yes, reserve the room for us.  

As a matter of fact, we had shared the Hourglass Room during the previous month’s orgy, but that time, I was the one pre-tied down to the bed by our friends and then locked in with her.  

That minx spent the next hour toying with me, starting with an intoxicating strip tease, which was a three-course sex meal in itself.  

(I mean it; her body is perfection. I'm not sure which part is more alluring; her angelic face with that devilish mouth, those big, firm breasts capped with eager nipples that just pop into your mouth, or her curvaceous ass that practically begs to be manhandled and spanked.) 

She then used her mouth and pussy—and don't even get me started on that magnificent pussy—to slowly drive my bound body crazy with raging lust that built ever so slowly, so agonizingly.  

Christina talked a good fantasy game, too, describing in thrilling detail the alternating punishments and pleasures she had in mind for me later in the night. It was clear she had read all my books and knew my most intimate kinks.  

(She once suggested that I move my detective characters into my BDSM universe. That would be interesting; I knew that other authors’ vanilla books had been turned into erotic fanfiction, but writing my own? Worth a thought.)  

Christina orgasmed twice that session: once straddling my face and once riding on my cock, but she only let me come once, at the very, very end of the hour, just as they were unlocking the room. Her timing was impeccable.  

Tonight, we were both looking forward to my upcoming "revenge” so I could ravish and torment her. My plan was that, instead of a tease-and-denial session, I might mercilessly drive her to as many screaming orgasms as I could, using the many tools available in the room, both electric and biological.  

Christina is a sexual athlete; I figured she was good for at least ten to twelve mind-blowing explosions before the hour was up. 

Since the room was already occupied on this night, I had to bide my time. Christina was elsewhere getting ready, so I spent the next hour enjoying some fine food and drink while I watched the action in the various rooms of the mansion. 

In one parlor, a man was strapped naked into a stirrup chair, his legs spread wide. One of the guest instructors was demonstrating various techniques for prostate massage and advanced anal stimulation. 

(Monty was writhing and moaning, but that was just for show. I’ve seen the man take dildos up his ass that would send me running for my life.) 

In another room I watched a lovely, flexible woman named Elise on her feet, bent over in a strappado bondage tie, meaning that her arms were stretched up all the way behind her head and pointing towards the ceiling, while she was bent over at the waist.

The brunette was wearing absurdly high heels, a brutally tight corset, and nothing else.  

She was licking and sucking the erect cock of a man seated in front of her, trying to bring him to orgasm with only her mouth, while another woman—the man’s wife, I believe—was fingering and slapping the lass’s ass and pussy. 

I was invited to take Elise from behind, but I was saving my cock for Christina. So, another lucky man graciously stepped forward to accommodate the lass’s desire for penetration. Which hole he chose, I did not see.  

(This, and all the action within these walls, was consensual; the hosts made absolutely sure of that. Besides, I knew Elise to be game for nearly anything, including advanced electro-play that would break any lesser pain-slut. Her demonstration of that ability was scheduled for midnight in the main hall. I hoped she was pacing herself.)  

Currently in that main demonstration area, the hosts were playing a prank on a couple of regulars; women who had supposedly tangled in the past and who despised each other.  

The story was that, unknown to each other, in separate rooms, their husbands had stripped and blindfolded them and placed a bondage harness on each woman's torso. They were then gagged and led to this chamber where they were secured together, standing face-to-face.  Straps from the harnesses to the ceiling kept them upright and breast-to-breast.

(Their breasts were very nice; the best that money could buy.)

The left hand of each woman was secured up near their chests, and their right hands were secured down near their pussies. Their gags were then unfastened, and they were allowed to kiss and fondle each other, which they did with gusto.  

After a bit of squirming and moaning, their blindfolds were removed, and they finally saw just who they were pleasuring.  The crowd burst out laughing as the two women cursed in anger, trying to wrench themselves free, but they had no avenue of escape.  

Their husbands used riding crops and electric zappers to “encourage” them to continue playing nice. The ladies were informed that release from bondage would come only when they had each made the other woman climax, and the first one to orgasm would be forced to serve as the bondage slave to the other for the rest of the night.  

The pair continued to snarl and wrench at each other, but once they realized the stakes, threw themselves into a competitive lesbian frenzy of fingering and kissing. Friendly bets were taken by the onlookers.  

I put a hundred bucks on the Sicilian dame. 

(I believed the contest was genuine, but I knew the prior trickery and rivalry was not. Their little catfight was about as real as one of those loosely-scripted “Housewives of …" TV shows. These ladies loved to show off, loved the spotlight. I knew from a private little three-way with them in the past that they were actually friends. Good friends.) 

(Actually, that particular session could be considered a five-way, since their husbands were present; but I really didn't count them in the mix, as the two guys were well off to the side, bound together and sucking each other's cocks.) 

I didn’t see if I won my hundred bucks, as three of my guy friends came up and told me Christina was bound and ready in the Hourglass Room. Jim, Dale and Ted escorted me there. 

Christina was on the bed; I examined my "victim” with some astonishment. She was laced into a tight straitjacket, padlocked, so there was no access to her boobs or hands. She wore a head-harness with a gag that was also secured with a padlock, so her mouth was plugged and off-limits. 

Finally, they had locked her into a chastity belt that thoroughly blocked her pussy and ass.  Traditionally, the bondage in this room was not so comprehensive. I turned to my friends in the doorway, asking about the keys. 

The three laughed and each held up a key before putting them in their pockets. “We’ll keep these safe outside,” Jim replied. “And we’ve removed any tools in the room that could cut the locks.” 

So, it was an elaborate practical joke by my friends. It was close to April Fool's Day, and I should have figured from the previous scene with the two women that shenanigans were in the air.  

I rushed the guys and the four of us lightly grappled, ending in me being pushed back into the room. I asked, “What the hell are we supposed to do for an hour in here?” I asked. 

“You write crime novels,” laughed Ted. “Tell her the plot of a book you’re working on. Maybe it’s a locked-room mystery!”

And with that joke, the treacherous trio sealed us in and the clock started. We were locked in. Christina moaned and looked dejected at the prospect of a frustrating hour for the two of us. 

But . . .

It just so happened that I was working on a new book, with a new female sidekick for my detective hero. I was researching and practicing her particular skill set for more realism in my writing.   

She was a pickpocket.  

I examined the key in my hand that I had lifted from one of the guys during the tussle, and showed it to the bound and willing Christina. She could say nothing, but her eyes smiled at the sight. 

At that moment, we didn’t know which of her locks it would open.  

For her sake, I hoped it was the bottommost one, but whichever one it did open, we'd find a way to have our fun.