I stood naked, blindfolded, led hand-in-hand by my wife down what I assumed was a hallway. Each step echoed, the chill in the air kissing my bare skin. My cock bobbed between my legs, already semi-hard, betraying both my nerves and my anticipation.

We came to a stop. She knocked. A door creaked open. I heard soft murmurs. Her hand let go.

Another took its place — smaller, softer, more deliberate.

“Be good baby boy,” my wife whispered, her lips brushing my ear, breath warm and cruel. “I hope you enjoy yourself… because I certainly will. My stud’s already hard and waiting for me. He doesn’t knock — he just grabs my hips and feeds me cock.”

Before I could speak, the door closed and she was gone — off to be used, filled, and likely moaning with his cock down her throat while I got ready to make a show of myself for strangers.

Fingers tugged at the blindfold, and light flooded my vision. I blinked into the dim glow of red bulbs and lush shadows. The space was unmistakably a playroom — decadent, dangerous.

And at my side stood her.

Mistress.

She was slender and striking, the crimson red basque with black lace hugging her body like a second skin. The lace barely concealed her small, pert breasts. Her black stockings were tight against her legs, clipped high with crimson suspenders. Her high ponytail swayed behind her like a whip, tied with red to match her vivid lipstick. She looked like a porcelain doll built to torment.

“Welcome, little thing,” she said, smiling like a predator.

Behind her, a wall of screens flickered on. Video feeds. Dozens of watchers — male, female — their faces lit by anticipation. Some grinned. Others licked their lips. Yet another set of screens showed the room…well me.

Mistress turned to them like an M.C. “We have a new toy today. Just look at him — naked, already trembling. And this,” she added, gesturing to my half-erect cock, “hasn’t even been touched yet.”

Laughter. Smirks. The kind that crawl under your skin. My cheeks burned. My cock twitched.

“Down,” she ordered, pointing to a mat.

I lowered myself, lying flat, heart pounding, every pair of eyes watching.

“Touch yourself. Slowly.”

I obeyed, my hand wrapping around my cock. The thrill of exposure was electric. I whimpered — softly at first — stroking upward, feeling every nerve light up.

“Louder,” she snapped. “Let them hear how pathetic you are.”

“Mmm—yes, Mistress,” I moaned, louder, trembling. I could feel their eyes crawling over every inch of me. Every sound I made only fed them.

“Good boy,” she purred, circling like a shark. “Now show them what you really are. Legs up.”

I hesitated. My pride screamed. But my cock ached.

“Do it,” she said, “or I stop the feed — and then no one gets to laugh at you.”

I raised my legs, pulling them back, exposing everything. I felt obscene, grotesque… and yet painfully aroused, my feet now over my head.

“Try to suck yourself,” she said.

The chat came alive.

“Do it, slut.”

“Tongue out, make us proud.”

“God, look at his hole, spread his cheeks for me, please, Mistress.”

She stretched my ass as I stretched my back, straining, my mouth inching toward my own cock. My face flushed red-hot, my muscles trembling. I flicked my tongue out, barely reaching the purple swollen head.

Mistress laughed. “Not very flexible, are you?”

She stepped over me, straddling my upturned ass. Her weight pressed down. “Feel that?” she whispered. “I’m dripping just watching you try. So pathetic. So eager. Meanwhile, your wife’s probably got her jaw stretched around eight thick inches by now — maybe more.”

The shift in pressure changed everything. My hips tilted. My lips met the head of my cock. It also gave me a fabulous view of the small triangle of material covering her crotch, which was visibly wet, and her stockinged legs brushing the sides of my body.

A chorus of gasps and laughter came through the screens.

“There we go,” someone said. “Our little contortionist freak.”

“Just like a good cuck. Mouth craving cock and cum.”

“Bet wifey’s bent over begging for his man cock right now, to fuck her like you can’t.”

My tongue met the leaking tip of my cock, and as I became more accustomed to my position and with more weight from Mistress, my lips stretched around the swollen head, the taste musky and wrong but irresistible. I groaned around myself, humiliated beyond belief — and yet, my cock throbbed even harder.

“Keep going,” Mistress ordered. “Show them how deep you can take it.”

I did. I suckled myself, awkward and desperate. Spit dribbled from my lips. I moaned louder, drowning in the surreal pleasure of it.

“Wider,” Mistress commanded. “Make that throat work. Imagine it’s your wife’s lover’s cock. Wouldn’t that feel more natural? God knows her throat’s trained for it by now.”

The chat exploded with commentary.

“Think he’s imagining it now?”

“He’s dripping. Bet he’d choke on that bull’s cum.”

“Maybe she’ll bring some back for him.”

I whimpered. My cock jerked inside my mouth.

Mistress leaned in. “Cum for them. Fill your filthy mouth. You love this. Just like she’s loving being stuffed full of cock right now. Maybe you’ll get to clean her up… if you’re lucky.”

And I did.

The orgasm ripped through me, violent and uncontrollable. My body spasmed, my cock pulsed, hot spurts flooding my mouth. I tried to swallow — failed — it poured from my lips, splattered across my face and down my neck.

The chat erupted in claps, howls, and jeers.

“Swallow it all, cumslut.”

“Kinky and obedient, just what we like.”

“Hope he tastes creampie for dessert.”

Mistress rose from me, standing over my ruined body.

“You’re a mess,” she said with a smirk. “But you’ve earned your place. And that, my little cumslut, was just the beginning.”