The Dinner Invitation – slave dove

The Dinner Invitation – slave dove

It was a simple dinner invitation sent to me by a friend and business associate. Cocktail attire, his address, an RSVP request, nothing really unusual about the invitation except that it said 6:00 PM Sharp. Well, at the time I didn’t think anything of it. He was very punctual himself, and, after all, if it were a fine multiple course dinner, timing could be critical.

So, on the appointed day, I arrived at his modest home in a nicer suburb of our city. My host greeted me at the door, and we exchanged handshakes and pleasantries as he guided me through his living room. As we turned the corner into the dinning room, I stopped in my tracks, amazed and dumbfounded. Shocked could be another word used to describe my state of mind at the scene that was unfolding before my eyes. There on the dining room table was what appeared to be the form of a beautiful naked woman, laying on her back. Yes, it was a woman, her breasts standing proudly above her arched ribcage. She had creamy white skin, long shapely legs. The most astonishing thing was that those legs were bound together, one to the other, ankle to knee, forming a figure-four. The rope used was a brilliant shimmering gold color and thick and strong enough so she could never break the tie.

As I continued to stare, I could see there was more bondage. Her wrists were tied together with many turns of the same gold rope and then stretched tightly above her head to a point that would be described as the head of the table. Tight it was as I could see her hands were turning a reddish-purple color because the blood circulation was restricted. Her outstretched ankle, foot and toes were bound in a very interesting, complex and almost beautiful manner. The foot was being pulled strongly to the opposite end of the table causing her muscles to tighten as if she were tied to a medieval torture rack. Not believing my eyes, I began to think this female form that lay before me was a fake, a mannequin or some blow-up doll. Then I noticed the slight rise and fall of her breasts. She was breathing. This was real.

I realized she was real and she was, in fact, the centerpiece for the dinner table. She was not only bound to the point where she could never escape, she was festively decorated with holiday ornaments all around. My host patted me on the back and smiled as he offered me a glass of Champagne, acting as if this was nothing uncommon. He began to chat about the stock market, but the lure of a naked woman bound as a festive table decoration was too much. My eyes were riveted to this scene.

We stood around the table as the other guests arrived. They too seemed to be in near disbelief over the spectacle of the well trimmed decoration. There was much discussion about the various parts of her anatomy, the ropes, the knots even the decorations themselves. As we drank our Champagne and tasted the appetizers, we talked about her as if she was indeed a mere holiday ornament. We slowly began taking the liberties of stroking her legs, touching her breasts, poking her belly—all while she was unable to move. Our host didn’t move to stop us, but seemed to enjoy watching our increasing fascination with his lovely Christmas babble. We became more and more aggressive with our experimentations. At one particularly hard pinch of a nipple, she voiced her objection much to the disapproval of our host. He promptly yanked her head back, forcing her mouth open and he inserted a huge red rubber ball all the way in behind her teeth. The ball was held in place with thick leather straps that dug into her cheeks and locked at the back of her neck. I was amazed that he didn’t break her jaw. I was a bit unsettled by this moment of violence but soon became calmer as she laid back and accepted her predicament as obvious punishment for having voiced anything at all. She was silent now and would be as long as she was made to wear the gag.

In a short time, our host ushered us into another room while the table was prepared for dinner. We chatted for a while and were again invited back into the dining room. Much to our excitement, he had not only set the table, he had rearranged the centerpiece. Now her arms and legs were pulled even tighter to the four corners of the table. She was stretched open for us all to see. And touch. She was stretched to what must have been her limits this time, I gathered it was the result of her verbal indiscretion. Her muscles were taut like the sinuous strings of a violin, making any movement on her part impossible. Her gag was still in place, stuffed into her mouth behind her teeth. I noticed that our host had tied a large red ribbon bow around her neck. It was a nice addition to the already beautiful display. We were all seated and then enjoyed our first courses of crab bisque soup and then Cesar salad with a Chardonnay wine from Napa County. During this part of our meal, she was kept stretched very tight the entire time and her ball gag was never removed. It was difficult to talk of things other than our lovely centerpiece, but we did manage to make quite a bit of small talk. That’s not to say we didn’t take advantage of the feel of soft alabaster skin that lay in front of us. She moaned occasionally, but the ball kept any real speech or protest locked deep in her throat. I can’t imagine what she was thinking as we all stroked, probed and pinched her helpless form, but at this point, it didn’t matter. By this time, everyone accepted her as a mere object, a party favor for our amusement.

Again, we adjourned to the other room while our host made ready the entree. He invited us back into the dinning room to a fascinating new centerpiece creation. One with candles! Our little lady now had been turned into a candelabra. She held one candle in each hand, one on each breast, one in her mouth and one held tightly between her legs right over her pussy. The lights were dimmed and the candles were lit. It was obviously difficult for her to stay still, even as tightly as she was bound. The candle in her mouth popped out once when she yelped as wax dripped down between her legs. Our host tied the candle into place with that same multipurpose gold cord, and it popped out no longer. We ate slowly and the talk subsided as we watched in total amazement as the wax dripped from the burning tips down onto her skin. One guest took a lobster claw and scratched her leg, sending a tremor through her body that caused the wax to spill and splatter over her legs. As we dined on lobster, the wax ran over her fingers, over her lips and face, and covered her breasts. The wax continued to flow down between her legs until it covered her pussy with a molten pool of hot wax. She was in a terrible straight. If she didn’t stay perfectly still, the wax would overflow the top of the candles. When the wax did overflow, the hot molten liquid would cause her to jerk from the sudden pain causing more wax to flow. She moaned again and again as the wax flowed over her beautiful, sensitive skin. It was quiet for long periods as we were all mesmerized. We could see the pain in her eyes, and we sensed the excitement in the air. Our host would occasionally reach over and tenderly touch her cheek, as if to give her silent praise and encouragement as she endured her plight. This went on for a very long time. All through our main course and into desert, we could hear her moan as the wax dripped onto her sensitive skin.

Well, dinner regrettably ended and we left, thanking our host for a memorable evening to be sure. Now, I’m trying to figure out a way to reciprocate. Maybe I’ll write about it when I finally think of something appropriate.

Oh, he said her name was dove…slave-dove.

Slave Dove: I’m a professional bondage/S&M model and a lifestyle submissive. I’m married to my Master; we have a 24/7 D/s relationship. Domination and submission is not complete for us without the aspects S&M.

I never started out to be a model. I started as a submissive/slave in training and photos were taken to chart my progress. When I began professional modeling, I never looked at it as a job… I responded as I would to my Master or Trainer.

I always held the thought that no matter what I did or whom I did it for, I was representing my Master. For this reason I am VERY selective who I work with, I can be easily taken advantage of. In the past year I’ve traveled less and less, preferring my Master to professional shoots. He enjoys shooting our real scenes and placing me on display; I’m much more satisfied with the reality of our work together.

Sometimes I think I must have a Cinderella Fetish, one of my favorite things is a messy dirty scene. Tie me up, destroy my hair and make-up, make me cry, then tell me how pleasing and beautiful I am… *swoons* I find it wild and erotic, like an unleashed sexual animal.

I have to admit either way when I’m bound and gagged, I can’t help but get all hot and excited. I guess my friends pegged me right, I am a total “bondage slut”

Slave Dove

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