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Dark Silence: Writing Contest Winner!

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They take sensory deprivation to delicious depths

My wife’s little black dress was perfect for the occasion. Silky and sheer, it covered just enough to be street-legal, but little else. We both knew she wouldn’t wear it for long, but while she did, it was sexy to watch. With each step to the car, her small breasts jiggled, braless, beneath the thin material. Reaching down for a quick panty check, I confirmed, “Black lace — my favorite.” Just two more items were necessary to complete the ensemble. Backing down the driveway, I handed her the foam earplugs. Taking them, she crooned, “Yeah, let’s get this party started.” Rolling them tight, she inserted one into each ear, effectively muting her world into an eerie hush.

Next came the evening’s featured attire — a black satin mask. Placing it over her eyes, my wife's wardrobe was complete. Beneath the mask, she perceived only blurred shapes and shadows. Only dull echoes penetrated the earplugs. Combined, her perspective turned profoundly surreal. From here on, she would experience the night without sight or sound — touch, taste, and smell being her only cues.

Unaware of the route or even our destination, the short drive left her disoriented. Cloaked in shadowy silence, she perceived nothing but the rhythmic vibrations of the road, sending pangs of pleasure through the seat and between her legs. I glanced over to find her hands diddling underneath her dress, tongue flicking her parted lips with steady, heavy breaths. Although we were no strangers to The Lifestyle, tonight’s scenario was uncharted territory, and her anticipation was about to crescendo.

Masked and Oblivious

Arriving at the hotel, masked and oblivious, she missed the valet’s appreciative grin when he opened the door to find her nipples peeking through the sheer fabric. Detecting her naughty vibe, his hands lingered where they didn’t belong as he helped her out of the vehicle. Acknowledging his brass, she murmured a sultry, “You’re welcome...” Then, with an approving wink, I tossed him the keys, took her hand, and guided her through the lobby, toward the elevators. Eyes covered, her steps were unsteady, attracting curious glances from couples engaged in more “vanilla” activities than ours. I doubt any fully guessed what was about to unfold for this tall, slender woman behind the mask.

Inside the elevator, I pressed the intercom button to pique security’s interest — then raised her dress in view of the surveillance camera. A halting voice crackled over the speaker, “Ummm. . . is everything alright folks?” I lifted further, to reveal black lace panties and then perky, bare breasts. Giggling, she shouted, “Yes, we are just fine, sir.” A second later, the speaker crackled back, “Oh, indeed you are, ma’am. Thanks for the show!!” Without missing a beat, my cheeky bride seductively lowered her panties as well, presenting the “Full Monty” to her newfound admirers. I laughed as she artfully tantalized these lucky gents for the rest of the ride up. Upon reaching our floor, she hastily slid her panties back on, adjusted her dress, and followed me into the hallway toward our room. She had been looking forward to this night for weeks and was ready for anything. Earlier that day, unbeknownst to my wife, I had slipped away to prepare the room for our escapade.

Her "Guests" Have Their Fun

Over the foot of the bed, I secured two eyebolts. Looped through the bolts hung a pair of sturdy wrist cuffs on nylon straps. Once inside the room, I surprised her by shackling her wrists, then gently pulling the straps to extend her arms wide overhead. She playfully struggled against the restraints, her mind racing from the impetuous flashing on the elevator ride to now, hanging on display in ominous darkness — yearning for the next provocative shoe to drop. A loud knock announced the next step.

Her head turned sharply toward the sound. Kissing her, I walked to the door to greet our mystery “guests.” She had no idea who or how many, but the darkness heightened her remaining senses. She caught the raw scent of men but no hint of other women — confirming, as we agreed, she would be the sole object of affection that night. Following the sounds, her head pivoted — counting. “Two? Three?” Flushed with excitement, she imagined how these strangers would feel against her skin, the taste of their lips, the musky scent of their bodies. Meanwhile, her first “guest” moved near, his breath warm on her cheek. He kissed her lips lightly, startling her. She flinched until he coolly cradled her chin to kiss her again. Receptive this time, she kissed back, tasting his tongue as it probed hers for several enjoyable minutes. His embrace soothed her — until he stepped away, leaving her in solitude once more. Presently, more “guests” seemed to circle her.

From all sides, she permitted fleeting strokes of her ass, her breasts, her face... She felt bold fingers running through her hair, trailing down her back, and venturing between her thighs. She longed to respond but was frustrated by her cuffs. Her breath quickened with each intimate incursion; the group loomed ever larger in her mind. “Three? Four?” Then, someone knelt wordlessly at her feet. Lifting her dress, he tenderly gripped both cheeks while pressing his face into her mound, inhaling her sweet essence. She drew deep breaths as he massaged her through damp panties, then slid them down smooth legs to her feet. Her neatly trimmed bush glistened with arousal as his fingertips traced down her back and along her crack. After a moment, he rose, hands traveling under her dress, following the contours of her skin, to untie the bow at her neck. The dress dropped to the floor atop her discarded panties, leaving her vulnerable in dark silence. She envisioned herself standing masked and bound. Nude — except for the mask. Uncharacteristically modest, her knees crossed in a futile attempt to hide her nakedness, feeling utterly exposed to unseen eyes. Watching her. Lusting for her. The tension was almost overwhelming.

A new “guest” embraced her. His hands and mouth explored her body with tender, familiar kisses. His tongue swirled around her erect nipples. Abruptly, he hoisted her knees, lifting her feet from the floor, spreading her thighs. Hardly audible, he asked, “What do you want?” She whispered back, “You. Inside me.” As requested, he proceeded to fuck my eager, willing wife. Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist — first to guide him and then to pull him deeper — "YES!” she gasped with every arch and thrust. Finally, breathless, she pleaded, “Let me down.” As she wished, he unbound her wrists and flung her to the bed.

For the next hour, my wife gave herself to uncountable strangers. Submitting, without protest, to each man’s desire. They quickly blended in her muted darkness; she could not tell one from the next. At last, her “guests” were spent. The pounding in her chest slowed. Still masked, she had no idea how many there were or when they came, but the comforter beneath her was soaked with her sweat and their essence. Disheveled and worn out, my lovely wife lay naked, but for the mask. She glowed with satisfaction, silently listening to the vague rustling as if people were leaving. I lay down behind her, removed the earplugs, and asked if she was ready to meet her “guests.” Finally removing the mask to look around, she laughed out loud. We were alone in the room.

An SDC member submitted this story to our "Sexiest Masked Party" Writing Contest. Join SDC today to meet the swingers behind the stories!