Weekend at the Vineyard Pt. 03

Weekend at the Vineyard

Part 3: The Garden Game

I woke late.

The sheets still smelled of sex and wine and Natasha's sweat.

But she wasn't beside me.

The note on the pillow was written in Daphne's hand.

Your wife is being prepared.

You will follow the sound of bells.

Do not speak unless asked. Do not interfere.

--D.

The sun was high, the estate unusually quiet.

I dressed quickly and followed the path toward the back gardens. The further I walked, the more I heard - soft music, clinking glasses, and just beneath it all... the faint chime of silver bells.

They hung from Natasha's ankles.

I saw her before she saw me - standing in the middle of a walled garden, arms loosely tied above her head to a marble arch, completely nude except for gold cuffs, glowing, marked by faint red bruises from the night before.

Guests stood in a circle.

Some I recognized. Others - strangers.

Daphne stood beside Natasha, whispering softly into her ear.

"She's here for you," she then said to the group. "And for all of us."

I stood in the shadows - watching.

Hardening.

Powerless.

Daphne turned toward the crowd.

"This is the Garden Game," she said. "You will each step forward and choose: praise... or challenge."

She touched Natasha's cheek.

"And she will take both."

Natasha's arms were bound loosely above her head, the gold cuffs catching the sun. She stood on the soft moss in the garden's centre, naked and glistening. Her large nipples were already hard. Her thighs pressed together - but not tightly enough to hide how aroused she already was.

Daphne stepped back.

"Praise her," she said to the circle. "Make her feel desired. Before we demand more."

The first guest stepped forward.

A woman - older, elegant, with silver earrings and a velvet ribbon around her neck. She didn't speak. She simply raised a single ostrich feather, touched it to my wife's collarbone, and dragged it slowly down between her breasts.

Natasha gasped softly.

The feather trailed lower. Over her belly. Her inner thighs.

But never quite between them.

Then the woman leaned in and kissed my wife's neck, just once -- softly - before returning to the circle.

The next was a man. Broad. Silent.

He knelt.

Ran his hands up the backs of Natasha's calves. Kissed her knee.

Whispered, "Perfect," and left her trembling.

Three more followed. Each more daring. A tongue across her nipple. Fingers over her lips. One guest simply breathed against her ear until she moaned.

And me?

I watched now seated next to Daphne, cock straining in my trousers, Daphne's hand resting on my thigh - warm, heavy, still controlling.

"She's going to beg," Daphne whispered. "Soon."

Then she raised her hand, and spoke from the chair.

"Now," she said. "A challenge."

Gasps from the circle.

Two men stepped forward - one carrying a remote-control egg vibrator, the other holding a glass of chilled white wine.

Daphne smiled. "You'll hold the glass," she said to Natasha, gesturing to the glass, "without spilling a drop."

The egg slid into her slick, ready pussy with barely any resistance.

It disappeared inside.

The wine was placed in her hands, still tied above her head.

Then the first vibration hit.

Natasha gasped - knees shaking.

I watched, helpless, as the guests laughed softly, whispering, watching her try not to spill, even as the pulses got faster... deeper.

My cock ached, desperate to be touched - but Daphne squeezed my leg and said, "No. Not yet. She hasn't earned it."

Neither had I.

The soft hum from between my wife's thighs had become a buzzing pulse--growing stronger by the second.

Her legs were trembling now.

The glass of wine in her hands sloshed gently as she fought to keep still, her chest rising and falling fast. Every guest in the garden watched her silently. Some with awe. Some with hunger.

Daphne stood now at my side, the remote in her palm.

"She's close," she said quietly. "I can feel it through her legs. But she hasn't asked."

I leaned forward; eyes locked on my wife's.

She met my gaze.

Wide-eyed.

Desperate.

The muscles in her thighs clenched with effort. Her hips twitched. Her lips parted--silent gasps.

Then--

A soft, humiliating moan.

And a single drop of wine spilled over the rim.

Daphne smiled. "That's one."

The remote clicked louder.

The vibration intensified.

Natasha let out a full moan now--raw, broken--her knees nearly buckling as her pussy clenched helplessly around the egg, her body struggling to obey.

Then Daphne gestured.

Another guest stepped forward. This time, a tall woman with dark hair and gloves to her elbows.

She stepped behind Natasha and slid her fingers between her cheeks--spreading them wide for all to see.

"Beautiful," she whispered. "Still open from before."

My wife gasped.

The glove slipped lower.

Over her asshole.

Pressure.

No penetration--just firm, slow pressure as the vibrator buzzed harder, faster.

Another drop spilled.

Daphne turned to me, lips brushing my ear.

"She's leaking everywhere," she whispered. "Pussy dripping. Mouth open. Wine spilling. And still--you don't get to cum."

I nearly groaned.

The glove pressed deeper now.

Two more guests came forward--one tugging on her nipples, the other slipping fingers between her thighs, collecting her slickness, then feeding it to her lips.

"Hold it in," Daphne called. "Don't you dare cum yet."

Natasha whimpered.

Her head fell back.

The vibrator screamed inside her--and she broke.

She dropped the wine glass.

Her knees gave out.

And she came hard--legs shaking, body thrashing in the cuffs, soaking her thighs, juices spilling down onto the moss, moaning uncontrollably while the guests clapped.

Daphne clicked the remote off while coming towards her and released her hands from above her head.

The buzzing stopped.

But my wife was wrecked.

Open.

Spent.

And still dripping.

Natasha collapsed to her knees--panting, dripping, her thighs slick with orgasm.

Daphne stepped behind her, cradling her jaw, lifting her chin.

"She's not done," she said softly. "Are you, sweetheart?"

Natasha shook her head. Barely.

"No," she whispered. "Please..."

Daphne smiled--and turned to the gathered guests.

"You've seen what she can take," she said. "Now take her. All of you."

The guests moved slowly.

Not a frenzy--this was ritual.

The first man stepped forward--a tall, dark-skinned guest I hadn't seen before. Quiet. Strong. He lay before her on the cusions and pulled her back onto him, spreading her thighs, lining up with her soaked pussy.

She sank onto him in one smooth stroke.

She gasped--loud, open-mouthed--eyes fluttering back.

Her second was already behind her.

Blond. Muscular. His cock pressed to her mouth as she supported herself on the mans chest that was underneath her.

She opened wide--welcoming.

He groaned as she took him deep.

A third man circled behind, running fingers down her spine, stroking her ass, preparing her gently... then kneeling down and slowly pushing inside.

Three at once.

Natasha was filled completely--pussy, mouth, and ass--used, moaning, shaking under their bodies.

And me?

Daphne held my chin, made me watch.

"You see her?" she whispered. "She's glowing. This is what she was made for. Your wife is being worshipped with cock."

My hands curled into fists.

My cock ached--leaking, throbbing, twitching against the inside of my trousers.

But I didn't move.

I just watched her ride wave after wave.

Daphne's hand gripped me.

"Still hard," she whispered. "Still denied."

Natasha began to shudder again--louder, faster, overwhelmed.

And then--

The first man grunted--cumming inside her pussy, thrusting deep.

Seconds later, the man in her ass gasped--filling her again, making her whole body jerk.

The one in her mouth pulled free and finished across her chest--thick streaks across her tits, lips, and neck.

Natasha fell sideways once the men pulled out of her, and she lay there after, wrecked, wet, cum dripping from every hole, thighs twitching in aftershock.

Daphne now stood over her.

"Come," Daphne said to me.

I stood slowly, trembling, my cock still rock-hard and aching, my eyes locked on the mess of her--my wife, open and soaked, lying on her back in the sun.

Daphne gestured to the grass beside her. "On your knees."

I dropped instantly.

Natasha turned her head toward me--barely conscious, a blissed-out smile on her cum-slick lips.

Daphne knelt behind her, stroking her hair. "He's here for you," she whispered. "To worship. To clean. Let him."

I started with her chest--slick with sweat and streaked with cum from the last man's release. I leaned in and licked slowly, collecting the mess on my tongue, swallowing without hesitation. I kissed down to her breasts, taking my time, running my tongue under her curves, cleaning her nipples carefully.

She gasped when I kissed each one, softly murmuring my name.

Next--her pussy.

It was leaking steadily, visibly used, pink and stretched. Cum spilled from her slit with every breath.

I pressed my mouth to her and licked everything--the blended mess of semen, her arousal, and the afterglow of her orgasms. I pushed my tongue in gently, drinking from her like it was my salvation.

Her hips twitched.

"She's sensitive," Daphne whispered. "Be gentle, but thorough."

I was.

I moved to her ass, cheeks still parted slightly, her hole glistening and open from how deep she'd been taken. There was still cum there--thick and wet.

I licked her clean again.

Every drop.

I swallowed what Dominic, and the others had left deep inside her. I kissed her there, soft and reverent, until the guests watching began to murmur again--not in shock, but in admiration.

Finally, I moved up to her face.

There was still a streak across her lips, her cheek, her chin. I kissed it. Licked it away. I pressed my forehead to hers, panting.

Still aching.

Still denied.

Daphne leaned down beside us both.

"You've done beautifully," she said. "But your night isn't over."

And smiled down at my wife.

"Come, darling. There are more who want you."

The crowd had thinned. The garden quieted.

But Natasha remained on her knees, flushed, wrecked, and radiant--her hair tangled, her thighs sticky with proof of everything she'd taken.

Daphne knelt beside her.

"Who do you want?"

Natasha didn't hesitate.

She pointed to a man--tall, lean, someone I hadn't seen before. Dark eyes. Quiet confidence.

He stepped forward without a word.

"You," she said. "On you lie down."

He obeyed.

She slid his cock into her used pussy facing away from him and leaned back into his chest and opened her legs--wide. Her pussy still wet, still used, and now throbbing again with hunger and full of his hard cock.

"Lick." She said to me.

I knelt down between her legs and licked her clit as the long cock sawed in and out of her pussy.

She moaned, her hips rising to meet my tongue. Her taste was rich--layered from everything before--but she was greedy for more.

She was fully in control.

She used my mouth.

She used his cock.

He groaned. She clenched.

And my tongue kept working--licking her clit, her lips, my nose brushing his cock as it slid in and out of her.

It didn't take long.

She got tighter. He got louder.

And then--he groaned, deep and helpless, hips pressing hard to hers as he came inside her, thick and full.

She shivered.

Then immediately lifting up--his cock slipping free, cum already beginning to leak.

"Cover me," she whispered.

I pressed my mouth to her pussy, sealing her closed with my lips, my tongue sweeping everything inside her.

It was hot.

Fresh.

Messy.

I drank her clean one final time, licking her until she sighed, relaxed... and smiled down at me.

Daphne's voice came behind me--soft, final.

"You may rest now."

I lay at my wife's feet.

Drained. Denied. Owned.

And fulfilled.