What better way to kick off 2022’s new guest blogs than with something riotously hot and delightfully kinky courtesy of @JenetalTorture? As you know, I am a huge fan of Jenby’s amazing adventures, and the way she writes about them gets me hot for kinks I’d previously not even considered – surveillance kink, bimbofication and lots more. Today’s story touches on one of my own hot fantasies: being ordered under the table to be used by the people sitting around it. Plus, it has a side-order of pink fishnet, latex and erotic hypnosis. Unngh.
Under the table sub – poker down below
It started with a chance meeting at the Birmingham Bizarre Bazaar.
I bumped into someone I’d not seen in about a decade, back when I was still in every conceivable closet there was, presenting as a cishet vanilla man in a straight relationship with my future Master.
We were understandably surprised to see each other, although he did confide that he’d always known I was kinky (I did wear a lot of leopard print in those days), but still he wasn’t prepared for the sight of me decked out in a skimpy latex number behind the bootblack stall, the proud owner of an entirely new gender.
During a pause in our lengthy catch-up I got talking to his sub, who as soon as he was out of earshot extended an invitation to his surprise birthday party, which I immediately accepted. We were still functionally strangers to each other but hey! We’re kinksters! I’ll probably have sucked you off before I learn your name!
‘It’s so hard to find people properly into D/s for these things,’ she said, ‘you usually end up with one or two awkwardly huddled in the corner.’
I assured her she needn’t worry about that with me.
‘Great, oh and it’s going to be a poker game.’
‘I don’t know how to play poker,’ I said, ‘but I’ll happily be under the table.’
Her smile told me that I probably ought to be more careful about the things I say, even in absolute seriousness. Especially when talking to equally serious perverts.
‘Black or pink?’
I held aloft two fishnet bodystockings for the birthday boy to choose between. It didn’t take long for him to select the lurid neon number. Clearly we have similar taste.
Retiring to one of the bedrooms for, thinking about it now, absolutely no reason at all, I slipped out of my cosy winterwear and into the revealing mesh, my girldick fully on display and two large cutouts on my chest proudly showing off my burgeoning A cups. Nothing was left to the imagination.
Still not quite able to get over how hot I’d become since I started popping the titty skittles, I slid the halterneck over my head and piled my hair into two adorably bouncy pigtails, then made my way back to the party.
I felt simultaneously under- and over-dressed.
The feeling didn’t last long, however, as in no time at all I felt a hand on my shoulder and one of the other guests lean in close to my ear.
‘Shouldn’t you be under the table?’ she said with a grin.
I didn’t need telling twice. Sliding – or rather melting – down the sofa I took up position on my knees, ensconced in a forest of legs and socked feet. Then a voice from behind me.
‘Jen, your phone’s ringing.’
A smirk.
‘Someone called ‘Master’.’
Thank goodness we were in impolite company.
I answered, informing Master that I was currently surrounded by eight crotches, to gales of laughter from above, which singularly failed to surprise.
As I listened to the sounds of the game filter down to me it seemed that it was all the D-types who either knew how to play poker or were willing to learn. The subs were busy preparing snacks, kneeling next to the game and occasionally being allowed in by their doms for a round or two, or as in my case, bringing the entertainment.
For the most part, that entailed serving as a footstool, though I would occasionally receive head scritches from the birthday boy, who at one point also hand-fed me a strawberry from the table. It was exactly as sexy as it sounds.
After a little over an hour of service, it was time to eat, and I grudgingly surfaced from my station, knees sore and hair tousled beyond recognition.
This was far from the end of my fun however.
As I said my goodbyes after changing back into my civvies at the end of the night, one of the guests – whom I knew reasonably well – ushered me into the hallway and gave me a parting gift.
‘Since that pink fishnet outfit is emblazoned on my mind,’ they said, ‘I think it’s only fair to do the same for yours.’
And with a swift click of the fingers I was under, being told that for the entirety of my journey home I would find myself doubting whether I really had changed out of my party clothes, and that every few minutes I’d be compelled to look down and check that my tits weren’t proudly displayed for all to see.
A lazy smile played over my deeply entranced lips. I’m always highly lucid while hypnotised, so knew exactly what was being sown in my soft, pliant mind, but I was acutely aware that wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference to how effectively the suggestion stuck.
I’d made it about five minutes down the road before my eyes flicked down to my chest, very definitely covered by four layers of clothing.
I sighed, and pulled out my phone.
‘Ffs,’ I wrote, ‘just had to check.’
I clicked send, and folded my arms tight.
It was going to be a very interesting walk home…
This piece is also available as audio – click ‘listen’ above or head to the audio porn page for more hot stories read aloud. You can also find more of Jenby’s incredible work here.