For the party, you were locked in stocks, naked. It wasn't quite a gloryhole although the principle was the same: you were available and free to use, and whilst there was no partition separating your face from your cunt, the thick wooden block in which your head and your wrists were secured functioned to prevent you from seeing who it was that used you. Your legs were fastened at the ankles to a central pillar.

The anticipation has you aroused and terrified in equal measure. You were wet, your nipples hardened from both their exposure and excitement, as the guests started to arrive and you tried to identify them from their voices, their footsteps.

You felt someone touch your exposed arsecheek, shocked when it was long talon-like nails that were drawn across it, grabbing the cheek, parting it, then releasing and slapping it. Then you felt hot breath on your soaked cunt before the most deft flicks of a tongue across your protruding clit.