The Beginning of a Twisted Weekend

I’ve never fucked someone in public before. And, well, I guess I still haven’t, technically. I think a girl with her hands and feet in stocks, or tied behind her back, cannot be said to be fucking. She is being fucked. And now I have been fucked in public.
And that’s just the way I like it.
The first night at Twisted Tryst, W ordered me to my knees in the middle of the dungeon. “Suck my cock,” he said.  And I did, willingly, right there in a roomful of people. I didn’t like doing it in public, it was embarrassing, but I obeyed.
But then he tied my wrists behind my back, drug me to my feet and over to a piece of dungeon furniture, and did something he said he wasn’t going to do: he bent me over and fucked me from behind.  In public.  His hand on my wrists, his weight against me, kicking my legs apart and pinning me there as he shoved into me, not caring that I didn’t want to have sex in public. That I had begged him not to.
But I knew it was coming.  I knew he’d do it if he could, that he wanted it, and because I knew that, in spite of the fact that more than any other thing that might happen to me that weekend I didn’t want him to do that–I also didn’t want him to give in to me.  I wanted him to take me, right there in the middle of the room with everyone watching. I wanted to be the new girl at camp that got fucked on the floor of the dungeon the very first night.
But of course some small part of me believed he would let me off.  Just as I had believed he might call off my date with the biker earlier in the month, or tell me I didn’t really have to fuck that other guy in a sleazy motel.  Hope springs eternal and all that, right?
He hadn’t given in then, either.  And as weird and twisted and fucked up as it is, as little sense as it makes, I was glad.  But that still didn’t make me do it willingly. It was still very much a matter of being forced to do it.  There was nothing of obedience in it for me.
And yet I didn’t physically resist, until he shoved me to my knees on the concrete floor, and, holding me upright by my bound wrists, pushed his cock against my asshole.
That I hadn’t expected.   That was “not okay” on a far larger scale than being fucked in public.  I protested, I twisted, I squirmed, I tried to hold myself closed to him. And he simply bore down on me, into me, until, finally, I gave in, shaking and nearly in tears with humiliation and embarrassment.
And I came. Helplessly, sniveling, right there on the floor with him shoving his cock into my ass and anyone to see.
Yes, I was embarrassed.  It was brutal and humiliating. And yet I loved it.  Every minute of it.  The physical sensations: the concrete grinding into my knees, his hand wrapped in my hair and on my bound wrists. The rope biting into my wrists and him pushing his cock, wet with my cuntjuice, into my ass, filling me, violating me.  And the not-physical sensations: the force of his will and of my compliance; his heat and aggression; and the knowledge that in some twisted way he was celebrating me–proudly showing everyone there that I was his to use in any way he wanted.
What a way to start the weekend.