He was furious with me for being such a brat….. for behaving poorly and not caring if my antics hurt him or not. He was tired of my being selfish and difficult….. So as the door slammed hard, I quickly turned to see him
standing there, already unbuttoning his pants. My heart began pounding in my ears. The sickening (and yes, exciting…) “thwick” as his belt leaves the loops…. His face tells me this beating will leave marks….. his eyes flash with barely-controlled rage. I realize that I’m caught between the bed and the wall…. my only escape is to flee over the bed or turn and fight him off. Daddy is a wall himself, I’d never even make a dent. So I turn back and begin scampering across the big bed (fuck, WHY is it SO big??) – but before I’m even halfway across, I feel a hand clamp around my ankle and yank me back. A hard, stinging slap lands on my pajama-covered ass, followed by seven more in very quick succession. Fear begins to well up in my chest as tears spring already to my eyes.
“You are not going ANYWHERE. You deserve what you get….. you asked for this,” he growls in my ear, his deep voice almost shaking with anger. Not one to be quietly subdued, my fight or flight instinct once again takes over and I begin to violently thrash in an attempt to get away from him. A low, angry growl escapes his throat as he pulls me half off the bed, trapping one arm quite painfully behind my back, and my legs down with one of his. I am hopelessly pinned. A prisoner. DAMN his Army training!
“You’re only making it worse for yourself, Little One,” he says, his voice like ice – and for an instant, I believe he wants me to make it harder on myself!
With deft hands, Daddy begins yanking clothes off me, leaving only my tank top. I suddenly feel the cold air from the bedroom fan as it breathes across my newly bared ass cheeks, and I feel a slight twitch in my pussy as I hear Daddy suck in his breath as he sees my almost naked body. His hand tightens on my wrist as if angrier at me for having to be turned on at my nakedness. His thighs are like warm steel holding me firmly over the bed.
“Of course I never expected you to lie still and take it – but you’ve earned yourself extra for being such a bitch.” My breath catches in my throat… a bitch? I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Daddy so angry. His voice gets more clinical and cold with each word – and that scares me more than anything. And excites me, too. I meet his Vulcan demeanor with pure teenage determination. I say nothing.
In answer to my silence, I hear him fumble with his belt, looping it up double and checking his grip on the ends. My blood turns to ice water, but I still refuse to say a word. I will NOT give him the satisfaction! My body betrays me, though, by beginning to tremble ever so slightly. And a further betrayal – growing excitement. The thought of Daddy whipping me, looking at my naked body, even his rage – all brings about a highly erotic state for me. I feel tingles in my pussy, knowing that it’s beginning to drip… and my nipples strain against the cotton of my tank top. What is happening to me?
Before I can begin to reason it out, however, I feel Daddy swing his arm up, and with a low, animalistic growl in his throat, he brings the belt back down on my young flesh. Pain races through my body like wildfire, and I scream out in spite of myself. “Aaaahhhhh, NO, DADDY! That HURTS! Stop!!” He acts as though he hasn’t heard, however, and a second – even HARDER, if that’s possible? – blow lands across the middle of my ass cheeks. The pain is absolutely unbearable… yet my nipples ache against my shirt, and I can already feel juices seeping down my thigh. My confused mind is at war with my body.
A third violent strike lands across the tops of my thighs, and I manage to squirm slightly away from his grasp, now that we’re both sweating a bit.
“You stay right where you are,” an almost unfamiliar voice growls in my ear, and a firmer grasp puts me back in place. “That’s another two for you.” Daddy’s words fly by me unnoticed, however, because I am transfixed by the hardness I feel against my thigh. I feel dizzy with the implications of his arousal – arousal at beating his one and only daughter. Or is it from seeing me naked? I am bombarded by thoughts and questions…
In rapid succession, three vicious blows fall on my already crimson ass and upper thighs, leaving nasty welts in their wake. I feel bruised and swollen. Gutteral sounds slip from Daddy’s throat as the rage pours from him – feeding on itself, rather than abating. I hear deafening screams and sobs, and only after a few moments do I realize that those raspy sounds are coming from my own throat! I struggle, but only enough to feel as though I’m not simply lying down and taking it – not enough to earn me a longer strapping. My heart threatens to rip out of my chest, and the sheets under me become soaked with my tears. Yet through all this… my pussy continues to throb, juice positively flowing down my legs and onto the side of the bed. I panic that he will be able to see… that he will know I’m a slut. Surely that would lengthen this hell?
“I hate you!” The words fly in a cry unbidden from my mouth, and panic surges anew, turning my skin to ice. I am truly afraid, yet a new emotion begins to emerge – a rage of my own. A new emotion smoldering in my belly like an infant, suckling at my embarrassment and fear.
I feel a cruel hand twist itself up in my hair and yank my head back, threatening to tear my head off. I scream and reach back to grip your arm, trying to free myself, in vain of course. You are surely possessed… your voice travels like little fingers to my pussy – stroking it, caressing it – ending all reason and sanity. “Good,” you growl, sounding so much like the wolves you prize. “That will make me enjoy this so much more.”
As if to emphasize your point, you wind up and deliver another two blows to my welted and blistered body, and before I know what’s happening, a low moan escapes my throat. You freeze, arm high in the air about to deliver another. I can almost hear the cranks in your head turning, reasoning out what you just heard. Within seconds you come back to yourself and bring that belt down, harder than the rest.
“From now on,” you spit at me, “you WILL think of someone other than yourself!” Two more blows, accompanied by guttural moans from you, end the tirade, and you finally let go of me. Eleven straps with your leather belt – and I vow silently to make you pay for each and every one. For every bruise, every welt. At this moment, I truly hate you… and hate myself for feeling so alive and aroused.
You stand there panting, waiting for my reaction. Slowly I peel myself off the bed, a mess of sweat, welts, bruises, a little blood – and completely soaked between my thighs, although I’m not sure you are aware of that. Slowly I turn to face you, and you blink in surprise at the rage barely contained on my tear-stained face. If submissive obedience and chagrin is what you expected, you are sorely disappointed. I straighten myself up, sticking my chin in the air. My voice drawls out in a hateful hiss – like water on hot coals. “Don’t you ever hit me again.” You can see that I’m trembling. With rage? Fear? Embarrassment? Or… something else? And then, in an irony that eludes only brave teenagers, I wind up and slap you across the face as hard as I possibly can. Which, for your daughter, is rather hard – sufficiently shocking you for a moment.
At that moment I realize my mistake, and turn tail to run as quickly as my shaky legs will carry me. I manage to get as far as the hallway before I hear you roar with fury and give chase. Panic springs in my chest and I run faster, but I only make it to the end of the hallway before you reach me – grabbing my hair and yanking me backwards into your broad chest. I scream. You don’t even notice… you don’t say a word as you slam me to the floor, knocking the wind out of my lungs. I look up helplessly as you throw all of your weight on top of me, pinning me to the cold wooden floor.
“That was a mistake, bitch – one that you will regret.” I see no trace of my loving Daddy in you now – only anger. Your eyes flash with the insanity of violence and the desire to inflict pain. In moments you have rid yourself of your boxers and T-shirt, and with quick yank – my tank top is ripped from my body. Your knees thud down between my legs, separating them, and as I struggle to regain my wits, you snarl as you look down at my naked, aroused body. Your eyes rake over me, taking in my painfully hard nipples, the sweat covering my skin, and the slickness covering my thighs. Bringing your eyes back to mine, your face slides into a sickening grin.
“Would you like to be my whore? Daddy’s whore?” Painfully, cruelly, you twist one nipple – and then the other. Alarm bells race through my body, causing me to struggle desperately against my bonds, which only enrages you further. With a snarl, you slap me – HARD! – not once, not twice, but three times across the face, scrambling my wits. I immediately feel the swelling begin – in my face, and further in my pussy. In my fear, all I can do is glare back at you.
Taking both my small hands in one of yours, you reach down to rip my thighs open, pulling my body closer to you. I know what is coming, and I am ashamed to feel my hips arching up to meet you. With one quick thrust, you push your thick, hard cock deep into my pussy – throwing your head back and crying out as you feel my hot, wet flesh close around it. Immediately you begin pounding into my young pussy, desperate to sate this lust.
“You bastard!” I’m barely able to spit out, in between guttural moans and choking sobs. “You bastard, how could you?” Yet my body betrays me yet again by matching your thrusts, wanting more. Needing more!
“Shut up, bitch – you begged for this. You fucking whore.” You fuck harder, deeper, trying to punish me. I only moan louder. In your mind, you see all the skimpy outfits I paraded around the house in… the boys I made out with downstairs or on the front porch… the time you watched through the crack of my door as I brought myself to climax with my glass dildo. And you punish my cunt for every thought.
It seems to go on for hours… being split open by my Daddy’s cruel thrusts, and cumming shamelessly all over his throbbing dick, coating it with my juices. Suddenly you begin to fuck faster, growling deep in your throat, gripping me painfully.
A desperate thought comes to mind and I push up almost to my elbows. “Don’t you DARE cum inside me, you fuck!” My voice is raspy and shrill with panic. I’m already close to another orgasm…
You slap me again, wait for me to register the shock, and then once more. My pussy twitches at the sheer enjoyment on your face. You are a sick man! Your breath comes in ragged bursts, and you lean down to growl in my ear, “I will cum in you, slut… and you will carry my seed in your belly.” My blood freezes.
And with a final thrust and howl, you explode deep in my pussy, causing a last orgasm to arch my back. We lay there for long moments, panting, sweating, trying to come back to our senses.
Tonight’s dinner was one of those rare occasions when I wished I could still have a glass of wine now and then. It would have been a perfect compliment to the excellent meal and delightful company. I’ve been spending so much time alone lately that I’d almost forgotten how sexy an evening of intelligent conversation with an attractive and attentive man can make me feel. I’m walking a little taller and laughing easier than I have in weeks. You have a way of making women feel beautiful and confident with just the look in your eye. It’s provocative without being lecherous.
I’m excited that you are coming back to my house. There is no pretense of it being under the guise of having a nightcap, as you already know that I haven’t kept alcohol in my house for years. No, we both know why you are coming over. The topic may not have been approached verbally, but it was obvious in the way we’ve been interacting all evening. The way you placed your hand in the small of my back to guide me through the restaurant earlier, your fingertips brushing mine as you took the menu from my hand, and the many times our eyes met for an electrifying moment before I, blushing, broke eye contact: every one of these incidents made clear the inevitable conclusion of this evening. It was a conclusion I looked forward to immensely.
You lean across the table and hand me a pen, saying you’ll be about twenty minutes behind me, since you have to get gas and run another quick errand before following me home. Confused, I take the pen and meet your gaze.
“I want you to draw me a map so I can find your house from the gas station across the street from here,” you say as you pull a piece of paper from your jacket pocket and hand it to me. Nodding, I take the paper and draw a simple but accurate map to help you navigate the three miles back to my house. Secretly, I’m glad for the extra time because I’m nervous and I since I didn’t partake of the wine with you, I would like to have a little smoke to calm my nerves before you arrive. If I thought you’d be interested, I’d offer to share, but nothing about you says, “Dude, pass the bong!” Finishing up, I hand you the map and we rise from the table. You walk me out to my car, and as I unlock the door, you stand close, leaning over me slightly. When I turn back toward you, your hands slide into my coat and roam slowly over my body, and I begin to melt into you. My breathing deepens as your right-hand squeezes my breast, slowly pinching and rolling my aching nipple between your thumb and forefinger. Your right hand is in my hair, pulling my head back and exposing my neck to your mouth. Kissing, sucking and biting your way toward my ear, you speak softly into it, telling me to make sure I am ready for you in twenty minutes. My head is spinning as you gently release me to the chilly night air before returning to your truck. I open my car door with trembling hands and put the doggie bag on the passenger’s seat.
Five minutes later, as I pull into my garage and hit the button to close the door behind me, I chastise myself as I do every evening when I remember that I still haven’t replaced the light bulb in the garage door opener. I should have left the regular light on when I left to meet you at the restaurant. Never mind; I leave the headlights on and use them to find the pipe and lighter I keep in the toolbox on the workbench. I don’t smoke in the house, so the garage is a nice private alternative to smelling up my house. Back in the car, I take a couple of hits from the pipe, savoring the smoke as long as possible before exhaling long and slow, my nerves calming with each breath. Leaning back in my seat, I relax and close my eyes, anticipating the night to come.
I can’t have been there for more than five minutes when my phone rings. It’s you, telling me you’ve decided you want me to accompany you on your errand. You say you’re in the driveway waiting for me. I realize I must be higher than I’d realized if I didn’t even hear you pull in. Now I feel like a nervous teenager about to get busted when I tell you I’m still in the garage and haven’t even taken the food in yet.
“Never mind,” you say, “It will keep. Come out to the truck and we’ll bring it in when we come back.”
I don’t even ask where we’re going when I climb in next to you. You reach across and buckle me in, pulling the belt tightly against my hips and chest. My thighs clench at your touch and I realize it’s been too long since I’ve been touched by anyone besides myself, and I’m now reading sexual overtones into everything. You pull the truck out of the driveway and we head for the north end of town. It seems your demeanor has changed. You’re too quiet. I wonder if you smell the smoke on me; I wonder if it bothers you. As I’m considering whether or not I should bring it up, you reach across and place your hand on my knee, just below the hem of my skirt. Caught off guard, I jump a little, but can’t keep from parting my legs slightly: a subtle invitation for your hand to find its way toward a warmer and wetter climate. The invitation is accepted, and soon your fingers are tracing a leisurely, winding path up my inner thigh. Can you feel the goosebumps through my tights?
Not a word passes between us as we pull onto the freeway, my legs spreading shamelessly wider as your hand works its way into the waistband of my tights and down toward the silky warmth of my very wet little pussy. When you find my swollen clit and begin pinching and rubbing it, I whimper and push myself farther back into the seat, my breath coming in short little gasps.
A new tone has been set for the evening, and I sink into it, happily letting it envelop me. Right now I can think of nothing besides the aching need to feel your fingers inside me. My hips rise and fall to meet the teasing thrusts of the single finger you use to probe my hungry pussy, but you don’t take the hint to go deeper. Instead, when my growing desire is expressed in a moan, you slowly withdraw your hand. It takes me a few seconds to catch my breath and calm down enough to open my eyes. When I do, I see that your attention is now fully on the road, though I’m fairly certain I see a faint smirk play across your lips. You say nothing as you turn into a parking lot and find a place to park.
I look around and realize that we are at the Adult Book Store. Nervously, I look at you, but you are already opening the door and getting out. “Come on,” you say, “We’re getting a movie.”
Smoothing my skirt and hair, I get out of the truck and head toward your extended hand. I try not to hold it too tightly as we enter the store and come face-to-face with 2000 square feet of racks, shelves, and display counters filled with sex toys, magazines, movies, and cheap lingerie.
You pull me toward the back of the store as a large man in a sweat-stained T-shirt stare at us from behind the counter. We veer off into a side room filled with hardcore and fetish pornography, and I’m suddenly very self-conscious. I’m wondering what type of movie you’re looking for when you turn and tell me in a low voice that it’s my job to choose our evening’s entertainment.
Protesting that I don’t know what to choose gets me nowhere with you, and you instruct me to look closely at the different movies until I find one that really speaks to me. As my eyes scan the different titles, I’m extremely aware of your gaze and fear that the intensity and depth of my sexuality are about to be exposed for all to see.
There are sections of films for every appetite outside the norm: bondage, wife-swapping and swingers, cum-shots, ‘she-males’ and forced-feminization of submissive males. Along the back wall, my eyes linger on a movie advertising “3 hours of non-stop gang-bang action,” and my heart jumps. I force myself to look away at the rack behind me, but you don’t miss a beat. Picking it up, you hand it to me and tell me to read the back of the box to you. There are several customers in the room with us (all men, of course), so I begin very softly reading you the description of the movie. You instruct me to speak louder. As I begin again, I notice that at least two of the men nearby appear to be listening, and my face grows hot. When I finish, you ask if that’s the movie I want, and I say no, hoping I can instead direct your attention to something much tamer. Unfortunately, I’m not given that chance, as you immediately take the movie from my hands, return it to the shelf, and select another gang-bang movie. I realize too late that this entire back section of the room is devoted to women being used by large groups of men. Handing me the next movie, you say simply, “Read.”
This one claims to show three women satisfying two dozen men in a spontaneous gang bang after closing time in a bar. I read to you and again know that you aren’t the only one listening. I try to keep my voice even so I’m not embarrassed by my own excitement. One after another, you choose movies for me to read to you and with each one, the men around us seem to move in a little closer. Nervously, I edge towards you and try to speak softer so they can’t listen in, but you turn into me and reach under my coat to cup one of my breasts and pinch my nipple firmly, saying, “Louder, Jane.”
I squeal in surprise at the delicious pain shooting from my nipple to my clit, making my panties even wetter than they were back in the truck. I read louder now, still acutely aware of the cocks hardening all around me as I tell of naughty cheerleaders taking on entire football teams (AND the coaches), teen-aged coeds having their pussies, asses, and mouths simultaneously stretched wide open by beautiful big black cocks, hot MILFs with huge tits servicing groups of their sons’ college buddies, dirty construction workers taking turns working over their bitch of a forewoman, and ‘cum-guzzling whores’ taking hot creamy loads down their throats, and all over their faces, tits, and asses. It’s becoming progressively more difficult to keep my breathing steady. Your hand inside my coat rhythmically squeezes my breast, pinching my nipple tightly enough to weaken my knees and bring a tear to my eye. Your warm breath on my neck as I read, and the growing bulge in the front of your pants combined with the nipple play are driving me to distraction, and I can’t focus on what I’m supposed to be reading. Our audience is listening intently to my every word, even if they aren’t looking our way. A stocky Hispanic man with the full sleeve tattoos is standing in the corner, rubbing his cock through his jeans, and I’m startled to note that it turns me on far more than it scares me. It must be the effect of the weed I was smoking earlier since that stuff always seems to make me horny in ways I would never be brave (or foolish?) enough to consider otherwise.
To my left, a tall young man in jeans and cowboy boots leans back against a post as he appears to read a magazine, though I’m fairly certain it’s upside down. He shifts his weight uncomfortably and I notice the bulge in the front of his jeans, running halfway down his thigh. No wonder he’s uncomfortable; that thing is huge! It’s hard not to stare at it and wonder what it would look like without being confined by those Wranglers. Facing us from the other side of this magazine rack, a beautiful muscular man with ebony skin and a military haircut stares into my eyes. He makes no attempt at subtlety as he smiles at my blushing reaction to being the center of attention.
A searing pain slices through my nipple as you reclaim my attention and hand me another movie: “Cum-Slut Librarian.” This time, you don’t relax your vice grip on my nipple. I am breathing into the pain and trying to maintain my composure as I tell a tale of a university librarian who is kidnapped in the campus parking garage by a delivery truck full of men. Once they get her into the truck, they force her to spread her legs and open her mouth for each of them over and over as they take turns driving through the night and into the next day. She is kept restrained in the back of the truck with leather cuffs at her wrists and ankles, contorted and secured into a wild variety of positions. She gets DP’d roughly, from every possible angle, often with a third cock in her mouth, and once with a fourth jerking off onto her face as she’s being throat-fucked. But this horny little cum-slut ends up loving it, cumming more times and harder than she ever has in her life, and actually begging for more.
Wow. Why does that turn me on so much? Personally, I’ve never been DP’d, though I must say the idea is very intriguing. The couple of times I was actually fucked in the ass by men who started slowly enough that I wanted it and even enjoyed it, I surprised myself by begging them to fuck me harder, with long, deep strokes. So the idea of experiencing that while simultaneously having my pussy filled with another cock thrusting deep into me is a delicious thought. Of course, I adore the feeling of a stiff cock in my mouth, so adding that into the mix makes me very jealous of this hot little librarian.
By the time I finish reading about the lucky slut, I’m leaning into your hand, not just accepting the pain you are giving me as you pinch my nipple harder, but sinking into it, soaking it up, feeding off of it. My eyes close as you slowly tighten your grip and begin to twist and pull with an expert hand. I don’t squeal at the pain anymore, but instead breathe deeper, savoring the moment, transforming the pain into waves of pleasure I can barely contain. I know I should be embarrassed or ashamed, or perhaps afraid, but I no longer care about the others watching. I never want to stop feeling this. You hold me in the palm of your hand, to do with as you wish. And you know it.
Suddenly, you release me and my forehead seems to burst into cold white flames as the blood rushes back into my aching nipple and the endorphins kick in. You steady me as I wobble, struggling to keep my feet steady beneath me. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out your keys and hand them to me, whispering into my ear, “Now go wait in the truck.”
“What?” I mumble, confused.
You straighten back up and inform me sternly that you will be paying for the Cum-Slut Librarian while I go wait in the truck. Suddenly very self-conscious again, I am afraid to leave your side.
There is no arguing with your tone. So I go.
As I exit the hardcore room and make my way toward the front door, the sweaty man behind the counter ogles me, smirking at my obvious discomfort. He reminds me of Uncle Merle, the creepy old uncle that my cousins and I used to make a game of avoiding at family reunions. His arms were so long that when he trapped one of us in a hug, he could wrap them all the way around us and grab at our tiny (OK, mine weren’t so tiny) breasts as he enfolded us in his smelly embrace. I shudder now just thinking about it. “You have a good night now, Girlie!” he shouts as I push through the door.
Out in the chill of the night, I suddenly realize how wet I am. My panties are completely soaked, and my tights seem to be as well. I unlock the truck and try to climb in discretely, but the step is so high I have to hike my skirt half-way up my thigh to climb up. I look around to make sure no one can see me. Closing and locking the door, I wait nervously, hoping you won’t take long. I watch the rear-view mirror to be sure I wasn’t followed out. The neon lights are reflected and scattered by the light rain that has begun to fall, but nothing else moves in the parking lot.
As I wait I realize I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on. Yet the fact that this incredible sexual desire was inspired by such a bizarre experience is more than a little disturbing. I’m amazed and confused by how willing I was to let you control and lead me into such a humiliatingly erotic experience. I ponder this until you return to the truck a few minutes later. Our hands meet as I wordlessly unlock your door and pass you the keys. You catch my eye and say, “Good Girl.”
My thighs clench with pleasure and desire and I’m smiling happily at your approval. You start the truck and back out of the parking spot, but before pulling forward, you lean over, reach your left hand behind my head and pull me toward you for a kiss. It’s long and deep and it takes my breath away. Releasing me, you chuckle to yourself, saying, “I’m really going to enjoy this.” I don’t know exactly what you mean, but the thought of you enjoying me in any capacity is extremely pleasurable. I shift my weight back and forth, as my drenched little pussy is becoming very sensitive to its contact with the seat, even through my clothes.
In silence we ride back to my place, your hand occasionally reaching over to caress my thighs, or fondle my breasts. By the time we make the turn into my neighborhood, I want you so badly that I’m fantasizing about you unzipping your pants and pulling my head down onto your cock as you drive. For a moment I question my own sanity, since I am usually quite fanatical about the need for discretion here in town. Again, I decide that it must be because I got stoned earlier that I’m thinking like such a slut.
Pulling into the driveway, you ask for my keys and I hand them to you without question. When you get out of the truck, I know without being told to wait until you come around and open my door. I accept the hand you offer to help me down to the ground. We walk to the front door, which you unlock and open for me.
You don’t follow me inside, but tell me to sit still and wait while you go get your bag from the truck (by this time, it’s obvious you will be here all night). You close the door and I sit on the edge of the sofa, back straight and hands on my knees. It seems I hear you opening and closing doors several times, but I decide it must be the neighbors. A few minutes later, you return. You put your bag on the loveseat and then cross to the sofa where I sit. You hold your hands out in front of you, and I automatically place my hands in yours. Gently you pull me to my feet, brush my lips with yours, and whisper that I forgot to bring the food in from the car in the garage. You ask where my restroom is; I show you, and head back down the hall and out the front door.
I’m glad the door to the garage is off the patio so I don’t have to go out in the rain. Then I realize you still have my keys. I almost turn back, but decide to try the knob first, in case I left the door unlocked when I finished smoking in there earlier. Fortunately, it’s unlocked. I open the door and step cautiously down to the floor of the garage, hesitating for a moment as I decide not to bother with the light. The paper blinds over the window offer privacy without blocking the effects of the streetlight just outside, so I’ll be able to see if I give my eyes a few seconds to adjust.
The door closes behind me.
I jump and spin back toward the door, but suddenly there are hands all over me. One clamps tightly over my mouth, another holds a fistful of my hair, and one or two grab at each of my arms. I try to look around to figure out what’s happening, but I’m completely immobilized. More hands now: opening my coat, touching and squeezing my breasts, ripping the front of my blouse open, sending buttons flying all over the garage. The hands on my breasts pull them awkwardly out of my bra cups and begin kneading, mauling, pinching, and pulling at them.
“Mmmmm, yeah, look at these fucking titties! Did I tell you? Ese mamacita has the best fucking set of titties I ever seen!” My eyes are finally adjusting to the small amount of light filtering in, and I realize that the arms of the man with his hands all over my breasts are covered in tattoos, just like the man stroking his cock in the adult bookstore earlier. The huge fist in my hair pulls my head back, and a voice mutters in my ear, “You just relax now Girlie, and show us all a real good time, and maybe we won’t hurt you too much. Then again, I ain’t makin’ any promises!” He chuckles into my ear. I know that voice. Where do I know it from? He smells of sweat, stale cigars, and beer.
I’m completely overwhelmed, mentally and physically. Everything is happening so fast that I can’t process it:
teeth on my left nipple
hands cupping my ass and pulling my cheeks apart through my skirt
my arms pulled wide, holding me still
fierce sucking on my right nipple
a large meaty hand crushing my lips as it muffles my attempts at screams
hands lifting my skirt
pulling at my tights
yanking them down to my knees
groans and mumbling
“Shit this bitch is hot!”
“Spread her legs a little.”
“Dios Mio these titties are fucking HUGE!”
“Be a Good Girl now, and bend over.”
“Dude, hand me that duct tape!”
Where are you, I wonder? My head is spinning; how long have I been gone? 30 seconds? Five minutes? What’s happening? Why aren’t you coming out to help me?
I’m being passed from one set of hands to another. Someone yanks my coat off and pulls my arms behind my back. Someone else is tearing off long strips of duct tape. My hands are taped together behind me. I recognize the face now peering at me in the darkness. It’s the tall blonde cowboy from the hardcore room at the adult bookstore telling me not to scream when he uncovers my mouth, unless I want him to hurt me real bad. I’m terrified, but I don’t scream. I let him put another strip of duct tape across my mouth as I stare wide-eyed at the other faces I’m beginning to make out in the dark. The man from behind the counter at the bookstore is holding me by the hair, and the black soldier is holding the roll of duct tape while the tattooed Latino is still sucking, biting, and squeezing my breasts as if his life depends on it.
I’m being pushed toward the hood of my car and I shuffle along awkwardly in my heels, with my skirt hiked up and my tights and panties down around my knees. Just a few more steps, then a hand at the nape of my neck forces me to bend over as another hand pulls my hips back.
“Come on, girlie; spread your legs for us,” says the large man behind me as he kicks at my feet. I awkwardly step out to the side with each foot as I’m shoved down onto the hood of my car. The metal is cold on my face and breasts, but there is a familiar heat rising between my legs.
More hands on my arms and ass as I’m held down securely. I hear a zipper releasing the cock that is about to take possession of my throbbing cunt.
“Hold her down.”
“Keep the bitch steady!”
Wait, let me get to that tittie!”
The unmistakable sound of a condom being unwrapped sends shivers down my legs, and finally I feel it: the engorged head of an invading cock stabbing at the entrance to my soaking pussy. He jabs unceremoniously a couple of times before finding the sweet spot and plunging into the hilt. Immediately, he begins fucking me hard and fast. I can’t scream through the duct tape, but my moans and grunts with each violent thrust must surely be heard from outside, or is the rain drowning it out?
Why don’t you hear and come out to help me?
He’s ramming into me hard enough to shake the whole car while the others just cheer him on. “Oh hell yeah,” he growls, “This little girl is one hot slut, that’s for damn sure! That’s right, girl; Big Daddy’s fuckin’ you now! What do you think of that? Shit, that’s right, squeeze that little twat, bitch! Fuck, she’s gonna make me cum already! Ungh, oh yeah, uh….here comes Daddy! Here it is, oh yeah! Take it….take it all, you little fucking slut! Oh yeah, F – U – C – K!
A final deep thrust and I feel his cock throbbing inside me as he explodes into me, filling the condom. He collapses onto my back in a sweaty, heaving, mass.
“Hey, man, back off now, let everybody have a turn!”
“Yeah, come on amigo; there’s plenty of this bitch to go around.”
As he straightens back up, I feel his now limp dick slither out of me, and I’m pulled up to my feet and turned around roughly. The cowboy is holding me by my shoulders and we’re standing nose-to-nose. “Lady,” he says as he laughs merrily, “I’m gonna fuck the shit outta you!”
I believe him.
He lifts me onto the hood of the car and sets me down, saying “Jorge, grab her legs and hold them straight up for me. Jorge wraps his fists around my ankles and lifts them toward the ceiling, tipping me onto my back. It’s awkward, because my hands are still bound behind me. I fear I’m going to slide off the car when Jorge drops one of the hands holding my ankles, but when he uses that hand t squeeze and pinch my breasts and nipples, I no longer worry about falling.
I look up at the cowboy standing in front of my exposed and contorted body. I’m helplessly vulnerable to his forthcoming assault, but when he drops his pants and displays one of the longest cocks I’ve ever seen, I cherish that vulnerability. I know I should be terrified, or at least repulsed. I’m supposed to be a good girl, not a horny little slut. So why does part of me want desperately to know how it would feel having that incredible cock plunging into me with long slow strokes?
Of course, that isn’t what this cowboy has in mind. First he starts squeezing my ass and upper thighs. He adds a few stinging slaps here and there, until he is alternating between squeezing tight handfuls of flesh and pinching my clit or outer lips, and progressively harder smacks on my thighs, ass, and pussy. I squirm and wiggle awkwardly, not sure if I’m trying to get away or position myself so the slaps hit my pussy just a little bit closer to my clit. My muffled cries sound as if they could be those of pleasure, pain, or perhaps even both. A new flood of juices trickles its way down from my pussy to the crack of my ass with each sharp slap. What’s happening to me?
“Look how much she loves it!” Big Daddy sneers, “She wants you to fuck her, the little slut!” Laughing, he leans down and says in my ear, “Don’t worry, baby, you are going to get all the fucking you can handle now! You belong to all of US now, and before we’re done with you, we’re gonna be using every one of your pink little holes longer and harder than you’ve ever dreamed of! And you are going to love every fucking minute of it. So go ahead and fight it if you want, but you and I both know you want this. You are a slut, and sluts need to be fucked. Hard.”
With that, he grabs me by the chin and jerks my face up toward him as he kisses me roughly through the duct tape. I only feel a split-second of revulsion before the cowboy distracts me by suddenly sliding his cock into my soaking wet cunt. I’m so lubed up from his smacking, groping, and probing that I offer no resistance to his entry, and before I realize what’s happening, he’s buried his entire cock in me, and I’m stretched like I’ve never been stretched before. He wraps his arms around my legs, placing my ankles on his shoulder, and begins pounding into me, sending agonizing jolts of pleasure tearing through my body with every thrust. Jorge is biting my nipples again, and the intermittent pain is exquisite.
Long black fingers trail across the one breast that isn’t being attacked by Jorge, teasing the nipple up into an aching peak. Slowly, the fingers spread and slide up to and around my neck. I turn to see the soldier peeking over my shoulder as he very gradually but steadily tightens his fingers around my throat and cuts off my air supply. Because of the duct tape I can only breathe through my nose, and now, only when his expert hand allows me a gulp or two of air before slowly tightening his grip again. The lack of oxygen makes me dizzy, and I’m becoming disoriented.
Someone is fucking me roughly, and I know I’m supposed to be fighting it, but it’s touching places inside of me that have never felt fucked before, and I can’t help but want more. I realize that if this keeps up I’m going to cum. Part of me thinks I’m not supposed to, but now I can’t remember why. All I know is that I desperately NEED to cum now. I need to cum more than I need to breathe, and I really need to breathe. But I don’t fight it. The teeth on my nipples, the hand on my throat, and the internal assault by the longest cock I’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking are bringing me close to the edge, and the buildup is insane. I’m trembling all over now, hovering at the brink of something at once both terrifying and liberating, and the energy just keeps building.
“That’s right, Baby, bring that pussy up to me!” the cowboy commands as he pounds into my cunt.
Jorge gives my nipple a little bite before he stands up and unzips his pants. Taking out his cock, he strokes it with one hand and pinches and pulls at my nipples with the other, “Ay, Dios mio! This fucking bitch is hot! I’m gonna fuck every one of her holes tonight! I’m even gonna fuck those bad-assed titties! Yeah, I can’t wait to cum all over those damned things! How bout you, Mike, you gonna cum on those titties too? Why not, man? Tonight, this bitch is OURS!”
The sexy black soldier controlling my life’s breath leans in close and speaks softly into my ear, “That’s right, girl; tonight your ass IS ours. But not just your ass. We’re taking it ALL tonight. Your beautiful wet pussy, that big round ass, your soft lips, and even this pretty little white throat. After all, it’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You didn’t really think you could tease us all night with fantasies of what we could be doing to you, and then just walk away, did you? No Ma’am; that was an invitation. And we accept. Tonight you are going to feel every one of our dicks in every one of your holes. Some more than once. When we get done with you this weekend, that CumSlut Librarian is going to look like Little Bo Peep next to you!”
“Fuck yeah!” says the cowboy, “We’re gonna show you what a dirty little whore you can be, aren’t we? That’s right, you love this shit, don’t you, ya, hot little whore? Come on, show us how much you like it! Give it up, you little slut!”
His thrusting is even deeper now, though I wouldn’t have believed it was possible. I can barely stand the intense pleasure it arouses in me. When I’m allowed to breathe, it comes in short gulps, gasps, and groans, and my approaching orgasm is all too obvious.
Then everything seems to happen all at once: Jorge squeezes, pulls, and twists one nipple until it burns just right, all of my oxygen is cut off again, and the cowboy is riding me home; I can’t hold back any longer. I’m bucking wildly, my back arches, all the muscles in my cunt clench around the cowboy’s gorgeous cock, milking it rhythmically, and I shake uncontrollably as my orgasm is ripped from the depths of my soul. I moan slightly, but without oxygen, this earth-shattering orgasm is bizarrely silent. It seems to go on forever, and I’m not sure who is riding whom now. I feel like I’m dying and being born at the same time.
All around me, I see flashes of brilliant white light.
As my orgasmic tsunami finally begins to subside, the cowboy pulls his cock out of me, rips the condom off, and shoots huge pulses of cum all over my ass, thighs, and pussy.
Mike releases my throat, and I’m flooded with oxygen and endorphins. This prolongs the orgasm, sending me into a weird dream-like state that I want to last forever. But I don’t have time to regain equilibrium before Jorge scoops me off of the hood of the car and forces me to my knees in front of him. My knees are so weak at this point that it’s an easy task. He holds me by my hair, tilting my face up toward his lovely brown cock. As Jorge jacks off inches from my mouth (which is still taped shut), I see another flash of light, off to the left. It’s Big Daddy, and he’s holding a camera.
I start to panic, but I hear the door open, and I realize you must have finally missed me enough to come looking. I think I’m supposed to feel relieved.
But when you turn on the light, you’re smiling.
“See?” you say, “I told you she was too good to keep to myself. A slut like this needs to be shared!”
Set up to be gang-raped
I feel my cheeks burning, as the flash goes off again. Suddenly, it all makes sense: sending me to the truck at the bookstore while you made arrangements; they must have followed us here! That must have been why I heard other doors. My God, I realize, I’ve been set up to be gang-raped! I think I’m going to faint. And yet, I feel like I might cum again right here, even though no one is even touching my cunt!
“Come on,” you continue, “Let’s get our little CumSlut Queen into the house.”
“Un momento, first I’m gonna cum all over her titties! That’s it, bitch, look up at me. Look at my cock! See this? It’s gonna be fuckin’ your ass later. Do you like that? Huh? You wanna see what sluts like you make me do? Watch this, Mami! Watch what a big fuckin’ load o’ jizz you bring outta me! Oh yeah!” As his fist pumps up and down over the shaft of his cock, he steers my head up under it, rubbing his balls all over my face. His cock towers over me now, and I can see it’s about to rain down in a hot shower all over me any moment, marking me as an official Cum-Slut.
Suddenly, I not only accept it, but I also welcome it.
“Here you go, Mamacita, here it is. All for you, you hot fucking bitch….uh….yeah! Fuck yeah!”
Spurts of cum shoot up across my face and into my hair before he pulls my head back and aims the rest of the load at my tits. A large glob slides down from my forehead and drips past my eye and onto my cheek, then trickles its way toward my chin. Looking down, I see that my tits are glistening with droplets and streams of creamy white cum. There’s even a little bit on my eyelash that I can see wherever I look.
“Beautiful!” you declare as the flash continues to go off from one spot after another, disorienting me further.
“Dios mio that was fucking hot!” Jorge releases me to reassemble his clothes, and Mike lifts me gently to my feet. He starts to pull my tights up and my skirt down, but you stop him.
“Leave her that way. She can still walk. We’ll go around the back.” You lead the way around to the door that leads into the private back yard.
The wooden fence is six feet tall, but every knot and gap in the wood makes me acutely aware of the cum dripping from my face, my exposed breasts, and my pussy and ass. I can only take half-steps because my tights are now well below my knees, though my skirt is still hiked up around my waist. My blouse dangles from my elbows, which are secured behind me. My bra is still pulled down under my naked breasts, acting as a shelf that lifts them and emphasizes my already ample cleavage. The places where I’m wet with cum are hyper-erotically aware of the breeze.
With the duct tape still covering my mouth and binding my wrists, part of me fears one of my neighbors might see and realize what a slut I really am under my conservative geeky front. But then again, I’m probably even more afraid that they wouldn’t realize what a slut I am, and they’d call the police to save me, then it would all be over. Please, God, don’t let that happen! If this is how it feels to be a true cum-slut, then I embrace it. I have never felt so sexy, so desirable, or so deeply fulfilled sexually as I do in this moment.
You lead us all around the house and I realize it’s stopped raining. How long was I in the garage?
Opening the sliding glass doors from the patio to the kitchen, you tell the guys to help themselves to the beer in the frige. Since when is there beer in my refrigerator? Of course, if you can manage to arrange a gang-bang in my garage, I guess you can manage a few beers. Cowboy, Jorge, and Big daddy all go inside. Mike puts his hand on my shoulder just as I try to navigate the step up to the door. He turns me gently around and sits me down on the lounger, facing him…and the neighbors.
Standing in front of me, he unzips his pants to reveal one of the most glorious hard-ons I’ve ever seen. His cock isn’t as long as Cowboy’s, but it’s still damned long, and almost as thick as my wrist, with throbbing veins and a lovely mushroom head that’s going to feel incredible plunging in and out of my cunt. I can’t take my eyes off of it, and Michael knows it. He sees my hunger and smiles, instructing me to spread my legs. Wider. He stands between them, and for a moment I think he’s going to fuck me right there on the patio, so I open my legs until all the way, welcoming the chance to be owned by this glorious cock, if only for the moment.
But instead of kneeling down to fuck me, Michael slowly pulls the duct tape from my mouth. Once it’s removed, I open my mouth as wide as I can, looking up at him as he slowly guides his cock between my lips. It’s so thick that my mouth feels full before it has taken in much more than the head. But he keeps going, shoving farther and farther back towards my throat. I struggle to open my throat to welcome him in. Still looking up at him, my eyes begin to water as he pulls my head down onto his cock forcefully. He works his way into the back of my throat and just holds it there. I struggle to breathe around him but grow wetter the farther he pushes his way into my throat. He’s too wide for me to deep-throat, unfortunately, but I still love the delicious feeling of his cock pushing its way past my gag-reflex over and over. With short even strokes, he bruises my lips, stretches my mouth, and assaults the back of my throat until it aches blissfully.
A breeze brings my awareness to my dripping wet pussy, exposed to the night air, and perhaps a nosey neighbor or two, though that may just be wishful thinking. At this point, I no longer care. If a neighbor DID see, I’d hope he would join the others in using me to satisfy their wildest desires. I’m no longer able to resist the aching need to be taken by all of them as often as they choose for as long as they decide. I have been claimed by the pack, and I’m delighted to be their bitch.
I hear the sliding glass door close, and you swing around to sit behind me on the lounger, your legs on the outside of mine. Reaching around, you rub my clit in little circles with one hand, driving me crazy with desire. With the other hand, you trace little lines through the streamers of cum still wet on my tits and chest. You whisper in my ear and tell me I’m never more beautiful than when I’m covered in cum, then pinch my right nipple steadily, with just about as much pressure as I can stand without crying out for mercy. My pussy couldn’t get any wetter if you took a firehose to it, and you know damned well the effect sucking cock has on me. I’m the only woman I know who can cum from just the feeling of a cock in her throat, and this is going to be no exception.
Right now, Mike is completely in charge, since I can’t use my hands to set the pace or limit how deep or hard he thrusts over my tongue and into the back of my throat. His hands hold my hair as he quickens his pace, and I gurgle and gag on his cock, struggling for air between thrusts.
Your breath is hot on my neck. The cum on my face and tits feels cool and sticky in the chilly night air. Mike’s cock fills my mouth and throat, and I want nothing more than to surrender completely to everything this moment has to offer.
It’s sheer bliss.
“I knew you’d like this, Jane,” you mumble in my ear. “You’re such a beautiful little slut, and you get so hungry for cock once we get you going.”
I can’t argue with that, because even though I can barely breathe around Mike’s thick, hard cock, in this moment, I would do anything you or he requested, just to keep feeling him force his way to the back of my throat. The hands in my hair clench into fists, and his thrusts suddenly become more demanding. You slide two fingers into my blazing cunt and begin finger-fucking me in time with Michael’s thrusts. Your fingers reach deep inside me, and they are about to pull out another mindblowing orgasm.
As Michael fucks my face and throat, you whisper into my ear. “Good Girl, Jane. I’m so proud of you. Open your throat a little more, now. That’s it, that’s it, take that big black cock into your throat. Let him in. You know you need this. You love having cocks in your mouth, don’t you? I think you love them in your throat even more. Open up now, that’s it. Suck that cock, Jane. Make it cum for you. And ride my fingers. That’s it, ride them hard, Jane. Let them take you now. Give it up. Give it to me, come on, Jane. Cum for me now….”
In this moment, I would do absolutely anything for you, and all that you ask from me is a little orgasm? If I could give you the world it wouldn’t be enough to repay you for how I feel right now. Since an orgasm is what you want, then I will give you everything I have and everything I am wrapped up in one giant Big Bang of an orgasm. I can feel it building, and I know it’s going to be insanely intense.
Without warning, Mike pulls my head all the way down onto his cock in one long thrust, and holds me there, knowing I can’t breathe as his cock begins pumping burst after burst of warm salty cum down my throat. The taste is incredible, and the warm sensation of it splashing against the back of my throat is overwhelming. Now my own orgasm begins, carrying me up and up, into the sky and out past the stars, as I writhe in your arms, still impaled on Mikes barely softening cock, and still riding your fingers. The only noise I make is a muffled moaning around the edges of the spectacular cock stuffed into my mouth. I think maybe I’m going to die, or explode into a million stars, but neither prospect frightens me.
Finally, the crashing orgasmic waves subside, and Mike’s cock softens in my mouth enough that I can comfortably breathe around it while still feeling totally filled. You withdraw your fingers from my wet heat, but keep your arms wrapped around me since I’m still convulsing and unable to support myself. Mike’s cock never leaves my mouth, and I continue to suck on it gently, taking comfort in it filling me so completely.
Minutes later, I’m in a fog when you and Mike lift me to my feet. I’m being supported under my arms, then lurching as I’m shoved forward and lifted up. I’m dizzy, but still pretty sure I’m upside down. I realize you have tossed me over your shoulder, and are carrying me into the house.
In the kitchen, Big Daddy asks you if I just came again, and you explain that what I just had was more like an earthquake than an orgasm.
“Perfect, he says, “gimme a taste, will ya?”
You turn slightly, to give him a better angle. He grabs my thighs in his meaty hands and pulls them apart. His tongue pokes aggressively into my wet folds, lapping up the pools of my own cum that drench my aching pussy. Sliding in and out, up and down, he thoroughly cleans my cunt with his tongue, inside and out before biting me on one cheek and swatting me hard on the other.
You turn and carry me down the hall to my bedroom, and the men all follow. As we walk, you pull off my heels and tights, and drop them on the floor of the hall. Once in my room, you yank my skirt down and off, and toss it aside. When you drop me onto the bed, I land on my left side, arms still bound behind my back. I strain to look up, and see that the men are all gathering around the bed. Some have their pants off already, and even those who don’t are freeing their cocks and taking them in hand, stroking them over me.
“Everyone else has had their first turn with you, Jane. That leaves me. Now don’t you think I deserve something a little special as a thank-you for arranging this evening’s festivities for you, my precious little slut?”
I nod up at you, afraid of what you might ask, but knowing I would give it to you anyway.
“Now as I recall, you aren’t exactly an anal virgin, but you really haven’t had much experience, have you?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Well, I’m going to give you the experience you need. I’m going to take your ass right now, Jane. I will start out gentle, but before I am through, I am going to need to fuck your tight little ass good and hard, do you understand? It’s going to hurt a little, but I’m going to make you love it.”
You stare into my eyes, and I am not afraid. I roll onto my stomach and prop my ass up in the air, as close to the edge of the bed as possible. It’s awkward having to support myself with my shoulders since my arms are still taped behind my back, but I manage to present my ass to you as eagerly as I’m physically able to.
You laugh. “No, Jane, it’s not that simple.”
Confused, I look up at you over my shoulder.
“Jane, I’m not just going to fuck your ass, dear. I’m going to give you your first real DP. In fact, if you are a very good girl, Jorge and I might even let you suck another cock while we fuck your pussy and ass. How would that be, baby? Wouldn’t you like to have every available hole stuffed with cock tonight? Is that what you want?”
You know I hate admitting what a slut I am, even though it gets me incredibly wet when you make me do it. I nod, this time without making eye contact. You grab a handful of hair from the top of my head, and pull me up to my knees, twisting my body around to face you and the other four men.
“Jane, you are being rude. Make your guests feel welcome and let them know how much you are enjoying their company. Tell them what you want them to do to you. Tell them what you want me to do to you.”
You slapped my face! What?
Again! I’m stunned….
“Jane, tell them. “Now.”
“OK, “ I say, “Yes. I’ll tell them. I…I want you to do this.”
“Be specific, Jane. What do you want us to do to you right now?”
“I…I want you to fuck me. You know, in the ass…I need to feel you fucking my ass.”
“Yes, and what else, my lovely little cumslut?”
Encouraged, I continue, “I want to feel you in my ass and another cock in my pussy. I want to feel completely full. Even my mouth. I want as many cocks inside me as I can get. And I want to make them all cum. I want to be covered in their cum. Please, fill me, use me, fuck me, and cover me in your cum. I promise I will do whatever you want if only you’ll all just use me like a little whore all night long. You’re right, I DO need this. How did you know? I didn’t even know! But I am a slut, and I need to be fucked, hard, just like Big Daddy said. Please, please, fill me with cocks, hurt me if you want to. Feed me cum all night long, please? Now, please… please?”
“That’s better. That’s my dirty little cumslut talking. You know I love it when you show me what a glorious slut you can be, but I love it, even more, when you show my friends.”
I smile up at you, happy to make you proud, and knowing that I’m about to enjoy one of the best nights of my life.
Note: This story involves consenting adults and is no way a work describing acts of pedophilia.
House cleaning slave
One Saturday, Ma’m Ann ordered me to purchase some cleaning supplies and to report to Her home, as usual, bringing my “second-best” little-Girl disguise and my “soft” Mary Janes. When I’m going to be Feminized in public, or for party guests, a Domme usually prefers that I wear my prettiest frilliest little-Girl clothes, and my patent-leather Mary Janes, but I dislike wearing such pretty clothes when I’m doing hard work or receiving intense torture. Ma’m Ann’s stipulation of “second-best” was a warning that I should expect to receive some rough treatment!
As part of my usual preparation for Feminization and age play, I carefully shaved my entire body (including “down there”) so that I would be smooth and soft and hairless all over.
I reported promptly to Ma’m Ann’s home. On my arrival, Ma’am Ann ordered me to strip naked and submit to inspection. She took my male clothes, keys, I.D., and wallet, and locked these in Her safe, while I read the long list of chores that She had assigned for me. I expected Her to command me to put on my little-Girl clothes, and to get to work. Instead, Ma’m Ann merely tied a string of sleigh bells around my little inchworm, then She tied a tiny frilly sissy-maid apron around my waist … and then She ordered me to get to work, just as i was. my little-Girl outfit would be put aside for “later”.
For several hours, I scrubbed and cleaned throughout Ma’m Ann’s house, beginning with the dungeon in Her basement and then working my way upstairs. The steady jingle-jangle of my inchworm announced my diligence and my constant activity, but I knew that Ma’m Ann had other ways of observing me. Her entire house, and the front door were monitored by video cameras, and Ma’m Ann was able to view these from security monitors in Her workroom and throughout the house. While I worked, clad only in a teeny lace-frilled apron, Ma’m Ann remained in Her office, the only room I was never permitted to enter.
Time to service the guests
After I had worked for several hours, the doorbell rang. On the speaker, Ma’m Ann’s voice commanded me to “open the door”. If She had said, “answer the door”, I would have understood this to be Her command for me to screen the visitor through a closed partition so that I did not reveal my nakedness. But “open the door” was Ma’m Ann’s command meaning precisely that: I was required to open the front door and stand there, fully naked and sissified, to politely greet whoever had arrived. I was to keep my hands at my sides, making no attempt to conceal my inchworm, and to maintain eye contact with the visitor … or, if there was more than one, with the visitor who seemed most Dominant.
I opened the door and was confronted by two very large tall muscular young African-American men in street clothes. When they saw a much smaller white man standing there — shaved, naked, hairless — wearing only a frilly little sissy-maid apron, they both smirked in delight. Then they laughed out loud when they saw the string of sleigh bells dangling from my tiny little inchworm. As I saw their eyes glance down towards my thighs, I foolishly violated Ma’m Ann’s rule to maintain eye contact, and I glanced downwards myself. Both of these men wore tight-fitting jeans, and the enormous bulges in both of their crotches told me that these two huge black men each had a LARGE proud reason for laughing at my own tiny pathetic little inchworm.
Stepping into the hallway behind me, Ma’m Ann greeted these two black gentlemen, and invited them to “go downstairs and get comfortable”. The two burly black men merely past me — one of them muttering “‘Scuse me, faggot” — and they went down to the cellar, which was also Ma’m Ann’s dungeon.
Ma’m Ann commanded me to lock the door, while She inspected my housework and found it to Her satisfaction. Then She ordered me to put away my work items, take off my slave bells, and to put on my little-Girl costume while instructing me: “you are a Girl, four years old, and your name is Sissy. When you are ready, you will report to the Nurse’s office” … this being one of the playrooms in Ma’m Ann’s house. Having given these orders, Ma’m Ann walked away.
Getting ready for my men
I have a very nice strap-on Vagina made of molded latex, the same color as my own skin. It is hairless, and the back of it contains a small latex pouch into which I tuck my male baubles. (The pouch is very small, but then so are my male parts.) I stripped naked and then I put on my sissy-Vagina, careful to tuck my inchworm so that it was positioned correctly behind the urethra (piss-hole) of my Vagina, in case my little-Girl self had to go “wee-wee” later. Next, I put on my frilly pink ruffled sissy-panties and my lace-frilled white ankle socks. I carefully crammed my feet into a pair of Mary Janes made from soft black velvet, without hard soles or heels.
There are security monitors all over Ma’m Ann’s house; I am forbidden to change the image or audio without Her instructions. The monitor in front of me was showing the dungeon. The two large black men were sitting in the dungeon, watching a DVD player as it showed an old Shirley Temple movie. Little Shirley Temple, all dressed up in frills and curly blonde hair, was acting out a scene with the legendary black dancer Bill “Bojangles” Robinson. The scene required this adult black man to cringe and “yassuh” to this little white Girl. I could tell from the body language of the two black men watching this movie that they were not amused. On the audio, I heard one of them say to the other: “Shit, you know what I’d do to that little white bitch?” and then both black men laughed.
I put on my petti-slip and several white frilly petticoats, then I laced myself into an elaborate ruffled pink baby-doll dress, appropriate for a four-year-old Girl but tailored for my man-sized body. Next, sitting in front of a mirror, I tucked my short male hair into a wig cap, then I put on an elaborate Goldilocks-style wig with long blonde curls and ringlets. I fastened the wig in place with a pink hair ribbon under my chin, and several bobby pins. Next, using a safe water-based glue, I carefully glued to my eyelids a set of realistic false eyelashes that would make my eyes look softer and more Feminine without any drag-queen exaggerations. Finally, I crammed my hands into a pair of white wristlet gloves with lace-trimmed cuffs.
Since I am required to remain in character whenever I’m Feminized and Girlified, from this point onwards I was REQUIRED to speak and behave exactly like a little four-year-old Girl. I blew a kiss to the mirror, and then — clutching my skirt and petticoats — I skipped down the hall to the Nurse’s office. I knocked politely on the door, and was told: “Come in.”
Punished by the school nurse
I entered. Ma’m Ann was seated, wearing a nurse’s uniform, with a scowl on Her beautiful face. Knowing that I was required to be a polite little Girl, I curtseyed prettily and announced, in a high-pitched lisping Girlish voice: “Hewwo, Ma’m. my name ith Thi’thee, an’ I’m faw years old.”
She got right to the point: “you must be Sissy Wetmore. I am the School Nurse. I’ve had some very unpleasant reports about you. The teachers and the Schoolmistress have seen you touching yourself in your girly-place.”
I meekly confessed that I was guilty of that crime. “Come here, young lady. Stand in front of Me. Pull down your panties, then lift your skirt and petticoats and hold them above your waist.” The School Nurse was flexing a short steel ruler.
I meekly obeyed. The School Nurse seized me roughly by one arm, and She pulled me over her knees. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! She proceeded to spank me unmercifully with Her steel ruler, while I whimpered and squirmed and i “promised” to be good. Finally, the School Nurse dumped me onto the floor, commanding me to adjust my clothing. Brushing a long blonde curl away from my face, I obeyed.
“you and I are not finished, young lady,” said the School Nurse sternly. “I have received reports that you stole some licorice, and you ate it during class. Is this true?” Again, I meekly confessed my crime. The School Nurse slapped my face, hard. “Bad girl! Don’t you know that candy will rot your teeth? Open your mouth!”
I obediently opened my mouth. “you’d better put on a dental bib,” said the School Nurse, fastening a bib around my neck above the collar of my pink frilly dress. Now the School Nurse inspected my teeth. “Terrible! you need braces!” She declared. “Hold still.” From a nearby drawer, the School Nurse took a glittering steel object: a Whitehead dental gag, designed to keep a dental patient’s mouth forced open. I meekly stood still as the School Nurse inserted this into my mouth, locking the bars so that it could not be removed. I expected Her to adjust the gag to its maximum extension, forcing my mouth open: instead, She left it in the open setting, so that I could not remove the dental gag but I could otherwise move my mouth normally and even speak coherently.
“Now, as for touching your girly-place … THIS is how we punish a naughty little girl whose hands go where they’re not supposed to.” From a desk drawer, the School Nurse took a pair of gleaming steel handcuffs. She seized my arms and pulled them roughly behind my back. Click-click, and suddenly my wrists were handcuffed behind the pink taffeta sash on my frilly dress.
“Now, you just come with me, young lady,” said the School Nurse angrily. Seizing me by one elbow, She yanked me towards the stairs and proceeded to march me down to the cellar … to the dungeon. Without my arms, I had to be very careful to avoid stumbling.
In the dungeon were the two muscular black men. The DVD monitor was still playing a Shirley Temple movie, but now the sound was turned off. On a table in front of the DVD were several sex magazines open to centerfolds of sexy Women. Now, as the two black men stood up, I saw that they both had their jeans unzipped, and each of them had a huge hairy black cock poking out of his jeans. These men had been masturbating while they looked at the sex magazines, and now their huge erections showed they were horny.
Just then I noticed that the bib around my neck was trimmed with pink lace, and embroidered on the bib in big red letters was my name “SISSY”.
As the School Nurse dragged me into the room, I tried to hide behind Her, but She twisted my arm painfully. When the two black men saw me — an adult white man dressed as a frilly little “Girl”, wearing a bib marked “SISSY” — they both burst out laughing, and neither man tried to conceal his huge black cock.
Handing me to the black monster cocks
The School Nurse cleared Her throat. “This little girl is named Sissy. she says she’s four years old, but I suspect she’s somewhat older. I have restrained her hands because little Sissy likes to touch herself in her girly-place. Little Sissy also likes to suck on licorice sticks, even though they gum up her braces. I will leave little Sissy here while you gentlemen explain to her what happens to naughty little girls who suck on things they’re not supposed to.” The two black men laughed cruelly, just as the School Nurse stepped out of the dungeon, closing the door and locking it. I could hear Her feet going upstairs beyond the locked door, and i knew that Ma’m Ann would be watching and listening on a monitor in Her workroom.
Now I was humiliated twice over: because I was a small white man, handcuffed and completely helpless, in a room with two large muscular horny black men, and also because I was supposedly a “little Girl” here with two large men flaunting their enormous erections. Knowing that Ma’m Ann was watching every move I made, and knowing i was required to stay in character, I meekly did a no-hands curtsey and introduced myself: “Hewwo, thir. Hewwo, mithter. my name ith Thi’thee.” I didn’t want to play this “game”; I only wanted to get out of there!
The two black men smirked cruelly as they started asking me questions: “Why do you do this?” “What else do you like to suck on, LITTLE GIRL?” Their questions took on a very unpleasant edge because I couldn’t tell whether these men were role-playing — pretending I was a genuine four-year-old Girl — or if they weren’t playing at all, and were simply taunting and bullying me while treating me exactly like what I really was: a sissified white man. These black men had already seen me naked, and they knew that the tiny soft inchworm inside my frilly pink panties couldn’t possibly compete with the two enormous black hard-ons that were now pointing straight at me.
As these two much larger men interrogated me, their humiliating questions had a double meaning: “Why do you do this?” could be a question addressed to a naughty little Girl who had been caught touching herself … or it could be a question addressed to a grown man caught dressing up as a little Girl. Were these men role-playing that I was a “Little Girl” … or was this no game at all, and they were righteously and angrily confronting a pervert? Each time they addressed me as “Little Girl”, I shuddered so deeply that my taffeta petticoats rustled: were these men play-acting, or were they being sarcastic? One of the men lifted my petticoats while he looked me in the eyes: “What else do you like to suck on, Sissy?”
Whether these men were role-playing or not, I knew that Ma’m Ann would be furious if I did not remain in character. Squirming in my frilly pants, my long blonde curls bobbed up and down as I timidly lisped out a few meek answers in my little-Girl voice … confessing that I liked to steal candy and suck on it while I touched my “girly-place”. my childish lisp was no longer an act: the dental gag in my mouth prevented me from speaking clearly.
Finally, one of the black men, with a nasty tone in his voice, said: “So you suck on licorice sticks, huh? Open your mouth, bitch!” Genuinely terrified now, I opened my mouth. He started fiddling with the bars on the Whitehead device, and suddenly I realized that he knew how to adjust a dental gag. Before I could protest, he had suddenly jacked the gag open all the way … forcing my mouth wide open, with my jaws so far apart that I couldn’t bite anything that might enter my mouth!
“Now let’s take a look at this little bitch’s pussy,” said the other black man. “Hold still, bitch!” He grabbed my skirt and petticoats and thrust them roughly into the pink sash waistband of my frilly ruffled dress, exposing my bare legs and my panties. I tried to plead “Please don’t!”, but my forced-open mouth only made a few childish gurgling noises. One black man took out a knife and held it to my throat. “I said DON’T MOVE, bitch!” Absolutely terrified, I decided to be a “good Girl”: I meekly stood still with a knife at my throat while the other black man tugged my panties down to my knees. The two men stood there, appraising my naked white buttocks and the hairless “Vagina” between my thighs that was clearly a strap-on counterfeit.
I stood trembling in my Mary Janes and frilly ankle socks while the two black men made nasty comments about my “little white girly ass” and my “pussy”. I felt humiliated twice over: I felt exactly as if I REALLY was a terrified little Girl being sexually inspected at knife-point by two child molesters, and at the same time I felt the genuine humiliation of exactly what I truly WAS at this point: a totally helpless sissified white man at the mercy of two large strong merciless black men with huge erections.
At that moment, I did exactly what any genuine little Girl would do if confronted by two child molesters: I made “wetties”. Suddenly I lost control of my bladder, and a stream of piss — not a proud male gusher, but a pathetic Girlish dribble — started trickling out of the hairless little-Girl vagina between my bare thighs. I couldn’t control it: like a frightened little Girl, I was wetting myself.
“Gaw-DAMN!” yelled one of the black men, jumping out of the way. I saw that a couple of drops from my “wetties” had landed near his shoes. Ma’m Ann would be furious if I stained either of these visitors … but with no hands, and with a little Girl’s equipment between my thighs instead of a penis, I had no way to aim my golden flow. Hot tears of shame filled my eyes as I dropped to a squat and made my wetties girly-style, spreading my thighs while I squatted directly over the drain in the floor of Ma’m Ann’s dungeon and I emptied my bladder downwards between my Mary Janes … feeling exactly like a genuine little Girl, forced to make her wetties while two child molesters watched and laughed.
“you finished now? Gitcher ass back on up, bitch!” one of the two black men commanded me. Of course, i could not wipe myself. Afraid to disobey, I stood up … a few drops of my girl-piss staining my bare thighs.
“Git up, bitch! Turn around!” I whimpered and squirmed helplessly while the two black men stroked their hard-ons and debated whether or not they should “mess with” my “pussy”. Finally, they decided it would not be a good idea to “pop my cherry”. I took this to mean that they were role-playing after all, and therefore they were agreeing that I was actually a four-year-old Girl with a real Vagina, not a man disguising his tiny manhood behind a latex fake.
Then … they raped me.
my struggles were real, my high-pitched squeals of terror were genuine. I kicked my little Mary Janes as hard as I could, but the soft velvet shoes made were as weak and helpless as the rest of me. my handcuffed arms were totally useless. I felt genuinely as weak and helpless as an actual little Girl as these two large powerful black men proceeded to rape my “little white-bitch ass” and my “little white-bitch mouth”. The taste of the dental gag’s surgical steel, forcing my jaws open, was not the only taste that filled my mouth. Muscular black hands gripped my white butt-cheeks and spread them apart, and now I was getting filled down there, too.
“Swallow, bitch,” one of the black men hissed, pressing his knife to my throat as his enormous cock choked my throat.
They both must have been VERY horny because they came several times inside me. They also switched places, so the cock that had raped my little sissy-girl ass was now in my throat, and I got to taste my own shit on this black man’s dick.
When they were finished with me, my frilly petticoats and the bib marked “SISSY” were thoroughly stained, and my lips were dripping with my own shit and two black men’s sperm. my two rapists dropped me to the floor and left me there, whimpering and sobbing like a helpless little Girl, while they zipped up their jeans and laughed at me. I was no longer play-acting: genuine tears of shame and terror stained my long girlish eyelashes and my Sissy-bib.
The door unlocked and Ma’m Ann entered, still dressed as the strict School Nurse. There was a damp spot on the front of Her nurse’s uniform, and I knew that Ma’m Ann had pleasured Herself while She watched my rape on the vidcams. Now She spoke: “I see that this naughty little girl has learned her lesson. Thank you, gentlemen. Will you see yourselves out?” my two rapists left, laughing, while Ma’m Ann, with a touch of gentleness, unlocked my handcuffs and the dental gag.
From the very first moment, I saw a picture of a cock locked in a CB6000 I was hooked and knew I had to feel the desire build in me, and build, but have no control over when, or even IF, I get to be unlocked to cum. With that picture firmly lodged in my mind’s eye, I stroked myself to dozens of orgasms as I sought out information about chastity – especially forced chastity and orgasm denial – for several months.
Eventually, my fantasy pushed itself into my “real” life and I started commenting and posting on various sites. It was frightening to suddenly feel so turned on by something that I was willing to break out of my 47yo box and discover what it would be like to submit myself to another man, to cede control of my cock to him, and become a bottom for him.
Up until this point, I was always a top, always in control for work and life. Oh, I took enough cocks in my ass to know that I really didn’t like it. Always top for me, and cute little Asian bottoms. But I threw all of that out the window when I saw that picture.
I felt secretly comforted by the fact I’d let myself go and was overweight … chances were no one would be interested in taking on an older, overweight sub. Until I got an email that changed everything
“So you want to be my fucking bitch? How bad? Master Kyle”
Attached to the email was a picture of a God. He was model-gorgeous and had a two-fisted fuckpole.
I was floored. Who was this guy? Where’d he find me from? But mostly, was that really his picture? Either way, my cock grew rock hard and I started rubbing it through my pants. I replied, “Yes, Master.”
Minutes later an email returned, “971-355-2158” I was shaking when I picked up the phone and dialed.
“Yer fast, bitch.” He answered. “Or you’re fucking horny for my cock up yer ass.”
“I … I … need … um”
“Listen, pussy, do you want it or no?”
“Yes.” I was drooling pre-cum and its started making a wet spot on my pants.
“I’ve just emailed you my address. Wear only your tiniest pair of shorts and get here in half-an-hour.” Then dial tone.
I opened the email and printed his address. Just outside of town, not too far away! I eagerly stripped, shaking, my hard cock throbbing as it’d never done before. I resisted the urge to grab it hard and cum. I grabbed a pair of shorts and pulled them on. Grabbed my map and got in the Jeep.
He was in one of those cookie-cutter home-farms and his house was much like every other. I went up to the front door where a note said “Take off the shorts and come in. Kneel on the floor.”
I didn’t care if the neighbors were watching, I just dropped the shorts and stepped inside. Shutting the door, I then dropped to my knees. After a few minutes, He stepped out of a doorway down the hall. I gasped. He WAS the picture! He was as hard as I was. “Come here, bitch.”
Round 1, rape my throat
“No! Crawl on your fucking hands and knees.” I followed him into the bedroom. “I’m going to give you your fantasy, bitch.”
“Stand up.” I did. He put his cupped hand under the head of my purple, straining cock. “Jerk off.” I did. And it didn’t take long for me to fill his palm with my gooey load. He raised it to my lips. “Eat it, cumwhore.” I quickly slurped my load. “Lick it clean. Jeezus.”
He grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side of the bed. “Lace your fingers behind your head and look up.” I did.
I trembled as he gripped my flaccid cock and assembled a CB6000 around it. “There ya are, bitch. Locked little cumwhore.” I looked down at my plastic-encased cock and moaned in sheer pleasure, terror, yearning. I felt the blood rushing into my cock. The pain of trying to get an erection made me suddenly realize what I may have done.
“What are you waiting for bitch? Get on your fucking knees and suck my cock.” I did. Pulling as much of it into my mouth and throat as I could. “If yer gonna be my whore ya gotta do better than that for chrissakes.” He grabbed my head in his strong hands and gag-fucked me. Hardly able to breathe, the smell of my bile, my eyes watering, I looked up and saw his smile. Suddenly he yanked his cock out of my throat fucked one hand while the other hand grabbed my hair and yanked back. I opened my mouth just in time to catch most of his sweet cum.
After he caught his breath he shoved me, panting, to the floor. “That’s just the appetizer, whore.”
This god of a man, whose still-hard beautiful cock just raped my throat, opened the bottom drawer of his dresser and started to pull out toys galore and tossing leather bits at me.
“Put these on bitch. Whenever you come here, this is all you’ll ever wear. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” I started putting on the leather bits, a big leather collar, then wrist and ankle cuffs. The smell of the leather and clinking of the metal pieces made the blood surge into my cock and once again it was screaming to be let out.
“Get on the fucking bed. Get your hole in the air and beg for it.”
Round 2, rape my ass
I did just that, “Please sir. Please fuck me. Please fuck my hole and make it yours.” I rubbed my nose on my wrist cuffs taking in that heady smell. I moaned a little as he jabbed two fingers into my asshole. He roughly scrubbed my hole with lube and seconds later he forced his cock all the way into my bowels with one huge thrust and I screamed into the mattress.
He didn’t pause to let my hole get used to his meat; he just started fucking. It hurt bad and for a moment I thought something might have happened; but within a minute or two my screams and agonized moans became gasps of pleasure, waves of it spreading from my hole. And he fucked hard. He wasn’t making love to me; he was raping my ass, twisting me this way and that way on his cock. Sideways. Face-to-face. Any position he could get me into he did.
Sweat began to pout from him as he pounded me mercilessly. My panting became chanting as I begged over and over again “Fuck me. Fuck me.”
“I’m going to breed your ass, bitch. Gonna fuckin load it up with my cum. Its what all you whores want isn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes.” I panted.
As if it were possible, he started forcing his cock deep every thrust, grunting his need. He looked me in the eyes, “You’re mine.” and threw back his head and screamed his load into me. He shoved and shoved till his cock was drained. He pulled his cock out, grabbing my head and twisting me around, and shoved his cock into my mouth, “Clean it, bitch.”
I was in a daze. And sliding my mouth down his shaft, smelling sweat, cum, lube, and ass; but I sucked and licked his cock until he was satisfied. He pulled me up and, for the first time kissed me deeply, lovingly; caressing me and spooning me.
Chained under my master’s bed
I was in heaven, my fantasy fulfilled: hot stud owns me and fucks me and I am locked and denied. My post fuck daze was suddenly broken as he quickly climbed out of bed dragging me by my collar behind him. He rifled through his bottom drawer and pulled out a muzzle, fitted it to my head; then click-click locked it on. He then took a piece of chain, maybe three feet long loops it through my collar and the foot of the bed. Then he clips my wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs together and thrusts a pillow under my head.
“Good night, bitch.” He climbs back into his bed and turns out the light. In moments, he is softly snoring. I start to freak a little bit … I am at the mercy of this young man I know nothing about. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I’m struggling to find a little comfort on the hardwood floor and trying not to let his cum escape from my twitching, burning hole. My cock straining to get hard and painfully complaining that it can’t.
A young girl identifies herself as a masochistic cum slut with tease and denial fantasies and advertises for an abduction and captivity lasting several days. A man answers the ad and tells her to make arrangements to be in a certain place at a certain time, having notified her family and friends that she will be out of town for at least a week. Here is what she remembers about the experience:
The tiny, submissive girl was being held captive in a house with several men around. She was restrained and watched, often in a dark, cold room under the house (a dungeon?) and used constantly. She had been teased and denied orgasm for days, her pussy was swollen and red, dripping, so much that she was in a trance-like state, waiting for the next move her captors would make…would she be touched again? Certainly. With, or without hope of release? After so many days, she suspected not.
Being useful to the men
At first, when she felt the need taking over, she would beg them to let her cum, for she knew better than to do it without permission. After that first day, she knew the pain they could produce and it was worse than any she had ever experienced. Since that day, she had always been pleasing to them, but they denied her over and over again. Knowing how desperate she was, they would pull away at the last second, quickly penetrating her in one or more of her holes, not allowing her release, but assuring their own. Still, it was some comfort to her. At least she felt useful and wanted.
She was in such a state of hyper-focus during this time, that her entire body was sexually responsive. Even a soft breeze would increase her arousal. Whenever a man approached her, she immediately became fearful that she would be hurt again, yet more excited sexually, hoping he would use her in such a way that she could find even accidental or partial release. Use her, they did, but the release never came, though she moaned, begged, even cried in total frustration. Her swollen womanhood ached painfully.
Sometimes it seemed they enjoyed amplifying her anguish. They teased her terribly many times a day, doing all the things they knew she liked the most, then hurt her with pinching, choking, beatings, needles and forcing large things into her small body orifices until she screamed and cried. Then the teasing would resume again.
They certainly did not go without. She had lost count days ago of the number of loads she had been given in her various holes, forced to clean herself with her own hands and consume every drop with her mouth. Many times she was given several loads in place of a meal; she was used so much the masculine fluid leaked from some opening of hers most of the time. She thought to herself, if only I could cum, I might enjoy this…
All I want is one good orgasm
One day, in frustration, she pulled and struggled against her restraints, shouting that she couldn’t take anymore and insisting that she had been good and deserved to cum. She knew this was highly unwise but she couldn’t stop herself. All the men came to watch, then each brutally raped her tiniest orifice, one after the other. It took hours, though she was allowed to drink water, and sometimes their piss, from a bowl on the floor. Afterward, when she was nearly unconscious, they strapped her to a metal table and inserted needles into her lovely, pink nipples and a metal clamp on her tortured clit, and electrified her until she screamed so hard she lost her voice and finally passed out. Then they whipped her until she had raw, red marks on her skin, and left her on the cold, hard dungeon floor.
The next day she woke up in a puddle of cum and her own blood leaking from her, needles and clamp still on. Her poor clit ached viciously and she began to cry immediately. She looked up and saw several men standing over her with their cocks out. As they pissed upon her, the warmth was little comfort, as her sore nipples and whipped skin burned from the salt of their fluids. She cried like a baby for a long time, until all but one of them left her there. This one took mercy on her and removed the clamp (mercifully, he did it slowly, but that did not stop her from screaming her throat raw) and pulled out the needles, gave her a bath, kissed her tear-filled eyes, and tied her to a soft bed where he used her mouth gently. She gratefully drank his man-fluid and fell into a deep sleep.
She awoke an hour later, refreshed and ravenously hungry, and the kind man came to her with a small snack and water, which he fed to her in bed. She looked adoringly into his eyes in grateful appreciation and tears welled up again. She had been traumatized by the pain, abuse, and neglect, and had not realized the emotional anguish she felt, only the physical pain, up to now. The man became aroused at the sight of her tears and kissed her as she cried.
He is a kind sadist
“Good girl,” he sang softly, caressing her face and hair, and then taking a handful of it, he pulled firmly and tilted her head back till her mouth opened. She sniffed and blinked at him.
“You are beautiful,” he said, “and I am feeling kind toward you, but I am a sadist, which means I take pleasure in giving pain, especially to beautiful little girls like you.” He let go and unzipped his pants, producing a very large, hard cock. There was a drop of pre-cum at the end.
The girl looked at his beautiful tool in amazement. She wanted to suck it or be fucked in her cunt with it, but she wanted to cum even more. She knew better than to ask, but her abused cunt, sore as it was, ached for release and dripped with her own juices. She began to whimper. He knew what she wanted.
“I am going to let you cum, my dear,” he said…her heart jumped and she smiled. “But not yet.” She dropped her gaze and tears filled her eyes again. “I like you this way. Do you want to please my cock?” She nodded that she did.
“Good,” he said, his voice beginning to turn hard. “Just a few more days and when you’ve proven you are the good slut I want, I will let you cum. Once.”
She sighed and began to cry again. She couldn’t decide if she was frustrated over having to wait, or relieved by the prospect of being allowed to cum…sometime soon.
He tied her to the bed and whipped her till she screamed. Her nipples felt as if they would be torn from her body. Her cunt felt hot and raw. Her thighs and belly and armpits all felt as if someone had made tiny cuts all over her with a knife. Then, he stopped and came to her with a vibrator. Her eyes got big and she gasped. She knew it wouldn’t take much for her to fall over the edge.
“Please!” she shouted, not really knowing if she meant to say no, or ask to be allowed to cum. She was afraid to do either. He moved it around until she felt the energy welling up inside her clit, spilling over into her thighs and ass as they tingled…it was coming.
“No! NO! Please!” she called, wishing the whole time she could say yes. He pulled the vibe away and she again cried in dismay, her hips pitifully humping the air.
The man untied her and turned her over, placing several pillows under her hips. He took off his belt and as he did, she could hear it being pulled through the loops. “Please,” she sobbed into the bed, knowing there was no use.
He beat her ass brutally, making her scream, beg, squirm, kick, curse, and cry, and then shoved his huge, hard cock into her aching ass and pumped her for a long time, stretching her aching anus and making her scream and cry the entire time. Finally, he shot a huge, wet load into her and lay there on top of her for a few minutes afterward, not saying a word. She wanted him off of her; she could hardly breathe. Finally, he removed himself.
He untied her and took her into the living room where the other men were waiting. “Go and suck those cocks, cunt,” He ordered. Wiping her eyes, she obeyed, going up to the first and getting on her knees. As she sucked his cock, the others talked about what they wanted to do to her next. Some of them were stroking their cocks to make them harder. Their conversation made her hotter by the minute. She was so tired, yet so horny, and all she wanted to do was have a good cum and go to sleep. But she knew better. It would be at least a few more days. She wondered if she could hold on that long.
“Places, please for Slave Six. Places.” A woman’s voice announced over the backstage speakers. It was the casual tone of the stage manager spoken in near monotone. The insouciant delivery was most ironic. Backstage, somehow or another in the darkness, the word “slave” was a commonplace word for these people. It made sense. “Slave” was business as usual, nothing at all out of the ordinary.
But Slave Six knew better. Butterflies churned deep down inside her stomach as she heard the steady beat of dance music on the other side of the red velvet curtain just ahead of her. Raucous cheering, from what must have been an all-male audience, would break out at regular intervals, sometimes punctuated with wild applause and even a few occasional catcalls. The music played to a crescendo and stopped. An emcee’s voice broke the short-lived silence. The words were garbled, but they made no difference. A drum beat was played, the same beat that accompanied just about every striptease act since the days of Vaudeville: Boom chakka chakka boom chakka boom. It played again and again, each time followed by the tortured screams of some unseen girl.
Slave Six knew her time would have to come altogether too soon. She felt an overwhelming sense of fear and dread, greater than anything she had ever felt, even in these last few days after her capture. She tried to fight back against the feeling, tried to be stoic and keep her wits about her. But it was impossible. Fear undermined her every thought rendered her weak in the knees. Her lovely nearly naked body betrayed her too as she began to tremble all over. Six wanted to turn away. She wanted to run, but she had no choice. The strong arms of two very large men held her up and walked her slowly forward.
“Final call for Slave Five: Slave Five,” announced the unseen voice.
Six could see “Slave Five” standing directly behind the center of the curtain. Five had been blessed with a beautiful hourglass figure. She almost looked like a Barbie Doll, complete with impossibly long legs that were so well defined, they almost seemed chiseled. Five might have even been a dancer in her former life. She had costumed appropriately as a ballerina in a tiny crinoline tutu, arm length white gloves, white stockings, and white ballet slippers. There was no elastic, no zippers, or snaps. Everything was a traditional eighteenth century, including her white silk panties, also tied at each hip with white satin ribbons, which were in turn, tied in petite little bows.
The top half of Five’s costume, however, painted a contrasting picture. It was a brief white bustier/corset which had been laced up tight around her waist. It stopped just sort of her lovely breasts, exposing them, accentuating them, even pushing them wantonly up and out for her would-be audience to see. Five had also been fitted with a white ball gag that was tied deep into the back of her mouth, also with a satin ribbon. Five would not be dancing in the ballet, of course. Instead, she had been carefully crafted to create something more like a pornographer’s dream, an almost unreal vision of innocence defiled and obscenity revealed.
White satin ribbons also held the poor hapless beauty captive. Her knees and her ankles were bound together. Almost ironically, this little prima ballerina couldn’t even dance a simple step. Elbows and wrists also had been pulled together behind her back and similarly bound. A male guard, more than twice her size, held her steady. One arm wrapped around her wasp like waist and lifted her on tiptoes in a perfect en pointe pose, however rigidly enforced. His free hand grasped her long blond hair which had been carefully braided into a single severe strand behind her head. The guard used it like a rope. As far as he was concerned, her hair was just another bondage point. He used to bend her trembling body backward. It was a difficult pose for Five. The two of them together had created a terrible tableau of helplessness and pain.
Slave Six struggled with her predicament as well. Her long and lithe female frame had been perched on top of a pair of impossibly high black patent leather mule shoes with six-inch heels. The simplest steps were nothing less precarious, especially on the hard tile floor. To make matters worse, she had been cuffed on each ankle and tethered with a short twelve-inch chain that jingled with every step. A ring gag held her mouth open wide, forcing her luscious lips into an almost perfect “o” which distorted her lovely face into a strangely enforced expression. It was as if she was permanently poised for a scream. Whatever it was, the scream would never come. Still, she managed some degree of personal dignity. She tipped her head back as she walked. It may have made it more difficult to maintain her balance, but she didn’t want to drool all over herself.
“Last call for Slave Five,” announced the unseen voice. “Last call.”
A quiet battle of wills began to unfold as the winsome young ballerina struggled to twist herself free from her guard. In turn, each of her own constricted movements would be swiftly countered. He was a mountain of a man easily twice her size. Her struggles made no sense whatsoever, but the reason no longer mattered. Five was mindlessly lost in a roiling sea of her own emotions, all of which told her to run. Together the two looked like they might have been characters in some sort of absurd tragedy, or a strangely choreographed sideshow, a little bondage ballet depicting man’s inhumanity to women. And, oddly, it played itself out almost in perfect time to the music.
Six’s “costume” if one could call it that, stood out in sharp contrast to Five’s. She wore all black: sheer thigh high nylons held up by the tiniest strap garter belt, a pair of thong panties almost equally as transparent, a satin underwired black half cup push up bra which covered only the bottom half of her breasts. The little bra had shamelessly exposed her nipples and imbued them with an almost continuous sense of motion. Her lovely cleavage looked like liquid under the skin: a bounce, a bobble, and a ripple accompanied each of her hobbled steps. In just a few minutes, they were sure to become a command performance in their own right, but her own debasement was made worse by her bondage. Her arms had been pressed together behind her back and forced into a single sleeve leather monoglove which painfully pulled her shoulders back and cantilevered her cleavage up and away from her torso. The winsome Six was already well too aware of the show that she had been putting on for the guards. She glanced ever so briefly at their eyes, but they never made contact with hers. They were riveted on her breasts instead, eagerly drinking in every bounce and jiggle.
“Showtime for Slave Five,” said the voice. “Showtime.”
Slave Five’s guard pressed his cheek against the helpless girl’s. He kissed her gently on the ball gag and whispered something, no doubt obscene, into her ear. In turn, the frightened girl stiffened up and called upon every muscle in her lovely body to wrench loose from his grip in one last heroic effort, but is was futile. The guard just laughed. It was all part of his plan. He pulled her by the hair until and tipped her head back as far as it would go. A fanfare played. The curtains parted. And the two of them were framed in a bright white spotlight. Then, right on cue, the guard lifted the terrified girl off her feet and took a giant step on stage. In a trice, the curtain fell closed behind them as the audience roared with approval.
The corridor went dark once again. Slave Six was now all alone with the two leering guards. They walked her to the same place where the ill-fated Slave Five had stood. One of them pinched her nipples. She let out a squeal, but no one cared. The noise on the other side of the curtain had become deafening. The music played to a new crescendo. Somehow or another over the top of it all, Slave Six could hear the tortured screams of her predecessor.
“Makes them hard,” the guard spoke directly into her ear as he pinched her a second time. Another hand grabbed her by the ass.
“Final call for Slave Six,” said the voice. “Final call.”
A finger found its way past the tiny thong panty and worked its way up into her sex. Shocked and surprised, she stood up on tiptoe. She tried to wiggle away, but the finger stayed right with her, penetrating her, friction her, and fucking her by proxy. Six turned beet red in the darkness and closed her eyes in shame and humiliation.
“Oh,” she moaned in protest, shaking her head from side to side. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Makes you wet,” said the other guard.
The three of them may have been standing still, but her breasts began to jiggle all over again, this time from the fucking. Against her will, she started to moisten up. Her panties turned wet and transparent, clinging gently to the tender cleft of her sex, now a fleshy female camel toe almost offered up for all to see. A new sense of shame came over her. Everyone would know she was aroused. There would be ho hiding it. She tilted her head back even further, this time not as a matter of pride, but total surrender.
What could she do? She was no longer a woman. She was just a number, nothing more than so much girl flesh, all lips and tits, an innocent victim of sadistic depravity, a fleeting figure on stage who would be ruthlessly toyed and tortured against her will merely for a moment’s entertainment. She was a slave and nothing more.
The stage was had grown quiet. Five had stopped screaming, but her incoherent sobs could be heard even through the curtain. A new crescendo played.
“Showtime for Slave Six,” came the call. “Showtime!”
The curtains opened once again. The light was blinding. The emcee said something but no one really noticed. The half-naked, semi-aroused and totally humiliated Slave Six was thrust forward so hard that her head tipped forward releasing a mouthful of drool all over her bouncing boobs. Cheers filled the room. Life would never be the same for Slave Six.
“I gave that mother fucker his money” she grunted, but Monique’s words were unintelligible because they were mixed the moans of the homeless man she knew only as Jack and her own grunting noises as he pounded his cock into her ass. She was thankful he was not well endowed but he was the fifth she had taken since being cuffed to the dumpster by her pimp, Leon.
Leon was convinced that Monique was holding out money from him and he had a reputation for being particularly sadistic in the way he treated his “girls”. And since Monique was new he felt an especially strong message needed to be sent.
She had screamed in pain and fear as he pulled her by her long earring out of the seedy adult bookstore and around to the back alley where he pushed her to her knees behind the big green trash bin. Using two pairs of handcuffs Leon secured Monique by her wrists to a horizontal bar on the dumpster that allowed her to move a few feet left and right but was too low for her to stand. Then he used his knife to cut off her panties, gave her a sharp backhanded slap across her cheek and left her there alone.
Monique knelt and sobbed quietly to herself for five minutes before the first visitor arrived. “Leon said you’d be back here waiting for me” he said. As he approached the man unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. When he reached her he grabbed her roughly by the chin and nose, pulling her mouth open as he stuffed his manhood into her mouth. It had happened so quickly that she did not have a chance to see how big the cock was but as it pushed back toward her throat she knew she would have to relax quickly or be choked on it. So she did her best to straighten her throat a little and take him in. The strange man pushed quickly in until she felt his pubic hair scratching her face. His hand went to the top of her head and he set into a steady rhythm of fucking her face.
Over the sound of the cock gurgling in her throat,
Monique heard another voice saying “Here that ho is. Let’s get some of that shit.” She realized that not only were there more men coming for her, she also knew that Leon had sent them. She was able to cut her eye to the side enough to make out the two men that were just arriving.
One of the men pulled her up to her knees, slipping her micro mini skirt up around her stomach as the other ran a calloused hand up her ass. “Oh, she’s packing a little something extra,” the second man said. “I don’t want none of that bitch’s dick but I am definitely gonna fuck this fine ass.”
The spitting sound went unnoticed but Monique felt the hot, wet of the saliva running down her ass crack. She struggled a little at her cuffs but knew it was futile and the meat in her mouth was starting to move quicker, the hand on her head moving her face pussy faster. She knew it would not be long before he came and even as she thought it she felt him shudder and throb. He shoved himself all the way in and held her head against him, fully impaled on him as he shot great loads of cum directly down her throat. Monique was running out of air and tried to struggle free but the movement just seemed to add to the face fucker’s ecstasy and he moaned loudly and held her even tighter.
If she could catch her breath she would have gasped when the huge, spit covered cock slammed unceremoniously into her asshole. Instead, she just made a deeper gurgling sound and closed her eyes, hoping the pain she felt like a hot iron rod would stop. The cock in her mouth and the one in her ass both pulled out at the same time and she nearly fainted with the relief. But it was short lived. Monique’s ass was instantly filled again with what she felt must have been a 9″ dick push all the way o the hilt into her and felt the balls of her rapist slapping into her own. This time, with nothing to stop her she cried out in a gravelly voice but there were no words, just guttural sounds. Two more long strokes later Monique felt a warmth starting to spread through her lower body and found herself rocking back into the thrusts, trying to get even more of that enormous beast into her. Deeper, deeper. Harder, faster. He was fucking her frantically and she was dizzy with the feeling.
The second cock exploded in her ass with a force that nearly lifted her off the ground and she pushed back into it, trying to keep the movement but the man driving the pulsating dick held her still against him as he finished spurting his load. Monique was getting hot like a cat in heat and needed more and the other man was right there to deliver. The last man shoved his companion aside and took up right where he had left off. Another shot of spit and the next dick as forced in with one quick stroke. Monique couldn’t wait for it to pull out of her to begin the next cycle and she hit her head against the dumpster trying to make the motion herself. This man got the hint and began slapping his upper thighs against her ass in hard, fast jabs that made Monique squeal with pleasure.
As they humped each other Monique felt the rough hands of her assailant pulling apart her flimsy blouse, breaking the buttons. His fingers found her hard nipples and squeezed them hard..and harder…and harder yet until her eyes watered from the pain. But that same pain made her own cock hard. The frantic pace of the one in her ass was making her dizzy and she would have fallen if not for the vice-like grip on her tits and the cuffs holding her wrists to the metal wall that now defined her world. She was pumping her ass hard against the man fucking her, trying to take him even deeper when the first wave of orgasm swept through her and her knees started to buckle. But she held her self up and continued to ride as another and then another wave of intense pleasure crested over her. The cock inside her pulsed as well and even through the condom, she knew he had expelled a huge load. The two of them slowed to a rocking motion as the feelings died down, their breathing heavy and loud from the exertion.
The man pulled his dick out, peeled off the condom and made Monique lick him clean. Her breathing was ragged and she would have had a hard time with this except that she was now extremely thirsty and lapped up the cum load like it was the only water in a desert.
Poor Slave Three was exhausted. She had just spent too much time kneeling with her back against a short post, her arms and elbows drawn behind and cuffed. Her ankles had been cuffed behind the post. The short chain which held them together had been raised high and fastened to a hook on the back side, effectively forcing all of her weight onto her knees; all save her head, which had been tipped as far back as her neck would allow and strapped to a leather pad on the top of the post.
A ring gag held her mouth open wide. But that wasn’t all. A rubber dildo which protruded from the post had been pushed deep into her ass forcing her torso to arch impossibly upward, lewdly displaying her breasts. Her nipples jiggled ever so slightly with each breath that she took. She could see her own image in the mirrored ceiling above, but from that angle she almost did not recognize herself. She seemed unreal, actually pathetic, nothing more than mouth and teats, a certain look of fear in eyes.
All of the slaves had heard of this device. Some had seen it before. They regarded it with fear and dread. It had its own name,“Sheba’s Saddle,” in honor of their mistress and its inventor. It was a dubious honor indeed. Sheba had loved to humiliate them, torture them, and even force herself on them. She did just that with a special passion too. Her slaves were her own entertainment. Slave Three, however, would be the first to be strapped into the saddle.
Sheba was a formidable woman, a six foot tall former weight lifter and body builder who would have been more than a match for any man her size. Sheba was tanned, toned, even chiseled; beautifully “butched out” as a few of her gay friends had observed.
She did not always look that way. She had been a chunky girl in high school. She was one of the many who no one ever seemed to notice. Her only talent was the shot put. She threw for the track team. It made her the brunt of many cruel jokes which had been directed at her size and her questionable sexual preference. In turn, Sheba had come to hate everyone in the whole school, especially the cheerleader types, not just because they mocked her, but also because she lusted after them. She wanted them desperately, but she knew she had to keep her feelings secret. She dared not approach them. And, worst of all, she dared not let her eyes wander in the locker room. Her own hatred grew unchecked, so much so that she hated herself too.
Her anger had led her into the weight room where she worked out every day. Her body fat had turned to muscle. And eventually, she would win fitness trophies, even become the subject of countless photo calls. She had become beautiful in her own way. Her tanned and oiled body graced the covers of many magazines. In turn, she capitalized, renaming herself after the legendary queen who was so beautiful that even the wisest men would kneel before her. She even had “Sheba” tattooed on her bulging left bicep which she often flashed before her admirers. It was an odd sort of a reincarnation, but Sheba had become a success.
But her personal life was still empty. She still wanted girls but knew they did not want her. One day she had something of an epiphany. She decided to invest her newly found fortunes into a new business. She would procure and sell the same kinds of girls that had rejected her; the fresh and the innocent, the ones who were (or could have been) the cheerleaders who had tormented her so.
Slavery would be more than just a living for Sheba. She did not need the money. Slavery would become her revenge. So she hired a couple of her male body builder friends and paid them well. They captured and kidnapped at will and they were very good. But Sheba did not really care for that part of the business. Her interests began with what happened after that. She would use them and break them in every possible way. And, when she was done, she would sell them off for a sizable sum. It took sometime for her to establish a solid clientele of rich and reprehensible people, but it was not really very difficult. It was a perfect plan and for the first time in her life, she was truly happy.
Sheba had made a concerted effort to dress Slave Three before fastening her in the saddle. She put her in a black satin garter belt which held up sheer black thigh high stockings which almost framed Three’s freshly shaved delta mound, making it even more prominent, more naked, if such a thing were possible. She had also strapped Slave Three’s feet into a pair of heels. She put her slave’s arms in full length opera gloves. Then she gave her a full makeup job, complete with lipstick, false eye lashes, a little blush around the cheeks, and some mascara. The coup de gras was the rouge on her nipples, carefully applied after massaging them to hardness. When Sheba had finished, she strapped Slave Three in and photographed her from all angles, humiliating her, objectifying her as if she was simply girl flesh and nothing more. Slave Three was young and fit. Her fatigue had come not from her extreme bondage, but from the ensuing session with the other three slave girls.
They had been directed to stand in line before the saddle. Each of them had been dressed the same: high heels, latex stockings and black lace garters, black choker collars, and black ball gags: nothing else, except for latex hoods. The hoods served a special purpose. The girls could see and breathe, but they had been rendered essentially faceless, as if they were no one and nothing, nothing except female bodies which existed only to serve the whims of their mistress. Their wrists were cuffed behind their backs and their ankles were hobbled with a similar set of cuffs.
“Slave Six, you’re first,” ordered Sheba as she marched the hapless girl over to the post, forcing her to straddle Slave Three. Sheba grabbed Six by the shoulders and forced her to bend slightly at the knees until her cunt was pressed hard against Three’s open mouth.
“Fuck her with your tongue,” Sheba ordered as she released the helpless girl. “Do it now!”
Slave Three obeyed immediately. She had never made love to a woman before, but she knew she had no choice..
“Oh,” moaned Six into her gag.
She stood up as soon as she felt the tongue touch her clitoris. The humiliation, the bondage, the forced sex, especially in front of the other girls, was altogether just too much for her. Six began to cry.
“Do it now!” Sheba ordered again. This time she swung a riding crop across Slave Six’s ass.
But Slave Six continued to hesitate. Her tears streamed down her cheeks and fell like rain on the upturned face of Three.
“Now! Now! Now!” Sheba commanded, swinging the crop three more times.
Still overcome with tears, Six was oblivious. Sheba called in the guards, easily two of the biggest men the girls had ever seen. She pulled the hood off of the desolate girl and grabbed her by the hair.
“This is Slave Six. She likes men. So take her out and fuck her. Fuck her in the cunt. Fuck her in the ass. Fuck her in the mouth. And if you feel like it, give her a good tit fuck too. Take your time. Have a ball, but don’t return her until she’s coated with cum. And I mean I want to cum everywhere. Don’t stop until she’s slimy with it.”
Slave Six let out a scream as the two men grabbed her and half carried her away.
“Slave Two, you’re next,” ordered Sheba.
Two hobbled over as quickly as she could and planted her sex right on Three without a moment’s hesitation. The two went to work, this time too afraid to do otherwise.
“I’m going to give you seven minutes,” Said Sheba, glancing at her watch. “Not a second more.”
Three pressed her tongue into service, working Two’s clit as best as she could. She did “around the world.” She “split the uprights,” played to and fro, and even did the old “in and out.” Two relaxed and opened herself up to pleasure, moaning loudly, almost as if to encourage her new lesbian lover.
“One minute,” announced Sheba.
The two redoubled their efforts, working together in perfect harmony. Three hummed into Two’s cunt while she began to rock herself back and forth over the eager mouth.
“Thirty seconds,” said Sheba.
Lost in the throes of orgasm, Slave Two began to quiver. Her thighs lost their strength and her knees buckled as waves of ecstasy swept over her lovely body. Three’s nose and mouth were enveloped in crotch and cunt. Her lungs grew desperate for air.
“Right on time,” observed Sheba with a wry smile. “Maybe girls aren’t such a bad thing after all.”
She pulled the still trembling slave off of Three and said, “Slave One, you’re next.”
One scrambled into place and placed her beautiful maw on the waiting lips of Three.
“This time six minutes,” Sheba said. Slave One had been Sheba’s first acquisition. She had the most experience. The goal would be possible but not easy.
Slave One wasted no time, moving her hips against Three’s lips as her tongue served the clit. Three moaned as One grew moist then wet another minute after. The two of them soon became lost in their cause. But Slave Three was beginning to get tired. Her tongue slowed down.
“One minute,” observed Sheba.
Slave One seized the initiative redoubled her efforts. She slid her hips forward and rubbed her clit hard against Three’s nose picking up speed and pressing down harder and harder until she began to cum.
“Good girl,” said Sheba as she gave One a playful pat on the ass.
Slave Three took a deep breath as One stood up. Her face was wet with girl juice. She was completely tongue tired. Two cunts in a row were just too much, especially for someone like her who never had practiced the fine art of making love to women. Three hated everything about it, but still she rested content knowing that she had saved herself twice from certain punishment.
And that was when the two men men returned a half faint, cum covered Slave Six to the room. Her face was soaked. Her cunt and ass dripped like a leaky faucet. Even her tits were coated, just as Sheba had requested. Sheba laughed as she reached for the latex hood and stretched it back over the poor girl’s head.
“The cum is not gonna dry until the hood comes off…and that won’t be anytime soon,” she observed. “From now on, I’m going to call you Cum Face.”
“Put her right here, boys,” She said pointing at the still obscenely opened but now sore mouth of Slave Three.
And so they did. Slave Three shuttered as the third cunt came to rest on her lips, this time dripping with semen. It smelled foul and tasted even worse. She nearly retched at the thought but steeled her courage to try just one more time. Slave Six began to cry again, this time in total defeat.
Three had no choice. She resolved to do everything she could to bring the broken girl off. This time, however, Three used her tongue gently. She did not hurry. This time whatever she did would be a heart felt effort to calm, soothe, and maybe even heal the poor distraught Six. Her ministrations began to work somehow on the tortured frightened Slave Six. She had stopped crying. She relaxed and began to undulate her hips, rocking herself slowly, timing her body perfectly to the motions of Three’s tongue.
“Oh,” This time she purred. Three took the sound as a subtle cue and quickened her pace ever so slightly.
“Oh,” Slave Six purred again. Three responded in kind, tonguing her faster and harder.
Slaves Six and Three had become more than a salacious side show. Their bodies responded to each other in a very intimate way. Words may have failed them in their bondage, but they were truly improvising and inventing a new language of their own. They were actually making love to each other. Everyone in the room could tell the difference. This time would have special meaning.
Sheba was the first to notice the difference. Like it or not, she had become the proverbial “odd man out.” She grew angry, but then again what could she do? She had forced them together and ordered them to make love. She grabbed the crop and smacked Slave Six hard on the ass, but Slave Six ignored her.
“Oh,” she moaned again through her gag louder than before.
“Hurry up,” ordered Sheba as she landed another stroke.
She cracked the whip again, this time on Three’s tits, but the slaves had found their own rhythm. Pain no longer mattered. They took their own sweet time and ignored Sheba. until at last they came together as one in a perfectly glorious simultaneous orgasm. Slave Six began to squirt in great quantities. She washed away all of the semen and all of the tears which had stained the face of her new lover. It was almost symbolic. Somehow or another, both had been made whole again. They were people, sexual people, and they were no longer numbers.
Sheba pulled the still cumming Slave Six away and used her great strength to throw her on the floor in front of the other girls. But this was an empty gesture. The other slaves knew what had just happened. She was losing face and she knew it. Quickly she removed her pants and panties. She backed up over the exhausted Slave Three, sat on her face and eased her own cunt over the tired waiting mouth.
The exhausted slave began her ministrations one last time. This time, however, her tongue had grown heavy and sluggish. Sheba struck her breasts with the whip.
“Come on slave. Don’t hold back!”
She struck again and again. Three’s breasts rolled and bounced on her chest, turning liquid under skin. Three screamed into Sheba’s cunt. Wracked by pain, her body twisted and jerked in place, insanely pulling with all of its might against the unyielding bonds which held her in place. And all the while, Three did her best to tongue her owner’s clit.
Sheba continued to swing the whip, changing up her strokes even aiming it directly into Three’s sex. Her struggles and screams grew more intense and even more desperate. But mercifully almost, they had another effect. It made Sheba cum. Her eyes rolled back into her head. She squeezed her massive thighs together hard, smothering the brave Slave Three. Then, finally satisfied, Sheba let out a grunt. That was the end of it.
She stood up and looked down at the tortured torso of her slave. Three was no longer conscious. Her beet red beaten skin had turned pale blue, but at least she was still breathing. Sheba swung the crop one last time, striking Three directly on her clit. Her body jumped and twisted and strained, but it was an unconscious reaction. Three would be terribly sore, but she would never know what hit her.
Sheba looked at the other girls. They were trembling. Their faces may have been obscured under the latex hoods, but there were plenty tears flowing.
“Now that’s how it’s done,” Sheba bragged as she stepped away. But it was a hollow victory. Everyone, including the great “queen” Sheba, knew better. The true, and blue, hero of Sheba’s Saddle was Slave Three.
It all happened so fast, it might as well have happened at once. Nineteen year old Monica Richards, still wearing her leotards and tights from dance class, had just opened her car door when when it happened.
“Zap.” One hundred and twenty five volts from a police taser hit her squarely between the shoulder blades. And that was it. There was no struggle. She dropped like a sack of potatoes. She would have it the asphalt too if it wasn’t for the strong arms of the two men who were now her abductors.
They were the Bartz brothers: Deter and Fritz, each was well over six feet tall and well over two hundred pounds, two of the biggest sociopaths that one would never want to meet. Formerly fitness champions, they had found a new stock and trade: girls. Pretty girls too, the younger, the more desirable, the better.
Monica had passed out cold. Seconds later her car door was closed. She was laid onto the floor in the back of their plain white cargo van. A few more seconds later, Deter drove off while Fritz went to work on the unlucky girl. Nylon zip ties did the job: wrists first behind the back, then the ankles, then the knees, then the elbows. The Bartz brothers were very good. Monica was not their first, nor would she be their last.
Monica moaned as she began to come around, but Fritz knew exactly what to do. He zapped her again. Next was the gag. First it was a ring gag. Then a very large piece of foam rubber was crammed deep inside her mouth. It was the same sort of foam that one would use to upholster a chair. It compressed down well and then expanded to fill every corner of her widely opened mouth. Still not content, Fritz strapped on a leather panel gag over the lower half of her face. A small rubber cock had been riveted on the inside of the panel. It pushed the foam rubber even further back into her mouth as he tightened the strap behind her neck.
Monica did not know it, but her only chance to get free was to scream loud enough to be heard. But Fritz was a professional. He knew that even these precautions were not enough, that a scream still could be heard, that the sound travels through the nose too.
But they would see to that. Fritz continued on with the zip ties, fastening her ankles to her thighs and her wrists to her ankles and then, using a very large zip tie. He fastened her arms to her waist as she began to stir again.
The poor girl began to moan and the she began to scream. She squirmed and twisted her torso, at first testing her bonds, then fighting them for all she was worth, trying to sit up and maybe roll out of the arms of her captor. Panic now began to set in deep, but what could she do? Her muted cries would never be heard beyond the confines of the van as Deter drove along through the evening traffic.
The struggles of the helpless girl raised a distant sort of a smile on the otherwise expressionless face of Fritz. She was all his now and he knew it. His strong hand reached down inside her low cut leotard top and then down inside. He squeezed her breast and pinched her nipple as she continued to scream, now even more emphatically. But the pinch grew painful as he squeezed her nipple tighter and tighter.
“Not bad, he observed,” he observed. Monica suddenly realized that he wanted her to scream, that he was testing his work. He slapped her hard across her cheek. She screamed at him again in protest. He smiled again, this time with pride.
Monica relented, knowing full well she had no choice but let this man’s hands explore her. The hand moved on to grab the other breast. It squeezed hard again, but this time she refused to give him the pleasure. She did not make a sound. Another hand reached down to feel her thighs. Monica began to cry.
“Oh man, she is really fit,” announced Fritz, his accent distantly Germanic.
The Bartz brothers had actually known that. They had been watching her every move for the last two weeks. Monica worked during the day as a part time waitress at a number of joints in Las Vegas, but her real aspiration was dance. So she used her hard earned money on gym membership classes and dance classes. “Fit” was actually an understatement. “Chiseled” would have been a better word.
Fritz continued to explore. His hand found it’s way to her crotch. He pressed his fingers against her still dressed sex even pushed them inside as far as the fabric would allow.
“I’ll bet she is tight,” he said.
“We have orders,” Deter shouted back at his brother. “We are not to fuck her!”
Monica was granted a temporary reprieve, but she really did not understand why. She had been singled out by her abductors weeks before. Yusef had discovered her. He was their boss, a middle aged man, of wealth and means. He was the first to stalk her weeks before. The three of them had been staked out in the parking lot of the restaurant where she worked.
“There she is,” Yusef said as he pointed through the windshield of his tinted Lincoln sedan.
Monica was just getting out of work. She was a rare vision of loveliness: a tallish 5 foot seven. Her waitress uniform was downright revealing. It was a modern variant of the classic French Maid’s uniform: a low cut scoop neck satin mini dress with revealed her more than ample D cup breasts. The top was long sleeved with white cuffs, appointed with a frilly little white apron that tied in a big bow in the back. The bottom of the dress was so short as to reveal her black satin panties.
All of her features were exceptionally beautiful, even striking, but the real piece de resistance, was her long, lean, and highly muscular legs which stood out so well, which almost shined from inside her black panty hose. She also walked in a pair of stiletto heels which made her appear to be even taller than she already was.
“I want to fuck her,” Yusef said. “Get her as soon as possible and bring her to me.”
Fritz and Deter may have been sociopaths, but they understood that Yusef had great power. So they did as told. They went to work, watched Monica’s every move, and waited patiently to take their move. These men may have been big and strong, but they were not stupid.
Fritz continued to secure his new captive. The inside of the van may have looked innocent enough, a simple trade van outfitted for contractors, filled with a number of tool boxes and many sheets of pink rigid foam building insulation. The insulation was all part of their plan. Fritz lifted up the entire stack of foam, leaving one full sheet still on the floor. Each sheet in the stack had been glued to the next. A body sized hollow had been carved out on the inside of the stack.
Fritz slid the hogtied girl onto the single remaining sheet and secured her torso, face up, to a series of protruding eye bolts which had been bolted through the frame of the van. Monica may have been tightly bound, but now she was also pinioned in place, her entire body, even her head, had become effectively laced up until she was unable to move in any direction. Fritz grabbed the hollowed out foam stack. Knowing what was to come. Monica began to scream again, this time even louder than before.
“Lights out,” said Fritz to the terrified girl as he fastened the stack back down over the terrified girl.
That was all. Monica was encapsulated. She could scream and struggle for all she was worth, but no one, not even the Bartz brothers would ever know. The van drove for what must have been hours. It started and stopped a few times, no doubt for gas. She was terribly uncomfortable. Every bump in the road telegraphed itself directly into her helpless flesh. Worst of all, she was wide awake in the darkness: wondering where she was, terrified at the thought about what was to become of her.
Some time Monica did hear a police siren and a minute later she felt the van stop. Hope! She fought her bonds as hard as she could. She bucked and twisted and jerked, frictioned her ankles and knees, her wrists and her elbows. Try as hard as she might, her confinement was total. She just could not move.
“License and registration,” said the patrolman.
“Can I help you, officer,” Deter asked in a calm voice.
“Your tail light is out. Get it checked.”
“Thank you sir. We will do that.”
“Wait a minute,” said the patrolman. “Mind if I take a look in there?”
“By all means,” Deter replied.
The patrolman pulled out his flashlight and scanned the back of the truck. Monica screamed and wriggled with all of her might, but the patrolman saw nothing out of the ordinary, only a few tool boxes and a stack of foam insulation. Monica may have been just six feet away, but she well have been on another planet.
“We make a policy of looking for drug dealers,” said the patrolman, “Have a good night.”
The van drove on for another hour before coming to a stop inside an enclosed garage. Deter and Fritz partially untied her and walked her into an odd sort of receiving area. It was a brightly lit white tiled room, much like a locker room.
Two very oddly dressed women were waiting. They were dressed in all latex: stockings, panties, opera length gloves and hoods, with nothing else. They were collared and hobbled with chrome chains and cuffs. Their wrists were similarly bound in front of them. Their cuff sets provided them with a good degree of movement with just enough to remind them of their lot in life. A quizzical look had come over Monica’s still gagged face.
“Toilet slaves,” mentioned Deter with a wry smile on his face. He knew that Monica would still not understand. The men removed the remainder of her bondage. They even removed her gags.
“Go ahead. Scream,” Fritz told her. “We hear a lot of that here. In fact we like it.”
“Please,” was all the only word which she could get in reply, before Fritz slapped her across her face.
“Rule number one: never speak unless spoken to.”
“Time to strip,” he added as he held her arms behind her back.
The toilet slaves went directly to their work, removing every bit of her clothes with surgical scissors. Monica was mortified. She had never been seen naked before. Now she stood before four other people without a stitch on. Instinctively she tipped her head and lowered her eyes. She drew her chiseled legs together, vainly hoping to shield her sex from view. Deter cuffed her this time with a pair of chrome plated hand cuffs and leg cuffs. Fritz could not help but to fondle her breasts again.
“Not now,” Deter ordered his brother.
They left the toilet slaves to do their jobs. The two girls ushered her over to the toilet. It was a typical porcelain stool, but it was situated in the open. There were no surrounding walls. There would be no privacy. Besides, she did not have the use of her hands. The toilet slaves would have to help. The men just stood by and laughed. Monica had never been so humiliated in her life.
Next came the shower. Deter and Fritz escorted her over to another open area and repositioned her arms in front of her, cuffed them again and raised them up over her head where they hooked them to a chain, forcing Monica to stand on tip toes. The toilet slaves turned on the water and pointed two showed wands at her as they wet her down from head to foot. The slaves shampooed and soaped her, rinsed her, and dried her. It was an odd ordeal. Monica had become an object. She might have well been a car in a car wash. There was never a time in which she was even allowed to touch herself. Little did she suspect that she never would be afforded that privilege again.
The toilet slaves applied makeup and lip gloss to the still suspended girl. Finally they shaved off the pubic hair on her Venus mound. Monica protested at first, but another slap by Fritz reminded her of “rule number one.”
One of them held up a mirror so that she could see herself. She looked pathetic just hanging there. Her hair was coiffed differently, and, no matter what she saw she could not stop looking at her bare pubis. It was as if she was no longer a young woman with a promising career. Now she was just a cunt. Tears welled up in her eyes. Never before had she felt so lost.
But the toilet slaves had not finished. They proceeded to dress her in a white lace corset which compressed her waist but stopped just above her hips. Her sex was still bare. The top of the corset stopped below her ample bare breasts, pushing them ever so slightly up and out, exaggerating them, making them somehow more fleshy, more ample than before. They put her in white lace mid thigh stockings and held them in place with white garter belts. White heels and a white velvet choker necklace tied in a bow finished off her new ensemble. She looked sensational, almost like a bride in her honeymoon suite, an innocent porn princess, ready and primed, waiting for her groom.
Minutes later the men escorted their freshly adorned “porn princess” to another room. This time it was an office, a spacious and lavishly appointed, complete with a desk, credenza and so forth. Everything inside the room appeared to be typical and even predictable for a CEO, everything that is, except for the a steel sawhorse bolted to the floor. Yusef sat at the desk smoking a cigar and reading something on his laptop.
“Here she is,” One of the men announced, proud as a peacock. “Your new bride.”
Monica cringed at the words, Now she knew why the two men had not forced themselves on her. Now she knew why the toilet slaves had carefully groomed her and even dressed her so obscenely. And now she knew that somehow or another her destiny would have something to do with that sawhorse.
Deter and Fritz wasted no time. They fastened her ankles spread wide to the two legs on one side of the horse so that her legs formed an inverted v. Then they bent her at the waste until her entire torso lay horizontally along the length of the center trestle. One strap around her waist held her firmly in place. She could move her head, but that was just about all. Yusef surveyed the girl as he stepped around to look her directly in the eyes. Monica could tell that he had an erection.
“Normally we number our slaves in the order that we receive them.”
“Slaves?” The word hit her like a Mack truck. She had never heard the word spoken, but now she knew. She turned beet red. Her skin began to crawl. “Slaves!”
“But we sold Slave Five off early,” He continued. “You will take her place.”
“Sold?” Another word: Monica cringed and closed her eyes hoping against hope to shut this new reality out of her mind. Her body began to tremble.
“First I’m going to fuck you,” He said.
Portly, balding, and swarthy, Yusef was no woman’s dream. To make matters worse, he could have been three times Monica’s age. He stepped around behind her, unzipped his pants, and entered her unceremoniously from behind. Monica’s sex was unprepared for the invasion. She let out a yelp as he worked himself inside her. He leaned over her as he did and grabbed her by the breasts, kneading them like bread dough. Fucked was bad enough, but groped was just as bad. Her entire predicament repulsed her.
Yusef was not the best at sex. He came to a climax in just a matter of minutes and was done. Next he stepped around and slapped Monica hard on the face.
“Clean me off,” he ordered as he shoved his half hard still dripping cock into her face. Reluctantly, slowly she opened her mouth and took him in. She gagged. The taste, even the whole idea of oral sex was just too much, but she knew she had to comply.
The “cleaning” did not take long. Yusef zipped himself up when he was finished and pushed an intercom button. The Bartz brothers returned, untied Monica, and escorted her this time to a third room with a center area surrounded by mirrors. They stripped her bare a second time. Then they cuffed and chained her in the center. It was an awful place. She could see her reflection where ever she looked.
Deter and Fritz left the room as a diminutive raven haired woman entered with a riding crop in her hand.
“Welcome to the Red Room, Slave Five,” said the woman with a sly smile. “You can call me Mistress X.”
Slave Six was not the first to appear on stage on that fateful night. She was, in fact, the last. The show, if one were to call it that, would begin with Slave One who was already onstage waiting behind another curtain. She could hear the music and the crowd as the voice of the MC crackled over the speakers. It gave her the shivers.
One had been imprisoned the longest. She had become almost acclimated to the routines of bondage and even to witnessing her own debauchery in front of Sheba, Mistress X, and even the Bartz brothers. They had seen her nude almost every day. They had treated her well too. They seldom punished and, even if they did, they certainly did not mark her flawless skin. The sounds of the crowd, however, filled her with a growing sense of fright, of being seen, and no doubt debauched, in front of a room full of strangers.
Slave One had been very lucky. Her captors had treated her well. Lucky indeed, all except for one thing. Her captors had not permitted her to cum. Some women can go for a long time without having an orgasm, of course. Many may not even think twice about it, but this was not the case for Slave One. She had been subjected to a totally different regime.
Each day, once, twice, sometimes even more, Mistress Sheba would reach down into her sex and finger her just enough to get her aroused. The situation would always be the same. One would become turned on against her will, but, in time, she would want to need to cum. And that is when Sheba would stop up short, leaving her “high and dry.” The routine was maddening. It became almost a torture, terrible in its own right. Poor Slave One could do nothing. They kept her bound 24/7 in such a way that she could never touch herself.
Slave One was certainly not a lesbian. Truth be known, she was repulsed at the thought. But when the opportunity presented itself, she could not help but bring herself off over the waiting mouth of Slave Three who had been strapped into Sheba’s Saddle. That was her singular opportunity and she made the best of it. Denied the way she was, however, one orgasm had had only added to her frustration and whetted her appetite for more.
Standing behind the curtain, Slave One looked absolutely fetching as she stood dressed in the sheerest black teddy/nightie which flared out over her lovely breasts and narrow waist. The bottom hem stopped just short of her hips, however, leaving her shaved sex completely exposed. Matching black thigh high stockings, held up with garters completed the picture, allowing the color of her flesh, especially her own sex, to stand out in sharp contrast to the surrounding sheer black. Her keepers had seen to the look. It was a careful coupling of old fashioned Hollywood glamor and blatant porn.
She could have been a centerfold for a man’s magazine, a pinup taped up inside some mechanic’s tool box, but she was a very real girl and so were her struggles. They had cuffed her wrists behind her back and cinched them up high above her ass to a delicate leather choker collar which pulled her head back hard. A bright red ball gag had been strapped into her mouth as well. Her ankles had been cuffed together too, allowing her to struggle but stand in place.
Slave One had been perched on top of a pair of the highest of heels. They shifted her body weight uncomfortably onto her toes. She was a sight a sight to behold, an altogether artfully composed combination of bondage and beauty. One flexed and shifted her lovely legs to maintain her balance and keep her toes from turning numb. The small movements, the shifting and the jiggling made her look coy and even more fetching.
She could have have stepped out of those awful heels but she dared not. The “Fuck Stick” had seen to that. It was a floor mounted, chrome plated steel pipe which extended up some three feet from the floor. The polished tip had been been thrust deep into her vagina. Slave One could move a little. She could twist and turn, even bend at the waist, but she could not extricate herself from the Fuck Stick. The net result had already begun to take its tole. The stick had turned her on. Her cunt juices had begun to flow and run down along the pole in rivulets. The smell of her own arousal filled the air, adding to her own humiliation.
Slave One had one singular defensive strategy. She could stand still on the pole and not move, but Mistress Sheba had seen to that. She stood right beside her, gently fondled her nipples, and kissed her on the mouth. Every so often Sheba would reach down and finger One’s clitoris until One would twist and even wrench her body against the Fuck Stick, hoping for release.
The trouble was that the chrome provided some stimulation, but just not enough. It may have penetrated her deeply, but the tip was too highly polished to create enough meaningful friction. One moaned into her ball gag as she began to enter the final throes of her arousal. And that was when Sheba stopped. This time she grabbed her own crotch, rimming herself, and fingering her clit.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the MC. “Tonight for your viewing pleasure, we present the one and the only Slave One!”
A drum roll played. The curtain flew out. The room burst into applause. And there, trapped in a white hot spot light stood stood Slave One for all the world to see. Slave One closed her eyes in shame, cringing at the thought of hundred pairs of eyes, all riveted upon her, staring at her terribly exposed sex, and the cruelly positioned Fuck Stick.
“No one cums like the great Slave One,” said the voice. “And we have saved her up and kept her from cumming for such a very long time.”
Laughs and jeers filled the room. This was a sophisticated audience. They all knew the effects of orgasm denial. Many, in fact, were slave owners themselves. They had, no doubt, played the same trick on their own girls, just to make them more ready for their own ultimate sexual degradation. The audience reactions died down just a bit, but did not stop. People were, no doubt, commenting to each other about the Fuck Stick. A few of them even laughed. Instinctively Slave One pressed her lovely legs together tight, a mindless attempt at shielding her plight from all those eyes.
The room itself had never been meant to be a theater. This was the basement of an older building. The center consisted of an ad hoc thrust stage. The audience sat on three sides in order that everyone was afforded the luxury of an unobstructed view. The surrounding walls were poured concrete, but the back of the stage had been draped off with a series of red velour curtains. It was an incongruous space, an odd combination of glitz and grunge.
Sheba was totally dressed for her part in leather boots, bustier, and even gloves. She looked absolutely perfect as a dominatrix. She stepped behind her slave and gently caressed her shoulders, gently kissed her cheek. It was a cleverly composed tableau: the irony of shameless bondage, vanilla sex, and a struggling girl. The music faded up as she slowly made love to her charge. The song was Leather and Lace. The spotlight switched to a special moonlight blue as the first line was sung, “Is love so fragile?”
A hush fell over the room as Sheba continued to kiss, her hands gently encircled One’s waist, caressing her torso ever so slowly before working up to the breasts. Sheba did not grab, nor squeeze. She simply cupped the lower halves with half open hands in a lover’s embrace. Then, ever so delicately, she lifted those beautiful breasts just a little.
“Yeah!” someone in the audience said, almost in reverence. A few people applauded, but not loud enough to break the magic of the moment.
The song played on: You in the moonlight…With your sleepy eyes…Could you ever love a man like me?
A few titters broke out. Sheba was very masculine, but certainly not a man. She reached for a little drawstring that had been tied at the top of Slave One’s sheer teddy, and she slowly pulled it until the bow collapsed and the teddy dropped to the floor.
“Give to me your leather. Take from me your lace…”
The audience applauded politely. Breasts now fully exposed, Slave One had become transformed, a perfect vision of loveliness, a dream come true for any man or woman who loved the female form.
And then, right on cue, the music changed. The lights came up full bright and Sheba began to dance. It was a wanton and obscene, almost like a strip tease show. Two dancers dressed like chorus girls entered from the wings. They were topless, dressed in rhinestone thong panties, rhinestone wigs, and rhinestone stilettos. Altogether, it was an odd mix of characters and costumes but they pulled it off. The audience applauded in approval as Sheba held up her hand. A riding crop thrown out from the wings. She caught it and dance until the music faded down. The two dancers picked up a pair of tambourines and struck poses to either side of the still stationary slave girl.
“Let’s see if we can get Slave One off,” said Sheba as she swung the whip back and forth.
“I need a little help from the audience please,” she said. “Please clap along with me: 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3-4!”
On the stroke of four, she swung the crop, striking Slave One directly across the thighs. The audience roared in approval. Sheba turned to the audience and laughed. Then she cupped her hand to her ear.
The audience responded right away, as the dancers tapped out the cadence on their tambourines: 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3-4! The whip cracked again on the girl’s thighs.
“Again,” She shouted.
1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3-4, the whip fell on the thighs again and again. The cadence increased. Slave One began to twist to and fro moaning with each blow as her sex frictioned itself on the Fuck Stick, the inner walls of her vagina stimulated, but not gaining the precious purchase needed to bring her off.
Sheba stopped and held up her hands, motioning silence. Slave One’s had begun to tremble. Her thighs had turned fire engine red. The Fuck stick had turned wet with her juices but still she could not cum. Sheba looked at the stick and mopped it up with her gloved hand. She wiped it on her slave’s face. Laughter ensued.
Sheba didn’t even break a smile. She cracked the whip again, this time across the girls breasts. They bounced and rocked in protest. One let out a gasp. Sheba swung again and again. The poor girl twisted and jerked with each stroke, desperately trying to maintain her balance in between the blows. She was in a world of pain, but no one really cared. They just wanted to see her destroyed and defiled.
“Such a good little girl,” said Sheba as the whipping came to an end.
She stepped back around behind the still panting and tortured slave, fondling and kissing as tenderly as before. This time, however, she reached down and began to massage One’s clitoris. Still aroused, One drew in a sharp breath and then moaned as she renewed her journey to orgasm, this time even more desperate than before. Sheba removed the gag and grabbed the girl’s hair with her free hand, forcing her head up and turning it slowly from one side to the other.
“Tell everybody the rules,” Sheba said.
“Cum or suffer,” Slave One said. She dared not say more.
“Tonight is your lucky night,” Sheba replied. “You get to cum.”
The poor girl shuddered. She had already been stripped, whipped, and penetrated by the Fuck Stick. Now she would be forced to cum under stage lights in front of all those people.
But Sheba stopped Slave One up short once again. This time, however, she clamped a very large vibrator to the Fuck Stick and turned it up on full. The vibrations traveled up the stick and into Slave One’s vagina.
“Oh,” Slave One gasped. The machine was doing its job.
The sound of a drum came over the loudspeakers: Boom chakka chakka boom chakka boom. Slave One lifted her body up on the stick, then dropped it down, and continued on, masturbating almost in time to the drum beat. She knew all too well that everyone was watching, but she could not help herself. She picked up the tempo as the sound of a drum roll cross faded in.
“Open your eyes,” ordered Sheba as she forced One to face the audience.
One’s eyes had clouded over and rolled up inside her head. Her body began to convulse.
“Let’s give the girl a big hand, everyone,” said Sheba, playing for the crowd.
People cheered wildly. The applause was overwhelming. Slave One had brought down the house.