Tingles for Tiffany
(part 1)
After the disaster, they had to evacuate the students from
the college dormitory. Tiffany arrived home, unexpectedly, and
let herself into the house. "Mom? Dad?" she called. There was
no answer. They must be home, she thought, because the car was
in the driveway, and another, too. She looked in the kitchen and
living room, toured the upstairs bedrooms. There was no one
there. Then she decided to look in the basement.
When she opened the playroom door, she was startled to the
point where she couldn't move. She saw her dad, tied to one of
the supporting columns which held up the main floor beam.
Suddenly, a cloth soaked in ether was held over Tiffany's
face. The more she tried to scream, the more she breathed in the
anesthetic, until she passed out.
When she awoke, she was hanging upside down, with her legs
wide spread and her ankles bound to big screw eyes set into the
joists of the floor above. Her hands, hanging freely down,
brushed the concrete floor, and when she opened her eyes, she saw
she was looking at her father.
"Dad, what's going on?" she said.
"You weren't supposed to find out, Tiff, darling," he
replied.
"Explain to me. Why am I hanging here?"
A deep masculine voice behind her answered: "Didn't you ever
wonder why your father got three promotions in less than two
years? He and your mother agreed to allow me to act out my
fantasies, and you got to attend college. I paid for it."
"Who are you?"
"I can't afford having you identify me. First, you must
agree to keep this secret. Otherwise..."
She heard her mother, somewhere behind her: "Tiffany, say
you will."
"Mom, are you all right?" Tiffany said, her voice loud and
trembling.
"Yes, Tiffany, my dear. But you had better agree to keep
this secret."
"Say yes, Tiff," said her father, evenly.
"Promise the man," advised her mother.
"OK, I promise to keep this secret," said Tiffany.
"A wise decision," said the man, as he stepped in front of
her. The first thing Tiffany saw was shiny leather boots, and
then, as she looked upward, for her head hung at about the level
of the man's knees, she saw a rather handsome man, thirty or
forty, dressed in some kind of uniform, like a State Trooper, or
a Nazi. "Your cooperation, my dear, will be rewarded. Tell me,
Tiffany, do you love your mother?"
"Yes, of course."
"You wouldn't want to see her suffer."
"No, of course not."
"Well, then, my dear, in order to spare your mother more
pain than she expects, you will have to suffer some pain,
yourself. But, of course, you love your mother, so you will
suffer gladly, to spare her, is that not so? Just as your father
suffers, by having to watch his wife, and now his daughter,
subjected to punishment for his sake."
Tiffany did not know what to say, so she said nothing. Her
blood was rushing to her head, and she couldn't really believe
this was happening to her. Could it be some sort of nightmare?
Reaching up with a razor blade, the man began to cut the
outer seam of Tiffany's jeans. "Hey!" she shouted, "These are my
favorite pair."
"Do be quiet, Tiffany," said her mother. "I'll buy you new
ones."
When the man had slit the cloth all the way to the
waistband, he began on the other leg. When he cut through the
second side, there was nothing to hold the jeans on, and they
fell to the floor, leaving Tiffany's legs naked, her private
place exposed, except for the skimpy cotton panties she wore.
She had chosen high-cut panties, with just a thong in the back,
between her lower cheeks, so that there would be no panty line
showing through her tight jeans. She had never imagined that
anyone would see them. As the jeans fell off, the tails of
Tiffany's men's shirt fell down, covering her face and leaving
her middle bare. She kept thinking to herself that she should be
embarrassed, but the whole experience was too exciting.
She felt the shirt being dragged over her head and arms, and
she put her chin against her chest, looking almost wonderingly at
her ample breasts, almost falling out of her bra, since she was
hanging upside down. And then the man pulled her bra off, so
that she was naked, but for her running shoes and panties. The
man reached up to the ceiling and pulled off her shoes and socks,
taking a moment to tickle her feet, which made her wriggle. Her
breasts jiggled when she moved.
She looked at her father, bound to the post just a few feet
away, and realized that he probably hadn't seen her bare breasts
since she was about thirteen. He seemed entranced by what he
saw, her swaying breasts, and then, as the man cut away her
skimpy panties, a full view of her pubic area. Never, she
thought, had she showed her lush pubic hair to any family member;
she should feel embarrassed, shouldn't she? Somehow, the
excitement, the fear, being helpless in the hands of this strange
man made the embarrassment of being naked seem inconsequential.
The man in the uniform tied Tiffany's wrists together with a
soft cloth strip and lifted, tying it to a hook on one of the
joists overhead, pulling her body upward, making her bend at the
hips. Well, at least that relieved the discomfort of having the
blood rush to her head. She now hung, rump forward, with her
legs spread wide apart and her crotch naked, utterly exposed and
vulnerable. When she raised her eyes from her own genital
region, she found she was looking at her mother's.
There, before her eyes, her mother was spread out naked on
the ping pong table. Her legs formed a wide vee, either side of
her hairless pubic area; they were straight and taut, tied with
the sort of strong rubber ropes truckers use to secure a tarp.
Her arms, also, were taut and spread. Like Tiffany, she had big
breasts, but age had lessened their elasticity, and they lay
spread out on the mother's chest like pillows on a bed. The
mother's tummy was no longer flat. Tiffany saw a gentle bulge
above her mother's mount of Venus, and her belly button was
deeply indented, the result of a thickening of the sub-cutaneous
fat around it. Still, for age forty-something, she was a
handsome woman.
"Slave Two," the man said, "you may watch what happens to
Slave One, your mother. Then we will attend to you."
Tiffany watched, with horror and fascination, as the man ran
his hands over her mother's body and stroked her thighs. He
carried a riding crop, and from time to time he would poke her
with it, pushing her breast from side to side, or sliding the
leather loop on the end over her mother's hairless vulva. While
her mother was tied so tightly she could barely move, it seemed
to Tiffany that she shivered when the man touched her womanly
parts. Tiffany turned her head and saw her father, unable to
interfere, watching intently as his wife was handled by this
other man. It was bizarre, unreal.
The man had a good supply of rubber goods and a variety of
metal and plastic objects.
He began by touching the mother's right nipple, stroking it,
until it became erect. Then, when he had something to hold on
to, he pulled her nipple up and slipped a rubber noose around it,
which he drew tight. The noose attached to a hook-ended elastic
rope. When the other hook was hooked over another of the many
screw eyes in the joists overhead, Tiffany saw her mother's
breast drawn up in a tall cone, contrasting with the other
breast, which still lay spread out upon her chest. Tiffany
thought it must hurt, but her mother didn't say anything.
The man repeated the treatment with the other breast.
Tiffany was reminded of the "missile nose cone" bras she had seen
in old pictures from the Fifties.
Next, the strange man wrapped stretchy rubber tubing around
the mother's breasts, starting at chest wall and wrapping upward
in a spiral. That made each breast tall and cylindrical. The
flesh around the areola bulged outward, like the glans of a giant
penis, and it turned pink, as the pressure of the rubber trapped
blood in the breast.
The man then took rubber straps and placed them around the
mother's thighs, high up, pulling them tight, so that the flesh
bulged around the edges. Tiffany watched, amazed, as the straps
pressed into her mother's tender flesh and her legs flushed pink.
Then the man went to the mother's crotch and parted her
labia with his fingers. Tiffany could see right in, see the
ragged inner lips. He put a metal clamp on each of the outer
lips, squeezing them under the pressure. Her mother endured the
torture without a sound. Then the man used hooked, elastic bands
to attach to cunt-clamps to the straps on the mother's widespread
legs. Her vulva gaped open, stretched wide, and the mother
grunted.
Her inner lips were perforated, like pierced ear lobes, and
a set of hooks and elastics pulled the inner lips apart,
revealing the pink tunnel of the mother's vagina. Tiffany had
never seen such a spectacle, though she recalled that she must
have been born through that hole. Though it was stretched wide,
it seemed hardly possible that a baby's head could have passed
through it.
At the apex of the inner lips, the man found the mother's
clitoris, a kind of mini-penis which bulged up pinkly. He
fingered it, which caused another groan from the mother, but he
refrained from putting a clamp on it.
While Tiffany felt naked and exposed, her position was
nothing, compared to her mother's. Her mother had been subjected
to the most humiliating treatment the naive Tiffany could
imagine. Everything about her mother which was womanly had been
exposed and abused -- her breasts, her white, soft, womanly skin,
her vulva and vagina. And all of this was done in plain view of
her husband! What more degradation could she endure?
Without warning, the man swung his riding crop and snapped
the leather end exactly on the mother's swollen clitoris. She
screamed, a great howl of agony.
"Mother," Tiffany said, "are you all right?"
"It hurts, Tiffany," her mother said, "but there's no
permanent harm done."
"Why do you let him do this to you?"
"Tiffany, darling. We couldn't afford to send you to
college, if your father hadn't been promoted and I was still
working for minimum wage. I can't stop now. Your father would
be fired, and we'd all be in a fix."
"Mother," said Tiffany, "I never dreamed you'd submit to
torture, just so I could go to college. I promise, I'll study
very hard. I'll try to make it up to you."
The man brought the riding crop down hard, just below the
mother's navel, leaving a pink stripe across her belly. The
mother shrieked.
"NO!" shouted Tiffany. "Don't hurt her."
The man whirled and lashed out several times at Tiffany,
whipping both buttocks and the tender inner sides of her thighs,
leaving red bruises. His last blow was directly between
Tiffany's widespread legs; squarely on her tender labia. Tiffany
had tried to hold back, but that last blow made her cry
uncontrollably. He ran a hand along the ridge of her sartorius
muscle, stretched taut, so that it stood out from her thigh. "I
always did have a thing for young, lean flesh," he said. He put
down the whip and used both hands to reach between Tiffany's legs
and squeeze her ample breasts. Then he said, "If you don't want
to see your mother hurt, you must take her punishment for her."
Through her tears, Tiffany said, "Yes, she did it for me. I
deserve the punishment, not her."
The man turned to the mother, gave her three strokes for no
good reason, and then put a box under her head, raising her face
so she could look directly between her daughter's beaten thighs.
"Watch," he said. Tiffany shuddered inwardly, wondering what
would come next.
It was strangely exciting. She was quite helpless, and
neither her mother nor her father, though they might watch, could
ever blame her for it, even if she behaved shamelessly under
torture.
The man started to work on Tiffany, while her mother
watched, still stretched on the table with her cunt wide open.
First the man wrapped Tiffany's breasts with rubber, as he had
her mother's. Tiffany had firmer breasts, so there were only a
few turns around the base of each breast, forcing the rest to
bulge tautly forward. Tiffany could look down, see them turning
pink, see the nipples more erect than she would have thought
possible. Tiffany realized that the tingles from her tortured
breasts were rather exciting, even nice.
The man put rubber straps around Tiffany's thighs, then ran
his fingers through her curly pubic hairs. "These will have to
go," he said, "but not yet. We can have a grand time doing
that." He placed a clamp on one outer lip of Tiffany's vulva and
rubber banded it to a strap on her leg, stretching the sensitive
flesh out and away from its normal position. He did the same to
the other lip, leaving her vulva gaping wide open, as her
mother's did. He even held up a mirror, so Tiffany could look.
Of course, the clamps pinched, but the discomfort was not
severe. It was exciting. Tiffany could think of nothing but her
own genitals. This intense stimulation, and the sense of danger,
had Tiffany's pulse pounding, and all she could think of was the
variety of sensations from her tortured skin.
"Hmm," the man said, looking into Tiffany's gaping vulva,
"it seems a bit wet." Tiffany strained against the bindings
which held her, as the pain-pleasure between her legs drove her
crazy.
The "policeman" picked up a device which looked like a
flashlight, except a cord came out from where the bulb would be,
and on the end of the cord was a silver egg. He turned the
switch on and passed the egg slowly along the open groove of
Tiffany's sex. The egg vibrated strongly, causing exciting
tingles wherever it touched her sensitive pink membranes. Then
he placed the egg below her sexbox and pushed hard.
Tiffany felt the vibrating egg being forced into her rectum,
so hard that her weight was lifted, until it popped in and she
was left to swing back and forth, a pendulum, unable to stop.
The battery case swung on the end of its cord, pulling the egg
against Tiffany's anal sphincter muscles, which had clamped
around the cord. The vibrations transmitted all through the
muscles between her legs and made her feel as if everything below
her navel was in chaos. Add to that the aching, tingling feeling
in her engorged breasts, feeling as if they were going to burst,
and she could barely notice anything going on in the room. All
she could think of was the incredible sensory overload in her
pelvis.
So Tiffany was surprised when she saw her mother standing
before her, the mother's breasts still bound and standing out
like erect penises. The man took one bound breast and pushed it
against Tiffany's pink groove, teasing her as the stiff nipple
parted the inner lips and moved up and down, pressing against the
clitoris. The pressure of the bulging breast in her crotch
stopped Tiffany's swinging. She looked down, amazed to see
herself being fucked with her own mother's breast.
Suddenly, the man pulled the mother back and forced her face
down between her daughter's parted thighs. He snapped his
fingers, and she ran her tongue along the open groove of
Tiffany's vulva. "No, Mother," Tiffany shouted. "OH, Oh, no."
Her mother's mouth found Tiffany's clitoris. "Oh, no. Oh, yes.
Oh, God, what's happening to me?"
To the tingles in her breasts and the vibrations in her
bowels, there was added a new set of sensations, as if some
animal was inside her vagina, trying to escape, and the tingles,
the almost electric excitement centered on her clitoris drove
Tiffany out of control. "Oh, God! OH, oh, oh, AAAhhh!" Her body
shook. A machine gun was firing somewhere inside her, and there
were sparks in her vision and a roaring in her ears, as she
experienced an orgasm more violent than she could have imagined.
Tiffany came down off her high. Cool air wafted across the
drenched membranes of her gaping cunt. The vibrator in her
rectum still buzzed, but in her dreamy state, she dismissed it.
She swung slowly, there in the basement, and time seemed out of
joint.
To her horror, she heard the stranger ordering her mother:
"Slave One, do it again." He began snapping his fingers.
Her mother bent again, to place her tongue against Tiffany's
wet inner lips, and lapped at her daughter's wet love tunnel to
the time of the man's snapping fingers. The sensations began
again, a first pleasant, but so insistent, so hypnotizing, that
Tiffany, while she tried to resist, found her body responding,
quite out of her control. Straining against her bonds, she found
herself shuddering with another orgasm, and then another, until
the tingles radiating from her gaping vulva seemed more painful
than pleasurable. Gasping, shouting, pleading for mercy, she
went out of control, into a delirium of sexual frenzy.
More Tingles for Tiffany
(Part 2)
Tiffany found herself exhausted, to the point of semi-
consciousness, her eyes closed, her head hanging. At least, now,
she had a moment to think. Her own father had watched as
Tiffany, suspended from the ceiling of the basement, had been
tortured by a strange man in a police uniform, assisted by her
own mother, who sucked Tiffany's clitoris until countless orgasms
reduced Tiffany to mindlessness!
She took stock of her situation. Her legs were still
widespread, tied to ceiling joists, and her arms were tied to
hold her body upright. He breasts ached, felt as if they would
explode, still compressed by rubber bindings, but the painful
clamps on her vulva had been released. She could feel the
vibrating egg inside her, the cord and battery box still hanging
from her anus, but the vibrator had been turned off. Tiffany
opened her eyes, turned her head, and saw her father was still
tied to a post, having been forced to watch her utter
degradation.
She looked for her mother, and saw her standing behind
another column. Her mother's bound breasts protruded, either
side of the post, and the nipples were joined by a chain, so that
the woman could not move away from it. A similar chain went
around the column lower down; Tiffany supposed it connected her
mother's labia in a similar manner. Her mother's arms were
behind her back.
The "policeman" entered the room. The man released the
rubber which bound Tiffany's breasts, and she felt the strange
sensation of circulation returning to them, as they returned to
their more normal shape. With a steady pull on the cord of the
vibrator, he tried to remove the silver egg from Tiffany's anus.
She tried to help, straining, as if on the toilet, and the egg
slid out. From behind her, he reached around and kneaded her
ample breasts. There was nothing she could do to resist, hanging
from the joists, and she wondered what her mother and father,
still watching, were thinking.
"Thirsty?" he asked.
"Yes," she said.
"That's yes, Master."
"Yes, Master."
The man grabbed her hair, pulled her head back and poured a
warm beer into her mouth, followed by a second can.
Then the man did a strange thing. He placed one finger in
her vulva and snapped the fingers of the other hand. Instantly,
Tiffany felt a tingle, and she realized she was secreting the
fluids which lubricate the sex act. The man removed his dampened
finger and remarked, "Yes, we are beginning to establish a
conditioned reflex."
Tiffany realized with horror that she was just like one of
Pavlov's dogs, who were conditioned to salivate when they heard a
bell. Only she was conditioned to feel sexy when she heard
fingers snap. She was losing control of her own body!
The "policeman" went to her father and locked a collar
around his neck, with a chain leash attached. Then he untied him
from the post. He handcuffed him and led the dejected man across
the room, hooking the chain with enough slack that the father
could sit down. "Can't have him tied up like that all night," he
said, almost apologetically. "He might have a heart attack or
something. The poor sod; what some people will do for money."
He removed the chain from the mother's breasts, and the
hooks from her cunt, so she could move away from the post. Then
he unbound the mother's breasts. Straining to turn her head and
watch, Tiffany noted the red marks of the bindings persisting on
her mother's tortured breasts. Well, it would only be a matter
of time before he let Tiffany go. She looked at her father. He
was staring at her gaping crotch.
Her mother used the bathroom, and got a drink of water.
Then she returned to the room, looking stronger than she had.
She was obviously an obedient slave. Meanwhile, the man pushed
the ping-pong table so it was under Tiffany. "Hands look as if
they are turning blue," he remarked, as he unhooked her hands and
lowered her so that her shoulders rested on the table, supporting
some of her weight, while her butt was still a few inches above
the surface.
"Slave One," the man said, "you remember what happened to
your pubic hair?"
"Yes, Master."
He handed the mother a pair of pliers. "I want Slave Two
hairless." He handed her a glass jar.
To Tiffany's horror, her mother obediently approached her,
standing between Tiffany's taut, outstretched legs. The mother
placed the pointy ends of the pliers around one of Tiffany's
curly pubic hairs and pulled. Tiffany could see the hair
straighten, the follicle bulge, and then it popped out. The
mother dropped it in the jar.
The pain of having a single hair pulled out is not so severe
it cannot be withstood. The pain of having thousands pulled out,
one every few seconds, for hours, is most unpleasant. Tiffany
could not help complaining, crying out in frustration, but her
mother was methodical, rhythmical. Grasp. Pull. Pop. Drop. Her
father watched; God knows what he was thinking. The man watched,
seeming to enjoy watching a mother denuding her daughter more
than if he had done it himself. To add to her discomfort,
Tiffany's bladder filled, and after hours of painfully trying to
hold it in, she peed on her mother.
"I'm sorry," Tiffany said.
"I'm sorry you had to do that. I'll try to hurry."
"How did you let this man make a slave of you, Mother?"
Tiffany winced, as a hair was plucked from the very center of her
vulva.
"He owns the company where your father works. He made us an
offer, and, with your dad needing work, and the bills piling up,
it was hard to refuse. Your father didn't want to let me, but we
talked it over. The pay is good."
"The man must be crazy," Tiffany said, softly, hoping he
wouldn't hear.
"No. Sexually abusing slaves is nothing new. All down
through history, people in power have tortured others, from
Catherine the Great to Idi Amin. Who knows what J.F.K. did with
that Exner woman," said her mother. "He's not crazy. He's
always in control, never does any permanent damage." Tiffany
noted that her mother's tortured breasts looked almost normal,
the red marks having faded over the hours.
At last, the jar was full of curly hairs, and Tiffany's
crotch was as hairless as a newborn's. The stranger came over to
examine it, running his fingers over the tender skin, feeling to
see that not a hair remained, even up by her anus. He capped the
jar.
"I have quite a collection, " he said to Tiffany.
Though Tiffany's wrists were still bound together, she was
able to reach down and finger her newly naked vulva. Strange.
So sensitive to touch. He father still stared at her,
expressionless. He had wet his pants. Her mother stood
obediently, waiting for orders from her master.
The master selected a penis shaped battery powered vibrator,
with a little brush of rubber bristles around the base, to tickle
a naked vulva. He also selected a rubber bulb, as on a blood
pressure cuff, with a hose and a balloon on the end. With one
finger, he put some lubricant on Tiffany's anus and forced the
hose and balloon through. He snapped his fingers, and the
vibrator slid right into her vaginal sheath, no extra lubricant
required.
He inserted a rather larger vibrator, which had straps
attached, into Tiffany's mother. She stood, passively, as he
fastened the straps, so it could not possibly slip out. He used
a plastic tie to fasten the mother's thumbs together, behind her
back, so she couldn't touch the vibrator.
The man pumped on the rubber bulb, and Tiffany felt the
balloon growing inside her, sending tingles through her insides,
somewhat like the way the vibrating egg had affected her. More
important, the swelling balloon pressed her vaginal walls tightly
against the vibrator, and the vibrator was held firmly against
that sensitive G-spot behind her pubic bone. The man started
snapping his fingers and turned on both vibrators.
Tiffany was vaguely aware of her mother, grimacing and
sweating, but she had problems of her own. The sensations in her
vagina were incredible, while the rubber fingers tickled her
clitoris and her hairless labia. Very soon, she was gasping,
writhing, sweating, in the throes of a violent orgasm, but, as
before, there was no chance to relax afterward. The finger
snapping continued, and the orgasms, great hammerings in her
womb, came one after another, until the almost continual ecstasy
drove her to mindless hallucinations, fireworks in her brain.
At last the torture of unbearable pleasure ceased, and the
appliances were pulled from her body cavities. Tiffany slumped,
eyes closed, only half conscious, feeling suddenly empty, but
deliciously aware of the sensations in her pelvis as her engorged
organs, swollen with blood, stimulated beyond belief, slowly
returned to their normal states. She did not even think of her
mother.
The man left for a few minutes and returned with a strange
device, which he had probably left in his car. It looked like a
collection of rubber balls, assembled together into a tee shape,
with a rope extending from the stem of the tee. He put it down
and shifted the table, so that Tiffany's raised butt was about
over the middle.
"First time I've had a chance to use this like this," the
man noted. He snapped his fingers a few times, unnecessary, as
Tiffany was still drenched with vaginal juices. Then he pushed
the string of balls which formed half the crossbar of the tee
into Tiffany's vagina. She felt as if she were being raped, but
she half expected that.
The man untied one ankle, moved Tiffany's leg across to the
other, and tied her ankles together. The stem of the tee now lay
along the backs of her thighs. He led the rope from the stem up
between Tiffany's bound ankles. Then he unhooked her ankles from
the ceiling, lowering her butt to the table, and loosely attached
her ankles to the hook where her hands had been fastened.
He ordered Slave One onto the table and ordered her to lie
on her back, with her legs raised. It was only then that Tiffany
figured out what the man had in mind. He moved her mother, so
that the other side of the Tee crossbar entered her vagina, and
he bound the mother's ankles to her daughter's.
With stretchy rubber straps, the man bound the mother's and
daughters legs together: ankles, calves, above the knee, halfway
up the thigh, and finally just below the crease of the buttocks.
As their legs were pressed together, their buttocks mashed into
one, the rubber tee was forced deeper into their vaginas, and the
balls of the stem, compressed between the four thighs, forced
their labia apart and pressed upward toward the pubic bones.
When the man was finished, mother and daughter, joined by the
Tee, formed a giant Tee, their torsos being the crossbar, their
four legs, bound tightly together, forming the stem. He released
the attachment of the legs to the ceiling, so that the two women
could lie on their sides.
He flicked off the light and left, saying, "I need some
sleep. Good night, slaves."
Tiffany's weight was supported by her shoulder and hip,
pressing against the hard table. She was acutely aware of the
pressure of her mother's flesh against her buttocks and the backs
of her thighs, and the rubber balls which filled her vagina and
distended her vulva, pressing on the clitoris, so that she could
not get her mind off the sensations in her genital area. Every
time Tiffany moved, in a futile effort to relieve the pressure of
the hard table, the friction of her mothers flesh against hers,
and the rippling movement of the balls within her, reminded her
of her sexual frustration. She was continuously stimulated,
continuously aware of the tingles in her crotch, but she could
not get the relief of an orgasm. From sheer exhaustion, she
caught snatches of sleep, but it was a fretful night. Once,
waking in the darkness, Tiffany was able to get one finger down
between her pressed-together thighs. She could not reach her
clitoris, but she was able to press on the rubber ball which
pressed against it and, by thinking her sexiest fantasies, and
snapping her fingers, she was finally able to masturbate to an
orgasm and blessed relief.
"Yes, that helps," she heard her mother say.
When the "policeman" returned and turned on the light, it
was already late in the second day. Tiffany had been restrained
for more than twenty-four hours, and it was a blessed relief to
watch him releasing the tight rubber straps which bound her to
her mother. As soon as she could move, she pulled away, feeling
the balls in her vagina pop-popping out. The man examined her
gaping cunt and stuffed a thick roll of twenty dollar bills into
it. He left her, sitting on the table, her wrists still bound,
as he gathered up his paraphernalia and pulled the rubber tee
from the mother's cunt. He stuffed her with a roll of bills,
too.
"Well, I'll see you both the first of next month," he said
as he left.
Her mother untied Tiffany's wrists, and they helped each
other remove the gratuities from their vaginas. It seemed so
dirty, to be paid that way, though the money was a substantial
and welcome contribution to the family income, and tax free. The
two naked women released their father who, embarrassed that he
had wet himself, went upstairs to shower and change.
The two women sat, naked, on the plastic seats of kitchen
chairs, waiting for the father to get out of the shower. "Just
like a man. You can go first, when he's done, Tiffany. I hope
there's some hot water left," said her mother.
Tiffany examined herself. Except for bruises and a sore
"down there", she was uninjured. It had been an eventful twenty-
four hours. "The first of the month is only three weeks away,"
she said.
"When we get cleaned up and dressed," her mother said, "I'll
make us all a nice breakfast. Bacon and eggs sound good?"
"Yes, I'm starving. Is it always like that, when he
visits?"
"No, he likes to think up new variations. I've been tied up
every way I could think of."
"Do you think he'll pierce my labia, the ways yours are?"
"Sooner or later, I suppose."
"What's the worst thing he ever did?"
"I don't know. Vodka in the vagina. It really burns.
Doesn't leave any scars though."
Tiffany shuddered. "Will it ever end? Will we ever be free
of him?"
"When we're out of debt, I suppose."
College, maybe graduate school -- years. "Does he ever --
you know -- real sex?" asked Tiffany.
"No. He's made your father... while he watched."
Tiffany closed her eyes and let her imagination run free.
Three weeks isn't such a long time to wait.
More Torture for Tiffany
(Part 3)
Three weeks passed quickly at college, and Tiffany left for
home, for her appointment with her torturer. She would never
have thought of herself as a prostitute. It seemed to her she
was doing something noble, saving her family from bankruptcy and
earning her way through college.
The three of them waited, anticipating the ordeals to come.
Her father, comfortably dressed in a tee-shirt and running
shorts, visited the bathroom one last time, hoping he wouldn't
wet his pants while tied to a post. Her mother wore only a
bathrobe, knowing she would be naked for the next twenty-four
hours or so. She had turned up the thermostat; at least she
wouldn't be so cold. Tiffany was dressed as her father was. She
had hated having her favorite jeans cut from her body the last
time she had been home.
"The waiting is what is getting to me," said Tiffany. "Last
time it was a surprise. I didn't have time to worry. Now -- can
you imagine, I'm actually wishing he would get here sooner!"
"Tiff, dear," her mother said. "It might help it you tell
yourself it isn't happening to you. He calls you Slave Two. Try
to imagine it's happening to a girl named Two. And when it's
over, forget it. It never happened to Tiffany. I find that's
the only way I can stand it. Oh, and if you close your eyes, so
you can't remember visual images, they don't come back to you as
nightmares."
"Thanks, Mom. Call me Two. OK, One?"
They heard a key turn in the lock. Their torturer, dressed
in his "police" uniform, came in. They went to the front hall to
present themselves, and he motioned them to the basement, which
was his domain. He came and went, storing things there, but the
family was not allowed to look before the appointed time, usually
a Saturday afternoon.
They knew what to do. Tiffany's father stood against a
supporting column and allowed himself to be bound to it, where he
would be forced to watch the torture of his wife and daughter.
Slave One, his wife, took off her robe and hung it up. Tiffany
peeled off her tee shirt and dropped her shorts, leaving herself
naked. Her body was lean and shapely, her breasts full and
firmly upstanding. She knew she looked good.
She tried to remember that it was "Two" who stood there
naked, her cunt naked, fully exposed to her torturer's view. The
day before, Tiffany had waxed her pubes, to make sure there would
be no more hairs to be pulled out. Being plucked with pliers was
not pleasant.
Tiffany -- no -- Two had not been in the basement since the
previous session, her first. She did not realize the amount of
equipment which had been stored there, out of sight. It
surprised her when the "policeman" erected a saw horse on wheels.
"Slave Two," he commanded, "stand there." He pointed to the
floor next to the horse.
Two stood as she was ordered. He strapped one ankle to a
leg of the horse, the other ankle to the leg at the other end.
Then he strapped her wrists to the legs on the far side, which
forced her to bend over, with the crossbar of the horse
compressing her belly, and making her hip bones, the front of her
pelvis, support her weight, grinding against the hard bar.
Her head hung upside down, and she found herself looking
between her far apart knees at her father, Tiffany's father. I'm
not Tiffany. I'm Two, she kept telling herself.
"Slave One," the torturer said, "thirty strokes." He held
out a bamboo rod. That older woman, One, "not really" Tiffany's
mother, stepped between Two and the man bound to the post. Two
waited for the first blow.
But the torturer stayed One's hand, until he rotated the
wheeled horse a quarter turn, so that man, One's husband, could
see better. One again stood behind Two. Two, looking out
between her own spread legs could see the still attractive legs
of One, could see pink inner labia showing between One's hairless
outer lips.
The first blow landed squarely across Two's taut buttocks.
The initial sting took her breath away, and an instant later, the
pain began to radiate through her. "Harder!" she heard, and the
second blow seemed to make very nerve in Two's body scream for
relief. Three, four, five... Two's screaming, the victim
thought. Poor Two. She can only mindlessly react to the pain.
Don't let Tiffany know this is happening. Yes, a sense of mental
detachment helped.
Then the blows stopped. The torturer ran his fingers over
Two's ass. Both cheeks, and her bruised labia, too, were pink
and tender, burning with that steady pain that injured nerves
supply for quite a while, even after the source of the injury
stops. Two could feel every finger on her tortured flesh. But
he soon stopped that, and Two came down from her heights of pain
and was again aware of time and place. Perhaps endorphins in her
brain, natural analogs of opium, were having an effect.
Two watched, turning her head almost dreamily, as One pulled
down the bound man's shorts. Curious. He had a hard on. Two
felt the wheeled horse moving, and she could see, between her
spread legs, that huge prick. There was a condom on it now, a
bright pink thing with rubber fingers on it, like a bottle brush,
almost. She hardly heard fingers being snapped, but she
responded with a conditioned reflex, becoming dreamily aware that
her sex box was getting juicy. Oh, yes, Two had been
conditioned, the last time.
One pressed on Two's back, where the bruising beating had
not reached, rolling the horse until the rubber tickler touched
Two's bruised vulva. The torturer spread her labia and guided
the penis into Two's vagina.
Two felt her inner lips and tight vagina being stretched,
felt the little rubber fingers pop-popping past her sensitive
labia and poking the walls of her tunnel like burrowing worms.
"No! You can't make me fuck my own daughter," she heard.
Tiffany would have gone insane, to be fucked by her father, but
Two, detached, unrelated to that strange man, accepted it matter-
of-factly, as if someone was stuffing a vibrator into her. The
horse rolled back and forth, the penis went in and out, the
rubber fingers dragging her inner lips back and forth with them.
Two got no pleasure from it. She was mostly aware that, with the
deepest thrusts, her sore ass was pressed against the man's
belly, and it hurt. She even thought to herself, how prickly
pubic hairs are, when your skin is so sensitive.
Two's head swung back and forth, as the horse was wheeled to
and fro with faster, harder movements. She closed her eyes,
imagined she was on some wild, stomach sickening ride in an
amusement park, and tried to ignore the pain from her bruised
bottom, which pressed against the man, every time that rod
plunged into her, banging on her cervix.
"OH! God! No!" she heard, as from afar, "I'm coming." The
stiff rod within her shook and softened. She felt the rubber
fingers pop-popping out of her one last time, as the horse was
wheeled to the other side of the room. Two opened her eyes, saw
Tiffany's father weeping, and closed them again.
Time seemed to lose meaning, as Two hung bent over the horse
with her eyes closed. The bar pressed painfully on her pelvic
bones, and her bruised ass ached, but she tried to put that out
of mind. Two tried to remember her past, but she had none,
except for that last session, three weeks earlier. Two only
existed to be punished. She had no past, no childhood, no
recollection of why she was being punished. That was all she
was, a body for her torturer to abuse. But since she had no
other life, when Two tried to distract herself with pleasant
memories, she could only remember the nicer parts of the previous
sessions, the delicious orgasms which had come, again and again,
when her holes were stuffed with vibrators and One licked Two's
overstimulated clitoris. Just remembering made Two feel sexy,
wish for attention.
Then she heard One, crying out in pain and sobbing between
explosive screams. Two opened her eyes and saw One, suspended
from the joists above, hanging from her wrists. One's legs were
spread, and her cunt gaped open, for One's perforated labia were
pulled apart by hooks on taut rubber bands. The torturer was
applying the bamboo, front, back, and sides, from One's shoulders
almost to her knees. Two wondered, in a detached way, how One
would be able to sleep, if she was bruised all over, with no
untouched place to lie on.
One's full, pendulous breasts bounced under a blow, and One
screamed especially loudly. Another whack on One's backside made
her pelvis jerk forward, and the rubber bands yanked her
stretched labia even more. At last, when One's body was covered
with red weals, the beating stopped. The torturer put down the
rod and approached Two.
Two was unstrapped from the horse and made to stand. But
very soon she was pushed to her knees in front of One. "Lick her
cunt," the torturer said. Two raised her face to the gaping pink
membranes and began to lick. The sweet/salty taste was very
subtle. If she tipped her head back, practically put her chin
into the funnel opening of One's stretched labia, Two could just
get her pursed lips around the nub of a clitoris, to suck on it
and rub her rough tongue against it. One moaned and writhed,
forcing Two to press harder, to maintain contact. Two wrapped
her arms around the bruised flesh of One's thighs, the better to
steady the target of Two's tongue.
One was quiet for a long time, as Two used her mouth the way
One had done her, so long ago, it seemed. Two's jaws and tongue
began to ache with fatigue, but One began to cry out, kittenish
noises at first, then, "Oh! I'm coming!" Two rocked back on her
knees, careful to keep her bruised backside from resting on her
heels, but her torturer, standing behind her, forced Two's face
back against One's cunt. Two continued her efforts, trying to
forget her fatigue as she had already forgotten the individual
strokes she had received. It helped to make her mind a blank, to
not remember. If you don't think about it, and if you don't
remind yourself how it happened, you soon forget.
At last, the torturer pulled Two away from One's crotch.
Two's face was wet with cunt juice, and One's body was soaked
with perspiration. Her breasts bobbed up and down, as One gasped
for air.
The "policeman" led Two back to the horse. This time he
made her stand with her back to it, as he again fastened her
ankles to the legs. She did not resist; it would be useless. He
took out an enema kit, a two-quart pink rubber bag with a hose
and a tip. Two tried to relax her anal muscles, so the tip would
slide in easier. Her torturer pushed it far in, way past the
connection between hose and tip, and then she felt a balloon
inflating inside her, filling her lower rectum, so she felt as if
she had to defecate. But, of course, she couldn't. She looked
over at Tiffany's father, still tied to the post, his shorts
around his ankles and his penis standing tall again. He seemed
to stare at her. So what? What was he to Two? A stranger.
The torturer filled the enema bag with something that
smelled strongly alcoholic, but he did not release the flow. He
bent Two backward over the bar of the horse and pulled her arms
down behind her, securing them so that the bar pressed against
Two's lower back. She was thankful that the pressure, supporting
most of her weight, was just above her bruised buttocks. She let
her head loll back, and she closed her eyes. She knew Tiffany's
father could see right up between her splayed knees. So what
else is new? Two felt no shame.
Again, there was a period of just lying there, bent backward
over the horse, trying to make her mind a blank. Then she heard
the snapping of fingers, a steady, repetitive sound, like the
amplified sound of a dripping faucet. Snap, snap, snap, snap,...
Two knew her exposed cunt was getting wet. She couldn't help it;
it was a conditioned reflex.
She felt a tongue on her suddenly very sensitive labia,
which parted before it, as it probed for her love button. OH,
yes, One, right there. She couldn't see, but she had no need to
look. One was kneeling between Two's widespread thighs, eating
her out as she had just done to One. The continuing snap, snap,
snap sound dimly registered in Two's brain, but her attention was
focused on the delicious feelings which centered on her clitoris
and radiated through her belly.
She lost track of time, as she became more and more
sensitive, and the stimulation of her vulva excited her more and
more. While she didn't care to open her eyes, she knew her
torturer was standing beside her head, snapping his fingers near
her ear and, no doubt watching carefully as her body built up for
an explosive orgasm. Two realized her nipples were swollen, and
her breasts gleamed with sweat, as her chest heaved with passion.
The expert tonguing of her clitoris had driven her right to the
edge of a thunderous orgasm, when pliers pinched a swollen
nipple, breaking the spell with pain.
Despite Two screaming and writhing, One continued her
relentless stimulation, and soon Two felt it would be only
seconds before she would achieve an orgasmic release. Again, a
vicious pinch put a stop to that, and, as Two recovered from the
shock, she was crying with frustration. She wanted to come! She
needed to come, for her overstimulated nervous system had been
pushed far past the threshold, building up to an explosion, but
the safety valve of orgasmic release had been denied her by the
well-timed short circuits of pain.
Two was writhing and thrashing as much as she could manage,
bent back as she was, like a drawn bow. Her head bobbed
uncontrollably, and she screamed unintelligible obscenities. And
then, experiencing a nervous overload, agonies of exquisite
sensation, she had a real earthquake of an orgasm.
She saw lights before her eyes, heard a roaring in her ears,
felt her womb leaping in her belly as her vagina spasmed like a
snake swallowing a rat. The earthquake rumbled through her
belly, churning her insides for an incredible length of time
before her nervous fuse finally blew, granting her the most
profound relaxation.
Still, snap, snap, One continued, snap, snap, to send
shivery waves of delight racing from Two's vulva, and, after a
few delicious aftershocks, there was another major earthquake in
her pelvis.
As the aftershocks of the second thunderous orgasm
reverberated through Two's exhausted body and delirious brain,
she noticed that One had stopped licking her. She felt both
relief and longing, for the sensations which had driven her to
ecstasy were addicting. She hated for them to stop, but she
didn't think she could stand another second. Her womb twitched
within her. Her sopping vagina seemed almost to ache with the
effort of rapid-fire contractions, and her chest heaved, as she
panted for air, as if she had been running a race.
Her mind was fogged, and she entered another of those
dreaming states when time has no meaning. She heard a pop and
opened her eyes to see that her torturer had lighted a portable
propane torch, quite close to her. Suddenly frightened, Two
looked for One, but she couldn't see what had become of her.
She did see her torturer heating an ice pick to red heat in the
flame of the torch.
The torturer gripped one of Two's hairless outer labia with
pliers and pulled it taut, away from her vagina. There was a
searing pain, which caused Two to scream and almost faint. She
was just recovering, and listening to the hissing torch, when her
other lip was pinched, pulled, and pierced with the searing
point. The procedure was repeated again and again, but Two's
brain, overloaded with pain and fatigue, had befuddled her
consciousness to the point where she could not remember.
She felt something warm, almost burning, flowing into her
bowels, and she developed that disregard for pain that the rapid
absorption of alcohol can produce. Then she lost consciousness.
Two Plus One Makes Three
(Part 4)
Tiffany awoke, lying naked on her tummy on her parents'
double bed. As consciousness returned, through a mental haze,
she became aware of minor pains. The outer lips of her vulva
hurt. When she reached back to investigate, her backside was
tender. She lifted her head to look around, saw her mother lying
beside her, also naked, also prone, but supported by the softest
pillows.
"Mom, are you all right?"
"I'll be all right, Tiffany, dear. After I rest a while
longer. Are you all right?"
"I -- I don't know, Mother. Two must have had quite a time
last night. I can't think straight, seem to be all fuzzy."
"Don't think about what happened to Two, last night, dear.
Forget it. That's none of your concern. You probably have a
hangover. You consumed a lot of alcohol."
"I was drinking?"
"Don't try to remember, Tiff. Relax, sleep it off."
She awoke again to go to the bathroom, and she found her
mother, still showing residual pink stripes from her beating,
rubbing in some lotion after a shower. As Tiffany sat on the
toilet, she realized her bottom was sore, and she discovered to
her horror that there were several wires passing through the lips
of her vulva, bent back, with the ends twisted together.
"Mother, what happened to me?"
"I'm sorry, Tiffany. That other woman, Two, left them for
you. Remember, when you had your ears pierced? Don't touch the
wires until the holes heal. How's your hangover?"
"I'm much better, Mother, but I don't understand. Why do I
have a hangover? I don't remember."
"It's not your fault, Tiffany. Two passed out, dead drunk.
She left you with the hangover."
"Oh." Tiffany let go a stream of urine and very carefully
wiped herself, marvelling at the unexpected decoration of her
crotch. "When I go back to college, I'm going to stay away from
drinking, if this is what can happen." She laughed. "Mom,
you've heard the one about the freshman girl who passed out at a
fraternity beer party and the whole house fucked her? When she
woke up she said, 'Wow. I'm never going to drink lite beer again.
It makes my cunt sore.'" She giggled at her joke and said, "Hey,
Mom, do we have something to eat?"
"Your father's in the kitchen now."
"OK, Mom. Anything I can do to help?"
"No. You will be home next month, won't you?"
"Of course, Mom. I have to bring Two with me."
"Yes, dear."
"I wish Two hadn't left me with holes in my labia. What
will I tell my husband, someday, when I get married?"
"When your hair grows back, Tiffany, the holes won't show,
unless you show them."
Tiffany giggled and went into her room to find some
underwear.
As the family ate in the kitchen, the atmosphere was
strained. Tiffany's mother ate standing up, wearing a very light
nightgown, the minimum for decency. Tiffany discovered that
panties were impractical, with all those twisted wires protruding
from her lower lips. She had to wear a loose skirt and forego
her usual snug jeans. Tiffany's father paced the floor, clearly
disturbed.
"Daddy, are you the one who carried Mom and me to bed?"
"Yes." He shook, as if to sob. "Tiffany, my dearest, I want
to apologize. I..."
"Shush!" said her mother. "Don't speak of it. She doesn't
even remember!" The father looked perplexed. "I'll explain
later. Don't apologize for anything."
Tiffany returned to college. A week later, she called her
parents and consulted with them about something very important.
"We'll call you back," her mother said.
Four weeks later, Tiffany returned home, cheerful. "One,"
she said to her mother, "I brought my room mate, Cheryl. But you
must call her Three. She's outside."
"Yes, Two, my dear, but how did you arrange it?"
"Cheryl spotted my wires; Tiffany couldn't conceal them
forever."
"Did you heal all right?"
"Oh, yes. Cheryl helped me remove the wires a couple of
weeks ago."
"What did she say when she discovered your secret?"
"She said, 'Wow, I didn't know you were into body piercing.
Can I look? You know, I've been thinking of getting some part of
me pierced. It's fashionable. I thought I'd start with my
navel, get a ring for it. How much did it cost you?'
"I said that it didn't cost me. I was paid a thousand
dollars to have it done. 'A thousand dollars!' she said, 'Can I
get paid to get pierced?' So then it all came out, and now she's
going to be Three, if the 'policeman' will pay." Two went to
the door and led Three into the house by the hand.
Three, Cheryl, had a childlike look of wonderment. Two had
been working on her for days, preparing her for her new role.
Three was a small woman, with narrow hips and a small bust, small
bones, childlike. Her blonde hair was cut short, boyish. She
was wearing sneakers and a simple cotton dress and could have
passed for fourteen, not twenty-one. "Three," One said, "you are
an elementary education major, aren't you?"
"No," she replied, "you're thinking of Cheryl. She's a
college student. I'm just... well, I don't know just what it is
I do -- but I'm going to find out."
"Three," said Two, "that's such a pretty dress. Don't you
think you should take it off and hang it up?"
As the childlike woman removed her dress, One whispered to
Two, "You have her really trained, don't you? She acts like she
won't remember a thing."
"Why should she? Tiffany doesn't."
When their torturer arrived, he had a different costume:
boots, jeans, a biker jacket of black leather and chains. One
and Two had Three ready. She stood in the basement, weight on
one leg, hip thrust out, her arms loosely hanging from a hook
overhead. She wore only a Spandex bandeau, which flattened her
small breasts, and cotton panties.
The "biker" said, "Perfect!" and went to three, holding her
chin and looking into her eyes. When he released her, she looked
away, a vacant stare at a wall. The torturer slid the bandeau up
over her face and arms, so that she couldn't see. Released from
the pressure of the elastic, her breasts stood out, cone shaped,
with tiny pink nipples.
One bound her husband to his post, while their financial
benefactor examined his new toy, Three. He ran his hands over
her body, especially intrigued by her pert breasts, hardly an
handful. He slid the cotton panties down over her lean legs and
off over her feet. Three was entirely passive, saying nothing,
seeming not to mind. With his bare hand he spanked her hard,
boyish buns, but she didn't cry out.
With gestures, he directed One and Two. Mother and daughter
each selected a leg, and they hung Three's ankles from the joists
overhead, so that her legs were spread widely, her weight
supported about evenly by her arms and legs. The torturer
examined carefully Three's upturned pubic area. Beneath thin,
silky, blonde hairs, her little slit, tightly closed, resembled a
child's. He explored with his fingers. "Christ! She's a
virgin," he exclaimed.
Then he handed Two a pair of long-nosed pliers and a glass
jar; he must have his trophy. Two began to pluck Three's pubic
hairs, as her own had been plucked by One. Each hair went into
the jar. Though Three's pubic bush was nothing compared to the
one Two had had, it still took a long time to pluck every hair.
The torturer seemed to be patient, watching carefully as Two
worked. One helped by partially supporting Three's weight, to
relieve the strain on her arms and legs.
With the jar capped and filed away, the man again examined
Three's crotch, running his finger tips over her now hairless
vulva, the little rolls of flesh with a small slit between them.
Then he said to Two, "Eat."
There was plenty of room between Three's skinny, widespread
thighs. Two squatted and began to lick the little slit. "Wait,"
the man said.
He had remembered that he had perforated Two's outer labia,
and he wanted to examine the result. Two stood, while he tested
each hole with a round tooth pick, to see that they had not
closed as they healed. The he passed a wire hook into each hole
and connected the hooks with thin rubber bands which passed
behind her, so that her vulva was pulled open and her pink inner
lips fully exposed.
He then went to One and repeated the procedure, except that
it was One's inner lips which had been pierced, so that her
vagina gaped open, a kind of pink funnel. Almost as an
afterthought, he inserted a penis shaped vibrator into One's open
sheath and turned it on, taping it in place with a strip of
adhesive tape.
"Resume," he ordered, and Two again squatted to apply her
mouth to Three's cunt. Squatting tightened the rubber bands, so
that her labia were stretched unnaturally, but Two did not pause
in her work. One, standing behind Three, wrapped her arms
around Three's body, partially lifting her, and played with
Three's underdeveloped breasts. One showed the effects of the
vibrator inside her. Her breasts blushed pink, and her nipples
stood erect. One, hugging Three to her from behind, stimulated
her breasts by squeezing them between One's neck and upraised
arms, the soft flesh and prominent, dark nipples decorating One's
cheeks. There was a striking contrast between One's large, dark
areolae -- they had darkened when she had Tiffany -- and the
virginal pink of Three's.
Two, by now, had her tongue deep within Three's cleft,
concentrating on her room mate's love button, but Three still
hung there passively. Time passed, the only sounds the slurping
noises Two made. The torturer grew impatient. He pulled Two
away and handed her a thin, gleaming automobile radio antenna,
pointing to Three's upturned buttocks.
Two applied the whippy metal rod, making Three scream and
wriggle, while One still held her closely, mashing Three's little
breasts with her hands, while One's own perspiring breasts were
stimulated by Three's struggles.
There was a pause, while the nameless man inserted a small,
greased, buzzing vibrator into Three's anus, pushing it until it
disappeared within her and her little rosebud puckered shut.
Then the whipping began again. It was not so hard as to break
the skin, but it left Three's bottom a uniform pink.
At a sign from the master torturer, One and Two switched
places, Two holding Three, cupping Three's breasts, while One
went down on Three's hairless cunt. The torturer turned on a
little electronic chime, which went ding, ding, ding, like a
demented doorbell.
Perhaps One was a better cunnilinguist, or perhaps the
whipping had sensitized Three's nerves, or perhaps the vibrator
did the job; in minutes, Three's labia were soft and flexible,
and One's tongue and lips were making Three struggle and buck her
hips. "Oh, oh," Three cried, "I never...oh, oh..."
The chime continued, and the licking continued, and Three's
writhings and moanings continued, until, at last, the torturer
decided Three had enough. Doubtless this conditioning would be
repeated again and again, until Three would be instantly aroused,
sexually, at the sound of the chimes.
One and Two released Three from her bondage. They pulled
the bandeau bra up over her arms, leaving her standing, her wet
cunt gleaming, her chest heaving, a bewildered look on her face.
Two, unbidden by the torturer, covered Three's eyes with a wide
strip of tape. He did not object. He knew that, when Three
could not see, she would concentrate more on the tactile
sensations of her "torture." The vibrator, lost deep in Three's
rectum, was, of course, still doing its job, actually vibrating
Three's womb.
The "biker" decided to pay attention to One and Two, who
stood there, their cunts held open by the rubber bands. He
roughly stripped the tape from One, and the vibrator fell out of
her crimson cunt. Then he roped her wrists together and raised
her arms, fastening the rope to a hook overhead. He roped Two's
wrists and hung them from the same hook, so mother and daughter
stood, face to face, tit to tit, belly to belly. He turned their
heads, cheek to cheek, so they were looking at the bound father.
The "biker" used leather belts to press the two women together,
compressing their breasts, pressing their bellies together,
binding their thighs, just below the crease of the buttocks, so
that their gaping vulvas almost touched. Then he went to the
laundry tub and turned on the water, warm, snapping his fingers
as he worked. He led a hose from the faucet, heedless of the
splashing on the floor, and inserted the hose vertically, up
between their pressed together thighs, so that the water gushed
up against the women's open vulvas, douching their clitorises
with a warm wetness that stimulated as well as a tongue would
have.
The bound father, watching his wife and daughter in the
throes of sexual ecstasy, got a massive hard on. The torturer
yanked down the bound man's shorts and led the unseeing Three to
place her lips over the twitching rod. She needed little
instruction. The man exploded into her mouth, and Three
swallowed the semen.
A moment's thought, and the "biker" brought out the saw
horse. He arranged Three's little body so that she was lying on
her back along the crossbar of the horse. He strapped her hands
and feet to the legs of the horse and strapped her waist to the
crossbar, which not only held her securely; it tilted her pelvis,
so that her maidenly little slit was more exposed.
The torturer removed the hose from the utterly exhausted One
and Two and began to play the stream over Three's body. With a
thumb over the end of the hose, he could make an almost stinging
spray, with which to tease Three's nipples. The force of the
spray, properly directed, would force apart the lips of Three's
cunt, to play directly on her swollen clitoris. And all this
time the chimes went ding, ding, ding. Three strained at her
bindings, as, in her dark, unseeing world, she was aware of only
two things, which would be forever associated in her mind, the
ding, ding of the chimes, and the waves of sexual excitement
which wracked her body and lighted up her brain.
After a while, he gave Three a rest, while he opened a
bottle of medical alcohol and prepared his tools. It was going
to be a long night for Three.
After a long sleep, Tiffany awoke and cuddled the warm,
sleeping Cheryl, who was naked beside her in the bed. The small
woman woke and looked excitedly at her conical breasts, each one
tipped by a small, gold, hypo-allergenic ring through the nipple.
There were matching rings in her ear lobes and, as she soon
discovered, six through the flesh around her navel and,
decorating but not completely penetrating the outer lips, there
were six rings between her legs. Tiffany handed her room mate a
stack of crisp bills, bound by a paper tape from the bank.
"Here's your thousand dollars," she said.
"Oh, aren't my rings wonderful?" Cheryl said, dropping the
money on the floor beside the bed.
"Cheryl, final exams are coming up soon. Do you have plans
for the summer?"
"Nothing special."
"If you would like to stay here, living with us, Three could
earn you a thousand a week."
"Yes, I'd like that." Tiffany turned on an electric chime.
"Oooh, I'm getting all juicy just thinking about it," Cheryl
whispered. "What a way to spend a summer!"
Tiffany said, "Let me see what your rings taste like."
And Father Makes Four
(Part 5)
With Tiffany and Cheryl home for the summer, still room
mates, sharing Tiffany's bed, the visits from "Master" were to
become more frequent, and the family income would grow
accordingly (not declared as income, for tax purposes). Father
had become used to seeing his wife, and then his daughter, too,
being abused, "punished", for pay, and the women had made their
adjustments to it also. Mother was "One"; Tiffany was "Two",
and Cheryl became "Three." They had a psychological defense
mechanism, similar to the way abused children develop multiple
personality disorder. The pain and humiliation endured by One,
Two, or Three was not remembered clearly by mother, daughter, or
friend; there were no nightmares, no guilt, no mood depressions
when they resumed their normal personalities.
However, even Master couldn't afford the weekly visits that
had been promised, at the increased rates, unless others shared
the cost. So it was that, when he showed up in his "police"
uniform, he had two strange men with him, who wore masks to
protect their identities. There was also a woman, thirtyish,
pretty, who also wore a mask.
He did not reveal that, however, until things were ready,
with father bound to a floor-support column, expecting to be a
passive spectator, and One, Two, and Three all naked and
immobilized, their wrists cuffed, with chains from the cuffs to
hooks in the joists above the basement "playroom." One other
detail: Three was a virgin, and Master wanted to reserve her
maidenhead for a later date. He had installed three gold rings
through the skin of each of her outer labia. Master threaded a
shoelace through the six rings, just as you would lace a shoe,
pulled it tight, and tied a bow knot. Nothing, he thought, would
get into her vagina, as long as the lace was tied. It was only
then that he sprang his surprise, the three new Masters. He
introduced the helpless women as "Slave One, Slave Two, and Slave
Three", then gestured to the bound father and announced, "Slave
Four."
"Four," shouted the masked woman, "you may call me Tease."
She pulled his shorts down around his ankles and proceeded to
stroke his cock until it stood tall, only a matter of seconds.
She then lived up to her name, keeping him sexually excited, but
never allowing him the relief of ejaculation.
The next masked guest, six-two and muscular, selected Two
and said, "You can call me Brute." The second masked man, who
was shorter and greying at the temples, selected the diminutive
virgin, Three. "Call me Daddy," he said. That left the original
Master with One, the mother. He didn't mind that; he'd started
out with her before the unexpected addition of Two and Three to
his string of slaves.
Going in numerical order, One would be punished first, while
the others watched. Of course, Tease had started out of turn,
but no one minded that.
Master went to One, who stood, arms raised, ready to do his
bidding. He put ankle cuffs on her, but that did not alarm her.
She felt something being inserted in her rectum. OK, it was
lubricated, and it didn't hurt. He placed in her mouth a kind of
thick rubber balloon and began to inflate it. It soon filled her
mouth. She could still breathe through her nose. He pumped it
up some more, until it bulged out between her stretched lips, and
her jaw ached as if it would be unhinged. One tried to tell him
it was too much, but only faint honking noises came from her
nose. It was a very effective gag.
One watched Master bring out an ordinary kitchen chair, the
kind with a chromed metal frame. He placed on the seat a curious
appliance, an egg shaped ball, like a big rugby ball, which had a
rubber penis sticking out of it. Brute helped unhook her arms
and carry her to the chair. As she expected, the two men lowered
her until the rubbery penis entered her vagina. They lowered her
a bit more, so that she was sitting on the ball, not so very bad,
so far. Her wrist cuffs were chained together, behind the chair
back. Master usually tortured her perforated inner lips, which
seemed to her to have actually grown larger, from being
stretched. Now, with the ball squashing up against her lower
lips and the rubber penis comfortably inside her, there was no
way Master could put the hooks through her labia. She began to
think she might get off easy.
Next, Master slipped a noose of rope over each of her ample
breasts and pulled it snug. In middle age, One's breasts had
begun to sag, so when the nooses were tightened, the effect was
to squeeze the part close to her chest and make the rest assume a
more spherical shape. Her nipples became erect, and the taut
skin began to blush pink. Still, as an experienced slave, One
could endure that discomfort. One, as a personality, existed
only when the Master visited. Her whole life was one of
submission and punishment, but since she did not exist at other
times, she could look forward to any discomfort ending. In the
morning, "mother" might bear bruises, but she would remember
little of what One went through. Were it not so, they would have
ceased the slavery long ago, even though that might mean poverty
and losing their home.
One was a bit surprised when the two men led the ropes from
her breasts over her shoulders, crossed then behind her back, and
ran the ends through the rings in her ankle cuffs. As the ropes
were pulled, tightened, One had to bend her knees, raise her
ankles, until they were uncomfortably high, beside her buttocks,
and she spread her knees to the utmost to allow that last half
inch of ankle movement. Each man knotted a rope and let go.
Instantly, One realized her plight. Even with great effort,
she could not hold her ankles that high. If she let them down,
even a bit, the nooses tightened around her breasts, trying to
pull them up and back over her shoulders. Her leg muscles hurt,
stretched on one side, cramped tight on the other, but she could
not relax for a second, for the pain of having her breasts
stretched, and at the same time squeezed, was too much to bear.
One screamed in protest but, gagged as she was, it sounded like a
whining puppy. Her eyes went wide with horror, as Master applied
still another torment. He put a strap across her lap and passed
it under the chair seat. When he tightened it, every minute or
so, it not only tightened the ropes to her tortured breasts. It
also compressed the ball she was sitting on. Fluid from the ball
was forced up into the penis within her, which swelled under the
pressure. After several tightenings, One felt as if her vagina
could stretch no more and must surely tear.
The men placed the chair where the others, slaves and
masters, could watch One's torment. Her obvious distress brought
a round of applause from the visitors; even Tease stopped to
clap. But that was not all. The thing in her rectum had a tail
trailing out through One's anus, a hose. Master connected it to
another hose, and One felt hot fluid flowing into her, stretching
her bowels, competing for room in her pelvis with her already
distended vagina. Even the beatings One had suffered did not
engender the terror she felt, for Master had simply left her
there, strapped to the chair, with the pain in her breasts, her
legs, her cunt and her ass building constantly. Beatings are
brief; this could go on for hours!
Two, standing there with her arms held high, had been
watching, trying to stay detached. The anticipation of pain can
be as bad as the torture itself. She had learned to control
herself. What would be would be.
Brute kneaded Two's full breasts with his big hands. Two
thought her big, nicely shaped, upstanding breasts were her most
attractive feature. Lots of women have nice legs, slim waists,
but few had the centerfold grade breasts that Two possessed.
From her breasts, he ran his hands down over her waist and hips,
then kneaded her buttocks. Two knew she looked good; she
couldn't blame him for wanting to touch, too. Then he examined
her crotch.
She was absolutely smooth down there, freshly depilated.
The perforations in her outer lips were obvious, and Brute had to
see for himself, exploring her vulva, then finger-fucking her
vagina. Two had never experienced an orgasm, except by either
cunnilingus or the water torture, as she thought of it, a spray
of water directed at her love button. The stirring of his
finger, then fingers, within her affected her no more than a
spoon stirring cake batter, except that she was a bit dry, and
the friction was uncomfortable. Master started snapping his
fingers. Two had been conditioned; at the sound of finger snaps,
her juices flowed; she could no longer prevent it. "That's
better," said Brute, as he fucked her hole with three fingers
now.
He was obviously not getting what he wanted, so he decided
to put ankle cuffs on her and go for some rather more spectacular
bondage. With a rope which could slide through a screw eye in
the joists above, he slowly hauled one foot as far as it would
go. That left Two hanging awkwardly, but with some effort she
was able to lift her other leg so it lay alongside the first. At
least, then, though she was hanging from her wrists and one
ankle, she wasn't being split at the crotch.
Brute was not finished, however. He passed the rope from
the second ankle through an eye which seemed impossibly far away
and hauled on the rope. Her legs were pulled apart in a wide
Vee, so far that Two thought something would break, a hip joint,
perhaps. She cried out and tried to twist her body, so that she
would be doing a "split" fore and aft, instead of being
impossibly stretched.
Brute unhooked the chains which held Two's wrists, letting
her body hang head down. With the strain of all her weight on
the widespread legs, she hadn't the strength to twist and raise
herself. While she hung there, the blood draining to her head,
her face reddening, brute selected some additional torture
devices. One was a big vibrating penis, black and covered with
protruding veins. It was intended for a compliant vagina, but
Brute managed to force it through Two's stretched anus, leaving
the last inches protruding like a turd. It buzzed within her,
the least of her worries, at that point.
Two was dimly aware of her friend, Three, crying for mercy,
but she was too preoccupied with her own predicament to care.
Brute took another vibrator, a shiny, smooth, metallic one, and
laid it along the groove of Two's vulva, not penetrating her
vagina, lying between her labia, with the heavy butt end, where
the batteries were, pressing against Two's clitoris. To hold it
in place, he threaded a catgut fishing leader through the
perforations in Two's outer labia and laced the vibrator in
place. He snapped his fingers, watching her get juicy, then
turned the vibrator on. Two found the sensation almost painful,
frustrating. She imagined that the male equivalent of having her
tender clitoris bussed like that would be to feed Brute's penis
into golf ball scrubber.
Brute and Master cooperated to raise Two's arms and hang her
wrists, far apart, form the joists above, so that she was no
longer head down but belly down, her back arched, with her
breasts hanging away from the wall of her chest. While there was
no point of really acute pain, Two was overwhelmed by the
totality of the aches and little pains. Every muscle seemed
strained to its limit, her legs spread beyond belief, her arms
stretched, her back bent almost double, and her belly stretched
taut. Sure, there were gymnasts and dancers who could bend like
that, but Two was no contortionist.
Still, Two knew her only function in life was to be
punished, and she was resigned to endure it. She let her head
loll down, while her arms were pulled back and apart in the "swan
dive" position. It was almost, she reflected, as if she had been
crucified.
Brute pulled her head back, lifting her face, and he passed
a strap around her forehead to hold it up, with her neck extended
painfully. He fastened the other end of the strap to the dildo
which protruded from Two's anus. If she relaxed the least bit,
the strain pressed the penis painfully against the floor of her
pelvis, crushing her vagina and stretching her anus to the point
where she was sure the skin was tearing. Soon, however, the pain
in her neck was too much to bear, and she let the strap support
her head. even, she thought, if it might destroy her "down
there".
Two, with her face lifted like that, could see Tiffany's
father, quite naked now, with Tease. She had one long index
finger up his ass, as she played with his scrotum. His penis
stood tall, getting no relief at all. One, Tiffany's mother, was
sitting, obviously in pain, strapped to the chair. Two could see
between One's spread thighs, where the rubbery penis within One's
cunt had swollen in size until it looked like a grapefruit trying
to be born. One's labia were stretched to the limit. Master was
oiling One's tortured breasts, which the rope nooses stretched
until they look like giant mushrooms. Liquid leaked from One's
anus and puddled on the floor. Her normally convex belly seemed
swollen, stretched, and the fluid continued to distend her
abdomen. Two knew that the intestines feel no pain, except one.
They are very sensitive to stretching, and she knew One's bowels
must be stretched as they never and been. The woman's skin was
discolored and gleaming with sweat, as she struggled to endure,
second after second, what must seem like endless torture. Master
finished oiling the breasts and began pressing with his
forefinger on One's exposed clitoris, utterly vulnerable at the
door of her bursting vagina.
Brute returned to Two, who was trying courageously to bear
her pains without screaming uncontrollably. He kneaded her
breasts, oiling them until they shone. Then he placed plastic
tubes over her nipples; they had been designed to fit over a
large cock, and they were much smaller in diameter than Two's
magnificent globes. When he pumped on them, sucking out the air,
She screamed with pain and surprise as her slippery globes were
sucked into a the shape of a man's penis! She felt as if her
sensitive nipples would burst, and the skin of her breasts was
stretched beyond endurance. She was sure she would have
permanent scars, even though the skin was not actually broken.
To encourage her screams, Brute paddled her ass with a board
that had holes drilled in it. Every blow on her cheeks stretched
the skin at the edges of the holes, leaving round "sucker marks",
as if she had been attacked by an octopus. The other visitors
paused to watch, clapping politely when Brute stopped.
To Two's surprise, seconds later, she had a shuddering
orgasm. All that time, while every muscle from her neck to her
feet seemed to scream with pain, while her breasts were stretched
painfully and her anus, too, the vibrator had been stimulating
her clitoris. Automatically, without her even thinking of sex,
her vagina spasmed, her uterus jumped in its supporting
ligaments, and her skin flushed. The orgasmic surprise left her
feeling a bit disoriented, almost drunk, and her pains were
forgotten as she concentrated on the exquisite sensations between
her legs. There were several little aftershocks, mini-orgasms,
and then, as she felt the tit-suckers fall away, and the blessed
relief in her breasts, she had another shuddering orgasm that
shook her body so that it danced and swung, despite her
restraints.
Two was too concerned with the explosions of sensation
within her on body to notice what happened to One. Master had
been massaging One's exposed love button while her cunt was
stretched as if in childbirth. She, too, had experienced orgasms
too numerous to count, and in her excitement, she had pulled the
nooses over her slippery breasts, until they burst free and her
feet dropped to the floor. Master released the lap strap which
held her to the chair, and One pitched forward. She might have
hurt herself, crashing to the floor, had Master not caught her.
With her weight off it, the swollen penis within her exploded
outward, leaving her bright red vaginal membranes visibly
quivering, as her vagina gaped open, stretched beyond belief.
The hose in her anus shot out like a bullet, propelled by a
torrent of brown fluid as from fire hose. It actually knocked
the chair over. It splattered on the wall, until the pressure in
One's abdomen dropped and the flow slowed to a trickle. Master
left her there on the floor, lying in a puddle of her own filth,
though her was considerate enough to deflate and remove the gag.
One lay there, gasping, crying, as her belly slowly shrank
to its normal size, and her tortured bowels expelled the fluid in
little spurts and dribbles from her anus.
Daddy Does Three
(Part 6)
Two was relived when Brute released her ankles from the
ceiling, allowing her to stand on her feet, though her arms were
still spread, leaving her in the pose of a crucifiction.
However, when her back straightened, as it must when her
hideously spread legs were released, the strain on the black stub
which anchored Two's head strap tore the huge dildo from Two's
asshole, and it fell to the floor. Her breasts could swing free.
All that remained of the torture devices was the vibrator,
pressed against her overstimulated clitoris, laced in place by
the catgut through the holes in her labia. Slave Two was allowed
to hang there, in relative comfort, gasping, sweating, turning
shades of pink, as she suffered one orgasm after another, until
the batteries ran down. Brute stood beside her, snapping his
fingers, so she would forever associate the sound with
uncontrollable orgasms.
One, Two's mother, lay gasping on the floor, expelling from
her bowels the last of the gallons which had tortured her beyond
endurance. Four, One's husband, Two's father, was still bound to
his post, being teased by his beautiful, masked tormentor. By
now, she was half naked, displaying herself, exciting him,
tantalizing him, but never letting him reach his orgasm. He
might have come, just from the sheer excitement of it all,
without her touching his penis, but when it appeared he might,
she would whip his ass, squeeze his balls, or otherwise break the
spell long enough to quench his ardor. Then she would begin the
tease again.
Four was the only one of the slaves who would noticed what
was happening to Three, Two's former college room mate. Daddy,
the greying, masked slavemaster had her to himself. She was a
tiny woman, childlike, who looked, perhaps, fourteen, even after
three years of college.
Daddy would have like to fuck her virginal little cunt,
hairless like a child's, but it was laced shut with a shoelace
through the gold rings Master had placed in her labia. The rest
of her slender body, however, was his.
With help from Master, he had shackled her ankles to the
legs of a horse and fastened her wrists to another, so she stood,
legs wide, bent at the hips, with her body horizontal. Her
conical little breasts hung down like stalactites.
First Daddy had merely played with her, rubbing every bit of
her legs and body with baby oil, cooing at her that she was his
little girl. Three, who was still new to playing the slave,
thought it was fun and did everything he said to do. "Oh, daddy,
you are so nice to me," she said, when prompted to do so.
"But you have been a bad girl," he said, "and must be
punished."
"Yes, Daddy, I deserve to be punished," she ad libbed.
"You stayed with your mother all these years and never came
to visit your Daddy."
"Yes, that was naughty of me."
"Well, we'll make up for some of the punishments you have
missed, since you left," he said, soothingly. He placed two
penis suckers over her little breasts, the same kind that
tortured Two. Three's girlish breasts, however, were not much
bigger around than the opening of the plastic tube, so when
suction was applied, the effect was not so painful. The tingles,
the fullness, as they were sucked, flooded with additional blood,
hurt a bit, but Three found it exciting. Somewhere, Master set a
little electric chime dinging, and Three was conditioned to
respond to the sound. Her laced-shut little quim dampened
inside.
Daddy seemed particularly interested in her boyish little
ass cheeks, atop skinny, straight legs. He oiled them again,
frequently slipping an oily finger into her rosebud of an anus.
It bothered Three at first, but she learned to relax and let the
finger just slide in. It was a strange sensation, almost fun.
Daddy selected a rubber butt plug, shaped like a Christmas
tree. The tip of the tree slipped in as easily as his finger
had. He pushed harder, and Three's anal orifice stretched a bit
to receive it. He poured some oil on it and pushed again. Pop,
it slid in past the widest part, and her anal sphincter muscles
automatically clamped shut around the trunk. A "roots" on the
trunk prevented it from going all the way in, getting lost inside
her.
"Oh, Daddy, that hurt," she said, coyly.
Daddy took a wooden paddle and began to spank Three's
buttocks, the wood occasionally cracking against the butt plug,
or even the lace which closed her exposed little slit. That
hurt, and Three started complaining: "Daddy, that really hurts."
Three's complaints only heated Daddy's passion. He paddled
her bottom even harder, until it was pink all over. Three was a
blonde, with very fair skin, so the contrast of reddened buttocks
with the rest of her was all the more exciting to Daddy. His
penis strained in his briefs. He opened his fly and held his
pole in his left hand.
Daddy replaced the paddle with a bamboo cane, which had
Three screaming for mercy. Even as she screamed, however, her
brain produced pain deadening endorphins, and she was able to
detach the pain from her self, to observe that the pain was
terrible, and the woman was screaming, but that's what slaves do.
The psychological threat, the fear of death or whatever pain is
supposed to instinctively produce, to make an animal flee or
fight, that instinct had been overcome. The pain was something
that was there, like a toothache.
Daddy rummaged around in Master's kit of tools and came up
with a hundred or so sewing needles. He took them, one at a
time, and inserted them through the beaten skin. The insertion
was not so painful. There was no blood, and, while Three could
feel each one slide in, it was just an increment of pain, added
to the stinging of her tortured skin. She even had time to
contemplate her breasts, aching, engorged with blood like a
tumescent penis, as they slowly flowed into the plastic suckers.
She wondered it there would be any permanent damage. Would they
sag, after such treatment? Tears came to her eyes, as she
imagined herself looking in a mirror and seeing sagging breasts
instead of pert little cones.
Daddy ran out of needles, but he had almost run out of
places to put them. Her backside looked like a porcupine, with a
dozen or so needles sprouting from her girlish labia like stiff
pubic hairs. Daddy took out his cigarette lighter, flicked it,
and held the flame beneath the lowest needle, which was centered
in one of the gold rings which allowed Three's cunt to be laced
shut. The eye of the needle glowed red, and the heat conducted
down the shaft.
"Yeow!" screamed Three. "Oh, no! AAAgh!" He heated another
needle. The torment continued, until Daddy's lighter ran out of
fuel. Then he removed each needle, wiggling it as he did so. It
hurt, but three was glad to have them gone. Again, the pain was
surprising, hurtful, but not beyond what she could stand.
Nothing like having a tooth drilled.
Daddy pulled on his prod with his left hand, while whipping
Three with a cat o' nine tails. The soft leather did no damage,
but Three said, "Oooww, Daddy, that hurts. Please, stop, Daddy.
I promise I'll be a good girl."
Something came over Daddy. He yanked the butt plug from
between Three's pink cheeks. He promptly plunged his pecker into
the puckered hole and pumped his meat in and out with gusto.
Three, bent over the horse, had no choice but to take it in the
ass, and it didn't hurt, certainly not like hot needles. Daddy
held her hips and urged his aging body to pump harder.
Experimentally, Three tensed her rectal muscles, as if to
hold the prick within her. Daddy unloaded his spunk with a
series of grunts and his penis, gone soft and slick with semen,
slipped out.
Daddy looked at Three's pink hole, dribbling what looked
like snot, and he said, "God! What have I done?" He pushed the
butt plug back into place and left the room.
Tease had been watching. She left Four, his pole yearning
to be touched, and walked over to Three. Bending over, she let
her nipples drag across Three's back, as she reached around the
slim woman's body and released the tit-suckers.
"Thank-you," whispered Three.
Tease released Three's bindings and said, "You poor child,
lie down on your back." She adjusted a pillow under Three's
tender bottom. "That's it. Now raise your knees. Pull them all
the way up toward your shoulders. That's it. Good girl." The
masked woman untied the lace in Three's crotch, put the chimes
next to Three's ear, and went down on Three's cunt, licking and
sucking expertly.
Three was responsive, with her vaginal juices flowing as
fast as Tease could lick them up. Tease worked on Three a long
time, for every time Three came, shuddering and groaning, Tease
was encouraged to continue her "torture." At last, Tease left
the young woman lying there, exhausted, and went back to her own
slave, Four.
Four was staring at Two, his own daughter, who, with the
vibrator pressed against her clitoris, was in the throes of yet
another orgasm, her breasts blushing, her nipples erect, an
expression on her face which might have been fear, terror, but
which actually was the involuntary response to the ecstasy which
consumed her.
Tease merely touched Four's pole, and he went off like a
water pistol, spurting his cum in gobs onto the floor. Tease
lost interest in Four, but watched intently as Two, now hanging
limply from her wrists, seemed to be building up to yet another
gut-churning orgasm.
Brute, however, got down between Two's legs and clipped the
catgut which laced her perforated labia. The metallic vibrator
fell with a thunk, and Two's vulva gaped open, bright red,
gleaming wet. As the intense stimulation stopped, Two was able
to regain her feet. Brute gently spread her knees and ran his
fingers along the groove of her cunt.
"AAAAh! It burns!" screamed Two, as Brute smeared her
inflamed membranes with liniment, something intended to provide
"soothing deep heat for sprains and strains." She clamped her
mouth closed to keep from screaming and crossed her legs,
squeezing her thighs together. Writhing in her tethering chains,
her eyes closed, her ass making little circles quite on its own,
Two concentrated her mind on the pain, the delicious pain.
Tiffany woke, lying on her right side, to find that Cheryl's
naked body was snuggled up Tiffany's, those pert little breasts
pressing on her back. Cheryl's left arm was over Tiffany's and
Cheryl's left hand rested on her breast. When Tiffany stirred,
Cheryl's hand closed gently, the nipple between two fingers.
"Must have been quite a night," Cheryl said.
"Yes. Two really suffered. I feel sore all over."
"I don't remember much," said Cheryl. I remember Three
worrying about sagging breasts, and being worn out by orgasms."
Cheryl got out of bed and stood before a mirror, examining her
breasts, which showed no marks and stood forth as little cones,
nipples centered like fuses on a pair of bombs. She cupped her
own breasts, as if weighing them, and said, "You know. I think
I'm still growing."
Tiffany joined her room mate at the mirror. She showed
rather more signs of wear; Two had left her with discolored, pink
tits, thousands of microscopic blood vessels broken. She looked
at Cheryl, whose back and buttocks showed faint traces of her
caning last night. "Cheryl, you're wearing a butt plug."
"Oh, yeah. No, don't touch it. I'll leave it in for a
while longer. Maybe I'll let Three wear it next week."
At breakfast, Tiffany's father said, "You women really
suffered last night. Is it worth it? Should we quit playing
those games?"
The mother said, "Don't talk about it!" She was wearing
only a slip, and Tiffany could see some bruises on her mother's
breasts.
Tiffany said, "Cheryl, you have a vote, now. Are you ready
for next week?"
"Hey," she replied, "I get to keep the money, pay off my
student loans. It's not me, it's Three that has to earn it.
That's fine by me. Three will be ready for next week." Cheryl
moved her behind on the chair seat, enjoying the feeling of the
plug in her.
Tiffany's mother, probably not realizing what she was doing,
fingered her crotch through the slip. "We need the money."
Tiffany took a bite of toast and said, "Hey, for over a
hundred dollars an hour, I can... Two can put up with a lot of
pain. I vote we stay in business." She dimly remembered
countless orgasms, and wondered if she could sneak down to the
forbidden basement and find that vibrator.
Fucked Father
(Part 7)
It was Saturday again, time to make some serious money.
Tiffany's father changed into his "working clothes", a tee shirt
and shorts. Every time so far, he had spent the evening tied to
a post, and his major concern was not wetting his pants. He
worried about the women, who had always been whipped and
tortured, but the most he had endured, other than watching his
loved ones being raped, and being made to fuck his daughter, was
a whack on the ass or a squeeze of the balls as Tease tormented
him.
Her Mother, adopting her persona of "One", psyched herself
by oiling her body, especially her large, pendulous breasts.
Last week One had suffered severe breast torture, from tight
ropes. She hoped the oil would help, perhaps let the ropes slip
a little, if Master should repeat the treatment. One only
existed on Saturdays, existed only to be tortured, while the
mother, during the rest of the week, was relieved of remembering
One's pain.
Tiffany and her friend, Cheryl, regarded slavery as a good
summer job, and they helped each other slip into their "working"
personalities. As Two and Three, they would do, or endure,
things they couldn't dream of doing, back at college. They had
already freshly depilated their pubes. Cheryl, Three, slim,
virginal, childlike, shamelessly naked, lifted one leg and
inserted a cold-cream lubricated butt plug. It slipped through
her anus easily, for Cheryl, as a lark, had been wearing it most
of the week. Three teased her conical little breasts and rubbed
a bit of cold cream on the nipples. Then she carefully laced
together the little gold rings in her outer labia, using pink
ribbon, lacing them like a shoe, tied in a bow. "Two," she said,
"what do you think I should wear?"
Two had already selected a garment, a pink teddy, loose at
the legs, frilly around the low neckline, with a hint of a built-
in bra, the better to display her spectacular, round breasts.
"Three, why don't you wear that outfit you bought at the mall?"
she said as she put on the teddy and snapped the crotch.
"Good idea." Three stepped into the panties, black, which
contrasted with her fair skin; she was a natural blonde. The
silky material wouldn't rub the little gold rings which adorned
her crotch, and the thong in the back, which barely filled the
space between her firm, boyish ass cheeks, wouldn't entirely
conceal her butt plug. The top, of see-through black lace,
nicely lifted her little tits, though they didn't need support,
and her gold nipple rings gleamed through the lace. "You know,
Two," she remarked, "I really think all that sucking is making
them grow." The bare midriff nicely displayed the constellation
of golden rings around Three's navel.
The family assembled in the kitchen to wait, and they were
surprised when Master let himself in. They had planned to
assemble in the basement "playroom."
Master, as expected, was in uniform, an SS soldier's uniform
today. He had three masked friends with him: Tease, the
thirtyish slavemistress they had met; Brute, the tall, muscular
hunk who had tortured Two; and a third, who seemed to have
replaced Daddy. "This is Doc," Master said, "and these are One,
Two, Three, and Four." He pointed to the father last. "Let's go
downstairs."
Since the slaves didn't go into the playroom, except on
Saturdays, they were surprised to see some changes, new
equipment. Four, to his surprise, was stripped by the three men
and bent over a frame, tied down as Three was the previous week,
with his legs straight and spread, his body horizontal, so that
he was looking at the floor. Well, at least he wouldn't have to
watch his wife and daughter being tortured. Four felt a needle
in one buttock; Doc gave him an injection. Then Doc slipped one
of the many pecker suckers, which had been used for tit torture,
over Four's flaccid penis. When suction was applied, it grew
tall but, as when Tease had tantalized him, there was no way Four
could get off, no way to reach an orgasm. As an additional
torture, Doc lubed Four's asshole and inserted a tapered plug,
which was held under tension by rubber bands to the frame, so
that Four's anus, no matter how much he fought it, would
inexorably be stretched wider and wider, until the shaft was
buried in his rectum.
Tease selected Two as her victim. She led her to an
aluminum and plastic lounge chair, the kind that people have
around a swimming pool. After removing the Teddy, she made Two
recline on the lounge chair and gently used Velcro straps to
fasten her ankles to the frame. She fastened Two's wrists, lying
naturally at her side, to the frame and asked cheerily, "Are you
comfy, Slave?"
"Yes, Mistress Tease."
Doc stopped by and gave Two an injection, in the muscle of
her thigh. Tease turned on a very bright overhead sun lamp,
which made Two close her eyes. Even then, pink light filtered
through her eyelids. The warmth of the lamp was pleasant on her
naked skin.
Tease began at Two's face and applied "suntan" oil to every
bit of skin, all the way to her toes. Tease seemed to spend a
great deal of time on Two's tits, belly, and crotch. From time
to time, she would snap her fingers. Two, of course, immediately
felt sexy, conditioned as she was, and her vulva almost drooled
with sex-juice. Tease explored Two's wet crotch, but she avoided
contacting the clitoris. Then Two felt hooks being slipped
through the holes in her outer labia, which held them open,
exposing her sensitive, pink inner lips, surmounted by an already
erect love button. Supine as she was, with her eyes closed, she
could not see what Tease was doing, but she felt sexy just being
handled by the masked woman. Maybe it was the injection, but
every nerve seemed especially sensitive, and all she could think
of was being touched. Tease put a little tape recorder on the
chair, by Two's ear. It played a continuous series of finger
snaps, which immediately made her recall previous orgasms, with
the same sound present.
Tease had attached a "personal shower" head to the hooks.
Warm water spurt, spurt, spurted onto Two's pink groove. It felt
so good. Two was sure she would come any minute. Just as she
was on the edge of an orgasm, the water stopped. "Please, don't
shut it off," she pleaded.
Tease replied, softly, "Slave, you are here to be tortured.
If I let you come now, where's the pleasure for me?" She watched
Two squirm, helpless to get off her high of sexual arousal,
unable to think of anything but the need to have that orgasm and
relax.
Two finally gave up, tormented by unfulfilled lust, and
tried to remember the pain of previous tortures, anything to
forget the yearning in her loins. But as soon as Tease saw Two's
nipples begin to shrivel, she turned on the water again, and Two
could think of nothing but the exquisite sensations which
engulfed her body, focused her brain on her cunt, to the
exclusion of all else. The torture went on like this, cycle
after cycle of sexual arousal, delicious stimulation, followed by
the anguish of an empty cunt, yearning to be filled.
Meanwhile, Brute had selected Three as his victim. He had
her stretched on the rack, actually another of those deck chairs,
laid out flat, but the delicacy of the slim woman, who couldn't
weigh a hundred pounds, made him wonder how much cruelty she
could stand. He removed her upper garment, and amused himself by
taking the whole of each breast, in turn, into his mouth. Such a
nice mouthful. The nipple rings, of course, made it a bit
strange, but he could live with that. Three, of course, didn't
mind a bit. Doc had given her an injection, too, and she felt
sexier than she could remember. Brute played with the rings
around her navel, stroked her lean thighs, even reached between
her legs to wiggle the butt plug. He thought of whacking her
with the perforated paddle, on her taut tummy, but he didn't want
to tear loose the rings around her belly button.
Master and Doc worked together on One. The woman was
spread-eagled on a padded examination table, arms raised, legs
spread. Doc gave her an injection, too, and One seemed to drift
into a dreamy state. They cinched a strap around her waist, and
another around her chest, above her breasts, so she was incapable
of moving her torso. Together, they inspected her body,
particularly her large breasts, which, under the influence of
gravity, lay flat upon her chest like pillows. Doc also
inspected her perforated inner labia, handling her genitals with
an almost professional attitude.
Master produced a large rubber penis, studded with knobs.
Considerately, he coated it with surgical lubricant, then plugged
it in to its power supply. This was no ordinary vibrator. I
squirmed like a snake, with a spiral motion. It came equipped
with feathery rubber fingers, five inches from the end, which
formed a soft fan. Master slipped it between One's spread
thighs and pushed it into her, adjusting it so that the rubber
feathers caressed her sensitive clitoris. Then he turned it on.
One had never been fucked like that before. Neither had
Mother. She was literally being screwed, as the rubbery prick
spiralled inside her and the feathery fingers tickled her most
sensitive spot. She could think of nothing, absolutely nothing,
but the squirming, churning excitement between her legs. She did
not notice when the slavemasters washed her breasts with alcohol,
and the cooling effect of evaporation made her nipples spring
erect. They would have been erect anyway; she was so close to an
orgasm. So concentrated was she on the sensations in her pelvis,
the quaking of her internal organs, the way her vagina tried to
grip the squirming knobs of the super-penis which screwed her,
that she didn't notice the pricks of needles in her breasts.
"This is an experimental procedure I've been working on,"
said Doc, "not approved by the FDA or anybody else, but, I expect
the effects will fade in a matter of weeks or months. Even if we
mess up, she won't be permanently damaged." One must have heard,
but it didn't register in her befuddled brain, obsessed as she
was with sex. She must have felt the many injections, but it
just didn't seem important. Her earlier injection, and the
intensity of the screwing in her cunt, made her oblivious to all
cares. The orgasms were coming so frequently that they seemed to
her almost continuous.
"One, the gel that I'm injecting isn't silicone; that's
illegal," said Doc. "It's an almost natural starch-fat complex,
chemically not far removed from donut filling. Even without
digestive enzymes, I expect it will be slowly absorbed by your
body, metabolized as food. So, of course, we may have to repeat
the procedure. You wouldn't mind that, would you?"
One hardly heard, as she rocked her pelvis and cried out,
"Ungh! I'm coming again!"
Three had been rearranged by Brute. She hung, face down,
suspended by a wide belt around her waist and hip bones, almost a
corset, attached to a rope. A wooden rod, like a broom stick,
was taped against the soles of her feet, three feet apart, and
her wrists were strapped to the same rod, so she looked as if she
was doing an upside-down sit-up. The rod hung some distance
above the floor, for she naturally bent her knees. Brute had
replaced her butt plug with a bigger one, and installed tit-
suckers, as Daddy had done. Brute was carefully, slowly,
whipping her back and thighs, while Three twisted and swung on
the end of the rope.
Four, fastened to his frame, divided his thoughts between
his throbbing penis and his awareness that the tapered ass-
stretcher had penetrated far into his body.
Tease, perhaps by error or perhaps out of compassion, had
allowed Two a crashing orgasm, but the torture, of cyclical
stimulation too delicious to stand, continued, with Two moaning,
pleading, "Please, fuck me. Finger me. Beat me, even. I can't
stand it," as she writhed and strained at the straps which held
her captive.
Doc finished with One, gave her another injection, and
removed the machine from her quivering cunt. She quickly fell
asleep. "Not a bad job, I think," he remarked to Master. "I'll
need some more practice, before I can use the procedure on paying
patients. Do you suppose I could do Three, next time? She could
be a real Barbie doll." Doc dropped his trousers to reveal a
humongous pole. "Yes, it's augmented," he said, anticipating
Master's question.
Doc removed the butt plug from Four, but Four's relief was
brief. He felt something huge stretching his ass, as Doc's
shaft, with a condom, of course, plunged into Four's rectum. The
pounding of the pole on Four's prostate made him ejaculate into
the plastic cylinder which sucked his cock. He gritted his
teeth, determined to be manly and not cry out, as Doc's tool
broached Four's ass and unloaded. The torturous rod was removed,
and Four felt profound relief.
Doc removed the plastic cylinder and looked inside. "I'll
take this as a semen sample," he said, "Maybe even freeze it for
my sperm bank." He chuckled at the thought. "First I make 'em
sexy for their husbands. Then, if need be, I help them get
pregnant. Pays well."
Brute plunged his prong into Three's ass, which seemed to
take it without pain. Her little buns had not been whipped, so
it didn't hurt her when he bumped against them, screwing her
alternate orifice, leaving her beribboned cunt still closed and
virginal. After an initial flurry of aggression, Brute stood
still and gently swung Three, hanging from the rope, pulling her
onto his pole, then pushing her away. Whenever he felt as if he
was going to come, he would push her farther, so his prick popped
out, and he would wait a while before starting again. He wanted
to prolong his pleasure as long as possible. Hell, Three wasn't
complaining.
Two was experiencing blissful orgasms, with Tease between
Two's thighs, using her mouth expertly.
At Sunday morning brunch, Tiffany's father remarked, "Well,
I got myself raped, for God's sake."
"Welcome to the club," replied his wife. "Small price to
pay, the help us out of debt. Now shut up. You know we don't
discuss Saturday nights."
He grinned at his wife. "I'll say it again, Darling. You
look twenty years younger, and more beautiful than the day we
were married."
"I'll need to buy all new clothes," she replied. "Nothing
fits anymore." Her firm 40" bust strained to get out of her
robe, the vee of her cleavage suggesting a pair of melons.
"Go ahead. You earned it."
Tiffany was still in bed.
Cheryl squirmed in her seat, bumping the plug in her ass.
She didn't say anything. She was looking down and feeling the
front of her tee-shirt with her hands.
Dinner and Dancing
part 8
The next week turned out to be something different. Master
arrived in black tie evening dress and announced he was going to
take them to meet some friends. To protect their identities,
they would all wear masks, and would be blindfolded on their way
to the dinner party.
When Tiffany, her friend Cheryl, her mother, and her father
took off their blindfolds, they found themselves in the paved
courtyard, with trees around the periphery, and the walls of a
palatial house surrounding the trees. Tables were set out, for a
dinner party, and, already, Champagne was on ice. Master issued
them leather cuffs for wrists and ankles, padded on the inside,
fitted with snap hooks on the outside. The four slaves took off
their clothes and put on the cuffs. The three women were given
strange masks, animal faces, which had eye holes but no mouths,
just the animal-like snouts. Tiffany was a dog. Tiny Cheryl was
a kitten. The mother was a cow. Each was made to stand between
two trees, arms upraised and fastened to branches, where they
would have to stand and watch the diners, while the diners
watched them.
Master went to the mother with a long cow's tail, with a
tuft on the end. He inserted one end in her anus and inflated
the ball which held it in place. From the mother's perforated
labia, he hung two big, brass cowbells, which would clank if she
moved. Tiffany was given a dog's tail, similarly attached, and
her perforated labia were held apart by hooks and rubber bands
around Tiffany's thighs, so the pinkness of her vulva and inner
lips was displayed for all to see. Cheryl got a kitten's tail,
all fluffy, and the rings either side of her virginal slit were
tied together with pink ribbons, tied in bows.
Four footmen, in ancient costume, knee britches and buckle
shoes, prepared the table, ignoring the women. As a centerpiece,
they spread-eagled Tiffany's father, on his back, and placed a
leather hood over his head. He could breathe, but not see.
Doc arrived, also in black tie, accompanied by about a dozen
women, all wearing masks and strange costumes. One was dressed
like Peter Pan, in an green skin-tight costume. Another was
dressed like an Elizabethan courtier, with doublet, hose, and
codpiece, even a sword. One had a Regency-style dress, all
gauzy, with the waist, such as it was, defined by ribbons right
under her upthrust breasts, the pink nipples visible through the
transparent material. Still another was an elaborate off-the-
shoulder gown, with hoop skirts, and an elaborate hat, festooned
with feathers. Still another wore a harlequin suit of many
colors, and another wore a harem girl outfit, her midriff bare,
with a veil and abundant gold jewelry. One was all in leather,
and another wore a Nazi-like uniform with riding britches and
boots. One woman, with long, blonde hair pinned up in a twist,
was dressed in a man's evening dress and carried a little lap
dog.
The footmen served drinks, while the ladies inspected the
decorations. Tiffany's mother was inspected particularly
closely, as her new, full, youthful looking breasts were of great
interest.
The women also fondled and inspected Cheryl's girlish cones.
The harlequin seemed particularly interested in Tiffany's gaping
vulva, but, generally, Tiffany was only a spectator.
A bell tinkled, and Master, Doc, and the women took their
seats at the table, for the first of many courses. The
centerpiece was much appreciated, and several women kept rising
from their seats to make sure the helpless father was kept in a
continuous state of erection. The Nazi kept reaching under his
scrotum and inserting ice cubes in his anus, which made him
wriggle and amused the women who played with his prick. No one,
of course, would let him actually come. His wife, the cow, was
forced to watch his degradation. Who knows what she thought of
her husband. Tiffany thought it only right that her father
should do his part to earn their pay.
Before desert, while the footmen cleared the table, Doc put
on a demonstration for the assembled women, a sales
demonstration, it seemed to Tiffany. First he pointed out the
beautiful shape of the mother's breasts, how they were as elastic
and youthful as Tiffany's. Then her fondled Cheryl's little
conical tits, remarking how they were very nice, on a 14 year-
old, but hardly optimal for a woman. He wiped them with alcohol.
While the Nazi held Cheryl from behind, hugging her waist, so she
couldn't squirm, Doc injected his proprietary gel, inserting the
needle dozens of times, all around Cheryl's right nipple. With
each injection, Cheryl would groan, trying to stifle a cry, as it
obviously hurt some to have her breast tissue stretched, but the
effect, as Doc continued, was dramatic. Her right breast changed
from a little cone to a full, ripe, womanly breast, the size and
shape of a baseball, a perfect handful. The before and after
comparison, the full, upstanding globe on the right, as compared
with the little girl's tit on the left, had half the women there
ready to write a check for a treatment. Then Doc injected
Cheryl's left breast, carefully matching her right one, as the
gel inflated her tit, stretching the skin, making the nipples, it
seemed, permanently and prominently erect.
While they had desert, fruit and sherbet, a new arrival
entertained the diners by doing a sort of Scottish sword dance
over and around the helpless father. She hopped over and between
the man's legs, seeming about to step on his balls, but she never
did. At first, Tiffany thought she was wearing some sort of
skin-tight costume, but she realized that the dancer, who was no
bigger than Cheryl, was actually tattooed from her neck to her
knees, and she had her head shaved. Her breasts had starbursts
around the nipples. Her hairless crotch was decorated with
devils and the flames of hell, for it was widely held, hundreds
of years ago, that a woman's vagina was a tunnel to the inferno.
Her legs and buttocks resembled a paisley print, and mythical
creatures, dragons and gargoyles, writhed over her belly and
shoulders.
She ended her dance with a split, impaling herself on the
father's erect organ. There was polite applause, as she rocked
her hips, squeezed her vaginal muscles, and milked the poor man
dry as he bucked and strained at his restraints. When she got
off, seminal fluid dribbling down her leg, his big cock, which
had been teased all evening, was limp and shrivelled.
The dancer's "owner", a middle aged woman with a fuller
figure than the other diners, had a word with Doc and wrote him a
check, on the spot. Doc went to the centerpiece, who was still
stretched on the table as if on a rack, and began to swab his
limp organ with alcohol. Not having seen what happened to
Cheryl, the pooped papa probably didn't realize what was
happening until he felt the first needle stab, and there was
nothing he could do to prevent the treatment, and his protests
were muffled by the hood over his head. In fifteen minutes, he
was endowed with a bigger, stiffer prong than he had ever had
before.
Several of the women stroked it and admired it. The one
with the gauzy, Empire dress got a barber pole striped condom
from Doc and rolled it down over the towering meat. She vaulted
onto the table, hiked up her skirts, and sat on his prod,
squirming and giggling until she came, her ivory mounds blushing
visibly beneath their gauze covering, which was damp with
perspiration. When she got off, the tool still stood tall, ready
for another, and in seconds, a woman dressed as Bo Peep was on
the table, pulling off her ruffled pantaloons and taking her
place on the fleshy pole.
The father grunted and bucked his hips, as she rode him. It
made no difference to her if he came or not, and she proclaimed
for all to hear, "I always thought women were superior to men,
because what women have between their legs doesn't wear out.
Well, here is a superior man."
When Bo Peep got off the gleaming, still upstanding pole and
put on her pantaloons, the woman with the hoop skirt took a ride.
Her billowing dress covered the man's body and stood, like a
tent, so tall she could hardly see over it when she sat on the
pole. Peter Pan was next, replacing the condom, which had torn,
and dropping her tights. She elected to sit facing the father's
feet, and she fingered herself as she bobbed on his towering
prick. "Oh, I can feel him coming," she cried, but of course he
was still ready to go, and she continued riding him until she,
too, was satisfied.
Meanwhile, the Nazi, with two or three helpers, Unhooked
the cow and brought her to her husband. Then they removed the
cowbell's from the mother's cunt and fingered her until she was
juicy. They lowered her onto her husband's pole and snapped her
ankle cuffs to her wrist cuffs, so she couldn't raise herself off
it, and she was forced to sit, her back arched, her magnificent
tits out-thrust, on the meat which filled her vagina, a sheath
which was made even tighter by the inflated tail, which still
stuck out her ass.
Peter Pan used the mother's own tail to tickle and whip her,
to make her squirm on the pole. The "man" with the twist hairdo
pulled out a long hat pin and began to prod the mother's buttocks
with it, making her jerk, making the pole inside her jiggle her
internal organs. Someone else reached between the spread knees
and fingered the mother's clit, until she cried out that she was
coming. The "man" stopped prodding her and said, "We still have
another to play with. We can come back to her."
She picked up her lap dog and approached Tiffany, who still
stood, her arms raised, unable to do anything to avoid whatever
"play" they had in mind. Someone poured gravy over Tiffany's
breasts, letting it dribble down her belly. Tiffany, in her dog
costume, was now subjected to the attentions of the little dog,
who was held up so he could lick her breasts clean. The
"torture" was actually rather thrilling, as the animals tongue
rasped across her bursting nipples. Simultaneously, she felt a
tongue between her legs, only that tongue was human and very
skillful. With her perforated lips held apart by rubber bands,
Tiffany's sensitive love-button was fully exposed, and the
sensations of having it licked, as the dog licked her breasts and
belly, sent Tiffany into spasms of ecstasy. With a dozen
torturers to take turns, Tiffany got no relief. No sooner would
the internal earthquake of one orgasm fade into aftershocks when
a new and vigorous tongue would send her again into that spiral
of excitation which could only end with another crashing,
churning, mind-blowing explosion in her belly. When they finally
stopped, Tiffany hung from her arms, her legs too limp too
support her, her skin gleaming with sweat. Someone exchanged the
hooks in Tiffany's lower lips, so that the rubber bands now
pulled them together, not apart, and the sensitive surfaces
responded to the slightest movement. Tiffany, utterly exhausted,
moved as little as possible.
They made Cheryl sit on the bald one's belly, to hold her
down, while four other guests held the tattooed legs far apart.
Doc swabbed the tattooed cunt with alcohol, causing the victim to
yell, "Oh, it burn's. I love it!"
The woman had a barely visible slit, very thin lips, with
the fires of hell design on the skin between the slit and the
crease of her legs. As Doc performed his injections, the outer
lips began to swell, until his patient patient had a magnificent
vulva, lips bulging outward, with a prominent cleft between them.
Cheryl got up, and someone produced a mirror. "Oh, Mistress!"
the tattooed one said, "They're lovely. Thank-you. Thank-you.
I've got a real cunt now."
By now the sun was low, and shadows began to fill the
courtyard. The footmen had finished cleaning up and had quietly
disappeared. A couple of women released Tiffany's wrists and
half led her, half dragged her, into the house. Half a dozen
women again urged Tiffany's mother, still impaled on her
husband's permanently erect pole, to yet another orgasm. When
they finally lifted her off, she was in no condition to walk and
had to be carried into the house.
Tiffany lay prone on a bear skin rug, in front of a roaring
wood fire. Someone pulled on her tail, actually lifting her hips
off the floor, until, with a pop, it pulled free of her ass hole.
The mother was similarly de-tailed. Then the two, mother and
daughter, were bound together in a strange way. The mother's
right leg was pulled up between Tiffany's breasts, while the left
leg spread Tiffany's ass cheeks and ran up Tiffany's spine.
Tiffany's left leg, similarly was between her mother's big boobs,
and her right leg spread her mother's ass.
The ankle cuffs were attached to rubber ropes which were
stretched and anchored to heavy furniture. The effect was to
force the two women's cunts together, at right angles, with all
the force of the stretched rubber, while the muscles of the inner
thighs pressed tightly against the mashed vulvas, pressing on the
sensitive clitorises. Harlequin and Peter Pan tortured the
women, tickling their feet with feathers, so that their
inevitable twitching of the legs had the effect of fucking each
other. Mother and daughter moaned and pleaded, as the
pleasurable sensations drove them crazy, but their tormentors
showed no mercy.
The Mistress of the bald slave asked Doc to test his
handiwork, directing her slave to bend over the arm of an
overstuffed chair. The flaming gates of hell pushed back between
the paisley thighs, as accessible as possible. Doc rubbed the
tip of his rod, condom clad, up and down the flaming new groove,
until it was slick with juices. Then he plunged in and bucked
his hips while the slave screamed that it was fuckin' great! It
didn't take Doc long to unload, and he gently withdrew, noting
the seminal fluid he'd collected in the end of the condom.
The father was still bound on his back, outdoors, and from
time to time, a woman would slip out for a painless meat
injection. The tattooed slave made three trips to the dining
table.
Cheryl became the center of attention, indoors. Some of the
women started to tie her, belly down, on a table, but Doc
objected, not wanting her breasts mashed out of shape. So, they
suspended her horizontally, face down, with a straps at her
shoulders supporting most of her weight and her legs puilled
straight and spread. That left her with her new tits hanging
free, her cute ass in the air, and maximum access to her body,
front and rear. For the next few hours, the women teased and
tortured her, each trying to be inventive. They soon got bored
using riding crops and wooden spoons to spank her ass, and
feathers to tickle her. One woman smeared Tabasco sauce on
Cheryl's anus, just to make her squirm. Another aimed a hair
drier at Cheryl's crotch, to force her to lift her ass. "That'll
give your good abs," the woman joked. Mainly they tickled her,
or touched her with ice cubes, to make her thrash against her
restraints. Cheryl was proud to be the center of attention.
When the guests finally left, and the family was waiting for
Master to blindfold them and take them home, they sat, naked, and
talked. The father looked down at his still rampant penis,
bigger than his wildest dreams, and wondered, "How am I going to
be able to go to work like this? The secretarial pool will go
crazy. Half of them will want a date, and the other half will be
filing sexual harassment charges."
"Master will work it out with your boss," said the mother.
"Keep your suit coat buttoned."
Cheryl giggled and said, "Maybe you should go into another
line of work. Gosh, I love my new titties." She was sitting on
her kitten tail, with the fuzz carressing her naked pubes.
The mother said, "I like mine, too. Doc says they come with
a warranty. If they start to shrink, he'll give you a free
refill."
Tiffany sighed and said, "I can't wait to get to bed. I
lost count, but I think I had a year's worth of orgasms last
night. I'm half dead."
Cheryl, grinned and said, "Never have a mother and daughter
been so close."
"By the way," added the mother, stifling a yawn, "Doc's
giving us all a bonus, for bringing him so much new business."
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