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Subject: {AdrianHunter} Distemporarily (bd, all of the above)[2/2]
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Distemporarily
By Adrian Hunter
Samantha tapped lightly on the door, then took a deep breath and pressed the
buzzer.
Not home. Good.
Well, maybe not so good.
She reached into her purse, fished out the keys, and started matching them to
the deadbolt, and then the doorknob.
"Marla? It's me."
This is like some stupid slasher flick, she thought to herself as she slipped
into the narrow entry hall. Cue ominous music, cut to crazy camera angle, and
whatever you do, don't open the closet door…
She really didn't want to be here. Again. But freedom of choice seemed to have
been deleted from her menu of options.
Light from outside filtered dimly through the sides of the drawn curtains.
Samantha walked over to a floor lamp and turned the switch, but the room still
seemed dark.
Then she noticed the box on the ottoman. Large. White. Her name scrawled in
block capitals across the top.
"A present? For me?" she said in a mock little-girl voice.
She sat down on the matching chair and lifted the lid. The queasy industrial
odor of new rubber filled the room.
She picked up whatever was on top and watched it unfold as she lifted it out of
the box. Stockings, obviously thigh length. Polished so they glittered like
black chrome.
She closed her eyes and imagined them tight against her legs, liquid death
pressed close, hot and glossy around her flesh…
No, she chastised herself. You're not allowed to enjoy this. You're being
punished for…well, what?
She stared at the floppy armor in her hand. She did have a choice. She could
quit. Move to another city. Run screaming from this whole ugly mess. But that
would mean sacrificing everything she'd worked so hard to achieve. The last
thing she wanted to do was start the process down with the crustaceans, algae
and service reps at the bottom of the corporate foodchain.
"But you don't really want to stop, do you, Sam?" She didn't recognize the
voice in her head, but she knew it was indisputably right.
"You can't change people," it continued, teetering on the edge of random, "but
people can certainly change you."
Quite quite, she agreed, as she continued digging into the box, peeling off a
layer of tissue paper to reveal matching shoulder-length opera gloves. Then a
rubber bra. Panties. Crotchless.
At the bottom were a pair of black pumps with heels long enough to qualify as
weapons.
"Now, what am I supposed to do with you?" Samantha asked the box exasperatedly.
As if she didn't know.
She decided talking to fetishwear was probably not the sign of a healthy mind,
so she stood up and started wandering around the room, surveying the
proletariat furnishings and street-fair art prints. It wasn't like Marla to…oh,
there, on the floor by the linen closet…a long pole, a pile of black straps,
and, bingo, a Post-it note stuck to the door at eye level.
"Hold the key here with your nose."
And don't let it fall, she heard Marla hiss in her head.
"Yes, please," she whispered. It was the only thing she was allowed to say in
her presence.
She kicked off her shoes, unbuttoned her blouse, and peeled her jeans down her
legs, then folded everything neatly in a pile on the chair. She had never quite
gotten used to a permanent lack of underwear, but Marla's presence in her life
had shredded her catholicism, among other former imperatives.
She turned and faced the ottoman. So glad you could make it, she started
singing. Now you've really made it. Too early for that dress.
Of course it all fit. Marla should know her size by now.
Rows of little rubber igloos jutted out from the lining of the bra and panties,
causing her flesh to feel like it was being squeezed by a thousand fingers. As
she stretched the latex over her breasts, she finally noticed the nipple holes.
Like something from "Starship Troopers" fucked Barbarella, she told the mirror
when she was finished.
Taking small, gawky steps, Samantha stuttered back to the pile of leather by
the door. A collar. Padlocks. The spreader bar with cuffs bolted to the ends.
Two loose cuffs, she guessed for her wrists. The key. And damn, that gag, the
one with the pouch filled with shotgun pellets mounted on a thick square of
black leather.
She picked it up off the floor, her mouth already dreading its leaden fate.
Might as well get it over with.
Disquieting crunching accompanied her fingers as they squeezed the sack between
her lips. She pulled the ends of the wide strap tight behind her head, and
fumbled with the clasp and padlock until she managed to get everything properly
permanent. With a click and a sigh, she doomed her tastebuds to an afternoon of
pungent misery. Rawhide, meet Goodyear.
Better heavy leather than the horrible clamp Marla had once applied to her
tongue, she thought as she leaned down to begin cuffing her ankles to the
spreader bar.
After she secured her neck, she picked up the wrist spreader, the last two
padlocks and the key, and shuffled her extended feet over to the closet door.
Remove the Post-it…put key against the door…press nose against it…steady…no
rush…now, get the hasp of the padlock around both the cuff buckles behind her
back…one…two…one last check…and…snap.
Samantha couldn't stop her mind from wandering as she stared straight ahead at
the painted wood an inch away from her eyes. She saw herself on her hands and
knees with Marla's foot on her back, the laces of a corset being pulled tight,
then tighter, her waist shrinking like a fast-motion diet, every breath feeling
like her last…
Somewhere in the back, a clock ticked faintly.
She supposed she should be thankful Marla hadn't added some evil accessory to
her costume. Premonition was more than sufficient. To say nothing of the rubber
bumps massaging her white parts.
Her jaw began to ache from the weight of the ballast in her mouth.
She tried to stretch her legs a little, but the key slid up the door ominously
as she extended her feet. Best not to take any chances. She had more than
enough to worry about, thank you very much.
Samantha inhaled deeply through her nose and wondered if she was enjoying this.
Perhaps. It had been months since she had wrangled Marla's promotion, but the
bitch soon found other loathsome tasks for Sam to perform at the office. Like
using her executive passwords to access confidential client files, especially
the ones about acquisition candidates. You could make a real killing in the
stock market if you knew about such things in advance.
Much as she disliked being here, she was definitely grateful for being spared
the drama of spending hours bound and gagged in her office. If they were ever
caught, Marla would undoubtedly start mewling about how she, a lowly account
executive, had been forced to engage in all sorts of deviant sex acts by a
senior manager. Then all the photos Marla had taken of her would be discovered.
Not to mention the recent newsgroup posts made from her email account. And
let's not forget the Cyberwatch-distress sites Marla had accessed from Sam's IP
address, all duly noted in the company's daily Internet access logs.
She thought about justice, duty and ambition.
She hoped Marla would let her come later.
The doorbell buzzed.
"Hallo?" inquired a muted voice on the other side of the door. "Are you
decent?"
Samantha's brain felt like someone had flushed it. The person outside was
female. Definitely not Marla. She heard keys jangling, then locks tumbling
open. Whoever it was, she was coming in.
White heat wrapped around her chest like talons picking up a tasty treat. She
frantically parsed her options…waddle into the bedroom, hide behind the
curtains, melt into the floor, beam up to the Enterprise, faint, die…
The door opened, then shut with a bang.
"Aunt Marla?" the voice inquired, much louder now. "I brought back the…well,
hello…"
Samantha swiveled her eyes sideways, but all she caught was a flash of tan,
blonde and white.
"My, my, my. You must be a friend of Marla's. A very good friend. A very
special friend."
Samantha heard a girlish giggle as the stranger wandered over to the box on the
ottoman.
"I take it your name is…Samantha? Pleased to meetcha, Sammy, my name's
officially Patricia, which I hate hate hate, so my friends call me Trixie. Wow,
nice outfit. Looks like a pretty snug fit though. Man, you've got quite the
bod…"
Trixie came over to get a better look at Samantha's face, allowing Samantha to
do likewise. Aunt Marla? She remembered her once mentioning a sister and her
kids. She could see some family resemblance, but the gene gods had been far
kinder to the next generation. Short straight hair with a chlorine tint. Feral
eyes. A nose that could be the "after" poster in the waiting room of a plastic
surgeon in South Hampton. Samantha guessed she was barely old enough to vote,
if not drive.
"Um hmmm…Aunt Marla says you gotta be careful about showing off your brains if
you want to sleep with the cute ones. Only weirdos like girls who can whip 'em
at work, or anywhere else, for that matter. Trust me, it's the story of my
life. That's some gag you got there…betcha there's a big ol' nasty plastic
penis in there, huh?"
Samantha shifted nervously, ever mindful of the key, while her brain furiously
recalculated all available data. Obviously Marla's niece. Obviously aware of
Marla's hobby. Obviously not easily shocked by…
"Gotta keep your nose outta trouble, Sammy. I'll bet Marla would blow a
motherboard if she found that key on the floor, huh?"
Samantha's muscles seized as Trixie reached around and groped the exposed gash
in the rubber between her outstretched legs.
"Ooooh, you're all wet and squishy in there. You like this?"
Samantha gasped as Trixie's thumb and forefinger clamped down tight around her
clitoris.
"I figured as much. Hmmm…I never get to play girlygirl…I myself like boys.
Unlike other people I know, obviously. But I can see how this could be fun…you
know all the right things to do. Or the things not to do. Like this…"
Trixie's fingers pinched and pawed Samantha's sex with all the grace of a
factory robot.
"That's how boys do it. Idiots. But girls like it like this…"
She started rubbing Samantha's clit back and forth, her soft touch rapidly
increasing in both speed and pressure.
"Feels good, huh? You practically have to brainwash boys to teach them to do
this right. I've tried to train a few, but they usually get all weirded out
when I tie them up, y'know? Like they never considered the fact that a young
thing like me might have a clue in the bedroom beyond 'oooh, Johnny, yer makin'
me soooo hawwwwwt…'"
Trixie removed her hand, then leaned over close to Samantha's ear.
"I'll bet Marla won't be home for hours," she whispered loudly. "Just us girls.
Can you keep a secret? 'Cause what they doesn't know, won't hurt 'em…"
She giggled.
"Except maybe you."
Samantha glanced sideways and caught a glimpse of Trixie's gargoyle grin as her
heart pounded wildly. She found herself pitying Trixie's parents, but then
again, one of them must be Marla's sibling. Do they trade bondage tips over
turkey at holidays?
Vague noises of opening and rummaging filled the room behind her.
"Gee, this is lots easier than usual…usually, I have to spend, like, hours
convincing a guy to let me tie him to the bedposts with some old scarves…all
that kissing and tongue-slithering and sticking their hands in my bra and
fussing around with my crotch…but they almost always say yes, y'know? Then,
once I get them nice and secure, I usually blindfold and then start playing
with their cocks, make them all nice and hard, then stop and let them go soft,
then do it again. After a few times, they're usually thrashing pretty good, so
I'll replace the scarves with cuffs, plus add some rope to hold down their
thighs. As soon as they start yelling, I stick a ball gag in their mouth, and
then they really freak out, probably 'cause of 'Pulp Fiction' or something,
that scene in the dungeon always makes 'em queasy, but once they calm down,
they usually get hard again, but I take care of that with an ice cube, make
their dick and balls shrivel up like walnuts, and then I get out my cock
harness and lock them up tight, like maybe two inches of boner if they're
lucky, and that's when the real fun starts, do you have any idea how sensitive
a guy's nipples are? I like playing with their assholes, too, they go, like,
berserk, and just when I think they're gonna die on me, I grease up a big ol'
plug and push it up real slow inside them, I never tried one myself, so maybe
you can tell me if it works as good on girls…"
Trixie was standing next to Samantha again, waving something that looked like a
flesh-colored ice-cream cone with a rounded tip.
"You know what's really cool? Getting them to pop a Viagra first. When baby
blue kicks in on their tied-up dick, well, I wouldn't know, but judging from
their reaction, I get the idea it's pretty fucking intense. I hear the shit
works good on girls, too. Not that I ever needed it or anything. Bummer I
didn't bring one, huh?"
Convulsions surged through Samantha's rectum as Trixie nuzzled the tip between
her very spread cheeks.
"Wait a sec, this really isn't very fair, is it? Tell you what, Sammy…I'll give
you a sporting chance. Hold on there…"
The pellets in Samantha's mouth stifled everything but a labored grunt.
"Grrrrrreat gag," Trixie noted somewhere distant behind Samantha. "Gotta get
Marla to tell me where he scored it."
Samantha began to feel faint. She debated the benefits of letting the key
simply fall to the floor so she could try to do likewise.
"My aunt will totally murder me if he finds out I've been playing with her
toys, so I guess no marks is the rule today. But I don't think she'll notice.
Hope not. Otherwise, you'll have some explaining to do. Excuse me, but can I
borrow this for a sec?"
Trixie reached in and plucked the key away from Samantha's nose, then headed
down for her ankles and unlocked them from the spreader bar.
"Thanks," she said as she stuck the key back. "Hold still now…"
Samantha felt a piece of rope being wrapped and knotted around her waist, then
threaded between her legs.
"No, that's not gonna work…she'll see the burn around your tummy. Shit, what am
I…"
Samantha saw Trixie look up and notice her exposed nipples.
"Doh! Perfecto."
She skipped out of sight. Clinking sounds ensued.
"Not the tweezer type…they always slip off…oh…these will do nicely. Very nicely
indeedy-deedy-do."
Something hard and cold attached itself to Samantha's left nipple.
"Twist, twist, twist. That's all I ever do around here."
Faint bursts of light twinkled in Samantha's peripheral vision as Trixie tugged
the chain between the set of very tightened brass presses.
"There. My, what big eyes you have. No, wait, that's my line. Here's yours."
Trixie tied one end of the rope to the chain and looped the rest between
Samantha's legs.
"Pick up your foot, please, either one's fine, that's it, up and over your
wrists…watch your balance there, Sammy…let me get this tied off to your ankle,
and bingo, storks are us…goodbye, shoe…so here's the deal, you keep the key
against the wall, and our friend Mr. Deluxe Vibrating Butt Plug stays in my
hand. Ready, Freddie?"
What sounded like a swarm of angry hornets started buzzing behind Samantha.
"Set…and…go!"
Samantha bent-over leg jerked like a hooked fish when Trixie touched the
whirring tip to the latex-covered sole of her foot.
"Gawd, that's gotta be the total bomb," Trixie exclaimed as she kneaded
Samantha's arch. "I wouldn't let anyone fuck with my sweet little tootsies like
that. I am, like, so ticklish on my feet. All someone has to do is touch them,
and I freak out, y'know? But some people thing they're totally erogenous."
Samantha started to worry that her nose would break from the strain of
supporting most of her weight against the wall, unless her wobbly ankle broke
first.
"Bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz, busy little bumblebee. Are we having our moment? Kootchy
kootchy koo…better hold still there, Sammy. That's gotta smart when you pull
the rope like that. Here, let's try it again."
Samantha ground her molars into the pellets and clenched her toes as hard as
she could. Her brain solemnly informed her this was what it's like to be
electrocuted.
"Didn't you just hate this when the doctor did it to you?" Trixie chirped like
a child talking to her doll. "I screamed and thrashed around on the table so
much, my mom had to, like, hold me down. Once I even whiplashed my knee right
into the doctor's chin. He got real pissed off and even swore a little, but
served the bastard right, especially when I told him and told him not to fuck
with my feet."
A flurry of spasms wrenched Samantha sideways. As her body started following
her foot, she accidentally looked down at the floor, causing the key to fall to
the carpet with a near-soundless plop.
"Awwww," Trixie said as she clicked off the vibrator. "Nice try there, Sammy.
Hey, thanks for playing our game. What do we have for our departing contestants
today, Johnny?"
Forehead against the wall, Samantha panted raggedly through her nose while
Trixie put the murderous heel back on her foot and untied the knot holding it
up.
"OK, time for the second set. On your knees, puh-leeze."
As she slumped to the floor, Samantha couldn't quite make out what Trixie was
humming, but she finally recognized the tune from one of the countless Grateful
Dead soundboard tapes an old beau had forced her to endure.
"I need a miracle ev-er-ree day," Trixie confirmed in a voice that combined the
worst qualities of Sandra Bernhard and Betty Boop.
"Hey, if I were you, I'd get my cute little nose against that key down there on
the floor just as fast as I could."
For a moment, Samantha considered what would happen if she refused. Who was
this prepubescent monster anyway? Alright, that does it, she informed herself.
As soon as she got herself out of this mess, she decided she was going straight
to the proper authorities, like the police…wait, was she willing to accuse
Marla, not to mention Trixie, of rape? Hadn't she voluntarily bound herself?
OK, then, her boss at work…and what was he going to say when she confessed a
kinky lesbian threesome with a staff member and her potentially-underage niece?
Kneeling, wrists still cuffed behind her back, she bent over until her face was
maybe an inch above the carpet, sighed, then placed the tip of her nose against
the key.
"Very good. You'll be a Jedi yet. Now, push that sucker over here by me."
Awkwardly, Samantha turned her body around so her head was facing the center of
the room, and started crawling toward Trixie, fragile bits of skin scraping
roughly against the carpet as she nudged the key forward.
"That's it…keep coming…you wish…and…stop. Now, hold still, slavette, while I
prepare you for your big prize."
Samantha tried to look backward between her outstretched legs, but she didn't
need to see to know that Trixie was reattaching the spreader bar to the cuffs
around her ankles.
"Better smother some girl juice on our buddy here. You definitely want this
good and greasy. "
Before Samantha had a chance to prepare herself, Trixie was shoving the plug
back and forth, then deep inside, her pussy. After a few violent strokes, she
pulled open the top of the slit in the panties and repositioned the plug's tip
against Samantha's much smaller passage.
"Ready…aim…"
She pushed in the first of the three bulges.
"Fire. Hey, you sure sweat a lot for a cute chick. Must be finally having that
moment. Ready for round two?"
Samantha grunted loudly as Trixie forced the second part of the plug into her
ass.
"My, that is a fat little fucker, isn't it? This last bulge is gonna take some
work…maybe if I try screwing it …ooof, in you go."
As the rest of the plug disappeared, something inside Samantha grabbed
everything below her stomach and squeezed it dry.
"Oh, and before I forget…"
Trixie twisted the control knob to the fastest setting.
"Well, ya and hoo. Must be quite the gala in there. How rude of you not to
invite me, the guest of honor. That's OK, I forgive you. In fact, I think I'll
gonna crash your cute little party dress."
Samantha's legs began shaking uncontrollably, every breath a runaway
locomotive, as Trixie stretched the rubber panties over the base of the plug,
then wandered out of sight.
"It's so nice to dispense with all that limits crap, isn't it, Sammy?" Trixie
yelled from another room. "Of course, knowing my aunt, I doubt she's ever asked
for your list of no-no's."
Several anguished minutes passed like centuries before Trixie returned.
"Hey, swivel your eyes thisaway and take a gander."
Samantha turned her head and gulped at the sight of Trixie naked from the waist
down, a gigantic dildo bouncing crazily from a thick belt around her crotch.
"Looks like they used a horse for the mold, huh? Or maybe an elephant. I must
say, you're not having the usual conniption fit over my little love missile
here. My gentlemen callers usually get quite upset right about now. You've been
trained well, grasshopper. Speaking of training, where's the end of that rope
tied to your titties? Oh, here we go. I'll just hold it in my hand here like
reins, give it a little tug every once in a while to remind you I'm back here.
Well, it looks like we're down to the final hole, Johnny. And this putt's for
the green coat. Let's see if ol' Trixie…can…sink…it…"
The dildo felt like hot lead as it pierced Samantha's folds.
"And…it's…good!"
As Trixie began to gyrate her hips, Samantha realized she would never again
think of a man as being well-hung.
"Some days it just takes me forever to come this way. Hope you don't mind.
Giddy up!"
One twenty. One twenty-one. One twenty-two…
"Well, that should just about wrap it up," Trixie panted as she pulled out.
"You're definitely a major-league trooper. I don't know how you do it, but
let's definitely do it again sometime real soon, OK?"
Samantha shuddered hard as Trixie stuck the key into the padlocks connecting
the ankle cuffs to the spreader bar.
"Up, up, up. Gotta put Humpty Dumpty together again before auntie gets back."
Her legs felt like they had the tensile strength of melted butter, but Samantha
managed to stand.
"Very good. Look at you, not a mark anywhere to be seen. Of course, we know
better, huh?"
Trixie's hand grabbed the base of the plug and yanked it out of Samantha's ass.
"Whoa, you must practice that reaction. Hey, speaking of which, did you ever
come? I sure did. Well, maybe next time we can play more with your creamy
little twat."
Trixie snaked a hand between Samantha's legs and started raking her long
fingernails against the swollen pinkness.
"Yeah, I'll bet Marla has all kinds of clamps and weights that would probably
hurt like holy hell down there. Oh, speaking of which…"
She unscrewed the presses, and Samantha saw stars.
"I've heard taking them off is the worst part. OK, turn around and spread 'em.
Good. Now, stick your nose against the door just like when I got here. Now,
let's see, what am I forgetting? Oh yeah, the bar…click clack. There we go.
Time for me to play maid…hey, I'll bet you look real cute in one of those
French lace numbers…"
Trixie bustled around the house cleaning up the detritus of the afternoon's
activities and humming that damn Grateful Dead song again.
Yes, a miracle would come in real handy right about now, Samantha thought to
herself. Maybe Marla would come home early, discover what her nasty little
niece had done to her, and…and…hell, she'd probably give her a great big kiss
for a job well done.
"Well, that just about does it, Sammy. Time for me to make like a baby and head
out. But before I go, I want to leave you with a little something…well,
actually, it's a present for Aunt Marla, too…"
Between giggles, Samantha thought she heard the sound of a zipper, then water
being poured on the floor.
"Such a naughty little slut," Trixie taunted as she finished urinating. "Marla
will be exceptionally annoyed. You might even say she's going to be…PISSED!"
She picked up her backpack and headed for the door, still chuckling.
"God, I crack me up…well, later, alligator…whoops, almost forgot…"
She turned and tossed the key on the damp floor between Samantha's outstretched
feet.
PS if you want to be notified of my new stories via email, please sign up for
The List at my web site.
___________________________________________
Story archive: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Gallery/9911/door.html
Mail: adrianhunter-at-geocities-dot-com
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