Message-ID: <21473asstr$943575001@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: NightShade Subject: {ASSM} Story: A deer in the headlights - 3 parts (MF, F/car, BDSM, rom) - deer02.txt [1/1] X-Original-Message-ID: Reply-To: i_m_nightshade@hotmail.com Lines: 955 NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 25 Nov 1999 10:20:18 CST X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers X-Abuse-Info: Otherwise we will be unable to process your complaint properly Date: Thu, 25 Nov 1999 19:10:01 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, gill-bates, IceAltar, newsman, apuleius THE USUAL WARNINGS: This is a work of fiction by a twisted mind. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of natural and/or unnatural sexual acts, if you are underage, or if this type of material is illegal where you are, don't read any further. This is a fantasy. You will have to loosen your clench on reality a little when you read it. This is a tale in which physical acts and human responses are not limited to, nor necessarily based in, reality. Some acts and responses in this story may be physically impossible and/or physiologically improbable. Also, as is the case with most of the stories in this newsgroup, all the women in this story are beautiful; gorgeous, even. Gravity has not caused their breasts to droop nor have wrinkles creased their unblemished faces. The men (the leading men, at least) are hung like bulls. They can get it up and keep it up often and at will. In this special little fantasyland, there are no STDs, morals, or unwanted pregnancies; and guilt is a four-letter word. But most important of all, no amount of strength of character, courage of convictions or moral beliefs stand a chance against an erotic stimulus. This can be as benign as an accidental glimpse of a bared ankle or as stimulating as a whipping on the genitals. For those of you who didn’t understand the preceding statements, GO AWAY! This story is intended for the salacious entertainment of consenting adults. Do not try to do any of the things described in this story. You will injure yourself or your partner. Or be arrested, or shot by her father.... If you are under 18 years of age, GO AWAY! This story will burn your eyeballs and fry your brain. If material of a strong sexual nature is prohibited where you are, GO AWAY! By continuing, the reader accepts all responsibility for any disgust, revulsion, jail sentences, or pleasure that results from reading this story. If you don’t, GO AWAY! You have been warned! If you enjoy this story and feel the urge to post it on a site, at least give me (NightShade) credit for it. So, stick your tongue firmly in your cheek and enjoy the story!....:) NightShade A Deer in the Headlights (MF, F/car, BDSM) Chapter 02 by NightShade 11/99 It was not lost on me that on that particular day my car had gotten royally fucked by the little minx and all I had gotten was a peck on the cheek and set of seriously aching balls. I had learned to shrug off most of life’s little injustices, but somehow this one really galled me. Yeah, it was my choice, I know. But still, it rankled. I spent most the rest of that day and far into the night burning the whole series of jpegs onto a writable CD-ROM. There were a lot of pictures, but even then it took longer than it should have as I had to keep cleaning off the keyboard and the monitor screen. Yeah, I jerked off, but, well, you would have, too. She was one fine looking lady. Needless to say, the photos were sensational. Even as biased as I was, having taken them, I could tell these were golden, hot. The whole story was there, from the first ass- giggling movements when she started by bending over the hood and ending with her gut-wrenching orgasm on the hood ornament. I was blurry-eyed when the last photo was cropped and enhanced, but the slideshow I produced was first class. It was hot enough to melt the computer chips that would run it. Damned if Janet didn’t ring that fucking doorbell at 7:30 sharp. I staggered to the door, forgetting to put on my robe. Her grin nearly blinded me when she saw me in my shorts, my tired and sore pecker sticking out at half-mast with a morning woody. “Grab a shower and come on over, sir. I’ve just put the coffee on. I, uh, saw your lights on late and figured you wouldn’t be ready quite this early.” With that she turned and bounced back over to her own house. I showered, shaved, and dressed – complete with my Dockers and sandals, this time. I also grabbed a small bag I had prepared the night before – just in case… Her back door was open and there were more aromas than coffee spilling out onto the dew-laden morning air. I identified bacon immediately, that being one of the forbidden foods at my house. I also recognized the smell of fresh baked croissants. I’m afraid I stood in the door and just salivated for a minute or two. If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, Janet had prepared for open- heart surgery. As I stood there, the investigator in me automatically cataloged the details of her home, or what I could see of it. It struck me that the room reflected her personality perfectly. Feminine, but with the wit and humor of a strong intelligence. The colors were blended perfectly, giving an impression of warmth, but having an undercurrent of strong sensuality. And she could cook, too! Janet had to take me by the hand and pull me over to the places she had set at the table. A sudden attack of shyness overcame me as I stood there. I suddenly wondered what the Hell I was doing, and if it had all been a glorious dream yesterday. I knew that if I followed through today with what I had planned last night in the heat of those pictures, it could be a huge mistake. But the food smelled so good. Maybe just a few bites, then I would leave. I let her force me to the table. Yup, she did it. It was all her fault. Hey, if Adam can blame the woman, so can I. The croissants melted in my mouth, and there were more of them than I could eat. She must have baked 3 or 4 dozen of them. She watched me eat each bite with an innocent joy, seemingly fascinated by my huge appetite. Piping hot eggs, creamy grits, crispy bacon and chicory coffee. I half expected to see biscuits and gravy appear on my plate next, but apparently she wanted to eat light that morning. Sated and stuffed, I sat back, thoughtfully caressing the thick mug of hot coffee between my two hands. I looked up to see Janet watching me. “Outstanding, Janet. Simply the best breakfast I have ever had. Honest.” She blushed at the praise. “Thank you.” She hesitated a moment. “And thank you for yesterday, too.” Oh, Damn! There it was, lying right there on the table among the detritus of an excellent breakfast. Damn! Damn! Damn! The topic I was dreading and hoping for all at the same time. Ball’s in your court, mister. “Yes. Well, uh, you know…” I tapered off. A great start, no? She sensed my embarrassment. Hell, a dead man could have sensed my embarrassment. “I never did anything like that before…” We both spoke at the same time and stopped at the same place. And burst out laughing at the same time. The ice broken, we began to talk, openly and honestly. She told me of her short, loveless marriage to my neighbor. It was in some ways worse than mine. The guy was a mortician and thought it was an exciting job. He came home smelling like death and was then even more lifeless in bed. She was not a virgin any longer, having waited for marriage, but she might as well have been for all the fucking she didn’t get. When she told me she was as celibate as I was, I looked at her in disbelief. She must have seen the look on my face and she asked me if I thought she should have gone out and picked up something from a bar or a street corner. I stammered that it was hard to believe someone as beautiful as she was would be forced into abstinence. She shot back that she couldn’t understand how someone as handsome as I was should be in the exact same situation, and I had a job where I could get out of the house and therefore had more opportunities than she did, locked in her suburban prison. Touché. Point to the lady. Despite the compliment she paid me, I had never considered myself handsome. Rugged, maybe, but not gigolo handsome. I kept myself in shape, and for my age, my doctor said I was doing fine. I still wish he hadn’t used that fucking qualifier, though. I was well aware of the effects of my age. Remember the glasses? I asked her straight out how she had ended up with my neighbor. I had never even known he had gotten married, and we lived next to each other for close to fifteen years. She said she had developed an unfounded deep-seated fear of dominant men growing up, probably helped along by too much ‘women’s’ propaganda and all the white-male bashing, testosterone hating feminists in the public school systems. She had fallen for her husband because of his passiveness, which she has misinterpreted as gentleness. She had had no idea how lonely you could get living with someone else. I asked where he went every weekend. “Oh, he goes to Momma’s.” A sudden surge of panic flashed through me when I heard that name and I bolted upright, suddenly alert for danger. I damn near tipped over the chair. I envisioned that this whole thing had all been an elaborate setup, just to get my wife her excuse for a divorce. The panic began to well up within my throat, spoiling the excellent breakfast. Then sanity kicked back in and I took a deep breath. Janet’s eyes were huge as she watched this silent drama play out on my face. I smiled sheepishly. “Let me guess. ‘Momma’ is a short, beady-eyed, sharp-nosed woman with a voice like fingernails on a blackboard and a face that makes her voice sound soothing. Her kids hate her, but dote on her every whim. She makes frequent demands on their time, which they can only fulfill by giving up all their time with their spouses. She has money, which she never spends, and she holds the possibility of that inheritance over their heads, clubbing them with her ‘Will’ at every opportunity. You and I both know all the money will go to the fucking cats, but her stupid kids, blinded by greed, haven’t figured that out yet. Besides, she will probably outlive them all, anyway. “Only one opinion counts, and that’s hers. If your opinion turns out to be right, it was hers all along and you stole it from her. She picked you out for her son, but you have never been good enough. She berates you in front of him at Christmas for your shortcomings, and berates him all the rest of the year for his. She has never contributed anything to society, but acts as if the rest of the world should be thankful she is alive. Oh yeah, she has six trophy heads mounted on the study wall. That about right?” She had been laughing so hard she had to hold her sides as I described ‘Momma’ to her. She queried me about the trophy heads. “Ex-husbands,” I explained. This brought such a violent fit of laughter, I thought she would choke on her tongue. Getting back a bit of control she simply held up four fingers. I took that to indicate that her husband’s Momma had been a slacker, and said as much. She looked around with a horrified look on her face to see if anyone had heard my derogatory comments, but then remembered it was just the two of us. Still, the sudden spontaneous flash of fear in her eyes at that moment touched a kindred feeling in my own soul. We were perhaps more alike than we realized. It was noon before we knew it. By then, we had gone over both my situation and hers in agonizing detail. I found I liked her, and that she felt the same way about me, in spite of our ages. I was old enough to be her father, as she was barely into her twenties. The silences lingered as we listened to the big grandfather clock strike the hour. It continued to linger until it became obvious and awkward between us. “About yesterday…” What the fuck. Might as well just jump in, right? “Yes?” She was suddenly serious and alert. Intense. Her willingness and readiness to talk about it cared the shit out of me. I looked her right in the eyes. “Did you, uh, enjoy what happened?” She blushed. “You couldn’t tell?” It was my turn to blush. My hand still smelled of her juices, as I had held it outside the shower door when I washed up that morning. “Well, I thought you did, but I just wanted to make sure.” “Yes, I did.” She said it simply, as if she too had wrestled with the question all night, as well. She probably had, but didn’t show it. Ah, the resiliency of youth. Now the killer question. “Would you like to do more?” “Yes,” no hesitation, no doubts, “I want to do it all.” Damn! She had thought about this. “Now?” My voice was quivering, in both hope and fear. “Yes.” Her voice was a bare whisper. I looked up from my intense study of the tabletop and saw her eyes were closed. Tears were leaking from them but, as she was smiling, I didn’t think she was sad. “Just one thing.” I jerked back to attention as she continued. “Yes. What?” “You have to wear just your boxers, like you did yesterday.” She was grinning so impishly, I half expected to see half-eaten feathers, paws and whiskers. I thought about that, then grinned. “I can live with that. Any other restrictions?” “No, sir…. but it would be nice to know your name.” I nearly crawled under the table from shame. I hadn’t even noticed. Shit, damn, hell and fuck, what a dunce! According to one of the manuals I had downloaded from the ‘Net last night, “Domination for Dummies” I think, or “SDBM for Dyslexics” maybe, it had said to never allow the submissive get the upper hand. I was supposed to turn any smart-ass banter to my advantage. Of course, as I had browsed through the manual, I realized I had pretty much broken every rule in it already, and I had only been a Dom for less than 24 hours at that point. So I figured I’d wing it. It had seemed to work for me so far. I mentally crawled out from under the table. I thought back to the emotions I was feeling yesterday. The anger, the heat, the passion. I tapped into the memories. I scowled at her, eyes blazing, “‘Sir’ will do nicely, but if you do need to address me in public, you may call me ‘John’.” I pitched my voice just short of a shout. The effect was amazing. She paled and seemed to shrink in front of my face. I could see her lip trembling. She really thought she had screwed up. She looked like she was going to cry. I guess I’m just a big softie, and I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stand to see her afraid. I wanted – and she wanted – domination, not terror. I winked at her. She blinked as she suddenly realized I was just acting. As she began to relax, I stood suddenly, this time sending my chair crashing to the floor behind me. I moved to stand behind her chair. I towered over her. She was forced to tip her head all the way back to keep me in view. I fixed her gaze with my own, continuing to glare at her angrily. Her bottom lip trembled so daintily, I almost melted into the chair with her. But not yet. “Stand up!” I snapped the command, leaving no room for questions. There were none. “Are you wearing panties?” She nodded. I simply held out my hand and waited. The silky undergarments soon rustled to the floor and then settled into my palm. They were damp. I stifled a grin as I felt the dampness cool on my skin. I raised them to my nose and inhaled in an overly obvious manner. This caused her to blush a deep red, as it was obvious even without holding them to my nose that she was secreting her juices. When I stuffed them into the pocket of my shorts it looked like she was about to protest. They were a delicate and expensive pair. She had been hoping I might see them, I think, just not in this manner. Tough shit. I took stock of what she was wearing. It would not suit what I intended to do for the rest of the day. They were too nice. I needed something I could rip up or cut off if I needed to. “Bring me the clothes you were wearing yesterday.” She didn’t move immediately, so I leaned forward and swatted her ass sharply. “NOW!” She squealed in mock fear as she scampered out of the kitchen. I heard her thumping footsteps on the floor directly above, which told me where the master bedroom was. Soon she was standing in front of me, panting from the exertion of running up and down stairs. She held the soiled T-shirt and shorts in her hands. “Where are the panties?” Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake. A second swat caught her behind as she rushed back up to get the dirty undergarment. She seemed to enjoy the swats so much, I almost wondered if she had forgotten the panties intentionally. I wouldn’t have put it past her. She was sharp and good at getting what she wanted. Well, today I intended for her to get all she wanted and more. Flushed and with a fine sheen of perspiration touching her forehead, she handed the missing panties to me. I sniffed this pair as well, and stuck them in my pocket with the others. This pair was mine. Plain cotton, dime a dozen, but God, what a fragrance! She had lost her shoes in her hurry. They were high-heeled sandals, totally inappropriate for around the house. So was her tight black leather mini-skirt and peach-colored silk blouse. She definitely knew how to dress to bring out her colors. She looked as if she could have stepped straight out of a fashion photo-shoot. I stared at her bare feet until she realized what I wanted. I got to spank her a third time as she bolted to the bottom of the stairs, where she had kicked them off. I held out my hand out for them as well. She placed them in my hand. I folded the shirt neatly, then the shorts, then placed the high heels on top of the neat stack of dirty clothes. I handed the neat stack to her and pointed to a small room off the kitchen I had already determined was the pantry. “Go put these on. Just those, nothing else. Understand?” She nodded silently. “Bring me the clothes you are wearing.” Two minutes later she was again standing before me, dressed as she had been the day before, with the addition of the shoes. They were a nice addition. I took her expensive silk blouse and retrieved a hanger from the hall closet. I hung it neatly on the hanger and hung the short skirt below it. Her eyes widened as she saw the care I took with her expensive clothing. I think if she had had any doubts about what we were about to do, the care I took not to ruin the things she cared about eased them completely. The dainty bra I placed over the hanger then took the matching pair of panties from my pocket and placed them with the bra. Next, I dropped my shorts, having only my boxers on underneath. She couldn’t keep the grin off her face as she saw the head of my prick peeking out at her. She licked her lips as she looked at it and I nearly raped her then and there. But I had a plan. Stick to the plan, damnit! I whipped off my shirt and sandals with a flourish, and stood posing in front of her in just my boxers. God, I loved to hear her laughter. It was like water to a man in the desert. When I finished posing for her – or ex-posing, more correctly, I turned to glare at her again. “Is there a computer in the house?” I knew there was. I had seen the boxes they came in being tossed in the trash. She nodded, taken a little aback by this question. Good. At least I could surprise her. “Well? Take me to it!” I got to spank her perky little ass again. I was beginning to like this dom shit. She led me to a locked door on the first floor of the house and then hesitated again. It was obviously her husband’s office. This time I didn’t push her. She was afraid of something, and I didn’t want to make her do anything that might get her into real trouble with him. Sure, as if what I had planned was any less despicable than breaking into a locked office. Taking a deep breath, she seemed to come to a resolution of the conflict in her mind. She reached down and lifted a loosened edged of the carpet. Hidden under the loose edge was the key to the door. She unlocked the door and eased it open. She replaced the key and the carpet carefully, and then stepped inside the darkened room. She stepped so lightly I thought the room was wired with an alarm, so I waited outside the door for her to disarm it. She turned and looked at me. “Is it safe?” I asked. “What?” “You were being so careful. I thought maybe there was an alarm or something.” “Oh, no! It’s just, well, Darrin doesn’t like me in here even when he’s here. He’d shit if he knew I knew where he hid the key.” “Oh. We don’t have to – …” I was stopped by a derisive snort. Very ladylike, that. “Fuck him,” she interrupted me. She pointed. “There’s the computer.” I was still outside the room and as I looked in, I noticed something odd. The monitor’s screen was not visible from either the door or from the window. Not that that was odd in itself, it’s just that it would have been a whole lot better use of the available space if he had arranged the furniture differently. The investigator in me was piqued and I filed that question away to be researched later. Right now I had a hot willing woman to defile, and I was looking forward to it. I walked over to the desk and looked at his office chair. It was perfect for what I had in mind. I motioned her over to sit in the chair. I studied the PC briefly, then turned it on. As it was booting, I walked around the room, opening the curtains wide and adjusting the lamps in the room to cast their light on the quiet figure in the desk chair. When I was done, the light was adequate for my needs. The PC beeped at me, asking for a password. Figures the old fart would try to keep everyone out. That just raised my curiosity another notch. What was this guy trying to hide? A double set of books, perhaps? Nah, not from a mortuary. Maybe he had a double life? Maybe he was a hit man for the Mob! Wouldn’t that just be a fine twist? I took a special disk out of my small bag and re-booted the machine using the floppy drive. Poof! The password was no longer needed! The computer guys in my home office would deny providing us with that disk, but most times folks didn’t realize how incriminating a home computer could be in a fraud investigation. They would leave all kinds of shit on them. I slipped in the CD I had made the night before into the D: drive and started the program I had put on it. Suddenly, Janet saw herself in brilliant color on the 21” screen. I watched her eyes widen as she realized who and what she was watching. She glanced up briefly at me, blushed a delightful pink, smiled and then glued her gaze on the screen. The slide show started at the beginning with her bent over the hood of the car. I had set the timer for about 5 seconds between shifts, with some shots getting a longer duration. She gasped as the pictures progressed. She literally oozed sex on the screen, and I was glad to see it was affecting her. I moved to stand behind her chair, then got down on my knees so that our heads were at the same level. Her eyes were riveted to the screen, as her suggestive poses became more and more erotic. I saw her moisten her lips and her breathing became shallower. I leaned forward and began to whisper suggestive, dirty ideas into her ear. “Look at that slut. Look how hot she is. See how she teases the men. She deserves to be spanked for acting like that. She deserves to be punished. Spanked hard.” Things like that. On and on, whatever came to mind. As I whispered these things and others to her, she tipped her head back against mine, moving her ear closer to my mouth. She kept her eyes on the screen. When she began to squirm, I felt she was ready. I reached forward with one hand and slid it under her knee. Gently I urged her to lift her leg up over the arm of the chair. I whispered to her to do her other leg the same way and she did, as if in a dream. “Touch yourself, Janet.” It was my first direct command to her to do something like that, and I wondered if she would surrender something as intimate as that to me. I waited, holding my breath. Groaning from deep within herself, she moved her hands downward towards her splayed crotch. Her hands moved so slowly, it seemed as if she were fighting an inner conflict. But first one hand, then the other slipped under the band of her tight shorts. I could see by the movement of the cloth over her cunt that both hands were active. I let her get going good, then dropped the bomb. “Don’t cum, Janet, until I tell you to. If you do, I’ll have to punish you.” As I spoke to her I reached around the chair and gently fondled her unfettered breasts through the T-shirt. It was my first grope of them, and they were everything they promised to be. Firm and spongy, they molded readily to my hands as she moved her chest to force them harder into my palms. She was already worked up from the picture show, so I focused on her rock-hard nipples. As I tweaked them, I admonished her to keep her fingers busy but not to cum. I used the word ‘punish’ a lot as I continued to whisper to her. It seemed to incite her lust. I could sense her orgasm building in her, and I pinched her twin peaks particularly hard, rolling them as I did so. “AAAaaahhhhh sshshhshshit. You bastard!” she hissed as she came on her fingers. She wasn’t mad at me, I don’t think, just sorry it had happened so fast. But she wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. “Keep those fingers working, Janet. That’s just the first one.” “Oh God, you’re a tyrant. Oh, don’t stop what you’re doing.” I had moved my hand down over hers and was pressing them down into her cunt. I smiled. “You know I’m going to have to punish you now.” She nodded, meekly. But I noticed a tremor pass through her as she sat there. I removed my hands from her crotch, and then stood after telling her to keep watching the show and to keep her hands busy. I also nuzzled her hair before I stood up. She smelled so good. She noticed me smelling her hair and I saw her grin in happiness. She was a picture of contrasts, the wanton waif, the innocent slut. A Beauty. The first thing I did was to shift the desk chair out a bit from the desk and position it at an angle. She could still see the slideshow of her lewd car wash, but I could also see her clearly as she sat legs akimbo in the chair. She didn’t even notice when I pulled out the small camera and took several shots of her masturbating. When I began to give her directions, she looked up, grinned and went back to her own pleasure, following my obscene directions but ignoring the camera. It looked like an innocent girl caught unawares in a very private moment. She licked her fingers clean of her own juices at my suggestion, held a bared tit up towards her mouth and touched the tip of her tongue to her nipple. That shot was a particularly hot one. Don’t know why, really. I guess guys are just jealous that girls have tits and tongues that can touch. Whatever. I got hot just thinking about that shot. But others were just as good. Like the ones where she pressed her fingertip against her ass-hole from the outside of her shorts. The look of bewilderment at the pleasurable sensations she gave herself when she touched herself back there made me swear to myself to introduce her to anal sex at the first opportunity. After a while I put the camera down. She had ‘disobeyed’ me several times by now, and I felt it was time to let her know a little of her punishment. Her sandals were dangling from her toes, sexily swaying with her spasms. I lifted each slightly, keeping them on her feet. I hooked the long heels onto the edge of the seat. This tipped her foot and forced her toes to point straight down and widened her knees as wide as possible. It made her lift her ass off the chair slightly, too. I slid her ass to the edge of the seat, making her slouch in the chair even more. Not uncomfortable, but not a natural position either. She whimpered just a little when I pulled the soft thick cords from my small bag. Her fingers were a blur inside her shorts as I looped the rope around first one ankle, then the other. It was as if we were in a race, as her finger actions became almost frantic. Just those two ties were enough to bring her to four major climaxes and she was chasing the fifth hard as I looped a third rope around her chest. This rope passed under her breasts and arms, leaving her arms free. I tied this one off tightly to the back of the chair. She was now pretty well locked into the position I wanted her to be in. As she tried to move and realized her helplessness, her hands moved even faster. Her eyes never left the 21” screen. The slide show was having more of an effect on her than I had even hoped. She was really turned on. I moved back and took more photos. Since she couldn’t move much and was preoccupied anyway, I moved around and shot her from every angle I could think of. The one I liked best was from down low in front of her, looking up between her thighs. I had her look down and give me a ‘sexy’ look. The look she gave me nearly sent me diving for her pussy in a fit of lust. Then the camera started beeping, and whirring. For a moment, I thought it was having an orgasm of its own, but it was merely a low battery notice. I plugged in the adapter and continued taking pictures. The next tie went around her tits. First, pulled her shirt back down over those lovely mounds. It was hard to do, but I didn’t want them marred in any way. I fit a sturdy rubber band around the base of each pliant orb. I pushed the tough elastic bands as close to her chest wall as I could before releasing them. The elastic compressed the firm flesh, eventually making it bulge out away from her chest like it was being squeezed off. But it wasn’t that tight. Each band had a small metal ring attached to it that I positioned in the lower medial quadrant of each breast. Then I used a thin cord and made several loops around each bulging tit. The loops started at the nipples and spiraled inward towards her chest. I pulled the cords taut, but not too tight. The cloth of her thin T-shirt protected the soft skin from the digging twine, and it also allowed the twine to slide without making a friction burn on the skin. I ran the long ends through the metal rings and left the ends of the thin cords hanging down her stomach. I committed that tie to digital memory as well, zooming in on the visible nipples pressing hard against the thin fabric. The site of her deformed tied tits was disturbingly mesmerizing, and even though the tie didn’t cause her much pain, their misshapen forms sent a sinister quiver pulsing through my iron hard cock. Her eyes were blurred pools of lust as I eased her hands out of her shorts. Her protests were half-hearted as she stared at the screen. The rear fenders were making acquaintance with her cunt lips, and her arousal on screen seemed enough to drive her toward another climax, even without the fingers. The heavy stainless steel handcuffs clicked in the silence as the ratchets tightened on her slender wrists. It wasn’t until she tried to slyly slip her hands back down to her twat that the pain from her tits knifed through the haze of lust and cleared her eyes. The surprise, the wonder, the sudden flash of fury as she realized that I was preventing her from finishing herself off this last time. Then, as she looked at the final tie, the realization sank in that I was not stopping her at all, just making the price of pleasure higher, so to speak. The long strands from the cords that spiraled around her swollen tits had been tied to the center links of the handcuffs, then pulled taut and tied off. Because the cords ran through the metal rings, if she pulled her hands towards her cunt, the cords would tighten on her breasts. Tit for twat, if you don’t mind a bad pun. The slideshow was building to a climax as she masturbated her way down the hood of my car. We both knew the grand finale was next, with her fucking herself with the hood ornament. The breath hissed out of her as she forced her hands a fraction lower. My camera never stopped clicking as she squeezed and tortured those soft globes so that they bulged out between the cutting strands of twine. She screamed when the tip of one fingernail grazed her clit. I thought she would tip the chair over backwards with the shaking and shuddering she was doing. “God damn you, sir. This is torture. Oh, God, I’m cummmmmmmmmming…. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Oh, oh!” My, my. Such naughty words! I remembered the idea of stuffing that pretty little mouth with something to keep it quiet. I reached into my little bag once more. Her eyes widened as she saw my makeshift ball-gag. I had threaded a thick rope through a tennis ball. It was a bit large going in, but as the ball was punctured, it collapsed easily. Of course, it wanted to expand back to its original size once it was behind her teeth, but that’s what the rope was for. To keep the expansion of the ball pressing down on her tongue. God, she looked beautiful. Now all she had to communicate with were her eyes. Those big brown puppy-dog eyes. After commemorating this new addition to her bondage with another couple dozen pictures, I moved to the front of her and got down on my knees. Fortunately Darrin, her husband, kept his chair seat low to the ground, because I didn’t have to spin her down. She was just at the right height. I walked on my knees until my aching balls rested against her ass cheeks. Then I rested my forearms on the arms of the chair and leaned forward into her. She finally realized what I was doing when her fingertips grazed the tip of my throbbing cock. I thought she would tear off her tits as she lunged to grab on to me. She didn’t seem to mind the pain at all. When she had lunged, I had shifted back just slightly so that she couldn’t get a good grip. She could only use her fingertips. As she got the idea, she resigned herself to only having that much contact with my cock, even though she craved more. She kept trying to stuff it into her cunt right through her shorts. Ouch! The glaring look in her eyes told me I just might have pushed her too far with this bit of teasing. But I didn’t give in to her. I did let her stroke me until I coated her chin, tits and chest with a deluge of my thick cream. Still throbbing, I just had to get some shots of her mussed up like that. As that last effort by her had really strained the limits on the amount of torture her tits could bear, I quickly loosened her from the bonds. She remained seated until all the ropes were off and put away. I looked up at her as I knelt to zip up my bag. “Well, are you just going to sit there smelling like a whore? Or would you like to go get cleaned up, and dressed up again like you were this morning?” I grinned as she squealed happily and ran up the stairs to the shower. I gave serious thought to joining her, but I had something to do first. Darrin had a few too many secrets that didn’t set right. I know, we all have our little private stashes that we really don’t want anybody else to know about, but this felt to my profession sense that it was something different. I sat at his desk and browsed the computer for a while. I didn’t notice anything peculiar until I searched his desk. Neatly, of course! Lock picking was a skill that they taught at the insurance investigator’s training course, although you won’t find it on the curriculum. It was just another one of those handy little things. And desk locks. Ha! Might as well leave a florescent note on what ever it is you’re hiding behind it saying, ‘Look at me! I’m in here.’. In side a locked drawer, neatly filed away, Darrin had a whole collection of photos of guys having sex with dead people and dead animals. Necrophilia. Fuck! As if he didn’t get enough of that at work. Suddenly, it struck me. I looked back up at the family picture of a man and an old woman on his desk – obviously he and Momma. I recognized that he was in some of the pictures. A lot of them. Having sex in coffins. Knowing what to look for now, I found a whole trail of photos and letters in a log file for a chat room. As the water shut off in the shower upstairs, a germ of an idea was planted in the back of my fertile brain. Janet interrupted my growing germs by walking back into the den. She had retrieved her clothes and two stemmed glasses and a bottle of champagne, apparently to seduce me with. Her tits bounced nicely behind the silk blouse. I made a bet that the panties were still on the hanger with her bra. I won. She came up to me and held up her lips for a kiss. I knew I could have had her then and there. She knew it, too. But something told me to wait. Call it caution, call it chicken shit, but I had heard that tiny voice too many times to ignore it. I kissed her lips gently, not allowing her to pull me into a passionate kiss. “Go get my belt, Janet.” Her look was priceless. Here she was, ready, willing and available, and I wanted my belt. “Now!” It was amazing how beautifully she responded to firm commands. The belt was in my hands with in minutes and I had the added benefit of seeing her tits bouncing crazily as she scurried back into the den with it. She blushed as she noticed me watching her tits. “Thank you. Now turn around.” She did so and I bound her hands behind her as I had the day before. It was more symbolic than secure. Taking her by her shoulders I turned her around to face me, then gradually increased the downward pressure. Her eyes widened as she realized what I was doing. I sensed a momentary panic. “Please, Sir. I’ve never…” My finger on her lips silenced her. I lowered myself down with her so that we were both on our knees, facing one another. “Janet? I thought you wanted to do it all? You WILL do this. I’ll go slow and explain everything. But I want no more protests. Is that clear?” She nodded slightly, a tear sliding down her cheek. I kissed the tear away and kissed her lips. Then I stood up. My engorged manhood presented itself to her lips. It stuck through the slit of my boxers and bounced a little, in time with my racing pulse. I let her stare at it for a while. “Stick out your tongue….That’s right….Now, just touch it to the tip, right there where the hole is….Oh, that’s good!” She had made contact with it and had not died or vomited. For the next twenty minutes I walked her through the basics of cock-sucking. She actually swallowed it all when I came in her mouth. I was proud of her and told her so. “It, it tasted, well, funny, Sir. I thought it would taste bad. I…,” she blushed “I liked it.” Not being ready to leave her yet, I lifted her up and set her ass on the edge of the desk. Immediately she spread her legs and lifted her heels up on the desk, spreading herself wide open. I surprised her again when, instead of burying my cock in her juicy cunt, I fell to my knees and instead buried my tongue in it. Later she admitted that had been the first time she had ever been eaten out. She had never even imagined it before. I gathered as much from her reaction, which just about gave me whiplash as she bucked up and down on the desk. I wanted her to remember this as a pleasant experience and did the best I could to bring her off as many times as possible. After 30 minutes or so my knees were getting tired but she wasn’t, so I pulled her off the desk and lay down on the floor on my back. I had her straddle my head with her knees so that she was facing my feet. She thought I was brilliant for knowing about the ’69’ position and she caught on real quick that this could be a mutually beneficial experience. The rest of evening was spent in an oral Olympics. Janet responded to every touch, every probe like it was the first time she had ever been touched down there. It most likely was. Her enthusiasm for cock-sucking kept me hard most of the evening, but it didn’t seem to matter to her if I was hard, soft or in between. She loved to suck on it. Not that I minded sucking on her sweet little cunt, either. It had been a long, long time since I had had that particular pleasure. I intended to sample this twat again. I finally brought her to a last screaming climax, using tongue and fingers in both bottom holes at around 9:00 that night. She came for what must have been three or four minutes, thrashing and spasming on top of me. When she finally lay still, I discovered she had fallen into a deep sleep. With great difficulty, I lifted her off me and carried her upstairs. I untied her arms, stripped her of her clothes, retied her arms loosely behind her back and tucked her into the master bed. I hung her clothes up on a hanger and left her house. I slept soundly that night, better than I had in years. It was only as I was drifting off that I realized I hadn’t fucked her. Oh, well. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- End of Chapter I hope you enjoyed it. :) All my published works are archived and can be read or downloaded free. The archive is located at: http://www.asstr-mirror.org Then open "pub", then "authors", then "NightShade" Comments to: i_m_nightshade@hotmail.com -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. 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