Jennifer's Postal Predicament
Posted: Sun Jun 02, 2024 5:18 am
Jennifer's Postal Predicament
Fiction by SensoryOverlord (C) 2011
F-solo, MF/f, mf/F, F/f, M/f, nc, humil, teen, toys, furniture, farce.
All that legal guff about how you might be an innocent child, or living under a censorious government, puritanical legal system, your mother wouldn't approve, you should not be here, you really must stop now, etc. Sigh... What a fucked up world. Anyway, what follows is an explicit, graphic, extreme sexual fantasy. You have been warned. Leave now if not already corrupted.
Synopsis:
Teen girlfriend sets up an erotic, inescapable self-bondage scene at home alone after school, as a treat for her boyfriend, who she expects to arrive soon. Naturally, things go awry.
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Chapter 1. The Story (Part 1 of 3)
You open the cover, and begin to read, hoping the hot bits start right away. Instead, there is a small weatherboard cottage, set in an enclosing circle of thick shrubbery and trees, in late afternoon suburban summer sunshine. To the right, a winding path leads up via worn sandstone steps through the bushes to a street higher on the hillside. It is not far, yet from up there on the street, at the gate and letter box, the house is hidden. There is only the stepped path, leading down, twisting among bushes. There are neighboring houses, but they too are hidden, separated by depths of trees and overgrown weedy greenery from each other and the street.
It is a very old cottage. Built cheaply once, and rarely maintained, it has reached a sort of agreement with dilapidation, in which the owners do just enough to keep it rentable, to tenants of limited means. For all that, the peeling paint and broken-wired clothes hoist around the side, it still seems a happy, cheerful little home. There are bright curtains in the windows, and healthy pot plants on the flaking concrete porch. Music can be heard from inside; an early Elton John album. In the year of our story, this is the sort of music teenagers would be listening to. There is a peal of delightful girlish laughter, then only music again. Otherwise, the house reveals little, since whoever is inside has chosen to close the front door (actually, the only door), and draw all the curtains on this fine, sunny and warm afternoon. Old it may be, but this little house still has its secrets. It sits there, sunshine on its peeling white paint, providing its occupants with what they desire most -- privacy. An isolated, intimate solitude, to enjoy each other's company and other pleasures, for some hours each day. To be free of all other cares and control. Discovering the physical joys, along with the fascination and difficulties of haltingly adult relationships.
Reading, you are getting impatient with such abstract stuff, and wondering whether it's maybe time to skip to some other _real_ porn text file. The author takes pity on you, and switches the view to inside this cottage.
The couple are young teens, boy and girl. Naked on a rumpled bed, they are idly chatting, listening to the music, clearly post-intercourse. She is lying lengthways on her side, facing out into the room. He is sitting cross legged behind her, back against the wall, stroking fingertips along the intoxicating curves of her thigh, hip and waist. Half as a pleasure for her, half in simple awed amazement at her beauty, and his joy in having this time with her. They talk of nothing much, and often lapse into the silence of friends who have spent much time together already. Merely enjoying the touching, and the music. Soon it will be time to get up, and dress, and tidy away the signs of their lovemaking, before the girl's mother arrives home. Two hours, between school end, and parental presence — that is their oasis, their refuge and playground, those days they can be together then.
Her name is Jennifer, and she had turned 16 only this year, only a few months ago. Her boyfriend, Greg, is a few months ahead of her into his 17th year. She is beautiful, tall, with a fully developed woman's figure and the face of an as yet undiscovered movie heroine. When she is sure of herself, it is a strong face, and she has a vein of strength in her character to match, when circumstances are right. Yet her 16 years and family misfortune have made her often hesitant and shy. Her father was never the same after the war, and took to drink for his shell-shattered nerves. Growing up in a struggling family, the youngest of three, her two brothers rarely home, her mother trying her best to make ends meet on her meagre typist's income and father's pension, Jennifer had survived a less than ideal childhood. In the last few years, her father's binges had worsened, till her mother had given up on him. With the brothers long since left, she and Jennifer had a few months ago leased this small home on their own.
This had made life for Jennifer and Greg much more interesting, since now they had a secluded oasis, guaranteed to be theirs alone for at least two hours a day, every weekday. They had been lovers before, but only in those random times that can be stolen away from the demands of life, family and school. Long evening drives in a parent's borrowed car, or day trips to secluded bush campsites. But since the move, they had got down to some serious exploration of the sexual adventure land.
Neither was previously experienced — either in sex, or the ways in which two novice adult minds can interact. They made many mistakes, and suffered more than a few foolish inconsequential fallings out, and in again. Learning haltingly, too slowly, that the ways we see others act are not necessarily the ways we should act. That there are choices unspoken of, and paths both simple and deep that can be taken, regardless of past events. That some things said to be important, are not, and other things commonly dismissed, are worth attention.
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One thing that has been slowly dawning on him, is that Jennifer seems to rather like being _made_ to do things. Sexual things, particularly. It seems strange to him at first, a difficult idea to get to grips with, since he is by nature a rather free-willed individual, and hates being ordered to do things of any sort, by anyone. Which doesn't make his school life very enjoyable. Till he starts to comprehend this streak in her personality, he had never seriously considered such an idea: that of making an enjoyable game out of plays with dominance and submission. But it grows on him, and ideas begin to occur to him. He does tend to have an inventive mind, once he turns it to a particular problem. One time she mentions to him that she loves it when he finds her in a bad mood, disinterested in sex, and then forces her to submit to a finger fucking, until she is panting with desire, eager for anything.
He has always had something of a fascination with the act of inserting objects in her cunt — mostly with the effect it has on her to work some improbable but phallic object deep and long in her sex, churning it around in her till she moans with pleasure, her hands pressing flat on her belly, her loving the feel of the thing so deep up her, pressing at her fingers from inside her own body. With her thighs taut and wide, her mons thrusting up, urging the intruder deeper, she groans "Ohhhhh yessss... stir me up... stir meeee... yess......" As well as the visual pleasure this brings him, and the thrill of kinky erotica, it seems to him that the very fact that he can always make her submit to this, is perhaps the most exciting element of all. She will _always_ let him do as he wishes with her, all it takes even at the most unlikely times, is a few minutes of sinking his fingers in her. And she knows this, and never refuses that initial act.
A few times lately, he has begun to experiment with placing objects fully inside her cunt, and having her leave them in there for varying intervals. He has not yet dared to try making her do this during her school day, or overnight while she is home with her mum, but the idea is lurking there. He just isn't yet quite comfortable with this idea that she really will do most anything he says.
Just once they have tried having her wrists tied to the bed head, which made for an interesting session of fucking and vagina stirring with candles and so on. They had only just discovered the word 'bondage', and great variety of interesting things possible with ropes — in a couple of porn magazines he had found. So far they hadn't tried any of those things; sort of at the 'sniffing at the glass and looking thoughtful' stage. But it's clear to both of them that it's she who would be bound, not he, and that just the idea alone makes her instantly wet.
There is a more immediate issue to be pursued. An idea he'd had, and was exploring. For the last few days, he has been adding frustration to their games — refusing to bring her to orgasm, or allow her to achieve it herself. Not until she will do as he requests with the bedposts.
Her bed has phallic corner posts — belly high, round turned wood, large egg sized and shaped top knob. He has asked her to tip-toe over one, and lower her sex onto it, seeing how far she can bear to insert it, and to try and make herself cum on it. She is reluctant — it seems so big, and she is a little afraid of somehow slipping, and injuring herself. But mostly just embarrassed to have him stand by, watching her do such a kinky thing. There is also a worry at the back of her mind -- what if she really likes it -- would she be able to resist the temptation to do it often? Too often?
Yesterday, her several-days-denied need for orgasm, and his coaxing, had overcome her resistance late in the afternoon. That day he had not undressed, but had remained fully clothed as he at first cuddled her, then teased her into another arousal, then undressed her. They had sat most of the afternoon, she naked in his lap, talking, as he now and then toyed with her sex, keeping her wanting more as he returned the conversation at times to his idea for her on the post. She had been surprised to find herself enjoying the situation -- it always made her feel a kind of warm satisfaction, a kind of 'owned' feeling, when she sat naked on his knee, his fingers possessing her vagina, driving the excitement of her body and mind with a power she could not control, nor did she wish to. Somehow, this new twist, that he was using this power over her to persuade... no, to coerce, her to do an act at once frightening and exciting, even perverted... somehow that added a sharp tang of kinky excitement to the experience. She thought she should be angry with him, for trying to manipulate her, but somehow.... all she could think of was how his fingers felt, and how much she wanted more.
Finally, with not much time remaining to them that day, and excited to distraction, she had agreed. She had stood herself on tiptoe over the post, its tip pressing against her already moist slit. Hesitating, she had glanced at him, standing some feet away, his gaze intent and commanding. She'd felt the heat in her sex burning, eager for the feel of that firm pressure deeper inside, and eager to please him. Yet as she lowered herself slightly, and the fat hard knob slipped suddenly inside her, only a little but so forceful and large, stretching her... In a hot flash she felt almost overwhelmed by a sense of nasty erotic abandon; a wildness that made her want to drive herself onto the post violently, even to hurt herself... to cum and cum... and the thoughts made her suddenly afraid, afraid of losing control, of injuring herself on the solid, unmoving pole. Yet she burned with desire, for him, for relief from the last week's frustrations, for his reassurance and touch. She'd pulled off, abandoning the attempt and falling wordless into his arms. Hoping he would lay her down and fuck her into heaven.
Instead he'd simply held her in a hug for long moments, him dressed, her naked, then let her go. He was annoyed with her; that she made such a half-hearted attempt, then quit without getting more than an inch of the bed post inside. He had been expecting the erotic visual treat of seeing his beautiful girlfriend standing, deeply transfixed on the post, its thick wooden girth splaying her sex. He'd planned to masturbate her there to orgasm, teasing her immobile clit as he kneeled in front of her, admiring the sight of her emposted cunt. He wasn't interested in any other outcome. Soon after that he'd left, being a little cold to her, in the peevish uncommunicative way of teenagers. Leaving her heated and unsatisfied, yet with not enough time to relieve herself before her mother arrived home.
That evening she'd been plagued with erotic thoughts involving the bedposts and her pussy. It had felt so incredibly assertive — that thick, immovable shaft, so tall she'd been on very tips of her toes to even slide her sex onto its end. She can't stop wondering what it must feel like, if deeply sunk into her guts, her feet flat on the floor... or even (she shudders) spread wide apart to force it in as far as she could bear. She imagines what she would look like, her hips shuddering and humping on the immovable post, maybe forcing her to orgasm after orgasm! Maybe... though so far she has never had a vaginal orgasm, no matter how hard Greg tried, even with a vibrator. She is definitely a clitoris girl, so far -- and Greg is getting rather good at playing tunes on her body through that little instrument.
This recent tactic of his to use that pleasure to coerce her, to have her do as he wishes, it was surprising her with her own reactions to it. She'd grown long accustomed to his skill at bringing her to orgasm, and come to expect at least one or two every time they made love. Sometimes, especially in the last month, he seemed to dedicate their afternoon to experiments in how many times he could bring her to shuddering climax. Then a week ago, that had changed. As usual, he had teased her to a near frenzy, but then left her hanging. She'd assumed it was just a temporary tease, but as the afternoon wore on, and he repeated the process several times, she sensed something was different. He had made no comment, just smiled when she begged for the final release. It had gotten closer to the time of her mother's arrival, and still she was horny. With only minutes to go, he'd had her dress, then _still_ caressed her through her jeans and blouse, right until her mother's key turned in the lock. With her a little red-faced and out of breath, he'd chatted to her mum for a few minutes, then left, saying it was time to be home for tea. Even then, she'd assumed it was just a little game he'd chosen to play. The next day, for sure he'd make it up.
But he didn't. He came round, beating her there in fact. Then repeated almost exactly her previous torment. She'd been very angry with him in the last few minutes before he left, and her mother had assumed they'd had a row. That night she kept waking, her sex swollen and wet, from swollen, wet dreams. She cursed her bedroom's lack of privacy from her mother.
The next day she asked him what he thought he was doing, and would he please stop it. He'd smiled, and explained that it was an experiment, and no, he wouldn't. Said he was planning to do just the same for while, and see just how horny she would get. Maybe see what she would do for sex, once she really, really needed it. She'd gotten angry with him again, said some unkind things. He'd just calmly grabbed her, stripped off her clothes despite her quite strong resistance, and held her still, his fingers working the familiar magic in her cunt, his lips around her nipple. It amazed her, how the heat rose up through her from her sex, and evaporated the anger. That feeling, of being owned, in his power, it grew so strong that time, in the realisation that he could _make_ her want it, make her want him, even against her will. He had stayed for dinner that night, her still throbbing with the need, but somehow no longer angry with him for that. Perhaps it would be... interesting, to see how horny she would get. She still awoke from sweaty dreams that night, but it seemed easier to go back to sleep, despite the throbbing in her hungry sex.
The next morning she woke to find, surprised at herself, that her fingers had found their way under her belly and into her nightie, and must have been playing at her slit, to judge from its engorged and sopping state. But there are only light bedclothes over her, and her mother is bustling about and has already opened the doors to her room. She has no choice but to rise and begin her preparations for school. Even in the shower she has no privacy -- the bathroom door has no lock, and her mother is in the habit of walking in and out, regardless. She gets dropped off by mum at school, still aching in her sex. It's kind of cool, she thinks, the way he's making her so horny. Lucky her teachers don't know about the state of her knickers.
That afternoon when Greg again is there before her, she tries again to angrily confront him, saying it's cruel and heartless of him to treat her this way. But this time he does not even try to physically overpower her. He just stands back from her, and calmly tells her that if she wants to talk about this, she must first strip. Somehow, she cannot continue the act of anger, and complies sulkily, thinking that perhaps when she points out how puffy and red her genitals are, and how embarrassing it's been to walk around all day at school with a soaking wet stripe down the middle of her panties, perhaps he will relent.
He notices all right, but he doesn't relent. Far from it -- he seems greatly pleased to see definite evidence that his little experiment is bearing fruit. He has her stand in the middle of the room, legs wide apart, as he walks around her, closely admiring her straight-from-school state of arousal. He hugs her from behind, running his hands over her, kissing her neck, then kneels in front and fingers her hungry slit carefully, slowly. Loosening her will in that familiar way, then using her need as a goad, he has her describe her feelings and experiences of the last few days. He tells her this is working out far better than he hoped, and he loves her even more, to see her in this state of sexual heat, to know that she will allow him this power over her. Somehow, as he molds her heat in waves, rising and falling but never breaking, and they talk, she finds herself agreeing that she likes this, likes knowing she is horny for him, by his will. That she will bear the frustration, so they may both explore the intensities of desire of which her body is capable.
She finds herself kneeling, him sitting on the bed edge, her mouth working on his rigid cock, his hands holding her wrists, and her knees wide apart on the carpet, the fire blazing in her vacant cunt. He jets into her throat, groaning and she groans too, of the longing for release in her belly, but also of the pleasure in being his. Later, he has her lie back on the bed, as he licks and fondles her breasts, teasing her nipples to aching rigidity. He has her repeat again and again, that she will not attempt to masturbate. Gives her hints that there will be 'tasks' he wishes her to perform, and that this will be part of the experiment. She asks what sort of tasks, but he won't say. He wants her to agree that she will do whatever he says, and trust his judgement. She is not so sure, but he teases her to unsatisfied crest after crest, until she agrees that yes, she will do whatever he says.
Later, with her mother home again, and Greg gone, and her body still in a state of throbbing excitement, she recalls saying that. Rationally, she knows that might not have been a wise thing to agree to. But it does give her a strange shivery thrill to think of it. Doesn't help quiet the twitchy tension in her belly one bit, or soften the aching hard nipples under the stiff bra she has worn to hide them from her mother. Bed is again a series of hot dreams interrupted by waking, aching and wet, forcing her hands far away from her sex, and falling fitfully back to sleep.
The next day starts much the same, her horniness unabated by the time she gets to school. Except this time, rather than slipping from her mind in classes, it seems to gnaw at her most of the day. It is sometimes hard to avoid fidgeting in class, and she notices that when she gets up from the hard school chairs there is a patch of dampness on the lacquer. No one else notices though, thankfully. That afternoon, she throws off her dress as soon as they are inside, and poses, pointing out how very hard her nipples are, how soaked her panties, how swollen and red her sex, and how very juicy. He checks, sliding a pair of fingers in without resistance, smiles, tells her she is fantastic. Going into the bedroom, he mentions that one thing he'd like her to do for him, is to stand with a bedpost of her bed deep in her cunt. Says it casually, as if it should be a trifle, an easy thing to do. Somewhat stunned, she goes to the bed and stands next to a post. It comes nearly up to her belly button! And it's so thick! He can't be serious!
Apparently, he was. Even offering to end the 'exploration of horniness' experiment and let her cum if she would do it.
That day she'd flat out refused to consider it, even as he brought her to several agonisingly-close-but-not-quite-an-orgasm peaks. Her dreams that night had featured huge objects ripping into her tender sex, but had still had her waking out of breath and aching. At school, she kept thinking of those bedposts. They weren't really that thick, when you thought about it. Maybe it would fit. And she could stay up on her toes. But the idea was still scary, though she could kind of see why he would think it would look sexy. In English class, she had a sudden image of her young and pretty teacher Miss Hibson standing naked and impaled on such a post at the front of the class, and could barely control herself from giggling in the middle of lesson. Yes, she could definitely understand the appeal.
So today she had tried the post trick for him, and chickened out while barely begun. He'd left, clearly annoyed with her, and here she was, still without relief after nearly a week of his skillfully teasing frustration. The memory of how the post had felt, its thick immovability, is still vivid in her mind. She can still almost feel it in herself. Even pressed only a little into her body, it was so intense, with such an erotic promise. She wishes she had not pulled off it, in fright at the power of it.
Lying in bed, trying to get to sleep, she goes back over the last week. She thinks she should be angry with him, but somehow something in her seems to enjoy this game. She suspects she will be doing quite a few things that would never have occurred to her otherwise — he is very inventive. Certainly, she has admitted to herself that tomorrow will definitely see her doing exactly as he wishes with the bedpost. He won't even have to ask. With a nasty, wicked shudder, she thinks that if Greg tied her legs wide apart to something, she wouldn't be able to lift her cunt off the post! She'd be trapped, pinned like a cum-bug on the wooden bedpost, her struggles serving only to stir the fucking shaft around in her stuffed cunt.
It drives her crazy that now her mother is home, she cannot try it right away. Nor in the morning. She can't even masturbate, since the door connecting her room and her mother's bedroom (a converted sunroom) is glass panelled and has no lock. Lately she has been developing a habit of crying out as she comes, no matter how hard she tries to keep quiet. She won't get another chance till tomorrow afternoon. She resolves to do it again then, with lubrication, and put on a show for Greg. God! What if he tied her hands behind her back on there? With her sex effectively immobilised... Last time he gave her head, it was with her hands tied, and it had been unbelievable! What would head feel like, with her cunt impaled on her bedpost? Hmmmmm it makes her very horny thinking about Greg giving her head -- the way he teases her to the edge many times, then draws back, building her urgency. Then finally flicking her into a mindless orbit of ecstasy, taking her around and around, time after glorious time.
She can't wait -- it's such a treat! Maybe she really ought to let him come in her arse like he keeps wanting too -- it can't be too awful. That would be a treat for him. Or .... hmmm... She has a thought. A treat for Greg: herself, already fully down on the post, and... and unable to get off it! Yes! She could do that, he'd _love_ it. He'd walk in (he has a key) and find her like that... naked, fuck-crazy already, humping on the shaft. She can imagine the look on his face -- like 'WOW Jen! Thats soooo hot!' And what would he do then? She doesn't know, but he's tended to be pretty imaginative at times. Something equally kinky, perhaps. Probably starting with tying her hands behind her again... yeah, that would really... ohhhh it makes her aching hot to think of it. Perhaps she should even do that herself... could she? Some kind of slip knot?
In the morning she wakes up horny as a toad, but the same old story- her privacy is almost non-existent in this small, old rented house, and the schedule to get ready for her mum to drop her off at school allows for no lying around in bed anyway. She does make a quick phone call to Greg, checking that he'll definitely be around straight after school that day. He still seems a little short with her, but says yes, he'll be round as usual, but perhaps a little later, due to having to do some house chores. She asks her mum if it's OK for Greg to have dinner at their place tonight; it is. So that's arranged too, for 7pm.
School that day is a torment of aching pussy and flitting erotic thoughts. If her teachers knew what is occupying her... She is planning how to tie herself so she is stuck on her bedpost. Recently Greg and she had been reading a few smut magazines, on bondage and stuff, and she can remember some of the knots. It won't be easy, but she thinks she can do it. She makes an inventory in her head. They have some lengths of soft cotton rope, and a pair of handcuffs, stashed among the junk under her bed. An old broom in her closet, that never gets used. Hand cream. Some gear from Greg's rock climbing rack, that he just happened to leave at her place after their last day away bouldering. And, yeah, a note. Maybe, taped to her.... um breast would look hot. Saying something like 'Darling Greg, my sweetie, I'm all yours to play with. Have fun. Love, Jennifer.' Which reminds her... the other thing he'd wanted to try too, which might be pretty nice, if the wonderful feelings of a fingertip working into her rear as he lap-fucked her were anything to judge by. It might be a good idea to prepare for that too.
After school she gets the bus home, sex on fire in anticipation. Runs down the steep winding little path to her house, and lets herself in, slamming the door behind her, and practically tearing her uniform off. She is naked in 3 seconds flat, tosses on her dressing gown, and fills an old shampoo bottle with warm water in the bathroom. Then a dash out to the outside toilet around the side of the house, and the novel feeling of squeezing warm water up into her rear, cleaning that out. After she is finished, and back inside the house, she dashes through a crash shower and pretty-up. God she looks great! Her figure is perfect- all the feminine curves and padding, without an ounce of overweight. Breasts full and rated teen-16-perfecto, with large, hard nipple icing on top. It's hard to resist the burning heat in her cunt, but she manages. Maybe the hand cream won't be needed, if she's as wet inside as she feels. She gets the materials for today's little adventure, dumps them on her bed, and starts tying knots.
First, she firmly fixes one rope segment to the handle end of the broomstick, winding it around several times and tying it off tight. The free ends she wraps around her left ankle several times, firmly but comfortably, then ties. Now the broomstick is fastened to her ankle, over the top of her foot, making it awkward to move around. But then, she doesn't have to. Sitting on the bed edge, she ties another, longer rope length around her right ankle, leaving one end with about five meters free. The end of this next gets tied to the connecting chain of the handcuffs, so that she will be able to pull on it with her hands locked behind her back. Most of this free rope is left lying loosely on the floor. Next, the brush end of the broom gets a short length of rope tied to it, and that ties the rock climber's belaying cam firmly to the end of the broom. This is a palm-sized U-channel of metal, with a sprung toothed cam. Its purpose is to let a rope be pulled easily through in one direction, but to lock firmly against any movement of the rope in the other direction. The rope can only be released with a complicated safety interlock action, that requires several fingers at once to accomplish. Designed to ensure the rope can never, ever come out or slip back accidentally. As a test, she opens the cam, and slips in the loose ankle rope. Standing, she pulls up on this rope, pulling it through the cam. Sure enough, her right ankle is pulled outwards towards the broom brush. She shifts her weight, letting her legs spread wide apart, ankles splayed right to the opposite ends of the broomstick. She tries to bring her legs back together -- nope! The cam holds the rope solidly; her legs are tied apart, and only releasing the cam or untying knots will save her pussy from enforced exposure. In fact, just this tie gives her a wicked thrill, and as she stretches to release the cam and pull enough rope back through it to sit, knees together again, she finds that if she was a little less flexible, just this simple leg stretch would be hard to get out of.
Then she ties a second cam to the center of the broomstick. And another longish length of rope to the very foot of the bedpost, at a narrowing just above the bottom end. The loose end of this rope also gets tied loosely to the handcuff's connecting chain, while its middle is clipped into the mid-broomstick cam. When this rope is pulled tight, it will lock the middle of the broomstick to the base of the bedpost.
So there is not much more to do now. The note -- feeling extra daring now she has gone this far, she writes:
Darling Greg, my super-stud lover,
I'm all yours to play with. Have fun with your naughty,
masturbating girl-toy. I do it every day you don't come
round, but wishing you were inside me, so you should keep
on coming round every day! It's so much better having you
make me cum, over and over. Even when you tease me,
cum-starve me, I love it! It makes me feel so..... yours!
Today it's been five days without, and I'm _dying_ for it!
Yes, I will do anything you want -- anything.
Please make me cum?
She signs it 'Love, your ever-lustin Jenny' and sticks it to her breast with masking tape. Then she squeezes a generous goop of hand cream into her palm, and carefully spreads it over the phallic shape of the bed post. Another, for a shakingly slow, single wipe down into her crotch, and up the cleft of her rear. She dares not linger at this, lest she be sidetracked.
Till Greg had suggested the idea, she had honestly never considered the posts in _that_ way. It was just her bed, that she'd had for most of her life. But now, running her cream-slicked fingers over the smooth-turned features of the post, she thinks that some bed designer had a dirty mind. The post could not be better designed for sex, if it.. well, if it was designed for it. At the top is a pointy topped ball-egg shape. Rounded, pointy tip, thickening in an organic curve to a worryingly (to her) fat 2.5" width, about 3" down. Then a sudden narrowing, definitely reminiscent of the back end of an erect penis glans. Following that, a good foot of the post is turned in a series of smooth ridges, quite close spaced. She can only guess what that will feel like, once her sex makes their acquaintance. The rest of the post is plain, becoming square sectioned only as it joins the bed frame.
Damm, if she doesn't tie her hands soon, she'll probably get permanently side tracked, she thinks. Her cunt and clit are screaming for action. Besides, Greg will be here any moment, it's nearly 4.30, she sees. Lucky there's no need to do all that complicated stuff with blocks of ice and keys, like in the magazines. So she just grabs the handcuffs, and quickly locks them on her wrists, behind her back. She can reach the ropes to the two cams on the broomstick, and that is all that's needed now.
Standing, she faces the open door of her room, kicks the hanging ropes and dragging broomstick into position, and on tip toes, positions her sex over the slippery tip of the wooden post. Ahhhh, even on her toes, it presses firmly against her... and this time, letting herself press down on its well lubed bulk is a very special feeling. The rounded point slides thickly in between her pouting labia, spreading her inner flesh onto its reaming diameter. Hmmmmmmmm.... nice! A bit more, and she can feel the full thickness of the eggish head straining into her cunt entrance.... ohhhh thats mmmmmmmmmm.... She finds herself propping up on her toes again, and letting down, just to savour that wonderful feeling of the thick object pressing into her opening. But the time.... any moment now, Greg might arrive, and she is not yet 'packaged'. Better just dive in.... so she grits her teeth, and deliberately grinds herself down hard onto the post, feeling the fat ovoid pop past her opening, and slickly slide into her hot depths. She cannot help a soft 'Unnnghhhhhhh' as she exhales, feeling for the first time the ridges on the post slipping into her sex, popping in rapid series past her tightest point, and caressing her sensitive insides. Feet flat on the floor now, but legs still together, she moans "Oh God, that is really fucking big, ohhhhh hhooo hoo oh wowwww.... Oh this is going to be something fucking else..."
She rests a moment, accustoming to the new bulk inside her, the way it is so solid there, moving not the slightest as her hips rock slightly around on its impalement. It's soooooo good.. But she can take more... and she could still escape from this wooden spear if she wanted to, which kind of spoils the scene. So, slowly, carefully, she works her feet outwards, increasing the gap between them, and thus lowering her sex gradually onto deeper intrusion by the bedpost. HHHhhhhhhmmmm..... Ohhhhhhhh Hmmmmmmm... It just seems to get better, so far. She can feel it really, really getting deep into her belly. Ohhhhh wowwwww so deep, huuuuuuuu weeeeee! She gives in to the temptation to let her hips gyrate in a sexual grind, and finds that it's actually impossible- the shaft deep in her sex pins her whole pelvis more or less in one position. All she achieves is a sensation of stirring pressure rotating around in her cunt, but not much actual hip movement. Ahhhhhh... a little more.... feet wider.... now there is a twinge of discomfort; her cunt is being stretched up inside her further than it likes to be. And other things inside are being poked and displaced almost painfully as well. Is that far enough? She tries an experimental up and down fuck-bounce — only a little one, and the sensations are so intense she squeels in surprise "Oooooeeeeeiiii! Ohhhhhh hhuuuu..." 'Oh yeah! That is just so intense!' she thinks as she repeats the action several times, but a bit more cautiously. 'Ohhhh fuuuuck! this is sooooooo fucking right up there!'
For a few moments she loses herself in this deep river of intense erotic sensation, then snaps out of it, thinking of the time again. She does so want to impress Greg with her clever rope trick. Fumbling behind her with cuffed hands, she grips the ankle rope, and pulls it up. There is quite a bit of slack, which she has to work through her fingers, but soon she can feel the rope from her ankle to the broomstick cam go tight. The moment of truth. Her legs are not split anywhere near as wide as she can go, so her hip joints are comfortable. Yet the post is deep, deep inside her, and as she tries a tentative bend at the waist to see how close she can get her hands to either ankle or broomstick, she grunts at the jab of discomfort inside her belly. No, bending at the waist is out, when there is a solid object up though the middle of your waist. Or it feels like it anyway. Experimentally, she tries to lift up on her toes in this spread-legged position. She can lift up perhaps 4". Leaving what feels like another 5" of the post still rammed rigidly up her twat.
She then tries shifting her feet sideways, trying to get one leg vertically under her. Apart from the broomstick forcing her other foot way out wide and up in the air, and the balancing act required, it looks like at this point it would still be possible to escape the pole. So she centers her feet again, and pulls on the other rope. She feels no change, but looking down she can see that the center of the broomstick is now locked tight to the base of the bedpost. She tries the side-shuffle thing again, and it is just not possible. 'Yep, this is permanent. Even if she changed her mind now, this is how Greg will be finding her.'
It gives her a sudden heady flush of hot excitement, realising that she has actually done it -- tied herself up in this slutty position, to give her boyfriend a treat. She sure must trust him, why, he could do just about anything he liked to her, fixed like this. Except fuck her of course, unless he takes her off this bedpost first. 'Oh God', she thinks, 'imagine if someone _else_ found me like this!' For a moment more, she idly imagines some stranger finding her now, then a thought pops up. 'Ah. Did I lock the front door?' In fact, now she thinks about how she was in such a rush, it seems she may not have. She is facing her open bedroom door, not six feet from it. Beyond, the small combined dining and kitchen room of this little house. Which the front door opens into. Someone coming in the front door need only walk about three paces before they will see her, framed front-on in her doorway. She cannot even turn around, since she is straddling the corner of her bed. She leans forward a little and looks down at her crotch. Yep, there it is -- a large wooden post disappearing into her cunt, her spread legs and sparse blond bush doing nothing to hide the details of distended, engorged labia parted wetly around that thick rod. Parted widely enough to reveal her excited clit, poking erectly from under its hood, just begging to be messed with. Considering the note, still dangling from her tit, the picture would seem pretty clear to anyone, not just Greg, she supposes. Something like 'freaky slut here, go for it', most likely.
For some reason, this train of thought seems to overwhelm her ability to control her movements, and her hips start a serious pole-fucking rhythm. Through the deliriously over the top sensations this produces, she realises another mistake she has made. She should not have spread quite so far, into the boundary of penetration pain -- for it leaves her little room to thrust, to work the shaft in her needy sex. Without the difficult exertion of going to tiptoe on her spread feet, she can only manage about an inch of pistoning fun -- and even then she keeps getting jabs of pain at the down thrust. What with the inadequate amount of cunt stroking, and the flashes of pain every time her body's need overcomes her conscious control and goes down a bit too far, and her poor deserted clit standing forlornly out of reach of her hands, and not even squeezable between her labia, she realises that she may have set herself up for some heavy duty frustration, rather than any possibility of the elusive Vaginal-Orgasm. Still, hopefully Greg will fix that. Lucky he's due any moment!
At this very thought, the telephone rings. She can even see it, on a side table in the dining room, just outside her door. It has a long cable, and she often brings it into her room, to lie on her bed and chatter away to her friends. But the long cord does her no good now. Still hunching her inch of freedom on the pole, she listens to it ring, once, twice, three times, then the answering machine picks up. Her own voice cheerfully announces "Hello, we're busy right now, please just, you know, like leave a message!...... beeep." Then it's Greg's voice, sounding a bit sheepish "Uh, hi Jennifer, are you there? Pick up, it's me!...... Well, uh, I know I said I'd be round early, but sorry, my mum wants me to do some chores that, I uh, didn't get around to last weekend. So... sorry. I'll be over by seven for dinner though. Want to go see a movie after? Love you! You be good now! Bye. click."
For several moments, she stands there, half-preoccupied with the powerful sensations in her sex, as she twists on the pole. Part of her mind is also still fantasising about some stranger walking in through the unlocked front door, and taking advantage of her complete helplessness. Only gradually does she refocus on Greg's message. Her first thought is 'Well, isn't that just like him! I go to all this trouble, and he doesn't show up. Typical! Men!' Then 'I'll have a thing or two to say to him when he gets here! Leaving me stuck here like this! He's always complaining about _me_ being late. Hah!' She spends a few more moments bending forward a little, looking down at her sex as it hunches up and down on the post. Thinking 'Man, what you are missing. This sure does look hot and kinky, if I say so myself. I think I'm going to have to do this more often. But with a bit more slack!'
She is drifting off into thoughts about what she should get ready for their dinner, when her mind's curtain of denial rips down the middle, sending her thoughts reeling. She cries out aloud "Ahhhhh nooooo! Ohhhhhh FUCK Oh shit! I'm STUCK here, and MUM is going to come home at six. And thats an hour and a half away! OHHHH Boy! Ohhhhh fuck, this is not good. And the front door is unlocked, but thats the least of my worries. What is _Mum_ going to do when she sees _this_? Oh oh.... Oh Greg you shit... Ohhhhhhhhhh... I'm dead. I'm like TOTALLY dead. 'Oh hi Mum, how was your day? No, nothing special at school, and you know, I'm just standing here, like, fucking my bed. What would you like for dinner, mum? No thats all right Mum, it's nothing, just, if you could spare a moment, unclip that cam there, yeah, at my ankle there. No, no, it's quite all right, I'd do the rest, thanks Mum, you're a dear. Just a minute while I put some clothes on, Mum.' Oh heep deep doo doo Jen! You have just _got_ to get out of this before six, or it's the end of life as we know it."
In a state of horrified panic, she stares down at her ingenious creation of ropes, desperately looking for a flaw, a mistake, a weakness in her brilliant plan. She twists and shakes on the pole, struggling to pull her feet against their ties to the wooden broomstick handle. But nothing gives way, no knots miraculously work loose. All that happens is that her cunt gets bruisingly joggled on the firmness of the bedpost, and she accidentally drops low enough to cause her insides some painfully deep probing. And as if this predicament is not enough on its own, for some perverse reason the situation seems to act like petrol tossed on the fires in her sex. She is really burning up now, her clit aching in serious need.
After some minutes of almost unthinking desperate struggling, she pauses, panting, her mind still frantically insisting there must be _some_ way to get free, but thinking that perhaps she just needs to try and hold still and think carefully about the problem. Except that her sexual heat keeps getting in the way. She can barely hold her hips still, the need for orgasm is so strong. She tries to bring her cuffed hands far enough round to her front to reach even one finger down to her clit, but that is not possible either. Straining as hard as she can, the cuffs painfully cutting into her wrists, her finger is still a useless three inches from her goal. Her clit is as out of reach as escape itself.
Nor can she reach the incriminating note, still firmly taped to her breast. She can read it though, upside down and damming that it is. 'Ohhhhh her mother is going to read that.... ohhhhhh fuuuuuck! Masturbating... ' This is not going to be good.... She remembers well, the time a year ago in her old house, her father away permanently drunk at the pub as usual, when she'd been masturbating after school, lying on her bed covers, jeans and panties pushed down to mid thigh, and her fingers buried between her legs, and after a really great cum she'd fallen asleep. To wake with her mother, just home from work, standing beside her and staring expressionlessly down at her incriminating pose. Just then she'd said only "Girl, don't you dare move a muscle! I'll be back to deal with you in a moment." As her mum turned and stalked off to her room, Jennifer had noticed the camera in her mother's hand. She'd never found out if her mother had already taken any pictures then, but she definitely took some later... Though she'd never heard of them again. Still, that evening became burned in her own memory, even without any pictures to remind her of the painful events.
Too afraid to move, she had listened to her mother changing out of her work clothes, and using the bathroom. She had begun to seriously wonder if her mother was all right in there, when she had come back to Jennifer's room, stern faced and oddly flushed. If she'd thought things were bad then, she rapidly came to understand how much worse they could get, as her mother commanded-
"Masturbating! Only fifteen, and masturbating, you disgusting girl! Well we'll see about that. No daughter of mine is going to fall into such habits. Stand up! Take those clothes off!" Her mum had stood there, looking like a thunderstorm, as Jennifer had hesitantly stood and stripped bare. Then grabbing the teen by the wrist, she had marched her into the kitchen- dining room, hissing "If your no-good father was any use, I'd have him give you a dammed good strapping for this. But he isn't, so I'll just have to do it myself! I will _not_ have my daughter doing such disgusting things to herself. Now, lie face down over the table. Yes, like that. Legs! Spread your legs! No, hands on the table, I've seen all that before. Good. Now, listen Jennifer, if you move a muscle, I'll start the punishment all over again, understand! You just stay there till I tell you to move."
Naked, bent over and spread legged, Jennifer had been terribly conscious of the sight her sex must be presenting her mother. She still felt wet and puffy from her fingering. There had been the sounds of her mother walking around the room, things being moved, cupboards closing. Then a long, silent pause, then _flash_ the tick of a camera. She had been too timid to even ask why her mother was taking photos. Several more flashes from behind, then some from the side she faced. Her mother's expression was strange — a kind of partly masked intensity and anger. Then her mother had moved out of sight behind her again, and shortly after, a long finger had slid slowly but firmly into her still slick sex. She had started, moving to rise, but her mother's other hand had pressed forcefully down on the small of her back. "No, you stay there. So! You are no longer a virgin either, it seems. How did that happen, you filthy girl? Did you let some boy _fuck_ you, or did you break it _mastubating_?" The single finger is withdrawn, only to be replaced by two, working around inside possessively. And to Jennifer's further consternation, arousingly. Struggling to hold still, she misses her question. Her mother demands "_WELL!_ How does your hymen come to be gone, before you are even sixteen, for God's sake?
She had broken it when she was fourteen, with the handle of a hairbrush. But it takes several minutes, and the threat of severe punishments before she can bring herself to admit this to her mother. In the end, it is the busy fingers in her cunt that that break down her reticence. Her mother is _not_ impressed. The fingers are removed, and there is some rummaging in a cutlery drawer out of sight. Then some cold, heavy rod-like object is pressed deeply into her now burning sex, and left. Another pause, then more camera flashes. Then her mother grips the object, and begins vigorously thrusting it in and out of her cunt, asking "And did you _cum_, you dirty girl? Are you quite familiar with _orgasm_? Did you cum _enough_ this afternoon, while your poor mother was still hard at work, earning the money to keep you in school? No, don't answer, I expect that even doing it till you passed out wasn't enough for a little slut like you!"
By now the object-fucking is getting her seriously turned on, and her hips escape her conscious control -- beginning to buck back at the thrusts. The tension of need for orgasm is gathering in her belly, and she moans in time with the thrusts. This seems to spur her mother on to even more vigor.
"See, you even like this! Disgusting. Well, then, put a hand down here, and do it yourself. Yes, under yourself, that's it. Hold it.. like this... Now, push it -- fuck yourself, that's right. Yes, like that.... yes, you seem quite practiced at it! No, don't stop. All right, time for your punishment. If you stop moving that before I say, you'll regret it dearly."
By now she is hardly likely to resist -- keeping that rod moving in her sex is exactly what she wants. It it thicker than anything she has dared use before, and longer too. Her heat is building like thunderclouds, but the position she is in, the way her mother made her cup her hand over the end of the long cylinder, that she cannot press in deeply enough to bring her hand in contact with her sex... Her clit is aching untouched, and she dares not shift to please it, though she longs to. Even the flashes of more photos being taken barely give her pause. Then there is silence for a little while, followed by the sensation of her mum's fingers rubbing over her cunt lips and clit, around the pistoning rod. For a second, the sensation is pleasant, till the burning hits. "Arrghhhhh mum! What have you...? Ooooohhhhhh Owwwwww owwww...!" She writhes in pain -- but somehow it drives her desire higher. She keeps thrusting the rod, faster.
"Just some chilli powder. And I'm now going to give you the spanking of your life. You just keep masturbating, you filthy slut, and remember this. If I ever catch you touching yourself there again, you'll think this was a picnic!"
Another pause, another flash, then _SMACK_ her arse erupts in fire equal to that in her sex. For some reason, it makes her hand spasm, shoving the rod in painfully deep. Her belly tenses up, the cum approaching fast on the burning fire of her spiced genitals. _SMACK_! She comes, massively, her head arched back, groaning her agonizing pleasure aloud. _SMACK SMACK SMACK_ A rapid series of explosions of fire across her buttocks. Her cum continues, her hand shoving the rod deep into her sex. _SMACK_ ..._SMACK_.... it all blends into one mash of sensory overload, that seems to go on for a long time. Sometimes she is coming, sometimes she is crying with the flashes of pain on her rear, or the chilli burning of her sex.
Eventually, she becomes aware that her mother has stopped spanking her. A few more photographs are taken, perhaps. She is not sure. Her wrist aches from holding the rod in her twat -- numb now to the rod, but still burning strongly from the peppers. Her mother takes the rod away, suddenly, leaving her feeling empty and sore all over. She is sent to bed, without dinner, but with a repeat of the warning "If I ever catch you..."
She remembers she had actually managed to avoid masturbating for a whole month after that. But at least she had learnt her lesson about falling asleep afterwards. Her mother had never caught her again, to this day. 'Looks like she'll catch me today though.' she thinks, dreading it. But why does thinking about that make her hips work harder on the pole? God, she needs to cum badly! Her nipples feel like they are as hard as steel, and her clit is about to explode. She wonders if she will still be in this state by the time her mother comes home. In... by the clock, another hour. Since she never could cum from purely vaginal stimulation, no matter how intense, she thinks the chances of her being just as visibly cum-crazy by then are pretty high. 'Just _great_ Jennifer' she thinks.
And then Greg will arrive, walking into whatever kind of trouble her mother will make. Poor Greg. She supposes her mum will forbid her to see him again. That makes her sad. Damm him! Why did he have to choose today to not come round when he said he would? Normally he is very reliable. Not surprising, for a 17 year old going round to sex his horny 16 year old girlfriend.
She is thinking of some of the fine times they have had together, and how she will miss him, and his lovely hard dick, when there is a knock at the front door. She was letting herself hunch the pole, grunting softly with her frustrated heat, when it happens. She freezes, silent. 'Oh God, who can _that_ be? She can't answer, they might....' The knock repeats, longer. A pause. Then another knock, insistent, and two voices, in unison "Hey! Jennifer, you there? Wake up! We've brought you some veggies!"
Fiction by SensoryOverlord (C) 2011
F-solo, MF/f, mf/F, F/f, M/f, nc, humil, teen, toys, furniture, farce.
All that legal guff about how you might be an innocent child, or living under a censorious government, puritanical legal system, your mother wouldn't approve, you should not be here, you really must stop now, etc. Sigh... What a fucked up world. Anyway, what follows is an explicit, graphic, extreme sexual fantasy. You have been warned. Leave now if not already corrupted.
Synopsis:
Teen girlfriend sets up an erotic, inescapable self-bondage scene at home alone after school, as a treat for her boyfriend, who she expects to arrive soon. Naturally, things go awry.
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Chapter 1. The Story (Part 1 of 3)
You open the cover, and begin to read, hoping the hot bits start right away. Instead, there is a small weatherboard cottage, set in an enclosing circle of thick shrubbery and trees, in late afternoon suburban summer sunshine. To the right, a winding path leads up via worn sandstone steps through the bushes to a street higher on the hillside. It is not far, yet from up there on the street, at the gate and letter box, the house is hidden. There is only the stepped path, leading down, twisting among bushes. There are neighboring houses, but they too are hidden, separated by depths of trees and overgrown weedy greenery from each other and the street.
It is a very old cottage. Built cheaply once, and rarely maintained, it has reached a sort of agreement with dilapidation, in which the owners do just enough to keep it rentable, to tenants of limited means. For all that, the peeling paint and broken-wired clothes hoist around the side, it still seems a happy, cheerful little home. There are bright curtains in the windows, and healthy pot plants on the flaking concrete porch. Music can be heard from inside; an early Elton John album. In the year of our story, this is the sort of music teenagers would be listening to. There is a peal of delightful girlish laughter, then only music again. Otherwise, the house reveals little, since whoever is inside has chosen to close the front door (actually, the only door), and draw all the curtains on this fine, sunny and warm afternoon. Old it may be, but this little house still has its secrets. It sits there, sunshine on its peeling white paint, providing its occupants with what they desire most -- privacy. An isolated, intimate solitude, to enjoy each other's company and other pleasures, for some hours each day. To be free of all other cares and control. Discovering the physical joys, along with the fascination and difficulties of haltingly adult relationships.
Reading, you are getting impatient with such abstract stuff, and wondering whether it's maybe time to skip to some other _real_ porn text file. The author takes pity on you, and switches the view to inside this cottage.
The couple are young teens, boy and girl. Naked on a rumpled bed, they are idly chatting, listening to the music, clearly post-intercourse. She is lying lengthways on her side, facing out into the room. He is sitting cross legged behind her, back against the wall, stroking fingertips along the intoxicating curves of her thigh, hip and waist. Half as a pleasure for her, half in simple awed amazement at her beauty, and his joy in having this time with her. They talk of nothing much, and often lapse into the silence of friends who have spent much time together already. Merely enjoying the touching, and the music. Soon it will be time to get up, and dress, and tidy away the signs of their lovemaking, before the girl's mother arrives home. Two hours, between school end, and parental presence — that is their oasis, their refuge and playground, those days they can be together then.
Her name is Jennifer, and she had turned 16 only this year, only a few months ago. Her boyfriend, Greg, is a few months ahead of her into his 17th year. She is beautiful, tall, with a fully developed woman's figure and the face of an as yet undiscovered movie heroine. When she is sure of herself, it is a strong face, and she has a vein of strength in her character to match, when circumstances are right. Yet her 16 years and family misfortune have made her often hesitant and shy. Her father was never the same after the war, and took to drink for his shell-shattered nerves. Growing up in a struggling family, the youngest of three, her two brothers rarely home, her mother trying her best to make ends meet on her meagre typist's income and father's pension, Jennifer had survived a less than ideal childhood. In the last few years, her father's binges had worsened, till her mother had given up on him. With the brothers long since left, she and Jennifer had a few months ago leased this small home on their own.
This had made life for Jennifer and Greg much more interesting, since now they had a secluded oasis, guaranteed to be theirs alone for at least two hours a day, every weekday. They had been lovers before, but only in those random times that can be stolen away from the demands of life, family and school. Long evening drives in a parent's borrowed car, or day trips to secluded bush campsites. But since the move, they had got down to some serious exploration of the sexual adventure land.
Neither was previously experienced — either in sex, or the ways in which two novice adult minds can interact. They made many mistakes, and suffered more than a few foolish inconsequential fallings out, and in again. Learning haltingly, too slowly, that the ways we see others act are not necessarily the ways we should act. That there are choices unspoken of, and paths both simple and deep that can be taken, regardless of past events. That some things said to be important, are not, and other things commonly dismissed, are worth attention.
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One thing that has been slowly dawning on him, is that Jennifer seems to rather like being _made_ to do things. Sexual things, particularly. It seems strange to him at first, a difficult idea to get to grips with, since he is by nature a rather free-willed individual, and hates being ordered to do things of any sort, by anyone. Which doesn't make his school life very enjoyable. Till he starts to comprehend this streak in her personality, he had never seriously considered such an idea: that of making an enjoyable game out of plays with dominance and submission. But it grows on him, and ideas begin to occur to him. He does tend to have an inventive mind, once he turns it to a particular problem. One time she mentions to him that she loves it when he finds her in a bad mood, disinterested in sex, and then forces her to submit to a finger fucking, until she is panting with desire, eager for anything.
He has always had something of a fascination with the act of inserting objects in her cunt — mostly with the effect it has on her to work some improbable but phallic object deep and long in her sex, churning it around in her till she moans with pleasure, her hands pressing flat on her belly, her loving the feel of the thing so deep up her, pressing at her fingers from inside her own body. With her thighs taut and wide, her mons thrusting up, urging the intruder deeper, she groans "Ohhhhh yessss... stir me up... stir meeee... yess......" As well as the visual pleasure this brings him, and the thrill of kinky erotica, it seems to him that the very fact that he can always make her submit to this, is perhaps the most exciting element of all. She will _always_ let him do as he wishes with her, all it takes even at the most unlikely times, is a few minutes of sinking his fingers in her. And she knows this, and never refuses that initial act.
A few times lately, he has begun to experiment with placing objects fully inside her cunt, and having her leave them in there for varying intervals. He has not yet dared to try making her do this during her school day, or overnight while she is home with her mum, but the idea is lurking there. He just isn't yet quite comfortable with this idea that she really will do most anything he says.
Just once they have tried having her wrists tied to the bed head, which made for an interesting session of fucking and vagina stirring with candles and so on. They had only just discovered the word 'bondage', and great variety of interesting things possible with ropes — in a couple of porn magazines he had found. So far they hadn't tried any of those things; sort of at the 'sniffing at the glass and looking thoughtful' stage. But it's clear to both of them that it's she who would be bound, not he, and that just the idea alone makes her instantly wet.
There is a more immediate issue to be pursued. An idea he'd had, and was exploring. For the last few days, he has been adding frustration to their games — refusing to bring her to orgasm, or allow her to achieve it herself. Not until she will do as he requests with the bedposts.
Her bed has phallic corner posts — belly high, round turned wood, large egg sized and shaped top knob. He has asked her to tip-toe over one, and lower her sex onto it, seeing how far she can bear to insert it, and to try and make herself cum on it. She is reluctant — it seems so big, and she is a little afraid of somehow slipping, and injuring herself. But mostly just embarrassed to have him stand by, watching her do such a kinky thing. There is also a worry at the back of her mind -- what if she really likes it -- would she be able to resist the temptation to do it often? Too often?
Yesterday, her several-days-denied need for orgasm, and his coaxing, had overcome her resistance late in the afternoon. That day he had not undressed, but had remained fully clothed as he at first cuddled her, then teased her into another arousal, then undressed her. They had sat most of the afternoon, she naked in his lap, talking, as he now and then toyed with her sex, keeping her wanting more as he returned the conversation at times to his idea for her on the post. She had been surprised to find herself enjoying the situation -- it always made her feel a kind of warm satisfaction, a kind of 'owned' feeling, when she sat naked on his knee, his fingers possessing her vagina, driving the excitement of her body and mind with a power she could not control, nor did she wish to. Somehow, this new twist, that he was using this power over her to persuade... no, to coerce, her to do an act at once frightening and exciting, even perverted... somehow that added a sharp tang of kinky excitement to the experience. She thought she should be angry with him, for trying to manipulate her, but somehow.... all she could think of was how his fingers felt, and how much she wanted more.
Finally, with not much time remaining to them that day, and excited to distraction, she had agreed. She had stood herself on tiptoe over the post, its tip pressing against her already moist slit. Hesitating, she had glanced at him, standing some feet away, his gaze intent and commanding. She'd felt the heat in her sex burning, eager for the feel of that firm pressure deeper inside, and eager to please him. Yet as she lowered herself slightly, and the fat hard knob slipped suddenly inside her, only a little but so forceful and large, stretching her... In a hot flash she felt almost overwhelmed by a sense of nasty erotic abandon; a wildness that made her want to drive herself onto the post violently, even to hurt herself... to cum and cum... and the thoughts made her suddenly afraid, afraid of losing control, of injuring herself on the solid, unmoving pole. Yet she burned with desire, for him, for relief from the last week's frustrations, for his reassurance and touch. She'd pulled off, abandoning the attempt and falling wordless into his arms. Hoping he would lay her down and fuck her into heaven.
Instead he'd simply held her in a hug for long moments, him dressed, her naked, then let her go. He was annoyed with her; that she made such a half-hearted attempt, then quit without getting more than an inch of the bed post inside. He had been expecting the erotic visual treat of seeing his beautiful girlfriend standing, deeply transfixed on the post, its thick wooden girth splaying her sex. He'd planned to masturbate her there to orgasm, teasing her immobile clit as he kneeled in front of her, admiring the sight of her emposted cunt. He wasn't interested in any other outcome. Soon after that he'd left, being a little cold to her, in the peevish uncommunicative way of teenagers. Leaving her heated and unsatisfied, yet with not enough time to relieve herself before her mother arrived home.
That evening she'd been plagued with erotic thoughts involving the bedposts and her pussy. It had felt so incredibly assertive — that thick, immovable shaft, so tall she'd been on very tips of her toes to even slide her sex onto its end. She can't stop wondering what it must feel like, if deeply sunk into her guts, her feet flat on the floor... or even (she shudders) spread wide apart to force it in as far as she could bear. She imagines what she would look like, her hips shuddering and humping on the immovable post, maybe forcing her to orgasm after orgasm! Maybe... though so far she has never had a vaginal orgasm, no matter how hard Greg tried, even with a vibrator. She is definitely a clitoris girl, so far -- and Greg is getting rather good at playing tunes on her body through that little instrument.
This recent tactic of his to use that pleasure to coerce her, to have her do as he wishes, it was surprising her with her own reactions to it. She'd grown long accustomed to his skill at bringing her to orgasm, and come to expect at least one or two every time they made love. Sometimes, especially in the last month, he seemed to dedicate their afternoon to experiments in how many times he could bring her to shuddering climax. Then a week ago, that had changed. As usual, he had teased her to a near frenzy, but then left her hanging. She'd assumed it was just a temporary tease, but as the afternoon wore on, and he repeated the process several times, she sensed something was different. He had made no comment, just smiled when she begged for the final release. It had gotten closer to the time of her mother's arrival, and still she was horny. With only minutes to go, he'd had her dress, then _still_ caressed her through her jeans and blouse, right until her mother's key turned in the lock. With her a little red-faced and out of breath, he'd chatted to her mum for a few minutes, then left, saying it was time to be home for tea. Even then, she'd assumed it was just a little game he'd chosen to play. The next day, for sure he'd make it up.
But he didn't. He came round, beating her there in fact. Then repeated almost exactly her previous torment. She'd been very angry with him in the last few minutes before he left, and her mother had assumed they'd had a row. That night she kept waking, her sex swollen and wet, from swollen, wet dreams. She cursed her bedroom's lack of privacy from her mother.
The next day she asked him what he thought he was doing, and would he please stop it. He'd smiled, and explained that it was an experiment, and no, he wouldn't. Said he was planning to do just the same for while, and see just how horny she would get. Maybe see what she would do for sex, once she really, really needed it. She'd gotten angry with him again, said some unkind things. He'd just calmly grabbed her, stripped off her clothes despite her quite strong resistance, and held her still, his fingers working the familiar magic in her cunt, his lips around her nipple. It amazed her, how the heat rose up through her from her sex, and evaporated the anger. That feeling, of being owned, in his power, it grew so strong that time, in the realisation that he could _make_ her want it, make her want him, even against her will. He had stayed for dinner that night, her still throbbing with the need, but somehow no longer angry with him for that. Perhaps it would be... interesting, to see how horny she would get. She still awoke from sweaty dreams that night, but it seemed easier to go back to sleep, despite the throbbing in her hungry sex.
The next morning she woke to find, surprised at herself, that her fingers had found their way under her belly and into her nightie, and must have been playing at her slit, to judge from its engorged and sopping state. But there are only light bedclothes over her, and her mother is bustling about and has already opened the doors to her room. She has no choice but to rise and begin her preparations for school. Even in the shower she has no privacy -- the bathroom door has no lock, and her mother is in the habit of walking in and out, regardless. She gets dropped off by mum at school, still aching in her sex. It's kind of cool, she thinks, the way he's making her so horny. Lucky her teachers don't know about the state of her knickers.
That afternoon when Greg again is there before her, she tries again to angrily confront him, saying it's cruel and heartless of him to treat her this way. But this time he does not even try to physically overpower her. He just stands back from her, and calmly tells her that if she wants to talk about this, she must first strip. Somehow, she cannot continue the act of anger, and complies sulkily, thinking that perhaps when she points out how puffy and red her genitals are, and how embarrassing it's been to walk around all day at school with a soaking wet stripe down the middle of her panties, perhaps he will relent.
He notices all right, but he doesn't relent. Far from it -- he seems greatly pleased to see definite evidence that his little experiment is bearing fruit. He has her stand in the middle of the room, legs wide apart, as he walks around her, closely admiring her straight-from-school state of arousal. He hugs her from behind, running his hands over her, kissing her neck, then kneels in front and fingers her hungry slit carefully, slowly. Loosening her will in that familiar way, then using her need as a goad, he has her describe her feelings and experiences of the last few days. He tells her this is working out far better than he hoped, and he loves her even more, to see her in this state of sexual heat, to know that she will allow him this power over her. Somehow, as he molds her heat in waves, rising and falling but never breaking, and they talk, she finds herself agreeing that she likes this, likes knowing she is horny for him, by his will. That she will bear the frustration, so they may both explore the intensities of desire of which her body is capable.
She finds herself kneeling, him sitting on the bed edge, her mouth working on his rigid cock, his hands holding her wrists, and her knees wide apart on the carpet, the fire blazing in her vacant cunt. He jets into her throat, groaning and she groans too, of the longing for release in her belly, but also of the pleasure in being his. Later, he has her lie back on the bed, as he licks and fondles her breasts, teasing her nipples to aching rigidity. He has her repeat again and again, that she will not attempt to masturbate. Gives her hints that there will be 'tasks' he wishes her to perform, and that this will be part of the experiment. She asks what sort of tasks, but he won't say. He wants her to agree that she will do whatever he says, and trust his judgement. She is not so sure, but he teases her to unsatisfied crest after crest, until she agrees that yes, she will do whatever he says.
Later, with her mother home again, and Greg gone, and her body still in a state of throbbing excitement, she recalls saying that. Rationally, she knows that might not have been a wise thing to agree to. But it does give her a strange shivery thrill to think of it. Doesn't help quiet the twitchy tension in her belly one bit, or soften the aching hard nipples under the stiff bra she has worn to hide them from her mother. Bed is again a series of hot dreams interrupted by waking, aching and wet, forcing her hands far away from her sex, and falling fitfully back to sleep.
The next day starts much the same, her horniness unabated by the time she gets to school. Except this time, rather than slipping from her mind in classes, it seems to gnaw at her most of the day. It is sometimes hard to avoid fidgeting in class, and she notices that when she gets up from the hard school chairs there is a patch of dampness on the lacquer. No one else notices though, thankfully. That afternoon, she throws off her dress as soon as they are inside, and poses, pointing out how very hard her nipples are, how soaked her panties, how swollen and red her sex, and how very juicy. He checks, sliding a pair of fingers in without resistance, smiles, tells her she is fantastic. Going into the bedroom, he mentions that one thing he'd like her to do for him, is to stand with a bedpost of her bed deep in her cunt. Says it casually, as if it should be a trifle, an easy thing to do. Somewhat stunned, she goes to the bed and stands next to a post. It comes nearly up to her belly button! And it's so thick! He can't be serious!
Apparently, he was. Even offering to end the 'exploration of horniness' experiment and let her cum if she would do it.
That day she'd flat out refused to consider it, even as he brought her to several agonisingly-close-but-not-quite-an-orgasm peaks. Her dreams that night had featured huge objects ripping into her tender sex, but had still had her waking out of breath and aching. At school, she kept thinking of those bedposts. They weren't really that thick, when you thought about it. Maybe it would fit. And she could stay up on her toes. But the idea was still scary, though she could kind of see why he would think it would look sexy. In English class, she had a sudden image of her young and pretty teacher Miss Hibson standing naked and impaled on such a post at the front of the class, and could barely control herself from giggling in the middle of lesson. Yes, she could definitely understand the appeal.
So today she had tried the post trick for him, and chickened out while barely begun. He'd left, clearly annoyed with her, and here she was, still without relief after nearly a week of his skillfully teasing frustration. The memory of how the post had felt, its thick immovability, is still vivid in her mind. She can still almost feel it in herself. Even pressed only a little into her body, it was so intense, with such an erotic promise. She wishes she had not pulled off it, in fright at the power of it.
Lying in bed, trying to get to sleep, she goes back over the last week. She thinks she should be angry with him, but somehow something in her seems to enjoy this game. She suspects she will be doing quite a few things that would never have occurred to her otherwise — he is very inventive. Certainly, she has admitted to herself that tomorrow will definitely see her doing exactly as he wishes with the bedpost. He won't even have to ask. With a nasty, wicked shudder, she thinks that if Greg tied her legs wide apart to something, she wouldn't be able to lift her cunt off the post! She'd be trapped, pinned like a cum-bug on the wooden bedpost, her struggles serving only to stir the fucking shaft around in her stuffed cunt.
It drives her crazy that now her mother is home, she cannot try it right away. Nor in the morning. She can't even masturbate, since the door connecting her room and her mother's bedroom (a converted sunroom) is glass panelled and has no lock. Lately she has been developing a habit of crying out as she comes, no matter how hard she tries to keep quiet. She won't get another chance till tomorrow afternoon. She resolves to do it again then, with lubrication, and put on a show for Greg. God! What if he tied her hands behind her back on there? With her sex effectively immobilised... Last time he gave her head, it was with her hands tied, and it had been unbelievable! What would head feel like, with her cunt impaled on her bedpost? Hmmmmm it makes her very horny thinking about Greg giving her head -- the way he teases her to the edge many times, then draws back, building her urgency. Then finally flicking her into a mindless orbit of ecstasy, taking her around and around, time after glorious time.
She can't wait -- it's such a treat! Maybe she really ought to let him come in her arse like he keeps wanting too -- it can't be too awful. That would be a treat for him. Or .... hmmm... She has a thought. A treat for Greg: herself, already fully down on the post, and... and unable to get off it! Yes! She could do that, he'd _love_ it. He'd walk in (he has a key) and find her like that... naked, fuck-crazy already, humping on the shaft. She can imagine the look on his face -- like 'WOW Jen! Thats soooo hot!' And what would he do then? She doesn't know, but he's tended to be pretty imaginative at times. Something equally kinky, perhaps. Probably starting with tying her hands behind her again... yeah, that would really... ohhhh it makes her aching hot to think of it. Perhaps she should even do that herself... could she? Some kind of slip knot?
In the morning she wakes up horny as a toad, but the same old story- her privacy is almost non-existent in this small, old rented house, and the schedule to get ready for her mum to drop her off at school allows for no lying around in bed anyway. She does make a quick phone call to Greg, checking that he'll definitely be around straight after school that day. He still seems a little short with her, but says yes, he'll be round as usual, but perhaps a little later, due to having to do some house chores. She asks her mum if it's OK for Greg to have dinner at their place tonight; it is. So that's arranged too, for 7pm.
School that day is a torment of aching pussy and flitting erotic thoughts. If her teachers knew what is occupying her... She is planning how to tie herself so she is stuck on her bedpost. Recently Greg and she had been reading a few smut magazines, on bondage and stuff, and she can remember some of the knots. It won't be easy, but she thinks she can do it. She makes an inventory in her head. They have some lengths of soft cotton rope, and a pair of handcuffs, stashed among the junk under her bed. An old broom in her closet, that never gets used. Hand cream. Some gear from Greg's rock climbing rack, that he just happened to leave at her place after their last day away bouldering. And, yeah, a note. Maybe, taped to her.... um breast would look hot. Saying something like 'Darling Greg, my sweetie, I'm all yours to play with. Have fun. Love, Jennifer.' Which reminds her... the other thing he'd wanted to try too, which might be pretty nice, if the wonderful feelings of a fingertip working into her rear as he lap-fucked her were anything to judge by. It might be a good idea to prepare for that too.
After school she gets the bus home, sex on fire in anticipation. Runs down the steep winding little path to her house, and lets herself in, slamming the door behind her, and practically tearing her uniform off. She is naked in 3 seconds flat, tosses on her dressing gown, and fills an old shampoo bottle with warm water in the bathroom. Then a dash out to the outside toilet around the side of the house, and the novel feeling of squeezing warm water up into her rear, cleaning that out. After she is finished, and back inside the house, she dashes through a crash shower and pretty-up. God she looks great! Her figure is perfect- all the feminine curves and padding, without an ounce of overweight. Breasts full and rated teen-16-perfecto, with large, hard nipple icing on top. It's hard to resist the burning heat in her cunt, but she manages. Maybe the hand cream won't be needed, if she's as wet inside as she feels. She gets the materials for today's little adventure, dumps them on her bed, and starts tying knots.
First, she firmly fixes one rope segment to the handle end of the broomstick, winding it around several times and tying it off tight. The free ends she wraps around her left ankle several times, firmly but comfortably, then ties. Now the broomstick is fastened to her ankle, over the top of her foot, making it awkward to move around. But then, she doesn't have to. Sitting on the bed edge, she ties another, longer rope length around her right ankle, leaving one end with about five meters free. The end of this next gets tied to the connecting chain of the handcuffs, so that she will be able to pull on it with her hands locked behind her back. Most of this free rope is left lying loosely on the floor. Next, the brush end of the broom gets a short length of rope tied to it, and that ties the rock climber's belaying cam firmly to the end of the broom. This is a palm-sized U-channel of metal, with a sprung toothed cam. Its purpose is to let a rope be pulled easily through in one direction, but to lock firmly against any movement of the rope in the other direction. The rope can only be released with a complicated safety interlock action, that requires several fingers at once to accomplish. Designed to ensure the rope can never, ever come out or slip back accidentally. As a test, she opens the cam, and slips in the loose ankle rope. Standing, she pulls up on this rope, pulling it through the cam. Sure enough, her right ankle is pulled outwards towards the broom brush. She shifts her weight, letting her legs spread wide apart, ankles splayed right to the opposite ends of the broomstick. She tries to bring her legs back together -- nope! The cam holds the rope solidly; her legs are tied apart, and only releasing the cam or untying knots will save her pussy from enforced exposure. In fact, just this tie gives her a wicked thrill, and as she stretches to release the cam and pull enough rope back through it to sit, knees together again, she finds that if she was a little less flexible, just this simple leg stretch would be hard to get out of.
Then she ties a second cam to the center of the broomstick. And another longish length of rope to the very foot of the bedpost, at a narrowing just above the bottom end. The loose end of this rope also gets tied loosely to the handcuff's connecting chain, while its middle is clipped into the mid-broomstick cam. When this rope is pulled tight, it will lock the middle of the broomstick to the base of the bedpost.
So there is not much more to do now. The note -- feeling extra daring now she has gone this far, she writes:
Darling Greg, my super-stud lover,
I'm all yours to play with. Have fun with your naughty,
masturbating girl-toy. I do it every day you don't come
round, but wishing you were inside me, so you should keep
on coming round every day! It's so much better having you
make me cum, over and over. Even when you tease me,
cum-starve me, I love it! It makes me feel so..... yours!
Today it's been five days without, and I'm _dying_ for it!
Yes, I will do anything you want -- anything.
Please make me cum?
She signs it 'Love, your ever-lustin Jenny' and sticks it to her breast with masking tape. Then she squeezes a generous goop of hand cream into her palm, and carefully spreads it over the phallic shape of the bed post. Another, for a shakingly slow, single wipe down into her crotch, and up the cleft of her rear. She dares not linger at this, lest she be sidetracked.
Till Greg had suggested the idea, she had honestly never considered the posts in _that_ way. It was just her bed, that she'd had for most of her life. But now, running her cream-slicked fingers over the smooth-turned features of the post, she thinks that some bed designer had a dirty mind. The post could not be better designed for sex, if it.. well, if it was designed for it. At the top is a pointy topped ball-egg shape. Rounded, pointy tip, thickening in an organic curve to a worryingly (to her) fat 2.5" width, about 3" down. Then a sudden narrowing, definitely reminiscent of the back end of an erect penis glans. Following that, a good foot of the post is turned in a series of smooth ridges, quite close spaced. She can only guess what that will feel like, once her sex makes their acquaintance. The rest of the post is plain, becoming square sectioned only as it joins the bed frame.
Damm, if she doesn't tie her hands soon, she'll probably get permanently side tracked, she thinks. Her cunt and clit are screaming for action. Besides, Greg will be here any moment, it's nearly 4.30, she sees. Lucky there's no need to do all that complicated stuff with blocks of ice and keys, like in the magazines. So she just grabs the handcuffs, and quickly locks them on her wrists, behind her back. She can reach the ropes to the two cams on the broomstick, and that is all that's needed now.
Standing, she faces the open door of her room, kicks the hanging ropes and dragging broomstick into position, and on tip toes, positions her sex over the slippery tip of the wooden post. Ahhhh, even on her toes, it presses firmly against her... and this time, letting herself press down on its well lubed bulk is a very special feeling. The rounded point slides thickly in between her pouting labia, spreading her inner flesh onto its reaming diameter. Hmmmmmmmm.... nice! A bit more, and she can feel the full thickness of the eggish head straining into her cunt entrance.... ohhhh thats mmmmmmmmmm.... She finds herself propping up on her toes again, and letting down, just to savour that wonderful feeling of the thick object pressing into her opening. But the time.... any moment now, Greg might arrive, and she is not yet 'packaged'. Better just dive in.... so she grits her teeth, and deliberately grinds herself down hard onto the post, feeling the fat ovoid pop past her opening, and slickly slide into her hot depths. She cannot help a soft 'Unnnghhhhhhh' as she exhales, feeling for the first time the ridges on the post slipping into her sex, popping in rapid series past her tightest point, and caressing her sensitive insides. Feet flat on the floor now, but legs still together, she moans "Oh God, that is really fucking big, ohhhhh hhooo hoo oh wowwww.... Oh this is going to be something fucking else..."
She rests a moment, accustoming to the new bulk inside her, the way it is so solid there, moving not the slightest as her hips rock slightly around on its impalement. It's soooooo good.. But she can take more... and she could still escape from this wooden spear if she wanted to, which kind of spoils the scene. So, slowly, carefully, she works her feet outwards, increasing the gap between them, and thus lowering her sex gradually onto deeper intrusion by the bedpost. HHHhhhhhhmmmm..... Ohhhhhhhh Hmmmmmmm... It just seems to get better, so far. She can feel it really, really getting deep into her belly. Ohhhhh wowwwww so deep, huuuuuuuu weeeeee! She gives in to the temptation to let her hips gyrate in a sexual grind, and finds that it's actually impossible- the shaft deep in her sex pins her whole pelvis more or less in one position. All she achieves is a sensation of stirring pressure rotating around in her cunt, but not much actual hip movement. Ahhhhhh... a little more.... feet wider.... now there is a twinge of discomfort; her cunt is being stretched up inside her further than it likes to be. And other things inside are being poked and displaced almost painfully as well. Is that far enough? She tries an experimental up and down fuck-bounce — only a little one, and the sensations are so intense she squeels in surprise "Oooooeeeeeiiii! Ohhhhhh hhuuuu..." 'Oh yeah! That is just so intense!' she thinks as she repeats the action several times, but a bit more cautiously. 'Ohhhh fuuuuck! this is sooooooo fucking right up there!'
For a few moments she loses herself in this deep river of intense erotic sensation, then snaps out of it, thinking of the time again. She does so want to impress Greg with her clever rope trick. Fumbling behind her with cuffed hands, she grips the ankle rope, and pulls it up. There is quite a bit of slack, which she has to work through her fingers, but soon she can feel the rope from her ankle to the broomstick cam go tight. The moment of truth. Her legs are not split anywhere near as wide as she can go, so her hip joints are comfortable. Yet the post is deep, deep inside her, and as she tries a tentative bend at the waist to see how close she can get her hands to either ankle or broomstick, she grunts at the jab of discomfort inside her belly. No, bending at the waist is out, when there is a solid object up though the middle of your waist. Or it feels like it anyway. Experimentally, she tries to lift up on her toes in this spread-legged position. She can lift up perhaps 4". Leaving what feels like another 5" of the post still rammed rigidly up her twat.
She then tries shifting her feet sideways, trying to get one leg vertically under her. Apart from the broomstick forcing her other foot way out wide and up in the air, and the balancing act required, it looks like at this point it would still be possible to escape the pole. So she centers her feet again, and pulls on the other rope. She feels no change, but looking down she can see that the center of the broomstick is now locked tight to the base of the bedpost. She tries the side-shuffle thing again, and it is just not possible. 'Yep, this is permanent. Even if she changed her mind now, this is how Greg will be finding her.'
It gives her a sudden heady flush of hot excitement, realising that she has actually done it -- tied herself up in this slutty position, to give her boyfriend a treat. She sure must trust him, why, he could do just about anything he liked to her, fixed like this. Except fuck her of course, unless he takes her off this bedpost first. 'Oh God', she thinks, 'imagine if someone _else_ found me like this!' For a moment more, she idly imagines some stranger finding her now, then a thought pops up. 'Ah. Did I lock the front door?' In fact, now she thinks about how she was in such a rush, it seems she may not have. She is facing her open bedroom door, not six feet from it. Beyond, the small combined dining and kitchen room of this little house. Which the front door opens into. Someone coming in the front door need only walk about three paces before they will see her, framed front-on in her doorway. She cannot even turn around, since she is straddling the corner of her bed. She leans forward a little and looks down at her crotch. Yep, there it is -- a large wooden post disappearing into her cunt, her spread legs and sparse blond bush doing nothing to hide the details of distended, engorged labia parted wetly around that thick rod. Parted widely enough to reveal her excited clit, poking erectly from under its hood, just begging to be messed with. Considering the note, still dangling from her tit, the picture would seem pretty clear to anyone, not just Greg, she supposes. Something like 'freaky slut here, go for it', most likely.
For some reason, this train of thought seems to overwhelm her ability to control her movements, and her hips start a serious pole-fucking rhythm. Through the deliriously over the top sensations this produces, she realises another mistake she has made. She should not have spread quite so far, into the boundary of penetration pain -- for it leaves her little room to thrust, to work the shaft in her needy sex. Without the difficult exertion of going to tiptoe on her spread feet, she can only manage about an inch of pistoning fun -- and even then she keeps getting jabs of pain at the down thrust. What with the inadequate amount of cunt stroking, and the flashes of pain every time her body's need overcomes her conscious control and goes down a bit too far, and her poor deserted clit standing forlornly out of reach of her hands, and not even squeezable between her labia, she realises that she may have set herself up for some heavy duty frustration, rather than any possibility of the elusive Vaginal-Orgasm. Still, hopefully Greg will fix that. Lucky he's due any moment!
At this very thought, the telephone rings. She can even see it, on a side table in the dining room, just outside her door. It has a long cable, and she often brings it into her room, to lie on her bed and chatter away to her friends. But the long cord does her no good now. Still hunching her inch of freedom on the pole, she listens to it ring, once, twice, three times, then the answering machine picks up. Her own voice cheerfully announces "Hello, we're busy right now, please just, you know, like leave a message!...... beeep." Then it's Greg's voice, sounding a bit sheepish "Uh, hi Jennifer, are you there? Pick up, it's me!...... Well, uh, I know I said I'd be round early, but sorry, my mum wants me to do some chores that, I uh, didn't get around to last weekend. So... sorry. I'll be over by seven for dinner though. Want to go see a movie after? Love you! You be good now! Bye. click."
For several moments, she stands there, half-preoccupied with the powerful sensations in her sex, as she twists on the pole. Part of her mind is also still fantasising about some stranger walking in through the unlocked front door, and taking advantage of her complete helplessness. Only gradually does she refocus on Greg's message. Her first thought is 'Well, isn't that just like him! I go to all this trouble, and he doesn't show up. Typical! Men!' Then 'I'll have a thing or two to say to him when he gets here! Leaving me stuck here like this! He's always complaining about _me_ being late. Hah!' She spends a few more moments bending forward a little, looking down at her sex as it hunches up and down on the post. Thinking 'Man, what you are missing. This sure does look hot and kinky, if I say so myself. I think I'm going to have to do this more often. But with a bit more slack!'
She is drifting off into thoughts about what she should get ready for their dinner, when her mind's curtain of denial rips down the middle, sending her thoughts reeling. She cries out aloud "Ahhhhh nooooo! Ohhhhhh FUCK Oh shit! I'm STUCK here, and MUM is going to come home at six. And thats an hour and a half away! OHHHH Boy! Ohhhhh fuck, this is not good. And the front door is unlocked, but thats the least of my worries. What is _Mum_ going to do when she sees _this_? Oh oh.... Oh Greg you shit... Ohhhhhhhhhh... I'm dead. I'm like TOTALLY dead. 'Oh hi Mum, how was your day? No, nothing special at school, and you know, I'm just standing here, like, fucking my bed. What would you like for dinner, mum? No thats all right Mum, it's nothing, just, if you could spare a moment, unclip that cam there, yeah, at my ankle there. No, no, it's quite all right, I'd do the rest, thanks Mum, you're a dear. Just a minute while I put some clothes on, Mum.' Oh heep deep doo doo Jen! You have just _got_ to get out of this before six, or it's the end of life as we know it."
In a state of horrified panic, she stares down at her ingenious creation of ropes, desperately looking for a flaw, a mistake, a weakness in her brilliant plan. She twists and shakes on the pole, struggling to pull her feet against their ties to the wooden broomstick handle. But nothing gives way, no knots miraculously work loose. All that happens is that her cunt gets bruisingly joggled on the firmness of the bedpost, and she accidentally drops low enough to cause her insides some painfully deep probing. And as if this predicament is not enough on its own, for some perverse reason the situation seems to act like petrol tossed on the fires in her sex. She is really burning up now, her clit aching in serious need.
After some minutes of almost unthinking desperate struggling, she pauses, panting, her mind still frantically insisting there must be _some_ way to get free, but thinking that perhaps she just needs to try and hold still and think carefully about the problem. Except that her sexual heat keeps getting in the way. She can barely hold her hips still, the need for orgasm is so strong. She tries to bring her cuffed hands far enough round to her front to reach even one finger down to her clit, but that is not possible either. Straining as hard as she can, the cuffs painfully cutting into her wrists, her finger is still a useless three inches from her goal. Her clit is as out of reach as escape itself.
Nor can she reach the incriminating note, still firmly taped to her breast. She can read it though, upside down and damming that it is. 'Ohhhhh her mother is going to read that.... ohhhhhh fuuuuuck! Masturbating... ' This is not going to be good.... She remembers well, the time a year ago in her old house, her father away permanently drunk at the pub as usual, when she'd been masturbating after school, lying on her bed covers, jeans and panties pushed down to mid thigh, and her fingers buried between her legs, and after a really great cum she'd fallen asleep. To wake with her mother, just home from work, standing beside her and staring expressionlessly down at her incriminating pose. Just then she'd said only "Girl, don't you dare move a muscle! I'll be back to deal with you in a moment." As her mum turned and stalked off to her room, Jennifer had noticed the camera in her mother's hand. She'd never found out if her mother had already taken any pictures then, but she definitely took some later... Though she'd never heard of them again. Still, that evening became burned in her own memory, even without any pictures to remind her of the painful events.
Too afraid to move, she had listened to her mother changing out of her work clothes, and using the bathroom. She had begun to seriously wonder if her mother was all right in there, when she had come back to Jennifer's room, stern faced and oddly flushed. If she'd thought things were bad then, she rapidly came to understand how much worse they could get, as her mother commanded-
"Masturbating! Only fifteen, and masturbating, you disgusting girl! Well we'll see about that. No daughter of mine is going to fall into such habits. Stand up! Take those clothes off!" Her mum had stood there, looking like a thunderstorm, as Jennifer had hesitantly stood and stripped bare. Then grabbing the teen by the wrist, she had marched her into the kitchen- dining room, hissing "If your no-good father was any use, I'd have him give you a dammed good strapping for this. But he isn't, so I'll just have to do it myself! I will _not_ have my daughter doing such disgusting things to herself. Now, lie face down over the table. Yes, like that. Legs! Spread your legs! No, hands on the table, I've seen all that before. Good. Now, listen Jennifer, if you move a muscle, I'll start the punishment all over again, understand! You just stay there till I tell you to move."
Naked, bent over and spread legged, Jennifer had been terribly conscious of the sight her sex must be presenting her mother. She still felt wet and puffy from her fingering. There had been the sounds of her mother walking around the room, things being moved, cupboards closing. Then a long, silent pause, then _flash_ the tick of a camera. She had been too timid to even ask why her mother was taking photos. Several more flashes from behind, then some from the side she faced. Her mother's expression was strange — a kind of partly masked intensity and anger. Then her mother had moved out of sight behind her again, and shortly after, a long finger had slid slowly but firmly into her still slick sex. She had started, moving to rise, but her mother's other hand had pressed forcefully down on the small of her back. "No, you stay there. So! You are no longer a virgin either, it seems. How did that happen, you filthy girl? Did you let some boy _fuck_ you, or did you break it _mastubating_?" The single finger is withdrawn, only to be replaced by two, working around inside possessively. And to Jennifer's further consternation, arousingly. Struggling to hold still, she misses her question. Her mother demands "_WELL!_ How does your hymen come to be gone, before you are even sixteen, for God's sake?
She had broken it when she was fourteen, with the handle of a hairbrush. But it takes several minutes, and the threat of severe punishments before she can bring herself to admit this to her mother. In the end, it is the busy fingers in her cunt that that break down her reticence. Her mother is _not_ impressed. The fingers are removed, and there is some rummaging in a cutlery drawer out of sight. Then some cold, heavy rod-like object is pressed deeply into her now burning sex, and left. Another pause, then more camera flashes. Then her mother grips the object, and begins vigorously thrusting it in and out of her cunt, asking "And did you _cum_, you dirty girl? Are you quite familiar with _orgasm_? Did you cum _enough_ this afternoon, while your poor mother was still hard at work, earning the money to keep you in school? No, don't answer, I expect that even doing it till you passed out wasn't enough for a little slut like you!"
By now the object-fucking is getting her seriously turned on, and her hips escape her conscious control -- beginning to buck back at the thrusts. The tension of need for orgasm is gathering in her belly, and she moans in time with the thrusts. This seems to spur her mother on to even more vigor.
"See, you even like this! Disgusting. Well, then, put a hand down here, and do it yourself. Yes, under yourself, that's it. Hold it.. like this... Now, push it -- fuck yourself, that's right. Yes, like that.... yes, you seem quite practiced at it! No, don't stop. All right, time for your punishment. If you stop moving that before I say, you'll regret it dearly."
By now she is hardly likely to resist -- keeping that rod moving in her sex is exactly what she wants. It it thicker than anything she has dared use before, and longer too. Her heat is building like thunderclouds, but the position she is in, the way her mother made her cup her hand over the end of the long cylinder, that she cannot press in deeply enough to bring her hand in contact with her sex... Her clit is aching untouched, and she dares not shift to please it, though she longs to. Even the flashes of more photos being taken barely give her pause. Then there is silence for a little while, followed by the sensation of her mum's fingers rubbing over her cunt lips and clit, around the pistoning rod. For a second, the sensation is pleasant, till the burning hits. "Arrghhhhh mum! What have you...? Ooooohhhhhh Owwwwww owwww...!" She writhes in pain -- but somehow it drives her desire higher. She keeps thrusting the rod, faster.
"Just some chilli powder. And I'm now going to give you the spanking of your life. You just keep masturbating, you filthy slut, and remember this. If I ever catch you touching yourself there again, you'll think this was a picnic!"
Another pause, another flash, then _SMACK_ her arse erupts in fire equal to that in her sex. For some reason, it makes her hand spasm, shoving the rod in painfully deep. Her belly tenses up, the cum approaching fast on the burning fire of her spiced genitals. _SMACK_! She comes, massively, her head arched back, groaning her agonizing pleasure aloud. _SMACK SMACK SMACK_ A rapid series of explosions of fire across her buttocks. Her cum continues, her hand shoving the rod deep into her sex. _SMACK_ ..._SMACK_.... it all blends into one mash of sensory overload, that seems to go on for a long time. Sometimes she is coming, sometimes she is crying with the flashes of pain on her rear, or the chilli burning of her sex.
Eventually, she becomes aware that her mother has stopped spanking her. A few more photographs are taken, perhaps. She is not sure. Her wrist aches from holding the rod in her twat -- numb now to the rod, but still burning strongly from the peppers. Her mother takes the rod away, suddenly, leaving her feeling empty and sore all over. She is sent to bed, without dinner, but with a repeat of the warning "If I ever catch you..."
She remembers she had actually managed to avoid masturbating for a whole month after that. But at least she had learnt her lesson about falling asleep afterwards. Her mother had never caught her again, to this day. 'Looks like she'll catch me today though.' she thinks, dreading it. But why does thinking about that make her hips work harder on the pole? God, she needs to cum badly! Her nipples feel like they are as hard as steel, and her clit is about to explode. She wonders if she will still be in this state by the time her mother comes home. In... by the clock, another hour. Since she never could cum from purely vaginal stimulation, no matter how intense, she thinks the chances of her being just as visibly cum-crazy by then are pretty high. 'Just _great_ Jennifer' she thinks.
And then Greg will arrive, walking into whatever kind of trouble her mother will make. Poor Greg. She supposes her mum will forbid her to see him again. That makes her sad. Damm him! Why did he have to choose today to not come round when he said he would? Normally he is very reliable. Not surprising, for a 17 year old going round to sex his horny 16 year old girlfriend.
She is thinking of some of the fine times they have had together, and how she will miss him, and his lovely hard dick, when there is a knock at the front door. She was letting herself hunch the pole, grunting softly with her frustrated heat, when it happens. She freezes, silent. 'Oh God, who can _that_ be? She can't answer, they might....' The knock repeats, longer. A pause. Then another knock, insistent, and two voices, in unison "Hey! Jennifer, you there? Wake up! We've brought you some veggies!"