Standing on no ceremony I merely dragged her around and shoved her on the bed.
She landed on her back, bouncing on the thick coverings, then settled with a sob -- her boobs spreading across her entire chest, her aureoles looking like fried eggs with a gumdrop on top.
"Now, now, now," I said, looking over the room. "There's no need for that. It's already too late for you, isn't it? I've already marked you, haven't I? You're filled with my cream, aren't you? You're mine now, right?"
She pleaded through the gag, more exhausted than hysterical, rubbing her legs as if trying to force out the cum.
"Too late," I repeated, going through her closet. "Way too late now...."
What was this? The stuff in her closet was practically drab. Jeans, pantsuits, sweaters, demure dresses, flats, winter boots....
"This isn't the stuff your dear hubby bought you," I said, seeing her eyes widen in fear then flicker instinctively toward the other end of the room.
There I found them. In a big box behind the door. Erin started to cry out in fear, writhing as I reapproached her, turning off the lights as I got near. When it was all said and done, only the low-wattage bedlight was on, basking her in a, dare I say, romantic light as she kept trying to plead through the gag.
But the begging had a much better sound to it now that she was redressed in an astonishingly low-cut, scoop-neck, skin-tight micro minidress, complete with garter belt, stockings and matching four-inch ankle strap high heels. The dress was made of space age polymers, the kind that could hold up her boobs like offerings to the emperor.
Tears streamed out of her blue eyes as she sat on the edge of the bed beside me, shivering, totally aware of how stunningly sexy she was, how monstrously attractive, and how incredibly helpless.
Hands retied behind her with tape and rubber-coated wire.
Mouth stuffed and lips sealed.
Ankles loosely affixed with a plastic pull-tie.
"Okay, hon," I said quietly. "Guess what happens now." Her head went back to wail so I simply plunged my fingers into either side of her mane and continued her motion back. I imagine, if you watched it from the doorway, you wouldn't think twice about the struggle. It was just two forms moving on the bed in near silence -- the only noise being of bodies rubbing on bedclothes, the thick mattress on the heavy, solid frame hardly squeaking.
The falling back practically yanked her skirt up and u-neck down for me. Then all I saw was her achingly beautiful face contort in dread, and all I felt were my legs forcing themselves between hers. I may have even felt the moment the ankle strap snapped. But on this well-cushioned bed, it didn't matter how much she kicked. No one else would hear a thing.
Her mams squished up as I slammed my meat into her, her neck tendons snapping into view, and her eyes flashing in agony. I clamped my hands on her waist and hips, making sure I was sunk in all the way, then started fucking her brains out like never before.
This one was different. The first time was to take her. The second was to mark her. This one was to teach her. To teach her what the physical act was. It didn't matter that she was bound, gagged, and terrified. All that mattered was biology and sexual research.
I shifted my hips, my fingers found her clit, my other hand pinched her left nipple, and my mouth sunk onto her neck. It was the size of the ship and the motion of the ocean.
I spent a half hour stimulating, then fucking, then stimulating again. I brought her close to orgasm twice, then backed off. I made her gasp by playing with her nipples and clit at the same time, using different rhythms. I used my tongue and fingernails. I saw her eyes flash, head raise, nostrils flare, and watched as she held her breath time and again, each time merely squeezing her tit like bread dough until she started to cry...
Only then did I play in her ear and on her throat with my tongue and lips while masturbating her again. Finally, only after she sighed and her back instinctively arched up, did I remount her, slam my hands as hard as I could into her tits, clawed my fingers shut (her mams squeezed between my digits like ice cream), and fucked her so brutally that she only managed to scream twice before the sound became a ragged throttling.
When I finished, her breasts and inner thighs were bruised, her eyes only showed white, her wrists were bleeding, and the dress was ripped almost entirely from her voluptuous body. Her breathing was uneven and coming in shudders. Perfect. She woke up when my phone rang. Not that she could do anything about it. "Yeah?" I answered. It was her ex-husband, as expected. "Yeah," I repeated. "Everything going according to plan." I glanced over at her on the floor.
She was redressed in a wickedly tight lace-up black corset (tits bulging above the demi-bra top), stockings, and lace up granny-style ankle boots with four inch heels. She was bound in a murderous hog-tie. Her hair was tied to her cinched elbows, holding her head up, and her wrists were tied to her ankles. Clamps bit her nipples, and between her legs was a strap, buckled to another strap around her waist, holding in a battery-powered, eight-inch studded dildo which vibrated, throbbed, and surged to ten inches before spinning around.
I had regagged her, too. Replacing the ball and tape was a prod gag which strapped over her head as well as under her chin, covering her ripe mouth with a big rectangle of sunk-in leather.
Her face was priceless. Trying to remain in her post-fuck stupor, the dildo kept snapping her awake, causing her eyes to open, her expression to panic, and her boobs to jiggle -- which created even more lightning bolts to her brain -- all accompanied by little gasps and grunts.
"She's fine," I lied. I closed my phone and slipped it back into my pocket, never taking my eyes off her glory. As I watched the show, my mind started to work, inspired by how my log had started to restiffen.
TO BE CONTINUED