THE LIBRARY: Model Prisoner Part 5

MODEL PRISONER Part 5 {Continued From Here}

Model5{This story originally appeared on BDSMARTWORK and features some amazing art by Agnes. We thank them for letting us share it with you here}  

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Michelle lost consciousness after the man had slowly lowered her onto his lap’s erection, gripped both her tits with one hand, and clamped her head back on his shoulder by her mouth.

She dreamed an alien creature from outer space had trapped her in the cellar of her home, ramming a thick,slimy tentacle deep into her mouth to keep her from crying out to her family for help, then spewing noxious glue to lock her arms to her side.

Then two more tentacles tore open her school uniform shirt, pulled down her simple white bra, and suctioned onto her breasts, needles sinking into her nipples. Then, finally, a pulsating tentacle snaked under her pleated, plaid skirt and into her plain white panties....

Then all the tentacles began to throb, oozing thick liquid into her, and sucking her essence from her. The mouth tentacle pushed down her throat. The suction at her breasts distended her tits while the needles in her nipples sank deeper, sucking out her milk.

And the knobbed tentacle in her panties pushed deeper inside her, scraping her clitoris, stimulating her vagina, sucking up her juices.

The tentacles and needle pushed, stabbed, and thrust until they all met in her exploding heart....

_______________________

She woke up slowly to find her mind still wrapped in gauze from the sedative soaking the nose plugs. Even so, she was amazed by what she saw. This was not a mansion in the countryside, miles away from any neighbor. They were pulling across the sidewalk to a garage of a townhouse in the middle of a city.

The garage door rose automatically and Michelle had just a moment to see the activity of pedestrians and other vehicles before the garage door sealed her in a simple, deep, cement garage, empty save for their single sedan.

“Come along, my dear,” she heard someone say. Almost unable to resist, Michelle stepped out of the car, amazed by the dainty, silver strapped, high heel stiletto that balanced on the cold concrete floor.

Then, as she was guided and straightened, she both felt and saw how her breasts were gathered, balled, squeezed and presented by the seamless, deep v, plunging, hot ruby-pink, contoured lycra spandex lace bra, and her loins just barely covered by the high-cut thong brief which held onto her hip bones for dear life.

Her elbows and wrists were cinched behind her with matching straps, and the daintiest of silver ankle bracelets hobbled her legs with a tinkling, two-foot length of chain. In her mouth was the ball, and once again the sides of her lips were glued.

They only took a moment to pull her head back with her hair, moisten her inner nostrils with a surgical thinner on a q-tip, then remove the nose plugs with a pair of tweezers. Still slaving under the sedative’s influence, they left the drying plugs on the garage floor and drew Michelle to a single door to the side.

Opening it, Michelle was led into a small, plain chamber. Opening the next door, she was led into a simple, square waiting room. Bringing her to one of the three doors behind the single, empty desk there, she was standing in yet another closet-sized vestibule.

But behind that door was a padded red leather door, and behind that, another world...

It was opulent, well-appointed with velvet walls, and well furnished with heavy, deeply padded chairs and sofas. Whilethere were large windows, they were heavily curtained and shaded. The lighting from green-glass shaded Tiffany lamps added even more drama, as did the dozen or so male and female occupants, all handsomely dressed in expensive suits.

Even in her stunned sedation, Michelle gasped. She recognized some of them. A female rival model agency owner....

A movie producer.... An international business tycoon.... A silicon valley maverick....

Michelle snapped to full consciousness when she noticed the other girls.

All were wearing whale-boned, cupless, merry widow corsets, thigh high black lace stockings, and shining, ankle-strap, four-inch high heels. All had their arms twisted up her back by thin ropes, and all their mouths were pried open by huge ring gags strapped tightly around their heads.

One was kneeling before a chair, her mane of red hair held like a leash by the tycoon as her head raised and lowered on his saliva-slickened shaft.

TO BE CONTINUED

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