THE LIBRARY: Thin Ice Part 5

Ice5 THIN ICE Part 5 {CONTINUED FROM HERE}
{This story originally appeared on BDSMARTWORK and features some amazing art by SteveWe thank them for letting us share it with you here}

The two men had watched her on the floor of the closet. "Do you think it'll last the night?" asked one. "New batteries," the other mused. "Should be good for most of that." He looked at the Asian princess with the bombshell American body straining at their feet. "After all, they just keep going and going and going...."

They watched her thrust her elbow-cinched breasts against the neckline of the dress, her cleavage filling and threatening to spill over. They watched her hips scrape the floor, pulling her skirt almost over her firm, round, youthful rump. They watched her blink and choke and gasp. Then, they had simply left...keeping the closet door open a crack. That had been an hour ago. Since then Mia had crawled painfully from the closet and into the hall, trying to ignore the buzzing in her cunt and brain...trying to pull her arms from the rubber-coated wire...trying to scrape the stocking from her mouth...trying to reach a door...a window...anything. She nearly collapsed in exhaustion, her heels clicking onto a wooden door. Mia blinked, recognizing something beyond the surge of the dildo locked inside her. She stared down the length of her wonderful body to see the door of the steam room. The sweat box...where the athletes would pour oil on themselves to replace the skin oil lost in the exercise....! Mia started to snake over to the door. Despite the assaults, despite the stimulation, the girl now had a goal at five since the age of four. She could ignore the exhaustion and the pain and the stimulation now that she knew what to do. Any one else would already be comatose. Anyone else could only quiver at the door. But Mia was an Olympic athlete.

Mia nearly screamed with relief. Her fingers dived for the switch between her legs bending sideways from the waist. But the rubber wire still cinching her elbows stopped her with just two inches to spare. Screeching in agonized frustration, Mia plunged her elbows into the bucket, twisting her arms up to her shoulders, her boobs practically bouncing against her chin. She sat there, a stunning portrait in captivity: mouth covered in nylon and lace, chest heaving, one breast barely covered by soaking cotton-spandex, and her long long legs stretched out, knees and ankles tied, ending in sexy ankle-strap high heels.

Her breasts bobbed as she rubbed her arm together with increasing vigor, the humming between her legs now urging her on. Then, twisting around and bending all the way over from the waist, Mia ripped her right arm up like a snake shedding its skin in triumph. Her arms were free, her hands flying. Her fingers slapped at the switch between her inner thighs, desperately trying to get her deadened fingers to grip. Crying and blubbering behind her gag, she just managed to switch the damn thing.

Wrong way. Mia surged in her seat, nearly falling off the bench as the dildo spun and stretched and shook. Stabbing at her own crotch, she finally got the thing off, nearly collapsing in the process.

She bent her legs. She got her high heels under her rump. She stood up, grabbing the sweat box door handle in her deadened fingers. She swung t back and spun inside as in a skating finale. And there was the wooden oil bucket and spoon. Using the door handle, Mia hopped onto the wooden planking floor. Careful now, careful...one wrong move would put the high heel between slats and Mia would fall, smashing her face against the wooden seats built into the sweat box's walls. Mia hopped, twisted on the balls of her feet and shoes, then sat perfectly, her firm rump on the edge of the seat. It was almost as if her arms and legs weren't bound. But they were...only now Mia knew how to change that. The semen soaking her internal canals was almost forgotten. The assaults were secondary. Now it was time to do something about it. She submerged her hands into the oil bucket, feeling the warm stuff painting her hands and wrists, seeping between the rubber and her flesh. She started to rub her arms back and forth. Within minutes, her limbs were moving more freely and the oil-soaked rubber was getting soft. Suddenly her thumb was within the coils, then her palm. With a quiet pop, her hands were free.

TO BE CONTINUED

 

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