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From alt.sex.stories.tg Fri Apr 26 00:29:36 1996
Message-ID: <141343Z21041996@anon.penet.fi>
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~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg,alt.sex.femdom,alt.sex.bondage
~From: an381574@anon.penet.fi (BoyChik)
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~Reply-To: an381574@anon.penet.fi
~Date: Sun, 21 Apr 1996 14:09:56 UTC
~Subject: 2 HoT TG: Beach Blonde 1/4 (ncTV,humil,bdsm,cbt,anal)
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Part 1 of 4 -- Beach Blonde
_Beach Blonde_ contains graphic non-consensual sexual, and
sometimes violent, scenes between adults.
This story is FICTION. It does NOT depict the relationship
between actual living people.
This work of erotic fiction is NOT intended for readers under 18
or those who are under the statutory legal age, or those who are
easily offended by pornography. If you are UNDER 18, or if
you ARE offended by pornography, please press <K>ill or <N>
or <ESC> and DO NOT CONTINUE to read.
Your feedback by email encourages me to compose and create; please
write back to me with your reactions to this story.
I am sorry but I will not email "missed" parts of the story; please
capture the story via the newsgroups alt.sex.stories, alt.sex.femdom,
alt.sex.stories.tg and alt.sex.bondage. I will post it several times
periodically through the anonymous remailer.
All rights reserved:
Permission is hereby given to distribute this story via
electronic means only, for non-profit use. This header must
remain intact. All rights for this story remain the property of
the author.
Beach Blonde
by A. BoyChik, April, 1996
Synopsis: A beautiful but troubled blonde seductress meets a young
man on the lookout for some fun. Too late, he realizes that
"fun is in the eyes of the beholder."
I was meandering along the boardwalk one summer evening
watching the interaction among various groupings of people. Teenage
couples stopped to lean against the aluminum rails and press bodies
against each other and neck. Married people were pushing toddlers
in strollers. Older people, some in twos and threes, were walking
purposely for exercise, avoiding the heat of the day.
I stopped to observe the groupings of people play shuffleboard
and paddle tennis, and then walked further on to the bandshell to
listen to the "hits of the sixties" and to watch the dancers. I was
always on the lookout for some action, though I seldom got any.
Yet, tonight, I had a premonition that this night would be
different from all other nights.
As you can gather, I loved watching people closely. Part, or
maybe most, of the reason I was there to feel that I was somehow
involved in their lives. I positioned myself so that I could
eavesdrop on conversations. I watched people more intently than I
should have and sometimes I was sneered at for not looking politely
away.
As usual, I was scanning the crowd, and then, from far away,
as if out of a haze, I saw her. She was walking by herself, or
should I say, sashaying down the boardwalk. Her walk was so fluid
that she almost oozed along in her short, black sleeveless dress
and sandals. Her shoulder length blonde hair flowed down either
side of her face and blew slightly in the soft breeze. I couldn't
help but stare; it was unbelievable that no one else noticed her,
or even saw her, as I did. As she approached and caught me staring,
she looked right back into my eyes. I was speechless and
overwhelmed.
She smiled and as she passed me, I began to follow. Her walk
was so smooth and liquid that I imagined that her ass cheeks must
have been lubricated. I heard myself groaning an "uhhmmmm" quietly
to myself as I fantasized about having my dick inside of her.
I caught up with her as we got to the bandshell. I tapped her
on the shoulder and she whirled around. Startled, she asked, "What
do you want?"
"I...I think you're beautiful!" I blurted out. Jeez, stupid
me. I quickly recovered to say, "I couldn't keep my eyes off of
you."
I saw her visibly compose herself and I did so, too. "Do you
wanna dance?" I asked.
She paused, momentarily, and then nodded. We walked towards
the open dancing area. The band was playing a slow song, usually
the next to the last one in the set. I stopped, turned to face her,
and then reached out my hands to pull her towards me. I sensed her
body being tense at first, but she soon eased up against me as we
started to sway to the rhythm.
I held her close, one hand was around her waist and I could
feel the curve between her lower back and her ass; my other hand
was softly on her neck. My face was against hers and only her
blonde hair kept our skin from touching.
And then she did something that completely astonished me. She
removed her right hand from my shoulder, reached down and brushed
it against my manhood, which was already starting to become
aroused. I thought it was a mistake, but she then did it again. I
heard her chuckle to herself. A moment later, she pressed her
fingers into my nose. "What the..." I said, trying to jerk away.
She held me tightly. She removed her fingers, and I sniffed. It
smelled like warm pussy! She must have rubbed her fingers between
her legs. And, suddenly, she pulled my head towards her and
smothered my mouth with hers. And, in the middle of this passionate
kiss, I couldn't help breathing in her aroma, her intoxicating
essence!
The music ended and we held each other close. Then, our bodies
separated, unwillingly. I took her hand and we walked back towards
the boardwalk.
"Let's go to your car," she said urgently.
"Wait, I don't even know your name," I said. I couldn't
believe that this was progressing so quickly.
"It doesn't matter. Why do we have to know each other's
names?"
We walked hurriedly towards the parking lot. I led her over to
my small Japanese car. I was glad that I had gotten the windows
darkly tinted.
I started to get into the back seat after I unlocked the
doors. "Wait. Get in on the driver's side," she said. I slid in
behind the wheel and, automatically as usual, I put the key in the
ignition. I noticed her dress riding up a bit as she got in on the
passenger side.
To me, she was perfection. Beautiful hair, great body. A super
kisser! And, more, she was full of surprises.
She turned to me and we embraced and our mouths joined. My
hands wandered down over her beasts; she wasn't wearing a bra and
her nipples stuck out. Moments later, she pulled away and said,
"I'm gonna give you the best blow job you ever had." Who was I to
argue? "But you're going to have to promise that you won't touch me
while I'm doing it, or else."
Or else what, I wondered. As if she were reading my mind, she
replied, "If you touch me, it'll be all over between us."
"Sure," I replied. I was getting so horny. "Anything you say."
"Okay. Now recline your seat down a bit, and remember...no
hands!"
She reached over and unbuttoned my shorts and pulled down the
fly. My cock, now engorged, was straining to push out. She slowly
pulled it out of my underwear.
Ever so slowly, she started to rub it up and down with her
hand. She watched me as I watched the intent look in her green
eyes.
Soon, she bent over and lightly caressed the head of my cock
with her tongue. She flicked her tongue slowly back and forth on
the tip and then, ever so carefully, placed her mouth around the
head. And then, even more slowly, she took my cock all the way into
her mouth. I groaned, "Ohhhmmmmm."
And then, she brought her mouth slowly back up my shaft. Her
hot, wet mouth felt like the inside of a woman -- yet far better.
She continued to move her head up and down, but so slowly that
it was both agonizing and immensely erotic.
I couldn't take it any more. I reached out, grabbed her head,
and pushed my cock deep into her mouth.
Angrily, she stopped, and sat back up in her seat. "I warned
you." She started opening her door.
"Wait!" I shouted. "You can't leave me hanging like this."
She looked back at me and said, "Okay, but you're going have
to listen to what I say. And do anything I want."
I had been almost on the brink of getting there. They say that
"when the cock gets hard, the brain gets soft." I replied, probably
too hurriedly, "Yeah, whatever."
Her voice took on a harsher tone. "Promise me," she demanded.
"Okay, I promise," I replied.
"Take your shirt off," she ordered. I pulled my T-shirt up
over my head.
"Pull down your shorts and your underwear, and hand them to
me." I swiftly complied. This was going to be good!
"Now close your eyes and make sure you keep them closed." I
could hear her fumbling around in her bag. She reached over and
started to slowly -- ever so slowly as before -- stroke my cock,
which quickly became hard again.
She stopped and then said, "Keep your eyes closed and give me
your hands."
I extended my arms outward towards her. She began to caress my
arms and her soft hands were very sensuous against the sensitive
insides of my arms. She stopped and, suddenly, I felt cold steel
locked around my wrists. I had been handcuffed! "What the hell...?"
I tried to pull away.
She held on tight to the handcuff chain. "Quiet!" she ordered.
"Hold still and don't move! And, I don't want to warn you again --
keep those eyes closed!" She started to slowly rub my cock.
Soon, she stopped. "Remember what I told you. Don't open your
eyes until I allow you to. I don't want to remind you again!"
I felt her leaning over me. She fastened what felt like a very
wide dog collar around my neck. As she did so, my neck was
stretched upwards. She readjusted it and made it even tighter. I
could barely breathe and turn my head. Quickly, she pulled my
wrists up towards my neck. I heard the click of a lock closing and
the handcuffs were attached to the collar!
"Good. You won't be going anywhere. You can open your eyes
now."
She was looking at me intently. I was helpless, sitting naked
in the car with my hands locked to my neck. She turned, opened the
door, got out of the car and walked around to the driver's side.
She opened the driver's side door and said, "Get out of the car.
Now."
I shook my head, or at least I tried to, since the collar
hardly allowed any movement. "You're going to regret this," she
warned.
She bent over and pulled off one of my sneakers. I couldn't
help looking down the front of her dress, seeing the curve of her
breasts. Looking up, she caught me staring. She shook her head; I
felt humiliated.
She pulled the lace out of the shoe and tied a slipknot on one
end. She reached in, grabbed my cock and looped the lace around the
base of my cock, underneath my scrotum. She pulled it tight. I
winced. She looped the other end around her hand. She started to
pull it even tighter and as she pulled, she said, very menacingly
and slowly, "Now get out of the car or I'll ruin your dick."
The lace bit into my privates. My cock, already engorged, was
becoming purple in the dim light. I had no choice.
I turned my body to get my legs out the door. She pulled at
me. "Move it!"
I hit my head on the top of the door opening as I got out and
stood up. I looked around, hoping no one would see me. She pushed
me aside and got in behind the wheel. Then, she shut the door.
I was left stranded, naked and vulnerable, outside the car.
She could drive away, if she wanted to, and there was nothing I
could do to stop her. And then, she started the engine.
I looked at her, pleadingly. She laughed and then opened the
window. "What will you do for me if I let you back in the car?" she
asked in a mocking tone.
"Oh, please," I begged. "Anything you want. Just let me get
back in."
"Anything?" she asked teasingly.
"Yeah, anything," I replied, resigned to whatever was coming.
She got out of the car with her shoulder bag, pulled it over my
head and pulled the drawstring tight. She then must have knotted
the drawstrings.
"Nobody will know who you are, now," she said. In a strange
way, I felt more at ease because of my anonymity, but the overall
situation was becoming even more perilous. I was becoming more
worried. What could she have in store for me?
I soon found out. I felt myself being pulled forwards by the
shoelace, which tightened around my shaft. She made me walk around
the front of the car. I still was wearing one sneaker and my
walking was awkward. Then, she paraded me once more all around the
car. I was becoming disoriented. My knee banged against a bumper
and she laughed. I remembered how it felt, many years ago, when I
played the children's game "Pin the Tail on the Donkey" at a party.
She stopped me and turned me around several times. She then
pushed my body against the car. The front of my bare legs felt cold
against the bare metal. Suddenly, she bent me forwards and I was
forced to lean down over a fender. She held me down; I couldn't
resist. She kicked the inside of my right ankle, saying, "Separate
your legs wide!" She then swiftly followed with a hard kick to my
left ankle. I was bent over on my stomach with my legs spread
apart. "Now stay right where you are," she ordered.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked. "What did I ever do to
you?"
"I don't like you," she replied. " and I don't like people
like you. I don't like the way you watch people...the way you
undress women with your eyes...the way you leered at me..." Her
voice trailed off.
"But worst of all, I hate the way people like you treat
women," she continued. Suddenly, I felt her fingers between the
crack of my ass. One of her fingers started to probe my opening. I
tightened my sphincter in reflex.
"One night," she went on, "I went to a bar with several
friends. I met a man and we started to hit it off." She pushed a
finger into my ass. "I had to go outside to get a hairbrush from my
car and he followed me." I felt her pull the one finger out and
then she swiftly pushed two fingers back inside. I winced and she
held me down tightly.
"Anyway," she continued, "I was a little high and we started
to kiss." She pulled out her fingers, and then she pushed them in
again, harder this time. "I was wearing the same black dress then
that I'm wearing tonight. He started to softly caress me." Out, and
then in went her fingers once more, as if to punctuate and
accentuate what she was saying. "Suddenly, he turned me around and
pushed me down over the hood of my car!" She pushed the two fingers
in even harder. "I tried to scream, but I couldn't get out a
sound." She added a third finger as she rammed my ass which was
becoming raw. "He lifted my dress over my head and yanked down my
panties." Another thrust of her fingers inside of me made me jump.
"He pressed his body against me and I felt him unzipping his
pants." She rotated her fingers as she shoved them inside. "He
pulled out his cock, spit on his hand, and wet his cock. He started
to push it between my legs." Her thrusting fingers were
unstoppable.
"I couldn't believe that it was happening to me. I was going
to be raped and I was helpless." Another jab and more pain. "I
opened my eyes, and I saw, standing there, someone like you,
watching the way people like you watch other people." Her fingers
pushed in more cruelly. "That bastard was just
watching...detached...he wasn't going to do anything, the son of a
bitch." Another stab of pain. "Worse yet, he had a smile on his
face." In and out hard. "Suddenly, I heard my friends shouting.
They ran over and started kicking and punching the guy." Another
jolt of pain in my ass. "He tried to defend himself but then ran
away. I was crying hysterically...I was so glad to see them." There
was one final thrust and I was almost lifted off the ground.
"Just like this -- you like how it feels?" she asked. "And how
it feels to be helpless. To be bent over a car with someone about
to fuck you. And not being able to resist." I felt the pressure
from her fingers inside of me begin to subside. Her fingers relaxed
as she slowly pulled them out. "Get up now...we've got to go."
My ass felt like something had exploded inside. My legs felt
rubbery from their being stretching apart. My hot skin was sweating
against the cold metal surface. Slowly, I stood up. Before I had a
chance to get my bearings, she grabbed the cord holding my cock.
She guided me to a spot next to the open door and carefully
positioned me. She pushed me backwards, at the same time pulling
the handcuff chain so that I was bent forward. I fell backwards --
right into the seat.
"Admit it...aren't you glad you were handcuffed so you didn't
hit your head this time?" she asked. I hardly heard her; her voice
was muffled by the bag.
I had to reply. "Yes, I'm glad," I said.
She kicked one of my shins and then the other. "Get your whole
body in," she ordered. Hurriedly, I complied. She pulled the seat
belt around me and fastened me in. She then pulled the lace
upwards; she must have tied it to my collar. I heard my door close,
followed shortly by the shutting of the driver's side door.
Suddenly, I felt another painful yank on the lace. And then
she slapped my cock. Again, yet again.
"I'm going to make you -- yes, you -- the object of derision.
Something interesting -- compelling -- to stare at. But first, I'm
going to take you home, and teach you a lesson you'll never
forget."
With that, she put the car in gear and drove away.
I don't know how far we went. For all I knew, we could have
been driving in circles. At one point, she stopped. She turned off
the engine and said, "I'll be back in a minute. I have to pick up
a few things in the drugstore. Don't you go anywhere." And she
snickered as she got out.
I was left sitting there, naked, except for the bag tied
around my head. My wrists were handcuffed and attached to a large
collar that stopped me from being able to turn my head, or to even
bend my neck. My cock and balls were tied up tightly and the cord,
pulling upwards unremittingly, felt like a hot wire. And there was
nothing I could do about my predicament.
Soon she was back, and she drove on into the night.
The car stopped and she turned off the ignition. I heard her
getting out of the car. The door closed and I was left there, in my
own darkness and fear.
Minutes passed. Finally, I heard my door open. My seatbelt was
unfastened and she unceremoniously hauled me up and out of the car
by wickedly pulling on the lace.
I was forced to follow her. It felt like I was led up a
concrete walk and into a house. The door closed behind me and I
heard a lock being turned.
I was then led, roughly, down a flight of stairs. Another door
closed behind me. Suddenly, the bag was pulled off, and my eyes
slowly became adjusted to the light.
The room was unremarkable. It looked like any other finished
basement out of the 1950's, with tongue-and-groove panelling,
kentile floor, and tiled ceiling. The only thing out of place was
a table right smack in the center of the room that looked exactly
like one from a doctor's office, except that this one had wide,
tan, leather straps hanging from each corner.
"What the..." I started to say, but she slapped me abruptly on
one cheek, and then the other. My eyes started to water.
"No talking allowed," she commanded. "Don't you dare make a
sound."
I wondered what would happen if I yelled out. Yet, I was too
afraid to find out.
Alongside the table was a step stool. "Get up on the table,"
she ordered. "Step up there and then lie down on your back."
I wondered why she would have a table like that? I looked
around and then, I noticed, that on the far wall, there were
drawings of tattoos -- flowers, dragons, religious icons, skulls --
beautiful, magical drawings full of color, as well as dangerous and
dark representations of evil.
I hesitated; I felt myself cringing. She kicked my right shin
so hard I almost fell over and then she then yanked the cord. I
quickly got the message that she expected me to obey instantly.
I walked over to the table, stepped up, sat up on the table
and then awkwardly lay down. She grabbed one of my ankles and
fastened it to a corner of the table with one of the hanging
straps. She did the same with the other ankle.
She then walked around to the head of the table and affixed a
rope to my collar. Like a winch, she pulled the rope with so much
force that I was stretched out taut on the table. I could hardly
breathe.
She pulled down a clothes hanger that was hanging from a hook
on the wall. As she brought it over, I noticed it was the kind that
had two movable metal spring-loaded clamps designed to hold a
garment. She brought it over, and made me watch as she opened one
of the clamps and allowed it to snap closed with a loud click. She
then started to pinch my right nipple. I squirmed but couldn't
resist. She opened the clamp, carefully placed it around my nipple
and let it close. A dull pain quickly started to emanate from my
nipple.
"It's amazing what you can do with common household items,"
she said as she watched me writhe. I was trying, somehow, to escape
from the pain...to get the hanger off. I wanted to ask her -- to
beg her -- to stop this madness, but I feared her stinging slaps
even more. Several minutes later -- the pain was so intense, it
seemed like hours -- she adjusted the other clamp, pulling the
tortured nipple in the process, and fastened it on my other nipple.
The pain was doubled, increased. My whole being seemed to
focus in on the terrible reality of the throbbing pain in my chest.
She started to pull the hanger and then twist it, all the while
watching my face. My nipples were being pinched horribly. She
smiled at me as she recognized my anguished, pleading look.
Finally, she stopped pulling on the hanger, but didn't remove
it. Without a word, she turned and went upstairs. On the way up,
she turned off the lights.
I was left to suffer in darkness. She could leave me hours --
for days -- and there was nothing I could do.
Later -- how much later, I couldn't tell -- the lights went on
again as she came down the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye,
because the wide collar stopped me from turning my head, I watched
her carefully carrying a large kitchen pot. She placed it on the
table between my outstretched legs; I could see the steam curling
up, and felt the heat on my thighs.
She drew a ladle of liquid out of the pot, saying, "Hot wax is
the best way to remove body hair." She meticulously began to ladle
the hot liquid onto my chest and my belly. The burning sensation
was unavoidable. "And your pain will be doubled -- when the hot wax
goes on, and then, when it's removed." She made sure to coat my
underarms.
She chuckled as she applied the hot wax, ignoring my moans.
"If you think it hurts now, just wait until I pull it off," she
warned, ominously. "You'll want to scream, and I'm not going to
want to listen."
She fastidiously poured on one spoonful after another, letting
the hot wax dry after each application, and also, quite obviously,
prolonging my agony. "I'll do your crotch last since it's the most
sensitive," she casually mentioned, as she made sure to cover every
spot on my chest with the scalding liquid.
Then, she started working on my legs, beginning at my ankles
and working upwards. Her steady progress towards my crotch was
inevitable and unavoidable. The hot wax cooled and then hardened on
my legs. Strangely, I was becoming inured to my own suffering; the
horrible undeviating cycle of burning, cooling and hardening became
my entire consciousness.
And, suddenly, I was startled our of my resignation as she
spooned the terrible concoction onto my cock. I strained against my
bonds, and started begging her to stop. She just giggled.
Finally, she finished spooning on the wax. She lifted up the
pot and put it aside. Then, she opened a carryall gym bag and,
rummaging around, picked out a blue racquet ball. She brought it
over and suddenly pushed it against my lips. "Open your mouth
wide," she commanded. I couldn't move my head to avoid it; my only
resistance was trying to keep my lips together. "Okay...if you
insist," she said as she slapped my right cheek, and then my left,
and then both again.
Then, in a strange, ultra-polite voice, she said, "Please open
your mouth." And again, she slapped both cheeks. In acquiescence,
I drew my lips apart and allowed her to push the ball into my
mouth. She then took an ace bandage out of her bag and began to
wrap it over my mouth and behind my head, pulling the 3-inch wide,
6-foot long elasticized gauze strip tightly around and around until
she got to the other end and pinned it closed. "That'll keep your
new gag in. And now, for best part!" And she smiled.
Near my right ankle, I felt excruciating pain as she ripped
some of the wax off, yanking out my hair in one swipe. Then, she
reached over to my left ankle, and snatched off more wax, and more
hair. She turned and grasped some hardened wax on my chest and
pulled it off, too. Methodically, she followed the same pattern --
peeling wax off one leg, then the other, and then my chest -- which
served to intensify and prolong the dreadful experience. When she
got to my underarms, I never realized how sensitive they were.
She worked her way up my legs and down my chest, where she
made sure to be particularly cruel. I screamed into my gag as she
pulled up the makeshift nipple clamps in one direction and yanked
off more wax and hair in the other. Only my muffled screams could
be heard.
I felt like I had been whipped, flogged, skinned alive. I
could only feel, but not see -- because of the restrictive collar --
my skin starting to welt. With every wax and hair removal, the
pain steadily and inexorably increased. Steadily, she was getting
closer to my groin. This was dreadfully unbearable and, impossibly,
getting even worse!
"The last area will take a while -- it'll be the most
sensitive" she said. Little by little, she started to remove the
hardened wax and my pubic hair.
I squirmed and writhed but nothing would relieve the horror.
I yowled into my gag. I tried to kick -- to do anything to escape --
but to no avail. The agony just went on and on.
Then, after a final gasp, it was suddenly over. My crotch felt
like it was aflame. Sweat poured down my face.
"There...that wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked, with mock
gentleness. She began to apply cool lotion over my legs, chest, and
stomach, under my arms, and then, on my pubic area. Even her soft
touch aggravated the soreness though the lotion quickly began to
soothe. Despite my suffering, my cock begin to harden and the
shoelace, which she had never untied, began, once again, to bite
into the base of my cock.
"It's time to turn over," she announced. I realized that she
was only half done! She attached a cord to one ankle, and tied it
to the opposite side of the table. She did the same to the other.
"I don't even want you to think about kicking at me. You'll end up
hurting yourself anyway."
She opened a nipple clamp and blood rushed back into my
nipple. It hurt even more than when she first snapped it on. She
released the jaws of the other.
She then removed the original straps holding my ankles. The
rope holding my collar was loosened, but not untied. She jabbed at
my side, ordering me to turn over. "Hurry up!" she demanded. With
my wrists still attached to my collar, I could only wriggle on the
table. She laughed.
By pushing and prodding, she eventually got me on my stomach.
I began to dread that she would continue to wax my back. I couldn't
stand any more of that!
She grabbed a seat cushion, forced me to raise my pelvis, and
pushed the pillow under my stomach. She then grabbed several more
pillows and positioned them under me. Then, she picked up the loose
straps and refastened my ankles to the table. She walked around to
the head, retightened the collar rope, and my body was tightly
stretched out again, with my legs wide apart and my ass up in the
air.
My hard cock was pressed up against my stomach by a pillow.
The cord was still tied tightly around the base. She reached down
between my legs, grabbed my cock and unceremoniously pulled it out
from beneath me. My own erection, already painful because of the
noose, made me suffer even more when it was forced downward into
the odd position.
She started to stroke my cock. The harder and more engorged it
became, the better it felt, but significantly more pain was caused
by the constricting cord. I was about to start to cum, but, sensing
that, she grabbed my cock, right below the head and pinched hard.
I would have let out a loud yelp, except that I was still gagged.
Peripherally, I saw her reach into her carryall bag again. I
first heard, and then saw her pulling on rubber surgical gloves.
"It's amazing what can come in handy," she said. In plain view,
this time, she opened up a tube of Ben Gay and pressed out some
onto her palms. She then stepped back and started to rub my cock
again. Caressing my cock with lubricated gloves felt very nice, at
first, but then, the muscle relaxing heat of the ointment kicked
in. My cock grew hotter and the pain increased. The center of my
being was under assault and I could not escape. Futilely, I could
only bounce up and down on the pillows, and as I did so, she
laughed at my agony. She watched me writhe for a while.
"Now, I'm going to finish what I started when you were bent
over the car," she announced. "I'm going to fuck you in the ass,
like you've never been fucked before." She paused and then, "That
really sounds good, saying, 'I'm gonna fuck you in the ass.' I'm
going to get my whole fist way up inside of you!"
Slowly, she pressed more Ben Gay onto her gloved fingers. Oh,
no, she was going to force that stuff inside me! She smiled when
she saw that I realized what was about to come. And then it began.
First, she pressed in one finger, as if to make way for the
others. My ass was already raw from the first onslaught on the hood
of the car, which seemed like hours ago. The first finger was
joined by a second, and then, a third, as she increased the
pressure but decreased the tempo, grinding her fingers harshly into
me. I felt the heat of the ointment start to merge with the
pounding of her fingers.
Soon, I felt my hole being distended by yet another finger. As
she pushed her fingers in, she also rotated them violently around.
I was being reamed and screwed and violated, and, it then occurred
to me, that there was more to come. And then it happened. With one
more push, her whole hand was inside me. My ass erupted with a
flare of pain as she pressed her fist way up inside of me.
Grinding, pushing, probing...this most horrible invasion of all
continued without letup. I was sure that I would split apart.
There was one last enormous thrust, and then she pulled out
her hand. It was over. It had ended. Or so I thought.
She let me relax. Still throbbing from the violation and heat,
it felt as if my ass were torn open. But just moments later, she
walked around to the head of the table, made me take notice of a
wooden softball bat that she picked up, and then walked around to
the other side of the table. I feared that she was going to crush
it down on my head.
"Your ass has been opened up so nice and wide. It's a shame to
let it close back up," she said forebodingly. With that, she coated
the large end of the bat with more of that horrible Ben Gay and
started to push it up into me -- with seemingly, and surprisingly
little effort. This is not to say it didn't hurt terribly -- it
did, very much -- and she relentlessly forced it way into me. I was
sure that I would suffer permanent damage.
Once it was in place, she left it deep inside. She pulled the
pillows out from beneath me. She loosened the straps holding me
ankles apart and, without retying them, she ordered me to turn
over, which was, to say the least, excruciating and almost
unmanageable. Finally, after much prodding, after grinding the bat
around inside of me, I was once again on my back. The huge bat was
stuck into me at an impossible angle, and then she refastened my
legs spread far apart, as before, forcing the bat further in.
"I've had you...I've forced my whole hand inside...and now I'm
going to make sure that everyone knows that you've been raped by
me." I was unsure about what she meant, until I saw her pick up a
tattooing needle. She jabbed it towards my face, and I flinched
involuntarily. "I'm going to sign my name on you for everyone to
see. That way, they're going to know that you've been fucked."
She picked up a marker and I felt her write on the skin right
in the middle of my forehead, just above my eyebrows. Then, she
used the marker on my groin and I felt the wet tip of the pen go
all the across, from just above the joint of one leg to another. "I
use the markers to help guide the needle," she explained. I was
going to be permanently marked -- and in places I really couldn't
hide.
The tattooing began. The needle felt, at first, more naggingly
uncomfortable than painful, but as she proceeded, the accumulation
of pricks became more painful, especially since my skin was still
swelled by the hot wax removal. First, she worked on my groin, from
right to left, and then, again, from right to left. She told me
that the combination of two or three dense colors would be more
noticeable, and that scared me even more.
"There...that does it," she said, finally. "It says, 'Fist
Fucked by Beach Blonde' in red, blue and black letters, and
everybody will be able to see it tomorrow when we go back down to
the beach." With growing panic, I wondered what she had in store
for me.
I hoped that she had forgotten about tattooing my forehead. I
knew that I'd have to shower alone, and wear shorts up to my waist
to conceal those horrid words of conquest, but my forehead was
something I wouldn't be able to cover.
She took some time rearranging her tools and materials, but
she knew that making me wait prolonged the agony and fear. Then she
started marking my face. Slowly, resolutely and very carefully, she
began to irreversibly inscribe her words on my skin.
When she was done, she asked, "Don't you want to know what I
wrote on your face?" I looked up at her and her evil smile. She
expected me to, so I nodded in consent. "Good."
She brought a mirror over and held it above my face with a
look of triumph. In the mirror, I saw, in reverse, the words in
capital letters, "FUCK ME, PLEASE" in red and blue shadow
lettering. The letters were about half an inch high and extended
from halfway above one eyebrow to halfway above the other. She held
the mirror in one hand and, with her other hand, began to unwrap
the elastic bandage that had held the racquet ball in my mouth.
I pushed the ball out of my mouth with my tongue. My jaw ached
from being distended. "Read aloud what your new tattoo says," she
commanded. I tried to move my jaw and saw the words, but I heard
only unintelligible mumbling coming out of my mouth. She slapped me
across my face...I couldn't turn away!...I couldn't resist her
blows!
"Say the words now," she commanded. "Say them."
I forced out the three words. In barely a whisper, I said
"Fuck me, please."
"Again, and louder," she demanded.
"Fuck me, please!" I said. My mouth was able to move slightly
better.
"Good. Thank you," she replied. "But I have already." And she
laughed.
She turned, walked up the stairs and turned the lights off. I
was strapped down on my back, with my legs widely spread apart. My
wrists were handcuffed to a thick, rigid collar which stopped my
neck from turning or moving, and the collar, in turn, was pulled
tightly towards the other end of the table. Because I couldn't move
my legs, I couldn't do anything to dislodge the softball bat which
she had left lodged deep in my ass. The entire front of my body --
from my neck down to my toes -- burned from the hot wax and the
removal of my body hair. My forehead and my lower stomach still
suffered from the hundreds of tiny puncture wounds. My nipples had
been tortured and still ached from the horribly pinching hanger
clamps, and my cock, still engorged and sticking up, was a shade of
deep purple from the cord wrapped tightly around the base. I was
left to suffer in the darkness, not knowing where I was, and not
knowing what would follow. Much later, I finally dozed off into a
fitful, dazed sleep.
* * * * * *
My eyes blinked open as the overhead fluorescent lights went
on. Momentarily, I was disoriented, but, very soon, as I tried to
move, my predicament came back to me in a flood of worry and
helplessness.
I also realized that I had to pee very badly. She walked over
and examined her handiwork, carefully checking the tattoos, and
moving the bat slightly, but enough so that I squirmed in response.
"Your cock is turning purple," she said as she grabbed it and
squeezed. "Maybe I'll never let you go -- then you'll never use
this thing again."
"I've gotta take a piss," I said as she manhandled me.
"You're going to have to wait," she announced. She picked up
another shoelace and quickly tied it around my cock, just below the
head. She pulled it so tightly that it burned. "That'll stop you
from going until I think it's time. Now, I have to get you ready
for our day together at the beach."
She reached down an jammed the bat further inside of me. I
thought my insides would tear. I moaned. "Don't make me hurt you
more," she warned, as she unlocked my handcuffs from the collar,
leaving my wrists still shackled. She removed the stiff collar and
even as I tried to move my head, I realized that the muscles in my
neck were sore and numb.
However, before I could respond, she fastened another narrower
collar around my neck, and locked it with a small padlock.
Suddenly, a shock coursed through my neck and my body. My whole
body twitched. Involuntarily, I reached my hands up to my neck to
somehow stop it. "Put your hands down!" she commanded. I moved them
away from my neck, and the shock abruptly stopped.
"Your special new dog collar is quite effective. See how
quickly it makes you jump and obey," she said. "Now clasp your
hands around your cock and start jerking yourself off. Do it."
Oh no! She was going to make me rub my already inflamed cock.
I hesitated and I was hit with a shock. I hurriedly started softly
stroking up and down. "Harder!" Shock. "Rub harder and faster."
The cord around the base was still biting into my skin as well
as the one tied so tightly right below the head. I was being forced
to inflict pain on myself in order to avoid an even harsher pain.
As my handcuffed hands scraped against my cock, she said, "I'm
not going to let you cum or pee until I am good and ready," and she
exclamated the "I" by pushing in on the bat.
Soon, my cock felt raw, and mercifully, she told me to stop.
"Just remember the power of your collar," she added. She knew I'd
do anything to avoid being shocked.
She slowly pulled the bat out of my ass and my sphincter
started to relax. Strangely, she seemed to be more gentle with me;
perhaps she knew she had proven her point that she had me under
complete control. She unfastened the straps that had been holding
my legs so wide apart. She allowed me to relax for a few minutes
and then told me to sit up.
She took out a bright pink bikini bathing suit from her
carryall bag and held it up in front of me, saying, "This is what
you're going to wear today."
I started to shake my head, and my reluctance was immediately
met by a momentary electric shock. She knew that was all it would
take to make me comply with her wishes.
"Untie the cords on your cock," she said. I first undid the
top one, and then the one at the base. There was a line of horrid
dark purple and blue discoloration where the lower cord had been.
She handed me wide-mouthed quart-sized jar. "Stand up and piss
into this," she said.
Wobbling, unsure of my legs, I slid off the table and stood up
gingerly. I held the jar down at my crotch and, finally, the piss
came out, first in a dribble, then in a stream. The burning inside
of me from the previously restricted flow was counteracted by my
huge sense of relief. Everything that I did or was forced to do
made me realize how much she had cruelly abused my body.
"Close the jar tight," she said as she handed me a lid. "We'll
save it for later." I wondered, with growing fear, what she had in
store for me.
She handed me the bikini bottom. Without a word, I bent over,
stepped into it, and pulled it up my legs. The elasticized material
fit tightly around my legs and waist and were also low enough in
front to not only allow the humiliating words of my tattoo -- "Fist
Fucked by Beach Blonde" -- to be seen, but, moreover, to highly
accentuate them.
She came towards me and pushed her hand under the waistband.
She grabbed my cock and adjusted it so that it stuck straight up
against my stomach. She pulled out her hand and started rubbing it
over the material and it became harder. Its outline could clearly
be seen through the form-fitting material.
She picked up the bikini top and with just the faintest cue of
her upward head movement, I lifted my arms over my head. She pulled
the top around me and fastened it in back. "Keep standing there,"
she ordered. She started carefully threading a needle and then
turned me around, saying, "With nothing to hold up your bra, you
wouldn't want it to fall off." She then proceeded to sew up the
already closed ends behind my back.
"One more touch," she said, pulling out lipstick from her
bag. She twisted it open and I watched her smiling as she painted
my lips with the very bright red waxy color.
She told me to close my eyes and keep them closed as she
walked me over towards the corner of the room. "Be a good boy," she
warned, "and keep your eyes shut until I tell you to open them."
She grabbed my wrists and I felt my arms finally freed from
the handcuffs that had been locked on me all night long. I reached
automatically to massage away the ache. She quickly said, "Keep
your hands down at your sides," and she stepped back.
"Now you can open your eyes." In the reflection in a full-
length mirror hanging on the back of a door I saw myself and
shuddered. With short hair and a stocky build, I never had visible
outward attributes that anyone would ever call feminine. Despite
the neon pink bikini and my lips overpainted into a rictus, I
looked not like a man disguised, or a man trying to look like a
woman, but, rather, like a terrible circus-like caricature.
After my momentary shock of realization, I examined myself
more closely. On my forehead, indeed, were the red and blue block
letters, "FUCK ME, PLEASE" in reverse, in the mirror. The black
collar around my neck was reinforced by metal and had a small metal
protuberance in the back. The skin all over my body was red and
swollen, and the tattooed words on my abdomen were all too legible.
Over my right shoulder, I saw her in the mirror looking
admiringly at her handiwork. I noticed that she had, in her open
upraised hand, what appeared to be a key chain-type car alarm
switch. Then, just as our eyes met, a jolt of electricity shot
through my body and I crumpled to the floor.
"Now stand up, face away from the mirror, and bend over," she
commanded. Grab onto your ankles and stay in that position." I
complied without hesitation, for she had exquisitely made her
point.
In my upside down reflection, as the blood rushed to my head,
I saw my ass stuck way up in the air, and with the bright pink
lycra pulled tautly over it. "I'm going to make the color of your
skin match the nice, attractive pink color or your bikini," she
said ominously. "Now ask me to whip you."
Oh, no...not again! Once more, she was involving me in my own
torture by making me ask to be struck. Even though my handcuffs had
been removed and I could theoretically defend myself, I knew, in
actuality, that I couldn't refuse because the alternative --
punishing jolts of electricity -- was worse. So, humbly, I
muttered, "Please, whip me."
"I'm glad you remembered you manners. I want you to make sure
to keep your eyes open. And, I want you to count each stroke. Make
sure you don't lose count or you'll have to start over," she said
chuckling. I resolved that nothing was going to make me forget the
count.
I saw her pick up a wide black leather belt. She reached back
and I watched, in horror, as she brought her arm around and struck
me full force with it. It sounded like the explosion of a large
firecracker, and the blow took my breath away.
I wasn't quick enough to start counting. "Let's start again
with one'" she quietly said. She lifted the belt high above her
shoulder and hit me with amazing strength.
"One!" I shrieked out.
Another blow. "Two!" My ass was on fire.
A third landed...and then a fourth. "Five!...six..." And then,
four more, in a slow, steady, unceasing succession. She made sure
that each blow cracked onto a new area, from my waist down to the
back of my legs. I heard, through the haze of pain, the
unmistakable sound of my own voice agonizingly howling out the
numbers. I almost fainted as I gasped out, "Ten."
Calmly, in a hushed voice, she said, "Now, ten more on the
other side."
I couldn't take anymore. "Please...no more," I begged.
But she was implacable. "Just stay bent over and keep holding
onto your ankles. And, don't forget to count."
The first blow smacked into my ass. She was as cruel as she
was relentless. As methodical as before, she made me count to "ten"
as she covered my entire ass with welts.
In the mirror behind me, I watched in abject defeat as I saw
the horizontal stripes on my skin redden and then begin to turn a
hellish pinkish purple.
"In a while, they'll be more noticeable," she said. She
grabbed the waistband and pulled it down. The stripes were in neat
rows. She reached once more into her bag and pulled out -- oh no! --
a dildo.
As I watched with growing apprehension, she opened a tube of
KY jelly and coated the dildo with it. Thank goodness, I thought to
myself, it wasn't more of the dreadful Ben Gay. She pressed the tip
against my ass, and with no more than a nudge, it slid right in.
As much as I was afraid of being impaled again, its unexpected
easy entry terrified me. I was frightened to consider that my
ass had been stretched so wide and that if there were almost no
resistance to the insertion of the dildo, then the enlargement of
the opening might be irreversible.
She pulled up the bikini bottom and told me to stand up. "It's
time to hit the beach," she announced. She handed me a pink,
cut-off halter top, which I put on. Predictably, it did not hide, but
rather, emphasized, my lower tattoo. She also told me to put my
sneakers back on.
She put a towel and a few other items, including the sealed
jar, into her carryall bag. She unsubtly displayed the remote
switch to the dreadful shock collar which she was holding in one
hand and wordlessly handed me the leather drawstring bag.
Resignedly, I pulled it over my head and tied the ends together.
"Double-knot it," she quietly said, and I did.
Blinded and totally dependent oh her whims, I was led up the
stairs. As I walked, the dildo slid around inside my ass. The
soothing sensual slitheriness of the lubricated love wand was
stimulating and I felt the stirring of arousal as I was guided out
to, and then into, the car. She must have placed my car in her
garage, for I heard the garage door open as she started up the car,
and then we were in motion.
Some time later, she pulled the car into a parking lot and
stopped. She untied the strings from around my neck and pulled the
bag off my head. My eyes slowly became accustomed to the bright
sunshine, and I realized that we were at a 7-11 store -- one that
was near my home. I wondered if her choice of location was
coincidental. She reached over and began manipulating and rubbing
my cock over the tight fabric. As she had figured, my cock
naturally responded by getting hard. Its turgid outline
unmistakably showed through the material.
"I've got to get a few things," she said, and started getting
out of the car.
I didn't move, but, rather, slunk down lower in my seat. I
didn't want to be seen this way. "C'mon out," she demanded, and she
placed her thumb on the button.
I got the message; I quickly sat up, opened the door and got
out of the car. We crossed the lot and went into the store. Heads
turned and I heard giggling. Mouths were agape as they "took in" my
appearance: bright red lipstick on a man's face with the shadow of
a day's beard growth...a cruel "Fuck Me, Please" tattoo above my
eyebrows...a black leather steel reinforced padlocked collar around
my neck...a pink halter top accentuating the tattooed words above
my bright pink bikini bottom...my engorged cock looking like it was
trying to burst through the bright pink spandex. As I passed a few
people who I recognized from "around," I heard gasps and murmurs --
they must have also noticed the welts on my legs. I looked down and
I saw that the stripes had turned a deep shade of dark bluish
purple.
"Wait here," she whispered loudly to me in a commanding way.
"Keep your head up and your eyes open." I was forced to stand next
to the front counter as she walked towards the back of the store.
Standing there, I had to absorb the loud laughs of several
young teenage girls who bought cigarettes and candy. I had to
swallow the taunts of laborers who circled me, pointing; their
foreign language hid only the actual words, but not the message. I
had to endure the wrath of the clerk, who frustratingly shouted
out, "Get this fuckin' freak out of here!"
Finally, she brought a bottle of iced tea and a dog leash to
the counter and took money out of my wallet to pay for it. I did
not miss the meaning of that act. With everyone watching intently,
she ceremoniously clipped the dog leash to my collar, gave it a
tug, and said, "C'mon, you pussy." Loud laughter and guffaws
followed us out the door.
As we walked back to the car, she handed me my car keys and
said, "You drive." I quickly got in behind the wheel and then
pulled out of the parking area. I caught a quick glimpse of
smiling, laughing faces in the window watching me as I drove off to
the beach.
We waited in line for several minutes at the tollbooth to
purchase beach parking tickets. She took a twenty dollar bill out
of my wallet; she knew I would have to wait to get change...to have
to patiently wait while the toll taker collected one more story to
tell his family that evening.
The huge westernmost parking lot was almost filled. We finally
found a spot near the back, close to where I had parked just the
night before and aeons ego. "Open the trunk," she ordered, and I
released the latch from inside. "Hand me the keys."
We got out and she made sure that all the doors were locked.
"Take the blanket out of the trunk." She must have put it into the
car while I was sleeping. She handed me the bag, saying, "You carry
this. And make sure you don't try to hide behind it."
We walked through the rows of cars and then onto the
boardwalk. She ordered me, as before, to keep my head up and eyes
open. Needless to say, I was the main attraction. Heads turned;
strollers stopped and stared. We stopped. "Take off your halter top
and put it in the bag," she commanded. I knew enough to obey
without question.
Without the halter top, my appearance was even more bizarre.
The bright neon pink color of my bikini, on its own merits,
attracted immediate attention. I walked along beside her with the
leash dangling from my collar, with my ass swishing from the
greased-up dildo up inside me. It was futile to ignore the gawking
looks, to be deaf to the insults that were hurled at me, to
maintain any semblance of dignity and self worth.
In the bright sunshine, it was impossible to hide. We
walked -- I was made to "parade" -- the entire length of the
boardwalk to the furthest end of the beach. The sun was hot on my
shoulders; I was sure that I was going to burn. "Take off your
sneakers here," she said, and I bent over to remove them. As I did
so, she didn't miss the opportunity to push the dildo deeper inside
of me and I almost lost my balance and fell over. We then strolled
out onto the sand.
The burning sand was excruciating against the soles of my
feet. Like all the other demeaning and painful things I had to
suffer, this torture was just as inescapable. I tried to walk more
quickly -- to "skip" over the sand -- in a futile attempt to avoid
the pain, but she ordered me to slow down, emphasizing her command
with an almost subliminal shock. We walked for several hundred
yards to the water's edge where she told me to stop and spread out
the blanket.
I started to lie down on the blanket, but was hit by a sudden
jolt of electricity. I went down on my knees, in agony. "You" --
stressing the "you" -- "lie down on the sand...on your stomach,"
she ordered. "This blanket's for me." Slowly and very tentatively,
I lowered myself down. My hairless, swollen skin blazed against the
hot sand. "Stretch out so you can get a nice tan."
After a while, I became somewhat used to the abrasive hot
sand. I even closed my eyes as the sun burned onto my skin.
I was jostled awake. "Turn over on your back," she directed,
"You don't want to get burnt too much."
Because the sand that had been under me had cooled, I made
sure to lie back down right where I had been before. She reached
over and unhooked the dog leash, saying, "We don't want to ruin
your tan."
As I lay there, passers-by stopped to stare and then react
with derisive remarks. Even small children stopped digging with
their plastic shovels and pails; many ran back to their parents,
pointing and gesticulating at me. I closed my eyes, attempting to
escape within myself.
Some time later, I was told to turn over onto my stomach, and
later, again on my back. I was made to suffer and bake in silence
while she was remained covered comfortably with a towel.
"Get up on your knees," I heard from far away as I came awake.
"I want you to go to the concession to get some more iced tea for
me to drink." She handed me several dollar bills and was told to
fold them and tuck them into my waistband.
I knew that no pleading would change her mind. Again, I'd have
to cross over the even hotter sand -- not once, but twice.
She knelt behind me, took a pocket knife from her bag, and cut
the threads that fastened the ends that held the bikini top closed.
She removed it and tied it loosely around my neck, and told me to
turn around to face her. I looked down and realized that my skin
had reddened and burned everywhere except where the top had been.
As if she were reading my mind, she said, "You're going to have to
wear a shirt to hide your nice dark suntan from now on, or else
everyone will know."
She chuckled to herself as she started playing with my
nipples, which had already been abused the night before. They
swelled a bit in arousal. She pulled two three-foot lengths of
clear nylon fishing line from her bag and tied a double loop around
my right nipple. She then started to tighten the loop by pulling on
the ends of the line. The steadily increasing pressure cut into my
nipple and made me want to push her hand away. I knew I had to
resist that impulse. With one more yank, I let out a moan.
Satisfied with its tightness, she knotted the ends and then
repeated the process on my other nipple. I stood there, scarcely
able to avoid squirming. My nipples were engorged and protruding.
Pleased with the effect, she cut off the ends of the nylon line
with her knife so that the loops were hardly visible against my
brown nipples and white skin.
She massaged my crotch and my cock responded by getting hard.
Its shape, as before, was clearly outlined against the tight
fabric. When she was satisfied, she commanded, "You walk ahead of
me." I got up on my feet and headed back towards the boardwalk. By
obeying, without question, I had to then undergo another regimen of
punishment to the soles of my feet. The dildo was still stuck deep
in my ass and continued to move around inside me as I walked.
Without the bikini top, my bare-chestedness was even more
humiliating than before. Because of the sharp difference between my
skin colorations, it was obvious that I had been wearing a feminine
top, and then having to wear the bright pink top around my neck
made it even more shameful. Again, I had to endure the looks, the
smirks, the taunts, the bursts of laughter and pointing fingers.
Reflexively, I lowered my head in shame as I walked, and I received
a shocking reminder to keep my head up.
I walked up to the soda concession inside the building. While
waiting on line, the clamor died down, and all eyes were turned
towards me. She walked up to me and whispered loudly enough for
anyone in near proximity to hear, "Order a large diet soda for me.
Your drink is back on the beach."
Finally, I got to the head of the line. "I'd like to have a
large Diet Coke, please," I said to the teenager working behind the
counter.
"Hey, man," he said, as he looked closely. "What's that tied
around your tits?" And then he laughed. He turned to the others,
and called out, "Hey, check this faggot out! -- look at his face.
What's that? Fuck Me, Please!'" Laughing harder, and joined my his
friends. "Look at that tattoo down there...'Fist Fucked By Beach
Blonde.'" I was frozen, speechless. Whatever dignity I had remaining
disappeared at that instant.
The clerk finally handed me the soda, and I gave him the
bills. I turned and started to walk away. "Hey, pussy," he shouted
out, "you forgot your change." Peals of laughter followed me back
out to the boardwalk.
I walked slowly back to the blanket. She caught up with me,
and I handed her the soda. "Would you like something to drink?" she
asked. After hours of baking in the sun, I was extremely thirsty
and my lips were getting chapped. I nodded.
She reached down into her bag and drew out the glass jar that
was filled with yellow liquid. Momentarily, I didn't remember, but
then, I realized that it was the jar filled with my piss from the
night before. Now I know why she had kept it.
Gesturing with the hand that held the remote shocking device,
she demanded, "Open it and drink it all." I unscrewed the lid and
brought it to my lips. The warm acrid smell was overpowering; I
hesitated. I saw her thumb move towards the switch as she said,
"Drink it now...I don't want to tell you again."
I started sipping the salty liquid. I wet my very dry lips
with my tongue. I slowly drank more of it. My mouth was so parched
that swallowing was difficult. I looked at her imploringly, but all
she said was, "All of it."
Gulping, I emptied the jar. Some of it ran down my chest,
burning against my nipples. I was sinking steadily lower into the
abyss of debasement.
She picked up her bag, and told me to pick up the blanket.
"Let's go to a more remote part of the beach," she said, "where we
can have some privacy."
Her mood towards me had again changed subtly. She seemed kinder to
me as we walked east along the water's edge. It had been low tide
and the wet sand was cool and soothing against my feet. She pointed
to a child's pail that had been abandoned and told me to pick it up
and bring it along.
There were fewer people on the beach as we continued walking
east. Judging from the angle of the sun, it had to be late
afternoon. She stopped, looked around, and said, "This'll do fine."
I spread the blanket out below the clumps of drying seaweed that
demarcated the high tide line.
"Take the pail and dig a nice deep hole. I want it to be about
three feet deep and three feet in diameter," she ordered, pointing
to a spot that was even closer to the water. "Now get busy!"
I got down on my knees and started digging the hole. Removing
the first foot or so of sand was pretty easy. But then, I had to
lie on my stomach to make the hole deeper. When I couldn't reach
down any further, I got into the hole to dig out the rest of the
sand.
As I was finishing, she came over, holding her bag, to check
how I was doing. "Very good," she said. It was the first nice thing
that she had said to me. "Just a little deeper," she added.
"Now stand up and turn around." She brought one arm back
behind me and locked a handcuff around my left wrist. Before I
could respond, she grabbed my right arm and locked the other cuff
around my wrist.
"Now get back into the hole...and kneel down the way you
were." I slid down into the hole and got down on my knees. She told
me to turn around and face the water. She stepped in, bent down and
wrapped the leather loop and chain of the dog leash tightly around
my ankles. She then pulled up on my ankles, wrapped the chain
around my handcuff, tied a knot in the leash around my handcuff
chain, and snapped the clip of the leash back down onto the chain
around my ankles. On my knees, with my wrists cuffed behind me, I
was immobilized in the hole. She used my legs, back and shoulders
to help her climb out of the hole. She then stepped back and
admired her handiwork, and nodded silently to herself.
She got down on her knees and started to fill the hole with
the sand that I had piled up around it. Bucket after bucket of sand
were poured back into the hole and my legs were quickly covered.
She made sure to tamp down the sand between my legs.
More sand followed. She worked feverishly filling up the hole
that I had dug. A short while later, the sand covered my wrists
and, soon after, the sand was up to my neck. She stomped around on
the sand, pressing the sand down around me. She poured on more sand to
fill in her footprints. All that one could see, if anyone had been
there to observe, was my head sticking out of the sand, facing the
water. I watched the waves rolling towards shore and noticed that
the water was coming up ever so slightly closer than before.
I could not move. My shackles tightly bound me and I was
heavily weighted down by the sand. She bent down and unlocked the
collar that had overpowered me so effectively, saying, "We're not
going to need this anymore."
She lowered the blanket carefully around my head, pulled her
bikini bottom down, and positioned herself with my head held between her
legs. "It's finally time for my pleasure," she announced as she held
onto the back of my head and thrust her hot sex against my face.
She commanded me to lick her, to tongue her, to make her cum. She
started to writhe in excitation.
I lapped her and sucked her for all I was worth. I stuck my
tongue way inside her, while, far below, in the sand, I felt my
cock getting hard. "Oh yes!" she screamed. "This is soooo good." It
took only a few minutes. And then she started to gyrate wildly; her
breathing became more labored and intense. She let out with a loud
"ooooh" and her legs froze tight against my head. Seconds later,
her body relaxed.
She got up on her knees and just before she pulled up her
bikini bottom, I saw the glistening of her body liquids on her
thighs. Water came up a bit closer; it was now about four feet
away. Suddenly, the horrible realization hit.
"You know how humiliated you felt walking around with your
tattoos and your special suntan," she began. "I know the suntan
will disappear, but your tattoos, unfortunately, are permanent."
"Please let me out," I begged. "Please...I'll do anything."
She ignored me and continued, "Well, I'd feel terrible being
responsible for your having to go through life with such a burden.
I know how much I've suffered. It just wouldn't be right for you to
live in such agony."
A particularly large wave curled over and smashed down on
shore. Water ran up only inches from my face, and then quickly
receded.
"No, there's no other way," she said, and distractedly started
to gather up her bag and blanket.
I looked around to my left and right and saw no one.
"Help...someone help me!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, but the
thundering waves drowned out my cries. I tasted a spray of salt
water as it hit my lips.
"Noooooo!" I shrieked. "Please! Pleeazzzze!" Only my beautiful
torturess could become my savior.
With the bag in one hand, and the blanket in the other, she
stood watching, impervious to my pleading. She watched me try to
somehow hopelessly escape as wave after wave crashed against the
shore. I started to wail and thrash under the weight of sand when
water from one came up and lapped me on the chin.
She bent down and kissed me full on my lips. Then, she
abruptly turned away and started walking back towards the
boardwalk. The last I saw of her was her fading silhouette and the
sun glistening brightly against her blonde hair.
End
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