by Iona Nixon
The naked lesbians came over and, each taking one of my hands, led me to centre-stage. Feeling panic-stricken I stared out to where I knew Bill was sitting but I was blinded by the arc lights focussing on the stage. Then one of the girls removed my glasses, without which I can't see more than a couple of feet in front of me anyway. I was just about to break away and make a bolt for it but then some quite jolly rumba music struck up and, each still holding my hands, the girls began dancing to it. Well, with the combination of the champagne I'd drunk my blurred vision, and the erotic stage acts I'd been watching, I decided that this was obviously just a bit of fun audience participation so, to laughter from the auditorium, I kicked off my shoes and started dancing along with them.
One of the girls released my hand and moved behind me, and it took me a moment to realise that she'd unzipped my dress! She pushed it off my shoulders and I made a grab for it but missed. At that point the brunette pulled me into a tight clinch and, as I gasped in shock, glued her lips to mine, plunging her tongue deep into my mouth. I tried to push her off but she was strong and holding me tightly, as her tongue raked around, stroking my own tongue and the back of my teeth. The music had changed to a slow, heavy, pulsating drum and bass beat. Just as I was thinking "Bill will leap up here and rescue me at any moment" I felt my bra strap being undone. The brunette released me and I turned to run, but was hobbled by my dress around my ankles. The blonde grabbed my bra and ripped it from me, leaving me topless on stage in front of probably 100 people!
Blondie then pulled me into her own clinch and started French kissing me, while her friend reached round from behind me and held my boobs, rolling my stiff nipples between thumbs and fingers. I couldn't quite believe this was happening to me, but despite the terror I was feeling I was also starting to get turned on by what they were doing to me, and by the situation itself. I felt slightly embarrassed to hear myself moaning involuntarily, but at the same time my back arched to push my tits more firmly against the hands caressing them. The blonde took my hands in hers and raised them above my head. Staring into my eyes she began to rub her boobs in slow circles against mine, our nipples kissing. I was vaguely aware of the brunette doing something behind me, then the next thing I knew I felt a draught on my bum and my tights and pants being pulled down.
That really was too much! I struggled to escape but the brunette place her hands firmly on my shoulders and pushed me down onto a chair she had moved just behind me. As she held me there the blonde squatted in front of me and, turning the chair so I was actually facing the dark auditorium, lifted my feet and pulled off my clothing, leaving me entirely naked. The brunette's hands slid down me until she was again kneading my boobs, still holding me firmly in the chair, and I gazed down as if in a dream as the blonde pushed my knees apart and started licking and kissing my inner thighs. It was years since Bill had gone down on me, and I could feel my pussy lips peeling open ad her tongue slid closer. Abandoning myself completely to the situation, as she blew gently on my soaking quim I threw back my head, onto the brunette's knockers, and, chest heaving, almost screamed "please!"
As Blondie's tongue traced the length of my slit, then eased inside, accompanied by her fingers, my hips thrust forward greedily. I thought I could hear cheering, although maybe that was just in my head. All I was really aware of was my chest having as I gulped in breath, that throbbing drum beat in my head, and the obscene ecstasy of my insides being caressed by my lover's tongue and fingers. I felt my orgasm building, white heat radiating through my body, and I became aware of a whimpering sound, which had to be coming from me. At last, but all too soon, my insides exploded, a thousand camera flashes popping behind my tightly closed eyelids, as I rammed my cunt at her again and again as I came. My thighs clamped tightly around her face and I pushed forwards so hard that the brunette let me go and Blondie and I ended up on the floor together in a gasping, heaving, soaking, glorious heap.
After I had blearily taken a bow the girls, who were Polish and Russian and very nice, took me backstage to clean up. They said they always chose Table Two and it was usually a comedy part of the show, with the woman managing to bolt before they even got her bra off. When I met up with Bill again her instantly took me in his arms and kissed me more passionately than he had in ages, saying he'd never been so turned on in his life. He rushed me back to the hotel, and we didn't get much sleep that night!
The End.
Keeping Him Ready
You like the idea of a man aroused and kept on the plane of sexual excitement for some time. Perhaps you'll let him come after you've had your fun; perhaps you won't. Release is nice, and it's fun to see him completely lose it when he orgasms. On the other hand, you could just make him go away hard, and he'd have to deal with the unwanted erection until it went away, and he'd remember what you did to him every time his pants rubbed against his sensitized prick. And that's a thought that gives you lovely tingles too.
You could even tease him after you sent him away. Make him text you after an hour and tell you if he's still hard. Would the excitement of having to report back to you keep him turned on? Make him tell you in detail every time he thinks someone noticed his hard-on. (He wouldn't, of course, be allowed to try to cover himself up beyond wearing pants and sitting down sometimes. No jackets, no books held in front of him. You want him to feel embarrassed and exposed and like everybody knows.)
You could have someone you know--a young, sexy woman, perhaps, or another man if he's bisexual but feels men are off limits for some reason--go up to him and engage him in conversation when he's in a position where he can't cover himself. Maybe you'd set it up so he's just received or sent an explicit text message, and it's making him stiffen again if his cock was flagging. And then you send in your accomplices. Have them flirt with him, maybe, or just pose provocatively. You know by this point he's thinking of sex at the least excuse, so you could have them behave just within the bounds of plausible deniability. That way he'd feel guilty for turning everything sexual, and the shame would turn him on even more. Or you could have them be more overt. What if they touch his arm or get up in his space or let their eyes travel over his body, lingering at his cock? What if they proposition him?
Of course, if you do ask them to proposition him, there would have to be limits. You don't want him getting off without your explicit instructions. So maybe you'd have told him he wasn't to touch himself. Maybe you'd give him conflicting instructions: no touching his dick, no getting off, but submit to anyone who comes up to him and asks to touch. And then when they jerk his prick, he'd have to decide if that counts as having his dick touched. The solution, of course, is to message you, but if he does that he'll have to explain in detail exactly why he has this problem. That would be delicious for you and humiliating for him.
Maybe instead you'd have him listen to you on the phone while you orgasm. Whether you make him take his cock out--but not touch it, no, you want him to have the frustration of wanting touch and not getting it--or make him leave it trapped inside his pants so the hard-on hurts, he'll get even harder hearing the sounds you make when you come. You could tell him how much it turns you on knowing that he's stiff and throbbing and unable to do anything about it. You could make him describe to you exactly what he's feeling. You could have him photograph his erection and send it to you. And then you'd tell him that you're thinking of how good his cock would feel inside you while you come. He'd have no trouble staying hard for you to play with after hearing that.
Should you make him wear underwear, or not? The advantage of underwear is that it traps his cock and balls tighter. You like the idea of him being restricted and restrained, the thought of the erection that's usually so pleasurable for him being painful as it's pressed tightly under several layers of clothing. You'd want to watch him put his clothes back on just to see how uncomfortable it makes him trying to squeeze that long hard rod back under his briefs. The advantage of having him go commando is that there's only his trousers covering his hard-on. If you did that
you'd make sure he was wearing thin, clingy pants, something that showed every line of his cock and balls when he moved. That would be great for when you want him to feel ogled. It would be great for any of your friends you want to let have the treat of seeing his cock without having to undress him, too.
A cock ring would keep him hard for you longer. Keep him nice and stiff with a little less input from you. You might have him take his cock out and stroke it sometimes--of course if he did, he'd have to tell you all about it. Make him edge himself. Maybe make him stroke it for a specific length of time or a certain number of strokes. Or make him jack his dick somewhere with a risk of discovery--under the desk at work or school, perhaps, or when there's someone else in the room, or when he's on the phone and can't make any noises or the other person will realize what he's doing.
If you let him come, it'd have to be something humiliating. Maybe he'll have to come inside his pants. Maybe he'll have to get himself off by rubbing up against something not made for the purpose--a sofa arm, the edge of his desk, the floor. Maybe he'll have to get a hot lunch, put it on the desk in front of him, jerk off over it--and eat it that way.
So many choices, so many ways to keep him hard and at your mercy. Mmm.
The End.
Startled Awake
A loud slam startled me awake from a deep sleep.
When I propped myself up on my arm, I remembered nothing more than the stinging pain on my forehead as the world went dark again.
It could have been hours, but more than likely minutes when I finally came to. No longer was I in the comforting warmth of my bed. Now, I was sitting in a wooden chair in the corner of my room. It took me a little while to figure things out. In the darkness of the room, I could recognize that I was still in my bedroom, and I recognized the chair as one from the hallway -- the solid oak chair that got very little use sitting outside the door of the bedroom. Someone had moved it to the foot of the bed and didn't want me to move from it.
I tested the restraints that held my wrists to the arms of the chair and wiggled my feet, which were tightly secured to the legs of the chair at my ankles. I was still as naked as the moment I slipped under the sheets beside my wife, for what I thought would be a good night's sleep.
My mind suddenly turned to my wife. My eyes started to find their focus in the low light of the room, and I looked around frantically. As I tried to call out for her, my voice was muffled by the sock that was shoved into my mouth.
It didn't take long to find her silhouette leaning up against the headboard. Her arms also seemed to be tied there. She was trying frantically to free herself, rattling the headboard and pulling at her restraints. I could hear her muffled sobs through her gag as well.
But who did this? Why us? Why now?
There didn't seem to be anyone else in the room with us. Was this just a robbery? A smash and grab, leaving us tied up so we couldn't call the police?
All of my questions were soon answered.
The sounds of footsteps outside the bedroom door indicated to me that there was still some unfinished business.
The door swung open, and the light on the nightstand flickered to life. My eyes hurt from the sudden change of contrast. My first thought was my wife. I looked across the bed and there she was, indeed restrained, her naked skin now gleaming in the light.
As she continued to strain and struggle, she would arch her back, her breasts reaching out in front of her. Whoever tied us up seemed to be liking the show, with a soft laugh coming from that side of the bed.
I looked over to the man, trying to see if I recognized him.
A rubber mask of George W. Bush covered his face, and a tight white t-shirt strained to contain his well-built chest and arms. He stood about 6'4", towering over the bed.
"That would be why my head hurts so much right now," I thought to myself, still trying to shake out the cobwebs of unconsciousness.
He worked his way around the room, slapping me on the back of my head as he moved to my wife's side of the bed. He stood beside her, silently looking. She tried kicking him but missed. Her sobs had now turned into angry grunts as she continued to fight to try and free herself. I'd long given up the battle with the leather straps.
Finally, the man spoke.
"You should stop struggling. You're just making it worse for yourself," he said in a slow and deliberate tone.
My wife did stop, her arms hanging from the straps at the top of the headboard. She turned onto a hip in an attempt to hide her nudity in front of a total stranger.
I felt helpless.
"I have this to make you stop struggling, if you want to go that route," he said as he flashed a fairly large kitchen knife. "It's really your choice."
My wife started to cry.
The man traced the knife down her left arm to her shoulder, down her collarbone, over her left breast and then down her stomach, the knife leaving a red scratch in its wake.
"You know what you can do for me so you don't get hurt?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. "You're going to fuck me right in front of your husband here," motioning in my direction.
"All right? I'm going to untie you, and you're not going to do anything stupid."
My wife nodded her head in agreement. It wasn't like she could really do anything to this neanderthal; she was only 5'4" and about 120 pounds soaking wet. She wasn't overly busty, but well-proportioned for her size. Sure she worked out a little, when she had time, but this guy could probably break her in two.
He used the knife to cut the straps around her wrists and her arms fell to her side.
Her wrists glowed red where she struggled against the straps. She rubbed them to try to bring some relief.
He looked at her, holding the knife out in front of her, so she could still see that he was in charge. "We cool?," he asked in a very friendly tone.
She nodded in agreement again, looking over to me. I nodded to her as if to say, "do what he says."
He set the knife down on a chair behind him and turned his attention to his clothes. He slipped his t-shirt over his head, revealing a chiseled torso. The mask popped off his head, but he quickly put it back on. I tried, but still didn't get a clear look. He unbuttoned his jeans and slipped them down over his hips. He wasn't wearing any underwear and in the dim light of the room, I could clearly see his manhood hanging in front of him. Judging from where it hung down to his thigh, I quickly recognized that he didn't need any help in that department.
"I'm going to take off your gag, but I'm warning you now: if you scream, I won't hesitate to cut off his cock," he said, again looking in my direction. She looked over too, catching my eye, and then nodded in agreement.
He pulled the gag from her mouth and pitched it onto the floor beside the bed.
"Now, I want you to pretend I'm him," pointing over to me, "and I want you to suck my cock." He took a step closer to the edge of the bed.
She turned her body to him, looking over at me. "I . . . I can't," she muttered softly.
"You will, or I'll be forced to make you suffer."
Reluctantly, she reached out with her right hand, her fingertips touching the shaft of his still soft cock. It bounced at her touch. She grabbed the shaft and held it out, inches from her face.
She looked over to me one more time, before opening her mouth and taking the tip of his growing member into her mouth.
I couldn't believe my eyes; my heart was pounding a hundred miles an hour. I focused on her mouth slowly swallowing his shaft, getting about halfway down before backing off completely. Amazed, I found my own erection growing. I'd never thought of "sharing" my wife but watching her handle another man was a complete turn on.
It didn't surprise me at all that before too long, he was at full mast, with her skilled lips sliding easily down his now glistening shaft. His hands fell to the back of her head, as he pushed her face deeper onto him. I could hear gagging as the end of his cock reached the back of her throat.
He started to moan a little an
d picked up the pace, seemingly getting lost in the feeling of fucking her face.
My own cock was throbbing as I watched the scene unfold in front of me. Knowing what it feels like to have her mouth on my stiffness, I knew exactly how he felt right now. I wanted it right now, too. I pulled at my restraints again, but couldn't free myself. My cock was begging to be touched.
A solid groan came from his lips as he pushed my wife back onto the bed. She fell back, her breasts bouncing as the soft mattress cushioned her fall. He stood there, his large cock standing out straight from his body, and a grin growing on his face.
I couldn't believe my eyes when I looked over to my wife; she wasn't scrambling to cover herself up. As a matter of fact, a sly smile was growing on her face to mirror his.
He leaned over and grabbed her by the hips, manhandling her roughly. He spun her around and pulled her up onto her knees. She looked over her shoulder back to him as he positioned himself behind her. With one solid thrust, he pushed his entire length inside of her. She let out a loud gasp as he filled her and held it in there for a second.
Slowly, he started thrusting, pulling almost all the way out before pushing it deep again. Their bodies slapped together as he built a rhythm.
I looked down at my own cock. Pre-cum was dripping from the throbbing tip, so much so that it was forming a little puddle on the seat of the chair. I couldn't believe I was loving the sight of my wife being forced to fuck a stranger.
