“Christ, she’s wet,” the Sergeant muttered, fucking her rough and sloppy so we could all hear the moist sucking noise of her fingers moving in and out. Phoebe went wild, humping up against the ropes in time to the Sergeant’s crude pumping. I took a step forward, and the Sergeant got control of herself, pulling her hand reluctantly away. She straightened up, and Phoebe let out a low wail of dismay. I chuckled.
“Plenty of time for everybody to get some of that,” I said, raising a warning eyebrow at Walters, who was watching the scene slack-jawed. “Later,” I added pointedly. It was just not possible that that thing in her trousers was any bigger than it had been before; it must have been the way she was squeezing it.
“Let’s get rolling here.” I barked out some more orders, and pretty soon the hum of electric clippers was the only sound in that small space. Phoebe went rigid as soon as I reached for her. Oh, how tenderly I stroked those golden curls, waiting for her to relax and open her eyes. She wasn’t expecting tenderness: as I leaned over her, watching, her eyes shut even tighter and her lip trembled. She was trying not to cry. I grabbed a handful of hair and held it gently. Finally, she got herself under control and opened her eyes.
“It’s what you wanted, baby,” I whispered at her, leaving room for it to be a question.
After a second she nodded, biting her lip, and closed her eyes again.
I brought the blade guard up to her hairline, just touching her brow. Phoebe flinched.
Handfuls of yellow curls tumbled to the floor, leaving a pale fuzz that I hated to shave off, it felt so good to my hand. No going back now. I handed the clippers off to the Sergeant who was already in position, ready to start on Phoebe’s pussy. Caine passed me the shaving gel and a disposable razor. Walters stepped over and held Phoebe’s head well up from the cot, but it was awkward. I nicked her, in spite of my efforts, and she jerked away from the blade.
“I didn’t think I had to tell you not to move, fuckface.”
Phoebe strangled a rejoinder and stared daggers at me. She obviously hadn’t forgotten my earlier threat. Suddenly, her eyes went wide and her mouth formed a cartoon O. We’d both forgotten about the Sergeant’s activities down south, and I hadn’t noticed when the buzzing stopped. It was the cool tingle of the gel that got Phoebe’s attention, I’d bet. I finished scraping the fuzz from the back of Phoebe’s skull and straightened up to watch.
The Sergeant could have been an Italian barber. Shaving is not just another one of her many areas of expertise; you could say it was her calling. I’d seen her shave a very hairy man’s entire body to baby-bottom smoothness without so much as a nick anywhere. And it was not just the garden-variety Bic or safety razor that she wielded with consummate skill. She could lather up a toy balloon and scrape it clean with a straight blade, the classic test of mastery. That’s what Phoebe had asked for, but the Sergeant wasn’t sure what light we’d have. She wouldn’t do it.
Four quick swipes and Phoebe’s mound was as smooth and pink as the day she was born. With a frown of concentration, the Sergeant pulled Phoebe’s labia together and drew the razor in short, precise strokes from the tops of Phoebe’s inner thighs to the edges of her slit until nothing was left but a fringe of stubble. The Sergeant paused to dunk the razor in the water basin, and we crowded in a little closer.
Probing and pulling, the Sergeant rolled the edges of Phoebe’s labia under her fingers and held them flat as she scraped off the remaining fuzz. Then, with the handle in a dainty two-fingered grasp, she maneuvered the blade carefully around the notch where the mound and labia meet. It wasn’t until the shaver clunked against the metal basin that I realized we’d all been holding our breath. Phoebe let out a huge sigh. But it wasn’t over yet.
With an evil grin, the Sergeant smeared another dollop of gel down the crack of Phoebe’s ass. Phoebe squealed in surprise and jerked against her bonds.
“You’d better not do that again, slut.” The Sergeant’s voice was stern but her face clearly showed amusement. Phoebe clamped her eyes shut and grimaced; as she forced her lower body to relax, her face went slack again.
Deliberately, the Sergeant made stroke after painstaking stroke toward the tight rosebud of Phoebe’s asshole, then repeated the process even more slowly on the other side. At last, there was nothing left but a ring of stubble around the sphincter itself, and Phoebe was trembling with tension.
The Sergeant reached down to rinse the razor and paused, her face clouded with displeasure.
“Stop moving!” she roared.
“Jesus!” Phoebe yelped. Her visible effort to still herself only made her involuntary movements bigger and more spastic.
“Shit,” the Sergeant muttered. “Do something to take her mind off this, will you?”
Walters looked at me and stroked her fly. I nodded.
“No, hang on,” I told her a moment later, realizing there was no way for Walters to get at her prey. We got Phoebe’s ankles back to where they were before, in the dying cockroach position, and hooked her bracelets together underneath the cot. Now that her arms and legs had more free play, Phoebe would just have to hold still. The Sergeant waited patiently at the foot of the cot until we were ready.
Walters swung a leg over the narrow bed. With a wide-legged straddle, she rested her butt lightly on Phoebe’s chest. “Suck on this candy, baby doll.” Walters licked her lips and started to work the big dick out of her pants.
Phoebe wasn’t going to make it easy: her lips pressed shut in a thin white line before the rose-dark cockhead that bounced impatiently on her chin. Even with Walter’s thumb and forefinger firmly pinching her nose, she seemed ready to hold her breath until she turned blue rather than let that monster in her mouth.
I leaned in and whispered in Phoebe’s ear, “Maybe it’s time for that enema after all.”
Phoebe’s lips parted. Walters guided the big knob into our captive’s mouth.
“Hold…still…now,” came the Sergeant’s muffled voice. The entire tableau froze, Walters straddling the cot and pressing her hard-on down into Phoebe’s candy-glossed piehole, me and Caine at either side like altar boys, steadying Phoebe’s winglike knees, and Sergeant Greenvale in full genuflection, ready to administer the sacrament.
Four precise strokes, and the razor landed in the basin with a clang.
“All right, boys,” the Sergeant sang out, “as you were!”
Phoebe gave a little cough as Walters pressed the big dildo home. The Sergeant and I stood back to watch while Caine unzipped her own rod and worked it into Phoebe’s well-lubed cunt.
“That girl sure is a piece of work,” the Sergeant told me, shaking her head in admiration. Phoebe’s eyes were closed; so were Caine’s. Walters bent over to gently cradle Phoebe’s hairless head while fucking her mouth. We could hear little grunts and moans of pleasure from all three of them.
“She sure is,” I agreed. “We’re gonna miss her.”
Phoebe’s excitement was building. Walters swung off so she could kneel by the cot, stroking and squeezing Phoebe’s breasts, kissing her ears and cheeks and head and eyelids while Caine moved rhythmically in and out.
“Did she tell you what kind of detail she’s going on?”
I shook my head. “Just something undercover.”
Phoebe was getting louder. “Oh, god, oh, yeah, oh,” she called, while Caine murmured, “Oh, baby, come for me, yeah, honey, that’s right, that’s right,” and Walters kissed and nibbled and sucked everything she could reach.
“And that the shave is part of her cover,” I added.
“Or it doesn’t matter.” The Sergeant shrugged. “She was pretty coy about it. All I know for sure is that a little roughing up was good to go.”
The legs of the cot were beating a tattoo on the cell floor as Phoebe bucked under Caine’s onslaught, and she was yelling obscenities full blast. Caine herself was bellowing like a calf, and Walters was squatting bare-assed beside them, grunting, having unstrapped her piece to bring herself off, one hand pis
toning the big dildo in and out while the other worked furiously at her clit.
“That’s so undignified.” I nodded toward Walters, reflecting on the number of times I would have liked to do just the same thing myself.
“I hope she put a fresh rubber on it,” the Sergeant remarked gravely.
At last the sweaty threesome was quiet, draped on the cot and each other like a heap of puppies. Phoebe didn’t look half bad with a bare knob. I guess you have to have the right shape skull.
“Okay, let’s go, let’s go,” the Sergeant waded in, clapping her hands. “Let’s break this up and let the lady get some circulation back.” Caine groaned and heaved herself off Phoebe. “Get those cuffs off her. And put that thing away, for god’s sake,” she pointed at Walters’s discarded dildo.
“You know, I thought I’d take Phoebe home myself for the last…” I pulled out my pocket watch, “…ten hours before she has to report.” Phoebe was straightening her legs and working the kinks out of her shoulders. “But it looks like she still owes you for that shirt.”
“Go out and get that bag of clothes, will you? And you can dump the basin and swab down that cot.” The Sergeant handed out her orders and turned back to me. “What are you saying? You want to turn the prisoner over to my custody, Officer?”
“Let’s ask Phoebe.” I called to her, “Hey, Phoebe! You and the Sergeant have some unfinished business. You want to choose your poison for the rest of the night, or do you want us to flip for you?”
Phoebe’s sleepy eyes opened wide. “Flip for me?” She hooted. “You, maybe, Sam. But the Sergeant?” She howled.
The Sergeant grinned.
“All right, all right,” I said, smiling. “Some other time, maybe.” I waved at Caine and Walters, now busying themselves with laying out a fresh set of jeans and T-shirt for our guest of honor. “I’ll just send those guys…”
Phoebe ignored the clothes and made her careful way to me. “Thanks for a great time.” She put her arms around my neck and kissed me, deep and lingering. Her beautiful breasts pressed into my shirtfront as she molded herself to me and set my heart to racing all over again.
“Do you want to catch some z’s? Or keep going?”
She threw a mischievous look toward the Sergeant. “Sorry about the shirt, Em.”
I caught sight of Walters and Caine from the corner of one eye. “What in hell is going on here?” Walters had strapped her rod back on; Caine seemed to be helping her adjust the fit. Her mouth was millimeters away from touchdown. “Clean that thing up and put a rubber on it, for god’s sake.” I excused myself from Phoebe’s embrace. “Have you maggots forgotten your drill?” They bounced to their feet. I eyed the half-masted stiffie poking out of Walters’s fly and shook my head sadly.
“These jokers are in need of training, Sergeant. Would you be so kind as to take charge of the prisoner for the rest of the night?”
“With pleasure, Officer.” She turned to Phoebe, who was now dressed and seating herself gingerly, sneakers in hand. “Shall we, darlin’?”
Phoebe lifted an eyebrow and gave Em a look that would’ve turned my knees to water. I sighed. I saw them out and bolted the door behind them, with one last kiss for Phoebe and a wink for my lucky friend. Back at the pen, Caine and Walters were disassembling each other’s uniforms, too busy to notice my return.
I cleared my throat. They threw me startled, guilty looks. Caine giggled. Walters hurried to button her shirt, getting them wrong.
“Jesus Christ.” I rubbed my weary eyes. “Didn’t one of you baboons even think of cleaning that up?” I pointed at the puddle Phoebe had left on the linoleum. They looked at each other with identical expressions of horror. “No, no, with the mop, you morons.”
I thought longingly of Phoebe and the Sergeant, the good time they were undoubtedly having without me. When Phoebe came back, I’d take it out on her hide. If she came back, I corrected myself soberly, with more than a little worry. I hoped we’d given her a good send-off, at least. In the meantime, I’d just have to make the best of it.
“Straighten up! Caine, put that dick away. Walters, you’re still out of uniform. Undo it and try again, then DROP and GIVE ME TWENTY!”
It was going to be a long night.
Phoebe, bon voyage.
TAKING STEPS
Thea Hutcheson
“I won’t eat dog food again for you.”
I looked at Misty in surprise. “Why not?”
She looked up at me. “Because I give up everything.” I wasn’t sure what to say. That’s what subs do—at least what they negotiate.
A month or so after we met, we were comparing notes about a leather convention and discovered we’d both been at the same humiliation demo. The top had gotten the slut to eat dog food for sex treats in front of the audience. We talked about it and thought it was cool for different reasons. She liked the idea of giving up so much for a top and I liked the idea of coercing someone past ordinary boundaries. I had worked her up to it, in slow steps, exploring humiliation play during our few months of interacting.
Misty was a wonderful slut, small and delicate with curly brunette hair, an elfin face, a major sex drive. She wanted to be made to do all kinds of outrageous things, which made her perfect for this kind of scene and my kind of play.
I enjoyed planning the steps that led to her acquiescing; pressing her to see what she would do for me, the lengths to which she would let me take her. Those humiliation scenes always created tension between us. I would urge her to do something, she would acquiesce, and there was this pull, like a rubber band, between us.
I was excited thinking about it now. The new vibrator and its remote were lying on the kitchen table when she came home Sunday. After dinner I put it on her really slowly and showed off the remote and both speeds with a quick demo that didn’t get her off, but showed her what it would do. Then I removed it. I watched her face when she realized I was really done. It was all I could do not to smile.
“Did you like that, Misty?”
“Oh, yes, Jean.”
“What did you like about it?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “I like the way it straps right to my clit and you adjust it to fit me. And I like the way it buzzes really fast like a big bee. But most of all, I like the way it feels.” She was blushing now.
“The big bee does the trick, huh?”
“It would if you left it on,” she said in her poutiest voice.
“You want me to put it back on?”
She brightened, but by now, she knew me well enough not to get her hopes too high. “Yes.”
“What would you do for it?”
This was fun to watch. She knew she had to be reasonably honest or I wouldn’t accept it. But, of course, she didn’t want to humiliate herself any more than was necessary, so it was a seesaw. She was so transparent that I could almost read her mind as she reviewed all the conversations and scenes we had had recently.
“I would go back to the corn maze again.”
That had been fun. “Nah, you already did that.”
“You could do me in the backyard while there’s a game at the stadium.”
She really liked that vibrator.
“Nah, I think since you really like it so much, it ought to be something really big.”
I watched her as all the really big ones went through her mind. I let her off the hook. “How about you eat dog food for me, the wet kind,” I said, knowing she had eaten kibble as a kid with her Barbie gang.
That was unexpected and I watched as she worked through it. Say no versus be pollinated by a big bee, humiliation versus pleasure, crossing the ravine versus staying on the comfy side. I could feel that pull between us.
“Do I have to answer now?”
I shook my head. “Tomorrow at dinner.”
She waited until we were nearly finished eating. “One bite. Just one, that’s all and I get the vibrator until I say I’m done.”
It was what I had figured and all I actually w
anted. I paused, pretending to think it over, then nodded. “Okay. One bite and I’ll give you the big bee until you say, ‘Enough.’ How about Saturday night?” There was a nice steady pull coming from the center of my chest.
That gave her all week to think about it.
Come Saturday night, I told her to take off her clothes and stand in front of me. I strapped the big bee securely to her clit and hit the remote. “How’s that?”
“A smidge down and a bit snugger, please.” I made the adjustments and buzzed her again. It was amazing what a vibrator pressed to her clit would do. Her whole body sank into her center as all her attention centered on her clit.
“Go get your chair and bring it here.”
I pulled the toy bag out from behind my lounger and got out her favorite purple rope, some lavender cord, her purple anodized nipple clamps with the matching chain and my favorite toy, a dick on a stick.
“Take your position,” I said when she came back. She sat and spread her legs with her hands resting on the back of the seat so her tits poked out. I paid extra attention to binding her arms behind her to the chair back, letting her wiggle for comfort adjustment. Each leg was a separate event, slow and deliberate. Finally, I went to work on her tits with the cord, crowning them with the clamps.
“Comfy?” I asked when I stood back to look her over.
“Yes, Jean.”
“Ready?”
“Yes, Jean.”
“Let me make sure we’re together on this. The purpose of this scene is for you to eat dog food so you can win the attention of the big bee until you’re finished. Is that right?”
She put her head down, shaking it and blushing furiously. I gave her time to work through it.
“Yes, Jean. That’s the purpose.”
Stripped Down Page 21
