“You’ve got the twine?” she asked Roy, since he was the only one wearing pants.
He pulled the twine from one back pocket, and his knife from the other. “Right here. You ready?”
“Sure am.” She smiled, catching sight of the thick outline of his cock beneath his jeans. Her pussy pulsed in anticipation, and she felt a little dizzy as she sent her hands behind her back, touching her wrists together. “Let’s get going.”
The scratchy twine against her forearms always made Linda feel itchy all over. Even her clit tickled, aching for the men’s rough touch. Albert and Roy both worked behind her back, wrapping her wrists with that prickly string, tying it just hard enough to make her wriggle. Her pussy was wet already—it had been since she woke up. Linda spent most of the day ready for Albert or Roy, or Albert and Roy. She craved their cocks like a treat, a little reward for a job well done.
Not that their cocks were little…
Linda gasped when she caught sight of Albert’s erection. It whacked her thigh as both men lifted her off her feet, setting her down gently on the pile of cool dirt in the wheelbarrow. They were always most attentive to her head and her butt, careful not to smack her skull on the front lip of the metal tub, or let her ass sink down into the dirt. A while back, Albert had duct-taped an old towel to the back of the wheelbarrow so its rim wouldn’t bang against the base of her spine as they crossed bumpy terrain. It worked like a charm.
Quite apart from the men’s knowledge and abilities on the growing patch, Linda valued them for the care they showed her at work and at play. Albert and Roy wouldn’t hurt a fly—that’s what had drawn them so strongly to organic farming. Do no harm, just like Socrates said.
“Are you comfortable?” Albert asked, smiling down at her.
Squinting against the sun, she looked between him and Roy. “Yep, I’m good.”
Gazing beyond the rise of her breasts and her dark cloud of pubic hair, Linda watched the pair wrangle her legs, splaying them and wrapping them with twine. She wanted to shield her eyes from the bright light, but of course her arms were tied behind her back, sinking into the black dirt. All she could do was close her eyes against the sun’s brilliance, feeling their hard hands on her soft skin, securing her calves to the wheelbarrow’s wooden handles with that taunting, prickly twine.
“Doin’ okay?” Roy asked. “Not too tight?”
“No, it’s fine,” Linda said, and laughed. “I’m just itching for a fuck.”
“Or two,” Albert joined in, his voice cheery as usual. “Shake your legs a bit. Feelin’ loose anywhere?”
Linda tried to kick up and away from the wheelbarrow’s handles, but she was well and truly stuck. “Perfect, guys. You get better at this every time we do it.”
Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the smile they shared.
“You want it in before we go?” Albert asked.
She nodded, then said, “Yes, please.”
Despite the fierce sunshine, she had to open her eyes for this, and lift her head to watch. Albert’s dick shot straight as an arrow from his dark thatch of pubic hair, and he wrapped his fist around the shaft, aiming for Linda’s slit. Her pussy was just begging for it, and Albert heard the call. He teased her at first, dabbing his cockhead into her juice, tracing it up to her clit and rubbing the two together.
Roy stood behind Albert, watching over his shoulder as that big dick sunk into her. Linda groaned, not just at the sensation, but the sight of Roy writhing slowly against Albert. She couldn’t see what was going on back there at this angle, but she knew from experience Roy was rubbing his dick against Albert’s naked ass, getting ready for his turn.
Setting both hands on her thighs, Albert fucked her languorously, like they had all the time in the world. That damn sun was killing her, but she couldn’t close her eyes to his muscled abs. She loved the way they rippled as he thrust.
“Let’s go,” Roy said from behind.
Linda gasped as he wrapped his hands around the wheelbarrow’s wooden handles, digging his thumbs into her calves so hard she’d have bruises later. She knew this from experience. When he geared up to lift, Linda braced herself, hugging Albert’s dick, milking it with her pussy, and he groaned.
With a laugh, she warned, “Don’t come yet, Bertie-Boy.”
His strain showed on his face, clear as day, and he’d just recovered from near-orgasm when Roy said, “We ready to go?”
Linda tried to reach out at her sides, grip the wheelbarrow for support, until she remembered her arms were tied behind her back. Right now, they were sinking in the gorgeous dark earth, which smelled like life to Linda.
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go.”
With Albert’s help, Roy heaved the wheelbarrow up until Linda was on a sharp incline. Blood and energy rushed to her head, making her giddy, making her pelvis and her toes tingle. Albert’s cock struck her at a different angle when the boys started down the worn path, slowly, always slowly. They were careful with her, and she loved that about them. Nobody had ever taken care of her in quite the way they did.
As the men pushed the wheelbarrow, and Linda along with it, down toward the garden patch, Albert’s cock rode her pussy with a constant rocking motion. That steady rise and fall reminded Linda of riding a horse, even though she’d never actually ridden one. She tried to buck up at him for more, but the twine did its job. With her legs secured to the wheelbarrow’s handles, she couldn’t move. She was totally at the men’s mercy.
The terrain was bumpy, but every hitch along the way sent Albert’s cock plunging harder into Linda’s pussy. Anyway, her head was cushioned by soil and her ass by the towel, so she had no real fear of being injured by bumps in the road.
When Albert and Roy slowed and then set the wheelbarrow down, Linda moaned, “Oh, are we there already?”
“You bet,” Roy said, pulling Albert out of the way. “Albert was just the warm-up act. It’s my turn now.”
She laughed at his insistence, straining to watch Roy drop his jeans while Albert came at her from the side. With so much going on, it was hard to concentrate on one man or the other, but Roy certainly made himself known, thrusting into her wet pussy without Albert’s dainty appeals. Roy’s cock always impressed her, not only with its girth, but its upward curvature had a way of finding her G-spot and really going at it. In moments, she was writhing in the dirt, side to side, threatening to topple the wheelbarrow.
Albert approached, cock in hand, and steadied the basin as he rubbed his veiny shaft against Linda’s lips. He couldn’t fuck her mouth at this angle, so she stuck out her tongue enough that he could rub his cockhead against it while he jerked off. She tasted her pussy on his hot flesh, and smelled their sex like a home-cooked meal, an aroma that left her wanting more.
While Roy tickled Linda’s G-spot with his dick, he surprised her by pressing his thumb down on her clit. She gasped and jerked, but there was nowhere to go. His firm touch worked her into a fast frenzy, but she couldn’t even toss her head about. Albert’s fist raced up and down his thick shaft, and she was afraid she might accidentally get punched in the face if she moved.
So she lay there, mouth wide open, legs splayed, and let the men work her over. Roy grasped her thighs, bucking fervently in her pussy, which pulsed and milked him every time he rubbed her clit.
Albert stroked his shaft all the while, grinding his cockhead against her tongue as she moaned open mouthed. She struggled to stay put, to keep still, to swallow, to breathe. The combined pleasures of their threesome rode up and down her spine like lightning until she couldn’t resist closing her mouth around Albert’s cock and sucking hard.
Both men groaned simultaneously, and Roy pressed his palm down on her clit, mashing it relentlessly, driving her wild. The explosions deep down in her belly came out through her men’s bodies as they spewed inside of her simultaneously.
They pulled out quickly, Albert from her mouth and Roy from her pussy, to spill their seed across her thigh, her neck, and int
o the soil. That was the point of this, after all. Linda didn’t even swallow the come that had erupted into her mouth—she turned her head and spit it into the black dirt, like a sacrifice.
The sun beat down on Linda’s skin while she closed her eyes, resting as the men got to work. In a few minutes they would untie her legs and lift her out of the wheelbarrow, then set her wrists free. She’d go to the house and throw on some work clothes, and another day of tending to nature would begin.
But for now, she rested in the cool soil and listened as her men laughed together. Why leave the city? Why move out to the middle of nowhere?
Why indeed…
THE LONGEST AFTERNOON
Medea Mor
The heat was the worst. The heat, and the fact that she had to go to the toilet, as soon as possible.
It hadn’t been like this the last time he’d tied her up. She’d been on their bed then, a nice and comfy place. Moreover, he had used her so quickly that she’d been astonished at how soon it had been over. She guessed “furious” was the right word to describe it. Furious and brutal and, well, memorable.
Nor had it been like this the last time he had tied her to a chair. They’d been in Paris at the time, in a hotel where everything seemed to be at least a hundred years old. He’d bound her to a leather armchair, soft enough to be comfortable and old enough to be stylish, and some of its antique beauty had seemed to rub off on her. She’d felt elegant sitting in that chair, whose color perfectly matched the black of her corset and stockings. Yes, she’d felt elegant, despite the fact that her legs were spread wide and she was wearing a ball gag that made her drool. And although Steve had lashed her with both words and whips, she’d enjoyed the experience, because it was so very iconic and because she had always wanted to be part of such an opulent tableau.
She did not want to be part of this tableau. She did not want to be sitting here in their messy living room on this cheap and nasty IKEA chair, bound with a type of rope that she normally didn’t mind, but which now chafed horribly against her sweaty skin. Nor did she want to be sitting here in front of the window, bathed in sunlight on what was probably the hottest day of the year.
Sweat was running in rivulets down her naked back and between her breasts. It was pooling on the seat of the plastic IKEA chair that was her prison, and was making her skin both itchy and sticky. A few times already she’d felt a stab of discomfort as she’d wriggled in her chair, only to feel her skin tear off the smooth, white plastic with a ripping sound. It hurt and not in the way she liked.
And then there was the fact that she had to go to the loo. This was a problem she hadn’t encountered before, as Steve generally had his way with her long before her bladder filled up. This time, though, he seemed hell-bent on keeping her waiting. And since the luxurious Sunday morning breakfast to which he’d treated her had involved a large pot of tea as well as two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, and since it was now well into the afternoon, the pressure on her bladder was getting intense.
In the end, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Sir?” she asked plaintively.
He looked up from the newspaper he’d been reading for the last hour and a half. Lord knows how a man could read newspapers for an hour and a half, but he seemed to enjoy his Sunday papers. They were as much part of their Sunday ritual as their scheduled play sessions.
“Yes, kitten?” His voice was innocent, but even from the short distance she could tell that his eyes were full of mischief. She should have expected that. She knew as well as he did that he enjoyed watching her squirm. No doubt he knew exactly what she was about to ask him. No doubt he had fed her all that tea and orange juice on purpose, knowing that it would come back to haunt her and that he’d get to see her feeling very, very uncomfortable.
“May I go to the bathroom, please, Sir?” She hoped that her voice conveyed the urgency of the situation without making her sound undignified. She hated being undignified, which made it all the more bizarre that she had chosen to submit to a man who liked to strip her of her dignity as a matter of routine.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not, kitten. You’ll just have to exercise a little patience.” He went back to his newspaper, ignoring her as if she didn’t exist.
She gritted her teeth. Clearly, he was not going to make this easy for her. There was nothing for it but to focus her attention on other matters. Hopefully, she wouldn’t feel the pressure on her bladder so much if she found something else to focus on.
Not for the first time, her eyes were drawn to the blue tarpaulin under her chair. It was large, covering an area about eight times as big as the area covered by her chair. Why had he put it there? He’d never used a tarp in their scenes before, although they probably could have done with one the night he’d trussed her up and covered her in whipped cream. She smiled at the memory of how messy it had been, although she hadn’t smiled quite so much when he’d told her to clean the carpet afterward.
The tarp worried her. There was, of course, the possibility that he’d learned from the whipped-cream accident and was hoping to avoid a recurrence on his next attempt. She hadn’t seen any whipped cream in the fridge, but perhaps he had hidden it to surprise her? Or perhaps he was going to try something else this time. He had looked rather thoughtful when a kinky friend of theirs had told them about the time he had covered his sub in honey, and he’d smiled at her with the mischievous grin that usually spelled impending doom. The thing was, she didn’t think he actually liked honey. Or did he? Did he like it enough to lick it off her cunt?
Thinking of her cunt reminded her of the problem she had been trying to ignore. It was becoming increasingly obvious that she could ignore it no longer. The pressure on her bladder was reaching critical levels, to the point where she didn’t think that focusing on other things was going to help her anymore. She needed to go to the toilet, and soon.
“Sir?” she asked again.
He glanced up from his paper, looking a little annoyed at the interruption. She knew that this was an act. He couldn’t possibly be as immersed in his newspaper as all that, not with her sitting naked and sweaty less than ten feet away from him. She was certain that he’d been watching her from the corner of his eye, amused at her fidgeting and obvious discomfort.
“Yes, kitten?” His voice was mock exasperated, as it often was in their scenes.
“Sir, I really need to go to the toilet. Please let me go to the toilet, Sir, or things could get messy, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re already a mess,” he replied casually. “I mean, look at you. You’re all sweaty and stinky. Your hair is a bloody disgrace. A bit more mess won’t make a difference.” He smiled engagingly and turned to his newspaper again.
She groaned, feeling despair rise in her stomach. The pressure was becoming quite unbearable now, as if she could explode any minute. She had to make him see reason. She had to, before she dissolved into a giant puddle of pee.
“Sir,” she tried again. “I don’t think you understand the urgency of the situation. Please let me go to the toilet, Sir. I’ll do anything for you. Anything.”
“Anything?” He arched an eyebrow at her. “That’s a dangerous promise, kitten. You know I might take you up on it. Are you sure you want me to do that?”
At the moment, I really don’t care what you do to me, she thought. Just let me go to the loo and I’ll do whatever the hell you want, no matter how dirty or public.
She gritted her teeth. “Please, Sir. I need to go very badly.”
He laughed. “I know you do, kitten. Trust me, I do.” He was silent for a moment, then threw her his most wicked smile. “You may be interested to learn that you’re not the only one with a full bladder,” he continued in the emphatic tone he used when he was making a particularly important point. “As a matter of fact, I had a little bit too much tea myself this morning. And I haven’t been to the loo since breakfast, as you may have noticed.” He looked at her with unmistakable glee in his eyes, w
aiting for the meaning of his words to sink in.
It took her a few moments to grasp his meaning. When she did, she felt as if she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. It was, by some distance, the most shocking thing he had ever said to her. More shocking than the names he sometimes called her. More shocking, too, than the things he occasionally asked her to do for him, some of which made her distinctly uncomfortable. It was so shocking that she froze and for a moment forgot all about the heat and the uncomfortable chair and the fact that her bladder was about to burst.
Of course. That’s what the tarpaulin was for. He was going to pee on her. He was going to pee on her and didn’t want to soil the beautiful carpet they had bought together. She supposed she should be grateful that he had considered this aspect of their scene, but what she really felt was rage. Rage and an unholy amount of terror.
He had promised her that he would never pee on her. He had promised her when they had first gotten together that he would never do anything that disgusted her, and water sports had pretty much topped her list of things she found disgusting. She remembered telling him that she’d never talk to him again if he ever indulged in such a kink with her. She had meant it, too. But even so, it seemed that it was about to happen. Her own master was going to pee on her, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Please, Sir,” she protested, hearing the terror in her own voice. “Please don’t. I beg you.”
He made no reply. Instead, he rose and made his way toward her, unbuttoning his jeans and taking out his cock as he did so. She was not surprised to see that it was somewhat hard. Her begging usually had that effect on him, and he’d never been able to resist her when she was naked and sweaty. He had told her so himself.
He positioned himself in front of her, his legs nearly touching hers, his half-rigid penis pointed at her breasts. For a moment, she thought that she was going to faint. Surely, surely, he wasn’t going to go through with this? She’d die if he did. She’d die on the spot, and she wouldn’t even be sorry.
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