Climax: Volume 2

by Ella Ford

  I allowed myself to be guided, realizing that I must be near the low coffee table. I swept my hand behind me as I lowered myself down, searching for the hard wood surface, distantly wondering what she had in store for me. Finally, I found it and sat down.

  “Shuffle back dear,” she said, urging me backwards on the coffee table and lifting my legs up until I was completely off the floor. “Now lie back,” she said, gently pushing back on my shoulders.

  I laid down, stretching myself out, reminded disconcertingly of the time I’d watched a Japanese porn film in which participants of a dinner party had eaten raw sushi off a naked girl on a table just like this one! As I considered this possible fate, I felt her grab my left wrist and slip a ring of leather material around it, pulling it until it was tight. Then she pulled my arm back and fastened it in position at the corner of the table above my head. I gave the strap a gentle tug, but it was tied tight, holding my arm in place with only a few inches of motion available.

  Seconds later, the secured my right wrist, then stepped around the long, low table and repeated the action on my ankles, pulling my legs straight and fixing my feet a shoulder’s width apart at the far corners. I squirmed and writhed, pulling at the restraints that held me in place, unsure whether I was trying to escape or merely testing the limits of my bondage.

  “Good girl,” purred Mistress Tasha from somewhere above me. “I like to see girls struggle. It means they have spirit. And there’s nothing I like to break more than spirit!” she said with a gleeful cackle. “We’re nearly done, just one more thing.”

  She disappeared for a minute, leaving me alone on the table, tied down without any possibility of escape. With a rising feeling of claustrophobic panic, I wondered what would happen if she never came back, or if she fell and cracked her skull. What would become of me? But, to my surprise, the panic and fear thrilled me in ways I had never experienced before. The feeling of vulnerability, exposure, danger even.

  Then she returned and the feeling fled, though I sensed it would soon be back. A prospect I both relished and dreaded.

  I tried to banish the thought from my mind, and instead concentrated on what was happening in the room, beyond the obscuring blindfold. Mistress Natasha was fiddling with something, preparing some strange tease or torture, I wasn’t quite sure. I held my breath and waited.

  In time, I felt her hands on my thighs, a light caress on my pantyhose covered flesh. Then she began to thread something under my leg - a strap perhaps, it wasn’t clear to me. Next, I felt a presence between my legs, heavy and cold, a solid object made of hard plastic. The older woman began to fuss and fiddle, moving the object up and down my thigh, pressing the bulbous end of it against my pussy. Then she tightened the straps around the object, fastening it against my thigh. As I felt the thing being secured against my body, making firm contact with my aching sex, a dawning realization washed over me as I guessed what it was.

  Seconds later, barely time for any self-congratulation, Mistress Tasha confirmed my suspicion and flicked the wand vibrator into life, causing a low frequency hum that buzzed against my clitoris in an insistent manner.

  I gasped and tugged at the leather restraints as the wave of pleasure rippled outwards from my pussy and ignited my sleeping nerve endings. “Ah,” I cried, feeling the pulsing vibration press down on my throbbing pussy as Mistress Tasha fine-tuned its position. Then it stopped and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Right, I think that’ll do for now,” she said with a sultry purr. “I’ll be back to check on you in a while. Ciao for now!” she said. Then she marched out of the room, her heels clicking on the wooden floor, the door slamming shut behind her.

  “Wait! Mistress Tasha, I…” I began. Then the first of the wand vibrator’s timed pulses kicked it into life, and any thought of protest left my mind in a flash.

  ---

  By the fifteenth cycle, my entire body ached. My arm and leg muscles burned with the tension that crackled up and down the length of my limbs, every failed yank at the tight restraints sending ripples of pain and frustration through my whole self. I was breathing quickly, skin slick with a light covering of perspiration. My heart was pounding, driven by the intense throb from my pussy, provoked with every hot surge from the wand vibrator.

  The buzzing presence kicked into life once more, a pulsing hum that rose and fell with a quick rhythm, pressing against my slick sex, sliding over my wet flesh with no resistance or friction. I tried to angle my body to relieve the sensation, but I was afforded no more than half an inch of freedom, and only succeeded in moving the vibrating end to another part of my pussy.

  I thrust my head back as the waves of pleasure swept through my body, squeezing my eyes tightly shut beneath the blindfold. Every surge felt like white-hot fire in my torso, a private deluge that drove me wild and cancelled my rationality. I felt alive and desperate, possessed with an animalistic need to free myself and find release - either to tear the cursed vibrator from my leg and fling it far away from me, or to drive the bulbous head hard against my sex, tipping me over the edge that I couldn’t quite reach.

  Then it stopped. The plastic wand fell still between my legs and the pulsing waves of ecstasy damped down to the memory of sensation. I panted heavily.

  “Oh god, oh god,” I whispered to myself.

  Suddenly, I felt something brush against my cheek. I turned my head to the right, trying to angle my face to see beneath the blindfold, but it was too tightly secured on my face. Again, a light touch on my cheek, warm and soft, a vague hint of perfume.

  “Do you want to come?” said a voice from beside me. Mistress Tasha. She was right there, sitting off to my right.

  How long had she been there? How long had she been watching me? The thoughts raced through my mind, and I realized that she could have sneaked in at any time during one of the wand vibrator’s infuriating cycles and I never would have noticed. I shuddered, feeling strangely exposed and vulnerable. The curiously disturbing and arousing sensation found purchase in my mind and provoked my pussy once more.

  She touched me again and I realized that it was her foot, wrapped in nylon now. She must have changed her outfit sometime in the last few hours. Her toes stroked over my cheek and along the line of my nose, finding my mouth and prodding at my lips. She tasted exquisite, feminine and alive.

  “Yes, yes, Mistress Tasha. I want to come,” I said, still breathless from the fading memory of the thwarted orgasm.

  “Oh, my sweet pet, you’ve got a long way to go yet,” she said and I swore I could picture the sarcastic look on her pretty face. “Open wide.”

  Her toes traced the line of my mouth, then she gently turned my head with her sole and I parted my lips, an unconscious anticipation of what was to come. Before I could say or do anything else, she pushed her way into my mouth. I felt myself filled with her squirming toes and struggled not to gag. Then I regained my senses and concentrated on my instincts and desires, allowing my tongue to play over her foot. I remembered her words from earlier, what my promised reward for obedience was, and I set to work, sucking at her toes, lapping at them with my hungry tongue. My body ached as I drew her into me, suffocating myself with her taste and the soft warm of her foot. I longed to reach out and touch her sole, wrap my fingers around her and stroke them up the length of her leg to that forbidden summit, but I was bound to the table still and unable to move, a prisoner of desire, possessing only my mouth with which to display my obedience.

  She seemed to sense my frustration and began to angle her foot, offering me different morsels to devour - her toes first, then her sole, laying it over my mouth, allowing me to run my tongue over the soft, wrinkled flesh, soaking her pantyhose in my saliva. Then I nibbled my way along her arch, relishing the soft moans of appreciation that my tender bites provoked, the quickening sighs from the unseen older woman. My sensual exploration reached her heel and I kissed at it, lapping my tongue over the firm ball of her foot, flicking my way up around to her ankle. Then she lifted her
other foot and placed both soles over my face, covering me, smothering me, imprisoning me in the warm softness of her exquisite feet.

  I became light headed, unable to breath anything but her, subtle notes of sweat and perfume, soft nylon soaked with my wetness. My pussy sang out, hungry for more of her, hungry to touch every part of her. My throbbing sex made me no longer care about being blindfolded or restrained, happy now to delegate this erotic journey to my remaining senses of taste and smell. I felt dizzy and alive, driven now by instinct and lust, barely able to breath and not even caring.

  Then she freed me, moving one foot to my naked breast, idly toying with my nipples, flicking them with her toes, then pressing down on my aching tits until I moaned with an intoxicating mix of pleasure and discomfort. With her other foot she teased her toes around my lips, lifting them away suddenly when I tried to touch my mouth to her, torturing me with denial, knowing what I craved the most and using that against me. I couldn’t see her, but I could sense her sultry smirk and viper glare, peering down at me as she toyed and tormented. I was a plaything, a toy, a momentary fancy and fleeting distraction from the mundanity of her life. I wondered briefly if her husband knew what she did when he was away; did she recount these sordid tales when he was fucking her? When she was fucking him? Nothing seemed implausible when it came to Mistress Tasha, nothing seemed too outlandish.

  I tried again to reach her foot, craning my neck up as high as I could off the hard coffee table, tugging at the restraints that held me back. I could sense it before me, warm and musky, and I wanted to taste it so badly. My pussy was throbbing, provoked by this cruel denial and her continued kneading of my breasts, senses still heightened from the hours of stimulation by the wand vibrator. I wanted to come like I’d never wanted to come before. I moaned at her, unintelligible sobs that demanded release, demanded satisfaction, demanded her!

  Then she pulled back, removing her feet from my body and my face. I sensed her stand and move around the table, a waft of perfume enraging my tortured senses one more. I began to writhe on the table, wrists and ankles pulling at the tight restraints.

  “That’s good Rebecca, I like it when you struggle,” she purred. Then she reached down and lifted the satin blindfold from my eyes, slipping it off my head and tossing it to one side.

  I blinked at the sudden explosion of light, vision swimming in and out of focus as my eyes slowly adapted.

  After a minute of blinking, the world around me coalesced into sharp clarity. I gasped as my eyes flicked around the room.

  When I’d entered Mistress Tasha’s modest house, it had still been light. Long rays of ruddy desert sunshine had lit the room with a welcoming ochre glow. But now night had fallen and the world beyond the windows was dark and still. The room was now lit by several candles, resting on stone plinths around the walls, causing faint shadows to flicker and dance on the walls, giving the room a sinister, erotic air. But it was Mistress Tasha herself that caused me the most surprise, caused my body to sing out in equal parts desire and fear.

  The older woman was looming over me, hands on her hips, legs apart a shoulder’s width, eyes gleaming as she smiled her acidic smile. As I’d been tied to the table, she’d discarded her earlier simple linen outfit and changed into an entirely more enticing ensemble. Around her torso, she wore a crimson corset, laced up to beneath her chest, causing her full breasts to spill out over the top, pink nipples rigid and flushed. Her legs were clad in full fashion black nylon stockings with dark tops held in place with a leather garter belt, her squared off Cuban heels and reinforced toes still glistening damp with my saliva. But all of this elegant allure was eclipsed by what hung from her waist.

  Hanging between her legs, suspended from an elaborate harness of leather straps, was an enormous, black, strap-on dildo. It was ponderous and thick, rippled with moulded veins and intricate detail, terminating in a bulbous helmet that must have been a full inch in girth. She saw me peering at the rod and playfully swung her hips back and forwards, causing the dildo to sway lazily beneath her pussy.

  “Ready for that fucking?” she said in the same way that you might ask someone if they were ready for a second slice of toast.

  I gulped and sighed, then nodded warily, wondering if I could even take such an extensive length, suspecting I wouldn’t get much say in the matter.

  Mistress Tasha smiled and returned my nod, then moved around the table, releasing my wrists and ankles with a flick of each cord. I sighed as I became free, moving my arms to my chest and wincing as my aching muscles and joints cried out their silent protest. As the older woman prowled up from my feet, I urgently rubbed my wrists, trying to force some life back into them before the next stage of this exhilarating ordeal. I didn’t try to get up, there didn’t seem much point.

  She reached my head and positioned herself behind me. I forced my eyes back in their sockets, trying to get a sense of what she was about to do next. I didn’t need to wait long.

  Without a second of warning, she reached down and grabbed my ponytail, dragging me to my feet. I cried out with a surprised yelp and lifted my hands to my head as she forced me up, then cried out once more as my aching legs took my weight. She pulled me close, still gripping my hair, gazing down at me with an amused look of contempt. In our bare stocking feet, Mistress Tasha was several inches taller than me, though it felt as though she towered over me by several feet. I was completely in her power, a puppet or a plaything. The thought thrilled me.

  Then she leaned forward and kissed me, roughly pressing her lips against mine, forcing her tongue into my mouth, never giving me a moment to capitulate or permit, simply taking what she wanted. I felt her probe inside me, felt her breath on my skin, her hands beneath my chin and on my hair, holding me in place, impaled on her probing tongue. My heart hammered in my chest, fueled by fear and desire, a curious mix.

  Without warning, she pulled away again, leaving me gasping. Then she dragged me with her to the other sofa. I scampered along with a timid cry, allowing myself to be led, struggling to keep up with her. We stopped and she pushed me to my knees before her, then forced me around and down, bending my body onto the soft fabric of the sofa cushions, pushing my head low and my ass up. I gasped and struggled to catch my breath, shaken by the quick roughness of her actions, the sheer force of her hands holding me in place on my knees.

  “Hands behind your back,” she snapped. “Now!” she spat as I paused for the briefest second.

  I forced myself to obey, struggling to control the growing panic inside me. I wanted her, wanted her more than anything I could imagine. I wanted whatever it was she was going to do to me. But I was out of control and borderline frantic, swept along by the whims of another. An object, a plaything. With an extreme force of will, I moved my hands behind my back, crossing them together and offering them to her.

  She shifted herself, moving her hand off my head, taking hold of my wrists and shoving them up my back until my arms were crossed behind me. Then she gathered the leather straps that were still tied to me and bound my arms together, holding them in place. I struggled and squirmed, testing the limits of this new bondage, but I could no more escape her knots than I could have escaped the coffee table. I slumped forward on the couch and tried to control my breathing, tried to ignore the gnawing throb in my pussy.

  Then she was on me again, dropping to her knees behind me before I had a chance to catch my breath. I felt her shuffle into position, felt her fingers on my thighs, urging my legs apart. She grabbed my hips and then slapped my ass with the flat of her hand, causing me to cry out in pain and exhilaration. Then she gripped the material of my pantyhose, pulling at it until it ripped open. I felt a sudden feeling of cold air on my pussy, suddenly released from the damp prison of my hosiery. I sighed at the sensation and the sudden sense of exposure.

  At once, her fingers were on me, plunging into my dripping lips, pulling my labia through her slender digits until I lifted my head and cried out, begging her to stop, pleading with her to
continue. Her bold exploration found my clit, pressing down on that throbbing nub with her fingertips, moving them in tight circles, every rough manipulation causing waves of pleasure to ripple through my body.

  After the endless torment of the last few hours she had no trouble whipping me up into a wild frenzy. The fireball inside me ignited anew, sending creeping tendrils of flame into my arms and legs. My heart began to pound and I tugged aimlessly at the tight ties around my wrists; something, anything to relieve the torturous tension inside my body.

  Then her hand left my pussy, and seconds later she entered me. There was no warning, no tease, no hint of what was approaching. She simply forced the enormous plastic dildo into my tight hole, slowly impaling me on its rigid length, meeting no resistance in my dripping sex.

  I threw my head back, eyes wide and mouth open with a frantic howl. The shock of entry was total. First the rude coldness of the plastic on my burning pussy, then the sensation of being stretched, a never-ending escalation as the bulbous tip penetrated me. Finally, an exquisite feeling of fullness, of being complete.

  No sooner had she reached the limit of my penetration, she began to withdraw. Again, she moved slowly, prolonging this sensation as long as possible. She pulled back until the tip had nearly left me, then quickly rammed it forwards again, then out, then in, driving it home like a piston. I screamed out with every insistent entry, first in pain, then in pleasure, begging her for more.

  “Yes Mistress, oh yes,” I shouted, not caring about who heard me, no longer fearing disturbing this quiet corner of suburbia. “Harder, harder!”

  She gripped my hips tightly and thrust herself into me, pounding her black cock home with every rhythmic grind. Then she slapped my ass, riding me like a rodeo bull. My body bucked and writhed, struggling frantically at the straps that bound my wrists together, animated by a force that I could no longer control.