The keeper - illustrated bondage story, part 38

It did go on for hours ... literally hours, until he seemed practically asleep on top of her wonderful form -- ex- cept for his hips, which kept moving at the exact same, agonizing speed, as if hydraulically powered. His head was turned away from her, but his hands were still wrapped on her shoulders, mooring him to the spot. Beneath him, Barbara was going insane with enfamed stimulation. Now, every eighth of an inch he moved would stoke the fres higher and hotter. Now, no matter which way he was going, she was covered in heat or wracked with chills. All her muscles would tighten spasmodically, then jerk as if twanged.

Her sweater was soaking wet, making it even more of a second skin. The turtleneck practically didn’t need the tight white band now, since it stuck to her fesh as if glued. Her eyes widened in amazement with each second, and her nostrils quivered, as her body responded without conscious control.

Her hips jerked in rhythm, trying to force him along or out. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She felt her breasts getting hard, the nipples trying to stab him through the black cotton. She heard her little moans coming faster.

She closed her eyes, trying to escape in deeper dark- ness, but she saw the passion building there in a white-hot ball. Her eyes snapped open, but it was too late. She was blinded by the white. It pulsated and grew in her vision like a sun going nova.

She stretched, trying to scream, but the sound was choked off, and the movement anchored by his body. Her toes pointed, her legs rock hard. Her fingers snapped wide, and her head went all the way back, the turtleneck nearly coming off her top lip. And then she came.

The orgasm exploded inside her like napalm, ripping up through her crotch, across her torso, and bursting inside her head. She jerked, bucking and groaning beneath him, her hips thrusting repeatedly up against his. She nodded and shook her head, trying to fnd a way out of the confagration, her wrists grinding against the rope.

Then, suddenly, as quickly as it detonated, it was gone. Barbara lay blinking up at the ceiling, wondering why no one else heard the explosion. She was still bound, still gagged, still beneath him. Except for her ragged exhaustion, nothing had changed. Nothing.

Because, fnally, she became of the last dorm horror. He hadn’t stopped. He hadn’t even acknowledged her orgasm. His hips continued to move as slowly, as completely, as inexorably as ever. And she felt the stimulation start all over again. Barbara screamed and screamed and screamed, trying to get out from under him.

In the room next door, a coed studied with headphones on. In the room on the other side, another coed watched television. out in the halls, coeds walked to and from the elevators. On the foor of the foyer, a boom box sent out a steady, loud bass beat.

But inside Barbara’s room, the frm, smooth, curvy nineteen year-old blonde sank into her mattress, weighed down by the man who had pinioned her arms, spread her legs, and stilled her cries. Inside this room, a gorgeous little bound and gagged girl in a skintight black turtleneck from pert little nose to frm tight thigh was being silently and oh-so-slowly raped for the second time that night.

It was after three in the morning in the darkened University dorm. Almost everyone was asleep inside their rooms, and the ones who weren’t would be staying at their boyfriends’ tonight. But not Barbara. Barbara didn’t have a boyfriend. She was too picky and inde-pendent for that.

No, Barbara stepped out of her room, guided by her new lover. She needed that guidance, because she was blind, mute, and crippled. The sunglasses covered the squares of clear thick tape which kept her eyes closed. More patches of the thick, clear tape sealed her ruby red lips shut. The thin white straps which had been around her head and neck were now around her elbows and wrists.

They were over her long-sleeved black turtleneck (which now served as a micro minidress), but it was all under the long canvas coat he had gotten from her closet. He belted it around her waist, and turned up the collar to further obstruct any view of her sealed mouth. A cap covering her trademark blonde curls was the fnishing touch to her disguise.

Anyone who might stumble out at this time of the morning might think it certainly wasn’t Barbara who was weaving toward the exit with her new lover. Not with the four inch black high heels affxed to her feet.

Barbara didn’t wear killer high heels. No, she was more practical than that. And she certainly wouldn’t wear a skirt that short. No, that wasn’t lovely Barbara’s style at all. Sure, she’d wear the long coat, but she’d never let anyone see those fashes of long, frm, shapely, leg coming out as she took careful steps.

He got her into the exit stairwell with no incident. Now all there was to do was get her downstairs, out the exit, and into the car. After that, no one would have Barbara to ogle at anymore. No one but him.

He gripped her arm tightly, and she stiffened, her head going up. He took a casual glance at her from the stairway, just seeing the edge of her blindfold squares beneath the shades, and just seeing the multi-layered top edge of the gagging tape over the turned up coat collar. She was so cute, so fresh, so alive, and so helpless he couldn’t help himself.

Instead of dragging her downstairs, he started pulling her up. Barbara bleated and balked, trying to keep upright and balanced. He ignored her resistance, all but carrying her up two more fights to the top foor landing. Once there, he backed her against the cold, solid, thick green metal banister overlooking the stairwell. She felt it pressing against her bound arms as he quickly unbelted and buttoned the coat. He tore it off her, as well as the cap.

“This is what it’s all about, isn’t it?” he whispered as he lifted her bound wrists over the edge. ‘It’s time to get some things done.” The banister pressed into the small of her back, molding the turtleneck even more, as her hands clawed and twisted in the open air.

“YOU ... just ... take it easy,’ he grunted, quickly wrapping the thin, coarse cord around her forearms; affxing them to the banister. “Enough about you,’ he said, “time to consider my needs.” He crouched and grabbed one ankle. Barbara started in surprise, but by the time she had anchored herself enough on the tee- tering high heels, her left ankle was already bound to a bolted-down banister support.