The keeper - illustrated bondage story, part 54

The old woman shook her head, then turned toward the television, picking up the remote. Switching to channel 91, she saw what the infrared remote camera in her son’s room saw. Looking down at the bed, there was the redhead, one leg straight out, the other bent, seemingly trying to propel herself off the man’s form.

As her eyes bulged, her hair wild, her breasts thrusting toward the lens secreted in the ceiling, the old woman could tell that her son had found a new place to keep his manhood warm.

The old woman picked up her sewing again and went back to the sweater, accompanied by the sweet sounds of a comely teenage redhead in lovely white lace lingerie screaming repeatedly into a mouth-sealing gag.

He awoke the next morning when he felt Melissa be- ing pulled from him. His eyes snapped open to see the exhausted redhead in the grip of his mother. The teenager was still lovely, her chest heaving, her halfmound breasts flling the half-cup bra, and her long, shapely legs moving to keep her upright in twisted and torn white lace hosiery.

His mother held a thick pad over her lower face and gripped under her arms, leading her to the bedroom door.

“Breakfast?” he asked.

“Waiting,” she replied, looking over the girl in her hands with a certain distaste. “I’m taking this one to the bathroom. Have a bite to eat then drug the others, would you dear?”

Now he was fully awake. “Drug them?” He wasn’t used to this. After his initial abduction, he left the details to her. All he usually did was rape them every chance he got. “Of course dear,” she said obliviously, moving into the hall. “I have to prepare them for tonight.”

“Tonight?” he echoed, hopping off the bed. “What’s tonight?”

She turned in the bathroom doorway, looking analytically at the redhead’s tiny, tight rump. “Tonight’s the night, dear. The last night.”

Melissa began to bleat and struggle, causing the old woman to get her in a choke hold, holding the teenager against her as she continued talking over her shoulder to her son. He stared at the struggling, semi-naked form of the beauty as he listened to his elder’s words.

“Well, you didn’t think it would last forever, did you, dear? I’ve already nosed around quite a bit. This little one was missed from her dance class and her home.” She looked down at the wide-eyed choking redhead and spoke to her in a cooing, sing-song voice. “Oh yes, you were....”

Then her attention returned to her son as she held onto the girl as if she was merely a struggling pet. “Our sultry brunette business bitch was missed from her job. And our sexy little blonde co-ed was missed from her classes and dorm. Reports were made, son. People are looking.”

“So?” he asked.

“So?” she repeated, tightening her grip. The redhead in her arms started kicking wildly, her face getting as red as her hair. The old woman didn’t speak again until the half-naked girl’s actions started to slow. “So they mustn’t be found here... true?”

Melissa slumped in the old woman’s arms as her rap- ist came over, his cock like a microphone by her comatose, tape-covered face. “True enough, I suppose,” he mused, looking down at the luscious little belle. “What do you have in mind?”

The old woman placed a hand tenderly on his cheek.

“Do as I ask, dear, then go to work. You’ll see, my darling. Have I ever let you down?” Then, knowingly, she started to pull the tape from Melissa’s face.

As the naked redhead stood insensibly in the shower stall, her wrists handcuffed above her to the spigot, early morning cum drooling out of her still slack mouth, he trudged up the attic steps. There he found Barbara shivering on the mattress-covered foor, her entire body in vulcanized leather save for holes around her faxen tuft and her buoyant breasts.

Her head was covered in a stitched-up hood with only two straws for her nostrils. He knew that, inside, her mouth would be flled with a pear-shaped plug. Her covered arms, complete with gloves, were twisted up her back and affxed to her shoulder blades with buckled straps. And her legs, encased in six-inch high boots, were bent double and strapped at the ankles, knees, and thighs. Then, plunged deep inside her, was a black dildo with an exposed speed knob. He heard it hum as he stood beside her.

Kneeling, he knew that inside the cat suit it would be all sweat, but outside, in the early morning chill, her exposed breasts were covered in goose-pimples and her red nipples were infated and erect.

“Good morning, my love,” he whispered before settling his hot mouth on her right breast, which quivered on his tongue. She moaned, agonizingly, as his hand sought the dildo knob, switching it to its highest setting before turning it off. She shook and jerked before dropped fully to the mattress with a mouth-flled sigh.

He marveled how wonderful her body looked in the form-ftting leather, then snapped open the straps holding her thighs and knees. He pulled the dildo out from her cunt, forced himself between her legs, encircled his arms around her thighs, lifted her hips off the foor, and replaced the plastic with his own humming rod.

Barbara screamed uselessly into the hood gag, then just had to hang there, shoulders on the padding, as he fucked her yet again. Her legs, though now affxed only by ankle straps, were useless after a night of more thorough bondage. And her arms...? Her arms were lost to her. But her cunt? Her cunt was still dark and warm and wet, fortifed by the gruel the old woman fed them every day...the medicinal paste that kept them alert, coated their nerves, and sparked their libidos. They felt their muscles remaining frm and fexible, their hair remaining lustrous, their skin remaining smooth, and their breasts swelling, as if they were lactating without milk.

So the blonde coed felt it...felt every sensation his horrid invasion elicited from her. Despite the bondage, despite the captivity, despite the continuous assaults, she felt the bolts of electricity slicing from her crotch to her brain. Her cries of “oh no stop,” became just sounds of desperation...sounds which only spurred him on.

He grunted, grabbing her hips like handles, jamming her on him, then came, spurting inside her. She felt that too, as if someone had slathered a thick layer of ointment within. Then, before her moan of agony could completely emerge, the air was cut off—re-placed with a sickeningly sweet smell.

He had plopped the drugged pad over her nostril straws just as he came.

Barb’s head rolled back, scraping against the mattress, trying to pull away, but his arm followed her movement, still plugging her with his cock, still embracing her 22 inch waist with his other arm. She started screaming like a banshee under a pillow, but by then it was too late. The screams became cries, which became groans, which became sighs.

She collapsed to the padded foor, his cock fnally popping from her dewy crack.