The keeper - illustrated bondage story, part 65

“Well, she IS my sister,” the woman maintained.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, I was soothing it, wasn’t I?”
“Soothing it?”

“Well, that’s where I zapped her,” she told him. “On her tit...her sweet little upturned nip...three times...!” When he stopped laughing , he managed to straighten up, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Your folks are going back to missing persons,” he informed her porten- tiously. His gaze moved over to the creamy form of the nodding, moaning redheaded teenager. “They’ll be gone all morning....”

She stared at her husband, her gaze lowering to the bulge in the towel over his loins. She glanced guiltily over to the bed, then quickly got up. “I’ll get the motorhome ready,” she said as she walked quickly past him.

He let her close the door behind him before he undid the towel from his waist. It fell to the hardwood with a barely audible thud.

“Any luck?” he called out to his mother-in-law as she parked the car in the driveway alongside his motor home.

She got out sadly, watching him haul a small steamer trunk over to the door. He was a strong man, ex-military, with a construction worker’s experience. It made for a very handy, very macho man to have around. She waited until he lowered the locked trunk inside before shaking her head.

“Nothing,” she admitted. “They’ve found no trace.” “Hey,” he said with a big smile as he came over to put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the front porch. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she’s having the time of her life.”

She was: crammed inside the small steamer trunk, bound stunningly stringently into a fetal ball. She was bent completely at the waist; neck tied to knees; legs tightly bent, ankles bound to thighs; arms wrenched behind her back. The thin cord sunk deeply into the tender fesh of her wrists, elbows, chest, stomach, thighs, knees, and ankles—the knots so tiny and tight they would have to be cut.

Clothespins were tightened on her zapped and iced nipples, and her lower face was completely covered in dull silver construction tape—the kind they used to secure pipes...the kind that would have to be removed with a liquid unsealent.

Inside her mouth was a present her older sister had lovingly prepared from the moment the old woman had contacted her husband. Had her mother or father looked, they would have discovered that all of their youngest daughter’s panties were gone. Some of them were in her mouth, sewn tightly together in a mouth- flling ball by her older sister. The rest were shoved in around her as packing.

And had they looked, they would have found out that her pink, ribbon laced, steel capped, ballet toe shoes were also missing. One was wedged deep into her cunt, the pink ribbons that were used to tie around her shin were now trailing out her vagina and against her thighs.

It plugged up his cum, the cum he had been collecting since his wedding night... the night he had discovered that his wife was frigid... and she discovered he liked it “rough.” Divorce was out of the question. He liked the elder sibling’s money—it bought them this motor home and all the tools he could fnd—while she was pathological about maintaining a “happy home life.” So when the old woman from the next town over made them a deal, they decided to kill two birds with one stone...or more accurately, fuck one younger bird with one cockin-law.

And he had... ramming into Melissa’s tight thatch like a hydraulic hammer, embracing her hips as her auburn mane cascaded on the mattress. As she screamed into a pillow case he had knotted deep in her mouth, her newly bound arms wrenched up her back, he pumped pints of dammed semen into her while lifting her off the bed and slamming her back down repeatedly.

Finally awake, writhing torturously with his cum deep inside her, she had looked up in total pleading desperation and disbelief, but still he wasn’t spent. Dragging her up by her fabulous hair, he had rammed her on his hard-on, her back to his chest, crushing her mouth and nose with one meaty paw while squishing her tits with one hairy arm.

There he had wrenched her up and down on his cock, her bent legs on either side of his lap, until they heard the unmistakeable sound of the old family car coming up the street. Melissa’s eyes desperately sought the window as he reached over to the chair beside the bed He touched the zapper’s metal prod to her nipple at the same moment he came again, ounces of thick jism spraying up into her as he mashed her face and chest to him.

The hysterical convulsion she had before she collapsed almost made him come a third time. Finally, after taking a moment to exalt in the wonderful body lying across him, he threw her comatose form to the mattress and started expertly knotting her limbs—ignoring the thin trickle of blood which drooled ever so slowly out her nose.

It was still there, that single tiny stream of scarlet, moving in painfully slow millimeters across the dull silver of the industrial tape which sealed her lower face.

As it passed what would have been her upper lip, her green eyes opened slightly—the orbs now a dull verdant. Her head came up off the trunk bottom a centimeter, and her hands, arms, legs, and feet seemed to move. Inside the box, totally imperceivable outside the wood, there was a soft wet sound—the sound vaginal juices make against a satin-covered invasion.

Melissa’s teeth tried to tighten on the cotton, lace, and lycra flling her mouth, but failed. A silent sigh came from her nose. Her head drooped. Her eyes closed. The only thing that moved inside the tiny steamer trunk were her lungs and the small, single drop of blood.