Brunette tied, dildo, gag | Bound Beauties 4 | bdsm stories

CLAUDIA WENTWORTH LAY SLEEPING ON HER BED.

That is not quite accurate. She was a vision, sleeping on the bed.

She lay atop the puffy, beige bed cover with the tasteful designs woven into it.

It was a fairly warm New Orleans night, so she couldn't bear sleeping under the covers. Instead, she lay on her left side, her left arm under the side of her sleeping head, her right hand between the arm and her soft cheek.

Her long, shapely, strong legs were together and bent up, her thighs ninety degrees from her lush body. She wasn't naked. What was covering her was an old-fashioned set she had gotten from her grandmother.

It was white cotton lace. There were two straps over her shoulders, with lace frill on either side. They went down to bra cups which held her abundant chest.

There was a lace-tie between her breasts, done up in a little bow, and sweeping down below that, tapered down to a frilly border just over her navel, was a half cotton lace shirt.

There was a lace tie there too, so if both bows were undone, the shirt could be pulled back. All that remained on her body was a matching string bikini, made of a patch of white cotton lace which just covered her pouch and rear, attached by straps without the lace frill.

Her soft, rich lips shone in the moonlight. She had put some balm on them before she went to bed. The hot air heating in these old buildings was hell on lips.

So she lay, sleeping peacefully, her chest rising and falling slowly, her head, arms, chest, stomach, hips, legs, and feet glowing healthily in the night.

Somewhere out there, there was a knocking.

Claudia Wentworth's eyes fluttered open. What was that? She thought she had heard something. She listened intently. All she heard was the sound of the street. Her eyes closed again.

There was a knocking.

Must be a dream, Claudia's subconscious said as she drifted back off.

Pamela Surges' face as caked with run mascara as she pounded her head against the wall. She rested, sobbing, sucking in air through her nostrils, before she hit her head against the wall again.

Her hair was pulled back from her face by a tied crepe scarf with silver sparkles in it. The pear gag was still tightly strapped in her mouth. She sat on the floor in her evening gown: an incredibly tight, V-necked gown made up entirely of red glitter. It was slit all the way up the right side and her cleavage was held tight by it. The entire dress was held on by almost wire-thin shoulder straps.

It felt as if everything behind her was on fire. Her arms were behind her. her elbows were tied together. Her wrists were tied together. Her thumbs and her pinkies were tied together. Another tight rubber-coated wire went from between her elbows to a handful of her own hair. It was tied in such a way that the bunch of hair which was pulled was under another curtain of hair.

On her feet were her matching red-glitter high-heel pumps. On her legs were "suspender" hose, which were stockings and garter belt in one. It was like pantyhose with the panties cut out. Her ankles were crossed and tied together.

Her knees were not tied, but there were ropes tying each calf top, just below the knee, to the same thigh bottom, just over the knee.

Pamela Sturges banged her head on the wall.

It was about twenty-four hours since Rebecca Alien had been snatched. Fourteen hours since Rebecca Alien was snatched and they had Pamela Sturges in her bathing suit. Being that it was a local pageant, the contestants could wear whatever they wanted, and Pamela had chosen a tight red string bikini which didn't quite cover anything.

Her breasts were widely spaced, but ample mounds, which the red clothe held onto but just barely. The bottoms of her tits were just peeking out. The tiny bikini bottom just barely covered her armadillo-shaped swash of fine, light brown (almost strawberry-blond) colored cunt hair.

At that time, she was still tied the way Paula had initially bound her, the pink

high heels still on her feet. It had been non-problem at all for the big woman to cut off the nightgown and undo the bustier. Then it was equally easy to tie the bikini top around her bound arms and pull the bikini bottom up ... with no struggles.

"Okay," Paula had said. "Up." Pam just stared at her hatefully. "Up!" Paula said threateningly, moving forward. Pam anxiously scrambled to get her legs under her. She had stood, sliding herself ; up the wall. She stood there, as if saying, fine,

I've done it, now what? Paula answered. "Down the runway." She motioned toward the black hall beyond. Pam ! looked at her again. "Walk!" Pam walked. "Smile, show yourself to your fans," Paula urged.

Pamela continued walking into the darkness, i peering intently, body hunching.

"Stand up straight!" Paula demanded. "Smile, smile!" Pam straightened for a few moments, but i was soon hunching again, unsure what was right in front of her nose.

Paula swatted her on the back of the head.

Pam hunched further, mewling, freezing in place. | "You call that walking?"

Paula yelled at her. "How many pageants have you been in? It's suck, tuck, and slide, girlie! Suck, tuck, and slide!" Paula put her hands on the captive.

"Suck in your stomach." She pressed until Pamela did so, almost sobbing. "Tuck in your bunnies." Paula swatted Pam's ass. She responded. "Now slide, slut, slide!"

Pamela, reddening, slid forward two steps until she hit the front of a table.

She grunted, and tipped, and everything changed. Fast.

Hands grabbed her arms. She was whirled around. Hands grabbed her wrists. They were wrenched up behind her back. She felt something, a figure, rubbing up against her. Then her arms were down again, but there was something between them. She was hugging, by bondage, someone who stood behind her!

Hands were at her hips, pulling down, tearing down, her bikini panties. She started to scream and buck, but there, coming out of the darkness in front of her, was the hotel manager, caressing her face with one hand and holding her hair with the other.

Paula pulled Pam's head forward, still caressing her face, cooing. "There, there, now, precious. Mommy's going to see that nothing happens to her little beauty pageant bitch. Everything's going to be fine, see?"

Pam cried at her, screamed at her, but the thing in her mouth drowned the sounds. She choked and coughed and caught her breath as her bikini panties were pulled to her knees, the figure bending over in her arms, grunting.

"Easy," advised Paula, who merely stepped up, put the toe of her high heel on the bikini bottom, and straightened her leg. She stamped it to the floor.

"There now."

Arms went around Pam's waist. Hairy, muscular arms. Male arms. They surged up and suddenly he was sitting on the edge of the table and Pam was sitting on him.

She felt the unmistakable feeling of flesh and hair on her legs. She felt something beneath her. There was no doubt. He was naked.

Pam strained once in his grip, trying to get away. But then Paula cooed again, still holding her head forward by her hair. "There now, there now, none of that." She unbuttoned the top of her own dress and pulled it wide. Her big tits jiggled within.

She reached in and cupped her own breast, pulling it forward. At the same time, she leaned forward while pulling Pam's hair.

She rubbed the girl's face across her chest, oohing and aahing.

Pamela jerked in their grip, trying to get balance, trying to get her own body back. With her head in the stifling enclosures of Paula's dress and between her tits, she couldn't effectively fight the thing coming up between her legs.

She felt it. She felt his erection moving unerringly toward her crack. She fidgeted and shifted as best she could, but he held her tightly, his hands slipping under her bikini top to grip her tits. She held her tightly too, off balance. Her only mooring was her haunches.

The cock tip pushed between her vaginal lips. He suddenly pushed down on her thighs and Paula's arm rocketed forward, hitting her in the stomach.

Pam grunted, her air leaving her. When she was able to breathe again, her face was still deep in Paula's dress . . . and the Procurer's penis was all the way inside her.

"Isn't that better?" Paula whispered in ecstasy. "Isn't that fine? Everything's all right now, isn't it?"

Next had come the evening gown competition. They had taken their time with that.

Paula had dragged her back to her room, naked save for her shoes, the bikini having been long torn off. They had put her in the shower, Paula holding her as the Procurer lathered her. Paula only laughed as her dress got soaked.

Paula held her again as the Procurer tied Pam's ankles to the manager's ankles before drying the girl off. Then it was down onto the bathroom stool, where her ankles were tied to the rear legs, the third stool leg between her two flesh ones.

Then the Procurer buried his fingers in her hair, just above her scalp, and pulled back while Paula did the girl's makeup. They undid her wrists for as long as it took to put her gown on. She thought about fighting then, sure, but they were all over her, their grips tight. Before too long, it was back into the secret passage, her hands once again bound behind her.

The Procurer had stopped her in the middle of the hall and pushed her against the left wall. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her like a loved one. She could hardly meet his gaze.

"You are very beautiful," he told her tenderly. "Do you know that?" He paused, and when she didn't respond, he slapped her.

It was quick and stinging. When her head snapped back, she doubted her sanity, because he looked and acted as if it had never happened. His hands were back on her shoulders.

"Do you know that?" he repeated. She quickly nodded.

"You remind me of someone I once loved," he continued. "Who was taken from me."

She was able to look at him now, in shock. "That is why you are here," he said.

"What happened with her must not happen with you."

He reached down, grabbed her skirt, and hauled it up. Then he grabbed each thigh and lifted her. He jammed her against the wall, his erection as hard and hot as before. He jammed himself into her, dropping her onto him.

She kicked and screamed, then hit him with her head. He hit her right back with his own head, twice as hard. She shrieked, then groaned in pain as Paula laughed.

Pamela almost lost consciousness then, but when her senses returned, she found herself still kicking, still crying, as he thrust into her standing up, again and again.

Over his shoulder she saw into room 2-A. Claudia Wentworth had just come back from dinner. She had dined with the rest of the contestants in the main hotel, where the pageant was to take place. She was wearing a fine blue evening dress, with the banner proclaiming her a Miss Bouillabaisse hopeful.

Pamela called to her, but she did not hear. Then, looming into Pamela's vision, came the manager.

"Tut, tut," she said. "No coaching."

The Procurer had dropped her on the table when he finished with her. "There!" he said, walking away. "No interruptions."

She lay, moaning, on the table, eyes closed, slowly turning from her back to her side. Paula stopped her left, bent leg, before it dropped down to meet the other. She held it open and moved her hand beneath the skirt.

Pamela felt the fingers in her abused slit. She felt them moving, exploring, searching, finding, and stimulating. She called out "No!" and tried to slither away, but Paula just dragged her back. Soon all Pam could do was lie there and quiver as Paula expertly brought things to a head.

Pam had straightened, her body arching, spasmed once, and collapsed.

Paula had whistled through her teeth when tying her up again.

Now Pamela Sturges hit her head against the wall a final time. She sat up against the passageway, almost hyperventilating from the effort. She groaned, trying to stretch, and forced herself not to start crying again.

That would be what they wanted. That would be what they expected. They expected her to give up, so that was why she wouldn't. They were nuts. That much was clear. There were crazy, but they were cunning. They had got her here, hadn't they? No one had come looking for her yet, had they? So it was up to her to get out of this.

Nobody could hear her head knocking. She could hardly hear it herself. So what could she do? Pamela tried to think. They could look into any room on the first floor. They had gotten into her room through the closet. So maybe they could get to the other girls through their closets. Well, if they could do it, then so could she.

Pam slid down the wall to her left side. She started the slow, painful crawl away from room 3-A.

Claudia Wentworth's eyes snapped open again.

There was no doubting it this time. There was a distant knocking coming from the walls. She peered into the darkness, but could see nothing. Executing a tiny shrug, she closed her eyes again.

Knocking. Big deal. She had been in a lot of houses where the pipes knocked.

But here, in New Orleans, there was a conspiracy. A conspiracy to keep Claudia awake. The combination of the excitement of competing in the pageant and the incessant knocking cleared her brain better than a syringe of caffeine.

No matter how much she wanted to and no matter how much she tried, she couldn't get back to sleep. She looked at the bedside clock. Six in the morning. She groaned. She knew how loss of sleep could create shadows under the eyes.

The knocking finally stopped ten minutes later. Ten minutes after that Claudia almost fell asleep again. But the knocking started anew. Claudia sighed. Oh well, six-thirty wasn't so bad. She had got up at home at six-thirty lots of times. And it had never seemed to affect her eyes.

Claudia sat up and stretched. Oh, it was so nice to be here! She sat on the edge of the bed and clicked on the lights.

She looked around the room. That was funny. The heating ducts were there and there, but the knocking seemed to be coming from over there. She shrugged once more. Oh well, there was no knowing.

But as she stood, her brow furrowed. Yes, the knocks seemed to be definitely coming from the closet. Odd. Nobody had heaters in the closet. It would ruin the clothes. The clothes ... !

Claudia ran over on the off chance that there would be heaters in this particular closet. That would be just her luck, wouldn't it? To stay in the only hotel that had heaters in the closet? What would that do to her bathing suit...?!

She pulled open the door and peered in. Definitely no heaters. But still . . .those knocks. Louder now . . . and definitely coming from inside. Claudia leaned in and listened. In the clarity of full wakefulness, they didn't sound like any heat knocks she had ever heard.

Pamela Sturges lay beyond the wall, the pointed toes of her high heels directly against the wall. She kicked as strongly as she could, each kick tugging her arms and her hair. She had long since stopped grunting in pain. She rode the pain now, as if this was an advanced exercise class. She ignored the pain, the sweat, the lightheaded-ness-everything but the kicking.

Claudia kneeled, putting her fingers against the wall. The wall vibrated under them. She pulled her fingers back in surprise. Earthquake? Mice? But an earthquake wouldn't knock and mice wouldn't vibrate the wall.

Something was very strong.

Rebecca put on her flannel robe and left the room to find help.

"Oh my god! Come quickly! Look at this, would you?!"

Pamela screamed and screamed and screamed in warning, but Claudia Wentworth came into the secret passage at the hotel manager's beckoning.

She looked down in shock at Pamela, who tried to get up, who tried to tell her that Paula was circling around behind her.

Then Pamela started screaming/crying as the big, brackish-haired woman grabbed the lithe, buxom little brunette in a sleeper hold, crushing down on her wind pipe.

The woman's arm was around Claudia's throat. Her other hand pressed up against the side of Claudia's head, locking her in the wrestling hold. Claudia's hands came up to grip the choking forearm, but the woman was too strong.

Pamela cried and cried and cried as Claudia's feet slapped the floor, as her legs kicked from under the robe, as her body stiffened, and her arms fell to her side. Pamela continued to cry as she watched a chuckling Paula release the now unconscious brunette, who fell to the floor before the sobbing blond.

I'm sorry, Pamela sobbed. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry....

Both girls started coming around at the same time. Claudia had been knocked out, but Pamela had also lost consciousness from lack of air. She had been screaming and crying so hard that she forgot to breathe.

The blond's eyes fluttered, and she groaned. She tried to move, but something wouldn't let her. Oh god, yes, she remembered now. They had dressed her in her pageant clothes. They had assaulted her-raped her. They had bound her incredibly stringently and left her in a secret passage within the hotel. It had not been a dream; she was waking up back in that nightmare.

No. Guess what? Surprise, surprise. It was a worse nightmare.

Pamela knew she was on her back. She could feel the floor beneath her. Her eyelids fluttered more. She should have been able to see, but there was only darkness. And the smell: all encompassing, stifling, yet somehow familiar.

Pamela's eyes snapped open in shock. It couldn't be, it couldn't be!

It was. She was tired on her back; her in her mouth was a prod gag, but the prod didn't just go between her teeth. It went out was well, forward, in a disgusting, long, thick, erect, flesh-colored rubber dildo. A dildo that was jammed inside of Claudia Wentworth.

Pamela Sturges was tied to Claudia Wentworth. Claudia Wentworth was tied to Pamela Sturges.

Pamela Sturges started in horror, shifting. Then she felt it. Something was inside her as well. Both girls had prod-gag dildos in their mouths. And both were plugged into each other.

It was Paula Nussbaum's living sculpture masterpiece. Pamela was on her back, her head and shoulders off the floor. Claudia was on her knees, hunched over her, her brunette head between the blond's legs.

A rope was around Claudia's left thigh. It went around Pamela's head, and then to Claudia's other thigh, just below the brunette's ass cheeks. It held Pamela's head up, the gag-dildo in place. Pamela couldn't move her head far enough to pull the horrid thing out.

Pamela's arms were forward, across Claudia's sides, her wrists were each tied and then tied again over Claudia's shoulders and under the brunette's arms, like knapsack straps.

Pamela's thighs were likewise cinched, holding Claudia's head in place. Then the blond's ankles were knotted, holding the brunette's head in a nutcracker-like vice.

Now, Claudia herself. Her hands were behind her, her wrists crossed and tied at the base of her spine. Her ankles were tied behind Pamela's head. Her knees were

on either side of Pamela's body. Her head was down, occupied by the double dildo gag.

Both women were naked.

Both screeched. Both squirmed, and both paid for it. With every move of their heads, they raped each other, and with every move of their bodies came every move of their heads. They cried out and tried to stop moving. But with every move one made, the other moved to compensate. Then the jangling started inside their skulls.

"Now, now," said Paula, kneeling down beside them, putting her hand on Claudia's back. 'Take it easy, take it easy. You don't want to fuck yourself over, do you?" She chuckled at her feeble witticism.

Pamela stared up at Claudia's crotch. Claudia stared down at Pamela's crotch.

Both stared in horror, both wanting to do something about the humiliation-to somehow save each other. But they couldn't speak, couldn't prepare the other for any movement.

Claudia pulled back with her head, like a frightened, roped pony. Pamela grunted

and groaned in response, trying to shake her head. Claudia caught her breath at that. Claudia began to cry in frustration. Pamela's weakened neck muscles began to vibrate.

"Easy there," Paula suggested to the quaking duo. "Don't want to lose your balance and fall over, do you? Something might get torn." And with that, the woman pushed against Claudia's side.

Both women shrieked, their bound limbs flailing to keep upright. Then they stilled, shivering, making desperate little noises, trying to pull their mouths off the prods.

"I'm so glad you came to me with your complaint, Miss Wentworth," the manager said pleasantly, stroking her back. Claudia's breasts shook on Pamela's thighs.

"We here at the Hotel Loisir do everything we can to see to your . . .comfort."

She let her fingers fall to tickle the brunette's ribs. Claudia jerked. Pamela groaned again as the dildo inside her shifted sharply.

Please, Claudia begged, choking. Please don't.

"Why, if it wasn't just pure coincidence that I was here all night, you might have talked to someone else, and then we would have never found your little friend."

Yes, indeed, the Procurer had gone back to the railway house to get some sleep, and Paula knew that three was a crowd. Besides, it was best she stay and make sure their little Miss Sturges didn't get into any mischief. Which, of course, she did.

"But how all's well that ends well," Paula chattered on. "Everyone's tucked in nice and tight, and there's no reason to bother anyone else with your little complaint. The knocking has stopped. See? Oh, sorry. Hear?"

They all listened for a moment, Pamela trying to stay perfectly still, and Claudia trying to figure out what had happened. "Idle hands are the devil's playthings," Paula paraphrased, then raised her right arm. In it she held a mixture of honey, iced cola, and cold milk. With no further warning, she dipped the glass in it.

The smooth, thick, cold, white mixture drooled down along Claudia's rear. She jerked up at its touch, making Pamela's head jerk back. The mixture collected along her ass dimples, then slowly started to drool down her crack. Drops of it began to hit Pamela's face.

Claudia tried not to scream. She tried not to react as the stuff seemed to seek out every nook and cranny of her body. Goose pimples grew. She shuddered.

"Can't leave your little mischief-maker out of the fun," Paula said, moving the cup over Claudia's body. She began to drip the stuff onto Pamela's inner thighs.

The blond couldn't help moving her legs.

"Isn't that nice?" Paula asked, starting to pour the stuff liberally over both girls. Claudia, who was getting the brunt of it, tried to keep her teeth from chattering. She was unsuccessful.

Paula covered her fingers with the goo and reached down to smear the stuff on Pamela's tits. "You ever see cola dry?" she asked. "You ever see caked milk?

No?

Well, we'll just have to experiment, won't we?" She reached in and gripped the tips of Claudia's tits tightly.

Paula leaned back and watched the two try not to move, but be unable to at least attempt getting the mixture off their most sensitive spots. The captor shivered in mock empathy. "Oooh, it gets all sticky and itchy and awful!"

She smiled, standing. "You'll see." Then she walked away.

Pamela couldn't stand it any longer. After a night of sexual and physical abuse, her body was at the razor's edge of sensitivity ... to everything. Any discomfort, any pain, any sensation at all was magnified in her brutalized mind.

And then . . . and then she had refused to give in, refused to accept her predicament, refused to welcome mother sleep, instead, she had sought escape ...which had turned on her with a vengeance.

She had lost consciousness once, sure, but that had not rested her. And now, now that she longed to have blessed unconsciousness pull her from this impossible situation-intrinsically knowing that fantasy might free her of this particular offense-the thing inside her would not let her be.

Each time she neared the edge of darkness, the dildo would shift, setting off her mind's alarm. It would push or prod her back to full awareness- an awareness she no longer wanted any part of. It kept pulling her back from the edge, rather than pushing her toward it. It kept her ... for the want of a better word ...excited.

She could only see one exit. She screamed around the gag and pushed her head forward.

Claudia complained, groaning into her own gag. But she did nothing more, only fluttered her fingers and tried to sink tighter into the girl below her.

Pamela shouted and pushed again, insistently. Claudia groaned in complaint, trying to turn her head.

Pamela's head went back from the shifting of the dildo. So did Claudia's in response to the blond's response. But just when the brunette thought that would be the end of it, Pamela pushed again.

Then again-and again. And again and again, each time yelling around the gag.

Claudia's arms moved desperately. She kept her head low. Stop it, she begged.

Stop it, stop it, stop it. What are you doing? But Pamela kept thrusting, pushing.

Suddenly Pamela stopped. She had finally realized what she could do to get the idea across. Her legs were so numb she had forgotten they were there. Pamela Sturges tightened her knees around Claudia's head and straightened her legs, jerking the brunette's head down.

Yes. That was it. The dildo surged all the way inside her. Pamela did it again.

Again the sensation, part pain, part relief, surged through her like a crashing wave. Now she had to make the wave bigger and bigger until it crashed down on her like a tsunami.

Pamela grabbed Claudia's head with her knees and thighs, and jerked her in a nodding motion with increasing fervor. Claudia screamed and begged as both their bodies moved in rhythm, but Pamela didn't . . . couldn't . . . stop. She jerked and jerked and jerked.

She felt it coming. Finally, it was coming. The big wave. She loosened her legs.

Claudia's head snapped back as far as it could. Then Pamela slammed her legs together as hard as she could and kicked out. Claudia had to nod forward sharply and stay there.

Pamela spasmed, jerking, twisting the dildo inside the brunette unmercifully.

Claudia cried in consummate terror and suffering as the blond finally got her orgasmic release.

Pamela collapsed, welcome blackness finally engulfing her, leaving Claudia Wentworth to hunch there, sobbing.

The bodies lay entwined there for a few minutes more as the honey, soda, and milk mixture hardened. Claudia tried not to scream, but a high-pitched whine could be heard throughout the secret passage.

Then the brunette's hips started moving rhythmically, the whine turning to animal grunts. Back and forth, back and forth over the blond's lax face.

Anything . . . anything ... to get her mind off the itch!

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